He was a narcissist — and by his standards, an attractive, optimistic achiever who was a natural born leader; who considered himself to be seductive and popular and charming and everything else a person such as himself would believe themselves to be; who could win over anyone's heart through any scheme only because he believed in himself and that confidence was what was most attractive, not the ploy — and he knew that. The better side of self-absorption consumed him; he loved himself more than others loved him while at the same time, he loved others more than himself. He could only love and he truly believed in making friends with enemies, although he never really had any to begin with.
No one could hate him because if someone were to ever find some way to even think about having negative emotions towards him, he would do something that would lead them back to square one in a heartbeat — a mutual, instantaneous feeling of love towards a stranger. She used the word stranger because anyone that knew him now could never think of doing anything harmful to him, either emotionally or physically. They could be at their rope's end of him and still not even consider the possibilities that could damage him one way or another.
Others may have thought of him as something similar to an ornament on a tree because sometimes, it felt as if one could only look, not touch — and she only half-agreed. He was fragile, yes, but she figured that that delicateness was mostly emotional and she was the most correct, having obtained the most experience, granted, unwillingly. Although, the others were right as well when it came to one idea — temptation. And although she wasn't attracted to it, she could agree. He was the embodiment of temptation who had decided to put itself inside of a shell of a half-French, half-Japanese blonde for some reason or another when clearly more interesting opportunities must have been at hand.
He wasn't a saint but he certainly wasn't condemnable. He was much like everyone else on a basic emotional sense — he'd done things that he regretted, he'd made mistakes, he was human, but what separated him from the rest, what almost outcasted him, was his total optimism. It was overwhelming, it was contagious and it spread silently and gradually until he became another part of your thoughts, foolishly scolding you to lift up your chin when you're down.
He was a dramatic, mature, naïve, innocent young man who was anything but consistent or completely defined. A contradiction he was, a tempting contradiction. And she had to admit that she preferred him that way. Had he been what society defined as normal (although it seemed like no one in their school was), he wouldn't be him. He just be some high-ranking student under the same name, which, when said, wouldn't hold the energetic spark it would because he was also a spark — a living, breathing, walking spark.
And for only a spark, he was bright. He was durable and strong and it seemed as if he could never entirely fall, suspended loosely above the worries of reality. He was on a high pedestal that he placed himself on and once again he was an ornament, envied for its beauty, for its delicate construction. He was something entirely new, just opened to the world, her world. Curious. And it wasn't about the matter of his insanity or sanity, he just how he was — a child wanting to experience everything he could ever imagine. And he was a narcissistic because he was one of the many children who stared at the sparkling orb, wanting to touch it.
He was captivated by himself.
Although, what was scariest about him, aside from all the hugs and squeals and fatherly love and his unusual personality, was how he was overpowering and not only in his optimism. All other aspects of his personality shone through and gradually, you became him as soon as you began to understand his "numerous ways of speaking." Aside from just perception being tweaked, other details began to change, large or small. You slowly began to think like him, be like him — granted, with fewer words. The transformation was unnoticeable until you saw it in others and it stirred your own thoughts until you realized that they weren't the only ones. He made life a game and sometimes, it was like he was the only one playing, but once he started to affect you, it was almost like — no, it was — a case of Stockholm syndrome.
The brunette distantly stared at whatever happened to be in front of her — conveniently, her actual father — and she realized that she had just done an entirely too kind, an entirely too accurate character profile on someone who was entirely too insane. And it was unusual.
"Haruhi?" Her father asked tentatively and hesitantly as he waved a hand in front of her face. "Honey, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Dad." Haruhi said, smiling. "I just thought of a homework assignment that I had forgotten to complete. I'll finish it later."
"Ah, it's not like you to forget! Hmm…are you distracted by something?" He paused and Haruhi could feel a surge of fatherly concern rise from its half-awake slumber in her parent, and soon, the heart-eyed monster reared its patriarchic head. "Because, Haruhi, you're so worrying, suddenly not eating and staring off like that! It's almost like you have a lazy eye! No, two lazy eyes! Should I call your optometrist?! Or maybe your doctor because you've been off lately! I do wonder if the office will let me schedule two appointments in the same day…most likely, I mean, they can't refuse business…"
As Haruhi sighed, letting him ramble, she wondered if prepotency had skipped families and lineage and wealth and somewhat left Tamaki-senpai with some of her father's personality traits. Considering how both acted around her, it seemed almost possible.
And if that were true, she decided, she feared for her sanity.