Disclaimer and Acknowledgements: Ouran High School Host Club was created by Bisco Hatori and definitely not licensed by myself. Therefore, the following is a work of fiction using characters that are not my own, and no harm nor profit is meant or made by publishing this.
The boy stood there, brooding at his reflection in the mirror, for a very long time. So long, in fact, that it was hours ago when he stopped keeping track at all.
Usually he wasn't like this. Usually he could get over his slumps in little more than the blink of an eye. This time, though... This time was different; this time it was big.
He tried, now, to recollect the exact moment when this awful feeling had swept over him. For the first time since it had, he turned his frighteningly lifeless blue eyes away from the mirror so that he could concentrate. Even then, it only came to him in bits and pieces, and each of them was from a different part of the memory. So, he was forced to piece it together like a jigsaw, meticulously matching the beginnings and ends together in the correct pattern. Well, as close to it as he could remember.
Today's antics at the meeting of the host club had been particularly trying, if only because of how elaborate the entire production was. This time they used a Shakespearean work for their cosplay: A Midsummer Night's Dream. Admittedly, it was his own brilliant decision to "Add more realism!" to the setting by having them memorize quite a large amount of lines for each of their respective characters in the short time they had before the club opened. Not a single one of them seemed overly pleased with their king for making such a call on such short notice, but they obliged none the less. Ironically (or perhaps not so), the twins, both dressed as the mischievous Puck, griped the most about having to remember their lines even though they easily could have split the lines up between them. Then again, they didn't complain nearly as loudly as Haruhi did when she found out she was going to be playing the Hermia to his Lysander.
He laughed a little when he came to that part of the story. Yes, he could still hear her shock and dismay when she got her first look at her costume. It only worsened when she realized she was the romantic lead opposite himself. Honey did what he could to make her see it was all in good fun, trying to make her laugh as he imitated the sternest voice he could for his own character, Hermia's father Egeus. To round out the lot of them, Mori was given the role of Demetrius, the man Egeus wished for Hermia to marry, and Kyouya was Oberon, King of the Fairies.
The small portion of the play they acted out went over brilliantly, and despite having almost no time to prepare, it was only Haruhi who managed to consistently forget her lines. Then again, they were all prepared for that too, each of them knowing quite well that Haruhi wasn't much of an actress, and would sneak in with her lines written on small cards, hidden within their costumes. Still, it did seem to make her all the more frazzled, but the clients only giggled warmly both at the antics and mostly at the site of Haruhi in a dress.
It was all fine and well to remember the events of the host club meeting today, but as he couldn't recall a single thing going awry (for once) it didn't really do him any good. "Think, Tamaki," he urged, closing his eyes as he poised a graceful hand over his face to block out the light in his bedroom which was obviously distracting him from properly remembering things. The play, the costumes, the characters...
Now it was after school, and he had returned home to rest awhile. The air and sun outside were very warm and inviting, but he was feeling drained. It wasn't because of the club, though, nor due to his classes. No, it was something else that was just out of reach in his mind. He knew that it had to do with one of his friends. Something one of them had said? Done? His instinct was to think of the Hitachiins, wondering if there was a prank they had pulled or if there was some snide remark they had made about being in Haruhi's class that had set him off. Well, naturally, there were several things, but he had brushed them all aside rather quickly; those types of comments never really affected him for very long. But if it wasn't the twins, then who? Haruhi herself? That didn't seem right either because she had actually been fairly reasonable about not pointing out those flaws she liked to imagine for him. And all Honey did was eat cake and all Mori did was watch him eat cake.
That left Kyouya.
His eyes shot open, their regular fire now clearly evident and shining brightly again, because all at once he knew. He abandoned his reflection and immediately returned to his bedside to grab the telephone. It was the only number he could ever really memorize, but that happens when you make your first friend, he supposed. As he waited for Kyouya to answer, he slumped down onto his mattress, his anxiety growing more and more with each unanswered ring. All hope was lost, it seemed, until, finally, a voice spoke clearly on the other end of the line.
"Kyouya! Did you really mean what you said to me earlier?" The sentence came out in a single, short breath, his excitement far beyond restrainable.
"...Is this another one of your games, Tamaki? I'm really not in—"
Frustrated and near tears, he resorted to his mother tongue, the language he had spoken for years before he ever met the boy listening to him now. "Non! Non! Je dois savoir! Je dois!" ["No! No! I must know! I must!"]
There was such a very long pause after he yelled that he could only fear the worst. A choked sob sneaked its way from his throat and he couldn't recall a time when he had felt more vulnerable and more afraid. So much hung in the balance at this moment and so much could go irreparably wrong.
"Tamaki-kun, could you meet me later?"
"Eh?" It wasn't at all the response that he'd been expecting, both in syntax and in tone; he always had a soft voice, but this sounded secretive.
"Je te supplie..." ["I beg you..."]
"Ou-oui, euh... yes." He was thrown, having forgotten the brief period in which his friend studied the language to better understand him. "Yes, of course. When? Where?"
"I'm not yet sure. I'll call you." There was another, shorter pause, and Kyouya was back saying, "I'll call you as soon as I can. I have to go, now, though."
The pair said their goodbyes and he defeatedly hung up his phone. He truly hadn't gotten any closer to the source of his melancholy even after all of this wasted energy on thinking and remembering. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he fell backwards onto his bed, arms bent awkwardly wherever they landed and his head turned toward the door rather than his bedside table. He knew he would wait there until Kyouya called him back, unmoving and unchanged, just as he had been when he had arrived home. Somehow, ironically, he ended up being the one who had to wait.
And he couldn't stand it.