Ciao! :) This is Flourishing Diction, a drabble-of-sorts that will be updated on a semi-regular basis. It encompasses the lives—pre/post-OHSCH and in AUs—of the hosts and those associated with them through the New York Times' article, 'Word of the Day.' Each chapter is non-related to those prior to (or afterwards of) others unless previously noted. I hope that those who read will enjoy—and maybe share those views. :P Just for clarification, all pairings will be used in this story at one point including Hikaru|Kaoru and others. If you wish to request a pairing, please PM me or say so in a review.
Disclaimer: Any and all characters of Ouran High School Host Club belong to Bisco Hatori-san. I allege no possession of the characters. I do not own the New York Times, either. Please excuse an grammatical-slash-spelling errors (or point them out; that's fine. XD) and, if there are any lapses in characters, plot, or cannon (unless specified by AU), please let me know.
Pairing(s):Hitachiin Karou|Fujioka Haruhi
Please enjoy.
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flourishing diction
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enigmatic \e•(,)nig•'ma•tik\
adjective
1: of, relating to, or resembling an enigma: MYSTERIOUS
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When he first saw her, he would've sworn she was one of the guys. With her cropped-hair, large, baggy sweatshirt, and thick glasses, she was every part the quite, introverted, 'nerd.' However, as one by one, they uncovered the various layers wrapped around her androgynous appearance, they began to realize that, indeed, she wasn't a man. That, nevertheless, was not the important factor.
After the shattering of the priceless vase, her demure behavior slowly washed away revealing a vibrant, opinionated, young woman with every intention of paying off her debts and leaving, not sparing a single look back. Through their boisterous, elaborate parties, he watched her from the corner of the couch were he was regularly perched beneath his brother's weight. The squeals and cries of admiration weren't enough to distract him from her lithe form. Even when Hikaru would bring his face within millimeters of his own, hazel eyes never budged.
She was like a puzzle to him; always there in pieces but, when he tried to put her together, he felt as if there was something missing. She would smile at the girls surrounding her table, retelling to them some bs story about truth and love and hopes and unfading dreams. It was such a shame she never took her own advice. To be happy and content with life, to find the one who made your heart beat sporadically—such a shame. The false grins she gave those mushy fangirls were practically enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. And then, they'd leave, all of them, tears spilling down cheeks as they were nearly shoved out of the music room. Occasionally, one would shout their undying affections to a host before the heavy doors slammed shut. They would give over dramatic sighs of relief and then proceed to clean up. When no one was looking—that's when she dropped the facade and became herself. Dark, tired eyes lost their plastic-like sparkle, lips relaxed in a gentle line and she became real to him.
Weeks later, they decided to host a royalty-themed party, where Tamaki-senpai ruled, Honey-senpai, a young prince, was being guarded by Mori-senpai, Kyoya-senpai was the king's adviser, he and his brother were jesters, and she... she was dressed as the majestic, untouchable queen—of course. To see Tamaki-senpai hold onto her in a possessive manner made him cringe. She just laughed and brushed him off as usual. The ladies girlishly giggled and gasped in awe, money was made, and everyone left happily.
The themes changed from 'Cowboys and Indians,' to Indiana Jones, to 'Under the Sea,' but she slipped through each event the same; wide smile, bright eyes, and endless charm. How was she able to do such a thing when he, himself, was breaking? Her mysteriously attractive nature drew girls in by the dozen yet, when he was near, she hardly gave him a second glance.
Slowly, their time together drew to an end and graduation approached. He watched her walk across the oak-stage, her face truly beaming for one of the first times. With a shake of hands and the deliverance of a diploma, she was gone—into the crowd, into the world, out of his reach.
She rarely spoke to any of them again until their reunion a decade later. Once again, he was there, viewing her from afar. Her hair was longer, her features a tad more sculpted but she was still the same Haruhi he'd known and loved all those years ago. Now, she was with her boyfriend, some writer for some magazine. She'd always wanted to date an artistic man, she'd said. At that moment, he had the urge to scream, "Why not me, then?" He loved fashion, like his mother and brother and craved art in ways seemingly unnatural. And yet, she left him and found herself some older man with soft fuzz upon his chin and a pair of thin spectacles.
When his brother came and took him by the elbow, he knew it was time to head home. Again, he watched her go only this time, it was he who was leaving. Their gazes locked for a split second and she offered him a small smile—he found he couldn't do the same. She was mystifying in every plausible mean; cryptic and baffling and breathtaking and perplex and he loved it—would always love it. But, like a shadow amidst a dark alley, she was there one second, and gone the next. Like a trick of the eyes, she hauntingly stood with her date before slinking away into the darkness, forever shrouded in mystery.
Please drop a reivew if you have time. Grazie. :)