It had all been because of the twins, really, but Kyouya knew it was useless to lay blame on anyone specific for what had started that day. Still, he couldn't help resenting Hikaru as he remembered a much too friendly arm being draped across his shoulder.
"Looks like the Shadow King is getting annoyed, Kaoru. Should we abandon our pursuit?"
"Oh no," the younger twin had replied, eyes glinting demonically as he advanced on his quarry. "I don't think so, Hikaru. We're only just getting started."
And that was how Kyouya had ended up hauled inside a closet that he didn't know existed, one twin on each side, both tugging at his clothing haphazardly while they tried to undress him.
"And what—" he had growled, thankful that his tone had made the melon-headed boys draw back in alarm, "—do you intend to do to me in here?"
"Well," one of them had responded, and Kyouya had not been able to tell which, "We know that we usually make Haruhi the toy, but King Tamaki was looking rather down today…"
"…so we thought that if we dressed you up in a funny outfit instead, it would make him laugh."
"It's boring around here when our lord's not up to par with himself," came another explanation, this time from Hikaru, Kyouya was sure.
"So you intend to make me into some sort of mannequin?" Kyouya remembered a burning sensation at the back of his eyes. There was no way to tell now, but it was likely that there had been flames leaping from his sockets. He had felt his arm being shoved into the sleeve of something, and his powder blue uniform falling away. The twins hadn't seemed afraid of him for very long.
But that had been easily remedied.
"Hikaru, Kaoru…" Kyouya made sure his voice sounded soothing and trustworthy. "If you don't let go of me right now, I'm going to tell my squad of private police about that." Specification was not necessary. The twins knew. "You know the consequences of anyone finding out, right? Oh, and I haven't forgotten that other thing, or the incident from three weeks ago…"
Kaoru let out an "eep," of fear and dropped the folds of fabric that he'd been holding. Hikaru had screamed a drawn out "nooo!" and pressed himself desperately against the closet door.
The door had fallen open and the Hitachiin brothers had toppled out in a heap. The rest of the Host Club stood outside, gaping. It was Tamaki's hand that rested on the knob.
"K-K-KYAAHH! What is going on inside this closet, exactly?!" The host king's jaw had dropped to the floor.
That was really all Kyouya could remember without lapsing into bloodlust. The haze of quick events had made his head reel.
Besides, now he had the present to deal with, and the moments of reflection that had flashed before his eyes during his out-of-closet tumble were fast fading. Reality struck, as did the immediate need to locate his uniform.
Kyouya stood exposed, half undressed and wearing – at least partially – what appeared to be a dress. Tamaki was looking at him all aghast, Honey-senpai sat eating cake next to Mori-senpai, and Haruhi cast him a shrug like she had expected the entire thing to happen from the start. For a moment, Kyouya thought steam would rocket from his ears. He suppressed a shudder of biblical proportions.
At last, he straightened, pulled up the rumpled sleeve of the dress to cover his exposed shoulder, and pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
"Was there something you wanted, Tamaki?" Everyone ogled.
"S-Something I wanted…"
And it was then that Kyouya realized Tamaki's eyes were on him, and had been only on him for quite some time now.
"Kyouya," the blonde host began, his lower lip trembling and tears forming on the corners of his eyelashes, "Y-You are the ultimate picture of beauty in that dress!" He snapped his fingers. "Hikaru, Kaoru! You will finish the job. I must see Kyouya in all his feminine glory!"
Kyouya's eyebrow pulsated perilously. He'd kill Suo Tamaki, kill him…
"As you command, lord," the twins saluted, while Honey dropped his cake in protest and Haruhi said, "You're making a mistake, Senpai. I don't think Kyouya looks attractive in that outfit at all."
Perhaps it wasn't a compliment, but Kyouya was grateful for the opinion nonetheless. "Thank you, Haruhi," he said coolly, brushing off his garments with a collected gesture and shooting the advancing brothers a glare that said, Have you forgotten my threats already?
"Ootori Kyouya," boomed Tamaki's elegant voice, deep and passionate in a manner that made Kyouya's heart rate increase. Tamaki reached out a hand, bowed, and swept Kyouya forward by the wrist. "Ootori Kyouya, in honor of your cooperation with the Hitachiin twins—" Funny, Kyouya didn't recall any sort of cooperation "—I hereby dismiss you of all Hostly Duties and demote you to the rank of customer, for one afternoon. You may designate me, and I will illustrate to you the power of your stunning ensemble!"
Kyouya strove not to snarl upon hearing Tamaki's use of the words "dismiss" and "demote." He jerked his arm free and flung it out in irritation. "You're a fool, Tamaki! Don't be ridicu—"
He stopped himself. No, no, this wouldn't do. He was Ootori Kyouya, son of the most prestigious business association on their side of the Pacific. He could not afford to lose his temper, but nor could he afford to submit to the childish play of an immature, idiotic, sashaying little…
"Tamaki, may I speak with you alone, please?" He surprised himself with his own even tone.
"Of course, Kyouya, why don't we go into the—"
Kyouya hauled Tamaki into the adjacent chamber and slammed the door before the blonde host king could finish his sentence. He looked startled. Kyouya merely reached up to unclasp the obnoxious dress and don his jacket once again. He straightened his collar. He ran a hand through his dark hair – something that he was not prone to doing, but that he felt was quite necessary under his new circumstances. At last, when he had steadied his breath, he turned to Suo Tamaki.
Tamaki was leaning over the nearby table, one arm supporting his weight and the other resting on his hip. His legs were crossed. He gave his pale locks a gentle toss and said, "I'm sorry, Kyouya. You're angry with me, aren't you?" A little smile played around his lips.
Kyouya felt his chest tighten.
For this was the problem, and it always had been. Tamaki, standing before Kyouya like some sort of tempting angel, like some wizard or prince that only ever showed his true, muted-but-still-dulcet self when the situation called for it. Kyouya fought to tear his eyes away. Tamaki had always made him question what he thought he knew, and now he was face to face with the very same sensation.
Right after the blonde had been making innuendo, no less.
Kyouya was not a man that let his desires get in his way. He'd felt something peculiar when he'd first met Tamaki, yes, and perhaps it had hindered him until he'd figured out what to do with it, but he would not let it affect him now. He would put those strange feelings aside, for both his sake and Tamaki's, and he would be certain not to let any emotions rush to the open. He still wasn't quite sure what it was he felt. Desire? Lust? It was of no consequence.
After all, desire and lust were mere playthings, to be manipulated and tossed about the same as fondness, admiration, and gentility. Each of them did it in the Host Club every day, and their customers never knew the difference.
Kyouya hadn't said anything for quite some time; when Tamaki spoke again he was surprised to hear the sound of another human voice.
"Kyouya, as much as I know you hate it, I was telling the truth." Tamaki continued after Kyouya quirked a condescending eyebrow. "You looked enticing and scrumptious in that dress when you came out of the closet." A hint of a blush tinged Tamaki's features.
Kyouya elicited a stunned noise of protest. In an instant, he had shaken off all shock. Now was the time for discipline.
He grabbed Tamaki's cheek and pinched it ruefully. "Tamaki, you are a host, are you not?"
"Yes, but—"
"And what do you do as a host?"
"I am the charming prince character that makes all our lovely princesses blush with joy, but Kyouya—"
"Exactly. So where do you see room for calling me scrumptious? Of all the wretched games you could play…" His muttering trailed off into a sigh of exasperation.
Tamaki's lips flapped once or twice, but Kyouya could see that he had managed to get his point across. The room went awash in blissful silence, and he closed his eyes to blot out the image of Tamaki's pouting face. Peace at last.
"But Kyouya!"
Kyouya bit back a groan. "Tamaki, no. I don't know what you mean to get at, but you're too naïve to know what it sounds like, so if you don't shut up I'm going to order Haninozuka-senpai to beat you into silence."
Tamaki gazed at him for a moment longer. Kyouya could feel his eyes, even though he had turned away.
"What do you mean, Kyouya?" Tamaki whined again, and Kyouya only shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, utterly defeated. Why was he always losing to Tamaki?
"If I see a sign of beauty, I must admit to it! What makes you think I'm too naïve for these sorts of endeavors? That doesn't make any sense! As King of the Host Club, I ought to know!"
Kyouya backed wisely out of harm's way, for he knew all too well the serenade of King Tamaki that was coming. He opened his notebook and prepared to record his friend's words – they might come in handy for blackmail at a later date.
"That's right," Tamaki gushed, closing his eyes softly and reaching out a hand to grasp that of an imaginary someone. "I, the Host King, am designated by seventy percent of our customers, so that must mean that I know full well the charms of love. The women flock to me! And if I know what the complicated hearts of women yearn for, my dear Kyouya, then I can certainly wend my way around the harsh bends in the maze of passion." A twirl of devoted theatricality. "Yes, it's simply a matter of finding out what your lover desires! Women like flowers, and chocolates, and taboo-teasing homosexual twins—" Kyouya was glad that the Hitachiin brothers were nowhere in sight "—and 'lovely items' like Honey-senpai. Women are soft and delicate, and they want to be treated as such! YES, KYOUYA." The shadow king nearly dropped his pencil at the volume with which Tamaki spoke. "Those are the things you need to properly please a woman, and therefore you must not underestimate my blooming capabilities!"
Tamaki held his breath, posing with a smile and an outstretched hand. Sparkles danced around his face, and a series of flowers sprung from the floor to begin singing happily. Kyouya squinted through the lenses of his glasses, then down at the flowers. He really needed to check the club's special effects arrangements again. Something like vegetation on call could be wreaking havoc on their budget. After all, as Haruhi would say were she present, isn't this supposed to be a music room…?
"Ahh, Kyou-ya! You're not even listening to me any more!"
"On the contrary," Kyouya offered, scribbling down Tamaki's last words with precision (something about his blooming capabilities being underestimated). "I caught about two thirds of that. But there's a problem with your logic, if you simply pause to think about it."
He waited. Tamaki brought a finger to his lip in confusion. His mouth hung open as he did what Kyouya liked to hope might be called "thinking." He kept waiting. A spot of drool leaked from around Tamaki's finger.
Kyouya wondered why he hadn't yet hired a special team to feed Tamaki to a pack of wolves.
The shadow king smiled, as perilously as was humanly possible within the limits of such a happy expression. "I'm not a woman, Tamaki. That's your problem, wouldn't you say?" A vein ticked somewhere in his forehead. "And you've got another problem, Tamaki," he added, growing more and more irate, "But I suppose you haven't thought of that one yet either. For all the world, you sound like you're confessing love to me. I highly doubt that that is your intention."
Tamaki shoved the hovering sparkles aside and put a hand to his chin. "Hmm, I suppose that is a bit of an issue, isn't it?"
One of Kyouya's knees gave out, and he had to catch the corner of the table to prop himself up. "Only a bit of an issue, Tamaki?"
Tamaki's pale blue eyes searched his. Kyouya froze, the notebook in his hands growing cold. Whatever airy and gesticulatory mood had captured the host king moments ago was gone now. No loud proclamations. No goofy or ridiculous recitations. He was alone with Tamaki. Just Tamaki – caring, gentle, and unadulterated, with a seriousness that had been known to tear at Kyouya's insides even as it taught him valuable lessons again and again.
It was why he remembered making friends with Tamaki in the first place.
"Kyouya, I want you to answer a question for me," the blonde host said, refusing to turn his beautiful gaze away. "If you love someone, does it matter whether they're a boy or a girl?"
Kyouya stared, until many long seconds had passed. He studied Tamaki closely. The blonde host sidestepped a patch of the magically appearing flowers and waited for Kyouya's answer.
Ootori Kyouya was being tested.
Tamaki's eyes were cool, almost defiant in their certainty. He was not looking for answers for himself; he did not want Kyouya to placate him. Tamaki already had the answer he sought – now it was only a matter of extracting the correct reply from Kyouya.
"If I loved someone," Kyouya began slowly, determined not to fail the odd examination, "Then no, I suppose I wouldn't let that person's gender hinder me." He blinked. Tamaki was still monitoring him.
"That wasn't what I asked you, Kyouya," the host king replied softly, a cherishing smile worming onto his face, but only for an instant. "I didn't ask if it mattered to you whether someone was a boy or a girl. I asked if it mattered."
Frustration bubbled in the cage of Kyouya's chest, and for a moment he feared he'd explode on the blonde king before him. "What do you mean, Tamaki? Are you asking if it matters at all? To anyone?"
"To the general scheme of all things in this world."
Kyouya's jaw dropped. It was just like Tamaki to spurt something like that, to generalize on a worldly scale something that they both knew involved only two of them. He knew what Tamaki was asking, finally – Tamaki wanted to know if he was vehement in his beliefs that same sex relationships were acceptable – but now Kyouya was simply irritated.
"No," he growled, perhaps lower than he meant to, "It doesn't matter at all whether the one you love is a boy or a girl. Not to anyone else, not to the world."
"People might still protest, right?" Tamaki prompted gently. "People might disagree, and tell you that it's wrong, but the truth you believe in is that it doesn't matter, correct?"
Kyouya's lips formed a thin line. "Yes, Tamaki, that's correct." He raised his head and glanced out the window at the shining clock tower. "Everyone deserves to love whomever they want, to do whatever they want…" The sudden image of a painting in a too-small frame wriggled itself into his vision. He looked again at Tamaki. The frame burst; the paint spilled over the sides to form a beautiful work of art outside its boundaries. Kyouya already knew that Tamaki was the one that allowed him to think freely, as an individual with a wide future and his own ambitions.
"Thank you for answering that question for me, Kyouya," Tamaki concluded calmly, and he spun on his heels to go.
Kyouya followed his movements sharply. "Wait, Tamaki. Why did you ask me that?"
Tamaki tilted his head to one side. "I just wanted to know your thoughts. Best friends should learn each other's opinions, isn't that right, mon ami? Mommy and Daddy should make sure to communicate."
Though he'd heard the phrase a hundred times in the Host Club, Kyouya's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Haven't you gotten sick of those nicknames yet?" he asked.
But Tamaki wasn't listening anymore. "Kyouya! Come on, it's time to serve our customers." He scampered out into the clubroom, an eager glow of anticipation on his face. "Haru-hiiii - Daddy is coming to protect you from those naughty, scary twin devils!"
Kyouya tucked his notebook under his arm and smiled to himself. He would probe Tamaki later, wait to uncover his complete feelings for analysis at a different time. For now, he would let the blonde host simply be himself.
He followed Tamaki out. "Send Haruhi this way if you please, Tamaki. His debt is still thirty thousand yen…"
A/N: Your authoress is currently unavailable due to death-by-attempted-Ouran. She will return when she has regained the energy lost in pursuit of this first chapter.
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