Disclaimer: This work if purely fictional, even to the series Ouran High School Host Club, which we all know does not belong to me.
Dedicated to ElectricxExclamation, who finally drove-or, rather, guilt-tripped-me into posting a story.
The fragility of life.
It was something he was far too familiar with. He was reminded of this fact everyday, every time he walked through or past her door.
They thought his cool mask-a masterful façade-was the result of ignorance and bliss. They believed that he, among others much like him, was free of worries and hardships, that his life was nothing but luxury and indulgence.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
:-:-:-:-:-:
"Welcome!"
The notorious Host Club's greeting was met with the usual squeals and giggles of excitement. Their guests ogled and fawned over their ensemble for the day. Each host sported a kimono or yukata, successfully satisfying one of their guests' many fantasies. The theme for the day was Matsuri, or Japanese festival. The Third Music Room was donned in accessories one might find at a "commoner's" Japanese celebration held at shrines, such as lanterns, booths, and even games.
"Amazing, Tamaki-kun! It really feels like I'm at a temple!" one of the Host Club king's regular customers said, admiring the detailed setting that replaced the usual look of the room.
"Of course! Nothing but the best for our princesses, ne?" Tamaki cooed, a heart-melting smile on his beautiful face. His guests went into a flurry of squeals, giggles, and nosebleeds. "Everything here is authentic. Kyōya even managed to find commoners' game stands!" Tamaki said enthusiastically, gesturing to where Mori and Hunny were playing games, trying to scoop up goldfish with their guests.
"I'd like to try playing! You should get a goldfish, Tamaki-kun!" a guest suggested, blushing when Tamaki closed in on her and cupped her chin.
"I'd rather get your heart, my dear..."
"T-T-T-Tamaki-k-k-k-kun!" her face went into a full blown blush, her friends watching intently.
"K-Kyaaaa!"
:-:-:-:-:-:
"It's getting pretty rowdy over there." Haruhi commented, carrying a tray of tea as she passed by Kyōya, who was looking over the club, notebook in hand.
"As long as he's doing his job." Kyōya replied without looking up from his black notebook. Haruhi looked curiously at the taller student, watching him scribble, the pen making soft scruff sounds on the paper. Kyōya suddenly stopped and looked at his underclassman, raising an eyebrow. "Is something the matter, Haruhi?"
"H-Huh? Oh!" Haruhi stuttered, looking at Kyōya, then eyed the notebook again warily. "N-Nothing... Just wondering-"
"What I write in here?" Kyōya finished, gesturing to his notebook. He smirked at the flabbergasted look Haruhi was giving him, "...And, no, Haruhi, I'm not psychic."
"Ehehehe..."
"Oi! Haruhi! Come over here-" one of the twins called.
"-and play with us!" the other finished. Hikaru and Kaoru were playing darts with their guests at one of the stalls, but bounced to where Haruhi was, dragging the girl and her guests with them.
Kyoya was left to his thoughts, but still managed to scribble down notes as his mind wandered. It was unusual for the third Ōtori son's thoughts to drift, but considering the recent events of the past two months, Kyōya allowed himself, just this once. His mind drifted off to his memory of when it all started.
/-/-/-/-/-/
Kyōya snapped his book shut.
Another reading assignment completed early. He reached for his laptop, thinking of concluding Host Club statistics for that month, but thought of putting it off until after his nightly visits to her room.
With a sigh, Kyōya got up from his clean, white couch and slipped his feet into warm slippers. With the cool grace he was known for, he strode across his room, exited and shut the door after him. He paused for a moment, his hand still on the silver doorknob.
Like every night for the past several years, he shut his eyes, standing there, waiting for his strength to become concrete before he resumed his trek. Then, Kyōya weaved through the halls, each turn engraved in his memory from the constant repetition. He walked smoothly in the silence, his slippers barely producing muffled sounds with the plush, velvety red carpet.
Each step he took was unconscious, his mind not attending to where his body brought him, and yet, he soon found himself at his destination. Kyōya stopped at her door, his eyes wandering over the white finish. He had no need to examine it. He saw it every day and every night, the details etched in his mind; but he felt the necessity, as he had done it so many a time. He couldn't seem to break his routine, however. Whenever he visited her, every movement was automatic, he had no need to put mental effort into bringing himself there. But as always, he waited in front of her door, as though waiting for her to call him in like she used to when they were children.
Finally, Kyōya placed a hand on the knob, turned it slowly, as though fearful of emitting a loud sound. Kyōya scoffed for a moment. It was highly unlikely-impossible, even-that the Ōtori mansion possessed a single creaky door. It was very unbecoming for such a prestigious family.
Without a word, Kyōya entered and shut the door softly. He walked to the beautiful canopy bed, though with slower, unwilling footsteps. Kyōya made no attempt to flick the light switch on. The moon provided sufficient light in the room. It wasn't too late in the night, in any case.
Kyōya took his post and sat on a cushioned chair that was positioned by the bed, avoiding the wires and machineries that were also placed beside it. His gray eyes examined the female figure that lay on the bed. Her body was thin and frail, he noticed as he did every time he was there. With a gentle motion, Kyōya brushed a black strand from her cheek.
A word, a name, formed on his lips, unheard even by the air.
Kyōya closed his eyes, suppressing that small feeling of expectation that, perhaps, tonight there would a change in her condition. Tearing his gaze from her, he studied the machines, making sure they were in top condition. He took mental notes of his observations: her heart rate, brain activity, etc. He reverted his attention back to her, examining the several wires she was hooked up to. After assuring himself that all was well-Kyōya scoffed again at this, as the situation was hardly "well"-he gently grasped her small hand. Her skin was paler than his, he noted, but that was to be expected. He stayed that way, just watching her unmoving body.
Minutes flew by and, deciding it was time, Kyōya gave her hand a soft squeeze, and retracted his. After securing the blanket over her, he stood up, maneuvered his way around the wires on the floor, and walked to the door.
He was about to open the door when a sound caused him to stop abruptly.
Kyōya furrowed his brows in concentration. He thought he heard his name whispered and glanced back to her bed. Detecting no movement or change, he dismissed the thought as wishful thinking and proceeded to exit. Before he closed the door, Kyōya paused.
"Goodnight."
/-/-/-/-/-/
Back then, Kyōya did not know that that one word was the cause of what happened the next day.
It was the following morning and Kyōya was again in her room, as he always was before he went to breakfast. Her hand was in his, the sunlight that shone through the windows making it a little warmer to his touch. He had no need to believe a deeper meaning. There was no point in setting expectations that would not be met. He knew better than that.
Kyōya was knocked out of his thoughts with a start when the machines began beeping. In no time, before Kyōya could grasp what was happening, the blaring machines alerted the doctors and nurses. They rushed in the room and were soon ushering him out.
Caught off guard by the fact that something had changed, Kyouya barely fought back and allowed himself to exit the room. He tried to wrap his mind around the occurrence and attempted to find reason in it. He found none but that it was about time.
For years, her condition was unchanging. Absentmindedly, Kyōya listened to the commotion that came from the other side of the white door.
Things began to sink in and Kyōya became more aware of what was happening. The first thought that popped in his mind was that he didn't know what changed. He did not know if the change was for the better, or if she was getting worse. His trail of thought was interrupted when his father and two brothers came jogging to where he was. Just as he had moments ago, their expressions showed that of slight shock.
The four Ōtori men looked at each other, no words exchanged. There was no need to. For once, they were all on the same level, more or less. The three older Ōtori looked at Kyōya, searching for a sign. Finding nothing, they barged in the room and attempted to find out what was going on.
Kyōya stayed outside, his heart racing slightly, reluctant to accept that, maybe, her condition changed for the worst.
/-/-/-/-/-/
That day, two months ago, was the first and only day that Kyōya Ōtori was late for school.
"Kyōya-sempai? Are you alright?"
Kyōya became rigid where he stood before he righted himself. How could he have let his guard down like that? Kyōya cleared his throat, his posture fixed. He looked at the freshman, his intense gray eyes meeting her large brown ones.
"What do you mean?"
"You just seemed spacey for a while there..."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Kyōya feigned ignorance, pushing his glasses up. Haruhi sighed at his stubbornness. "An Ōtori does not become 'spacey', as you put it."
"Yes, you do know," Haruhi insisted, choosing to ignore his denial. "Why don't you just say what's wrong? Are you trying to hide something?"
"There is nothing wrong with me." Kyōya repositioned his glasses. "Besides, I see no merit in lying about it."
Haruhi was going to argue further, when a commotion caught their attention. Their guests were gasping, crowding around into a cresent.
"Ah!"
Kyōya and Haruhi looked over to where the twins were and saw Hikaru tending to Kaoru.
"Kaoru, are you alright?" Hikaru asked, moving extremely close to his twin.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got scratched by a dart." Kaoru answered, but summoned a helpless look on his face. Their guests were biting their nails in anticipation, unconsciously leaning closer to the two, blushes beginning to appear on their faces as Kaoru continued, "Maybe I should go to the nurse to get it checked out..."
"You know I don't like it when other people touch you, Kaoru!" Hikaru disagreed, pulling his brother's face closer to his.
"H-Hikaru!" Kaoru pleaded for who-knows-what, allowing Hikaru to tilt his chin to bring them face to face, a rehearsed blush of pink on his face.
"KYAAAA!"
Haruhi sighed at the twins' performance.
"I still don't get it..."
:-:-:-:-:-:
As Kyōya walked to his limo, he assured himself that what he told Haruhi was true. There really was nothing wrong with him, though his thoughts wandered back.
Ever since that day, two months ago, his father prohibited him from entering her room. Not wanting to risk his father's trust, he complied reluctantly. Still, Kyōya walked to her door every night. He'd stand there a while, and eventually return to his room. The prohibition of his visits made Kyōya wonder.
What had happened?
And it led him to think that her condition had gotten worse. Otherwise, they wouldn't have a reason to keep Kyōya out.
As Kyōya neared his limo, girls from the school waved to him and blushed at his presence. Some guys even greeted him. Kyōya kept his face calm and cool, smiling his 'host's smile' occasionally.
The driver opened the door for Kyōya, greeting him respectfully when the young Ōtori gave him a nod. Kyōya slipped inside and slid onto the smooth leather seats. When he set his belongings beside him, his black notebook fell open to the notes he had taken that day. At the very bottom of the page, separated by both space and the manner in which it was written, was a name. Kyōya, momentarily bewildered, ran a finger across it, assuring himself that he was not hallucinating.
After a moment he folded the notebook closed, pushed up his specs, then directed his sight to the window, watching as a flurry of things melded together as the limo sped by.
:-:-:-:-:-:
They thought his life was easy, his days full of luxury and free of worry.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for sparing your time for this little fic.
The "She" shall remain nameless for numerous reasons, one of which is because of something called "imagination."
Please review and tell me what you thought! If you liked it, hated it; if it was good, bad, or even sucked to high heavens! You can even tell me who you think "She" is! It's only one click away.
:-:-: IMPORTANT COMMERCIAL BREAK! :-:-:
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