AN: Surprise, surprise! …it's Ouran! …okay, that is kind of a surprise, since I've only written Naruto, and as such, I guess the sarcasm isn't merited. So let me try again. Surprise, surprise! It's a fan fic challenge from simplyjoox382! (who, for the curious, happens to be my younger sister. Yes, this is why we're constantly referencing each other. Free advertising. Family's great.) Anyway. The disclaimer! Ouran High School Host Club is not mine, although if Mori was, I would die a happy woman. As for the challenge, you will see what the terms were at the end of my ficlet. Enjoy!
Orchestrated
Kyouya steps into the preparation room of the third Music Room of Ouran High School with a sigh. Under his arm is a large hat box, white and striped with green. It is tied with an extravagant gold ribbon, a present from their illustrious president, and completely coincidentally, what he was expected to wear today. The accompanying outfit, the silver music-note cuff links, and brightly polished black leather shoes hang in his personal changing room. Kyouya heaves another sigh at the sight. He hates these costumes. He undoes the ribbon first, and finds a black silk top hat within. Really, what was Tamaki thinking?
Dressing up is childish. Pretending to be what one is not-- of a different country, ethnicity, time, and place is, in a sense, delusional. Kyouya has no need for such fripperies and fancies. He knows who he is, and intimately. He has never dreamed of being anybody else. He has no wish to be. His life is a game, and Ootori Kyouya plays to win. And games are fun. Everybody knows that.
But, what Suoh Tamaki wants, Suoh Tamaki gets. Carefully, he buttons up his shirt, and slips his arms into his jacket. The fabric of his pants feels smooth against his skin. He sets the top hat gently onto his head, and it slips to a slightly crooked angle. He peers at himself in the mirror. His expression is cool, as always, and his figure almost dashing, and elegant. A black tuxedo with long tails of an expensive French design, and white leather gloves imported from Italy. Refined. Taking the conductor's baton and whisking it around, Kyouya smiles. He didn't find it fit to tell Tamaki that conductors don't wear top hats, silly cufflinks, or any other such extravagant things. But then again, pianists didn't wear white tuxedos, and Honey-sempai didn't precisely know how to play the harp. But the ladies would be charmed, as always, and that was what mattered.
A musical theme, featuring himself as the conductor. How fitting. The Kyouya in the mirror looks back at him, almost impishly, with the tilt of the hat giving him a decidedly devilish look. Deliberately, slowly, Kyouya sets the hat straight onto his head, and smiles, imp banished.
Charming. Charmed. Delightful. Delighted. Sincerity lights up his face.
Ootori Kyouya has no need for dress up. His life is a stage, and he is the star.
And a true actor does not need a costume to be convincing. Only a mask. And Ootori Kyouya has been wearing one all his life. He has no need for another.
The Conditions: 1. Ouran High School Host Club. 2. Less than 400 words. 3. Use of a top hat. 4. Written under 30 minutes. This was a mutual challenge, set for the both of us. I finished first, but I was well past the thirty-minute mark (try two hours /sigh). Ah well. I still beat her, 'n that's all that matters. Mwahahahaha. Thanks for reading. All comments and criticisms are welcomed and adored.