First Ouran fanfic and it turns out kind of...odd. As a side note, all of the chapter names will be in reference to music terms. You can either brush up or I'll leave an explanation in following chapters.

Never mind that, please enjoy. Next chapter will be out soon or story may possibly be removed to be edited and stored away for another time. Really it depends on the reaction it gets.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

An Ouran High School Host Club Fanfic -

A Prima Vista: At First Sight
Chapter O1: Pastorale

I woke to the playing of music.

The soft, expressive notes of the piano sounded throughout the house but seemed ever so restrained, as if careful to wake me. I wasn't all that surprised - I am not a morning person in the slightest. It made me smile, however, the composition was contentedly familiar and I was instantly aware of who was playing. And that I forgotten we had guests today.

Urging myself to cast aside the warm comfort that the bedcovers offered, my feet were the first to hit the plushy, cream-colored carpet [a feature that I had heavily insisted upon - I detested hardwood floors in the mornings, as it was far too cold]. I bustled about the moderately sized room and in and out of the adjoining bathroom, assuring that I looked at least relatively pleasant and did not scare away the guests with my haggard morning appearance.

Glancing at my reflection in the mirror on the mainly decorative vanity set in the corner, I hummed with vague satisfaction. "Good enough," I mumbled, brushing through my hair with spindly fingers once again.

Rushing down one of the oversized staircases that I had become accustomed to, and nearly tripping over my own feet in the process [never was the most erm...graceful of people], a large smile stretched across my face as I spotted the small gathering of people in the foyer.

I watched the scene briefly. The occasionally overdramatic blonde French-Japanese man that so serenely tickled the ivories of the piano, the quiet tinkling of porcelain teacups that sporadically interrupted the melody resonating within the rather grand room and the laughing that accompanied a reunion of old friends.

The man who had strangely won my affections all those years ago was the first to notice my presence.

He smiled. "Good Morning,"

I raised an eyebrow, refusing to return the upwards turning of the mouth. "We need to get the piano tuned. The sound is off."

"Ah, my tactless bien-aimé!" The music stopped, much to my displeasure. I really had been joking with him but the man proceeded to remove himself from the piano's seat and saunter [for that was the epitome of his particular stride] towards me.

I began to retreat, questioning his approach, nevertheless he caught me in a sweeping movement. A soothing embrace followed.

"Is anything wrong now, bien-aimé?"

"Rien du tout." I responded, with a peck on his forehead before I -

-Ah, but perhaps I should start from the beginning. You see, things weren't always this...perfect, per se. It took more than a fair share of hard work to achieve this happiness of mine. And now, when I mean the beginning, I mean the very start of this whole mess.

So, please enjoy this music-ridden, childhood-love-story and totally clichéd account of my life. Horribly entitled: The [probably exceedingly boring] Memoirs of Carillon Faye.

And it is here we begin.

bien-aimé - Beloved; Darling

Rien du tout - 'Nothing at all' in French.

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