Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Ouran High School Host Club. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.
Your bruising heart
Perhaps it had been a mistake to offer the ticket to Tamaki.
He blushed; he gazed at her through his lashes; he said in a low, breathless sort of voice, "The commoners say there is nothing more romantic than an afternoon at the theatre."
"No one says that," said Haruhi.
She was too late; he was lost, lost to a fantasy of shared ice creams and hands shyly clasped in the shadows of the movie theatre. Perhaps he might walk her home, their arms brushing every now and then as they strolled along the rose-strewn path, their way lit only by the moon and the stars. Perhaps at her door he might fold his hand over her cheek, perhaps she might whisper, "Tamaki-san!" Perhaps he might-- he might--
"Don't talk so loudly!" said Haruhi.
"Oh, Haruhi!" he cried. "Ma chérie!" He threw his arms about her.
"Please stop touching me," she said.
*
Tamaki cried often and openly, ever in earnest; his heart bruised so easily. She ought to have expected My Neighbor Totoro, so simple and sweet, to affect him so.
The lights came up. Tamaki wept into his cupped hands.
"Let's go," said Haruhi. The cleaning staff waited in the wings.
He held on to her sleeve through the crowd in the lobby, as though he were afraid to lose her.
"You're stretching my shirt out," she said.
He uncurled his fingers and scrubbed at his eyes. His eyelashes were very wet; they glittered beneath the streetlamps. "Haruhi," he said, "will you ever leave me?"
"Of course I will," she said. "You aren't coming home with me."
Tamaki hiccuped sadly.
Haruhi sighed. There was nothing to be done for it. "Come on," she said. She reached for his hand and clasped it in her own. His hand was surprisingly heavy, the fingers long, the palm broad. "They're handing out tissues at the corner."
This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/02/2009, for lj user tasbine.