~One-Shot~

Beneath the Masks

Every Point of View Has Another Angle,
And Every Angle Has Its Merit,
But All Comes Down to Faith;
That's the Way I See It.

Does the World Seem Gray with Empty Longing,
Wearing Every Shade of Cynical,
And Do You Ever Feel
There is Something Missing?

That's My Point of View.

~God-Shaped Hole, by Plumb

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Kiki's P.O.V.

Everyone wears masks.

Staring straight ahead, I faced the girl in the mirror, observing her from head to toe. She was sort of pretty, and I squinted in surprise, finding it strange to feel pretty because I preferred to dress in shirts with sports teams or short sarcastic phrases and basketball shorts. I was not Barbie. I was more similar in terms of fashion and personality to Thalia Grace. I stared at the silent reflection, frowning quietly in thought, and glanced to her pretty – but expressionless – face. With shorter black hair, cut just below her muscular shoulders, creamy skin, and only slightly slanted violet eyes, the girl looked the part of half Japanese and half Canadian.

A dress, red and frilly and covered in little white ribbons, covered her lithe form. I reached down to touch the cold satin material, and the girl in the mirror mimicked the gesture, her long fingers poking the bust of the dress and then cupping her tiny breasts in her big hands. My lips curled down into a scowl, and the girl in the mirror scowled right back, equally irritated that playing sports – mainly basketball – had that affect on us. Like Haruhi, I looked boyish…

Question: Why does Sammy-chan get to have the curvy waist and big breasts? Why does Kotoko-chan have such silky black hair? Why is Haruhi-chan so cute? Why aren't I?

Answer: Life is sucks. Life is unfair. Life is a masquerade.

Yes. Life was a masquerade. It was a party of people wearing masks and pretentiously pretending to be somebody else, if only for the night. I was sporty, and loud, and blunt, but I always felt like the wallflower at parties. People like Otou-san, Kotoko, and the members of the Host Club of Ouran High School always seem to stand out from the crowd, shining brilliantly and making their own way. They, however, were actors wearing masks to play their parts. Everyone wears masks…

My father wears a mask of laughter and smiles, pretending to be happy and satisfied with his tiny home, the financial stability of his business, and the normal grades and good friends his daughter has made in the last year. He still watched soccer with me, screaming at the television in frantic excitement, but I did not believe it. In reality, Otou-san missed Mom more than anything else in the world. It hurt his heart to think of her living back in Canada with another man. So I usually lied – to him, to friends, and to myself – and claimed that Mom died. It was easier than telling the truth because…

My friends wear masks, too.

Haruhi wears a green and brown mask of polite curiosity and interest, but beneath it all, her mind drifted far, far away. She pretended to be fine, to be satisfied with having only the attention of her bisexual father, who spent most of his time working as an okama. But Haruhi missed her mother. She missed her unconditional love, her touch, and I sometimes had to wonder: Is it more painful missing the mother who left you, or a mother that is dead?

Sammy wears a pretty feathered blue mask of smiles, laughter, and fun. She acted like nothing bothered her – like her past did not upset her or still give her nightmares, like all of the bullying at school did not make her heart hurt. Lost in her world of fairytales, Sammy lived in a castle of glass and awaited her Prince Charming. Sometimes, I observed the short American standing by Takashi, talking with him, laughing with him, and kissing him. My head and heart would hurt, and I would selfishly think: When is it going to be my turn? Where is my savior? My Shadow King?

Kotoko wears a purple sequined mask of politeness, of society, and pretends to be the delicate Princess that everybody expects her to be. She wears pretty dresses, high heels, and makeup to hide the hollows in her cheeks, the sinking of her belly, and the boniness of her ribs, wrists, and ankles. When nobody is looking, though, Kotoko would take off her shiny tiara and exchange it for a pair of ballerina slippers, her skeletal figure dancing around in her little music box to music that only played for her. Sometimes, Mitsukuni would sadly watch her from outside of the little box. And I bitterly questioned: Is being pretty worth it? Should I starve myself to become a pretty Princess? Is that me?

The Host Club was yet another kind of masquerade party, with the Princes and Princesses all dressed in their finery, playing pretend with their little masked friends. The Host King, Tamaki, wears a white mask of charm, smiles, and glitter, acting the part of the marionette to the Shadow King, Kyoya, who wears a purple mask of shadows and superiority. Neither of their masquerade masks, however, told the truth. Tamaki missed his sick mother, who remained behind in France, and wished above all else to please his family. He was much smarter than expected; Kyoya, too, was much kinder than anybody else thought him to be and only wanted to be recognized for his abilities. He wanted to climb out of the shadows of his father and his older siblings, to be his own person.

Hikaru and Kaoru pretended to have matching masks, switching them with ease, as necessary. Hikaru wears a yellow mask made of silk and childish pranks, and Kaoru wears a matching mask, though his is made of silly jokes and laughter. Topaz sequins line the sides, bringing attention to the confusion and the fear of rejection that burned in their golden eyes. They desperately tried to be alike and to keep others from getting too close to them. Few were permitted, like Sammy and Haruhi, to glimpse the imperfections beneath their masks.

Takashi hid beneath his black and silver checkered mask of strength and silence, speaking meaningful words only to those that had completely earned his trust and love – like his cousin, Mitsukuni, his fiancée, Sammy, and his little brother, Satoshi. In the end, Takashi removed the mask only in the presence of his real family. Mitsukuni smiled beneath a pink mask of cuteness, hiding from his duty, his responsibilities, and instead tried to be the cute little boy that his mother still wished him to be, ignoring the disgust of his father and his little brother. He lost himself in the happier memories of his short childhood. Only Kotoko, and sometimes Takashi, could get him to slow down and sometimes act his age. He was nineteen – not nine and not ninety.

We were young.

Confused.

Scared…

Stepping back, I left the bedroom at the top of the stairs, walked down the staircase and through the bakery – which was packed from the windows to the walls with people – and right by Otou-san. He never noticed that I left. He never will, I thought while walking down the familiar and busy streets of Tokyo, to Ouran High School. Many Princes and Princesses walked by me. I was a peasant in comparison, but like the Royals and the Nobles, I wear a mask and could pretend to be somebody else – anybody else – that I wanted to be.

We all had masks made of colored silk, sequins, ribbons, and other pretty little accessories meant to hide the imperfections beneath the beauty. We were strong, and smart, and made of stone. We were rich in looks, gold, and family and friends. We were all-powerful. Gods and Goddesses.

But I figured out the truth long ago. I could tell that it was all fake, pretend, make-believe…

Everyone wears masks.

Even me…

Kyoya's P.O.V.

Everyone wears masks.

My own was a cold mask made of ice, shadows, and darkness. It was sewn together by all of the sadness, regret, and rejection that burned inside, formed by the tears that I had not refused to cry. I never cried. I had not cried for Okaa-san, who died from cancer. I had not cried for Otou-san, Yuuichi, and Akito, who laughed at the idea that I could amount to anything. I had not cried for Fuyumi, who let Otou-san arrange a marriage to Shido-san, though her heart had, at the time, belonged to another man. Why bother crying for them, for myself? It would do no good…

Stepping forward, I stared into the mirror and slicked down the small curl hiding amidst the other shiny, straight black hairs. I removed the silver rimmed glasses clinging to my ears and wiped at the already pristine glass clean. My outfit, courtesy of Tamaki and the Twins, was a cosplay of sorts. A black shirt, hugged by a white vest, matched the black slacks. My long fingers dipped down into the belt, and I straightened it, disliking that the leather strip was made to be slanted. Gray irises shifted from the belt and back to the mirror. Staring at the young man in the glass reflection, I smiled the plastic little smile I always smiled for everybody.

Everybody, I reminded myself, but Kiki…

Kiki was a very strange girl. She was incredibly loud, in voice, personality, and character. Like Sammy, Kiki seemed to subconsciously stand out from the crowd and become her own person. I was inspired by the bravery of both girls, but after witnessing their struggles, I could not find the same courage needed to follow in their footsteps, which walked the path rarely taken by people our age. My only real option at the moment appeared to be to bide time and continue hiding beneath my mask of shadows, secrecy, and silence.

Kiki also wears a mask. She wears a deep red mask to hide all of her bottled hurt and fear. Ribbons fall from her mask and into her soft black hair, beside her stubbornly clenched cheeks, and down to her chest. They shielded her heart from the world, curling around it to keep it safe and sound. She pretended to be tough, like nothing could possibly hurt her, but the silly girl could not hide herself from me. I was aware of the happenings, past and present, in her life because I refused to miss anything that might matter – to her or me.

Her father, I had learned, suffered from occasional bouts of depression because her mother left her family for another man. She loved her mother, though the woman never once replied to her emails, phone calls, or voicemails. Losing hope, Kiki shut her out and pretended that her cruel mother had died instead of acknowledging the rejection. Still, Kiki wondered: What had made her mother run away? What part of her personality, perhaps her looks, made her mother hate her? Was Kiki too loud, too boyish, too crude? What could Kiki have done differently?!

So Kiki locked her heart away. She could not make friends, trusting no one. She feared losing them, too. But Haruhi, Sammy, and Kotoko had changed that for her. The four girls became inseparable, forming friendships that strengthened with struggles, laughter, and love. Time, apparently, could heal her wounds. Smiling grimly, I wondered: Will time heal mine?

Ignoring that train of thought, I left the large bedroom suite, traveling through the bedroom, the library, and then the sitting room. I nodded imperiously to the maids that bowed in the hallway, passed by countless empty rooms, and down the staircase, which spiraled quite like the strange and foreign emotions whirling around inside of me. What did I feel for Kiki-chan? Why did I feel it? Would it ever go away? Did I want it to go away?

All of these questions continued to plague me as my mind also absently followed the stone path leading to the front circle, in front of Ootori Manor. I climbed into the limousine, ignoring the chauffer that opened the door with a greeting and short bow. He was not bothered by it; I had always treated him – and the rest of the staff – that way. When I had offered to take her back home after the fiasco at the Mall, Kiki had accepted but had been irate at witnessing the cold politeness with which I treated the staff. She refused to talk to me.

Surprisingly, I started to feel guilty because of her reaction to my interactions with others.

Then again, Kiki had always made me act, think, and feel strangely…

"Hey, Shadow King, I want that dance you owe me!"

So I smiled at her and quietly said, "As you wish."

Kiki's P.O.V.

Dancing with Kyoya proved to be both amusing and infuriating, just like Kyoya himself. He was constantly twirling around the ballroom dance floor, smiling at people with that stupidly plastic smile of his. I wanted to smack it off of his face, but I had been taught not to hit other people, especially people wearing glasses. His father, apparently, had not been raised the same way.

"You are a complete disgrace to this family!" Lord Ootori sneered down at his youngest child, the tenseness of his shoulders letting others know that this reaction was a way to let off steam; Kyoya was not really at fault. "You, Kyoya, shame me and yet still wonder why I will not choose you as my sole Heir!"

"Apologies, Otou-san," Kyoya said, his voice toneless and his facial expression hidden beneath the bangs that had fallen down to shield his dark eyes. I immediately handed him his glasses, knowing that it would help him to have that little bit of perceived privacy again – yet another mask for him to wear. He turned to me and quietly said, "Thank you."

Suddenly, Sammy appeared from somewhere behind Kyoya, her face set in stone. She gave me a quick glance and, seeing that I had remained with the Shadow King, turned back around and...stormed towards Lord Ootori and Superintendent Suoh. The American stepped in between the two men, slipped her mask back down, and smiled in that deceptively sweet fashion that meant somebody would be hurting in a second. As if called, Takashi appeared at her side, his tall shadow looming protective atop hers. Both Ootori and Suoh exchanged quick glances.

"Whatever. You can stand there all cool like Draco Malfoy, thank me, and pretend like that shit didn't happen. Your father pisses me off, though," I grumbled to him, hiding the irritated words behind the rim of the glass of sparkling cider that Kyoya had given me. I glared down at it. Where was the alcohol…?

My fingers twisted around the stem of the glass and pinched it tight enough to relieve anger and yet not hard enough to break it. My mother, who had proved to be quite the aspiring alcoholic before leaving for Canada, had taught me my useful skill. Kyoya brushed his thumb against mine to keep the hand from clenching in frustration. I wanted – and needed – to punch something, like the punching bag back in my room. Or Mister Ootori. I'm not picky!

"'Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask. He will tell the truth,' then," The Shadow King quoted, lips pressed to sip at his own cider. He smiled bitterly into the bubbly liquid and dryly noted, "Oscar Wilde had quite the way with words."

Snorting, I ignored all of his little social niceties to rip said mask off of his father and find the ugly beast beneath it. I observed the short Asian, who had stopped to talk to the Superintendent of Ouran, and deduced, "So Daddy Dearest is more inclined to omit the truth than just lie to his friends? How fucking nice…"

"My father does not have friends, and neither do I," Kyoya replied sternly, coldly – and without the faintest trace of honesty. I could always see straight through the aloof teenager, though, unlike his stupid family and the spoiled brats at Ouran High School.

We – the Host Club, Sammy, Kotoko, and I – were good friends with the real Kyoya. We cared about the real Kyoya. We would always like him, too. And I would love him. Always…

"If you really believe that bullshit, then you're a complete idiot," I stated with another unladylike snort. A Fangirl passing by gave me an incredulous stare, and I crossed both eyes. She let out a gasp. "You have friends, and they love you," I firmly told Kyoya, turning to stare at him with knowing eyes. "We all love you."

As expected, however, Kyoya heard the words of love but did not respond to them. "'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within,'" He murmured instead, taking my pointed chin in his hand and leaning down to brush his lips against mine.

We stayed quiet, simply standing there in the shadows of the ballroom and staring at each other, breathing the same air. I pulled back and licked painted red lips because Kyoya did not move any closer, and I hoarsely asked, "Who said that one?"

"James Arthur Baldwin," Kyoya replied, lifting his eyebrow high enough that it should have popped through the ceilings of the ballroom. Amusement colored his voice. "Do you really know nothing of importance?"

Bristling at the insult, I punched him the shoulder, savoring the pain that colored his expression for a moment, and retorted, "'We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.'" I smirked. "André Berthiaume said that one."

The Shadow King seemed quite impressed with the quote and the fact that I had replied with something relatively witty, rather than my usual references. "You hate reading," Kyoya needlessly pointed out to me.

"I do," I smugly said, haughtily lifting my chin and left eyebrow at him, "but that one was on Criminal Minds."

My boyfriend rolled his dark irises to the ceiling, clearly exasperated with me, and sighed, "Your obsession with television is frightening, Kiki-chan."

"Your obsession with wealth is frightening, Kyoya-kun," I quickly retorted, before turning away as my eyes warmed with the frustration boiling inside my veins. "Money isn't everything. There are more important things in life…"

Kyoya's P.O.V.

"You are correct."

My girlfriend cracked her head around fast enough to give herself whiplash. Black hair, pulled back into a small twist with bobby pins, twisted around her ears and the back of her neck. She stared straight at me, eyes open wide to show off the beauty of the violet irises, hidden only by her thin black eyelashes and light red eyeliner. For a moment, the mask disappeared, and I smiled down at the young woman.

While Kiki might not believe it, I thought her to be the most beautiful, interesting, captivating, and troublesome girl in the world…

"What?" The Canadian asked incredulously, before blinking rapidly and then smirking widely at me. She puffed out her small chest like a man. "Well, yeah, I'm always right!" Violet irises then narrowed beneath her shuttering eyelids. "What'm I right about again…?"

"There are more important things in the world," I whispered to her, kissed the side of neck with my open mouth and the faintest nip of teeth, and finished, "like you."

Inhaling sharply, Kiki fluttered her eyelashes and then hurriedly closed them, attempting to keep the tears back. I stayed quiet, knowing that the girl would dislike it if I pointed them out. She would regain herself in a moment. Sure enough, Kiki pulled herself back together, her hand reaching for pockets that her dress did not have and instead settling against her left hip. My girlfriend cocked her other hip out, mask tied in place, and teasingly smiled at me.

"Tut, tut, Kyoya-kun! You seem to have misplaced that infamous mask of yours," Kiki finally said, the seriousness of the words at odd with her defensive body language and playful facial expression.

"'The closing years of life are like a masquerade party, where the masks are dropped,'" I quoted again, finding it easier to recite words already spoken by others in the face of their own struggles. It served to be my source of strength. My courage…

"Arthur Schopenhauer," Kiki replied quicker than lightning, looking pleased at my resulting expression of surprise. She then explained, "German philosopher, right? Sammy-chan likes some of his stuff."

Amused, I smiled crookedly down at Kiki. I stared straight into her purple irises and untied the invisible mask and let it fall into oblivious. Then, I leaned down to kiss her. She kissed back with fierce passion, just like I had expected; Kiki did not do gentle. My girlfriend had always been strong and passionate, the fire that had extinguished the ice in my veins.

My heart had warmed…because of her.

Kiki's P.O.V.

It had been a year since I met Haruhi, Sammy, Kotoko, and the Host Club.

We had all changed in that time. Haruhi was much happier, with friends and her boyfriend, Tamaki. Slowly, Sammy had picked the pieces of her old life up, and with help from Takashi, glued them together to make a new one. She had the love of her adoptive parents and her little brothers, but also the friendship of the Hosts and her upcoming marriage to Takashi to give her another family. Together, Mitsukuni and Kotoko had helped to fight their respective demons – fear of growing up and bulimia – and healed each other through understanding, patience, and love. Hikaru and Kaoru learned to let the others in because family didn't judge. They loved. Our masks all slowly deteriorated in front of each other – in front of family and friends.

As for Kyoya – the Shadow King had learned to pull aside his mask and his cloak of shadows to let in the light of friendship and love. My love. Our love.

Leaning down on one of his knees and caring little that the dirt stained the expensive white pants, Kyoya lifted the red velvet box in the air, inhaled briefly, and then quietly said, "All night I have quoted other men. Now, though, I want to speak my own words. Kiki-chan, I love you. Marry me?"

"Yes," I shouted, dropping down to both knees and diving into his open arms. I kissed him very soundly, ignoring the surprised laughter of the gathering crowd, and let his lips separate from mine with a pop.

"Always the fiery Hime," Kyoya teased lightly, his love glowing in his gray eyes.

"Your Hime," I promised with another kiss to his lips.

"Good."

***Author's Note***

If You're Reading This Story, Please Know These One-Shots Are In the Same Universe As My OHSHC Story, Picking Up the Pieces.

They Are Extensions of CH 64 - Festivals, Friends, and Fireworks.

Hope you all enjoyed this little side story to Picking Up the Pieces!

None of the lyrics or quotes are mine.

Please Read and Review!

:)