Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran High School Host Club. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for it, now, would I?
Note: I came up with this idea not half an hour ago, typed it out and...here it is. I plan to cover all the members of the Host Club at least once, but then again... I'm not sure whether I'll even end up finishing this. I'll just have to wait and see what kind of reaction it gets. By the way, it's meant to be more comedy than drama - which I generally have trouble keeping on track, so this is my story to practice for that. If you feel it gets a bit too 'dark' for Host Club in later chapters, don't hesitate to ask me where the funny's gone.
Let Me Out!
One: Tamaki (I)
Tamaki Suou floated groggily into consciousness, pawing at his pillow until it was dislodged from his face. It was that time of morning, he could see, that didn't even deserve to be called morning; the sky outside was a foggy grey colour, and whatever specks of light happened to make it into Tamaki's room apparently had previous engagements, as they all left as soon as they'd come. Tamaki was about to complain loudly to whoever was listening that this was not a dignified hour for anyone to be awake, when he realised with a gasp that he was not in his bedroom. The pillow he'd wrestled was too hard, the blankets covering him too worn. Panicked, he tossed the bedclothes aside and made to leap dramatically off the bed like he would his own luxurious four-poster.
Too late, he realised that this bed was just a futon on cold cement. His leap turned into a kind of complicated transition into the upright position, which was neither graceful nor dignified. Tamaki stood for a moment, feeling sheepish and glancing around to make sure nobody had seen... And that's when it hit him. Nobody had seen. There was nobody there. He was in a big, dark, dirty cement room all by himself, without a clue as to how he'd come to be there.
'Haruhi?' he called out hopefully.
--
He had sat patiently on the lumpy futon for at least an hour, listening for sounds and yelling occasionally when he felt the silence begin to creep too close to him. Tamaki had tried to think back, to remember what could possibly have happened for him to end up here, but to no avail; the last thing he recalled was sitting on his special 'throne' in the Host Club's abandoned-music-room-turned-headquarters, slurping his peasant-ramen loudly to try to annoy...
...Haruhi. Tamaki sprung to his feet, this time looking less like a baby giraffe while doing so, and began to swiftly pace the length of the room. There was a thick, steel door directly across from his bed, with a hatch in it at about eye-level, presumably for someone on the other side of the door to look through. Tamaki tried it anyway, and when he found he had no idea how to operate the thing, he gave a frustrated cry and kicked the wall roughly. Then he gave a different kind of cry, clutching at his injured foot and hopping up and down like a restless flamingo.
'I know there's someone out there!' he yelled, at the room in particular. 'Where's Haruhi? And the others? What did you do to me?'
No answer. Tamaki flopped back onto the futon and examined his foot more closely, grumbling under his breath in a general sort of way. After several minutes of this, there was a loud, metallic grating sound as the hatch in the door slid back. Tamaki got up cautiously and tried to peer through the gap. All he could see was a deep black shadow.
'Who are you?' he demanded. 'Where is she?'
The person at the door was silent for a moment, as if contemplating slamming the hatch shut again. There was some heavy breathing; it sounded distorted, like the person was wearing a heavy gas mask. Then it replied.
'The girl is safe,' it growled quietly, menacingly; it was impossible to discern whether its voice was male or female. 'She must be kept in good condition until the contest ends - since she is the prize.'
'Wh--' At this point Tamaki couldn't decide which of his questions was the most urgent, so he decided to try a few of them at once. 'What contest? Where is she? What are you talking about?'
'Don't worry, my child,' the person replied. 'You'll see her soon enough. That is,' and here it gave a sinister chuckle, 'if you are victorious.' The hatch slid shut just as Tamaki lost his temper and lunged at the door. What he was supposed to have hit with his clenched fist was the face of the mysterious growling man; what he had hit instead was three inches of solid metal. He yelped and fell backward, just missing the edge of the futon and hitting his rear end on the cold floor. Sucking at his throbbing fingers and rubbing his aching caboose, Tamaki sniffled and wondered miserably where everyone - anyone - else was.
To be continued...
