Don't own characters, that's B. Hatori.
He admired her, for sure, though he most certainly would not admit it to anyone, ever. Only when he was absolutely certain that all the rest else were occupied (and he was quite excellent at making sure of it) would he look up from his work to simply watch her. Nobody would notice the brief absence of the tap-tapping of keys, and nobody would notice his briefer break.
He found it quite amazing how she could catch nearly every detail she came across, and the way she was able to look straight into a person's very soul, if one would believe in such things. How could she tear those walls down to strike at all the sensitive sore spots, all without ever knowing or intending to do so? Always the correct word (with the occasional, exploitable slip-up) to send one recoiling, to please them, to make them blush and turn away-- all of that, done naturally, no act, no metaphorical masks required.
In fact, he was fairly certain that she knew he was watching her, despite his efforts to cover it up in some way or another; the inquisitive look she sometimes gave him said enough. But then again, who knew other than herself? She could always assume he was warning her of something, or perhaps merely taking notes on the customer she was with at the time. But either way, he would have to be careful not to be caught too often-- if that was still an option-- as she could easily become suspicious. Quite amusing, really, to know that he was the only member she was actively wary of; that came naturally, though, considering he was the debt keeper. He took some form of sadistic pleasure in seeing her visibly flinch when he so much as looked at her strangely.
But…he couldn't help but watch her. She was always new, interesting, always bringing some form of entertainment or insight. He rationalized that by watching her, he could study the methods she used to deal with the other club members and designators; that would bring merit, as the two of them enjoyed calling it. She was popular with the customers as well as the Host Club members themselves; he could, perhaps, find out what exactly was appealing and utilize it. Of course, that was merely his own justification. His excuse.
If he were to be honest with himself on the topic, he wouldn't be able to explain what drew his eyes over to her day after day after day. Times he actually stopped to question his interest were rare, as the topic was sensitive and-- dare he say it-- frightening. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to believe his interest was anything more than part of his job-- his métier. He didn't want to wonder about what would happen should they be caught alone, or what would happen if he were to simply lean down to catch her lips (those tender lips that would always speak so truthfully). He didn't want to admit anything to anyone.
But she knew. She knew. Damn it, she knew.
-----
"Kyouya-senpai."
"…Yes, Haruhi?"
"Why is it that you have been watching me?"
"Hn, what do you think?"
"…I have plenty of ideas, but to choose one would be making assumptions, right?"
"Then go on and make your assumptions, Haruhi.
…Go on and make your assumptions."
Eww. It flowed in my head, came out as a jarbled abrupt mess in writing. Oh well, I needed this for stress relief.