Crush
Written by: taxiphobia
Disclaimer: If I owned Ouran High School Host Club, would I be doing this? No. It's all Hatori Bisco's.
Notes: Be familiar with the anime and it's ending, not so much the manga, save apparent relationships; This is a oneshot and nothing more; Finally, Crush was written a few months ago in June (as in, a long time ago when I sucked), so do bear with my lack of sentence structure, good grammar, etc. I hope serious editing makes up for it. :D
Talk of the numerous affairs during the Ouran High School festival—forcefully and with dismissing hand gestures, when spoke audibly, in Music Room 3. In fact, all Host Club members, surprisingly including the romatically-allusioned Suou Tamaki, abhorred the exposé of their private lives and its matters spreading throughout the prestigious academy like wildfire, even if it was for profit.
They simply would not allow it.
Reluctantly, supporters of the Haruhi x (insert other Host's or Hosts' name(s) here) abandoned their dreams of slash, ambitious schemes, and forlorn theories, thus returning the Host Club's air—quite literally, as fanatics use up too much oxygen when they rant amongst themselves—after the Host's suffocations—from fangirlishly-crazed to romantic, as it, some believed, the 'King' in particular, always was.
When there was a significant lack of this precious air, the Shadow King's glare would banish that poor, otaku soul to oblivion; or so it was rumored.
Other than Kyouya's occasional actions that echoed pure hell for the one on the receiving end, which all were pretty much used to, the Host Club continued their normal, daily affairs:
In compromising positions solely for entertainment, the twins teased each other and Haruhi, provoking Tamaki, who fervently ranted on and on about the 'pulchritude and agony' of a Narcissistic man such as himself to an uninterested Haruhi and a group of tearful, yellow-clad girls. Kyouya warned—in whisper—Haruhi for her increasing debt. Mori just…sat there, and Hunny ate his cake.
--Going about their usual business, as though nothing ever happened.
Except for the sole, female 'flower' of the club.
Poetically speaking, a war of some unknown topic—to her, or was this simply ignorance?—raged on in her mind, and maybe in that seldom-involved cardiac organ. Well, the sentence may not be so poetic now, but had potential to be, as well as romantic, though Haruhi never considered herself a woman of words, compared to Tamaki (her significant other?)
That was it, or rather, it was he.
He who undoubtedly haunted and tortured her body, mind and soul, day and night, until she was practically unconscious of her incessant thoughts and contemplations about the pretty boy, and caused external (bodily) misfortune for all had slipped his foolish way into the depths of her, yes her, heart.
Suou Tamaki.
How he had done so, however, was a mystery Haruhi prefer not to investigate. It would simply at to the…very distracting and rather OOC (that is, Out of Character for the lesser informed) image her mind created of the Host Club King.
She imagined him a gallant knight, more or less, who tactfully hid sadness with a curtain of laughter, smiles, happiness, and the like, so as to prevent the worry of his foster, and maybe only close by and caring, 'family.'
He (Tamaki) was elegant as well, graced with murderous good looks and charm, and, though Haruhi rarely admit so at present, funny in all his antics.
"Haruhi-kun!" asked one of her regulars worriedly, awakening the host(1) from her thoughts. "Haruhi-kun, you haven't uttered a word since I sat here. I hope there isn't anything wrong?"
"I'm fine. I think I might just have a," lowering her voice after a short glance, "slight fever." Her attempt proved futile.
For, in his surrounded table, Tamaki's ears perked.
"HARUHI!" Tamaki blissfully exclaimed, leaping from table to table until finally taking custody of the (his) 'daughter.' Pressing his cheek against hers, no maliciousness whatsoever intended, he continued, "Daddy will not allow it! If you burn in the head, then I am to take you to the nurse!" With that, she was scooped up and taken away.
"S-senpai, put me down!"
"My, you really are burning! You're as red as a tomato! As red as a clown's nose! As read as the fiery passion that fuels a father's love!" He continued, ranting all the way to the nurse's office.
"…red as a rose!" He panted, "Red as a…as a…" The blue-eyed blond paused. "As a…"
"Ano(2), Tamaki-senpai, we're here."
Realizing he had unconsciously smothered (hugged closely) Haruhi against his bosom while ranting, Tamaki's arms immediately fell. Haruhi's petite body followed.
Hints of pink, red for Tamaki, lined the couple's cheeks as they—zealously?—stared at one another.
"My, is this how a gentleman treats his lady?"
The voice, similar to a malevolent sneer, distant and familiar, penetrated Tamaki's thoughts just as he had taken to apologizing and assisting Haruhi off her feet.
A loud 'thud' emanated from her spot. Despite the fall, Haruhi merely sat, engrossed, with the woman standing before them.
Cold, turquoise eyes shifted its glare from one subject to another.
Tamaki stood in acknowledgement.
"É…clair…"
TBC? (To Be Continued?) Never!
(1) -Several times throughout the fic, Haruhi is referred to as a 'host' and not a 'hostess,' because, despite her gender, she plays a male when a host.
(2) -Ano – Japanese for 'um' or 'er'
Inspiration strikes at the oddest of times. This one came to me in the shower. As I said in 'Notes' above—I suggest reading it now—this story is a oneshotand will never be continued. It is just a result of a 'What if…?' experiment of mine. Well, we'll see the outcome in reviews.
And now,would you, if you'd be so kind, review despite the abrupt discontinuation note? Please? You like responses don't you? –Hint, hint-