This is a one-shot. Kyouya and Haruhi.
I do not own this anime.
Watching.
Always watching.
Watching from the back.
Though they may not see it because of the light that reflects through his glasses, he would watch her every move. Curiosity would always wash over him the more he watched. The more he compared. The more he thought.
Thought about how she wasn't like any other girl who would fall at the feet of the host club once they were in sight. Thought about how acting all independent would have any merits.
Perhaps acting was not involved at all.
The more he watched, the more he gained interest. Interest in her.
He would start from the bottom. How she walked with such grace at times. How her arms swayed. How her hair would get messed up by the sudden wind. He saves the face for last. Small peach lips. Big pools of brown for eyes.
So mesmerizing.
At times, he would imagine those peach lips brush along his own. How it would feel to have his forehead against hers.
She laughs. His heart soars. The most beautiful sound that has ever reached his ears and heart. Her voice.
The object of his affection.
He doesn't see the possibility. The possibility of their hands entwining. Possibility of their faces being only inches away. Or their bodies, side by side. It all seems so impossible when he tries to imagine these kinds of things with her.
Dealing with the outside forces-- his family, well, father mostly. Yet, another reason for his fantasies to never become reality. Why? They're fantasies. But if he was willing enough, if his interest would overpower his fear of rejection, then maybe those fantasies would become reality.
Rivalry.
The Host Club King and the Shadow King fight for the same queen. The same treasure. This wasn't some fairy tale. He had to make a move soon. This is reality after all.
"Kyouya-sempai, tea?"
The Shadow King's object of affection, Haruhi Fujioka.