Author's Note; I've had this idea for a long while and today during study hall, I finally got around to actually writing it out. I came up with this! It's super short, so short that it kind of makes me sad, but aren't most introductions? The next update will be much longer, I assure you! Please, in the meantime, let me know what you think. And don't hate me for character death!
I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. This is an obvious fact I will not be posting at the beginning of all my chapters. Again, Ouran High School Host Club, I do not own it.
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The atmosphere was suffocating, the air thick to the mind and heavy to the heart. The audience, emotionless masks plastered, listened with raw ears as words laced with anguish scraped against them; the pain was unbearable. It hurt in the chest, tight.
"I love her so much that it's unfathomable, and this ache I'm feeling is excruciating, standing before her and saying goodbye this way…" A pensive moment ensued, the cracking in his voice noticed by all in the room. "I'm going to miss her." Unable to continue, he made his way down and shuffled awkwardly to his seat, tears visibly streaking his face.
No clapping took place. None would.
Six men looked down in their laps, folded papers at their fingertips' touch, intense frowns and fatigued eyes traced with sorrow held downcast and staring into voids of personal anguish. The faint sound of a fist clenching and unclenching around its note made the group grow anxious, saddened. Pieces of one's edges were torn and let loose to settle on the ground as small fingers worked at it in a worried stupor. Not a breath was heard from the others.
A cough, out of place, came from the nervous priest who rose from his seat loudly, piercing necessary silence. "Yes, thank you, Ryouji -san." Even though he didn't understand the huge loss everyone suffered due to the unforeseen death of the seemingly unshakable Haruhi, he still hung his head in sympathy for them all; these happenings were too tragic for his liking. "Now, it is my understanding that several men here wish to say parting words." His attention turned to the row of sullen, emptied faces; part of him didn't want to disturb them and let them silently mourn. But he forced a timid prompt, "Which of you would like to step up first?"
Hesitance hung around the six; a rapidly tapping foot, heavy inhales and exhales, and the vigorous massaging of temples joined the chorus of shredding and wrinkling paper. A few times a twitch came from the usually vibrant Tamaki, but he'd falter and place his face in his hands, shaking his head within quivering palms. No one else made much effort to go up, to be the first out of them to bid farewell.
Allowing a few minutes to pass, the time spent in a complete lull, the priest quietly drowned in the grief seeping from the men, unable to shake off the feeling.
Reluctant yet swift, Takashi rose from his seat, smoothed out the creases developed from sitting utterly still, and approached the front of the room, sparing not a glance towards the others but took the time to look fleetingly behind him at the coffin where Haruhi laid at rest. Deep emotion held his gaze before he blinked, clearing away the fog, and he faced front, gently unfolding the paper in his hold.
"I am not usually one to talk," he began, his voice surprisingly clear as it rang out lucidly. "But for this once, please listen, because I have a lot to say."
