discoveries / on / the / road / home
by inapickle and greenblanket
#20: the road home
Obviously we do not own anything outside the plot...
Written on 17th March. Beta-ed at least four times (ad nauseum), so if there are any mistakes, please overlook them (: .
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I used to be my own protection; but not now.
-Linkin Park
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The road home is a long and lonely one.
It is dark and tinted; it smells too clean and hygienic, and it sounds too silent.
All I can hear is the gentle whirring of the engines purring as the limousine races down yet another street.
As I look out, I see the world flashing past quickly, and those bougainvilleas by the road originally fuchsia and glistening with life, seem so dead and unappreciated through the tinted windows.
Everything rushes at me too fast, and when I blink, I feel as though I've missed something, something…
Once again, I cannot help but express amazement, as I spot life strolling down the streets like they have all the time in the world. Actually, they do.
They are laughing: eyes sparkling with excitement, cheeks flushed and shared looks of contentment, as they see the first signs of spring.
To me, it is all a blur of black and grey from the tinted windows.
Unimportant; excessive; commoner.
I frown. Commoners. They don't have a million things on their mind, they adore the simplest things, and they invent the most time-consuming activities...
How can one live so untroubled, so unbidden and unrestricted? How can one waste precious time doing such unnecessary activities?
I glance down at my Blackberry: Ootori-sama, you have 312 emails unread, 34 missed calls, 27 proposals to go through, and 9 appointments in the afternoon.
My eyes feel tired, and in one swift movement, I remove my glasses and gently rub my eyes. They feel sore, witness to the many hours spent staring at the neon screen of my laptop.
On some days, this is all I know of, losing all sense of time as I work tirelessly on it, concluding million dollar deals, bankrupting my rivals, and the occasional hacking to find out intelligence that I would otherwise not know.
It has become the most familiar face to me, as the years pass, but recently someone's face is fast replacing that position in my heart, stealing the limelight of my thoughts like a thief, a pretty oblivious one at that.
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The road home is awkward and strange and unfamiliar, as though I am intruding into a whole new world. I don't belong, and I don't want to.
I know that I don't fit in (I stick out like a sore thumb with the Burberry glasses, polished Gucci shoes, and the sleek silver Tag Huer watch peeking out of my Ouran uniform.)
I am standing, holding onto a handrail (has it been sanitized?)
People stare at me unabashed (have they no shame?).
School girls giggle (Am I some kind of eye-candy that could fulfill their 'The Right One' status).
Men looked at me as though I am what they once dreamt to be: Polished, professional, handsome, cool, collected, powerful, smart, and rich.
Elderly looked with approbation, though some seemed to detest me for being snobbish.
I elicit more looks and silence them easily with a gleam of my glasses.
The ride is jerky, and uncomfortable. But the air is warm with the exhalations of the people, and the atmosphere is alive with the chattering of the crowd. I can hear today's gossip; what are the latest fashion, the hottest nightspots, the coolest bands and models, and ways to become a billionaire.
I smirk, as I realize that most of the brands they are quoting and rattling off belong to me, either directly or indirectly.
Suddenly, I feel awkward. I do not belong here, in this subway full of commoners and their petty concerns, and mundane lives. I will never fit in here, and I wonder dismally how would I ever fit into her life and heart? Full of those commoner thoughts.
Unsettled, I look down at her, all I see are her limpid chestnut eyes giving me a silent reassurance. I am content.
My glasses gleam when I see the telltale twitch of her lips as she hears the schoolgirls tittering excitedly about how they intend to ask for my mobile number.
She might be the most oblivious person in the world, but even she can feel jealousy when it stares at her in the eye, and consequently proceeds to knock her over the head. I am glad. I know she cares for me. With the way she is, I get precious little reassurance that she even knows I'm alive, much less fall in love with me.
Then the train jerks violently as it turns to the left, and she, who has been inattentive, falls against my chest due to the inertia.
I grab her waist to steady her, and immediately the fangirls cease their conversation and faint promptly, reminding me distinctly of the Host Club's customers.
She looks at me apologetically, while I return her another of my (prized) smirks. I have become quite proficient in giving them after a lifetime of practicing them.
And as the sun retreats beneath the horizon, sending streaks of orange and pink and purple into the fading serene sky, the train continues to languidly roll past, and the overwhelming myriad of pastel colours puts me at ease.
I realize with a sudden jolt.
It seems the ride wasn't so bad…after all.
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The road home is peaceful and enjoyable
(because she is beside me).
She seems fascinated with the LCD screen on the facing wall and the refrigerator by the side.
("How can these operate in here, do you have some sort of electricity generator in your car?"
"Ahh, no, but I do have solar-powered panels on the roof, you see."
I explain patiently to her, amused as she goggles at me with wide, unbelieving eyes.)
She treats the leather seats like some sort of precious jewel, sitting on it tentatively, as though afraid to crease it.
("I am not going to give you the opportunity to increase my debt because of some measly leather crease that requires grooming and conditioning and whatnot..."
"Ahh, then you might want to get off the car, petrol is expensive nowadays, Haruhi."
My eyeglasses gleam as she sputters in outrage.)
She tinkles around with the screen separating the driver from the passenger, smiling and saying "Sumimasen" every time the driver catches her at it. ("Are you really sure it's sound-proof, Kyouya-senpai?")
I watch her, as she rolls the grey-tinted windows down, and breathes in the crisp autumn air with great delight, taking pleasure in the falling swirls of red, orange and yellow leaves.
She notices my staring and greets me with a sweet smile, one that transforms her usual stolid expression into one that could light up the entire limousine with the sheer beauty of it.
"Why do you keep them closed all the time, Kyouya-senpai? The air is so stiff and synthetic in here."
"For privacy, Haruhi," I answered simply, "It is essential that nosy reporters get nothing out of me. Unlike you, any 'trash' on the Ootoris is great fodder for the media."
She scowls, affronted by the insult.
As I reach for the Blackberry, she stops my hand and tells me quite firmly, her brown eyes flashing with stern warning, and her expression austere.
"A gentleman does not busy himself with other irrelevant devices when he is in a meeting."
An amused grin plays across my lips, and I reply lazily, catching her at her own game. "The pot calling the kettle black."
She blushes but when she realizes the underlying meaning, she retorts "I'm not a gentleman, Kyouya-senpai," and whacks my hand playfully.
For the second time today, she smiles.
Albeit a little shyly, because she realizes that she has been quite impolite, but continues to tell me that the limousine is sufficiently equipped to be a home.
I smirk again.
And I watch with a half smile playing across my lips as she mutters something along the lines of 'rich bastards' and 'nothing better to do with their money…' under her breath.
And as my driver drops her off outside her apartment (which drew a group of idle and curious commoners), she smiles and tells me, "Kyouya-senpai, don't you forget the promise. This time, I have sat your mode of transport, next time; you have to follow mine - whatever it is."
Suddenly, the reading glasses that she has put on gleams - eerily similar to mine - and I inwardly wonder how bad an influence I am on her.
My skin tingles.
She smirks, knowing she has gained the upper hand now.
And once, maybe just this once, I enjoyed going home in my limousine.
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The road home is too windy, too risky and tooo...
"HARUHI! Slow down, damnit!"
I am seriously regretting making a deal with her to 'exchange transportations'.
Her only reply is her hearty laughter and she blatantly ignores my beautifully phrased request and continues speeding down the hill.
"Ahh, Ootori-sama, I have never seen you so expressive! Such crude words to escape from your mouth?" her eyes twinkle, mischief dancing across her bright brown eyes, her hair blown back by the wind, and her cheeks rosy from the exertion.
She looks absolutely stunning. And just for that one moment in time, I am held transfixed by her innocent beauty, forgetting that she has insulted me, and forgetting that I am sitting in the backseat of her bicycle, and an extremely unsteady and fast one at that.
"Don't look downwards; the scenery is beautiful, pansy-sama!"
I did not just grunt. Ootoris do not grunt. I did not just appear weak and cowardly. Ootoris do not show any signs of weakness in the face of adversity-
But as the bicycle jerks and jolts again, my hands clenches her sleeves even tighter, and I close my eyes, thinking furiously that we are going to fall and get injured and it will be all her fault and that I will definitely make her pay for my hospital bills, and charge her double if my glasses broke, especially since they are tailor made to the milli-degree, and…
Damn it again.
How is it possible that she, a commoner, a peasant, a young girl, can make the unshakable, infallible, perfectly-collected Ootori Kyouya that is me, lose my composure with just biking?
How absurd; Ootori's never lose their composure.
"Kyouya." Her tone is firm.
"Honestly just look up; you're not going to die, and it would be a waste, after I biked all the way here just to let you appreciate the scenery," she says, trying to inject more conviction into her voice.
Scowling, I decide to risk it, soothing myself with thoughts of the amount I can make her pay if anything happens to me. Maybe I can claim emotional trauma… I will have to call my lawyer as soon as this ordeal is over, and my therapist, and my masseuse and of course the hairstylist…
Conscious that my reputation as a cool, composed bishounen was being ruined by the minute, I allow my gaze to travel up and my breath caught, for that moment.
The scenery is amazing.
The trees seem to extend their branches as a sign of welcome to us, and the sakura trees are in bloom, sending occasional showers of pale sweet pink floating down. Not far away, there is a stunning log-cabin that looks so homely and complements the scenery. As we continue on the sun-kissed, trodden path, I think inwardly, that maybe commoner inventions aren't such an utter waste of time after all.
"AHHH...KAMI-SAMA!" my thoughts are broken by the shrill cry of Haruhi and immediately I know something is dreadfully wrong. I brace for impact, and snuggle my head into her neck, praying, praying, that it will not be fatal, as she swerves violently.
Before I know it, we are thrown off as the bike collides with the thick trunk of a tree, and we tumble into the nearby grass. I hug her close to me, as I take the initial impact for her, cradling her in my arms. My glasses are nowhere to be found. I roll my eyes, and do the only thing I can.
"HARUHI!" What was that girl thinking?
"T-There was a squirrel, Kyouya-senpai."
"Your debt is to be increased by 700 000 yen."
She gulps.
Despite all that, I find a small smile playing at my lips.
I seem to be doing that more often. Smiling that is.
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The road home is sometimes pretty unexpected.
It is cold; the snowflakes are spiraling downwards as we trot on the soft slush.
She is unusually silent, staring at the snowflakes with a certain sort of amazement and child-like wonder.
"Do you know that each snowflake is unique and different?"
"…"
"Ne, Kyouya-senpai, don't you think we are all snowflakes?" My eyebrow quirks, demanding for an elaboration.
"We appear so harsh on the outside, but," She holds out her hands and catches a snowflake, which promptly melts in her hand, "we are actually all soft on the inside."
"..."
She never ceases to amaze me with her philosophical musings.
For a moment, she fidgets, as though inwardly struggling with some sort of decision.
"Kyouya-senpai, no, I mean, Ootori Kyouya..." She paused, hesitating.
I watch her. Her cheeks are unusually flushed, and her eyes are darting everywhere but at me. She seems ill at ease. I know something is wrong. And then she suddenly clasps her hands together, and stares straight into my eyes, hers blazing with determination.
"Will you marry me?"
I am shocked, to say the least. Hmm...Is that some kind of hypothetical question in which girlfriends always ask to see if their other halves have devoted any commitment to them?
"Honestly, I thought I should approach first, you know, just to see how you would feel, and to commemorate my cross-dressing days..." She grins up at me nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. An unconscious reaction whenever she is tense, I note.
An idea presents itself to me, and I revel in the intelligence of it. I frown, my glasses gleam, and I remove her hands from mine, gently.
My tone light, I place a pleasant smile on my face and reply softly, "I don't think so, Haruhi."
I see her tense, and bite her bottom lip uncertainly. Her disappointment rolls off in waves, palatably cutting and bitter in the wintry air. She rubs her forearms, and almost turns to leave.
This is my moment.
I reach out a gloved hand to her, holding her shoulder lightly and gently turn her around to face me. Gripping her chin, I tilt it up to meet mine. I see the unshed tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, and her dejected face almost makes me feel bad for lying to her.
Smiling tenderly down at her, I go down on one knee in the soft snow, and I retrieve a tiny jewelry box from my winter jacket. Opening it up to face her, I say simply.
'Haruhi Fujioka, will you marry me?'
I see the shock flash across her face, then rapidly replaced by amazement, and finally a tenderness so beautiful that makes my heart ache.
'What do you think, Kyouya Ootori, you bastard?"
I guess that is answer enough as she pulls me up and launches into my arms.
And that is that, because I will never, ever, ever, let Tamaki or the twins or Mori or Honey know that Haruhi proposed to me first.
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The road home is warm, lively, and comfortable, with Ootori Haruhi's arms around my hand, as we walk down the same path that we had biked years ago.
"Ootori-sama, what do you think would happen if I had secretly recorded you screaming and hollering like a girl when we were biking down?"
I freeze.
Laughing furiously as she takes note of my expression, and says, "I think I'm the only one to get such reactions out of you, Kyouya."
The tension that gripped my heart relaxed and I smile.
The nerve of her…
She is learning quickly, my cunningness and astuteness that is, and I doubt it is a good thing.
Smirking as I take her on her game, I tell her, "In that case...I will simply have to decrease your monthly allowance for trickery, dear!"
She pouts in reply.
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-owari
inapickle: Finally, another one-shot out! Thanks greenblanket for betaing and like totally emotionally scarring yourself with my atrocious grammar :D. And to everyone else, watch the spin-off of Death note, L: Change the World. It is totally awesome and L is really cute in the movie. ((: See you next month!
Green Blankie: Yaaaay I changed the ending so it's happier now don't you just love the part where he rejects her? Yes? Yes? Yes? -Beams proudly-
ps. All in favour of me removing the second entry - fence, say aye!
Green Blankie: AYE!!