"Oh no," I groan upon entering the club room. I knew that they were cosplaying today, but I didn't know what the costumes were. Today, they're all dressed in what looks like Arabian outfits. I think I saw an American children's movie like it once, about a young man who grew up on the street and ended up marrying the princess. I think it was called Aladdin.
"What is this about?" I ask, announcing my presence.
"We're cosplaying," Tamaki explains.
"That's not it. You all look like male strippers." My voice screams displeasure, trying to hide the fact that my heart is pounding and my face feels like it's on fire. Blood leaks from my nose. I hold a hand up to cover my nose and mouth, and hold my hand out for my costume.
"Showing a little skin is popular with the ladies," Kyoya defends.
"J-Just hand i-it over," I direct my sentence into the floor. A bundle of cloth is pressed into my hand, and I scurry into the changing room. Once inside, I wipe my upper lip and try to get my blush to go down. Upon succeeding, I unfold my outfit and groan. I reluctantly put it on and check my reflection in the mirror.
The pants are billowy and reach down to just above my ankles, where they are cinched off. The shirt hangs off my shoulders and presses tightly just under my belly button, showing off a sliver of my hips. The tile floor is cool against my bare feet. I spin in a circle and smile at myself. I arrange my hair on my shoulders, fold my school uniform, and nervously push back the curtain of the changing room. I stomp into the main room and say,
"How did you know this would fit, Kyoya senpai?"
"Lucky guess." He says. For the first time, I notice the extreme decorations the hosts put up around the music room. Swathes of multicolored fabrics lines the walls and wrap around the columns. Potted plants lay in random places throughout the room. The whole place looks like a psychodelic greenhouse.
"Is this not a little over the top?" I ask, making a sweeping gesture that encompasses the whole room.
"No," Tamaki says, feinting offense. He was engaging in a conversation with Haruhi, who is not dressed up. "This is perfect."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"Besides the fact that you're dressing me up like a prostitute? Nothing."
"You don't look like a prostitute. Not that there's anything wrong with prostitutes. You look pretty."
Did he really just say that? I blush harder than ever. The room is dead quiet in an awkward silence. I guess everyone is a little surprised by Tamaki's outburst. Someone clears their throat.
"You do look pretty, Aki-chan!" Honey announces, breaking the tension and trying to cover up Tamaki's blunder.
"Thank you," I mutter, still embarrassed by Tamaki.
"Belly dancer," I hear Haruhi comment from in front of the silent Tamaki.
"I'm a belly dancer?" I ask. "Who's idea was this?" I suddenly feel enraged. Somebody - my guess is Kyoya - did this on purpose.
"Tamaki's," the vice president says. I groan quietly. Something is off about that boy. I decide to do a little test.
"Was it?" I wonder out loud, biting my lip. Tamaki looks up. "Maybe I wanted to see me belly dance."
"No!" the blonde protests. I mock him by shaking my hips sharply. Tamaki mutters something into the palm of his hand. I exhale disapprovingly in his direction with a little pft sound. Yep, he has problems.
"The firsts guests are arriving shortly," Kyoya interjects. He crosses the room to the door, practically wading through awkward tension, and takes a place on the overstuffed couch. I'm still a little flabbergasted that my first cosplay is as a belly dancer.
The guests arrive after a long session of (yet again) more awkward silence. Tamaki has thoroughly embarrassed himself, and me in the process. I am still blushing profusely when Tomio walks through the door. I nervously walk over to greet him.
"Hi, Tomio," I say.
"Hey." He takes in my costume and raises an eyebrow.
"I'm a belly dancer," I sigh. "Not my idea."
"Ah."
"Could Daiki not come?" I change the subject.
"No, sorry."
"I would say I'm sorry but I'm glad we could spend some time alone." I give Tomio an embarrassed grin, which he returns. We seat ourselves at a side table and launch into a friendly conversation. I tell him about myself, and he returns the favor. I find myself talking to Tomio like an old friend. The feeling is really, really nice. Eventually, another young man interjects.
"Excuse me?" he says.
"Oh, hi." I say with a smile. "Can I help you?"
"Akira? I'm Masaou," he says. "I made an appointment?"
"Oh," I say, a little bit pleased. I have a new customer. "Will I see you tomorrow, Tomio?" The boy gets up and pushes his chair in, nodding. When he's gone, Masaou seats himself in the chair previously filled by Tomio.
"How are you?" I ask politely.
"Fine. And you?"
"A little bit angry at Tamaki for putting me in this costume," I say with a nervous giggle, dropping my head to stare at the wood table. Masaou laughs uproarously, like I just said something hilarious. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but quickly wipe the look off my face and replace it with one of amusement.
"I've got a joke, too," he says. The last half of the club time I spend fake laughing at Masaou's horrible jokes. Only one is actually funny. I can't really remember it, but it was something about cucumbers and a hammer. Finally, when he leaves, I am completely wiped out. He's the last one gone.
"Akira," Kyoya says. I've layed my head on the table and closed my eyes.
"What?" I ask, annoyed.
"Can I take your picture?"
"No,"
"You can't stop me, so you may as well make the pose good. You don't want to lose customers."
Without another word, I stand, put on a cute smile, and pose for the snap of Kyoya's camera.
"Done?" I ask.
"Yes."
I walk away and throw myself down on the overstuffed couch. I close my eyes again, but am disturbed once more.
"Akira?" I can hear the nervousness in his voice. I crack open an eye and see Tamaki. I have to say, he looks really good in his costume. I prop my head in my palm, strech my bare feet over the side of the couch and ask him what he wants.
"I'm sorry for embarrassing you earlier."
"You embarrassed yourself more than me." I note.
"Well, I'm still sorry."
"Don't apologize. I should really be thanking you."
"What for?"
"That time you save me from ripping my own arm off." I tilt my forearm so that he can see the four jagged, crescent shaped scars my fingernails made during a panic attack. Tamaki agrees nervously and sits crossed legged on the floor in front of me. We sit in silence for a moment, looking openly at one another. His beautiful violet eyes stare deep into my hazel ones. I find the whole thing ironic. The Arabian king, Tamaki, and his knights, the club, and his one lonely little belly dancer. I could be anything you want me to be. I smile at Tamaki.
"What is it?" He asks, amused.
"Nothing. It's just... being in the Host Club is," I give Tamaki a pointed look "I'm really glad I fell in this room."
"Me too."
Silence again. Then,
"Akira?"
"Hmm hmm?"
"Have you ever been to the beach?"
"Once when I was little. My family doesn't really go on vacations."
"Do you like it?"
"Sure," I say. "Why?"
Tamaki gives me a sly grin and gets up.
