The Host Club Gone Wild

Part 12: Akio's Pub and Billiards

A/N: We are about half way through the story and I hope to finish it by the year's end. In order to do that I need support from everyone please. I love reviews cuz it's the feedback that makes me smile and it encourages me to go quicker. It's how I know that people actually like it! Anyhoo I hope you enjoy! Reread chapter 11…I edited it because I made a mistake. I'll put a "*" by the part I changed…It'll make more sense this way I promise…you guys probably didn't even notice this tiny…but important detail. Sorry! 3

Kyoya began rubbing his eyes in attempts to hide his rude snarl. Really, he was starting to get a migraine! All day people had been doing nothing but screwing around with him, and he was nearing his final nerve. If this joker insisted on upholding the boss joke he was going to…

"Good afternoon," he commenced, dryly. "My friends and I…"

"You feeling any better from last night, sir," the bouncer cheerfully interrupted as he began to towel off some glasses behind the counter.

Kyoya's head began to simmer so hotly that his scalp seemed to boil. The nerve of this man interrupting him! He tried to regain a sense of calm, but he still had to speak through tightly gritted teeth. He looked down at the man's nametag: Kanta. The name wasn't familiar in the slightest.

"Refresh my memory, Kanta," he commanded through a low growl. "Tell me!"

The man shrugged and stacked the glasses before pressing his palms to the shiny counter, facing the people he remembered quite well, but could not return the favor.

"I'll do whatever you say," shrugged Kanta. "You're the boss, boss."

The Host Club gasped in fear as Kyoya's resolve visibly shattered. The air grew cool and the dim lights were extinguished. The only movement besides the onlooker's tentative breathing came from Kyoya's form quacking with fury. Terrified, Haruhi recalled the striking resemblance Kyoya posed to the monster at the super market they encountered during their shopping trip a few months ago.

Kyoya roared, his eyes glowing red. "What the hell, you crazy man," he cussed. "I'm not you're boss. I don't even what the hell you are talking about! Now shut up and do as I asked or prepare for a world of hurt courtesy of this country's kendo champion!" To enhance Kyoya's spew of threats, Mori sent a sinister glower down at the bartender.

The incensed teen lunged forward and grabbed Kanta by the fold of his shirt, lifting him half over the bar rail to meet eyes with Kyoya's cracked glasses. "Spit it out, peasant," Kyoya growled. "And don't you dare call me 'boss' again, if you know what's good for you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood for shitting around."

The man's once jovial face turned dour. He patted his own shoulder, sweeping away the wrinkles Kyoya made on his black shirt.

"That wasn't a bluff, Mr. Ootori," the bartender said gruffly. "What else am I supposed to call the man who bought this place right from under my nose last night."

Kyoya gasped and stumbled a few steps back. Loosing his usually cool demeanor made him unstable. Now, ashamed, he felt prickly with defensiveness. Get a hold of yourself, Ootori, he cursed himself. Haven't you learned enough today that if you lose control, things fall apart quickly. At this thought, his body became rigid to fake a semblance of composition, but his face still wavered.

He scoffed. "I guess this idiot wants a beating after all, Mori," Kyoya hissed. But he ate his words when the man pushed a carbon copied document under his nose.

"I didn't really take you for the careless type," the bartender admitted. "You forgot all about last night after you lot went sauntering out my door around midnight. Here's the deed to the place. I think you'll find everything is in order."

Irked, Kyoya ripped the document from the greasy hands and adjusted it so he could read it through his cracked lenses. Rapidly his careful eyes scrutinized every word of the deed, taking special consideration to all of the legal stipulations, until his eyes viewed the signature upon the bottom. He blanched. Kyoya's name stood visible, drunkenly scribbled, on the straight bolded line. Owner, the inscription next to it read.

Kyoya's legs faltered until he leant rigidly against Tamaki like a felled tree. I own a crappy bar in the city slums, Kyoya's thoughts screamed. My father is going to kill me or worse—disown me! The angered look on his father's face circled around his head dizzily as he further contemplated how thoroughly his life had been ruined in less than 24 hours. Why did I have to drink Hikaru and Kaoru's poison? I know better than that! What the hell is wrong with me?

As Kyoya continued to have an existential crisis as Tamaki dotingly patted his best friend's head, Haruhi stepped forward and peeled the deed away from Kyoya's dead fist. She reviewed it briefly.

"Yes," she hummed, "this is a binding legal document. But why on earth would you sell Kyoya Ootori this pub? Or better yet, what convinced Kyoya-sempai to buy it?" Haruhi looked inquisitively up at the barman.

The Kanta's eyes bubbled with joy. "Awwing" like a little girl with a kitten, he reached forward and pinched her cheek. "You are simply adorable, little lady," he cooed. Still doting, he pulled away and waggled his finger at her nose. "Did you leave that naughty boyfriend like your Uncle Kanta told you?" he asked with a knowing smile. "I can't have my adopted niece prancing around with perverts, you know. " He cast a murderous scowl Tamaki's way. The glare's recipient merely sighed morosely.

Haruhi bore Kanta's cuddling and jesting with little more than an awkward smile. Throughout her life she had gotten very experienced with this sort of treatment from her daddies: Ranka and Tamaki. Apparently now, she had an uncle to add to her mix of over-protective fan-family. What a life, she internally griped.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Haruhi laughed innocently. "I don't have a boyfriend."

Kanta's face turned stern once again. "That's exactly what you said last night, my dear," he droned. "At least you can keep your story straighter than that one." He pointed at Kyoya who was slowly being piecing himself back together, trying to stuff his imaginary fathers' curses out of his ears.

Kanta sighed and shook his head. "What else can I do for you? As you should know, I won't give alcohol to minors…before nine at night."

No one laughed at his forced joke.

"Actually, Kanta-san," Haruhi began, for what seemed like the thousandth time today, "we were hoping you could tell us some of the things that happened last night."

Kanta stared her down, skeptically. "Are you telling me that you bunch don't remember a single thing that happened last night? Not a snippet?"

"That's what the little lady said, barman," Tamaki pointedly said, coming to stand beside Haruhi. "Trust me that it would be in your best interest to oblige." His words had a sense of bribery laced between them so poignant that yen signs began to float around the air.

Kanta casually brushed away the thought. "It's really not a problem," he murmured. "But, my mind isn't what it used to be so I'm probably not the best person to ask about who and what happened where or when."

Everyone groaned. Hikaru and Kaoru clung tight to each other as tears of despair bubbled at the corners of their eyes.

Then, Kanta thrust a finger in the air, welcoming a new thought. "So, I'll have to show you last night's security footage, instead. Plus, it's easier that way."

Encouraged by their optimistic hope, the Host Club were moved to applause by what seemed to be their only victory of the day. Elated smile spread between them as they realized that Kanta's video would provide concrete evidence for a portion of their lost memories. They relished being able to take a step forward with this investigation instead of sprinting back into endless confusion.

"Yes, please," Tamaki said, giddily.

—T-H-E-H-O-S-T-C-L-U-B-G-O-N-E-W-I-L-D—

Before beginning with what Kanta promised was a truly regaling tale, he decided that it was it would be best to provide food and beverage for "the boss" and his minions, as they appeared to be near collapsing where they stood. It was between receiving his cup of coffee and watching Kanta set up the security tape in the roll around television that Kaoru seized the opportunity to talk to Haruhi. Obscurely, he gripped her elbow and she obligingly followed where he led. Like the gentleman the Host Club had trained him to be, he pulled out a bar stool for Haruhi on the other end of the bar, where they could be immersed in shadow and secrecy.

"What's up, Kaoru," Haruhi quipped. "You know how much I want to hear your side of the story, but the security film is about to start. This may not be the best time."

"It won't take long, I promise," Kaoru caught her hand before Haruhi rose from the table. He then took a heavy swing of coffee to settle his nerves. His hand was shaking. Haruhi turned painfully suspicious and apprehensive of what Kaoru was about to tell her. She blamed his uneasy demeanor on what he had said earlier: Sharing this secret with her would be stabbing Hikaru in the back.

"Kaoru," Haruhi said again, more hesitantly. "What is it? You can tell me anything, you know."

Kaoru's nod was barely noticeable. He inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply before separating his lips to begin. "Everything was going fine until the Chartreuse Tofu concert," he paused again, unsure of whether or not he should or could go on.

"Yes," Haruhi encouraged, lifting a hand to pat his back. "We know that already. The concert was the last place the Host Club was together. Where did you two go?"

An empty smile crept unto Kaoru's lips. "Hikaru and I went chasing after the girls of our dreams."

—T-H-E-H-O-S-T-C-L-U-B-G-O-N-E-W-I-L-D—

"C'mon! Damn thing," Kanta grumbled, thumping the top of the snowy television set with his open palm. His cheeks grew pink as he remembered his audience looking on expectantly, and increasingly impatient. "It'll only be a few more minutes, fellas," he chuckled. With another mighty smack, a broken picture swerved onto the screen.

"That looked like something," Mameha piqued from her comfortable niche in the crook of Mori's arm.

"There we go," Kanta said to himself. The wobbly image slowly solidified into a black and white overview of the bar. "Let's watch!"

After a little bit of selective fast forwarding, the bar's front door opened on the television, to reveal none other than the Host Club filing in, one by one. They unfocused visions of the teenagers featured them still adorned in the clothes they last remembered wearing before they went off to the curious land of intoxication.

"There we are," Tamaki exclaimed," pointing to their wobbling miniatures on the screen. As video-Kyoya absentmindedly ambled around, no doubt criticizing the state of the bar, the other six, including Honey, bustled about the place in an innocent game of tag. Honey's blonde head always hovered near Mori and the two always meandered around the edge of the game, preferring to dance to an unheard beat and allow the twins and Tamaki to have all the fun trying to escape Haruhi. It became evident, however, that tag was quickly turning into to American style football with Haruhi as the ball. One of the twins, presumably Hikaru, scooped Haruhi into his arms with little effort and rushed about the room with her, dodging annoyed patrons in an attempt to get to his side of the room and "score".

Video-Hikaru and Kaoru mockingly passed a livid Haruhi back and forth, skillfully dodging Tamaki's frantic grabs for Haruhi. With a mad leap between the twins, Tamaki intercepted Haruhi from mid-air and made a mad dash towards his goal. The look on his face, as could be detected from the low-definition screen, displayed bliss in its simplest form.

As he watched the image of himself running wild with Haruhi laughing in his arms, a warm sensation rolled up his back. Faint traces of the memory of last night passed before his inner eye. Tamaki could remember himself running with Haruhi; he could practically feel her warm weight in his arms and the tickle of her hair under his nose. Sounding distant, the memory of Haruhi squealed with glee, "Touchdown for Team Tamaki. Raaaah!"

He remembered laughing and bending his forehead down to touch hers, whispering so that no one but they could hear, "You're my prize." Her elated smile made him melt.

Kyoya barking voice brought regretfully pulled him from his reminiscent daze. "Fast forward it, Mr. Kanta. We'd prefer not to have our time wasted by just watching ourselves fool around."

With little more than a shrug, Kanta fast-forwarded the video until drunken-Kyoya waddled over to whom could only be Kanta from the night before. By the look of Kyoya's waving hands and Kanta's flushed face, the audience could tell that the video was about to get interesting.

The video phased for a moment, and when balance was restored, Kanta was waving a loosely rolled packet of papers under Kyoya's nose. There was no audio featured on the tape, but it was obvious that the argument between the teenager and the barman was quickly becoming heated. After what could only be a few selectively chosen words on Kyoya's part, both men angrily sauntered over to a card table on the other side of the room.

"What's going on now?"

"You'll see," Kanta growled, his voice full of unexpected malice. Kyoya's eyes narrowed inquisitively at the affront, but his eyes did return to the screen.

With unprecedented grace, video-Kanta removed a pack of torn cards from within his coat and deftly shuffled them. Simultaneously, Kyoya cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. What ensued was clearly a battle of wit and intelligence. The prize was the deed that Kanta furiously slapped down in the middle of the table. Kyoya mouthed something to Kanta with a vile grin, making the bouncer tension with restrained fury, and they began.

The screen shivered again, and continued at a later time than where it had previously cut off. Kyoya was standing on the table, waving his arms dangerously near the overhead light in triumph. Kanta, visible disheartened handed the deed to Akio's Pub and Billiards to the younger man.

Honey and Mori had also been part of the card game, however neither played seriously enough to be contenders as Kyoya had. While Mori was dedicated to the task of building a house of cards that was repeatedly demolished by Kyoya's victory dance, an event occurring off screen captivated Honey. With clueless stealth, Honey escaped the watchful, if not momentarily distracted, eye of his protectorate, Mori. As soon as the last sliver of his form escaped the video's field of view, the television screen turned black: The rest of the film had been cut.