Tamaki makes me giggle. Oh, and if you're thinking along the same lines I am, they are.

Warning: lots of hints. Other POV. Disclaimer: See other prompts.

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--50-short stories prompt: issued by Demi-kun--
Username:
Lit / Literate
Pairing: KyouXHika.


30. Subtly.

Tamaki understands it, really, he does. Even when he invites the host club to his home for a nice reunion, he really does understand.

It's probably because he had subconsciously known about it all along that it didn't come to as that much of a surprise that Kyouya, his best friend in the whole entire world, and Hikaru, the little troublesome devil brat, were going out. Going out. Together. Together-together. Boyfriend-boyfriend.

In love.

There were subtle, very subtle hints of their relationship everywhere: Kyouya's even more menacing glasses, Hikaru's even more mischievous eyes, hands shifting to possibly very familiar places--

--but this is just ridiculous.

He averts his eyes from the scene and glances timidly around the table and receives a frosting covered smile, a silent knowing nod, a playful chuckle, and blank, questioning eyes. He lets out an awkward whine.

"What's wrong, Tamaki--?"

slam

Tamaki jumps, as all eyes shift to the dark aura at the other end of the table, Kyouya's glasses glaring at the sly smirk on Hikaru's face.

"That's it," Kyouya growls under his breath -- uhm, is it him or was it um… labored?- standing up quickly, dragging Hikaru away from the dinner table by his collar, "Please excuse us for a moment."

Tamaki doesn't miss the fact that Kyouya's belt was unbuckled. Hikaru waves, his hand a confident flick, a satisfied smirk on his face and Kaoru's the only one sane enough to wave back.

The door closes behind them slowly. It must have been fate or something, because it leaves behind a small sliver of a crack in which Tamaki sees Kyouya slamming his lover against the wall and engaging him with an action that Tamaki dare not repeat out loud nor mentally. The blond doesn't bother to mention that he's in the very seat that could see it at all.

He wonders if he's the sole person who can see the subtle actions, the underhand tactics, the closed-doors (or supposed to be closed) sex. He looks around again; everyone is blissfully ignorant. He's the only one, he concludes with a groan. Come next dinner, he's going to have to remember to put Kyouya and Hikaru far, far away from each other.

Ten minutes later, the door opens again, Kyouya adjusting his tie formally, Hikaru trailing behind him, a smiling hazel eye closed in a wince, both breathing heavily. Tamaki's pale and flat against the dinner table, running the same mantra over and over in his head.

It doesn't help him at all when the younger devil twin asks the older devil twin, a sly, not-so-subtle smirk on his face, "So, Hikaru, how was it?"