"I'm Nanako Shouji," the woman sitting down next to Kyoya said.
Kyoya involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath as he looked up at her. From this angle, with the gleaming bright rays of sunlight pouring in through the host club windows and reflecting off of her espresso brown waves, voluminous dark lashes, and shiny cherry red lips, it almost seemed as if she were being outlined by a soft and thrumming halo of light.
Like an angel, Kyoya thought dreamily.
"So…do you have a name?" She prompted.
Kyoya was shaken out of his reverie as she sat down on the finely upholstered Louis XV chair next to him and reached over his lap to pour herself some tea. Her Ginori tea set of choice, a fine, powder pink porcelain, clinked lightly with the lilac-patterned Ishini teapot she had chosen as she touched spout to brim.
"Oh-Ootori," Kyoya replied, trying to remember how to speak. "Kyoya Ootori." He made to bow a bit in his seat, albeit it awkwardly bending at the waist, but at least he wasn't letting his host club manners entirely escape him.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Shouji." He added cordially, finally forming a coherent sentence.
"Likewise," Nanako smiled, her ruby red lips turning up just the slightest bit more on the right side so as to almost look like a smirk.
"Kyoya."
Mmmm. Kyoya thought he felt an unexpected jolt in his chest as he heard her say his name out loud, although that would be utterly ridiculous because he heard his regular customers refer to him by name all the time, as well as Tamaki, Haruhi, and all the other members of the host club.
But there was just something about the way that she had just said it, as if his name were the tea that she was swishing around in her teacup, swirling across her tongue to unpack the richness, and carefully trying out to get the full taste, that made it all the more magical. He wanted her to say it again.
"Na—Ms. Shouji," Kyoya stopped himself before he broke host club etiquette. Immediately, he chided himself. Just because she could call him by his name didn't mean he could do the same. He was but just a host, after all.
"Hmm?" Nanako looked up, giving him her full attention through her long, black lashes. Again, that intoxicating cinnamon smell of her hair wafted towards him…
"So, what brings you to the host club?" he asked her, shaking his head to clear it of her scent and forcing himself to concentrate.
"Oh, well, you know," she answered off-handedly, turning her eyes towards her tea and sweeping her gaze around the room. As if taking in all the beauty and grandeur of the sparkling crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling renaissance windows, and curtained-off column that concealed the grand piano all at once, a faint smile played on her lips.
"It's -just mere curiosity on my part," she assured him, waving her hand dismissively.
"I was just passing through the area, touring all the major prep schools in Tokyo, and Ouran Academy just happens to be one of the best," her voice sounded strained at the end, but Kyoya didn't press for more.
He nodded, agreeing with her. If one had the money and the means, why wouldn't they want their child to go to Ouran Academy, the most prestigious private school in the entire district?
Although, now that he thought about it, Nanako did seem a bit out of place here with her sheer white Chanel blouse, sleek and simple A-line pencil skirt, and high-heeled penny loafers straight from the runways of Paris. It wasn't a bad type out of place, per se, but from the way she talked, the way she dressed, and the tiny, nearly imperceptible mannerisms of hers he had picked up on, it did seem as if she were too mature and sophisticated for this institution to handle. Perhaps, for all of Japan.
"Heh-heh," Nanako laughed nervously, a first for the bright and bubbly woman Kyoya had made her out to be since the start of their interaction. Tucking a stray strand of dark espresso hair behind her ear, she turned back to him.
"So, how about you?" she turned the questioning back on him, instantly regaining the light cheerfulness to her voice.
"What made you join the host club?"
Huh? Oh, right. Kyoya looked down at his uniform, the same light blue, Ouran-crested blazer as usual with matching black slacks that denoted him a student at the Ouran Academy high school. Just a student. A high school student. A second-year, to be exact.
"Uh…well…" Kyoya scrambled to find words, his mind somehow already having wandered back to the topic of Nanako's mysterious shampoo. What could it be? Sandalwood? Vanilla? Citrus? No, maybe a blend of all of them. Maybe none. But there was definitely, definitely and without a doubt a hint of cinnamon in there.
"I, uh," Kyoya stalled for time, fully aware that he sounded like a bumbling idiot.
"Well, why does anyone decide to become a host?"
He threw her question back at her. There. In times of crisis, Kyoya found that rhetorical questions were often the way to go, since they at once made one seem sophisticated and contemplative while simultaneously buying one time to actually formulate a real answer.
Well, what would it be? Kyoya went through his options as quickly as he could, trying not to exhaust Nanako's attentive stare. He could give her Tamaki's usual spiel on "making every girl happy"… Or his justifications to his father's business associates that he was learning how to run a business from the ground up… Or, perhaps his own personal answer…
"It's for the ladies," he finally blurted out.
No! That came out wrong. In an alternate cartoon reality out there, a mini chibi version of Kyoya was being electrocuted by lightning, squished to a pulp, and left to sob a river of humiliated tears in the corner. He had not meant to say that.
Might as well declare him a dead man and bury him now, he thought, trying to melt through the seat cushion of his cream-colored upholstered chair. What was it that their idiot king, Tamaki, always did? Gelify! Right, he could do that, too. Right onto the gleaming tiled floor, out through cracks under the heavy, ornate doors, and all the way home where he could bury himself in bed and never face the world again.
He almost didn't dare peek at what Nanako's reaction was.
"Heh-heh." It was her tinkling laugh.
What? Looking over through the fringes of his hair, he saw that, contrary to the disgusted, abhorring, or at least off-put expression he had been expecting to see, she was actually smiling.
"Honest," was all she said, and this time, there was no doubting that she was giving him a real, full-on smirk.
"Well, Kyoya, since you've been discharged from your usual hosting duties, how would you like to be in the company of me as my own personal tour guide to Tokyo for the week?"
Huh? Kyoya did a double-take again. He reached for the non-existent glasses on the ridge of his nose as if that would clear his ears. Even the usually fast-thinking finances master of the host club couldn't quite wrap his head around how the conversation had ended up here.
"Uhh…sure," his mouth said as his brain floated away to some deliriously happy disassociated state. Cloud 9, it seemed, was what they called it.
"Great!" Nanako broke out into a smile. "It's a date then!"
Setting down her teacup, she smiled again at Kyoya before heading for the door. She was already almost halfway there by the time he remembered that he probably should have gotten up to walk her.
Standing up abruptly, he rushed in her direction now, fully planning on overtaking her with his long, bounding strides so he could get to the large, heavy doors of the music room before her to hold them open for her.
Before he could, however, she spun around on the spot, her skirt swirling around just enough to make his breath hitch in his throat and his feet stop in their tracks.
"It was nice meeting you, by the way," she called back to him, her half-smile back on her lips. Giving him a mock two-fingered salute and cocking her head the tiniest bit to the side, the last words on her lips echoed through his brain long after she'd uttered them.
"Kyoya."
Then, without looking back, Nanako Shouji walked right out the door of Music Room 3 and left the Shadow king, for perhaps the first time ever in his life, completely and utterly flustered.