At the party the next night, Maemi spots me instantly. And then she fucking compliments me on my dress. The dress is a dark purple, which apparently goes with my red hair. I don't know if that is exactly true or not. The neckline is generous, revealing a bit more cleavage than originally planned. The sleeves are long, as usual with my attire. And it has the stupidest fucking bow in the front right over my hip bone. I seriously want to murder this bow. Somebody get me a knife. I am going to murder this bow.
Maemi tries to pull me out onto the dance floor, but I resist.
"You don't want to dance, then?" she asks.
"Um… no. I'm just going to go hang out in a random corner somewhere," I reply.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"But why? You should go dance. You do have a thing for Mori-senpai, right? You should go ask him to dance."
Maemi's face reddens, and then she smiles at me and takes off, probably wondering how I know such things.
I make it my job to know almost everything about everyone in the school while also managing to stay away from actual people. For instance, I know that second year, Rin Tanikuma's father has three wives in three different countries, and that Rin himself has been to bed with two of them. I also know that a certain third year, Shino Hima has been in a romantic relationship with her mother's chauffeur for at least three years. I know little personal things. Things that most people would not even dare to bring up in conversation. How do I know these things? Connections. These connections have gotten me out of quite a few situations where things seemed to be turning against me.
All throughout the night, the Hosts (and other boys, I guess) dance with several different girls. I notice Mori sticking close to Maemi, which brings a smile to my face.
I find myself watching Kyoya as the end of the night grows closer. While he dances with a lot of girls, there's something about his attitude that makes me feel like he's really trying to avoid it.
I hear Tamaki announce the last dance of the night. I watch as Kyoya makes his way through the crowd, and then disappear.
"Don't dance often, then?" a voice asks, making me jump in surprise.
I can't help but stare at Kyoya, standing right next to me, talking to me.
Crap.
WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DID HE GET OVER HERE?
"I… no. It's just not my thing," I stumble through once I finally find my voice.
He holds out his hand to me. "Would you like to?"
The defensive part of my brain is thinking: I'm not sure you heard me correctly.
But the more irrational part of my brain is screaming: HOLY SHIT! DON'T WASTE THIS OPPORTUNITY!
Crap.
My feeble human brain goes for the latter. With an extreme amount of hesitation, I place my hand in his. I pull it back mere seconds later. I barely manage to say, "I'm not exactly the greatest at dancing."
Kyoya simply smiles and takes my hand once more.
Well, crap.
Aaaaand now we're dancing.
Okay, well… I have lost almost all words available.
I stupidly ask, "Why are you doing this?"
Kyoya smiles again and replies, "You looked like you were in need of entertainment. After all, we are the Host Club, and it's our job to-"
"I don't give a crap."
Kyoya takes the intended insult in stride and pulls me closer.
"Don't act like you didn't want to dance. I could see it in your eyes."
One part of my brain is saying: Big deal. There's very little space between you. So what? And what's with him being confident all of the sudden? And he 'could see it in my eyes'? Really? Give me a break. I'm pretty sure those are song lyrics. Hey, buster, it's not you I'm looking for!
The other part is saying: How the hell can you ignore the close proximity of his body and your body?!
At first, I can't figure out what's so amusing to him. Then I realize I'm blushing.
Crap.
"Why do you always wear long sleeves, Sakura?"
Does he not realize that the girl uniforms come with long sleeves? The again, I can recall a few times where I have seen him outside of school. But I wasn't aware that he also saw me. Most of the time, I duck out of view. Oh, god. That's embarrassing. I'm about to comment on the first-name basis thing, but then his actual question sinks in.
Now every single part of my brain—rational and irrational—is telling me that I need to stop. I can't answer him. Not to mention that relationships are not a good thing.
I feel a sudden wave of anxiety, and I'm just about ready to scream. My chest is getting tight, my throat is dry, and I'm half sure that everything is spinning.
Without saying anything, without looking back, I break away from him and sprint out of the school.