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Translations:
Nani?: what?
Ongaku no heya wa soto ni arimasu: Outside of the Music Room
Baka: stupid
Bakana: featherhead; I found this while flipping through a Japanese dictionary one time. Quite a useful word to shout…
Chapter 6.
Recap:
"I wonder why…Tama-chan's not telling us." Hunny's face drooped. "He only tells Kyoya about these things."
Haruhi slumped her small shoulders, looking hopelessly lost on what to think about their depressed and angry King. "I…don't know."
Her prince's mysterious violet eyes popped in her mind, and Tamaki's embrace.
In his eyes…when Kunio is mentioned…there's not only anger in his face, but…
A frown twisted her features. Sadness.
But why should he apologize? Why should he apologize…about being sad?
Story:
The same day, in the Music Room, 6:55
Kyoya tapped his pencil absent-mindedly against his knee, leaning back in his chair. With a frown, he speculated his friend across the table from behind his glasses. Tamaki stared out the window, chin propped in his palm, his half-open eyes soaking in the last of the sun's rays as it set slowly in the sky.
"You can't pretend that it doesn't bother you."
Tamaki broke from his thoughts, startled. "W-What?" He looked at Kyoya with a bewildered gaze.
"Kunio's presence here. You shove it in the dark."
With a shrug, Tamaki fingered the lacy serviette on the wooden table, frowning at his reflection in the shiny surface. He saw a weary, unhappy teenager staring back at him, pleading. Pleading to escape his sudden melancholy that had crept upon him on his cousin's plane and disarmed him within a day of Kunio's arrival. "Maybe a little…" he said softly.
Kyoya sighed and crossed his arms, silent. He waited for Tamaki to say more; that was how he got the information out of him, after all. When one is quiet around Tamaki, one hears a lot of his secrets and thoughts.
With a frustrated breath, Tamaki went on, "When…I was back in France, Oka-san was always sick. She used to have fevers for days on end. I never wanted to leave her during those times, so straight away when I got out of school, I went home. Even on weekdays. I turned down every play-date offer I got. I was always cooped up in the house; not that it was a bad thing. It's just that…I never made any friends."
Raising an eyebrow, Kyoya looked on the verge of saying something; but thought better of it.
"Kunio was practically the only person my age I saw outside of school. It wasn't Oka-san's fault, that I was…maybe lonely at times, and she wasn't a nuisance; her sickness simply confined me, and I always felt guilty when I left her, even for school." He slumped against his chair, hanging his head towards his reflection in the table. "I can't explain it."
"Uh huh…"
Tamaki looked up with a hurt glance. "Are you even listening?"
"Of course. But I've heard all this from you before. Why are you repeating the remembrance of old pains?"
Tamaki fingered the lace napkin, hesitant to answer. "Every time I look at Kunio, he reminds me of it. My past in France. What happened…before I came here."
Kyoya's expression softened. He nodded. "I see." A pause. "But why should that bother you?" he asked. He always thought Tamaki to take it into stride and move on.
A moment of silence passed; murmured voices of teachers and footsteps passed the music room and receded. When Tamaki looked up to make eye contact with his friend once again, his eyes were wet at the brim. "I miss her," he admitted in a small whisper.
Kyoya blinked in surprise, realizing what was welling up in Tamaki's eyes. He sat, stricken, his pencil ceasing to move. He had never seen Tamaki cry before. He let out a sigh, scowling down at his knee. His pencil commenced to tap against his leg once again, this time in a more agitated way.
"I…can tell," was all he said. He couldn't think of anything else.
Tamaki hung his head again, to avoid Kyoya from seeing any more emotion writ on his face. As he did, a tear dropped from his violet eye and splashed onto the wood of the table. He trailed one finger across his cheek, to wipe it away.
He couldn't explain why the tears were falling so heavily. Usually he hid his sadness well enough in public, without revealing too much of what he felt. It was just…Kunio. Ever since Kunio came, he was complicating things. Leaving his life in a tattered web of confusion, like he always did. He didn't want to be reminded of his memories, his past. He let out a heavy sigh, fingering the pointy stem of a white rose that was draped across the table by his hand.
Kyoya's voice shattered the silence. "It doesn't matter," he said.
Tamaki looked up to make eye contact with him once again, blurry eyes holding surprise. "Nani…?"
"You can cry as much as you want. It doesn't make sense how you're trying to hide it. It doesn't matter if you cry or laugh in front of people," Kyoya told him, looking down at the ground with closed eyes, so to avoid his gaze.
Rubbing his sleeve against his cheek, Tamaki smiled softly. "No…I'm done now." He stood and, pushing his teacup further towards the middle of the table, overrun the rose that was wet with his tear. "It's late; we've stayed here for too long."
Kyoya nodded absently, taking a casual look at the clock tower outside of the window. "7:00 already."
Walking on the other side of the table, Tamaki stood above him, smiling down at his friend. "Thank you, Kyoya."
Kyoya blinked in surprise behind his glasses. "Why?"
"For sitting with me. And listening."
A small grin appeared on his face. "Listening? Hardly. I was just thinking of how we're going to balance our loans to the school this term…" he said nonchalantly, pretending to be lost in finance-like thought.
Tamaki's face broke into a happy smile, contrasting with the tears still fresh on his cheeks. "Kyoya!" he cried, wrapping his arms around his friend's neck and nuzzling his cheek against his. "You're my best friend!"
Kyoya groaned. "Yes, yes…"
Breaking away, Tamaki beamed down at him. "The Host Club is on tomorrow, right?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Just checking!" Tamaki turned on his heel and strode towards the door, bag in hand. "See you tomorrow, Kyoya!"
Kyoya frowned. Something wasn't right. He turned his head and watched Tamaki go, watched his fast pace slow to a defeated walk, watched him slowly open the door and step out of his half-heartedly, his fake cheeriness dropping once he thought that Kyoya was no longer watching.
Turning his head, the pencil tapped harder against Kyoya's leg, now a blur of yellow-coloured wood, angry and unsettled, matching his emotions that were twisting mazes inside him.
"How many moments of a day does he fake that life's good for him?" sighed Kyoya.
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Ongaku no heya wa soto ni arimasu.
Deciding there was no point in crumbling into a dark corner and bawling his eyes out, which he longed to do, Tamaki made his way down the hall in a dejected way, his shoulders slumped, face lacking his usual smile. The empty halls rang with his steps, making his situation even more depressing.
I'm alone…although it's been that way ever since I came here, I think…
He was so swamped in pathetic thought that he didn't notice a rubbish bin in his way, which had been left out in the middle of the hall by the stupid and mindless janitor. Tripping over it, his knees struck the ground, sending a jolt of pain through his legs as he collided with the marble floor. He knelt there, motionless, as the clock tower struck 7:00. He tried to tell himself to get out of his moping mood. To dig himself out of the dark hole he was creating for himself.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he clenched his fists, forcing himself to his feet. No one was going to come along, scoop him up, nurse his emotional wounds, and coo that it's all right in his ear. No one was going to make his situation any easier. He would have to help himself.
He made his way further down the hall, dazed and unaware of his surroundings. One phrase struck a loud, demanding chord in his head:
Haruhi makes your situation easier though, doesn't she?
His eyes widened. Yes, the feel of her inside of his arms had comforted him. His sad emotions had relented. For those blissful moments he held her, the world had evaporated; Kunio didn't exist, his painful move to Japan had never happened, his father and grandmother had never entered and ruled his life, didn't exist. Only Haruhi. The one he held on to when he knew of no one else.
The only one… His pace slowed; his mouth was slightly agape. Why else would he hug her? Why else would he have the desire to do more than hugging her when she was in his arms?
The baka twins were right! I…do love Haruhi…
He stopped in front of one of the large windows, his silhouette outlined by the setting sun in the distance. "I love her," he told the empty space, seeing how that tasted on his tongue. The words made him smile. "I love Haruhi!" he announced in a stronger voice, one that boomed across the halls, with a sound that was louder than his lonely footsteps.
In less than an instant, his emotions changed. "I love HARUHII!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, taking off into a sprint down the hall, his briefcase banging against his knees behind him, flapping every which way. Like a mad thing, he flew past the dimmed windows, charged with a new energy, exhilarated by this new emotion swelling inside him.
He loved Haruhi, so what the hell was he doing standing in an empty hall moping?
Reaching the end of the hall, he threw his body weight against the double doors, falling into the foyer. He charged down the steps to the bottom floor, swinging around the corners and fumbling for his step as he constantly tripped over his own feet. When he got to the exit, he dashed outside to the back field, looking around wildly at the shadow-drawn field.
The last time he had seen Haruhi when he looked out the window was on a bench, near the trees, sitting alone. He scanned his eyes towards that particular bench; he saw a figure sitting exactly there.
His face broke into a relieved and happy smile. "Haruhi!" he called, waving his bag in the air as a signal. The figure didn't look up; she seemed to be bent over a book of some kind, too absorbed in it to hear him.
This was perfectly fine for Tamaki. He would run to the ends of the earth if only he could confess to her. Clenching his fists, he ran with all his might towards the bench, nearly dropping his briefcase in the process. "Haruhi! Haruhi!"
The figure's head looked up. "What the…"
"Haruhi, I need—" Tamaki halted in front of the bench and the person. His face dropped into a disappointed frown as he caught his breath heavily. "O-Oh."
His classmate, Takeshi or some name he couldn't remember, raised an eyebrow at him sceptically. "What do you want?"
"Uh, sorry, wrong person," Tamaki explained, flustered. His mind momentarily lingered on what would happen if he blurted out his true feelings to Takeshi, thinking he was Haruhi. With a blush, he spun around. "Gomenasai!"
Takeshi stared.
"Actually…" Tamaki turned to look at him once again, smiling nervously. "You didn't happen to see a gi—I-I mean a boy pass here, did you? This tall…" he showed Haruhi's rough height with his hand, "…a year below us…has a feminine look?"
Still staring, Takeshi shook his head, Tamaki Suoh officially becoming an idiot in his mind. "No one's passed me since I came to this bench ten minutes ago."
Tamaki looked blank for a moment, puzzled by this dead end.
Wait! She MUST be at home!
Beaming, Tamaki cried, "Yes!" and spun on his heel, running from the bench at full speed.
Takeshi, with a sigh, shook his head and averted his eyes back to his book. A chilling voice interrupted his reading, making his skin prickle.
"What did he want?"
Whipping his head around, he saw a young man of about his age standing in the shadows of the trees, a smirk on his face. "Oh, hey Kunio," Takeshi greeted, locking eyes with his friend. "I thought you were back there."
"So, what did he want?" asked Kunio again, leaning against the back of the bench, raising an eyebrow at Takeshi's casual expression.
"Oh, he was looking for someone," said Takeshi with a small shrug.
"And?"
Takeshi gave him a side-glance. "I didn't get the name. Just a boring description. No one of significance. Why should you care?" he snorted, turning back to his book.
Kunio let out a harsh laugh. "Little do you know, I do." He took Takeshi by the shoulder, spinning him around and looking at him dead in the eye. "You know Haruhi Fujioka, right?"
Takeshi raised an eyebrow and nodded. "'Course. Not only is he in the Host club, which Suoh always obsesses about in class to that Ohtori guy, but also he's basically the genius of his form. He got here on scholarship. Dirt poor, I also heard."
Kunio nodded, taking in that new piece of information. "Really…can you tell me more about him?"
"Just hang around at the Host Club. You'll hear his whole life story. Really, why should you care?"
Kunio paused. "Before I reveal to you why, let me ask you a question: do you like Tamaki Suoh?"
Takeshi's eyes stayed on his book as he answered. "He's an idiot."
"Good answer," Kunio laughed. "Then you won't mind me discussing with you how I plan to smite and humiliate his 'host-like' smile right off his face."
"That's awesome. Go on."
"I think you can guess what I'm going to do. Think about it for a moment: when you're trying to strike a person down, where do you start?"
Weighing his answer on his mind for a moment, Takeshi closed his book and tapped the spine in thought. "You…take his money?"
"Think of your kendo, not your episodes of mugging people in the streets. What does your teacher say to constantly look for in your opponent?"
"His weak-point; duh."
"Exactly," said Kunio, patting his shoulder. "I'll get you to Class A yet."
"Shut up," grumbled Takeshi, shrugging his hand away. "So you're looking for Suoh's weak-point?"
"Just as I said."
"Well, that's his looks, of course. Just disfigure his idiot face, and—"
"Do you always think of violence?" scoffed Kunio, stepping back from Takeshi and shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "This time, I'll play by wit. His other weak-point, besides his pathetic pride, is the exact person I want you to get information about. The person he was looking for."
Takeshi grinned. "Suoh has a secret love interest for Fujioka, eh?"
"You could say that." Kunio stuck his hands in his pockets, straightening to his full height. With a confident grin, he thought to himself, I'm going to snatch that vulnerable Haruhi from Tamaki's grasp, and there will be no alternative as to stopping me. Not this time.
"I'll even find out what clothes he wears to bed and what toothpaste he uses," said Takeshi, addressing the spaced-out Kunio, "if you pay me ¥2000 up front."
Kunio laughed. "You're a real bakana ((look at translation up top)) if you think I'm going to hand over that kind of money."
Takeshi raised an eyebrow, holding out his palm. "No information, then."
"Bastard," Kunio grumbled, fishing out a few notes from his pocket and slapping them onto his palm. "You better get me that information, ya hear? Down to the last sock he throws into his wash."
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In Haruhi's neighbourhood
Tamaki guided himself by sheer memory of where Haruhi's apartment was located. He sprinted down (maybe) her street, dodging pedestrians walking dogs and cars turning into their driveways. Twice someone yelled a curse in his direction, and at least 15 car horns blared into his ears when he ran in front of them. Tamaki couldn't care less.
Rounding in front of a tall apartment building, he stopped short. "It's her landlady!" he shouted in triumph, pointing dead at the elderly woman who was watering flowers in a yard, humming an absent tune.
He must have looked quite mad, with his unbuttoned blazer (that had come loose as he swung around corner after corner), his tie askew on his neck, his hair mangled by the wind. He looked like a street inhibitor more than a student of one of the most prestigious school in the country. Not caring about the strange looks he received, he sprinted up the concrete stairs of Haruhi's apartment block, to her door.
Taking a deep breath, he forced his leaping heart to settle, for his high emotions to decrease just enough so that when she opened the door that he would make sense. With a determined frown, he jammed the doorbell inside the wall.
As he heard the footsteps making their way towards the door, he thought, Wait! I need an impressionable entrance! Spinning around, he flicked out a white rose that was so conveniently tucked into his blazer pocket, and poised the words he was going to say on his tongue as he positioned the rose to enter Haruhi's face when she opened the door.
The door began to creak open slowly.
With a rather seductive and suspicious smile, Tamaki turned on his heel, holding the rose the same level as his chin, one fist resting on his hip. "Hello, Haruhi," he said in a low, manly voice.
The little girl at the door blinked, tilting her head to one side. She fingered her short red hair with her small fingers, frowning behind her blue-rimmed glasses on her round face; definitely not Haruhi. "Who are you?" she asked.
Tamaki's eyes widened and he turned a deep red, his masculine facade shattered. "O-Oh, me? W-Well I-I'm—"
Turning, the girl balled up her fists and shrieked at the top of her lungs, "MOMMY! There's a strange person at our door!"
"Child, I am most certainly not a strange person!" Tamaki said in a forceful way, stamping his foot. "Look, just look!" He fished around in his blazer pocket, then whipped out his school I.D, shoving it into her face. "I am an official school of Ouran High School, and I demand entry! I must see Haruhi so I can confess—"
"HE'S TRYING TO HYPNOTIZE ME!" the girl screamed, waving her arms around in terror, smacking Tamaki continuously. "Go away, bad man, go AWAAAYY!"
"Ayaka? Ayaka!" her mother shrieked, appearing in the doorway. "Whatever is the—" She then made eye contact with Tamaki. She didn't see a handsome high school student, innocent and powerless; she saw a dark-eyed thug, leaning over her daughter like an evil shadow, ready to beat her senseless. Letting out a blood-curdling scream, the over-protective mother snatched a closed umbrella that was leaning against the wall and pushed Ayaka behind her, coming straight at Tamaki and whacking him with her weapon. "Stay away from my daughter, you…you horrid beast!"
"That hurts, that hurts!" Tamaki whined, putting his hands over his head and cowering to her blows. "I'm not—"
"Go back to the prison where you came from! Stay away from my daughter!!"
"Satomi-san, what in the world is the matter?!"
Tamaki turned his head enough to see Haruhi swimming in his vision. The blows to his head were doing his eyes some damage. "Haruhi! H-Help me!" he cried pathetically as he was kicked to the ground. He flung a hand in her direction, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm being…MURDERED!"
Haruhi stared at him with a blank look. "I'm sure you deserved it," said she in a flat tone.
Mrs. Satomi's umbrella ceased to move. "You mean you know this man?!"
"Yes, of course. He's my senpai at Ouran High School, where I attend. He means no harm; although he tends to scare a lot of people."
With this information, Mrs Satomi sniffed and nodded sharply. "Right. The beating did him good, then." Retreating back into her house, she snapped, "Don't come near my Ayaka again!" and slammed the door on his crumbled form. Ayaka peeking around her mother and sticking her tongue out at Tamaki was the last thing he saw before wood swung into his vision.
With a groan, Tamaki managed to raise himself to his knees. "O-Ow…"
"Senpai, what are you doing here?" Haruhi growled, glaring daggers in his direction.
"H-Haruhi's mad at me, even when I lay wounded and bleeding on the ground?" Tamaki sobbed, burying his face into his hands.
"When you come here terrorizing my neighbours and pull the risk of having me and my father kicked out of our apartment, yes senpai, I will get angry!"
He looked up and blinked at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, scowling down at him with a tense and rigid posture.
"Well? Why are you here?"
He bit his lip, his eyes averting to the ground. Standing, he rubbed his sore arm painfully, wincing as he did. "Oh…no reason, really. Just wanted to say hi…" He gave her a half-hearted smile. "I'll be going now." Turning, he limped towards the stairs, letting out a sigh.
"Hang on…"
He frowned, turning his head. She had moved to where he once lay, crouched towards the ground, fingering a piece of paper. "Why…do you have my homework?" she asked in confusion, looking up at him.
"Your homework?" he asked blankly.
"Yes, senpai. This fell from your blazer pocket." Snatching up the sheet, she held it straight in front of his face in a demanding way. "My algebra assignment from days ago."
Tamaki's face went white and his eyes widened to their full size as he came face to face with the sheet that his mysterious princess had dropped.
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Heh. Cliffie.
Review much?
-KuroHinote