Professional ballroom dancer, my left foot.
And my right foot, for that matter. Fumio stepped on them both.
By the time Fumio finally released me, I was ready to forswear dancing and its accompanying humiliation altogether, Taro or not. Fortunately, the opportunity to dance with Taro came soon after my release from Fumio, and his wit, humor, and—most importantly—dancing ability quickly made up for the ordeal I had just been put through.
He twirled me expertly around the wide ballroom, and the ease with which he led me through the steps nearly made me feel like a professional myself. Even when I got carried away with myself and nearly tripped, Taro managed to catch me, and smoothly turned my fall into an elegant dance maneuver. I laughed, stumbling back to regain my balance, and bumped into someone.
I whirled around, ready to apologize, but the words were stillborn as I looked up into the cold eyes of Kyouya.
"Forgive me," he said, taking a step back.
I mumbled something, though I can't remember now if it was an apology or an invitation for him to stuff himself.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
It caught me off guard.
"I…yeah?"
"Wonderful." His tone belied the expression of happiness that that word might have given. "The host club is here for your enjoyment. Would you care to dance?"
Tamaki must have blackmailed him.
"I already have a partner, but thank you."
Thanking him put a bitter taste in my mouth, but I got my revenge when he looked past me and saw Taro. Something in his expression tightened. He bowed curtly and stepped away after Tamaki.
I watched him leave, disgusted.
"What was that all about?" Taro asked, grabbing my hand and spinning me back into the rhythm of the music.
I scoffed. "You're the one staying with him. You should know."
He smiled. "I was under the impression that he was only a jerk at home. I hoped that maybe he hid his true self at school."
"He pretends to, I think. And for the most part, people believe him."
"But not you?" He sounded impressed. I felt proud of myself.
"You'll see, once you start classes here, and once you're an official member of the host club." He would be a member of the host club. I went to the host club. Already, it felt like less of a chore, though I knew he would be every bit as popular as Tamaki. Whether my surge of gratitude at getting to see him there was part of my romantic fancy, or just the comfort of having another friend that I could talk to, for the first time since having to transfer high schools, I felt that maybe Ouran wasn't such a terrible place after all.
My exceptional happiness was short-lived, as Taro was in high demand. Naoki was in line after me. She winked at me as Taro traded partners. Not condescending, or proud, just cousinly.
Finally left alone with my thoughts, it occurred to me that I hadn't talked to Haruhi all night. I counted six people in host club uniform and Taro—no Haruhi.
I scanned the room, even though I knew I probably wouldn't be able to talk to her. She was there to dance; she literally couldn't afford to take a break for herself. But she wasn't on the dance floor now. One by one, I lost track of the positions of the host club, until Taro was practically the only man on the ballroom floor, single-handedly entertaining the anxious ladies.
Tamaki would be jealous of him in no time. I laughed to myself, imagining his reaction when Taro would steal his regular clients away from him.
A movement caught my eye, and a flash of color that was too dull to belong to a dress. Fumio was climbing up the stairs, headed in my direction.
Mumbling an apology as I pushed through a group of girls waiting for the hosts to return, I ducked down so that he couldn't see me over their heads and slipped into a door that was slightly open. I didn't close it behind me, in case it was locked, but I stepped quickly away and around the corner, in case Fumio had seen me come in here. I watched the door breathlessly from behind a curtain, waiting for the slightest movement to hide myself.
It was not the door to the ballroom that made me leap back behind the folds of the heavy—and no doubt expensive—curtain. I heard voices coming from the hall behind me. The echo throughout the hallway obscured the words, but the confidence of the louder voice could only belong to Tamaki. I pushed myself against the wall, praying the curtains were long enough that my feet weren't visible.
I could only imagine what was going on. The voices and footsteps stopped. A door opened. A strangled cry, someone shouted. And then, thankfully, footsteps racing down the hall. That much, at least, I could identify. I peeked out hopefully, and saw Tamaki and Haruhi.
I meant to pull my head back, but Haruhi was gazing at Tamaki with an expression of adoration that I had never thought possible from her. Not love, or romance, necessarily, just curiosity, and dawning respect.
I nearly laughed and gave myself away. I couldn't help myself. I almost wished I were meddlesome like Naoki. She got a sick pleasure of trying to match people up. And here, I knew, was a match so ironic and intriguing that anyone who liked to play cupid would have given a great deal for such a challenge. Besides, I knew enough about Haruhi to realize that Tamaki pestered her more often than not.
But the moment passed, and Tamaki and Haruhi left. I eventually followed them back to the ballroom and to Fumio, resigned to my fate.
So, I thought I had deleted this story. But now I found it. Obviously. No guarantees when the next update is going to come, if there is a next update. It was pure chance that I felt like writing this today. I mean, I have dialogue and scenes planned for the future, it's just too much work getting there. We'll see.