A Journal Most Untraditional

by FandomDaydreams

Summary:

Haruhi finds it near impossible to view Tamaki Senpia and Kyoya Senpia in the light she had before meanwhile something in her is now illuminated in way she'd never expected to see. Kyoya’s true colors grow more vivid with hughes he wishes to reveal to the club’s prince and crossdresser but in tandem with his passion a shade of hesitance occupies the portrait. Tamaki’s self-narrative has saved by club, but his truest heroes took the form of his crush and best friend. His gratitude for the two knows no bounds and with it seems to branch a new chapter in his story.

Within this unspoken emotional storm Haruhi finds a lifeboat by means of journaling her feelings. But in a place as unabashed as Ouran High School Host Club, how long will the confines of her book and heart remain private?

Chapter 1: Watered Down Senses

Haruhi’s POV

 

“Well, this is some after party,” Haruhi mumbled with dejection.

“Rain on a parade. Literally.”

An unsightly expression was sewn to the crossdresser’s face as she sat before a window within the music room of Oran Academy. Half an hour beforehand, the school had been buzzing like a hive, but the natural phenomenon of rain wasn't well liked by the rich and refined. It served as a kind of abrupt closing ceremony to the Ouran Fair, with limousines fleeing left, right and center. Haruhi Fujioka was sympathetic to the crowd’s scattering. She didn't fancy rain in the slightest.

Despite that, she'd have to brave it if she were to get home. And all without an umbrella. She pondered whether deeming meteorologists as assholes was a worthy sentiment. The nerd usually saved vulgar descriptions for the Host Club but at the moment, they were the only people she wanted to be around. Sure, they were an odd collective but over time Haruhi had grown to enjoy her little empire of entertainment. It was precious to her and having witnessed its near crumbling made that all the more evident. She loved the Host Club and its members. Knowing that felt good but in tandem, intimidating. Why? She couldn't say.

“My darlings!” sang a capricious and captivating voice.

Haruhi shifted upon the coach to see the Host Club’s boss, Tamaki Suoh showcasing his typical sublime smile. “I’ve returned,” he said with rapture.

“And I come bearing sweet nectar!”

“And what would that be?” asked Mori Senpai In the midst of offering Honey Senpai a napkin. The boy lolita had lathered his face with many a crum deriving from the leftover pastries the club had from the fair.

“I hope it’s more cake!” he chimed sweetly. “So does Bun-Bun!”

“That wouldn't end well,” Karu and Hikaru remarked in unison.

“Increasing your sugar intake at this hour is only going to lead to insomnia,” they said complacently.

“The twins have a point,” Mori Senpai agreed.

“We should be heading home anyway.”

Honey Senpai pouted but didn't protest. “Goodnight Everyone! See you Monday!”

“Goodnight, you two,” said Tamaki. “I’ll try and salvage some coco for you both.”

Haruhi’s interest peaked the minute Tamaki revealed the true title of his said nectar. “Coco?” She echoed with intrigue.

“And where may I ask, did you acquire that?” questioned Kyoya Senpai.

Crossed legged upon a velvet chair the club’s vice president sat before his sacred computer. The eyes of Kyoya Ootori diverted from his focus only if something were in need of explanation, accounting or disapproval. It would take a miracle to stray him from those tactics. Each time Tamaki senpai presented something he hadn't calculated, the strategist sought the details with the vigor of a CEO. Such seriousness was rarely mirrored by the blissful blonde, however. The two were a contradiction but complemented each other at the same time. One could compare them to the Sun and Moon. Kyoya was a vigilant light that could provide solutions plus compassion in the midst of darkness. Meanwhile Tamaki made everyone feel warm and at home within a space that cherished their happiness, no matter how silly. They were certainly different, but that didn't dwindle how good a pair they were. They were perfect together. At least to Haruhi they were.

“Oh, don't sound so worried Kyoya,” coxed Tamaki. “I got it from the staff room!”

“So a place you're not permitted to enter without permission?” said Hikaru.

“Geez boss, we really expected better from you,” added Karu.

Tamaki’s face turned sour as he prepared cups by the club’s kettle.

“It’s one box of cocoa, not a catastrophe!” he argued.

“Now do you want something warm and toasty or not?”

The twins took Refrain from their teasing and nodded solemnly. They enjoyed the drinks with a passion and even went back for seconds before wishing the remaining trio a goodnight. Haruhi’s attention was snagged after their exit by a buzz that came from her cellphone. It was a message from her father.

👑Dad: Hey kiddo! Sorry to break to you but Daddy's going to be working a later shift than he thought so I won't be home till around midnight. Don't worry, though, Dad won't drive himself crazy. I know you can handle a little rain.

Not a minute after reading that text a clap of thunder sounded within the heavens causing the nerd to nearly jump out of her skin in response.

“Oh fuck” She exclaimed grimly.

“Language, Mademoiselle,” remarked Kyoya from his chair.

Haruhi was in no mood. “Can it, I have free will!” she snapped.

“Haruhi?” Her irritation dwindled with a soft touch and tone. Both belong to Tamaki Senpai. One hand was placed to her shoulder while the other lay a saucer with a cup of hot cocoa before her.

“If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to serve as a ride home,” he said kindly.

After saving their king an afterglow of contentment, had claimed the host club as its stage. But for whatever reason, it faded within the hours and now something felt off between Haruhi and Tamaki. Their relationship was usually reminiscent of a kid and a Firefly. Tamaki provided a sort of glow that was charming and like kid Haruhi found it entertaining. However, that novelty eventually faded and the two retired to their unsteady chemistry. Tonight was different, however. Tamaki’s aura was something of a flame and Haruhi had little inhibitions, thus she almost felt like a mouth. Drawn to him even though she’d be easily burned. The sensation was too wonky and warm for her liking and so wouldn’t let it play out.

Thus, with the unintentional manner of someone who had a tone delivery problem Haruhi declined the offer of her upperclassmen.

“No! I-I mean that’s not really n-necessary Senpai,” she said shakily.

That was strange. She was never one to stutter. Perhaps she was just tired. With that idea in mind, the girl swiftly took hold of the beverage Tamaki had laid out and sipped it quickly. She needed this interaction to end as soon as possible.

“Are you sure?” prompted Tamaki. “I know how you feel about thunder.”

“Well, it's not like I'm allergic to it,” said Haruhi with an Attempt at calmness.

“I'll be fine. Besides, I wouldn't want the host club’s king getting stuck in traffic on my account. So, thanks Tamaki but I’ll pass.”

The blonde wore a look of slight concern, but it was muddled by the smile that took place a second after.

“Arguing with your pride will get me nowhere,” he said, sounding self-assured.

“However, at least allow me this.”

In a fine display of chivalry, the blonde removed his blazer and placed it on the nerd's shoulders. “Something to keep you warm,” he exclaimed whilst brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s no umbrella, but I hope it will suffice.”

“After all, I wouldn't want the host club's favorite crossdresser to catch a cold.”

An odd feeling took root in Haruhi’s stomach, but it was overcome by a chuckle.

“Thanks, Senpai,” she said with a light exhale.

“No, thank you,” Tamaki rebuked humbly.

The nerd arched a brow in confusion. “For what?” she asked.

“For saving him obviously,” answered Kyoya from afar. “You were quite the hero.”

“Oh please. He should know, that was a team effort,” Haruhi prefaced bashfully.

Instead of a witty retort Tamaki’s lips made an abrupt arrival upon Haruhi’s cheek.

The motion supplied a noticeable flush to her face that normally wasn't there.

“And you should know that I'm all for favoritism,” he said with a brazen grin.

“In any case, sleep well my darlings!” Tamaki then sang.

“On Monday be sure to be fresh faced and flattery ready. This club’s endured far too much drama and I for one, look forward to our good old routine.”

And just like that Oran’s king was gone and the only two left within his empire were a crossdresser and accountant. Neither of which were chatty for a good minute. That was until Haruhi sensed a presence behind her. She looked up to see Kyoya Senpai leaning against the coach and staring at her Intently. His expression was bare save the tinge of amusement in his eyes that didn't surpass her detection. “Mind telling me what's so funny?” she asked.

Kyoya smirked. “I'm simply curious,” he said.

“Were spices in your drink or is this the usual hue of your face?”

In tandem with his question, he flagrantly tilted her chin. “Which is it?”

Fujioka frowned before brushing his hand away as if he were a pest.

“It’s none of your business Kyoya Senpai,” she said firmly. “Now go home.”

Kyoya scoffed. “And leave the club’s hero stranded in this weather? I think not.”

“Senpai stop calling me-” promptly a familiar sound took hold of the music room’s space, and it brought Haruhi a sense of giddy relief. Like the answer to a silent prayer, tall, dark and smug just so happened to have an umbrella on him. What were the odds? “Preparation is kind of my thing,” he stated.

“Shall we Mademoiselle?”

Once again Kyoya served as the answer to a problem. The solution he presented wasn't merely out of courtesy though. He wasn't that sympathetic of a guy. His offer stemmed from camaraderie which was a little strange. Not too long ago, knowing the accountant felt like the consolation prize of having been a clutz.
They're bond had been subject to quite the plot twist. The once transactional had transposed into a genuine liking for each other. Haruhi wasn't usually one for surprises but after experiencing the ones of the Host Club, she'd grown accustomed. Thus, Haruhi accepted Kyoya’s kindness with a smile as her typical laid-back aura made a swift reprise. Her audible jitters and heat flashes from earlier left without trace. Good, thought crossdresser. She could think on that later.

The only nerve-racking thing during her commute with Kyoya was the possibility of another thunderclap. Aside from that all was fine. Nice even. He listened to her drone on about her mistrust for meteorology, and she listened to his spiel on how every scientific field had a purpose both noble and lucrative. Eventually, their ramblings reached the Host Club. They discussed theme ideas and Haruhi’s grew fairly extravagant as she proposed what they could do if the club had an actual establishment and not just their school's music room. It caught Kyoya’s attention more so her other musings of which the brunette noticed.

“I just think it would be fun,” she said. “Taking it to another level.”

Kyoya hummed thoughtfully.

“I don't know of many lawyers with side jobs,” he claimed.

“But like you said you possess free will. An element of which you're the master.”

Suddenly Haruhi’s hold of Kyoya’s arm was accompanied by a playful shove.

“Thanks for the support,” she chimed.

“I'll be sure to include an Ootori exclusive table.”

Kyoya arched brow. “Oh? Am I a VIP at this establishment?”

“Only if you can handle me charms,” Haruhi replied with a wink.

“I hope you're up for...a-Achew!”

An ambiguous tickle within Her sinuses had led to the interruption of Haruhi’s own words. Kyoya was prompt at providing the customary pardoning.

“Bless you,” he said as they walked. “You alright?”

“Fine!” said Haruhi. “It just wasn't expecting that s...a-Achew!”

“I don't know if I like this repetition,” said Kyoya. “Luckily we're here.”

There before the teens, like a lighthouse at sea stood Haruhi’s humble home. She was beyond grateful to have it in her sight yet hardly had the energy to get inside. Her head took on the sudden temperature of an onsen and letting go of Kyoya Senpai’s arm felt like a big hassle but it’s not like she could hold him hostage.

“Thanks for walking me home Senpai,” Haruhi said begrudgingly whilst drifting from the umbrella to her doorstep. She wondered if the dizziness she felt could be the equivalent of a dog who chased its own tail. Hers had to be close.

“Of course, Haruhi,” said Kyoya in a silvery voice. “It was my pleasure.”

Haruhi gave a thankful nod to the account and steadily began to turn the doorknob. Her entry was interrupted however by the sound of a falling umbrella and the gingerly touch of hands upon her waist. The nerd froze as she felt herself being shifted around back to Kyoya’s view. She looked up at him with confusion whilst his face wore the expression of a determined detective. His hands fell from off her waist and then hovered towards her arms. Once having made contact he moved a palm to her forehead in the way a mother would to their sick child. His mahogany eyes were soon filled with discouragement. “I knew it,” he said.

“You're under the weather Haruhi.”

She blinked at him and then brushed off his accurate statement.

“Your comedy needs work, Senpai,” she said, turning to go. “Lot’s of it.”

“I am by no means joking,” Kyoya stated firmly. “You’re clearly sick.”

“I am not- “cough,cough,cough* sick!”

“You can remain In denial all you like, but I think your imbalance in temperature, sneezing and now coughing supports my claim thoroughly.”

He took hold of her wrist. “Now let's get you inside.”

“What? No! Kyoya Senpai!”

“Relax,” said Kyoya as he dragged her into the confines of her home.

“Your father knows me. I doubt he'll mark this as an intrusion.”

“My father isn’t here!” Haruhi managed to say “He’s working late tonight.”

“But it’s already 9:50,” said Kyoya. “Exactly how long are you to be alone for?”

A small part of Haruhi was intrigued by how worried her senpai was but she tried to not appear transparent in regards to it. It was odd she enjoyed it to begin with. “That doesn't matter,” she said, with eyes on the ground.

“I can handle myself.”

“I never said you couldn't, but your capability won't deflect my want to help," said Kyoya. “So, I suggest you forfeit that fight now. You won't be winning.”

The tense silence between the two, and the only inhabitants of it, was a sudden coughing fit from Haruhi which was both embarrassing and tiresome.

“Have a shower,” said Kyoya as made his way to the kitchen.

“I’ll prepare something for you.”

“But why?” asked Haruhi. “Why go through the trouble just for my sake Senpai?”

The host turned around and gave Haruhi a look you'd see upon a spectator within an Art Museum. It was deeply profound yet hard to decipher entirely.

“Because you're a hero,” said Kyoya. “Such a person deserves to be cared for.”

That word choice had become such a plot twist. Once Upon a time, Haruhi had merely been seen as a hero due to her standing outweighing the expectations of a second-class citizen. Though now it was different. Still dramatic but sensible. Her saving Tamaki from an unjust punishment had been rather lionhearted. With that It was the accountant’s way of communicating his thanks for something he hadn't managed to do but trusted that she would with triumph. Looking at it from that angle, she abandoned her stubbornness. Placidly, Haruhi made her way to the shower as Kyoya made himself at home in her kitchen.

Whilst straining the last remnants of water from her pixie cut a polite knock sounded at the door. Briskly, Kyoya Senpai came in with a tray of sustenance. Haruhi Intended to eat whatever he’d prepared but actually seeing it provided a jump scare of pleasure.

“Miso Soup? Yum!” She exclaimed elatedly. “Thanks *cough,cough* alot Senpai!”

“You can thank me when don't sound on the verge of a grave,” sassed Kyoya.

Haruhi rolled her eyes and happily began to feast. Meanwhile the gaze of her senpai skated around the room till circling back to her. Eventually, his mahogany windows weren't the only thing making contact with the crossdresser. Intuitively one of his hands found its way towards her autumn hair and it was soon entertained in his fingers. It was a moment before Haruhi noticed.

“Kyoya?” She said with a laugh through her nose. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing much,” Kyoya replied airily, his hands still tossing about her hair.

“Just feeling grateful I suppose.” Slowly, his touch withdrew from her feathered mane. “You've dealt with much upheaval recently and very well.”

“You were fazed by our King’s situation, as we all were but...I couldn't describe you for a moment as being fearful, Haruhi. The word simply isn't fitting.”

“You've got a knack for that. Resilience.”

“It leaves me feeling reassured. The sheer amount of strength that keeps you tolerable of such an anomalous crowd. It's almost like an anchor and the club…”

The account’s words fell prey to a hasty recoil but only briefly.

“I appreciate you not letting it loose,” Kyoya concluded winsomely.

“It’s no big deal,” said Haruhi. “To be honest. I like being stuck with you.”

“After all, I meant what I said that day. I think you're amazing.” Silence briskly traversed the atmosphere between the crossdresser and accountant. Haruhi suspected it was home to disclosure. A glimmer of something faint-hearted nested within Kyoya’s expression but he let fly away with an auspicious grin. He recovered from vulnerability so quickly and of that Haruhi was a little jealous.

Chapter 2: Unspoken Hues

Kyoya’s POV

 

For the most part, one received greater attention than the other. However, Music Room 3 wasn't the only domain of rhythm having been built within Ouran Academy. Music Room 5 was home to the school’s World Music course. It was a cornucopia of sound, and it brought peace to Kyoya’s subconscious, a certain melody in particular. Tamaki’s piano playing was something the shadow king he'd grown all too accustomed to. Regardless if they were in the same room, Kyoya could sense it like a stethoscope to one’s heartbeat. It was a flowery yet truthful notion.

“Well, color me intrigued,” spoke the perky voice of a false manager.

“I don't think I've ever seen you slip in a painting Kyoya. Need a hand?”

Reggae’s voice reclaimed Ootori’s focus to which he found himself regretting having lost. For someone nicknamed the “Canvas Connoisseur,” he'd made quite the mistake, a rare occurrence during his Art Class. The assignment in and of itself was simple. Provide a visual to the ideology of endurance. Kyoya's work was a fusion of nature-based motifs and color symbolism, simple tactic overall. Though at the moment, it would seem his paintbrush had a mind of its own.

The painting in question had a slate blue backdrop that was decorated in white splotches to signify rain; however, its center was not drenched. There, a purple umbrella took shape, with its canopy being upside down and brimming with an array of ivory roses. White was a classic staple of both hope and innocence. Some may say those were lousy survival skills, but Koyay had seen their benefit when wielded by the right man. Even if he was prone to idiocy.

Communicating that message with art wasn't a problem for Kyoya’s imagination; however, the result was anything but a dream. The latter half of his painting had fallen victim to accidental use of red. Even worse, his brush strokes weren't even bringing about a sloppy surplus of the color in random places. Attention to detail was usually given for the opportunist and to see something so opposite was baffling. The painting was now one of opposites. After all, red wasn't a pure color. The purpose of the piece was to acknowledge positive ideologies. Now such intent was scarred with a shade of parental disappointment and a bloody nose.

It irritated Kyoya having such a memory now being molded into his art. His views on the color were already niche and opposite to many. He wouldn't be able to justify its sudden appearance without an excuse. Perhaps he knew someone of which it was fitting? Without warning, a recollection of the host club’s crossdresser amongst the academy’s rose bushes graced his mind. He supposed Haruhi’s personality could prove complementary to the color. Much like its positive associations, she too was passionate, courageous and loving. Not only that but it suited her complexion as well. Her natural blush was an intriguing sight to say the least.

A lessened state of worry was affirmed with Kyoya humming at thought.

Perhaps red wasn't a travesty after all.

“Hey Koyaya, wait up!” Reggae called after the painter as he pushed on with the sound of a bell.

“You wouldn't happen to know why Haruhi isn't at school today would you?”

“Actually, I do,” Ootori replied. “She’s under the weather at the moment but I doubt It will be long before she reaches a state of recovery.”

“Even with her absence I’m certain the club will perform optimally as perusal.”

Half a second after Kyoya’s relayed information he detected a sense of melancholy from Reggae. The emotion in question seemed worlds away from anything he expected from the hyper otaku. Even the scolding she'd endured from Kyoya during her first days of arrival hadn’t elicited this kind of response. She'd gotten over it rather efficiently. So why the sudden deflation? “Oh..” she expressed wearily with a false smile. “Well I guess there’s always next time…”

Regge's eyes promptly fell away from her bearer of bad news and instead befell her left hand. Within her anxious grip was an envelope. From what Kyoya could see It was salmon pink in color with its edges finely embellished with a floral patterning of gold. It was elegant and entirely equipped with suspicion. Frankly the strategist couldn't wrap his head around it. After all, what could Rege need to tell Haruhi that couldn't be said by word of mouth? Despite her being a commoner, conversing with the cross dresser on a level of unified intellect was easy. Even with her lack of deep understanding towards aristocratic lives of her fellow hosts, her analysis of their dispositions and its accuracy was undeniable. She could see through just about anyone. Whether or not the notion was fully applicable to Kyoya was hard to say, but regardless,It provided a minuscule solace. Having someone bear witness to Impetuous Individuality. It intrigued Ootori. The shallow lake of being open towards her. Like he said. It brought solace.

Why Renge avoided such waters was nonsensical to him though suggesting that he took up her journey’s navigation was perhaps overstepping farther than he should have.

“If suitable for you Renge, I could always relay the info you planned on sharing,” said Kyoya.

“However, if you prefer that letter do the talking for you, I could easily deliver it to him.”

Swiftly, the Shadow King increased his proximity towards the envelope, his oblivious laps in respect burning at the rate of the wildfire. “Simply allow me and you won't have to-”

“No!” Reggae proceeded to shout.

Mind you, her words weren't the only thing to communicate her aggression. Kyoya's desire to take control was quickly snuffed as it plummeted against the academy's polished floors. Gasps of shock soared throughout the hall as students stopped and stared. The self-proclaimed manager of the host club had attacked one of its members and with a passion, no less. Ootori Wouldn't have anticipated that a single strike to his chest from Reggae’s foot would mimic the strength of gang members. His shock, though plentiful, was quickly surpassed by his pain. Damn it hurts.

An unsteadiness close to motion sickness seemed to encase the entirety of his skull. However, a distance from his head on the floor was soon acquired, and he felt something soft replace it. Kyoya’s glasses had gone astray but as he looked up he could still make out who it was.

“KYOYA! WHAT IN THE WORLD DID I JUST WITNESS? KYOYA? ANSWER ME OOTORI!”

Despite what the ladies might think, sheltering oneself upon the thighs of Tamaki Suou, was by no means leisurely. His ineptitude towards emotional regulation made that near impossible. Kyoya sighed. “Would you please restrain yourself?” He spoke in a tone, muffled from impact.
”
“You just plummeted to the floor as if you weighed the same as a tea leaf!” Tamaki whined.

“Turn of events leaves no room for restraint. Clearly you're disoriented from the shock.

“I am not disori-” Arguing with Tamaki was an endeavor as simple as breathing and falling victim to his spontaneity was even more so. Despite Kyoya being well aware of this the blonde’s actions could still be an infliction of bafflement. Safe to say the sudden delivery of a forehead kiss is classified as said bafflemnet. Such affection towards the cheek made sense, after all the man was half French but this? This was excessive. Regardless of what an intercome had communicated over the summer, Kyoya was not a child.

However that didn't stop Tamaki silencing him as if he were. Bastard, Kyoya thought.

“Hush now Kyoya,” said the the host club’s King. “Daddy’s here to protect you.”

“And who the hell do you suppose will do the smae for me? Tamaki's gaze reflected that of a territorial animal as Regge’s voice reached them. This was to the aristocrat he usually emulated with subtlety. In world as egocentric as theirs one could call it a mutation of sorts.

His insatiable need to protect. “If you're fortunate, a talented lawyer,” Suoh spat sharply as.

“Now, I suggest you get to class.”

The Frenchwoman scoffed as he helped his companion to his feet. “I think not,” she said.

“I suggest you answer my damn question, who's around to protect me?”

“Trick question. The answer is no one!” she cried. “I get teased and undermined by you jerks all the time and you don't think twice about it but there's a silver lining in my story, and her name is Haruhi Fujioka! We have something special and that’s something you can't manipulate Ootori.”

“I'll protect it with everything that I have!”

Kyoya’s eyes widened as a chill chased thought most unpleasant.

“Why would you do that, Rengee?” He asked.

“Because I have the right to validate my feelings!” She argued.

“I'm not referring to your unflattering emotional state,” said Kyoya.

“What I mean to ask is why would you refer to a member of a host club in a feminine manner?”

Just as though the universe had developed some sort of vendetta against Ootori, the bell rang and a fair share of students were now late to class, including himself and two troublesome blondes. The offended one fled with a look of worry in her eyes, meanwhile the overbearing caretaker gazed at Kyoya with a look of concern.

“This isn't good,” breathed Tamaki.

“If Renge cares about Haruhi to the extent I expect then she’ll keep her secret,” said Kyoya.

Tamaki let out a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good to hear. I suppose we'll all laugh about it soon. After all, it’s not like a romance between Haruhi and a girl would actually work.”

Kyoya gave his friend a look opposed to his blissful ignorance along with a shake of his head. Suddenly, a spillage of scarlet fell from his nose. In a somewhat twisted way, he wondered if the same affliction could go down within Tamaki's psyche. It likely would, considering the flip side to the blonde’s ignorance. He’d assume there was no chance if Haruhi’s heart couldn't love the masculine alone. The Impact would be too much and he’d bleed. Safe to say, it wasn't a pretty picture.

“You’d gain a lot from assuming nothing,” Kyoya warned without context.

Looking puzzled Tamaki proceeded to his respective class and Kyoya headed for the nurse. There were no utensils of purification in sight. No water ladles or sacred bells or incense. Despite this Kyoya Ootori believed without reservation that devoting oneself to work was a most cleansing endeavor. A goal upon the man’s desk was the only temple he needed. Within such an environment, he could set his troubles aside and instead focus on the task at hand. This evening, his objective took the form of a psychology assignment. Kyoya’s professor Had allocated them with the compiling of an essay. Its subject pertained to daydreaming and its relation to the brain's default mode network. The phenomenon seemed to be a lackluster version of creative thinking. Kyoya was more prone to the latter due to its goal-oriented nuance. Nonetheless, he couldn't deny the benefit of spontaneity within the realm of cognitive function. It helped from a reduction in mental fatigue to the cruciality of problem solving. Attaining a great percentile on the paper would be effortless. However, there was one problem.

The naming of a place in which the student daydreamed freely was required. That proved tricky for the young pragmatist. The only places he frequented outside of the host club was the occasional auction, medical conference or symphony. Each location was plentiful With stimulation and curious opinion and so his subconscious was rarely triggered. However, mental excursion wasn't triggered by boredom alone. There were other causes. Some even unnerving. Suddenly, the day’s theme of unwelcomed interruptions reprised itself at Kyoya’s door. Irritation swarmed him like insects; however, it disappeared as soon as it arrived. After all, one couldn't ignore the voice of Tamaki Suoh for long . Kyoya knew that better than anything.

He opened the door to a beaming face.

“Last I checked, an evening serenade wasn't in your schedule,” said Kyoya, monotonous as ever.

Tamaki scoffed. “You know, that really wounds me Kyoya,” said Tamaki.

“Thinking your piano is the only reason I'd come over. Don't you know me at all?”

“Unfortunately yes,” answered Kyoya.

“If you're not here for a musical display, then you're here to detain me from my plans.”

“Well, now you just have me sounding like a criminal,” claimed the blonde.

A sigh of mild entertainment escaped Kyoya. “Oh please, you don't have it in you.”

The Shadow King proceeded to turn around, but his guest wouldn't be letting him go so easily.
Tamaki’s arms found themselves warped round his friend’s shoulders along with his chin happily nestled. A smirk radiated from off his lips as he drew them closer to Kyoya’s ear.

“I wouldn't be so sure Ootori,” he whispered.

“I might have no choice but to steal you away. Pretty faces are customary targets.”

“So now you're threatening me to go out with you?” questioned Kyoya.

“My goodness is this relationship toxic.”

“Well, it's not my fault I'm easy to fall for,” Tamaki teased.

Suoh’s arrogance made the perfect diversion for an invasive maneuver and so when stomping the man's foot in order to escape Kyoya had no remorse, only a small tinge of pride.

“Ouch! Kyoya that's not nice,” Tamaki whined.

“Since when was casual assault one of your skills?”

“Since an overbearing blonde came into my life.”

The blonde in question huffed irritably. “That’s not funny either.”

Kyoya chuckled. “I disagree,” he retorted.

“And that same stance will likely apply to whatever proposition you have.”

“And why is that?” urged the aristocrat.

“Because I’m busy Tamaki. It wouldn't be sufficient for you to be my center focus.”

That was perhaps the most truthful thing Kyoya had said all day. Composed as he may it’s not as though he wasn’t affected by the near loss of his friend. To think a wild card such as Tamaki could be so easily subdued was rather upsetting. At the time, where all he knew of Tamaki stemmed from a background check, he'd viewed the charmer as nothing more than a defective chosen one. The minute he’d conducted a background check Kyoya’s view of the charmer was that of a chosen one. However, it's not often that a first impression reveals everything. As it turns out, Tamaki was a bit defective. His big heart left little room for that chosen one mentality to settle in. Such a disposition made for a disagreeable successor in Kyoya eyes, but Tamaki was quick to reveal that he wasn't the only selfish one. The third son of the Ootori family was filled with potential but yet restricted by an obtrusive frame. To make it worse, that obstacle was Kyoya's own hand. In hearing the bitterness of his obedience from someone else
The aristocrat was engrossed by the idea of going outside the lines. Suoh was some kind of radical rifle and Kyoya had fallen victim to his aim. Strangely enough, he didn't mind.

By taking a shot at helping Ootori out of his own grave the Tamaki had blessed him with something he had never attempted. Dreaming. Safe to say, he’d been fond of the benefactor ever since and to a degree stronger than he’d admit. Kyoya knew he couldn't ensure reciprocation, but he could at the very least protect what they had. An entertaining agreement. He did his best to guard the golden child over the years, but he’d been rendered helpless in saving him from Madam Shizue’s plan. Thankfully, Haruhi had been there. In her he could trust. He thanked her for sticking around the Host Club but kept his gratitude at the rescuing of their king to himself. Softness outside of the club was rare, but Tamaki was an exception. Kyoya swerved his chair towards the aristocrat, taking a fair share of strength not to laugh at his childish pout.

“Actually, tonight would make for suitable for sabbatical ,” Kyoya explained.

There might as well have been fireworks in the eyes of his friend. “You really mean it?”

Kyoya smiled subtly. “Don't make me change my mind,” he said with a soft warning.

“Now where to?” Mischief struck the man's face like a shooting star.

“Can you handle a surprise?” Tamaki teased.

“I can handle anything,” Kyoya replied, moving towards his coat rack.

“But I encourage you having us back at a reasonable time,” he added.

“But of course!” Tamaki assured, as his arm swiftly intertwined with Kyoya’s.

“Don't worry Monami. You should know by now that I'm plenty reliable.” For better or worse, that was a trait Kyoya believed the man to possess and so with only half his inhibitions his escort into the Tokyo night began. Arm in arm, away from the aristocracy.

“All righty,” Tamaki chimed, failing to hide his excitement. “You can open your eyes…now!”

Earlier, whilst getting on the subway, Tamaki had practically begged Kyoya to keep his eyes closed. Though a tad immature, he knew it for the sentimental sake of surprise. Now, with Suoh’s permission to return to a realm of sight, he was glad to have played along. After all, the view he now had was wonderful. Ura Harajuku. The neighborhood's hidden gem. Tucked away at the tail end of Takeshita Street, it was an urban artist's paradise. Captivation could be found in every nook and cranny. From its independent businesses to the quaint lanterns that lined the walkways and littered the murals with inviting light. There were few Zen ideologies that could explain just how it made Kyoya feel. Though he supposed there was one word. Dreamy.

It wasn't long before Kyoya’s ocean wide gaze triggered a chuckle from his companion. An Ootori son looking like a kid in a candy store was a rare but enjoyable sight.

“I guess some things never change,” Tamaki mused, furthering himself down the street.

“Aside from the coziness of a kotatsu, this place had you smiling tons when we were younger. It’s nice to know it hasn't lost its charm. Heaven knows who you'd be suing if it did.”

Unlike the fluidity of his friend’s teasing Kyoya remained statuesque. “Monami?” Tamaki urged.

“It’s..It’s nothing,” Kyoya stammered, having found his senses. “Let’s enjoy it.”

“Let’s,” said Tamaki. Fool, Kyoy thought to himself. Doesn't he know that art is objective? Splendor in the eyes of one does not guarantee a similar take from another. Individuality is not easily swayed. Mind you there'd been a time where Ootori was accustomed to that but with fellowship and well-meaning rebellion in his life he now eclipsed by little. His passions were clear as day. Though different in their nuances, Tamaki too had an appreciation for eccentricity. Even so Kyoya believed there were elements to the blonde’s perspective that would always remain prudish. Despite him being a non-conformist within the aristocracy those who were void of societal expectation left him a little startled. For example, a pixie haired host with an epicene like elegance. Though Tamaki had grown to glorify it, Kyoya could see the nerves that lingered.

Given his bisexuality, androgynous affection came naturally to Kyoya but for Tamaki he was still a novice. He likely hadn't expected a cross dresser to be the woman of his dreams. To be fair, he hadn't either, but regardless, he was in full understanding. Haruhi had left him smitten too. Without trying she became the sole subject of Kyoya’s thoughts and even his art. Even when huddled away in Harajuku, her effect didn't escape him. Figures, he thought.

“I had a feeling you’d like this one.” Kyoya turned away from the mural that captured him. Upon a bench sat Tamaki with a commoner's tea in hand and others reserving the spot next to him. His eyes glued to the wall. There before them was a stunning mural of a onna-bugeisha or female warrior.

The title was bestowed to a woman who mastered the ways of the samurai in times of war as a means of protection. Their value was absolute, but over time their swords were stripped and replaced with the duties of a wife. Nevertheless, their legacy remains. “I wouldn't say it's entirely flattering,” said Tamaki as Kyoya sat beside him.

“But I'm beginning to think masculinity chooses certain women as its muse. How funny.”

Kyoya sipped his tea with a light chuckle. “You better hope I don’t tell Haruhi you said that.”

Tamaki glared at his companion. “Hey, I never said it wasn't flattering at all!” he spat.

“It's just that femininity is usually a woman's goal and I've never seen one ignore that goal as much as Haruhi. Even so, she's still gorgeous. It leaves me in a strange position. I spend day after day playing the part of a chivalrous Prince in our club, all for it to fall apart and the crazy thing is I couldn't save myself. I felt like the damsel in distress…”

Kyoya scoffed. “You say that like you're the only one.”

“And you sound like you're trying to relate. It’d save your breath, Mr. Perfect,” Tamaki snapped.

“I don't need to try,” Kyoya argued softly. “What you experienced isn't far from what I have. I spent half of my youth in a prison I helped build, slaving away to a father and brothers who saw me as blueprint and not Individual. That was my life until I met you.”

Gingerly, Kyoya lifted the chin of his brooding better half.

“You saved me Tamaki and if anything, Haruhi was leading by example. If you're a rookie becoming a knight in shining armor doesn't urge you to confess, I don't know what will. I can't force you any more than I can swallow the sun but luckily, I'm skilled at lecturing you.”

“Now will you listen to Mommy?”

“Maybe if you give me some breathing room,” Tamaki joked as Kyoya grew closer.

The shadow king scoffed. Within seconds, Kyoya’s smirk was eclipsing Tamaki’s lips.