Chapter Text
Yuuji knew better than to try to get in touch with Hideyoshi. He spent his weekend letting the guy cool off.
So, yeah, by Monday morning it had gotten around that not only had Class F skunked all of the other Fumizuki students, but Class F was getting a fancy lunch on Ouran for it. Of course, the secondary rumor - started, no doubt, by Nemoto - was that Ouran had, in return, skunked Class F and had taken a hostage.
When Yuuji made it back - and the story had been corroborated by Shouko - it became clear that they’d lost Hideyoshi. Certain people treated it as though the guy had died.
Yuuji just sighed, and settled himself on his cushion, his arms behind his head. He let Kota and Akihisa mourn and carry on. It was really too much trouble to disabuse them of their misconception.
And when Hideyoshi came in, the two mourners lit up like firecrackers and again the world was a place of joy and wonder.
Yuuji fully expected to be ignored. What he did not expect was for Hideyoshi to crouch beside him, head bowed.
Hideyoshi waited until it was dead silent, sitting on his knees with his hands folded in his lap. The sunlight played gently over his uniform, and the draft from the unsealed windows fluttered his hair over his face.
Yuuji said, “Morning.”
Hideyoshi lifted his head, then, his eyes wide and soft. He knotted his hands together, and brought them up to his chest. “I did it for everyone. Like you said.”
“What?” cried Yuuji, suddenly aware of the complete and total attention he was receiving from everyone in Class F.
Hideyoshi reached out and caressed his cheek with the backs of his fingers. He leaned closer, pushing out his chest, curving his spine. His cheeks were ever-so-lightly flushed, rosy pink against the pale perfection of the rest of him. When he shut his eyes, the picture of shyness, his eyelashes lay like resting butterflies. “And the next time I go, Kyouya-sama says he’s going to take pictures. I can give the copies to you, okay?”
“K-kyouya-sama?” stammered Yuuji, feeling frozen under the lightness of Hideyoshi’s fingers on his cheek.
“It’s what he wants me to call him. It’s more formal than ‘Daddy’. But since you’re the one who whored me out, maybe I should save that title for you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Big Daddy Yuuji.”
Yuuji’s eyes narrowed in response, but there was no time for an intelligent retort, as Akihisa cried betrayal and Kota flew into an upset over having someone else take pictures of Hideyoshi in a compromising situation.
Hideyoshi just snuggled down beside Yuuji and began to play with his hair. “Are you hungry, Papa? I’m sure you could trade me to someone for breakfast.”
Through his teeth, Yuuji gritted, “I ate already.”
Hideyoshi ran one fingertip down the outside of Yuuji’s ear. “And you used to make me feel so special.”
“So what do you want from me,” whispered Yuuji, as Hideyoshi cuddled up to him. It felt dirty, even without appalled reactions from the peanut gallery.
“I’m sure I’ll forgive you eventually,” said Hideyoshi, patting his arm consolingly.
As Yuuji growled, Hideyoshi moved away to permit Akihisa and Kota to yell at him.
Himeji and Shimada crouched beside Hideyoshi, their brows furrowed in worry.
“Hideyoshi. Did he really -- are you --?”
Hideyoshi sighed a little, and settled on his cushion. “I’m not happy with him. I’m going to call a spade a spade. But, yes. I was exaggerating to upset Akihisa.”
Shimada tilted her head. “So, uh, you got sold to a bunch of rich guys?”
Hideyoshi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not exactly-”
“Into slavery?” asked Himeji, leaning forward. She clasped one hand over her breast. “What was this about pictures?”
About then, Kota descended on Hideyoshi, and Yuuji got two inches to breathe. He permitted himself half a second to be rather pleased that Hideyoshi’s revenge backfired so spectacularly, before the gentleman in him forced him to shout, “Enough!”
It took a good whack to the back of Akihisa’s head to really silence the rabble, but when he had their attention he sat back down and folded his arms over his chest.
“What happened at Ouran stays at Ouran,” he said firmly. He thought it sounded pretty good.
Hideyoshi’s school bag connected with his face at impressive speed. He felt the buckle embed itself into his forehead, heard the crunching of cartilage in his nose.
“Whoa! Hideyoshi!” cried Akihisa.
Yuuji put his hand to his face to readjust the set of his nose, and peered out through one eye at Hideyoshi, flushed dark and panting. His school bag dangled from his hand, and his eyes were wide.
“Okay, Yuuji,” he breathed. “I forgive you now.”