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Haruhi needed to go to the Isabella Stewart Gardner for a class, which of course meant all of them had to go, too.
“I have to take notes on the special exhibition and sketch at least one sculpture for my art history class,” Haruhi had said, to which Tamaki replied with something like, “What kind of life partner would I be if I didn’t support you in every endeavor?”
And thus, before Kyoya and the rest of the Host Club could blink, tickets were reserved for 10 in the morning on Saturday.
Never mind that Kyoya never woke up before noon on a Saturday if he could help it. Never mind that museums in Boston on Saturdays were crowded with sticky children and tourist couples in addition to art students working on assignments and respectable donors. Haruhi needed to go, so they were all going, and woe befall anyone who tried to skip out on the group outing because, as Tamaki and his irresistible puppy-dog eyes put it, “It’s been too long since we’ve done something all together!”
So that’s how Ootori Kyoya found himself on a stone bench in the Isabella Stewart Gardner cloister, trying his best to sneak in a nap while his friends enjoyed the art museum to various degrees.
“This isn’t that impressive,” Hikaru told Haruhi in a stage whisper as Haruhi scribbled down something about a John Singer Sargent portrait in the room off the central courtyard. “We have a much nicer Sargent in mom’s New York office.”
“And a Van Dyck,” Kaoru added. “That one’s mostly for impressing other artsy people, though.”
Haruhi, having learned enough in her art history class to understand the value of the names the twins just dropped on her, looked somewhat disturbed.
“For commoners, museums like this are their only opportunities to see something like a Sargent at all!” Tamaki declared. He was, of course, a patron of the museum.
“I think it’s nice!” Honey decided. “I like how it looks kind of like a house someone lives in.” Mori nodded in silent solidarity.
“Too homey, maybe. You can barely see the art with how dim this lighting is,” Hikaru complained.
Kyoya leaned back against the wall beside a medieval tabernacle and closed his eyes to the sound of familiar and foreign chatter around him, trying to filter it all out enough to actually catch up on the sleep he was missing.
It was a futile effort. Mere minutes later, Kaoru tapped Kyoya on the shoulder. “We’re going up to the second floor, just so you know we’re not abandoning you on a bench again.”
“I see we all learned something from the product expo incident,” Kyoya replied, eyes still closed. His wallet and phone were both in his pocket this time, at least. He stretched his arms out over his head and gave up on his attempt to nap.
The museum was styled after Venetian Renaissance palaces, with a fern-filled courtyard surrounded by marble columns in the center of the main building and antique furniture accentuating the art on every wall. Nowadays, the courtyard mostly served as a backdrop for visitors to take photos.
“We should take a photo here too,” Tamaki declared, but Haruhi held up her notebook and countered, “Not until I finish my assignment.”
The Host Club made their way up the wide staircase to the second floor, where the walls of classical paintings were interrupted by empty frames.
“The paintings were stolen in 1990,” Kyoya explained to Honey, who was examining a frame labeled REMBRANDT. He’d read up on the situation the night before. “Terrible negligence on the museum’s part, of course, but they were very underfunded at the time, so I guess that’s just what happens to collectors without enough money to keep their collection.”
“Aw, that’s too bad,” Honey decided. “I would’ve liked to see the paintings.” Mori was gazing at the empty frame with an almost meditative look of contemplation.
“An interesting aspect of the case is that the thieves left some of the most valuable pieces unharmed, and grabbed some nearly worthless items instead,” Kyoya continued. “They did steal the Vermeer, but they left the Titian, so how much did they know about what they were doing?”
“You would’ve done a better job, then?” Kaoru asked.
Kyoya smiled at him, dim galley light reflecting off his glasses. “Of course.”
“I know you weren’t born yet when the theft happened, but I can’t help wondering if maybe you’d masterminded it from the future, somehow,” Hikaru muttered.
The empty frames continued to hang, decades after being vacated, to serve as a reminder of what happened, and because Gardner stipulated that no one change anything in her gallery after her death.
Kyoya looked at the faded blue brocade where Rembrandt’s only seascape used to be, and considered being the youngest son, and having to paint the perfect painting in a flawless frame.
“This used to hold The Storm on the Sea of Galilee , ” Haruhi announced, reading from her textbook. “Depicting a scene from the Bible of Christ’s disciples trying to keep a fishing boat afloat in a storm... on the sea of Galilee.”
The members of the host club gathered around Haruhi to see the small, grainy reproduction of the painting in her book. A fine example of Dutch golden age painting, Kyoya supposed.
“I bet that’s how you feel all the time,” Kaoru said, nudging Kyoya gently. “Trying to keep the Host Club afloat in the storm that is real life.”
“That’s not how it went, though,” Haruhi interrupted with a frown. She held up the page of her textbook with a reproduction of the painting in it. “Everyone works together, see? Except that one guy throwing up over the side at the bottom.”
Everyone turned to look at Tamaki, who was posing for selfies with a group of giggling teenage girls at the other end of the gallery.
“ The Storm on the Sea of Galilee was the most valuable Rembrandt taken from the museum,” Kyoya added, still looking at the frame.
Perhaps the thieves had some taste after all.