Work Text:
Haruhi Fujioka was fascinating.
Or, maybe more accurately, Ritsu was fascinated by him. Emotions, subtleties, distinctions—they didn’t come easily, so it was hard to tell which was which. But no matter how you defined it, Fujioka was unlike anything Ritsu had ever come across—except for maybe Tetsuya. But with Tetsuya, it was different. Ristu had approached him—offered help. And while Tetsuya was gentle and permissive, he had a hell of a temper.
Fujioka was….
He was something new.
Fujioka was steady and calm, warm and welcoming. Unrepentantly unafraid. A warm bath to sink into, juxtaposed against Otori’s frigid cold front. While the rest of the club cowered, and Morinozuka stayed stoic, Otori and Fujioka were the only two who looked at him. And Fujioka was starkly unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. Even when Ritsu bit out words and snarled, Fujioka weathered it. He’d offer that slight, sideways smile and maybe a tiny laugh and he’d move on.
No man alive had ever treated Ritsu this way.
So, okay, yeah. He hung out with the host club a little bit more. Sure, he continued to beg Morinozuka into teaching him into the art of being both scary and loveable. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Fujioka.
And when Fujioka offered apologies on the behalf of the host club and finally introduced himself, settled next to him on the couch, some part of Ritsu’s brain broke. Nobody willing sat next to him. Being close to anybody back at the syndicate always preceded a brawl. But Fujioka was looking at him with those wide brown eyes, talking in his soft voice, and sitting right next to him. He was close enough Ritsu could smell the lye-rich scent of his soap, the unassuming yet sweet scent of his laundry detergent. Ritsu could see the subtle highlights in his dark brown hair, and could see the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes. He could see how perfectly smooth Fujioka’s skin was—how there wasn’t even the hint of stubble scarring his jawline. His nose was elegant, his eyebrows delicate. He was so inexplicably beautiful, Ritsu found himself forgetting how his lungs worked for a second.
He instead tried to focus on Fujioka’s lack of facial hair. Did he wax, like Ritsu suspected Otori did? Or did he just not grow any, like Suoh and Haninozuka? But Fujioka seemed so uninterested in appearances, so it had to be the latter, right?
Or did he use a fine-quality razor, like Ritsu himself?
But Fujioka was looking at him with those eyes, and speaking in that voice, and those perfect lips were moving—
What would it feel like to have Fujioka’s lips on his own?
Could he feel the scratch of stubble, the suppleness of his skin—
Fuck.
Was he gay?
Did other guys have these thoughts about guys? It was just natural curiosity, right? Dudes being bros and all that. Admiring your fellow man and all that.
But Fujioka’s laugh was so light and soothing, and Ritsu’s heart twisted in a weird way, and—
Fuck. He might be gay.
“Guess we’re buddies!” Fujioka said, those big brown eyes staring at him and Ritsu kinda wanted to puke.
But he swallowed it back, and responded the best he could manage. And watching Fujioka as he responded, that soft smile still on his face, it hit him: Fujioka reminded him of a girl. It was that same soft, gentle presence—those same soft, gentle features.
Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe he was just confused.
A girly guy was being nice to him, and wires were being crossed. That’s all it was. He wasn’t into Fujioka—
“Bossa Nova!” Suoh called.
And as much as Ritsu already disliked him, it was a welcome distraction. Well, until the cat ears and maid outfit came out. Then, it was straight hell—made all the worse by Tetsuya showing up and bearing witness to the single most humiliating moment of Ritsu’s life.
But it at least gave him a moment to breathe, to be away from Fujioka and finally sort his thoughts.
Fujioka was pretty. He was pretty in a way no guy Ritsu had ever seen was. Androgynous, but somehow masculine. Delicate, but sturdy. Sculpted, but not made of harsh angles. Quite literally, the best compromise of every option. Absolutely perfect, but in the kind of understated way that made him approachable.
…but, fuck, it probably wasn’t normal to think about guys this way. Even pretty boys like Fujioka. It wasn’t that Fujioka was girly. It was that Fujioka was Fujioka. Him being a guy was kinda part of the whole appeal. The idea that Ritsu could hold him close, and have smooth chest pressed to smooth chest was kinda sexy. If Fujioka stripped his shirt off—for any reason, he’s not a perv! he swears!—and showed off lean muscle, pert nipples on flat pecs, Ritsu was pretty certain he’d get dizzy.
Shit.
He was definitely, definitely gay.
He stared at the basket where he’d stowed an injured sparrow and couldn’t help but think, fuck, I’m so gay.
What kind of yakuza rescued a fucking bird?
A gay one.
A limp-dick, fairy faggot. That’s who.
Shit.
Delicately, he scooped the tiny, frail thing into his hand and stroked its head as gently as he could—making his way back to the steps by the fountain. Its bandage still looked good, and looked calm. Or, at least, it wasn’t doing that awful pain-pant as it tried to pull oxygen into tiny lungs and its body shook in shock. And, at least, it accepted the peas he’d stashed in his pocket that morning. It’d probably be ready to fly in a few days, and no that didn’t twist his heart. It was fine.
“Is that a sparrow?”
Ritsu tried not to jump, instead looking up at the person now leaning over him. Fujioka. Haruhi—that’s what Ritsu had been told to call him. They were apparently informal in the host club.
“Haruhi?” And god that felt odd. Too close, too personal. “What’re you doing here?”
Fujioka blinked those thick-lashed eyes, instead opting to ask, “So, what happened to him? Your sparrow?”
And as Ristu explained, Fujioka settled next to him. He smelled vaguely of lavender today, and was leaned so close Ritsu could feel his body heat. And as he cooed and looked up at him with those impossibly beautiful eyes, Ritsu’s heart clenched.
Fuck, he was so gay.
He could barely hold his half of the conversation, even though he didn’t even have to offer that many words. Fujioka was so fucking pretty. Those big, dark eyes. That soft smile. The gentle, easy confidence radiating off him.
He really wanted to kiss him.
He probably would have, if there hadn’t been a shout of watch out! and an objectively sick ass kick from Haninozuka. Red paint made a perfect arc, and his sparrow took flight. If he wasn’t currently processing just how damn close he came to kissing Fujioka, joy would have been easier to find. But instead, it took a second—existential crisis and disappointment warring inside.
But out of the woodwork came the rest of the host club, and Suoh (of course) had to start off with pure drama.
Red splattered the lavender of Fujioka’s coat, but that was the only real damage. (Even still, though, Ritsu had to check in. It was the manly thing to do, right?)
And then there Morinozuka was, holding two thugs like insolent toddlers.
And then there was a hand on his head, and a promise of friendship.
And then there Testsuya was, explaining his past.
And it took looking at Tetsuya for Ritsu to realize: he’d been gay for a long ass time. Probably before he met Tetsuya, but studying those stern features—remembering the way he was instantly drawn to the strange man on the street—he had to admit to himself, Fujioka wasn’t the first man Ritsu had been attracted to. Tetsuya was more masculine, but he had large dark eyes, a gentle voice, an elegantly heart-shaped face.
And Ritsu realized he knew intimately how his stubble grew, and what he smelled like, and all of his favorite things. Curiosity, he’d once thought it was. Attraction, though, was its real form.
So.
He liked guys.
He’d liked guys his whole life. Who’d’ve thought.
Oh. Shit. He liked guys. And he liked Fujioka. So, maybe, it was time to man up and tell him.
“Oh! I—uh. I should apologize to Fujioka! After all, it is my fault he got paint on him,” he managed to say.
“Haru-chan went back to the club room to change clothes!” Haninozuka said, quickly earning him the rank of Ritsu’s Favorite Host Club Member. He quickly thanked him before running off.
He was going to tell Fujioka how he felt. And he was going to accept whatever Fujioka’s response was. Even if it was a rejection—Ritsu would take that rejection like a man.
“Hey, Fujioka?” Ritsu called into the music room. No response. Hm. Might be in the prep room. He called out again, hesitating for only a moment before opening the door. They were both dudes, right? Even if Ritsu was gay, there wasn’t anything weird about potentially seeing Fujioka shirtless. He could just…wait for Fujioka to put on his shirt, then he could finally tell him how he felt.
Yeah.
Not weird.
But there was Fujioka. Shirt off, just as lean as he imagined.
Except there was a band across his upper back—one that had hooks in the center. And as he turned, it was very, very clear that band was a bra. And it was very, very clear Fujioka was born a girl.
“Get out!” Fujioka yelled, and Ritsu complied.
Pressed up against the outside of the door, he was left with a crisis.
Did he like girls after all?