Chapter Text
The classroom emptied slowly as children of the richest people in Japan saunter off to their after-school activities. Gentle laughter filled the hallway as the students exited, just as it always did when no one was in a hurry to go anywhere less comfortable. More often than not, the majority of them were on their way to the host club located on the third floor of this unnecessarily lavish school.
You stay seated long after your group members filtered out, along with the rest of the students, your eyes lingering on the neat stack of papers in front of you. Always color-coded, tabbed, immaculately organized. And most importantly, completed. Much to your dismay, the project had taken longer than it should have, mostly because not everyone involved had understood the concept of shared responsibility the same way you did. They never did.
You’d learned not to say anything about it.
Instead, you compensated and moved on.
The universe was consistent in its several ways it decided to punish you, almost always in the specific way of putting you with lazy kids of aristocrats that had better things to do than contribute to their assignments.
The clock ticked once as you slipped your notes back into your bag. Your shoulders ached faintly, but not from strain. Instead, they were stiff with the same sort of tiredness that settled in from holding yourself upright for too long.
Second-ranked didn't necessarily mean second-best.
It meant replaceable.
You were taught that a long time ago, by none other than your own mother. Although she never intended to do so, it surely scared your 7-year-old brain into success. And yet, it never terrified you enough to attempt to surpass the top-ranked student in Ouran High, Ootori Kyouya. The calm and calculated boy was practically untouchable, and despite being second, your scores were nowhere near his. At times, you weren’t even sure if he was human, but you were sure being dehumanized was the last thing the prodigy needed. At the end of the day, he was just a high school student like you.
After packing your belongings, you were ready to head out to arrive at your cram school early, but your teacher stopped you before you even made it halfway to the door. In fact, she stopped Kyouya as well, who was on his way to what you could only assume was the host club for which he ghost-hosted.
“Just a moment,” our professor called, her tone warm enough to sound casual yet still professional. She met your gaze briefly before looking between you and Ootori.
“There is a matter the headmaster has personally entrusted to the two of you.”
Those words continued to repeat in your mind over and over again, despite the professor having said them a minute ago. Although you were used to minor projects due to being the vice class president, to be tasked with a long-term project with the class president, Kyouya Ootori, when you already had a lot on your plate, was tedious— to say the least. Furthermore, it was put upon the two of you to piece together a whole tour of Ouran’s most impeccable attributes to display to their most important donors.
Something about “if students lead the tour, it would show that the next generation is ready.”
A silence followed, and Kyouya didn’t fill it right away. He adjusted his glasses instead, gaze unfocused for a moment as if planning out the whole task in that exact moment. As you turned to look up at him, it was apparent he had taken notice of your weariness due to the words that left his lips in response.
“I’ll handle the preliminary planning—” he started, taking out his agenda as he began to write something down. “And I’ll forward you what’s relevant.”
Shock came first, followed by the faint, unwelcome yet common sting of being overlooked. So you open your mouth to speak. Nevertheless, his attention seemed to be completely off of you. Not intentionally, but knowing him, He had never been assigned a group project he wasn’t expected to pick up the slack for just so it could meet his standards. Somewhere along the way, he just learned to stop waiting for help.
Just like you have for the past several years of your school life.
As he was about to walk out the door, you stopped him. Reaching for his sleeve, you called out to him.
“Ootori wait.” You began, hoping you didn’t upset him merely by touching him.
He turned back almost immediately, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on you. Curiosity surfaced in the pause he didn’t bother to hide.
“I don’t freeload on projects. You can expect my partnership until this is completed.” You stated genuinely.
For the first time since the assignment was announced, Kyouya went still. Not exactly tense, his calm disposition that always seemed to have everything under control was as constant as ever, just momentarily unguarded.
He studied you, not with calculation, but with something more deliberate. He’s seeing you properly for the first time. Not just as the student who was in a position lower than his, but as the vice president who had earned a spot on the podium.
“Very well,” he says, after a brief pause.
“Then we’ll proceed as partners.”
With that, he slipped from your fingers, leaving to catch his club that you could only assume he had never been late for. And you were left there, repeating those words in your mind as you stood there with his way-too-professional business card he had slipped into your hands before departing.
Partners.