Work Text:
1.
The sun was setting, and Kyoya was alone in the music room. He had been attempting to finalize some work for the Host Club’s finances, but his focus was fraying. He thought he would work better with some rare peace and quiet, but the room was almost eerie without the usual noise and chaos.
How odd to think Kyoya was once so used to being alone.
He looked out the window and onto the courtyard. School club activities had long ended, and outside it was empty, save for the statue of a cherub serenely peeing into one of Ouran’s many fountains. The school’s decor had always been a bit too gaudy for Kyoya’s more modern sensibilities, but he could still appreciate the classic beauty of the campus.
He sighed, flipping to a page in his notebook, making sure that he had completed the club's payment to the patisserie that supplied them with their daily assortment of sweets. He already had, of course.
He clicked on the club's bank account. The account was well in the green. This season’s beach catalog of the various members in swimsuits had sold exceptionally well and would probably fund them through at least five more of Tamaki’s extravagant events. Kyoya smiled to himself, wondering what Tamaki would manage to think up this time.
The sound of the door handle turning jerked Kyoya out of his thoughts.
“I’m sorry the Host Club is closed–”
The door opened, and Tamaki walked through. "Ah, just as I suspected, you're still here. While your dedication to our beloved club never ceases to inspire me, isn't it time to go home?”
Tamaki had one hand posed dramatically on his chest, the other was behind his back.
“What’s behind your back?” Kyoya asked, flipping to an empty page in his notebook, pretending to be preoccupied.
“Oh, this,” Tamaki smiled and pulled his hand out, holding out what looked to be two styrofoam cups in a little cardboard carrier. “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up after all your hard work,” Tamaki said, “and what better than coffee from a commoner cafe!”
Kyoya could think of a magnitude of things that would be better than another one of Tamaki’s beloved commoner delicacies, but despite that, he found himself taking the cup from Tamaki’s outstretched hand.
Tamaki watched eagerly as Kyoya took his first sip.
“Well? Well? What do you think?”
“It’s wretched.”
“I know!” Tamaki exclaimed. “Commoners are such interesting creatures! To endure such an assault on one's taste buds is surely a sign of strength.”
“Or just poor breeding,” Kyoya sneered.
Tamaki smiled as he sat down across from Kyoya. “Well, that too, of course.”
Kyoya continued his work, scrolling through next month's budget plans, while also skimming an article on a company buy-out that had been making headlines.
Kyoya took another sip of the coffee and winced.
“You know,” Tamaki said, voice quieter now, “you really don’t have to drink it. I just wanted an excuse to come back and see you.”
Kyoya’s fingers paused. He tried to keep his eyes focused on his laptop but found that he had lost his place in the article. He took a deep breath, ignoring the uncontrollable quickening of his pulse.
It was just like Tamaki to be so painfully honest that it made Kyoya stop in his tracks.
Kyoya took another sip of the coffee. “No, I think I’d like to finish it.”
Tamaki smiled, his eyes an impossible shade of violet. “Well okay, Kyoya.”
2.
The theme was Christmas Paradise. Dreamt up after Tamaki had forced Kyoya into a Christmas movie marathon.
“Neither of us are Christian.” Kyoya had pointed out when Tamaki arrived at his house with a box set of American Christmas Classics.
“You don't need religion to have true Christmas spirit,” Tamaki said.
“You know, Blasphemy isn’t very princely.”
Tamaki rolled his eyes and pushed further into Kyoya's house.
“Why are you going to my room? We can watch them in the private theatre.” Kyoya drolled as he followed Tamaki down one of the many winding hallways of his family’s residence.
Tamaki paused. The backs of his ears reddened.
Interesting.
“I thought it would be more cozy and well… conducive to the Christmas spirit to watch them on the coach in your room.”
Satisfaction bloomed in Kyoya’s stomach. “Well okay, if that’s what you want.”
And so after five films and four mugs of hot chocolate, Tamaki’s idea for a Christmas Paradise themed Host Club party was born.
“How’d you manage to get this much fake snow? Haruhi asked, pointing at the large mound of snow that Honey Sempai had claimed as Mont Honey.
“You don't want to know, '' Kyoya sighed, dusting off a piece of said snow from his shoulder.
Haruhi smiled knowingly at him, “Anything for Tamaki-senpai.”
“Anything within reason, I suppose.”
The penguins that Kyoya had negotiated to borrow from Tokyo’s Zoo chose that moment to flock past them.
“Kyoya-senpai. I think reason flew out the window a long time ago.”
The girl might have had a point.
By all metrics, the event was proving to be a tremendous success. The guests had raved about all of their costumes, and the fake snow wafting in the air added to the romantic atmosphere. Kyoya had even hired a couple of photographers to take candid shots of the whole affair. It was the last thing Kyoya needed for the Host Club Calendar he planned to have ready for purchase in time for the New Year.
To complete the winter mood, the A.C was being blasted. Kyoya was underdressed in his sleeveless Jack Frost costume. He caught his reflection in one of the giant shiny ice sculptures. He looked foolish. But it was kitschy and silly. Or, in Tamaki’s words, it was fun.
Regardless, at least he wasn’t in stripped stockings like the twins, in their matching elf costumes.
Kyoya wrapped an arm around himself. Still, he really wished his costume had sleeves. As if hearing his thoughts, a hand wrapped around him, setting a thick warm coat over his shoulders.
Kyoya blinked. It was Tamaki’s egregious red Santa coat.
Kyoya raised an eyebrow at Tamaki, who smiled in return.
“It would be ironic if Jack Frost caught a cold.” He said before prancing away to entertain their guests.
3.
Ironic or not, Kyoya caught a cold. A bad cold. Maybe a Kyoya of the past would have pushed through it to go to school. They did have a history test coming up, and Kyoya would miss valuable instruction time. But he was so tired. He phoned the school, then shot Tamaki a text letting him know he would miss club before he collapsed back into his bed.
Kyoya napped through the whole day.
He had strange nonsensical dreams. In one, he was fighting with his brothers before they both turned into giant koi fish and Kyoya had to run around the house searching for a big enough bowl for them to live in. In another, he was back in kindergarten, and Mori was his teacher, and Honey was the principal. Finally, Kyoya had a recurring dream he had been having since his last year of middle school. It was a dream so stupid and pathetic every time Kyoya woke up from it, he wanted to bash himself in the head with his alarm clock. Anything that would force his subconscious to stop. But the dream always came back. It was a nothing dream. A simple dream. It was a dream of Tamaki. A dream of Tamaki standing in a nondescript room. Sometimes he was laughing. Sometimes he was talking. But most of the time he would just say one word. One word. Then look at Kyoya, his blonde hair falling into his face, his eyes so fond. One word.
It was a terrible dream.
When Kyoya finally awoke, he was alone in his four-poster bed, sweating through his shirt. The clock on his bedside table said it was 4:47 PM. Host Club duties would be well underway by now. He closed his eyes. Might as well get more rest.
“Kyoya!” The door to his room burst open. Tamaki charged through the room. “I am here to nurse you back to health.”
Kyoya lifted his head up. Even without his glasses, Tamaki was just as bright and conspicuous.
Kyoya frowned, “Shouldn’t you be at the club?”
“I left early. I can not have my vice president falling ill without my care.”
“Right.” Kyoya said.
Tamaki pulled out a thermometer from his bag. “Open up.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Tamaki said nothing, looking at him with that determined expression. And really, no one was a match for that, so Kyoya opened his mouth, letting Tamaki touch the thermometer to his tongue before it beeped. Telling them that Kyoya had a low fever.
Tamaki tsked at him. “Have you had any fever reducer? When was the last time you drank water?” Then he moved so his face was only inches away from Kyoya's face. Tamaki gave him a once-over, then tsked again. “You really don’t look so good.”
“Thanks.” Kyoya muttered.
Ignoring him. Tamaki ran off and then returned with a glass of water and pills. Then he pulled the chair from Kyoya’s desk, so it was next to the bed. Kyoya lay there staring at the ceiling. Being nursed to health by the school's self-appointed prince. When had this become his life?
Tamaki pulled out a book.
“Sometimes I’m shocked you know how to read.” Kyoya said, watching Tamaki turn a page.
“I took very precise notes in history because I know you are stressed about the exam, but I won’t share them if you keep being mean.”
Kyoya rolled his eyes. “I’d be better reading a fifth grader's account than yours.”
Tamaki nudged him in the shoulder but didn't say anything.
Kyoya closed his eyes. He felt itchy under his skin. This was too much. Being alone with Tamaki in this way was too much. Kyoya was being mean and grouchy, and it was because he was getting what he wanted. And that scared him. It scared him that this was what he wanted most of all. Tamaki’s time. Tamaki’s attention. Something so moronic that could not be disguised as just a favorable family alliance. Something as simple and hopeless as love. God. Just the thought of the word made him want to vomit.
Kyoya rubbed his palms into his eyes. When he finally looked at Tamaki again, Tamaki was still reading. Kyoya scanned the spine of the book.
“Intersting reading choice.”
Tamaki, ever good-natured, smiled at him. “I like it so far. My English is not as good as yours though, so I’m reading it in Japanese. I doubt the translation is as good.”
Kyoya had read the book a couple of weeks ago. Had Tamaki noticed? A line from the book rose to the forefront of Kyoya’s mind: I am half agony, half hope.
+1
The thing about knowing someone for three years is that things may change dramatically, but they also change gradually; once Kyoya had only seen Tamaki as another peer-sized pawn. Once Kyoya had hated Tamaki. Once Kyoya had begun to see Tamaki as a true friend. Once his closest friend. And now? Well now, against all reason and intelligence, Kyoya found himself in love.
That had been an unfortunate development, but it was one Kyoya had been determined to handle on his own. But recently, Kyoya’s analytical mind was sabotaging itself. He could not help but hold onto every small action Tamaki made in relation to Kyoya. Tamaki would make a comment on Kyoya’s hair of all things, and Kyoya would spend hours turning it over in his mind.
Kyoya was alone again in the music room, and this was the battle he found himself waging. Do not think about Tamaki Suoh, he was all but chanting to himself as he stared at his computer screen, unable to get the sound of Tamaki’s voice out of his head.
It did not help that he had had that stupid dream again.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and attempted to finish reading the article on the national debt he had started.
Of course, Tamaki had other plans for Kyoya. The door opened.
“Kyoya!” Tamaki said, walking into the room with a flourish. “I just spoke to the orchestra club and they agreed to play for a club event, isn't that just fabulous?"
Kyoya felt that same itch under his skin. Nothing about anything felt 'just fabulous'.
“Tamaki, if you have not noticed I am trying to catch up on some work so–”
Tamaki was in front of him. Looking at him with those big bright eyes. “Arent you tired of working?”
Kyoya had had it. “No. No, I am not tired of working because you refuse to even give me the chance to start.” He said, wringing the words out slowly, glaring at Tamaki with sharp eyes.
Tamaki crossed his arms but didn’t say anything, looking at him with an expression that made Kyoya feel transparent. Kyoya never felt that way with anyone else. It was another scary element to his dynamic with Tamaki. The feeling that Tamaki knew him more than anyone else. Somehow it was all he wanted, and it was also the worst thing ever. Maybe it was a bit like the twins with their game. The way they found comfort in the walls between them and everyone else and yet were so afraid those walls would never fall.
Kyoya swallowed. “Well?” He said, breaking the silence.
The sunlight filtered through the window; the light fell across Tamaki’s face. He looked at Kyoya, his expression gentle and warm. Kyoya felt an odd sense of deja-vu. Then Tamaki, with that look on his face, said his name. “Kyoya.” And it was just like that dream. The dream Kyoya could not stop having. The dream of Tamaki staring at him, looking as if he was in love, and calling out one word. His name.
Everything felt still. “What?”
Tamaki moved closer to him. “Tell me what you want? Do you really want me to leave?”
In the dream, Kyoya had simply been allowed to watch Tamaki. To imagine a world where he might look at him with that expression. But in the real world, time was always moving forward, and there were choices to be made.
Kyoya’s eyes flickered to his laptop, which had darkened by now. How many times was Tamaki going to turn him into something more honest? Which was a contradiction. But that did not make it a lie.
“No.” Kyoya said softly, “I want you to stay.”
Tamaki was so close. Close enough that Kyoya could make out each individual lash framing his eyes. Tamaki’s hand moved to touch the curve of Kyoya’s jaw. Even in dreams, Kyoya had dared not hope for this.
There, in music room number three, Tamaki kissed him.