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vilnius2011-07-23 02:37 am
heartbeats) wrote in vilnius2011-07-23 02:37 am
Entry tags:
maybe you're my love?
Ugh I am legit never going to finish this so I thought I might as well post what I've got.
Haruhi makes the announcement that she's taking a few weeks off from Host Club activities offhandedly, managing very well to act as if that isn't the kind of declaration that will almost certainly end in being tailed for weeks by a troupe of strangely attractive but poorly concealed millionaires. She's gotten too used to it to even get annoyed anymore, and her neighbors have thankfully stopped calling the police. Shooting a keen eye over toward Tamaki, within whose brain the panicked clockwork has visibly begun ticking away, Kyouya manages to choke out gracefully,
"Is there any particular reason you feel like you don't need to fulfill your responsibilities to the club for so long?"
It's an interesting, unspoken thing that no one brings up Haruhi's vase anymore; recalling that debt only ever seems to make everyone remember the sweet-faced, sharp-eyed French girl who paid it off in full.
The fault for Haruhi's absence lies, as it turns out, almost entirely with Tamaki himself. Because of his son's insistence that the historical and cultural basis of Japanese society lay in the top-down administration of the social "haves" to the "have-nots" (amae, Tamaki had intoned breathlessly, Takeo Doi sitting spine-cracked in his lap), when Chairman Suou originally took over the management of the Ouran schools he'd installed a civic service requirement for advancement into the next grade. As is often the case with Tamaki's plans, no one really understands this, and most of the student body simply pays a lump fee once a year to a charity of his or her choice. It's never occurred to anyone, apparently, that someone might come along who prefers to get her hands dirty.
"It wasn't a bad idea," she comforts Tamaki offhandedly, not looking up from her homework, "although to be frank I found Doi anecdotal and full of inaccuracies. At least Benedict had a documented methodology, even if it was full of holes." Somehow this doesn't seem to soothe the Host Club President's shattered image of a youthful and benevolent Nobunaga, giving orders from on high to an adoring but easily confused common folk.
"I'm just tutoring a student at a public school near my apartment," she assures them. "He's apparently got a good shot at taking their baseball team to prefecturals or whatever this year," she sighs into her cup of tea, briefly wondering what it would be like were these kinds of concessions made for academic achievement - but then, she supposes she's enough fuss in her life already. "But he can't keep playing if his grades continue to drop, so..." She smiles halfheartedly up at the rest of the club, blissfully - if not willfully - ignorant of the shade of puce that Tamaki and the twins turn with each new word - he. baseball. prefecturals. "It's only until his exams are over."
Visions of a cheerleading-uniform clad Haruhi being swept off of her feet by a behemoth of a baseball player threaten to overwhelm Tamaki, and he has to go lie down for a while. Kyouya gives her permission to cut her club hours down to one day a week, and in return she doesn't bring up the suspicious way that the other members have begun pulling up the information for all public school baseball teams in the prefecture with first year students among the regular players (there's only one - Namimori, a fifteen minute train ride from Haruhi's apartment).
---
Yamamoto Takeshi is as far from Tamaki's imagined Olympian as is physically possible - tall and lanky, with big hands and feet he still hasn't quite grown into and a pleasant - if very slightly inane - laugh. He's got sports - and not much else - on the brain, but he gets along well with his classmates, has a large group of friends and, barring a few mysterious disappearances without much forewarning, is nothing but friendly to Haruhi.
"What a dope," Hikaru assesses in the third week as he passes his binoculars to his brother. The baseball player's laughing self-effacingly at something - the Host Club is too far away to hear what - and when Haruhi puts on her stern face he reaches out without a second thought and ruffles her hair. "What are you getting all touchy-feely with her for! This isn't a track meet!"
"Tono, isn't there something more interesting we could be doing?" Kaoru assents, scratching at the itchy fabric of their illegally obtained Namimori student jackets. "This guy's got baseball on the brain - the worst thing he'd do to Haruhi is try to recruit her for a pickup game."
Unfortunately, reconnaissance at Namimori is deemed unsafe after a run-in with the head of the school's Disciplinary Committee, and that's the last any of the Host Club has to say on the subject - they don't see in week four, when Haruhi's father hides all of her normal clothes and she shows up for tutoring in a dress and sandals; week five, when Yamamoto finally gets her to laugh at one of his jokes; week six, when in the middle of clapping her on the back his face gets a little pink and his fingers linger a millisecond on her shoulder; week seven, when he gets a near-perfect score on one of his practice tests and Haruhi's smile is soft around the edges.
---
"Mom," hisses Tamaki one afternoon as club activities are winding down, pointing out the window, "There's someone from another school waiting at the front gate."
Ouran's students are generally too blue-blooded to mix much with outsiders, so this well-intentioned Romeo catches the interest of the few remaining guests, and soon there’s a small crowd gathered to look. Unfortunately, due to the insane size of their campus, no one can really see much of anything beyond the fact that someone, of indeterminate gender (probably a man, Hikaru intones, or else that poor girl has shoulders like a linebacker) is waiting for someone at the gate, a trope in shoujo manga and anime Tamaki is happy to describe in detail. Two girls – the host club is sure they saw them at a Zuka Club revue – pull out binoculars.
"Cross-school love is one of the oldest and most well-established concepts in postwar history," Tamaki trills, "hearkening back to romances between members of feuding clans." He nods knowingly, "The appeal is increased by the amount of time spent apart, as well as the longing that that forced separation brings about. It can also indicate differences in social class!! Ah, this brave hero, to put up with so much for a simple glimpse of his or her linebacker-shouldered love!! "
"What’s with that blazer," one of the girls hisses at her companion. "It’s yellow!"
"Isn’t that…" Hikaru inquires, grabbing the binoculars.
"Namimori’s uniform?" Kaoru finishes the thought, confirming their conclusion with a glance into the binoculars and a nod. "Hey, Haruhi, it’s that Yamamoto guy. Didn’t you say his exams were a week ago? "
Haruhi looks up from her seat, caught in the middle of stuffing her books into her bag. "Ah, yes. Apparently he passed everything somehow, but he’s said he doesn’t really have any confidence that he can replicate those results the next time around, so he’s asked me to work with him a few times a week to keep him fresh and up-to-date." She smiles politely at the girls, then directs herself to Kyouya. "Is it all right if I leave a bit early? Sorry to cause trouble, I told him to wait for me at the station, but…" she shrugs a little long-sufferingly and perhaps even a little fondly. "His listening comprehension skills, I guess, still need a little work. "
The girls titter amongst themselves about Haruhi-kun’s friend from a public school, and how of course he’d have that kind of friend, until last year he was a public schooler, etc. Strangely the concept of having to budget for things, something which the girls at Ouran normally sneer at, seems almost exotic when Haruhi does it.
"I sometimes wish," a girl confesses to Tamaki once, "that Haruhi could just be my bride. "
Hikaru and Kaoru, still unwilling to see an over-tall jock in a yellow blazer as any sort of threat, relax back into their seats.
"I’ll walk you down," Tamaki offers, taking Haruhi’s bag off of her shoulders. She rolls her eyes and takes it back from him, declining his offer of help, but doesn’t reject his company.
The two of them walk down the long staircases of campus in comfortable silence – although Tamaki used to babble here and there to fill it, over the time he’s found that not only is Haruhi the kind of remarkable presence that doesn’t require commentary, but that he rather enjoys not entertaining anyone once in a while.
"I’m really very sorry to interrupt club activities," Haruhi blurts out suddenly when they are almost to the main entrance. "I really did tell him to wait for me at the station, but when he gets like that..." She doesn’t specify what ‘that’ is, but Tamaki is too entranced by how cute the tinge of pink around her ears – regret at threatening club time?! – is.
"Are you going to a family restaurant," he asks instead. "It’s late to go all the way back to his school by now, isn’t it?"
"Ah, we’re going to his family business."
"Family business?" They’ve reached the main door, and she’s pulling her shoes out of her cubby and onto her feet.
"Mm, his father’s a sushi chef, and they own a restaurant." She taps one foot into a shoe, then another. "In exchange for helping Yamamoto-kun out, his father treats me." Slack-jawed, Tamaki tries to tell himself the anticipation sparkling in her eyes is directed toward the toro she’ll devour this evening. Horrified, he sees that Yamamoto has recognized her and is waving frantically in their direction, grinning ear to ear.
Even more horrifyingly, Haruhi gives a small, grudging wave back.
"Ah, senpai, thank you for taking me this far, but I have it from here." She gives a quick bow and a grin that is suspiciously bright, then lopes off toward the front gate, scolding what sounds like "I told you they don’t understand about public school blazers here, why didn’t you wait where I told you to?"
---
“Mom,” Tamaki sobs into Kyouya’s shoulder a few minutes later, "She loves him."
Haruhi makes the announcement that she's taking a few weeks off from Host Club activities offhandedly, managing very well to act as if that isn't the kind of declaration that will almost certainly end in being tailed for weeks by a troupe of strangely attractive but poorly concealed millionaires. She's gotten too used to it to even get annoyed anymore, and her neighbors have thankfully stopped calling the police. Shooting a keen eye over toward Tamaki, within whose brain the panicked clockwork has visibly begun ticking away, Kyouya manages to choke out gracefully,
"Is there any particular reason you feel like you don't need to fulfill your responsibilities to the club for so long?"
It's an interesting, unspoken thing that no one brings up Haruhi's vase anymore; recalling that debt only ever seems to make everyone remember the sweet-faced, sharp-eyed French girl who paid it off in full.
The fault for Haruhi's absence lies, as it turns out, almost entirely with Tamaki himself. Because of his son's insistence that the historical and cultural basis of Japanese society lay in the top-down administration of the social "haves" to the "have-nots" (amae, Tamaki had intoned breathlessly, Takeo Doi sitting spine-cracked in his lap), when Chairman Suou originally took over the management of the Ouran schools he'd installed a civic service requirement for advancement into the next grade. As is often the case with Tamaki's plans, no one really understands this, and most of the student body simply pays a lump fee once a year to a charity of his or her choice. It's never occurred to anyone, apparently, that someone might come along who prefers to get her hands dirty.
"It wasn't a bad idea," she comforts Tamaki offhandedly, not looking up from her homework, "although to be frank I found Doi anecdotal and full of inaccuracies. At least Benedict had a documented methodology, even if it was full of holes." Somehow this doesn't seem to soothe the Host Club President's shattered image of a youthful and benevolent Nobunaga, giving orders from on high to an adoring but easily confused common folk.
"I'm just tutoring a student at a public school near my apartment," she assures them. "He's apparently got a good shot at taking their baseball team to prefecturals or whatever this year," she sighs into her cup of tea, briefly wondering what it would be like were these kinds of concessions made for academic achievement - but then, she supposes she's enough fuss in her life already. "But he can't keep playing if his grades continue to drop, so..." She smiles halfheartedly up at the rest of the club, blissfully - if not willfully - ignorant of the shade of puce that Tamaki and the twins turn with each new word - he. baseball. prefecturals. "It's only until his exams are over."
Visions of a cheerleading-uniform clad Haruhi being swept off of her feet by a behemoth of a baseball player threaten to overwhelm Tamaki, and he has to go lie down for a while. Kyouya gives her permission to cut her club hours down to one day a week, and in return she doesn't bring up the suspicious way that the other members have begun pulling up the information for all public school baseball teams in the prefecture with first year students among the regular players (there's only one - Namimori, a fifteen minute train ride from Haruhi's apartment).
---
Yamamoto Takeshi is as far from Tamaki's imagined Olympian as is physically possible - tall and lanky, with big hands and feet he still hasn't quite grown into and a pleasant - if very slightly inane - laugh. He's got sports - and not much else - on the brain, but he gets along well with his classmates, has a large group of friends and, barring a few mysterious disappearances without much forewarning, is nothing but friendly to Haruhi.
"What a dope," Hikaru assesses in the third week as he passes his binoculars to his brother. The baseball player's laughing self-effacingly at something - the Host Club is too far away to hear what - and when Haruhi puts on her stern face he reaches out without a second thought and ruffles her hair. "What are you getting all touchy-feely with her for! This isn't a track meet!"
"Tono, isn't there something more interesting we could be doing?" Kaoru assents, scratching at the itchy fabric of their illegally obtained Namimori student jackets. "This guy's got baseball on the brain - the worst thing he'd do to Haruhi is try to recruit her for a pickup game."
Unfortunately, reconnaissance at Namimori is deemed unsafe after a run-in with the head of the school's Disciplinary Committee, and that's the last any of the Host Club has to say on the subject - they don't see in week four, when Haruhi's father hides all of her normal clothes and she shows up for tutoring in a dress and sandals; week five, when Yamamoto finally gets her to laugh at one of his jokes; week six, when in the middle of clapping her on the back his face gets a little pink and his fingers linger a millisecond on her shoulder; week seven, when he gets a near-perfect score on one of his practice tests and Haruhi's smile is soft around the edges.
---
"Mom," hisses Tamaki one afternoon as club activities are winding down, pointing out the window, "There's someone from another school waiting at the front gate."
Ouran's students are generally too blue-blooded to mix much with outsiders, so this well-intentioned Romeo catches the interest of the few remaining guests, and soon there’s a small crowd gathered to look. Unfortunately, due to the insane size of their campus, no one can really see much of anything beyond the fact that someone, of indeterminate gender (probably a man, Hikaru intones, or else that poor girl has shoulders like a linebacker) is waiting for someone at the gate, a trope in shoujo manga and anime Tamaki is happy to describe in detail. Two girls – the host club is sure they saw them at a Zuka Club revue – pull out binoculars.
"Cross-school love is one of the oldest and most well-established concepts in postwar history," Tamaki trills, "hearkening back to romances between members of feuding clans." He nods knowingly, "The appeal is increased by the amount of time spent apart, as well as the longing that that forced separation brings about. It can also indicate differences in social class!! Ah, this brave hero, to put up with so much for a simple glimpse of his or her linebacker-shouldered love!! "
"What’s with that blazer," one of the girls hisses at her companion. "It’s yellow!"
"Isn’t that…" Hikaru inquires, grabbing the binoculars.
"Namimori’s uniform?" Kaoru finishes the thought, confirming their conclusion with a glance into the binoculars and a nod. "Hey, Haruhi, it’s that Yamamoto guy. Didn’t you say his exams were a week ago? "
Haruhi looks up from her seat, caught in the middle of stuffing her books into her bag. "Ah, yes. Apparently he passed everything somehow, but he’s said he doesn’t really have any confidence that he can replicate those results the next time around, so he’s asked me to work with him a few times a week to keep him fresh and up-to-date." She smiles politely at the girls, then directs herself to Kyouya. "Is it all right if I leave a bit early? Sorry to cause trouble, I told him to wait for me at the station, but…" she shrugs a little long-sufferingly and perhaps even a little fondly. "His listening comprehension skills, I guess, still need a little work. "
The girls titter amongst themselves about Haruhi-kun’s friend from a public school, and how of course he’d have that kind of friend, until last year he was a public schooler, etc. Strangely the concept of having to budget for things, something which the girls at Ouran normally sneer at, seems almost exotic when Haruhi does it.
"I sometimes wish," a girl confesses to Tamaki once, "that Haruhi could just be my bride. "
Hikaru and Kaoru, still unwilling to see an over-tall jock in a yellow blazer as any sort of threat, relax back into their seats.
"I’ll walk you down," Tamaki offers, taking Haruhi’s bag off of her shoulders. She rolls her eyes and takes it back from him, declining his offer of help, but doesn’t reject his company.
The two of them walk down the long staircases of campus in comfortable silence – although Tamaki used to babble here and there to fill it, over the time he’s found that not only is Haruhi the kind of remarkable presence that doesn’t require commentary, but that he rather enjoys not entertaining anyone once in a while.
"I’m really very sorry to interrupt club activities," Haruhi blurts out suddenly when they are almost to the main entrance. "I really did tell him to wait for me at the station, but when he gets like that..." She doesn’t specify what ‘that’ is, but Tamaki is too entranced by how cute the tinge of pink around her ears – regret at threatening club time?! – is.
"Are you going to a family restaurant," he asks instead. "It’s late to go all the way back to his school by now, isn’t it?"
"Ah, we’re going to his family business."
"Family business?" They’ve reached the main door, and she’s pulling her shoes out of her cubby and onto her feet.
"Mm, his father’s a sushi chef, and they own a restaurant." She taps one foot into a shoe, then another. "In exchange for helping Yamamoto-kun out, his father treats me." Slack-jawed, Tamaki tries to tell himself the anticipation sparkling in her eyes is directed toward the toro she’ll devour this evening. Horrified, he sees that Yamamoto has recognized her and is waving frantically in their direction, grinning ear to ear.
Even more horrifyingly, Haruhi gives a small, grudging wave back.
"Ah, senpai, thank you for taking me this far, but I have it from here." She gives a quick bow and a grin that is suspiciously bright, then lopes off toward the front gate, scolding what sounds like "I told you they don’t understand about public school blazers here, why didn’t you wait where I told you to?"
---
“Mom,” Tamaki sobs into Kyouya’s shoulder a few minutes later, "She loves him."
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