|Day of the Revolution
Author: sciathan file PM
When his well laid plans go astray, Kyouya discovers what is truly revolutionary. [One shot, KyouyaxTamaki]Rated: Fiction T - English - Kyōya O. & Tamaki S. - Words: 2,710 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 1 - Published: 12-11-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3284693
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own the smexiness that is Ouran Host Club. That is why I fic.
Spoilers: As usual, through Volume 6 of the manga for both Tamaki and Kyouya's family backgrounds. Oh, and episode 24 of the anime, as well.
Dedication: I simply owe The Dream Whisperer some angsty Kyouya/Tamaki. Because I say so. And, she needs to survive finals.
Day of the Revolution
Numbly, Kyouya took off his suit coat and placed it on a hanger, closing the door of his closet. Absently, he thought that he hadn't worn it for more than the meal itself - there hadn't been a reason – and lately he had taken exception to the condition that his clothes returned in from the dry cleaners.
Not that appearance mattered at this point. No one's eyes were on him and they most likely wouldn't be for some time. Again, there was simply no reason for such a thing to occur now.
Turning the lights down to the dimmest level, he walked over to the room's stereo. A nocturne from a famous pianist sidled its way through the silent space and Kyouya found that he could just sit and listen in rare and complete idleness.
With nothing to busy his hands, he merely looked out the window. There was no rain, no impenetrable darkness, nothing that would have been the clichéd representation of his current mood. Outside the halo of the halogen lights that encircled the Ootori compound was a normal, crisp and cold winter night.
That was all. The clichés of the literary world, he thought with morbid humor, rarely appeared in reality. And Kyouya was not one that expected them to.
The piano piece slid into a legato minor key in the dim light of the room before breaking in cadence and modulating to another key in a sort of musical revolution.
Until four years ago he had never dared to believe in the possibility of any sort of revolution.
Kyouya had been, before that time, under the impression that events could be manipulated from within a closed system and the facades and surface levels could be modified without touching the framework. It was low impact, subtle, unobtrusive method of living life.
Exactly – he thought with well-controlled bitterness – as a third son was expected to be. Exactly as elite society wanted him to be, in fact, as it had once again proved tonight.
A lingering chord echoed from a speaker, a mere undertone, underneath a flowing melody.
No one should be expected to take the very framework of one's life and rip it in half and recreate it. And, in Kyouya's current frame of mind, no one should expect to perform such a revolutionary act.
But one person did. He did.
Suddenly there was a sound of the door hitting the wall after someone's hurried entrance, drowned by an augmented chord. Kyouya was not surprised. He knew, as he always did that idealism had stepped through the door in that moment.
The sounds of the idiot shuffling about and crashing into one object after another interrupted the melancholy subtlety of his quiet nocturne. Interrupting everything as he always ostensibly did.
Idealism and Interruption. That was what he was.
"Kyouya, I don't know why you've turned the lights off…it could be hazardous to any intrepid visitor that – "
"No one will come," he responded softly but with a slight edge.
"Ah," came an uncertain answer, "They told me you were 'indisposed' but you've been 'indisposed' before so I didn't believe it would be a cataclysmic breach of social propriety to ignore –"
"You never do, Tamaki."
Somewhere near the entrance there was the sound of something being bumped into and a mild, vaguely incoherent swear.
"Kyouya," he whined, "I can't see you! I'm going to turn the li – "
"Don't." The command lost all of its former soft quality.
There was no reply, which Tamaki knew was worse than the flatly authoritative voice that had echoed before. He evidently gave up and, with only minor noises, managed to make his way to the couch opposite the window.
In the dim light, Kyouya appeared to be no more than a dark waif against the bright artificial light. There was no prompting from him, no greeting, and as Tamaki seated himself, Kyouya's attention was entirely focused away from him.
Over the silence a series of melodic chords held silent sway. But it seemed, for a while, there was nothing to be said between them.
"Kyouya," he said, at last, breaking the awkward silence between them.
Even in the darkness of the room, Kyouya could perfectly imagine every nuance of the expression her wore that went with that particular tone. That pleading look, desperate for attention and at the same time one that managed to convey – unless of course you were Tamaki and still unaware of this fact – the promise that he might be able to save you from whatever hardship you faced at that moment.
That look like a puppy. A lost, innocent puppy that one had to be hard-hearted to ignore and to trample under foot.
Tonight, Kyouya decided that he would be hard hearted. Tonight he would go back to the time when he still thought that he was an idiot. Tonight his life ceased to be the complicated game.
Tonight – and even his thoughts lacked discernable intonation – there would be a real revolution. Tomorrow he would put his contingency plans into motion.
"I'm going to Berlin tomorrow, Tamaki."
In his mind's eye, he imagined a look of surprise on his friend's face…however, Kyouya's incisive gaze was still focused on a pot outside of the window. Somewhere away from here and away from what had happened.
"Kyouya, don't tell me that after all of it you're giving up."
"It didn't matter, did it? Giving up or not."
His own voice rang out, hollow, objective, and clinical…a verbal coroner giving an autopsy to a dead issue.
Kyouya interrupted him and made a derisive noise. "That would explain why you came here. No doubt she prated on to you about Father's proclamation and the praise he dripped over me."
Now, in Kyouya's mind's eye, his look had changed from one of an adoring puppy to one who had been kicked soundly for no reason.
"She told me that Kenji-kun had been chosen to succeed as heir and you were made vice-president along with your second brother, Masato-kun."
"So she sends you running to catch me. I haven't needed a mother since I was three and she hasn't realized that I still lack a necessity for such trivial things."
The words were acrid and bitter but delivered oh so mellifluously.
"Kyouya, I would have come anyway."
There was nothing hurt sounding in his voice, no residue of the self-pitying pure boy whom the Hitachiin twins still loved to bully. His voice had a measured and sure quality.
Kyouya steeled himself to not be tricked by that voice again. Tamaki couldn't provoke revolutions. He now had ascertained this fact.
"And are you going to tell me not to give up this time as well?"
Without hesitation he responded, "Of course, what is it that you think I want for you?"
"The game is over, Tamaki. I've lost. Tomorrow I'm going to Berlin."
"Kyouya, you've got the wrong game you just have to-"
The utterance coincided with the ending of the track of music and was released into utter silence where it sat between them as if it were some visible force dividing them.
"No, Tamaki," he continued, "I've seen everything from your point of view that I want to. Nothing you can tell me will revolutionize my point of view at this point. Why should you tell me to give up when you've never tried."
If Kyouya had been angry, Tamaki would have simply brushed the emotion aside with a wave of his hand. But all of this was said with a sense of such refined control that one who didn't know him might think he was dictating some sort of incidental memo to his secretary. It was that impersonal tone that alarmed Tamaki the most.
"Kyouya, I never met for you - "
"I just realized today that there's nothing revolutionary about anything that you've done, Tamaki," for the first time he turned his eyes away from the wasteland beyond the window, "You just expect everyone else to throw off the world while you sit there comfortably in your chair and watch and pretend and still stay in the same place. What have you done to fix your own situation? You're not some kind of Peter Pan, one day you'll have to grow up and-"
Kyouya felt on the verge of becoming angry, of pouring out everything that had been contained in nice compartments behind secure and guarded walls for a long time. However, he never got a chance to finish his sentence, because suddenly Tamaki was close to him and gripping his shoulders.
"I never wanted you to change to world Kyouya. I wanted you to see you didn't need that world…that you could smile and be happy without that world. I don't know what you're talking about speaking about being revolutionary and everything…you don't need a revolution to do that."
The theatrics were gone and it was just his exquisitely earnest face hovering so close to Kyouya's own that he could feel his agitated breathing.
"And what about you Tamaki, I don't see you breaking away to see your mother and I should know what would make you happy. But you just hide behind Haruhi even now."
Something inside Kyouya jerked. The pair of eyes that looked at him intently and remained looking at him with an uncharacteristic ability to perceive everything about him had once again caused him to make a mistake and reveal something better left unsaid.
Tamaki drew back and said haltingly, "What does Haruhi have to do with it?"
The man across from him was not – although he appeared to be one to the vast majority of people who refused to look beyond his mild exterior – a traditional kind of idiot at all. Kyouya knew that he wouldn't leave that alone and of need be, to resolve the meaning of that one statement he would follow him to Berlin tomorrow.
And so, Kyouya tried to do what he had always done. He nudged his glasses up with one finger and slipped into character – moving seamlessly from clinical to nonchalant and business-like – before saying with impeccable inflection, "I haven't been able to ascertain that exactly…you've been strangely closed about her for years."
To his surprise, Tamaki smiled at this.
"It's a good thing, Kyouya," he said with warm endearment, before assuming a position next to him on the couch, "That you're very predictable. Now who is trying to hide behind Haruhi?"
Then, the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, he leaned forward, "and Haruhi isn't here right now and I am. That should tell you I'm not trying to hide behind her."
"She'll be there tomorrow and I won't."
The former Shadow King's words hung in the air, half statement and half something akin to a threat.
Tamaki took it in stride and ignored all of the possible implications.
"No she won't. She'll be in Oxford studying to be a lawyer for the next few years," Tamaki tried to slip this in subtly, echoing Kyouya's much practiced façade of levity, but he still had the air of someone who was saying something with very deliberate importance. "But, that Kyouya, is not what is important."
Tamaki had that annoying air about him that he understood something that he had no business understanding.
He leaned close again, "It has nothing to do with what Haruhi's doing or even I'm doing tomorrow…but what you're doing. Certainly for a player as skilled as you," his voice was smooth and so oily that it might have floated on water, the one he had charmed entire legions of his princesses with, "Can find more interesting games for yourself."
But, this is what had lured him back into his familial game in the first place…these promises…but even those were lies he told himself. Kyouya smirked to himself. He had become such a tremendous manipulator that he had begun manipulating himself most of all, limiting himself to one game and blaming Tamaki for it.
The battle for the Ootori Group's chair had never been the game Kyouya wanted to see through. In that moment that he had first seen Tamaki's strange brilliance, he Kyouya had decided that he wanted to see him.
That had been Kyouya's revolution that day, a twist in the framework of his entire point of view. From then on he wanted to see Suou Tamaki and, if to do that he had to keep up a pretense of the second-in-command, not in charge of the Host Club's win at the School Festival, or allow him to slowly disappear into his fascination with a commoner…
He would allow that to happen.
Kyouya would allow it to happen because he knew there needed to be one person there that realized Suou Tamaki wasn't anything spectacularly revolutionary in and of himself. He was just a figurehead that allowed everyone around him to be so.
"I'm still going to Berlin tomorrow, Tamaki."
It was a statement, seeing what the other man might do. As always, Kyouya was acting to lure the unpredictable man out.
"I'm coming with you, Kyouya."
"And doing what?"
"Then I'm taking you to France. To see my mother."
This was whispered in Kyouya's ear, wistfully. A secret he would share with no one else in the world. His hand on top of Kyouya's own in the darkness of the room.
At this Kyouya smiled, rare and genuinely.
Neither could be revolutionary on their own, he mused, but together…yes, then there might be a revolution.
A/N: Well, this piece all started from the thought "Nothing Tamaki ever did was revolutionary." And, this is my first real stab at requited Kyouya/Tamaki…especially where they are without supporting characters…and I'm completely not sure how I did at all. Now that I mention that, it's my first real stab at slash at all (although, all fic comes down to the level of character dynamics in my head, so if it must be gendered…oh well, just say I'm Haruhi and have a low capacity to understand gendered differences).
This piece is full of ambiguity by design, especially with the issue of Haruhi. It is really up to interpretation what kind of significance Tamaki pins to her. Also, the exact nature of the revolution…in my mind there is one that is obvious and than one that is subtle…why Kyouya brings her up in the first place is also not overtly explained by design. Reality, in my head, doesn't work with neat explanations of such things and I really wanted to bring it off as an imbedded worry that lingers in the back of his mind concerning Tamaki.
Also, with the angst, I like to not have it so very much out there. I try to keep it to an undertone because it suits Kyouya far better that way (and writing angst from Tamaki's perspective would certainly break my brain).
But, I hope The Dream Whisperer is satisfied with this…(U) and if not I will have to try again for her….
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! As usual, reviews will be answered with a nice review reply should you choose to leave them! Thanks again.