Disclaimer: I own no part of Ouran High School Host Club. This fanfiction is, as always, merely for entertainment purposes.
Warnings: TamakiHaruhi. Er. Does that qualify as a warning...?
Summary: (ONE SHOT)(TamakiHaruhi) It is the only time when one can count on Tamaki to be serious.


Piano Music


It is the only time when one can count on Tamaki to be serious.

When his fingers dance up and down the scales and flit from key to key -- yes, that's when Tamaki is at his most concentrated.

The song he plays isn't complicated. No, certainly not complicated, but still so beautiful. Hopeful and heart-lifting. Pretty.

Tamaki hums along with it under his breath as he plays the piece, but the chords are not the same. This piece is something else -- something perfectly in harmony with the piano piece, something that gives the repetitive melody body and substance. Balance.

It is wonderful.

The customers ask Tamaki to play it again -- again! -- again, please, Master Tamaki! And what is that lovely piece, by the way, because they just haven't heard it before.

But Tamaki, for once, isn't paying attention to the customers -- because when he is seated at the piano, one can count on him to be serious.

Instead, he is scribbling furiously on a piece of sheet music.

He begins to play again once he's finished -- and it is the accompaniment. The body and the volume, the background.

The customers (silly, silly girls, all of them) pout and frown and say that the other one was so much prettier.

No one bothers to explain gently that if the background is too pretty, then won't the foreground fade into nothing? And if the foreground, the intended focus, pales, then the piece will crumble into something passable but not quite as spectacular as it had the potential to be.

But Tamaki only gives them a hurried, excited, utterly dashing smile that makes them swoon. And then he proceeds to play both pieces at once.

The result is...

It is velvet and silk and warm, hot tea taken at noon with delicious Italian cookies and French pastries. It is rose petals and sunlight, private beaches in August of 1901. It is beauty and elegance. It is old books in antiquated, comfortable libraries. It is wealth. It is love. It is emotion. It is depth.

Haruhi drifts away from Hikaru and edges towards the piano.

"Did you write that, Tamaki?" she asks when he's finished, somehow the closest one to him even though the customers are all pressing for his attention, blushing and swooning and happy. Her voice, for some reason, is just ever-so-clear to Tamaki's ears. It is the only sound audible to him at this moment.

He nods and smiles hopefully.

"Did you like it?"

And Haruhi gives an almost-shy but ever-brilliant smile that takes Tamaki's breath away. It's the smile that makes her so much of a natural.


Tamaki looks away sharply and shuffles his papers and submits to the cooing and admiration of the flock, all the while trying to hide the faint scarlet across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. Tries to hide the disconcerted, dizzy look in his eyes.

I--F-father wrote it for you, Haruhi! he wants to tell her, but it's stuck in his mouth and won't come out.

But... that's okay for now.

There's still next time to tell her.



First posted on my LiveJournal. Oh, they've finally got an Ouran category here! I'm so excited.

Thank you for taking the time to read! Reviews and constructive criticism are dearly appreciated.