Below I've included a bonus section (it's on my lj, so follow the link). It's basically a story from Kyoya's point of view...heh. I didn't put it with the main story simply because it has nothing to do with the actual plotline, but I couldn't resist! This is more crack-ful than the other story...so yeah, BEWARE.
Title: So What
Really Happened with the Swedish Breakdancer?
Rating: PG-13 (Shounen-Ai. Same as above.)
Pairings: Kyoya/Tamaki with one reference to the twins.
Number of Words: 2817
So What Really Happened with the Swedish Breakdancer?
Warning: This is pure crack!
Kyoya snarled as he glared at the computer screen. "I can't believe it! How can all the classical musicians be booked on a Monday? On the exact day that I'm supposed to be arranging the business meeting between Father and the Australian law firm? It's impossible to forgo entertainment…God knows Aussies are big on that. I need to make a good impression, and I can't be regarded as a lackluster host! What to do…Jameson!"
Kyoya's bodyguard glanced up nervously, "Yes, Kyoya-sama?"
"I need entertainment for the Australian law firm. Go out, do whatever you can, but find something. I don't care what it is, just bring me back a full report of whatever you find and I'll try to do my best with it. Go!"
Two hours later…
"Here you go, Kyoya-sama." Kyoya glanced at the report, eyes widening with horror, "Swedish breakdancer?"
Jameson nodded sheepishly, "Everything was booked…apparently Monday's the first day of Christmas break…"
Kyoya cursed his rotten luck—he hated doing things last-minute. "Okay…we'll just call it…a cultural study. Jameson, make sure this breakdancer gets to the reception by 7 P.M. —any later and I'll cut his salary by half. Oh! And don't forget to call the Host Club members over—we may need their help for the clean-up and set-up."
"Uh, wouldn't it be easier just to hire someone to do that stuff?"
"No. Go now."
The Next Day…
Kyoya sighed as he walked down the hallway towards the hotel's conference room. He'd booked this room early (thank goodness!) and was dressed in his most impeccable business attire. He hoped Jameson didn't screw up too badly—he needed this firm to like him. His father would be disappointed if it turned out otherwise.
As he entered the room, the first thing Kyoya noticed was the color. Everything was in vibrant tropical shades of orange, green, purple and pink, and the background music played a sultry, sensual Latin American song. To his horror, the next thing Kyoya noticed was that whatever the Swedish breakdancer was doing—it was not breakdancing. The dancer seemed to be doing a sort of…swaying, swinging dance, which all the corporate managers seemed to be watching with too much interest.
In the corner, he saw Mori, standing straight as a palm tree, blending almost perfectly into the background. Hunny was perched on top of his head, seeming to karaoke to a song—was it really Swedish? It sounded French to him. The twins were nowhere to be seen, but judging by how the refreshments table was shaking, he didn't want to know what they were doing.
And Tamaki…oh, Tamaki seemed to be emulating the dancer, his face pink and flushed with drunken delight, laughing and talking with the Australian board director. To his surprise, Kyoya felt himself growing increasingly jealous—why was Tamaki acting so cozy with the director? Tamaki was only the cleaning crew, right? What would the business leaders want with someone like him?
Seeing Jameson, Kyoya snarled and grabbed him by the collar, "Jameson, what did you do?"
Jameson gulped, eyes shifting nervously from one side to another, "Well, er, y'see…apparently 'break' means 'lap' in some obscure Swedish dialect, and when he said he was a 'briik donser' we thought he said 'break dancer,' and by the time we figured out what happened it was already too late—"
"Jameson, you're fired. Meanwhile, get out of my face and let me sort out my thoughts." Kyoya pushed Jameson to the side and, in an attempt to drown out his homoerotic tendencies, tried (for the first and only time in his life) to get drunk.
When you're drunk, a good deal of things start to become clearer, which would explain why Einstein's colleagues often found empty bottles of liquor in his cabinets. Whether it's a ground-breaking scientific theory or just how to keep your gym socks from stinking, alcohol can prove to be a great solution to all of your problems.
Of course, in Kyoya's case, he did not want for things to become clearer. He wanted things to be fuzzy—very fuzzy. Preferably fuzzy to a point such that he could go on living in blissful oblivion. He thought oblivion would be a neat solution to his problem.
Unfortunately, a genius is a genius—even when he's drunk.
How had this happened? Kyoya mentally smacked himself in the head for not seeing the problem sooner. Kyoya had always learned from his father that the key to solving problems was to identify them, ASAP, and to expose of the issue using either brute force or manipulation.
Obviously he couldn't manipulate himself—he did it too much anyhow. He supposed brute force was always an option…though he'd really much prefer a gun. Choking oneself could be quite messy.
Kyoya sighed, trying mentally to break down his feelings in easy, readable steps. Of course, he'd have to trace the process bit by bit, and see where the feeling had stemmed from. The next step would be to eliminate the root of the problem, and before he knew it, Kyoya would be straight again. Literally.
Kyoya supposed that it was logical. Not logical as in right, but logical in that it made sense. After all, he'd always had soft spot for Tamaki.
There was something strangely magnetic about his friend…a wayward sort of charisma that drew people to him like a magnet. If Kyoya hadn't studied chemistry, he would almost say that the effect was the result of a chemical reaction. Something set Tama apart from the rest…something besides that foreign blond hair of his and the wide purple eyes.
Kyoya had always admired this quality of Tamaki's. Kyoya himself could never own the sweeping natural grace the self-proclaimed king had, nor could he wield language in quite the same way. There were many differences between the two actually, and by all that was normal they should not have remained friends. Tamaki was romantic—Kyoya was not. Tamaki smiled—Kyoya smirked. Tamaki laughed while Kyoya chuckled, and when Tamaki cried Kyoya became cold. Tamaki was straight-forward and spontaneous—Kyoya plotted and turned and scribbled. Tamaki said words in a way that was heart-renching, intoxicating, and almost too beautiful to imagine. Kyoya calculated and said words to produce an exact effect on people. By all means Kyoya should be infinitely more successful in life…yet Tamaki remained King and people adored him.
Since the first time they met, Kyoya thought he should hate the boy that had everything he didn't. His plan had worked (as all his plans worked) and he treated the boy in that cold, sadistic, excessively cruel way that he so often employed to keep people away from him. Tamaki had been shocked and appalled, and when he'd run away Kyoya had felt a vague sense of triumph, as if he'd beaten Tama in something.
Of course, Tamaki wasn't easily beaten. Tamaki pestered and bothered and whined and pleaded until the point that Kyoya simply could not keep up his polite farce, to the point where Kyoya simply told him to shut up.
It wasn't the first time he'd made someone cry, and it certainly wouldn't be the last; yet, when he saw the first crystalline drops spill from the wide violet eyes, he thought he felt something akin to remorse. True pain at having caused misery for another. Of course, it was a foreign sensation, and since one should always be wary of the unknown, Kyoya had decided to keep the boy—to let him stick around. He wanted to see what the situation would result to, and what the end would be like. He hadn't thought it'd be this interesting.
The first time Kyoya had sensed something was wrong was during the beach episode. When he'd taken the entire club out to the beach for a fun and profit-generating vacation, he hadn't expected Haruhi and Tama to get into a fight. Not only were the legal circumstances highly risky, but Kyoya knew he'd be pulling an awful lot of strings to be getting Tama out of this one. It wasn't the first time Kyoya wondered why he bothered.
Seeing Haruhi and Tamaki fighting was surprisingly painless. Rather, he felt completely apathetic and indifferent, as long as it didn't bother him. It wasn't until he saw Tamaki huffing, heat glowing in his eyes and concealing some great pain or sadness that Kyoya began to feel worried. Thinking back, it only makes sense that Kyoya could be in love with Tamaki, seeing as the time he "attempted to rape Haruhi" was the only time he'd ever, ever put himself on the line for someone else. Sacrificing oneself is something Kyoya's believed one should only ever do for one's lover, so he should have seen that this was coming.
He'd fallen in love with Tamaki.
It made sense. It made perfect sense…
Kyoya looked up from his thoughts, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his mind.
It would be a problem if he was actually in love. Every good businessman knew that you should never, ever fall in love before age 50—settling down so early was a sure sign of failure, as spouses were known to suck the energy out of even the hardiest of entrepreneurs. Besides that, the person he'd fallen for was a man, an obvious flaw in his plans. Even if he did fall in love, he'd wanted some silent, submissive, invisible woman who'd bend to his every will and whim.
Not only was Tamaki a man, but he was an extremely loud, dominant, and annoying one. The housetraining would be a nightmare, though Kyoya did know a few good specialists in the area.
Kyoya sighed. No—it couldn't possibly work out. The easiest thing to do would be to forget about Tama, wouldn't it? How hard could it be…
…after all, the boy was only on his mind…oh, about every three minutes or so—two on a bad day.
No doubt about it: if love was his foe, this was sure to be a hard battle…
…Kyoya felt defeated already.
It was quite a while later that Kyoya began to realize that someone was sitting next to him. He looked up and saw the Swedish "briik donser" smiling cheerily at him. Of course, even drunken Kyoya is polite, so he said, "Hello. Go to hell, please."
"Eh?" The dunce scratched his head, "Vot do you vean?"
"Go. To. Hell. I'm sure that even in your country, you're familiar with the expression?"
"Yes, but vhy?"
"Because you ruined me." Fine. So Kyoya wasn't at his most eloquent—big deal. Picking up another glass, he tried once again to drink himself into a stupor.
"Vuin? Vhy?" The dancer looked around, following Kyoya's doleful gaze to see Tamaki, now dozing in a corner. The dancer looked from Tamaki to him, and nodded, "I svee…you come out of closette?"
"Clarification: I was never in a closet. It was only recently that I discovered my homoerotic tendencies. I don't get it. By all standards, I should be perfectly straight. I mean, I was raised with strict parents, a good mother and father—my gods, I'm in a HOST CLUB where I attend those of the FEMALE gender. How does this work?"
"Vell, in my country, it happens when you fall in love." The dancer didn't seem to have much to say.
There. Love. The most ridiculous word in the universe. The one thing Kyoya had no clue how to plan, direct, or dictate. Just one more thing on his very long "To Do List for Life".
"Love? Teach me about love. I not at all familiar with the subject."
The dancer blinked.
"Vell, love is vhen you look at somevun, and vish they vere yours. Lyke…me! Y'know, vhen I first met my sveethart, I thought 'e vas cold. Over time, I figuh out that 'e veally very kind…I vuv heem."
Even through his drunken stupor, Kyoya managed to grasp the meaning of the dancer's words.
"So…love's when you figure out someone is kind…?"
The dancer shook his head, "No, no! Vuv is vhen you figuh out that no matter vat the person's fault ees, you don't care. Like you—" The dancer turned and smiled, "You luv heem, this blondie o' yours, vight?"
Kyoya took a deep breath, "I'm not sure, actually. Tamaki—he's…it's indescribable, really. Most of the times when people look at him, they see something…superficial. Idiotic, really. Sometimes people hate him, or love him, and all in extremes…no one is indifferent about him, you know. I used to admire the boy…but now…I don't know what to think, really. I could love him, I suppose—though it would put a serious halt to my plans of becoming an international business leader."
Kyoya turned and examined the dancer, "I don't suppose that homosexuals have a good business reputation?"
The dancer shook his head. Kyoya sighed, "Well, then there's nothing we can do about it. There's no way such a relationship could work out—there'd be nothing to gain from it. Farewell, sir, and thank you for the advice." Kyoya started leave.
"VAIT! Sir, I theenk you make beeg mistake!"
Kyoya arched an eyebrow, "How so?"
The dancer stared, "Don't…don't you theenk letting vuv go is a vaste?"
Kyoya shook his head, "Not in the face of profit. Why?"
"Because…I theenk you are a kind person. If you veally tried to make it work, your friend could vuv you too!"
"Nonsense. After all, why would someone like Tamaki like someone like me? We're worlds apart—never mind that: universes apart…how could…" Kyoya's voice drifted off, and he found himself thinking. No, it couldn't work. No way…right?
"Eech person has only vun chance for tvu vuv," stated the dancer earnestly, "You're a kind person…per'aps your friend knows thees too?"
"Of course he knows. Why wouldn't he? We known each other forever…"
"Then vhy are you hesitating? Such a great guy lyke you…'e probably vuvs you back already! Just…give eem a push in the vight direction and va-la! Instant vuv!"
Kyoya blinked. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol in his system, but part of him liked the dancer's words. He was so used to being a realist all the time, it was…refreshing to hear such optimism. And what he was saying…
"Now, what you're saying does make sense…after all, I am an exceptional being, aren't I?"
The dancer nodded, "Yes!"
A fool, and yet…how can he see through me like no one else? How is he so sure of this "true love" business? And why am I even considering this?
How many times in his life had people told him he was kind?
Not many, he guessed. Although such maudlin displays of emotion were…unfashionable, Kyoya felt a strange, warm sort of feeling spreading through his body at the thought.
Kyoya was kind. Hell, he tried to hide it, but there were times when Haruhi would smile and Tamaki would laugh and when they looked at him, he could read their eyes and in them was kindness.
Kind people fell in love, right? If what the dancer said was correct, love was as long as you could see someone's inner kindness. Kyoya knew for a fact that love could make people…dizzy. Happy. Permanently drunk and eternally floating on a blissful cloud. Of course, Kyoya didn't like clouds, but that was beyond the point.
As the dancer said, if Tamaki saw his inner kindness (which Kyoya knew he did, on a daily basis), there was no reason for Tama not to love Kyoya. Hell, what's not to love?
Kyoya smirked. Money could buy everything, of course—even love and happiness. Yet…
…why throw away a perfectly good chance? For free? These chances weren't granted to everyone, and only required a small start-up deposit to get going. Plus, it came with happiness, security, and a free warming system inside your heart. There wasn't a lifetime guarantee, but why would you need one?
Kyoya smiled. True love…with Tamaki?
Hell, why not. It wasn't like Kyoya was poor. He could afford a small risk in his plans.
There was (to put it quite simply)…
…everything to gain.
Kyoya nodded, blinked, and interrupted his thoughts to turn to the dancer.
All traces of Angsty!Kyoya gone, he smirked and nodded resolutely,
"Yes…I believe you have a point. Why was I hesitating…all I need is a plan…"
dancer smiled… Kyoya's eyes sparkled… The world's
smallest violin began to play… Dollar signs began to float
in the air…
Kyoya's eyes sparkled…
The world's smallest violin began to play…
Dollar signs began to float in the air…
Plan set in mind, he walked out of the reception room a man with a mission. Desperate times require desperate measures, after all—and with such a desperate situation, only someone like Kyoya Ootori could prevail.
Veni, vici, vidi.
I saw, I came, I conquered.
Piece of cake.