You know what? I have no idea whether or not this is really romance, but it's an interesting read. Kyouya being...absentminded, I suppose.
Tamaki lay with his head resting on crossed arms. Maybe he should have asked for a cushion of some kind; the table could leave marks on his skin if he slipped down.

Kyouya sat on the other side of the table, regarding him. The lights he had dimmed played in patterns across his glasses.

They had stayed at school because Tamaki had been trying to convince Kyouya of the relative benefits of the next club outing being a picnic-style, one-on-one date in the mountains outside school grounds. Kyouya had accepted the overall basis – the revenue would undoubted justify the cost of catering and transportation – but vetoed the ambient live music, lighting, and scent manipulation 'required' for any romantic setting.

Once Tamaki had dried his eyes and accepted that the matter was closed, they had stayed even longer to discuss new techniques that Tamaki was working on, and the ever-sore subject of Kyouya's perpetually-scarce group of approved clientele.

As Kyouya was revising the list from the mountain of his requests, Tamaki had drowsed and eventually slept, slouched over the table as he was now.

Kyouya felt no draw toward sleep. Habitually, he slept less than four hours each night on principle – he had to be trained for those nights on outings when the details kept him up until the early morning. Those were certainly the most ambitious, and he refused to miss out.

It had been very still and silent. Kyouya had taken advantage of this to finish the schoolwork left undone, and call both his and Tamaki's homes to inform them that the meeting was running later than expected.

Now, at ten to eleven, Kyouya sat in quiet consideration of Tamaki.

The blonde hair, falling down over the blue blazer of the uniform, was soft and rebellious, especially now that it was being thoroughly messed on the right side as it pressed against the arm. Noticing every detail, every strand out of place, consumed twenty minutes.

The ear was red, because it had been against an arm itself until a change of position had liberated it. The ridges of cartilage split and merged and swirled together in an endless canyon, the contemplation of which took five minutes alone.

The left part of the jaw arced downward gracefully until it dropped out of sight. The lights, again, acted their part in highlighting the slightly tanned skin. The cheek was smooth, despite knowledge that there was no way it had been shaven that day.

Dark pink lips were slightly open, giving gasping evidence of life that didn't count as snoring. Above that was the impression of the nose, though the head was turned to an angle that didn't allow a full view. Eyelids against the downside of the cheekbone and carelessly draped hair were the only observable evidence of an eye.

Kyouya saw all this and thought.

He didn't think of anything solid, or in words. A textile conjuring of that hair sliding under his fingers was followed by the assignation of a voice to match what he saw. An image of this relaxed and innocent person before him juxtaposed over the accommodating and flirtatious person from earlier that day faded slowly.

At night, with nothing meticulous to dive into, his mind slowed to a glacial crawl. It was close to the regenerative cycle of sleep, but he was still behind the wheel.

Or perhaps he was simply suggesting the paths of his actual dreams.

The overall theme of all of these ideas was the knowledge that no one – not Haruhi, or the vapid clients of the daytime, or Tamaki's own mother – had ever seen this person before.

This was Kyouya's personal knowledge. It was unique.

Kyouya blinked, and became aware of a change. He looked at his watch, and found that three hours had passed. It was two in the morning.

He would have contacted his chauffeur. It was late, fine; the school was so isolated that almost none of the doors were locked at night, and a man would have come, regardless.

The cell phone remained in Kyouya's pocket.

He would not share this person with anyone else.

However, he needed to sleep at some point, just like any other person. Kyouya set his glasses aside, crossed his arms, and set his forehead onto the center of them. How did Tamaki make this look so comfortable?

He solved his problem by extracting one arm from Tamaki's posture and touching their hands together across the table.

He slept easily.

Tamaki opened his eyes when dawn ambushed him. It took him ten seconds to figure out that he wasn't at home, and another eight to realize that Kyouya was attached to his hand with a rare display of obstinacy.

He rubbed his hair, flipped up on the right side, and laughed a little. Kyouya looked so cute when he was asleep!