First attempt at the OHSHC fandom. My brother requested the story line and pairings so the credit mainly goes to him for my ideas. This one is chalk full of romance (what I usually write), humor (what I usually don't), and some PWP. I'm not keen on the ending but that's where my ideas stopped, so, yeah. Initially, I had no idea where I was going and I think in the end it turned out to be good practice for future works……if I ever get around to it. Let the reviews decide! Enjoy reading…the purple button insists being pressed afterwards…

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. The boxed set would be readily available in USA if it was.

"No! No! NO!!"

An abnormally high pitched scream erupted through the third music room's entrance, the shrill sending the unfortunate person just coming in skidding backwards by the balls of her heels. Braving the force, the small short-haired girl slammed the elegant double doors behind her as she entered, sweat decorating her forehead.

What she saw was a strange sight to behold.

The regular Host members were gathered around a red-faced Renge, with rivers of tears flooding out of her screwed up eyes and generally making a ruckus with her inane babbling. What Haruhi could pick out between the noisy, rather ugly sobs were something along the lines of '…how dare…owa what to happen sshet…..instant coffee, where's the instant coffee!?' One of the Twins, judging by the part (unless it was one of those 'guess who's Hikaru days') was Kaoru who gestured slightly in her direction and placed a finger to his lips to signal her silent obedience in his request.

The self-proclaimed manageress somehow sensed another's presence through her insufferable lamenting and oversized light brown widened impossibly big as they set their sights on the new figure off to the right.


An extreme amount of warmth collided into the ill-fated commoner, almost sending her crashing to the floor for the second time that day, and when she looked down, she watched the front of her expensive purple uniform wet itself with Renge's exaggerated tears.

An angular brown eyebrow twitched.

'I am not paying for the dry cleaning……'

As if reading her furious thoughts, Kyouya fished out his treasured black fountain pen.

"Oh Haru-sama," the wealthy girl attached to the somewhat shell-shocked visitor drew out her 'oh' in a strange cat-like wail, large leaking eyes peeking up through perfectly straightened strawberry blonde bangs, "It's just so terrible! I cannot stand my Mama and Papa anymore! They are not allowing me to return to Japan for an entire year, they plan on keeping me in Greece, how can I run this Host Club? How will you all properly function without me! Oh, woe is me!"

She let out a suffering hiccup before burying her face back into Haruhi's small shoulder. The other girl stiffened against the feel, she was well-aware of the little fact that Renge still hadn't a clue that their newest Host Club member was indeed of the female race, and Haruhi sent frantic HELP ME messages with her eyes to the others.

The Twins merely looked on in sympathy, shaking their heads in synchronized precision; Hunny just clutched Bun-Bun tighter to his chest; Mori remained emotionless to the plea; Kyouya didn't even bother to look up from his notepad; and Tamaki took the initiative, he himself being the casualty of the previous emotional attack. He pushed back his untidy-but-somehow-still-stylish blonde locks before announcing smoothly, "Why not throw a farewell banquet? The Club has been looking for an excuse to have a party for the school."

Haruhi felt the petite but forceful body locked onto hers stop heaving madly for about three full seconds before she was suddenly hurled onto the floor, Houshakuji Renge bursting with glittering rainbow sparkles and all smiles, "What a brilliant idea! Have it held tonight before my flight leaves! Make it happen!"

Ootori Kyouya was already on his cell phone, giving out orders.

Of what she was told, it was being held in one of the many private gardens the Ouran Academy had at their disposal for such glamorous occasions. And such glamorous occasion just happened to be a masquerade.

Her costume, naturally made to look like other male garb, hung in her closet until later that evening. Around six thirty, she slipped on a pair of stretchy black pants underneath linen white slacks, donned the two-piece suit with the frilled collar, and the black slippers. In the handheld mirror, she observed the colorful design the tiny diamond shapes made. Of course she'd dress as a Harlequin. In other words. . .a servant.

Damn rich bastards.

From what she also heard, there was another costume waiting for her back at the party. A supposedly more feminine and glitzy outfit; probably with a long-haired wig to match. Curtsy of Kyouya no doubt, and most likely picked out by The King of Ouran himself.

An odd mixture of heat and annoyance swirled around in her bloodstream.


Choosing to ignore the sensation, she made it to the gardens around seven, somehow managing to keep her costume spotless with the exception of the soles of the slippers.

Amid the electric lights strung out to create the illusion of glowing heavenly figures; plenty of dinner coats, ballroom gowns, corsets, waistcoats, hoop skirts, and of course a range of multicolored, some feathered, some not masks. Most of them covered student's faces entirely.

But Haruhi could pick out who she knew by body language and taste in fashion, The Host Club especially with their powdered wings and flashy style.

Interestingly enough, the Hitachiin Twins chose to remain wigless and sport their oh-so-natural orange hair without the separate parts. Dressed completely in dark colors and flowing capes, they stood out like two bruised spots; contrasting to the black, two white porcelain masks plastered to their mischievous features, covering only one eye and half of the forehead and part of the cheekbone. As she passed them, talking softly to each other in a secretive intimate fashion no one else could pull off, one twin leaning with an elbow on the other, Haruhi immediately recognized who was who and thought as she lowered her black and red mask, if it had been in the past, they might have tried harder to hide their identities like everyone else with full theatrical masks.

Hikaru straightened up, removing his arm from around his brother's neck as two of their fan girls they were hosting that evening (highest bidders) stepped forward delicately in their yellow and green ruffles, "Good evening ladies."

They sighed internally at the dark rasp that set that twin apart from the other. He swerved a charming grin in their direction, extending a long pale hand into their faces and sweeping into a deep bow, "Care for a dance?"

Cue the other brother's staged gasp, moody and wet golden eyes blinking rapidly, a breathless weak voice, "But…Hikaru…you promised me the first dance of the evening."

The elder fake-sighed, turning away from the now fully alert girls to chide gently, running slender white fingers across his brother's forehead and hair affectionately, "Now really, Kaoru, it would be rude to ignore our honored guests….as much as I want to dance with you love…"

Little pulsating hearts appeared in the fan girl's eyes as the stoutest of the pair squeaked, "We don't mind Hikaru-sama; it's only one dance! Please!"

He nodded reluctantly, sparing a solemn handsome look at the one who spoke, sending her heart into a mad twitter of excitement, "Very well. Come, Kaoru."

The jealous fan girls who couldn't beat the highest bid nearly tore each other apart to get the best view of the infamous and nearly incestuous Hitachiin Twins as they bowed to each other and the elder pulled the younger flush against his chest, slipping an arm around his slim waist and squeezing possessively. In response, Kaoru leaned forward sensually, turning his face to the side to close his eyes and feign a mock flushing expression as his twin ghosted his dry lips against the hollow of his neck.

Several girls with proneness to dizzy spells (and one or two boys) sadly…..could not enjoy the rest of the evening's festivities.

"That is just sick."

From beside the gagging Prince type, Kyouya took a moment to cease his typing to observe the male couple waltzing almost ten feet away than to his skillfully gartered companion sitting cross-legged on the white-clothed table. He bent his head forward, glasses flashing knowingly.

"As unorthodox as their methods are, they make quite a profit for us and I don't see the clients complaining."

Tamaki adjusted his heavy curled wig and whined in a high-pitched manner, trailing off, "As their Father, I should not be condoning this…"

Immune to his constant complaining about the issue of their best sellers, the Shadow King carefully saved his documents and got up from his seat, "I've got a client in five minutes. This discussion has no logical end so I don't see the point in continuing."

Just as the overly spastic blonde opened his mouth to retaliate; steamy coal black flashed in a sinister fashion, cooling the adrenaline whipping through the other boy at the sight.

"Mommy says the incest stays."

Lavender enlarged dramatically.

The following day, the classrooms in Ouran Academy would be buzzing about the cry that occurred around eight-thirty, that sounded not quite human...not quite male or female either. But what would be understood about it….is that it made absolutely NO sense to any of them.


Except maybe one.

"Tamaki-senpai, must you always make a scene?"

The same lavender eyes that threatened to burn holes into the backside of his warm-as-an-icicle best friend instantly softened at the sound of a honey-musical voice all too memorable in his more pleasant fantasies that played in his inner mind theatre.

He turned around and bowed humbly to her, earnestness coming back, "Forgive me Daughter."

An amused smirk puckered the corner of her mouth, exposing as she flipped her mask over her head and gracing him with its presence, "It's a bit improper for a lord to bow to a lowly servant, especially a Harlequin of all persons."

"I do not see such a creature here in front of me," the powdered-wigged boy clasped her right hand into his cool one, speaking in honest tender tones, "You are a Princess in disguise and will be treated with the beauty and respect you deserve."

It was not (what she believed to be as) a hollow speech that struck her core, but the electric pricks. . .how the particles in his light but strong grip made their way up into her own flesh and strained the skin on the back of her neck and hidden in her gaudy sleeves into knobs of gooseflesh. As if his touch were made of all-consuming hot flames, Haruhi yanked her hand back alarmed and fled the scene.


"Does Haru-chan like Tama-chan, Takashi?"



Shining beseeching eyes the size of dinner plates gazed up at the giant of a man beside him, watering at the edges for an added effect of innocent cuteness.

"Will you dance with me Takashi? Please?"


A line of a mouth lifted a millimeter higher.

Just past the throng of screeching female students (many of them regulars at the Host Club events) who were admiring the blessedly lovable sight of Hunny-kun comfortably cradled in Mori-kun's muscular arms, a small blonde head resting on the broad chest in front of him; Kyouya halted a foot or so where Haruhi was trying not to draw attention to herself incase a certain blonde king decided to seek her out.

Kyouya had no intentions to upset her by indicating an indeed worried Tamaki to her location but still had all intentions to have his own version of a good time. She glanced at him mutely, apparent distress written in her expression, and for a moment he was almost tempted to become concerned. What could be so bad?

"I think I'm going home."

Before he could shrewdly inform her that that wasn't at all an option for her, four arms wrapped around her shoulders and neck, and two identical Cheshire grins materialized from both sides of her head.

"Is our toy getting tired?"

"Aw, you're no fun Haruhi. It's not even late."

"Please, both of you," she insisted, stepped out of their slackened embraces, the crack in her usually steady voice signaling their prompt to let go completely. Though their grins remained bright and impish as ever; the glint in their uncovered eyes vanished entirely at her abnormally troubled attitude.

"I'm not staying. I have to get up early anyway to buy groceries for breakfast tomo--"

"I'm afraid you're not at the liberty to be leaving," the rims of oval-shaped glasses flickered sharply, implying all his meaning that didn't sound in his composed voice, "After the effort of setting to work the finest seamstresses the Ootori fortune can offer and putting together imports of high-quality fabrics to make both of your outfits together, you won't be leaving so early without wearing the dress."

By the time he was finished with that sentence, both redheads had hightailed it to the opposite end of the gardens and Haruhi could feel the back of her collar sticking to her skin from the cold sweat forming.

He merely penciled in another job well done.

"By the way, that's another three million yen going into your debt."

The night began to wind down slowly. Stars burned dazzlingly overhead as nearly half of the guests retired to their mansions and penthouses.

Renge had said her tearful farewell before jumping into her private jet parked right outside the Academy, seizing the microphone in an vicious animalistic motion, and cascaded her little heart out into a nearly two hour speech everyone lost interest in about five minutes in.

All fast songs had been used up for the evening and the picturesque dancers on the stone-floor seemed to remain in a single swaying motion as mellow instrumental music poured out from the speakers.

Without clients to entertain, the Host Club settled in some sort of normalcy.

Mori sat on one of the abandoned fancy-clothed tables with Hunny curled up asleep in his lap, keeping a watchful eye out for the precious cargo in his possession.

Tamaki made mutual eye contact with him before moving on, spotting 'Mother' having a seemingly deep conversation with one of the seniors, quite a striking woman with sleek black curls and soft alabaster features, and he wondered if this was the so-called business call the Shadow King had been having during Club meetings.

Somewhere in the assembly of students still lingering about, the devil twins (as usual) were all over each other. With a double take, Tamaki realized that their routine fan base was no where to be seen and that, in fact, they weren't 'all over each other'. Together, they danced in an unhurried circle, but not in similar steps. Hikaru seemed to be leading with one long arm clasped around his twin's waist. Kaoru had the side of his face pressed into the material of Hikaru's shirt, both of their faces lost in a sereneness the King could only imagine as something they themselves would understand.

Letting it slide this time, Tamaki moved on.

He had been slightly neglecting his clients after the incident with Haruhi running off. Had it been something he had said to her? Why did she pull away from him as if his touch were diseased? Was it something to do with the hot flush he managed to glimpse on her cheeks before she disappeared into the crowd?

He shook his head. He would stay on the grounds all night, even go against her wishes of him ever coming to her commoner house, to find her. To apologize for whatever he did.

Did she walk home alone? In the dead of night? What if she was attacked, his poor defenseless daughter? Even the thought of some common thief touching her chastised skin was enough to renew the drive, hell; he was getting on the next train out of Ouran.

As the blonde boy went for the gates, white leather shoes flying in a rapid rhythm, breathing rate picking up, wig falling onto the ground, Tamaki flew by a small statuette staring straight ahead pointedly. Ends of long dark brown lovingly brushed the side of his cheek. It took him a moment or two to slow down, and several more to turn around, beads of perspiration trickling into his eyes.

The girl with the realistic brunette hairpiece turned around to watch him, tucking her arms behind her modestly; arms lined with cream-colored opera gloves. The exquisite dress she wore set off her figure in all the female beauty she possessed, the vivid pink silk hanging off her shoulders suitably, the pearls stitched into her tiny bodice shimmering under the lights.

Carefully, she picked up the white curled wig, dusting it absently before holding it out to him, "You dropped this Tamaki."

His knees began to shake in relief.


He walked forward, opening his arms to receive her, utterly ignorant of the well-placed banana peel just beneath him. With a lumbering jerk, the blonde began to go down. Large brown orbs widened.


In a desperate attempt to save him from a crushing headache the next day, Haruhi leapt forward to grab his outstretched hand and heaved him in her direction, taking the blow as they collapsed onto the cold ground. Three or four students came running to assist them but Tamaki ignored them as he rolled off her, helping sit her up, "Haruhi, are you alright? Someone call the paramedics!"

"I'm fine," she assured calmly, her wig slipping off and a hand coming up to rub her left shoulder, "It should just be a bruise. Are you alright?"

Lavender blinked astonished, "You let yourself get hurt….just to save me?"

Pink, identical to the color of her dress, touched her cheeks, "It's just a bruise…besides, the way you were falling, you would have given yourself a concussion."

He commented as he lifted her back onto her feet, easing the grip on her left hand, eyeing the hold she kept on her right, "I'd rather let myself become injured than see anything happen to you."

"You don't honestly mean that…"

Tamaki unclasped her right hand from her shoulder, bringing both of her hands into his, the bind a rather warm one that sent those damnable tingles back into her skin. When she struggled against him, he asked gently, "What am I doing to you?"

She redoubled her strength, the strain biting into her sore shoulder, and Haruhi hesitated, throat tightening, "...that's the problem--I wish I knew."

Not being able to see her eyes through the curtain of her bangs, he gave into his instinct to kiss the knuckle of her index finger, using the same kind tone, "There will come a day when I'll be able to win your heart Fujioka Haruhi." She looked up shocked at the thrilling feel, blinding sparkles of dampness rolling down the angles of her cherubic face, their cause, from the sting in her injury or real emotion, still unknown.

A lopsided smile was offered.

"Will you wait for me until then?"

She sniffed, wiping her overflowing eyes and smiling wordlessly.

'Damn rich bastard.'