Five No-Fail Ways to Court a Lady
As Compiled by Tamaki Suou, Host Extraordinaire


He handed her the bouquet of roses with his head bowed so that she wouldn't notice his blush; he had nicked all the fingers on his right hand trying to pick out the thorns one by one, until Shima had bopped him on the head and finished the rest for him, snipping expertly with her shears. Hopefully the fair lady wouldn't notice. There was concealer over his transparent bandaids; a prince must have flawless hands at all times.

"The freshest b-blooms," he stammered.

"Thanks," she said, and his heart leaped up – and landed in the vase she dumped the flowers into. "It's just what the club room needed."


"It was only a suggestion," Tamaki sobbed.

"Out of the question," Kyoya answered.

"Absolutely," Haruhi added flatly.

The 'Tama x Haru Love Team' plan sank to the floor, rejected. "It's best if you leave that sort of thing to pros," the twins snickered, moving into their favorite incestful stance. Honey and Mori merely exchanged knowing glances.


Rojia circa 1500, sparkling red in two crystal glasses, complete with two olives and a cherry – it was perfect. She was sitting in the parlor wearing a criminally cute smile, munching on some grapes and almost reverentially tasting the cheese, although she had to hold her nose while she did so. He laid the tray in front of her with a flourish, and waited for the magic.

Wine tasting with Haruhi under the guise of host training; it was so genius he could cry.

"Is that Rojia 1500?" she asked around a mouth of breadstick. He gaped. "I don't like alcohol very much." Her smile was beatific as she said so, but he could have sworn it had just blasted him to hell. "Besides, knowing you, sempai, you could be waiting for me to get drunk, then..." She watched him slink to the corner with smiting indifference, although she did feel she might have gone too far when he started growing mushrooms against the wall.

It wasn't anything personal, really. Ranka had worked in a liquor store before, and she had simply developed a strong dislike for the stench he would come home coated in; but of course Tamaki didn't know that, and she wasn't about to tell.


Friendly, team-building sports would be good exercise for the club, and would also provide their customers with the once-in-a-lifetime-chance to play the role of cheerleaders (since Ouran disapproved of raucous noises during solemn occassions like fighting for your school's dignity) - so when the soccer team challenged them to a match, he merrily agreed. Of course, it would also be a great opportunity to show off his excellent skills at football, but nobody needed to know that, least of all the one elusive nymph he was trying to impress.

"I've done goalie twice in middle school," Haruhi suggested doubtfully; but by then they'd give her any position, they were just so glad she agreed to play. It was only bad luck that she and Tamaki ended up on opposing teams.

Worse luck still that his Starlight Kick flew straight into her stomach.


Words couldn't carry it. He always started out with the standards, something along the lines of roses are red, and that wasn't good enough for her; it would appear insincere even if he really, really meant it (he always really, really, meant it, from the bottom of his heart, no matter who it was, but maybe that was the problem). He wasn't awful at art class, either, but he doubted if she had any inclination to stare at paintings (and she probably didn't have space to hang it in her little peasant-home, but that was a very private thought, as it might,just possibly, break her heart in all its dignity).

What he could do was let the notes sing it for him; but even that might not mean what he wished it to, because it wasn't like he had composed the thing himself. He sighed and pressed his hands to the keys and wondered why exactly he was feeling so confused. He was Tamaki Suou, after all, host extraordinaire; he could woo any girl he wished. This was not supposed to be a problem. Why was it even a problem?

He prided himself on being Haruhi's father. Her father. And yet he couldn't help wishing it was as easy for him to touch her as it was for the twins; he couldn't help wishing he could smile at her as plainly as Mori did; he couldn't help wishing he could hug her like Honey, or have stimulating conversations with her like Kyoya. Maybe it was sacrilege, or, or simply tender parental feelings, but...

"That's a nice piece, sempai." She sat next to him on the stool, easy-does-it and totally unassuming, and he was only imagining the quickening of his heartbeat, and for some reason he was suddenly fighting back tears, but there was no need to worry. Things might happen. Then again, they might not.

He didn't have to be scared of falling; Haruhi would probably catch him.

Daughter or otherwise.

"You really think so?" He looked at her without attempting any sort of smoldering gaze, and she looked right back at him and nodded, a smile around her lips, eyes asking for nothing. He played, and his fingers were his lips; they spoke all he had ever wanted to, about things like love and doubting and friendship and maybe it wasn't courtship, but Haruhi certainly wasn't an ordinary lady, and it was infinitely better this way.

A/N: Some situations could have been funnier, but I thought I might make Tamaki have some semblance of dignity once in awhile. Comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading. :D