Edit: This is so old—I think I wrote it, like, last summer or something (reading back on it, it sounds like I was trying to emulate Jack London or something, haha). Yes, the seven deadly sins theme has been done, but this is just my take on it. Written as practice. Ouran Koukou Host Club does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

Oh, and, this is dedicated to Juliagulia1017, because she motivated my lazy ass some... umm... months ago (I just got around to it) to stop lurking and intravenously inject life into my dead account. Thanks, dear, ily loads.


SEVEN DEADLY SINS.

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Greed (Avaritia). Kyouya.

Nothing was enough to satisfy him. It was not enough—always too little, too meager, too unfilling for his voracious appetite because he always... wanted... more. Whether it was loyalty or money or her white, white skin, he wouldn't—couldn't—stomach it, because he wanted more. It was never enough.

As it was, he stank of wealth, of manipulating power. Whatever he wanted, he would get, and it was just as simple as that. But it was never... never... never enough.

Sometimes he felt like he was searching for someone... her. But he did not know what he would find.

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Wrath (Ira). Hikaru.

He was angry, furious, seething mad, and it clouded his rightful judgment and his eyesight with smothering white dots. He did not know why it was so, but he did know that it happened, and when it did, he was uncontrollable, untamable; dangerous.

It happened most unexpectedly, and he felt as if it wasn't resurfacing, but merely breaking the surface of is composure. For it was always there, a hateful, spiteful fire that he brooded to until it broke away from him and spent itself.

So he tried to distance himself from her. But she always came, calling him back.

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Gluttony (Gula). Hunny.

The cake was sugar-spun and decorated intricately with roses made of pale pink cream, and it tasted as wonderful as it looked and coated the insides of his mouth with a stickiness. Candy was good, maybe better, and he especially craved for the chocolates that were warm and soft and rich and tasted good with milk.

His stomach called for those strawberry glazed tarts and brittle tea cookies that had a distinct flavouring to it. Food had always been there, and he had fed his sweet addiction with flourish.

It was disgusting. But she smiled and slipped him a toffee.

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Lust (Luxuria). Tamaki.

Perhaps out of all of them, he wanted her the most. No, that was wrong—out of all of them, he was the who wanted her the most and was the most aware of it.

They were there, but oblivious. He was conscious of the fact all the time, and her indifferent attitude and wandering eye and sweet smile devastated the carefully built walls of his heart.

His emotions were in turmoil. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, to make her smile... but he could do nothing. But he didn't notice when she turned and smiled at him.

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Pride (Superbia). Mori.

His unshakable honor was both a great and terrible thing. Because of it, he isolated himself, tore himself away from his friends and his family and kept his mouth shut—kept silent.

He was always there, reliable and comforting and quiet stillness making him all part of the background. It made him distant, though, and he watches with unmoving, careful eyes of all the things that happen.

Words were unnecessary things, he believed. He only spoke when needed to, and only to the person he addressed. He did no more than that. But she accepted him just as he was.

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Envy (Invidia). Kaoru.

It was true—they were not the same, they would never be the same. And he resented that with all his heart, but he could not change it. The knowledge of this had shattered him, but he healed, or rather, malformed.

He hated anyone who got too close—there were few exceptions to this unnatural tendency, and the others he panicked and scrambled and pushed them away. When they flocked to her, though, the hatred made his blood run cold with jealousy.

He had never been claustrophobic before. But he went to her willingly, and she gave back to him.

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Sloth (Acedia). Haruhi.

They were all wicked, she knew. They had dreadful, wicked sins harbored within themselves, but she didn't care. It wasn't a lack of truth or denial. It was just an airy absence of thought that she understood but dismissed. It wasn't important to her, it didn't hold any meaning and was, frankly, not interesting.

She had always known, of course. Those kinds appealed to her in a tempting way she could not describe, different than those other pitied fools they dragged down with them.

They might have looked like angels. But they were not, and she knew herself too well.