Hey! Well, since my last venture into Ouran did so fantastically well, I thought I might create a mini-series of one-shots, all styled in snapshots. Each one-shot will be depicting Haruhi's relationship with a member of the Host Club, until I've done all of them...but remember that they're not interlinked! This one is Kyoya-kun, obviously! Hope y'all enjoy and tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything but a chewed up biro, a notepad and an overactive imagination.
First Year. November. The Library.
She remembers seeing him there for the first time. She was unsurprised. After all, it was Harvard. The best university in the world. Figures he would be there.
The woman in question blinked. Hearing her name uttered by such a familiar voice from behind her had caused her thoughts to derail dramatically. Giving the file before her a helpless and resigned look, she turned in her seat.
And blinked again.
She cocked her head slightly. A familiar sight to Kyoya.
"Hello, Haruhi. May I sit?"
She nodded. Kyoya gently placed the ever-present laptop on the desk, along with a few notebooks and pens, before sliding gracefully into the seat opposite her. Haruhi hurriedly moved a few scribbled notes out of the way.
Kyoya noted that in the year he hadn't seen her, she had not changed much. Her hair, perhaps, was a little longer, the tips brushing against her shoulders. But her eyes were still large and honey-coloured, her fingers still slender and slightly calloused, and her head still buried in books.
"Kyoya-senpai, I did not know you attended Harvard." She said quietly, after a few moments of silence. The unsaid why didn't you stay in touch? hung delicately in the air.
"I found it prudent to distance myself from the remaining Host Club." Kyoya replied calmly, his glasses flashing in the luminous light the laptop was emitting.
"So you would not be tempted to ask for my help."
Haruhi's eyebrows shot up. Kyoya did not even look at her, his fingers beginning to speedily tap across the keyboard. She began to feel the familiar irk digging its claws in. She was surprised at it; it had been a long time since someone had riled her up. And Kyoya had always managed it with ease.
"Did you not manage to collect several new, and very useful, contacts?"
She twitched, and nodded sharply.
"One of which also helped you through a rather distressing scenario in which you would have missed one of your finals otherwise?"
For someone who found it necessary to distance himself, he sure knew a lot.
But that was Kyoya, after all.
"Please note that it was only for that year. While you are here, with no Host Club to look after you, it seems the job falls to me."
Haruhi sighed. What point was there arguing?
She simply turned back to her case file and tried to block out the tapping of keys, knowing she would be hearing a lot of it in the coming years.
First Year. April. Kyoya's Town House.
It was a ritual that they had fallen into without really realising it. Every other lunch was spent together, in some restaurant or another. He stopped by the café she worked in every Saturday at nine in the morning. She came by his house bearing study notes and two bentos every Sunday afternoon. And for some reason, when plans clashed with this ritual, they simply refused to rearrange. The ritual was law.
Haruhi sighed, and then stretched lazily. She had been focusing on messily written notes for three hours, without once pausing to even look up, and it had obviously taken its toll. Her eyes ached and her limbs felt heavy.
Her eyes settled on the crowded coffee table. Two empty bentos, along with countless newspapers and magazines, not to mention empty glasses that had probably been there for days. Haruhi wondered if she should wash them before they grew mould.
She scratched the back of her neck thoughtfully before letting her honey-coloured gaze drift over the coffee table to the white leather sofa opposite her. To her complete disbelief, Kyoya was sprawled ungracefully on his back with an open book on his chest and his glasses slightly askew.
He was asleep!
Climbing to her feet, she gently took the book away, marked the page and set it aside. Reaching for his glasses, she half expected him to snap his eyes open and glare reproachfully, but he did no such thing. In fact, he simply kept sleeping.
It was only a moment later, as she was putting the folded glasses on an ornate table, she realised that Kyoya did not fall asleep around anyone. He had to have a lot of trust in someone to do such a thing.
Suddenly, a warm feeling settled in her chest, and with a smile she could not explain, draped a blanket over him and smoothed his hair.
Second Year. September. The Lecture Hall.
Haruhi had never been one for dating, and it was something everyone was aware of. But when men did decide to do something about their feelings for her, they met a problem slightly more difficult than Haruhi's apparent disinterest in anything other than her work: Kyoya.
She turned at the American accent, half wondering what the man wanted this time, half thinking about what restaurant Kyoya would drag them to this time. She hoped it was that fish place.
"Yes, George?" she questioned, moving away from the stream of fellow students pouring from the Lecture Hall. George, a large grin firmly fixed in place, flourished a bundle of white lilies wrapped in gold and black paper. Haruhi blinked.
"Ah…thank you, George." She muttered, shifting her notebooks into her bag in order to take the flowers.
"Gorgeous flowers for a gorgeous girl!" He pronounced cheerfully, "I was wondering, actually, Haruhi, if you would—"
George stopped at the sound of the very cold voice. Haruhi rolled her eyes. "Kyoya-senpai, this is George. George…this is my friend Kyoya."
"Pleasure to meet you, Kyoya," George greeted with a forced smile.
"Lilies are funeral flowers. Are you implying she resembles death?"
The glasses flashed threateningly. George flinched. "Er…no, of course not!"
"I like lilies." Haruhi intoned.
George nodded gratefully.
"Her favourite flowers are tulips."
The American flinched again.
"That's not the point," Haruhi frowned. "It was nice gesture! What were you saying, George?"
George looked at Kyoya, who simply glared at him. Repressing an urge to stutter, he turned his gaze back to Haruhi. "I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me today?"
"Oh." Haruhi frowned again.
"I'm afraid she already has plans," Kyoya intoned flatly. "And if you want to impress a girl, perhaps do so with something she doesn't do every day." And with that, Kyoya took Haruhi's arm and led her away, leaving poor George stunned.
Second Year. Graduation Day. The First Class Waiting Lobby.
Kyoya supposed that this was meant to feel dramatic and fulfilling. But standing in the entirely too hot robes, he felt nothing but discomfort. His name was called, and he treaded up the steps to receive his diploma, looking back to the crowd to pick out his father and sister's faces, one bland, the other excited. And then, over near the back, was Haruhi. She was smiling. Kyoya smiled back.
"Have you got everything?"
"Did you pack the power chord for your laptop? Because I remember when you went back to Tokyo for the summer and you forgot it and I had to hear you complain down the phone for an hour about how you couldn't get another one til you landed."
Kyoya never thought Haruhi could ramble.
"I have the power chord."
"Good. What about something to read on the plane?"
"Is your phone charged?"
"And your passport? Got that?"
Kyoya was starting to get worried. She never fussed.
Then again, he never worried.
"Haruhi, calm down."
"I am calm!" she half-shouted, and then, stunned at her own odd behaviour, groaned into her hands. Behind her, large windows depicted an airplane being taxed down the runway.
Kyoya watched her calmly.
"Next year is going to be so boring," She mumbled into her hands. "Do you have to go back?"
He wondered why she was being so unreserved with her feelings—as much as Haruhi could be. Perhaps it showed how much she had grown since High School. Perhaps she simply didn't want to him leave.
He liked that. The thought that she didn't want him to leave.
But there was nothing to be done.
"I have to go now, Haruhi."
She finally let her hands fall away. She was all honey-coloured eyes and composed features. He wanted to kiss her.
Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder, nodded and said, "I'll be in touch.".
Haruhi watched him leave without a word.
Two Years Later. July. The Ootori Household.
He did get in touch. Several times a month at first, and then once a month, once every two months, until there was nothing left. With an ocean separating them and a diploma to attain and a multi-billion business to run, they had no time. They did not, however, expect to be reunited like this.
He was mildly surprised, and his expression said so; a rare case if anything. But he had not expected to see his old friend sitting in his living room, enjoying tea with his older sister.
"Kyoya." She greeted readily, getting to her feet. She, too, seemed completely surprised at his presence.
"Ah, you two know each other?" Fuyumi questioned happily. Kyoya got the distinct feeling she had already known this. "Haruhi-chan has agreed to represent me in my divorce. Only a year out of Harvard and she already has one of the best reputations! Isn't it great, little brother?"
Kyoya inclined his head once, acknowledging his sister's remark.
"I did not know that you were related to Kyoya," Haruhi smiled at her client, "Obviously you have different surnames, as you are married."
He noticed the loss of honorific. She had truly grown up.
"Would you not have taken my case if you had known?"
"That's is a difficult question. A lawyer should have no personal ties with their client; it affects their judgement. The sister of an old school friend is sketchy at best."
School friend? They had been more than just school friends, thank you very much!
"But you are my client now, and I will do the best I can to win this case for you. Now, we should really have no trouble. You signed a pre-nup stating that if either of you committed adultery, they would be entitled to nothing. As such, your husband is entitled to nothing. Not to mention the settlement he owes you…"
Kyoya briefly watched Haruhi in her professional mode; hair tied up, sharp charcoal suit, honey eyes blazing, before taking his leave. He had a feeling this divorce would be very distracting.
Court Day Five. October. Fuyumi's Limo.
They couldn't believe they back to this: dancing around each other, reaching out and then remembering themselves, their professions, and pulling short. She was a lawyer. He was a business man. They had no time, they said. They had no interest in each other, they lied.
Haruhi slumped in the cushioned seat wearily. She had long since stopped bothering to be professional around her latest client in private; Fuyumi had made sure of that.
"Haruhi-chan, you looked stressed." her client murmured worriedly.
"That Jiro-san is the most annoying lawyer I have ever met," Haruhi replied, running over the court proceedings that had taken place for the fifth time. This case was taking twice as long as it should have. "He keeps coming up with little bits of legislation for me to get around. Clever, but entirely annoying."
Fuyumi smiled, "You're doing a good job though. I wouldn't have asked for any better."
"Ah…this should be over by now though…"
"I cannot ask for anything more of you. I knew this would be a long, drawn out process. My husband is very good at making things difficult. But that is redundant now. The next court date is set for two weeks. Plenty of time for work later. You and I are going out to dinner to unwind."
"Fuyumi-san…" Haruhi protested, even though she knew it was pointless.
"No! I won't hear another word of work from you. However, I must ask. You and Kyoya-kun…what on earth are you doing?"
Haruhi blinked, and cocked her head, "I'm sorry?"
Fuyumi shook her head and smiled. "You miss him."
"I see him all the time!"
"No, you miss being his friend," the older woman said the word as if it meant entirely more, "And knowing my little brother, he feels the same, but he will do nothing. The first step belongs to you, Haruhi-chan."
Haruhi frowned, and said nothing.
Court Day Six. October. Kyoya's Office.
She did make the first step. And the second and third and fourth…until Kyoya finally admitted to himself that having her around was a lot more pleasurable than not. So he made the fifth step…and the sixth…
The Ootori heir looked up briefly from his newspaper and pressed a button on the intercom system. "Yes?"
"Fujioka Haruhi is here to see you."
Kyoya allowed the briefest of smiles to grace his features before responding, "Send her in."
Barely moments later, the door swung in and Haruhi, in her Court suit, walked in with a cheerful disposition and two bentos in tow.
"We're finally getting somewhere," Haruhi announced, dropping the bentos on his desk. "I think we might be able to wrap the entire thing up within a couple of sessions."
"Sounds great." Kyoya said, pulling a bento towards him and opening it. He savoured the smell of homemade food, before tucking in. He looked up briefly to see Haruhi watching with a faint smile on her face. "What?"
Haruhi reached over and swiped at the corner of his mouth with her thumb, causing a rice grain to flicker across the desk. Her thumb rested there briefly for a second, before she pulled away.
Kyoya smiled briefly, "Thank you."
Haruhi stubbornly ignored the urge to kiss him.
Court Day Seven. November. The Ootori Household.
They wonder what took them so long. They wonder why it took euphoria and a little too much champagne to get there. They wonder why they didn't clue up back in Harvard.
"…and of course I had no idea what to do, so I just did what Haruhi always does and pretended not to care! Somehow that didn't go down so well—"
The bespectacled man gladly tuned out Tamaki's rambling over the phone to see what Haruhi wanted—and why she sounded so happy. Seconds later, the woman in question ungracefully crashed into his private living room. He had a feeling she'd been keeping in her happiness for the last few hours, only to let it out now, in one big burst.
"Kyoya, are you even listening?" Tamaki whined.
"Sorry Tamaki, but I'll talk to you later." Kyoya said, and quickly dropped the phone in time to catch Haruhi's crushing hug.
She's won. Kyoya thought instantly.
"I won! It's over!" she cried happily—and then promptly kissed him.
Kyoya—in between the euphoria that Haruhi was infecting him with— wondered why this hadn't happened before.
A Year Later. November. Haruhi's Apartment.
The hot-shot lawyer and the all-powerful businessman. Similar, yet different. And all the while, completely simple in their passion for each other. And their inability to keep their hands to themselves.
The woman in question blinked, and then sighed as her thoughts completely derailed again. Why was it so difficult to concentrate today?
"Did you want some noodles?"
Haruhi turned in her seat and wished she hadn't. She suddenly realised why it was so difficult to concentrate: her boyfriend was walking around her apartment topless.
And his hair was mused, like he had been just enjoying some very interesting activities.
"Are you sure?"
Haruhi twitched, watching him kneel over to search the fridge, honey-coloured eyes following the curve of his back downwards, before snapping her gaze to the ceiling.
She turned back to her work, looked at it briefly, and then decided to give in to temptation. Suddenly getting up, Kyoya looked at her in surprise when she swooped past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back to the bedroom.
And then Haruhi's lips were on his and he forgot about the noodles.