Kyoya doesn't particularly like anything.

And that includes Haruhi Fujioka, no matter what anybody says. No, he does not like her in that way, as in the way simpering fools like Tamaki or the twins do. He might go far as to say that he saw her as a friend, but that was it.

He doesn't notice every little thing about her. He won't admit, even under torture, that he thought it adorable, the way she would pout her (perfect) pink lips when she's irritated, or the way her hips would sway unconsciously when she wants to irritate him.

And no, it isn't his fault they were in their current situation. He's just probably possessed by some vengeful spirit he had wronged in a past life and had made it its (after)life's mission to make his world one big mistake when that happened.

Yes, that.

For all his thinking power, he could not conceive how they both could be arguing about consumer rights one second, to stuffing their tongues against each other's throats the next.

He DIDN'T like how that moment felt so right, so good, so everything he had waited his life for. And he didn't particularly care for the fact that for the first time in his life, the speed of stupidity had overtaken his speed of thought.

Okay, maybe he moaned, but it was only a small noise, barely registering in any person's ears.

And he never planned for it to happen again…and again…until it became more than just kissing, to little escapades in five-star hotels, Kyoya's condo, and Haruhi's apartment, where he was too caught up in the moment to realize that he was doing it in a small, uncomfortable futon.

No, he will never admit to anybody that it was his plan all along for Haruhi to win that queen-sized bed in some non-existent draw.

And he slightly, only an atomic bit, mind you, thinks that he likes it when he was on top, seeing Haruhi's eyes cloud with lust and passion as he trails his way down her svelte body with his mouth.

Sure, maybe a part of him, the part where most of irrational thoughts lie, shivers when Haruhi touches him, the tips of her fingers barely skimming his sweaty skin.

And surely, after this fiasco is over, and his sensible brain would finally gain control of his body, not to mention, raging hormones, they would never date, fall in love, get married, and have babies.

The thought of having babies with someone he never thought of in that way was something cringe-worthy.

He can barely tolerate her company.

Sure, their many arguments excite him, but that's only because he gets to see her face all flushed and her chest heaving. Like what she was doing now, except it was for a different reason altogether.

Whatever Haruhi might say in the near future, Kyoya does not like to cuddle.

It's just that afterwards, all of the pillows in his bed are knocked on the floor or elsewhere, and he's just too tired to pick one up. So, he uses Haruhi as a makeshift pillow. She was surprisingly soft and warm, like a human hot water bottle.

Okay, so he might like the way Haruhi presses up against him, her head on his shoulder, and gives him a chance to inhale her scent.

So what if he enjoyed the fact that she would always smell like flowers and sex afterwards? And the way his hands would continue to caress her, burning her every single curve into his memory, the soft pads of his fingers tracing her velvet skin, was not, in no way, a sign of his adoration--and near worship--for the girl.

And he will pretend not to notice when Haruhi mumbles, 'I love you,' every single time they were together like this.

And his only answer would be to hold her closer and kiss her softly.

Because Kyoya doesn't like to speak.

Especially when his actions could tell her more than words could.

End

A/N: This hit me like a ton of bricks while I was preparing to sleep. I had to forcefully remove my sister from the computer in order to do this. Okay, okay, I know I should get my ass into finishing another chapter of TSOHF, but my muse would only let me do stuff like this. She's so fickle. Love it, hate it? Please tell me.

Disclaimer: The nice piece of ass that is Kyoya is owned by Haruhi and Hatori Bisco. Slutslagbitchwhorefloozies. Myeh.