Hello everyone! It's been quite a while, ne? Actually, I am a huge KyouHaru (and MoriHaru) fan, so it's my first time to write a Tamaki-centric story. And so, I am not really…skilled in keeping him in character. Nevertheless, I have tried to portray him the way he is and could be. I hope you enjoy this vignette!
Warning: Some degree of sinister Tamaki.
Disclaimer: I do not own OHSHC, nor any of the characters in it.
He ran his pale, slim fingers through his golden mop of hair. His skin was pallid and slightly wrinkled, borne from countless days and nights spent inside his dim studio, bent over his "masterpiece".
It had been his heart's desire to obtain this rare treasure of a woman.
His dull blue eyes sparkled in frantic joy as he gazed at the perfect form that lay on his bed. No, it wasn't his bed, it was hers. Her own pedestal, her altar. Only, it was in his humble room.
She was the goddess and he was her artist.
She was lying gracefully on the bed, her rich, brown hair elegantly framing her bright face. Her juicy lips crinkled at the corners in a demure smile. Above it laid her faultless nose, not standing straight in the air, like some proud and forceful thing, nor sitting so close to her face, as if timid and weak. Her cheekbones swelled slightly, regal, yet soft, leading upwards to her closed eyes. Creamy lids, edged by sooty lashes hid blazing hazel eyes, and were framed by stately eyebrows. An ample forehead matched the gentle chin, which led down to a pleasing neck. The rest of her was hidden by sensuous silk, but it cannot be denied that her form was pleasing as well.
Her dainty hand lay naturally over her abdomen, while the other was at her side, for he did not want her to look dead, but only in restful slumber. Her head was also slightly tilted to face him, for though he wanted to be unselfishly devoted to her, he also wanted her to acknowledge him.
He was struck by a sudden urge to touch her. Though she was in his dominion (however humble that may be), he refrained from excessively touching her, for fear of soiling her. Yes, he thought, he could touch her now, because he had a new circlet he wanted her to try on. Nothing garish for his beloved goddess, only what is pure and noble.
Walking over to the sink, he washed his hands religiously, making sure to dry them well. He felt a shiver run through his spine. Whenever he was about to touch her, he always felt that shiver of anticipation. Perhaps it was also because he kept the studio cold.
He gingerly raised the glass case that enclosed her bed protectively. A billow of cooler air rushed out. This was it! The rare moment he always treasured.
Though the air was disturbed slightly, she wasn't affected at the very least. She lay there, still perfect.
"Still the perfect goddess, my Haruhi!"
He couldn't help crooning over her now-prone form. The slight rush of power always accompanied his opening of the case.
"These cold hands that lay silent repose…No one shall ever disturb you. Not even me." His voice cracked slightly, "But allow me this chance to offer you something."
His fingers were trembling as he lifted the emerald circlet from its velvet box. "See, my goddess. This is my humble offering." Holding his breath, he leaned over to her face and placed the jewel on her forehead.
"You are more beautiful than ever! Nothing can ever compare—"
"Tamaki-sama!" A muffled voice came from the other side of the door.
Fists clenched in annoyance. "I am busy. Please do not disturb me."
"Tamaki-sama! Please come out and eat!" The butler's voice rang desperately.
"I cannot," Tamaki frowned. "I am busy."
Silence pervaded the other side. They must be thinking of something to make me leave this place.
"I am sorry for their foolish disturbance, my goddess," he whispered consolingly. "They will disturb you no more."
Very lightly, he stroked her cold cheek, whispering words of adoration to her unhearing ears. He then stood up and kneeled at her feet.
"My goddess, please allow this servant a kiss to show his faithfulness."
Slowly, he lifted the hem of the dress, making sure not to peek upwards. He cradled her left foot and pressed a tentative kiss to the hollow of her sole. He moved his lips to top of her foot, and reverently kissed the joints of her toes.
So reverent was he that he did not hear the slight creak of door opening, and the soft footsteps that drew close. But he was shaken out of it by the sound of plates crashing on the floor.
"Tamaki-sempai…" Haruhi's eyes widened at the sight of him and her exact replica. Slowly, she took a step backwards, forgetting the tray she accidentally dropped.
His head whipped towards the sound of his croaked name.
I have always wanted to try my hand at writing an obsessive stalker. I think that those people "think" things, rather than "say" it, that's why I portrayed Tamaki here as a silent person. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how I am when I'm obsessed over something. Because somehow, saying it out loud ruins the whole mood.
Also, although I'm not a TamaHaru fan, I'm not trying to pick a fight with this vignette. I just thought of a situation and figured that Tamaki fit the role best.
Anyway, please tell me what you thought of it.