A/N: This is the beginning of my first multi-chapter continuation piece. It takes place two years after Tamaki's graduation from Ouran, which means that Tamaki and Kyoya are sophomores in college, Mori and Hunni are juniors, and Haruhi and the twins are freshman. The Ouran gang reassembles after almost three years. They reminisce about the old days, which means that the majority of this story will be told through flashbacks (which will be properly identified...don't worry!). What crazy adventures did the Host Club have that we didn't see? And what relationships will change because of the telling?
I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. It belongs to Bisco Hatori.
It was the time of night seen only by the restless minds. Everything was still and silent outside, save for the snow falling gently in the streetlight beams. The only noise came from the relentless tapping of a pencil against a wooden desk. The culprit of the tapping was barely aware of the action; he was staring out the window instead. The disconnect in his violet eyes suggested that he was seeing things far beyond the walls around him.
This was Tamaki's second favorite time to be awake. Second favorite, because he much preferred the daylight hours, which were filled with talking and laughing and always things to do. But this quiet time had its own merits. As much as he loved being surrounded by people, his breeding made it impossible for him to be anything other than unfailingly polite and always proper. When he was alone like this, in the dark and in the quiet, he could be whoever he wanted. Pretending had always been one of his favorite past times. As a child, a sickly mother and a lack of suitable friends had cut him off from the rowdy games. And then his rank and family position had been forced on him like a suit already sewn, one that didn't quite fit him right but still forced him to stand a certain way. Only in his dreams was he able to shuck his obligations and try on different skins.
Well, back then it had only been in his dreams and now it was the same. But there had been a time, a brief and shining period in his life, where he had been allowed to take his most ridiculous daydreams and make them manifest.
Smiling now, Tamaki looked at his desk. It was cluttered; papers hung haphazardly out of half-open drawers, teddy bear pencils crowded the surface. And two photographs, set in polished silver frames, held spots of honor on the upper shelf. One was of his mother, a beautiful blonde woman that he hadn't seen in years. The other was of his family, or the closest thing he'd ever had to it.
They hadn't asked him to be something he wasn't. And they'd never scorned his desire to be someone else, to escape his confinement by creating different characters. In fact, they'd allowed him to tug them into his fantasy world. It was a more beautiful place, and the pretending was so much more fun, when he wasn't alone there.
Tamaki studied the six familiar figures in the photograph. Each face brought down a tidal wave of warm emotion and fond memories. Some of them he saw at a fairly steady pace, when he was home from the University. Others he hadn't seen, not for a long while. His smile faded as he considered it.
How could he have let them drift apart like that? Unacceptable. Family was family, after all.
His smile returning, Tamaki booted up his laptop. He dashed off a single email, one with six recipients. After it was sent, he took down the photograph and cradled it in his hands. With his long musician's fingers, he traced the faces that had once shaped his life. Maybe they could shape it again, given the opportunity.
He wasn't going to let his family break apart so easily.
A few miles away, in the medical branch's private housing of the same University that Tamaki attended, another man was awake and admiring the snowfall. His computer was up and warm from running, and a cup of coffee sat on his ruthlessly organized desk. The nighttime hours were always his most productive. It was amazing what you could accomplish while your rivals were wasting time with sleep.
His computer chimed once, signifying that he had a new email waiting in his inbox. Mildly curious as to who would be writing him at such a ridiculous hour, he opened it. Moments later, he was struggling against a smile as he read.
Of course. Who else but the idiot?
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he typed a quick response.
Tamaki. It's three-thirty in the morning. You have class at eight.
He hit send without signing it. Tamaki would know who it was from. Picking up his ever-present black book, he reread Tamaki's email and jotted down a new note-a place and time.
"Well," Kyoya said, balancing his notebook on his knee as he reached for his coffee cup. "This will be interesting."
Much further away, in a private dojo hidden in the mountains of Japan, another man blinked at the sudden sound coming from the computer. He eyed the bright pink laptop with mild distrust; he'd never been fully comfortable with technology more advanced than a phone.
He was pretty sure that the sound meant that Mitsukuni had a message of some sort. But the boy was sleeping soundly, swaddled in a nest of pink blankets with Usa-chan tucked securely under one arm. He could try to wake him up, but Mitsukuni was dangerous when roused prematurely. And if he woke him up now, at half past three in the morning, Mitsukuni would figure out that the taller boy had been guarding him in his sleep again. Mitsukuni hated it when he did that; but the desire the keep the blonde safe outweighed his desire to keep him happy.
With a resigned sigh, Mori poked carefully at the computer keys. For a moment, the screen went black, causing Mori to go into a straight-faced panic. Then, a document popped out. Mori read it through, and his lips quirked, the closest he ever got to a full-blown smile.
He'd tell Mitsukuni in the morning. The smaller boy would be ecstatic to hear from an old friend.
And Mori, who understood Mitsukuni almost better than he understood himself, already knew what the boy's response would be.
In one giant bed on the other side of Japan, the loud noises that issued from the identical black laptops were greeted by a chorus of sleepy grumbles and complaints.
"Hikaru, is that your phone again? Shut if off!"
"It's not my phone. It's my computer, and yours too."
"I don't care what it is. Just shut if off."
"Is someone getting snappy? Are we going to have to have penalty game later?"
"All right, all right. I'm shutting it off. Spoilsport."
From beneath the tangled bedcovers, a face appeared, golden eyes narrowed in extreme annoyance. Hikaru stumbled off the mattress, pushing his fingers through his tangled hair, while Kaoru took his pillow and smashed it over his face.
"We've got mail," Hikaru said, blinking owlishly at the screens. "Who the hell would be emailing us both at this time of night?"
Kaoru's only answer was a muffled groan as he continued his best efforts to suffocate himself with his pillow.
Idly, Hikaru clicked on his inbox. But the lack of interest in his eyes died as he read the message waiting for him.
"Kaoru! Come here!"
Kaoru heaved a giant sigh, but he dutifully flung his pillow away. He got out of bed because it was Hikaru that told him to. That was how they worked.
"What is it?" he asked, propping his chin on Hikaru's shoulder so that he could see.
"An old friend," Hikaru murmured, his trademark smirk curving his lips. "How perfect! Just when things were starting to get dull…"
In a badly lit and often drafty University library, another unsuspecting person was pulled from sleep by the relentless beep of the computer. Haruhi blinked herself awake, and wondered why her face was so sore. She realized after a moment of confusion that the perpetrator was the stack of books she'd been using as an impromptu pillow.
Yawning, Haruhi looked over at the clock. Hell, it was after midnight again. The librarians hated it when students fell asleep in the stacks. She'd have to book it out of there before they found her. But it was going to be hard to sneak out if her computer was beeping like an alarm clock.
Haruhi leaned over and tapped at the second-hand laptop that she'd taken on a secret part-time job to afford. It wasn't very pretty, but it was sturdy and it hardly ever crashed.
She frowned for a moment at the unfamiliar email address, and then opened it with a shrug.
Her brown eyes were the size of dinner plates by the time she finished reading.
"Oh, come on. You have got to be kidding me."
Haruhi groaned, and reconsidered her decision to sneak out of the library. If the librarians caught her, then she'd be dead, and she'd have the perfect reason for not being there.
Greetings Mes Amis!
It occurred to me tonight in a moment of brilliance that the Host Club has not assembled in its entirety since the graduation of your beloved king. Of course, I immediately concluded that this grievous blunder must be rectified, as soon as possible! To think that some of you have been without my magnificent presence for almost a whole year…I shudder to think of the horrible pains you must be suffering without my countenance to look upon. Therefore, I am issuing a direct order that all members of the Host Club come to the commoner's coffee shop by Haruhi's old apartment at seven o'clock of December 21st, at the start of Christmas break. Those that fail to appear will find themselves to be targets of a kidnapping conspiracy.
A bientot, my darlings!
A/N: In the next chapter, the gang gets together again. Who got fat, who got old, and who got ugly? Just kidding! And who's still mooning over our favorite brown-eyed girl? Stay tuned to find out!
Just for clarification:
'Mes Amis' means 'My Friends'
And 'A bientot' means 'See you soon'