Welcome readers! This serial soap opera fic was originally written as a two-shot posted in January 2013. The story expanded, updating steadily for the next four years until its conclusion in July 2017 with 65 chapters and a 3-part epilogue. M-rated chapters are so designated. Chapter titles are taken from songs with lyrics posted at the end of each chapter serving as overture, underscore or omake (reader's choice). A search on You Tube for Clueless in Ouran will bring up the song catalog. Inner thoughts are set off in italics. Note: As a writer, my stories are often written in present tense which reflects the way I work, which is from a cinematic point of view. Won't you suspend disbelief and join me in my madness? I think you'll enjoy the show. Thank you for reading. Angelle

Chapter 1 - Anything but Ordinary

"What a week," Haruhi grumbles. She presses open the heavy door to Music Room 3. Inside it's quiet for a Thursday afternoon in February. Neither Tamaki nor Kyoya are available today and without Father and Mother, the Host Club's regular hours are suspended.

Just as well. I have two exams tomorrow and I'm only ready for one. She hangs her winter coat and accessories in the wardrobe. The spine of her history text crackles and she thumbs to the assigned chapter. Flipping open her netbook, she sits down at the small work table. Contrary to what she once thought, she finds the buzz of the outer room an aide in helping her focus, as long as it doesn't get too raucous. And minus Tamaki-senpai, I can stay late without his freaking out and forcing me to leave.

"Ha-ru-hi!" come the sing-song voices of the Hitachiin brothers as they enter the prep room. Here we go. They drape themselves on opposite sides of her as she tries to ignore them.

"Anything we can help with?" Kaoru to her left asks as a legitimate question.

"We'd love to assist." That would be Hikaru to her right, lacing his statement with innuendo.

"Yes," she replies, sitting back in her chair and turning her head to regard one pair of amber eyes, then the other. "You can leave me alone. I have to study." She observes the predictable pouts and promptly ignores them.

"Hikaru, Haruhi must be going through that 'difficult time' and doesn't feel friendly."

"Poor Haruhi. Just imagine if we had to endure such discomfort." They fall into each other's arms.

"It would be unbearable."
"I couldn't stand to see you suffer."

"Would you guys get lost already?" Haruhi gripes.

"Killjoy," Hikaru tosses off before they shuffle to the loveseat beneath the arched windows.

She returns her attention to her reading getting through only a page of dry material before Honey's delighted squeal is heard.

"Haru-chan, I brought you a treat," the diminutive boy chortles. He stands on the opposite side of the table and pushes a fine china plate towards her laden with a bakery confection Haruhi wants, but resists. If she accepted every offering Honey-senpai presented, she'd have to buy a new wardrobe.

"Thank you, Honey-senpai. Hello, Mori-senpai." She doesn't need to see him to know he's nearby.

"Hnnn," comes the ubiquitous response which means, "Hello Haruhi. I can see you're pretty busy so I'll get my cousin out of your hair. Bye."

The petite brunette shakes her head and sighs to herself. She's definitely been a host too long if she understands Morispeak. The twins have settled within her line of sight or her within theirs depending on your point of view. Their shoes are off with their stockinged feet and lower legs entwined as if one person with two heads. They're busy with their smartphones, fingers flying and mouths moving.

"Hey, Kaoru. Take a look at this." Fingers flash.

"Woah. She's hot." Flash, flash.

"What do you think about the outfit?"

"A bit trashy, but fixable."


"Less fabric." They burst into mutual laughter.

"First-years," she mutters to herself. In a raised voice, she says, "Can't you just text?"

"Of course," admits Kaoru.

"But it's more fun this way," Hikaru informs in a snarky tone of voice.

"Fun for whom?" she retorts, irked with herself for even responding.

"For all of us," he continues throwing her an irresistible smile. Damn Hitachiins. Their grades are good by Ouran's standards, but their futures are assured regardless. Hers is not. Her shoulders slump in defeat. Maybe a straightforward request will work. "Don't you get it? I have to study."

Hikaru disentangles himself, rises and slips on his loafers before extending a hand to his brother. "Come along, Kaoru. Far be it from us to be the cause of Haruhi obtaining anything less than her usual perfect scores."

The seated boy grabs the proffered hand, holding onto it as he dons shoes. They put their heads together and check out one another's devices, chuckling at something she doesn't want to know about. "To-mor-row," they chime as they leave the suite.

Alone at last.

It's quiet for some time after that, but she finds herself staring at the small font of her textbook without comprehension. The longer she stares, the drowsier she becomes. It isn't fatigue; it's boredom. The blank screen of her netbook is still blank and she's beginning to doubt that it will be filled any time soon.

"Idleness is the devil's playground" she can hear her mom say and she ponders the meaning of the axiom. Certainly, no one could accuse her of idleness. I barely have enough hours in the day to get everything done. But…the devil's playground? What would that look like?

Before she can even contemplate the idea, several faces come to mind - the entire Host Club, in fact. Is that really how I think of them? Devilish playmates? Haruhi's interest is tempted away from her studies to less weighty, though far more intriguing, matters.

If they are devils, they encourage sin. But which ones? She dismisses Honey outright, then wonders, Does coveting sweets count as Gluttony? He does eat three cakes for dessert every night, so yeah, I guess so.

Mori-senpai? Haruhi has to think on that one. The boy is an athletic god and one of the nicest people I know, but he probably has a dark side…somewhere. Most people do or at least have a secret they don't want widely known. Besides, it's Crush-on-Mori week. Her affection for one host or another varies in duration, but never for long. Well then, be honest with yourself and admit that for this week, Mori-senpai is inciting Lust - unrequited, of course. It'll pass.

She considers the twins. Imps, yes. Devils, no. And whatever they did in the privacy of their lives was their business. Her father is a working transvestite, after all, and she's accustomed to odd glances and whispers. Maybe that's why I'm comfortable with these guys. As for the Hitachiins' sins: for Kaoru, it's Vanity. No question. And Hikaru's temper is problematic so….Anger?

Tamaki-senpai. He bedevils her with his antics, but he means well. He's just so over the top. Still, if any sin is his, it has to be Pride. I guess it's justifiable - top grades, almost girlish beauty, brilliant at piano and poised to inherit a fortune. She treasures his friendship and ignores the rest.

That leaves only one Host Club member to consider: Kyoya-senpai. Haruhi's thoughts stop cold. The Host Club's vice-president possesses classic good looks, a razor-sharp mind and a bonafide Cayman bank account at the tender age of eighteen. Is Greed his failing? There's definitely a dark side to the upperclassman. Kyoya doesn't interact with the world - he observes and influences it. Well, that is his job. Planning and earning the club profits. Practice for the real world, right?

But it's more than that. Kyoya has a way of holding himself apart even while in their midst. Their guests see it as cool or mysterious which works to his advantage, but he doesn't have a true following nor does he cultivate one. Tamaki must have agreed to that, but why? If he's gay, I don't care. Asexual? Unlikely. Bisexual? Completely possible. Oh, why am I over-thinking this? Because I'm curious. No matter how you look at it, I'm a member of a club that exists to entertain girls who have too much time on their hands and too much romance on the brain. At least the girls are upfront in their adoration and the boys really are gentlemen even if they are feeding their egos and sublimating some of their sexual urges. Thank you, Psych class, for helping me understand guys' stupid behaviors.

And speaking of the hosts' behaviors, she's only just learned that while the girls think they select their favorite host, it is the girl herself who is evaluated upon first coming to the club. It's then decided which host is best suited to meet the girl's needs for flattery, attention and hi-jinks. Quite calculated, Haruhi thinks, knowing that Kyoya is the mastermind of that particular convention. I haven't been briefed on the specifics yet, but I can guess.

Haruhi watches the cursor on the pristine screen of her netbook tap with impatience. Clearly, she's not studying. That which we resist persists. With a groan, she starts typing…

Assignment of Guests by Type

Haruhi - Can work with girls who like the bookish, sensitive type; the one who relates to their problems. They enjoy his intellectual companionship thinking that their maidenhood is safe or that they can teach him a thing or two, in due time.

She stares at what she's just stated. Ugh. I even wrote 'his.' Still, it sounds right. Cool. Emboldened, she continues…

Honey - Gets the girls with a "cute" fetish; the ones who will overdose on anything small, sweet, big-eyed, fluffy, furry or cuddly. They simply adore him and never suspect that the nearly-nineteen year old is a master actor playing a role while gobbling up the attentions of his loyal ladies and all the sweets he can find.

So ingenious, it's ingenious. She holds up two fists, thumbs up. Props to the Candyman.

Mori - Attracts sensible girls who take their studies seriously, are somewhat non-athletic and a bit shy. His quiet devotions are comforting while his physical stature makes him both a fantasy object and a potential bodyguard. Little do they know...

Fantasy object? Little do they know? Get a life, Haruhi.

Hikaru and Kaoru - Where one goes, the other follows and that is their singular/dual draw. Their twincest-obsessed visitors gravitate to them from the outset and require no special handling at all. Actually, it's the twins who need handling.

That's putting it mildly.

Tamaki - Enter the master at handling the difficult girls. The most spoiled, vain and demanding daughters of the elite melt under his warm gaze and adoring words. Yes, they do, and just about every other female with whom he comes into contact.

Mais Pourquoi? And finally,

Kyoya - All the rest if he wanted them? No way. The third son of the Ootori family would never accept sloppy seconds or sloppy anything, for that matter. The girl he would like would have to be not just bright, but clever; pretty though not necessarily beautiful, but self-made in her own right even if from a distinguished family. Oh, why do I even care?

"Why indeed?" The voice that asks is precise, mellow and somewhat amused.

Haruhi stops typing and sits frozen. Then, without hurrying, her hands move to close the netbook, fingers resting against the smooth surface while a slow burn colors her cheeks. Busted. She lifts and turns her head, meeting the gray eyes that hold hers steadily. Get a grip, Haruhi. It's only Kyoya-senpai messing with your head, again.

The prickle of annoyance spurs her. "I thought rich people had better manners than to read over someone's shoulder, especially if it's personal. Your parents would be disappointed." The words are out before she can recall them, but she's surprised at the flash of hurt in his face before his well-worn mask is reseated. "I'm sorry," she offers.

"No, I'm sure they are." His sarcasm holds a ring of truth that unsettles her. She sees it in the way his body has stiffened and the line of his mouth hardened. He turns away and leans back into the table, half-sitting on it with one hand grasping the edge, close to the netbook.

She pushes back her chair and stands, now eye to eye with him. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Hh?" He leans back a bit as if he hadn't heard her. That's weird. Kyoya-senpai is never caught off guard.

"About your parents," she says voice level and non-judgmental. "What makes you think they're disappointed in you?" His eyes search hers for motive before darting away. "I'm interested."

He blinks several times and lifts his chin, pushing back his glasses with two fingers. He begins to say something, then stops. First hurt and now indecision in the person she thought impervious to such things. He attempts to move past her, but she reaches out and grabs his sleeve. He stops and she stares up into his profile. "Just talk to me."

He doesn't look at her. "Why? Do you need the gratification of knowing you can get me to share something about myself with you?" His subtle disdain cuts her, but she still wants to know what's bothering him.

"Why are you so distant? What did they do to you?"

"As your notes state: why do you care?" He turns and looks at her, challenge in his eyes.

"I don't know, except I thought we were friends."

"That's not a word I take lightly, Haruhi."

"I respect that. I respect you, Kyoya-senpai. Don't you know that?" Her voice holds the hurt at his rebuff of her friendship. "I guess it really is silly for me to think that you would consider me your friend just because we see one another nearly every day. Yet, here I am ticked off about you reading some personal nonsense while I expect you to tell me your problems. I apologize. It's your decision who your friends are and who you confide in. It's your life." She emphasizes the last three words as admonishment to herself. "I really am sorry," she says calmly then turns to collect her things.


She doesn't turn, fearful that if she does, conversation will cease. "Families usually are," she replies. "You know, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I'll listen to whatever you do want to say. And it stays between us - guaranteed. That's how it works."

"And I suppose I'll be expected to reciprocate the gesture?" His tone conveys his opinion of that idea.

Her sympathy turns to pique and she moves until she's facing him, looking him in the eye. "I'm not a guest you have to entertain. My happiness is not your responsibility. That's my job. All I ask is that you make a little space in your life for me - and I'll do the same for you."

"I may fail you." The word 'fail' and Kyoya are incongruent to her.

She shakes her head with a sough of air. "I doubt you've failed at anything in your life."

"Not true."


"According to my parents, I am a failure." He says it without rancor, dark hair falling forward as his head tilts downwards.

"How can that be?" Her eyes widen and her voice is soft. She thinks of her dad and the way he drives her crazy with his overprotective doting. She remembers her mom and the way she always made time for her. How could any parent think such a brilliant and talented son is a failure or make him feel that way?

He heads to the sofa the twins occupied earlier and sits down at one end. He crosses his legs and leans back, running elegant hands beneath his glasses to massage his eyes and caress his temples with small circles. Loosening the knot of his tie, he unbuttons the top button of his shirt along with his blazer. He doesn't look at her and she wonders if indirect contact is the only way he can open up to anyone. "Dear, naïve Haruhi," he says at last. "Life is different for the children of wealthy families."

"Hm. Tell me something I don't know." She moves towards the sofa with slow even steps.

"I told you once. People only see the trappings and ornaments of power and prestige. What they don't see is the pressure and expectations, the never ceasing reminders about your place, your role, your duty to family."

"But I thought you considered it a fun challenge." She stands at the opposite end of the sofa now.

"When the odds are manageable. Not when they're completely stacked against you." He turns towards her then, uncrossing his legs and shifting to face her with his inside leg angled on the sofa. "Besides, you have something that I will never have no matter how much money my family possesses. You have freedom, Haruhi. I do not and never will."

She's stunned by his assessment. "Senpai-"

"Kyoya is fine. I think you've earned that privilege and," He stops then adds, "I apologize if I've made you feel that I don't consider you a friend because I do."

"Thank you," she says with a tentative smile. She sits down, facing towards him, hands in her lap.

"Privilege. Such an ironic word." He almost sounds wistful.

"How so?"

"The word itself comes from the Latin 'privilegium' meaning a law affecting one person, yet an entire group has adopted the term to exempt themselves from the rules that most people have to follow. The irony is that if you're in that group, your individual rights are actually curtailed by the norms of the group which includes never deviating from the expected path…without consequence."

"Then you have a choice. It just depends on how badly you want something and what you're willing to do or give up to get it."

"If you're suggesting that I cut ties with my family, that's unlikely."

"No, but it's not like you to balk at a challenge. If there's something you want for yourself that's different than what your family wants, you should own it. If they love you, they'll accept it from you. And if they don't, are you really willing to sacrifice your life to them?" He says nothing but she thinks he's heard her.

"When did you decide you wanted to be a lawyer?" It's a classic debate dodge to answer a question with another question, but she'll play.

"I don't think it was ever not a possibility."

"Then it's what you've always wanted to do?" His interest seems genuine and it gives her an opportunity to talk about her mom. She warms to the topic.

"Ever since I was little and Mom took me to work. I saw how people treated her and listened to what she had to say. I knew she helped people who needed it and I liked that."

"Criminal law, then?"

"She said it didn't pay very well, but money wasn't the goal. Helping people was."

"What about you? Your father tells me he hopes you study corporate law."

She's suddenly wary. "You talked to Dad about it?"

"Haruhi - it's not prying."

She's annoyed when she says, "Like hell it's not. How did you two start chatting anyway?"

"I told you when we were at your home. Your otou-san is involved in your life. He does what he does because he cares. It's pretty typical for Ouran."


"I imagine most students here complain because their parents keep tabs on them one way or another. And the ones with parents who practice laissez-faire, secretly wish that they didn't. Odd, isn't it?"

Her irritation at him subsides. "You mean to say that your parents check up on you?"

"You sound surprised."

"But, sen- Kyoya, you're a class rep and you're at the top of your class."

"Apparently, that's not enough."

"What more do they expect?"

"My blood it seems." He's tried to make a joke of it, but Haruhi hears otherwise.

End - Chapter 1 - Anything But Ordinary

Anything But Ordinary - Avril Lavigne [Haruhi-centric]

Sometimes I get so weird I even freak myself out.
I laugh myself to sleep. It's my lullaby.
Sometimes I drive so fast just to feel the danger.
I want to scream. It makes me feel alive.

Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed.
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life.
I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please.

To walk within the lines would make my life so boring.
I want to know that I have been to the extreme.
So knock me off my feet. Come on now give it to me.
Anything to make me feel alive.


Let down your defenses. Use no common sense.
If you look you will see that this world is a beautiful accident:
turbulent, succulent, opulent, permanent (no way).
I want to taste it. Don't want to waste it away.

Sometimes I get so weird I even freak myself out.
I laugh myself to sleep. It's my lullaby.
Is it enough?
Is it enough?

Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed.
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life.
I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please.
Is it enough?
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life.
I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please.

Oh, I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please.