(no subject)
I can't find where I originally posted this.
Technically, she followed me. But really, I think it was the other way around.
Subconsciously, of course, or semi-consciously. I am a year ahead of her. But I knew what she would choose. That is one thing I can pride myself on. I know that I can be cool, calculating, callous, but I have a sharp eye for detail and am a rather good judge of character. Tamaki thinks he is--and he has moments of crystal clarity, frightening moments when he can look at a person and distill even what is unknown to that person. But Tamaki doesn't really see, and when I take the trouble to, I do.
And I knew that she would go after him, even if she didn't realize it.
She wasn't giving up her dream. There wasn't a chance any of us would go to anything but a top school, us with our money and her with her brains and "Ouran" on her record. But it helped her decision, that a friend was there. Two actually, as I began in the business section the year before she came, though I doubt it was quite the same.
For he was there too, the quiet one of unswerving devotion. Selfless and steady, the kind of person she would be drawn to.
I watched when they found each other in the cafeteria that first day. She was cheerful and perky, nervous, but determined. He was quiet as usual, though more loquacious without other, more flamboyant figures around.
I watched when they began doing homework together. Long evenings in the library, taking over a group of carrels, books and papers strewn about, leaning wearily against twenty-year-old armchairs while going over the material one last time.
I was there when they came home for the holidays, and he took the train with her because he never had before. They watched the countryside of Japan fly by, and he stood so close to her.
He never, ever forgot where his first duties lay, but I could see him becoming less single-minded. She smiled readily at him, and her forthright speech grew more free to fill the space.
It was not empty, but waiting.
I saw her quiz him, trying to decipher his tiny handwriting on the flashcards. When the library closed they moved to his apartment, and she studied so late she fell asleep, and he gave up his bed for her.
I watched them leave the university, hand in hand, glowing quietly with the pleasure of new discovery.
And I turned away.
Technically, she followed me. But really, I think it was the other way around.
Subconsciously, of course, or semi-consciously. I am a year ahead of her. But I knew what she would choose. That is one thing I can pride myself on. I know that I can be cool, calculating, callous, but I have a sharp eye for detail and am a rather good judge of character. Tamaki thinks he is--and he has moments of crystal clarity, frightening moments when he can look at a person and distill even what is unknown to that person. But Tamaki doesn't really see, and when I take the trouble to, I do.
And I knew that she would go after him, even if she didn't realize it.
She wasn't giving up her dream. There wasn't a chance any of us would go to anything but a top school, us with our money and her with her brains and "Ouran" on her record. But it helped her decision, that a friend was there. Two actually, as I began in the business section the year before she came, though I doubt it was quite the same.
For he was there too, the quiet one of unswerving devotion. Selfless and steady, the kind of person she would be drawn to.
I watched when they found each other in the cafeteria that first day. She was cheerful and perky, nervous, but determined. He was quiet as usual, though more loquacious without other, more flamboyant figures around.
I watched when they began doing homework together. Long evenings in the library, taking over a group of carrels, books and papers strewn about, leaning wearily against twenty-year-old armchairs while going over the material one last time.
I was there when they came home for the holidays, and he took the train with her because he never had before. They watched the countryside of Japan fly by, and he stood so close to her.
He never, ever forgot where his first duties lay, but I could see him becoming less single-minded. She smiled readily at him, and her forthright speech grew more free to fill the space.
It was not empty, but waiting.
I saw her quiz him, trying to decipher his tiny handwriting on the flashcards. When the library closed they moved to his apartment, and she studied so late she fell asleep, and he gave up his bed for her.
I watched them leave the university, hand in hand, glowing quietly with the pleasure of new discovery.
And I turned away.