Fic Tyme!!! (Wut?)
Okay, so I guess I should be posting some of my fics on here. I'll cross-post it to tamakixkyouya, because more people will probably find it there, but here it is:
Title: Iris
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Pairing: Kyouya/Tamaki
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Shounen-ai and character death
Wordcount: 3424
Summary: How do you find the strength to go on when the one that you loved has left you alone?
Author's Note: Songfic to "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Inspired by a Viennese Waltz to the same song on "So You Think You Can Dance," where the premise was that the woman was dancing with a ghost.
Disclaimer: Neither Ouran High School Host Club nor the song "Iris" belong to me. They belong to Bisco Hatori and the Goo Goo Dolls, respectively.
(To the fic!)
Iris
And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow.
You’re the closest to Heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right now.
It was difficult, I thought absently, as I walked through the deserted park. It was a small place, often frequented by commoners, but to us it was special. Well, to me it was special. To him it was probably nothing more than an annoyance, but he did it to pacify me. He did a lot of things for me even when he truly didn’t wish to, although I suppose I never realized it when it was happening.
The November evening was cold, with the promise of snow lingering in the low-lying clouds. The sun hadn’t shone all day; he never did like sunshine, he told me, but I think he was lying. I think he lied about a lot of things in order to retain his image, but I’d like to believe that when he told me he loved me, he was telling the truth.
He only said it once, but once was enough. But I knew whenever he was thinking it. Knew that whenever his stormy eyes lit up, even if the smile didn’t reach his mouth, that he was pleased. Knew that when he sat at the window table with his legs crossed and one hand propped up under his chin as he stared out at the world, that he was content. His smiles were rarer still, and all-too-often they were faked, but when he smiled; truly smiled; there was nothing that made me happier.
I know Father would scold me if he caught me out in this weather, but I had no desire to go home. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. He may have found peace, but it wasn’t the kind we craved; wasn’t the acceptance that we wished for. It was a painful peace, but it was more than I could make for myself. I continued my lonely walk down the deserted path and sat on a bench. We had held a lot of conversations on that bench. It faced the playground, and the sights and sounds of delighted children had entranced me; I longed for their innocence, perhaps especially because while I always maintained I still had some of it, I’ve come to realize that it has been gone far longer than I’d ever thought.
And all I can taste is this moment,
And all I can breathe is your life.
And sooner or later it’s over;
I just don’t want to miss you tonight.
I still don’t know how it happened, and at this point I believe that I truly don’t care anymore. The fact is that the limousine he was riding in; routinely, home from school; somehow ended up in a horrific crash that killed all of the occupants. I was supposed to ride home with him that day, but instead I decided to pester Haruhi about some commoner tradition. Maybe it would have been better if I had been with him; perhaps we could have gone together.
The Club the next day was sombre. We all knew it was over; knew it without anyone even stating that fact. Even thought I was the president, he ran the club, and we all knew it. I think we all coped with our grief in different ways. Mori looked no different than he ever did; his face stoic and unruffled as he embraced his sobbing cousin, who was hugging his stuffed rabbit just as tightly. Hikaru and Kaoru had curled themselves up on the sofa, an unsolvable mesh of hands and legs and orange hair, staring into each other’s eyes as if searching for answers that didn’t exist. I don’t think the grief truly hit me at that point; when Haruhi touched my arm and looked up at me with obvious tears in her brown eyes, I merely took her into my arms and held her, unwilling to pour out the tears that I knew were waiting to come out.
That night, I cried like I had never cried before. I suppose I had never thought that a person I had known for a mere three years could mean so much to me. There was always the promise that we would still see each other, even after we had graduated. The businesses our families ran and the alliances we had formed would have demanded it, even had we not been close friends. But the fact that we were changed everything, and the fact that somewhere something intangible in our relationship had changed and we had become more than friends made all of our worries about the future all but disappear. Of course, I was nowhere near naïve enough to believe that our families would accept what we had, but I was too content to care.
I looked down at the ground and allowed a slow, solitary tear to make its way down my face and drop into the snow at my feet. I had no regrets, as it were; no thoughts of Oh, I never told him how much he meant to me, because we both knew it. We both had known it since almost the day we had first met, and certainly on the day we had had our first disagreement. And while people didn’t say it aloud, I knew they were always wondering how a cheerful, outgoing person like I was could consider myself ‘best friends’ with someone as solitary and dark as he. But it didn’t matter what they thought, because the image he presented to the world wasn’t the person he truly was. It was a part of him, of course, but it was by no means the whole.
And I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
When everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
I must have sat there for nearly an hour; my fingers numb from the cold and stiff when I tried to unclench the fists I had unconsciously made. How did the grieving process go, again? I know that one part of it is anger, and that was currently the part that was hitting me. And hitting me hard. How could he leave me alone like this? He knew how much he meant to me; how it would kill me to let him go. And then he left me, and…
I never went to the funeral. I forget what excuse I had claimed, because it sounded weak to my own ears, but nobody ever questioned my decision. I only went to see the gravestone once; that solitary piece of black marble cut with veins of grey the same colour as his eyes. I kept up my smile for everyone to see, mouthing off sentiments such as He would want me to be happy or He’s in a better place, now even though I hardly believed them myself. No, knowing him, he would want me to grieve. At least for a while. Because he would understand; understand that grief is natural and (dare I say) healthy. Understand that sometimes we need to sink as low as is humanly possible before we can come out and see the light again. We’ve both been to that place, but this was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced. Worse than being told I could never see my mother again; because I always knew I’d find a way to get around it. He always told me we’d find a way to get around it.
The anger was fading almost as quickly as it had come. I don’t get angry; it’s not in my nature, although on occasion; when it comes to people I care about; I can even scare myself. That’s what I did in the graveyard. I yelled at that piece of rock for a good half-hour before slumping down in the snow and crying, knowing that I’d never feel his arms around me or his lips on my own or the warmth of his slender body when we laid wrapped around each other under the covers, moulding and intertwining with each other until we were one, the king of light and the king of darkness, and nothing else mattered.
And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming,
Or the moment of truth in your lies.
When everything feels like the movies,
Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive.
Pain wasn’t something that was foreign to me; at least the pain caused by emotions. I had felt enough of it in my life; been called enough names by my esteemed grandmother that I knew how worthless I was. The child of a mistress, the by-product of a disgraceful affair, the ‘mistake.’ I could deal with all of those, take the names with a smile on my face even though on the inside all I wanted was for her to realize that it wasn’t my choice. I never asked my father to come to France and make love to my mother. I never asked to be whisked away from her to a strange country where I stood out like a sore thumb. I never asked to meet him.
But I did. And I know that I’ve grown from it. I could never regret the time we shared, as brief as it was, although I could tell myself that it would have been better if we had never met. If he had never intoxicated me with those smoky eyes and that smooth voice and that body…almost thin enough to be deemed unhealthy, but he was the heir to a medical company. He was the pinnacle of health, and about the most perfect being I’d ever laid eyes on (second to myself).
The fact that I had even thought that caused me to pause. That was a hint of old humour; old vanity bubbling up from somewhere, and a far cry from the me that had believed that maybe I was dead, too, because of the numbness coursing through my body. But the numbness brought pain, and pain only occurred when you were alive. I only wish that instead of hiding behind our façade of propriety for as long as we did, that we had confessed our feelings to each other sooner. But maybe, if we had, this would have been harder still. And maybe it would have been harder if we had never confessed them at all, but I’ll never know the answer.
How long was the grieving process supposed to take? I had heard romanticized stories of men and women who had died from losing the one they were meant to be with, but I had always considered dying in that way to be almost selfish. Besides, in order to do so, you would have to have truly wanted to die, and I could not see that want in myself no matter how much it hurt.
But it had been almost a month. Almost a month since that day, and I know that if he were here, he would tell me that the time for grieving was over. He would tell me…
And I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
When everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
Baka.
The word seemed to be carried on the breeze at it ruffled my golden hair, but the tone; scathing and admiring at the same time; could only have been pulled off by one person. Maybe I was hallucinating now; it certainly could be possible. By all accounts I haven’t been taking care of myself as well as I should, but every time I tried to sleep the impact of that day would come crashing down on me and I’d awake in a cold sweat, reaching over to hope it was all a nightmare and finding a cold and empty bed beside me.
Nevertheless, I raised my eyes from the ground startled to see a pair of black shoes step into my line of vision. I followed them up and my eyes met a pair of cold, steel ones. I let out a shaky breath and stood up, knowing that this time it probably was a dream; I had passed out from hunger or exhaustion or grief, and…
Baka. You’re not still crying for me, are you?
The question was tinged with sarcasm, although the look of his eyes behind his glasses spoke of only one thing: love. It was a look that I was sure nobody else had ever been privy to, and it made my heart swell with fresh emotion. I couldn’t speak for fear I’d break the moment that had somehow been created, but the man in front of me looked so real. Real enough to touch, but I stilled my trembling hand before it could even begin to rise.
You and your infernal theatrics. Haven’t you figured it out yet that you’re not meant to be sad? You have a life, now start living it. What about the rest of the Host Club? You may not realize it, but they look to you to lead them. And with the way you’ve been mooning about, you’re hurting them as much as you’re hurting yourself. Just because I’m gone doesn’t mean the world has to end. While you may not be able to turn a decent profit without me, at least you can still make others happy. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To make people happy.
I still refused to speak; seeing him again was painfully sweet, and everything he said made sense, but some part of me still refused to believe it. Ghosts weren’t real, after all. This was something that only happened in sappy romance novels and fantasy movies; the ghost of a dead lover coming to give you advice for the future. Not in real life.
Well? Aren’t you even going to talk to me?
I stared at him in silence for a few more moments, and he scoffed before turning smartly on his heel and striding away. The fact that he might be leaving forever spooked me out of my trance, and I held out a hand after him, whispering a feeble “Wait…”
And I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
When everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
His retreating figure stopped, turning his head slightly so that the falling snow caused his glasses to flash. I noticed for the first time that he was solid; not evanescent and flimsy as I had always believed ghosts to be.
Yes, Tamaki?
Tamaki. My name. He rarely called me by it, but when he did those three syllables sounded different than when anybody else said it. Perhaps the inflection was different, or else it was my imagination, but it was something that I cherished. “I…tell me how to get over you.” I dropped to my knees in the snow, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
Baka. Must you always be so infernally sentimental?
“It’s who I am, Kyou,” I said automatically, before my eyes snapped up again with the realization of what I had done. “I…I’m sorry, I…”
I already told you to stop grieving. Is it that hard of a concept to get through your thick head?
I cowered under his sharp words, and when I looked up again he was crouching in front of me, his face only centimetres from my own. Tousan, you have to promise me that you’ll start living again. I don’t care what you do; don’t care who you shack up with or make babies with or let comfort you on those lonely nights. I know that you’ll never forget me, because your afterlife will be extremely unpleasant if you do.
I chuckled at bit at that; veiled threats were always his specialty, but ones that were out in the open were always an indication that he would be true to his word. “I promise,” I exhaled slowly, staring into his eyes. “Kaasan, I…” I raised a hand impulsively to touch his face, flinching when my fingers encountered warm flesh. He brought his hand up and closed it over mine, and my eyes widened. “You are really here, aren’t you?”
Baka. Of course I am. I couldn’t bear to see you feeling sorry for yourself any longer, so I had to take it upon myself to kick you out of your stupor. I should have expected it, though. After all, you were a man in love.
“And you weren’t?” I couldn’t resist jibing. “Because really, Mommy, I would think…”
The feel of his warm lips connecting with my own silenced all thought, and for just a moment, the accident had never happened. My arms were around him and his hands were running all over my body, as if we were trying to form our two, broken selves into a new, real person. I felt tears running down my cheeks as I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing out the grief that I had been holding in since the day I went to the graveyard. He held me until I had finished crying and I glanced up again rather sheepishly, although he was wearing that cool, collected smile he was famous for. “I love you, Kyouya. I don’t know if I could ever love anybody as much as I love you. I’ll never stop loving you, but you’re right: that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy. Because I know you’ll always be with me. And when we meet again…”
Nothing will have changed. As long as your feelings keep me alive within you, I’ll wait for you. But I have to go.
“Kyouya…”
Tamaki. You’ve been my best friend in more ways than I can ever hope to count, and I wish you all the best.
“Kyouya, wait!”
He turned again, and I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled after him, throwing myself into his arms. “What if I never see you again? What if I forget how it felt; the nights we spent together? What…”
He pressed a chaste kiss to my lips to still my tirade, and I knew that I was merely being an idiot again. He was right; I would never forget him, because he was a part of me. And somehow I knew that, from that moment, I would never again have a nightmare about him, because all of my dreams would be sweet ones.
Are you quite finished, baka?
“Yes. I’ll see you again,” I held onto his hand a moment longer before I released it, closing my eyes and knowing that when I opened them he would no longer be there. And as I walked home, my heart felt lighter than it had in a month, and I unconsciously started making plans for what I dubbed the ‘Official Grand Re-Opening of the Ouran High School Host Club.”
And before I climbed into bed that night, I could have sworn that a cool breeze washed through my room and a voice whispered, I love you.
He had only said it twice. But it was two times more than he needed to say it, because I knew. I had always known. Just like I know that when my time finally comes and I pass through the grey mist into the next world, he’ll be standing there with the same smile and the same eyes and the same word. A word that, I realized, was his own special way of returning my sentiments of love. A word that he used far too often for it to insult me anymore, and it had taken me this long to realize why.
I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face, and I knew that I would wait as long as it took until we met again and he would greet me the way he always had; with that one word that held as much scorn as it did love; as much sarcasm as it did respect.
Baka.
And I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
When everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
Owari