A Dose of Winter Magic : : A Gift for moonchild10
title: A Dose of Winter Magic, Part 1/?
giftee/prompt: for moonchild10 / "something playing on how no two snowflakes are alike", hot chocolate, candy canes, snowmen
rating: K+
characters/pairings: general Host Club / eventual TamaHaru
word count: 1,687
summary: While Tamaki watches his extravagant Christmas party plans erupt in flames due to Haruhi's occupied winter vacation, the rest of the Host Club plots behind the scenes. . .
- - - - -
As Haruhi trudged through foot-high snow drifts and the slick layer of icy slush pervading the roadways, her gloved fingers worked themselves absentmindedly into the loose weave of the scarf she had looped snugly about her neck and chin in an effort to stave off the bitter winter chill that persisted in weaseling through the worn wool of her secondhand pea jacket. The scarf, which had been an early Christmas present from her father at the advent of winter (from my real father, thank you very much, Tamaki-senpai, her mind countered superfluously but reflexively), flaunted a surprisingly fetching pattern of white-stitched snowflakes on a crocheted, royal-blue backdrop.
Curious, Haruhi mused to herself, that something seems odd about these snowflakes. . .
She was jarred prematurely from her thoughts as eddies of real snowflakes whipped about her face. Her fingers, clumsy from the cold, eventually puzzled their way out of the scarf to brush a pesky dusting of snow from the envelope she clutched and trace the intricately embossed holly pattern adorning Ouran’s official winter-season letterhead.
The stationery she held begged recollection of the events of earlier that very morning, when Haruhi had been startled from her morning cereal by a series of sharp raps on the Fujioka’s apartment door. Hurrying from the kitchen, Haruhi had swung the door wide to reveal Kyouya-senpai-of all people-on her doorstep, a barely veiled smirk plastered resplendently over his features.
Haruhi, of course, had no more expected Kyouya-senpai to present himself at her apartment door on Christmas Eve in impromptu fashion than she would normally expect a cool million yen to spontaneously fall from the sky and alleviate a fraction of her debt to the Host Club.
Not that I’d complain about the latter, mind you.
“You know, senpai, it’s only polite to give people fair warning when you plan to come calling,” Haruhi remarked wanly.
Kyouya-senpai, predictably, failed to falter under pressure.
“Rest assured that I’ll keep that in mind for the future, Haruhi, should I find it necessary to inconvenience you again.”
No doubt you will, Haruhi mumbled internally.
“However, for the moment, I’d simply like to deliver this note,” Kyouya-senpai finished, smiling.
Haruhi accepted the outstretched envelope with more than a touch of pause, though she could not help but suspect that her father had a hand as a co-conspirator in some underlying scheme, as Ranka’s lack of astonishment at Kyouya-senpai’s presence and his conspiratorially shared glance with Haruhi’s schoolmate confirmed.
Upon further inspection, Haruhi found the note short and sweet-and, oddly, rather too concise for her liking. Its brief contents read as follows, in flauntingly ostentatious script:
We humbly request your presence at Ouran Academy at noon today.
Graciously Yours,
The Host Club
And below, glaring up at her in Kyouya-senpai’s mechanically neat handwriting, was scrawled a single sentence: There will be ootoro.
Haruhi desperately fought the urge to roll her eyes for what would have tallied as the fifth time that morning and instead settled for indulging in a world-weary sigh as mediocre consolation. The fine tooth of the note’s expensive stationery strained beneath her fingers, crinkling and warping as she gripped it slightly tighter than was absolutely necessary.
“Those rich bastards-!” she griped to no one in particular. “How infuriatingly cryptic can they be? Honestly, it’s painfully obvious they’re probably just baiting me into attending the Christmas party. . .and with tuna, no less. Kyouya-senpai didn’t even bother to deny it.”
What’s worse is that I’m playing along, Haruhi grumbled to herself.
- - - - -
A week before the onset of the holiday break, Kyouya had dismissed the members of the Host Club from their financial meeting with a deceptively, would-have-been passing remark concerning their collective plans for the holiday break-a simple remark which somehow managed to morph into a monumental pronouncement.
“Remember, don’t forget to mark your calendars for the twenty-fourth, since we decided to throw our private party here that afternoon,” Kyouya commented, his pen already flicking to the first item on his personal agenda.
Tamaki’s ears pricked up at Kyouya’s words, which roused him from the daydream-occupied reverie that usually served to distract him from the unnecessary toils and stresses of a financial meeting.
“The Christmas party!” Tamaki exclaimed, launching out of his seat. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot all about it! Do you remember last year, when we had those no-melt snowmen installed the week before-”
“Yes, those were particularly costly, if memory serves,” Kyouya interrupted flatly.
But Tamaki ignored Kyouya’s words-which he found decidedly lacking in the appropriate, cheery Christmas spirit-and proceeded to extol the virtues of this particular party, ticking off a mile-long roster of wondrous festivities that were to take place. All the while, Mori found himself scrambling to contain a suddenly hyperactive Hunny, who was bouncing excitedly about the room at the mention of Christmas cake and cookies.
Upon hearing a further dose of Tamaki’s grandiose plans (and having expected no less from his “spouse”), Kyouya simply readjusted his glasses and set about assessing the feasibility of hosting such an extravagant party as well as estimating the financial setbacks the club’s account would sustain as a result.
“. . .and there’ll be custom luminaires; and we’ll sing Christmas carols, of course; and I’ll have some Swiss hot chocolate prepared; and-” Tamaki rambled, cut short as his eyes finally lit upon Haruhi, who simply stared at him, momentarily awestruck by the inanity of it all, from the nearest loveseat.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Haruhi?” Tamaki pleaded, sliding smoothly down to one knee beside her, angling up a patented, sure-fire glance cloaked beneath a bat of his eyelashes.
“Actually, senpai, I think I might be busy that day,” Haruhi deadpanned, quite innocently and unintentionally, a finger thoughtfully propped against her chin.
Hikaru and Kaoru looked on in amusement as Tamaki’s world ground to a halt and subsequently shattered into several thousand tiny pieces.
- - - - -
Later, as the air of finality about Haruhi’s statement brooked some degree of explanation, and after the apocalyptic disaster had been averted by coaxing Tamaki from corner-bound isolation with fervent promises of Christmas activities, Haruhi had attempted in vain to explain to Tamaki-as one would, slowly and haltingly, explain to a small child-the precise reasons she did not plan to be in attendance at the Host Club’s private Christmas party on the eve of the twenty-fifth.
For starters, the to-do list taped to the Fujioka’s kitchen refrigerator, Haruhi claimed, had been spiraling out of control since the chaos of the Host Club’s most recent festival production. Struggle though she might, Haruhi had not succeeded in rectifying the situation since and had determined to put the majority of the upcoming winter vacation to prime and uninterrupted use in an unadulterated frenzy of cooking and cleaning and shopping and studying for their quickly approaching post-break exams, which lurked menacingly on the horizon for the coming year.
Therefore, Haruhi had resolutely proclaimed to a puppy-eyed, rapidly wilting Tamaki, there was simply no time to be had for gallivanting around Ouran’s campus and indulging in events of a holiday-spirited nature. Haruhi had steeled herself against Tamaki’s ensuing theatrics, stubbornly refusing to waver, and ultimately left the twins to sweep up a pile of color-sapped ashes-all that remained of an utterly depressed Tamaki.
- - - - -
Amid the hustle and bustle of decorating the club room and entertaining their regular holiday guests surrounded by a virtual miniature forest of live Christmas trees, the final week’s worth of club meetings had elapsed in a general tumult for the formerly dauntless Tamaki, his rising panic fueled to new heights as Haruhi dodged one invitation to the all-important Christmas party after another.
Thus, at the end of the final school day before the holiday break, after Haruhi had bid a cordial round of Christmas farewells and a hearty share of New-Year wishes to her Host Club comrades and departed, bound for home, Tamaki had futilely attempted to instigate “Operation Help Haruhi Have a Merry Christmas and Get Her to Attend the Host Club Christmas Party,” which, by the fatal consequence of its headache-inducing long title, the twins had rechristened “Operation Christmas Host.” The plan itself, though now simple in name, remained rather complex in nature. By course of necessity, a Haruhi dead-set on accomplishing her Christmas-time chores and household business must be lured to the gates of Ouran and, furthermore, convinced to attend the holiday party, preferably in a happy and cooperative frame of mind.
And Kyouya, though he later mentally berated himself for the unbecoming naïveté of such a thought, had supposed that for once-for once-Tamaki’s half-baked scheme might quite possibly not involve some underhanded perversion of the imagination that usually prompted the King's outlandish fantasies concerning Haruhi.
But, no, as Kyouya could and should have guessed, Tamaki’s version of the plan had involved an elaborate production in which the male members of the Host Club would don elf costumes to accentuate a certain Santa outfit that would be acquired for Haruhi. Seeing as Tamaki simply blushed furiously when Kyouya had prompted him to elaborate on the details of said Santa outfit, Kyouya’s suspicions were confirmed. Needless to say, Tamaki’s Plans A, B, and C quickly and all-too-conveniently bit the dust-for, yes, little did Tamaki and Haruhi know, the remaining Host Club members had hatched intricate party plans of their own.
And these particular plans are progressing quite smoothly indeed, Kyouya had asserted to himself.
As that last afternoon waned into dusk, Tamaki had idly traced a figure eight over the inlaid surface of a coffee table, his desperate sighs hanging miserably in the air.
“Tono, if she says she can’t come. . .,” Kaoru drawled, stepping up beside the King.
“. . .then I suppose there’s simply nothing we can do about it,” Hikaru finished blandly, shrugging along with Kaoru and simultaneously winking at Mori and Hunny across the room.
Fortunately, Tamaki had been too absorbed to even notice the secret Christmas plans being orchestrated in plain sight.
- - - - -
giftee/prompt: for moonchild10 / "something playing on how no two snowflakes are alike", hot chocolate, candy canes, snowmen
rating: K+
characters/pairings: general Host Club / eventual TamaHaru
word count: 1,687
summary: While Tamaki watches his extravagant Christmas party plans erupt in flames due to Haruhi's occupied winter vacation, the rest of the Host Club plots behind the scenes. . .
- - - - -
As Haruhi trudged through foot-high snow drifts and the slick layer of icy slush pervading the roadways, her gloved fingers worked themselves absentmindedly into the loose weave of the scarf she had looped snugly about her neck and chin in an effort to stave off the bitter winter chill that persisted in weaseling through the worn wool of her secondhand pea jacket. The scarf, which had been an early Christmas present from her father at the advent of winter (from my real father, thank you very much, Tamaki-senpai, her mind countered superfluously but reflexively), flaunted a surprisingly fetching pattern of white-stitched snowflakes on a crocheted, royal-blue backdrop.
Curious, Haruhi mused to herself, that something seems odd about these snowflakes. . .
She was jarred prematurely from her thoughts as eddies of real snowflakes whipped about her face. Her fingers, clumsy from the cold, eventually puzzled their way out of the scarf to brush a pesky dusting of snow from the envelope she clutched and trace the intricately embossed holly pattern adorning Ouran’s official winter-season letterhead.
The stationery she held begged recollection of the events of earlier that very morning, when Haruhi had been startled from her morning cereal by a series of sharp raps on the Fujioka’s apartment door. Hurrying from the kitchen, Haruhi had swung the door wide to reveal Kyouya-senpai-of all people-on her doorstep, a barely veiled smirk plastered resplendently over his features.
Haruhi, of course, had no more expected Kyouya-senpai to present himself at her apartment door on Christmas Eve in impromptu fashion than she would normally expect a cool million yen to spontaneously fall from the sky and alleviate a fraction of her debt to the Host Club.
Not that I’d complain about the latter, mind you.
“You know, senpai, it’s only polite to give people fair warning when you plan to come calling,” Haruhi remarked wanly.
Kyouya-senpai, predictably, failed to falter under pressure.
“Rest assured that I’ll keep that in mind for the future, Haruhi, should I find it necessary to inconvenience you again.”
No doubt you will, Haruhi mumbled internally.
“However, for the moment, I’d simply like to deliver this note,” Kyouya-senpai finished, smiling.
Haruhi accepted the outstretched envelope with more than a touch of pause, though she could not help but suspect that her father had a hand as a co-conspirator in some underlying scheme, as Ranka’s lack of astonishment at Kyouya-senpai’s presence and his conspiratorially shared glance with Haruhi’s schoolmate confirmed.
Upon further inspection, Haruhi found the note short and sweet-and, oddly, rather too concise for her liking. Its brief contents read as follows, in flauntingly ostentatious script:
We humbly request your presence at Ouran Academy at noon today.
Graciously Yours,
The Host Club
And below, glaring up at her in Kyouya-senpai’s mechanically neat handwriting, was scrawled a single sentence: There will be ootoro.
Haruhi desperately fought the urge to roll her eyes for what would have tallied as the fifth time that morning and instead settled for indulging in a world-weary sigh as mediocre consolation. The fine tooth of the note’s expensive stationery strained beneath her fingers, crinkling and warping as she gripped it slightly tighter than was absolutely necessary.
“Those rich bastards-!” she griped to no one in particular. “How infuriatingly cryptic can they be? Honestly, it’s painfully obvious they’re probably just baiting me into attending the Christmas party. . .and with tuna, no less. Kyouya-senpai didn’t even bother to deny it.”
What’s worse is that I’m playing along, Haruhi grumbled to herself.
- - - - -
A week before the onset of the holiday break, Kyouya had dismissed the members of the Host Club from their financial meeting with a deceptively, would-have-been passing remark concerning their collective plans for the holiday break-a simple remark which somehow managed to morph into a monumental pronouncement.
“Remember, don’t forget to mark your calendars for the twenty-fourth, since we decided to throw our private party here that afternoon,” Kyouya commented, his pen already flicking to the first item on his personal agenda.
Tamaki’s ears pricked up at Kyouya’s words, which roused him from the daydream-occupied reverie that usually served to distract him from the unnecessary toils and stresses of a financial meeting.
“The Christmas party!” Tamaki exclaimed, launching out of his seat. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot all about it! Do you remember last year, when we had those no-melt snowmen installed the week before-”
“Yes, those were particularly costly, if memory serves,” Kyouya interrupted flatly.
But Tamaki ignored Kyouya’s words-which he found decidedly lacking in the appropriate, cheery Christmas spirit-and proceeded to extol the virtues of this particular party, ticking off a mile-long roster of wondrous festivities that were to take place. All the while, Mori found himself scrambling to contain a suddenly hyperactive Hunny, who was bouncing excitedly about the room at the mention of Christmas cake and cookies.
Upon hearing a further dose of Tamaki’s grandiose plans (and having expected no less from his “spouse”), Kyouya simply readjusted his glasses and set about assessing the feasibility of hosting such an extravagant party as well as estimating the financial setbacks the club’s account would sustain as a result.
“. . .and there’ll be custom luminaires; and we’ll sing Christmas carols, of course; and I’ll have some Swiss hot chocolate prepared; and-” Tamaki rambled, cut short as his eyes finally lit upon Haruhi, who simply stared at him, momentarily awestruck by the inanity of it all, from the nearest loveseat.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Haruhi?” Tamaki pleaded, sliding smoothly down to one knee beside her, angling up a patented, sure-fire glance cloaked beneath a bat of his eyelashes.
“Actually, senpai, I think I might be busy that day,” Haruhi deadpanned, quite innocently and unintentionally, a finger thoughtfully propped against her chin.
Hikaru and Kaoru looked on in amusement as Tamaki’s world ground to a halt and subsequently shattered into several thousand tiny pieces.
- - - - -
Later, as the air of finality about Haruhi’s statement brooked some degree of explanation, and after the apocalyptic disaster had been averted by coaxing Tamaki from corner-bound isolation with fervent promises of Christmas activities, Haruhi had attempted in vain to explain to Tamaki-as one would, slowly and haltingly, explain to a small child-the precise reasons she did not plan to be in attendance at the Host Club’s private Christmas party on the eve of the twenty-fifth.
For starters, the to-do list taped to the Fujioka’s kitchen refrigerator, Haruhi claimed, had been spiraling out of control since the chaos of the Host Club’s most recent festival production. Struggle though she might, Haruhi had not succeeded in rectifying the situation since and had determined to put the majority of the upcoming winter vacation to prime and uninterrupted use in an unadulterated frenzy of cooking and cleaning and shopping and studying for their quickly approaching post-break exams, which lurked menacingly on the horizon for the coming year.
Therefore, Haruhi had resolutely proclaimed to a puppy-eyed, rapidly wilting Tamaki, there was simply no time to be had for gallivanting around Ouran’s campus and indulging in events of a holiday-spirited nature. Haruhi had steeled herself against Tamaki’s ensuing theatrics, stubbornly refusing to waver, and ultimately left the twins to sweep up a pile of color-sapped ashes-all that remained of an utterly depressed Tamaki.
- - - - -
Amid the hustle and bustle of decorating the club room and entertaining their regular holiday guests surrounded by a virtual miniature forest of live Christmas trees, the final week’s worth of club meetings had elapsed in a general tumult for the formerly dauntless Tamaki, his rising panic fueled to new heights as Haruhi dodged one invitation to the all-important Christmas party after another.
Thus, at the end of the final school day before the holiday break, after Haruhi had bid a cordial round of Christmas farewells and a hearty share of New-Year wishes to her Host Club comrades and departed, bound for home, Tamaki had futilely attempted to instigate “Operation Help Haruhi Have a Merry Christmas and Get Her to Attend the Host Club Christmas Party,” which, by the fatal consequence of its headache-inducing long title, the twins had rechristened “Operation Christmas Host.” The plan itself, though now simple in name, remained rather complex in nature. By course of necessity, a Haruhi dead-set on accomplishing her Christmas-time chores and household business must be lured to the gates of Ouran and, furthermore, convinced to attend the holiday party, preferably in a happy and cooperative frame of mind.
And Kyouya, though he later mentally berated himself for the unbecoming naïveté of such a thought, had supposed that for once-for once-Tamaki’s half-baked scheme might quite possibly not involve some underhanded perversion of the imagination that usually prompted the King's outlandish fantasies concerning Haruhi.
But, no, as Kyouya could and should have guessed, Tamaki’s version of the plan had involved an elaborate production in which the male members of the Host Club would don elf costumes to accentuate a certain Santa outfit that would be acquired for Haruhi. Seeing as Tamaki simply blushed furiously when Kyouya had prompted him to elaborate on the details of said Santa outfit, Kyouya’s suspicions were confirmed. Needless to say, Tamaki’s Plans A, B, and C quickly and all-too-conveniently bit the dust-for, yes, little did Tamaki and Haruhi know, the remaining Host Club members had hatched intricate party plans of their own.
And these particular plans are progressing quite smoothly indeed, Kyouya had asserted to himself.
As that last afternoon waned into dusk, Tamaki had idly traced a figure eight over the inlaid surface of a coffee table, his desperate sighs hanging miserably in the air.
“Tono, if she says she can’t come. . .,” Kaoru drawled, stepping up beside the King.
“. . .then I suppose there’s simply nothing we can do about it,” Hikaru finished blandly, shrugging along with Kaoru and simultaneously winking at Mori and Hunny across the room.
Fortunately, Tamaki had been too absorbed to even notice the secret Christmas plans being orchestrated in plain sight.
- - - - -