[fic] Insignificant
Rating: K for crude references and some slight suggestiveness.
Summary: Kyoya never believed in love. ..
Pairing: hints of Kyoya/Haruhi. Not more, not less.
Disclaimer: Ouran Host Club does not belong to me. I’d only wreck it with my love for angst.
Feedback: Yes, please. Especially constructive criticism. I appreciate honesty more than anything else.
Author’s Notes: A fairly spontaneous fic, written in the spur of the moment. There might be some crude humour therein; inspired by my favourite author ever- Roald Dahl. As if to settle my death, this my first Ouran fic. There might be some inconsistencies, naturally.
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Love is only something for blushing, drunken idiots and brainless puppies of men, who have been milk-fed too much by their dearest mothers. Thus, a good man- a practical and intelligent man- only marries for sons and bed-time enjoyments. The rest, however, remains insignificant. Tonazaki. R.
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Now, if there was something Kyoya believed in, it was this statement which had been cited by a disgruntled pilot before his last flight: he was later-literally-reduced to a pile of ashes after being shot down by the British. That pilot, who had been known for his seriousness and calculating mind, was a humourless fellow with a gun for his best friend. Generally speaking, he was the sort of man that one did not trifle with. At least, when staying alive and growing old was an option. Somehow, even the strongest men were not immune to death nor capable escaping it. Naturally, Kyoya did not care about that and only pondered over these bitter words, which seemed to be a grain of wisdom; he believed every word of it. Indeed, he even wanted to become like that man- aloof, strong and cunning.
Untainted by love.
What he could not know was, of course, that said pilot had been an embittered man, who had never experienced anything but disappointment in his life. His mother had been an old hag, who had been cursed with a husband who was too fond of his whisky bottle but remained oblivious to anything else. Basically to heighten his agony, years later, his wife had ran off with another man. This one little incident, despite being nothing special, had broken the pilot’s heart, leaving nothing but a shard of splinters behind.
Still, Kyoya fell in love with that quote, during a meaningless history lesson. He was intrigued by the pilot’s bravery, deeming it necessary to take him as an example. Also, he decided to make that one phrase his mindset when it came to infatuation. What he also did not know, however, was that he was just as scared as the aforementioned pilot of being hurt. He had never experienced real warmth before, apart from the demands of his family. It seemed that his family had nothing else in mind then seeing him become successful and increase the family’s wealth by earning lots of riches.
Hereby, love was not required. Was even unnecessary and a hindrance.
Surely, being a member of the Host Club, he also had his fair share of brief affairs with girls, who were unpretentious enough about their expectations. Instead of feeling offended, Kyoya played along when the girls were attractive enough. It was not like he felt the need to save himself for marriage.
Of course, he never told Tamaki about it because the boy was as dense and innocent as could be. He knew that his best friend had not even kissed a girl properly before, for he feared doing indecent things. Mori was too unconcerned with the club to care about wooing girls and Hunny was a child. Even the twins, who were masters in deceiving others, were innocent when it came to such matters. Only he, Kyoya, had ever crossed the line, but it served him well. These girls were good for a slight raise in the profit: they kept coming back and told other girls all about the “fun” to be found at the Host Club. At first, he had been baffled with the lack of warmth in their actions, but he grew used to it.
This was real life, after all. Not a fairy tale.
Though men do not use tears as method of showing pain, they are more liable to hide their distraught under a mask of coolness. For a while this worked. Perfectly well and Kyoya remained free from the greedy clutches of girls, who had his fame in mind. He was not naive and knew that the world revolved around pleasantries and money; few people in this society married for love, but only underwent a lasting relationship if it guaranteed upcoming success. His own parents had married for similar reasons, even though they had grown to love each other over the years. But their case was a lucky one.
Others were not that fortunate, Kyoya thought. Therefore, one had to remain nonchalant.
And this belief worked well. Well enough for seventeen years of his life to render him nearly as calculated and jaded as the ole' pilot himself. However, one day he found himself questioning his beliefs when an intruder in the form of a cross-dressing girl floundered into his life. Bespectacled, small and shabby, the boy did not think much of her at first, other than her being faintly interesting. Certainly, she was interesting. Interesting in the way an insect is to an explorer in an African country. He did not care whether Haruhi felt uncomfortable with his decisions or having to do whatever the Host Club required her to do; she was merely a commoner, who had burst into their lives.
Slowly, though, he found himself growing increasingly fascinated with her blatant honesty and oblivion to reality. There was something about her that was vastly different from anyone else he had ever met. Other girls only showed interest in his looks, wealth or charm, but she remained indifferent to them.
When he was surprised by her in his own room, Kyoya swore that his heart skipped a bit. It might have been the pink night gown, which affected him. Yet, he was not sure- he had seen girls in far less. But her form- delicate and pure-attracted him and he felt the peculiar need to take her into his arms and never let her go. But his more sadistic side only wanted to kiss her senseless, have his way with her and then discard her like some broken toy. The reason was fairly simple: he wanted to see her whimper, cry and fluster under his penetrating gaze: he was good at doing that.
Haruhi, however, was an enigma.
Something about her behaviour irked him: her lack of bashfulness surprised him. Even when he pushed her on the bed, clearly stating his desires, Haruhi neither flinched nor shown any sign of discomfort.
She only started at him with her unfailingly questioning gaze…As if that kind of behaviour were something utterly normal. As if lying in bed with a half-naked man was as common as brushing one’s teeth or tying shoelaces.
“You have nothing to gain by sleeping with me, “ she said in that reasonable manner of hers, even though Haruhi was heavily mistaken. In that moment, Kyoya sensed that a girl like that, excited him to the utmost. Not sexually, mind you. There was something about her that made him feel welcome and safe. Something in her ways, as cliche as it might sound, nearly wanted him to believe in Tamaki's beliefs. That love was beautiful, engrossing, enriching and worthwhile. That, perhaps, one did not end up being disappointed.
But he let her go, fearing the outcome if something had happened. On the other hand, he regretted his decision. He never knew if such an opportunity might arise again…he was, after all, insignificant in her eyes.
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