To Know and to Touch
a/n: I chose to do something with Renge. Mostly because I like to explore any depth that a seemingly depth-less character has. ;D The first few paragraphs were meant to set up for a TamaRenge, (yeah, I know. Cracktastic.) one of which I would still like to write, but I decided not to give any real pairings to this. (Oooh, yes, I want to do a KyouRenge too, at some point x3). Instead, this is just an introspective. ‘Twas great fun to write. :]
*
She was like any other girl, if not a bit more obsessive.
She was like any other girl, who fantasized about love and swooned over beautiful men. Be they in manga, love simulation games, or movies. She had never swooned over something tangible before, and it was probable that she never would.
She was like any other girl, at heart.
Yet despite her favorable circumstances, Renge always knew there was something hollow in her life. Something that separated her from any other girl.
She subconsciously accepted that, if there was any justice in the world, she would never fall madly in love with the man of her dreams. She had too many good things going for her already. She had loving, over-indulgent parents. She lived a carefree life in France, attending classes at its finest all-girls academy. She knew a few girls at school, who she liked and who liked her back.
She never talked about Uki Doki Memorial with them, but her free time was consumed by it. Past the point of being healthy or reasonable. So much that it came to the point where she unwittingly had to choose between Miyabi and the girls at school.
She chose Miyabi.
And she began to feel lonely.
She craved laughter. Laughter that didn’t come from her television stereo. That didn’t have a distant, tinny quality. She wanted to hug something other than the numerous plushies in her room. She wanted people to accept her for who she really was. Not for the Renge who wore a mask and a straightjacket, the Renge who didn’t smile upon first greetings. She wanted people who chose her for her. For the Renge who loved moe moe and boys love and who smiled at everything.
She wanted someone like Miyabi, who thought that her less-than-stellar baking skills were fine, that her spastic nature was part of her charm, that, yes, she was an otaku and it was not a negative word. She didn’t want the girls at school, so wrapped up in their Chanel and their subtle wit.
And so, she lived on for that goal. Even though she had long ago accepted that it was never even in her horizons. She had become miserable. Her only wispy, faint hope was a glowing screen. Her only solace the two-dimensional characters. Even if the sounds were tinny, the words were comforting and in the tongue she loved most.
“I’m so happy… Miyabi-kun,” she said quietly to the screen.
She was not happy at all.
**
Then came a picture.
When her father showed her thispicture, she felt her interest ignite. It had not so much as flickered within her for years; not even the latest Uki Doki Memorial was able to truly spark it.
That boy. He looked like Miyabi. He was Miyabi.
It occurred to her, in a flash of hope, that this was the moment she could love something that she could hold.
He would love her. He would know her as Renge.
And so she flew, cheeks flushed and skirts whipping, to Japan. A land she so loved, but had never grown acquainted with.
She looked again at the photograph. It had been crumpled by her tight grip for the last few hours, and part was slick with her perspiration.
What is this Miyabi’s name again?
Kyouya. Oh, yes.
She must remember to call him such when they meet.
***
She was dramatically opposed to everyone in the club (other than Kyouya-sama).
A princely character should not be a Cassanova; too cute was too cute; and brotherly love was no fun without danger.
Kyouya-sama, of course, kind, generous, caring Kyouya-sama did not need to be anything but himself. Kind, generous, and caring.
****
“Because that’s not who Kyouya is.”
The stone of doubt plopped down into her stomach, grounding her from her elation. She needed to accept that this boy was not Miyabi, but Kyouya. A cold calculator. She could not stand anymore; the stone was too heavy.
She fell to her knees.
Why… why… was there no one who would be able to accept her for who she was? If there wasn't Miyabi, who was there? Was such a dream out of her reach?
“Even if Kyouya-senpai isn't who you think he is... it's not all that bad, right?"
It was Haruhi, kneeling down to comfort her.
“I think it’s fun to really get to know people, to gradually learn who they are.”
She smiled.
Renge stilled, and the tears stopped. Still, her lips quivered.
Her shoulders tightened, and she looked down at her hands. Down at the pavement.
And realized.
She was locked in a room of mirrors. She saw things as they were not. She saw only her own thoughts, reflected in the mirrors. And while she was locked in this world, no one else could see the Renge she wanted them to.
She was guilty of inflicting upon others the burden she had carried for years.
Suddenly, quite clearly, she imagined the familiar, brassy tone of her Miyabi:
Please, smile, Renge-chan. You’ve learned an important lesson, one that will help you.
But did he know her? His voice, his laughter… it wasn’t real. He didn’t love her. He was programmed to say sweet things, that was all.
With a hack, the locks of her box were cut away.
Renge was not sure, though, that she wanted to venture out.
******
The next day, she arrived on the hour sharp to the famed Ouran host club
“Aren’t you going back to France?”
But no, she had finally left that house of mirrors. She was not locking people into boxes any longer; including herself. She would stay here. In Japan. Where she belonged; where she was free.
She would stay with her first friend. Haruhi-kun. No, her first friends. The entire club. Renge was part of them, now.
After all, perhaps princely characters could be equally princely to all girls; too cute was not too cute; and brotherly love really was just as attractive without any added thematic elements.
Haruhi-kun, you’ll come to my house! And I’ll show you my video games. I’ll show you who I really am.
She would play her video games for the first time with someone else.
For the first time, someone would know her.
And the laughter would be real.