Ouran High School Host Club (Haruhi/client)

[anenko]

Title: [untitled]
Author: anenko
Rating: PG13
Summary: Haruhi was still *Haruhi,* as unique and effortlessly herself as ever.
Note: for the prompt: Oct. 27 - Ouran High School Host Club, Haruhi/any of the customers: Femslash - "It's not just the members of the Host Club that keep the secret."

I’m so sorry for the late entry!



The scene was familiar, and unmistakable. The members of the Host Club were too vibrant to be ignored, even when they were--quite obviously--attempting stealth. Momoka remained in the shadows, content to leave the Host Club to their games. She allowed herself a small indulgence, searching out Haruhi’s familiar form among his flashier club-mates.

Momoka’s stuttering gasp was quickly muffled behind her hand. Haruhi was clothed in a far too fashionable dress, and his hair was beribboned, leaving him almost unrecognizable, but for the familiar look of resigned patience he wore.

The familiar expression that *she* wore, Momoka corrected herself. The dress clung to the slight curve of Haruhi’s breasts, and the straps left her arms bare, pale and soft. It was Tamaki’s actions that banished all thoughts of play-acting from Momoka’s mind; he fluttered and sparkled around Haruhi as he did only around women, obviously smitten.

The Host Club formed a tight cluster around Haruhi, quickly ushering her down the hall, and out of Momoka’s sight. She did not try to follow them, and could hardly think of moving at all for several long minutes. Her heart twisted painfully, and Momoka furiously wiped the wetness from her lashes.

She had not *seriously* entertained thoughts of becoming Haruhi’s girlfriend, but. . . some small part of her had dreamt of walking at Haruhi’s side, hand in hand.

It was impossible to avoid Haruhi; Momoka saw her in class, in the hallways, in the library. Momoka was polite, and if she was distant, Haruhi hardly seemed to notice. Haruhi’s obliviousness gave Momoka plenty of time to study her, and to think. She paid careful attention to the delicate column of Haruhi’s throat, the softness of her lower lip, the hardly visible curve of her hips--and marveled that she had been so blind as to believe Haruhi a boy.

More startling yet was the fact that Momoka’s heart still beat faster at the sight of Haruhi. She was still upset, angered by her own foolish blindness, but. . . Haruhi was still *Haruhi,* as unique and effortlessly herself as ever.

Haruhi could never be Momoka’s boyfriend, and would never be her girlfriend; but Momoka had never truly expected more from Haruhi than a smile and pleasant conversation. She could still have that, Momoka decided, and ended her self-imposed exile from the Host Club that very day.

There was muted curiosity in Haruhi’s smile when she greeted Momoka. “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“I’m happy to be back,” Momoka said, and reached out for Haruhi’s hand.