(no subject)
Title: Five Battles That Jonouchi Ayame Won (and the war that she lost)
Fandom: Ouran Koukou Host Club
Featuring: Ayame->Kyouya, Ayame->Tamaki, hints of Kyouya/Tamaki.
Genre: Fluff, humour, drama.
Words: ~ 2030.
Rating: G.
Warnings: Kyouya and Ayame were scary little kids.
Notes: I thought I'd lost this piece, actually, but it was just hiding. Terribly glad for that. Remind me never to save a document without posting it again.
Six-drabble series spanning kindergarten to third-year juniour high.
Oh, and Kyouya's spelling error in the second drabble was actually the only spelling word I got wrong in my entire third-grade year.
ONE
It was only the third day of kindergarten, and Ayame was thoroughly bored with it. Nothing about the 'lessons' held her attention; she already knew everything Kishimoto-sensei was showing them. She could spell, so she certainly knew how to write the alphabet.
Across from her was a solemn little boy, similarly unengrossed in the teacher's prattle, if the look on his face was any indication. He seemed much more engaged with the sharpness of his brand-new box of crayons. The purple crayon made an appearance, and he rolled it between his fingers, turning it over and over.
When he returned it to its box, he was careful to nestle it in beside the blue. The crayons were perfect, and the boy had rearranged them in the order of the visible spectrum of light. Ayame looked on, envious despite herself.
She wanted to colour. More specifically, she wanted to colour with that boy's crayons. Knitting her brow, the dark-eyed girl turned away, fixing her attention on the teacher, for lack of anything better to do.
Kishimoto-sensei was moving around the room, and within a few moments, a piece of paper with several instances of the letter A on it slid in front of Ayame.
"Now, I want all of you to trace the As at the top of the paper first," she said, glancing sternly at the overeager children who had already broken out the bright colours and set upon the big picture of an apple. She smiled down at Ayame, then, who was already halfway through the first line of As, looking less than enthusiastic. "After you're done," she added, "you can colour in the apple."
Ayame's hand slowly moved, pushing her own box of crayons beneath the edge of her jacket, which was on the table beside her. Then she looked up, all wide eyes and innocence, and asked, "What if we don't have crayons?"
"Well, you'll have to get some," said Kishimoto-sensei with a smile, "but in the meantime, I'm sure Ootori-kun will be glad to share his with you."
The boy across from Ayame set his pencil down and frowned. Each letter on his paper was painstakingly perfect, and he was already finished. "I don't want to," he announced.
Clucking her tongue, the teacher said firmly, "That's not very nice, Ootori-kun. I think you should share your crayons."
"She has some, though!" Ootori protested, his voice dangerously close to a whine. Ayame's expression turned stormy at that.
"I do not!" Perhaps the objection was a bit too vehement, but Kishimoto-sensei overlooked it. She gave the boy a warning glance and moved on.
Once she was gone, Ayame smiled a sweet, unassuming smile and reached for the box of crayons. Ootori didn't stop her.
"If you break one of them, I'll pull your hair."
TWO
"Reason," Ayame repeated, sounding just as unexcited as ever. "R-E-A-S-O-N. Reason."
"Very good." Ogawa-sensei had her eyes on the attentive-looking Ootori standing beside Ayame. "Ootori-kun, spell 'everybody.'"
A little quicker than Ayame - a little sharper, Ootori recited, "Everybody. E-V-E-R-Y-B-O-D-Y. Everybody."
"Great. Jonouchi-san, spell 'yesterday.'"
"Yesterday. Y-E-S-T-E-R-D-A-Y. Yesterday." Ayame smiled when Ootori scowled.
Ogawa-sensei nodded, then said, "Ootori-kun, spell 'between.'"
"Between," Ootori echoed confidently. "B-E-E-T-W-E-E-N. Between."
With a rueful smile, the teacher shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ootori-kun. Jonouchi-san, can you correctly spell 'between'?"
Clearing her throat, Ayame met the glare Ootori shot her as she began. "Between. B-E-T-W-E-E-N. Between."
"That's right. Your next word is 'newspaper'."
"Newspaper. N-E-W-S-P-A-P-E-R. Newspaper."
"Excellent!" Ogawa-sensei offered a bright smile and stood up, meaning to congratulate Ayame. She had taken no more than two steps when Ayame screamed.
Ootori was out of his chair, and he had shoved it at her rather forcefully. Upon hearing her scream, he shouted, himself. "That's not fair!" Then the teacher was grabbing him, and he could no further protest the injustice of the spelling bee (or the whole third grade, or the world), because she had picked him up firmly and was carrying him away.
Over her shoulder, he yelled, "You just got lucky, that's all!" Ayame only presented a too-darling confused look as she righted the chair he'd thrown. It was as if she had no idea that she'd wronged him so.
But he knew better.
THREE
They had been staring at each other for half an hour now, and neither of them had spoken. Their gazes were equally serene, infinitely calm behind the gleam of their glasses.
That corner of the gymnasium was the tensest place on Earth on the night of the fifth-grade science fair exhibition. Ootori had won the year before, and the year before that. But each year, Ayame was a half-step closer to overtaking him. The teachers knew it, and their smiles as they approached the pair were knowing and expectant.
"Ootori-kun?" Akiyama-sensei addressed him. Ootori smiled like a viper and turned to bow politely to him.
"Thank you for your attentions, sensei," he said, gesturing expansively toward his presentation. "I think you'll find my ventures this year more than satisfying."
Ayame looked on, feigning expressions of disinterest as Ootori detailed the construction and inner workings of the solar cell that he'd used for his experiment, and how to maximize the energy garnered from a solar cell. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but his voice was confident and carrying, and she knew he meant for her to hear it, so she listened.
The teachers came away from Ootori's presentation, achatter at the potential of such a brilliant mind, and how well he was doing, following in the wake of his brothers' legacy. He was charming, intelligent, and environmentally conscious, and goodness, wouldn't they be proud to have a son like him?
They were still discussing him when they stopped in front of Ayame. She did no more than bow, then wait placidly for their attention. Ootori was smirking, leaning against the wall nearby, but she couldn't be bothered with him for now.
She drew their attention with a light cough, and began her own presentation. Her studies focused on a chemical compound rather than natural energy sources, but she had also aimed for the extra points on the environmental end of the scale. They were clean-burning hydrogen-based fuels, and despite being too expensive for the general public, the research was thorough.
It was her turn to smirk, though she didn't deign to turn her head Ootori's way, as the teachers conferred whisperingly with one another at the judges' table. She did look at him, however, when they returned to adorn her with a medal.
He was seething, but he hadn't thrown anything. Yet. Ayame turned the medal over in her fingers, listening to the teachers attempting to cajole Ootori into working on a joint project with her next year. When she heard his response, she turned quickly away to hide her grin.
"No! I work alone. Besides, she'd only drag me down. She's stupid."
FOUR
Ayame thought that Saitou-sensei had a good idea, freeing the student with the highest test score from their summer homework. It seemed to have raised a little more enthusiasm amongst the students - after all, this was the summer of seventh grade coming up; their social lives were just beginning to really expand, and no one wanted homework to get in the way.
Besides, it got her out of her summer homework.
Either that, or it got Ootori out of his, and gave her yet another reason to try to show him up.
It was a constant struggle, and Ootori most often maintained the upper hand, much to her dismay. (It would be another year or more before she realized that she preferred it that way; it gave her something to strive for.) Ayame had the distinct feeling that this particular round, however, would give the temperamental Ootori something to snarl about.
"Jonouchi-san - ninety-six."
Ootori's fist hit the desk, making the students around him jump and bringing a fleeting smile to Ayame's lips, which she concealed. They locked eyes across the room, and she moved her hand so he could see her satisfaction. He growled audibly, and Ayame felt a distinct stab of delight.
A victory on her end never failed to infuriate him. She knew, too, that her lack of passion toward the whole matter angered him. He trumped her more often than not, and she would only reward him with cold stares and silent promises, while all of her aces to date had been met with inherent seething rage.
And even if the surging sense of triumph and accomplishment had been flagging, the narrowing of his eyes and the curl of his lip was always prize enough.
FIVE
The hall, large as it was, was crowded. People swarmed about, compressing in one general direction, all of them shuffling and shoving forward, but the corridor got no clearer. Ayame frowned at the spectacle. It was a daunting task to even get to class with a throng like this, much less get a glimpse of the 3-A class rankings before that.
She couldn't help but think, though, that they were all much louder than they needed to be. Good breeding, indeed. With a sigh of resignation, she began weaving her way through the crowd, and found herself forced irresistibly forward by the press of people from all sides. In time, she came to the front of the crowd, and tilted her head to endeavour a look at the papers.
Whoever was in front of her was irritatingly tall, and she found herself rising on tiptoe to get a better view. He turned, just then, and she looked up, meeting his eyes, which narrowed.
"Jonouchi."
Her demeanor turned chilly. "Ootori."
Neither of them moved for what seemed like an eternity. At last, his winding temper snapped, and he shoved irritably at another student who had been crowding them. This left the class rankings for Ayame to see.
When Ootori tried to walk away, her hand closed around his wrist, manicured nails meeting his expensive watch with a click. Gritting his teeth, he turned to face her, and she was smirking over her shoulder at him.
"What?" he demanded, the words explosive.
She laughed, then, all air and elitism, and let him go, turning away. The smile on her face was genuine now, and she didn't care for him to see it.
"Nothing, Ootori. Congratualations on making second."
SIX
No one in the school could deny that the bastard had stolen their hearts. Every last one of them was thrown to the wind, to violet eyes and blond locks and French accents and heartfelt romance.
Even Ayame, steadfast as she seemed, had to resist the odd urge to come closer to him. He was the center of gravity itself, and she felt helpless, like a moon.
She did manage to find one solace in the abandon and confusion that inevitably followed the foreign heartbreaker. Pridefully, she remained a safe distance from him (though it hurt her). And Ootori....
Whether he had drawn Ootori in or reached out and grabbed him, the two were becoming awkwardly inseparable. Where she still stood, Ootori had fallen, and she should have scoffed at that, she should have smirked and inclined her head in elegance and superiority, and settled back to watch Ootori's eyes burn.
But she felt no exhilarating triumph, and no lofty arrogance. Her heart ached when she saw them together, talking, smiling, touching. And when Ootori finally looked her way again, she put on the haughty expression she knew he was expecting, the look that never failed to make him seethe with barely-contained violence.
And he smirked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a subtle suggestion of condescension. He watched her waver, then turned back to his companion, chuckling at something he'd said.
And without the anger to flare up like a struck match, Ayame came to realize that she was entirely wrong.
She hadn't won this time. She'd lost. And she couldn't be sure to whom.
Fandom: Ouran Koukou Host Club
Featuring: Ayame->Kyouya, Ayame->Tamaki, hints of Kyouya/Tamaki.
Genre: Fluff, humour, drama.
Words: ~ 2030.
Rating: G.
Warnings: Kyouya and Ayame were scary little kids.
Notes: I thought I'd lost this piece, actually, but it was just hiding. Terribly glad for that. Remind me never to save a document without posting it again.
Six-drabble series spanning kindergarten to third-year juniour high.
Oh, and Kyouya's spelling error in the second drabble was actually the only spelling word I got wrong in my entire third-grade year.
ONE
It was only the third day of kindergarten, and Ayame was thoroughly bored with it. Nothing about the 'lessons' held her attention; she already knew everything Kishimoto-sensei was showing them. She could spell, so she certainly knew how to write the alphabet.
Across from her was a solemn little boy, similarly unengrossed in the teacher's prattle, if the look on his face was any indication. He seemed much more engaged with the sharpness of his brand-new box of crayons. The purple crayon made an appearance, and he rolled it between his fingers, turning it over and over.
When he returned it to its box, he was careful to nestle it in beside the blue. The crayons were perfect, and the boy had rearranged them in the order of the visible spectrum of light. Ayame looked on, envious despite herself.
She wanted to colour. More specifically, she wanted to colour with that boy's crayons. Knitting her brow, the dark-eyed girl turned away, fixing her attention on the teacher, for lack of anything better to do.
Kishimoto-sensei was moving around the room, and within a few moments, a piece of paper with several instances of the letter A on it slid in front of Ayame.
"Now, I want all of you to trace the As at the top of the paper first," she said, glancing sternly at the overeager children who had already broken out the bright colours and set upon the big picture of an apple. She smiled down at Ayame, then, who was already halfway through the first line of As, looking less than enthusiastic. "After you're done," she added, "you can colour in the apple."
Ayame's hand slowly moved, pushing her own box of crayons beneath the edge of her jacket, which was on the table beside her. Then she looked up, all wide eyes and innocence, and asked, "What if we don't have crayons?"
"Well, you'll have to get some," said Kishimoto-sensei with a smile, "but in the meantime, I'm sure Ootori-kun will be glad to share his with you."
The boy across from Ayame set his pencil down and frowned. Each letter on his paper was painstakingly perfect, and he was already finished. "I don't want to," he announced.
Clucking her tongue, the teacher said firmly, "That's not very nice, Ootori-kun. I think you should share your crayons."
"She has some, though!" Ootori protested, his voice dangerously close to a whine. Ayame's expression turned stormy at that.
"I do not!" Perhaps the objection was a bit too vehement, but Kishimoto-sensei overlooked it. She gave the boy a warning glance and moved on.
Once she was gone, Ayame smiled a sweet, unassuming smile and reached for the box of crayons. Ootori didn't stop her.
"If you break one of them, I'll pull your hair."
TWO
"Reason," Ayame repeated, sounding just as unexcited as ever. "R-E-A-S-O-N. Reason."
"Very good." Ogawa-sensei had her eyes on the attentive-looking Ootori standing beside Ayame. "Ootori-kun, spell 'everybody.'"
A little quicker than Ayame - a little sharper, Ootori recited, "Everybody. E-V-E-R-Y-B-O-D-Y. Everybody."
"Great. Jonouchi-san, spell 'yesterday.'"
"Yesterday. Y-E-S-T-E-R-D-A-Y. Yesterday." Ayame smiled when Ootori scowled.
Ogawa-sensei nodded, then said, "Ootori-kun, spell 'between.'"
"Between," Ootori echoed confidently. "B-E-E-T-W-E-E-N. Between."
With a rueful smile, the teacher shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ootori-kun. Jonouchi-san, can you correctly spell 'between'?"
Clearing her throat, Ayame met the glare Ootori shot her as she began. "Between. B-E-T-W-E-E-N. Between."
"That's right. Your next word is 'newspaper'."
"Newspaper. N-E-W-S-P-A-P-E-R. Newspaper."
"Excellent!" Ogawa-sensei offered a bright smile and stood up, meaning to congratulate Ayame. She had taken no more than two steps when Ayame screamed.
Ootori was out of his chair, and he had shoved it at her rather forcefully. Upon hearing her scream, he shouted, himself. "That's not fair!" Then the teacher was grabbing him, and he could no further protest the injustice of the spelling bee (or the whole third grade, or the world), because she had picked him up firmly and was carrying him away.
Over her shoulder, he yelled, "You just got lucky, that's all!" Ayame only presented a too-darling confused look as she righted the chair he'd thrown. It was as if she had no idea that she'd wronged him so.
But he knew better.
THREE
They had been staring at each other for half an hour now, and neither of them had spoken. Their gazes were equally serene, infinitely calm behind the gleam of their glasses.
That corner of the gymnasium was the tensest place on Earth on the night of the fifth-grade science fair exhibition. Ootori had won the year before, and the year before that. But each year, Ayame was a half-step closer to overtaking him. The teachers knew it, and their smiles as they approached the pair were knowing and expectant.
"Ootori-kun?" Akiyama-sensei addressed him. Ootori smiled like a viper and turned to bow politely to him.
"Thank you for your attentions, sensei," he said, gesturing expansively toward his presentation. "I think you'll find my ventures this year more than satisfying."
Ayame looked on, feigning expressions of disinterest as Ootori detailed the construction and inner workings of the solar cell that he'd used for his experiment, and how to maximize the energy garnered from a solar cell. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but his voice was confident and carrying, and she knew he meant for her to hear it, so she listened.
The teachers came away from Ootori's presentation, achatter at the potential of such a brilliant mind, and how well he was doing, following in the wake of his brothers' legacy. He was charming, intelligent, and environmentally conscious, and goodness, wouldn't they be proud to have a son like him?
They were still discussing him when they stopped in front of Ayame. She did no more than bow, then wait placidly for their attention. Ootori was smirking, leaning against the wall nearby, but she couldn't be bothered with him for now.
She drew their attention with a light cough, and began her own presentation. Her studies focused on a chemical compound rather than natural energy sources, but she had also aimed for the extra points on the environmental end of the scale. They were clean-burning hydrogen-based fuels, and despite being too expensive for the general public, the research was thorough.
It was her turn to smirk, though she didn't deign to turn her head Ootori's way, as the teachers conferred whisperingly with one another at the judges' table. She did look at him, however, when they returned to adorn her with a medal.
He was seething, but he hadn't thrown anything. Yet. Ayame turned the medal over in her fingers, listening to the teachers attempting to cajole Ootori into working on a joint project with her next year. When she heard his response, she turned quickly away to hide her grin.
"No! I work alone. Besides, she'd only drag me down. She's stupid."
FOUR
Ayame thought that Saitou-sensei had a good idea, freeing the student with the highest test score from their summer homework. It seemed to have raised a little more enthusiasm amongst the students - after all, this was the summer of seventh grade coming up; their social lives were just beginning to really expand, and no one wanted homework to get in the way.
Besides, it got her out of her summer homework.
Either that, or it got Ootori out of his, and gave her yet another reason to try to show him up.
It was a constant struggle, and Ootori most often maintained the upper hand, much to her dismay. (It would be another year or more before she realized that she preferred it that way; it gave her something to strive for.) Ayame had the distinct feeling that this particular round, however, would give the temperamental Ootori something to snarl about.
"Jonouchi-san - ninety-six."
Ootori's fist hit the desk, making the students around him jump and bringing a fleeting smile to Ayame's lips, which she concealed. They locked eyes across the room, and she moved her hand so he could see her satisfaction. He growled audibly, and Ayame felt a distinct stab of delight.
A victory on her end never failed to infuriate him. She knew, too, that her lack of passion toward the whole matter angered him. He trumped her more often than not, and she would only reward him with cold stares and silent promises, while all of her aces to date had been met with inherent seething rage.
And even if the surging sense of triumph and accomplishment had been flagging, the narrowing of his eyes and the curl of his lip was always prize enough.
FIVE
The hall, large as it was, was crowded. People swarmed about, compressing in one general direction, all of them shuffling and shoving forward, but the corridor got no clearer. Ayame frowned at the spectacle. It was a daunting task to even get to class with a throng like this, much less get a glimpse of the 3-A class rankings before that.
She couldn't help but think, though, that they were all much louder than they needed to be. Good breeding, indeed. With a sigh of resignation, she began weaving her way through the crowd, and found herself forced irresistibly forward by the press of people from all sides. In time, she came to the front of the crowd, and tilted her head to endeavour a look at the papers.
Whoever was in front of her was irritatingly tall, and she found herself rising on tiptoe to get a better view. He turned, just then, and she looked up, meeting his eyes, which narrowed.
"Jonouchi."
Her demeanor turned chilly. "Ootori."
Neither of them moved for what seemed like an eternity. At last, his winding temper snapped, and he shoved irritably at another student who had been crowding them. This left the class rankings for Ayame to see.
When Ootori tried to walk away, her hand closed around his wrist, manicured nails meeting his expensive watch with a click. Gritting his teeth, he turned to face her, and she was smirking over her shoulder at him.
"What?" he demanded, the words explosive.
She laughed, then, all air and elitism, and let him go, turning away. The smile on her face was genuine now, and she didn't care for him to see it.
"Nothing, Ootori. Congratualations on making second."
SIX
No one in the school could deny that the bastard had stolen their hearts. Every last one of them was thrown to the wind, to violet eyes and blond locks and French accents and heartfelt romance.
Even Ayame, steadfast as she seemed, had to resist the odd urge to come closer to him. He was the center of gravity itself, and she felt helpless, like a moon.
She did manage to find one solace in the abandon and confusion that inevitably followed the foreign heartbreaker. Pridefully, she remained a safe distance from him (though it hurt her). And Ootori....
Whether he had drawn Ootori in or reached out and grabbed him, the two were becoming awkwardly inseparable. Where she still stood, Ootori had fallen, and she should have scoffed at that, she should have smirked and inclined her head in elegance and superiority, and settled back to watch Ootori's eyes burn.
But she felt no exhilarating triumph, and no lofty arrogance. Her heart ached when she saw them together, talking, smiling, touching. And when Ootori finally looked her way again, she put on the haughty expression she knew he was expecting, the look that never failed to make him seethe with barely-contained violence.
And he smirked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a subtle suggestion of condescension. He watched her waver, then turned back to his companion, chuckling at something he'd said.
And without the anger to flare up like a struck match, Ayame came to realize that she was entirely wrong.
She hadn't won this time. She'd lost. And she couldn't be sure to whom.