"Distance" Oneshot
Title: Of Distances and Those Things Which Influence Them
Rating: K
Genre: Mostly introspective
Characters: Kyouya and a teensy bit of Haruhi
Warnings/Spoilers/Notes: A quick reference to something unimportant from Volume 9 (I think it was volume 9...); I own nothing; It's blasted long. I tried to get it shorter and just couldn't do it.
Word Count: 1,910
The amount of time required to wake up, prepare himself, eat, and arrive at school was exactly thirty-seven minutes and nine seconds. It took another four minutes and twelve seconds to traverse the grounds (two and a half flights of stairs, a total of 31 steps) to his homeroom classroom. The average percentage of the female population of the student body that visited the Third Music Room last week was 47%. This was 21 percentage points lower than the peak attendance. A slow week. The difference between the annual net worth of the wealthiest and the most modest girls who visited the Host Club (if you discounted Haruhi and that silly little princess from Monar), was an impressive 13 billion yen. The distance in grade point average points between the top student in his class (himself, of course) and the runner up was a piddling .04. (It always amused him to contemplate the curious interplay of idiocy and brilliance in the personality of Suou Tamaki.) The number of steps remaining in his plan for the acquisition of his father’s company was between ten and twenty-three, depending on how many of his contingencies he had to implement. The likely time frame this would cover was roughly six years (the middle of grad school - he should be able to take over by the middle of grad school), regardless of detours.
Kyouya liked to measure things. And he liked to be precise. And above all, he liked to be efficient. He liked these things especially when taken in the context of the pursuit of his various goals. He had many goals, and they came in orders, the first being to conquer the financial world and the second (of only marginally lower concern), to take over Ootori Group before the age of twenty-five. Various other lower-order goals fell into line after, almost all directly feeding into the achievement of his priorities. Currently, he placed a great deal of importance in maintaining the fantastic success of the Host Club. He also saw obvious benefits in cultivating his friendships with the other hosts, and so put a substantial bit of effort into that endeavor. (Friendship, he had always thought, was such an ugly word - or rather, it was quite a pretty word that was shamelessly employed as a petty gloss over the selfish game of the exchanging of favors which, contrary to popular belief, was the true source of the world’s never ending rotation. It was, in short, a euphemism, and Kyouya had little but disdain for euphemisms.) He kept a close eye on the social and personal distances separating himself from each of them. The Haninozuka, Morinozuka and Hitachiin heirs all received equal parts of his attention, while Tamaki, as the likely inheritor of the powerful Suou Group, was awarded a slightly greater share. He watched their interactions with each other, and with him. He made note of how they acted when they thought he wasn’t around. He made sure to keep within, if not their circle of confidence, at least their good graces. It was of tremendous importance to ensure that the four of them (for business purposes, Hikaru and Kaoru counted as one person - at least for now. Kyouya observed their interactions especially closely, in case they started to separate), never became his enemies.
At present, the only inefficiency plaguing his plans was Fujioka Haruhi. While he could conceive of the merits in becoming friends with a girl who could potentially become a powerful and devastatingly effective lawyer (another curious interplay that amused him was the ignorance and brilliance present in Haruhi. Amused? Perhaps “nagged at” would be a better term…), the probability of Haruhi ever achieving a level of notoriety that could make her dangerous (and therefore valuable as a friend) to him was fairly slim. Indeed, a passing acquaintance with her would more than suffice. And yet, in order to preserve the carefully balanced atmosphere of the Host Club, he had to assign her a quantity of attention equaling that dedicated to the more obviously influential members. He found it frustrating to have his time and energy so inefficiently directed.
Of course, all that logical explaining was not entirely accurate. Which was not to say that it was inaccurate. It was simply not entirely accurate. Kyouya genuinely, and in his own peculiar way, enjoyed Tamaki. He was intrigued by the twins, and by Mori and Hani, for their relationships and backgrounds were twisted and kinked and could have unforeseeable (hopefully not disastrous) implications for the futures of those four and their respective empires. And he was doggedly trying to prevent himself from becoming fascinated by Fujioka Haruhi. Here was a woman (woman? She was barely more than a child. It would be more accurate to call her a “girl.”) who, despite clear and insurmountable social disadvantages (the financial disadvantages, while great, were, in fact, quite surmountable, providing one had an excessive endowment of brains, which Haruhi had) had enrolled in the most prestigious high school in all of Japan and was now going about the business of keeping herself at the top of her (highly competitive) class with a calm that even Kyouya had to admire. And, to ice the proverbial cake, she was disguising herself as a boy to take part in this ridiculous Host Club, all for the sake of paying of a foolish debt. No. The debt had been paid off already, hadn’t it? So what was the real reason for her remaining (wasting her time, let’s be honest) with these six wealthy, carefree young men? That was another question that fascinated him (no, no, I’m not fascinated - I’m intrigued. It’s a puzzle, and I love to solve puzzles. My objective interest in her is entirely explicable). The fact that she was pretty was merely the cherry on top, and Kyouya had never been terribly fond of cherries. They were too sweet, and too offensively red.
Regardless of any irrelevant emotional preferences he might have sensed in himself, Kyouya kept a deliberate and carefully measured distance between himself and everyone. He wanted to prevent enemies, but he didn’t want to create dependency relationships or give anybody a potentially hazardous “in” with Ootori Group. With most people, distance was easy to maintain - most people were not at all interested in trying to see past facades. Haruhi was. And thus he had to put special effort into preventing her from doing such. She was blasted perceptive, and this could prove troublesome for him. (Not that he was hiding anything; especially not from her; it was simply troublesome that there existed more than one person in the world [it was troublesome that there existed even one person in the world] that was willing and able to see through him.) This, he reasoned to himself, was the cause of his keen awareness of his distance from her - as keen as his awareness of the distances between himself and the other, more important youths with whom he spent the majority of his social hours. This, and none other. The fact that she intrigued him had absolutely nothing to do with it.
It was the end of club activities, on a Wednesday, and he was watching her. She was walking a late-staying customer to the door (which was about 7 meters from his current location; close enough for him to see, far enough to not be able to hear clearly). Rare, he thought. His eyebrows arched. The customer was Himejima Tokiko, the daughter of a glass-manufacturing mogul and, unlike most of the girls who came to the Host Club, she was poised to take over her father’s business when she graduated from college. She was a third year. Kyouya had been paying special attention to her lately. Her father’s power was considerable, and as a shrewd businesswoman, his daughter stood a fine chance of expanding that power. However, further expansion in the same industry would turn their company into a monopoly, triggering unwanted government meddling. If she was intelligent, and Kyouya believed she was, she would expand into other areas of commerce. Ootori Group would want to be in precisely the right place to evade the business end of her conquering sword, when the time came. Kyouya’s interest in her had clear motivations, and Himejima seemed receptive, even gratified, by his attentions; she understood the game he was inviting her to play. But why would Haruhi dote on her? She couldn’t possibly know who Himejima was, and further she had a long history of refusing to take part in their “rich bastard” social plays. What was she at? Kyouya’s brow knitted as he watched the two girls exchange civilities and flirtations at the door.
Haruhi must have felt Kyouya’s eyes on her. Once Himejima left, Haruhi looked straight at Kyouya and started to move toward him, a half-smile on her face. It looked almost guilty, like defeat.
“I was unaware that you were so fond of Himejima-sama.”
“No,” she said, “but I noticed Kyouya-senpai being especially considerate of her, and I know you never do anything unless there’s merit in it. If she’s important enough to get that kind of attention from you, it would probably be useful even for me to make a good impression on her.”
“Currying favor? I wasn’t aware that you did that either.”
She blushed, that guilty half-smile returning. “I wouldn’t say I’m trying to curry her favor. I’m not looking to lay the groundwork for business relationships or anything like that. I’m not like you or the Hitachiin twins; I don’t really expect my friendships at this academy to be the deciding factor in how my career progresses. But since I’m in the position to make acquaintances, I might as well.” She looked up at him. Was that smile appreciative? “I don’t necessarily agree with all your methods, but I must admit that you’re right about how useful a skill networking is, Kyouya-senpai.”
He smirked. She was watching him, was she? And evidently, she was watching closely. He wouldn’t have suspected her of that. She had apparently taken more than one leaf out of his ever-present note pad. He should be flattered. But he was just the slightest bit worried. If she put her mind to it, Haruhi could become a formidable opponent. Perhaps he’d best try to dislodge some of her all-too-accurate conceptions.
“You assume that I have no reason but business reasons to be kind to her. Have you considered the possibility that perhaps I like her?”
“No,” she was unperturbed. “You’re too smooth with Himejima-san. You’re much more abrupt with the people you like, senpai.”
He arched his eyebrows at her. “Oh?”
“Mmm. You don’t trust your feelings. It makes you uneasy to think that you enjoy somebody’s company because you’re afraid your emotions will cloud your judgment, no matter how benign those emotions are. If you like a person, you have to be short with them, just to prove to yourself that you can be. I think you’re thinking about it too much, but at least it makes it easy to figure out who you really do like and who you’re just plying.” She smiled at him again (He was beginning to hate that smile. It was such a knowing smile. It was both fascinating and infuriating.), and walked away.
And he felt, like the moving of the hands on a clock, inexorably, irreversibly, fractionally, the distance between them shrink just a little bit.
Rating: K
Genre: Mostly introspective
Characters: Kyouya and a teensy bit of Haruhi
Warnings/Spoilers/Notes: A quick reference to something unimportant from Volume 9 (I think it was volume 9...); I own nothing; It's blasted long. I tried to get it shorter and just couldn't do it.
Word Count: 1,910
The amount of time required to wake up, prepare himself, eat, and arrive at school was exactly thirty-seven minutes and nine seconds. It took another four minutes and twelve seconds to traverse the grounds (two and a half flights of stairs, a total of 31 steps) to his homeroom classroom. The average percentage of the female population of the student body that visited the Third Music Room last week was 47%. This was 21 percentage points lower than the peak attendance. A slow week. The difference between the annual net worth of the wealthiest and the most modest girls who visited the Host Club (if you discounted Haruhi and that silly little princess from Monar), was an impressive 13 billion yen. The distance in grade point average points between the top student in his class (himself, of course) and the runner up was a piddling .04. (It always amused him to contemplate the curious interplay of idiocy and brilliance in the personality of Suou Tamaki.) The number of steps remaining in his plan for the acquisition of his father’s company was between ten and twenty-three, depending on how many of his contingencies he had to implement. The likely time frame this would cover was roughly six years (the middle of grad school - he should be able to take over by the middle of grad school), regardless of detours.
Kyouya liked to measure things. And he liked to be precise. And above all, he liked to be efficient. He liked these things especially when taken in the context of the pursuit of his various goals. He had many goals, and they came in orders, the first being to conquer the financial world and the second (of only marginally lower concern), to take over Ootori Group before the age of twenty-five. Various other lower-order goals fell into line after, almost all directly feeding into the achievement of his priorities. Currently, he placed a great deal of importance in maintaining the fantastic success of the Host Club. He also saw obvious benefits in cultivating his friendships with the other hosts, and so put a substantial bit of effort into that endeavor. (Friendship, he had always thought, was such an ugly word - or rather, it was quite a pretty word that was shamelessly employed as a petty gloss over the selfish game of the exchanging of favors which, contrary to popular belief, was the true source of the world’s never ending rotation. It was, in short, a euphemism, and Kyouya had little but disdain for euphemisms.) He kept a close eye on the social and personal distances separating himself from each of them. The Haninozuka, Morinozuka and Hitachiin heirs all received equal parts of his attention, while Tamaki, as the likely inheritor of the powerful Suou Group, was awarded a slightly greater share. He watched their interactions with each other, and with him. He made note of how they acted when they thought he wasn’t around. He made sure to keep within, if not their circle of confidence, at least their good graces. It was of tremendous importance to ensure that the four of them (for business purposes, Hikaru and Kaoru counted as one person - at least for now. Kyouya observed their interactions especially closely, in case they started to separate), never became his enemies.
At present, the only inefficiency plaguing his plans was Fujioka Haruhi. While he could conceive of the merits in becoming friends with a girl who could potentially become a powerful and devastatingly effective lawyer (another curious interplay that amused him was the ignorance and brilliance present in Haruhi. Amused? Perhaps “nagged at” would be a better term…), the probability of Haruhi ever achieving a level of notoriety that could make her dangerous (and therefore valuable as a friend) to him was fairly slim. Indeed, a passing acquaintance with her would more than suffice. And yet, in order to preserve the carefully balanced atmosphere of the Host Club, he had to assign her a quantity of attention equaling that dedicated to the more obviously influential members. He found it frustrating to have his time and energy so inefficiently directed.
Of course, all that logical explaining was not entirely accurate. Which was not to say that it was inaccurate. It was simply not entirely accurate. Kyouya genuinely, and in his own peculiar way, enjoyed Tamaki. He was intrigued by the twins, and by Mori and Hani, for their relationships and backgrounds were twisted and kinked and could have unforeseeable (hopefully not disastrous) implications for the futures of those four and their respective empires. And he was doggedly trying to prevent himself from becoming fascinated by Fujioka Haruhi. Here was a woman (woman? She was barely more than a child. It would be more accurate to call her a “girl.”) who, despite clear and insurmountable social disadvantages (the financial disadvantages, while great, were, in fact, quite surmountable, providing one had an excessive endowment of brains, which Haruhi had) had enrolled in the most prestigious high school in all of Japan and was now going about the business of keeping herself at the top of her (highly competitive) class with a calm that even Kyouya had to admire. And, to ice the proverbial cake, she was disguising herself as a boy to take part in this ridiculous Host Club, all for the sake of paying of a foolish debt. No. The debt had been paid off already, hadn’t it? So what was the real reason for her remaining (wasting her time, let’s be honest) with these six wealthy, carefree young men? That was another question that fascinated him (no, no, I’m not fascinated - I’m intrigued. It’s a puzzle, and I love to solve puzzles. My objective interest in her is entirely explicable). The fact that she was pretty was merely the cherry on top, and Kyouya had never been terribly fond of cherries. They were too sweet, and too offensively red.
Regardless of any irrelevant emotional preferences he might have sensed in himself, Kyouya kept a deliberate and carefully measured distance between himself and everyone. He wanted to prevent enemies, but he didn’t want to create dependency relationships or give anybody a potentially hazardous “in” with Ootori Group. With most people, distance was easy to maintain - most people were not at all interested in trying to see past facades. Haruhi was. And thus he had to put special effort into preventing her from doing such. She was blasted perceptive, and this could prove troublesome for him. (Not that he was hiding anything; especially not from her; it was simply troublesome that there existed more than one person in the world [it was troublesome that there existed even one person in the world] that was willing and able to see through him.) This, he reasoned to himself, was the cause of his keen awareness of his distance from her - as keen as his awareness of the distances between himself and the other, more important youths with whom he spent the majority of his social hours. This, and none other. The fact that she intrigued him had absolutely nothing to do with it.
It was the end of club activities, on a Wednesday, and he was watching her. She was walking a late-staying customer to the door (which was about 7 meters from his current location; close enough for him to see, far enough to not be able to hear clearly). Rare, he thought. His eyebrows arched. The customer was Himejima Tokiko, the daughter of a glass-manufacturing mogul and, unlike most of the girls who came to the Host Club, she was poised to take over her father’s business when she graduated from college. She was a third year. Kyouya had been paying special attention to her lately. Her father’s power was considerable, and as a shrewd businesswoman, his daughter stood a fine chance of expanding that power. However, further expansion in the same industry would turn their company into a monopoly, triggering unwanted government meddling. If she was intelligent, and Kyouya believed she was, she would expand into other areas of commerce. Ootori Group would want to be in precisely the right place to evade the business end of her conquering sword, when the time came. Kyouya’s interest in her had clear motivations, and Himejima seemed receptive, even gratified, by his attentions; she understood the game he was inviting her to play. But why would Haruhi dote on her? She couldn’t possibly know who Himejima was, and further she had a long history of refusing to take part in their “rich bastard” social plays. What was she at? Kyouya’s brow knitted as he watched the two girls exchange civilities and flirtations at the door.
Haruhi must have felt Kyouya’s eyes on her. Once Himejima left, Haruhi looked straight at Kyouya and started to move toward him, a half-smile on her face. It looked almost guilty, like defeat.
“I was unaware that you were so fond of Himejima-sama.”
“No,” she said, “but I noticed Kyouya-senpai being especially considerate of her, and I know you never do anything unless there’s merit in it. If she’s important enough to get that kind of attention from you, it would probably be useful even for me to make a good impression on her.”
“Currying favor? I wasn’t aware that you did that either.”
She blushed, that guilty half-smile returning. “I wouldn’t say I’m trying to curry her favor. I’m not looking to lay the groundwork for business relationships or anything like that. I’m not like you or the Hitachiin twins; I don’t really expect my friendships at this academy to be the deciding factor in how my career progresses. But since I’m in the position to make acquaintances, I might as well.” She looked up at him. Was that smile appreciative? “I don’t necessarily agree with all your methods, but I must admit that you’re right about how useful a skill networking is, Kyouya-senpai.”
He smirked. She was watching him, was she? And evidently, she was watching closely. He wouldn’t have suspected her of that. She had apparently taken more than one leaf out of his ever-present note pad. He should be flattered. But he was just the slightest bit worried. If she put her mind to it, Haruhi could become a formidable opponent. Perhaps he’d best try to dislodge some of her all-too-accurate conceptions.
“You assume that I have no reason but business reasons to be kind to her. Have you considered the possibility that perhaps I like her?”
“No,” she was unperturbed. “You’re too smooth with Himejima-san. You’re much more abrupt with the people you like, senpai.”
He arched his eyebrows at her. “Oh?”
“Mmm. You don’t trust your feelings. It makes you uneasy to think that you enjoy somebody’s company because you’re afraid your emotions will cloud your judgment, no matter how benign those emotions are. If you like a person, you have to be short with them, just to prove to yourself that you can be. I think you’re thinking about it too much, but at least it makes it easy to figure out who you really do like and who you’re just plying.” She smiled at him again (He was beginning to hate that smile. It was such a knowing smile. It was both fascinating and infuriating.), and walked away.
And he felt, like the moving of the hands on a clock, inexorably, irreversibly, fractionally, the distance between them shrink just a little bit.