Moo!
I am back from the mountains!
...And I am now thw proud owner of a cow shaped teapot...is there anything more awesome?
There was a nice meteor shower and I finished this piece and planned out 2 more.
Spoilers: Again, this whole entire fic is pretty much a gigantic spoiler for the events of volume 6 of the manga. This especially applies to this chapter, as many of the details are extracted from there that may not appear in more general summaries of the manga chapters.
Warning: Rampant speculation on the part of the author. Enjoy! ^_^
Disclaimer: I’m most likely writing fanfiction because I don’t own Host Club…I just play with the characters and their world from time to time to amuse myself.
Part III - Crossing Lines
After the chaotic weeks leading up to the Cultural Festival, he finally found a brief respite in which to sit back and think about the events that had happened in the past few days.
And, looking at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, Yuzuru Suoh could do nothing but chuckle.
During the course of the day’s busy events the unassuming sheet of paper had mysteriously made its way into the leather briefcase he carried to and from his office and somehow had ended up in a highly visible spot grouped with a number of important and time sensitive documents.
The paper smelled vaguely of oranges.
Flipping open a lighter, acquired from some mysterious corner of the main Suoh mansion after a discreet request to a maid, he held the flame at a small distance below the paper until the unmistakable flamboyant and flowery script of his son was revealed by the heat.
The note only contained a single sentence that nonetheless caused Yuzuru to shake his head - halfway in amusement and halfway in consternation.
“Dearest Father ~
I am using the Commoner’s ingenious message conveying device to tell you that it would greatly please me to accept your most gracious and innovative invitation to a luncheon at a time that serves your greatest convenience.
~ Love your ever loving and charming son, Tamaki”
One of these days, someone would have to teach that foolish boy about economy of expression.
Who would be brave enough to take on the task - and, moreover, have the sheer patience necessary to see it through to its arduous end - he did not know.
Perhaps he would request that Shima work harder on that particular aspect in Tamaki’s etiquette lessons.
Yuzuru smiled at the thought of the Suoh Mansion #2’s housekeeper repeatedly making Tamaki say something simple in an utterly undecorated manner…Tamaki would probably hate every minute of it.
But, ah, how precious his moments of exquisite pain would be!
…Amusing though the thought was as it played within the theater of his mind, he knew he would only imagine setting Shima and her etiquette loose on the boy, rather than actually mandating it…he would never condone doing something to his son that struck fear into his own heart.
He might, however, merely tease him about it.
In fact, it was a fairly foregone conclusion that he would tease him.
Chuckling again, he turned back to the note in his hand. It was certainly the first invitation to lunch he had ever received by thermotype.
There was, of course, the manner of a reply to consider…the use of thermotypes had been his best innovation yet. And, glancing back at the note from Tamaki, he had to agree with his son and admire how resourceful the commoner who invented this method must have been.
But with all the mayhem the commoner’s device had caused for his son’s club, Yuzuru found himself hard-pressed to find a method of reply that beat that of the mysterious blank letters in his relentless pursuit of ways to tease the boy.
He supposed, however, that he should sleep on it before submitting a reply so that he was sure to find a very satisfactory method.
Humming softly to himself he pulled on his robe and retrieved a number of ledgers from his briefcase that chronicled everything from employment rosters of the Lowagran Hotel to a list of proposed productions at the Outo Theater.
Unfortunately, after the rather exhausting day his mind wasn’t really on the columns of figures and revenues before him. Rather, with the typical absorption of a doting father, he was already mentally planning lunch with his son.
Despite the fact that he was seriously contemplating a method of reply to his son’s note that would achieve the maximum amount of annoyance possible from him, he did genuinely realize the pressure that Tamaki had been under to perform in the past few days.
Dealing with her never did seem to go well where Tamaki was concerned.
Indeed, he had asked Kyouya if he had, by chance, witnessed the meeting of Tamaki and his grandmother.
Kyouya, as expected, had indeed seen it and reported only that it went, “as usual.”
And, Yuzuru knew far better than anyone else what “as usual” entailed.
As he reflected on the entire matter, he felt a twinge of the old guilt stir.
As a reward for dealing with his grandmother, Yuzuru decided that he would take him to a very good commoner’s gourmet French restaurant that he had found while on a business trip to Kyoto.
He was sure that Tamaki would appreciate the small touch of his old home….especially when combined with the charming touch of commoners.
Yuzuru knew that he himself felt a bit closer to the country that had become like a second home to him just by sitting at the small, quaint tables and hearing the two French chefs talk amongst themselves in their own melodious language.
It was the least he could do to silently apologize to his son yet again.
But, guilt or no, that was an old and pitted path he didn’t care to follow yet again on this particular night.
Because, above all, Tamaki seemed to be more than happy and seemed relatively well adjusted to his life in Japan.
He still cried, at the very least…copiously by all accounts. And, as he had told his secretary during the contest for the Central Salon, it was always a pleasure to see him cry. He was quite afraid that she hadn’t taken the comment in the light it was supposed to be in, however.
He had simply meant, in his own enigmatic way, that he was glad that Tamaki remained the innocent boy who had played the piano proudly for his father while his mother looked on…and then had promptly hidden in the corner and begun to sob when his mother had gently suggested that perhaps he would make fewer mistakes if he practiced more.
He smiled fondly at the memory, absentmindedly stretching farther out on the bed and shifting the pile of ledgers to a nearby table. Pulling open a nearby drawer, he placed the note inside it and shuffled the remaining pile of papers and trinkets around in search of a specific object.
Deep within the drawer, his fingers finally found the item that they were looking for. Victorious, he pulled it out carefully and set it upright on the table, making a mental note to replace it before he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
In a simple oak frame stood the only woman he had ever loved, her smile radiant and gentle, with a hint of frailty lurking behind it. Her arms were around Tamaki, who looked to be about 5 or 6 years old, his hair tousled, windblown, and standing up at unruly angles. His smile nonetheless matched the woman who held him protectively, but there was no trace of any weakness to mar its resplendent qualities.
It was, he remembered, actually a minor miracle that he still had the photo in his possession.
Indeed, for a short while it had been proudly displayed on the wall above the headboard of his bed.
However, one day he had returned from a business trip to London to find that it was absent and that his mother was instead sitting in one of the high backed armchairs near the room’s fireplace.
When he had entered she had simply remained watching him with an unvoiced, but nevertheless deeply angry, expression on her face.
As always, there was little room for discussion on the matter. The discussions concerning his past impact on the family name and its respectable image had long ago become quite protracted and there was no real point in allowing the woman to mount her high and judgmental horse yet again.
She simply rose and stated, “I’ll not have that harlot or her bastard in my house in any form, Yuzuru,” she gave a subtle, yet significant look at the wall where the picture had been, “One day you will learn to atone for your part in this shameful matter.”
She then walked out, as slowly, coldly, and deliberately as she did on any normal occasion.
Yuzuru had been fairly certain that after the offending object had been removed, she had ordered one of the maids to have it destroyed. In this case, however, her abhorrence to do such undesirable work herself worked to his advantage.
A particularly brave and shrewd maid had saved it and placed a discreet note in the pocket of his robe to notify him of the photograph’s new place of residence in the drawer. However, perhaps “brave and shrewd” was a fabrication on his part…perhaps she had merely feared the possible repercussions from the male Head of the Household if she firmly complied with the Matriarch’s orders…
Sometimes Yuzuru swore that the servants of these mansions had better heads for delicate political conflicts than most highly paid consultants. But that was quite beside the point.
Now, the photograph only made an appearance on nights such as this one.
Smiling indulgently at the figures in the frame he said softly, “Darling, there’s someone else who makes him cry now.”
He had recognized her from the very first when the Host Club had wandered into his office.
Although she was for unfathomable reasons (Tamaki had laughed in a rather guilty manner and mumbled something about a vase, saying it was really in Kyouya’s hands when he had inquired as to the reason for this) dressed as a male, with his fatherly instincts he understood that this was the girl he had already heard so much about.
And, although he at first had suspected that it was merely Tamaki’s infatuation with commoners in the form of a girl that made him speak at such great and wordy lengths about this Haruhi - indeed, his incredible surprise at finding that she had more than adequate methods by which to boil water for tea was truly baffling - upon seeing him actually interact with the girl, he knew that it couldn’t be only this.
Crossing his arms behind his head and resting them on one overstuffed pillow, he mumbled quietly to the person in the picture frame, “I’ve never seen him act so normally in front of any woman….except for perhaps, Shima…although there are obvious reasons for that,” he paused, turning his head back to the table, “he cries far too often in front of this Haruhi Fujioka.”
Yuzuru understood the reason for this, even though he thought that perhaps his rather dense and idiotic son - however endearing he found both these traits to be at times - didn’t yet know what his own behavior meant.
And even though Yuzuru himself understood it…he wasn’t quite sure what he thought about this revelation.
Suppose this Haruhi Fujioka did eventually return any sort of feelings to Tamaki…there was the matter of the two of them being divided by two entirely separate, although invisible worlds.
His own indiscretions had been a matter of bloodlines. He had tainted a highly cultivated lineage that had been recorded from time immemorial - if one believed his mother - with that of a lesser blood.
He had crossed one line…but, in many ways it was understandable within the system of closed off class hierarchies. The one he had chosen was still a member of the aristocracy.
Certainly, he did bear a good deal of responsibility for the dishonor of his first wife and Tamaki’s own tenuous situation now…but Tamaki still had an upper-class pedigree.
And there was hope that he might one day be able to win them over, if only he were to overcome…well, the follies of his youth.
Indeed, tonight his grandmother had finally referred to him as his son.
But, he knew that even a tacit nod of recognition to the fact that her much vaunted son actually had something to do with Tamaki and, even formal recognition, couldn’t protect him from the consequences of crossing a class line.
Because the love Tamaki saw, and the love Yuzuru himself had discovered, didn’t enter the precisely ordered and ornate world that his grandmother belonged to.
Honor, respectability, and appearance would always be held up over any frivolous and ephemeral emotional attachment.
And yet, Yuzuru had to admit that these things had never been Tamaki’s top priorities in life.
He would not hesitate to cross the lines, and, he had already begun to do so by eating the forkful of cake that a commoner had offered him…even if he himself didn’t realize it.
His grandmother had simply thrown Yuzuru a look of mingled doubt and triumph…and yet later she had referred to Tamaki as his son and, in fact, even compared her own precious son to that “son of a harlot.”
Sighing quietly, he rolled over laboriously and gently, almost caressingly, took the picture in his hands.
Kissing the woman behind the glass softly he whispered, “Hopefully he will show Mother his real caliber in the end…but, darling…if he were to cross that line and escape all this...?”
He found himself unable to finish his own thought out loud.
But, Yuzuru didn’t know that he would stop him if he chose that.
Above all he recognized that Tamaki had to choose his own path, whether it be along the well-defined lines and borders of the world he was accustomed to or some route that he would have to forge for himself.
Sparing a glance at his son’s unchanging smile - so brilliant and innocent- he knew that it was, and remained, the purveyor of a hope and possibility that was too pure to adequately describe.
Quietly, he turned over the frame and concentrated on the back for a moment, imagining the small scrap of paper that was securely lodged between the photograph and the backing. The only two items on it were a picture of the Catholic Saint, Bernadette, and an address in Lourdes, France written out in delicate script.
And again, he realized that surrounded Tamaki weren’t simply the ones between his current situation and the multitude of possible futures before him, but also between these futures and the past he had forcibly left behind.
Giving the picture one final glance and a small, wistful smile, he placed it underneath the seemingly unimportant documents until he would have a chance to draw it out again on another night.
…A night on which he simply felt the need to talk to her.
And, frowning at the as of yet untouched account books, he picked up one of them and gave a cursory glance to the newest reports’ balances and run-loss reports.
His wandering mind, still unable to completely care about the costume budget for the Outo Theater, happened upon a solution to his problem of the reply to Tamaki’s thermotype.
He decided that he would simply ask Ms. Fujioka to deliver his invitation and enclose a request that Tamaki invite her along as well.
Yuzuru knew that the boy would object immediately…
…but perhaps he would cry at the thought.
And, he thought, closing the account book and turning off the light, it’s always a pleasure to watch him cry, darling.
Fin
A/N: Please excuse my excessive use of artistic license and rampant speculation…although I did enjoy using both quite liberally. I found that Yuzuru was very difficult to write in comparison to Tamaki and Kyouya…because we simply don’t know much, yet he’s really a character that is central to the conflicts in Tamaki’s world. And, like Tamaki, he’s an excessively weird cross-section of zany and serious, so I tried to portray that as well as I could…and this is especially where Tamaki is concerned. And of course, something about Tamaki’s mother should really be said. It would be interesting to see more speculative pieces done about the pair (challenge! Any takers?). And also in the latest chapters Yuzuru simply takes the cake. (Is intentionally vague to avoid any spoilers). On the whole, I am quite satisfied with the way this chapter turned out.
Anyways, thank you to all the people who have left me lovely comments. Constructive criticism, commentary, and nerdy discussions are always greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this!
Wooo! One more
...And I am now thw proud owner of a cow shaped teapot...is there anything more awesome?
There was a nice meteor shower and I finished this piece and planned out 2 more.
Spoilers: Again, this whole entire fic is pretty much a gigantic spoiler for the events of volume 6 of the manga. This especially applies to this chapter, as many of the details are extracted from there that may not appear in more general summaries of the manga chapters.
Warning: Rampant speculation on the part of the author. Enjoy! ^_^
Disclaimer: I’m most likely writing fanfiction because I don’t own Host Club…I just play with the characters and their world from time to time to amuse myself.
Part III - Crossing Lines
After the chaotic weeks leading up to the Cultural Festival, he finally found a brief respite in which to sit back and think about the events that had happened in the past few days.
And, looking at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, Yuzuru Suoh could do nothing but chuckle.
During the course of the day’s busy events the unassuming sheet of paper had mysteriously made its way into the leather briefcase he carried to and from his office and somehow had ended up in a highly visible spot grouped with a number of important and time sensitive documents.
The paper smelled vaguely of oranges.
Flipping open a lighter, acquired from some mysterious corner of the main Suoh mansion after a discreet request to a maid, he held the flame at a small distance below the paper until the unmistakable flamboyant and flowery script of his son was revealed by the heat.
The note only contained a single sentence that nonetheless caused Yuzuru to shake his head - halfway in amusement and halfway in consternation.
“Dearest Father ~
I am using the Commoner’s ingenious message conveying device to tell you that it would greatly please me to accept your most gracious and innovative invitation to a luncheon at a time that serves your greatest convenience.
~ Love your ever loving and charming son, Tamaki”
One of these days, someone would have to teach that foolish boy about economy of expression.
Who would be brave enough to take on the task - and, moreover, have the sheer patience necessary to see it through to its arduous end - he did not know.
Perhaps he would request that Shima work harder on that particular aspect in Tamaki’s etiquette lessons.
Yuzuru smiled at the thought of the Suoh Mansion #2’s housekeeper repeatedly making Tamaki say something simple in an utterly undecorated manner…Tamaki would probably hate every minute of it.
But, ah, how precious his moments of exquisite pain would be!
…Amusing though the thought was as it played within the theater of his mind, he knew he would only imagine setting Shima and her etiquette loose on the boy, rather than actually mandating it…he would never condone doing something to his son that struck fear into his own heart.
He might, however, merely tease him about it.
In fact, it was a fairly foregone conclusion that he would tease him.
Chuckling again, he turned back to the note in his hand. It was certainly the first invitation to lunch he had ever received by thermotype.
There was, of course, the manner of a reply to consider…the use of thermotypes had been his best innovation yet. And, glancing back at the note from Tamaki, he had to agree with his son and admire how resourceful the commoner who invented this method must have been.
But with all the mayhem the commoner’s device had caused for his son’s club, Yuzuru found himself hard-pressed to find a method of reply that beat that of the mysterious blank letters in his relentless pursuit of ways to tease the boy.
He supposed, however, that he should sleep on it before submitting a reply so that he was sure to find a very satisfactory method.
Humming softly to himself he pulled on his robe and retrieved a number of ledgers from his briefcase that chronicled everything from employment rosters of the Lowagran Hotel to a list of proposed productions at the Outo Theater.
Unfortunately, after the rather exhausting day his mind wasn’t really on the columns of figures and revenues before him. Rather, with the typical absorption of a doting father, he was already mentally planning lunch with his son.
Despite the fact that he was seriously contemplating a method of reply to his son’s note that would achieve the maximum amount of annoyance possible from him, he did genuinely realize the pressure that Tamaki had been under to perform in the past few days.
Dealing with her never did seem to go well where Tamaki was concerned.
Indeed, he had asked Kyouya if he had, by chance, witnessed the meeting of Tamaki and his grandmother.
Kyouya, as expected, had indeed seen it and reported only that it went, “as usual.”
And, Yuzuru knew far better than anyone else what “as usual” entailed.
As he reflected on the entire matter, he felt a twinge of the old guilt stir.
As a reward for dealing with his grandmother, Yuzuru decided that he would take him to a very good commoner’s gourmet French restaurant that he had found while on a business trip to Kyoto.
He was sure that Tamaki would appreciate the small touch of his old home….especially when combined with the charming touch of commoners.
Yuzuru knew that he himself felt a bit closer to the country that had become like a second home to him just by sitting at the small, quaint tables and hearing the two French chefs talk amongst themselves in their own melodious language.
It was the least he could do to silently apologize to his son yet again.
But, guilt or no, that was an old and pitted path he didn’t care to follow yet again on this particular night.
Because, above all, Tamaki seemed to be more than happy and seemed relatively well adjusted to his life in Japan.
He still cried, at the very least…copiously by all accounts. And, as he had told his secretary during the contest for the Central Salon, it was always a pleasure to see him cry. He was quite afraid that she hadn’t taken the comment in the light it was supposed to be in, however.
He had simply meant, in his own enigmatic way, that he was glad that Tamaki remained the innocent boy who had played the piano proudly for his father while his mother looked on…and then had promptly hidden in the corner and begun to sob when his mother had gently suggested that perhaps he would make fewer mistakes if he practiced more.
He smiled fondly at the memory, absentmindedly stretching farther out on the bed and shifting the pile of ledgers to a nearby table. Pulling open a nearby drawer, he placed the note inside it and shuffled the remaining pile of papers and trinkets around in search of a specific object.
Deep within the drawer, his fingers finally found the item that they were looking for. Victorious, he pulled it out carefully and set it upright on the table, making a mental note to replace it before he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
In a simple oak frame stood the only woman he had ever loved, her smile radiant and gentle, with a hint of frailty lurking behind it. Her arms were around Tamaki, who looked to be about 5 or 6 years old, his hair tousled, windblown, and standing up at unruly angles. His smile nonetheless matched the woman who held him protectively, but there was no trace of any weakness to mar its resplendent qualities.
It was, he remembered, actually a minor miracle that he still had the photo in his possession.
Indeed, for a short while it had been proudly displayed on the wall above the headboard of his bed.
However, one day he had returned from a business trip to London to find that it was absent and that his mother was instead sitting in one of the high backed armchairs near the room’s fireplace.
When he had entered she had simply remained watching him with an unvoiced, but nevertheless deeply angry, expression on her face.
As always, there was little room for discussion on the matter. The discussions concerning his past impact on the family name and its respectable image had long ago become quite protracted and there was no real point in allowing the woman to mount her high and judgmental horse yet again.
She simply rose and stated, “I’ll not have that harlot or her bastard in my house in any form, Yuzuru,” she gave a subtle, yet significant look at the wall where the picture had been, “One day you will learn to atone for your part in this shameful matter.”
She then walked out, as slowly, coldly, and deliberately as she did on any normal occasion.
Yuzuru had been fairly certain that after the offending object had been removed, she had ordered one of the maids to have it destroyed. In this case, however, her abhorrence to do such undesirable work herself worked to his advantage.
A particularly brave and shrewd maid had saved it and placed a discreet note in the pocket of his robe to notify him of the photograph’s new place of residence in the drawer. However, perhaps “brave and shrewd” was a fabrication on his part…perhaps she had merely feared the possible repercussions from the male Head of the Household if she firmly complied with the Matriarch’s orders…
Sometimes Yuzuru swore that the servants of these mansions had better heads for delicate political conflicts than most highly paid consultants. But that was quite beside the point.
Now, the photograph only made an appearance on nights such as this one.
Smiling indulgently at the figures in the frame he said softly, “Darling, there’s someone else who makes him cry now.”
He had recognized her from the very first when the Host Club had wandered into his office.
Although she was for unfathomable reasons (Tamaki had laughed in a rather guilty manner and mumbled something about a vase, saying it was really in Kyouya’s hands when he had inquired as to the reason for this) dressed as a male, with his fatherly instincts he understood that this was the girl he had already heard so much about.
And, although he at first had suspected that it was merely Tamaki’s infatuation with commoners in the form of a girl that made him speak at such great and wordy lengths about this Haruhi - indeed, his incredible surprise at finding that she had more than adequate methods by which to boil water for tea was truly baffling - upon seeing him actually interact with the girl, he knew that it couldn’t be only this.
Crossing his arms behind his head and resting them on one overstuffed pillow, he mumbled quietly to the person in the picture frame, “I’ve never seen him act so normally in front of any woman….except for perhaps, Shima…although there are obvious reasons for that,” he paused, turning his head back to the table, “he cries far too often in front of this Haruhi Fujioka.”
Yuzuru understood the reason for this, even though he thought that perhaps his rather dense and idiotic son - however endearing he found both these traits to be at times - didn’t yet know what his own behavior meant.
And even though Yuzuru himself understood it…he wasn’t quite sure what he thought about this revelation.
Suppose this Haruhi Fujioka did eventually return any sort of feelings to Tamaki…there was the matter of the two of them being divided by two entirely separate, although invisible worlds.
His own indiscretions had been a matter of bloodlines. He had tainted a highly cultivated lineage that had been recorded from time immemorial - if one believed his mother - with that of a lesser blood.
He had crossed one line…but, in many ways it was understandable within the system of closed off class hierarchies. The one he had chosen was still a member of the aristocracy.
Certainly, he did bear a good deal of responsibility for the dishonor of his first wife and Tamaki’s own tenuous situation now…but Tamaki still had an upper-class pedigree.
And there was hope that he might one day be able to win them over, if only he were to overcome…well, the follies of his youth.
Indeed, tonight his grandmother had finally referred to him as his son.
But, he knew that even a tacit nod of recognition to the fact that her much vaunted son actually had something to do with Tamaki and, even formal recognition, couldn’t protect him from the consequences of crossing a class line.
Because the love Tamaki saw, and the love Yuzuru himself had discovered, didn’t enter the precisely ordered and ornate world that his grandmother belonged to.
Honor, respectability, and appearance would always be held up over any frivolous and ephemeral emotional attachment.
And yet, Yuzuru had to admit that these things had never been Tamaki’s top priorities in life.
He would not hesitate to cross the lines, and, he had already begun to do so by eating the forkful of cake that a commoner had offered him…even if he himself didn’t realize it.
His grandmother had simply thrown Yuzuru a look of mingled doubt and triumph…and yet later she had referred to Tamaki as his son and, in fact, even compared her own precious son to that “son of a harlot.”
Sighing quietly, he rolled over laboriously and gently, almost caressingly, took the picture in his hands.
Kissing the woman behind the glass softly he whispered, “Hopefully he will show Mother his real caliber in the end…but, darling…if he were to cross that line and escape all this...?”
He found himself unable to finish his own thought out loud.
But, Yuzuru didn’t know that he would stop him if he chose that.
Above all he recognized that Tamaki had to choose his own path, whether it be along the well-defined lines and borders of the world he was accustomed to or some route that he would have to forge for himself.
Sparing a glance at his son’s unchanging smile - so brilliant and innocent- he knew that it was, and remained, the purveyor of a hope and possibility that was too pure to adequately describe.
Quietly, he turned over the frame and concentrated on the back for a moment, imagining the small scrap of paper that was securely lodged between the photograph and the backing. The only two items on it were a picture of the Catholic Saint, Bernadette, and an address in Lourdes, France written out in delicate script.
And again, he realized that surrounded Tamaki weren’t simply the ones between his current situation and the multitude of possible futures before him, but also between these futures and the past he had forcibly left behind.
Giving the picture one final glance and a small, wistful smile, he placed it underneath the seemingly unimportant documents until he would have a chance to draw it out again on another night.
…A night on which he simply felt the need to talk to her.
And, frowning at the as of yet untouched account books, he picked up one of them and gave a cursory glance to the newest reports’ balances and run-loss reports.
His wandering mind, still unable to completely care about the costume budget for the Outo Theater, happened upon a solution to his problem of the reply to Tamaki’s thermotype.
He decided that he would simply ask Ms. Fujioka to deliver his invitation and enclose a request that Tamaki invite her along as well.
Yuzuru knew that the boy would object immediately…
…but perhaps he would cry at the thought.
And, he thought, closing the account book and turning off the light, it’s always a pleasure to watch him cry, darling.
Fin
A/N: Please excuse my excessive use of artistic license and rampant speculation…although I did enjoy using both quite liberally. I found that Yuzuru was very difficult to write in comparison to Tamaki and Kyouya…because we simply don’t know much, yet he’s really a character that is central to the conflicts in Tamaki’s world. And, like Tamaki, he’s an excessively weird cross-section of zany and serious, so I tried to portray that as well as I could…and this is especially where Tamaki is concerned. And of course, something about Tamaki’s mother should really be said. It would be interesting to see more speculative pieces done about the pair (challenge! Any takers?). And also in the latest chapters Yuzuru simply takes the cake. (Is intentionally vague to avoid any spoilers). On the whole, I am quite satisfied with the way this chapter turned out.
Anyways, thank you to all the people who have left me lovely comments. Constructive criticism, commentary, and nerdy discussions are always greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this!
Wooo! One more