WHAT? IVE NEVER WRITTEN AN OURAN ONESHOT?!

Now I have.

Anyway, I got this idea from song lyrics. I don't know the name of the song or the band because I don't actually care, but the lyrics were, "I wrote two hundred letters I would never send." I had the idea for a while but couldn't get it wrote and now I have yaaaaay

Enjoy!

He's running out of lavender card stock. He had this particular pack of two hundred sheets specially printed with that pretty border around the edges.

Dear Kaoru,

It's hard for me to admit this, but

He stops writing and slides the unfinished letter into his desk drawer on top of the others. It isn't good enough. Kaoru is the one who's good at this kind of thing.

Oh, how the tables have turned. In middle school, Hikaru was the one ripping up Kaoru's love letters. The good ones, the ones Kaoru would keep in his pillowcase, Hikaru would find on his own and rip up. He's selfish, he knows it. Kaoru knows it. But he never called Hikaru out on it.

The last sheet of paper. One hundred ninety-nine failed love letters. Love letters! Hell, he didn't even know it was possible for him to stoop this low. He has his pride, true, but sometimes he wonders if that pride is based wholly and fully on his little brother.

Clearly, he's going about this the wrong way.

Yahoo Answers taught him after the forty-fourth attempt that in a love letter, you should just say what comes to mind. After the fifty-second attempt, he tried Yahoo again. After the sixtieth, he went to Tamaki. After the ninety-eighth, he went to Haruhi. After the one hundred seventh, he stopped asking other people.

And here, his dilemma. The two hundredth letter he tried to write to his twin brother, the brother he's not supposed to have any secrets or embarrassment with. The brother he's told everything to, the brother he shares a bath with, the brother he not-exactly-pretends to be in love with.

Kaoru would kill him if he ever found out about these letters.

Hell, Hikaru would kill him if Kaoru ever found out about these letters.

"Hikaru!" Kaoru pops open the bedroom door. Hikaru jolts before he remembers the desk is empty now. "I found this great game on the net, wanna try?"

"I'm kinda busy, Kao," he lies.

Kaoru narrows his eyes and frowns. "You're lying."

"I'm not." Hikaru wouldn't believe Kaoru in this situation, especially with the way his voice raises an octave.

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Hikaru."

"Kaoru."

"Stop that, Hika." Kaoru finally sits on the bed and turns Hikaru's desk chair to face him. Hikaru knows this is gonna be bad. Kaoru is determined, he can tell by the way his brow is drawn and the corners of his mouth tightened.

"You've been hiding something for a really long time. I didn't want to say anything because I thought you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, but now you're just acting weird."

"I don't want you to know, Kaoru."

"Tell me anyway."

"No."

"It's in the desk drawer, isn't it?"

"No!" Hikaru can feel himself paling; he practically squeaked.

"Liar." Kaoru's lips lift up in that Little Devil smirk and Hikaru knows he's in trouble.

Kaoru suddenly shoves the chair backwards and Hikaru spins wildly out the door until he hits the other side of the hallway with a thud. Stunned, he watches Kaoru shut the bedroom door and lock it.

Hikaru flies out of the chair. The maids used to have a key to to their bedroom, but they stole it in middle school and hit it in their mattress.

Hikaru pounds his fits on the door so hard that it rattles in its jamb. "Kaoru, don't you dare!"

"Just a sec, Hika!" Kaoru laughs.

"Kaoru, stop, please!" Wow. He didn't know he had the capacity to beg, even to his twin brother.

Hikaru hears the squeaky desk drawer slide open. He stops banging so he can hear the rest. It'll be disgust, he predicts, despair sliding wet and slimy and cold down his throat and curling in his lungs all while shame tingles up and down his arms and stuffs his nose.

He rests his hot forehead against the cool wood of the door, defeated, listening to the bed creak and Kaoru sits down, and the shuffle of the thick card stock.

Eventually, it just gets to be a little bit too much.

He leaves the chair in the hallway and Kaoru in their bedroom. As soon as he turns the corner, the door swings open and feet pad the opposite way down the hall. When they disappear, he sprints back to their empty room and locks the door.

He tears open the desk drawer. Empty. Maybe Kaoru took them to show Haruhi and their guests at the host club that he's a pervert for his own twin. He'll never speak to him again; Hikaru is doomed to a life of alienation by the one person that was always supposed to accept him.

He falls on the bed, rolling over his side to press his nose into Kaoru's pillow. Strawberries and watermelon, a scent he knows they share since it's just their shampoo, and something he could never place, as many times he's hugged Kaoru. The pillow crinkles as he presses his face further into the pillow.

Numbly, he reaches under the pillowcase and tugs out a stack of lavender card stock, each one scrawled with one hundred ninety-nine love letters of varying degrees of completion.

His eyes catch color on the desk. He launches himself over the bed, scattering the letters everywhere, and snatches up with shaking hands a completed letter on the two-hundredth sheet of bordered card stock.

Dear Hikaru,

You write confusing love letters. Looks like the boss write them. Just say "I love you" and I'm sure you'll get it right.

I love you.

Kaoru

P.S. If you rip up the letters under my pillow this time, I swear I will hurt you.