Chapter Nine
In Which the Wedding is Performed
She woke up feeling sick. Horribly sick. The kind of sick that made a person want to crawl into a hole in the ground and die a rather cruel, harsh death where the top caved in and buried them in burning, poisoned, radioactive soil rather than stay in bed and live with whatever ails them. That was the type of sick she felt, and she only felt worse when she actually climbed out of bed to go use the bathroom and happened to pass by the calendar tacked neatly on the wooden door in her room.
She groaned, feeling sicker than before, small hands lifting to rub tiredly at her temples, willing the sudden headache to go away.
This was not happening. The day had come far too soon. She was sure she was dreaming, and that in only a moment, she'd wake up in her bed, feeling perfectly fine, and about three weeks before that particular date.
"Honey dearest!" The curt knock on her door made her attention snap back to the present, and her head ache even more. The door opened a moment later, her father standing behind, void of any makeup and dress and clad instead in faded sweats and a wrinkled shirt.
"Dad," she whispered, still rubbing at her temples.
He frowned. "…You just got up?"
She nodded slowly, turning away to head back to the bathroom.
"Maybe you should stay home today… You don't look so well."
She shrugged. "Play today."
"But I'm sure they would understand if you're feeling sick or unwell or… what if you're dying?! What if you actually have a brain tumor and this is our only chance to take you to the hospital and rescue you!"
She groaned. "If something happens, I'm sure Kyouya-sempai will take care of it."
"Haruhi-i-i-i."
She headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, leaving her father, his concerns, and her own unease on the other side.
"Takashi, what kind of cake will there be?"
Mori grunted and held up the vest his cousin was supposed to wear, and scrutinized it before setting it back on the bed and smoothing a large hand over the tiny wrinkles he had spotted. "Many types."
"Like strawberry?"
"Yes."
"And chocolate?"
"Yes."
"Even vanilla?"
"Of course."
"How about kiwi? And plum? And grape?"
"Most probably." There was a pause as the tiny vest was raised and handed over carefully to the small teenager who was sitting at his portable dining table, already digging into a slice of cake from his personal storage. "Here. Put this on when you're finished."
"I hope there will be lots and lots of cake!"
"I'm sure there will."
"Takashi."
"Yes?"
Honey sighed and placed his spoon carefully on the plate, ignoring the bite that was still left. "Do you think the play will be a success?"
"Of course."
"…I don't really want to leave just yet."
"We'll visit."
"But… it won't be the same."
"No."
"…What if they forget us?"
"They won't."
"What if something happens and Haruhi has to leave and then Tamaki is heartbroken and then the Twins get mad and Kyouya loses some money?"
"They'll be able to handle it."
"Do you think Tama-chan is going to tell Haru-chan how he feels?"
"Perhaps."
"We're really going to come back and visit?"
"Promise."
"Young masters, it is time for you to wake up."
Hikaru groaned and threw a hand over his eyes, blocking out the sun that streamed in through the large windows of his and Kaoru's shared room. But even so, light still trickled through the small spaces between his fingers, and he gave up and stirred into full consciousness, glaring at the maids while he did it.
"Brother, it's finally the day," Kaoru whispered from his side, an arm snaking around Hikaru's torso to pull himself up.
"Yeah. Do you think everything is going to go okay?"
"Knowing Tono, I doubt it."
"But it really isn't our place or concern, right?"
"Right. We can only be there and show our support and make Tono confess."
Hikaru scowled, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I don't know why it's the way it is. I mean, Haruhi could be with someone much better."
Kaoru stared at his brother fondly, brows furrowed questioningly. He knew what his twin was feeling, could see it written clearly across his face. And if there was something to be done for Hikaru, he wished he could do it.
"Hikaru… feelings are something a person can't really argue or try to rationalize. It just happens. Just like how your feelings for Haruhi just happened. Tamaki can't choose who he loves, and neither can Haruhi. But because you love both of them, you should be happy that they might find some type of happiness together."
Hikaru turned his head sharply to glare at his brother before his eyes softened and he heaved a sigh. "You make it sound like they're really getting married."
Kaoru nodded and leaned back into the pillow. "Who knows? That may happen in only a few years or so."
"I don't understand why you allowed that young man to follow through with his ridiculous notion of a play. You are wasting my valuable time in requesting my presence there."
Kyouya nodded. "Yes, sir."
"And you know how much I dislike his father."
"Only because he has specifically stated that he will not allow you to force the scholarship student and me into a relationship that will benefit you."
"Because he's greedy and selfish and wants the girl for his own son!"
"That may be so, but in the end, the young lady will have her own choice in the matter. In fact, she may not go for me or the young Suoh."
"Why do you act like this does not concern you? You show little emotional regard for this matter!"
Kyouya smiled and pushed his glasses up along his nose with a finger. "That is where you're mistaken, Father. I have every bit of emotional regard for the situation. In fact, I am completely emotionally involved. There's such a thing as wishing happiness for your friends, even if it means having to avoid your own."
"I feel sick!"
Mister Suoh rolled his eyes and slapped his son—hard—on the back, ignoring the sputtering sound the latter made as he doubled forward from the impact.
"Man up, my son! You must take this event and stride forwards, with your head held high and all Suoh pride on your shoulders! You are a Suoh! You will only triumph! You will go into that play, and you will get that girl to marry you in a heartbeat!"
"But… she's my daughter! It's frowned upon!"
Mister Suoh shook his head and pushed his son into the changing room. "No! You will not back out of this simply because you call the lovely Miss Fujioka Haruhi your daughter! You will be victorious in your battle of love!"
There was a choking sound from behind the closed doors before Tamaki's face appeared in the tiny crack of an opening door. "What?! Love?! What're you talking about?!"
"Oh Son, I feel so wonderful seeing you finally married to such a decent girl! The Suoh name will live on in glory, all because of the beautiful, wonderful match the two of you will make!"
"Dad, Dad! It's a play!"
"Go forth, my son! And conquer!"
He was beyond nervous. There was fluttering in his stomach as he greeted the audience, thanking them profusely in the most animated language and inviting them to drinks, deserts, and all types of delicacies after the show. He was incredibly surprised at the turn out, staring at Kyouya incredulously, silently asking if Shadow King had anything to do with the amount of people sitting in the auditorium, students, staff, parents, and even friends included. But the Shadow King only shrugged and moved on to more important and pressing things, like the light fixtures or the costume, leaving Tamaki alone to contemplate the amount of people gathered to watch him marry another "boy."
"Do you think the play will go as planned?" he asked one of the Twins, who was slipping into his costume.
Kaoru turned and nodded slowly. "Of course. It will always go as Kyouya has planned, won't it?"
"I have never doubted Mother's wonderful, if not sly, shadow work. If it does not go as planned, he will make believe it has, and if that is so, we have no other choice but to believe it as well."
He waltzed around backstage, carefully throwing out random orders that the actors would not have followed otherwise, had he not been saying them out of desperation and nervousness. He was even told by his best friend to take a seat to calm his "poor nerves" which seemed on the brink of breaking loose and wreaking utter havoc.
"Tamaki."
The blonde looked up in an instant, violet eyes beseeching Kyouya for something even he could not figure out. His best friend only nodded and looked towards the stage. "We're starting."
"Ah. Yes. Very well."
"Tamaki?"
"Yes, Kyouya?"
"Remember what I said. After all, the Host Club ends today."
They were all standing where they were supposed to be. X marked the spot, and all hands, and feet, and awkwardly bent legs were in their position. Tamaki stood before the "priest" with an awkward smile in place, hands held behind his back even though they shook with a fierce ferocity he didn't know was possible.
"And now, the bride."
There was a collected hush before the audience filled with students, staff, and parents as they all turned to look behind them, where the "bride" was supposed to walk down the aisle, in hand with her father.
After a few moments, there was a gasp that filled the room as the "bride" stepped out.
She felt nervous. There were butterflies slamming themselves into her ribcage, and her heart seemed ready to burst out of her throat in a fit of madness. Her hands felt clammy as she held on to the bouquet as if it were a lifesaver. And the train of her dress felt as if it were lagging behind her, dragging her slowly and slowly back towards her starting place, making her have to go through the entire walk once more.
And she didn't understand why everyone was staring. Didn't understand why Tamaki's eyes seemed wider than ever or why even Kyouya seemed unable to properly scribble into his notebook.
Not until Kaoru leaned in and whispered, "You look beautiful."
And it scared her. Frightened the hell out of her. She was a plain girl with plain features. She was a "natural," something not to be made a fuss over. Nothing extraordinary. She couldn't see why something as simple as a still life painting could be considered phenomenal, breathtaking, and awe-inspiring.
Because to her, a still life was a still life. It held no extravagance, held no particular depth or underlying meaning. It was simply a bowl of fruit depicted as they were in nature, with a shadow here and lighting there, and the occasional window to the far right corner.
She couldn't see that the shadow itself brought out the light, or that the orange was not particularly orange but yellow and red and white and brown. She couldn't see that the grapes were never truly round or that the plum was never truly purple. It escaped her, these simple things. That beyond the perfection that was portrayed in the painting, there was a sort of imperfection that made it complete. Just like her short hair and pale skin and lack of height and lack of breasts made her that much more Haruhi.
Or maybe she would have seen it. Maybe.
If she weren't so completely engrossed by the slight smile a certain blonde had playing over his lips, or how she saw those same lips form the words "How beautiful" under his breath.
She was beyond beautiful, he thought. He actually argued with his own logic and proclaimed her astonishing beauty to be beyond the standard labels of beauty. He had always been one to love every type of woman, regardless of their looks. But here came a creature so wonderful, so ethereal, so godly that he was sure that he could never find another woman quite like her to make him completely forget himself.
Because he was sure there could never be another woman (for how could he consider her a girl, even less his daughter, the way she looked now) to look so stunning in that dress. No other woman could be in that off-white gown, with the small, tiny pearls inlaid all around. No woman could have her waist cinched as so, or the curve of her hips so detailed. He couldn't imagine another woman having her dress swish at her calves, or the sleeves slip off her shoulders like so. He couldn't see another girl behind that veil, with the little pearls knit into the netting, or the small crown of white flowers atop her head. He couldn't imagine brown eyes staring at him so expectantly, unless they were hers.
She stopped at his side, and he noticed she was shaking uncontrollably, and that her tiny feet were shifting uncomfortably, as if pained by the heels. But she didn't utter a word, not a sound, and instead stared forward.
He watched her, ignoring the speech prepared by his best friend.
And suddenly, as he heard his best friend ask for them to say their vows, as he reached into the back pocket of his white slacks, as he brought out the white index cards with his perfect handwriting, he knew he was in love.
And completely screwed.
She turned to look at him, clearly annoyed. She didn't really want to be there. Her headache seemed to be pounding ceaselessly at her skull, and she wanted nothing more than to be in bed, huddled under the covers, far away from the day that proclaimed the ending of a legacy she didn't realize she'd come to treasure.
He handed her an index card. The lines of her vows that no body wanted her to see until the actual day of the play. But before she could utter the words, written so clearly in blue ink, he was already stumbling through half-rehearsed lines that even he found awkward to say.
"Oh dearest Haruhi, light of my life. You are the h-hope I have always…" his bright eyes looked down briefly before looking up and alit with inspiration. "You are the hope I have always searched for. And through the lands have I looked for your healing…" another pause, "love that has inspired me to ask for your hand and bring us to this wonderful day. Although our pasts…" He stopped completely. Didn't bother to look down. Instead, he stared into her eyes for such a long moment he drew the attention of his friend.
"Tamaki?"
"Forget this." He threw down the index card and took Haruhi's hands into his own. "I have never quite understood why my heart felt so horribly sick every time I looked at you. And it goes beyond my understanding of whatever it is I feel when I look at you. It goes beyond comprehension, goes beyond words, goes beyond whatever limit there is when it comes to it. Because when I look at you, I feel my heart race; when I watch you smile at anyone, because you hardly ever smile at me, I feel my hands become clammy and sweat line my neck; when you brush past me and I feel you for just a moment, I feel as if I've been given the chance to watch a goddess in mortal form tread before my very presence. And perhaps it doesn't make any sort of coherent sense, and perhaps I'm just rambling on as I normally do, but I cannot express how much my heart is overwhelmed with you. Because honestly, there can be no other reason as to why I feel this way other than that I completely, utterly, wholeheartedly, with every fiber of my being, love you."
Kyouya's mouth was open in shock. Kaoru had a small grin in place. Hikaru was struggling to keep quiet. Honey was giggling and jumping up and down. Mori only smirked and hummed in agreement.
And Haruhi only stared, dumbfounded, and quite unsure of what to say.
Until she reached up, wrapped her small hands around Suoh Tamaki's neck, and pulled him down, brushing her lips against his in a desperate attempt to convey the feelings she couldn't voice aloud.
And when Tamaki placed his hands on her waist, lifting her slightly, angling his head to deepen a kiss he had never quite expected, she felt her world crumble around her in bliss.
That is, until a very loud and very angry voice filled the room.
"GET YOUR DIRTY HANDS AND LIPS OFF MY DAUGHTER!"
In Which an Ending of Sorts is Included
"Hard to believe that after a year of acting as a male, the entire world found out I was anything but."
There was lighthearted laughter following the words, and an older Haruhi hid her reddening face behind small hands. She felt large hands ruffle her still-short hair, and she turned to watch Mori grin back at her, undoubtedly remembering the one event that culminated the experience of the Host Club.
They were all united; all seven bodies in the Music Room that had been cleaned out two weeks and three days after Honey and Mori had graduated. There was dust clinging to every single thing, from the pillars to the windows to the white-sheet covered furniture Tamaki and Kyouya had been too lazy to reclaim.
Hikaru laid leisurely on one of the chaise lounges, long legs dangling over the side, and arm thrown over the headrest, fingers playing with the gold plated embellishments into the wood. Kaoru sat in a chair beside his brother, smiling quietly to himself, observing the friends he had somehow managed to keep in contact with even after all this time away from Japan and spent elsewhere in Italy, Milan and England. Kyouya claimed a seemingly throne like chair for himself, legs crossed, notebook carefully balanced on one hand even as he scribbled away into it with the other. Mori sat beside Honey, holding out a napkin lazily for the short boy, although he had grown considerably in the last four years. And Honey sat with tiptoes finally reaching the floor, forkful of cake mulling in his mouth as he crinkled his eyes in amusement.
"It's really been four years," Haruhi observed, leaning carefully into the armrest, elbows resting, head in her hands.
"It's done wonders for your breasts," Kaoru observed, and she only blushed and ordered him to shush in return, using her arms to block the breasts that had bloomed, although Hikaru often teased her that they were yet to be anything to remark positively about.
"How has sex been for the two of you?" Hikaru asked, grinning impishly as he saw Haruhi and the blonde King blush three types of red as they refused to look at each other.
"Pianists have wonderful fingers, no?" Kaoru added, watching as Haruhi gasped throwing a small ornament from the table at him and Tamaki blushing, sliding further into his seat.
The rest of the members observed that the two really were an interesting couple. And although all had seen each other plenty, and especially the newly engaged couple, they had never been united as one, and it was only time that would bring them into their joking manners once more.
Kyouya, who was watching the two interact as he made careful notes, truly allowed himself to feel envious of the blonde. The blonde was not only incredibly kind, and generous, and far too in touch with his own emotions, but he had also gotten the girl. The one that nobody thought much of but was found to be incredible the second time one looked at her. And the way he saw the blonde reach his hand to stroke her hair, and the way her eyes shifted to stare at him and the way the little lines formed at the corners of her brown orbs and the slight smile pull at her lips, seemed only to reinforce the analogy that the art collector had found his most valuable piece. And although others may have called it ordinary and plain, he could see that it held more wonders in the curves of the paint, in the small crack of the bowl, in the way the young woman holding the apple to her lips was not extraordinarily beautiful or intelligent, but wholesomely extraordinary.
Fin.
AN: The story has finally, finally been finished. No, they didn't really get married. No, nothing spectacular happened. But it's an ending that I really like, because to me, there would be no Host Club with Honey and Mori; a romance would not have blossomed if there continued to be a Host Club; and they were bound to grow up, mature, and accept their responsibilities and emotions like "adults."
So please, please, PLEASE review. It's the last chapter. Come on, show some love. All of you who have reviewed before, thank you, and please review again. All those who have been reading and have yet to review, please think of doing so now. And those who are new, feel free to abuse the little review box and tell me how WONDERFUL I am cough.
Come on. You guys know you want to.