head in the clouds

The first dawn is always the prettiest. Precious, too – you'd miss it if you looked away for just a second. The sky sifts between bruising splatters of blue-black, grey and purple. And all the buildings, dotted yellow or white, scatter; the golden city, glittering and glamorous, comes alive to the yawns of traffic. Before you know it, time's skipped out of your hands, and the clock is set for seven.

I like looking at the sunrise. Sometimes I sit, awake, and listen to the scraps of some nightlife escapade beyond the looking glass. My heart beats steady in an orchestrated sequence of beeps, tugging red and blue lines to its whims.

Today is no different. I'm going back to school today, and for the first time, I almost miss the sight of the city. It never disappoints, the skyline. There've been new additions over the years, like that huge Ootori Holdings' skyscraper, or that Mitsuha Electronics'…

"All packed up, Yuu?" Mom calls from the doorway.

I grin. "Yeah."

My mom's one of those people who ages with so much grace – you'd never think she's a day over thirty. As she paces over, hands worrying together, I lift my duffel bag up and onto the bed. It's… heavier than I'd expected. She places a hand over mine, and I grin immediately to displace any strain I might have felt.

"Yuu, you know I'm behind you no matter what," Mom says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "And that means anything."

I know, and I can't help noticing the crease between her brows. "And by anything, you 're really talking about not going to school, right?"

"Kind of, yes," she chuckles, hand cupping my cheek. "Look at you. You're so big already. Just yesterday you were at my waist, begging not to-"

"Mom!" I say, embarrassed. "That's like, at least a decade ago."

Something in her eyes softens, and as I reach up to cover her hand, I realise just how many calluses and wrinkles have formed on her fingers. My mom may look as though she'd rather attend tea ceremonies or violin concerts, but there's no denying how hard she's worked – and for so long too. I only wish I were stronger, somehow, to carry that part of the burden.

So I do what I do best in my position; I let her coddle me, play the part of an average teenager, sidle up to her side and alleviate any fears of her child slipping away from her. I think we don't do that enough, as children, to play the part of children.

"Alright, alright," she coos, pinching both of my cheeks. "Now, let's sign out before we're late."

As if on cue, Chauffer Yin knocks on the door and enters. He bows, even though we've been telling him for years not to. A quick glance, and I'm immediately struck by the hunch in his spine, and the way he's favouring his left leg. Has everyone aged so quickly already?

"I'll carry your bag, Yuu-sama," Chauffer Yin says with a kind smile, aiming to reassure.

I nod, returning the smile. "Thank you, Chauffer Yin."

I let him take the bag, and hook my arm around Mom's. She turns to me, eyes bright with girlish excitement. That's the same girl from the family photographs I've mulled over.

"Aren't you excited, Yuu?" Mom teeters, "Ouran High School! Gosh, it's been so long since I've last been there."

"You have to tell me more about it," I say, infected by her cheery mood.

There's an unusual lilt in my steps today, for reasons more than one.

I've seen the photographs, sure, and watched the condensed re-enactment of Mom's blooming youth in the span of an hour, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Ouran High School is huge. Gorgeous, too. Even before reaching the roundabout, the line of sakura trees and artfully located statutes are significant in demonstrating its careless grandeur.

"I can't believe they kept that," Mom says, pointing at a tastefully poised sheep statute.

I laugh. "Was it a donation?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, but as she turns to face me, winks. "Or a delivery gone wrong."

That's just Mom for you – a wild child, set loose on the sacred grounds of propriety. I turn back to my side of the window, watching as we slowly pull up to the sheltered halls of Ouran High School. I'm not sure why, but watching everything, from marbled walkways to stained glass ceilings, materialise in front of me… I'm suddenly gripped by a sinking feeling in my chest.

It's all real, now. I'm finally here. And it's gorgeous, the school, really. The way the light flickers through painted glass and scatters generously, illuminating the halls in soft pink hues. Everything's amazing.

So why do I suddenly feel so apprehensive?

Mom has the same question. "Yuu?"

I take a deep breath. "Yeah."

"It's alright," Mom says, voice soothing. She takes my cold hands in hers. "Do you want to do this?"

I look into her face, searching. "Yeah. I do."

Saying it relieves some of the weight that's on my shoulders. Her look turns fond.

"Let's head out together," she says, reaching out to straighten my collars. "You've got my looks, my charms, and your father's wits. If anything, Ouran should be terrified of you."

I take another deep breath. "Like that sheep out there?"

"Plausible deniability," she says stonily, a huge contrast to the mischief playing on her lips.

We laugh, and step out of the car. Mom doesn't stay for long, after making sure that I'm settled with my briefcase and schedule. Before I head for class, she hands me a short tube.

"Lipstick?" I say, unfurling the lavender handkerchief.

She opens the golden tube to reveal a bright red bullet. "Yours to wield. Your father got me this for our very first date."

"Really?" I ask, incredulous.

She pauses. "Well. Not exactly."

"So did he?" I say, before changing my mind. "Tell me tonight, when I get home for dinner."

She pats my head, exhaling gently. "Alright then. I'll see you at dinner."

I wait till she leaves with Chauffer Yin, and walk up the carpeted stairs to East Wing. With every step I take, the murmurs of everyday school-life reaches my ears. The scraping of chairs on floors, girls giggling in between low mutters, the occasional holler, chalk on blackboard. They're a stranger to me, but not for long. I think of the golden lipstick tube nestled in my pocket, of the strange sheep statute out on the lawn, and grin.

Class 2A is just a few steps away. As I reach the doors, I find the homeroom teacher, Kurosawa-sensei, already taking attendance. She glances up, just as I'm about to knock, and smiles. I wait.

"Yoshimoto Karui," she calls.

"Here," a small timid voice replies.

"Alright, everyone, before we begin today, I'd like to introduce you to a new student," Kurosawa-sensei says. "Nakahara Yuuka, please come here."

I straighten my back and walk over, channelling my Mom. It seems to work, ever so infinitesimally. She smiles at me, as I pick up a piece of chalk and begin to write my name down. Now, while I write my name down all the time for forms, I've never really done it with chalk. Hoping that I'm not taking too long with the unusual surface and grip, I finish the last strokes for 'flower' and place the chalk back down.

Looks fine to me.

"Good morning, I'm Nakahara Yuuka. Please take care of me," I say, eyes sweeping over unfamiliar, politely-disinterested faces, and bow.

My family name certainly does not ring a bell to anyone – Nakahara Industries, while coping well, is barely making huge profits like Ootori Holdings. It's what comes with practicing fair trade and sustainability for everyday wear, though there are certainly other costs. As I rise to my normal height, I catch the eye of a familiar-looking boy in the middle – two, actually – with neatly parted hair and black-rimmed glasses. The other next to him is grinning charmingly at me. I return the gesture with a nod.

Kurosawa-sensei assigns me to a seat by the door with practiced nonchalance. When I get to my seat, the girl beside me scoots over and offers a hand.

"Hey, Nakahara-san, I'm Kobayashi Hana. Nice to meet you!" she grins.

I take her hand. "A pleasure, too. You can call me by my first name."

"Then Hana's fine!" she says, a little too loudly, and Kurosawa-sensei shoots us a blithering look.

Hana smiles apologetically, hand up in fake salute. Kurosawa-sensei shakes her head and returns to doling out instructions for the week. There's an international business conference on Wednesday at the West Wing's auditorium, semi-finals for a moot on Friday, and on a lighter note, a special tea ceremony on Saturday. She closes her file and raises a brow, daring anyone to raise a question.

No one does, and so Kurosawa-sensei leaves the classroom. At the door, she calls out to me.

"Nakahara-san, meet me in the office after your day is done. North Wing, 24601."

I nod, before pulling my file out to check my schedule. Before I can lift the paper out, Hana's already dragged her chair to my desk, along with several other students.

"Yuuka-chan!" Hana says, and then noting the paper, continues, "Japanese History doesn't start until ten minutes later. We have little breaks in between classes, see?"

"I see," I say, raising my gaze over to the other students. "And you might be?"

The tallest pipes up, voice surprisingly husky, "I'm Yamada Aoi of Yamada Motor Enterprises."

"I'm Tanaka Hajime, traditional carpentry," a shorter boy with a sturdy-looking face says.

"I'm Mitsuha Sora," the last girl says with a bow, and I immediately recognise her family name. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," I say. "You can call me as Hana-chan does."

A few more have gathered around us, but before they can introduce themselves, Aoi speaks up again.

"So, what does your family do?"

I smile and say, "We're in the green trade. Sustainable fashion, interior design, and hoping to expand to packaging by the end of the quarter."

"Where were you before coming to Ouran, Yuuka-san?" Hajime asks, as the others nod thoughtfully.

"I was home-schooled," I say gently. "I've always had a weaker constitution, so my mom wanted to take care of me."

"I was home-schooled too, until two years ago!" Hana chips in. "But that was because we were travelling so much. Did you travel around, Yuuka-chan?"

I shake my head. "Not so much. I'd like to hear about the places you went to, though."

A few of the others begin to talk, making small talk about the difference between being home-schooled and entering an institution. Someone asks about my father, and another asks if I have any pets or siblings. I shake my head no for both questions. As the chatter continues, I begin to feel more at ease, especially with Hana perking up at irregular intervals to chime in. Her innocent joy reminds me so much of Mom.

"Are you planning on joining any clubs, Yuuka-chan?" Sora, who's been silent up till now, asks softly.

As she speaks, everyone falls quiet. I consider her question.

"I'm not too sure," I say, meeting her eyes.

"Oh, I can show you around!" Hana says cheerfully. "There's the track and field, the flower arrangement, the orchestra, the –"

"Hana-chan's in every one of them," Sora says, mirthful.

Hana pouts. "Not the Host Club."

"The Host Club?"

Aoi begins to flush furiously, and Hajime groans.

"Oh, Kyoya-san and Tamaki-san over there –" Hana gestures towards the boys from earlier – the blonde now despondent and the black-haired one indifferent "– they're part of the Host Club."

I raise a brow. "So they… host events."

"Nah," Hajime says. "They're Hosts. They host customers."

I must still be looking confused, because Hana assures me that that's the first stop we're making today after class.

Hana makes good on her promise, striding purposefully with me in tow. We must be a little late, because everyone's already well settled at various tables. There's an overwhelming ratio of ladies to gentlemen at each table, and the picture that Hajime had crudely painted for me begins to take a form.

"Hana-hime!" a booming baritone sends tremors up the wall. "You're finally back!"

Before I know it, there's a smattering of rose petals and a suave figure leaning beside Hana. That's the blonde boy from class. He produces a red rose, which Hana accepts.

"Were you unable to resist my charming wiles?" He intones seductively. "Or was it my beautiful gaze that had you ensnared?"

Hana grins. "Tamaki-sama! Papa thought you were brilliant at the studio last week! Are you sure you're really uninterested in acting on the big screen?"

"Alas!" Tamaki says emphatically, a hand drawn to his forehead. "It is a blessing and a curse – while there are so many more princesses out there awaiting my love, I do owe a duty to our current royalty."

At that, he twirls over to me with a rose in his hand. "My love, forgive me for the delayed greeting."

"Pleasure," I say, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Hana-hime, Yuuka-hime," the other boy from class greets, legs gliding in perfect strides towards us.

"Kyoya-san!" Hana chirps. "Please do consider Papa's offer of a short film. We really did enjoy Tamaki-sama and the twins last week."

Kyoya places a hand on his chest and bows. "You are far too kind. I will talk to the club about this this evening."

"Great!" Hana grins. "Oh, right, as you know, Yuuka-chan is new. Would you mind introducing her to the Host Club?"

"Of course, it would be my honour," Kyoya says, as Hana giddily follows Tamaki, praises gliding from both of their lips. "I believe Hana-hime will be covering your designation costs this afternoon. Every session is a third of an hour's, with complimentary tea and cake. You may opt for any host you like.

"We have, as you've been introduced, our romantic King, Tamaki-sama; the devilish type – the Hitachiin twins; the refreshingly natural type, Haruhi-kun; the cute type, Hani-senpai, and by his side, the wild type, Mori-senpai. And of course, the cool type, yours truly."

I glance around the room, watching as every Host went about their business. One thing did strike me as peculiar.

"Wild type?" I echo, eyes trailing and landing on a stoic figure.

If I were slower, I would not have caught the smirk on Kyoya's face.

"Mori-senpai, the wild type," Kyoya repeats, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Would you like to find out?"

"Sure," I say, eyes flitting over to Hani and the rapidly vanishing cake on the trolley beside him. "Please do."

"Your wish is my command," Kyoya says, a persuasive smile dancing on his lips.

I won't lie, Kyoya reminds me a little of a cat. A sly, graceful creature with its calculated risks and choreographed moves. Trying to keep my nerves in check, I walked over to where Mori and Hani were. The squeals escalated as Hani began toying around with a big plush bunny.

Mori looked up as I neared, eyes level and calm.

"Good afternoon, Mori-senpai, I'm Nakahara Yuuka, and I've designated you as my host," I say, nodding to Hani as well. "Hani-senpai, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yuu-chan!" Hani exclaims, waving his bunny's arms. "This is Usa-chan!"

I take a seat, just as a girl wavers and faints. "Hello, Usa-chan. Is she alright?"

"Ah! Ya-chan! Are you alright?" Hani immediately jumps to her aid.

'Ya-chan', barely coming out of her fainting spell, blushes a bright shade of red. "I-I-I- I'm fine, Hani-senpai!"

"That's great," Hani says cheerfully. "Let's have some cake! It'll help you feel better!"

The other girls begin tittering as Hani lifts each plate from the trolley and sets it down before them. Mori begins refilling their tea, manner in that same unruffled composure. The cakes must cost quite a fair bit, I think.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Hani-senpai, I'm afraid I can't have any cake today," I say, as he reaches for the fifth plate. "Doctor's orders."

His bottom lip begins to quiver, and before I know it, his eyes are wide and glassy with tears. He pauses, and at the same moment, a shadow is cast over Usa's plushy face too.

"Mitsukuni," Mori suddenly says, voice deeper than I'd imagined. "Doctor's orders."

Hani frowns. "That's too bad. But when your doctor says it's okay, you have to eat cake with me, okay?"

I can't say no to a face like that, so I smile. "Of course."

"It's a promise then!" Hani says, gaze falling back to his clients. "Let's eat then!"

The girls daintily take a hold of their plates and cut their slices into more manageable pieces. In the meantime, Hani's already scarfed down his portion. Mori takes another sip of his tea.

"You're not having cake, Mori-senpai?" I ask.

Mori shakes his head, as Hani interjects, "Takashi doesn't like sweet things!"

I nod, relaxing back in my seat. Somewhere to the left, there's a sudden flurry of movement, then a rising wail of squeals. It ends just as rapidly as it starts, falling into bated silence. The Hitachiin twins' mop of red hair can barely be seen over the gathering of students. Even Tamaki, who's playing host to a few ten students, has turned in his seat to stare.

As he begins to gape, a girl reaches his table. She's poised, hands clasped in front of her, and apparently able to inspire quite a bit of fear as Tamaki's other customers scurry off. After clearing her throat, Tamaki swivels back, and resumes his artful flattery.

I turn back to Mori, wondering about Kyoya's words. He's wiping cake off Hani's cheek with the care and precision of a focused mother. Fingers, though rough and callused even from where I'm seated, are gently dabbing at Hani's cheek. As he sits back, his shoulders fall casually back – posture so perfect, my orthopaedist would have gone to his local shrine to offer his family heirloom. All of that, and a neatly cropped hairstyle…

Mori turns to look at me, a collected gaze and relaxed jaw. I hold his gaze, noting the imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders, the easy way he navigates an interaction. This man comes from old money. Disciplined. Caring. Athletic, I would hazard a guess.

"Mori-senpai," I pipe up.

"Hm?"

"Earlier, Kyoya-san mentioned that you're a wild type," I preamble. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

He inclines his head, breaking eye contact for a moment, before resuming it. Quiet. A man of decidedly few words. I look down to his hands again, where veins and joints are clearly defined. The hollow curve between his thumb and forefinger callused. And then up to his neck – no bruises, an even tan above the collar and at his hands.

"Do you, by any chance, do judo?" I say, and then, realising how rudely I've been staring, glance away. "I'm sorry, I was curious."

He shakes his head. "Kendo."

Wordlessly, he holds his palms out to me, showing signs of having gripped something for long hours.

"May I?"

Mori doesn't answer, but his hands remain where they are, hovering between us. I reach out, tentative, and smile sheepishly. His hands are much warmer than mine are, and I mutter an apology. They're rough, but strong, and as I look at them, I begin to quip,

"You know, I've done some palm reading before."

"Ah."

Remembering the days I'd hold other children 'captive' and distract them by telling them tales of their future exploits, I begin to grin. "Would you like me to tell you yours?"

"Mm."

I'd take that as an affirmative, then. Mori's even gaze confirms it. Squinting, I line his palms up. A straight line right across the middle, every other line evenly symmetrical save for an additional knotted one on his left.

"So, you're a lucky one," I preface, leaning in like I'm telling a secret. "You've got good hands, see – a straight line across both palms here, that shows that you're reliable and steady. Even the roughest of storms won't ruffle you.

"And see, here," I trace the sloping line between his thumb and forefinger. "It looks like a braid, right? That's a good sign that you'll be together with the ones you love for a long, long time. And this one on your left hand, doesn't it kind of look like a smiley face?"

I'm pushing it a little at this point, but Mori doesn't seem to mind. "That means you're going to be happy. See, I'm a good palm reader."

As I pull away, Mori looks down at his own hands.

"Yours," he says.

I hold mine out, and he waits for me patiently. It takes a few moments before I realise-

"You want me to read my own fortune?" I say.

Mori nods.

I pause, then look down at my own hands. There are several nicks and cuts from various sorts of papers, as well as other insignificant scars. But my palms are pale and smooth. Mori's still waiting, eyes boring into mine when I look up.

(I think my heart might have skipped a beat there.)

"Well," I begin, chewing on my bottom lip. "I've got a curved line. It means I'm going to make people happy by handing them their smiles."

The cheesy line, as I'd expected, does not work on Mori. He continues listening, and for the first time, I realise just how someone can look like they're listening so intently.

"And I've also got the crosses here, which means," I consider my next few words carefully, "I'll meet a lot of new friends here."

"Like me and Takashi!" Hani chimes in, and I realise that he's right by Mori.

The other girls have already left – marking the end of a session.

I smile, and nod. "Like you and Mori-senpai."

"So tell me everything!" Mom shouts from the kitchen. "How was school today? Do you want to go back tomorrow? Did you make any friends? Joined any clubs?"

I laugh, rubbing at my shoulders. Hana had dragged me off to archery after my initial taste of the Host Club, and then to flower arrangement. "It was good."

Mom brings a pot of curry out and sets it on the table. "Just good?"

I place our cutlery, balancing the chopsticks on the bowl. "I had fun today."

"Nope," Mom says, bringing out the rice too. "Not good enough. I want to know everything!"

"Okay," I say, placing my hands together. "Let's eat."

"Let's eat," Mom repeats. "Now, dish it out!"

"Alright, alright," I say, grinning over the steaming pot. "I had classes today, and they were manageable. It was a good idea to have Maki-sensei go over world history for our last few lessons – we covered it a little in Japanese History.

"I made a few friends, like Kobayashi Hana –"

"–Oh, her father's a client–"

"–Tanaka Hajime, Yamada Aoi, Mitsuha Sora, Ootori Kyoya–"

"–Mitsuha and Ootori?!" Mom's placed her chopsticks down.

"–Morinozuka Takashi, Haninozuka Mitsukuni, Suoh Tamaki…" I close my eyes and try to think of the other names I'd been acquainted with. "I didn't quite meet them, but do you know of the Hitachiin twins, and Fujioka Haruhi?"

Mom looks over at me, a small smile on her lips. "Not too sure about the last one, but I'm glad you've made friends!"

I pick up a potato cube and place it in my bowl. "They're all famous, aren't they?"

"Ridiculously," she says, "if you're subscribed to the weekly Businessman's Gossip Channel."

"And you're not on their radar?" I tease.

Mom laughs, waving that away. "We're just comfortable, Yuu."

Faking a gasp, I pick up a carrot. "And all this time I thought I was living in the lap of luxury!"

Mom shakes her head. We eat in comfortable silence for the next few moments.

"So did you enjoy yourself?"

I think about it for a moment. "I did. Hana-chan showed me around the Host Club, archery club and flower arrangements. She's a very cheerful girl."

"I'm sure she is," Mom says, eyes curving into crescents. "I'm really glad you're having a good time, Yuu."

I grin, thinking back to all the weird shenanigans we got up to in flower arrangement, and nod. Mom places another carrot in my bowl, urging me to eat more.

After doing the dishes, I retire to my room to start on homework. It's in the same muted pink from when I was in elementary school, well-dusted and untouched. As though time had stopped. But with my yellow Ouran uniform hanging on the closet door, there's a strange sense of renewal. I can't stop thinking about school, and all the snippets of hilarity.

"I'm home," I whisper, childishly, giddily.

For the first time in a while, I think I might be able to sleep well tonight.

AN: I hope you enjoyed! Please do leave a review - especially if you can figure out the premise of the story hehe.