Every Rose Has Its Thorns (But Some Have More Than Others)

by Cooking Spray

Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.

Even though I swore I'd never sign up for another themed fic challenge, here I am again. . . But this time, the list of themes is from the LiveJournal community 7snogs (a kiss has to be involved in some way each time, so look for it), so there's less commitment involved, if that's any consolation to my procrastinating self. XD Really, though, I was devastated by the lack of Tamaki/Haruhi fan fiction around here. So I took it upon myself to write my own, of course. This is also supposed to be an exercise in working with deadlines and investing in something long-term, since I have horrible trouble with that and will need the skill if I ever want to be an actual writer of any sort. Wish me luck!

The theme for this story is #5, "rumor". Enjoy!

"Love" is just a purely psychological attachment made to rationalize the completely human and natural feelings of physical attraction one has for another human being. Which are, in turn, only the result of one's body acting in reactionary accordance in the presence of certain hormones. "Love" is not to be confused with "lust". It is only the result of consummating an ultimate biological goal, and any mortal man is susceptible.

This was what the book on relationships in the self-help section of Ouran's vast and well-furnished library told Tamaki. He supposed the passage was meant to be reassuring, but it seemed like it would only be remotely consoling to someone deeply in denial. And didn't that defeat the point of "self-help", anyhow?

Currently, the person in denial was himself.

He frowned and shut the book, returning it to its proper place on the shelf noted by the shiny gold placard. He made a mental note to raise issue with the library's rather motley selection of literature. Not a single volume, for all of their expensive leather binding, had remotely helped him in the so-called "self-help" section. He was beginning to form a grudge toward the genre.

A gathering of girls had clustered behind one of the shelves; wide-eyed, bristling with curiosity, and communicating in whispers amongst themselves. What was the Host Club King doing alone, reading? And why, of all sections, was he in this one? Perhaps he had a love interest? There was a chorus of "ooh"-ing. Everyone obviously hoped this girl was themselves.

Tamaki only obliged their fawning with a subdued version of his charismatic "Grin Plus Hair Toss" combo. Thankfully for his reputation, the girls chalked his lack of enthusiasm up to his lament over an unidentified love, and were all the more endeared. They were mostly correct, anyhow.

Lost in thought, which was somewhat of a rare occurrence for the male in question, he shoved in his chair and exited the library, thanking the powers that be for the romantic notions of women. His "Brooding Shuffle" was awarded even more squeals than the previous theatric, and he thought he might've finally understood how Mori did it. Girls loved to see a boy battling with his feelings. Angst was particularly attractive these days, as most women had a "healing touch" complex, thinking they could reform any bad boy with enough devotion and their own home cooking. The second part of the myth might've been why so many of them found themselves crying in Tamaki's arms later - rich girls had little experience in the kitchen, having spent most of their lives being catered to.

This, he reminded himself, was "most girls". Until recently, "most girls" had encompassed all of the females in his life. They were the sort who were stereotypically feminine, fragile of mind, body, and heart, and easily wooed by his expert charms. They came to him for comfort and reassurance in their times of need, and he filled their heads with all of the flowery compliments and come-ons he knew, sending them away with all forgotten except for their newfound adoration with the one who bestowed them. It was almost formulaic, and it never failed.

Except for in the case of one girl, who was, ironically, the one he wanted most to pay attention to him.

It wasn't just because she currently wore a boy's school uniform and posed as male for the rest of the student body, either. Even in the frilliest, most girlish of clothes, she was still the same Haruhi, as unmoved by his plights as ever (which changed several times daily, but always included the fetal position and some sort of makeshift corner). It was most infuriating - but not in a way that truly angered him. Above all, he was confused by such emotions.

Should Tamaki ever have decided to confess these feelings, anyone could've easily told him he was in love. Not that it wasn't obvious already. Expert host though he was, he wore his heart on his sleeve, plain to see for all who cared to look. And Kyouya, with his all-seeing glasses and constant omnipresence, saw this more clearly than anyone.

This was why, when the infamous Shadow King sidled up with Tamaki, who was skulking about in the corridor like a little boy who'd been deprived of some cherished object or another (and, in this respect, looking very much like Hunny when he hadn't gotten the last slice of cake), he immediately knew exactly what was troubling him. He handled the situation accordingly.

"There are rumors that the Host Club King has fallen in love," Kyouya said, in as happy a voice as his character permitted.

Tamaki looked up, startled, and blinked a few times. "M-me? But how. . .?"

"Rumors spread like wildfire in settings such as these, you forget. Girls have the best means of gossiping that money can buy - their mouths. That, and speed-dialing cell phones and closed campus e-mailing." Kyouya smirked. He provided the services for both, no doubt.

Tamaki slumped again, dragging his feet. "I was just. . .reading. . ."

Kyouya, out of a respect that was not so much for the sake of Tamaki's pride than it was for the possible business benefits this could reap, did not press the matter. If Tamaki was a brighter man, he would've filed for spousal abuse years ago.

The king's pout intensified. "Mother. . . I don't know what to do. . ."

Music room three was fast approaching (or rather, they were fast approaching it). "Try to think of things from a corporal perspective, father. You now have a school full of girls barely able to sleep at night for wondering whether or not they are the one you have your eye on. . . it is the perfect opportunity for the Host Club to seize upon, don't you think?"

Tamaki frowned. "But, I don't. . ."

Kyouya just smiled, expert at dealing with Tamaki's exceeding denseness (for he was only truly superior to the rest of the club in his naiveté). "Don't forget the reason why you founded this club." More slyly, he added, "I'm certain that Fujioka-san would approve - after all, there is still a debt to be paid."

This was the final blow, and as usual, it was dealt with a smile. Everyone knew the women in relationships called all the shots. Tamaki nodded wordlessly, still slumping.

"Rumors can have their benefits. Remember that," Kyouya said with token vagueness and a sinister smile. As usual, Tamaki wasn't sure he fully understood, but he assented anyway. His mother usually knew what was best for him.

Didn't she. . .?

In the event of his own scheduled revealing of the "maiden of his desires", Tamaki was assigned the menial task of de-thorning the bouquets of roses that had been ordered for the occasion. Hikaru and Kaoru, who were the ones who had placed the order out of last minute necessity, had forgotten this crucial detail, much to Kyouya's chagrin. As they say, never leave a man to do a woman's work. After much scurrying about and scribbling on his clipboard, as well as arguing with the florist over his cell phone, Kyouya had finally hauled Tamaki over to fix the problem himself. It was probably a bad idea, but at that point, there was really no choice. At least it would keep him from wreaking further possible havoc.

Tamaki didn't mind the task so much. It suited his misery just fine - clippers, as it turned out, were very difficult to get the hang of, as his punctured palms clearly proved. Mori and Hunny were dealing with the caterers, which was a challenge within itself, if cake was to be involved at all. The twins and Haruhi had been haggling with the decorator, who was apparently very set in his ways, and not very adaptable to changing them. From the sounds of it, the three of them had stopped trying to go against the grain and settled for following the man and his team around dispiritedly, the wrath of the Shadow King seeming preferable than another minute spent arguing over the proper arrangement of the napkins on the dinner plates and which print was to be used on the tablecloths.

Tamaki had just stabbed himself in the pad of his thumb with another thorn when he sensed a presence behind him.

"Kyouya-sempai left you to do this?" Haruhi asked with a tinge of disbelief, examining Tamaki's bloodied hands. At the rate he was going, he was going to need hospitalization before things even got started.

"Ah, Haruhi. . ." He straightened in his chair, instantly feeling foolish. Gazing at the mess he had made, he understood her expression, and began to share in the opinion of Kyouya's faulty judgment.

Taking one look at Tamaki's clueless expression and his profuse stab wounds, Haruhi sighed and pulled up a chair. Wordlessly, she picked up a free pair of clippers from the same table the flowers were currently resting on (when Tamaki was involved, Kyouya always planned ahead) and began expertly ridding the blossoms of their prickly appendages, hands not suffering even the slightest chafe.

Tamaki's feeling of foolishness intensified, and he tried to put his palms together to make his inept less obvious, but that only caused all of his wounds to sting more keenly. The damage had already been done, anyhow. He slumped back into his chair, watching Haruhi's expertise with fascination. "Th-thank you. . ."

"You know, for someone who loves to exercise the romanticism of rose petals at every given opportunity, you would think you'd know something about handling them," she responded flatly, drawing a fresh rose from the dozen and going to work.

Tamaki scrambled to imitate her, but in his haste, only achieved in jabbing yet another thorn into the side of his palm. He stifled his hiss of pain, though - he didn't want Haruhi to know how truly lame he was. Maneuvering the clippers down the stem, he tried to imitate her technique. As was to be predicted, he failed spectacularly. How did commoners acquire such strange talents? It was a never-ending source of puzzlement.

"I. . . thought you were helping Hikaru and Kaoru," he said pitifully, his charming hostly airs forgotten in his embarrassment. Haruhi had already proven herself less than susceptible to them, anyhow.

"The decorator didn't need any help. Hikaru-kun and Kaoru-kun went off to entertain some of the early arriving guests." 'Stupid rich bastards' hung at the end of her sentence, unspoken.

"I don't know why mother's going through all this trouble. I guess it's good for the club, but. . ." Tamaki looked down at his hands, the sight of them making him almost more distraught than the subject matter.

Haruhi suddenly paused mid-snip, looking thoughtful. "Have you ever wondered that all this "host" business could possibly be hurting more than helping?"

"Huh?" Tamaki blinked, startled by the sudden change of topic.

Her conversational partner's confusion notwithstanding, Haruhi went on, gathering steam now. "I mean, you're supposed to announce the name of the girl you like, right?" Tamaki reddened at this, but she seemed not to notice. "But she's only one out of the many who've paid to attend in hopes that they'd fill her place. Don't you think the others will be jealous, or disappointed? It's not as if most of them really like you, but girls are fickle. Besides, your relationship would be so public it'd hardly be worth it."

Tamaki opened his mouth and raised a protesting finger at that "it's not as if they really like you" comment, even though he wasn't entirely sure he understood where she was coming from. But then he began to mull the words over, and they did make sense, in that blunt way of Haruhi's that always managed to be on target. If that were true, though, then the entire foundation of the host club was faulty. . . and that couldn't be right, could it?

Before he could finish this train of though, Haruhi smiled dismissively, shaking her head. "Admittedly, you have done good things for people, even if the way you went about doing so was mostly unintentional. It's just this event. . . I don't know, something doesn't feel right about it." She smirked briefly at him. "Don't worry, I already know this is Kyouya-sempai's idea. Only he would capitalize on someone's emotions like this. . ."

At once, without warning, Tamaki stood up, and assumed a declarative pose.

Haruhi lowered the rose she had been holding. Now it was her turn to be flabbergasted. "Tamaki-sempai. . .?"

"I'm not going to tell my most favored maiden!" he announced with a strange amount of conviction, eyes shining zealously.

"But why?" Haruhi blinked. "I mean, I think it's a good idea, but Kyouya-sempai has already planned this event. . ."

"Because. . . ah, because. . ." As suddenly has his enthusiasm had taken hold of him, it had let go again, and now the Host Club King was sporting a very royal flush.

". . . You don't have a reason." Haruhi's expression was trailing towards exasperation; that dreaded, stony look she gave him that always succeeded in completely decimating his self-esteem and ever-fragile ego. He had to reverse this!

"Because. . ." He grasped on to the nearest thing his boyish mind knew to say. ". . .because of you! You're so. . .smart, Haruhi!"

Without really thinking (as Tamaki did most things in life), he went over and grabbed the smaller girl, bloody hands and all, punctuating this statement with a bone-crushing embrace. Completely bewildered by the turn of events, Haruhi didn't even try to protest. Instead, she just stood, slack-limbed and eyes wide, and let Tamaki hug her.

Of course, this was the exact moment Kyouya picked to raise the curtain.

A murmur of shock rippled through the female audience, all of whom had apparently been filing in ever since Haruhi had arrived. Tamaki dimly recalled being instructed by Kyouya to move backstage as soon as he heard guests arriving, but now, of course, was a little late to be remembering.

One girl stood up. "So this is who Tamaki-sempai likes? Haruhi-kun. . .?"

There was a brief moment of collective discussion on this revelatory piece of information, and then came the unanimous squeal:

"Aiiieee! Boy love!"

Several girls in the audience took out their camera phones, aiming them at the stage. "Kiss, kiss, kiss!" they urged excitedly, snapping photographs of the frozen couple left and right.

After the initial shock wore off, Haruhi, in light of the utter ridiculousness of the situation, began to laugh. What else was there to do?

"Eh? Haruhi? What's so funny?" Tamaki peered down at her questioningly, still flushed.

"I guess I was wrong. . ." How could she have possibly worried about the feelings of this crowd? They changed just as quickly as the percale sheets on their undoubtedly over proportional beds. She did wonder who Tamaki intended on choosing, though. After all, what had all the fuss been about in the first place?

"Wrong about what? You can tell Daddy!"

The return of the pseudonym reminded her of the delicate position they were maintaining. "Um, Tamaki-sempai. You're still. . . holding me."

"Oh!" He immediately released his hold and nearly leaped away, the blush returning with a vengeance. The girls went wild, and Kyouya, for whom things had turned out even better than anticipated, took the liberty of snapping a few shots that would fall under the caption of "the royal flush" in the club's next photo book. Vulnerability was an in-thing this season, as far as maiden's hearts were concerned.

The pressure and all of the excitement finally getting to him, Tamaki began his groveling. "Daughter, please forgive me! Daddy will never violate the circle of trust again!"

Instead of getting annoyed by her senior (but only of ten months, and possibly less in terms of maturity), Haruhi just giggled, waving a hand at him. "Don't worry. Kyouya-sempai is probably having a field day with this, anyhow. . ." She looked thoughtful. "Besides, I've never really thought of it, but you remind me of a little nephew I used to have that I haven't seen in a while."

Tamaki wasn't really sure if he was supposed to be flattered or insulted by this comment, but on account of Haruhi's rare smile, he decided to take it as the former. "So daddy's forgiven. . .?"

"Yes," Haruhi answered with a wry grin. Staring out into the crowd, she shook her head. She didn't think she'd ever understand the ways of these people, but so far, life as a member of the Host Club had proven to be, above all things, a learning experience. In the right setting, she could even look upon all of its ridiculousness with sentimentality.

And as for the Host Club King. . . well, he was a different breed altogether. Fruitcake though he was, despite all of the illusions of grandeur that he put on for the ladies, he still was very much a little boy with a lot to learn. But he was trying. . . and although the results were almost always failures, in times like these, his ditziness was sort of endearing in its own right. More cute than all of his put-on hostly charms, certainly, and a side that she strongly suspected few customers ever got to see of him.

"So, who were you going to pick?" she queried, more out of curiosity than anything.

"Ah. . .er. . ." Tamaki blanched, and then the bloodstains on Haruhi's blazer saved him. "Haruhi! I've ruined your lovely jacket! Daddy must go and right this most grievous error at once!"

In flustered indignation, he practically dragged her backstage, much to the thunderous applause of all the fangirls below.

Haruhi, for one, could not see what was so embarrassing about ruining a jacket, but she decided that she wouldn't press the hue of his cheeks. With a smirk and much amusement, she allowed the state of her appearance to be needlessly fretted over, because, if for no other reason, Tamaki's apoplectic apologies were just too fun to listen to.

Meanwhile, at the back of the crowd, the twins were pouting over Tono's stealing of their cues, Hunny was obliviously stuffing his face with some confection or another under Mori's careful guidance, and Kyouya was grinning wickedly, the expected revenue from the benefit already estimated to be far above that of their last.

The troublesome roses, still not completely sheared of their thorns, were later sold on the Host Club web site, marketed to be "stained with the blood of Tamaki and Haruhi's newfound love". Though wilted, they still went like hotcakes.

More importantly, Tamaki never sought out the self-help section to solve his romantic problems ever again. These days, he preferred the dry cleaner.

And Haruhi's question was never answered, but she did have a very clean blazer, and now knew at least a hundred ways to be sorry for ruining someone's clothing.

The corner of music room three was very light that day, indeed.

I'm not sure I like how this turned out. . . XD It was almost gen-y, even though I wanted desperately to add romance. My stories never go where I would like them to. Anyhow, I hope no one was too OOC - I know I neglected the rest of the cast (poor Hunny - I think every mention of him involved cake in some way. XD). Tamaki didn't get to be nearly as ridiculous as I would've preferred, since he was too busy emo-ing and practicing his pseudo-parenting. But at least I got to have Haruhi reflect on his personality a bit, and make some interesting points about the host club. I think the next themes will be less lighthearted - there are several situations and ideas I want to write about.

Thoughts?