Warning: This story contains pure fluffy drabble.

You have been warned.

Oh, yes, and Grammar Nazi that I am, I purposefully put the run-on sentences where they are. The punctuation is correct for the effect I was going for.

So… let's consider this my filler in between chapters of Hyde-ing. Oh, and a warning for all of you out there who are, indeed, reading my story and not reviewing: I know. You wanna know how? It's simple. See, I can see how many people read my story. I know the numbers. And you guys just ain't matching up with your reviews. If this is the first time that you've heard of Hyde-ing, then please go read it. It's supernatural, totally inappropriate, contains profuse (or will) drug and alcohol use and sexual references. And it's fun.

This is for my favorite Ouran couple: Takashi and Haruhi.

This is actually my definition of happiness (well, all of the similes are as are the other bits, only formulated to that couple), thus why it's so Americanized, but I think it's cute, so, you know what!, I'm posting it!

So… yeah… read on… sorry… got a bit ranty.

Well… how should she put this? See, it's a little bit like Christmas.

No. That doesn't make sense.

It's a little bit like that first Christmas morning that you can consciously remember when there are lights and stars and presents and everything is glittering and swirling and you just feel like singing.

Damn. That's a weak one.

Well. Maybe it's a bit like that ever-elusive E.

Not that she's ever tried it. Because she's a good girl, purely motivated and morally determined.

But, it's a bit like that falling and floating and loving of soft pillow downs and endless happiness and suddenly it's totally possible to understand the world and the mysteries can be explained and it's just all good.

Closer. Not right.

Then, it's like a perfectly proportioned peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

With the glass of glacial milk, of course.

Because it's all sweetness and a little bit sticky at times and it clings to your insides and it just makes you want to smile and it all washes over you and you're, kind of, submersed in these memories of childhood but it's just so adult that it's like this fine danger line that you're walking (between the safety net of adolescence and this chasm of adulthood) and you aren't sure what way you want to go but you sure as hell want to go one direction or maybe just stay there, on that line, of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Well… shit.

How does she describe it?

You know, happiness.

It's just so elusive. And she keeps trying to come up with definitions:

There's the literal: the quality or state of being happy. Good fortune; pleasure; contentment; joy.

And there's the figurative (you know, hers):

There are her similes, but they aren't good enough.

Cause, see, it's a bit like black hair.

And gray eyes.

And this searing feeling that just kisses the corner of your heart.

And it's when the stars are realigning, and all that you can see is that face, staring back at you, with such warmth dancing in the pools that you feel as if you can fly.

It's Neverland. It's Peter and Wendy.

And it's him.

She's a studious girl. She knows her words. And her math. And her history. She knows fine art and beautiful literature.

She attended the school to prove it.

And, at the time, nobody saw it coming.

But, when the spiky-haired giant fell for the pretty Princess of the Host Club who fell for the stoic male, serious shock went down.

His cousin was the first to throw himself into the relationship; the others took some time to adjust to the fact that another had swooped in and collected the girl they all had designs upon.

But, when they were at that Church, and they saw those two and the love and the joy, they admitted defeat and smiled like she wanted them to. And they moved on. Attained their own happiness.

So, now, here she is. Trying to figure out her own definition.

You know, the figurative.

She's had a few moments of glaringly brilliant happiness.

And, each time, she was willing to change her definition.

But, you know, as she's sitting in their bed, holding their baby boy to her chest, and stroking her sleeping husband's brow and she sees those gray eyes slip open and that quiet smile caress his lips and she bends over to kiss him 'Good Morning', she realizes that she's happy because, all along, she's had a definition.

Because, for right now, and for eternity, she's content, she's happy, that he is her always definition.

Now that we've all had our daily dose of cheesiness, feel free to check out my other stories.

And review them.

After you review this one of course –conspirational wink-

I mean, really, come on, guys. Review. Read the other ones. Review those as well.

Please.

I'm desperate.