A/N: FF's document manager is acting up so I had a devil of a time trying to post this. I had this ready last night and meant to post it at exactly midnight, but alas, it was not to be.

This fic was written as a birthday present for someone very important to me. I'll say this: it's something very serious to write a fanfic for someone you know personally who isn't in the fandom. So reviewers, if you could please do this for me, write, "Happy birthday, panda!" in your comments. It would make me and the birthday celebrant very happy.

Also, HET. Seriously, what. I've written het before, in other fandoms, but this is the first time my main Ouran pairing is male/female. As per the requests of TOYA and KYOYA, Yoli16, and HikaruKaoruandHaruhi, who asked for a KaoHaru. I don't know if I'll try this pairing again, but it was fun to write. It took me much longer though-two weeks just to write eighteen pages!

Important note: Italics in conversation mean French. If it's regular text, it's English... or possibly Japanese, if you prefer.

Onwards, and happy birthday to the best panda in the world!

In The Spaces Between Words

When Kaoru first noticed her it was because her sweater was so ugly.

He'd been flirting with the barista of some local cafe and ordering his favourite maple-syrup-and-caramel monstrosity of a coffee order(never mind that they didn't have it on the menu; that was the whole reason why he was flirting with the barista in the first place) when the offensive thing had caught his eye. It was a shade of oatmeal that made her look sallow, hanging baggy on her skinny frame. An oversized pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose and she was reading a thick book—a textbook, he surmised, guessing that she was one of the students of one of the nearby universities, just like him.

Briefly he considered marching over and setting the horrible thing on fire, resolved that no jury on earth would convict him. But then she put down her book and slipped off her glasses to rub at her eyes with a tired sigh.

Oh.

He nearly dropped his coffee in his frantic efforts to rifle through his bag for a pen and some paper because what the hell was all he could think at the time. What the hell, who hides eyes like that behind glasses like those, and why does that sweater even exist? and something along the lines of asdfjkl she's it, where have you been and why didn't I know I was looking for you?

The next time he raised his head though, she was already gone.

The door crashed open with a loud bang, swinging on its hinges as a blur of red hair bounded into the dormitory. "I found her," Kaoru said, grabbing Emil's arm and almost causing roommate to drop his camera, resulting in a flailing little dance which just barely rescued it from hitting the ground.

The other boy gave him a half-hearted glare as he fiddled with it, checking that there was no damage done. He was far too good-natured to actually get mad at anyone, honestly, and they'd been fast friends since the beginning of their semester in their arts university in Paris when they'd been assigned to room with each other. Also it was mostly a relief for Kaoru to find someone who spoke English fluently and even some passable Japanese, which was the whole reason they'd even been put together in the first place. "Found who?"

"My muse for the exhibit."

"The exhibit which is in two months? The exhibit where your designs are supposed to be one of the student showcases? The exhibit which is supposed to be the highlight of your whole stay here? The exhibit you were supposed to submit your drafts for... oh, a month ago?"

Kaoru shrugged. The semi-annual arts exhibit was one of their university's highlights, well-attended by the upper crust of bohemian society. It was considered an honour to be one of the student showcases—but really, he'd been expecting it, which made it a little anti-climactic. Besides, he was leaving to return home to Japan right after it.

"Only you, Kaoru," Emil said, shaking his head.

With a smirk, Kaoru swiped the camera and turned it on himself, flashing it his biggest grin before hitting the shutter. "What can I say? The teachers just can't say no to dashing Japanese designers."

Emil laughed; the truth was that their professors had basically given up on getting Kaoru to submit on time. The Hitachiin, although one of the stars of the fashion department, was also well-known as their resident problem child. He was prone to wild bursts of creativity where he produced designs by the truckload and dry spells when he couldn't (wouldn't) produce anything. It was, he insisted, 'an inherent part of his Japanese design aesthetic' and told the professors that they were racist for trying to 'make him conform to their Western perceptions of work ethics'.

The administration had no idea whether to punish him for his cheek or—honestly—just succumb to the easy charm Kaoru always used when he gave them his ridiculous excuses. Frankly, it was easier to give him flexible deadlines than try to argue with him. He always managed to cobble together something spectacular just in time for final cut-off dates, anyway.

"I thought that the reason why they gave you an extension was because you submitted a paper on the non-linear nature of time and said that their deadline ultimately didn't exist because time moves in multiple directions and therefore you can submit whenever you want."

"Well, we can't all have girlfriends who put on orange wigs and black lipstick to pout for our cameras," Kaoru sniped, alluding to the photography collection his friend had put together last month. The girl in question was a Commerce major from a neighbouring school who had a penchant for dressing up in crazy costumes when she was out of her corporate attire. It reminded Kaoru of Akihabara and cosplayers, making him absolutely homesick.

"The wig is red, just for the record."

"I'm the natural redhead. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about." Kaoru snagged his sketchpad off the table with a wink, flipping to a new page and sketching out the beginnings of an outline. Wispy, ethereal fabrics, froths of chiffon and netting.

"Where did you even find... girl or boy?" Kaoru's 'muses' were infamously bizarre. Sometimes they were tall model-types, classic for most designers, but he'd also had grandmothers, circus clowns, little street urchins and so on serve as his inspiration. Once he'd claimed that a goat named Madeleine had motivated him to create one of his most well-loved collections. "Actually, scratch that. Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

"Girl, but I bet some people mistake her for a pretty boy. But you can't fool these eyes—I could tell you her three measurements just by looking at her." It was a freakish talent that had earned him the ire of some of the females in their university who did not take kindly to their waistlines being publicized.

"And you're going to ask her to model for you?"

Kaoru smiled wistfully. "If I ever see her again, maybe."

Kaoru took to haunting the cafe from then on, hoping for a glimpse of Sweater Girl, as Emil had dubbed her. It wasn't until almost a week later that his efforts were rewarded; by then he already had eight different sketches to pick from, much to his design professor's relief.

It wasn't oatmeal this time, more of a dull brick colour that was horrendously unflattering on her. He sighed; for a muse she was terribly unfashionable. But not unattractive, his mind supplied helpfully as he approached her.

But of course he was intercepted just a few steps away from her by a couple of giggling blondes with maps in their hands, clearly tourists. "Excuse me," they simpered. "Do you know where the Eiffel Tower is?"

He wanted to roll his eyes. You can even see it from here, he thought, exasperated, glancing out the window. "I'm so sorry, I don't understand English," he said. He had long ago perfected the art of speaking French like a native—something his upbringing as the heir to the Hitachiin design empire had seen to. Also if you're going to try to pick someone up, you should be a little less obvious about it.

"Ooh, your accent is so gorgeous!" one of them squealed. "We're from America, just visiting."

He plastered a smile on his face. "See that pointy thing out the window? That's what you're looking for. Now hop to it." They kept beaming at him, so obviously they hadn't understood a word, although a few nearby customers snickered. "Seriously, I don't understand English."

With that, he turned away to Sweater Girl, who was still buried in her book.

"Bonjour, may I take this seat?" he asked, gesturing to the spot across her.

She looked up, startled, and paused before nodding awkwardly. She had another book with her—a whole stack, in fact. The one she was currently reading was some kind of law text, from what he saw, but the one on top of her neat little pile was Dante's Divine Comedy.

Kaoru licked his lips, wondering how to start off. "Have you ever wondered how Dante found his Beatrice?" he blurted out.

Oh yeah. Really smooth, Kaoru.

She didn't cut him down with a nasty remark, though. Instead, she stared at him from behind her glasses, apparently waiting for him to go on. Which was almost equally unnerving. He was used to people either being fantastically sarcastic or ready to swoon at his feet.

She, however, did neither.

"Well... Dante wrote about a lot of things. But Beatrice... she was it for him. His muse. You see, I'm a designer. And I've made lots of clothes before, for a lot of different people. And I wonder if any of them were my Beatrice." He felt ridiculous, but she just continued watching him, taking in everything he said. "Maybe my Beatrice was my twin brother—he's in Italy right now. We've never been apart before, but our parents thought it would be a good idea if we tested our skills separately for once. The first outfit I ever put together was for him, when we were still kids. My mom helped me make it for our ninth birthday. He still has it, stored away. Or, or my Beatrice could have been this little girl we met once. She couldn't tell us apart, but she tried so hard. I never saw her again, but a year ago I made all these clothes while thinking of her. I kind of got an award for that..." He trailed off, realizing that it sounded like he was bragging. "I... I don't usually babble. Sorry."

Sweater Girl still hadn't said anything. He looked her in the eye. "Maybe if Dante were alive now, he would meet his Beatrice in a cafe, her nose buried in some textbook—someone in the most hideous sweater on the planet who just caught his eye one day and made him unable to look away."

He waited then, for her to blush, or maybe call him some kind of weirdo, punch him for insulting her sweater, anything. Instead, she merely put her book down, chewing on her lower lip as she looked at him.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said, standing up to go.

"No," she finally said, the single word non slipping hesitantly out. She gestured back at the seat he had just vacated. "Please."

Kaoru grinned.

From then on, Kaoru made it a point to visit the cafe every day and buy two coffees. One was his usual maple-syrup-and-caramel; the other varied. He randomly picked something off the menu, or requested something odd (strawberry and wildflower honey, for example—and the barista just couldn't say no to his irresistible smile and insanely huge tips), which he would give to Sweater Girl. She only showed up once every few days, though, and he often ended up drinking the other coffee by himself. Probably busy with her studies, he guessed, judging by the load of books that she always carted around.

"It's kind of insane," he admitted to Emil during one of their late-night video game tournaments. "I don't know her name and she doesn't know mine." It was actually part of the appeal. It was refreshing to just be 'random boy who approached you in the cafe' rather than 'Hitachiin Kaoru, heir to Hitachiin Designs' or 'Hitachiin Kaoru, half of the notorious twins' or 'Hitachiin Hikaru, menace and boy wonder of fashion'. And, well, it seemed unfair to ask her name if he didn't give his, so he waited for her to tell him of her own volition. "She's just one big mystery. Well, a tiny one, really, she looks like an underfed waif."

"And yet you have three whole sketchpads worth of clothes for her."

Kaoru smirked. Initially his academic advisers had been thrilled—their comments, as usual, had been singularly delighted—but in the face of his sudden design mania they were now tearing their hair out trying to decide which of his work to use. "Honestly, those professors. First they get on my case for not submitting my stuff, now they complain because I do. Wish they would make up their minds."

"It's just one extreme or another with you." Emil let out a yelp as Kaoru's Lolita vampire landed a solid hit on his warrior.

"God made people like me to make other people question their sanity," the redhead intoned solemnly. "And also to kick people's butts at Soul Calibur IV. Hah!"

Emil snorted, eyes now completely focused on the screen; he hated losing in video games. There were legends about him rolling on the floor in fury after a particularly bad loss. "Don't forget that your other life purpose is to fall in love with young sweater-wearing French girls you randomly find in cafes."

Kaoru frowned. "Who said anything about love?"

"No?" the other boy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No."

"No?" Kaoru had never been so completely absorbed by any of his former 'muses' (no, not even Madeleine the goat).

"You're trying to distract me from the game, aren't you?"

Emil chose not to dignify the accusation with a reply, instead arching his brows in disbelief. "Three sketchpads? Really?"

"...okay, maybe just a little."

And okay, Kaoru was a little bit captivated. It was what had him halfway through sketchpad #4 (he couldn't wait to see the looks on his professors' faces when they saw that he had yet another to submit, and he still had a good two weeks before the day of the exhibit) and sliding into the chair opposite Sweater Girl every few days, handing her a mocha-and-raspberry or vanilla-and-marshmallow. She would always take the drink with a soft little 'thank you', have a wary sip, and either make a face or smile in surprise.

They talked a lot. Well, okay, he talked a lot. She seemed always content to just sit there listening to him, watching the way his hands moved as he talked. A few times she would answer him with monosyllables, and that was it. It was kind of unnerving at first, but as he gradually relaxed he got used to it.

Sweater Girl never seemed inclined to say much, no matter what the topic was. And the topics had been all over the place; he'd managed to shut up about muses and finding them in cafes—because seriously, what on earth had he been thinking that day?—but sometimes he found himself expounding on the inherent beauty in something ugly ("Pictures of war, for some reason, are absolutely enchanting; or warehouses, all bare and exposed and dirty, there's a beauty there…"), or why he found fashion design so fascinating ("I make people beautiful, feel good about themselves... okay, to be honest it's just that I discovered it was something I was naturally good at, and then I couldn't let it go because my parents were so happy about it... and somewhere along the way I became happy doing it too"). One memorable day he'd even shown her some of his sketches for her.

Her fingers had traced the delicate lines with a kind of awe. "Beautiful," she breathed, which was a rare occurrence, and he felt his whole face light up in a grin, felt himself reach out and take her hand...

She let out an involuntary noise as he kissed the inside of her palm, and then Kaoru came to his senses.

"Crap, I'm sorry, I..." He hesitated, sheepishly releasing her. "You're gorgeous."

A tiny frown puckered her brow, and he wondered abruptly if he'd blown it. "Please don't hate me. I just couldn't help myself." He winced, knowing how ridiculous that sounded. Classic pervert's excuse. "I don't have bad intentions, I like—"

He shut his mouth as abruptly, she reached out and touched his hand. Just for a single fleeting second.

"Are you angry?"

She squeezed his hand in reassurance, offering him a tentative smile. It was at precisely that instance that maybe just a little became oh hell, I'm screwed, but Kaoru couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Smitten." Kaoru looked up from his sketchpad over at Emil's girlfriend, who was lounging in their dorm with them. Apparently she had been addressing him.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, setting down his turquoise pencil. Six and a half sketchpads and still going strong; he was sure that at least one of his advisers would have a nervous breakdown before the exhibit. Some of his classmates were taking bets on how many designs he would end up with before the semester ended, and which professor would be the first to crack. The Hand Incident (yes, he insisted on capitalizing it, thank you very much) had fuelled an entire night of sketching madly, adding romantic little flourishes of lace and feathers to his designs.

"Smitten," she repeated, dragging the word out. "You know. Rhymes with kitten. And mitten." She rolled her eyes. For someone so tiny, she had enough sarcasm for two people. Not that most people would tell her that—she was notorious for having a complex about her height. But Kaoru, always one to rush where angels feared to tread, called her 'Shortcake' instead of her real name.

The first time he'd done that he'd found all his boxers replaced with granny panties.

"Mittens," he echoed. His lip curled up in disgust. "Those abominations. Couldn't decide whether to be gloves or socks, the indecisive bastards."

"And it also means 'the look on your face'. Smitten, I mean, not mittens, which you apparently have a personal vendetta against." She put down the comic book she'd been reading. "The 'I'm-so-happy-it-makes-other-people-sick' vibes you're giving off are interrupting my quality time with Batman and my boyfriend."

It was only three days since the fateful Hand Incident, but since then Sweater Girl had taken to showing up at the cafe every day, even if it was just for twenty minutes or so, and Kaoru was helplessly charmed. With the exhibit coming up so soon, he'd started bringing his sketchpads with him, and he would work while she read her textbooks. There was something lovely about just sitting there in companionable silence.

"I now forgive the two of you for all your goopy moments," he said magnanimously. As Emil's roommate, he had front-row seats to them always hugging and teasing each other. He occasionally entertained himself by lobbing pillows at them while they were talking, but he'd found that they could be quite creative in getting back at him (he swore that his left elbow had never been the same since the last incident). "I see why people in love always act like the world is their rainbow layer cake."

She made a moue of distaste, her nose scrunching up at him. "Ugh, you're so happy it's freaking me out. The last time I saw you grin like this was before you unleashed like a hundred rabbits on school grounds. You made one of the students have a psychotic break."

Kaoru shot her a baleful look. "Oh come on. Like I was supposed to know that she had a bunny phobia? Besides, she had psychological issues from the get-go and I was just a catalyst. I mean, anyone who runs around screaming, 'Their eyes! Their evil red eyes! It's possessing my brain!' just because a sweet little bunny hopped on her head needed intervention way before I did anything."

Emil interjected quietly from where he had an arm loosely looped around his other half. "But what are you going to do, Kaoru?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow in question. "Well, I guess I could send her flowers, maybe help pay her therapy bills. Send her a fluffy bunny in apology."

"No, he means Sweater Girl." Shortcake wiggled against Emil's side, and Kaoru was abruptly reminded of the way she had turned down Emil the first time he had asked her to be his girlfriend (honestly, Kaoru wanted to smack her upside the head for that and tell her that it was a lost battle; no girl could honestly not give in and be ridiculously happy with his friend, who was the kind of sweet and devoted boyfriend that every mom wants her daughter to have and quite frankly it was obvious that she adored him anyway). She had spouted something about 'academics' and 'obligations' and 'priorities'—

"You're going back to Japan after the exhibit."

Obligations.

Priorities.

Shit.

Kaoru had somehow forgotten that while yes, people in love often acted like they had just eaten pans full of hash brownies, he had seen his fair share of the misery that went along with the highs. He'd also forgotten that the universe had the sickest sense of humour he knew—and that was saying a lot, considering that he knew his brother, who thought that stapling chipmunks to trees was amusing (not that they ever did that... at least, there was never any record that they had).

It all seemed to go downhill from that point on. His professors, definitely out for revenge for his little production overflow stunt, suddenly requested that he somehow sew at least half of the portfolio they had chosen for him to present—which was, apparently, everything he had submitted. They'd decided to reduce the space for another student's exhibit to make more room for his.

Said student was then promptly appointed as his 'sewing assistant' (yup, the professors were definitely vindictive), who proceeded to quietly sabotage him as thanks for getting some of his work removed from the exhibit. The third time that the boy had 'lost' one of the dresses he was supposed to do some of the finishing work on, Kaoru gave up and decided to do everything by himself, somewhere where there were locks and hopefully booby traps where pissed-off fellow designers couldn't dispose of his stuff or maybe end up garrotted if they tried.

He barely had time to sleep, much less meet Sweater Girl for more than a strained smile, a few words, and a couple of mouthfuls of coffee—black. There were days when he couldn't meet up with her, too busy sewing like a madman or planning his professors' demises or keeping his bloodthirsty sewing assistant from replacing all his tulle with paisley polyester.

And he couldn't believe that he could be so unhappy being away from someone other than his twin.

Kaoru blamed Emil for 'jinxing it' and promptly demolished him at Soul Calibur eight games in a row, which only made him feel the teensiest bit better as he watched his roommate roll around on the floor in dismay.

"You didn't." Shortcake glared at him, hitting him with a pillow.

Kaoru snorted as his roommate scrambled off their carpet, brushing himself off. "I did. Hey, when did you get here?"

"I've been here all day! It's just that when you guys get wrapped up in your video games you forget I exist." She pouted. "Although I will admit I'm still amused watching Emil lose."

"Yeah, your sadistic little heart is shouting with glee, I know," Kaoru said, rolling his eyes and ignoring Emil's protests. "So why did you hit me?"

"Because you're giving up." She pursed her lips. "You're never going to get anywhere with her like that."

"Says the girl who turned down this fine specimen of manhood the first time he asked," Kaoru pointed out, thumping Emil on the back.

"My point exactly. He didn't give up," she retorted. "And look what happened in the end."

"He got attached to a shrew?"

"Yes!" She scowled. "Now, I have no idea why he was attracted to a shrew either—I'm concluding either severe brainwashing from video games, or he could be a masochist... but the point is, he got me. No, even better, I got him too. And you have no call criticizing his taste in shrews when you fell for a girl who you yourself admit looks like she got dressed in the dark, but I'm not going to debate that because love's love, no matter what she wears." She kicked Kaoru in the side. "Now hop to it. Happy endings don't happen if you don't fucking work for them, idiot."

Three days before the exhibit and Kaoru slid into the seat across Sweater Girl, pale from lack of sleep. "It's so wonderful to see you again," he said, fighting a yawn as he downed his espresso, passing her a cocoa-and-cranberry frap. There were still a few peacock feathers in his hair, and he was sure that there were bits of bronze silk clinging to his pants, but he was too exhausted to care.

She bit her lip. "Are you okay?" she asked, and honestly it was almost worth it to feel this trashed, just to hear her ask.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing that sleeping for a week won't cure. And maybe murdering a few people." He laughed, rubbing at his eyes, and she relaxed a bit. It was that, the slight lift of tension from her shoulders, which made him plough on. Hey, if his roommate could get turned down only to be all lovey-dovey in the end, he could at least try and see if he could have the same.

"Listen, I'm... I'm not from around here. I'm only in Paris for a few more days, and then I have to leave." He blew out a breath in a sigh; she pursed her lips, tilting her head in quiet askance. "I'm going to be in the semi-annual arts exhibit... the one hosted by our university." Actually he didn't really have to explain; any Parisian would know what he was talking about. "That's why I've been so busy. I'm mostly done with my work, but I've still got a fair bit to do. I'll be displaying my collection there and I wanted to tell you—you were the one who inspired them."

"I was hoping you would come," he continued. "This is crazy, but in only a couple of weeks I think I've fallen in love with you." She stared at him, wide-eyed, and he held up a hand to forestall a reply. "I know I'm putting you on the spot here, so... please, take the time to think it over. Come see me at the exhibit. Please."

She looked a little lost, her eyes darting from him to her scuffed sneakers. Reaching to the bag at his feet, he pulled out a gift-wrapped package he handed to her.

"Um. Well, no matter what your reply is, I hope you'll accept this." She hesitated before taking it from him and slowly opening it, peeling away the tape carefully so that it wouldn't tear.

She held up the sweater, her mouth an O of surprise. It was the softest wool that Kaoru could find, and he had spent some time on it in between his work for the exhibit, hand-dyeing and knitting it all himself. Unbidden, he got out of his chair and slipped over to her side, placing it on her shoulders. The royal blue he'd selected looked gorgeous on her. "I made it for you. Do you like it?" he asked before he could stop himself. Ugh, fishing for compliments, honestly. He could have kicked himself.

But she was blushing, and it made her look so adorable that he couldn't help it. "Thank you," she said, ducking her head so that she was half-hidden behind her hair and her glasses.

"I won't be coming here from now on," he said regretfully. "I'll be working up until the very last day thanks to the sadists in my department. But I'll be hoping to see you there... and maybe we can talk before I leave. The exhibit will be all day—it doesn't matter what time you come. I'll wait for you."

He took her hand and kissed it before walking away, but not before he saw the blush deepen. Suddenly he couldn't wait for the day of the exhibit.

"Well, aren't you looking debonair. It's far too early for anyone to be looking so dapper."

"Hey," Emil said, taking a second to poke his girlfriend in between rearranging his photographs under the lights. The students who were showcasing their portfolios were required to come at insane o'clock in order to set up, and he'd taken her along with him.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "It's a suit, Emil. A three-piece suit. At seven in the morning, eye candy is almost as good as coffee. And you know I have a weakness for waistcoats." It was true; the last time Emil had shown up wearing a three-piece suit and a trench coat, she'd practically jumped him in public. Still, she took his hand in a silent apology while continuing to rib at Kaoru. "And flowers too! Mr. Hitachiin, you are making every girl in this room weak at the knees for you."

Kaoru grinned, tightening the full Windsor knot of his tie just a fraction. He'd placed the bouquet in water, out of the way of his display. Seeing as he didn't know what time Sweater Girl was showing up, he'd decided to at least try to make them stay fresh while waiting. "I don't care about every girl in the room, I'm just waiting for one."

"Those lines just reinforce the image, you smooth talker. Any female who heard you say that would jump you. Yours truly excepted, of course—I appreciate the aesthetics of it, but I have my own cuddly boyfriend over here."

"You mean you aren't going to run off with me for a madcap affair? Darling, I'm hurt," the redhead teased.

She giggled. "She's crazy if she doesn't fall at your feet for this, but if she does reject you, maybe we can give that madcap affair a try—eep!" She ducked away from her boyfriend's fingers.

"I know where you're ticklish," he threatened.

"Okay, okay. You can go on the madcap affair with him," she grumbled. "And lend him your manly shoulders to cry on." This time she was ready and jumped out of Emil's reach. "No tickling! If you do you know I'll flail around and probably knock over your stands."

Kaoru positioned himself protectively in front of his work. "Knock over my displays and die." Just as he had expected, he had finished only late that morning; but it was a miracle that he'd even completed at all. Expecting him to complete almost a whole collection's worth of garments in less than a month was nuts.

Still, it was worth it when the doors opened to the public an hour later, and he was swamped with admirers.

"Very avant garde. The bold colour schemes and fabric choices are extraordinary."

"—hints of Impressionist influence, perhaps."

"What inspired this collection? It's got a very puckish twist to it."

"The ethereal elements combined with your architectural sense of design—"

And on and on and on which really boiled down to 'nailed it', but he'd been expecting that from the get-go anyway. He looked vainly through the crowd of elegant formal wear and hipster shirts (really, for people who claimed that they supported individualism he counted at least five different 'rebels' wearing the same band shirt') for a glimpse of a sweater. Hopefully the one he'd given her, but he didn't care even if she did show up in that oatmeal monstrosity she'd been wearing that first day, so long as she came.

At eleven he was still lapping up the attention while waiting for her, pouring on so much charm that his pockets were stuffed full of phone numbers from gorgeous members of both sexes. He couldn't help raising an eyebrow at some of the more creative proposals.

Artists were seriously kinky. He couldn't resist stopping one of the ash-blonds and asking, "Can you seriously do that with a paintbrush and some nylon?"

By half past one he'd eaten a quick lunch with Emil and some other arts students, swapping stories about the feedback they'd gotten. He figured that Sweater Girl probably had classes or something.

"And they said, 'this work speaks volumes on the futility of mankind, the horror of the crimes we have committed'. They told me I was a visionary who had talents far beyond my years," related a girl from the sculpture section. "And then I found out that they were talking about the stupid garbage can beside my exhibit!"

Four o'clock and he started to wonder if she'd forgotten. Or if she was held up by something.

At seven-thirty he was clearly miserable and started making up the most ridiculous things to take his mind off it.

"I dreamt of singing leprechauns," he confided to one critic. "And they told me to close my eyes, walk barefoot into the nearest fabric warehouse, and use my feet to step on the cloth. That's how I picked which ones to use, because the inner eye embedded in our tactile senses is far superior to our actual eyesight."

Half an hour later Emil and his girlfriend made their way over to him. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Kaoru said, pulling away from the clingy society madam who was trying to get him to agree to design her wedding dress. For her fifth trip down the aisle, apparently. "Why do you ask?"

"Maybe because somebody told us that you said that your collection was inspired by a vision of a unicorn you had while you were on an acid trip and having extremely flexible public 'carnal relations' with an eighty-year-old yoga instructor."

"If you think that's funny, you should hear the one I said about three professors, a bowling ball and a tractor. That one alone was probably worth an extra ten years in hell. I think they're busy trying to figure out which professors it could be."

His friend frowned. "The exhibit doesn't close until ten. She could still come."

"I'm not worried," he lied. "No woman on earth could resist a Hitachiin. In fact, no man on earth could either. Or even on the moon. Or even if they're genderless."

"Maybe she'll show up right at closing time," Shortcake added with affected cheer. "For added drama. Ready to fling herself into your waiting arms."

At quarter to ten the exhibit was already starting to wrap up, and Kaoru was forced to smile as his professors stopped by to commend him on an excellent show (though most of them looked like they were being force-fed arsenic as they praised him). His little rival of a sewing assistant came up and apologized, too, and complimented him on his work. Unfortunately by that time he was rather in a bad mood and couldn't pull off his usual magnanimous 'all is forgiven' speeches, but at least he managed a curt 'thank you' instead of telling him to make reparations by kissing his feet or something equally offensive.

At ten-thirty the whole building was closed and he was still sitting on the steps outside. Still waiting, even though he knew that she wouldn't be there.

"Hey." Emil dropped down beside him.

"She didn't come."

He winced. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? Did you kidnap her and throw her into the trunk of your car or something?"

"I don't even have a car."

"Details," Kaoru said dismissively, waving a hand in the air. "Where's your other half?"

"I took her home at ten. Her parents are pretty strict about curfews and stuff. She was pretty mad about Sweater Girl, though. I think she wants to start a manhunt just to have the pleasure of ripping her to shreds for standing you up."

"How can I blame her, though?" Kaoru asked, staring at the bouquet lying on his lap, already somewhat wilted and sad. "I'm just someone she met in a cafe, rambling stupid stuff about muses and all sorts of other rubbish. She didn't even know my name. I mean, she would barely even talk. I should have taken that as a sign from the beginning. She wasn't interested. She was probably just humouring me. And appreciating the free coffee."

"But she could at least have had the courtesy of telling you that, face-to-face."

"And let me twist her words into something else? Or guilt her into being nice?" Kaoru let out a short laugh.

"You wouldn't manipulate the girl you like," his friend argued.

"Emil, I convinced all of my professors to not give me deadlines. I told her about that. How easy would it be for me to sweet-talk a girl into giving me a chance? I mean, imagine you were her. Imagine walking in and seeing this guy in a fucking three-piece suit with a bouquet. Even if she had every intention of turning me down, she'd probably feel like she couldn't." He deflated. "Maybe she showed up, saw me, and ran away without approaching."

Emil hesitated. "I don't want to give you false hope... but did you consider that maybe something happened today? She could be sick, or got held up by something important. And you guys have no way of contacting each other. Like you said, she doesn't even know your name, much less your phone number."

"...yeah," Kaoru said, a tiny smile forming on his lips. "You're right. I don't know what the reason is, so I shouldn't freak out yet. I'm going to go back to the cafe tomorrow, before my flight. I'm not heading back to Japan until the evening, anyway."

"Want me to come?"

He considered. "If you're not busy." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "Thanks. Not just for this, actually. Paris would have been horrible without you."

"I'm sure you could have found a way to have fun with or without me. Like by releasing even more rabbits. And also, I heard the one with the professors, the bowling ball and the tractor. Where do you come up with this stuff?"

He laughed and handed Emil the bouquet. "This is for you. For letting me cry on your manly shoulders, as your lovely girlfriend said I would."

"Th-there was no crying! Kaoru, don't let her know about this, she's already told me that she thinks it would be hot if I hooked up with a guy," groaned his friend, although the flowers were already clutched in his hand. Kaoru grinned, knowing that Emil was far too nice to just dump them into a trash can. Nope, the boy would definitely put them in water back in their dorm, which would only lead his girlfriend to tease him mercilessly.

"She's only saying that. You know she'd turn around and beat the crap out of me if we really did have an illicit night of passion. Though I'm not sure she'd say no to the wonderful French tradition of ménage a trois." He snickered at the squawk of indignation he got in return. "But hey. If it all goes well, maybe we'll end up double-dating instead."

Even with the exhibit done, there were still last-day analysis sessions with professors. Plus he still had to organize his supplies and work bench and pack it all away to take back with him. By the time he was done, it was already around two—but then, Sweater Girl used to show up around that time anyway.

"Ready?" Emil asked.

"Heck no. But I have to anyway, or I'll miss my flight tonight." No three-piece suit or bouquet this time. Just Kaoru in one of his favourite jackets and his most ancient pair of jeans, looking nervous as hell as they started to turn the corner to the cafe.

And were stopped dead by the sight of Sweater Girl sitting inside. For once she wasn't wearing one of her I'm-a-refugee-slash-geek ensembles but a frilly white dress, the sweater he'd given her hanging off the back of her chair. All her books were pushed to one side as she talked animatedly.

With another boy.

"I guess blondes are her type," he said weakly. At least if the person had had brown hair he could have chalked it up to maybe being her brother; but there was no family resemblance to speak of. Worse, he couldn't even make a disparaging comment about him. He was beautiful.

And he was all over Sweater Girl, ruffling her hair, pinching her cheeks, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

And she blushed.

"That's her?" Emil asked. His face fell. "Kaoru..."

She has a boyfriend.

God, that question he'd asked her that first day. Have you ever wondered how Dante found his Beatrice? The comparison was striking, he realized.

Beatrice Portinari had married another man.

"Guess I was right. I should have known when she didn't show up. Glad I didn't waste my time and buy another bouquet." He watched bitterly as her boyfriend swiped at her glasses, holding them away from her and laughing while she struggled to get them back. "At least I'll never have to see her again."

The rules of the universe are as follows: if you say 'what can go wrong?' everything will go wrong. If you say 'I'm fine', you usually aren't.

And if you say 'I'll never have to see her again' it apparently translated to life somehow making sure that they found each other eventually.

It wasn't that he hadn't gotten over it. He'd moped for a while when he got home, but he could only spend so long pining after some unknown girl.

There was always his brother Hikaru, teasing him out of his bad mood and comparing notes about who got into more trouble while they were overseas ("Rabbits? Kaoru, I made my school explode. Think levelled to the ground. You win in the creativity department, but I definitely get more points for badassery.")

There was school, keeping him busy as usual, and his design work, which continued to stun the public.

There was Emil and Shortcake, still resolutely together and still ludicrously happy about it, sending him e-mails from France and occasionally inviting him to visit them. He did, of course, and she always said that Kaoru was there because Emil was secretly the love of his life and he couldn't bear to stay away. Kaoru, in turn, always brought them shortcake.

And there were plenty of people looking for his attention.

He'd dated a few, men and women both, nothing too serious, but still. He'd been over it.

And then he saw her again.

It was at a party hosted by one of their old high school classmates, Ootori Kyouya, in London. "A casual little get-together," the older boy had said, which of course meant gourmet catering and expensive liquor. The only difference between that and their more formal affairs was the contemporary rock filtering through the speakers instead of string quartets, and long gowns and tuxedos ditched for designer jeans and miniskirts.

Just as he was sipping his champagne, he'd glanced past a couple of wealthy heiresses and met her eyes.

She looked... different. Her messy brown hair had been cut into a neater little bob; still boyish, but it suited her better. Her glasses were gone too, and he bet that she was wearing contacts.

And she was wearing a royal blue sweater that he remembered painstakingly making by himself.

And she had the blonde boy's arm looped around her waist.

She went white when she spotted him. Her companion frowned and turned to look in his direction, whispering something in her ear. She shook her head as she replied, and then suddenly the blonde was storming over. Sweater Girl winced, chasing after him.

"So," the other boy said, looking ready to tear him apart limb from limb. "You're the cad from Paris who thought it would be amusing to play with a fair maiden's heart."

"What are you talking about?" Kaoru demanded. Hikaru sidled quietly over to his side, ready to back him in a fight if necessary.

"You led her on and then mysteriously vanished. I would have forgiven you if you'd been dead, perhaps run over or perished of some illness which led you to never attempting to contact my precious daughter again."

"Daughter?" Hikaru echoed in disbelief. "I'm sensing some major daddy kink over here because there is no way that's your daughter. What, did you have her when you were ten?"

He scowled. "She is my daughter in spirit," he said grandly.

"I don't care if you think she's your Great-Aunt Fanny," Kaoru retorted. "I don't know what she told you, but she stood me up."

"My darling daughter would do no such thing! She went to that cafe faithfully every day for months and you never came back." Sweater Girl tugged at her companion's shirt, but he wouldn't budge an inch.

"And now what, you're going to challenge me to a duel for her honour?"

Their host, Kyouya, materialized in front of them. "What's going on?"

Kaoru glared. "He started it, Kyouya-sempai!"

Sweater Girl gasped. "You speak English?"

"Of course I speak English," Kaoru said, scowling. "I also speak German, Mandarin, Russian, and of course my native Japanese. And French, as you know. I spent months talking with you in that cafe."

She looked at him miserably. "But I don't know French."

"...what?"

She tugged nervously on the cuffs of her sweater. "I was just visiting Tamaki-sempai for a couple of months," she said, tilting her head at the blonde boy. "He's a childhood friend of mine who thinks he's my father for some reason. I'm Japanese. The most I know other than that is English."

Tamaki rolled his eyes. "I've tried to teach you the language of love, cherie, but all you ever seem to remember are a few words." He turned back to Kaoru. "Naturally when I saw her blooming with love and wearing your little token of affection," he tugged at the sweater, "I insisted that I meet you. When you didn't show up for three days in a row she panicked and asked me to come along to interpret, and I even managed to get her to abandon those horrible rags of hers for something far more suitable." Sweater Girl turned bright red and whacked him on the head; Kaoru winced, remembering the dress he'd thought she'd worn for her 'date' with the mysterious blonde. "But you never came again, leaving nothing but a sweater as a parting gift. And I thought that perhaps some horrible thing had happened to you, but apparently you're perfectly well and simply abandoned my Haruhi."

"Haruhi," Kaoru repeated. "So that's your name?" At her nod, he sighed. "I'm Kaoru, Hitachiin Kaoru. Why didn't you tell me from the start that you didn't understand French?"

"Because I heard you tell those tourists that you didn't know English! I may not understand French but I at least know what je ne parle Anglais means. I thought you were French."

"I thought you were French. You don't look Japanese at all."

"Well, neither do you," she pointed out. "And you never seemed to care that I couldn't reply much when you talked."

"If you must know, I asked you to come to my display at the annual arts exhibit. I waited sixteen hours for you to show up." He swallowed hard. "I drew six and a half sketchpads worth of clothes all dedicated to you."

"I didn't know."

"I thought that... Tamaki-san, was it? I thought that Tamaki-san was your boyfriend."

"Me, date my daughter?" laughed Tamaki. "Hardly. Mother would be very upset."

"Mother?" Hikaru echoed, then blanched as Tamaki pulled a grumbling Kyouya into an embrace. "Seriously?"

"Well, if I'm her father, of course she needs to have her mother," Tamaki said, burying his nose into Kyouya's hair. The Ootori swatted at him, which only made him smile more.

Kaoru bit his lip. "When you stood me up, I went searching for you and you were sitting there with him. I thought that it was your way of telling me that you already had a boyfriend and I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of dating you."

She turned bright red. "I—"

"Haruhi liked hearing you talk," Tamaki told him. "Even if she couldn't understand a word, she spent hours in that cafe listening to you. And she tried to hide it from me, but I know she was happy spending time with you. Plus," he added, winking, "she won't admit it unless you get her drunk, but she said that you spoke French so prettily that she could listen to it all day."

Kaoru felt his whole face flame. "What are you telling him?" Haruhi demanded, tugging on Tamaki's arm.

"He just told me that I'm going to need to start from scratch," Kaoru informed her.

"Start from scratch?"

"Yes. Unless you happen to be attached at the moment?" At the shake of her head, he grinned. "Fantastic. Now, have you ever wondered how Dante... actually, never mind." He took her hand. "Come dance with me instead, Haruhi-san."

A/N: Yeah... it turned out a little crazy (with my profuse apologies to Kaoru and Haruhi both!). I hope you all enjoyed it, and have a beautiful 10th of May!