Micah's POV

What made me accept Haruhi's offer to go to Regional Specialities Expo today? I wondered about that. Was it the thought of hidden cooking gems that enticed me? Or was it me simply seeking human companionship for the day?

I'd bet on the latter.

With a mere week until our play opened, you'd expect us to be bustling around, a script constantly in our hands, one foot always in the theater, ready to step out on stage and drink in the spotlight.

You'd be wrong. Oh so very wrong.

With a week left, Renge decided we all needed a day to unwind. Izuki's words from the scare fest had come back to me - that everyone needed a break once in a while - and I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with the director. And so it was that I was completely alone this fine morning.

Riley and Damian couldn't escape band practice and the hosts had been secretive all week, apart from Honey, who acted as cherubic as always when we met for rehearsal, Mori, and Haruhi, though that last one was hardly surprising. Those skittish hosts, however, were the ones who explicitly called me at five in the morning to tell me they'd be unavailable for the day.

I'd been too groggy to question it and just went back to sleep.

A few hours later, I wished I'd properly asked them what the hell they were on about.

And then Haruhi had called, asking if I wanted to accompany her to the Expo. Having nothing more interesting in mind, I'd agreed, and now here I was. Standing ten people deep in a crowd that seemed to worship the man selling fancy tuna.

And yes, Haruhi was one of them.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face, inviting her back into the realm of reality. She blinked, once, twice, then looked at me, head to the side. "Ah. That looked embarrassing, didn't it?"

I shook my head, knowing an affirmative phrase would escape my lips if I chose to speak, and waved a hand, beckoning her to follow as I weaved through the crowd, managing to make my way into the open paradise on the other side.

Loud. Overbearing. Explosions of eye-assaulting colors. Such things accurately described the mall I hadn't particularly bothered to learn the name of. I'd be walking home with Haruhi, so I'd thought it wouldn't matter if I knew how to get here or not; the name had slipped my mind due to it being seen as unnecessary.

Haruhi's hand (which she'd slipped into mine so we didn't get separated in the throngs of hell) jerked away from mine as she stumbled to a halt, her eyes trained on something closer to the escalators. Brow furrowed, I followed her gaze.

The bag I'd been carrying dropped to the floor.

"Isn't that Kyouya-sempai--"

"No. It's not. Keep moving, please." And I went on with my business, regaining my grip on Haruhi's hand as I walked away. Kyouya wasn't here. The Devil did not stoop to the lowly levels of commoners to purchase his poisons. It was just some lookalike. Perhaps Renge and her love of cosplay had suddenly appeared, like a wild Pokemon out of the tall grass.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to waste my Masteball on this creature.

....And they goes my inner otaku taking control again. I apologize.

I'd thought we'd escaped detection, crossed the yellow-brick road without meeting those unsightly flying monkeys. That is, until the smiling face of none other than the King of Darkness greeted me.

"Fancy meeting you two here," he said casually, which only served to deepen the pit of fear gaping in my stomach. 

Feigning ignorance, I cocked my head to the side, the picture of Honey-level cuteness. "Huh? Do I know you?"

Haruhi, in an attempt to stifle her giggles, released my hand to throw both of hers over her mouth. Kyouya's smile dipped into a frown, and he bent closer to me, his hand resting under his chin thoughtfully. "You'll do, I suppose."

My eye twitched. Do? Just how exactly would I do? "Care to elaborate?" I seethed through clenched teeth.

"How much money do you have on you?"

My wallet suddenly weighed heavily in my pocket, like that of a dying man's last mortal possession he held on his way to the guillotine. Oh, how morbid my thoughts had become since Kyouya's appearance. If he stayed, they would only worsen. "Why...?" I ventured cautiously. His eyes closed, melting into possibly the most frightening smile ever witness by human eyes. I turned sharply to address Haruhi, praying she could make sense of the madness, only to see she'd gone.

A note fluttered to the floor in her wake, and I grimaced as I read it over: 

Good luck with Kyouya-sempai. I still have shopping I'd like to do, so I'll leave the two of you alone. Oh. Please don't die. I don't want to deal with Tamaki-sempai's waterworks.

-Haruhi

The coward! My hands balled into shaking fists, reducing the carefully-scripted note to little more than crinkled blurs. She would pay for this... this... atrocity!

"Shall we go?"

I had never been more angered in my life, being dragged along like some common puppy by Kyouya, on a trek to what had to be the depths of hell itself. 

_________________________________

"I refuse," I snapped, blunt as a weathered knife.

"And why is that?" Kyouya inquired. He gestured to the fast-food stand with an indifferent hand. "I'd thought you'd appreciate me choosing an establishment that wouldn't require you to dip into your family's bank account."

"That's not the point!" Ignoring the fact that he seemed very aware of my dislike of my family's wealth, I crossed my arms defiantly across my chest. The influx of people coming to claim their slop parted around us, as I rejected any and all ideas of stepping closer to the madhouse of calories and crap. "Are you monstrous enough to force me to go to such a disgusting place?"

The cashiers weren't very accomodating, sending me distasteful glares through their cheap, plastic smiles. Granted, I wasn't being very accomodating myself, but I have very good reason to. "I am a chef, Kyouya. I do not bow down to coporate giants and fill my stomach with the byproducts of an obese society, and I refuse to spend hard-earned money for you to do the same!"

I rose on my tiptoes, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. "If you'd like to kill yourself thirty years early, then you should have chosen Haruhi to be your slave."

He studied me for a moment, brow raised, his gazing moving between my determined face and that of the flustered counter-girl, who couldn't seem to decide whether she should be infatuated with the infuriatingly handsome Ootori or inform her manager of my slurs against her company. Both ideas sickened me to some degree, so I didn't much care which she chose to pursue.

At last, Kyouya smirked, capturing my hand in his and leading me towards the counter (as my still-pitiful strength didn't give me much choice in the matter). Waving away the beaming cashier for the moment, he said, "If you'd like, you rant all you'd like to Tamaki later, as he is the cause of all of this. But for now... how do I order?"

The half-snarl I pulled on him was unavoidable. "Fine." There was no way out of this; I knew, Kyouya knew, even the goddamn counter girl in the flimy paper hat knew. I slammed a hand down on the counter, indicating whatever menu item was hidden underneath my palm. "Whatever the hell this crap is, he'll have it," I growled, an octace above spitting my words at the trembling teen.

"S-Sure thing!" she squeaked, hurriedly punching in my order, forgetting to ask if I'd like to try their delicious desserts. I only knew because the flapping banner above me was too flashy not to notice, even in my rage. 

"I hate you."

He sighed as he unwrapped his triple-bacon-something burger, laying his cheek against the back of his pale hand. "I seem to recall that we've been through this before."

"And I seem to recall that I still hate you."

We sat across from one another at the grubby food-court table, our chairs squeaking at every tiny adjustment. My chin rested against my interlocking fingers as I glared at Kyouya, looking to acheive nothing more than subtle discomfort. I couldn't hope to scare the King, but it wasn't so far off that I could irk him the same way he did me on a daily basis.

"Why are you even eating this?" I asked when the absent chatter floating around us made me long for actual conversation. "I assumed that you, the son of a prestigious family, would never settle for common drivel like this."

"One must be able to adapt," he replied neatly. I couldn't keep my eyes from widening slightly, and quietly hissed as he smirked at the gesture. "And do you really believe me to be so crass as to complain about a meal I'm being treated to? Unwilling as you were," he added spitefully.

Well, it was spiteful to my ears. I doubted it was anything different from teasing to him.

I mumbled something incoherent and he went on as though I'd agreed with him. "Besides, fast-food was meant to be convenient to eat. I was looking for convenience when I dragged you there, not something of five-star quality. It's not something I relish having to do, but as I've said, adaption is key in this world, and those who lack the skills necessary to do so do not make it far in life."

The tension pinching my shoulders eased a bit. My fingers uncurled and folded together atop the table. Kyouya was different today. Just an air about him, different from the charm he displayed at Ouran. I'd always known it was an act, that he himself was simply too cold to naturally be so effervescent (as he was with his clients), but before now, I'd yet to see him drop the facade. And this point was further proven when a group of mindless, giggling dolls flirtatiously asked if they could take one of our vacant chairs.

"Take it," was all he said. Not an ounce of politeness or flair to his words at all. Their giggling ceased as they settled down, still stealing cautious glances our way, probably anxious to know if he treated me any differently.

They'll be sorely disappointed, I mentally sighed.

When he had no reason to be kind, he was cold. When no eyes of importance were on him, he reverted his blunt self, the kind who cleaned their teeth with a toothpick in public, uncaring as to who might be watching. He probably considered all these people to be beneath him and therefore not worth his sense of decency, but that was besides the point.

"The Host Club." The words slipped out, unbidden, though I didn't yearn to take them back. It was a question that had been plaguing me for quite some time. "What would make you join something like that? It just... seems like something you'd normally steer clear of."

I was surprised how willingly he answered. "My father, actually." He shrugged at my slackened jaw. "From a young age, I was told I'd have to be extraordinary to claim the place of my father's successor over my two brothers. Knowing Tamaki's heritage, I quickly gathered that agreeing to his outlandish idea of forming a Host Club would be beneficial to my future, to have the chance at being in his family's good graces."

He couldn't be serious. But... he was. There was no denying the seriousness in his slanted gaze, in spite of how easily he spoke of the topic. "Tamaki... He knows, doesn't he?" I swallowed back my hateful comments, choosing only the necessary questions. "He knows, because you're the type of person to make things clear to him from the very beginning. You read people, would understand he'd accept you anyway, because Tamaki is too nice for his own good at times. I know that. What I'm wondering is how you sleep at night, knowing you're toying with that boy's heart."

"That's what the Host Club is, you know." I grew angry again, only for a moment, thinking he was blatantly ignoring my inquiry. But I unclenched my fists when he met my eyes, now resting his chin on both hands. "We're a group of young men" - here I gathered he was speaking about the Host Club B.H. (before Haruh)i - "who use one another. Tamaki sought friendship, myself, future financial gain, the twins, mere entertainment. Even Honey-sempai and Mori-sempai."

I started to argue, thinking in no way that Honey would join a club simply to make use of others, but he held up his hand, staying my voice. "Honey-sempai joined our club in order to escape his family's hostile treatment of his natural personality. If not for joining the Host Club, he'd be abstaining from sweets and thinking about nothing but bringing honor to his family. Mori-sempai joined out of necessity."

The argument I'd been forming was now invalid. He'd pointed out its flaws without even being aware of them. I wilted with the realization that maybe, I didn't know two of my best friends as intimately as I'd thought. What a blow to my ego.

"I see..." I mumbled. I drew a hand down my face, wiping it of its previously forlorn expression. What use was there, I ask, for me to show my discomfort in front of Kyouya? He saw it whether I expressed it clearly or not, and was as indifferent as ever about it. "That's interesting."

"You hold them in surprisingly high regard," Kyouya commented, taking a somehow elegant sip from his milkshake. How that was possible continued to elude me throughout the rest of the conversation. 

A smile twitched at my lips. "Only a bit higher than the rest of the Host Club, I assure you. Probably about the difference in Mori and Honey's respective heights."

Seeing he was unamused by my response, my smile faltered slightly, and I cocked my head, considering the statement. "They... Well, all of the hosts are more or less my friends, so I can't say that. But Honey and Mori... I don't know. They've always been there for me, ever since I was coerced into joining the club. I love them both. Honey's like the younger brother I never had, and simultaneously like the older brother I thought I'd loathe. And Mori..." How did I put my feelings for Mori into words? Simply calling him a friend didn't feel right, the same way it was with Honey. So, the true question: What was Mori to me?

I was saved from my dangerously straying thoughts by Kyouya standing, kicking back his chair with an onbnoxiously loud screeching that made me wince visibly. I irritably flicked my eyes up to Kyouya's, to which he chuckled quietly and tipped his head, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was meant to follow.

_________________

"Oh, I've heard of these!" I pointed excitedly to the gleaming pearl earrings resting reverently in the display box we'd stopped at. 

After lunch was finished (and I provided another disregarded scolding) I'd asked if he just wanted me to pay for a cab and send him home. He'd replied that he refused to take an unknown vehicle just after finishing a meal. Convenient, don't you agree?

Uncaring as to what he thought of my sudden chattering, I smiled and said, "Just after my family's catering business took off, my dad bought a necklace made of these pearls for my mom to celebrate. She's always had a thing for pearls, Lord knows why, and these ones were perfect. At least in my dad's eyes. They're from Ishigaki Island, right?"

Kyouya nodded in confirmation, looking a bit - just a bit, mind you - surprised I'd recognized the pearls. I beamed, triumphant for once. "That's correct. They're high quality, and incredibly rare as well. I'm surprised to see them here, of all places."

The crowds hadn't thinned at all since earlier. Rather, they'd grown thicker, much to my displeasure. Kyouya made no comments about them, said not a word of complaint as we meandered through the Expo. It was peaceful, no forced small talk between us to ruin the mood. Kyouya enjoyed silence as much as I did, it seemed.

"Ah!" I dashed in front of Kyouya, nearly knocking him to the ground in the process, my eyes trained on the small, fluffy teddy-bear packed neatly away among the other plush animals. The elderly woman running the stall smiled kindly at me, her eyes crinkling, as I clutched the bear to my chest, looking up at her earnestly. "How much?"

"I didn't think such things would interest you, even after being exposed to Honey-sempai for so long."

"Precisely." I bobbed my head, returning the old woman's grin as I handed her the money. "That's why this is for Honey. He'll love it, I'm sure. It'll never top Usa-chan, but it'll make him smile, and that's more than enough for me." Tha smile kept widening, never slipping, even as I turned around to face Kyouya, my puchase cuddled against my chest.

Something passed over his features, some look I couldn't quite interpret, but it faded as quickly as it had come and he smirked. "This is more in-line with your character," he concluded, before dropping the subject, leaving me a bit baffled, and continuing on with our "stroll".

We stumbled upon another intriguing stand, this one more to Kyouya's taste than my own. Beautiful vases of varying sizes lined the tables. I was drawn to them, if only a little, and a small, crooked smile tugged at my lips. "Pretty," I grinned. "Know anything about these, Mr. Politcian?"

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about that charming nickname, Miss Pastry Chef."

"Never! Not so long as you remember that horrendous title of yours. You think you understand how demeaning it is, but I have to tell you, what you're thinking isn't even close--"

"Hey! Don't touch my wares!"

I jumped back in surprise, raising both brows questioningly at the man now towering over me from behind the stall. He glowered at me a moment more, then set about pointedly dusting the blue-painted vase I'd been standing in front of. The vase. While I'd been talking, I must have unconsciously reached out for the glazed piece and, apparently, greatly disturbed its market value.

"Poor punks like you don't have the right to touch these treasure." He made those annoying shooing motions with his hands, this dramatic scowl on his face that gave me the urge to slap him sillier than Tamaki. "Really, it's so irritating to have customers who don't know their value."

Where once I might have been confounded into silence by my lack of social interaction, I now didn't hesitate to allow a grueling expression twist my face and snap, "It's people like you who make me wish murder was legal."

Well. He's shutting up now. I suppose I'd better take my leave before he calls security...

When Kyouya and I were a fair distance away, I leaned heavily against a pillar, letting out slow, deep breaths. Controlling my anger had become more difficult in recent days. Something to do with my blood pressure rising, I suspected. But these people. What gave them to right to act to high and mighty, to do as they pleased to potential customers? And what was the purpose of setting up in this mall if he thought all his patrons would be "commoners" who lacked the financial status to buy his wares?

In short, he bothered me.

Brushing my bangs from my forehead, I spotted a woman wearing a stunning kimono speaking with the irritating old man who would haunt my nightmares. They appeared to be in a lively conversation about the vase I'd mistakenly touched, thus inappropriately earning the shopkeeper's wrath. I caught only snippets, but a glance at Kyouya told me he was eavesdropping on every word, his expression darkening with each uttered syllable. I was in process of asking what was wrong when he abruptly strode forward.

"Madam, that is but a fake."

Slience reigned in the Expo. Heads swiveled in our direction, curious eyes picking out both Kyouya and the shopkeeper, who was red faced and stuttering at the accusation. He proclaimed it false; the knowing look in Kyouya's eyes said otherwise.

"How dare you say that?!" the shopkeeper demanded as Kyouya and I took places at his stall once again. I shot up a smug look (inappropriate at the time, yes, but oh so satisfying). 

Kyouya lifted the vase in one hand, inspecting it from different angles, as if he were some esteemed art critic. "The shade of blue in this forgery is indeed very similar to that of Omatsu's heirloom. However, the shade of blue is darker at the bottom of the vase, and the coloring looks more elegant." I watched as he turned the vase over, another smirk touching his thin lips. "Ah, as expected. The seal on the base of the vase is different. Besides, the vase comes with a license. Mister, could I have a look at is?"

"I... I forgot to bring it to the shop today..."

"Oh, really?" The air chilled, turning frigid with every spoken word. Kyouya's true self shone through beneath the model exterior, a threatening atmosphere eminating from him as he berated the very helpless man. Too bad he didn't deserve my flippant pity. "I'm rather well-acquainted with the Omatsu family. Shall I call them up for a confirmation? In fact, why don't I call them now? What do you think?"

As expected, security was called in the end. Only I wasn't their target.

I sneered as the man was led away, much too pleased with the situation, given my personality, but enjoying every perfect moment of his demise.

Soon, Kyouya rejoined me, finished with enduring the older woman's thanks. She was, admittedly, reasonably grateful after being rescued from spending undue amounts of money on a forgery. I couldn't very well blame her for her actions, even if giving Kyouya praise wasn't in my list of favorite activities.

"So, you can be nice," I teased, nudging his side with my elbow.

"Hm? Oh you seem to be mistaken, Micah." He made a motion towards the woman. "That madam is the wife of the owner of a reputed electronics company."

I tipped my head to the side, goading him to continue.

"Although I don't know her personally, her kimono and ring told me that she was no ordinary person. I didn't expect to have guessed correctly. It's a good thing that things turned out this way."

I nodded, just a slight dip of the head, and turned away to exit the Expo. "Mm, a nice story, Kyouya. Convincing lie too." His eyes nearly bored a steaming hole in the back of my head but I grinned nonetheless. "I'm getting to know you better, sempai. That stunt back there had little to nothing to do with personal gain for you. You simply didn't like how that man was duping his customers and wished to help them out." I snuck the cheekiest grin I could muster over my shoulder. "Plus, if I couldn't see that ring from where we were standing, there's no way in hell you could have, even if you are taller than I am."

Our little "adventure" was cut short after that, by a blaring announcement from the overhead speakers that someone was looking for a lost child. 5'10". Short black hair. Wearing spectacles. Name? Kyouya Ootori.

He nearly murdered me with the impressive glare he turned my way when I gave into my raucous laughterl, doubled over, stomach cramping. 

I loved Tamaki. I truly did.

All in all, it was a day I didn't have to regret afterwards.

And with Kyouya, that really was all I could ask for.