Breath...

Title: Bittersweet Melody
Author: EtherealJuliet
Rating: G
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairings or Characters: Tamaki/Haruhi
Summary: Sometimes, a single act is all that’s needed.
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own Ouran.

A.N: Thanks to my beautiful boyfriend and “my” lovely Zeras for taking the time to read this and listen to my TamaxHaru randomness ~_~ And thanks Zeras for the title!

Haruhi left out a sigh of resignation while she finished organizing the materials they had been using during the last session of the Host Club. Damnit, I have to study for tomorrow’s test and here they have me, as a maid or whatever… It was already getting late, as she confirmed by looking at the sun setting outside the window. Of course, if Kyoya got into his damned head the idea that part of her daily activities was cleaning up… there wasn’t any use complaining, unless she wanted her debt to be risen in whoknowshowmanythousand yens.

Sigh. Again. Finally, the money that Éclair had used to pay off her debt had been “re-assigned” to cover for all the expenses of the mess that oh-so-illustrious- visit had made. And Haruhi hadn’t complained. The debt and the seemingly imposition of working as a Host hadn’t actually been on her mind at the moment.

Whatever. That wasn’t the time to be thinking about it, right? It seems it’s never the time, replied a certain sarcastic voice in her head that had been a little too insistent lately. But she dismissed it again. Everything had happened too fast at the time, and been forgotten in the same speed. Or at least hidden behind smiling faces and routine.

 
She stopped her chores when she heard a noise behind her. She hadn’t really paid attention as if to someone else was there, but she was almost sure that everyone had already gone home. Well, that movement surely denied that theory. No. she wasn’t alone in the Third Music Room.

Music. And from the piano.

She spun around only to see the back of the King of the Host Club as he played that melody.

She froze. There wasn’t any reason to do that, was it? But her thoughts swirled inside her head leaving just one question: Did he know she was there, at all?

Oh, but that didn’t really matter, did it? Because everything that mattered was that she, in fact, was. And that she knew. She knew too much.

 She was left there standing, silent, her eyes fixated on him. His own were closed, as if he was pouring his whole being into the melody. Somehow, Haruhi felt this was a scene which she shouldn’t be witnessing.

But was it really any different from any other time she had heard him play the piano? What was then that bittersweet scent hanging in the air, in the notes, filling her breath and finally engulfing her whole?

But yet it was there, that faint essence that was making her chest ache.

Maybe it was because only now she understood what could be lingering behind Tamaki’s smile; this sorrow he always tried to hide in order to be happy and keep his friends happy, but that sometimes darkened the depth of his eyes.

No one had dared to mention Éclair or Tamaki’s mother in front of him, and Haruhi wasn’t even sure whether or not he did know that she was aware of what had been done to him.

She suddenly wished she wasn’t there. That she hadn’t stayed after the Host Club activities. This was wrong. She couldn’t bear listening to this bittersweet song anymore. 

But she knew, in her dizzied mind, that it wasn't the music she wanted to stop. It was his pain, a pain that mirrored too much her own, a pain she could feel just too strong, too sharp.

Stop, please… just stop…

And, before she knew it, she had walked through the room. One, two three, four steps… and her arms were thrown around his neck, pressing her swollen and slightly wet eyes against his blonde hair.

The music stopped abruptly, but still not roughly. Her hold tightened, and she sighed, soul and pain buried deep inside his warmth.

Relief.

Comfort.

Tamaki seemed to struggle with his own speech and opened his mouth to say something that never came out.

Haruhi ignored it. She also didn’t pay attention to the growing heat coming from his cheeks or even the blush that was spreading over her own. Some things just needed to be done to make it right.

The last note seemed to be still hanging in the air when he slowly raised a trembling hand and placed it above hers. She didn’t mind the fact that her legs felt slightly weak, or the way her heart was racing against his back.

Haruhi was a very simple person. And, for the moment, he needed her. And she needed him. And that was all that mattered.

I truly, truly dislike autumn.


Those grey skies don't shine, but neither do they pour down as rain. They seem to me like the facade of a crisis, like a mix of heavy emotions that need to break loose but can't.

It takes my energy, my will, my cheerfulness away like a curse, stealing every little intent of smile I could have. Sadly, it also keeps my tears locked beneath my eyes.

Too much stillness.

Current Location:	Locked inside
Current Mood:	numb

I'm still asking myself which is the purpose of this journal, and thinking of how silly it's to be writing something that probably won't be read. But a start is a start (oh, that was deep).

I guess the reason of this is that I need something to make me write. I tend to dream of writing more than I actually write. Kind of sad and disappointing.
I hope that knowing that I have a public space for my writing will make me feel pressured enough to make my dream become reality.

Why English? Because the lack of usage is killing the little amount of that language that I had in me. Simple.

As for you, whoever you are (or is it myself?), don't expect too much: my writing skills are almost nonexistent , but it's the only way I have to express a little of my inner self.