Angel of Music

 

 

2 Months Ago

 

It was the day of Haruhi's final exam. After all of their years together, Haruhi and Ouran had an understanding. It had become apparent to the student body that Haruhi was a woman, and many girls with more generous hearts had offered their old school dresses as hand-me-downs so she didn't have to keep wearing the men's suits. Always she respectfully declined, preferring the mobility the suit offered her. This preference lead the school's student body to believe Haruhi to be a lesbian, and because of that, her clientele had shifted. But today, her last day of school, she wore a dress. 

 

She allowed herself one last look in Music Room 3. The room would be empty and free from any decoration save for a few chairs and instruments, its original use restored. 

 

Haruhi couldn't help but feel sad as she left a hand rest on the back of a sofa. Eclair may have paid her debt to the Host Club at the fair three years ago, but since Tamaki's return she had stayed on. She loved her friends, the costumes, the parties, even if it had little logic to her. The Host Club had become her family, and one she loved dearly. 

 

Earlier in the week she had paid her respects to Chairperson Suoh, thanking him for his scholarship and allowing her attendance. It had been the first time in several months since she had seen Tamaki, who was fully under the tutelage of his father now. He hadn't the time to talk to her. 

 

But from another room, Haruhi heard the soft tinkling of piano. She let the music play longer, not wanting to disrupt the student and their practicing, until she realized that the school should mostly be empty. Slowly, she let her hand fall back to her side and she followed the music, curious by whomever was playing the beautiful song.

 

A tall man with short blonde hair played. It was nicely kept but still shaggy, as though he had it styled business-like at one point during the day but had constantly run his hand through it. He was dressed, from what Haruhi could see standing behind him, in a nice suit in a light charcoal. The music stopped and Haruhi froze, watching with interest as he found his notes and scribbled upon them, composing more of his song. 

 

"Damn it, Haruhi..." He whispered softly as he gave up on his task, frustrated. At the sound of her name she gasped, believing herself to have been caught spying, and the man spun to face her. 

 

"Sempai?" His mouth which was left open in his surprise hung lower. He hadn't expected Haruhi to find him, and he certainly hadn't expected her in a dress. 

 

"Haruhi." He feverishly tidied his notes and closed the piano. He ran his hand through his shorter hair. 

 

"What are you doing here?" It wasn't the response he was hoping for, but it didn't stop him from leaping off the piano stool and wrapping her into a tight embrace. He didn't answer her question. 

 

"You cut your hair." 

He gave a soft chuckle and it tickled the hair at the back of her neck. She relaxed, and wrapped her arms around him finally. 

"I had to," he spoke when he pulled away. "I'm to takeover soon and I can't be taken seriously with such a young hair cut." That surprised Haruhi, who would have thought him to defy trivial expectations like that. 

"When I saw you in my father's -- the Chairperson's office -- I got inspired. I haven't played the piano in a long time since --"

 

"Since Eclair?" 

"Mm." The silence was thick between them. 

"Play something for me? I always loved to hear you play." 

 

He nodded, his smile brightening his features. He took her hand and held it gently before bowing. 

 

"It would be my pleasure." Always the Host.

 

He guided her to the piano stool to sit beside him as he rearranged his sheet music. He lifted the lid and with a final look to Haruhi, he placed his hands on the ivory keys. 

 

He played the song he had been working on, and Haruhi, though not that learned in music to give an elite opinion on its quality, thought it was a lovely piece regardless, but the changes in tempo were obvious enough to tell her that he had worked on the piece over several months at least, and in varying moods. When the sheet music played out, Tamaki continued to tap the keys and he led her into a classical piece. An invisible force pulled at her chest and squeezed at her lungs forcing her to be breathless and she drew a breath.

Tamaki smelled like oranges. 

 

"It's beautiful." Tamaki smirked. 

"You're beautiful," He corrected her and his playing slowed to a standstill. It seemed like the last note echoed in the music room. A hand reached for her face, tilting it towards his. 

 

"Forgive me," he whispered against her mouth before he took his kiss. Haruhi could taste the oranges on his lips. She remained frozen against him, afraid to move in fear that the dizziness that rushed to her head would cause her to fall over. His hands steadied on her shoulders and she felt confident enough to move, now that he was holding her upright. His hair was shorter than she would have liked and she had to hold gently to the blonde lest her hand just fall from his shaggy hair. 

 

He removed his hands from his shoulders but did not break their kiss. Blindly he undid his suit jacket and removed it, tossing it without a thought on the floor. It could be cleaned. 

Hands cupped her face so he could claim those lips with more determination. His breathing became heavy as he tasted her lips, finally taking what he had waited so long for. Tamaki dropped his hand and pressed it to the small of her back, his fingers kneading through the dress' soft fabric. Haruhi pressed her chest against him, her hands falling to rest on his arms. He grew bold, his free hand finding the zipper to her dress and tugging gently down her back. She panicked, pulling her mouth from his in surprise and found herself staring in his eyes. 

 

What she saw in those large blue eyes was love, but he could easily fake that, she told herself. He had made a career out of faking love and she wondered if she could trust him to be sincere now. 

 

But the eyes also gave her a pleading and told her of a need. She did not protest when he continued after their moment's hesitation. The neck of her dress fell open and she blushed red with embarrassment as it displayed the white straps of a bra that led to a soft white cotton cup. Once the zipper reached his other hand at the base of her spine he felt her skin, his body purring with his want, his love, his need of her. His hands traced invisible paths up her back and past her bra clasp to her neck and shoulders, where he tastefully let his fingers tap the keys he visualized on her skin. He pulled from her to loosen his tie and pull it over his head and undo the small white buttons of his white shirt from their eyelets. 

His white shirt fell to a crumple next to his suit jacket and tie. In what seemed to be one full movement the piano lid was shut and Haruhi was lifted to sit on the heavy wood over the keyboard. Her mouth reached to taste him as he threw his sheet music off the piano. The bodice of her dress fell, her hands caught up in touching him, as the last of the papers scattered the floor. 

 

He tasted her skin, his hot breath misting against her neck and jaw.