Title: Romeo At The Window
Theme(s): 28, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou?
Disclaimer/claimer (if needed): Not mine, not making any money off of this.
Summary (if needed): Tamaki's romantic tendancies and grand gestures are rather wasted...
“Why won’t you come to the tropics with us? You always spend your summer with me.”
Kyouya tossed and turned, recent phone conversations with Tamaki playing over and over again in his mind.
“You haven’t given me a very good explanation. Are you mad at me?”
“Then forget about the tropics. We’ll go somewhere else. Name the place!”
“Kyouya, you’re being… you’re being obtuse!”
It was one in the morning, but sleep wouldn’t come. This wasn’t altogether strange, as Kyouya often found himself still without sleep even as dawn’s grey fingers crept over the horizon. But he was attempting to get some rest.
Tamaki’s plaintive, wounded voice wouldn’t let him.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt Tamaki. That had never been his intention, and he had done everything possible to avoid it. But the very act of attempting to avoid hurt only caused the very thing Kyouya didn’t want. He supposed he should have known, as that was how things went with Tamaki.
The problem with Tamaki was that he didn’t care about much of anything when it came to himself. He wasn’t afraid of the future, he didn’t fear for his reputation, and he didn’t give one whit about how he was perceived. His host persona was no persona - it was the sum total of his being. Tamaki bled his feelings. The thought of living life in such a way made Kyouya shiver - he imagined it would feel something like walking about naked.
There had been so much that he’d wanted to say, that last phone call. Tamaki had pleaded once more, practically begged Kyouya to come away with him. And the words had been there, all neatly formed in Kyouya’s mind.
We’re too different. I can’t take any more of this. You drive me mad, Tamaki, and you turn my life into a mockery of what it should be. You’re a buffoon who doesn’t even realize he’s a fool, and I can’t bear one more moment of your presence. You turn everything I know and believe in upside-down, and the worst part of it is… you make me feel alive. You leave me a nervous wreck, you make me angry in ways no one else can, and I think I would happily go mad at your side. And I can’t. Please leave me be.
But the words had never come. They came now, in the dark hours of morning, as Kyouya lay with his hands folded beneath his head. The only words that had come had been vague excuses about summer coursework and family duties. And Tamaki hadn’t believed it, and Kyouya hadn’t pretended that he had, and now the other boy was on some tropical island and Kyouya was miserable.
It wasn’t fair. And Kyouya had to laugh, a bitter noise beneath his covers, as his own childish thoughts. Of course it wasn’t fair. What in life ever was? It did no good to dwell on what could have been, what would have been if life were different. In another time and another place, perhaps things could go as they wished. But not here and now.
And the worst part of it was that Tamaki didn’t even seem to realize all that went on between them. For all that Tamaki felt, he was stubbornly blind to his own feelings. He clung to Kyouya, spoke words of desire and want and need, and yet never had any words of affection passed between them. The feelings were there - Tamaki exuded them with every breath - but never the words.
But that was Tamaki. Tamaki was the cause, the problem and the solution all in one. And it made Kyouya’s mind itch. Here was a problem he couldn’t solve with money, and obstacle he couldn’t scale with diplomacy and a bit of political grease. He couldn’t do anything except lay awake long into the night, eaten by guilt and regret and aggravation.
It was because of his now-nocturnal habits that the sound at his window didn’t startle him awake. It was a light thump, as though a bird had fumbled into the glass. Sitting up, Kyouya glanced towards the sound. It came again, louder this time. Whatever was beating against his window, it was no bird.
What was going on? It was now two in the morning, and the rest of the house was silent. Kyouya retrieved his glasses from the night stand and made his way cautiously to the window - he doubted it was a burglar, the family police would never let one within the grounds. Servant’s children playing, perhaps? Whatever it was, it offered a distraction. He pulled back his curtains, curious. Anything to take his mind off of…
Kyouya groaned, eyes squeezing shut as his mind began counting to ten. Tamaki, blond and pale in the half-moon light was standing under his window. Tamaki who should have been on some island. Tamaki who’s memory kept Kyouya from sleep.
Tamaki’s stage whisper carried easily up to Kyouya’s window. He was half tempted to simply make a rude gesture and go back to bed. Under normal circumstances, he’d be sleeping. And Tamaki should have known better than to wake him up.
But Tamaki was here. If it wasn’t the other boy’s memory robbing Kyouya of sleep, it was his presence. Sighing, Kyouya opened his window.
“I hope you have a very good explanation for what you’re doing here.”
Without a word, Tamaki scaled the trellis on the side of the house. Kyouya watched in bleak fascination, certain the other boy would fall. What sort of idiotic plan had Tamaki come up with now? Scaling the wall like some modern-day Romeo…
Oh no. Kyouya let out another groan as Tamaki clamored up onto his balcony, a close rose - stolen from the trellis that had served as a ladder - clenched in his teeth. Kyouya slammed the window shut, turning away. He couldn’t deal with this right now.
The pathetic tapping and plaintive whining noises of Tamaki halted his trek back to his bed. He turned, and there was the blond, pressed against his window and resembling a kitten that had been left out in the rain. The rose was still in his teeth. The miserable, hurt expression was exactly what Kyouya hated to be the cause of - but couldn’t help. Why did Tamaki always make him feel so… so foolish?
“It’s not locked,” Kyouya snapped, and turned away once more. He heard the window open and Tamaki climb in, slipping into his bedroom. He caught a dramatic bow out of the corner of his eye and scoffed. What did Tamaki think he was? Some romantic hero from a book?
“You have absolutely no sense of romance!” Tamaki wailed, finally removing the rose from between his teeth.
“Why aren’t you in the tropics?” He didn’t want to hear Tamaki ramble on about romance.
“You wouldn’t come with me.”
The simple, bland statement hit Kyouya like a physical blow. He turned, his angry expression fallen into one of shock. A rare thing, reserved only for Tamaki.
“You always spend summer with me,” Tamaki went on, holding out the limp rose. Kyouya sighed, stricken. He was angry and annoyed and nervous and boggled all at once. And only Tamaki could do this to him - wind him up and string him out and knock him down like this. There was nothing he could say. He had no response to offer to Tamaki’s gesture, his foolish stunt which was wasted on Kyouya.
“I’m going back to bed,” Kyouya finally said, snatching the ridiculous flower from Tamaki’s hand. He set it on the bedside table, his glasses quickly coming to rest beside it. Tamaki was already buried beneath the sheets when he turned to climb into bed. How was he supposed to let go when Tamaki held on so tightly?
“You drive me mad,” Kyouya muttered, joining Tamaki and rolling onto his side, turning his back to the boy.
“You’re so dramatic when you’re tired,” Tamaki said, snuggling up close. Kyouya sighed, unable to argue. It wasn’t worth it. Arguing with Tamaki was akin to beating his head against a brick wall - only that would be slightly more productive and cause less of a headache.
“Goodnight, Tamaki,” he said, firmly. Tamaki made a content noise, spooned tightly against Kyouya’s back. They could have it out tomorrow. Not that it would do any good, they’d simply run in the same circles they always did until Tamaki pounced, and the argument descended into a tangle of limbs and kisses and whispered endearments. But that was for tomorrow.
And tomorrow… Kyouya supposed he’d have to have one of the servants put the flower in some water. It would be a waste to simply let it shrivel up and die.