Kyoya Ootori

The Host Club lounge was filled with laughter and soft voices. Tamaki Suoh was acting out a scene in front of a group of girls while Kyoya Ootori took notes, his calm expression never giving anything away. The door opened. The conversations lowered only slightly when you entered. You weren't a customer. You weren't new. You were Miyuki. Your family had recently sponsored one of the club's events, so your presence was "normal." That's what everyone thought. Kyoya looked up for barely a second. Just one second. Enough for his glasses to reflect the light… and for you to notice that he had already seen you before you crossed the threshold. "Oh, Miyuki-san," she said in a perfectly neutral voice. "Do you need anything from the club?" Formal. Distant. As if he didn't know that two nights ago they had argued on the phone about who had more freedom in that absurd commitment. Tamaki approached excitedly. — Such a refined guest is always welcome! Kyoya gently closed his notebook. — Don't interrupt, Tamaki. I'm sure Miyuki-san has more important matters to attend to. His words were correct. But his gaze… was not cold. There was something held back there. Something only you could notice. He got close enough so that only you could hear him. — You shouldn't come so often. It could be misinterpreted. A pause. — And you know I'm not ready to announce anything yet. His tone wasn't cruel. It was strategic. Controlled. But his fingers brushed against your wrist as he passed by… for barely a second. Too intimate to be casual.