Hope you’re not getting sick of kurotsuki asks... but kurotsuki with a host!au?
i’m not sure if this is a ohshc!au but that’s the only host!au i know so that’s what you gon’ get sdfghfsghdjff
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Okay. Here’s the thing.
Tsukishima Kei is the only scholar of the school. He’s fought tooth and nail for this, been to hell and back for this. So, really, he’s not here to make friends or rub elbows with the rich. No. He’s here to study. Get the best grades, get into Tokyo University’s med school program under a full scholarship, graduate with honors, be a doctor, get rich.
Get rich. That’s the end goal.
And maybe heal and save people’s lives, sure, whatever.
But ultimately, get rich.
That was the plan—that is until he entered the third music room and broke a vase that costs more than everything his family owns and his life combined.
Get rich. That is the end goal. But how can he do that when he has 8M yen worth of debt and it hasn’t been a week since school started.
He knew he should’ve stayed at the library. He knew he should’ve sucked it up, plugged his earphones, and stayed at the library even with all the noise and the chatter. He could’ve even just found an empty janitor’s closet. He’s sure it’s probably as spacious as his house in a rich school such as this. He didn’t have to enter the third music room and break an 8M yen vase and subsequently run into the bunch of weirdos that is The Host Club.
Kei sighs as he finishes putting on the uniform. He’s just been promoted from ‘host dog’ to an official ‘host’ after Oikawa (The Grand King) decided that he has potential. Whatever the hell he means by that.
He walks out of the changing room and is greeted by all the hosts all with various degrees of approval and enthusiasm. Bokuto (The Jock Type) and Oikawa were the most vocal amongst them. They would probably have stood there all day crowding into Kei’s personal space if it wasn’t for Akaashi (The Cool Type—and probably the only sane one of the bunch, Kei thinks, but if he’s agreed to be in this asinine club he can’t be all that sane) ushering them all back to ‘work’—as if chatting and flirting with gaggles of girls can be called work.
There is one who lingers though and Kei frowns as he continues to stare at him, looking as if he’s considering something of Kei.
“What—“ Kei pauses for a second remembering his name. “Kuroo-san, was it? Why are you still looking at me like that?”
Kuroo (The—Kei is not exactly sure what ‘type’ he is. Based on his appearance, he’d say he’s the rebel type if only that title didn’t already belong to Terushima and apparently each host is a unique type) tilts his head to the side and adopts a thoughtful expression.
“You know,” he says finally just as Kei was on the verge of snapping. “I think Tooru is wrong. I think the glasses suit you best.”
Kei…did not expect that.
“O-oh.”
Earlier, Oikawa had given him a pair of contact lenses because he said his glasses make him look dorky and that he has beautiful eyes it’s such a shame to hide them behind thick-framed glasses. Kei much rather prefers wearing glasses but for the sake of Oikawa shutting up he acquiesced to the contacts even when it does makes his eye itch.
“I mean, not that you don’t look, well, uhm, stunning without glasses on. It’s just that—I think you look better with your glasses.” Kuroo moves to the table inside the dressing room where Kei has left his glasses. “Here. It’s obvious that you’re more comfortable in them. I have a similar pair but the glasses look doesn’t really suit me.”
“I—thanks,” Kei says as he finishes removing his contacts and putting his glasses back on. He ignores the heat on his cheek at the realization that he’s just been called stunning.
“Don’t mention it and don’t listen to what Oikawa says. None of us do. Half the time it’s just useless babble anyway.”
Kuroo smiles and Kei couldn’t help the answering smile that persistently tugged at the corner of his lips.
Kuroo makes to leave first leaving Kei to gather his things but before he can completely disappear to the main room Kei calls out.
“Kuroo-san.”
“Hm?”
“I…I think you’ll probably look okay with your glasses on. You should just wear it if…if that’s what you’re more comfortable.”
He looks taken aback by what Kei said and Kei, suddenly feeling that he might have overstepped his boundaries, prepared to take back his words, but Kuroo just smiles before turning his back and going his way, raising a hand in farewell.
Kuroo has a nice smile, he thinks, warm and genuine.
Maybe this host club won’t be too insufferable after all.
BNHA Ouran High host club AU! ?? Oh the headcanons for days. Got any ideas??
Okay, about this, first of all, I have never seen OHSHC in its entirety (please don’t kill me anon ヾ( •́д•̀ ;)ﾉ) so I just went with what I remembered and what the Wiki/my gf could remind me about lol these only cover the beginning of the story, I hope you like them!
Yuuei High School Host Club
Yuuei is in the top 3 best schools in Japan - there’s three ways you can get in: having a good background and great grades (also wealth, but lineage comes first overall), having a great Quirk that can impress both through your control and its strength, and a scholarship if you’re lucky enough
You fall into the last category, leading to other students bickering behind you and whispering about your reasons to be there; hiding behind your androgynous appearance and a stoic face, you kept on pushing forward through your days at the school
Looking for a quiet place to study, you entered another department’s building, unknown to you, and when you entered a random room that seemed to be deserted you were met with a nicely decorated room in which the Host Club is holding a meeting
You’re scared by the way they all greet you in unison as soon as you enter only to confuse you with a boy, and while you try to walk away from the room after realizing where you just entered you accidentally knock over and break a very expensive vase, prompting them to offer you to work with them to pay off the debt left
Todoroki Shouto is a first-year and the president of the Club as well as the son of the school’s chairman, Enji; while he acts a bit flirtatious and narcissistic when he’s on duty, you soon find how innocent he can be and that he hides way more things than you’re aware of - is the first most requested host
Bakugou Katsuki is a first-year and the vice-president, and while sometimes he can get into troubles due to being short-tempered, you learn of his more pragmatic side and the fact that he’s the one with the best grades in the Club honestly surprises you - he also works the hardest to become a suitable heir to his family’s fashion business
Aoyama Yuuga is a first-year and dubbed the cheeky member, the one who’s always spontaneous and funny in his own little way - has a tendency to ask people to guess where he was whenever he’s not present, and if they guess wrongly he’ll later play some prank on them
He’s honestly taken aback the first time he asks you as you reply correctly on your first try, and he takes a liking to you
Midoriya Izuku is a first-year and the counterpart to Aoyama in a way - he’s on the shy side and usually gets requested a lot as he acts all cute and flustered when on duty; he can also be level-headed and mature, and has a habit to mutter to himself as he takes notes about the different clients that come to the Club
Togata Mirio is one of the two oldest members of the Club and a third-year at Yuuei - he’s dubbed ‘the hidden force’ of the Club due to looking really cute and friendly as a puppy but as soon as someone gets on his bad side he’ll become fearsome and protect those around him; loves ramen with a passion and makes sure to have at least one serving everyday, even if it’s just cup noodles
He’s also the second most requested host after Shouto - Mirio’s smile is said to be able to make anyone who sees it faint due to its cuteness (a rumour you quickly disprove, although you do find him adorable)
Amajiki Tamaki is the second oldest member of the Club and the best friend of Mirio; he’s the one who almost never speaks but that would give his life to protect those around him in a heartbeat if he needed to - takes care of Mirio’s borderline addiction to ramen and has a small octopus as a pet
Is there nevermore Ouran high school host club au yet?
Oh. Oh my god.
You do not know what you have triggered.
70% of my personality is MADE of ouran host club.
LET ME THINK LET ME THINK. HOW WOULD THIS EVEN WORK.
.
.
.
OK GOT IT
Lenore creats the host club for shits and giggles to not die of boredom in this super elitist school full of stuck up assholes.
Instead of going to the pREtTiesT BOyS she goes up to the outcasts of the outcasts and says yo. Let's make people some people MAD.
So they do <3
She goes first to this guy, Duke, famous for his sassy quips and incredible 💫flair💫. They click immediately.
They then go hunt this lil freak called Pluto, so shy and antisocial many don't even know he goes to that school.
Then Berenice pops up like chaos? Count me in baby! And with her Eulalie comes along. She's just happy to be there.
The last one to join is Morella, Lenore's long-time friend and local sweetheart, who is a bit nervous about the project.
With Lenore's charm, this ragtag club of rejects becomes incredibly famous in the school, with long ass wait lists to be served by one of the hosts, who are a breath of fresh air from the fake and stilted atmosphere of the school.
There is only one problem: the journalism club.
Composed of the richest, most snobbish and entitled people in the school (and Ada for some reason???) who use their information for blackmail and bullying. They feel very threatened by this club of nobodies, who is slowly getting more and more traction.
What they do not know, is that Annbel Lee's, their ruthless leader, and Lenore's relationship goes way beyond a simple school feud...
---
THIS GOT WAY TO SERIOUS LMAO. It's basically just the wacky hijinks of the og anime but there are big bad mean bullies now
IF YOU HAVE YOUR OWN VERSION OF THE AU TELL ME PLIZ!!!! THIS IS FEEDING PARTS OF MY BRAIN I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I HAD
a/n: This is all I have from a year ago when I very ambitiously attempted a fic fest that I unfortunately had to withdraw from because of time restraints. I’m awful. However, this is everything I did have prepared, not enough for a concrete entry in my opinion, but a decent enough oneshot for now since I haven’t posted here in a very, very long while.
This is very raw, carelessly edited and in first person (which you all know is not my forte), but I love Ouran High School Host Club. I hope you like it despite all that, do let me know! :)
The Day Everything Went Wrong.
Itwasn't like I intended to get into trouble.
In fact, I don't often get into trouble at all. I'm very good at being good. My father thinks it's because I'm an old soul who's been damaged by the death of my mother. I think it's because I grew up with a parent who left me to tuck myself into bed at night when I was six.
On the plus side, the worrying childhood meant I'd managed to get into (the very expensive and elite) Ophelia Decartes Academy on a (competitive) scholarship, which means I was doing alright. So I had to shear off most of my hair after someone stuck chewing gum in it on the train to the school, and I lost my contacts on my first day, forcing me to wear glasses – I was still top of my class.
Life, in comparison to how it usually fell apart, was good.
Which probably means I had it coming.
This theory was confirmed that morning, as I looked down at the absolutely horrifyingly ugly statue that I'd broken, and then at the five boys watching me like I was the ugly statue's doppelganger.
“Ooohh,” whistled Niall, blond, blue eyed and probably the most cutest thing in existence, “You're in trouble.”
“Boys,” said Louis, the leader of the much fawned over Host Club, with a particularly nasty glint in his eye, “We have a new serf.”
You didn't have to have my IQ to know he meant me.
So, journal, this is me, Max Suoh, scholarship student, Academy commoner and Host Club servant, telling you that – make no mistake – I am in trouble.
The Day With the Gender Identity
Host Clubs are some sort of weird rich people thing, journal.
They're essentially a group of boys (or girls) doing what the geishas in Japan used to: fawning over customers in exchange for money. It might not be prostitution, but it comes pretty bloody close, if you ask me.
Not that anyone would. I'm the commoner, you know?
From what Zayn and Harry had explained, the members of the Host Club each had their own appeal, which made girls request them for dates or small meetings. Louis Tomlinson, as the most requested, was the leader or King – in his words, not mine. N e v e r m i n e.
I don't see the appeal, even with the pretty blue eyes and cheeky grin and smooth words.
Then there's Niall Horan, the excitable one, for anyone who went for the cheerful boy-next-door type. He's admittedly rather adorable. Similarly, Zayn Malik was requested for his capacity to hold an intelligent conversation while smouldering like a Vogue model, then Liam Payne for the typical athletic boy charm, and Harry Styles for his mischievious hipster act.
It's all really fucking weird, even though Louis insists that the club exists to make girls happy.
If that doesn't sound like something a pimp would say, I don't know what would.
I swiped at my hair as I dragged in the three bags of groceries for tea. Zayn, the host club's smart and silent archetype, had handed me a list before sending me off for my first errand as the club's gofer.
“You're lucky we're letting you work off the cost of that statue,” he had said, face as impassive as ever. “It was going to make that club a pretty sound amount of money at the school's auction. You'd never be able to pay us off.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“Everyone knows you're a scholarship student, mate,” Harry had said, with a grin. “Which means you're – well, pardon my language - poor.”
It was difficult to miss the delicate way he'd said the words.
All I was doing was looking for a place to study, since the other study halls appeared to function as some sort of social watering hole. Entering study hall 3 and sliding on the abnormally over-polished floor had been a twisted joke, one of the little inconveniences of fate that popped up occasionally to remind one of one's position of a lowly mortal with little to no significance on the world.
That bloody statue cost ninety three thousand pounds, if you can believe it.
There was no way in heaven or hell that I could have paid them back myself.
Fucking rich people.
There was going to be no love lost between me and them, I knew. There was no way to relish this blackmail influenced deal we had, and so it was with little fondness that I pushed open the door to the study hall patronised by my new bosses.
“There you are!” Louis said, with a grand flourish of his hands. I froze in place, bracing against the flood of rose petals and glitter that blew through the usually still room, ending when he ruffled his hair and gestured that I closed the door behind. “Took you long enough!”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Apologies don't make the world go around. That's love – which, by the way, is why our customers come here. They will need their tea, so don't forget to set out the cakes and make tea and coffee and whatever else we might need.”
There was a person in the room, an unnamed King of an unnamed Host Club, who took his act very seriously, and without pointing any fingers -
It's Louis.
He's a drama queen. I've been here half a day and he's already called me a mere measly mortal, poor pitiful peasant and chatised confused commoner.
He's a drama queen with quite the talent for alliterations.
“How am I supposed to know what you -”
“What is that?” Liam asked, lifting one of the bags I'd had hauled onto the table in the corner. He only needed to hook the bag with his finger to lift it, making me wonder why he couldn't have helped me with the bags. For boys whose entire speciality lay in entertaining the Academy's rich heiress students, they'd exhibited little to no chivalry in front of me.
“Things for tea, you gave me that list - ”
“No, what's this? Written on the bag?”
“It says Tesco,” said Niall, squinting to read the printed plastic.
“What's a Tesco?” Harry seemed genuinely curious, even though I was certain they were taking the piss because everyone knew what Tesco was, obviously -
All five of the boys looked at me with similar puzzled expressions, and I realised that rich people didn't bother with supermarkets, which had fewer gourmet food items and more family value bargains.
Maybe they even drank beer out of crystal goblets instead of recyclable cans.
“Poor people drink instant coffee? With just water?”
“Is this even made from Colombian beans?”
“Is this milk powder? I thought people only used that during the war!”
“You have to be a tragic little boy orphan, like in the films.”
I rolled my eyes, resting my chin on my arms, watching the kettle boil. Apart from the copious amounts of glitter and roses everywhere, another thing I'd noticed was that the boys of the host club – not unlike everyone at the school – were convinced I'm a man.
Maybe I ought to clarify the situation, but it's not worth the effort. I was secretly determined to keep a cautious distance from the school's rich students. They can think what they like, as long as I put in my three hours a day in this surreal world to work off the thousands of pounds that god forsaken statue cost.
Besides, it stated something about the people here: they obviously didn't care about each other. If a cursory glance at the new student with trousers and short hair had been enough to brand me a boy, revealing the truth would hardly make them appreciate me more.
That's the crisis of the commoner in this school, I reckon. I have no money and no outstanding beauty, so I'm insignificant. The quiet shabby haired figure in class, the one who took the train to school instead of a limo, the one who owned an ordinary pencil instead of a fountain pen and had a paper bag lunch instead of eating at the gourmet cafeteria.
I need to be here for the reputation of the Academy, I know, but I suppose being the friendless loner is just a side effect that I'd have to deal with.
“Boys, I think it's time we get ready,” Louis announced, interrupting my internal pity party. “Our guests are about to arrive. Don't forget the little sandwiches, Max-my-man, Lady Lyanna was particularly fond of them last time.”
What a twat.
“I think you should look a little better,” said Harry, eyeing me with evident distaste. “Even as a waiter, you're still representing the host club, and it'll be easier for our clients to accept a peasant in their midst if you at least wore a uniform.”
“It would make you a lot less difficult to look at,” Niall agreed, with an unhelpful beam that won absolutely no favour from me.
I rolled my eyes for the twelfth time that day, almost slicing off my pinky in the attempt to have equally sized sandwiches. Not that the rich bastards were wrong though; I imagine my mirror would make similar comments if it could speak.
Thank goodness it can't.
“Zayn, have your tailor send over an extra school uniform for Max here. Niall, show him how rich people groom their hair.”
“Alright.”
“Okay, then, Maxxie, see, this is a hairbrush, and people use it to tame the -”
“I know what a hair brush is!”
He tilted his head at me, eyes scrunched up into a look of disbelief. “Are you sure?”
“I'm not sure he does,” said Liam, unhelpfully, tugging at the untidy flicks that were a result of my attempt at cutting my own hair after the bubblegum debacle. “He looks like my grandmum's Sheltie.”
“I can hear everything you're saying, you know.”
Forty five minutes later, the host club's guests were arriving, fawning over the boys in groups of twos and threes. In that unused study hall were essentially the heirs and CEOs-to-be of every big corporation or industry you could think of: beautiful, young people in silk dresses and personally tailored suits, reminding me – the person with the scruffy hair and a bank balance in three digits – about the Academy's motto: "Lineage counts first; wealth a close second." Essentially, it was clear that only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families were lucky enough to spend their time here.
Unless you were a penniless mongrel with a scholarship who broke a stupid statue.
Wearing one of the boys' uniforms, the trouser cuffs rolled up and jacket much too loose, I wasn't exactly blending in seamlessly. Still, I wasn't there to be judged or do any judging, so I pushed my sleeves to my elbow and concentrated on carrying the tea trays.
“Oh, Louis, you say the sweetest things ~ ”
“I can't help myself, my lady, when you're in my presence it's like Milton or Byron themselves wish to pay you respect!”
There was a torrent of sighs, and I held onto a nearby pillar discreetly so I wasn't flung across the room by the strength of female passion.
“Louis.” A girl sitting next to him on the sofa set her tea cup down, not clinking the fine bone china at all. It was rather incredible, how dainty she was, haughty and dark haired. She had favoured Louis most of the afternoon and looked at me like I was something unspeakable stuck to the sole of her shoe when I'd poured her tea earlier.
“Ah, of course. Max, Lady Lyanna should have her cup refilled.”
“Coming.” I set down a fresh plate of pastries on Niall's table, where the food was disappearing the quickest though most of his clients had brought him boxes of their own confectionery, then picked up the tea pot.
Tea sloshed into the rose patterned cup in front of Lyanna, aromatic liquid that I had to brew for the guests. It was expensive tea, you'd have thought it had gold flakes or something to be so overpriced, but nope, just tea leaves, like the kind normal people drink.
“Is this is peasant you're harbouring now?” the heiress said, suddenly, cutting into Louis' conversation with another girl.
“Yes, this is Max.”
I smiled at her when Louis looked at me, expectant, before he continued.
“He's one of the scholarship students, from the form below ours, with Harry and Niall. It's rather fascinating, how one can be both tragically poor but yet the top of their class.”
“I see.”
“I've never really interacted with commoners so closely, have you? You know they have instant coffee?”
“Instant coffee?” echoed another girl, puzzled.
“Yes!” He spoke with far too much enthusiasm than really required for mass produced flavoured dust. “It's incredible. You just have to add hot water. We tried some earlier.”
“So it's true. Poor people don't even have the time to grind their own coffee beans!”
Everyone oohed, suitably impressed, and Louis gave me a thousand watt smile. “It's going to be quite interesting to have a commoner like you around, Max.”
“I'm honoured,” I said dryly.
“You spilled my tea.” Lyanna's voice was sharp, effectively cutting through the conversation.
I blinked, looking down at her cup. There was a drop or two that must have spilled onto the saucer, barely visible. “Oh. Shall I get you another?”
“I think you should ask your serf to not waste our time with you,” she said instead, hands resting on her knees delicately. “Don't you think so, Louis?”
He hesitated, eyebrows drawn together as a frown lurked on his mouth at her words, obviously not pleased with how she spoke. His eyes flitted up to me, blue and slightly apologetic, and I spoke before he had to.
“It's okay, Louis. I'll go serve Harry's guests tea. I really am sorry, Lyanna.”
She looked at me as though I was still something unspeakable stuck to the sole of her shoe, before turning her face away without acknowledging my apology.
What a priss. But I was working for the host club, and in addition, too lazy to be bothered by every little snub or insult coming my way at this school, so I shrugged, walking away.
I can't believe this place. This school, for one. How could a club like this even be allowed? Why wasn't anyone in class? How could anyone prefer spending hours in line to talk to the hosts instead of working in a music or dance or sports club?
And most importantly, why was there a fountain of a cherub pissing into the lily pond in the grounds?
“Oh, hello, are you new?”
It took a few minutes to realise the pretty dark haired girl I was serving tea to was addressing me.
Giving her my best smile, I nodded. “Yes. I'm Max Suoh.”
“You're the scholarship student!” said another girl, “You were so good in algebra today.”
“I was?”
“Yes,” she said. Then, suddenly shy, she tucked her hair behind her ear delicately. “You won't remember me, but I'm in your class...”
“You're Janet Smithson! Of course I remember you. You look so nice out of uniform.”
At that, she blushed to the roots of her hair, making the other girls giggle. I blinked in confusion, unsure why they would react to a remark so very insignificant. The girls' uniform consisted of a Victorian-like pinafore, with stockings and oxford shoes that were flattering on practically no one, which was why I strove to imitate the boys' uniform instead.
Harry, who had been surrounded by the now distracted girls, grabbed me by the collar and yanked me away. With little of his usual ease, he bit out, “Stop stealing my customers, you little shit.”
“There's no need to be rude, Harry,” said Zayn, who had watched the whole exchange. He seemed to have an incredible talent for lurking unobtrusively. “Janet's father owns a group of very successful holiday resorts, and if Max can please her, he should.”
“Am I the only one hearing how prostitute-y this whole club is?”
Both of the boys ignored me, Harry scowling while Zayn adjusted the glasses that perched on his nose. “If Janet likes Max, let him entertain her so your time is freed up.”
“Don't I get a say in this?” I asked flatly, as they conferred above my head.
“Of course.” Louis waved his hand in a grand sweep again, wrapping his arm around my shoulders before declaring, “Seeing your talent with the ladies who attend our club provides us the chance to offer you a deal! You need to have 150 designations, that is, of course, one hundred and fifty ladies must request you to host them, which would - ”
“I'm not doing it,” I said grouchily, shrugging off his arm and moving away from them. “This whole thing is bloody mental, and I don't like -”
“If you work as a host, you'll work off your debt faster,” Zayn said in between my tirade, pushing his glasses up again.
“...So do I have to sign a contract or anything?” I finished weakly.
Alright, so maybe I'm a sell out – but there was no way I was going to be daft enough to turn down an opportunity to leave here quicker, even if it meant being a host.
So that was why I spent the next hour of my day flocked by pretty girls. I won't lie about the attention being rather nice, and they laughed at my stories, taking turns to sit next to me. That was the thing about girls, see, most of them are secure enough to express their opinions, both good and bad. Maybe it was instinctive to feel this twinge of scorn about the normal students at this school, but if I had to be fair, most of them were sincerely very nice. It may still irritate me that they took things for granted, but they were goodnatured and polite, not unlike my old classmates. I couldn't help basking in their careful attention, catching on to why the boys in the club enjoyed being fawned over so much.
“Max, you have really pretty eyes.”
“Yeah! It's a shame you have to wear those glasses.”
“Shall I cut you a slice of cake, Maxxie?”
“Let me pour you some more tea!”
Picking up a biscuit iced prettily with flowers and leaves, I noted that the beautiful confectionery was so well crafted that I just couldn't bring myself to bite into it. After a childhood of microwave dinners and slapdash meals, I'd found that I had an undeniable weakness for fine food. The gorgeous tea served that day was the stuff of dreams and posh culinary shows, probably expensive enough to serve as one month rent for me. Still, it was all there, available for me and my ravenous stomach.
“It's so lovely,” I sighed, putting the biscuit down. “I can't eat it.”
“Oh, but there’s loads more,” said Karen, pushing forward the china plate heaped with biscotti. “Go on!”
“What do poor people have for tea?” Janet asked, sincerely curious. Then her grey eyes widened in horror. “Do you have tea at all?”
My eyebrow twitched at the question. That was another thing I'd picked up – all their questions about people less fortunate than them were typically ignorant, even if they were genuinely well meaning.
Fucking rich people.
“We have biscuits and pound cake and all that, but...I wonder how much work went into making that one cookie, see? Cooking at home is such a pain, so I reckon something like that was a lot more difficult.”
“Ohhhh.” The girls nodded in understanding, even as Karen looked confused.
“You have to cook your own meals? What about your parents?”
“My dad works late hours, so I like to let him rest during the day. And my mother,” I paused, looking up at the girls with hesitance. “My mum died couple of years ago.”
“Oh no!” Karen gasped, hand flying to her throat in a display of shock. “I'm so sorry, Max!”
“It's okay,” I told her, patting her knee in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “She was a lovely woman, and a great cook. Sometimes, when I have time, I like to use her recipes for dinner. I like to think she'd be glad we're eating healthy instead of the usual bowl of instant ramen.”
All of them wore similar expressions of sympathy, one or two with hands held to their hearts in dismay.
What a bunch of fools. But still, I couldn't help thinking with a pang of mild affection in the midst of my disdain, they were so goodnatured, I couldn't really be upset.
“You're so brave!” cried Enid, ringlets of hair flying behind her as she shook her head violently.
“No, no,” I said, alarmed to see that her large brown eyes were actually brimming with tears. “Please don't be sad on my account, love.”
That only served to intensify the volatile emotional sympathy and suddenly I was sitting in the midst of teenaged girls dabbing their eyes with lace handkerchiefs.
“So brave!”
The words what the fuck were appropriate, and I thought them in my head.
Fortunately, the club's hours came to a close soon after. I waved goodbye to my, well - guests, I suppose I could call them now - tilting my head at a few as they beamed at me, thanking them for their time. It was only when the door closed behind the last girl, Lyanna (who didn't miss the opportunity to shoot me a look of deep contempt) that Liam and Harry grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me onto the sofa.
“What the -”
“You,” Zayn said, in that understated clear way of his, “are a complete natural.”
“I am?”
“It's incredible!” Louis declared, eyes shining with enthusiasm and approval. “Marvellous! Brilliant! Uncle Tommo is so proud!”
“Who's Uncle Tommo?”
“Is that true?” Harry asked, eyebrows high on his forehead as he fixed me with a stare. “The thing about your mother? Or were you just playing up the sympathy card for the girls?”
I bristled. “Not only do I not know what that means - I wouldn't lie about something that personal just for a few minutes' worth of tears and sympathy!”
Louis stepped in, shutting Harry up effectively by smacking him in the face with another careless wave of his hand. “The ladies loved it, at any rate. We were listening in, and I have to tell you, Max-my-man, your appalling lack of personal style didn't deter from your appeal at all.”
“It's true,” Liam said, as Niall nodded behind him. “I've never seen someone be such a hit so quickly.”
“I'm so relieved,” I bit out sourly.
“You should be,” Zayn retorted, tapping away on the tablet that seemed to be permanently fixed to him. “More than half of your guests have requested that you host them again. At this rate, you'll be able to work off your debt sooner as well.”
“Seriously?” There it was, my silver lining. “You're not taking the piss, are you?”
“You should probably cut back on the language though,” Niall said, waving a knowing finger around the air before tapping my nose with it.
“I'll keep it in mind,” I deadpanned. It hardly mattered anyway, since the hosts had already turned away from me, beginning to talk about the theme for the next day.
“...silk, I think, for the costumes,” Harry was saying, with relish, as Liam nodded in support.
I would have probably been more worried about that, in retrospect, but at that moment, something else caught my eye.
There was glimmering from under one of the tables, and I followed it, curious. Kneeling down, I looked under the table Louis and his clients had been sitting earlier, wondering what was reflecting the fading sunlight from the adjacent window.
It was a watch, a pretty little thing, dainty and obviously worth a tremendous amount of money. A diamond encrusted face was attached to two parallel straps of braided gold, the numbers carved out of shining red stones.
One of the guests must have dropped it on the floor during their visit. Picking it up, I opened my mouth to tell one of the hosts, when loud yells floated in through the open French windows.
“What was that?” Niall rushed to the window first, followed by the other boys. “It's a fight, isn't it?”
Liam whistled, “Oooh, looks like that would have hurt. What on earth are they doing?”
I joined them, watching as two boys rolled around on the grass outside, attempting to take the others' head off, cheered on by a few scuffy looking classmates, while the majority of the people watching seemed horrified.
“It's the mob kids,” Zayn said blandly, after a moment. “They must be from rival gangs.”
He sounded almost bored by the reason, and I gawked at him. “There are mob kids here?”
“Of course. Their families are as wealthy as any politician or business owner.”
“But I reckon their reputation...”
“The Academy can hardly turn away the children of the mob families from the school. It would anger every single one of them, and they wouldn't want to risk that. They aren't exactly poor either. You needn't worry or be scared, Max. All of the mob related students are usually in a class different from the ones with respectable families. Your division consists of the upper crust, and you are with them, even though you have no money, purely because of your marks.”
“I wasn't scared,” I protested. “I was just saying that - ”
“You know what you need?” Louis said, changing the subject and successfully bringing attention back to himself. “Contact lenses. You have such nice eyes, doesn't he, Zayn? Look how shiny they are in the sun.”
All of them almost instantly turn to observe me, and although I wasn't very short, they were all taller than me and I had the overwhelming sensation I was being studied.
“Please stop,” I said, uncomfortably.
“You're right,” Harry mused thoughtfully. “It's weird. At some angles you look...”
That may have been the moment they realised I'm a girl, because I think I quite literally watched them piece it together in their minds, the cogs turning in their brain and there was a little bulb that flickered on. It's funny, really, because there was a change in the way they saw me, their eyes less speculative and more calculating. Zayn's eyebrow raised by one sixth of an inch, Harry's mouth parted, Niall and Liam exchanged a confused look.
I could imagine the next question: why didn't you correct us?
“I don't get it,” Louis frowned. “He looks like what?”
All the other hosts' heads snapped to their leader, who hadn't managed to grasp what the others had. They would have probably clued them in, and we would have had a tedious conversation about why I was currently a crossdresser, which would be difficult to explain because I wasn't, not really, but seeing what my father's profession was, I could also argue it ran in the family.
Fortunately, the eventual confusion was delayed by the room's door slamming open.
Everyone turned to see Lyanna standing at the entrance, eyes wild and hair in disarray. She strode in, almost stamping as she walked purposefully towards us.
“Is something the matter, Lady Lyanna?” Zayn asked coolly. He seemed as unruffled as always, like nothing ever bothered him, not even the angry girl heading towards him with fire spitting out her eyes.
“Lady Lyanna!” Louis greeted, even going as far as giving her a slight bow. It would have been ridiculous from anyone else, but he managed to make it look charming, tossing his fringe a little.
It also had some sort of calming affect on the heiress, who gathered herself before she spoke, hands on her hips. “I seem to have misplaced my watch.”
“Your watch?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Here? Are you sure?”
“Of course I'm sure!” she snapped. “I had it on while I was here, because I remember checking the time for my slot with Louis. It's gone now!”
She held up her forearm for our benefit, and sure enough, her skinny wrist was bare.
“Oh no.” Niall sounded genuinely concerned, and I had the uncanny feeling he probably was. He just seemed the kind of person to want everyone to be happy. “Do you want us to search for it?”
“What does it look like?” Liam asked, rolling his sleeves up, which was idiotic because it wasn't as though his bare muscled forearms would magically cause the watch to reappear.
“It's gold, inlaid with garnets and diamonds. I got it for my birthday, and it's priceless. My mother had it made for me, so there quite literally isn't another one like it.”
“Don't worry, Lyanna.” Louis grinned at her, flicking his hair again. “You can just leave it to us. We exist to ensure the smiles of our guests and -”
I rolled my eyes, stuffing my hands into my pockets as he began his usual spiel. My fingers brushed against something unexpected, cold and metallic and I drew it out, perplexed.
The gorgeously expensive watch lay in my hand, and I realised I must have shoved it into the pockets of my trousers before going to have a look at the fight.
My eyes went from the watch straight to Lyanna, who had been watching me. Her face was aghast, before it scrunched up in fury.
“You!” She pointed her index finger at me dramatically. “The commoner! You took my watch!”
“What?” I said, instantly, alarmed at the leap her reasoning had taken. “I did not! I found it on the ground!”
“I saw you take it out of your pocket!” she said loudly, accusingly.
“Max?” Louis looked at me, and I wasn't sure if he was being accusatory or just asking me to justify myself, his tone completely bland, but even if the suspicion was in my own mind, it hit me across the face like a smack. I couldn't bear the idea that Louis Tomlinson with the blue eyes and cheeky smile thought I was a lowly thief.
There was something strange about that, I would realise later. It was almost painful, the need to know that Louis believed me.
“I didn't steal it.” My words wobbled a little, and I addressed them to the boys more than Lyanna. “I found it on the ground earlier and got distracted by the commotion outside so I must have put it into my pocket. But I would never steal anything.”
“Don't you lie to me!” She said, voice like steely knives. “What'd you think, hm? No one would comment if you wore something like that? You can't even afford your own uniform!”
“What on earth is the matter with you?” I demanded, feeling the back of my neck heat up like it did when I was bothered or embarrassed. “I don't want your bloody watch! Here, take it.”
Crossing over to her, I grabbed her hand to put the trinklet in her palm, but she wretched her wrist out of my fingers, picking up a tea kettle on the table nearby. “Don't you touch me, you peasant!”
Then, unexpectedly and much to my horror, she threw the fucking thing at me.
My hands flew up to shield my face involuntarily, and the china exploded against the wall behind me after drenching me in a lukewarm Earl Grey blend. Soaked in rich people tea, and having narrowly avoided a rich people tea set embedded in my skull, I opened my eyes to see Louis' back to me, as though protecting me from the rage of the teenaged girl.
Which was very brave, I'm sure, but it was too late. The damage was done.
I smelled like a luxurious beverage.
“Max,” Zayn said quietly, “Please give me the watch.”
Still a little stunned at the girl's violent reaction, I gaped at his open palm for a moment before comprehension kicked in. The watch slid from my fingers to his, the diamond surface still catching the light in a manner nothing less than spectacular.
There was silence as Zayn walked up to Lyanna. After a well timed dramatic pause (so difficult to get right, honestly), he held the watch in front of her, dropping it in the air. Her hands shot up to grasp it before it fell to the ground, and she glared at the back of his head as he went back to Louis' side.
“You're very pretty, Lady Lyanna,” Louis said, finally. “Very pretty, very well connected. However, as much as we may have enjoyed having you at our club, we're going to have to politely ask you to never come again.”
There were multiple seconds of mute outrage, before she managed to choke out, “You're banning me?”
“I'm sorry,” Zayn said, like he wasn't in the least. “But this kind of behaviour doesn't suit the club, nor it's rules, which Louis has been very clear about from the beginning.”
“B-but he stole my watch! That mongrel brat!”
“Max says otherwise,” Harry told her, his tone frosty.
“We haven't known you long.” Niall tilted his head a little at me, a smile smile lifting his mouth. “But we don't think you're a liar.”
Which was ironic, I suppose, because till a minute or two ago, I'd let them think I was a man.
“So you believe him?” Lyanna demanded, voice rising a few octaves.
A towel dropped on my head before Liam repied simply, “Yes.”
“Oh.” My hands went to the flannel, rubbing it into my head to soak up the tea, because it gave me something to do in the situation. My insides were acting strange, expanding with warmth; the completely unexpected feeling of acceptance washed over me and in that moment, I knew I didn't hate the idiotic members of the host club.
I may even like them, I thought, the idea making my lips turn up.
Lyanna, faced by the boys' unforgiving stony expressions, made a sound halfway between a sob and a shriek. Turning sharply on the heel of her shoe, she left the study room before she could combust into tears.
I wouldn't say she didn't deserve it, because I did still have tea all over me, but I could still feel sorry for her. She resented me, but all of it stemmed from bitterness that a complete outsider could work their way into her life like I did. Even if I did work hard for it, I was, after all, still a commoner, a peasant.
But now, as the boys began fussing over me (Zayn and Liam standing to the side, a little more dignified in their concern), I knew that it didn't matter that I had a debt or that my family didn't even have a car.
“I think we have spare clothes somewhere,” Niall was saying, and Harry nodded.
“Yeah, my mum's designs from one of our events last year. They're girls' clothes though.”
“Anything is better than this, I'm sure,” Louis said firmly, grabbing me by the shoulder. “We have changing rooms and a bathroom. Go get cleaned up, Harry'll bring you a change of clothes for you to go home in. Go on, then!”
With that, he imperiously shoved me towards the bathroom, which was a posh affair, beautifully designed. It was also undeniably weird, seeing that it was a study hall. I assumed that the host club had had to make some changes to the room to make it suitable for hosting – not to mention the fact that they clearly had no grasp of the concept of making the best of a situation. If they'd felt that they needed a golf course and indoor pool to be able to run their club, I had no doubt it would all appear overnight.
I wasn't going to complain, at any rate. Thanks to the inflexibility of the rich, I could now wash my face with foamy vanilla soap, comb through my now stringy hair for stray tea leaves, and change into the spare clothes I'd been given: a pair of denim shorts and a dark red t shirt that was slightly too big for me.
There was no way I would look like a boy in these.
“What's taking you so long?” Harry was whining outside the door, and I grimaced as I pulled the shirt over my head.
“You aren't worried about the clothes, are you? Do they make you look girly?” Louis called, rapping his knuckles on the door impatiently.
“It doesn't matter what a person looks like,” I replied, running my fingers through my hair to settle it, “Or if people's clothes make them look girly or manly.”
“You would say that,” he sighed, and there was a gentle thump on the door which sounded like he was leaning against the wood. “You look like someone who's barely hit thirteen.”
“That's nice,” I deadpanned. “Very kind, I'm sure.”
“It's alright for me to say it, Max-my-man, it's all helpful. Purely constructive.. I'm your mentor. We can't let other people talk down to members of the club, though. However new you are, you're still one of us now.”
“That's...nice,” I said again, softer, meaning this this time.
“Of course! Now hurry up, we need to go over your table manners and you need to get contact lenses so you don't look like a scruffy teenaged boyyyy...” He dragged the word as I pushed the door open, pushing him off it. He turned to look at me, and his mouth fell open.
“Yeah?” I said, pushing my glasses higher up my nose. “Well, I can't afford them right now.”
“We'll pay for it,” Zayn piped up casually, still typing away on his iPad. “I'll just add it to your debt.”
“Oh, thanks,” I muttered. “How kind of you.”
“You're...” Louis said, the word leaving his mouth with an immense amount of difficulty.
“This shirt looks good on you,” Harry observed, slinging an arm around my shoulder as he gave me a wink. “Really flatters your shape. What do you think, Lou?”
“You do look really nice in red,” Niall added thoughtfully. “We should remember that for themed costumes.”
“What do you mean themed costumes?”
My question went unanswered as Louis, who had been growing steadily redder in the face, cracked.
“YOU'RE A GIRL!”
I may actually have friends in this school of posh twats, journal.
