Archive of Our Own

Tamaki felt beautiful.

The Host Club occasionally got requests for themes. Some they did, some they didn’t; it depended on how many times they were asked for the same thing, how good the idea sounded, and if Tamaki latched onto it. The longest running and most frequent request they got was, of course, to cross dress. Their princesses were a bit predictable, after all.

They hadn’t done it yet. At least, not for the princesses. They’d dressed up to attempt to win Haruhi back from the Zuka Club, which had ended in both humiliation and laughter. Tamaki had felt pretty that time too, because Tamaki loved dressing up.

Kyoya said they would have to follow the dress code if they were doing it for the princesses. No heavily made up faces in Zuka fashion, but instead clean, natural looks. Tamaki had agreed. Kyoya said they should wear something simple if they were doing it for the princesses. Not too simple, though. Tamaki had agreed. Kyoya said they shouldn’t wear wigs if they were doing it for the princesses. To keep them recognizable and boyish. Tamaki had agreed.

And so, Tamaki was standing in front of the dressing room’s full length mirror in a periwinkle dress, feeling beautiful. He felt beautiful often. It shouldn’t be this different. It was much, much different. Too different. He should change. He couldn’t change—this was for the princesses.

He turned one of his feet this way and that. Admired how his painted toenails looked in the sandals he’d chosen. Admired how the dress framed his figure, the flowy, elegant skirt and sheer silk Georgette overlay stopping below his calves to show off his strappy sandals. It was beautiful, he was beautiful, but… he wanted something to break up the color.

“Tamaki,” called Kyoya from behind the curtain, “it’s almost time for the guests to arrive.”

“Kyoya,” Tamaki called back, frown evident in his voice, “I think I need accessories.”

“What?”

“This dress is all one color,” Tamaki pointed out as if Kyoya didn’t already know that, “it’s too uniform. I look silly.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t want to look silly, I want to look pretty. I need to break up the color.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

Kyoya made a disgusted sort of sound. “Don’t call me that when I’m dressed like this.”

“What’s wrong with being dressed like this?”

Kyoya hummed instead of answering, and left to find something to decorate Tamaki. Tamaki went back to admiring himself in the mirror.

Kyoya brought him bracelets, necklaces, and a chain belt—all silver. He entered the dressing room with them in hand, set them on the end table near the mirror, and Tamaki had to stop admiring himself to admire Kyoya instead.

Kyoya was dressed in a sleek navy pantsuit made up of a peplum blazer and tapered pants, paired with red heels. His usual wire-frame glasses had been switched out for a red pair that matched with his heels, and his ears had a pair of hoop earrings dangling off of them. His short hair completed the look instead of taking away, making him look like a modern business woman.

“Kyoya…” Tamaki awed, “…you look stunning.”

“Do I?” Kyoya asked with a delighted little smile as he looked through the necklaces he’d chosen.

“Of course! You look like a businesswoman from a movie! A feminist against the world!”

“I’m glad to hear I make a nice picture.” Kyoya picked out a necklace and held it up to Tamaki. “Hopefully, our guests will share your sentiment.”

He undid the clasp of the necklace and stepped into Tamaki’s space so he could reach around to clasp it around Tamaki’s neck. Tamaki basked in the feeling of Kyoya’s warmth.

“They will,” Tamaki practically cooed, “I don’t know how anyone couldn’t.”

Kyoya scoffed with both disbelief and affection. He set the necklace around Tamaki’s neck, smoothed it out, and fixed it to be even. He grabbed the belt and looped it around Tamaki’s hips. There was nothing like having Kyoya dote on him; it was comparable to the best of the world’s pleasures, like women’s smiles and kotatsu tables. Kyoya made sure the belt was sat pleasantly asymmetrical on Tamaki’s hips, then stepped back to take in the full picture. He smiled appreciatively, which made Tamaki’s stomach do funny things.

“You were right, Tamaki. The silver keeps it from becoming monotonous.”

“Do I look nice?”

“You always look nice,” Kyoya said easily.

“I know that,” Tamaki glanced at the mirror, “I’m asking if I look right. Do I look like a girl, Kyoya? What if they think I look too much like a man?”

Kyoya paused. He considered Tamaki for a moment longer before he grabbed Tamaki’s hand and pressed a kiss to it.

“I think you look lovely, princess.”

Tamaki’s stomach did flips. He felt a smile spread on his face.

“Kyoya!” Tamaki laughed through his friend’s name. “You proved your point!”

Kyoya stood back up to his full height and then some—exaggerated by the heels until he was taller than Tamaki—and kept his hold on Tamaki’s hand. He reached over to the bracelets on the end table and swept his hand over them in consideration before selecting the one he wanted. Carefully, sweetly, he clasped it around Tamaki’s wrist, then let go of Tamaki’s hand.

“There.”

“Thank you, Kyoya.”

“Are you ready? The guests will be here soon.”

“Of course, I’m ready! This is what I live for, Kyoya.”

The twins looked stunning as well. They hadn’t cared to follow the dress code—little devils that they are—and had instead opted for curled hair, miniskirts, platform boots, and off the shoulder shirts exposing bra straps. Bras cupping flat chests that Tamaki had stared at, and thought about, and stared at, and thought about. In ways he’d never thought about the twins before. In ways he wasn’t sure was actually thinking about the twins.

Hani was adorable in the Lolita dress he’d picked. He’d been forced by Kyoya to downscale from the intricately patterned and ruffled options he was thinking of in the beginning, but was taking it in stride despite how that had broken his heart. His final choice was pastel pink, blue, and white, had a peter pan collar and bishop sleeves, two layers of ruffles, and was covered in bows—a bow in the center of the collar, bows along the hem, bows up the front of the skirt and bodice, bows instead of buttons on the sleeve cuffs, bows, bows, bows. To complete the look, he was wearing the cutest pair of satin gloves with lace around the wrists.

Mori had opted out of cross dressing, and instead went for an androgynous look. His Aristocrat outfit matched Hani in some ways and didn’t match him in more. His black ribbon tie blouse matched the collar’s bow, had the same bishop sleeves, and had a short layer of ruffles on the hem. He had the same lace-hemmed gloves except in black. However, the mantle with a deep blue inner lining, the matte-black a-line skirt that almost swept against the floor, and the shiny black boots that were barely visible under it made him look intimidating, sophisticated, and vampirish. Nekozawa had shrieked with delight upon seeing Mori, and was his first male customer.

Haruhi had asked: “Can’t I just bring something from home?”

Tamaki had said no, but Kyoya had overruled him because of the money it would save. Now, Tamaki saw Kyoya’s wisdom. Haruhi looked cute as could be in her casual wear; an overall dress with a striped sweater under it, paired with her white slip-on sneakers. Her hair was pulled as best it could be into little pigtails, held up by bobby pins and hair clips. A captivating view of a commoner’s casual elegance that made Tamaki’s heart flutter. How did Haruhi pull it off so effortlessly? How could someone be so cute? Tamaki felt almost inadequate in comparison, but he had apparently pulled something off himself.

“Tamaki-sama, you look amazing!” Kamigamo shrieked.

“Should we call him Tamaki-chan instead?” Igawa asked.

“Tamaki-chan…” Kamigamo repeated with reverence, “How adorable…”

Tamaki brought his hands up to cradle their faces and pulled them both closer. He threaded his fingers into Igawa’s soft curly hair and rubbed his thumb over Kamigamo’s full bottom lip. The fabric of their dresses brushed against his in a way that made his mind short-circuit, but he fought through it to say the sweet words they deserved to hear.

“I’ll be Tamaki-chan for you, princesses,” he cooed. “I’ll dress up however you like.”

Kamigamo made a sound like a whistling kettle and Igawa covered her face with her hands to hide her blush. Adorable.

“Am I a pretty girl?” he asked while fluttering his lashes.

Igawa nodded frantically, forcing Tamaki to pull his hand out of her hair to keep from tangling it; Kamigamo stuttered over something that seemed to be an affirmation. It made Tamaki’s chest feel light and heavy at the same time. The idea of being a ‘pretty girl’ was scalding hot and overwhelming and sweet on his tongue. He returned to his own space to catch a breath, to evade the alien feeling.

“I’m so glad you think so,” he breathed.

“It’s true,” Kamigamo said, “you’re beautiful, Tamaki-chan!”

Tamaki-chan, Tamaki-chan, Tamaki-chan. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Not the regular kind of beautiful, but an experimental kind. A kind that came in periwinkle dresses, in silver necklaces and bracelets that Kyoya put on him with care. A kind that came with a flutter in his chest and a flush to his cheeks and a smile he couldn’t stifle.

He covered his face with a hand and ducked down to hide from them in a most ungentlemanly manner.

“Ah,” his voice came out too loud and too quiet, “would you look at that? It appears you’ve flustered me.”

“No way,” Igawa awed. “Really? I’ve never seen this before!”

Eyes turned to them. Whispers about Tamaki’s state began to crop up. Whispers about his appearance. Whispers about how Kamigamo was right. Tamaki looked beautiful, so ethereal and elegant in the simple dress.

“You’re even pretty when you blush, Tamaki-chan,” Kamigamo continued, perhaps persistent because of the unique treat she was experiencing. “You make the prettiest girl ever!”

Tamaki covered his face fully with both hands and shook his head. Prettiest girl. Ever. Prettiest girl ever. It was almost too much. The want to run was as strong as the want to let her continue saying those sweet, sweet things.

“Nooo, that’s you!” he managed. He collected himself and turned his head in his palms to look at her; Kamigamo shivered. He wondered if she could feel the scalding heat inside him, the one that was filled with questions and shame and giddiness. “You must be the sweetest girl ever too, princess. Saying such nice things to me…”

Kamigamo flushed too. Now, they were both red.

“They’re true,” said Igawa, “you’re beautiful, Tamaki. I’ve always thought that. You just look even better in women’s clothing.”

Now, Tamaki was redder.

“D-do you really think so?” he asked.

“Tamaki,” came the voice of Kyoya from behind the couch, the suddenness making Tamaki and the girls jolt, “are you alright?”

Tamaki turned to look at Kyoya and pulled his legs up onto the cushions. He tucked them beside him in a proper, lady-like manner—just like he'd practiced.

“I'm fine,” he lied.

Kyoya didn't fall for it. He raised an eyebrow and frowned, frowned with those lips of his that were done up with lipstick at someone's request. Tamaki wanted lipstick more than anything.

“You've never gotten this flustered before,” Kyoya pointed out. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I…”

Kyoya reached over to put the back of his hand against Tamaki's forehead, checking him for fever. Humiliating. He wasn't sick, other than in the head!

“I’m not sick,” Tamaki said, “I just… feel very pretty.”

Kyoya pulled his hand back. A smile played on his lips and he said, “I thought you always felt pretty, Tamaki.”

Tamaki pouted and made grabby hands at Kyoya.

Kyoya looked over to the girls. “Ladies, do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Igawa said breathlessly.

Kyoya walked around the couch, sat down next to Tamaki, and crossed his legs. Tamaki’s hands trembled at the sight. Kyoya was breathtaking,

“What did you want?” Kyoya asked. “Surely, you didn't want me here just to look at me?”

Tamaki pitched forward and pushed his face into Kyoya's side. The younger boy startled but quickly recovered, wrapping his hands around Tamaki and pulling him closer. Tamaki knew this was part of the act, Kyoya wouldn't be this tactile on his own, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“Tamaki,” Kyoya tilted Tamaki’s face up with fingers under his chin, “tell Mommy what's wrong, won't you?”

The girls squealed. The sound emboldened Tamaki to give in and express his problem. It would make his princesses happy if he were a little vulnerable, after all.

“I think I like this too much, Kyoya,” he admitted.

“‘Too much?’ Nonsense, Tamaki.”

Tamaki balled his hands into his fists in his lap, then admired how the fabric of his dress bunched. He looked back to Kyoya.

“I feel like a pervert,” Tamaki said lowly. “Enjoying being dressed up like this. Flustering over compliments like a school girl. I’m a gentleman.”

“If it makes you happy, you should do it. Isn’t that what you live by, Tamaki? I don’t see this as any different.”

Tamaki rubbed the silk Georgette between his fingers and pouted.

“Come on, Tamaki-chan,” Kyoya purred, “you know I’m right.”

Tamaki was laying in bed with Antoinette beside him. The sun was setting outside the window, drenching the two of them in warm light.

“Antoinette,” Tamaki called to his beloved companion, “I think something's wrong with me.”

Antoinette set her head on his chest and furrowed her brows. Tamaki reached over to smooth out her expression, and she leaned into his hand.

“It's not that bad, I promise,” he said softly. “Just a worry of mine.”

She whined as if she were prompting him to continue.

“We cross dressed today at the club. The princesses have been asking for a while, so I thought we should deliver. And… I felt very nice, Antoinette.”

Antoinette licked his hand comfortingly.

“That's not the concerning part. What went wrong is when I was with Tsubaki and Shiori. They complimented me, like they always do, but it got to me this time. It was so weird, Antoinette! I couldn't control myself at all!”

Tamaki looked towards the window. Antoinette shuffled forward so she could lick under his chin, and he set his hand on her head.

“…I suppose it's not wrong. Ranka does this kind of stuff, and he raised Haruhi.” He scrubbed his fingers over Antoinette’s head and stared, stared, stared out the window. “I know the princesses would like it if I cross dressed more. I would just have to try to keep it under wraps…”

Antoinette snuffled at his jaw with her cold, wet nose. He jerked away from the ticklish feeling.

“Antoinette, I'm trying to think!”

She followed him and began to sniff wetly at his jaw, neck, and ear. Tamaki shrieked with laughter as she trailed her nose over his most ticklish spots, and tried in vain to push her away. That only spurred her to mix in licks with her sniffing. Sloppy puppy kisses to get his mind off of what was troubling him.

“Antoinette! Antoinette! Quit it!”

She didn't quit.

It was downtime before club hours, and they were doing a whole lot of nothing. Which was fine. Tamaki liked doing nothing with his little family.

“Hey, Boss,” Kaoru shouted.

“I think you mean Boss Lady, Kaoru,” Hikaru said with a snrk.

Kaoru looked back to his brother and grinned slyly. “Oh, yeah. What did he say?”

“I think I like this too much~,” they repeated Tamaki’s words together in mocking singsong, “I feel like a pervert~!”

Tamaki gasped. His face felt hot. Shame curled in his gut.

“T-that was just for the princesses! Don’t make it weird!” he stammered, pointing an accusing finger at them.

“We aren’t the ones making it weird, Milord,” Hikaru teased. “You did that allll on your own.”

“Milady,” Kaoru snickered.

“Milady~” Hikaru parroted.

“Stop it!” Tamaki whined. “Stop that right now!”

“Don’t worry, Boss Lady,” Hikaru started.

“We’ll be sure to tell our mom exactly what kind of dresses you like!” Kaoru finished.

Tamaki felt like crying for some reason. His shoulders went up to his ears and his face burned and he was so close to crying his throat hurt. It was an unusual reaction that he didn’t know what to do with, so different from the other times he cried. So much more visceral and unwelcome.

“Leave Senpai alone, you two,” Haruhi interrupted their teasing. “You’re being too mean.”

“What? We’re just messing with him,” Hikaru defended.

“The boss can handle it,” said Kaoru with an offhanded smile.

“You’re clearly hurting his feelings,” Haruhi huffed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The twins went quiet and their faces went blank, in that way that meant they were thinking. Kaoru looked back to Tamaki and frowned.

“Not really,” said Hikaru, “he acts the same way.”

“I guess,” said Kaoru, “it’s a little different.”

“Huh?” Hikaru turned to his brother. “What’s different about it?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Kaoru kept his eyes fixed on Tamaki for a moment, “now’s not a good time.”

“Why do you talk like there’s nobody else in the room?” Haruhi sighed.

“Because there are only two important people in any room,” said the twins, back to normal.

After club that day, Tamaki took a chance.

Haruhi was cleaning up tea sets. Tamaki didn’t approach her for a long while, instead opting to watch her from over the tops of couches and tables. This sort of thing was delicate. He had to plan his approach carefully, and know when to back off-

“Senpai,” Haruhi spoke suddenly, “are you actually going to talk to me, or is your plan to watch me like a creep all afternoon?”

Tamaki jolted and hid behind the couch he’d been watching her from.

“I- I was planning something else,” he admitted meekly.

“Planning what, senpai?” Haruhi walked over and put a hand on her hip, the other holding a tea tray. “Do I even want to know?”

“Haruhi…” Tamaki forced himself to speak, “could I talk to your father about something…?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Haruhi shut him down immediately.

Tamaki flinched and pressed his forehead against the back of the couch. “I… I see. Don’t worry about it, then.”

Haruhi shifted her stance.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“Uhm, yes?” Tamaki looked up at her. “Was I… supposed to say something else…?”

“Well, usually, you’d try to convince me to let you,” she said with a frown. “Is this something important, senpai?”

“No,” Tamaki said quietly, “not really. I just… wanted a second opinion on something.”

“On what?”

“D-don’t worry about it!” Tamaki shot up from his hunched over position and waved his hands around. “It’s nothing! Haha, why did I even want to talk to Ranka about nothing? You can’t talk to someone about nothing! Conversations have to have a topic! Silly, silly me! Just forget Daddy said anything, Haruhi!”

“I’ll ask if he’s comfortable with talking to you.”

Tamaki stilled. He wrung his hands together and nodded.

“Thank you, Haruhi,” he said. “I appreciate it. Tell him I’ll take him out for dinner, if he’d like.”

“Alright, Tamaki-senpai. Just promise not to say anything weird to him!”

Tamaki had arrived to pick Ranka up, and he answered the door wearing a cross-neck bandage dress that went just above his knees and his lovely hair in a half-up half-down bun. He held himself with a dignified, attractive air that Tamaki wished desperately to replicate—how could boyish charm be done away with in favor of feminine appeal?

Ranka glanced up and down Tamaki before he graced him with a rare smile.

“What’s got you so nervous? It’s only me,” Ranka said playfully.

Tamaki took stock of himself. He was wound tight as a spring, with his hands clenched together and his knees locked. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck. What was he so nervous about?

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t think you were going to accept my invitation,” Tamaki replied.

“I considered rejecting it,” the playfulness left Ranka’s voice, “but Haruhi said it was important. She respects you as her senpai, so I’m doing this for her.”

“Of course, Ranka-san,” Tamaki nodded stiffly, “thank you. I’ll try to make this brief.”

Ranka’s face softened for some reason Tamaki couldn’t parse. He smiled again and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his handbag.

“Besides,” he said as he put on his sunglasses, “how could I pass up an opportunity to dine on your dollar, Suoh?”

“Of course not, Ranka-san,” Tamaki said with a put-on smile. He gestured downstairs. “Are you ready to go? The car is waiting.”

Ranka considered him for a moment before he began to head downstairs, leaving Tamaki to close the door and follow behind him. Tamaki could play his part. He just needed a few answers.

“What’s this about?” Ranka asked from where he sat across the limousine, looking beautiful.

Red dress. Legs crossed. Red hair. Sunglasses pushed up. Beautiful. Jealous. Tamaki hated being jealous. It was an emotion that boiled in his chest and made his mouth say things before he could think them through.

“When did you first know you liked to cross dress?” Tamaki asked back.

Ranka looked up with raised eyebrows from where he’d been sifting through his handbag.

“Pardon?”

“How does it feel?”

“Why do you need to know?”

Tamaki looked out the window at the street passing them by. He clenched his hands together in his lap. His breath wouldn’t come to him.

“I’d appreciate it if you could answer, Ranka-san,” he managed to say.

“Tamaki,” Ranka said, more gentle than he’d ever been with Tamaki before, “what’s this about?”

“You’re the only person who will know if there’s something wrong with me.”

They talked in the limousine. They talked in the restaurant. They talked past the point where Tamaki wanted to stop talking, because Ranka had more to say and Tamaki could never keep his mouth shut. Tamaki had admired how Ranka looked in the low, warm lighting of the restaurant he’d chosen to take the man. Ranka had asked questions that make Tamaki’s gut churn and Tamaki had answered while facing the floor.

“You should talk to Misuzu,” Ranka eventually said, “she’ll be able to help you more than I can.”

Tamaki shrunk in on himself.

Ranka reached across the table and grabbed Tamaki’s hand. Tamaki flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“Go at your own pace,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I promise there are people who do.”

“What if I don’t want there to be?” Tamaki asked, as quiet as he could while still being audible. “I would’ve preferred you tell me I was sick, Ranka-san.”

“Tough shit, kid.” Ranka gave Tamaki a gentle smile. “Talk to Misuzu?”

“I… I will.”

Tamaki was… putting off talking to Misuzu. It had been a week since he'd talked to Ranka, and he couldn't bring himself to meet with her. Nothing against the woman, but… that was a scary thought. Misuzu was Different. Ranka said that Tamaki might be like Misuzu, which meant Tamaki might be Different.

Tamaki would’ve preferred Ranka just say he was sick in the head. With some kind of cross dresser’s sickness that Ranka had transmitted to him. Something he could manage by wearing skirts and using a stage name. It’s not like Tamaki would’ve even been upset with the man! Unfortunately, Ranka had said, “No, I like cross dressing and I like being a man at the same time. And, there’s no such thing as a cross dresser’s sickness. You didn’t catch anything from me.”

So Tamaki had to talk to Misuzu, who was Different, because Tamaki might be like Misuzu, which meant Tamaki might be Different. Tamaki desperately did not want to be any more Different than he already was, but the die had been cast.

Misuzu had an accepting face. It was easy to tell her things.

It was easy to sit on her living room floor, surrounded by lace and dolls, and tell her about how he’d been tossed a curve ball. How lovely and right it had felt. How he’d been thinking about those compliments for days now. How he wanted to wear dresses more and forever. How he’d thought about outfits Haruhi had worn before and considered “could I wear that too?”

She listened, nodded, and took everything he said very seriously. She told him how he should do everything at his own pace. She told him how the world isn’t accepting yet. She told him about how things had gone wrong for her when she’d realized she was a woman, and how he couldn’t make the same mistakes she had.

“You have to balance yourself and your family,” she said. “Don’t let one stifle the other, and don’t leave one behind to explore the other.”

“How do I do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a sadness in her voice. “You have to figure that out yourself, Tamaki.”

Misuzu paused.

“Should I still call you ‘Tamaki’?”

“…what else would you call me?”

“Well,” she smiled brightly, “you can go by a new name, like I do. You don’t have to go by a name tied down to bad memories.”

Tamaki considered that.

“Tamaki isn’t even my only name,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll have to wait until I can talk to my mother again, so she can pick a new one…”

Misuzu wavered on that before she nodded.

“At your own pace, then, Tamaki.”

Tamaki’s “own pace” was in the privacy of his room, with every window shuttered and the balcony doors closed. No one could be privy to what he was doing except Antoinette. In the quiet, he practically gasped every breath he took as he locked eyes with a hand mirror.

And carefully,

carefully,

put hair clips in his hair.

It was minuscule. It was nothing. It felt massive.

“Antoinette,” he said, “look.”

Antoinette raised her head and set it in his lap. She looked up at him with adoring eyes.

“I know,” he(?) revered. “Aren’t I pretty?”

Tamaki’s “own pace” was waiting a week after he'd(?) experimented with hair clips to call Kyoya far too early in the morning, waiting with bated breath hoping he’d pick up his(?) call. Thankfully, he did. He(?) needed Kyoya’s unfiltered opinion.

“What the hell, Tamaki?” grumbled a half-asleep Kyoya, the most dangerous kind.

“WhatcolordoIlookbestin?” Tamaki rushed out. He(?) forced his(?) words to slow, “I can’t decide. It’s important.”

Something shifted on Kyoya’s end, likely him rubbing his eyes. Tamaki’s heart stuttered in his(?) chest. Was Kyoya going to hang up?

“Purple,” Kyoya hissed, “and white. You know this.”

“Thank you, Kyoya. I needed to hear someone say it,” Tamaki said breathlessly, “before I went and bought something.”

“What the hell are you buying, and with who’s money?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s not Host Club money.”

“Then why did you wake me up? Are you stupid?”

“I needed to hear someone say it,” Tamaki repeated. “Go back to sleep, Kyoya.”

“What is wrong with y-”

Then they hung up.

Tamaki’s “own pace” was window shopping for hours, delight and fear held close in their heart along with the words of the two most trustworthy people they’d ever known.

“Tamaki, I want to see your smiling face every day,” their mother had said, years ago.

“Purple and white,” Kyoya had said, this morning.

So, they had to get a purple and white dress that made them happy.

…which was difficult when everything about this was so anxiety-inducing. They’d told the staff at the store that they were getting a dress for their girlfriend, and it had to be perfect because she was perfect. She was a princess, didn’t you know? What they didn’t say was that she was the princess in a Host Club—and wasn’t that a nice thought.

As they rounded back to dresses they’d already seen hours ago, they almost wanted to call Kyoya again. It was the weekend, and he’d surely be awake by now. He probably wouldn’t remember their conversation earlier, but that was part of the reason why Tamaki had called him so early. They’d needed the real Kyoya in that moment, unburdened by rules and etiquette and things like that.

‘He’d’ needed the real Kyoya so he could help ‘him’ find the real them. The real… her. It felt weird to think. Weird to mouth in a department store. Exciting. Right. Wrong. Good.

Tamaki left without buying something after hours upon hours of looking,

and ran back inside fifteen minutes later, to purchase a lilac off-the-shoulder sundress and a white sunhat.

Tamaki’s “own pace” was wearing the sundress in front of their hanging mirror once they got home, after losing a staring contest with the bag it came in a couple times.

It was a little too cold to wear it outside, but that was fine. Tamaki wanted this for herself. They turned so they could check how they looked from different angles, and giggled at the way the fabric felt against their calves. That same feeling from the dressing room was back in full force. It hadn’t been a fluke.

She smoothed down the front of the skirt giddily and scrambled to grab the sunhat. It went nicely over their hair. They were about to check how it looked in the mirror when

the door opened.

Tamaki froze. They didn’t turn around.

“Oh,” came the voice of Shima from the doorway. “Is this what you went out to get this morning, Tamaki-sama?”

Shima approached. Tamaki hunched in on herself and felt tears well up in her eyes. This was over before it began.

“Young Master,” Shima said, “turn around.”

Tamaki turned around stiffly. She couldn’t meet Shima’s eyes. They didn’t want to see the disappointment, the disgust, the anger. They didn’t want to know that this new exploration to be cut short.

Shima reached up and fixed her sunhat.

“There,” she said, “that’s proper.”

Tamaki lifted her gaze to look at the older woman. Shima clicked her tongue as she took in the full look.

“I can’t say I approve of the cut of this dress, Tamaki-sama. You’re showing far too much skin.”

Tamaki nodded along, still scared she was being scolded. Shima pulled at the neckline and a few other parts of the dress until she was satisfied with it. Tamaki didn’t dare exhale.

“There you are. Now, may I ask what this is about?”

“…Of course, Shima-san. I… was just…”

“Curious?”

“Curious.”

“A little curiosity never hurt anyone,” Shima said kindly. “I trust you’re taking the necessary precautions?”

“Yes, Shima-san. No one knows except you and two trusted individuals.”

“Kyoya Ootori?” Shima guessed.

“No,” Tamaki said quickly.

“Then are those really the necessary precautions, young master?” Shima gave her a pointed look. “Having someone like that Ootori boy in your corner could be helpful.”

“Kyoya would never accept…”

“I doubt that, Tamaki-sama. Just ask him.”

“…I’ll try.”

A few days later, at Shima’s insistence, Tamaki was in Kyoya's room. Kyoya’s room was one of Tamaki’s favorite places. It was a haven away from the harshness of the world. Sleek and only bound to the harshness of Kyoya Ootori. Tamaki’s favorite kind of harshness.

Tamaki had co-opted Kyoya’s bed to “see what’s so comfortable about it”, despite the boy’s protests, and was hugging one of his pillows to their chest while resting their chin on it. It and the bed smelled like Kyoya after the shower; clean, boyish, and familiar. Kyoya himself was sitting at the desk by his bedside, idly going over numbers in his ledger as they conversed, likely smelling the same under his cologne.

Kyoya was telling a joke that was much too dark and Tamaki was laughing. He was so funny when it was just the two of them. She wanted to pry open Kyoya’s skull and figure out what made her Different from him. Why was she Different? Why was she Wrong? Ranka had said they weren’t sick, but it was times like this Tamaki had to disagree. Kyoya clearly never thought about strappy sandals, or hair clips, or sundresses, or being a girl. They had to be sick. Misuzu had to be sick, too.

“Tamaki?”

Tamaki blinked out of their stupor. The conversation had lulled and now the two of them were staring at each other. Kyoya leaned back so he could look at Tamaki clearer.

“Something’s been bothering you for weeks,” Kyoya said. “I left it alone, figuring you’d come to me, but you haven’t.”

“Uhm.” Tamaki hugged the pillow and thought about Kyoya’s boyish smell. “Kyoya, do you ever…”

“Do I…?” Kyoya tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

“If I…” Tamaki looked away from him and buried her gaze in the sheets. “If you found out…”

“Tamaki, I’m not playing this game with you. Spit it out.”

“I…” Tamaki squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath, “I think I might be a girl, Kyoya.”

There was silence for a moment. A dreadful silence that made Tamaki’s throat burn again like it had that day the twins teased her. An eating silence that made Tamaki’s legs itch with the need to run away. The kind of silence that should never be allowed to sit, because it could ruin everything-

“Oh,” Kyoya’s voice was light, “I know that already.”

Tamaki’s eyes shot open wide; she gawked at Kyoya, who was calmly putting away his ledger and reaching into his desk drawer to pull out a notebook. It was as if she’d told him that it was going to rain today. Worse—it was as if she’d told him that his hair was black.

“You–” Tamaki sputtered, “You know that? How? What? Kyoya–?”

“It’s rather obvious, at least to me,” Kyoya hummed. “I figured it out three weeks ago.”

“I’ve only known for two weeks!” Tamaki cried, “You’re not allowed to know I’m a girl before I know I’m a girl!”

“I’ve always been quick on the uptake, Tamaki,” Kyoya flashed her a smile. Then, he paused. “Do you still want to be called ‘Tamaki’?”

“I–” Tamaki’s energy died down, and her voice went quiet, “…I haven’t decided.”

“I figured,” Kyoya said. He opened his notebook to a specific page and thrust it at her. “Tamaki is a unisex name, but I have a few name suggestions if you’d like to look at them.”

Tamaki set aside the pillow and took the notebook from Kyoya. Rows of his neat handwriting listing names and breaking them down into meanings and history. Her eyes began to burn.

She couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall. Drops of saline messed up the ink of Kyoya’s pen and blurred her vision. He pulled the notebook away from her to save it from the oncoming flood, but he had to fight for it; she didn’t want to let go of his kindness. Once the notebook was gone, Tamaki tipped over into his bed, gripped at his comforter and shoved her face into it, and sobbed.

“Tamaki,”—Kyoya’s voice held a note of panic, scared he’d done something wrong, scared he’d pushed her too far—“the maid just washed those!”

Kyoya’s love was flighty and gentle; barely a pressure against your side once it was there, but strong enough to move mountains. Strong enough to make a girl sob with a single gesture. And sob, Tamaki did.

“Kyoyaaaaaa!” she wailed, “Why would you- How could- KYOYA!”

Kyoya made a strangled sort of sound, out of his depth now that he was faced with Tamaki’s emotions. Tamaki couldn’t let him think he’d messed up. She forced herself up on her hands and knees and whirled to face the Kyoya-colored blur that was beside the bed, then launched herself at it with her arms outstretched.

Kyoya didn’t have time to do anything but yelp before they clattered to the floor—the chair tipped over, Tamaki on top of him, and his arms wrapped around her. His back hit the ground and he grunted behind gritted teeth, but, once he reoriented himself, he relaxed into her. That had to have hurt, but Tamaki would soothe it later.

“Are you serious-” Kyoya hissed.

“Kyoya, je t’aime bien! Tu es le meilleur ami du monde!” Tamaki tightened her arms around him and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Mon ami! Kyoya, mon ami!”

“Tamaki!” Kyoya reached up to push her face away from his. “What are you doing?!”

Tamaki wiped her face so her kisses would be less messy. “Bisous?”

“Isn’t that a greeting?”

“No, that’s ‘la bises’. ‘Bisous’ just means ‘kisses’.”

“Then, why are you kissing me?”

“You’re amazing,” she said, “et je t’aime bien.”

Kyoya eased his hand off her cheek with a sigh. He was wonderfully handsome under her, faux-irritated with his hair mussed, his glasses askew, a hand beside his head, and a light flush on his cheeks that he thought she didn’t notice. Lovely, lovely Kyoya, who made her feel like a princess. Her dashing Kyoya, who kept giving her his love.

“Get it out of your system, Tamaki.”

Tamaki let out a delighted laugh and pressed a kiss to Kyoya’s cheek. Quickly, before he could say that was enough, she moved over to press a kiss to the other cheek. Back the other cheek; one, two, three kisses. And back again. She kissed him as much as he cared to let her, then a little more until he was properly irritated.

“Alright,” he shoved her away, “get off of me.”

Tamaki stole one last peck on his cheek before he muscled her away. He sat up and pushed her up with him.

“Do you want to talk about anything else, or was that it?”

Tamaki’s gaze flickered to his bed. She worried her lip.

“Kyoya…” she pushed her index fingers together, “Could we… snuggle?”

“You’re insufferable,” he said as he got to his feet. “I can’t stand you. I’m in my day clothes.”

“Do you have plans?” she asked.

“I have dinner with my father.”

“You could-”

“I’m not changing three times.”

“Well, we’ll lay in our day clothes, then.”

“I can’t stand you,” Kyoya repeated.

Kyoya’s bed was more comfortable with Kyoya in it. Tamaki could understand how he struggled to get out of bed in the morning if it was always this warm and cozy. He was laying on his back with his hands behind his head while Tamaki was tucked against his side with an arm and a leg thrown over him. Here, she was safe.

“Are you satisfied now?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied.

“What’s this even for?”

“I’m enjoying your company in the way a girl gets to.”

“I don’t let most girls do this, Tamaki.”

Tamaki opened her eyes and looked up at him with a grin. “I’m special, then?”

“Hardly,” Kyoya said without opening his own.

Tamaki laughed. Kyoya scoffed with undeniable fondness.

“Kyoya,” she called.

“Tamaki,” he returned.

“If I'm a girl, does that make me Mommy and you Daddy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wh-? Why not?!”

“I can't have my family hearing that girls in my class are calling me ‘Daddy’, Tamaki.”

“Not girls. Just one girl.”

“Oh, yes. The headmaster's daughter is publicly coming onto me. That's much better.”

“It is! And I’m not ‘coming onto you’!”

“It isn't, and, somehow, I doubt anyone will buy that.”

“You're no fun, Kyoya.”

Tamaki moved her head back down and silence filled the air, but it was the comfortable sort. Tamaki let it in. It settled into the space between her neck and shoulder, between Kyoya’s lips and the top of her head, between the pillows and the comforter. The only sound was Kyoya’s breaths and his heartbeat under her ear.

“Tamaki,” Kyoya broke the silence, “do you have a plan?”

Tamaki smoothed her hand over Kyoya’s open button-up and found a button to play with.

“Plan?” she asked. “What am I planning for?”

“Feminizing hormone therapy, idiot.” His voice was too soft to be truly insulting. “Are you going to go through with it?”

“What?”

“I’ve been doing research. I believe my family's hospitals could provide as long as you can pay, and we both know that won't be a problem.”

Tamaki sat up, abandoning Kyoya's warmth so she could stare down at him in disbelief. Kyoya's gaze met her, practical and steady.

“We could have it done off the books-”

“Kyoya, don't say things like that.” Her voice was thick with more tears that threatened to fall. “You can't say things like that.”

“Why not? It'd be simple.”

“Don't dangle things I can't have in front of my face. It's not fair.”

“Tamaki-”

“She’d never accept me if I did that.” Tamaki pulled her leg off of Kyoya and sat beside him; the air between them was searing cold. “It'd be a disaster.”

“Why does that matter?” said Kyoya, too loud. He seemed to recognize the fault in his words the second they left him, his white hot hypocrisy.

Tamaki glared at Kyoya. She tried not to make ugly faces. She tried not to direct her ire at people. But it couldn't be helped. Sometimes, even her dashing Kyoya needed to be reminded when to his mouth shut.

She smoothed her expression and gave him a smile.

“I’ll do the dreaming. You stick to the dream-making.”

The twins were watching her. Those sharp amber eyes trailed her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention, watching the way she acted at lunch or during the club. Trying to undo her like a puzzle. Tamaki held herself together tighter at the scrutiny. She was careful to be endlessly elegant and gentlemanly with the guests. She held herself exceptionally “Tamaki-like” during lunch and downtime; dramatic and princely and bombastic.

Whatever they were looking for, they wouldn’t find it. Whatever Difference they thought they saw, she would hide it.

Tamaki was sitting with some of her princesses when the twins leaned over the back of the couch on either side of her.

“Boss, we have a request,” they said.

“Huh?” Tamaki looked between the two of them. “Make it quick. I’m with my princesses.”

“Do you remember a few weeks ago?” Hikaru asked first.

“When we cross dressed?” Kaoru asked next.

“Uh… yes,” Tamaki said carefully. “What about it?”

“We want to do it again,” Kaoru said.

“We had fun,” Hikaru supplemented.

“You did too, didn’t you?”

“Maybe Nekozawa-senpai will join us again.”

“Maybe he’ll tell us ghost stories.”

“We could play scared girls.”

“You could be our brave big sister.”

“Doesn’t that sound fun, boss?” they finished.

Tamaki went to respond, but the girls across from her squealed.

“We’ll dress up as boys!” said the first girl with the stylish bob.

“That’s a great idea!” Kaoru said loudly.

“I’ll have my father commission me a suit,” said the second girl with the cute buns. “What’s the theme?”

“Milord will decide!” Hikaru said as he looked to Tamaki expectantly.

“Oh, pleaseee, Tamaki-sama?” asked the third girl with the lovely curls. “Won’t you let us participate?”

Tamaki could never say no to her princesses.

The dread in Tamaki’s gut didn’t mask the feeling of wearing a dress. That delighted sort of freedom that came with looking in the mirror and seeing herself closer to perfect.

Mary Janes, white thigh highs, a maroon skirt layered with ruffles with a petticoat underneath, a white button-up with a red blazer overtop, and a wig with blonde ringlets. Tamaki looked every bit an “Ojou-sama”, as thought up for her by Renge. Kyoya had helped her get dressed, and he would be back soon with some hair bows to complete the look. She twirled the wig with her finger and appreciated her reflection.

It’d be fun, if she and Kyoya could keep doing this. Did he enjoy dressing her up? She enjoyed being dressed up by him.

Someone wolf-whistled from the entrance to the dressing room.

Tamaki whirled around.

Hikaru had wolf-whistled from the entrance to the dressing room. Kaoru elbowed him with a laugh.

“Gross, Hikaru!” he chuckled through his words.

“What?” Hikaru squawked, “I was being funny!”

Dread. Choking and clawing and nasty on the back of her tongue. Not misplaced at all. The twins continued to play-bicker, but Tamaki couldn’t hear them over her rushing thoughts. What was gross about her? What did they see? What was Wrong-

Kyoya was back.

“You two should be getting ready,” Kyoya had a coldness in his voice.

Hikaru and Kaoru stopped laughing. They turned to look at Kyoya with matching frowns.

“We’re just messing around,” said Hikaru.

“We didn't say anything mean,” said Kaoru.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” Kyoya narrowed his eyes at them before he smiled. “I think you ought to leave Tamaki alone. You really do have to get dressed. The guests will be here soon.”

The twins shared a look, Hikaru more passionate than Kaoru. Kaoru grabbed his brother by the wrist to lead him away, but Hikaru stood his ground

and stomped his foot like a child.

“That's not fair!” he shouted. “We didn't do anything!”

“Hikaru!” Kaoru hissed, “Calm down!”

“No! The Boss has been acting weird for weeks and nobody's said anything!” Hikaru turned to Tamaki with those angry, hurt eyes of his. “What the hell is going on?!”

Kaoru looked between Hikaru and Tamaki like he was lost. Like he was being torn apart.

“Putting on the theme again isn't making you happy, even though you liked it! Acting normal isn't making you happy, even though that always makes you feel better!” Hikaru's voice cracked then quieted into something scared. “Was it what we said? Is… is this my fault?”

Tamaki's heart felt like it was splintering. Close to breaking entirely, if not for the way Hikaru so desperately wanted to mend it. Her closed off and sensitive Hikaru, whose world exists in absolutes. Either it was his fault or it wasn’t, because the thought had occurred to him. Misuzu had said she had to balance herself and her family, and, now, Tamaki understood what the older woman meant. She just had to figure out what to say. Something that wouldn't make her house collapse in on itself.

Tamaki rushed forward and hugged Hikaru, pulling his head against her chest. She ducked her head down to press her cheek against the top of his head, his soft hair against her face and the smell of his peach shampoo grounding her. Hikaru remained stiff for a moment, for two, before he relaxed. He wrapped an arm around her waist and linked his other hand with Kaoru’s.

“It wasn't you,” Tamaki told him. She worried her lip. “Well, it was… but… I'm thinking about things.”

“You have to talk to us, Boss.” Hikaru gripped the back of her blazer. “We… I’m worried about you.”

Hikaru pulled away so he could see her face. He glanced at Kaoru and squeezed his brother's hand. Kaoru crowded closer and Tamaki let go of Hikaru with one arm so she could put her hand on Kaoru’s head.

“We’re worried,” Kaoru said.

“I'll tell you soon,” Tamaki reassured him. “It’s complicated.”

“No secrets,” Hikaru said firmly. “Me and Kaoru don't keep secrets, and you're part of our family, so you can't keep them either.”

That made far too much sense too Tamaki. She caught Kyoya’s gaze over the top of Hikaru’s head. He raised an eyebrow and nodded to where she knew the door to be. There was still a club session.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. For now, put it out of your mind.”

Hikaru’s expression crumpled into something near tears with a tight frown. Tamaki couldn’t have that. She cupped his cheek and smiled.

“Do it for your big sister?”

A smile cracked across his face. He nodded and scrubbed his face to clear any risk of tears.

“Yeah, okay,” he half-laughed. “Anything for my big sister.”

Tamaki’s chest hurt a bit at that, but she kept smiling. She let go of Hikaru’s face and ruffled Kaoru’s hair, then stepped back.

“Now,” she exclaimed, “we need some little devils for this hostess club!”

“We’re going to be running late if you don’t hurry,” Kyoya hummed.

“You’re not ready either, Kyoya-senpai,” the twins said.

“I would be if you two hadn’t stopped everything to cry.”

The twins donned short, lacy dresses that almost looked like babydoll nightgowns paired with fuzzy thigh-high black boots; each piece of their outfits had obnoxious leopard print somewhere. They’d teased and puffed their hair until they looked properly Gyaru-esque, and clipped matching oversized bows onto their crowns. The perfect Little Devils.

Kyoya was their Ice Queen. The long black wig he had on was pulled into a bun, and he was wearing a bastardization of a formal dress. A deep blue off-the-shoulder number with a slit up the side to show off one of his stocking-clad legs and pretty black heels. To maintain any sense of modesty, he’d decided to wear a cropped white jacket with it, but it just made him all the more alluring.

Hani was a darling Lolita princess. His dress was a warm brown with cream accents. It had a ruffled neckline, a line of ruffles along the upper arm, ruffled sleeve cuffs, three layers of ruffles down the skirt, and cream-colored lace circled the skirt, leading into the waistline. Finally, he had on white tights with cartoon bear and rabbit heads on them and short winter boots with pompoms on the heels. In contrast, Mori was his wild Visual kei prince—or, as he’d corrected Tamaki, “soft visual”. His short hair was spiked further, made more obvious by the midnight blue fabric headband he had on. He had on a stark white button-up and a second, blue, sleeveless unbuttoned button-up on over it. The pair of black leather pants he was wearing showed off his legs nicely, and looked fantastic with his combat boots. They made an odd pair—the custom teddy-bear buckle on Mori’s belt was the only thing connecting his outfit to Hani’s—but somehow, they made it work.

And Haruhi—their Natural crown jewel—was in Girly. A button-up with a peter-pan collar under a blue gingham pinafore. Ruffle-trimmed white socks and thick-heeled red pumps. A red rose fresh cut from the garden pinned in her hair. Barely any makeup on, only a hint of lip gloss. Tamaki hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the other girl. She’d gushed over Haruhi until she felt faint, and some more after that, and then a little more. Tamaki felt a bit bad about trying to give all of Kyoya's kisses away, but it couldn't be helped when someone as naturally cute as Haruhi was around! Haruhi had said something about having to beat her off with a stick.

However, what completed everything were their princesses. Apparently the idea of wearing men’s clothing had spread; girl after girl asked to use the dressing room, then reappeared in a stunning suit. Morning coats, business suits, tuxedos—one lovely maiden even wore a dress coat.

Though, the girl who stuck in Tamaki’s mind the longest that day was Jounouchi. Tamaki would never expect the perfect scholar, Miss Morse Code, to play along with something like this, but she had.

Jounouchi was wearing an open single-breasted suit jacket over a black waistcoat and white button-up, paired with grey striped formal trousers. Her lovely brownish-black curls were pulled into a ponytail, a black tie was around her neck, and a watch chain disappeared into one of the waistcoat’s pockets.

“Ayame!” Tamaki greeted her with delight, “What is this?”

“It’s a director's suit,” Jounouchi said as she sat down. “Also known as a black lounge suit, a stroller, or a Stresemann.”

“You look handsome in it.” Tamaki sipped her tea. “What made you pick this specific suit?”

“Historically, it’s the suit of the successful.” She paused, then said carefully, “I wanted to look good for you.”

Tamaki ran a finger around the edge of her teacup. “Ayame, you’re always beautiful.”

Jounouchi flushed.

“That’s just your opinion,” she huffed.

“It’s well informed,” Tamaki replied. “I look at beautiful women every day, so I’d know if you’re one of them.”

“Anecdotal evidence isn’t scientific.”

“I’m an expert,” Tamaki tried again. “It’s my expert opinion.”

“What exactly are your credentials?”

“King of the Host Club and Idol of Ouran Academy.” Tamaki knew that wasn’t enough. What would please Jounouchi’s critical mind…? “Seventy percent of the women entering this room are here to see me, according to Kyoya Ootori, the first place student in second year.”

Jounouchi thought that over. She pushed up her glasses and tossed some of her curls over her shoulder.

“I guess I’ll take your opinion into some consideration.”

Tamaki smiled and took another sip of tea, pleased she could meet Jounouchi’s standards.

Jounouchi sounded far more shy when she said, “You’re beautiful too, Tamaki.”

Tamaki set her teacup down, propped her elbow on the table, and supported her face with a hand on her cheek.

“Well, then I guess we’re just two beautiful people enjoying each other’s company. How wonderful is that?”

When club activities ended, Hikaru asked, “Are you going to tell us now?”

“Tomorrow,” Tamaki had said. “I'll tell you tomorrow.”

Tamaki’s stomach was in knots.

She’d called Kyoya early in the morning and asked him if she could pretend to be sick, or if they could convince Hikaru that she’d not promised to tell him tomorrow. Kyoya had said she could do that.

Tamaki had decided not to.

But, when she got to class, her eyes kept catching on the door. She wanted to run out of the room. Ask her father if she could go to a different school. Hide from Hikaru and Kaoru and Hani and Mori and… not really Haruhi. That was the comfort that kept her in her seat and breathing steady. If all else went wrong, Haruhi would accept her.

It was little reassurance if she let herself dwell.

The thing about Hikaru was that he was judgemental. The thing about Kaoru was that he followed what Hikaru said. The thing about Hani was that he was more endeared to the twins than he let on. The thing about Mori was that he went along with the path of least resistance. If Hikaru judged, Kaoru followed, and Hani and Mori went along with the path they laid, then Tamaki could end up all alone with only Kyoya again. She barely saw Haruhi, and if the club dissolved, she wouldn’t see her at all!

To keep herself from drowning in that, Tamaki had been mulling over the answers to the questions she knew they’d have… and was coming up short.

If Tamaki was a girl, could she still be the president of a host club? She thinks so. Could the Host Club have two girls in it? There wasn’t any rule against it, but it did seem strange. Tamaki considered hiding the fact that she was a girl like Haruhi was—she had far more experience playing a gentleman than the other girl—but the thought became more and more rancid each time it entered her mind. Would Tamaki be able to see female clients as a girl? As long as her princesses still showed up, she should. What would happen if everyone stopped coming to see her? Well… they’d go broke, obviously.

Tamaki pushed her hand through her hair to settle her nerves and plastered a smile on her face.

She had to have hope that this would go well.

That day, there were no guests in the music room three. No tea sets were out, no costumes were put on, and only one cake was set on one small plate. For Hani, of course.

Tamaki positioned herself leaning over the end of the table, both hands on the waxed wood. She looked over the faces of the people she loved. Her little family.

The twins had matching looks of feigned boredom; their chins propped up on opposite hands and their eyes half-lidded, but their gazes focused and calculated. Hani was slowly making his way through the small cake he'd chosen, too slow to spell anything but anxiety. Mori was leaning back in his seat with a muted frown, his dark eyes hazy as he watched his cousin. Occasionally, he looked over to Tamaki and his expression would deepen, then he’d look back to Hani. Haruhi’s hands were tight fists in her lap, and she kept glancing around the table at the other club members.

In contrast to all of them, Kyoya seemed as relaxed as could be. His gaze downcast, happily running through numbers in his ledger. The sight brought a slight smile to Tamaki's face.

Kyoya, who knew. Maybe, if they all knew what had changed, they'd feel better.

“At attention, men,” she called.

Everyone looked to her immediately—except Kyoya, who lifted his gaze leisurely.

“Oh, you're finally starting,” he hummed. “I was worried we'd be sitting in silence all afternoon.”

Tamaki swallowed. Kyoya's casual air was only so reassuring.

“So,” Hikaru spoke up, “what do you have to tell us, milord?”

Hani cut to the chase: “Is it about how you've been acting weird?”

Haruhi cocked her head to the side.

“Tamaki-senpai’s been acting weird?” she repeated with a frown. “He's seemed normal to me.”

“That's the problem,” said Kaoru. “He's too normal. It just feels fake.”

“It's getting uncanny,” Hikaru continued, “like if an actor was playing the Boss.”

“Tama-chan doesn't really open up about his problems,” said Hani. “We can really only tell something’s bothering him when he's trying to ignore it.”

“He overcompensates,” said Mori.

Haruhi put a finger to her chin, nodded, and said, “I see. If that’s all true, then I guess I have noticed Senpai behaving oddly…”

Tamaki couldn’t help but sigh, bringing their attention back to her.

“I didn’t realize it was so obvious…” Tamaki drew away from the table and pressed the pads of her index and middle fingers to her lips. “The last thing I wanted was to distress you, but I’ve been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve…”

Hikaru leaned towards Tamaki’s end of the table with a frown on his lips. Kaoru leaned back to make space for him, expression matching his brother’s.

“C’mon, boss!” Hikaru urged her, “Tell us already!”

“Over the past few weeks, I’ve been doing some introspection,” Tamaki said carefully, “and I’ve come to my conclusion.”

Hikaru furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Kaoru raised his in some disconcerted emotion Tamaki couldn’t name. Hani and Mori leaned in opposite ways to both sit up straight. Kyoya set his pen down. Haruhi tensed.

Now or never. Tamaki steeled herself.

“I…”

She immediately crumbled.

“I’m, uh… I think…”—she pressed her index fingers together and turned away from the boys—“I think I might be… be a girl…”

She glanced in their direction, then looked away too quickly to see any reactions. Mori, of all people, might’ve made a sound, but the room was deathly quiet other than that.

“Tamaki,” Kyoya spoke calmly, “I’m quite certain you don’t ‘think’ you ‘might be’. You are a woman.”

Wasn’t that wonderful to hear spoken into the open air? The words sent butterflies loose in Tamaki’s stomach. A smile wormed its way onto her face without her permission.

“Kyoya’s right…” Tamaki mumbled. She turned back towards the group with a meekness throughout her. “I’m a girl. I hope… I hope that’s something you all can accept.”

“Thank you for telling us, Tamaki-senpai!” Haruhi’s exclamation broke through the tension in the room. “Congratulations!”

“Of course, we accept you as a girl, Tama-chan!” Hani stood up in his seat, going against all sense of manners.

Mori nodded and made an affirmative sound.

The twins hadn’t said anything yet. Hikaru and Kaoru were having a conversation with only their eyes. Kaoru was leading for once while Hikaru nodded along. Finally, they looked to Tamaki and smiled together.

“Does this mean you really want to be our big sister?” they asked, a teasing fondness in their voices.

Tamaki’s heart swelled. She covered her mouth with her hands and nodded, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

There hadn’t been any reason to worry. Of course, her little family would accept her.