I never would have guessed that libraries were elaborate social centres in this Academy. Well, mom, looks like I won't be getting studies done tonight... although...
I walk down the hall of gleaming tile, washing the lenses of my glasses in a bright orange glow. Glaring windows pass beside me, my hard heels clicking on the marble. I heard earlier this morning that there was an abandoned music room, left in isolation simply because it was 'out of style'. Though I also heard of an entity, or entities—called a Host something like that—that dwelt in that room. I am not superstitious in any way possible, so I think that's just a bunch of bull. However, I find myself curious... what could be in that music room?
It takes a maximum of thirty seconds until I find it, the elegant white door, vine-framed sign hanging carelessly from two hinges. MUSIC ROOM 3 is written in almost illegible cursive, scribble-y enough to be doctors' script. I sigh as I wrap my hands around the cold, brass knob, sending shivers up my arm. I slowly turn it and pull backward. I cover my eyes, squinting as blinding white light emits from the room.
"Welcome," says a chord of voices.
I slowly let down my hand, sudden superstition taking over me. The voices sound light, affable even. Almost hauntingly so. But as my eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light, I see six silhouettes. Three of them are tall, with flowing hair. Two of them are exactly the same size, facing each other as if a mirror was placed before one or the other. The last one is smaller than I could have ever imagined, almost like he/she was just a kid.
Mom, I think, staring in wonder at the silhouettes, how is it in heaven today? When realization sets in, I take a step back from the doorway, wrapping my long fingers around its edge. Hope it's better than today for me... I notice the blue coats over white button-up shirts, ties knotted elegantly and tightly, and black slacks that go down past ankle-length. Their black leather dress shoes gleam in the light. As my eyes adjust further, I can see a shield-like emblem over their hearts, a sewn-in 'CA' standing out on a black background.
Because I've just ran into the host club, I finish.
The corner of my mouth twitches downward as I pull the door closer to my chest. "I'm s-sorry!" I stammer, my heart pounding out of my ribcage. "I didn't know this room was still being used!"
The guy in front of them all, sitting in a leather-bound chair, narrows his eyes at me. Standing up, he says, "Wait a minute..." He furls his brow. "Aren't you that one kid... that... ah, damn, it started with an 'S'..."
The twins narrow their eyes. "Wow, Blueblood, I never figured you would be this bad at names," they say simultaneously.
"No matter!" With a sly smirk, he points at me, his arm falling gracefully to its position. "But I swear, I've heard of you somewhere. You're that honor's student... S... freaking..." His eyebrow twitches as he turns his side to me, thumb under jaw. "Dammit, what was your name again?"
I would reply normally, but I'm too shocked to speak. "Wait... so you know about me?"
The tallest one shrugs. "Of course. But I'm not sure we've heard your name before, Mr. S." He shoots an eyebrow at the twins. "Crescent, Whooves, you have a class with this young man, do you not?"
"Of course," say the twins in unison, only with a miniscule difference in voice tone. "But he never speaks up. He only does so when he's called on... though we don't really remember his name, either."
"Confound it!" Blueblood throws his hands up in the air, followed my an unnaturally audible whooshing noise. He once again points at me, his eyebrow twitching. "You will now be known as Mr. S, just as Fancy just said."
"Mr. S..." Fancy mumbles, like tasting the name. "I see." I swear I see a lightbulb illuminate above his head, the click so profound I can almost literally hear it. "But, you're rather infamous here at Canterlot Academy. The poor honors student that made it into this luxurious place... that's simply unheard of."
My shoulders slump. "Right..." I can feel the heat gaining in my face. I've never been known for anything before, even though there are a few people who would rip out my throat because of this fact. "I see..."
"Don't sulk, Mr. S." I nearly jump twenty feet in the air, the door slamming shut behind me. I realize Blueblood had just appeared right beside me. "It's bad for your posture." He assumes a smug grin. "On the bright side, you're an example to those unemployed or underpaid citizens. That's something to be proud of, is it not?"
He is now only inches away from my face, and I fling my arms out in self-defense. "I-I guess," I manage, but as I let my arms down, I feel hands cling around my left wrist. I look down, and I see this kid. He has magenta hair and blue eyes, his face reddened in a deepish tan.
"S-chan!" he exclaims, yanking on my arm playfully. "You must be like the Wonderbolts or something! You're amazing!"
I raise an eyebrow at the kid, not letting his freaking adorable eyes break my straight face. "I'm not a Wonderbolt; I'm an honors stude—" I hesitate, unable to speak for a second. "And who are you calling S-chan?!" I scream, the little boy wobbling away, eyes watering. I try to catch my breath as Blueblood appears like the freaking Slenderman to my right.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he says. "I never would've imagined anybody would be this openly gay!"
I am once again dumbstruck by his words. "... Wha...?" is the only thing I can manage, my voice barely above a crackle.
He snaps his fingers. "Bingo," he mumbles. Raising his voice, he continues, "So, what kind of guys are you in to, Mr. S?" He flares his upturned palm as if to do a bow to gesture to the other five. "Are you interested in the strong and shy type?" He gestures to the person who hasn't said anything this whole while, blond hair, forest green eyes. "The cute type?" He gestures to the kid who was tugging on my arm. "The rather mischievous type?" He gestures to the twins—Crescent and Whooves. "The overly nonchalant type?" He gestures to Fancy, whose eyes were twitching downwards at his remark. "Or..." He gestures to himself. "Are you into someone like me?" He slides his long, manicured fingers under my chin, lifting my head up to look at him, his head once again dangerously close.
"I..." I manage, so many thoughts entering in my head at once: punch the guy, die of embarrassment, run away. "It's not like that!" I blurt, stumbling backward. "I was just looking for a quiet place to study! This isn't what I—" suddenly, I feel something slam into my back. I look backward just in time to see an elaborate, ceramic vase, and its pedestal, tipping toward mother earth to give her a kiss. I shoot my hand out to the vase, but it's in vain. I gasp so sharply as if I inhaled one of the shards of the broken vase and the cracked pedestal.
My jaw escapes its bounds and hits the floor.
Just like the Blue-blooded Slenderman, the twins slide into existence behind me.
"Aw," one sighs, "That was to be auctioned off a month from now!"
"Yeah," grunts the other. "For eight hundred thousand dollars, as well!"
My jaw breaks through the floor and snaps back up like a spring. "Eight... hundred..." I collapse on my knees, burying my head in my arms upon the cracked pedestal. "How many... thousands..." My fingers shoot out subconsciously, trying to count whatever the number is that I'm too stressed out to think about andwhatwillIdobecauseI'mpoorandwon'tbeabletopaythatdebtinalifetime...
Through my panic, I manage in a small voice, "I'll have to pay you back... I'm awfully sorry..."
The twins shrug. "With what money? You don't even have a school uniform, june-bug!"
Fancy walks over like a normal person should and picks up a shard of the broken vase. He examines it, the carved vines gleaming in the very intense light of the music room. "Hm... whatever should we do to have you repay the debt? Blueblood?"
The corners of Blueblood's mouth turns up menacingly, making me forget all about the affability of their welcome. "Well, there's a saying, my dear Fancy Pants," he starts, sitting in the same leather-bound chair he was sitting in maybe a minute earlier. He crosses his legs, thighs touching with such speed that I doubt he has a penis. "When in Griffonia, do as the Griffonians do." He once again points at me, seeming not at all affected by the broken vase. "Instead of money, you will serve with your body. From now forward, you will be the Host Club's dog."
I can hear chimes striking in my head, my face, if it hasn't already, going slack. I don't think I'll survive this, mom! I blare in my head.
Blueblood claps his hands together, rubbing them on impact. "Your first job starts in an hour. Hop to it, Mr. S, you mangy mutt!"
One... painful... hour... later...
I am back in the music room, after a painful final period of calculus. I hold my head in my hands, not only because of the random math equations and rules running through my mind as noisily as a train blaring heavy metal, but because of the obvious reason that I don't want to be there. I peek through my fingers to see young ladies filling the room, wearing dresses that trumped prom dresses any day, and this is their average wear. What do their prom dresses even look like? I ask myself. Are they lined with gold or just plain jewels or something? I shiver, almost in terror at their aristocracy.
That's when I feel an arm around my shoulder. My heart jumps in synchronization with my legs, flashing up my flat-palmed hands in self defense once again. It was the Blue-blooded Slender Man again, eyebrow jotting up for a second, looking quite disappointed at the empty space under his arm.
He frowns. "You're quite jumpy today, Mr. S. Maybe I shall assist you with a nice shoulder massage to calm you down?" He cracks his fingers in preparation.
I step back, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. He was going to lose that hand. "Just. Don't. Touch me. Please." I bring my clasped hands to my chest protectively, an action that once again raises the eyebrow of the seemingly supernatural being.
But then he stops for a seconds, his cheeks puffing out randomly. Then he slaps his face with both hands, giving a long, "Hnng!" He rests his head in his hands. "That's sooo cute! It's really lady-like to do, and it does seem to match the names of those boys in that other anime..." He slides over and wraps his slender arms around me, and I put my forearm forward to block any more body contact. "But it's just too kawaii!"
I grunt against his bear hug, trying to wedge myself free. I feel like my torso is being squished into a pancake. "Someone!" I grunt. "Help!" My voice is just a squeak that last word, and just before my vision tunnels in, I feel weightless for a second. A sudden whoosh of air and vertigo passes over me, and as my mind finally processes what is happening, I find myself maybe four feet from the ground, Blueblood sprawled on the ground, his suit only a tad bit ruffled.
Through his mumblings, I look down at my savior. It was that strong yet shy dude again, his jaw slightly offset like he was chewing on something. His semi-slim yet muscular arms angled up at a nearly forty-five degrees, his hands wrapped under my arms, his thumbs gripped over my chest. For a second, he seems confused, and yet another lightbulb clicks above the head of a Host.
But he doesn't give any remark. For a split second, I find an evil smile on his lips, his eyes aiming at Blueblood. But... it must have been my imagination, otherwise he'd smiled for about a millisecond. He slowly lets me down, showing no sign of strain, my heels clicking on the marble. He looks at me with a casual look, breathing in sharply as if he's about to talk, but doesn't.
"Thanks," I manage, sliding my hand under my arm, rubbing away his iron grip.
His expression stays casual. "Eeyup," he says, turns a one-eighty, and heads back to a set of chairs, where the rest of the hosts sat, looking the slightest bit... mortified.
I shrug it off, and I turn back to Blueblood, who had straightened up his jacket, and was now standing, rubbing his head and biting protests against the Host that had helped me. I feel the corners of my lips twitch up to a smile. He definitely deserved what was coming. "I suppose you won't be hugging me again any time soon, Blueblood?"
Wincing, he flops his unoccupied arm down to point at me. "Maybe," he says in a sort of sing-song voice. "It depends if you can contain your cuteness levels." Rubbing the back of his head one final time, his expression brightens. "Ah, yes. You are our manservant, yes?" He takes his left hand and strokes his chin, pulling at imaginary hairs. "First job for you. Set up some extra tables. We always have more customers than we expect. Just set them up near the centre of the room. Make sure you avoid the corners."
I nod glumly. "Yes, m'lord," I say sarcastically. I sigh. This is going to be a long couple of weeks, I think, knitting my eyebrows. With that, I walk out of Music Room 3 and to the supply room to roll more round tables in, dressing them in embroidered tablecloths that are reminiscent of vines and rose flowers. I set up one after another, my arms starting to hurt from exertion. I'd never figured that moving these sorts of tables would be this tasking, as every five seconds I struggle to keep it upright.
This was the pattern for the next couple of days, occasionally bringing out some china and coffee that looked all but too out of place in the small teacups provided. Surprisingly, they didn't have a shortage of coffee beans. But, they were beans. I had to spend about five minutes of rigorous grinding them down to grain, the grooves in the handle wearing red spots in my hands. After I had flicked the pain from my hand, I would then serve full coffee cups to the young women in attendance. Which had to be the whole entire female student body.
Rinse and repeat. For two weeks until something happens in the middle of my second week.
Many times, I had seen the twins in action. I don't know what to think of it, even now. They are... awfully close, I guess. You cannot find them in the music room ever without having them in each other's arms. But when they have customers, they drop the weirdest crap since Science Theatre 3000. Things they talk about would end up with them both in quite... how should I put it... sensual positions. One would lean toward the other, their face merely inches from the others, mumbling sweat nothings to each other. They would go as far as to stroke the other's faces, but that's usually where it stops. I find myself grateful somewhat that it ceased before it got way out of hand, but at the same time, disappointed because the cute display had its mortem.
But, that one day, I had accidentally run into the both of them as they were walking about, trying to attract new customers. This would've been perfectly normal, but instead, I actually knock one of them over. Crescent/Whooves goes down, I with him, landing... not on the hard tile. With a yelp, I land on him, back to torso, obviously pushing all the air out of his lungs. I curl up on top of him, nuzzling my head into his shoulder. But then I stop, realizing in horror what I'd just done. Along with that movement, and the obvious lack of manly weight, I can tell that something clicked with him. And his twin brother.
Both of them didn't waste a moment to show their mischievous smiles, not even trying to hide them.
I roll off of Crescent/Whooves, repeating again and again the classic apology, looking behind my back to make absolutely sure I'm not going to biff everything up again. But the twins still just smirk at nothing.
"Just wait until Blueblood figures this out," says one.
"Yeah." The other shakes his head. "He will be so embarrassed... I can't wait..."
I turn a one-eighty right into guess who? Blueblood stands, thankfully, a little more than two feet away, so I'm not ready to bop one to his face. He looks at me gleefully, and opens his arms up. "Ah, Mr. S! Wonderful to see you working today!" he exclaims, his arms continuing to flare out.
"You know I'm not going to hug you," I say skeptically, folding my arms, "right?"
He shrugs, resting his arms to his sides. "Hey. Worth a shot."
My eye twitches. "And also, you do know my actual name, right? It's been two weeks."
He stretches his arms above his head. " 'Course I do," he yawns, "but Mr. S. sticks to you just fine."
I frown. "And you expect me to hug you when an intimate relationship is separated by a silly honorific."
He shrugs again, a smug smile appearing on his face. "Dunno. It could happen, though."
I scoff at his ignorance. This guy, I think. He's so unbelievable. "Anyways, what's up, Slender Man-Senpai?"
That accidentally slips out, and the next thing I know he's looking as sad as a child taken from candy. True to his name, he suddenly appears in the opposite corner of the room, sulking a great arch in his back.
Part of me wants to laugh in triumph, but silly guilt holds me back. It's true that I downright hate the guy, but no one can honestly expect anyone to make fun of him in this state. Besides, I think, I'm no person to lay insult to... injury.
"Oh, there he goes again," say two voices on both sides of me. I look right and left to see Crescent and Whooves leaning on my shoulders, their elbows threateningly close to my chin when I look either way. These two boys were the only ones I am comfortable having next to me: their nonchalant ways veering off the almost foreboding kindness of their leader.
"If you're wondering, june-bug, he is often like this," says... Crescent?
"Yeah," agrees... Whooves? "One time, at the beginning of the host club, he was insulted by one young lady, the burn so bad that I do believe his bottom was smoking."
I furl my brow at the nearly lifeless hunk of mass in the corner. I know I have to do something to make that idiot look alive. But the question is how to get him to that point. The guilt eats me inside out, even though I know it is all just silly business. After all, if he's left in that corner for a bit longer, he might cool down after a while and not swarm all over me for once.
I sigh, "Fine," then walk to that corner. He's suck an obnoxious brat, I think. But he's a better active brat than a cadaver in a random corner. The heels of my shoes click loudly on the tile, not even getting one ounce of attention from him. My brow furls again. Seriously, I think, what's up with this guy? Through the questions of his sanity swirling in my head, I tower over him, not aggressively, but enough to get by.
"Blueblood-senpai," I say, clearing my throat. "Are you just a little sissy?"
A whimper comes from him, and he just nods.
I sigh gutturally, bringing my forefingers to the bridge of my nose. He's not making this any easier, I think. But how should I snap him out of this? I snap my fingers, being prepared to embarrass myself. "You're not a sissy, Blueblood-senpai," I point out. "You're a gentleman. Prince extraordinaire. The real reason why this Host Club exists in the first place. You're going to face some harsh words once in a while, and mine won't be the last. Don't you dare let these words get you down. Otherwise, you can expect to sit your ass down in that corner for the rest of the school year. We can go on without you."
"Technically," says one of the twins behind me, "we can't go on without him, because he's the... well... host of the Host Club."
"Not helping!" I snap. "Listen to me, Blueblood-senpai, I guess we can't move on without you. But, all the more reason just to look past this silliness and start anew." I feel extremely awkward giving a pep talk to my upperclassman, especially in a place you don't really expect one. Nonetheless, I continue. "What say you? Keep sulking over in the corner like a coward, or stand up and continue like nothing happened, reviving this group, and this whole room?"
Blueblood looks over his shoulder, wiping his nose, and all of a sudden he brightens up... a familiar expression that—oh, crap no, not agai— "Agh!" I grunt as he gives me another bear hug, the upper half of my torso above his shoulder.
"You're. So. Cute!" he yells, and starts shaking me back and forth at such velocities to get whiplash. Then, my glasses fly of my face, spiraling across the room frantically. Blueblood just stops, and tries to look up at my face. His eyes widen, and his mouth forms an 'o' shape. He sets me down, awestruck, even though I am barely able to see his face.
He shakes his head, bows it and swiftly flicks his wrist and snaps his fingers. "Big Mac," he says regally. "Where did that extra suit go?"
"Uh, well," Big Mac stammers, "I do believe it is in the storage closet. You're not going to—"
"I am," Blueblood says plainly. "Go and fetch it, if you would, please."
Big Mac disappears in a blink, the blink I share in disbelief. I am pretty sure what he's talking about... well, if I could see then I could more firmly confirm that. I place my forefingers on the bride of my nose to give me something to focus on. "Y'know, I sorta need my glasses," I state.
Blueblood's blur in front of me tilts near the top of the blob. "Huh? You wouldn't happen to have contacts?"
"Yeah, but they're at home."
I catch the slightest hint of a sigh from him. "Right," he says, snapping his fingers once again. Another blob erects horizontally from the near-top of the blob. "Fancy, get on top of the contacts issue." The horizontal blob swipes to the right. "Crescent and Whooves, help Big Mac out with the ironing."
A small blob jumps up near Blueblood's feet. "What do I get to do, Blueblood-chan?"
The top of the blob tilts down. "Oh, Champ, you get to... hang out with your Angel Bunny plushie. Being extremely kawaii must be hard work."
The blob sinks. "Okay..." Champ sighs, trudging slower than his entrance.
I feel guilty for not intervening and actually giving him something to do, but I shrug it off quickly. "So, just to clarify, what's been going on since about five seconds ago?"
I can see the blob in front of me twitch, and I can feel the self-restraint he's forcing onto himself. He shifts uncomfortably. "Ah, you are a curious one, are you?" I feel a hand on my shoulder, and feel tempted to veer away and let him hang again. "Well then, to make it official: starting today, you are a Host!"
I knew it. Though the fact still manages to awe me. One look at my eyes (I'm assuming) and I become a part of them. I feel my guts grow cold. I absolutely know that the first couple of days, probably the whole career was going to be awkward. I lock my arms to my sides, preventing them from clasping together as a nervous habit. But, would the suit even fit me? I'm not the tallest person; almost any men's size articles of clothing is too baggy or too long on me. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. I didn't want to do it. I dreaded the moment where I'd have to sit in front of girls that I don't even know and chide them with chivalry.
I suck in an elongated breath. "C-could I at least have my glasses back for the time being?" I blurt, feeling an anvil on my chest. "Not out of disrespect or anything," I quickly add; "I just want to see what's going on."
The blob's top point jerks up and down, a gesture I assume is a nod. "Understood." Like the gentlemen and scholar he is, a phrase that made me nearly gag around him, he disappears for a second. Only seconds later, I feel something grab my hand, and a thin, folded object that I quickly scramble onto my face. When my eyesight is restored, I can see him frowning, chiding himself that it would all be over soon. "There," he says a bit too late. "You can now see. And now you can fight."
I cock an eyebrow at him. "Fight? Why would I have to fight..."
He waves a hand gracefully in dismissal. "Pop-culture reference. Don't question it."
I stifle a scoff. I'd previously thought that they would be too classy for pop-culture. As I open my mouth to talk again, I hesitate. Even though I am not too fond of Blueblood, I feel comfortable starting up conversations with him. I scratch my temple, ignoring his small "D'aw"s and "Kawaii"s. Why do I feel this way? I think. It's almost as if I knew him before. My jaw snaps shut and I take a step back, feeling unexpected heat in my ears. For a second, an image flashes in my mind of his fabulous and chivalrous manner, and for that moment, I feel... attracted to him. I shake my head of the thought. It's too silly. I hate the guy. Grr.
Out of the corner of my eye, and the range of my glasses' bounds, though, I see him smirk, his arms positioned like how you'd see a waiter carrying a checkboard, doing a swift flick of the wrist as if to say, "Yes, he's attracted to me."
You know those times where effective-immediately turns into, "Eh, maybe tomorrow?" That's me with the host club, and I can't have it any other way.
It's a nice night in my house, the sounds of the night calmed down, the light in my room off. I am tucked into my bedsheets, particularly exhausted by my dad's fashion run. The coolness of the blanket gradually turns warm with my body heat, the pillow underneath my head more comfortable than usual.
Then my mind wanders back the the Host club when the fingers of sleep caress it. Dreamy images pop up into my head, the twins, Champ-senpai, Big Mac, Fancy—then all of a sudden, Blueblood's face turns up... for the millionth time ever since the middle of the first week. The fingers of sleep curl back in disgust, and I welcome crankiness into my thought process. The image only comes up for a split second; the image in question being more than my conscious mind wants to see. Shirt unbuttoned, showing perfectly toned pectorals, ridgy abs, and bulgy veins in the perfect, relaxed masculine form. His slacks are undone as well, showing high-quality cotton dark-grey-ish underwear... and dear Celestia, I am adding on to it!
I cross my legs under the sheets, shaking the image away from my psyche. No, no, no! I exclaim in my thoughts. This is not how I want it to work! Taking a deep breath, my head plummets back into the pillow, the bed now as comfortable as it had always been. Though I feel like I need to run a mile or something before I can go to sleep ever again. He's an obnoxious idiot. He would deter anyone away from him, had it not been for his striking good looks. I bring my sheets up closer to my face. It is official; I've fallen under his spell. How can I not? I ask myself. Even the straight guys would go gay for him.
Sighing, I scoot further into my blanket, pocketing me in a pleasurable warmth. I just gotta face the fact: I'm crushing on him. That's the truth. Nothing I can really do about it, I suppose. I close my eyes in submission, excepting whatever image my mind throws at me, because I'm that type of person. And for once, I've fallen asleep swifter than any one of the Hosts have ever surprised me.