Canterlot High School Host Club

by Takarashi282

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Comedy, Prince Blueblood, Crossover, Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Human, Doctor Whooves
Length: 10181

A Canterlot High School student accidentally walks in on a boys' club of hormonal proportion, and is insisted to join. Celestia help this soul.

"Only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families are lucky enough to spend their time here in the elite private school, Ouran Canterlot Academy. The Ouran Canterlot Host Club is where the school's handsomest boys with too much time on their hands entertain ladies who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Ouran Canterlot Academy's elegant playground for the super rich and beautiful.
— Tamaki Suoh (Ouran High School Host Club)

Rated Teen:
Suggestive Themes
Sexuality
Mild Language

**This fanfiction is based on the first episode of Ouran Highschool Host Club, particularly the English dub by Funimation. There is also information disclosed in this work that may spoil future episodes as well. You have been warned.**

Published 2014-10-05 03:30:05 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-05 03:30:05 UTC

The New Dog

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.

The New Host

The next thing I know, I'm being shoved behind a curtain by the two twins, with rather heavy articles of clothing wrapped in my arms. "Make it quick," they say, simultaneously as ever. "You've got a long day of work ahead of you, Mr. S." And with that, they flick the pearly-white curtain closed, leaving me to my own devices.

With a small huff, I turn away from the entrance. The room is very vast as compared to the dressing rooms I've seen in malls and indie clothing stores. I can spread out my arms and notice that the width of the room is twice that. Thrice, for the depth. To the right of a finished, stone bench stands a gold-framed mirror at the opposite side of the dressing room, giving me a better look at myself. I wear wide-framed glasses, frame itself being a greenish-brown. My hair is flown back, giving it an almost mohawk look if it weren't for the hair still lingering on the side of my skull. My eyes are a vivid contrast of orange, a colour that compliments the uniform more than any of the others.

And there is the uniform, draped in my arms, begging to be put on.

I walk toward the bench and lay out my new uniform elegantly across its top. Then my hands float to the the top coat I'm wearing and tug it off my torso, the way I do so ever so awkward. I proceed to take off my white dress shirt, unbuttoning it from the top down. The rather cold air hits my bare shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine. I wrap my arms around my torso before pulling away to remove my slacks. I pull on the other slacks and the dress shirt, both sliding on comfortably, obviously expensive silk. I slip on the black tie, then continue to the dress coat, which was the heaviest out of all of the articles, but still has the consistency of the dress shirt and slacks, and was very comfortable to wear. I wince every time I think about how spendy these things are. A rich man's luxury, these are.

I see myself in the mirror again, astonished at how well the uniform fitted. The blue dress coat just barely goes past my hips, complimenting my two-toned hair colour. The slacks and dress shirt go well with the design, as always, almost a one-style-fits-all. Slowly but surely, my gaze goes past the clothing, and to the exit. I can't believe that I've become one of them, I think, and I'm not sure that's a good thing. Sure, the boys are trustworthy and all, but I just can't fit in with them. It's nothing I can change. I string my fingers together over my semi-calm beating heart. What a way to go about things, mom.

Precious moments later, I pop my head out of the dressing room, pulling a faked smile as I reveal the uniform to the twins. They frown judgementally, nodding. "Looks good," one of the twins say.

"Heck, it may look better on you than anyone else." The other twin shrugs.

"Now," they say in unison, "it's time for the fun part..."

They steer me toward Music Room 3 again, and push me through the door. As I stumble and nearly fall on my face, I realize the sheer number of young ladies being... entertained by the Host club. Infatuation, however, is not the way I go around doing things.

I bite into my forefinger. Only a couple minutes until we're in business, I prepare, biting into it even more. I never have been this nervous since I was forced to join the talent show in elementary school, and it's practically the same concept. Just a little bit more... touchy-feely. I wonder, however, if any one of these young women would even be attracted to me. Of course not, I think. The rest of the Hosts, I have to admit, are very attractive, but me? I'm not.

That is when three expensively-clad young women walk over to me, wearing pastel yellow dresses that I assume are school uniform. The one to the farthest left wore curled, blonde hair, and couldn't meet my gaze. The middle one wears short hair like mine, except it drifts off to her right side in three big and sharp clumps. The one to the farthest right seems like the third wheel, though she has a book in her hands, wearing wire-thin framed glasses, her glossy black hair looking almost purple.

"Hey dude," says the drifty-haired one.

Dude? I think. Oh no... I'm not attracting the tomboys, am I? I fake a smile and wave back. "Hi! I'm—"

"Oh, we know you," she interrupts. "You're that Mr. S one, right? The new Host?"

I shrug. "Seems that way. The Hosts just couldn't keep their hands off me." I try to keep the annoyance in my tone back, but the drifty-haired girl raises an eyebrow.

"That's how it normally goes." The drifty hair girls gestures to the girl to her side. "Anyways, this is Fluttershy." I hear a small meep come from her. "She was really reluctant at first," she continues, "but then she submitted in the end." She chuckles, nudging the girl to her left. "This egghead is Twilight Sparkle, who can't keep her nose out of a book for the life of her."

"Hypocrisy," Twilight Sparkle says simply, flipping a page of her book.

The drifty-haired girl's eyebrows twitch downward, and she turns a little bit red. "Aaanyway," she semi-grunts, placing the tips of her fingers over her chest. "I am Rainbow Dash, the most athletic out of these damn rich people."

They way her body is shaped, and the way she called me 'dude' sort of explained it before she said it. "That's good to hear," I say. "Ms. Dash, Ms. Sparkle, Ms. Shy—"

"Her name's only one word," Twilight speaks up, flipping yet another page of her book.

"... Ms. Fluttershy," I correct myself. "Nice to meet you." My heart picks up acceleration. I am surprised, almost horrified that it came out so naturally. I suck in a deep breath. "Why don't we take a seat?" I ask, voice quivering as I gesture to the nearest table, the table and the frames of the chairs a light mahogany, with a hot pink velvet sticking from the chairs cushioning.

I sit the girls down, nearly sitting down myself before I realize that we don't have anything to drink. Excusing myself for being so forgetful, I meander toward the preparations table, the closest thing we have to a kitchen. I quickly prepare the 'commoners coffee', a hit with the ladies here, in more or less of a teacup. For some reason, I find the sight funny; I've never really considered the rich drinking coffee. But, apparently they do. A lot.

Whilst scrambling for saucers, I see something white and fuzzy in my peripheral vision, below the table. Curious, I crouch down to meet the gaze of a stuffed bunny, its black eyes looking like a ceaseless void, though the way that the face is structured with the w'd lips strikes some cord in me. This must be Champ's Angel Bunny, I think, reaching a hand out to retrieve it, the texture of the fabric that made the fur feeling good on my soft, lotioned hands. I grab it and hug it to my chest, though hesitant to do so. It's so comfortable I just want to hold it forever. But I know that this was someone else's. Before I call out Champ's name, I feel a tugging on my slacks.

"Oh, you've found Usa...-chan?" That hesitation from Champ was an indication of the light finally snapping on inside his head, his eyes widening as I look down to him.

"Oh, yeah," I say, crouching down to him and handing him his bunny. "He's really cute, by the way."

Champ is still in his daze for a second, then shakes it from his mind. "Yeah, he is!" he exclaims, reassuming a smile.

"Champ-senpai!" calls a voice from the opposite side of the room.

"Coming!" He calls back, glancing back at me once more before going on.

I smile. Never have met such a cute kid upperclassman, I think. Turning back to the table, I resume my original task, grabbing a tray to carry the cups and saucers, clinking together with the plastic as I walk. When I return to the table, I place the china gingerly on the tabletop in front of each of the young ladies, and finally sit myself down at the south end of the table.

"So, how have you ladies' days been going?" I ask, unable to think of any flattering remarks off the bat.

"As per usual," says Rainbow Dash. "Lots of work, too snobby teachers, that kind of stuff."

Twilight sets down her book and raises the cup of coffee to her full lips. "My day's been relatively relaxed," she says, taking a small sip of her coffee. "Nothing but the small advanced tests and trigonometry and all that stuff. Easy."

I feel my jaw start to drop. She'd just named off the hardest subjects in the school... and brushed them off nonchalantly. "That's good to hear," I say. Shifting in my seat I turn my head to Fluttershy. "What about you, miss?"

"A-o-oh," she mumbles. "Uh... I don't know... usual I guess..."

I am barely able to hear what she says, but I nod nonetheless. "I guess days could be worse," I say, acknowledging that I'm going to have to listen more closely to her, and that I'm a horrible gentleman. A few seconds pass before the next words pass, starting with Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle looking at each other and nodding.

"How did you become a Host, by the way?" both of them say in unison. "I mean," Rainbow Dash says, "Any more reasons than the, 'They got a giant bro-rection when they saw me'?"

I open my mouth to say no, but then I realize that I'm still here. I came here without complaining, without anybody reminding me. Even though I'd rather be in other places right now, I did what I was asked to do; become a Host. Yesterday, Blueblood explained that if I get a hundred customers, they will forgive the debt, and very possibly, set me free from my semi-indentured servitude. I need a story, I think, and then it clicks. I know just the one.

"I grew up as a second-class citizen around Mount Fuji," I explain. "My family was very close, even today. Though, I felt my mother was the closest thing I had to a friend back then in an aristocratic environment. We played together, she taught me lots of things, much more than my dad—who is a cross-dresser—ever did.

"But then, when I turned five, she got into a car crash where a shard of glass punctured her jugular artery. The piece of glass miraculously stayed in place, prolonging the bleeding out process. She survived, and she was well for about two weeks. Then, since she inherited sickle cell from her father, she ended up getting a horrible infection that had spread to her esophagus, making it difficult to breathe for her.

"We rushed her to the hospital right away. But, once she was inspected, the infection had spread too far in order for it to be helped. She had one of two options—to prolong her pain to be with her family for her last days by using medication, or to end it as soon as possible. Damningly, she took the latter route." My voice is starting to break apart, the burn of tears stinging behind my eyes. I take a deep breath. "She died three days later of asphyxiation, on the eleventh of November. She was an attorney in law, and wished nothing better than the well-standing of our family. I guess she figured that prolonging her pain would prolong our grief. The last thing she said to me was, 'My darling, you look beautiful.'"

And that's the reason why I do what I do today, I think. Habitually, I wipe my cheek, but I didn't feel any wetness; no tears. I had successfully explained that story... for the first time ever since she died... without breaking out into tears. "And I guess that's why I'm here, to look beautiful, as she would have it."

"Ah, shoot." Rainbow Dash, I can tell, was getting teared up. She shook her head. "That really sucks, man. You have my condolences."

Fluttershy nods.

"It's all right now," I say. "Before she passed, she left for me all the great recipes that she'd created. They were fun to cook, and it always makes me happy when I see my dad enjoy them. We managed to get by, through a rough start of a family." It is a small ending, though it feels as if the anvil on my chest has been lifted. I haven't told anyone about that in a while, and I never intended to ever again. But now, all my previous anxiety has slipped away. I suddenly feel a lot more comfortable with this group. A burst of confidence flares inside me, and I'm ready to talk again.

"Aaanyways, what other things do you like doing?" a question comes from Rainbow Dash.

"And do you have any animals?" asks Fluttershy.

Page flip from Twilight Sparkle, though she seems half-invested in the conversation going on as well.

I smile. "Well, ladies..."

Fifteen. Fifteen customers on the first day. I'm exhausted as all hell, and I can't wait to go home. Though... that was actually quite fun! I mean, I've never thought a social life would be so freeing. So exhilarating. So satisfying. I can't wait for tomorrow, even though the exhaustion is an aspect I don't really care for.

Outside the highschool, I hear someone calling my name. "...ire! Ah, I mean, Mr. S!"

I turn, and, behind me, running to catch up, is Blueblood, short blond hair being blown to the side by the wind. I stop, unlike previous days where I shrug him off. I need to talk to him. I have to. I need to determine whether or not my crush hit a good person. I wave, and he waves back, grappling his knees and gasping for breath when he gets to me.

For some reason, I find this cute. Once again, he annoys the living crap out of me, but... I just can't help it. "You look uber graceful while running," I remark sarcastically, his flailing arms while doing so the basis of the statement.

He laughs heavily, sounding more like coughs than laughs. "I know... right? I... could run... a freaking ma... marathon!"

A smile creeps up my lips. "Unless you are concerned for the welfare of other runners, I wouldn't do it."

He shrugs, where I half expect him to find a corner and cry himself to sleep. "I guess... whew!" He wipes his brow and straightens up, catching his breath. "Anyways, you did really well today. I was going to train you, but it was too tempting to watch you perform under pressure. And, you did really well. Congrats!"

I feel my eye twitch as he says this. "Well, I guess I'm a sort of social person, after all."

"Isn't everybody?" He smiles, but then his expression turns grim. "I heard you during that first one. I just want to say, even though I'm more than ten years late, I'm sorry for your loss."

That statement catches me off guard. I never anticipated a guy like him to say anything like that to anybody, especially since he's so self-centred, and we've only known each other for two and a half weeks. My eyes fall down to the white pavement of the sidewalk, green grass awaiting at either side. "It's all right," I say, my face starting to heat up against my will. "Everything's fine now."

His eyes fall to the pavement too. "Y'know, I get it. Even though my mother isn't deceased... yet, at least."

My eyes shoot up. "Blueblood?"

"My mom," he continues. "Well, my whole family is from France. I came here to Japan... but my mother didn't go. I don't know what's up with her. She was bedridden and deathly ill for a time, but she recovered. But... it sometimes feels like she's dead to me. We haven't met up in a long time... and I wonder why..." He starts choking up, an occurrence that breaks my heart. "I-I wonder why she separates herself from me all the time!" Tears start rolling down his cheeks, and his knees start to buckle. He falls on his knees, and I can tell he's trying to battle the tears.

I don't waste any time. I kneel down and hug him. He draws in a quick gasp as my arms wrap around him, bringing in and distributing the warmth of both our bodies. I hug until his chest stops heaving, and he returns the hug, drawing me in closer. But it is cut short. He slowly backs away from the hug, looking confused. The lightbulb flickers. And it dies again.

"Thank you," he manages, wiping his eyes of tears. "I needed that."

I place my hands on my knees. "I think that goes for us both."

He smiles at me, but there's still a wonderful edge to his expression, as if he's trying to figure out a puzzle he wasn't given the rules to complete. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

I smile and nod. "Yeah. See you." We help one another up, and go our separate ways for the day.

My bag winds up in the pond.

At first, I don't have a clue what went on. This is the first place that I've went to school to that didn't have bullies constantly on me, throwing sexist remarks at me. But I guess aristocrats bullies as well, I think, sighing. I jog my way down the hall, eyes cast on the tile.

But I see a figure pass by to my left. Glossy, almost purple hair. Book in hand.

"Ah, Mr. S. Fancy seeing you here," she says with an angry edge.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"He isn't yours, you know. He will never be. And if you try taking advantage of him, I'll rip your throat out."

"What the hell... what're you talking about?"

She stomps her foot on the ground. "No matter what..." she turns to face me, wire-framed glasses bouncing from the bridge of her nose. "You will always be a second-class citizen!" She storms off in the opposite direction, her high heels clicking on the tile.

I know that's a stupid attempt to make me feel angry, but due to what she did with my bag, I cannot help but scowling.

I hop down the stairs into the main lobby and push out of the double-doors, narrowing my eyes at my stuff in the pond. I let my expression relax and I sigh. I take off my dress shoes, roll up the legs of my slacks and the cuffs of my dress shirt. The pond has a statue, a cupid rather crudely 'peeing' in the water. When I step into the water, I nearly take back my foot in alarm. It was extremely cold. I guess due to it being Springtime, that would be expected.

I toss out my bag, my books, and everything. Except for one thing; my wallet. It was easy to find my stuff, but Twilight might've taken extra care of my wallet by throwing it out separately. My scowl gets more intense. To think that she was my customer yesterday... and she shows random behaviour like this? She said something about someone not being mine... was she talking about Blueblood?

"Hey, commoner."

Speak of the devil.

"You have some nerve skipping out on the club like that," Blueblood says, but then hesitates. "Wha? Why's your bag so wet?"

I wanted to rat out Twilight, but as I remember, she was a constant to Blueblood. If I do so right away, then it would be obvious that we were at each others throats now. "Oh, don't worry, I just... er... I just dropped my bag out the window."

"Ah, really?" By his voice, I can tell that he's not convinced. "What luck..."

I continue to wade my hands through the ice-cold water, feeling for a box-ish leather through the intense reflection of the sky. Again, nothing. As I shift over more to scan that area, I hear a splash of water behind me and a quiver of a voice. I look toward the source of the noise, and to my right, there was Blueblood, searching with me.

"You don't have to do that," I say. "You'll ruin your getup."

"Don't you worry, my little piglet," he insists. "A little water never hurt anyone, after all." He sweeps one hand to the right, and brings it right out. "Ah-hah!" he exclaims. "Got it." He turns to me, a slight smile on his face, in an upturned hand a purple, leather-esque bound bifold container. "Unless someone threw their whole wallet in here for a wish, I assume this is yours?" He tilts his head. "What's wrong? You're just staring off into space." He walks toward me, carrying the wallet between his forefinger and his thumb. "I see, you're falling for me like a rock in water."

I snicker, snapping out of my daze. "Don't get too many ideas, big boy." I say as I snatch my wallet from his hand, zipping it open to ensure I still have everything in there. Fortunately, everything is just fine, just wetter.

Blueblood must have caught my scowl. "Mr. S, what's the matter?"

With a swift flick of the wrist, I zip my wallet closed. "It's just... nothing." I cut myself off from saying what truly happened, as it would make me look indecisive, and effectively, a liar.

Blueblood narrows his eyes. "Y'know, you're a lot more feminine than just your looks." Flicker, flicker. "It must be your charm though." Dead. He smiles at me, and grabs me by the hand. "Come, Mr. S." he says. "We need to return back to the Host club."

I gasp. I've completely forgotten about that. "Yeah..." I manage, the contact we were having making my face feel red hot. Through these thoughts, I hear him laugh in victory as he tugs me out of the pond, and I barely have enough time to gather my things up and put them somewhere I can remember before Blueblood tugs on my arm again.

It only takes a few seconds for us to make it into Music Room 3, hopping up the steps and running down the halls, me barely having enough endurance to make it to the door and no farther. But Blueblood skids into the door, and nearly tackles it down with his momentum when he suddenly stops, and opens the door like a normal person would do, though with a little more pizazz. Though, he stops right in the doorway. I hear a hushed voice speak to him, and I can hear my alias be whispered between them. Blueblood nods and pops more into view.

"Uh," he says. "Someone has requested you, Mr. S. Um..." He leans into the door again, asking, "Are you sure?" and backs into view again. "It's Ms. Twilight Sparkle."

"Ah, that's unfortunate." Twilight Sparkle sips from her cup of coffee, exhaling excess air. "I don't know what I'd do if I had my bag fall into the pond." She has a look on her, a look that reminds me of those soap operas where the antagonist is obviously not hiding his/her scorn.

"It was no problem really," I try not to grunt. "Everything turned out fine in the end. The books got a little smudged but they're still readable." I bite my tongue. If I have to be with this bitch any longer, I think, then I'm going berserk.

"Uh-huh," she says nonchalantly. "I also heard you got Blueblood to do the dirty work as well. You must be quite... enticing in order for that to happen."

I lock my eyes onto the table, trying with all my might to not roll them. I am not going to respond. Any way I could respond she would still continue to enrage me. There would be no way out unless I break character, and that could affect the number of costumers I get in the future. I stab my fingernails into my palms. Stay in character, I command myself.

"Well," she continues, stretching. "Don't feel like he's doing that for you because you're special or anything." She leans on the table even more. "He just wants to exploit you; turn you into his idea of a gentleman. You're his pet, his dog. You will never be anything more." Her expression turns more aggressive. "The thought of you two being together is too fleeting for a second-class citizen."

I look up, feeling lightheaded. "I see," I say, the corners of my eyesight reddening. "You're jealous of me..."

Twilight Sparkle's eyes widen, only seconds to be met with a flying table, and seconds later, I am on top of her, just about to punch her in the face. Only then do I realize what I've done, and that I've fallen into her coup.

"Blueblood!" she yells, almost convincingly. "This young... man has attacked me!" The whole Host Club appears around us, looking glumly down at us... but mostly at her...

"Please do something, Blueblood!" she pleads, "Fire this imbecile, for heaven's sake!"

It only takes a few seconds for the response to happen. Fancy extends his arm to the side, and I brace for the worst.

Splash!

"Fa—!" Blueblood's voice chimes. Then he groans. "I guess that's one way to solve this problem."

Twilight and I are soaking wet, the chilliness of the water seeping into the suit. I'm trying to decide if there was a deeper meaning to a possible joke, but I don't think about it any longer, not to focus on anger, but shock.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," clicks Blueblood. "I expected better from you, Twilight." He narrows his eyes. "You're the one who threw Mr. S's bag in the pond, aren't you?"

Twilight's face goes slack, the color draining from it all the same. "I... I don't know what you're talking about, honey. You heard it yourself; he accidentally dropped it into the pond! No harm was done there!"

Blueblood's eyes narrowed even further.

She growls under me. "Well, somebody had to show him who's boss! He's a second-class citizen. A peasant! You can't be attracted to the likes of him! It will ruin your reputation!"

Blueblood huffs. "But, haven't you already ruined yours by lying in front of the victim, and bystanders?"

Twilight's skin goes even paler. "Bystanders?"

"Isn't this climactic," Fancy remarks, stroking his chin mischievously. "Well, not that any of this is my business, but Champ wanted someone to hold onto his stuffed animal. He followed Mr. S, and soon enough, discovered the evil plot himself."

"No!" Champ stomps his foot on the ground. "Bad Twilight!"

Twilight goes limp under me, laying her head in the wet puddle on the tile. "I..." Her bottom lip starts quivering.

Blueblood clears his throat, frowning. "Ms. Twilight Sparkle. You are hereby banned from ever participating in the Host Club. Ta-ta, miss."

She looks dumbstruck, as if someone told her a death sentence. Then her expression turns harsh, and she pushes me off of her, pointing a finger at me. "You may think you won this time, Mr. S, but I swear to heaven, the next time I see you, I will rip you to pieces!" She storms off, slamming the door behind her.

"Now!" Blueblood announces, clapping his hands together. "To resume with punishments."

All my respect for Blueblood hangs on a hinge. "What?" I ask.

"You did attack the lady," ... Big Mac states? "A very ungentlemanly way to go about it, no doubt." He has a country accent, distinct, but still somehow proper.

My shoulders slump. "I see..." I mumble. "Lay it on me, I guess."

Blueblood seems surprised. "Okay... I never thought that I'd get this far, but..." he strokes his chin thoughtfully, mouthing words under his breath, and then he snaps his fingers. "Your customer limit will be raised. You must attract one thousand customers before we forgive you of your debt!"

I sink into the floor. "One thousand..." I repeat, my heart sinking, but not too much. "Not a problem," I decide.

Blueblood raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Dude, I love this job!" I say, smiling. "One thousand customers shouldn't be much of a problem, right?"

Blueblood shrugs. "I guess not," he agrees. Then he looks at my uniform, relatively new, and he frowns. "You need to change out of that uniform. We only have one more, so don't do anything stupid with that one." He turns a cheek away jokingly.

I smile. "I won't."

Back in the changing room, I'm glad I'm here.

To give my honest opinion, I'm glad things turned out the way they did. And I thought that I was going to hate this temporary-ish occupation. I've grown more attached to the Host Club and their customers. I love the atmosphere, as it isn't a hellish working environment. Everything is good, and I can't wait until I start again.

Then the curtain opens behind me. "All right, little piglet, you're taking too long. Anything I can help you wi—" His voice just stops as he sees me in my undershirt, pulling on a dress. For that moment, he couldn't stop looking at my chest, dubstruck. Then he calmly closes the curtains. I slide my dress on the rest of the way, and I rush out to meet them in my own attire. Blueblood stands only inches away from me, the audience around me nodding, smiling as if to say, "I knew it!"

"Spitfire..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you a girl?"

I sigh, and hand him my wallet, which has dried ever since the whole mishap took place. "Biologically, yes. Remember the part that I said my dad was a cross-dresser? I sorta take that from him." I close my eyes and shrug. "But, to me, sex has nothing to do with relations. It's what's inside that counts. Don't you agree, Blueblood?"

All I can see is a blank expression from him. Then his eyes widen, and his face starts turning red... and redder... and so red I'm so sure that there's flesh burning under his face.

I turn from them, stroking my chin. "Hm, so if I'm subject to one thousand customers, how should I start with my alias..." I punch my upturned palm. "I got it! Maybe... maybe I'll just call everybody 'dude' and 'bro' now..." Then something builds up inside of my, wanting to be released since the beginning of this job. A laugh... a laugh out of the annoyances and the stress I underwent over the past few days. As it grows in volume, I know that from now on, things will be hellishly awkward and, well, fun.