Archive of Our Own ^beta

(Beneath The Tree/ If If If continued)

Kyoya hated his own heart still, how it could feel this strongly. The thought flew by “I blame you!” and vanished. So much of what he had thought had been anger was passion. Passion for life, for his friends, for his love, Tamaki.

Something about finally being with Tamaki had brought out an unexpected side of himself, passion and tenderness, damn it, feelings that were not feared, were not bartered or (he thought) bought.

It was harder and harder to wear his Host Club Cool Type mask when sheltered like this— and this, this... was not fear, either.

He gripped Mori-Senpai’s sides and began confessing, how he had taken the poetry home, and made no effort at hiding it. How he had betrayed the immense trust of the man who knelt, supporting him. Of course, the Morinozukas trained in so much, for all Kyoya knew, cradling a traitor and bringing calm was just more of the same.

Between shaking breath after shaking breath,
Kyoya told his Senpai everything.

Kyoya did not see his glasses caught, safe, or the far-away look in the eyes of his shelter. His Senpai heard, and wondered elsewhere, somewhere warm.
____________

If If If Takashi || OHSHC

I.
Yes, yes, I am young yet.
Haunted with questions,
Ghosts of hope unmet
Of a sweet misstep
It was the first blush that caught me—

What kept me here, her.
All
That I since sensed and
Something more.
No words for it.

Still I write— these moments in between the next act/reaction.

If I were to simply
Pray at the
Altar of her mind, silently,
If I were to continue
Reveling
In the occasional, accidental touch

If I were to live
With scant, secret memories
Encased in amber, too revered
Never daring for more
In this life

That my all begs to explore
More
With and of her—

I would lose what
I was taught
As well as
As well as
Yes.

II.
If I were to stay silent
When words
Might fly

Would that silence be in truth a lie?

If I were to begin
To pay court
With all my heart
(Despite what she has seen)

Knowing I would not stop,
Lest she told me no.

That our age or station mean nothing to the soul
Convention is not bent past breaking
A few years between us should not stop
This hope, this undertaking

Gods, know this—
That I would never hold her back,
Though Oh!
How I would hold her.

III.
If I were to meet
Her eyes and hold them
With this heat and heart of me

The strong and imperfect of me,
The clay, flesh, bone and blood of me—
All in a look

I know these eyes
Would be met, and not mistook.

IV.
If, if, if,
She would meet me
With that strength forged early,
With sense, to yield or plant those feet ferociously

Stubbornness and love in the face of fools
Laughter laced with wit and kind
Her will, no match for it

Honor better than I have seen
In this short life.

Her self revealed,
Human, driven, solitary, shining—
Simply, Haruhi.

I will not forget this, my first half
Of whole love

Even if her word was “No.”

Which would be more wrong?

To start a life that might hold both of us as one
Betrothals are
Made young,
My family would agree, I could finally be true
To who she in part
Has made me

Or

To hold back passion,
In short,
To lie to her forever
Would I never offer her the chance
To say “No” to all that I am?
Erase her from this choice?
... would I steal her voice?

V.
If, If, If,
Yes—

If I were to only
Caress her
With my eyes — it would be a lie.

My truth is impossible to disguise once set free—

Given leave, I would travel her with fingertips,
Feel the flesh of her, chart
And memorize each inch
Her work-rough palms, the sublime side of her face,
Her neck, the downy nape where my lips ache to rest—

I would watch, listen for that same gasp I drew from her unfairly,
At first.
Mark her tenderest, most sensitive spots on the map of my heart, feel
Where slight touch raised her, where my fingers strayed
Stroke and pluck her like a harp, set blood singing

Where her collar met the tie,
I’d dart, dipping behind the knot
Slipping one finger lower
To savor her sigh

Wait
For her eyes to darken, heavy-lidded, not lost, never lost —
She would see and know it was me

Who charted the map of her body, traced past the jacket
Drifted across the uniform shirt, skimming
Pausing
Pressing
To escape around her waist,
Hold the small of her back

Wait
For what I dream of—
To continue, to free the shirt at her back, lift it

(The ritual of undressing; I reel to write it)

Just enough to feel my hand meet and hold her there
Skin to skin
Discovering.

My other hand free for her desire to guide.

This time, her frightening, shining mind would, could,

Follow any curiosity that arose about my frame,
Follow any wish she gave a name, any whim
No sin, no shame,

Just as we both whispered with our eyes,
Once promised with that touch.

I know enough of her now that
She would take
What she wanted of me, perhaps with a blush,
But also with determination, that drive—
Nothing would stop her

If, if, if

She wanted this.
If she still wanted me.

Given leave, I would embrace her, trace her and seek her lips
In this urgent fire,
A stunning blaze of firsts.