Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction ❯ Knowing Which Way the Wind Blows ❯ Knowing Which Way the Wind Blows ( One-Shot )

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Title: Knowing Which Way the Wind Blows (1 of 1)
Author: Paola
Disclaimer: Knowing Which Way the Wind Blows is based on characters and situations that belong to Bisco Hatori (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited, and beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author’s.

Knowing Which Way the Wind Blows

The gates were now looking very small from the great distance, and they knew that a few more steps in their direction and the gates would completely disappear. It was disconcerting, in a way, because for a long time, that world was all they knew, was all they were familiar and comfortable with. In that world, they were in control, they made the rules, they set the pace, they withheld invitations and refused those who wanted to pry. It was safe and it was theirs. It warded people off with a flag that bore twin hand prints on white fabric, one of pink and one of blue, and a lock made of stainless metal and the hardest alloy. And the greatest and most impenetrable defenses were hands intertwined and held tight. Those separated them from the others, and they were fine.

Until a certain unstoppable force had plowed right through with a vision of the outside that seemed full of smiles, and sparkles, and optimism that almost blinded them.

At first, they had been indifferent, asking of him something that they had asked of everybody else. He wanted a peek – he had to tell them apart. It was very simple, in essence, because no two of anything was ever the same, and for a while, they had foolishly thought that he might have a chance…because he didn’t seem to want to give up no matter how many wrong answers he had already given. Even when they had shot him the barb about his mother, he continued to play their game.

Then they had grown interested because he was funny, he was hilarious, he talked like an old-fashioned lord that was just begging to be laughed at. So they laughed and called him Dono.

After a while though, they had grown bored of his incessant ways, and they began to resent him because he was just like everybody else. He couldn’t tell them apart. He couldn’t guess right at the “Which one is Hikaru” game, and his pointing at the right twin was but a mere happenstance that might never be repeated. He couldn’t differentiate one from the other with re-assuring certainty. And when he’d said that he couldn’t tell them apart, they had automatically replied that it was all well because they didn’t need to be told apart anyway. But what he had informed them next stole the quick retorts from their mouths. He had told them that they were contradictory in and by themselves – walking contradictions because they kept on saying that they didn’t really want to be differentiated from each other, but every time someone failed, their smiles grew just a little bit too tight, their laughter just a little bit too strained.

They had gone home that day struck by his words, by the truth he had stumbled upon, and, for once, they thought he didn’t belong to the boring things that needed to be discarded right away. That same night, they had talked about his proposition, and before going to bed, hands held tightly between them, they let identical curious smirks play on their faces. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to partake in his outlandish idea.

When they stepped into high school, they opened the doors to the Third Music Room, and there they witnessed the magic that he weaved, that he made real. All his flowery words and exuberant gestures were right at home in the setting he had told them about, but despite it being more closely associated with his personality, he had managed to make them feel welcome, that they belonged, and not long after, he had made it so that each personality was carved and recognized, and each situation screamed those different characters. He wasn’t selfish; he shared, and each of them had a place in his little magical tent.

The twins had been invited out of the world of us, and they had taken a tentative step towards him. Because of him, they had gained friends: there was the low-blood-pressure King, the cute martial artist, the “wild” kendoist, and, of course, he – their Dono, the Host Club King himself.

They could honestly say that every experience was new for them. Where once Hikaru and Kaoru had played only with each other, now Hikaru and Kaoru played with Kyouya-sempai, Honey-sempai, Mori-sempai, and Dono. Where once Hikaru and Kaoru had only known each other, now Hikaru and Kaoru knew more people than they would care to count.

Then she entered their little rich world, stepped inside the Third Music Room, became a host despite her gender, became their friend, and, eventually, turned out to be the first person to successfully tell them apart. For her, Hikaru wasn’t Kaoru. For her, they weren’t interchangeable because they were similar but not the same. And there was no misleading her. There was no deceiving her. She knew when they were pretending to be the other, and the first time she voiced her thoughts, it scared them. It scared them because no one had done it before. It scared them because, even when they had really wanted for someone to know which was which, the idea that no one could tell them apart had lulled them into a false sense of security that neither would ever be left behind…left behind for anything else. Of course, in true playful Hitachiin fashion, they hid the fear behind a game, and everyone – even her – didn’t see that, somehow, her perceptiveness had truly shaken them.

If you’re still running towards me in that situation, I guess things are still fine.

Hikaru, once shaken, usually reacted loudly, physically, but once placated, he’d pout at first then forget. But Kaoru…Kaoru was calm. He was collected, and he reacted violently only when Hikaru was around…because it was normal and easy to be the same…to act and feel the same. That difference between the two almost sufficiently explained why it was Kaoru who dwelt on the subtle changes that had started taking place…why it was the younger brother who took things in stride and, when taken away from his twin, acted more mature. It was why it was Kaoru who noticed that they had started to stray farther from the gates without leaving bread crumbs to follow later when they had to return. It was why it was Kaoru who wondered why they kept on walking away from the gates even if there were no assurances that they would be able to go back.

But, when Hikaru…notices that he wants to take another step forward…when that happens…what will I do?

It was almost natural that the change of pace was first noticed by Kaoru, the younger twin, and it was natural, too, that even though he wouldn’t take a step back, he was still apprehensive about taking steps forward; after all, there would always be a chance that he might get left behind now that they weren’t in the safety of their own world. But despite the trepidation he felt, he still followed the fingers that beckoned because Hikaru was following them and was holding his hand.

During times like this, when he was uncertain about something, he would curl his fingers tighter around his brother’s hand, and the other twin would squeeze back because they were in this together.

If he never showed up, we would have been left behind in this world.

But even when it was Kaoru who noted the differences first, Hikaru wasn’t that far behind. In some way or another, Hikaru would always catch up with Kaoru’s metaphors because the former matched the latter’s allegories with his own hard observations, and in that, they were balanced. They both noticed the same things even when they saw them a bit differently, and both knew that the other was not pausing in their pace, though occasionally looking over his shoulder to see how far they had gone.

Once upon a time, Hikaru and Kaoru had snitched a wide strip of whitish silk from their mother’s workroom. And later on, they had been found in their room, hands stained with paint, cheeks smeared with color, and faces glowing with wide, accomplished grins as they stared proudly at their creation: There on the floor in front of them was the silk cloth, flaunting two identical handprints in pink and blue with Hikaoru finger-painted below. Their mother had smiled at them and had asked if they wanted her to embroider their names on either side. Hikaru and Kaoru had nodded enthusiastically before sprinting off towards the bathroom to wash up.

That flag was what swayed proudly in the breeze in their own little world, telling people that in the world of us, it wasn’t a democracy, but a dictatorship that only granted rights to Hikaru and Kaoru and only allowed access to those it granted rights to. But that world had its lock opened by a key made of gold and red diamonds that shifted to whatever shape to open whatever lock, and that key was owned by the person that had somehow enticed them into stepping out of their world to do a little exploring, coaxing them with elegant and nimble fingers until they were completely lured out, and taught, and made to witness things that they had missed because the laws in the world of us were too strict to allow outsiders to get in.

Hikaru and Kaoru had begun to accept that there was life outside their world, and they continued to discover new things and continued to be curious of other things, and when the wind had blown away the last cherry blossom, they opened the doors of their mansion to embrace the summer heat that was forthcoming. When they took another step forward, they looked over their shoulders, and there was their world, the gates wide open, just like how they had left it, but when they squinted, they saw that their flag was flying carelessly in the wind at half mast, something that had changed without them knowing. And then they felt it; a part of them was mourning the loss of a familiar security that had taken care of them for how long, but even then, another part of them wished to continue forward, the desire to take freedom overriding the twinge of discomfort at leaving something behind.

When Dono waved them over to hurry up, Hikaru and Kaoru willingly followed, and with that last step they took, the world of us vanished from view. As one – for they were one despite their differences – they said their goodbye to that which had cosseted them for the longest time, and they knew that their valediction was as permanent as the sun that beat down on them. They weren’t going back. It was too late for that. And even when a semblance of longing touched their souls, they wouldn’t let that sadden them and make them regret their decision.

People often say that saying goodbye is one of the hardest things that anyone could ever have done, but that’s them, and Hitachiin Hikaru and Hitachiin Kaoru had always looked at things contrarily anyway. As it was, now wasn’t any different. So when the delayed echoes of their goodbye reverberated within them, they decided that it was worth it, that leaving the world of us was worth it and not at all very regrettable…

…because that goodbye had only meant that they were saying hello to something new.

-fin-