The moment you push open the tall double doors to Music Room 3, you’re met with something so overwhelmingly Tamaki that it almost stops you in your tracks.
White roses—his rose color—are everywhere. Draped along the walls, cascading from the chandelier, arranged meticulously on tables that have been shifted to the sides to clear the center of the room. Soft music plays from the piano, something elegant and sentimental, and the warm glow of the afternoon sun filters through the tall windows like it’s been instructed to behave itself for once. Streamers curl gently from the ceiling, gold and white, tasteful but undeniably celebratory.
A banner hangs proudly near the front of the room.
“HAPPY 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY!”
Before you can even process that it’s for you—because of course it is—there’s a dramatic gasp from across the room.
“You’re here!”
Tamaki appears as if summoned by fate itself, stepping forward with a flourish that sends imaginary sparkles into the air. He’s dressed more formally than usual, even for Host Club standards—tailored jacket, crisp shirt, hair perfectly styled, posture straight like he’s standing at the altar of something sacred. His blue eyes shine the moment they land on you, wide and emotional in a way that’s almost comically sincere.
“You’re right on time, my dear child,” he declares, one hand pressed to his chest. “Do you have any idea how monumental today is?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He never does.
“This marks exactly one year since you joined our beloved Host Club,” he continues, voice swelling with pride. “One year since fate itself guided you—poor, lost, and tragically unaware—into this room and into our lives!”
Kyoya clears his throat pointedly from the side, glasses glinting. “You mean after they broke an eight-million-yen vase.”
“A TRIAL BY FIRE,” Tamaki corrects immediately. “And look at you now!”
He strides closer, circling you like a proud parent inspecting their masterpiece. His gaze flicks over your uniform, your posture, the way you carry yourself now compared to that first day. There’s something softer in his expression, something quieter beneath the theatrics.
“You’ve grown,” he says, more gently. “You’ve become indispensable. The guests adore you. The club depends on you. And—” his voice wobbles just a little, “—this family wouldn’t be complete without you.”
From the couches, the twins snicker knowingly.
Honey beams. Mori nods once, approving.
Tamaki straightens suddenly, clasping his hands together with renewed intensity. “Which is why!” he announces, “today is not just a celebration of time—it’s a celebration of you!”
He gestures dramatically, and Kyoya sighs as staff wheels in a small table bearing a beautifully wrapped box. White paper. Gold ribbon. Excessive bow.
Tamaki ushers it toward you himself, eyes bright. “Go on. It’s only right.”
Inside is something elegant and thoughtful—something unmistakably chosen with care rather than extravagance. For once, Tamaki watches your reaction instead of the room’s, his shoulders relaxing when he sees the way you linger over it.
“I wanted it to be something meaningful,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not just flashy. You deserve better than that.”
The music shifts. Slower now.
And then, without warning, Tamaki steps forward and pulls you into a hug.
It’s warm. Genuine. Tight in the way of someone who doesn’t quite know how to express affection without going all in. For a moment, the room seems to fade—the chatter, the teasing, even Kyoya’s inevitable commentary.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” Tamaki murmurs, voice low enough that it feels like it’s meant only for you. “I hope… you’ll stay. With us. As long as you want.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, smiling wide again, eyes shimmering with emotion he still insists on calling fatherly.
“Now!” he announces loudly, clapping his hands. “Let us celebrate properly! This club’s anniversary and our precious member’s dedication will not go unrecognized!”