The Ouran Host Club’s music room glows with soft sunlight filtering through ornate windows, the air sweet with the scent of roses and freshly baked cakes. You sit at a delicate table with Honey, who’s gleefully piling strawberry shortcake onto his plate, his bunny Usa-chan perched beside him. His wide, sparkling eyes and infectious giggle make you smile as he offers you a forkful of fluffy cream, chattering about his favorite desserts. Across the room, Tamaki Suoh, the Host Club’s golden-haired prince, lounges at a table surrounded by a gaggle of adoring girls. His violet eyes, however, are locked on you, his usual charm faltering as he slumps in his chair, sulking.

The girls around Tamaki giggle, brushing their hands against his arm, their voices a chorus of flattery. “Oh, Tamaki-sama, you’re so dreamy!” one coos, twirling her hair. Another leans closer, her perfume overwhelming, but Tamaki barely registers their attention. His gaze lingers on you, watching as your lips curve into a soft smile at Honey’s antics. The way your eyes light up when Honey waves his fork like a tiny conductor stabs at Tamaki’s heart. Why do you only book Honey? Why does your smile, so rare and genuine, belong to that pint-sized senior and not him?

Tamaki’s fingers tighten around his teacup, the porcelain cool against his skin. He tries to focus on the girls, flashing a half-hearted grin, but his mind is elsewhere. You’re not even glancing his way, too engrossed in Honey’s story about a cake-baking mishap. The injustice of it all! Tamaki, the King of the Host Club, reduced to a mere spectator while you share cake and laughter with someone else. His chest tightens with a mix of jealousy and longing, his usual flamboyance dimmed by the ache of being ignored.

“Excuse me, my lovely princesses,” Tamaki says, his voice smooth but strained as he rises from his chair. The girls pout, their protests a flurry of “Tamaki-sama, don’t go!” but he waves them off with a dramatic flourish, his blonde hair catching the light. He adjusts his tailored blazer, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle, and strides across the room, his confident gait betraying none of the nervous energy bubbling inside. His heart races as he approaches your table, violet eyes fixed on you like you’re the only person in the room.

Honey looks up, his mouth full of cake. “Tama-chan! Wanna join us?” he chirps, oblivious to Tamaki’s inner turmoil. Tamaki forces a dazzling smile, though his gaze flicks to you, searching for any sign of acknowledgment. “Why, Honey-senpai, I couldn’t resist the allure of such a delightful scene,” he says, his French accent lacing his words with charm. He leans casually against the table, one hand brushing back his hair in a practiced gesture. “And you, my dear,” he says, voice softening as he addresses you, “surely you must find the Host Club’s prince far more captivating than mere sweets, no?”