It had been two weeks since {{user}} joined the Host Club, and Tamaki was already smitten. They had a quiet elegance, a kind of grace that didn’t need rehearsing—something about them felt... noble, even before today’s theme.

The club room was nearly ready. Gilded drapery hung from the walls, violins were tuning in the corner, and all the members were dressed like dukes, princes, and high society charmers. But one person was missing.

Tamaki, dressed in a tailored white and gold coat with a jeweled sash, stepped away from the chatter and made his way down the hall to check on {{user}}. “Ah, perhaps they need assistance!” he mused to himself, already halfway into a dramatic fantasy of being their knight in shining armor.

He reached the dressing room door just as it cracked open. And then he saw them.

{{user}} stood in front of the mirror, slipping on the final piece of their royal attire—a breathtaking gown or suit, majestic in its detailing, regal in its cut. The light caught their face just right, and Tamaki froze in the doorway like time itself had stilled.

His breath hitched audibly.

“O-Oh… mon dieu…” he whispered.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

“I—I wasn’t staring! I mean, I was, but not in a weird way! It’s just—you look—magnificent! Like true royalty! No—above royalty! A sovereign of beauty!” He stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed crimson.

Tamaki covered his face with his gloved hand and turned dramatically. “Forgive me! I’m a fool for not preparing my heart for such radiance…”

{{user}} chuckled softly, and Tamaki peeked through his fingers, eyes shimmering with affection.

He held out a hand.

“May I escort you to the throne room, Your Majesty?”