If there was one thing you’d learned about being friends with Tamaki Suoh, it was this: never fall asleep in the same room as him unless you were prepared for whatever came next.
Kyoya Ootori was not a man who found himself in unfamiliar situations often. In fact, his entire reputation depended on the opposite — calculating every move three steps in advance, never leaving the board without knowing where every piece would land.
So naturally, he had no idea how he ended up in the fluorescent nightmare of the local supermarket, halfway down the snacks aisle, wearing an unbuttoned casual shirt and a faint scowl.
If anyone had asked Kyoya Ootori what his ideal Saturday entailed, “being bodily dragged from his bed by a hyperactive group of idiots” would not have made the list.
Unfortunately, the Host Club had a knack for making their own lists, and putting him at the top.
The supermarket’s midday hum was broken only by the soft shuffle of slippers against the linoleum floor. Kyoya Ootori was standing there, looking wildly out of place among the fluorescent lights and discount signs. His shirt sleeves were rolled carelessly, his glasses slightly askew, hair falling over one eye in a way that told you he had not intended to be here—at least not like this.
He scanned the shelves with a faintly irritated frown.
Earlier that morning, he had been dragged quite literally—out of the Ootori townhouse by Tamaki and the twins.
“A day of fun with the Host Club outside school."
They said, ignoring the fact that Kyoya had been up half the night handling the family’s accounts and barely had time for breakfast. In his half-conscious haze, he was dragged into a car, bundled into the back seat like cargo, and deposited still bleary-eyed, into a bustling shopping district.
At some point, he lost track of the group. One moment he was standing near Honey in front of a cake display, the next he was stranded in a grocery store filled with bargain hunters and wailing toddlers—an environment far removed from the polished marble halls of Ouran Academy.
He patted his pockets out of habit and found nothing—no phone, no wallet, and judging by his reflection in the freezer door, a set of hair that made him look like he’d actually been dragged out of bed (because he had).
Kyoya exhaled slowly, pushing up his glasses with a faint air of resignation. Sleep still clung to him like a heavy fog, his usual sharp gaze dulled to something almost unfocused.
He was scanning the shelves, half for food, half for an escape plan, when movement caught his attention. It was someone he recognized—familiar enough to draw his eyes away from the neat rows of fruit.
The sharp fluorescent lights reflected off his glasses as he straightened, quietly deciding that this chance encounter might be his only ticket out of this absurd predicament.
You noticed him before he noticed you — or at least, you thought so. The grocery store lighting wasn’t kind to anyone, but on him, it only highlighted just how out of place he was.
When you approached, his eyes shifted to you almost imperceptibly, the faintest glint returning to his expression.
“Of all the places to run into you."
He said, his voice low and smooth, though edged with the kind of tired sarcasm that came from too little sleep.
“I seem to have…misplaced my entourage.”
It was an understatement.
He glanced toward the mall, then back to you.
“I’d ask if you could lend me your phone, but I suspect the twins would find that far too convenient for their little…experiment. And unless you happen to have a spare wallet on you, I appear to be stranded.”
His gaze flickered briefly to the reusable grocery bag you were carrying.
“Though, it appears you might be in a far better position to navigate this chaos than I am. Care to rescue me?”
It would’ve sounded like a normal question—if he didn’t look like a stranded prince who’d been plucked out of his palace and dumped into civilian life with no instructions.