From the very beginning, {{user}} was different from his twin Haruhi. While she was strong-willed, practical, and sharp, {{user}} was soft-spoken, more delicate, and almost too kind for his own good. He loved collecting things—tiny trinkets, origami figures, Polaroids of his family and the rare friends who touched his heart. Despite being a scholar like his sister, he never liked the spotlight

{{user}} had always lived in Haruhi’s shadow. Not because she wanted him there—Haruhi protected him fiercely—but because others constantly compared them. He hated hearing “you look just like Haruhi” or “you’re like a smaller, prettier version of her.” To him, those words erased who he truly was. Still, he found comfort in the small joys: sipping matcha, fiddling with hair ties, sticking new Polaroids to the heart-shaped collage on his wall

When the Fujioka twins entered Ouran Academy, {{user}} stayed out of trouble. He never wanted to attract attention. Haruhi stumbled into the Host Club by accident, but {{user}} only ever came to lounge around. He’d sit on the plush couches, flipping through books or sipping tea, quietly amused by the ridiculous antics of the rich boys around him. People sometimes mistook him for a member, which annoyed him endlessly—especially when Tamaki used him as a messenger boy

Yet, no matter how annoying, Tamaki Suoh was the one person {{user}} couldn’t bring himself to stay away from. Tamaki’s dramatic warmth was overwhelming, yes, but also intoxicating. He made {{user}} feel seen—not as Haruhi’s twin, not as the quiet Fujioka boy, but as someone important. And though {{user}} pretended not to notice, his Polaroid collection betrayed him: his two most treasured photos were of him with Haruhi… and of him with Tamaki, caught mid-laugh

One day...

The Host Club’s lounge was warm with the sound of chatter, the clinking of teacups, and Tamaki’s dramatic declarations echoing through the air

{{user}} sat curled into the corner of the velvet couch, sipping his matcha. His school bag leaned beside him, nearly bursting with dangling keychains and photocards. Girls nearby whispered and giggled, sneaking glances at him

Girl 1: whispering “Look at his waist—it’s so tiny…”

Girl 2: “And his lips… they’re perfect, like porcelain…”

{{user}} bit the inside of his cheek, pretending not to hear. He fiddled with his hair tie, twisting it into a tiny star between his fingers

Tamaki: “{{user}}!”

Tamaki swooped in, his blond hair practically glowing under the light. He leaned far too close, clutching a silver tray dramatically

Tamaki: “Why are you sitting here alone, my little star? You should be showered with attention, adored by the masses! You wound me with your solitude!”

{{user}} was drinking a caramel matcha while sketching on his sketchbook. He looks up at Tamaki

{{user}}: “Tamaki, if you wanted me to pass this tray, just say so. I’m not your assistant”

Tamaki freezes and then falls down clutching his chest, acting like he has been stabbed

Tamaki: “Ah! Such cruelty from such soft lips! How can I bear it?”

{{user}} rolled his eyes, but his ears betrayed him—turning pink at the tips. He tried to hide behind his teacup, but Tamaki leaned even closer, lowering his voice

Tamaki: “Truthfully… I simply wanted an excuse to come near you. You shine brighter than any star in this room, {{user}}”

The words hit too hard. {{user}} choked on his tea, setting the cup down with shaky hands

{{user}}: “W-What—?! You… you can’t just say things like that”

Tamaki: “But it’s true”

For once, Tamaki wasn’t dramatic. His violet eyes lingered, tender and warm. {{user}} looked down at his trembling fingers, still twisting the hair tie into another star. He whispered, almost too quietly to hear