My crisp, clear reflection shared my tight-lipped smile, my glowing eyes, the dusting of color on my cheeks. What it didn't share was the faint shaking that plagued my knees, the jumbled thoughts fighting for dominance in my head, trying to lock away all the lines I'd taken such care to memorize.
Tonight was it.
And the hosts were in the audience.
"Ten minutes till your on, Micah!"
Izuki squeezed my shoulder as he passed, his smile brimming with encouragement and confidence that tonight would go over well. I nodded mutely, too worried I'd babble nonsense if I opened my mouth.
I started running through lines under my breath, imagining our dress rehearsal yesterday, countless other practices before that, the hosts scrutinizing every minute detail of my performance, the light cues I'd need to pay atttention to, Hikaru and Kaoru struggling not to let out peels of laughter while watching Honey flounce around suspended on cables, my job of narrating the prologue of the play, the hosts, the hosts, the hosts.
I tangled my fingers within my hair, banging my head down on my dresser. Oh God. Oh dear God. The hosts would be watching from the moment the curtain rose. Haruhi, Mori and Honey (obviously) had already borne witness to myself in this flimsy nightgown, but Tamaki, Kyouya and the twins? Absolutely not, even after suffering through Kaoru and his brother's whining of me playing favoritism.
I was playing favorites, so I hadn't had the strongest comeback to their accusation.
When mentally going over lines became entwined with the expectant image of the hosts, I rummaged around in my messenger bag (seated on the chair beside me along with pre-show roses from Honey) for my long-forgotten script. I hadn't used it since a week into play practice.
The corners were dog-eared from when I'd deemed a page important or possibly difficult to memorize; the ink had smeared in several areas, the result of my dutiful (excessive) finger-reading. And the wrinkles. It looked like someone had slept in a silk suit and endured a frantic bought of restless leg syndrome.
Well... on more than one occasion I fell asleep with the script cuddled to my chest, so perhaps that was warranted.
I skimmed the first few pages, reassuring myself that I did indeed have it down pat, then moved on to the final scene. Memories of my first session with Honey bubbled up, turning my lips up in a nostalgic smile. I truly had never met a boy who personified adorableness more in my life. My eyes traveled down the page, sweeping over lines I could now recite by heart.
Then, I settled on what amounted to one of the final lines before curtain-call.
"Never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting."
Watching Honey say it, I'd been absorbed in the sincerely sweet passion with which he spoke. It was a Honey I'd never seen before; determinedly serious and unequivocally focused. I'd been so enthralled nothing else had sprung to mind at the words.
Now only one face occupied my thoughts.
And every part of me screamed the wish that it could have been a host.
I'd had an epiphany, my first in a long while, my first since Japan. And if I didn't act on it now, I had the horrible premonition that I wouldn't get the chance to again. So, with that in mind, I gathered my courage (little there was), leaped down from my chair and rushed from back stage.
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How to Survive a Host Club | OHSHCFanfiction
Micah Viano is new. To Japan. To Ouran High School. To having wealth. But especially, she's new to the Host Club. These devastatingly handsome boys (and Haruhi) have made it their life mission to complicate hers. At least, that's what she thinks. Bu...