Kyoya Ootori's Guide to Self-Deception for Fun and Profit

Chapter 6: A tale of two dinners - Part 1

Cambridge: Mid October

When Kyoya drags himself out of bed to either switch off his iPad alarm or smash the fucking thing to smithereens – will he ever be able to get up early without serious pain? – it's to see a letter on the floor.

He regards it without excitement. His roommates gawped when the first final-club invitation was slid under his door a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, only sophomores are punched, which puts him a full year ahead of schedule. He's flattered, he supposes. He doesn't believe the clubs hold much worth, but they hold enough. American families have the balance of power here, naturally, but it's pleasing to discover that even so far from home Ootori is a name to conjure with. There's also a non-zero chance, he supposes, that the gold star nipple trial has worked its own peculiar social magic.

So far, he's been punched five times.

It's enough that it's become tedious. Each club has a multi-round process, involving a time-consuming number of social events that continue until, he supposes, one passes muster. He excels at socialising, even with the minor language barrier, but he's attended so many parties and 'informal' lunches in the last fortnight that he's sick to death of them, and his calendar is already clogged up with what feels like hundreds more.

Several of the upcoming events are formal – and require dates. The thought of it makes him feel sour and antisocial. He can easily find someone to accompany him; there are a number of highly suitable women already in his contacts' list. He just doesn't want to.

When he bends down to pick the invitation up, though, it doesn't look the same as the others. His name is written in neat kanji, rather than romaji, and the envelope feels cheap and lacks the wax seal that indicates it's club business. He opens it up, and inside is a slightly blurred print-out of a photo of the contents of a fridge shelf, a recipe for chicken curry rice and a letter written in the same neat hand as on the envelope, offering him the use of her kitchen on Saturday night, as long as he promises to load the dishwasher after. It's signed Mrs Tachibana, and the postscript reads: Call Haruhi!

He was going to call Haruhi anyway. That's the whole reason – the only reason – he's up at this ungodly hour.

"Are you actually free on Saturday?" Haruhi asks without preamble, the screen freezing for a moment and the audio crackling before the connection catches up. She's sitting in her living room this time, and Kyoya can hear Ranka singing along to a pop song on the radio in the background. "Sorry, I know you're busy. Only, it won't work on a weekday because there's not enough time before I have to go to school, and I can't do the day before because Dad has a late shift and I don't want to be noisy in the morning and accidentally wake him up."

Kyoya feels like he's missed a vital clue somewhere. "Is this from you?" he asks, holding the invitation to the webcam. He presumes Tachibana delivered it, and is, even now, lurking about in the hall, ready to begin work.

Haruhi nods. "Yes," she says. "It's a present. Tamaki wasn't involved!" she adds with a grin, possibly seeing him twitch. "This is my actual present to you, to say thank you for being a rich, controlling nightmare of a friend. Apparently the workmen are starting work on insulating and repairing all the window frames next week, to prepare for winter. If it's noisy, I suppose at least I know exactly who to complain to."

He feels an overwhelming urge to laugh, but manages to suppress it. "You're welcome," he says drily. "What is the present, exactly?"

"Oh!" she says, her brow clearing. "I'm going to teach you how to cook chicken curry rice."

He considers this. "And that's a present?"

"Yes!" she says with a grin. "Knowing how to cook is a useful life skill. Unless you already know how?"