The Rich Girl: Haruhi Fujioka x FEM! Reader.

Just Gals Being Pals

"Hey, Haruhi," you called out to the brunette who sat beside you. "Can we hang out at your place after school?" 

Her large chocolate-brown eyes looked at you, radiating the familiar warmth and kindness you had known for years. "Sure, but I'd have to ask my dad." She closed the comprehensive book that sat in her lap and turned her full attention to you, her childhood best friend since kindergarten. "But I'm sure he'll say yes." 

You smiled. "He really can't say no to you, can he?"

She chuckled. "I guess not, but he's a dork."

You gently nudged her with your elbow, to which she rolled her eyes and suppressed a smile. She was always more expressive around you. She was also more prone to smile, cry, and show any other emotion other than disinterest or irritation. Of course, with you being her best friend, sometimes she wanted to kick you to Jupiter to make you even stupider.

"You remind me too much of the Host Club, you know that?" she replied, quirking a brow.

"How so, great and wise one who got into the infamous Ouran Academy with her big-brain energy?" you teased, gently poking at the side of her head. Since she was only around 5'2", you held enough power and height to do such a thing. The threat of her snatching your kneecaps, however, was a different story. You did not want her pulling a Sangwoo.

"One word: obnoxious." She slung her schoolbag over her shoulder and gestured for you to follow. "I have to get to the clubroom or else an idiotic blond will smother me even more than he usually does."

You grabbed your own bag, briskly putting some things inside as the shriek of the bell rang through the elegant hallways of Ouran Academy, and soon followed Haruhi out of the door and through the crowded halls.

A wave of students left their final class for the day, all excited to get home and do whatever the hell they wanted, which, of course, prevented both you and Haruhi from getting through without either losing each other in the crowd, getting a few weird and smug glances, or eventually being rammed into a wall by a few of idiots who decide to walk like they're the walls from Attack on Titan.

"Here," Haruhi said, holding out her hand. "It'll be easier if we just hold hands until we get there." Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought of holding hands with her, even with the many other experiences of you both holding hands throughout your early years. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable, though."

"It's fine." you replied, slipping your hand in hers. She gave a small smile, leading you through the hallways and through the endless ocean of your peers. It felt nice to hold hands with her, especially considering how you never got used to it, and how it would make your heart soar and heat rush throughout your body. Yes, there were the occasional worries, such as if your hands were sweaty or not, or if Haruhi was secretly an advanced human-being and could hear your racing heartbeat through the contact, and then if she would point it out with her usual bluntness. Regardless of those trivial thoughts, she never did such a thing.

You both soon found yourself in front of the Host Club headquarters, as everyone's dramatic blond, Tamaki Suoh, had so called it. It was as normal—or as normal as it could be—as ever, with each member charming their way into a larger budget for the club. Girls continued to giggle and shower their favorite members with gifts and attention, all the while Tamaki charged towards the both of you, a dramatic and concerned expression lining his flawless features.

He picked Haruhi up off the ground and wrapped her in a spine-crushing embrace, spinning your poor friend as if she were one of those sticky-hand-things.

"Haruhi!" he exclaimed.

"Hey! Let me go!" Haruhi shouted. "Y/n, I'll give you any kind of food you want if you save me!" You laughed and pushed Tamaki off of her, making him gasp as Haruhi fell into your arms somehow.

Tamaki pointed at you, very close to going into one of his emo-modes. "Traitor!" 

You and Haruhi laughed as you set her down back onto the tile floor, and she was soon dragged away by her many clients. You, bored already, approached everyone's favorite Death Note user, Kyoya, and chat with him. After all, despite his good looks and fortune, his list of clients was low, leaving him with enough time to possibly pull a Light Yagami if he wanted.

"So, still have a crush on Haruhi?" he said casually as you slid into the seat beside him. He continued to scribble down in his notebook. Of course, it was a mystery what he was always jotting down within the pages. Notes and strategies for world domination, statistics and graphs for each member of the club, or awful fanfiction—nobody really knew.

You felt your face heat as you hit his arm as hard as you could like a genuine lady. "Oh, shut up." Kyoya looked at you, an evil smirk lining his lips. This would be enough to terrify anyone and everyone, but especially you, as he could easily expose your affections for everyone's favorite crab-enthusiast.

"Why not just tell her?" he asked, lifting his glasses with his middle and index fingers as if he were in some anime. "Trust me, I guarantee with 99% accuracy that she feels the same."

You gave him a small smile, noting the platter of sweets and teas that were available to each guest. "Thanks for the advice."

Kyoya gave you a charming smile. "You're welcome." He stuck out his hand. "But I'm afraid the consultation fee is 11,000 yen."

"Don't you have enough for the budget?"

Kyoya sighed, an internally dead expression lining his impeccable features. "I'm afraid our 'king' spent it all on themes for the upcoming summer holiday." He flipped through the pages of his notebook before landing on a page filled with each individual item he purchased, along with the prices. "He's an idiot, trust me on that."

A/N: Tamaki slander is my favorite, but I still love the dork.

Word count: 1045