Façade (OHSHC boys X reader)

The Meeting

*Knock*
*Knock*

'Ugh, it's too early for this!'

"Good morning master Barteau! I have been informed that you must dress formally today. Also madam, you must make your way to your father's office. You're mother and father have requested your presence by nine o'clock sharp!" I hear the mousey maid's muffled voice beaming from behind my bedroom door."And we hired the fashion consultant to pick some formal attire out for you. He won't take no for an answer either-your mother's orders!"

"What?" Is all I managed to croak out before turning to see the towering stylist pulling me from my slumber. "What time is it?" I ask him as he proceeds to hold an assortment of earrings near my face, probably contemplating wether it's worth it to even make me wear jewelry.

"Ms. Barteau, it's already six thirty! And may I ask why you have to be forced to let me help you? I mean look at you- all that beauty is a waste if you don't have the right accessories! Honey, you need some TLC!" He says with a cheery yet sassy tone.

"Sorry Arnaud! I guess I'm just too distracted lately to think about things like beauty! Haha-" I lie awkwardly. I guess I'm just too polite to tell him I'm not into that sort of thing.

"Well let's get this show on the road! You've got an... Eventful day ahead of you, to say the least." Arnaud replied nervously.

"Do you know why my parents want to talk to me, Arnaud? The maid didn't mention any details, did she say something to you?" I question while sipping on the cup of Starbucks coffee he had brought for me. It's weird that my parents want to talk to me-sometimes I think they forget I even exist! After all, I was just a strategic byproduct of business to them. Just a groomed and highly trained heir to the 'family' business. It's not really a family though-we call each other sir, or Ms./Mr./Mrs. Barteau. No emotion. No nothing. Just business.

"I'm not allowed to disclose such information. I'm just here to make you look nice! So-" He said smiling. "Blue, black, or red dress?"

"That's unusual for you to pick such dark colors. I thought you said those were only to be worn to funerals or jury duty or something?"

"Oh, I just thought you liked those colors and that you'd want to wear them for a change..." He trailed off while avoiding my gaze.

"I do find those colors quite lovely, but I also find it suspicious that you want me to wear them. Since when do you ever take in to account my opinions for what I want to wear?" At that he began to sweat profusely. "What are you hiding?"

"Enough! Just put this on and stop interrogating me!" He protested loudly, throwing the dresses on my bed and storming out of the room teary-eyed.

Had I really made him that upset-or was something else bothering him? I shrugged this off and began to dress myself in the black gown.

This must be serious. Do they think I'm incapable to run the company? Will they give me away- or worse. Will I just 'disappear' like uncle Bertrand?

With each button I could feel my anxiety begin to cripple me.

Just breathe Y/N, breathe.

It's not helping. I feel my throat begin to close and it feels like no matter how much air I breathe, I still can't catch my breath. I jog over to open my window, fully aware of the sweat beads forming above my upper lip. I collapse on my queen size bed-which is way too big for my liking, to calm my paranoid thoughts.

It comes with the business.

I remember my mom saying to me during my first panic attack as a child. I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something because I couldn't breathe. She told me they never go away, but it gets easier. She was only half right. It's true that they never go away, but they definitely do not get easier.

As I begin to calm down I dress myself and make my way towards my fathers office. It's 8:56. I'm not late. Thank. God.

*grr*

Shit. It's too late for breakfast now though-I hope no one notices. A growling stomach is unprofessional and shows that one is incapable of handling an assignment because they cannot handle the simple task of keeping oneself fed. I swiftly gulp down the rest of my coffee in a lame attempt to keep my stomach quiet as I skip to my father's office.

*Tap* I hesitate.
*Knock, knock.*

"Y/N, do not keep us waiting. Come in please. Your mother and I have important business to discuss." My fathers voice booms with intimidating seriousness.

"Yes sir." I reply as I scurry into the room and carefully take my place on the love seat across from my parents.

"Y/N, we've been doing some research. We've come to the conclusion that, as with every smart business owner and parent, we must be smart and think about the future of the company. We must consider potential business deals and contacts for the future. It is also always a good idea to be associated with other important people. So Y/N, Dono kurai anata wa nihongo o hanasu koto ga dekimasu ka?(How is your Japanese?)" My mother asked with perfectly delivered Japanese.

"Watashi wa, mochiron, ryūchōdesu. Jūyōna nakama no gengo o shiru koto ga jūyōdesu.(I, of course, am fluent. It is important to know the language of important business associates.)"

"Good, because there is a school in Japan that is necessary for you to attend in order to keep up with our competitors. It is called Ouran Academy, it is a private school and it is incredibly expensive. The world's most elite business heirs attend. There, they will educate you on how to run a successful company, the proper way to communicate with potential business partners, proper etiquette, etc." She pauses to let me process everything she has just said, then continues"we will be sending you to live in an estate there, rather than a mansion. I'm aware that you will be by yourself and will not need such a large establishment, however, none of this is for your comfort. It is so that when you have guests over, they will feel intimidated and know that we are successful and worthy of their business. We already have bought the estate and it is completely furnished with maids, chef, etc. You must be ready to move by tomorrow, and you will be enrolled and attending Ouran as of Monday." My mother finished folding her hands with satisfaction-probably because she knows she wouldn't have to deal with me anymore.

"That is all, you may be excused." My father bellowed while extending his hand to shake my own. I reached for his hand and-

*Smack*

I reached my hand up to the hot reminiscence of a palm on my face. I feel something wet hit my fingertips and realize I'm crying.

"Weak and foolish! From now on, you will not shake hands- they will view our family as ignorant, uncultured swines thanks to you! You will be representing the Barteau family, so you must bow... And don't you dare show such a weakness as crying in front of me or anyone again!!!" He screamed mercilessly. "Begone!"

"Yes sir, I'm sorry. Thank you." I apologize while bowing deeply before stumbling out of his office. But I couldn't help but smile.

This is it. I thought. I am finally free.