Color My World (Ouran High School Host Club)

Chapter 3- Battle of the...Pastries?

I stared incredulously at the outfit in my hands. "Do they really expect me to dress like this? This was not what I had in mind when agreeing to sing for you eggheads."

She winced, watching me like I was a bomb about to go off. "Well, it's not that bad."

"Look at this!" I hissed, brandishing the cosplay costume in her face. It consisted of a leather extra, extra tiny miniskirt, a skimpy cow skin jacket, a crimson cowboy hat, and worst of all, six inch stilettos. "And these heels! I don't do heels!"

Unfortunately for me and the rest of the club, Tamaki had Western as today's theme. And not Western like Europe, but Western Western, which consisted of cowboys riding bareback on wild stallions, lassos, and-

Well, you get the idea.

She grimaced, eyes glued to the miniskirt. "Yeah, you're right."

"It's a good thing I anticipated this, because I brought an extra change of clothes," I announced, rifling through my schoolbag for the grocery bag with the white dress I could actually tolerate wearing. Tamaki wouldn't be very pleased about my stunt, but hey, like I said, I valued my dignity.

"Nice move." Haruhi nodded in approval, before frowning. "But-"

The curtains parted with a swish. "It's a good thing I anticipated this, because I confiscated them from you," an irritatingly smug voice said, belonging to a certain bespectacled baboon I knew.

Kyoya dangled my plastic bag enticingly in front of me, moving it just out of reach when I lunged for it. Goddamn our height difference.

"Bastard," I spat, abandoning my efforts.

"Just get changed," he said simply, slipping out without another word.

I groaned, wrinkling my nose in disgust at the sight of the miniskirt. "Who the hell does that smartass think he is?"

I probably could have gone on forever, but Kyoya's voice suddenly popped into my mind, reminding me that if I worked for the Host Club, he would pay the remainder of my tuition. I clenched my fists, squeezing my eyes shut. Come on, Ayame, it's only a stupid outfit, you can do this, you can do this.

No matter how many times I repeated the mantra, it didn't quench my desire to tear Kyoya's smirking face into ribbons.

Finally consigning myself to my fashion predicament, I forced a grin and gave my friend an affectionate push towards the curtains. "I guess I'll just have to change! So if you'll excuse me, my darling kohai."

She gave me a worried look, as unnervingly perceptive as always, but gave a minimal shrug of her shoulders and left me to myself. I puffed out my cheeks, turning my attention back to my atrocious costume. You can do this, Ayame. You can conquer the cosplay.

The heels were every bit as uncomfortable as I imagined, turning me into a wobbly wreck as I stumbled into the room. The gears in my body were going haywire, sending me the message that if I didn't lose those shoes pronto, I was sure to face-plant into the polished floors of Music Room #3.

Sighing theatrically, I shifted the weight of my backpack from shoulder to shoulder, gripping my guitar case with sweaty palms.

I was supposed to sing some stupid American pop song for my debut performance- something I most certainly wouldn't stand for- which was a much more pressing issue in comparison to my wardrobe woes. But, I thought, as my lower lip curled in a smirk, that was the one thing Kyoya couldn't prevent me from doing: singing a song that was well-suited to my definition of music.