Tamaki Wants Me To Vote For Hillary Clinton

You leaned against the firm windowsill, listlessly gazing out the large pane of glass which swallowed most of the wall and dripped warm sunset onto your face which leaked down to the floor below.

On the lot you watched as students, some you recognized from brief, regular glances in the hallways, and some who seemed like strangers. They all had their own lives and relationships to see through. Their paths becoming more complex and entangled with every interaction they had with one another.

And yet, you were just a spectator. An involuntary witness to the tangled lives of the wealthy which now drowns out any quiet complacency you may have once felt. One could no longer be satisfied with simple things once they realize what they could experience instead.

The thin pane of glass, resistant to any blemish or scratch which could have wore it, seemed unfair.

What separates you from the other girls who wear their hair in bows and parade around the halls, ignorant and proud, with sunshine wrapped around them to form the blinding yellow uniforms the school assured were necessary.

Only a pane of glass.

That's what kept you still a commoner, a peasant. You certainly didn't come to Ouran with academics, or with family pride. But by some sort of dumb luck you were thrown into the confusing world of wealth.

As grateful as you were, you resented this change.

There was no reason for you to be in such a prestigious academy, and it was obvious from the moment you entered its grand doors and hallowed halls:

You did not belong here.

You could feel your face begin to grow hot as your eyes became too heavy to keep open and you felt the familiar, almost comforting sensation of tears sliding down your cheeks.

"(Y/N)?"

As a reflex you quickly wiped across your face with the sleeve of the far too expensive and far too yellow uniform you wore every day. You could see damp stains which now clung to your sleeve, before they shriveled up and disappeared somewhere into the depths of the fabric.

The voice was assured yet soft. You had taken care no one else would be here so late after school had been dismissed. Who could it be?

You sheepishly looked up at the boy.

Tamaki.

You didn't know him all too well, but he was the only one who talked to you at all. His genuine and charming curiosity had made you smile since the day you started attending Ouran. He seemed to want you happy, but you could never figure out why.

You didn't think about it too much though. The distraction was welcome, and probably the only thing you looked forward to. Just seeing him eased your anxieties, and talking to him flooded them away completely for a time.

"Are you alright?" He asked, approaching the window you couldn't stand to look out any longer.

You sheepishly nodded your head and swallowed back any sort of doubt your voice may be carrying.

"I'm, I'm fine Tamaki."

He seemed interested, maybe even worried. His face giving some sort of unreadable expression.

A smile broke out across his lips and seemed to spread across his face.

He turned to face the window and observe the scene below, and you followed suit.

Everything was silent for a few moments before he spoke up. "I can't stand this view," he chuckled "It's almost like it's cursed. Just watching everyone else. It gives off such a weird feeling, right?"

You quietly mutter a 'yeah' as he keeps looking forward. He sighed a bit.

"I know it's been hard for you, (Y/n), please know I'm here. Please just know that I think it's going to be alright. And I think you're going to do fine."

You aren't sure what to say when he suddenly gets closer to you and you feel your cheeks burn red, you want to say something to him, ask him a question, whisper your secrets. Anything. You feel the need to jump in his arms and cry.

But you don't do anything, you stand there.

He carefully pushes something into your hands, it feels cold and metallic against your smooth skin. You wrap your fingers against it's round circumference, and grip it tightly.

Then without warning, he gingerly plants his lips on yours and for a moment, you don't want to cry because why would you. Everything is calm, and all you can do is return the soft embrace.

He pulls away and adjusts himself for a moment and exists the room, and you finally manage to say something:

A quiet "Thank you."

Curious you open your palm, which is now red from gripping so tightly, and turnover the odd button-shaped object.

You can now clearly see the front of the button and your eyes get wider the more you read:

"Vote Hillary Clinton, 2016."