Author's Notes: Apparently my previous effort at promoting these two was not successful, as evidenced by the lack of stories starring Renge and Nekozawa, so I've come back to give it another push with a series of vignettes, with a bit more spice thrown in for flavor. Ouran Host Club does not belong to me. Enjoy.

I.

At age sixteen (going on to seventeen), Houshakuji Renge was brought up as a lady in waiting, who had traveled to Paris to receive formal education on manners, propriety, and the important rituals of courtship and society; how she must not speak too loud or walk too quickly or gesture too wildly. She was instructed to keep casual but polite distances between herself and the eligible young men, and refrain from showing too much affection towards any one in particular, for that was improper and unbecoming of an unengaged young lady. She was to confine herself to suitable pursuits—poetry, music, painting, and embroidery—that would blend her into the genteel society which she was to become a member of.

Renge did none of these things.

She was flown to France by her desperate parents in the hopes that she would benefit from the class and culture of the city. Instead, she spent her better hours alone in the dark confines of her room playing video games she smuggled aboard in her suitcase. She raised and flexed her voice like the mythical sirens of love and war and took to adopting dramatic stage entrances on rotating mechanical platforms. She kept up to date portfolios on all the pretty boys of note and was the spiritual leader of the cult made up of Ouran's ladies that feverishly adored young males whom God bestowed with inner and aesthetic beauty so that all might enjoy them. As assistant manager of the host club, she occupied a strategic niche between the guests and the hosts; an outside insider who anticipated consumer demands and provided solutions in the form of ideas, events, and costume play themes. For her services, she was rewarded with the satisfied looks of her fellow fan girls and host club credits to spend on auction site items and designations of boys of her choice.

It was an ideal situation, except it was not.

Professionalism suffered when emotion got in the way; a truism of which Ootori Kyouya, the club's vice president, was a shining example of. Renge's troubles began when she took upon herself the task of training the newest addition to the club, third year Nekozawa Umehito. Her efforts paid off, and in the process she fell in love with the man who was a walking paradox between creepiness and charm. The revelation of her own feelings dumbfounded her: he was no prince in shining armor, riding on a horse with a rose pinned to his breast while secretly rescuing abandoned puppies from the rain. His lips did not speak the sweet endearments whispered by the characters in her games; when he tried to confess to her he did so by hijacking her plane and then fainting before he could utter the words she longed to hear. Perhaps it was divine punishment, for all the unclean thoughts she entertained about real and imaginary bishies, that the first breathing boy she fell in love with would be the strangest one of them all, whose preferred outfit was a cape and whose best friend was a muppet.

Yet she was the luckiest girl alive.

She wanted to share her happiness with the world when she learned that the boy she loved returned her feelings. She vacationed with him in the summer afterwards and conveyed her wondrous feelings to her friend and fellow club member, Fujioka Haruhi, the natural one with whom she felt she shared a feminine bond, though she couldn't give the reason why. Now that school was back in session, the club reopened, and Renge had the pleasure of seeing her beau all the time, hard at work in his lanky blonde-haired blue-eyed glory. Presently, he was seated next to a classmate of hers, a cute little bird with big brown eyes and pigtails who chirped excitedly to her attentive host. "Did you see the moon last night, Sempai? It was so large and full, I've never seen one as beautiful and ended up missing a whole hour of sleep and nearly came in tardy this morning!"

"Ah yes, I saw it too. We of the Nekozawa clan trace our lineage to Dracula himself, and even now, on nights when the moon is full and bright, I feel the red of my ancestors stir in my veins, urging me to don my cape and become one with the darkness."

His voice was velvet and had a magnetic effect on his audience. The poor doe was quivering with excitement, her voice a high little squeak when she was able to speak again. "The color black certainly suits you, Sempai. I'd have loved to seen it."

She gasped when he placed his fingers beneath her jaw and tilted her chin slightly upwards and leaned closer until his lips were millimeters from the flesh of her neck. "And you will, my dear, when I visit your bed chamber tonight, seeking warm pulse beneath soft skin, enticed by your scent, the sweet smell of untainted virgin's blood…"

His impressive performance was cut short when a maintenance wrench used on the stages of her grand entrances flew from Renge's hand and connected with the back of Nekozawa's head, knocking him face forward into the coffee table that shook but did not shatter. All merrymaking in the third music room fell silent as all turned their heads towards the offender, who stood catching her breath after the wound up pitch that struck home, legs planted far apart in very unladylike fashion. She heard quiet footsteps and a source of chill approach from her right, and didn't even need to look to know that her boss was pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, a gesture of grave disapproval that had sent many scampering to the corners in the past.

"Renge, go stand outside in the hall."

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"It was just an act!"

"I don't care."

"I don't understand; it worked perfectly, just like you said it would, and you were fine with it when I practiced with you."

"I don't care! You will not do that routine from now on."

She stood with her back to him and her arms crossed before her chest, the two of them alone in the club's changing room after school let out. She was determined not to give him the time of day, especially after he caused her such public humiliation: All she had done was give him his just deserts—disciplining her boyfriend who followed her instructions and applied the lessons he learned from her; clearly, he was the one at fault here, and despite what the others said afterwards Renge was unflinching. She would not forgive him so easily this time, and she was not going to look at him until he repented and asked for forgiveness, a decision which led to her being caught off guard when his arms wrapped around her, clamping her arms to her side. He had approached from behind her without a sound, a specialty of his that was a reoccurring source of consternation for his victims, and on this occasion it served only to make her more upset as she struggled against the firm embrace and the not unpleasant feelings it created within her. "Release me!"

"No."

"No?"

"Not until you come clean and tell me the real reason why you're so angry."

"Why shouldn't I be angry? You were harassing her!"

"Did it make you jealous?"

Her eyes widened and her traitorous cheeks flared at his audacity; he had never been so forward before, and for the first time since they became an item, she felt her hold on the upper hand begin to slip. "Why… why would I be jealous?"

With one long arm still around her, she held her breath when his free hand undid the ribbon in her hair, letting long strands of strawberry blonde fall loose; his deep voice setting her heart racing and her stomach in a flutter. "You were jealous because I was paying other girls attention that you felt was yours alone."

Stupid men and their stupid logic, but she still had her pride to consider. "You're mistaken, I feel no ownership over you and your actions have no effect over me whatsoever."

"Oh? In that case, you wouldn't mind if I did this." He tilted her head gently to the side and she gasped when he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck as his long fingers combed through her hair. "… And you wouldn't mine if I did this."

She felt his tongue flick briefly over her pulse before biting gently then sucking until she felt her legs go weak, her anger dissipate until little fight remained in her breathy reply. "That's evil!"

"Why thank you. I aim only to please." She could hear him smile, his teasing reply sending a small shiver down her spine, and in the part of her mind not fried from sensory overload, Renge wondered just what she had gotten herself into and what sort of creature dwelled within the boy who wore the appearance of a big black kitty; she couldn't wait to find out.