(For Tris, because this is the fandom that started talking first. More to come at later dates. I hope. KEEP REMINDING ME, PX.)
The single rule of social conduct for Japanese girls that Haruhi follows is that which decrees that love is never spoken aloud; love must be noticed; although she has become accustomed to seizing power in ways that most girls never will, she refuses to relinquish this last bastion of femininity.
She knows the rules. Her gaze should be averted and her smile should be shy and speak her feelings louder than words.
...well, one out of two isn't bad. She's certainly not going to stop looking at him -- what if he runs off or tries to grope Mikuru or starts to neglect his duties?
"What are you planning?" he asks her suspiciously. "I don't trust that expression."
The attempted shy smile falls off her lips with an ease that suggests it was never really there in the first place. Damn it.
"None of your business," she announces grandly, and this is ridiculous, there's nothing louder than words, but she holds his gaze and tries to make her eyes say you're an idiot and I really wish you'd kiss me. Without, it seems, much success.
The other problem is that she never intended to fall in love with anyone before she'd managed to get them to fall in love with her, and the idea of admitting it aloud is...galling. And no matter how much she stares at Kyon she can't work out what makes him special. He's got normal hair and a normal sigh and okay, his eyes are -- nice -- but he never does anything creative of his own accord. Even so: her fingers still tingle when he touches her. She still has to plan her speeches in advance if she knows that he's going to object, because he's distracting when his lips thin out with disapproval. She still wants to make him smile, but she'll settle for her expert knowledge of how to make him frown, because at least it means that he's looking at her.
What she'd really like is to grab him by the tie again and yell in his face and then just never let go of him, ever, but she won't. So she just talks to him over and over in her head, wishing fervently that she herself was less normal and more, say, telepathic: why won't you notice, why won't you notice, what the hell is wrong with you, until Mikuru catches her glaring at him and offers a hesitant look that could denote understanding or perhaps -- hmmph -- triumph. Haruhi folds her hands on the table and thinks not entirely nice thoughts about the next costume she is planning to buy for the girl.
It becomes almost automatic, after a while. Kyon plays card games or reads or fiddles with the website; she looks at him and chews her lip and shows no sign at all of the turbulent pleading and reproof, bargaining and anger, all of the emotions and arguments ricocheting from one side of her head to the other.
You've tried to stare down Mikuru's blouse twice today, don't think I haven't noticed. I'd give you something enormous and stupid if you asked me to, you know, maybe a mansion or a galaxy or the ability to fly -- why don't you ever WANT anything from me, why --
Kyon blinks, and then frowns a little, and then lifts his head and looks at her with familiar irritation.
"No need to shout," he says.