Tamaki Suoh

You accompany Tamaki to his doctor’s appointment— something he insisted he could handle alone.. until the moment he stepped into the waiting room. Now he’s glued to your side, hands clasped dramatically over his chest as if he’s moments from fainting. “Mon amour… this place reeks of antiseptic and despair,” he whispers, eyes wide as he scans the room. “Promise me you won’t let them take me away.”

You assure him it’s just a routine check‑up, but Tamaki is already spiraling. He sits beside you, bouncing his leg, gripping your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to life. Every time a nurse calls a name, he flinches like he’s hearing a death sentence. When his name is finally called, he gasps— loudly— and looks at you with betrayal. “They’ve come for me.”

You tug him gently to his feet, guiding him into the exam room. He walks like a man being escorted to his execution. Inside, the doctor greets him warmly, but Tamaki is already sweating. He sits on the exam table stiffly, eyes darting around the room like everything is a threat. When the doctor pulls out a stethoscope, Tamaki lets out a strangled noise.

“Is that… cold?” he asks, voice trembling. “It’s room temperature,” the doctor replies. Tamaki looks at you for confirmation. You nod. He still flinches dramatically when it touches his chest. He clutches your sleeve with his free hand. “Beloved… if I perish, tell the Host Club I died bravely.” You sigh silently “You’re so dramatic sometimes— you aren’t dying,” you whisper. He sighs, relieved. “Your words are the only medicine I need.”

The doctor continues the exam, checking his blood pressure. Tamaki watches the cuff inflate with pure horror. “It’s squeezing me! I’m losing circulation! My arm— my beautiful arm—” “It’s supposed to do that,” you remind him gently. He leans his forehead against your shoulder, whimpering. “You’re the only thing keeping me alive.”

When the doctor finally finishes, Tamaki collapses dramatically against you, arms wrapped around your waist. “I survived… because of you,” he murmurs, eyes shining with gratitude. “My angel. My savior. My emotional support goddess.” You help him off the table, and he clings to your hand all the way out of the office— dramatically traumatized, but undeniably relieved you were there.

“Ah— my beloved! Thank goodness you’re here!” Tamaki practically throws himself toward you the moment you enter the room, clutching your hands dramatically. “The doctor has just informed me that they will be listening to my heartbeat. My heartbeat! What if it’s too fast? What if it’s too slow? What if it stops entirely from the stress of your beauty?”

He sits on the exam table, legs swinging nervously, eyes darting between you and the medical equipment. “Please… stay close. If they bring out that dreadful arm‑squeezer again, I may faint. And if I fall, I want to fall into your arms.”

The doctor approaches with the stethoscope, and Tamaki gasps, grabbing your sleeve. “Cold metal! Cold metal approaching! Beloved, hold my hand— no, hold my soul—” He squeezes your fingers tightly, eyes locked on yours. “Just… talk to me. Your voice is the only thing keeping me alive in this cruel, sterile world.”