'There are very few material things Kyouya loves. He does not love money, no matter what anyone might think.' Mild Tamaki/Kyouya, but mostly Gen.
There are very few material things Kyouya loves. He does not love money, no matter what anyone might think. What Kyouya loves is the power that money brings, the ability to fulfil any and all of Tamaki's fantasies and dreams. Money brings these fantasies to reality, giving them shape and form, if only for just a while. It is like one exhaling into the cold winter and watching the steam from one's mouth hanging in midair, an ethereal cloud of smoke that disappears slowly, so slowly; at the speed a glacier moves.
The Host Club is like a cloud of smoke, Kyouya thinks. It is striking and different, a utopia of heat in the midst of cold, something unlike anything one might have seen. Kyouya would have compared it to a snowflake if not for the fact that a snowflake breaks, crushed into pieces with the rest of its mates on the floor, bent out of shape, a flake no more - just snow. A cloud of smoke might vanish from one's eyes, but it will always be there.
Water vapour, Dihydrogen monoxide, never disappears fully. It comes down from the sky as rain or perhaps even snow, cold and maybe frozen. It hits the ground and joins its brothers, like a memory stored in the brain. One drinks it, and then one exhales it into a cloud of steam on a frosty winter day. Vapour disappears from one's sight; heat disperses, destroyed by the frigid air. But the water is still there. It does not cease to exist, it merely joins its brothers in the clouds, and the cycle repeats itself again.
The Host Club is a dream much like a cloud of steam one captures in one's hands after exhaling. It comes quickly and it goes quickly, but it never disappears. It is a beautiful memory that no one will be able to forget, not even Haruhi, with her practicalities and commoner-sense. The Host Club is fleeting, like a half-forgotten dream, but it can never be completely forgotten. Kyouya knows this, and he smiles at he watches Tamaki plays in the snow, creating snow angels and ruining his school uniform again. He watches the vapour coming from Tamaki's mouth, from Haruhi's, from Hikaru and Kaoru's, and from Honey and Mori's. He watches as the vapours disappear from sight, and he thinks he sees them rise into the air, into that blue sky.
It is like memories. Countless vapours, countless memories of the whole club that eventually join each other to form a cohesive, if not coherent, whole. It is a wondrous fantasy, something worthy of Wonderland itself. Though the Host Club does not have Rabbits or Queens or Cheshire Cats, it has Honey-senpai and Usa-chan, it has Tamaki the King of Fools, and it has the twins. It is somehow reminiscent of Wonderland, a dreamlike fantasy that will disappear when one opens one's eyes, falling back into reality after a reverie.
And, like Wonderland, it is impossible to forget.