Because fictional lesbian relationships are ever so satisfying. If you've read the manga, you'll realize just how many of the details are canon. Enjoy!

la violoniste et le cancre

Deep Sea Tide

She's tall and unapologetic and her single diamond earring glimmers in the vibrant September morning light. The classroom just got aired out, and Yoko and Hiromi just finished cleaning. They're chatting amiably, putting the brooms away. You met them earlier when you arrived, because you're used to waking up early and you like the early morning calm.

She's sitting on her desk hunched over, with her elbows on her knees and her hands folded in front of her face. Her mouth is leaning on her joined hands, and she looks rather severe. She's wearing the boy's uniform, which is unusual but not unheard of.

You approach her, and take the free desk next to her. You'll only be sitting here for the morning homeroom attendance period. Your first period this morning is European history, which is upstairs.

She turns her head slightly, noticing your approach. You smile, and offer a hand in the Western fashion.

"Hey. My name is Michiru. I just transferred here."

Her eyes are a violent, terrifying gold.

She looks away, and it's only when the bell rings and the rest of your classmates enter the room, chatting amiably and loudly and people are sitting down and you finally realize your heart is pounding away in your chest, and you had collapsed in your chair, a little breathless.

Your talents are the violin, swimming, and history. You like Jyuban high, and only momentarily miss your old friends. There's a girl called Ami in your advanced calculus class, and even though you're terrible at math, Ami's promised to help you, so you feel better.

Ami then reveals that she's fourteen, three years younger than you, and you feel like an idiot all over again.

But now it's gym class, and your idiot of a physical education teacher decided that everybody was going to play baseball outside, and take advantage of the fresh air.

It's your turn for the bat, and you try to fight the nerves slowly crawling through your stomach.

You grab the bat from a tall girl you can't remember the name of, but you nod and try to keep your smile calm.

You take your stand, clutching the bat with sweaty palms, your dark green hair pulled from your face tightly. And then you notice her. She's the pitcher. The golden haired, golden eyed girl.

She pitches three times, and you miss three times, and it's "three strikes you're out, Michiru!"

The girl just smirks at you as you walk off the field red-faced. Despite the hot sun above in a clear sky, you're shivering, and it's all because her eyes are exactly like gold - cold and terribly alluring.

Weeks pass, and September surrenders into a cool October, and the trees are losing their leaves in a beautiful display of colour. School is harder than ever, your first government exams are in a few short weeks and you can't remember the last time you slept through the night soundly.

Your father notices, but stays silent. He just says, one Saturday while he's driving her to the supermarket to pick up some ingredients for supper, "You know, when I was your age, I didn't spend so much time alone. You're an A student, Michiru, you can take a night off every once and a while."

You don't answer. You turn you face away and keep staring out the window, your eyes drawn to the golden and red panoply of leaves covering the streets.

It's Friday, and you don't know how time passes so quickly. You're staring in front of the cinema, looking at all the posters for the latest movies. Your clutching your scarf to your face, it's more than just a little chilly out.

"New girl."

The voice startles you, and you turn to your left to see the golden eyed girl standing there casually, in all her tall, disheveled glory. She looks like the wind is barely touching her, and her face is pale, and her leather jacket isn't zippered closed, and she looks like it's a cool summer evening, not the late fall night that it is.

"H...hi," you mutter. You can't believe how weak your own voice sounds. "Hi." You try again, and the smirk that makes your heart jump and flutter twists itself on her face.

"You're going to the cinema alone, green?"

She's calling you by the colour of your hair. It's not as strange as hers, that pale, almost white blonde.

"My name," you tell her softly, "Is Michiru."

She smiles, almost. The smirk is there, but her eyes are less cold, somehow. Michiru almost forgets how freezing the wind is.

"Yeah, I know. What were you thinking?" she nods to the posters.

You bite your lip.

"I was told by my music instructor that the soundtrack of this movie is mostly violin, composed by one of her friends. I was just curious. I don't think I'll actually go."

She rolls her eyes. "It's a romantic movie."

"I wasn't asking you to come. And I am not so much interested in the storyline as I am in the way the filmmaker uses the violin to portray the scenes of the movie. It's gotten very good reviews." You sound defensive, and somehow though your blood is boiling and you feel like you have no stomach, you're utterly enthralled.

She removes one hand from her jacket's pockets and smiles, reaching out to touch your cheek with it. (Was she really so close, all this time?)

"Have a good night, greeny. I have stuff to do."

She begins to walk away and your face is burning, because it feels like her hot fingertips scalded your face and left a terrible scar.

She looks back over her shoulder, and throws, "You should go watch it. Don't worry about being alone. That's the way I prefer to watch movies, you know."

Your father is wearing his finest dark suit, and he's bought you a stunning deep green dress for your first performance at Jyuban high. It's the last day of October, and it's a Friday night. The students are all in the audience hall, chattering restlessly, eager to leave. You're the last act of the evening after a short break, and your fingers are shaking. The head of the music department at Jyuban gave you permission to play your own composition, and it's fifteen minutes long and your strings are tuned just perfectly and you're terrified.

The curtain calls, and you're standing in the middle of the stage, facing the audience squarely, shoulders set back and head raised.
You have your violin ready, your face pressing against the black leather padding gently, and when you begin playing you forget to breathe and to stand and to see and it's just your fingers moving and your arm gently moving the bow as the song begins.

You've composed this three days ago, and you've secretly given this song the name Deep Sea Tide.

When it's over, the entire audience remains stunned and the silence is absolutely magical as you take your little bow. Somebody tries to start clapping, and is hushed quickly.

It's the greatest honour a musician can receive - the silence of an audience of 800 people, too stunned and too enthralled and too moved to clap, or even say a word.

When your father meets you outside of the changing rooms, he's got dried up tears in his eyes, and he hugs you, his arms full of pride and warmth, and you smile, too tired and too happy to say a word.

History lets out when the bell rings and you're relieved, because though you think Senzo-sensei is very intelligent and talented, she does tend to talk forever, and it's been a long day.

You walk out and you see Ami in the hall and she smiles and tells you you should start studying for the calculus test in three days, and you agree and set a date.

Then she leaves, bidding you a good night, and you head to your homeroom to pick up your books and leave.

She's there, which is a little unusual but not unheard of, and she leaning against the window. Her eyes follow you as you enter the class. You nod and smile, and then try to look busy as you open your desk and sort out which textbooks you need to bring home tonight.

"Last Friday..." she starts. And then quietens.

Izumi-chan and a few of the other girls walk by, giggling loudly, and when you notice that you're the last ones left.

"Did you really make that yourself?"

You don't know what she's talking about.

"Excuse me?"

The golden eyed girl rolls her eyes. "The song, greeny, the violin piece you played last Friday."

"Oh." you blink, remembering the original question. You try to straighten yourself, brushing your hair from your face and straightening your back. Even then,you stand a good five inches shorter than her. "Yes."

The golden eyed girl smirks.

She picks up the books right out of your arms, and takes your black shoulder bag off your left shoulder.

"I have a car. Want a ride home?"

She's never been so terrified in her entire life. The golden eyed girl drives way too fast.

"My name's Haruka."

You're clutching the seat as her light blue car swerves off the highway, around the ramp, and into the calm suburban streets of her neighborhood.

"Yeah-"

Swerve.

"I-"

Sudden slamming on the brakes.

"Knew-"

Sharp turn.

"Th...that."

Her driving style is oddly reminiscent of her personality, and yet Haruka doesn't miss a single stop sign or run through any lights, and despite the extraordinary accelerations, the car doesn't skid or twirl out of control, not even for a split-second.

"Here's your place." The car stops, and you realize your hands are shaking uncontrollably.

Haruka has that rakish grin on her face, that half smirk monstrosity that makes your stomach flip. It might just be the utter fright induced by riding in a car driving by a Formula One wannabe maniac.

You open the door and get out, dragging your school things with you, and find your legs hard to stand on, because your knees at shaking.

"Have a good night, Michiru."

You've barely shut the passenger-side door when the car screeches away.

The dreams are back, the ones that haunted your childhood, before your mother left.

You're standing on the edge of a void, a rather dark one, and everything afar is gold specks dotting the skies. Behind you is a dark blue cloud, shaped as a sphere.

You feel stronger somehow, your bones and skin made of diamond and steel, but your fears are doubled here, tripled even, as you stare out past the gates of the solar system.

"Neptune." you hear the words but it sounds rather like music, a violin playing from afar, the melody haunting and perfect and titanically powerful.
"Guardian of the ocean."

You wake up.

Haruka puzzles you. You have no classes with her, because you're on the honour roll and because she's a bit of a mess. According to the other girls, Haruka is constantly skipping class and heading for a cigarette on the roof of the gymnasium. The girls talk about her fearfully, enviously, even kind of admiringly. They talk about her blue car ("You mean you were actually offered a ride in her ferrari?") and nasty nicotine addiction and how talented she is at sports and at running, especially ("Her sophomore year, she ran with the boys, and still got gold in the municipal competitions!").

Gold - her gold medals, her golden, blonde hair, her golden eyes, everything about Haruka is so beautiful, and so distant. You can't help but bring her up in conversations whenever you thinks the other girls would accept the jumping of subjects as natural. Even though Haruka's shared things with you - "Don't worry about being alone. That's the way I prefer to watch movies, you know." - and even though Haruka doesn't smirk towards you in that cold, menacing way anymore, you're still curious, and still (somehow, incredibly, strangely, oddly, magically) wanting to know more.

You decide to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, and you walk up to the gymnasium one lunch period, a little lunchbox in your hands. You don't know if Haruka brings her own food, but you've never seen her in the cafeteria buying lunch, so you figure it can't hurt to share the food you made last night. It's not very well made or anything, but you tell yourself it's the thought that counts.

You reach the top of the stairs, and push the heavy steel door to walk outside on the roof. The wind hits you particularly fiercely, and you try to tuck your free fingers into your sleeves.

Now you remember why this could have been a bad idea.

She's there, standing in her leather jacket, and you can smell the smell of tobacco in the freezing air, though she's shoved her hands in her pockets and is looking away, far off beyond the cityscape.

"Hi Haruka."

Haruka turns her head, blinking, as if just startled out of some deep thought. Her eyes are wide and her face is sweet-looking, startled like that. "Oh, hello Michiru. I thought you didn't like the cold."

You shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

Haruka stares at the little green lunchbox in your stiff hands. "Oh, no. It's okay. Cigarettes and food don't usually mix."

You just bite your lip. "Is that how you stay so thin?"

Haruka begins to laugh. Now you're the wide-eyed, startled one. You're pretty sure there's some sort of drug in the air, or maybe it's the cigarettes, but everything feels perfect.

"I don't smoke to be thin. I smoke because I do. Here, you look freezing."

(You don't feel freezing, then, when her long fingers wrap gently around your arm, and you can feel her warmth through your thick sweater, and she pulls you against her, shielding you from the wind.)

"How can you stand like this in the wind and be so warm?"

Haruka smiles, her chin resting atop your head. The weight is pleasant, and you wonder if you should let your face rest across her shoulder.

"I love the wind. I was born to feel the wind in my hair, against my skin. It's why I love driving fast with the windows down, it's why I love running..." she trails off.

You stand there for a moment, and then she looks at you, and her golden eyes look as fiery as lava when she says, lips pulled into a lopsided smile.

"I think my stomach just grumbled. You promise you don't mind sharing your lunch?"

It's like your dreams all over again, but this time your awake. Staring up at the stars so bright against the black, and so far...

You are at your instructor, Okiko-sensei's house one dark Thursday evening. She's giving you new pieces to play, some melodies that sound more Japanese, others more characteristic of the great European classics, and even another modern piece by an American. The bow bounces off the strings and your calloused fingertips dance across the violin's neck. No matter what piece of music sensei gives you, your violin feels particularly haunted - cold like the November wind and as dark as the fathomless ocean depths.

It drives your instructor to tears. "I can't believe how beautiful your playing is and how talented you've become lately. You're going to surpass me very soon."

Okiko-sensei was there when your mother left, with her Jasmine tea and her reserved sentences overflowing of generosity. She's been coaching you since you were twelve years old. You can't imagine not playing violin for her four times a week.

You decide to forgo propriety as you grasp your teacher's hand. "I will come have tea with you, and we will play violin together, even when I am at university."
Okiko-sensei smiles, patting your hands and then tells you what to emphasize the next time you begin the piece again.

You're staring out at the dark window, and Ami asks you if everything's okay.

"What?"

"Are you feeling well? You should perhaps warn sensei tomorrow that you haven't been well enough to study for the exam Monday."

You smile, batting her concerns away with a gentle swing of your hands. "I'm fine, just a little lost in thought, I'm afraid."

Ami smiles, "I'm glad to hear you're alright. Do you want to talk about what's on your mind?"

Millions of words rush to the tip of your tongue, fighting to come out at once. "N..no. Thanks, but I think I can manage."

A while later, when you don't notice, Haruka walks by the open door of the classroom and smiles at your hunched form, trying hard to concentrate on a subject you despise.

You raise your chin, moments later, but there's nobody in the doorway, and Ami softly chastises you for losing focus yet again.

You've started bringing your lunch to the roof every day, and you've even coaxed Haruka to stop smoking when you're up there with her. You pack extra, and learn what she likes to eat (salad, actually, with tomatoes and peppers) and you learn that underneath those cold eyes lies a rather warm, teasing smile.

And maybe you learn that underneath your quiet thoughts, lies a girl who likes being teased by those sparkling, luminous eyes.

December arrives, and with it, the first snow.

The usual commute to school is more crowded than usual, inexplicably. You're standing stuck uncomfortably between hundreds of strangers, walking to the trains and off again then on the bus and off again.

The snow itself is beautiful, and seems to glow in the penumbra it causes in the morning. You're smiling, and your dark eyes raise to the sky. You cross the school courtyard and walk eagerly to homeroom.

You sit down at your desk, unpacking cheerfully. The minutes tick on, and more and more students arrive.

The bell rings, the homeroom supervisor walks in with the attendance sheet. You rise to stand with the rest of the class, and there is a chorus of sleepy voices that greets the supervisor respectfully.

Every moment, you can't help glancing at the door.

Another bell rings, and students leave the class quickly, carrying book bags and chatting animatedly.

You gather your things quietly, trying to delay for every possible second you can spare...

It feels like your heart has stopped beating when you put your books in your arm, and you can't help but feel like something's gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Haruka doesn't come to class for a week.

By Tuesday, you've tried to convince yourself that you don't care.

By Wednesday, you have to force yourself not to go to the director's office to ask for her home telephone number.

By Thursday morning, you find yourself holding back tears as you enter homeroom.

By Thursday evening, you tell yourself you've never hated a person more, for being so completely absent and so completely enchanting and so completely terrible for your mental health.

By Friday, five days have passed without Haruka, and you find yourself going home early, complaining of an upset stomach to the school nurse who pats your shoulder condescendingly and wishes you a good weekend.

You play your violin for hours that night, staring out the window of your father's apartment's living room. Your fingers are red and the callouses are starting to blister, but you ignore the foolish harm being done, unable to stop playing.

The violin itself sings music aching with worry, of a sickening anticipation for some terrible news.

Saturday morning, you wake up, and you dreamt of a car crash.

You grab your coat, and a scarf, and you almost leave the house with no boots, but your out the door before your father can ask you what's wrong, and you're running over the melting snow to get to the bus stop heading downtown.

You were always the quiet one. Your dark eyes sparkled only if you took the time to notice, and your father always called your gaze the gaze of an inquisitive soul. "You've always been gazing out, searching, understanding, but your own way."

You don't usually wake up from a dream with an address seared into your consciousness, visions of something too horrible to be just a dream.

You don't usually ignore your father when you leave the house. You don't usually share you lunch with the worst student in the grade, and you don't usually get distracted from your studies and your routine.

Most importantly, you don't usually play the violin like it's the only voice of a haunted, dark soul.

You're not dark - you're just little Michiru, with green hair and aquamarine highlights and a slight propensity to get lost in thought.

(You remember an English saying, that you once heard. It's one of your favourites: "still waters run deep.")

The point is, you know what happened to Haruka, and the why's and how's can wait.

"Why would I warn you where I was? I was recovering quite well on my own."

"I could have helped the recovering! I could have brought you homework, or-"

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not a babysitter!"

"Really, homework on a sick day? Sounds like a babysitter to me. I don't need you telling me what to do."

"Telling you- Haruka, I was so worried! You- you just vanished!"

A sneer in her words, a bitter sarcasm: "Pardon my insolence for being part of a life-threatening car accident. Really, I'll be more careful next time!"

Tears thickening Michiru's voice: "And...and t-then I had no news! I almost asked the director for your number!"

"I don't need your help, Michiru. I'll be out of here in a few days."

"Everybody needs somebody, sometimes."

"I don't want your help Michiru."

Footsteps, and then the soft closing of a door.

"Michiru?"

Silence. Sound of a person shifting in bed, rolling over slowly under the sheets.

Haruka's been out of the hospital for a while, and decided to lose the crutches after half a day, proclaiming that her ankle was healed and her left hip was doing just fine. Life seemed to go back to normal for the blonde after a few eternal weeks. Eventually news of her car crash spread and she became the celebrity of early December. But it didn't last.

It was soon going to be Christmas vacation, and soon would come the January exams and the placement tests and nobody thought of Haruka's accident anymore.

Nobody...

You force yourself to focus on school.

Your violin playing is increasingly sad, and Okiko-sensei notices the change.

More importantly, golden eyes are cold once more.

You have a dream again - it's not like the usual ones of standing alone on the edge of space, or the one where you relived Haruka's accident. This one is stranger.

But Haruka is there with you, clad in a shockingly feminine deep blue gown. She calls herself the Princess of Miranda and she's calling you the Princess of Triton. You're facing each other in this cold place, and the wind is fierce.

Her arms are where you are, and you gaze out to the stars together.

You can't pull yourself out of bed come morning, because you don't know anymore if you're dreaming - or reliving a memory.

It's the last day before winter break, and Haruka is waiting for you by the bus stop. You're a little late, because the music director at school wanted to have a conversation about performing in a music competition as a representative of Jyuban high school. There's nobody at the bus stop other than Haruka and the night is getting dark already.

Haruka's standing in her trademark dark brown leather jacket, her uniform's pants soaked by the snow, and a dark brown scarf wrapped around her neck. She's smoking a cigarette, which is not allowed at public transit stops. You walk right by, resolutely going to ignore her.

Haruka stands slightly behind you, a little bit off to your side.

"I was an idiot at the hospital. I just felt guilty."

You don't move an inch, taking in a sharp intake of breath.

(Your resolve is already reduced to ashes, but maybe it's your pride is keeping you from admitting it.)

"Every time I watch a movie now, I can't help but wonder what you'd have to say about the soundtrack."

The bus comes, and your heart leaps in fear. Through the snow, you can barely tell what the bus' number is, but finally after a good three seconds your blurry vision focuses and you can tell it's not your bus at all.

You turn around and to your immense surprise Haruka is standing a few inches from yourself (was she always so close?), her eyes warm and curious and wide.

She's not smiling or frowning, and her face is beautiful underneath the snow. For once, there is no wind, and you can nearly stand the cold as you take in her pale face and pink lips, and her golden eyes.

"I've never done this before." you half-plead.

Haruka nods. "Me neither."

When her arms wrap around you, it's not just for shelter from the cold, it's not just an apology - you could be two towering princesses clad in dark fabrics standing on the edge of the universe and you're holding on just as tightly as she is because you've never ever known the world to be this cold and this warm and everything else fades in the smell of her leather jacket and her clean hair.

The snowflakes that drift down to melt on your skin as she kisses you (so softly, simply ever so softly) pepper your hair and your clothes, and when she opens her eyes and looks at you with adoring, hot-as-lava golden eyes, Haruka laughs and calls you a green-haired snowman.