The Mirror
Chapter 1
A woman.
Haruka studied herself disapprovingly in her life-size bedroom mirror.
And a buxom woman, at that.
Her frown deepened.
She had never been so aware of her womanhood until recently.
Until Michiru-san came along…
Letting a sigh escape her lips, Haruka's fingertips gingerly alighted on the cool surface of the mirror. Her forefinger traced the image of her parted lips and continued down to her neck. Once there, she paused, cocking her head curiously.
From the neck up, she was a man---and an attractive man from the reactions girls had on her; but from the neck down…Haruka clenched her hands into fists about her sides. From the neck down, she was a woman, and as much as she would hate to admit it, she was a desirable woman.
Her fingers returned to the smooth surface of the mirror, this time resignedly caressing her left breast before drifting further down, into an area she desperately wished was something else. Deciding she'd rather not even think about what she wanted that something else to be, Haruka let her digits slide back up the mirror, letting them rest along the plane of her naked belly.
I hate being nude, she thought absently, I hate this body-the fragility associated with it…I hate the fact that-Michiru-san is a woman…and I am one as well.
"Haruka-san?" came the calming voice. Startled, Haruka spotted Michiru's reflection in her mirror. A coral rising in her cheeks, Haruka turned towards the young girl, her face indifferent despite its color.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing at Michiru's intrusion. The aqua-tressed girl smiled reassuringly, her expression, as usual, relaxing Haruka's discomfort.
In front of her, Haruka did not feel nude, nor out of place, or like a woman…No, Michiru brought out a certain masculinity in her, a certain need to protect her fragile looking form at all times. That's why you joined this mission, after all…
Haruka stifled the urge to reach for a towel and cover her body. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and, for some reason, Michiru always seemed amused by her lack of appreciation for her body.
"You were quiet," Michiru began, stepping closer to Haruka, "I wondered if you had left for the racetrack-so I came to check and found you here…"
She was standing on tiptoe now, looking over Haruka's shoulder and into the mirror. Her expression softened. She stepped in front of Haruka then, preventing the sandy-haired girl from studying her reflection any longer, and smiled sadly. "Why do you do this, Haruka-san?"
Michiru held back the desire to caress the girl's cheek as she spoke. It wasn't the first time she had walked in on a naked Haruka, but the more she saw the senshi of wind chastise herself for what her body was, the more it hurt her.
"Why do I do what, Michiru-san?" Haruka answered, her expression blank to anyone but Michiru.
Michiru sighed and placed a finger to her lips daintily. She was thinking. Haruka felt the edges of her lips involuntarily twitch upwards.
"This!" Michiru incriminated, pointing indignantly to the mirror, too engulfed in understanding the situation to realize what her words would do to Haruka.
In a minute, Haruka's eyes flared up. Michiru cringed inwardly when she noted the girl's reaction. Almost instantly, Haruka's body had stiffened, her jaw clenching closed, her eyes hard and angry. Haruka did not allow anyone to judge her…
Turning, Haruka made to grab for her robe, when Michiru's desperate arms came about her naked waist, stopping her from doing what she had planned on-leaving.
"Haruka!" she interjected desperately, her perfect aspect of calm shattering if only for a few seconds as she grabbed on tenderly to the taller woman.
Haruka drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes…Michiru's arms fit perfectly around her tummy, almost as if they were meant to be there. Haruka could do nothing to help the sudden arousal that struck her senseless at feeling Michiru's tiny form pressed into her from behind. And when those fingertips of hers began moving upwards, searching for her face, Haruka could do nothing clamp her eyes shut, fearful of opening them and finding she was in a dream.
And she was…Haruka frowned as she realized she was second guessing Michiru's actions. The girl was simply fearful of having insulted her friend-nothing more, nothing less.
Biting her lower lip in quiet anguish, Haruka pulled away from Michiru and shrugged on her robe. Then she turned, feeling much more confident now that she was clothed.
"I would appreciate it if you knock next time, Michiru-san," Haruka muttered, standing tall and regal before the intruding girl.
Michiru simply smiled, lifting up her hands in an adorable shrug, and backed into Haruka's king-sized bed, crossing her legs. "The door was open, Haruka…"
Haruka tried to shrug away the fact that Michiru was poignantly dropping the suffix on her name.
"Are you going to dress, Haruka?"
There it was again. Haruka. Not Haruka-san…not even Haruka-chan!
"Not with you here."
Michiru frowned and then, "But why not?"
Haruka raised an eyebrow. Wasn't it obvious?
"Because…"
"Aren't we both girls, Haruka? Or rather say, women?"
Haruka shrugged.
"Well then," Michiru continued, "there is nothing you have that I don't…What harm can it be that I stay here and…watch?"
Watch? Michiru wanted to watch her dress?
Although uncomfortable, Haruka refused to give into herself-if Michiru wanted to see her dress, then she'd let her.
Standing tall and regal, Haruka loosened the tie on her robe, turning away from Michiru as she let it drop around her ankles. Tense, Haruka stepped away from the bundle of clothes and squatted near the ground, cursing the fact that she kept her clothes in the bottom drawer.
She was distracted by a dainty giggle.
Turning, Haruka's searching gaze met Michiru's eyes, and the girl seemed amused. Growling under her breath, Haruka turned back to her bureau and pulled out the first pair of underwear her fingertips alighted on. They were black briefs.
Haruka pulled them on hastily, releasing a lengthy sigh when that ordeal was done. Then, bending down towards the first drawer, Haruka pushed aside dress shirts and school sweaters, opting instead for a silk polo shirt. Deciding it would do for the humid day, she raised her arms in the air and jerked on the shirt. She was halfway towards her closet when Michiru's sweet voice once again erupted against the silence. "No bra, Haruka? What if it gets chilly…?"
Instantly and with quite a grievance, the tall blonde felt her cheeks burn a dark red. What if it got chilly…? There was simply no quick retort to that comment, not that Haruka felt she should reply to Michiru's rhetorical remark.
"I don't need one," Haruka finally whispered, disappearing within the confines of her dark walk-in closet (product of Michiru's endless coaxing). The aqua-haired girl simply kicked her legs absently and stood, following the other into the closet.
"Every girl needs one," she teased, arms folding about her chest as she took a new position against the door leading to the adjoining bathroom. Haruka didn't respond, but walked past her, running her hands deftly through the many pairs of jeans that hung on the racks. Finding one that suited her taste, Haruka stepped into them, relishing the comforting sensation their laxity provided.
There. She was dressed. Haruka turned smugly towards Michiru, eyebrow slightly raised in a gesture of superiority. For the second time that morning, Michiru raised her arms in a graceful shrug. "Honestly, Haruka-it wasn't all that bad…you are a girl after all; and so am I. What are all the formalities for, then?"
Haruka quirked an interested eyebrow. What did she mean?
"I am in need of your assistance, Haruka." At the abrupt change of topic, Haruka felt herself lost in the conversation. What did getting rid of formalities have to do with assisting Michiru? She wasn't sure how the two thoughts connected, much less where the girl's transition was.
"I need your help in regards to the Art Exhibition that's coming up-"
"The one at Muugen? What for?" Haruka felt herself derisively respond, "You've always done well enough on your own…"
"Well yes," Michiru wrung her hands in a gesture so unlike her that Haruka's eyes were drawn to the intertwined fingers, "but this year's requirements involve the usage of a live model."
"So?"
"So? Haruka, I want you to be my model."
Michiru advanced on the other girl, sweet smile on her lips, and looked up into Haruka's eyes innocently. "It would only be two or three times that we'd actually be together, per say. I would sketch you the first day-make a preliminary sculpture the next…"
"That's it?" Haruka asked, unsure of what she was getting herself into.
"That is all, yes."
( * * * )
It was the week after Haruka had agreed to being Michiru's model, and the paranoia was starting to set it. Why exactly had Michiru chosen her as the model? Why not Kai or Einishi, or some other male acquaintance of hers? Haruka raised a hand to rub sleep-weary eyes. She was too tired and mystified to try and figure it out. That morning, on the phone, all Michiru had said was for her to wear 'light and airy clothes.' Right. Haruka scoffed.
After a few minutes of walking, Haruka found herself in front of the Muugen School's art wing. Hands shoved into her pockets, she began a leisurely pace up the many flights of stairs. Halfway there she encountered a group of 'friendly' girls and was side-tracked by comments regarding her hair, attire, and attitude. Another reason she disliked Michiru's after-school hobby-it made her prone to being cornered by pushy girls whenever she came close to the wing.
Finally, however, she stopped before the door to Ichigaki-sensei's studio. From what Haruka gathered, the teacher had leased his partner the studio for the duration of their model 'project'. Turning the knob while knowing there was no going back, Haruka was greeted with the image of a solemn Michiru.
"You're late, Haruka," she whispered, the smile on her lips robbing any apologies Haruka might have uttered in her defense.
"Get yourself ready and we'll start then-"
Ready? Haruka felt her eyebrows come together. "I am ready," she said, tapping at her sweat pants and Tee, "light and airy clothing, like you suggested, Michiru-san."
Michiru craned her head confusedly at first and later smiled indulgently. Coming closer to the tow-headed teen, she tugged on the edges of Haruka's shirt. "It all goes off…"
It all…goes off? What…?
Haruka's puzzlement reached her eyes, and before she had a chance to stop herself, she was already backing away from Michiru, hands raised in a defensive gesture. Haruka was already self-conscious enough when she was nude even if she was alone in front of a mirror. Having Michiru there wouldn't make her feel any more confident. "Haruka? When I saw you-in front of the mirror? You were perfect. You're body…it's perfect for what I want to do."
"But…naked?"
A dainty giggle reached her ears. Haruka felt herself blush. She should have known Michiru would hatch some crazy, artistic scheme like that. It seemed the aqua-tressed girl rather enjoyed seeing her irritated. "So then…Take off the shirt?"
A slight nod assented her inquiry, "Shouldn't be a problem, Haruka," Michiru began pointedly, "being that you don't wear a bra."
Another dark blush, and then, "Well then, Michiru-san, that does rather work to your advantage. I wouldn't offend it then, if I were you."
"But Haruka," Michiru uncrossed her legs and stood, an amused smile upon her feminine features, "I am rather excited by the notion that there's nothing beneath that shirt you wear-shortens the entire process, don't you think?"
Process?
Nodding, though she didn't fully understand the implications in the senshi of water's sentence, Haruka uncertainly fingered the edges of her shirt. Right about then, she wished she had taken to wearing a bra…or an undershirt for that matter…
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Michiru smiled indulgently. "If you desire, Haruka, we could always do this another day. Sensei has leased the studio to the students for the next month. There is really no rush."
"No, it's fine." There went her stubborn pride. Another thing she wished she could kill. Sometimes, despite her efforts to curb it, her ego came in the way of her logic. Haruka didn't want to give into Michiru-didn't want to accept defeat. She would sit there, nude and irate, even if it killed her.
"Well then, do kindly take off you shirt."
A slight nod and the shirt was gone. Accompanied by a coral flush, no less.
"Haruka-"
"Hmm?" the young girl glanced up curiously at the voice, short hair bobbing slightly in the movement. The entire experience wasn't so bad; at least it was only Michiru…she trusted her. Michiru smiled again, this time almost teasingly.
"You've only discarded the shirt."
Haruka blinked at Michiru blankly, not really understanding what was being requested. And then, she glanced down at her legs, which were, much to her chagrin, still hidden beneath the confines of her boxers and sweats. Oh…
Slightly uncomfortable then, Haruka fingered the very edges of her waistband tentatively. The entire scenario was beginning to remind her all too much of something akin to a high-budget Hollywood porn movie.
"Haruka, if-"
A glare, and then the sweats were thrown aside.
Michiru seemed amused. "Boxers, Haruka?"
The sandy-haired girl allowed a thick flush to settle in her cheeks. "Observant, aren't we Michiru?"
The aqua-tressed girl grinned minutely. Whether purposely or not, that had been the first time Haruka had willingly dropped the suffix from her name. "It comes with being an artist."
* * *
So? Shall I continue?