Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Not even job security, but that's another story.
Author's Note: Apologies for any mistakes in setting/culture.
Title: Trio minus trombone
Rating: K+
Category: light shounen-ai, slight angst.
Summary: Shinobu becomes a (surprisingly unwilling) spectator on a tryst.
Warnings: Crossover with a staple of the magical-girl genre.
Spoilers: None to speak of.
Trio Minus Trombone
The young man sits at the sidewalk café, ignoring the sun drumming on his pale neck. One hand steadies a book on his knee; he's laid the other arm along the tabletop. The May breeze riffles dust-colored hair but does not disturb it from its neat cut.
A slender finger turns the page, smooths it down. Change of chapter. He lifts his gaze for a momentary scan of his surroundings.
The hand on the book tenses, fingers spreading.
A couple in the open-air restaurant across the way has caught his attention. Indeed, they draw impressed murmurs from everyone around them—fellow diners, passersby, young wait staff giggling behind the palm-shaded counter.
The girl's a picture of demure elegance. Sea-green hair waves around her shoulders. The skirt of her creamy sundress cascades almost to the floor. A violin case sits by her chair.
She appears to be hanging on her blond companion's every word. Shinobu eyes the back of the young man's head. Couldn't get together till tomorrow, eh. That coat isn't familiar, but the tousled locks certainly are—as is the casual set of the others' shoulders.
Deliberately, Shinobu glances away, picks up his teacup and sips. He focuses on the page. After a minute, he finds his eyes haven't moved past the first line of text. He looks up again.
The girl's hand is covering Mitsuru's. She is speaking. Shinobu imagines her voice hushed yet musical, water lapping.
Shinobu looks down to discover his own hand has fisted on the page. He uncurls it slowly. "So?" he asks himself.
He lifts his gaze again, and finds the green-haired girl looking his way. His face smooths into his tell-nothing smile; he lets his eyes travel past her.
A conversation plays in his head:
—Mitsuru, that boy over there is looking at me.
—Where?
—The one over there with the book.
—H-hey, that's Shinobu! Oi! Shinobu—
Shinobu winces in anticipation. But Mitsuru's shout never comes. After a moment, he realizes that's worse.
He shuts the book and lifts his teacup to his lips, panning his gaze in a wide arc across the street.
They've interlaced their fingers now.
Shinobu's cup tilts precariously. He sets it down and mops methodically at his pants leg.
Suddenly, the fine hairs on his neck stir: someone's approaching him from behind.
"Shinobu-senpaiiiiiii!"
There's no mistaking that bright, girlish voice—or the khaki shorts, crisp seersucker shirt and broad straw hat. Shun Kisaragi grins down at Shinobu. "Whatcha doing?"
"Can't you tell? Drinking my book and reading my tea." Shinobu's voice is purposely impassive.
Shun laughs and reaches to turn the book over. "Plato, huh? In English?"
"Yes, it's a fine blend—smoky Hellenistic undertones with a smooth Anglo-Saxon finish." Getting up, Shinobu retrieves the book from Shun and slides it into his satchel. He lets his eyes travel to his kohai's face, then—ever so briefly—past the other's shoulder.
He must be looking now. He can't have missed Shun's exclamation.
But Mitsuru's back remains turned.
Shun's eyes are sharp. Glancing back at his hallmate, Shinobu sees that Shun's already turned to look at the street behind him. Stifling a sigh, he threads leather tongues through buckles, shoulders the strap of his bag, and waits for the squeal of recognition.
It turns out to be a whistle instead.
"Whoohoo! That is a good-looking pair." Shun looks over his shoulder at his senpai. "Which were you eyeing—the butchy blonde or the femmeish one?"
For once, words fail Shinobu. He simply raises his eyebrows and looks at the two across the street. They have risen to their feet and are thanking a blushing waitress.
Seen in profile, the golden-haired one is—a stranger.
"Both, of course," Shinobu says after a moment. "But alas, the show seems to be over." With that, he turns on his heel and sets off at an even pace.
Shun keeps up with him. "So, heading back to the dorm?"
Shinobu smiles down at his junior. "Why don't we go together?"
Shun appears to detect no sarcasm. "Okay!"
They reach the corner bus stop. Shinobu extracts a Student Council folder from his bag—analyses of the candidates for the next election, compiled by the ever-faithful Fuse. Unfortunately, a squeal interrupts this act of presidential responsibility.
"Shinobu-senpai! Check it out! Mitsuru's over there—and he's talking to the two babes as if he knows them."
Shinobu refuses to look. "He's probably faking it."
A surprisingly strong hand latches onto his arm. Before he can recover, he finds his pink-haired tugboat has pulled him halfway down the street. "The bus is due any minute now," he points out.
"Mitsuru gets plenty of opportunities to meet beauties. It's our turn now! Mitsuru-SENPAI!"
"Yo, Shun! Where did you ditch Suka? And what are you doing to my roommate?"
Shinobu meets laughing eyes. Mitsuru looks unfairly well-rested.
"Wormed out of the rest of your shrine duties, I see."
Mitsuru mock-glares, then turns to the blonde and her companion. "This unkind fellow is my roommate and our student council president, Shinobu Tezuka."
Shinobu smiles at the two women. Their names, he learns, are Haruka Tenoh and Michiru Kaioh—Michiru was first violin in Mitsuru's youth orchestra, back in middle school. Mitsuru and she fall back into their exchange of reminscences, with Shun an interested (and frequently interrupting) observer.
Michiru laughs—a surprisingly full, lively laugh for one so poised—and there's a slight movement to Shinobu's left. He sees Haruka's folded her arms, tucking her arms tightly into her elbows.
Their eyes meet. Shinobu experiences a sudden chill; he recognizes that look, perhaps because he's seen it in the mirror. Determined ruthlessness.
Then she smiles at him, and her face bears a resemblance to Mitsuru's after all. "Let's break it up, shall we?"
She puts a hand on Michiru's shoulder. "Setsuna—dinner—remember?"
The green-haired girl's eyelashes sweep shut and then open again. "That's right, we should be going." As the others watch, she and Mitsuru touch cheeks in a European-style air-kiss; a moment later, the two women have hopped into an expensive-looking convertible, waved goodbye and zoomed off.
There's a moment of silence. "She's not old enough to be driving, is she?" Mitsuru asks.
"I'd say not," replies Shinobu.
Shun smacks his fist into his palm and lets out a surprising oath.
"Haruka Tenoh! Damn! I knew that name sounded familiar. Oh, Reina's going tokill me." He notices his senpais' stares. "Premier circuit racer? Ring any bells?" They shake their heads; he moans. "All this time standing next to her, and no autograph to show for it!"
Mitsuru gives Shun a friendly cuff as they head back up the street toward the bus stop. "Well, Suka didn't get Mieko Nitta's autograph either the first time we met."
Shun lets out an exasperated puff of air. "If you'll remember, I didn't even get to meet Mieko. In fact—"
"You brought this on yourself," Shinobu murmurs as Shun launches into a detailed account of the miserable, freezing hours most of Greenwood's population spent outside the locked dorm that day.
"Hmph," is Mitsuru's only rejoinder.
After lights-out that night, though, Shinobu hears Mitsuru shifting in the upper bunk.
"Well?" he asks. The motion above him stills.
"She reminds me of you, you know."
Shinobu thinks of cool eyes. "Well, I'm not licensed to drive, so we don't need to arrange parking for any convertibles outside Greenwood just yet."
"Not her, Michiru."
Shinobu is silent.
"The consummate, competitive, compulsive overachiever, you know? And all that reserve—the several feet of distance you keep around you sometimes—she's like that too, or used to be."
"Ah, but you made her laugh out loud."
It's Mitsuru's turn to be quiet. Then, softly: "I guess I've got my next assignment, then."
Shinobu's eyes soften just slightly as he gazes at the underside of Mitsuru's bunk. Luckily, no one is watching.
END