Harmonizing
There is one difference between Arisugawa Juri and Kaoru Kozue-- their indulgences. Juri is outwardly indulgent; her lush gold curls always perfect, catching the rays of daylight, her tall imposing form flanked with adorers as she fearlessly strides through halls like a queen to her throne. But she keeps her heart locked up in a locket, and does not allow herself the indulgence of fanciful flights of fantasy, like how exactly a certain plum-headed girl would look against her satin-sheeted bed, how her skin would taste, or how it would feel to strike an azure-haired man to the heart with something sharper than a fencing rapier.
Kozue can be seen making her exits gracelessly from all Ohtori Academy's lovers' rendezvous spots; tie in
a tangle, hair wisps of ocean water, skirt a sticky shame. She slinks alone at
night back to the dorm room she shares with her twin, in disgrace, awaiting
sharp words, or worse, silence when he's pretending to sleep. But in her mind
and heart, she is free with her indulgence, because she knows how to penetrate
someone's skin without a sword, and she has tasted many lovers like glasses of
wine-- heady, bewildering, each very different but not the flavor she's looking
for.
They notice the difference between the two of them, and circle each other for
days, like the wild feline predators they both are. Finally, Kozue catches Juri
in a rare alone moment after another imperious fencing practice, her creamy
model's skin sheened with a fine sweat that looks
like dew. She asks (which is rare, for Kozue) to walk with Juri, and Juri,
being the magnanimous golden divinity of the school that she is, acquiesces. At
first they are silent, keeping stride with each other despite their very
different gaits, but Juri breaks the calm with her purring low tones that sound
like Turkish delight to hear.
"Was there a reason you wanted to talk to me, Kaoru?" It is not a demand, but a
query. She is interested, but unsure of what Kozue has to offer.
"I wanted to see why you don't let anyone near you. You're invulnerable, but
it's like a soft gold statue nobody is allowed to touch for fear of marring it.
I wondered why. I see you sometimes, you know."
Juri does not blush at that remark and the implications therein. "I like my own
company. I usually get along well with myself."
"It's hard to be by yourself, though. You don't have to be."
This is the language Juri understands. The why behind this girl making her way
into Juri's defined life, her carefully cultivated
aura, is not important. For now, Kozue, fragile as an eggshell, can be wrapped
in it like a caterpillar's cocoon.
Kozue is comfortable, just the right height as someone else, her mouth tasting
of rainwater and violets, just like Juri imagines someone else's would be. Juri
is the same, in her competence and flawlessness, as someone Kozue would dearly
love to possess. Here and now, Juri and Kozue, two different people, are not so
different in their vulnerability. They choose to display it in different ways,
but they have the same souls, and they meld elegantly. They share their luxuries,
their indulgences, like oxygen.
