Four Stages.
Pairing: Haruka Tenoh and Michiru Kaioh
AN: for the lack of a better title :) a high school AU of sorts.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon!
Enjoy!
I.
The Mugen Academy, It's the first week of school, and Michiru is lost in so many faces and tall, scary people. Yes, scary. It's very scary, and she's sort of shadowy in a corner, watching the people because it's so much easier to just let them be. She chuckles, knowing that there's some sort of equality about it as they pass her by.
Someone grabs her shoulders from behind.
And the next thing that someone does is spin her around and press their lips together fully. She would call it passionate, but she isn't exactly sure if one can be passionate without knowing who exactly one is feeling passion for.
She only knows that that someone is a good kisser.
The person lets her go, but doesn't step back. It takes Michiru a moment to register that although her lips are warm, they're free now. She opens her eyes.
That someone has light (and) golden hair dancing in the wind, and wears the male uniform for Mugen Academy students despite the hints of curve in her figure. That someone's face is flushed and smug and soft, and she winks quickly at Michiru and turns away, gliding back into the distance as mysteriously (and fast) as she'd come. Michiru's hand is left in the air, trying to comprehend the softness and warmth she felt from the figure.
She has been kissed by the wind, Michiru realises.
Michiru just stands there for a moment, before tightening her grip on the handle of her violin case and determinedly marching away.
II.
Class. The next time they meet is two and a half weeks later in class.
If Michiru says she hasn't been thinking about the girl with the windswept hair and good kissing skills, Michiru is lying. Of course she has. One doesn't just receive a full-on, 10-second kiss (not that she counted) from a stranger in a hallway crowded with more strangers- and return to the state of existence.
For the first week after their first… meeting, Michiru lay in bed at night, remembering, trying to will her subconscious into dreaming that few moments. In the middle of the night, she slips out of her dorm room and pads down the dark, quiet hallway, listening at the doors and wondering whether the girl was there, and whether she was thinking about her too.
Then she decided that the girl probably went around presenting a few other kisses to unsuspecting subjects, and went back to bed.
On the eighteenth day of school, Michiru has her third English class.
She is listening- she swears she is- but she turns around once to grab her notebook from her bag, and sitting right behind her is The Girl.
(Somehow, Michiru has come to think of The Girl in capital letters. She'd rather not speculate about that, even though it is a rather inappropriate title for such an ambiguous entity.)
From the look on her face and the arched brow The Girl gives her, Michiru supposes that she has been there for some time, and not unwittingly.
She chews on her bottom lip, wondering what the right step is. Should she-?
The Girl winks again- Michiru has tried to dream of that wink, too- and places one finger upon her lips, averting her gaze to the professor and straightening up. Michiru believes that she's being rightfully studious, until she feels a stockinged feet running along the part of her spine exposed by the gap in the chair.
She jumps a bit, and the foot stills, only to follow up with a playful kick.
The class ends.
Michiru stays in her seat for a moment, keeping her things slowly. Waiting. But when she turns around, The Girl is gone.
Of course.
III.
The fountain smack in the middle of campus.
It's been one month, and Michiru isn't quite sure whether she would prefer The Girl to show up in sudden bursts, like solar flares burning so bright, or not to show up at all.
She's taken half an hour off her break to make time for a date with her sketchbook and a sandwich, and she's tracing out angular sketches of a familiar face (for the hundredth time) when the sandwich is snatched away from her hand.
The Girl plunks down on the edge of the fountain next to her and takes a bite out of her sandwich.
Ages from now, Michiru will marvel at how, now, she physically puts down her sketchbook and watches in fascination as her lunch is stolen.
"You know, the thing about sandwiches," remarks The Girl casually, "is the way the slices lie so perfectly against the bread." She turns to Michiru, offering her her sandwich back. "It satisfies me on a very deep level."
Michiru should really ask her what is going on, but instead she takes a bite out of her sandwich and frowns for a moment as she chews. She takes another bite and looks up at The Girl, who's grinning at her knowingly.
"I didn't realise how much I needed that."
The Girl laughs a high, appreciative laugh and turns her body around, crossing her legs and smiling at Michiru.
"I'm Haruka."
IV.
Home, even if the school administration doesn't realise that's what her dorm room is.
At 2am on a Friday morning, Michiru sits at the dinner table, her notes spread out in an unsightly state before her. She's got three tests next week and two assignments due tomorrow- today, technically- and her fingers are already aching to feel the smoothness of her violin. Rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals- she bargains with herself, knowing that the importance of her academics will soon overtake her musical conquests.
She sighs, and starts clearing up a small part of the dinner table.
To call the table a dinner table would be a bit of stretch, considering the fact that it's more of an everything-we-need-to-do-and-storage-platform-for- everything-we-have-no-time-to-do table. Across from her are stacks of files and papers, left less neatly because Hurricane Haruka is a disaster.
The middle space of the table is empty, and that's where they have their meals, sitting across each other and talking and laughing as if the mountains of work flanking them are unimportant.
And, in a way, they are.
Haruka stalks into the room in her usual disheveled state, fingers trying to tame down a cowlick, yawning and her eyes half-closed.
"What the hell are you doing there at two in the morning?" she demands, circles under her eyes because she was just doing the same thing yesterday.
Michiru gives Haruka a glance through heavily-lidded eyes, and yawns- barely covering up her mouth. Haruka chuckles, standing there in the doorway of the bedroom for a few seconds, then resumes her stalking, this time into the pantry. There's some swearing and a lot of clattering, then after a few minutes the kettle is whistling and it's the most beautiful tune Michiru can hope to hear.
She's just smiled and put down her pen when there's a great yell from the pantry, followed by a stream of colourful language that she's come to expect in the wee hours of the morning. (It still makes her flinch, though.)
"Haruka!" she yells, jumping from her chair.
Haruka's grabbing her right hand and hopping around the stove, an animate version of the zombie a few minutes before.
"This bloody kettle is bloody hot!" she growls, shooting a death glare towards the innocent lump of metal still on the stove, which rather lost its effect with her (quite frankly,) ridiculous jig.
"The water was boiling," Michiru pointed out, eyebrow raised in judgment.
"Well, it's two bloody a.m. and you were keeping me awake with your light outside. Oh fuck it hurts."
"Get it under the water, you idiot," Michiru grabs her arm and turns on the tap. "I can't believe you touched a hot kettle."
Haruka grumbles under her breath- she's not at her most verbal at this time.
It's just them and the water for a few moments, then Michiru holds up the injured hand, frowning.
"Hang on."
She leaves, and comes back with some ointment and gauze.
"You can't just go around touching hot kitchen apparatus."
"It's two in the morning."
"At which point you are awake."
"Two. In the morning."
"Hot kettle. Common sense."
"It's too early for this shit."
"There's a common denominator in your problems, Haruka, and it is the fact that you are a bloody idiot."
Michiru lets out an exasperated huff, and Haruka realises just how close together they're standing- she hasn't been noticing for a while now. She looks down at her wrapping gauze around her hand, and at them standing next to their pantry sink.
She also notices the way Michiru's hair falls over her face early in the morning- in their gentle curves and waves- and the way Michiru's hand feels so soft against her own scalded one.
So when Michiru finally looks up and proclaims her nursing finished, Haruka leans down a little and kisses her.
She's like ice cream; sweet and soft and melts at the touch.
"I've got two assignments due today," Michiru murmurs when she's resting her forehead against Haruka's collar some moments later.
"Three," she rethinks, and corrects herself.
"Really? Well, damn."
Haruka lets out a small puff of breath that could pass for a chuckle, and says, "I got up to make you coffee."
"Well, the kettle's still on."
"Well, I'm not touching it."
This time, they both laugh.
"We could go out for coffee."
Michiru draws back a little, just enough. "No, let's stay here."
Haruka contemplates the idea for a second, and agrees. "Okay, let's stay."
AN: reviews will be greatly appreciated!