Kiss and Tell

Pairing: Haruka Tenou and Michiru Kaiou

AN: woosh got this idea just when I was going to fall asleep ahha This is another AU~

Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon.

Enjoy!

The first time you see her, she's downing another glass of rum- teal locks pulled back into a ponytail. Said ponytail, which was being pulled on by another of her friends. She chuckles, trips, and barely manages to catch herself. Said girl, conveniently blends into the background of other drunkards, yet also conveniently stands out because violins and rowdy parties don't seem to mix. You hide a smirk behind your glass of coke (you don't tell them it's coke, though) and watch as she punches a guy who let his hands wander too far.

The next thing you know, you are pushed into the closet with her (said girl). The roar of a drunken slur is muffled by the closet door- screaming, "Your seven minutes begin… NOW!"

She straddles your hips, and glances straight into where she thinks your eyes might be. But instead, she's leering down at your chest (or a lack of one, actually). You're amused by the way she's glaring into your chest, trying to remember your name.

"My eyes are up here. You're looking at my chest," you correct.

She giggles, and places a small palm on your chest (you're suddenly glad that the binders came a few days earlier), tracing up all the way, past your brows, and then down again to the button of your nose. She looks perplexed, fingers dancing around until she finds the sunken hollows of your eyelids.

"Ah," she declares, and then begins to giggle again. "I'm not actually drunk."

"Right. Do you think you could get off me?"

"You're not drunk, either," she observes, and ignores your request.

You sigh. "Of course- I was drinking coke."

"You!" she starts to say, and then contemplates for a moment before continuing, "You were looking, weren't you? Staring."

Her lips- bruised and swollen (no doubt because of the many kisses showered on her after her fourth cup)- are edging dangerously close to yours. You clear your throat, and attempt to place as much distance between the both of you. She pauses, and gives your nose a curious look. You reach up and sweep her bangs away- wondering how she'd look like if you weren't in the dimmed setting of a closet.

"I don't kiss drunk girls," you clarify- albeit somewhat rudely.

"That's great; neither do I," she says laughingly, and leans down to kiss you.

You realise that you've been tricked- because she's been drinking coke, too. You could have sworn you saw her chug down a bottle of rum. But then again, there are too many girls like her- all giggly and bubbly with bold fashion statements and pretty little fingers.

The closet is flooded with light when she releases you, and whispers (almost seductively), "What happens in the closet, stays in the closet."

She winks, in a manner that makes your face flush and the rest of your body numb. And then, very slowly (and rather purposefully), she stumbles her way out of the closet and shouts out random words in a sing-song manner.

The next time you see her, she is frowning over a book of psychology. She looks up, ruffled by the staring that you're doing. She furrows her eyebrows, and pretends to look confused while you give her a knowing smile. You glance down at her nametag.

"My eyes are up here. You're looking at my chest."

You gaze back at her smug face again, and shrug, before walking to you aisle of choice. You are about to exit the lane, five minutes after finding your book on mental illnesses and shrinks. She stands, blocking out the light, and you think - for just a moment - that she might look better with her hair up in a ponytail.

"You're looking. Staring," you say to her, returning her stoic gaze.

She frowns again- like you're a book of technical jargons and complicated dot-and-cross diagram of the human brain. You're almost offended, by the way her look pierces through you in a series of guilt-triggering cuts.

"Last Friday," you begin to say, and is amused at how her eyebrow twitches.

"What happened?"

"Last Friday, in the closet-" you push on.

She interrupts you by pulling on the tie of your uniform and dragging you into a kiss. She tastes a little like apple juice, and you wonder about the number of people she's been dragging into a kiss.

"I don't kiss and tell," she says.

And without so much as a glance back at you, she strides away purposefully, your book stolen and pressed against her chest, as she arranges the headband on her head.

She's in Math or Organic Chemistry. Or Literature. You've forgotten to colour-code your timetable again.

You chew harder on your pencil, wondering how you've never noticed that she's been there. Maybe it's her teal hair, dumbass. Someone shoves a note onto your table. You glance up at the lecturer, and then down at the paper. Her handwriting is surprisingly untidy, you realise- and then find that you've assumed it would be from her. You sigh in relief to find that she has scrawled her name at the bottom- and spend the next few minutes trying to convince yourself that you saw her name before you jumped at the conclusion that she would write a note to you.

Stop staring. It's rude.

M.K

You peek at the clock, relieved to find that half of class has gone by. You chew on your pencil again, and then write back:

You looked.

H.T

You watch for her reaction as she reads- a quirk of the eyebrow, a stifled chuckle, and then a dirty look tossed over to you. You shrug, and pretend to pay attention to the lesson again. Thankfully, she doesn't write back- even if it makes you throw her nonchalant posture a couple more glances.

When class ends, she walks out into the hallway- you follow (of course, you're not following her. You're going with the flow). You wonder if you'd dare to spring a kiss on her. But of course, you wouldn't.

((But oh- god, her hair's in a pony tail with a red ribbon and that is utterly adorable.))

The guy she punched- you're awed to see that he's still got a bruise around his left eyes- struts over to her and starts to flirt at her. You roll your eyes at the drama and attention he's garnering, what with her merely giving him the cold shoulder.

"I can't. I'm attached," she says, and it's the only reason she gives him.

"I could give you so much more-" the guy drawls, and receives another punch.

You didn't think that she'd dare to do this- not when everyone's watching, not when she's not claimed to be under the influence of rum. What can you say, you're pretty impressed with the violinist. She looks around, and fixes her gaze on you- casually leaning against your locker, arms folded. She strides over to you- you think (for a moment that lasts too long) that you might run, but-

She drags you by the tie and kisses you.

When she releases you- the whole hallway in murmurs and gasps-

"I thought you said you didn't kiss and tell," you murmur, almost accusingly.

She merely winks, and shrugs, "Looks like it's out of the closet."

Reviews will be greatly appreciated!

AN: geddit? 'out of the closet'? ;D