Chapter 12:

How am I supposed to choose "based on love"? Hell, who knows what "love" really is? My language doesn't even have a solid word for it. I imagine it's just as screwed up in French, or Russian, or English.

I hadn't slept that night. Too many thoughts were whirling around in the never-ending flush that was my brain. (Yes, I did just refer to my brain as a toilet). I'd just lain there, listening to the cicadas outside and considering all that had happened that day: my various interactions with Asahina-san, Yuki, and finally, Haruhi.

What was "love"? I've heard that relationships fail if you just base them off of feelings, because after the emotions become commonplace, there's nothing else to replace them. On the otherhand, I've heard that a relationship in which best friends get married sucks. Sure, you spend all of your time laughing and talking and enjoying the other's presence, but really, exactly what do you do for your physical needs, if you're not really attracted to that person to begin with?

Argh...the headaches begin again...

As I finally got out of bed at five a.m., stealthily seeking the bathroom and trying not to wake any of the rest of my family, I found myself wondering, Well, where does that put Haruhi?

Item 1: Being around her does not give me nearly the same physical reaction that being around Asahina-san does.

Item 2: We are not good friends, like Yuki and I are (to a very strange, abstract extent which I don't really understand myself).

Then what does that leave me with? The assumption that male protagonist + female protagonist = the necessary romantic conclusion of the story? Although, in the tale that is my life, she's more of an antagonist, really. When Asahina-san said "Snow White" and Yuki typed "Sleeping Beauty", I couldn't really place Haruhi as the princess in distress at all. More like the evil witch.

But there was an evening, almost three months ago now, where she was very fragile, like a wounded dragonfly, so transparent that it almost made me cry. A moment; why are all enjoyable experiences with Haruhi just moments; why can't they be lifetimes?

However, there is not doubt of this: I want to be with her. But it's too complicated to explain.

I sighed as I opened the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet and fumbled for the aspirin bottle, again sending around clandestine looks to make sure that my mother wasn't sneaking up on me. I opened the child-proof lid and shook the opening toward my hand.

Of course, nothing fell out into my palm. I groaned a little.

.

For the first time since I started high school, I was arriving not only on time, but half an hour early. Fancy that. Normally, of course, I'd sleep in as long as possible, since the ten minutes before you are absolutely late are the best sleep you ever get. But I hadn't even slept, and I didn't feel like hanging around the house until school started, either.

So I set my face toward the early grey of the morning and trudged up that hill, like Joan of Arc led to the stake. Why I'm using a female heroine as an analogy for myself, I can't really say. I wondered, briefly, if Haruhi was a lesbian, would I be female?

I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the chilly morning air. Bad thought. Must delete from memory bank immediately. Aaaaand...dammit, it's already stuck in there! Yay, one of those thoughts that you can try to ignore for now, but it'll come back at the most inopportune time and chomp you in the butt.

I half-expected the janitors or whoever bothered to show up this early to throw me out, but surprisingly, not only was I able to get in easily, I met no one in the halls. Usually these halls took on an amber glow during the day, sun beams glancing off of cheerful oak hallways, but now they were a drab greyish-purple, not like Yuki's hair, but a quieter, more pensive hue. There are moments when muted color is more beautiful. This was one of them.

I let the thoughts from last night seep out of my head as I wandered up and down, listening to the the dull thud of my footsteps in empty hallways. It is interesting how foreign a familiar place can be when it's empty. I felt vaguely like humming. I let my voice carry through the silence.

And then I turned the corner and heard other music.

It didn't take me long to figure out who was playing, and it came to me with a shock that this was why I'd come so early, this was why there was no one else here yet. She had wanted it.

I almost panicked at that, but instead I let my feet wander toward the music room, toward the sounds of the piano. Was Haruhi just hatched out musical? The notes were perfectly even, without the jerkiness of dynamics and heavy weight of the thumb of a new musician. I didn't know a lot, but I knew enough to be aware of that. Even from the first time I'd seen "bunny girl" on stage, one thing was clear: There were some things Haruhi wasn't terribly good at. There were a lot of things she was naturally good at. But there were a few things that she was terrific at, and this was one of them.

The trickling of the notes got louder and louder, and then burst into full sound as I opened the door to the rehearsal room, softly, softly. My caution was not in vain; she hadn't yet noticed me. I peeped around the corner and observed her against the golden rays of the finally-rising sun, framed in the creamy glow that is only available at that time of day, completely absorbed in her music.

When had she deemed her hair long enough for a ponytail? The sight of the brown, tied back mass did something to me...inside. It tied my intestines in knots and made my face grow warm.

Because I knew that she wasn't doing it just for herself.

After a minute of playing, she stopped abruptly and her right hand automatically fumbled for a pencil on the music rack, and, as her left hand continued playing the melody she was fixated on, her right began feverishly scratching notes on the manuscript paper in front of her. Don't ask me how or when she learned to write music. I've learned to stop asking questions.

I shifted after a moment, and my knee gave a loud "pop". I winced as she looked up, startedly, and then let her face break out into a smile.

"Kyon...ohayo. What are you doing here so early?"

"I should ask you the same question." I walked over next to the piano and leaned against the side.

She shrugged. "I just couldn't sleep last night, to be honest. I kept having all these melodies running through my head! But I can't write from my head yet, so I came over here for the keyboard. Did you hear any of it?"

I nodded.

"What did you think?"

"It was beautiful."

Her eyes shone up at me, and she scooted over on the bench, patting the space she'd left for me. "Want to hear more?"

I hesitated, and then sat down next to her. She didn't seem awkward at all, but I felt distinctly out of place. She sat up a little straighter, considering, flipping through the pages scattered in front of her (some were even on the floor), and then placed her hands on the keyboard, alert but relaxed, and began to play.

I wanted to lean back and close my eyes to concentrate on the notes that now floated out from the soundboard and strings, but at the same time I wanted to watch her. I can't tell you why. Yes, she was good looking. Yes, she was occasionally fun to be around. But that...how could that merit what I was feeling now? It didn't make sense.

But the world doesn't make sense. The world is a strange place, and logic doesn't work at all. Even without Haruhi Suzumiya, it wouldn't make sense. There is no need for a "god", or a "hiccup in time" or an "evolutionary abnormality". There are people, and that is enough, because people are not completely rational, no matter what science says.

She ended, eyes sparkling, and looked at me excitedly. "Well, what did you think? At first I considered this arpeggio might be a little too...you know...but with the block chords up top, in that funky pentatonical or whatever it's called stuff, it seems to work, right? What do you think?"

And there it was again. She was looking at me, asking for my opinion, waiting for my opinion, wanting to know what I thought!

And again I didn't have any answer with words, so I reached out suddenly and pulled her into my arms, practically into my lap.

I felt her entire body stiffen in shock. Probably, even if she'd wished for it, she hadn't expected it to happen. I heard her breathing stop, and then begin again in hurried gasps. I could smell the shampoo she'd used that morning, and the perfume she'd applied to cover up the natural smell of Haruhi. It smelled like wild plums.

Then, slowly, steadily, she slipped her arms up my chest and locked her hands around my neck.

Holding her like that, I found myself closing my eyes. I wanted to stop my ears, too; in fact, I wanted to close off all of my senses but touch, so that I could concentrate all feeling to where her chest was pressed up against my lower rib cage, where the silk of her hair pillowed the side of my jaw like a violin, where her little hands clasped one another against the skin on the back of my neck. This sort of contact—should it be allowed? These emotions—are they illegal? Because with all the unworldly experiences I've had this past year—meeting aliens and time-travelers, seeing IOUS (Insects Of Unusual Size) in a desert of yellow sand, watching espers fight off a blue conscience-induced monster in a concentrated gap of space data—all that pales in comparison to the unearthly heaven of touching her like this.

And then I remembered there was another sense I wanted to experience.

I pulled my face away from her, slightly, and slid one of my hands up from her waist, tracing a flat-palmed ascent along her back, up past her shoulderblades and neck to her chin, and pulled her face up to look at me. Her eyes shone up at me with excitement and anticipation; I guess Haruhi never expected that such a "normal" activity could be so exhilarating, but being alerted to the sensation, she was drinking in every minute. With that in mind, I bent my head, not pausing for consent, and captured her lips with mine.

Her taste was...how shall I describe it? Slightly salty, but also sweet, like umami sauce. I could taste the coffee she'd had that morning. I closed my eyes even tighter as I maneuvered her chin purposefully to the side, allowing for more depth where the creases of our lips met. A little belatedly, her lips scooped up against mine, then we parted, and, like a choreographed dance, clasped against the other's again in soft warmth. I was giddy. She made me absolutely, mind-blowingly giddy, and, shaking slightly, I kissed her again, a soft moan emitting from my throat as the moist insides of our lips met briefly.

Now, here the male instinct is to penetrate deeper. To part her lips; to feel the wet inside of her mouth and to slip my tongue inside. I found myself resisting that urge, much to the complaint of my entire body, because I don't know how I knew, but I knew that the little ache in me that feels unsatisfied would continue feeling that way, no longer how much I explored her mouth and the feel of her body against mine, no matter how long I prolonged this kiss. It will not be satisfied until I have laid her out underneath me, until I have taken her completely...!

And so, with the last of my self-restraint, I pulled away, almost forcefully, placing my hands on her shoulders to push her away. Her shocked expression, first from the kiss, then from the abrupt ending, stared at me accusingly, and I felt like I should apologize, suddenly.

To my surprise, between her gasps for breath, she said softly, "Is something wrong?"

I, too, was breathing hard as I shook my head and removed my hands from her shoulders, scooting ungracefully off the piano bench. "Gomen...It's not your fault...It's mine...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that to begin with."

Concern, anger and confusion chased shadowy paths across her face. "But...Kyon...I..."

I couldn't take it any longer. Being this close to her...the heat was bursting out, yet unlike the burn of a flame, it caressed me enticingly, longing for more. I turned and ran away. I should have learned from last time, but I didn't.

Afterward, I regretted that more than anything.

Author's Notes: Aaaaand it all comes back to music in the end. Sumimasen! Sumimasen! (bows apologetically). As a musician, I can't help but want my characters to end up that way, too. Actually, come to think of it, this is the first time I've allowed another composer in. Her character kind of lends itself to that, don't you think? Normally I lead my characters toward teaching or performing so that it doesn't seem like I'm writing my own self into my characters. I hate that. I understand "writing from what you know", but at the same time, use a little imagination, people! Anyway, since Haruhi's character is so naturally different from mine anyway, I feel a little more at ease writing her into a composer's role.

And by the way, don't take my word for any of my "romantic ramblings". I kind of just write what I've observed personally, because everyone is different. I think some people are meant to find "the one", and others can do well with a variety; it just depends on the person. That's my objective opinion.

Oh! I just remembered where "hatched out musical" comes from. Usually when I quote something, it's on purpose, but occasionally one just worms its way in without me noticing. This one is from a haiku by Issa:

Even with insects

Some are hatched out musical

Some alas! Tone deaf.