Leaning against the wired fence perimetering the school field, Michiru, like many of her classmates, sought recluse from the scorching midday sun under the shade of the leafy branches. Just like their skirts, the gym bloomers were the elite school's signature pastel blue.
The cherry blossoms had long been swept away by richer greener colors and now circles of light danced about the ground whenever a breeze drifted by. The loose baby hairs that she couldn't collect into her ponytail clung to the back of her sweaty neck.
Students from all grades tumbled, fumbled and ran as their teachers blew sharp whistles and marked times with a sweep of their pens. Next to Michiru, Momo, Ino and a few other girls were excitedly chatting away. Soon it would be their turn to run the track.
A girl had just gotten her first hickey and was starring as the center of everyone's attention today. To Michiru, it was painfully obvious the girl had purposefully put minimal effort in concealing the unsightly purple-blue mark on her neck. Not surprisingly, Michiru seemed to be the only one devoid of fascination for the topic.
Her eyes drifted over the school field, quickly finding Elsa fooling around with a baton in the distance.
"Have you had it?"
Michiru blinked, not sure if the voice she heard was her own or external.
The question repeated as Michiru looked over at Momo, a peculiar expression divided between curiosity and caution.
"Pardon?" Michiru asked. Her gaze flickered behind Momo to spot Ino and a few other girls looking their way. The group whispered amongst themselves, snickering and pawing at each other's shoulders.
"Your first kiss!" Momo clarified brightly.
Internally, Michiru started.
The question conjured memories of dreams that were a mix of her own and a mix of Neptunes. It reminded her of how Haruka's forehead had felt against Neptune's, her hand over hers, and the sound of her laughter on the other end of a phone call.
"No," Michiru said coolly. "Why-"
But no one heard her finish the question because Momo immediately turned around to the girls and triumphantly proclaimed, "Told you!"
Ino stuck her tongue out playfully at Momo, and made a point not to look at Michiru when she said, "She could be lying, Momo."
"She could be," Michiru answered for herself.
The buzz of conversation had quieted around them.
Ino faltered under Michiru's cool expression. Ino looked away. That triggered an irrationally severe flare of irritation– Michiru wanted to grab Ino's face, twist it and force her to look her in the eye when she asked, "Why this sudden interest in my personal life, Ino? Is there something you want to tell me?" And she would have held Ino place, no matter how much she squirmed with discomfort.
But she was forced to ask the question as is. Immediately, Ino folded her arms protectively over her chest.
"Lighten up, Michiru," she hummed, "We were just chatting. It is what normal girls do, you know."
The conversation was taking Michiru out of the shade, forcing her to squint against the sun as she stepped closer to Ino. "Normal girls have the manners not to rope bystanders into undesired conversations with intrusive questions."
Ino pursed her lips and took one step back even though the distance between her and Michiru remained substantial. "Yeah, well, normal girls should feel comfortable around their peers in changing rooms. And when wearing burumas."
That stopped Michiru in her tracks. She narrowed her gaze sharply. As if Ino or anyone here had an ass worth staring at.
Haruka hadn't been kidding when she said the 'rumors' were sticky. A pang of sympathy came as Michiru wondered how much shit Haruka had to put up with for her appearance alone.
Eyes flickered between Ino and Michiru with a growing sense of unease. Momo chewed on the corner of her fingernails.
"Hey guys!" a familiar voice eagerly called out.
Elsa, with her bright pink hair clinging to a sweaty brow and an open vibrant smile, waved her arm high in the air as she ran up to the group.
The tension broke. Both girls looked at Elsa.
Ino's expression brightened with what appeared to be genuine mirth and she eagerly received a hug from the track star. Michiru couldn't remember the last time she and Elsa had properly spoken, as she was always dodging Elsa's invites and texts; the snide look Ino gave Michiru over Elsa's shoulder for once felt well-deserved.
"Hi, Michiru!" Elsa chirped and Michiru nodded and returned the greeting. The other girls absorbed Elsa, who didn't hesitate to exclaim to the other girl, "Geez! What the hell is on your neck! Did someone smack you with… with a tennis ball? It's so ugly! It looks like it hurts!"
Ino smacked Elsa's arm, "Shut up! It's a hickey! And I know you know it! We were just talking about who here has never gotten one or had their first kiss."
Elsa laughed. The two held hands the way straight girls do: absentmindedly, comfortably— with their pinkies locked.
Elsa's eyes shined when she glanced at Michiru. "And what was the consensus?" she mused.
All fingers pointed at Michiru.
Michiru resisted the urge to scowl. "But we don't actually believe her," Ino mused.
Elsa's expression faltered. She glanced at Michiru before replying to Momo and Ino, "That's a little mean… to talk about Michiru like that when she's standing right here, don't you think?"
Ino scoffed wearily. "El', she barely talks to us anymore. It's kind of weird. If we're lucky, it's because she thinks she's too good for us, anyways."
Michiru turned and walked away. What a waste of her time and energy this was proving to be.
Yet her name was hastily called out.
"Michiruuuuu!" Elsa caught up to her instantly, while the group of girls shrunk away as Michiru kept her pace. She saw Elsa reach for her arm, but then the girl thought better of it and dropped her hand. That had stung.
"I—uh, I just kinda want to apologize for Ino," Elsa rushed to say, effortlessly keeping up with Michiru's brisk stride, "She didn't mean anything bad, really— none of them did. They just don't know you."
It was the gesture that Michiru appreciated more than the words.
"You can go back, Elsa. No need to fret about me."
Elsa's expression faltered. "Are you sure you don't want to rejoin? I can talk to them. They'll be nicer, I promise."
"Maybe next time, Elsa." Michiru had no interest in continuing her association with them. Although her talent for friendship had always been limited, she had managed to get by well in the passing years– Elsa being proof of that. But now, Michiru wasn't sure if she or Neptune were entirely to blame for her dwindling numbers in companionship.
Yet Elsa hesitated, clearly not willing to leave just yet. She eyed Michiru– it didn't seem like she believed her. In return, Michiru perked her brows.
Elsa tucked both her hands behind her back. "You're… um, you're not also… transfer, are you?"
Michiru blinked in surprise. That had slowed their joint pace. The teachers paid the two girls no mind as they continued to walk the border of the school fence. "Transfer? What? Why? Whatever gave you such an idea?"
Truth be told, Michiru didn't understand why Elsa looked so relieved by Michiru's answer. "Oh, it's just everyone that is anyone in this school is talking about auditioning for the new academy in Sankakusu. Haven't you heard of it?"
For some reason, Michiru's senses were triggered on alert. "No," she shook her head, "Not at all."
"Really? That's… almost a relief. I've been so sick of everyone chattering about it," Elsa laughed, "I think people are really over fantasizing about it, y'know. There's talk of it not having any real classes, that it's going to function more like a sanctuary for talented students to hone their skills and what not, but it's an elevator school! What five year old has that much talent to hone? They need to at least learn basic arithmetic before they start dedicating all their time to dancing or whatever, right?"
Elsa's heating ramble did get a small grin out of Michiru. "Right," she hummed in agreement, "So you're saying you don't want to be given the chance to just focus on track?"
Elsa threw her hands up. "Heck no! Are you kidding me? That sounds like a nightmare! Not only would I be completely exhausted, but I'd feel like a horse at the races! Don't tell me you'd like to spend every waking minute playing violin?"
Michiru thought about it. "No, of course not," she said, "Ideally, I'd spend every other minute playing violin and every other minute painting."
"What, come on," Elsa insisted, leaning close to Michiru as they walked, "That can't be true. You need breaks to eat, to breathe, to live, to have fun. Doesn't all art and music require muses? How are you going to be inspired if you're not doing anything… anything a-muse-ing?"
It was a thought-provoking question. Perhaps it hadn't been just exhaustion that was keeping Michiru away from her pleasures; perhaps Elsa had a point. Instead of dwelling on it, though, Michiru lightly answered with, "Hm. Well, the music I play inspires the art I make; and the art, the music."
Elsa doubled down with such an exaggerated groan that Michiru couldn't help but laugh. Once the sound, half foreign, rumbled from her body, Michiru realized how much she had truly missed Elsa. They had been close freshman year, always whispering and giggling at the back of their classes. Where had that time gone?
"You're amazing, Michiru," Elsa grunted, but the tips of her ears and her cheeks had flushed in response to Michiru's giggles. Elsa's dark eyes roamed over her in a strange way. "Have you really… never had a kiss?"
They were strolling at a leisure pace now– the group of girls left dwindling in the distance. Michiru folded her arms under her chest. "Have you?" she inquired simply.
The question flustered Elsa, causing her to lose her footing and almost trip. Michiru hovered a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. Hastily, Elsa stammered, "W-what? No! Of course, not! I never, I never had a boyfriend or anything!"
"And neither did I," Michiru pointed out smoothly, "So why the surprise?"
"I don't know," Elsa mumbled, "We're so different. You're just… I don't know, so pretty and so elegant and so many people are always talking about you. I know lots of boys who have crushes on you who are too scared to say anything. And I remember the notes you would find in your locker. And I don't blame them, I mean you have such a nice voice and figure that it's a surprise you don't sing and dance in addition to everything you already do. You could be a model with how clear your skin is too– posing with all those little creams on those big posters or selling circle lenses or something and I don't know. You just seem so much like a delicate princess that I expected you to be having some sort of fairytale Prince to sweep in and protect you with a romance…"
Although Michiru faced Elsa as she spoke, mid-way through the ramble, Elsa became incredibly interested with the tips of her shoes– so she didn't see the lack of joy from the string of compliments.
At the very least, Michiru thought, this would have made my mother proud. She had been raised to be perfect, but when people failed to see how far from it she was, Michiru grew irritated.
But there was now one person on the planet who knew how truly useless she could be.
After checking over her shoulder to make sure she and Elsa were out of eye-sight from anyone relevant, Michiru set a gentle hand upon the girl's warm arm.
"You're so sweet, Elsa," she said with a soft, practiced smile, "But I'm a little too busy for a regular romance, let alone a fairytale one."
Elsa wore a bit of an apologetic smile when she looked up at Michiru. "But do you want one?" she pressed curiously, "A fairytale romance?"
That was a question Michiru no longer knew how to answer.
None of the occasional love letters that found their way through the slits of her locker door ever tripped her heart.
Neither did any of the (far too old) men Michiru's mother tried setting her up; just the other day, Michiru had received a text letting her know that Inojin, the art director who had sold her painting to Haruka, was returning to Tokyo. Her mother's effort had fueled a two-hour textual banter between Michiru and Haruka over the mentioned painting.
"I don't know," Michiru confessed slowly. "It almost seems a little… childish to dwell on. There are other more important things to prioritize– like the ones we love doing. Don't you think so?"
Elsa looked back down at her feet for a lingering moment. "Hmm.. I guess you're right, Michiru." When she smiled at Michiru, she said, "You sure you don't want to transfer? You'd be perfect there."
It was meant to sound teasing, but the joke fell flat as they both knew, in that instance, that Elsa had planted a burgeoning idea.
The two of them spent the rest of the day together and the goodbyes that were exchanged before Elsa left for practice and Michiru for the art studio were ones that would linger for years to come.
–
"That was a little cruel," Haruka mused, despite the evident lingering laughter in her words, over the phone. It was clear she had found Momo's "Told you so!" response to Michiru's lack of romantic experience a highly amusing point.
Michiru brushed the hair off her forehead. Less than an hour ago, she had gathered an easel and supplies from the school's studio and hauled it up to the roof. Before even the first tube of paint was opened, the phone had rang from the only person Michiru cared to answer. It was welcome company to distract her from the oppressive heat.
What had started out as Haruka's simple request for Michiru to call her every night she went out as Neptune, had quickly mutated to end-of-the-school-day calls. For over a week they buzzed in each other's ear, savoring the glimpses of free time their schedules allowed. Sometimes Michiru wondered if this was, in its own twisted way, a manner of avoiding each other.
"You sound ready to add on to it," Michiru responded drily, dragging a drop of cyan onto her wooden palette.
When Haruka laughed on the other end of the call, Michiru could vividly picture the girl reclining on the roof— perhaps sitting on the ledge of the fence and making her nervous. Wherever Haruka really was, Michiru wondered if she was still seeing the same sky.
"I'm not that mean." Haruka tried hard to sound offended.
"You stole my last painting right from under my nose."
"It was on display, Michiru. How was I supposed to know you didn't want it sold?"
"It was unnamed, in a dark corner, where most people didn't venture. It's called a hint." Michiru hoped her cool tone didn't give away the small smile she was wearing. In tiny brush strokes, Michiru continued to lay the foundation of the scene she was composing.
Past the painted-white metal rails of the rooftop, the mountains slept in the distance. In the stretch between Michiru and them was the city– the countless glass buildings catching light like diamonds while thick marshmallow clouds drifted past the sun.
Although the dry heat hadn't broken, the smell of the sea was crisp in the air. Michiru hungered for a breeze but was also thankful that the air was still enough not to disrupt her work. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
Haruka snorted. "If you were any good at those, maybe you would've been kissed by now."
Michiru set her brush down and began to reach for her phone. "I'm hanging up."
Immediately, Haruka began to protest, urging Michiru not to—she still needed her advice. The introduction of today's call was a somewhat urgent plea for Michiru's help, yet what followed was an aimless conversation that never circled back to Haruka's troubles.
Michiru, who still knew nothing about the true intention of the call, made a show of relenting.
Haruka hummed in triumph. "You know, for a professional artist and performer, you really don't take criticism very well."
This time, Michiru tapped the little red disconnect button without issue.
There should've been less than a thirty second break in the conversation: Michiru had expected nothing less than an immediate call back. Yet a minute passed. Then another.
With a frown and her brows creasing, Michiru set her phone back down next to the mug of pink paint water. Swirling her brush, the yellow paint spiraled in to create a whirlpool a dusty peach.
Had she been too rude? Had Haruka misinterpreted Michiru's humor as genuine irritation?
With every passing moment that the phone didn't ring Michiru's mood soured and soured, even as she continued to paint, even as the air continued to ring with musicians' practicing and other students laughing on school grounds, even as, almost an hour later, the sky began to blush with a hanging sun.
And when the first lemon flew over the railing, Michiru was still reprimanding herself for dropping the call.
It took one more lemon to get her attention and leave her scowl with the painting.
She stared at a little yellow fruit rolling on the grey-tiled roofing. She stared at it even when it came to a halt by her feet. Soon, she spotted another one vaulting in the air—not unlike an American football.
Slowly, Michiru set her brushes down.
She squinted up at the sky, waiting for lemon rain. None happened.
A faint glimmer of hope tickled the back of her heart. She quieted it, telling herself not to get too excited.
Taking her time, Michiru walked around her station to squint and inspect each one.
And then something thumped Michiru hard on the top of her head.
The third lemon bounced off of her and rolled far into the distance.
This time, Michiru rolled her eyes. A few months ago she would have registered the full ache the impact had left her with, now she felt exactly nothing.
With every slow step toward the railing, Michiru failed to pull her multiplying excitement down. She brushed her fingers through her hair and adjusted the skirt of her paint- splattered apron.
The assault could've easily been from a group of students fooling around, ones who didn't even know anyone was up on the roof, but Michiru yearned for a less likely culprit.
So, when Michiru folded her arms over the railing, she was wrestling down a smile at the sight of her new bully— clad in athleisure and arsoned with a bag of lemons— squinting up at her.
Shielding her eyes from the curious sun, Haruka yelled up, "I didn't hit you, did I?"
More than a few students circled by, curiously observing.
Michiru, never one to raise her voice, gave a languid nod.
Haruka winced, looking genuinely guilty. "Sorry!" Haruka shouted, "How do I get up there?"
With a tilt of her head, Michiru indicated where the entrance to the building was.
"Too cool to shout?"
Michiru nodded once more, this time pressing her lips together to swallow her grin.
Haruka glanced over her shoulder, at the kids that were doing a poor job at hiding their ogling, before shouting back up at Michiru. "Am I embarrassing you?"
This time, Michiru shook her head. And she meant it. Even when she felt the burn of dozens of eyes on her.
Once Haruka went into the building, Michiru rushed not to her easel, but to her school bag— which was leaning next to the entrance door.
With hands working in a musical flurry, she fished out her makeup. With her mirror in hand, Michiru rushed to dab at her sweaty forehead and nose bridge with an embroidered napkin, then to apply mascara and concealer.
As Michiru brushed lip gloss under her Cupid's bow, she resolved to put a tracking device on Haruka. No more of these surprise little visits to her school. For once she would like to run into the girl when she looked "effortlessly" good.
Hearing footsteps on the ascending stairs, Michiru rushed to (neatly) toss everything away and tighten the drawstring at her waist.
The door opened as Michiru stood.
She appeared with a flurry of distant chirping and salty breezes.
With sandy tousled hair, hint of a sunburn upon the nose bridge, fading acne scars mingling with shadows of summer freckles, and lips indented with nervous teeth marks, Haruka stepped out.
And there they were– a little too close, a little suddenly— just arms length away.
Haruka leaned in. There was no greeting, no explanation. Just a sheepish, "Did I get the hint this time?"
The new wind ruffled Haruka's hair back and tried to push Michiru just a little closer. At the easel, the clips kept the parchment stubbornly in place.
Michiru's heart thrummed. And she smiled.
And she thought fuck it.
And— just like she had seen in all those movies— she stretched her hands to Haruka's face.
And she pulled her close.
And lips met lips.
And Michiru learned that Haruka tasted like… like… well, Michiru didn't know what she tasted like.
Because she hadn't kissed her. But too vividly the scene had played out before her— the remedy to today's earlier conundrum laid ripe before her.
Far more flustered than Haruka would be able to tell, Michiru replied softly, "Yes. Yes, you did. Although a callback would have worked just as well."
"Ah, true— but if I did that, I wouldn't have been able to give you this-" Haruka spread apart the handles of the lemon-filled bag she came with and Michiru peeked into it as she sunk her hand past the fruit until Michiru heard the crinkle of fresh plastic.
Haruka pulled out two popsicles: one lemon, one lime. Both were extended Michiru's way.
The clear wrapper caught the sunlight in sharp clear shapes. Little beads of the popsicles color which stuck to it. On the wooden stick, only the first couple of letters of the hidden message were visible.
"Take your pick."
Michiru hesitated— not due to difficulty choosing the flavor but due to the novel comfort that the two of them shared.
This was their first time before each other since the day at the races, yet why did it feel so light? Why did they feel like just two school girls on a rooftop, up to harmless mischief?
"Why do I get the feeling that you'll take the one I want?" Michiru asked.
"Because you seem to think me a far worse rascal than I am."
"Rascal," Michiru mused on the word as she reached for the lemon-flavored one, "Now there's a good word for you."
"What makes you say that?" Haruka mused as she watched Michiru pinch the corners of the wrappers and draw them apart. A string of glue briefly stretching before snapping.
Pushing the crinkling wrapping down, Michiru answered, "With the way you're dressed, you're clearly supposed to be somewhere else. The gym? Track practice?"
"The circuit," Haruka clarified with her mouth bent by Michiru's ear as she walked about the girl. Setting the lemon-filled bag by Michiru's school bag, Haruka opened the green popsicle in hand as she approached.
"It's not like you to miss that," Michiru said idly, watching Haruka set her bag down by Michiru's. The three lemons poked out next to Michiru's makeup carrier.
Michiru took her first taste. The lemon was sharp, not too sweet. Haruka shrugged as she began to open her own popsicle. Michiru liked watching Haruka's eyelashes cast down as she focused on something.
It took Haruka a second to respond, which she only did after she jokingly made a 'cheers' motion with her popsicle toward Michiru's, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Is that a new painting?"
Michiru looked at the sloppy mix of foreground colors she had abandoned for her visitor. "Not yet. It's still just a beginning."
"Can I get a closer look?"
"There's really nothing to see, Haruka."
But Haruka ignored Michiru's warning and came to stand before it.
Michiru lingered behind– taking in the view of Haruka before the easel, with the distant mountains supporting the view of the railing running all around, the vignette of school structures in the periphery and the cluster of shining glass buildings at its distant base.
With the westward glow of the sun, Haruka's hair caught an unusually golden cast.
The knowledge that Haruka now possessed Uranus' wand threatened to make her hopeful, but she worked hard to extinguish it.
Licking the bottom edge of the popsicle before a bead could dribble onto her hand, Michiru approached behind Haruka.
"What was the desperate time?" she asked, meeting Haruka's gaze when she looked her way, "that beckoned this desperate measure?"
Haruka pulled the lime popsicle from her lips– Michiru saw they were beginning to stain a light green.
"You seemed lonely," Haruka said.
That surprised Michiru. She couldn't hide it. "I see," she hummed and looked away. Her eyes were on the sad excuse for a painting, but she was looking beyond it. "And you took it upon yourself to rectify that?"
She felt Haruka's eyes on her. "I'm allowed to, aren't I?"
Michiru's focus remained in the distance, only the taste of lemon really registering. "Mm, I won't take it upon myself to stop you," she said, "But… you'll exhaust yourself running to every lonely person in Tokyo."
She was warmed at the sound of Haruka's chuckle. "Well," the girl said, "It'll be a good way for me to make up for missing cardio."
"Says the runner."
"I quit today."
"...Why?"
"Not worth my time."
That gave Michiru pause. She stole a look back at Haruka and inspected her. Once more, the selfish part of Michiru began to claw forward with senseless fantasies.
"Well, maybe if you spent less time exploiting lemons for violent means, you'd have more time to run the track," Michiru offered.
The corner of Haruka's lips twitched up. She angled her popsicle Michiru's way. "But how else would I win the attention of pretty painters?"
Michiru observed the treat that had been staining Haruka's lips before replying, "By posing for them."
Haruka blinked. Both of them were brought back to the memory of her and Michiru's first encounter. There was something strikingly innocent in her voice when she asked, "Had that really been a legitimate request?"
Michiru gave Haruka a perplexed look before pulling the lemon ice from her mouth. She wasn't oblivious to Haruka's gaze. "As opposed to what?"
Haruka shrugged. "A ruse to metaphorically jump me with cosmic responsibility." A green trail rolled from her popsicle onto her thumb, down her hand. Haruka caught it with her lips. Michiru saw a hint of tongue. The skin was left spotless.
"I had no such intent," Michiru heard her voice say, even though her focus felt spread through other parts of her body, "I was under the delusion you'd walk the metaphorical cosmic plank willingly and cheerily."
Haruka snorted with amusement. She was a messier eater than Michiru and her popsicle was unbalanced. She had to devote a considerable amount of attention and lip-work to get it from falling off the stick now. "... And what do you think …would have happened…if I had?"
Truth be told, Michiru hadn't thought about it. Nor had she had the faintest glints of visions of it. Perhaps they were never meant to be in this lifetime. Which should have confused her all the more, yet she couldn't bring herself to be concerned. Maybe not having Uranus wasn't so bad, as long as Haruka was around. Another distinctly selfish thought.
"I think we'd still be here," Michiru whispered, watching Haruka not exactly struggle with the popsicle. "And the view would still be the same. And so would the flavors."
Haruka hummed, a little tightly. Michiru could see the characters of the green-stained wooden stick that Haruka's tongue swirled around, but couldn't make out the message. There was almost nothing left of the lime popsicle, yet Michiru had managed to keep an even, symmetrical shape to hers.
"And how are you liking yours? Does it taste good?" Haruka muttered, whipping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Michiru was impressed by the lack of sloppiness.
She pulled her popsicle from her mouth and extended the remaining half Haruka's way. "You tell me," she said.
Haruka hesitated. She scanned Michiru before eyeing the offer and looking back at Michiru. Then, slowly, Haruka lowered her head to it. Her hand went over Michiru's. She turned it, so that the popsicle would face her just where Michiru's lips had been. That was the only part that Haruka tasted.
"It's good," Haruka murmured her reassurance, "Better than I expected." She straightened. "I offer you mine, but… well, you saw the massacre."
The massacre hadn't been all too bad–surely there was still some flavor in the wood at the very least. But Michiru didn't care for it. Gently, she pushed Haruka's wrist aside when it extended the stick Michiru's way. She rose to her tiptoes.
It was Haruka's brazen flirtation that had sparked a twisted bravery in Michiru. That extended her past bittersweet yearning and into the deviancy that prompted her to place a small lingering tongue-swept kiss to the corner of Haruka's mouth.