Michiru tasted the surprise of her action and felt an odd sense of triumph. Yet, when Haruka's mouth parted and her head turned to properly meet Michiru's lips, the latter pulled back.
"It's good too–" Michiru didn't get to finish her innocent comment before Haruka's hands curled over her wrist– surprisingly gentle– and jerked her a step closer.
"That," Haruka whispered, face so close and so reminiscent of the one Michiru dreamed about, "wasn't fair."
Michiru's body felt odd. She felt like the popsicle she was holding: in timely danger of melting into nothing more than a few sticky droplets. She hoped her cheeks weren't flushed.
"Why not?" Michiru asked innocently. She didn't pull away when she set her popsicle back on her tongue. There was so little distance between her and Haruka that if it dripped, it could land on either of them.
If only this inferno heatwave could break.
Haruka swallowed. "First you use me as a model, now exploit me for your first kiss? I'm starting to feel really cheap."
"You never modeled for me."
"Oh, but I saw the sketched figures," Haruka whispered. Why was it that when Haruka, carefully, tightened her hold on Michiru, Michiru only wanted her to tighten it more?
Michiru recalled that low river-side night: the flurry of dropped pages, a familiar stranger helping her pick them up. She should've been embarrassed at the exposure. Instead, her eyes kept falling down to just below Haruka's nose.
"And what did you think… when you saw them?" Michiru had to be careful: if she breathed too deep, her chest brushed against Haruka's.
"That maybe," Haruka whispered slowly, "you're the same type of rascal that I am." It was an offense to call Michiru and Haruka's eyes both blue– no two storming colors could be more different.
Yet the fierceness of their gazes were perfectly mirrored.
"Maybe I'm worse," Michiru whispered back, in a lower tone. A bead of yellow dripped from the rim of the popsicle. It was speedily running down the length of Michiru's hand.
That seemed to greatly amuse Haruka. "Ah, if that was true, you'd have stolen far more than one kiss." Just a little closer, Michiru was pulled. This time their chests touched. So did their abdomens. Almost every part of their body. Almost.
Dizzying. Whatever this was. It was dizzying.
"That wasn't a kiss," Michiru chided, reminding Haruka, but her voice faltered. "It was just a taste." She had never felt another girl's chest against her own. It was hard to concentrate on anything else. Was she made that there was so much fabric in between them? Or thankful for it?
There was no point in Haruka concealing her stare at Michiru's lips now. "Then let me have one, too," Haruka whispered. She leaned in.
And Michiru panicked. What if she didn't taste good? She had never kissed before? What was she going to do? What was she–
She gasped softly. And that gasp was whisked away with the kiss.
Haruka tasted like lime. Haruka tasted like pre-concert nerves. Haruka tasted like dropping the popsicle and having a sticky shaking hand desperately clutching the back of Haruka's neck.
Haruka tasted like first kisses.
It was so gentle, the brush of a mouth against Michiru's own, yet she it threatened her balance.
When Haruka's hand settled on her back, palm catching the sliver of exposed skin between the high-waisted skirt and cropped top, Michiru didn't know which way was up.
"Michiru," Haruka whispered softly against her mouth. Were they standing on the sky? The mountains might as well have been below them.
"Mm," Michiru hummed, too scared to open her eyes.
"Part your lips," Haruka murmured gently. Her fingers spread widely on her back. "Just a little, open your mouth. You want a waste, don't you?" How marvelously Haruka spoke when she instructed. How safe Michiru felt.
Just a little, Michiru's eyes fluttered open to catch a glimpse of the girl she was kissing.
Oh my god, she was kissing a girl. Ohmygod, she was kissing Haruka Tenoh. Meekly, Michiru nodded. Now both her hands settled tentatively on Haruka's neck. Now, she pressed into Haruka. Faintly, she heard Haruka's breath hitch. That stirred something in her. That made her throb. That made her keenly aware of the space in between her legs.
"Follow my lead," Haruka murmured, lips already tickling Michiru's as she spoke, "And… let me know if it gets…too much."
Uncharacteristically impatient, Michiru closed the distance with parted lips. If there was one thing she was good at, it was following instructions. Haruka's kiss was lingering and slow against Michiru's mouth, so Michiru mirrored the movement. When there was a light drag of tongue, Michiru's body pulsed. She pressed herself in Michiru's mouth.
The kisses sped up.
Fabric began to bunch in fists.
Lime mingled indistinctly from lemon.
Michiru wanted more. Like clay, she tried to mold her body against every curve and crevice of Haruka's.
Gasps escaped, no longer just Michiru's.
With this mutual hunger, Michiru could only wonder how often Haruka's intrusive thoughts had mirrored her own. Had Haruka ever wondered what Michiru's body looked like under her school uniform? The thought stirred Michiru and her grip on the back of Haruka's neck tightened sharply.
Nothing would have happened if they parted for just a few seconds. Nothing would have happened if they took a breather to walk somewhere more comfortable. Nothing would have happened if they stopped kissing. Yet they refused to break.
They stumbled across the roof and nearly fell twice. Something was knocked down. Something broke. It was all noise in the distance. The second Michiru's back hit the brick wall, her hand dipped under Haruka's shirt.
She wanted to know how Haruka's ribs felt when they expanded with every stuttering breath she stole from Michiru. She wanted to feel the quickening thrum of Haruka's pulse when Michiru's teeth brushed against her bottom lip. She wanted to feel just how tightly Haruka's bra band secured her chest.
But Haruka had other plans. She cursed softly from Michiru's touch and broke the kiss.
The air suddenly felt too cold, space too vast, without Haruka's face pressed firmly against hers.
"God, we need to stop, Michiru," Michiru heard Haruka groaning softly in her ear before her figure slumped and her temple settled in the crook of Michiru's sweaty neck.
Sunset had started, yet the glare of the world was too suddenly too bright when Michiru's eyes fluttered open. Every part of her body had a pulse. She wanted to squirm. To kiss… to dance… to have more.
Michiru pouted. "No, we don't," she said matter-of-factly. "... Unless I did something wrong?"
Haruka laughed sharply against her. "You definitely didn't." Their bodies were still pressed so tightly together and when Haruka's knee, which had found her way between Michiru's legs, shifted– Michiru almost gasped from an unexpected feeling.
"Then why–" Haruka's hand went over Michiru's mouth. It tasted a little like sticky lime. "Quiet…for a second, Kaioh," she begged, pressing her temple into the curve of her neck, "It's…too much. It's hard for me…to stop when it gets like this…"
Michiru frowned against Haruka's hand. Inquisitively, her touch roamed what little of Haruka's spine she was allocated. And then she did something strange– she kissed the palm of Haruka's hand, with her lips parted and her tongue brushing up: just the way Haruka had taught her. "Then don't."
Michiru knew Haruka could perfectly understand her despite the muffle. At last, Haruka lifted her head and Michiru could finally see how flushed Haruka's cheeks were and how swollen, shiny and pink her lips were. Knowing Michiru did that made her curl fingers a little into Haruka's back. She wanted more.
Haruka squeezed Michiru's mouth gently as she leaned in. "We agreed on just a taste, didn't we?"
"... But I'm hungry," Michiru pleaded innocently, her lips brushing Haruka's palm.
Haruka swallowed and then shook her head in disbelief. Removing her hand from Michiru's mouth, she rested it on the wall– right next to Michiru's head. "What are you trying to do?" Haruka whispered, "Trying to get your first fuck in with your first kiss?"
The bluntness of the question wasn't softened by the frank tone it was delivered with or the eyebrow raise accompanying it.
Tilting her head back to look up at Haruka, Michiru was suddenly aware of how much smaller she was. If only a mind could print pictures; Michiru would preserve this sight of Haruka, flushed and keen, hovering over her forever. How tempting it was to reach out and touch the art before her.
"Would it matter if I was?" Her gaze fell briefly to the exposed curve of Haruka's neck with recollections of the buzz and gossip of early today. She folded her hands behind her butt and leaned against them to hold them down against temptation.
"It certainly would," Haruka said, rather grimly, "And I wouldn't indulge it; not one bit."
"Mm. How come? Can two girls even do it?" Michiru asked with only half-feigned innocence.
"Fucking" or "sex" was an elusive topic that was relinquished to TV dramas Michiru rarely watched and loose classmates she rarely associated with. Her knowledge of it extended shortly past the biological processes, knowing only that boys disappointed girls far too often. What "lesbians" and "gays" was a curiosity Michiru never pictured herself satisfying… until now.
Haruka stared at Michiru in disbelief, a frown getting ready to form. She opened and closed her mouth with not a single sound coming out.
How Michiru wanted to take her thumb and wipe away the creasing brow. Instead, she tittered lightly, "Don't be so stunned, Haruka. I did just have my first kiss."
Haruka narrowed her eyes, her expression darkening.
"I don't know," she said slowly as her arm bent at the wall. Her weight shifted to rest on a forearm planted above Michiru's head, bringing her face deliciously close again. Michiru's gaze worked hard to stay on Haruka's. "I'm starting to think your little story was nothing more than a ruse to get me here."
There was a tickle of air against Michiru's face with those words. One that beckoned her forward, told her to lean in. But Michiru pressed herself deeper into the wall, holding down the insolent hands which begged for a touch.
What was the etiquette with this intimacy? Was she allowed to set her lips upon Haruka's whenever she pleased now? Where was she allowed to kiss? When was she allowed to touch?
"Ah, I see. You think I expected this to happen," Michiru mused softly, "When a simple call back would have sufficed? Need I remind you who it was that finally made themselves present upon hearing a 'lonely' girl was all alone on a rooftop, bullied and un-romanced?"
Usually so careful to filter the condescending tone from her words, Michiru couldn't help but indulge a little this time– her mouth growing pouty with her lament. "Surely there's a more plausible victim between the two of us. Don't you think, Haruka?"
There was something in the tempo of Haruka's breathing, in the steadiness of strengthening grip, that made Michiru think she wasn't all too bothered at being talked down to now.
Were Haruka's knuckles blanching from how tightly her fists were curling? Was she also keeping her hands on a leash?
Was she aware that she had been leaning in at the call of her name; her gaze set, far from discreetly, upon Michiru's mouth?
And that was where her gaze remained when she answered, "No, I don't, Michiru. I plead no guilt in this." When their eyes met, Michiru could see how tightly Haruka's eyes were constricted and how pristine the color of the sky was.
"Because do you really think…" Haruka whispered, her head lowering at an angle that Michiru immediately began to mirror, "... that even in my wildest delusions, I could have pictured this happening?"
Michiru's toes curled when she felt the ghost of desperation posses every part of her. Her back arched, her chest rising.
"Then I advise…" Michiru whispered in sync with the shiver that traveled up her spine as she felt Haruka's hand settle at the small of her back, with fingers settling one-by-one, key-by-key, "...you develop a more vivid imagination."
When Haruka chucked, Michiru felt the brush of her smile upon her lips. "And will that help me understand you better?"
The question didn't really make any sense to Michiru, but her mind was a buzz and her body greedy. They were already kissing when she muttered an absent-minded, "What's there to understand?"
It was soft this time.
It dragged instead of rushed hands to their desired stations: unsure how to rest at the neck of a lover, they clutched Haruka's collar; willfully taming their hunger, they settled on the small of Michiru's back finger-by-finger, key-by-key.
The flavor of what was already said sweetened each other's lips, but it was the promise of new confessions which had their mouths linger upon each other. Michiru felt both like the water which wetted the brush and the virgin canvas which colored under its stroke.
"Then tell me, Michiru," a curious whisper in between them began, "do I taste…familiar?"
The kiss faltered.
The question slapped like a splash of ice water. The coaxing brush of Haruka's gentle fingertips upon Michiru's jaw stung sharper than any venom.
Familiar? the word echoed its own confusion. Why would Haruka taste familiar?
And then, with a sharp exhale, Michiru remembered that it had been Neptune who Haruka met first.
Her grip on Haruka's collar only tightened. Teeth grazed unsuspecting lips. Haruka flinched.
It had taken a recent dream for Michiru to finally get a glimpse at Uranus' marble skin and cloud-like hair, but Neptune had been haunting Haruka's dreams for months. At the hospital, amongst the glowing hearts of friends and ailing strangers, it had been Neptune's hair which had almost brushed Haruka's cheek.
It had been an injured Neptune who Haruka had held in her arms at the race. It had been a teary-eyed Neptune who Haruka had called an idiot and rested her forehead against.
With a scowl, Michiru dragged all of Haruka's weight into her. She pressed her mouth painfully hard against the girl's. If only she had Neptune's strength right now, then Michiru's clutch on Haruka's shirt would drag her collar to blood against the back of her neck.
"Fuck, ow, Michi–" Michiru didn't let Haruka pull away. Clumsily, Haruka struggled to match her pace, match her pressure.
But it was Michiru who had saved Haruka at the race, not Neptune. It was Neptune who knew what Uranus' love felt like, not Michiru.
But that didn't matter to Haruka, didn't it? She was just kissing the shell of the Sailor Guardian, wasn't she? Well, this shell of a guardian can bite her tongue off, Michiru thought darkly. But the sinister thought was weak; even so harshly wounded, Michiru couldn't stand the thought of actually hurting Haruka.
Without warning, she shoved Haruka away. She was quick to catch her balance. "Michiru?"
"You…" Michiru raised her chin, "You… taste like shit."
If only her voice hadn't broken. If only the vulgar language had been of use.
With complete bewilderment, eyes wider than when Michiru had surprised her with the first peck, Haruka stared at Michiru in a stunned silence.
Hastily, Michiru turned her head away. She became acutely grateful that her hair was not only long, but thick enough to shield her face when need be. Against the back of her hand, she wiped her mouth.
The silence was deafening.
Michiru swallowed. Haruka stayed where she was, a careful arm's length away.
"..."
"..."
"...I'm sorry." The apology sounded more like a question. Michiru didn't respond.
Her eyes swept the rooftop, taking in the mess her and Haruka had made. Paint brushes were scattered everywhere. The water mug had fallen with the knocked down table, but took no damage. Only murky water pooled like blood about it.
"I upset you."
Michiru bit back a dry chuckle. Now, she couldn't be too sure who Haruka was addressing; her? Or who Haruka saw inside of her?
Michiru's internal dialogue commanded a biting, "Well observed, detective," but outwardly, Michiru responded with only a noncommittal hum.
Why did the back of her throat burn so suddenly? She had just been on Cloud 9 a second ago– with the feel of Haruka against her, wanting her… "Her."
Poor clueless Haruka received not a word as Michiru moved away. She bent down to pick up the nearest paintbrush. Never before had she made such a mess of things in her life.
"What are you doing?" Haruka asked, coming close behind her.
"Cleaning up. You're more than welcome to help." Her voice was steady, perfectly nonchalant– as if a simple breeze had knocked everything over and not their tangling bodies.
"...So you're not going to tell me what the hell that was just now?" Unlike some people, Haruka clearly didn't bother hiding the emotions from her voice.
The hem of Michiru's skirt brushed the rooftop tiles as she crouched down by the largest clutter of brushes. Behind her, Michiru heard Haruka huff angrily as she picked up the fallen end table and set it up right.
"You're not going to tell me what I did to upset you? You're going to keep everything to yourself again?"
"…. Did I say something wrong?"
"…Did I… touch you wrong?"
"… Tell me."
"… Tell me, Michiru. Please."
Michiru began to collect all the brushes in one hand. "I don't owe you any explanations."
"Let hell you don't," Haruka snapped. She sounded ready to kick something. "Stand up and face me."
Michiru's jaw clenched. It wasn't a tone she appreciated, but given the circumstances, she let it go in silence.
"Oi."
Michiru turned just in time to see Haruka's hand hastily descend toward her wrist. Michiru shot up to full height before contact could be made and Haruka stumbled a step back.
"You do not get to tell me what to do," Michiru hissed so sharply, so coldly, that Haruka blanched immediately.
But her color quickly returned. A look of fury overtook her features.
"And you do?" Haruka snapped. "You get to waltz in and decide to save me when you want? You get to kiss me on your own whim, while I'm fucking sweating bullets feeling like I'm going crazy wondering if its all in my head or if you could actually like me in that way?"
Michiru narrowed her eyes when Haruka stepped far too close.
"Tell me what I did to upset you," Haruka half-pleaded, half-demanded. "I know I fucked something up, I know it's my fault, so just tell m–"
"You see those mountains, Haruka?" Michiru interrupted. Without taking her glare off her beautiful opponent, Michiru thrust all her paintbrushes in the direction of the easel.
It was a redundant question, but Haruka still stole a glance. "Yes," she answered impatiently.
"Did you know that on that left side, up a long curly road that never fails to make me carsick, there's the summer home where I picked up the violin for the first time?" Michiru spoke slowly, articulating every harsh consonant to the fullest. "Those are my memories."
Haruka's jaw clenched and unclenched. Neither dared take their eyes off the other.
Michiru's arm moved to have the brushes point at the painting.
"Do you see the corner smudges?" Michiru asked, knowing full well Haruka didn't. "Do you see that one paintbrush hair stuck in the cloud? Do you think Neptune could have done that? Could she un have made those same stupid mistakes?"
She narrowed her eyes at Haruka. It would've been nice to be taller than her, so that she didn't have to be at eye-level to the mouth which stirred so many questionable things in her.
"I'm human, damn you," she whispered fiercely, as if she was trying to convince more than one person here. "I'm human. And you– you, oh, you taste rotten for forgetting that."
Michiru turned, ready to walk away, but a hand on her shoulder forced her back around.
Who else touched Michiru so freely? Who else could stand the freezing glare that followed?
Haruka squeezed her shoulder. "I know you're human," she promised through gritted teeth.
"Do you?" Michiru hissed as she rushed to brush to hand off her shoulder. "Then why ask me if you tasted familiar- if anyone tasted familiar? When you knew that was my first kiss?"
She wasn't yelling. Michiru never yelled. But it would be less fearsome if she was.
Haruka shrunk, frozen in place.
"I am terribly sorry to be the bearer of such horrible earth-shattering news, Haruka, but I am not her." Michiru swallowed, the sarcasm had come out thicker than she had intended. "I am me. And that is separate from some summation of past lives which I have never lived. This is the only one I have ever known." Her voice almost faltered in the end, for she remembered her dreams– days before yesterday and after tomorrow.
"The only one that matters," she added with what she hoped sounded like conviction even though the sense that she was lying was beginning to way heavy on her chest, "I am none the older and none the wiser than you. And you need to take care to remember who is who when you kiss people."
She was thankful her voice was steady, for her hands, suffocating the paint brushes, were not. And she was sick. As sick as one could be– ailing from the realization that the one person she found her humanity in didn't care to find any left in her.
Neither were out of breath, but their chests were synchronously heaving.
"Okay," Haruka whispered so softly it startled Michiru. Haruka sounded like an ashamed child caught in the wrong for the first time. "You're right."
"... About what?" it was a weary question.
A pregnant pause. "That I forget you're human," Haruka answered.
Michiru's heart fell. She cast her eyes down under the weight of Haruka's gaze.
In the distance, birds sang as carelessly as before. Sweat caused loose baby hairs to cling to Michiru's forehead.
Haruka's hands hovered cumbersomely at her side, unsure of their purpose.
"But… that's because you're always hiding," Haruka said at last.
"Why didn't you tell me more about Yasho when we ate together? Why did you let me yell at you? Make all those assumptions. I still don't really know what happened, and I don't think I ever will but I now know you were hurting. But you didn't even try to defend yourself, you just let me be a bitch."
Michiru diligently focused on the shape and color of her brushes. "… I don't owe anyone any explanations."
"Right." Haruka exhaled. "There you go again, marching to the beat of your own drum, leaving everyone behind. I got to tell you, Michiru, it's really a weird feeling, finally meeting someone who can outrun me. I can't keep up with you. Only sometimes I can come just close enough to catch a glimpse and… and… it drives me nuts. You get to read me like an open fucking book, and I don't get the slightest clue of what the hell is going on in your head? It's so fucking unfair. Because you're just always so… so far away."
Somehow, Michiru knew Haruka was shaking her head without looking up. She could picture her running her long fingers through her short hair, dragging her frustration out.
"And if I'm being honest, I never thought you'd care to wait for me," Haruka muttered, confidence in her words low, "Because I was sure I wasn't the one you cared about. The night at the hospital… you-she- yo-... Neptune-" there was an audible strain in hearing the names said out loud, "-Neptune didn't recognize me, but what I could be. And that's what I always saw when you looked at me: this longing for someone else to be across from you."
That made Michiru look up. That made her search Haruka's face. All she found was a small bittersweet smile.
"But then you saved me at the race. Me. Not…not Uranus." The pain with which the planet was uttered made Michiru's own stomach curl. "And I spent my nights staring up at the ceiling, looking at the spaces between my fingers, remembering how it felt to hold you. And I get furious, Michiru. So furious. Because you leapt even further ahead. You did what I never thought you would do. You told me things I never could imagine. And everything I knew about you, everything I thought I had figured out was twisted and discarded. And you're so so so far away again."
Michiru pressed her lips together. But I'm here, she wanted to protest, yet no words came out. Because when Haruka had clutched her shoulder, the memory of Uranus' lips upon it had been intensely instant.
The back of her throat burned. Somehow, she knew Haruka felt the same.
Michiru hit the wooden tips of the paint brushes against her palm, evening them into a cohesive row. It was all she could do to fight the urge to reach out to Haruka, to pull her back in.
Softly, Haruka scoffed. "You're not going to say anything?" She shook her head. "Yeah, well, you're the one bound to suffer because I'm blabbering now. And I can't stop. But I have to say this, even if it's the last thing I say to you."
Those words filled Michiru with the same sense of dread that her nightmares had. Maybe she should have swallowed her pride and not ruined the kiss. This argument was entirely her fault. Would they ever find a lasting sweet moment?
"You were right, I said that much. And I was, too. Even now, you're so so far away. But there are times, not that few and not that far inbetween, when the whole world is too busy to pay attention to us and I'm lucky enough to be looking at you and I finally finally catch a glimpse of what the poets write about."
Something in Haruka's voice made Michiru's cheeks grow hot. They were both struggling, and failing, to meet each other's eyes. Often they looked to the side, taking in the mountains or the view of peers running around in the school yard.
"Sometimes I see that you're tired, but trying so hard to hide it. Or that you're bored with the conversation and have no interest in hiding that. When you're unimpressed with the food you don't pick or sneer at it, you don't push it around. And when your leg hurts, you get mad at it, as if it's not you that's in pain. And your fingers: they're calloused, rough even– not even half as delicate as people would think. And you have so many baby hairs that rise up in the heat or stick to the back of your neck when it's human. And it is human. So human that it almost hurts."
"And I stir myself up, thinking about how… how–" Haruka ran her fingers through her hair a little aggressively, as if that was the only way to find the words she was looking for, "how… pathetic it was of me to be so scared of you, how pathetic it was to be so rude to you when we first met– because really, how different can you be from anybody else?"
"But then I catch you smiling. Really genuinely smiling. And, Michiru, it's just so fucking otherwordly that I just–" Haruka couldn't find the words to finish. She wasn't a poet. Instead, she looked helpless at Michiru, with her palms twisted up and shrugged in defeat. This was all she had to offer. "How can someone that precious be anything like me?"
Michiru wanted to throw up. She had never felt this way before. She blinked and blinked even though her eyes had never watered. When did Haruka have the time to see all this? To notice the details that no one else had?
She was clutching her bundle of brushes with both hands when a silly thought occurred to her: if they had been flowers, she would have looked like a bride standing across from Haruka. A bride that wanted to know, "Then why did you ask me if you tasted familiar?"
Haruka swallowed. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets; the motion reminding Michiru of how she had pinned her own hands against the wall in order to keep them from reaching for things she best not be touching.
"Because I wanted to know who was kissing me," Haruka said, "Because I had held you both."
Why was it that when Haruka looked at her now, Michiru became so nervous? Her heart was pounding in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
"Who do you wish it was?" Michiru asked.
Haruka shook her head. "No, not fair, Michiru. You have to answer first."
Michiru hesitated. Time had slowed. She was still dizzy from what Haruka had said. With every effort she made to process Haruka's words, her blood rushed to her cheeks.
And it was the same blood rush that gave her the courage to slowly answer, "Me."
Haruka inhaled sharply. They looked at each other and Michiru smiled. Afterall, that's all there was to say.
"Why?" she asked quietly. It was now that Michiru registered how flushed Haruka's tanned face was.
The wisps of Haruka's bangs hung so low, Michiru wondered how it didn't hurt her eyes. The palest freckles dusted corners of her face. What a sweet, gentle face Haruka had. It was such a shame Michiru was always making it frown or scowl. But she now knew what it looked like laughing, stunned, and… aroused. She wanted to see more. She wanted to hear every whimper, every shout, every biting remark and every giggle.
And she wanted to see the small of the back she had been allowed to so generously touch. She wanted to see what Haruka's figure looked like. Was it anything like hers? What was the shape of her chest? How did her waist curve in? Were her nipples as pink as Miciru's?
Did every part of her taste the same?
"Is it not enough that I'm a rascal too?" she asked softly. Michiru stepped closer, bouquet of brushes still in hand.
"Is it not enough that I like your body? That I like your face and your voice?" Michiru asked. Her eyes cast down to Haruka's mouth before looking back up. "Is that so hard to believe?"
The bridge of Haruka's nose, Michiru now learned, could grow as pink as her ears. But why were Haruka's eyes so shiny? Was she a bit of a crybaby behind closed doors, wasn't she? Of course, she was, Michiru realized, How could she not be, when she wore her heart so vulnerably on her sleeve?
Haruka was too flustered to hide it. "You're always so bold," she laughed weakly.
Her laugh made Michiru smile and it stayed with her even as she gave voice to unpleasant thoughts. "We're both guilty of what we accused each other. And maybe I'm more her than I would like to admit; but I swear upon my flesh and blood, which gets cut and bleeds just like yours, that I am human when I am with you."
Something softened in Haruka when Michiru said that.
Gently, Michiru tapped the brushes against Haruka's chest. "My decisions are all my own, so if they're all wrong, blame no one but me: Michiru. And if I kiss you poorly, or maybe a little too well, blame me and only me."
The last bit gave Michiru a reward: Haruka's lips twitched up.
But then Haruka dragged her hands from her pockets and to the brushes, closing over Michiru's hands. "It was you I wanted to kiss," she said quietly, but firmly. Her eyes bore into Michiru. "And you who I still want to kiss."
"Then do it.'
"So you had called to say goodbye?" Michiru surmised. They sat in Haruka's car, locked away from the heatwave, at a parking spot just outside of her building that was the envy of every circling chauffeur.
"No. Not at all," Haruka protested, "Don't make it sound so crude." She adjusted the grip on her steering wheel despite the stillness of the car. "I just… wanted to tell you about it."
Sunset had passed, night had settled in.
The glare of passing car lights forced them to squint in unison. Michiru refused to look away. She stared each pair of scorching white beams down. First the wand, then the dream, then the kiss, and now this. What a rollercoaster ride Haruka was. Michiru didn't know her heart could hurt so much from such meaningless news. Why did it matter that Haruka was leaving Japan? Neptune had been a guardian for months on her own and she was going to continue to do so. There was no difference where Haruka was.
And yet she had taken the wand at the race.
Michiru wanted to press her palms into her eyes and scream. She couldn't even blame Haruka for playing with her feelings since it was she who had kissed her and initiated the argument.
Haruka must've taken Michiru's silence as dismal, for she began to talk, "I still haven't decided anything, Michiru. I—I just wanted to ask you about, to hear what you thought."
Michiru clasped her hands tightly in her lap and gave Haruka a sidelong glance. "Why shouldn't you go? You said this was something you dreamed about since your childhood."
Haruka gave her a small, bittersweet smile. "So you wouldn't miss me at all?" Even after all that happened? Was the silent add on.
"I didn't say that," Michiru answered tightly. She focused on the unfamiliar song titles which drifted on Haruka's dashboard. Although the volume was turned all the way down, the tracks continued to play. They listened to such different music.
If it wasn't for this reincarnation nonsense, then maybe they would never have been able to hold a single conversation. As if out to prove her wrong, the very next track came on and showed a song Michiru had grown up loving. How annoying.
"One has nothing to do with the other," Michiru muttered.
"One has everything to do with the other."
Michiru looked at Haruka, who was sitting unbuckled in the driver's seat with her wrist on the wheel and her torso turned toward Michiru. Behind Haruka was the view of Michiru's lobby. Its revolving doors were disturbed by the same genre of people time and time again: turning as a smartly dressed man rushed out or a young woman overflowing with labeled shopping bags strolled in.
"How?" she asked, for once not hiding the bitterness behind her words, "You'd stay if I said I would?"
"Yes," Haruka answered without hesitation.
For once, Michiru didn't hide her annoyance or disbelief. "Why? Because we kissed once?"
"Would that be so wrong?" Haruka countered.
"Yes," Michiru answered in a tone which mirrored Haruka's previous frank reply.
"Then forgive me for being a romantic." There was a note of genuine apology.
"And am I to forgive you for being an idiot as well?"
"If possible."
"It's not."
"Then I'll perish with your scorn."
Michiru rolled her eyes down to the neatly folded hands in her lap. The bittersweet smile at her lips reflected little of the dread she felt. "I will miss you," she admitted to them both, "I am sure even more than I can recognize now."
"Then ask me to stay." It was half a note away from pleading.
"Never."
Haruka pressed her lips into a tightline. Michiru didn't look up from her hands as she said, "I don't have to. I think you want to stay. I think you're not nearly as desperate to run away as you keep pretending to be. Or else why did you take back your heart?"
"I -."
Michiru interrupted her to keep going. "But I think you should go. Because tomorrow isn't guaranteed, is it? Who knows where we or the world will be month from now? A day from now? Go, because you might never get to go again. And when you come back, I'll still be here. Because where else would I be?"
"Michiru," Haruka said, "A big part of being human is needing people. You can't be human alone."
"I know. That's why I have you. Right?"
Haruka studied her. Then she extended her hand forward, pinky up. "Of course."
Michiru hummed and returned the gesture. Their pinkies interlocked.
Haruka bought their hands a little closer to her and kissed Michiru's knuckles. It should have burned— the feel of someone else's skin against Michiru's own. Too frequent were the long periods which all human touch was absent from her life. What a disruption from norm was it to have a kiss in her day.
Michiru recalled how Haruka's hand had set upon hers in the backseat of the car. She recalled how she almost fell with the impact of the hug after the race.
"When are you flying out?" Michiru asked.
"This weekend. Sunday morning." Haruka's lips moved across Michiru's knuckles as she spoke, refusing to part.
Michiru hummed. Her mind raced, her knuckles buzzing under Haruka's lips.
See my home. See my room. See my window. See my view, Michiru thought as her stomach flipped and tightened. "If you're saying goodbye, say it right," she said, "Come up."