The construction site lanterns cast a sharp glow against Sailor Neptune's profile.
With little exertion, but much irritation, she uppercut and kicked scores of scarlet balloons. All popped with a metal ring that stung the ears and poisoned the air with a heavy iron scent.
Those that weren't caught in Neptune's executions had their strings tangled in nets of scaffolding.
"Uh- uh," Neptune chided as she saw the bloated bodied soul scurry to higher platforms.
With strength Michiru = could never even dream of, Neptune spun herself onto the scaffolding bars. Jumping and twisted, she scaled stories at a speed which outran the ballon-shaped creature. With a vault, she balanced on the metal just out of its reach, just before its thread-like tail could wrap around it.
Not quite faceless, there was just enough of a hint of an eye and mouth to make out the expression of shock. Or was it fear? It didn't matter, Neptune's actions were set to be all the same.
She grabbed what could best be described as its head, the texture rubbery and friction unpleasant under her gloves, and said, "Now, it's quite rude to run when someone is asking you questions." When her fingers curled, a claw like grip indenting the red, Neptune wondered if she could truly pop it like a balloon.
Was she becoming cruel? Had she had the energy for worry, it would've been a thought that concerned her.
She was tired. Michiru was tired. Her mother's stay had frayed the already short cords of her nerves and the hawk-like monitoring had forced Michiru to spend unproductive nights wrestling nightmares instead of investigating.
But, above all, she was inpatient. Her mind kept wandering back to the phone on her bed and the text conversation she had left.
Haruka.
Maybe she had nightmares just like Michiru and maybe she woke up in the middle of the night just as panicked and guilt ridden, for she was always ready with a call or text.
Nothing. They talked about nothing. For hours and hours. And it was to the flirty bantering nonsensical nothing that Michiru wanted to return.
Her grip tightened again. She attempted a kind smile. "Come, answer my questions please. I know you can talk."
It squirmed and squeaked, unable to break loose. The movement seemed more neurotic than desperate to Neptune, almost as if it was fidgeting.
"No, no, no," it whispered amongst gibberish, "Not enough time not enough time not enough time."
"Not enough time for what?" Neptune's attention was peaked, as was her hope for progress. It was cooperating! Before now she hasn't know it to even be a possibility.
Its tail, no thicker than a balloon's string, rushed to her face. Neptune caught it right before its sharp end pushed through the space in between her eyes. She cried out in pain— the string was barbed metal, cutting deep.
Still, she held on, not letting the now chattering thing escape.
"Not done, not done. Not enough time, not enough time!"
The barbs dug in. Now her glove matched the color of the balloon scraps. But through the pain, Michiru pulled the tail. She hissed as she wound it tight around a beam, pulling the gaseous mass closer and closer. She was even able to make a bow at the end, the trial finishing in a morbid celebratory decoration.
Huffing, Neptune stood back and watched the balloon-like thing writhe and wiggle as it continued to echo the same words over and over.
She frowned. So much for communication.
Her fingers webbed into the scaffolding net as she took one last look around.
As with all the surrounding developments, these twin skyscrapers were all glass. Through the nearest window, Neptune could see the basis of what would soon be a populated classroom— front board up but furnishings still missing. Something within her had urged to take extra care not to break anything tonight.
With her fingers delicately curled about her ear, Neptune held her floating hair back. Even at the center of Tokyo, in the dead of the clamoring city night, the faint crash of waves thrummed around Neptune.
She did her best to find something akin to a gaze to meet. There was a dull glow from its inside which pulsed not unlike a heartbeat.
Slowly, she repeated what she had asked once before: "What do you know about the talismans?"
The fidgeting slowed. It expanded slightly, then shrunk. Almost as if it was struggling to breathe. At first it whispered, then its voice grew louder. No, voices. It was a cacophony of at least a hundred different conversations with five different genres of music muddying the words even more.
And how sharp the noise was. Neptune hands balled into fists at her hips to fight the urge to cover her ears.
"Are you a talisman?" Neptune pressed, even though she intrinsically knew the answer already. What a wasted question.
The chatter hadn't slowed, it kept growing louder. Suddenly Neptune was on the verge of claustrophobia, feeling engulfed by a crowd at a party she would rather not be.
Hastily, she made one last attempt for answers. "Are you in pain?" It was irrelevant to the mission, to her progress, but the question slipped out— her true worries manifested.
The noise vanished. It almost relaxed, swaying with the breeze. A slit which most resembled a mouth upon its head opened as a sharp dry voice scratched, "People…are… pain."
It exhaled confetti when it spoke and when the colorful bits landed on Neptune's skin, they burned right through it. This time, she cried out.
This time, when it darted forward, Neptune shrieked. She lost her footing and began to fall. The last thing Neptune ever saw was a toothy abyss snapping shut on her head— It exploded. As if someone had popped it with a needle, the exploded into hundreds of confetti pieces.
Hastily, Neptune scrambled to grab the scaffolding netting. Her fingers caught into it and dislocated. She tore down at least a 30-foot hole before she finally steadied herself.
Panting and in pain, Neptune squeezed her eyes shut and refused to look down. Although her balance was beyond that of any human acrobat, she could not fly. A fall was still a fall and although she wasn't entirely sure one would kill Neptune, Michiru didn't want to find out.
The pain in her hand was excruciating, but not unfamiliar. Neptune was careful to use her other hand to grip a nearby bar and steady herself onto one of the wooden boards. She winced at the sight of the crooked fingers in her gloves, already eager for see them soon healed.
She sunk to sit. Her job was still not done, but, as she watched the wisps of confetti flutter down and burn themselves out, she took a moment of reprieve to try and make sense of what happened.
There was so much she didn't understand. No matter how hard she searched her memories or pressed for premonitions, nothing about the talismans was revealed. Nothing other than she needed them and they were to come from a soul.
What did they even look like? Would she recognize one when she saw it? Neptune supposed that was a given. What would she do with it? She imagined swallowing the crystal-like structure and it is cutting her from the inside out.
Neptune hugged a knee and set her chin upon it.
And the daemons. That's what she kept calling them, but that wasn't exactly what they were, were they? Her quick peruse over folklore and myths revealed no creatures of the sort she fought. They were all so different— from this one, to Yasho's, to the one that Michiru had saved Haruka from. The later were more common, she had noticed, and were everywhere at all times. She had long learned it was more efficient to let them be, even though her stomach twisted into knots every time she caught a story on the news reporting a hate crime or other motivated tragedy.
She fought the guilt. No, she couldn't be everywhere at once.
Convinced the last of the confetti was gone, Neptune began her slow ascend to the top. She needed to say her prayer and to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Leaning on wind, Sailor Uranus balanced atop the tower antenna. A helicopter buzzed not far below, a plane soared not far above.
With an arm folded under her chest, Uranus held the elbow of the hand that was mindlessly tossing and catching, tossing and catching, an unremarkable white pebble. She watched Neptune carefully arrange the woman back in her office at the new Mugen Academy building.
Tokyo was small, its people smaller still. And from this distance, Neptune was the size of an ant.
Uranus' lips pressed tightly together as she watched the solider with ocean in her hair carefully set the limp body back in her desk chair, right by the open window.
Neptune picked up the phone, dialed three keys, and left the phone upturned.
From the most subtle curl of her fingers to the simplest turn, Neptune was plagued with a boundless grace that made Haruka's heart turn. Finally, she understood what fairytale princesses were like.
She could feel it— the magnetic pull on this body that Neptune triggered. Every fiber of her current being wanted nothing more to come close, to be at her side, to breathe her air, to be with her.
Uranus steeled her resolve. She had, miraculously, held back from jumping in when Neptune fell; her will would not break now. After all, what was the point of revealing herself? She was leaving soon.
In the distance, Sailor Neptune set a foot upon the window frame. But she lingered, as if unsure.
Uranus stiffened, caught her rock. A light breeze ruffled her snow- cloud hair. Seconds later, the same breeze passed through emerald tresses.
By the time Neptune slid her gaze to the northern cell tower, Uranus was gone.
–
"And what about you?" Haruka asked softly. She stood by her window, phone to her ear with Michiru on the other line. Looking out, she was startled out how underwhelming her favorite view of the city now was.
"Oh, I'm fine. Splendid," the yawn Michiru failed to stifle came out as static. Haruka's lips quirked up. Every day, with every interaction, she was beginning to better understand that Michiru Kaioh was a deeply sarcastic person.
"Glad to hear," Haruka mused. She heard the soft rustle of sheets and tried not to think about what Michiru looked like in bed. She failed. "Not hurt?"
"No, I promise." A pause. "Thank you."
How soft and sweet Michiru's words were. Haruka felt her cheeks warm, even with the sudden panic that came with the gratitude. "For what?" She asked with feigned lightness. Her fingertips rested on the window.
"For asking. It's also late and you must be tired."
"It's not so bad."
"Mm. You didn't stay up because of me, did you?"
"No, of course not."
"Are you lying, Haruka?" She chided. There was something so flirtatious and coy in the way she said Haruka's name that Haruka was convinced her cheeks were now pink.
"Don't corner me like this. It's not nice."
A muted laugh. With her mother home, Michiru spoke extra softly. "I'm not exactly known for being nice."
Haruka frowned. "You're kind, Michiru. Kinder than most," she said. And with that she groaned softly and sunk to rest her forehead on her window.
"What is it?" Michiru asked softly.
"I want to kiss you," Haruka confessed quietly, shutting her eyes. Between the packing and Michiru's mother staying over, they had had no time the past week to see each other.
Silence on the other end. Then, "You should."
"Right now?"
"Mm. Right now."
Haruka smiled. They were both clearly joking around… but it would be a lie to say some part of her didn't want to grab the liprod on her end table and appear on Michiru's windowsill a minute late. She almost seriously considered it.
"I'll get a goodbye kiss, won't I?" Michiru teased softly.
There were stacked cardboard boxes all around Haruka.
Haruka tried to think of a quip, a flirtatious comeback, but all she could think about was how Michiru had looked when she scolded Haruka by the painting, how Neptune's hair floated down when she hovered over Haruka at the hospital, and how soft the princess in the tower felt in her arms.
"Yes."
Early to arise was the ocean that stirred with foam. It bid hello to the first clouds. Waves yawned drowsily with the turning of the tide. Soon, scale stretched against feather. Later, wings cast shadows on fins.
"What do you remember?" The star blinked in a jazzy step, tripping and stumbling, sputtering and stretching its shining rays. Confidently, it danced around its calmer neighbor.
"The future," the steady one twinkled. It sailed at a lazy pace, unphased by the erratic oscillation of its companion.
"All of it?"
Their home was stretching. Dimples of light could be seen in the distance: upcoming friends. From the dark, ruby and amethyst tones began to grow, outlined in emerald and sapphire.
"No," it laughed softly.
The upward blue light of the phone cast sharp shadows around Haruka's high cheekbones and up-turned nose. When she squinted against the light, the corner of her eyes crinkled in sync with the lines that came with her scowling frown. Feeling eyes on her, she had looked up. How quickly her eyes dilated at the view before her. With her expression softening, Haruka perked her brows up.
"Just the important bits."
Squinting against the sunlight, Haruka shook off her helmet. She kicked the stand to her motorcycle. From the school gates, students flooded out—all thrilled at the free Friday evening before them.
Michiru stood at the center of the stage in the small auditorium. As if in cue, the lingering student body had cleared out when she entered, whispering in pods of three or two.
She flipped open the sheet music and tucked the violin under her chin.
As a child, Michiru would forgo beach days, late noon slumbers, birthday parties and far more for practice. Those weren't sacrifices, she had loved the violin more than anything.
Yet now, she found the instrument oddly cumbersome in her clutch. Her fingers still hurt. Her shoulder and neck ached. She (her mother) found a bruise under her chin this morning.
Michiru dragged out her first note of the week. She ran her scales, her finger exercises. Not a note missed, not a beat misplaced. Without pause, she bled in and out of her favorite film scores and classical pieces. Today, she was here to just enjoy music and not perfect it.
Music and art might be all that was left of Michiru Kaioh. Neptune could have the rest. Michiru was ready to fight to preserve this. As she played, she pictured Haruka racing.
—
Arm in arm with two other girls, Elsa laughed and yelled as she made her way across the school courtyard. All around her, classmates in powder blue uniforms scurried around— all rushing to find optimal practice spaces.
Around the center fountain students in hastily tied aprons set up easles. At a corner renowned for its reverberant echo, the percussions clustered.
Some dancers began their warm ups and stretches under the comforting sun, enjoying the fresh air and delicate weather. With the dip in temperature and rolling clouds, the heat wave had finally tempered and promise of rain loomed over.
It wasn't rare to see an odd uniform out: students from other schools appeared to keep their friends company. So when Elsa spotted a blond girl in a dark top and skirt lingering at the gate, she thought nothing of it. And then her step faltered.
She took in the girl's height, her haircut. Her shapely figure. Her sky blue eyes, which were cast upon the opaque school windows, trying to pinpoint from where the dreamy cry of that one violin was coming from. For once, Haruka wasn't surrounded by company, but at the rate students were looking at her and gossiping, Elsa knew it wouldn't last long.
Elsa stepped away from her friends. "Go ahead. I'll meet you at the cafe," she promised.
Cautiously, Elsa approached Haruka. It was startling to see the girl look so… 'plain' wasn't the right word for it— Haruka was far too tall and foreign to be ever called such a thing in Japan. But, something about seeing Haruka out of athletic wear and comfortable in a Japanese school uniform, made the girl seem so much more… human.
What an odd thing to think, Elsa mused.
"Hey!" She spoke up, stepping over.
Haruka startled slightly. Elsa figured the girl hadn't noticed her approaching.
With a lazy grin, Haruka raised her hand in a small wave of greeting to Elsa. Elsa was surprised at how approachable Haruka could seem when she smiled. She returned the gesture.
"Heading home?" Haruka asked. When she wasn't on the verge of telling Elsa off, Haruka's voice was really rather pleasant- almost sweet.
Elsa nodded. She hesitated and then glanced over her shoulder to the school building. She knew what Haruka had been searching for.
Elsa tightly clasped her hands behind her back and swallowing her own odd feelings as she asked Haruka, "Are you… um here to pick her up?"
Haruka rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess you could say that."
"Is she…. alright?" It was a question Elsa had been too cowardly to ask Michiru herself, despite all the days she spent watching her. She had noticed the formerly straight A student sitting in the back of class now, nodding off. Elsa had grown accustomed to looking up from the track field to see Michiru painting, canvas and figure shrouded in natural light. Now, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen her there or the last time she had come into class with usual violin case in hand.
Although there was surprise, there was no confusion in Haruka's expression. She knew what Elsa was talking about, probably even more.
"I'll make sure she will be," Haruka said and for whatever reason, Elsa believed her. "You're a good friend, Elsa. She's lucky to have you."
"Hardly," Elsa shook her head, "I can't even remember… I don't think… I don't think we've even spoken since our race."
"Ah…I see."
Elsa shifted. What else could Haruka have said? She smiled awkwardly and then hesitated. After a quickly glance over her shoulder, she said, "I can maybe show you where she is. She wasn't in the art room, so she's probably playing today. But I haven't seen or heard her rehearse in a while so I have no guarantees."
Haruka's crystal-clear eyes fell to Elsa, searching her face.
"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."
Elsa nodded. "No problem," she said quietly.
Elsa knew it she should have been making even an attempt at small talk as she guided Haruka to the central building and down its long linoleum tiled halls. Both of them were clearly fierce extroverts, it shouldn't have been difficult. They were both runners and foreign— it should've been easy to find common ground. Yet both remained silent.
As they walked down the sparsely crowded halls, Elsa stole cautious glances up at Haruka. It was an odd feeling, looking up at a girl; Elsa was used to being the tallest one amongst her Japanese classmates. But Haruka was easy to read. The furrow of her brow, the downward curve of her lips, the stiffness in her shoulders and giddy shine in her eyes— Elsa could tell Haruka was worried, but excited to see Michiru. It was relatable.
Haruka spared only the briefest glances at the rooms they passed. There was a network of rules and a high degree of unspoken respect for after school privacy. Every student needed space and function dedicated to their craft. The musicians kept to their echoing corners while dancers kept silent and artists critiqued each others works in soft whispers.
Maybe it was best they didn't speak, Elsa decided as she and Haruka stepped closer to the respective walls to let a line of ballerinas, clad in leotards and leg warmers, rush past.
It was when they rose to the second floor that the atmosphere changed. The hustle and bustle had been left behind, only seniors and one exception had claim to this floor.
Haruka faltered in her step and Elsa cracked a small smile. From the very first note that hit their ears— they both knew who was playing. The sound was in a league of its own. No violin should have been able to carry a choir on its strings. No violin should have been able to sprout an orchestra from its sole voice.
Haruka stood, transfixed, staring down the long hallway, hand still on the curve of the stair.
"Guess we're in luck," Elsa muttered quietly, although it felt oddly criminal to speak, "She's here."
Haruka blinked before turning to Elsa. For a second she carried a cloudy expression and then her eyes focused. Elsa felt her cheeks heat and a tiny part of her die. It seemed that Haruka had forgotten she was even there.
Well. That was sufficiently humiliating. But, determined not to let her ego get ahead of her, Elsa smacked Haruka's back with a cheeky grin and exclaimed, "You're acting as if you never heard her play!"
Haruka pulled away and rubbed the back of her shoulder. Maybe Elsa had hit her a little too hard. "Can't say I have. Not in real life, at least."
Elsa didn't hide her surprise. "Oh. I just… kinda assumed… you two seemed close."
"Yeah, well," Haruka exhaled, staring ahead again, "We're not… complete strangers."
Elsa laughed weakly. "That's such a weird answer."
"It's an honest one," Haruka said.
Their conversation lulled as they began to creep closer to the stadium doors. The school's theater was notably large, having entrances on the first, second and third floor.
The soft thud of pointe shoes in the near distance came in stark contrast to their effortfully silent steps. This time, Haruka stopped when they passed by a dance room. Elsa took a peek through the hall window as well. Ballerinas were split between the barre and the open floor. Their music was off. There was a visible effort to keep quiet. Those at the barre cycled through their routine warm ups while those at the center goofed off in spontaneous bursts of choreography to Michiru's playing.
Side by side Haruka and Elsa watched girls stifle giggles as their limbs floated high in the air with bountiful leaps and stray hairs fell from messy updos during speedy spins.
"Hard to believe that they're the same species as us," Elsa whispered. Haruka cracked a grin. That was when Elsa noticed how striking the girls profile was. She wondered if Haruka could just as easily picture Michiru at the barre, graceful and every bit the leading swan.
Haruka cocked her head Elsa's way as she whispered, "And you and I? Are we the same species?"
The tone, the sudden connotation, startled Elsa so much that she had to take a step back. Haruka didn't look away from her. She only raised her eyebrows in anticipation of an answer.
Their short hair. Their short nails. Their short nails. Their "boyish" hobbies and mannerisms (How long ago had Elsa abandoned her art to race with boys after school?)
Elsa opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say. What if she was misinterpreting the suggestive tone? After all, no one had confronted her about any such suspicion. There had only been whispers, lost in the past now.
Elsa almost jumped out of her skin when Haruka set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She looked almost apologetic.
Haruka decided to ask a different sort of question, "Were you close with Michiru?"
Elsa's looked away. Both were aware that the past tense was most appropriate.
"We were friends in our first year, but… I guess activities and responsibilities pulled us apart. We don't share many classes," Elsa answered.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Haruka said.
The dancers had noticed them by then, so they stepped away as to not make anyone uncomfortable.
Elsa hesitated, eyeing her beat sneakers as they walked. "I know she can be quiet, and a little antisocial, now worse than before but… she's always been kind," Elsa all but whispered, "I never heard her say a single cruel thing about anyone or anything, ever."
Haruka hummed. Their steps slowed in unison.
"How did you two become friends?" Haruka asked.
"She spoke to me when no one else would," Elsa confessed softly. Her fists awkwardly bunched the fabric of her uniform in her fists. "There was a bit of a nasty rumor going about me. I don't know if Michiru didn't believe it or didn't care for it, but either way she talked to me when no one else would."
Elsa remembered the day that Michiru leaned over to inspect Elsa's canvas and compliment her art all too well.
"I'm jealous. Those pinks and yellows are so beautiful. I never got along with warm tones. But can I confess something?" Michiru spoke clearly and articulately, in contrast to the conspirator's sparkle in her eyes.
Elsa had already felt her cheeks warm by then. Dumbly, she nodded.
"They're my favorite colors."
It left Elsa wondering why Michiru only painted with blue. It also left Elsa with semi-fried hair and a pink bob that Michiru eagerly complimented every time Elsa revitalized the color.
"And what was the rumor?" Haruka asked blankly.
When Elsa turned to Haruka, she was surprised to meet a gentle gaze.
The music swelled with the soft thuds of jumping ballerinas. Just as loudly, Elsa heard Ino scolding Momo for getting too excited about her acquaintance with Haruka, "But have you seen her? She's a complete pervert. Girls like her are only friendly so that they can get you alone in the locker room or at a sleep over. I hear they're worse than guys, because with guys you can at least prove it when they fuck you. Not a whole lot of DNA left on plastic."
How Elsa wished she had spoken up and said something that day. Or did she really? What would have happened if she did? She'd be left friendless and alone, just like in freshman year, except without Michiru this time.
Elsa chewed upon her bottom lip. "That I was… That I… That I liked girls."
"Do you?" Haruka asked simply, with no hesitation, no nuance— as if Elsa had told her nothing more than her food preference.
Elsa swallowed. She didn't realize how intensely she had been clutching her skirt.
"That's um.. that's uh…" Elsa let out a nervous laugh and finally let go of the fabric to awkwardly wave her hands in an unintelligible gesture. How could one not like girls? Not like their loud laughs and airy daydreams? Not like their elegant dances or clumsy friendships? "Do you?"
"Of course," Haruka said.
"Oh." Elsa hadn't expected the answer to be so frank. So simple. "Can I… Can I ask how you knew?"
They stopped before the large dark wood double door with the artful gold handles and curved carvings. The music had paused, but they could faintly hear the turning of sheet music.
"Ah, that age old question…" Haruka exhaled and tilted her head to the side with a chuckle, "I don't think you ever really know. You just… notice it."
"Oh." Elsa exhaled. "I think that's the best answer I've ever heard."
Haruka gave her a small, empathetic smile.
Elsa glanced at the door.
For a moment, the two of them hovered in the hall, waiting to see if the music would start again.
"You like Michiru, don't you?"
Elsa startled. She was sure she got whiplash from the speed with which she whipped her head around to look at Haruka.
Haruka failed to stifle a chuckle at Elsa's expression. Somehow, the sound eased Elsa's spike of stress.
Young notes softly began, the music slipping through the door.
"Yes," Elsa whispered, trying (and failing) to emulate the confidence with which Haruka had answered all her questions. "Since the first second that she spoke to me."
Haruka's gaze narrowed. Elsa could tell she had been trying to hide it, but she had still caught the slight change in expression. She forced herself to stand straighter, to keep holding Haruka's gaze. She felt sick, that she was going to throw up her thumping heart. It was the first time she had ever confessed such a thing— about Michiru no less.
And then Haruka set her fingertips upon one of the ornate hands and snorted softly. She shook her head. "I'd be lying if I said the same happened to me," Haruka mused. "But, unfortunately, she is hard to hate."
Elsa swallowed and then grinned as brightly as she could. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who sees it."
Haruka nodded. She leaned her shoulder into the door before opening it. The music burst through the crack. "Take care, Elsa."
"You too, Haruka."
That should have been their goodbye.
But Haruka had left the door open.
Watching Haruka's figure grow smaller and Michiru's music sputter and stop when she recognized the approaching visitor was a very clear cue for Elsa to leave. Yet there was something too important for Elsa to abandon.
Crouching awkwardly down, cheeks warm from the absurdity of what she was doing, Elsa squinted with one eye through the crack.
She could hear their tones but not their voices: the inquisitive drawl from Michiru, the laugh preceding a plea from Haruka. Michiru's response was two long notes on the violin and her head tilting high. Haruka raised her hands up in a mark of surrender.
There was something in their movements, in their body language, that had Elsa sparing breaths. There was a rhythm to their exchanges.
Elsa pressed closer to the door as Haruka set her hands on the edge of the wooden stage. Could she see up Michiru's skirt from that angle?
Chewing on her lip, Elsa shoved that horrible thought away. She and Haruka — they were obvious enough, but… what about Michiru?
Michiru stepped closer to the stage edge, closer to Haruka, her bow and instrument still in hand. They were whispering.
Elsa swallowed. Never. Never ever ever did she entertain the thought of telling Michiru how she felt. What would she ever even say? That she still remembered the first time she heard Michiru giggle, the sound as clear as day in her mind? That she so desperately wanted to stroll through streets, arm in arm, have her heart swell the same way it did whenever she was near Elsa? Never. She didn't want to be a freak in Michiru's eyes. She didn't want to scare her. She didn't want to repulse her.
But then Haruka's hand set gently on Michiru's ankle. And Michiru didn't pull away.
Instead, Michiru chided. She lowered her bow under Haruka's chin. She tilted Haruka's head up. By a fraction, Haruka's hand slid up Michiru's calf. The air shifted.
Elsa grew cold. She couldn't bring herself to look away.
Haruka rose to her tiptoes. Michiru bent down.
Elsa snapped her eyes shut before their lips met.
—
Haruka pushed up against the stage, like a mermaid rising for air, to kiss Michiru back. Whatever anxiety she had felt her way here now dissipated.
She remembered her first encounter with alcohol. The dizzying high. The twisting and turning of time, moments flowing thick and stagnant through the world around her. If Haruka multiplied that feeling tenfold, then maybe she would get a fraction of 1% of what she felt right now.
Pressing against the bow under her chin, unaware of any pain, Haruka's hands rushed into Michiru's hair as quickly as their tongues raced to meet.
Half hazardously, Michiru set her violin aside. Her bow fell. Her freed hand scrambled to the cove at the back of Haruka's neck.
Michiru tasted so good.
She smelled so good.
She felt so amazing. She—
A boom.
They startled, jolting apart.
Their heads whipped to the back of the auditorium.
They caught a glimpse of a crack of light being swallowed as a door slammed shut. Immediately, Haruka grunted, "Shit."
"What is it?" Michiru asked with a frown. Her hand loosened at the back of Haruka's neck, but didn't fully retreat.
"Elsa took me to you. It seems like she lingered," Haruka said, feeling deeply guilty. She should've been more mindful. But the only thing she had been able to think about when she saw Michiru was the girl herself.
Yet if Michiru was at all perturbed by the compromising situation, she didn't show it. "You sound worried. Are you ashamed?" Michiru asked. Slowly, her hands slid along the collar of Haruka's uniform and onto her neck scarf.
Haruka remembered the sight of Neptune's hands winding the barbed tail.
She forced herself to focus on Michiru's eyes to ground herself, but there were stars in Michiru's eyes, as if the ocean was reflecting the night.
"I— uh. I um."
Michiru began to smile. Somehow, Haruka did too.
"No. I'm not. Aren't you bothered?"
"I should be, shouldn't I?" Michiru's gaze fell to watch her own hands retie and center Haruka's bow.
Haruka was obsessed with how the outer corners of Michiru's eyelashes curved up against her sharp eyes.
"I don't know. It seems like something that could become… troublesome, painful, if it got out."
Michiru hummed. "This again. I'm surprised someone as uncompromisingly daring as you would worry so much about what people whisper."
Haruka couldn't tell if there was something layered into Michiru's tone or if she was just being pretentious.
"I'm not concerned with myself," Haruka said bluntly. And it was true. She'd been battling the rumors and malicious attitudes since pubescence— she was hardened against it now (or so she told herself).
Michiru cocked her head to the side. "You're not trying to protect me now, are you?"
Something in the air shifted as their gazes met. A hint of goosebumps rose on Haruka's skin. So piercing Michiru's gaze was, that Haruka was sure her mind, and every secret she ever tried to keep, was on display.
Did Michiru know? Did Neptune know?
Haruka chuckled and shrugged in surrender. "Whoever would be dumb in enough to try and do that?"
Michiru pressed her lips to try and hide a smile. Michiru center Haruka's scarf and smoothed collar down. Haruka found herself leaning into Michiru's touch, ignoring the stab of the stage's edge at her ribs.
"Well, for those who are dumb enough to worry, they can rest assured that it's not something that would linger. Once you've gone, that is. Out of sight, out of mind, no?"
There was something in the way that Michiru said it as she tilted a look up from below her lashes that made Haruka's heart twist in a knot. To her horror, she identified the feeling as nostalgia. There was something overly familiar about Michiru now— even though her physical resemblance to Neptune was minimum, her movements, the cadence of her speech, and her aura felt more like home than ever before.
Was this what Michiru had felt when she had seen Haruka the first time?
"You really think so?" Haruka asked skeptically. In no world could Haruka imagine a rumor of Michiru Kaioh kissing a girl leaving anyone's subconscious.
Michiru hummed. "All it would take is for me to be seen kissing someone else and the narrative would change to something much more common," she hummed as she gave Haruka's shoulder a firmer pat than Haruka ever expected. "An easy fix," she said.
"Right," Haruka grunted as Michiru rose. She cast her gaze aside as her mind spiraled with thoughts of Michiru kissing other people.
"You're pouting," Michiru chided as she picked up her instrument.
"Am not."
Effortlessly, Haruka raised herself to the stage as Michiru walked to the open violin case atop the fortepiano. She frowned. "I didn't mean to interrupt your practice. You don't have to stop."
Michiru peered over her shoulder. "You wish me to continue?"
Haruka nodded.
"I'm not performance ready."
"Who ever really is?" Haruka countered as she walked Michiru's way.
Michiru raised a brow. "Oddly philosophical."
"You turn me into a poet," Haruka said solemnly.
Michiru rolled her eyes. Haruka grinned. She loved it when Michiru's manners succumbed to the attitude that was bubbling under the surface.
"Please. You owe me," Haruka pressed, standing just a couple centimeters behind Michiru and hovering devilishly.
"Pardon? I owe you something?" She asked incredulously, angling playfully away from Harold.
"Yes, a goodbye present."
Michiru narrowed her eyes. Haruka raised her brows. Time froze for a moment as they stared each other done. Haruka straightened. On her way here, she had been wracked by nerves wondering how (or if) to address the incident last night, but now she felt a familiar competitive thrill creeping in. Who could play dumb longer?
Haruka felt as if she was on the circuit with a worthy opponent for once.
"You could say I just gave you it," Michiru mutter coyly. She was still clutching her violin and bow, covering them over the case.
"I could say that, but I won't. I want more," Haruka teased with a click of her tongue. She set her hands to her hips and leaned in. Michiru quickly leaned back, her hip resting on the piano. Her eyes flickered over Haruka, but she stood her ground.
"Greedy, Tenoh. You think I'm the sort of girl to give presents without getting anything back?" Michiru scolded.
"Who said I didn't have something for you?" Haruka challenged with a grin.
"Oh, was it the ruined reputation?"
Immediately, Haruka's heart faltered and her face fell. In response, Michiru laughed. She hid her mouth with her small fist as she did so.
Haruka relaxed. "That was mean."
"It was, wasn't it?" Michiru mused without a hint of remorse. She set her violin and bow into the case. It was then, just before she closed it, that Haruka noticed a familiar pebble tuckered into the inner pocket. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Michiru caught her eye as she clicked the case closed. She took the handle and dropped the case over her shoulder.
"Well, go on," she said, "Give me your present. Then, you'll get your own private performance."
Haruka stared at Michiru. Oh, she liked liked this girl.