Michiru stared at the helmet Haruka had tossed her. She fought the urge to make a snide comment about the present being a bike ride.
"You're losing your ability to hide your feelings, Kaioh."
"I am not," Michiru retorted. With that, she wiggled the helmet atop her head. It was hotter and stuffier than she ever imagined it being. It was half impossible to see anything through the dim eye-shield. With her hair plastered to her forehead and to the back of her neck, she not only felt like an idiot, but looked like one too.
Haruka laughing didn't help.
"Here, let me fix it."
Michiru let Haruka pull herself closer.
Whatever students were lingering or looking at them were lost in the background, Michiru registered nothing but Haruka's fingertips brushing her throat and the intensity of her focused gaze. Carefully, Haruka adjusted and tightened the helmet to a better fit on Michiru's head.
The pounding of her heart was deafening. If her face was red, Michiru could blame it on the helmet.
"There. How does that feel?" Haruka asked. She raised the eyeshield and Michiru was forced to meet eyes as clear blue as a fresh spring sky. She wanted to kiss them.
"Perfect," Michiru exhaled.
"Good," Haruka smiled, reminding Michiru of the sun. She smiled back beneath the helmet. Haruka lowered the eye shield.
"Promise to hold on tight?" Haruka asked once Michiru, a little cumbersomely, climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. Her violin case was (dubiously) well secured at the side— against her better judgment, she let herself trust Haruka with its safety.
"As if I have a choice," Michiru replied, her voice becoming clipped with the rising nerves.
Haruka chuckled. There was something so beautiful in seeing the girl completely in her element- motorcycle gloves on, sneakers on tight, and hands gripping worn handles. As well-kept and shiny as the bike was, Michiru could tell it had seen many rides from how perfectly molded it was to Haruka.
"I'm trying to flirt, Michiru."
Michiru wrapped her arms around the girls waist and felt the universe colliding within her. If it hadn't been for the stupid helmet, she would have rested her cheek on Haruka's back to listen to her heart.
"Keep trying," she muttered and squeezed her eyes shut as Haruka tucked up the kickstand.
And although she never would admit it, she might have squeaked when the engine revved. They sped off.
The wind whipped her skirt and hair. Her arms were surely suffocating Haruka.
But once a minute passed and she hadn't died, Michiru dared open one eye. Then another. She straightened and relaxed her hold.
Cars and people zoomed past as expected, but to her surprise none of it felt dangerous. With the steady speed and Haruka's balanced driving, they sped without worries and Michiru felt almost as safe as she would have as Neptune. Thinking of Neptune, she realized she that the sharp wind and thrill of speed felt incredibly different as a human.
Whenever she vaulted down buildings or chased down targets, the world around her felt like a slow nuisance. But, now, with the wind cooling her limbs and tangling her hair, she felt incredibly part of it all. She squeezed Haruka in a silent thank you.
When they passed people by, the half seconds were spent making eye contact. Most scowled and others sighed in admiration.
Out of the protective shell of a car, Michiru saw the roads and its traffic accessories in a new light. The stores and buildings blurred together in new ways, a mosaic more than a painting now.
Michiru finally understood Haruka's respect for speed—she wanted to go faster.
At a light, Haruka rested her leg on the ground and looked over her shoulder. "How are you holding up?"
"Good," Michiru answered breathlessly.
"You're not going to be sick on me, are you?" Haruka teased.
"Don't sound so eager, Tenoh. It's twisted," Michiru deadpanned.
Michiru felt Haruka's whole body vibrate when she laughed. How badly she wanted to kiss her.
Haruka might've felt the same, for her hand went atop those interlocked at her waist and gave them a squeeze. "Kasai is only a 25-minute ride from here. Think you can survive that long?"
Michiru hadn't been to Kasai Beach since she had been a child. Her family favored more… exclusive venues for their summer relaxations. Remembering the city views, delicious food and Ferris Wheel, Michiru immediately said, "Without a doubt."
Haruka grinned.
Before the light changed, Michiru unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off. Haruka began to protest.
"You're not wearing one and you're the driver."
"Well, it's not like a seatbelt."
Ignoring her, Michiru began to fix the helmet into the compartment it was on before. "I want to feel the wind in my hair. And-" The light before them turned green and cars began to roll forward. Luckily, they were toward the tail end of the line. Michiru fished her wireless headphones out and quickly pressed one into each of their ears.
Haruka blinked. Michiru gestured for her to move with the traffic.
"I'll crash if you play bad music, Kaioh."
"Good. I'm betting on it."
Haruka grinned and before they rode off, stole a quick kiss.
Michiru tapped her headphone to start the music.
Cutting around some traffic laws for sure, they wove between cars and along the shoreline. The song that had caught Michiru's attention in Haruka's car played first: Plastic Love, followed by a few more Japanese CityPop classics. The songs bled into more modern upbeat songs, from NewJeans to Grimes to Anri to others.
From the lack of highway accidents and the way Haruka slightly bobbed her head, Michiru got the hint that Haruka was a fan. Although she would never admit it, it was a new playlist she made thinking about Haruka. She worked hard to remember the songs she had seen in the car and listened to them until she could find some middle ground songs that they might both like.
The resulting playlist was… a lot lighter and sweeter than Michiru had anticipated.
Even when they briefly parted, Michiru hopping off to run and buy something from whichever appetizing food vendor they spotted along the way to the beach parking, the music kept playing.
"I'm surprised you listen to this sort of stuff," Haruka said at some point.
"You didn't really think I listened only to classical music?"
The silence was the loudest and clearest answer.
"I like this one," Haruka said, once the bike was parked and they were leaning against it while eating in front of the view before them. She tilted Michiru's phone toward Michiru. They were going through each other's music, discussing every unfamiliar song they saw in extensive depth. Just as Haruka had been surprised to see the amount of modern music on Michiru's playlists, Michiru was surprised at the sprinkling of instrumental pieces in Haruka's.
"Hm?" Michiru hovered her hand over her mouth as she chewed her dango.
It was a song about a shy girl singing about how she couldn't wait to finally have the courage to introduce herself to her crush and make them like her. Michiru raised her brows in surprise. "That's a complete antithesis to your being."
Haruka gasped. "What? How?"
"You flirt so easily. And shamelessly."
Haruka rolled her eyes. "That shows what you know about women, Kaioh. The more we flirt, the less we care."
"I don't think that's women, I think that's just you."
Haruka laughed, wholeheartedly. "Just wait and see. If you didn't terrify me as much as you did, you would've been impervious to my charms."
"You have charms?" Michiru asked innocently.
Haruka exhaled in exasperation, "Just wait and see."
Michiru responded with a skeptical hum. She stayed where she was, watching Haruka scroll through her songs. Except her eyes weren't on her screen.
The upward blue light of the phone was casting sharp shadows around Haruka's high cheekbones and up-turned nose. When she squinted against the glow, the corner of her eyes crinkled in sync with the lines that came with her scowling frown.
Feeling eyes on her, Haruka had looked up. How quickly her eyes dilated at the view before her. With her expression softening, Haruka perked her brows up.
"Yes?"
"Lower the brightness if it's bothering you," Michiru said gently.
"It's not," Haruka insisted but promptly did so anyway. "Can I ask you something—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"What is it?" Michiru asked as she carefully folded her wrapper into the bag that had been collecting all their trash. There were emptied bottles of Calpico—the same flavors as last time—amongst the plastic.
"This song—" again Haruka turned Michiru's phone toward her, "—it was the piece they played on the news about Yasho, wasn't it?"
Michiru froze. For a moment, she lost all cognitive and physical function. Then, slowly, she recalled the night and subsequent days she had tried to forget. "Yes," she said slowly, confidence in her answer growing only after she provided it. "How did you know?"
"I remember seeing it when I was looking through videos of you and finding it familiar. I connected the dots just now."
"Mm," Michiru hummed, "When did you watch the videos? After we met?"
To her surprise, Haruka shook her head. "Way before. Well, couple of weeks before." She hesitated. "Before I saw you, Neptune, in the hospital."
Michiru blinked, trying to remember the events in order. "What? Really…? You knew who I was?"
"Sort of," Haruka said with a sheepish smile, "I remembered seeing you on the news the morning the story broke and distinctly remembering thinking of how pretty you were. But then I saw you that evening, when you came to pick Elsa up from the track race. And as stupid as this is going to sound, I remember feeling dumbly jealous when she hugged you. I looked you up when I got home."
Michiru's eyes widened. This was all completely new information to her. She had a faint memory now of seeing Haruka that day—after all, how could she forget the first time she saw her? But she never had imagined it to be a shared memory.
Michiru opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"Wow," Haruka said, sounding oddly proud, "This is the first time I'm seeing you speechless."
"I'm sorry," Michiru said honestly, "I just hadn't expected it. All that time, I had thought I was being creepy and disgusting whenever I kept thinking about you and being in your proximity. Now, I feel much less so."
Haruka frowned. "You're not very kind to yourself."
"Crow calls the raven black."
"Squack."
Michiru smiled softly. "So where does that leave us?"
"I don't know..." Haruka confessed, "Do you think our curiosity happened naturally? Or it was the guardians missing each other?"
"I don't know," Michiru confessed. She looked ahead at the cobbled pathway that preceded the sand. It was Friday, so the beach was pleasantly crowded with students and families attempting to relax. Some young people roller skated by, others did smooth tricks on their longboards. The ocean watched them all.
"Well, we're not the only ones like this," Michiru said slowly, thinking of the few out celebrities she knew of, Takarazuka Revue, and the lesbian bars she had shyly googled in her private browser in the past, "So, maybe it's not too ridiculous to imagine us gravitating to each other on our own."
Haruka hummed, seemingly in agreement. "Yeah, that's the conclusion I came to as well."
"Thought about it much?"
"Honestly, yes. I wanted to know whose feelings I was feeling when I was looking at you."
Michiru sighed. "Your commitment to independence from the past confounds me sometimes."
"I've eased," Haruka admitted with a shrug. Michiru took her phone back when it was passed her way. "I can recognize now that nothing is truly isolated, but to me I like to at least have the illusion of choice in the people I love."
"Love?" Michiru echoed with soft amusement.
Haruka folded her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead at the beach. "I didn't misspeak."
Michiru's heart fluttered. There was someone about Haruka when she was serious, when she was concentrated and committed, that made Michiru feel incredibly safe. She felt as if she could cry and scream and Haruka would handle it all. It was not something Michiru had any intention of testing, but the feeling itself was a comfort.
"We barely know each other," Michiru countered awkwardly.
"I know," Haruka said, "That's why I don't love you, yet. Not really. But I know I will."
Michiru didn't respond at first, just took the words in. She hung the little plastic bag on the bike handle and folded her arms under her chest as well. They were looking at the same sight but surely seeing different things.
"So, the solution is simple—we learn as little as possible about each other."
"No," Haruka said immediately and firmly. "I don't want a solution. What's the point of this world if not for love? It's not worth saving then."
Michiru startled, glancing at Haruka with surprise, but the girl was glaring forward. Michiru saw her jaw was clenched. "Haruka," she said softly, "It doesn't sound smart. I—There's no guarantee of success. For all I know I can slip up on a random night and die—"
Haruka set her head with a loud thump against Michiru before she could finish saying the word. "Ow."
"I know, Michiru," Haruka said, "I know, Michiru. But I don't want to hear you say it."
Michiru's heart softened. "You should try your hardest," Michiru said softly, "To not fall in love."
Haruka groaned softly. "I'll clear my YouTube history."
Michiru carefully set a hand to Haruka's back and gave it a little pat. "A reformed romantic already."
Haruka pressed her head harder against Michiru's. "What about you? Where do you stand?"
Michiru didn't answer. She couldn't. She didn't know what to say. How could she tell Haruka that whenever she felt like giving up, like quitting and damning all the world to hell, it was her she thought about to strengthen her resolve?
When it was clear to Haruka she wouldn't get a response, she sighed sharply, "Right," and straightened. Michiru almost doubled over with the pang of guilt she felt. Watching Haruka's profile, her shining eyes dedicated to the view ahead, Michiru marveled at how much their relationship had changed from the passing strangers they had been.
If Haruka felt any ire to Michiru, she didn't show it. Michiru chewed her inner cheek, desperate to break the silence. She had never been one for ample conversation, and yet now she terribly missed their back and forth.
"What did you think?" Michiru asked softly, "When you saw the videos?"
Haruka hummed pensively. "That you were talented, obviously." She thought some more. "That you looked lonely, even when there was an orchestra behind you." She thought some more. "And that the poor boy clearly had the biggest crush on you."
Ah, there was Haruka's revenge: that horrible last line. Michiru nodded tightly, as if agreeing with an assessment.
"I re-watched them," Haruka continued, "After you confessed. I remember hunting for some signs of malice in those videos. I don't know why because I always knew it had been some sort of accident. But maybe I was just hunting for a justification for my anger. Anger that that had happen to someone as innocent as him. Anger at myself at my reaction to you. And above all, my selfish anger at myself—knowing that if I hadn't been running, that if I had been there with you, not only his life but your heart would have been spared."
Haruka looked at Michiru with glassy eyes, but no tears. Slowly, she unfurled her arms. Gingerly, they stepped into each other—Haruka's arm over Michiru's shoulder, Michiru's cheek on her shoulder and her arms around her waist. Haruka smelled not just of her perfume, but of all the salty and spicy food they had just ate, and of a fresh drive down the highway. How comforting it was.
"I even spoke to Kai about it, in a way. I tried to do the math, of how many lives were worth how many in exchange. If 1.1 billion could be trade for 1.2 billion. If 3 could be traded for 8 billion. If it was all a numbers game," Haruka confessed. "In the end, it seems to be."
Michiru hummed. When Haruka held her, she found she could think about Yasho with astounding clarity. Too long she had been casting the image of not only his death, but his life aside.
"Sometimes I want to ask you how he died," Haruka said, "I want to ask you about what happened in the hospital. About how you got the bite. About why so many of the shadows look so different—why some are so weak and rotting and others are terrifying and congested with humanity. About what you remember. About what you can see in the future."
"So why don't you?"
"Honestly? Because when we're together, I don't really care." Haruka pulled back just a little so she could look down at Michiru. "I'd rather learn about you."
Michiru's eyes rushed over every centimeter of Haruka's face, working hard to burn the sight into her memory. "Well, we have all of today left. Ask away."
Even when all on the beach had left and the sun had long set, they were walking with their feet in the water.
They talked about everything from first crushes, annoying parents, to first period horror stories. Much to Michiru's amusement, Haruka was incredibly squeamish about the crab she had picked up on the shore. For half an hour, she kept threateningly hovering him by Haruka's body, making the first cuss and struggle to play cool.
After carefully releasing him to the rocks, Michiru told Haruka about her father—with his love for poetry and fishing. He had taken her out on his boat many times in her childhood, but her disposition and skill had proved much more favorable for pearl diving than cutting fish throats.
Haruka had a semi-similar story that revolved around freeing her family's collection of prized finches only to discover they were all destined to die in the foreign climate.
Michiru loved hearing about all of Haruka's extended family—one that couldn't be more different than her own. A set of parents amicably divorced and remarried, Haruka had more siblings, cousins, nieces, and nephews than she knew what to do with.
Michiru's parents weren't divorced, but most thought they were. Her mother was just a bird in flight, always following the most popular fashion scene while her father was a bolder—impossible to unearth from Kyoto unless Michiru beckoned for him. She missed their company terribly, she heard herself admit to Haruka. It was the ceaseless worry over her screaming nightmares and endless questions about why she wasn't in her bed at 3 a.m. that forced her to hatch a plan to move out. She had come painfully close to emancipating.
Michiru could see Haruka's unease at the story. Without a doubt Haruka was thinking of her own family and the sacrifices she would have to make if she was to continue with her duty.
They both had a deep love for fine dining but completely contrasting taste in cuisine. It was an argument that lasted at least an hour and only ended when they agreed on a love for French cafes.
Haruka had taken piano for years as a child and wasn't horrible but had no love for it.
Both their mothers placed them in ballet, but while Michiru exhaled, Haruka was always bumping into and fighting with her fellow dancers.
A heavy cloud had crept invisibly over the night sky. Drizzle warned them of an impending doom. They ran, squealing and hand in hand, as fast as they could, to the bike. In a boardwalk gazebo, they found shelter before the first monsoon of the season broke the dry spell.
The relief on Haruka's face when she realized her bike was safe had been so comically cartoonish, that the only thing that could get Michiru to stop laughing was a nice long kiss. One that lasted until Michiru remembered her promise of a goodbye performance.