In the crowd, Michiru yelped alone, her arms instinctively flying against the falling confetti.
The idiots around her didn't bulge, instead they gasped with delight and clapped harder.
But it wasn't just confetti, Michiru saw. There were seeds. Shining eery seeds that made her stomach turn.
And through the cracks of light between her forearms Michiru stared at them all. She couldn't transform, not with her parents eyeing the crowd, Inojin watching her and Kai at her side. Dread twisted her gut.
Wisps of movement in the crowd.
By the stage, people slumped oddly. On the stage, half the performers did too.
A breeze.
A seed, floating more than falling, came above Michiru. Her eyes widened.
With a gasp, the wind was knocked out of Michiru.
Her arms were strong. Michiru was weightless.
Her speed whipped Michiru's hair forward and when Michiru attempted to open her eyes, the dark strands obscured almost all her vision.
Only a glimpse of silver and sapphire was caught.
Past the fallen crowd, past the glass doors and off the balcony ledge, Michiru's arms flew around her neck and held on tight.
Suspended in the night sky, dark velvet clouds still visible from the polluting stars below, Uranus glowed moonlight.
Hair soft and bellowing, the stuff of nimbus clouds. Eyes as bright and clear as the eye of a storm. A face and figure of inhuman beauty and proportions.
Michiru's heart stopped.
Wind chimes. The roar of a crowd when a winner crosses the finishing line. Birds chirping. Their laughter as they dove under the gazebo just in time.
When they landed atop the roof of the neighboring shorter building, Michiru felt no impact.
Uranus straightened from her squat. Michiru felt no heavier than a feather in her gentle hold.
Uranus didn't let go.
Michiru didn't either.
Her eyes fell to her lips.
The world was silent. The silence screaming. Screaming and deafening.
She leaned in. The space between them shrank, but did not vanish.
In the middle of summer, Uranus white-tipped eyelashes appeared covered in snowflakes. Michiru remembered Haruka's own blond tipped lashes and warmed. There were little traces of them in each other— Michiru could spot a billion difference and similarities as her eyes swept over Uranus.
Like a knife to her throat, déjà vu choked Michiru.
How familiarly forlorn those kaleidoscopes of cyan blue were.
The tips of their noses brushed.
Michiru pulled away.
She slid out of Uranus' hold. Uranus still held her steady as she stepped to the roof.
"Are you hurt?"
Michiru's knees weakened from the blow that was Uranus' voice. All the sound from the worlds came rushing back and maybe if her waist wasn't so firmly held, maybe Michiru would have indeed fallen.
In the distance, sparks of lightning flared.
"No. Should I be?" Michiru asked, voice tittering the edge of unsteady. She couldn't look at Uranus. So, she focused to the sight of her answer— the great glass event room of Mugen Academy now littered with slumped bodies.
The stage had Inojin along with the musicians and others fainted as well, but Michiru was pricked with the feeling that some people were missing.
"Do you know what's happening?" Uranus voice— lower and chiller than Haruka's, asked from at her side.
Michiru's hand slid slowly into her purse, acknowledging the miracle of its remaining presence at her hip, and shook her head, "Not any more than you do."
But her eyes narrowed at a hint of movement bubbling at the stage. Uranus tensed at her side.
Michiru's fingers curled tightly around the wand. "You take who you can, I'll handle the rest."
"Don't trust me to keep up?"
"No," Michiru said and finally turned to Uranus. How minuscule Michiru suddenly felt. Uranus was taller than Haruka, with legs proportionately longer than any human could ever have. It hurt to look at her. For a million more reasons than one. "I don't think you would survive getting anyone hurt."
Uranus' jaw tightened and Michiru saw Haruka. She turned forward, eyes set on the Mugen balcony that was now rolling over with fog.
"I guess we'll just have to see about that," Uranus muttered. With that, she lept and Michiru was left alone on the edge of the rooftop, watching her run into a white mist that was starting to cloud the windows.
For a moment Michiru let herself stand there, in her finest dress and kilometers high in the sky— fragile and easily shattered by the smallest misstep.
She took a deep breath, then another.
What was she feeling?
Michiru held her heart, the wand pressing against her chest. She didn't know. It must have not really hit— that she had just seen Uranus in the flesh. But, she remembered the sight of Uranus' focused gaze forward as she held Michiru close and leapt into the night, Michiru had been saved.
Someone had saved her.
Michiru smiled, just a little. She felt like a ripple tracing a wave. No longer lonely.
When Sailor Neptune stepped into the opaque fog she walked slowly but confidently. This wouldn't be her end, she knew, and no matter what, this wouldn't be Uranus'. Wherever the sky guardian went, Neptune would follow.
The entire world shook and the fog, for just a few seconds, was whipped away.
Neptune saw Uranus at the center of the spacious venue single-handedly fighting bubbling shadows that had resembled the one Neptune had saved Haruka from. These were smaller and less deformed.
Neptune took a step Uranus' way but as the fog's thickness returned, she halted. Her eyes swept the floor, noticing that the figures which remained human had familiar glowing crystals above them. Everywhere the thick white mist stretched, a new heart was pulled.
Some shined so brightly. Some pulsated dully. Some large, others tiny.
The less impressive ones were easiest to see: the fog, as if unimpressed, rolled away from the hosts' and stretched to their neighbors.
Glass shattered; Uranus cursed. She sounded more irritated than hurt, so Neptune didn't turn to look. Instead, she narrowed her focus upon the stage.
There was a lump of white at the center stage. From it mist oozed. It was innocent appearing, cloud-like and growing with each rattling breath. There was a faint smell that reminded Neptune of a concert fog machine.
There was a chill wrapping around her leg, crawling with a hundred little legs and stinging the memory of an old wound. She looked down and rushed to shake off the fog. Like cotton candy, it stuck and crystallized upon her shin until she tore herself away and landed atop the nearest table.
Cutlery rattled. A plate broke under her heel. Condensation dappled the champagne glasses and the windows. The chandelier shined with dew.
No longer could she hear any struggle behind her.
Looking at the fog, she felt…content. Satisfied. Like she did when she framed a painting. Like she did when she finished a performance.
Her vision dimmed. She swayed. Uranus could handle the rest.
Uranus… It'd be nice to see her one more time. Drowsily, Neptune turned to scan the room for her. And she was there. So much closer than Neptune expected her to be. Why, her face was right in front of her. And her hand— raised so high in the air.
Dumbly, she watched the hand come flying down.
Then she felt it, a sharp pain on her breast. She gasped with the explosion of pain and fear within her. Suddenly her chest ached, as if some beating little thing had come dangerously close to escaping.
Furiously and half-panicked, Uranus shook off the white cloud sticking to her glove. "How the hell have you managed to survive this long on your own, Kaioh?" She snorted as she did so.
Neptune didn't answer. She grabbed Uranus and threw her to the side just in time for them to dodge an attack that shattered their table. In seconds, Neptune completed her prayer and tossed aside the carcass before it began to dissolve. In its wake was left an unremarkable party guest, middle aged and most likely a parent to a prodigy.
She met Uranus gaze, the two of them standing on tables flanking the destroyed one. "Just fine."
Uranus' eyes perked up. Her eyes fell openly to Neptune's chest. "Are you alright."
Neptune nodded, "Yes… Thank you."
Uranus dipped her head. In silence, they both acknowledged the disaster they had just avoided. Whatever undefeatable nightmare which would have come from Neptune's chest would've surely been an unwelcome guest to the party.
In the dim distance, new dark shadows bubbled.
Neptune pointed at them. "Do you want to get rid of them properly? Or are you still committed to using them as a cardio work out?"
Uranus snorted. She raised her hand in the area, faltering slightly. The confidence wasn't fully there yet. But, she was clearly willing to follow Neptune's lead.
Despite herself, Neptune smirked. With their backs facing each other, they fought.
There was a steady rhythm to their movements, their coordination. Every time they came close, their air grew hotter.
The world shook. The room was drowned in the sound of waves and scent of salt.
As Neptune gently lowered Inojin's head back down to the wooden stage after the fog had cleared and his heart was returned, she couldn't help but think of how fitting the expression of the man's soul was.
Standing on the stage, surrounding by slumped bodies, Neptune's eyes swept over the recovering room until it caught her reflection in the windows. She was surrounding by hundreds of shining hearts, yet she was brighter than them all.
What did her crystal look like? What would her demons look like?
Neptune held her chest, the dull ache from the fog Uranus had saved her from still present.
She looked away from her reflection and returned her attention to what was important: returning everyone's heart as undamaged as possible. Uranus was already doing it.
"Be gentle," Neptune said, voice quiet even though there was significant distance between them, "Hearts are fragile. And grow dull when separated from their person. We have to be quick."
A low hum was her only acknowledgment. Michiru didn't know how she was going to survive their next conversation with this fresh tension between them.
Shrouded with experience, Neptune moved the fastest. But she lingered a second longer to give both her parents' a kiss on their cheeks and to squeeze Sora's hand. As soon as a heart was returned, a person groggily stirred. She knew Uranus and her didn't have long.
The guardians' prayer had healed the material as well as the spiritual— the room's condition was as good as it had been before the chandelier erupted. Neptune would've lingered to investigate it if the glare of a lingering light didn't demand her attention.
Uranus was holding the heart, standing stiffly over a small body.
"Haruka?" Neptune asked softly, the name escaping before she could correct herself.
Uranus turned to her with wide wet eyes and a pale face. The body at her feet was Mirai's. The heart in her hand the brightest in the room, the brightest either of them had ever seen.
"Is this—" Haruka cleared her throat and set her jaw. More firmly, she said, "Could this be it?"
Neptune opened and closed her mouth. Mirai had developed a greyish tint to her skin. Haruka's hands were shaking, she was gripping it a little too harder. Any tighter and it would start chipping.
"No! Of course not."
"How do you know? Its color is so pure."
"I just do, Uranus. We do," Neptune urged, taking a step closer. She looked nervously at Haruka's little cousin. "Return it."
But Uranus didn't move. Instead, she chuckled. Bitterly. Staring at the heart that had already grown a little dimmer since Neptune came over. "And what if it was? We would just take it from her?"
Neptune looked at Uranus. Her fists balled and closed at her sides. "Return it," she reiterated, more fiercely this time.
Snapping to her senses, Uranus nodded and did just that. She sunk to her knees, cradled Mirai's upper half and returned the beat to her heart.
Neptune was gone, determined to give them a private moment, when Uranus hugged Mirai tightly once she took her new first breath.
Upon the same rooftop which they had watched the chaos unfold, Neptune watched the people come to their senses. The lights were fully vibrant, and minds followed legs, blinking to clarity once postures stood straight.
No one knew what had just happened to them or why they felt as if they had blacked out for the finale of the opening ceremony, but all were sure their neighbors did not feel the same. Embarrassed and never daring to ask, everyone exchanged overly confident smiles, as if only they alone had floundered.
"I was ready," Uranus said, standing on the elated edge beside Neptune.
They were watching the event progress with their loved ones uncertainly scanning the crowd for a teenage girl. The clouds had lowered, but the humidity did not seem to bother their alien forms.
"You said I wouldn't survive getting someone hurt. But I was ready to take Mirai's life if it meant we had found a talisman," Uranus sounded bitter.
Neptune gave her a sidelong glance. Suddenly, she felt impeccably weary. "No, you weren't," she said with a sigh and turned to go. Somewhere, she decided, she would find a quiet spot to mentally recuperate before returning to party just before it ended.
Except Uranus got in her way.
Neptune came face to face with her. Now transformed, their height difference wasn't so great. In fact, it was slightly smaller than that between Haruka and Michiru.
"Yes," Uranus said tightly, grimly. "I was." There was something accusatory in her voice.
Neptune surveyed her expression. It was awful, how familiar Uranus' eyes felt. No breathless feeling with their first stare down. No electrifying novelty of seeing them stare her down. Just a dull ache of nostalgia.
"Well then, I'm glad you didn't have to prove it," Neptune said with a tired smile and waved her hand. She tried to step around Uranus, but the sky guardian caught her wrist.
They froze. How many times had they been here? Staring at each other? Tip toeing the line of enamored and afraid?
Uranus squeezed Neptune's wrist. Then, her long fingers stretched up to press gently into Neptune's palm. Neptune relaxed her hand. Slowly, Uranus slid hers higher, until their fingers were tangled together.
There were no words to describe the electricity that passed between them. It was like returning to a childhood bed at the end of an adult life. It was like being wrapped in your grandmother's warmest blanket in the middle of a snowstorm. It was like running into your spouse's arms upon their return from centuries of far-gone war. It was like two teenage girls holding hands in the back of a car with racing hearts. No words came close.
"Could you still love me?" Uranus asked, voice steadier and more grounded than Michiru or Neptune had ever heard it. "If I did that to her, or after I quite possibly do that to some other child: Could you still love me?"
Close by, purple lightning flickered. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Neptune could swear she heard raindrops hit the ocean far away.
"Uranus," she said, the name a sweet on her tongue, "Who am I to judge?"
Uranus gripped her hand. "You are as my executioner, the only judgment I care about."
Neptune smiled weakly. "But don't you remember now? There are those higher than me, than us, that pass judgment." With those words, memories of the moon kingdom and its regent flickered between them.
Uranus pulled her close, and she let her do it. "And they have my sins and my love. But do I have theirs? Do I have yours?" There was something so lost and desperate in Uranus' voice, Michiru recognized Haruka behind those eyes.
Neptune rested her hand upon Uranus' chest. Uranus held her waist. More vividly than ever before, Neptune remembered the view from tower in her dream.
"You really want them?" Neptune mused softly.
Uranus nodded. "To have and to hold."
Neptune laughed softly. Summer waves crashing lazy on a sandy shore. She rested her forehead upon Uranus. "Then, when this is all done, and only then, you can have them all," she lied, for everything had already been slipping from her fingers into Haruka's.
She hadn't been imagining it— the rain had indeed started to fall. Now it crept to them as little droplets carried on the wind.
Uranus didn't seem entirely happy with that answer, but still her eyes shined. Her forehead rested on Neptune's. "Then, we must …."
Neptune closed her eyes, leaned into Uranus' touch. "You could have left," Michiru whispered, "I wouldn't have held it against you."
"I know," Haruka said softly, "I know. But I couldn't run away any longer."
Gently, Uranus' hand fell to the curve of Neptune's lower back.
"Where you go, I go."
Their lips met.
It was new. It was nostalgic.
The heat grew. Their lips and tongues wandered. Clothing peeled off.
Under the rain, atop the room, with the music from across, they gave in.