sexuallyconfuses | (no subject)

Haruka Tenoh doesn't say things she doesn't mean, so when she said she was going to pursue Michiru in earnest, it was with every intention of carrying it out. As for her great courting plan -- well, she doesn't quite have one; never before has she had to work for a girl's attention, nor has she ever craved it the way she does now. But Haruka's gotten most places in life by following the wind and trusting her gut, so as far as she's concerned, there's little reason to play this any different.

Her newfound assertiveness means, for one, that she won't keep her run-ins with Michiru up to chance, or bother pretending like she is. Their weekly art lessons at the park are one thing -- a solid start, to be sure, but perhaps a bit too... scholastic. (Even with the way Michiru's fingers brush her thigh when she reaches for the sketchbook, or wrap around her hand to tilt it at a better angle.) She needs something with a different atmosphere -- something with clearer intent.

So for the time being, Haruka decides they can have lunch together.

When the bell rings, she strides over to Michiru's classroom -- not that its number is information Michiru ever volunteered, or that Haruka asked for, but that much is common knowledge among the student body -- and greets the students inside with an easy salute. "Yo. I'm looking for Michiru Kaioh."

Haruka's well-used to being greeted with a wave of mumblings and whispers, but this time, something is off. It's not the light, bubbly sound of girlish giggles and coos, but venomous hisses and biting stares. So it's true, isn't it? I don't get it. What a shame.

Haruka leans against the doorframe with a single raised eyebrow, and waits for her answer.

"She's already out," one girl says finally. "She always eats alone, so we couldn't tell you where she is."

"Huh." Shrugging one shoulder, Haruka pushes herself back straight. A wasted trip, then. "Well, thanks anyway."

"Tenoh-san," another girl calls after her just as she's about to take her leave, stopping her in place just behind the doorway. "Can I ask you one thing?"

Haruka doesn't respond, but doesn't walk away, either. The girl continues. "Why do you associate with her? Is it for her money and looks, after all? Because no matter how anyone looks at it, it's just a waste. You already have quite the reputation here, Tenoh-san -- would you really want to ruin it over someone like her?"

A voice at the back calls out what she presumes to be the girl's name, marked with a scandalized gasp, as if to say: that's not the sort of thing to be said aloud. But beyond that, not a single student is offering a word of protest. The whole room is staring at Haruka with the same expectant looks on their faces.

What the hell is this?

Something in the pit of Haruka's stomach simmers. The voice that comes out of her throat, however, is icicle-sharp.

"Who I choose to associate with is my own business."

And she shoves the door shut with a slam.

She can find Michiru on her own.

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"Thank you."

Michiru accepts the melon bread with a smile, leaving the woman on duty at the lunch counter wondering exactly what a young lady of such refinement is doing ordering a plastic-wrapped pastry in the first place. She's made a habit of this, lately. It's good to give back to her school, and if whispers follow her as she walks, well. People are entitled to think what they will of her for insisting on always having exact change, or for withdrawing it from a designer coin purse. She isn't doing any of this to gratify them.

She hasn't changed where she eats, however: there's a decorative fountain on school grounds that students tend to avoid, as the fountain is one of this school's Seven Mysteries: rumor has it that students sitting on the rim are dragged from behind and fall in. Michiru has never suffered this ill fate, though she's been testing her luck for years now. Perhaps whatever inhabits it likes her?

Spreading her napkin on her lap, Michiru ignores it when a cluster of freshmen head over, realize this space is occupied, exchange a few words, and then leave, side-eying her as they go. She barely even blinks as she opens her lunchbox, withdrawing the perfectly-executed bento she'd prepared the night before. Sometimes she orders out and brings the leftovers to school for lunch so as not to be wasteful (it's inconsiderate to the chefs), but she's been making her own lunches the past few days. Ever since she started buying sweet breads, in fact.

The day before she'd started this new ritual, it had rained.

Haruka stalks through the school in sharp, hurried strides, for once in her life not turning her head to acknowledge any passing girls' greetings. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides to an erratic, agitated rhythm, and the blood-red heat building in her stomach only rises higher and higher with every step she takes.

What the hell was that? What the hell was that?

She looks through the hallways. She looks on the roof. She looks behind the school, by the parking lot, and the tension straining her muscles just about threatens to snap the fountain comes into view and--

"... Sempai."

Teeth ground together, Haruka exhales slow and harsh through her nose. Her back is rigid as a lamppost; the lightness that flickers through her chest at the sight of Michiru stands at ugly odds with her locked-stiff bones, and the barely-contained rage churning within.

She has no idea just how much it's showing on her face.

Michiru blinks, looking up. There's a moment something lights up in her own face, too, or threatens to, but it vanishes the moment she sees the other girl's demeanor. Closing her lunchbox, she sets it aside and folds her hands in her lap, looking up at Haruka in perfect serenity.

"That's quite the entrance," she points out, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "Was I that difficult to find?"

The hardness in Haruka's features cracks beneath a frown, and she kicks herself internally. Michiru doesn't need to know. Come on, get a grip.

"It was a real hassle," she answers. Her attempt at smoothing out her voice results in unmissable stiltedness, but the angry tremor to it has been subdued to an undercurrent. "Don't worry about it."

Haruka takes her seat by Michiru's side, and drops her lunchbox listlessly next to her. She's trying to rein her features in, trying to drain the palpable tension from the air between the two of them -- but the effort of doing so only keeps the event rooted firmly in the forefront of her mind.

She should shake this off. Start some smalltalk, like always. She should definitely not just be sitting there and glaring at her lap.

And yet.

Shifting to make room for Haruka on the fountain's rim, Michiru allows herself a tiny frown. One hand drifts to her bento box as if she means to place it back onto her lap, but she doesn't move. Not immediately. Not until that frown creases her brow, then eases slightly.

"I don't mind eating alone," she offers, finally, opening her box - the quintessential perfect Japanese boxed lunch is nestled within, save perhaps wieners cut into octopus shapes (and that's less Michiru being too classy for octopus-shaped food and more Michiru not caring for wieners). "It's peaceful here, and relaxing.

"But pleasant company is welcome," she adds, so as not to hurry Haruka away. If Haruka had intended to eat lunch with her and arrived in a bad mood, Michiru has a few guesses what might cause such a phenomenon. They're horribly self-centered, however. She can barely bring herself to believe they might be true. She mustn't.

She's only hedging her bets to keep Haruka from being troubled on her account. That's almost as unforgivable as her self-centeredness.

Edited 2016-05-14 04:12 (UTC)

Haruka's shoulders twitch up, and she raises a hand to rub at her nape. "Sorry," she mutters, guilty. This is the exact opposite of what she wanted. Is the first step of her great courting plan making Michiru want nothing to do with her? Great going, Casanova.

She rolls her shoulders back with a deep inhale, holds it a moment, and exhales. The simmering settles, just a bit. Enough to keep it at bay for a time.

"Just kind of a long day," she offers lamely, one corner of her mouth quirking with sheepishness. She's not really sure what else she could say. When was the last time she felt awkward? When was the last time she had a poor impression to amend?

"... Your lunch looks nice."

Edited 2016-05-14 04:30 (UTC)

Oh, dear. Had her underclassman taken that as a slight?

...From her perspective, Michiru can absolutely see how that would have been possible. She tips her knees towards Haruka as she sits to indicate that the other girl is, in fact, sincerely welcome here. But not too overtly. Wouldn't do to impose.

"And what are you eating?" she asks as she takes up her chopsticks, looking for Haruka's lunch. This is a good topic. Appropriate for the situation. If it's what Haruka would like to use to dispel whatever might be bothering her, Michiru doesn't mind humoring her.

Haruka's stiff shoulders slope visibly at the gesture. Such a small thing, but it offers honest relief. (She's learning to notice small things more, lately.) She even manages a bare hint of a smile.

"Oh, uh--" Right. Eating. Haruka's appetite has been trampled flat beneath her indignation, but she picks her lunch box up and plants it on her lap all the same, to show Michiru its contents. Chicken on rice, with a side of noodles and salad; clearly a store-bought meal, but of the higher quality ones.

"I don't really cook much," she says with a shrug, and dutifully drops a tomato into her mouth if only to avoid raising further questions. "You make yours, Sempai?"

Michiru smiles: "It's something to do in the mornings."

A sideways glance at Haruka's lunch, and she's taking a delicate nibble of her own rolled fried egg to set a good example - protein is good for stamina. Her focus, in either case, does seem to be on eating. And don't athletes in particular have to keep their bodies in top, properly-nourished condition?

Her lips are moving perhaps a bit more than necessary as she chews, however. Perhaps it's a personal idiosyncrasy.

"Heh... as expected." Haruka follows that example, taking a slice of chicken into her mouth next. See? She's being good. And her eyes are not particularly drawn to the curling and rolling of Michiru's lips, or the slight bobbing of pale throat as she swallows. Not at all.

Haruka swallows, too. "What's your favorite food, Sempai?"