Notes: Written as part of the pornathon I've been holding over at my Tumblr for the prompts, which I combined, of "high school AU" and "hatesex" (to be fair, just how much hate is involved in the sex is a bit ambiguous). Title is from The Kills' "Pots and Pans." Couple of things: re: the summary, don't be thrown off by Haruka initially being referred to with he/him pronouns; this is not a DMAB Haruka fic. Otherwise, enjoy!

It hasn't been Kaioh Michiru's day.

Hell, she thinks bitterly, it hasn't been her week, month, year, or even decade, for that matter. At least there are only a few months until graduation.

Michiru knows the exact number of days left, has been counting since midway through her first year, but she doesn't think about it often. It's just too much of a depressing reminder when every single day in between is rife with almost inevitable potential to be soul-crushingly awful.

Mugen is a school for talented teenagers, full of prodigies in fields ranging from academics to arts to athletics. Michiru mastered the game of school long ago, and is always near the top of her class, but her true passion-and what really made her stand out to Mugen's admission committee-is her artwork.

(Talent and passion, of course, will only take one so far when one gets caught, at age fifteen, kissing another girl behind the bleachers of the baseball field. And then, instead of denying that the kiss meant anything Like That and spending the next several months prostrating herself at the feet of the most respected girls in school in hopes of forgiveness, Michiru had instead chosen to unapologetically confirm the truth behind all of the rumors.

And, okay, it's not as if Michiru has ever really been that great at dealing with people, especially when the average person is just so...boring to a mind like hers.

And perhaps in the aftermath of the whole incident she'd said some things she shouldn't have, and maybe it hadn't been a great idea to make Tsutakawa Misaki cry, but on the other hand, maybe it hadn't been a great idea for Tsutakawa Misaki and her gang to ignore the fact that all Michiru really wants is to be left alone.

That was the day that Michiru started her countdown to the end of high school.)

Regardless of everything else-the sidelong glances, the snickers, the casual shoulder shoves by the shoe cubbies, too subtle to ever be caught-Michiru still has her artwork. She's never without her sketchbook, and she's never, even throughout everything, encountered a situation that she couldn't heal from, at least a little bit, by spending some quality time with her paints and easel.

But now, ironically, her artwork might just be the means of her very last high school downfall, the squashed rotting cherry on the top of three years of awfulness.

Michiru is a member of Mugen's art club, mostly because she needs to be in some club or another. If she has to pick, she can't do much worse than the club that allows her unlimited access to art supplies and gives her an excuse to sit in a corner and sketch for several hours each day in exchange for ostensible extracurricular involvement.

The problem, of course, is that Michiru is too good at art.

When Oshiro-Sensei, Mugen's third year Modern Japanese teacher and the advisor to the Yearbook Club, asks to meet with Michiru after school, she has no idea what she's getting into until she's sitting in the chair and Sensei is spreading out articles and pictures. He's excited and making very little sense, but she's still able to thread together the gist of it: Mugen's boys' basketball team has apparently made it to some sort of championship game, and they're going to do a big spread on it in the yearbook, and Michiru, as the school's most talented artist, has been chosen to go along to the game and produce some commemorative pieces.

"Excuse me, could you please repeat that?" Michiru says, because she's pretty sure that Sensei just said he wants her to go to a basketball game and draw pictures of it, and the idea of this lodges in her list of All Time Least Enjoyable Prospective Activities squarely between getting a hand chopped off and having to spend another year in high school.

Sensei is so pleased by the prospect of what he's offering that he's nearly quivering. "Absolutely! Your art is absolutely divine. We would be honored to include it in our yearbook. And I'm sure that you'll enjoy the basketball game itself! It's sure to be very exciting."

Why, she wonders to herself, couldn't, say, the rugby team have been successful? Or the tennis team? Just...any team except for boys' basketball. "I can't," she says, trying to keep the rising anxiety out of her voice. "I can't spend all of that time around him-" Michiru shuts her mouth as soon as she realizes what she's about to say, but it's too late; Sensei's caught on, and he's smiling.

"Ah, is that how it is?" he says, eyebrows raised. "You wouldn't happen to be interested in one of the gentlemen on the team, would you?"

"No," Michiru says, resisting the urge to add on "but you would like that, wouldn't you." She forces any thoughts of the basketball team's star player out of her head and takes a second to regain her composure. "Sensei, it's an honor, but I'm afraid I must decline. Logistically it makes little sense-the game is out of town, you said?"

"Luckily, funding has allowed you access to your room! What do you say now?"

Michiru attempts another method. "I really would love to do it, but I'm currently focusing on getting into a good university, and-"

Sensei stabs his index finger in the air. "Aha, and that's where we come in! Think about it; your work in our yearbook, in its own spread, immortalized forever. What university would fail to be impressed by that?"

"Yes," Michiru says, "I'm sure that numerous college admissions directors would find such an illustration the highlight of my high school career."

Oshiro-Sensei clasps his hands together in front of an expression full of unbridled glee. "So we're in agreement, then!" he chirps, and it takes every ounce of Michiru's formidable self control to not facepalm right then and there. It occurs to her, with no lack of chagrin, that she hasn't really had a choice in the matter from the start.

"All right, I'll do it," Michiru says, plastering her best obedient smile on her face.

"Fantastic!" Sensei cries as Michiru rises. "Well be in touch to iron out the final details." He winks. "Oh, and who knows? This might be the perfect opportunity for you and that lucky boy on the team!"

"Yes, thank you, Sensei," Michiru says through gritted teeth, reminding herself, for at least the seventeenth time today, of the dwindling number of months she has left in this place.

On her way out, she passes by the gymnasium, and against her better judgement, she pauses to look inside, where the basketball team is scrimmaging.

Michiru is by no means a sports expert, but anyone could tell the star player. He radiates confidence, exudes talent, dribbling the ball at the top of the key. Nobody can keep up with him as he slashes, with blinding speed, to the basket and casually drops the layup in.

Number 3. Carefully tousled blonde hair, visible even from this distance.

After the score, he accepts congratulations from his teammates as the coach calls a timeout, and jogs over to the sideline. The coach is an intense man, and he's intensely scribbling on his whiteboard. Everyone's listening.

Except Number 3.

He appears to be kilometers away, staring out over the head of the coach. His expression has shifted from focused athlete to humble teammate to, now, something that almost looks wistful, like he's waiting for something that he'll never get.

Ridiculous, Michiru thinks to herself, cursing herself for trying to personify...him. He's probably just thinking about what he'll have for dinner.

But that's also the exact moment that Number 3's gaze drifts down to the window, and he locks eyes with Michiru.

She freezes.

He doesn't look away. Instead, he gives her a small smile, the exact same smile that's been haunting Michiru for, if she's being honest with herself, years now.

Number 3, Tenoh Haruka-san, the best player on Mugen's basketball team, and the source of unmeasurable amounts of Michiru's frustration.

She pulls herself away without casting another glance over her shoulder, heading home before she gets the bright idea to indulge any more of her whims.

Michiru cannot stand Tenoh Haruka. Ever since transferring into Mugen midway through second year (an egregious enough occurrence, but exceptions, apparently, are made for so-called once-in-a-decade athletic talent), he has driven Michiru insane on a nearly daily basis.

For one thing, he's way too damn pretty, with his artfully disheveled hair, flawless golden skin, tall, lean frame, and flashing blue eyes-not that she's attracted to him or anything, it's just...annoying.

Then there's Tenoh himself, who embodies basically everything that Michiru can't stand about men. He knows he's good looking, and he strides around the school like he owns the place. He acts like it, too-there's this swagger to Tenoh, this self-assuredness, like he's in control of everything. (This, in particular, bothers Michiru.)

And then there's his personality. Michiru's pretty sure that there's not a single girl left at Mugen with whom Tenoh Haruka hasn't flirted, and he does it in the most obnoxious ways possible: leaning in, softly murmured sweet nothings, leaving packs of starry-eyed fangirls in his wake. Even Michiru, who would theoretically be the one girl in the school that Tenoh would leave alone, has been subject to his advances on occasion, although she always shuts down those particular interactions as coolly and efficiently as possible.

But-and Michiru's sure she isn't imagining it-there are certain times, in class or at lunch or at the shoe cubbies, when she feels eyes on her, and looks up to catch Tenoh gazing at her. He turns away quickly, of course, but he always moves slowly enough to make sure that Michiru catches him looking.

She's taken to watching him, and she can verify that he never does this to anyone else.

His presumption is infuriating; even more so because she has no idea what he's trying to do. Objectively speaking, Michiru is aware that she's pretty, but at least at Mugen, she's a loner, she doesn't really have friends, and she spends all of her time with her sketchbook. Tenoh could, if he tried, have any other girl in the school. It simply makes no sense that he'd have such a...fascination with her.

And yes, fine, okay, there's the way that Tenoh-and only Tenoh-stirs up such a reaction in Michiru.

This would, all in all, be extremely confusing to Michiru had she not settled the issue of her sexual orientation years ago. Which she had! She did. Michiru is definitely not interested in Tenoh Haruka.

He's just a mystery, something that Michiru will figure out. She'll do it eventually. After seventeen years of quiet observation and analysis, people don't surprise Kaioh Michiru any longer, and Tenoh is surely not going to be the exception.

"I heard about Oshiro Sensei's offer!" Elsa Grey says, sliding into the (always except if Elsa's there) vacant seat next to Michiru at lunch the next day.

"Ah. News travels fast, I suppose," Michiru says, taking a particularly vicious bite of food. Elsa, athletic, outgoing, bubbly, and charming, commands enough social capital to hang out with outcasts and kiss pretty much anyone she wants and still come away with her reputation relatively unscathed. She is, all things considered, the closest thing to a friend that Michiru has, and Michiru's one real link to the popular group. Generally, Michiru isn't averse to Elsa's company, but she can tell that her tolerance is going to rapidly wither away if Elsa keeps insisting on this topic of conversations. It's a bad enough sign that enough people are talking about it for the news to have even reached Elsa.

"Aw, come on, Michi-chan," Elsa chirps, the only human being on the planet who can dare to be so familiar without having the fear of all that is sacred and holy shot through her, "it's not gonna be that bad, right? It'll probably even be fun!"

"Fun," Michiru repeats, the word sticking to her tongue.

Elsa reaches over, steals a carrot from Michiru's lunch, and pops it into her mouth. "Yeah, fun!" she says as she chews. "You get to go out of town, and stay in a hotel, and you get to draw, you love drawing! And our team's pretty good, so they'll probably win, right? Go Mugen, hey!"

Elsa goes for a piece of fish, but Michiru bats her hand away. "Elsa-san, you know how I feel about the basketball team."

"Not specifically, no, but I can imagine that you loathe them about as much as you loathe everyone else." Elsa again reaches for some food and again gets rebuffed.

"Did you misplace your lunch?" Michiru asks pointedly.

"No," Elsa sighs, "yours just looks way better. Okay, but anyway-"

"Excuse me, ladies."

Michiru can tell just from the timbre of the throat cleared above her exactly who's casting the tall shadow over them, and she fights the urge to groan or grab Elsa and pull her away or something, but Elsa, damn her spirit, responds before Michiru can think of a good escape plan. "Oh, hey, Tenoh-san! We were just talking about the basketball team."

Michiru decides that it probably would be a poor idea to kick Elsa under the table, seeing as she rather desperately needs Elsa as her ally right now, and, steeling herself, she swivels in her chair to face the speaker.

Tenoh Haruka leans on the back of Elsa's chair, putting him in prime position to cast that blue-eyed smirk fully in Michiru's direction. "Yo, Grey-san." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Kaioh-san."

"Tenoh-san," Michiru says evenly.

"So." Tenoh cocks his head in Michiru's direction, in a way that he most definitely thinks makes him look roguishly charming. "You're working on the yearbook spread for the basketball team, huh?"

"She is!" Elsa cuts in. "And she's going to do a good job of it. Aren't you, Michi-chan?"

Tenoh's eyebrows shoot up at the cute honorific, and his eyes shine with barely controlled mirth. Michiru, for what it's worth, deeply regrets not kicking Elsa earlier when she had the chance. "The quality of my work, Elsa-san, is never in doubt," Michiru says, refusing to look away from Tenoh's stare. "The question is whether my subjects will live up to my talent."

Next to her, Elsa lets out a distressed but resigned squeak.

Tenoh, though, seems unfazed. "If your artwork is half as beautiful as the artist, it'll be a masterpiece," he says, and Michiru indulges in a brief albeit rewarding fantasy about wringing his neck, "but I can assure you, Kaioh-san, our team's performance will more than match your reputation."

"Will it?" Michiru says, shifting herself into casual disinterest mode.

"Absolutely," Tenoh replies. "I'd love to give you some details about the team so you know what to watch for, if you'd care to hear."

"Oh, I care deeply. Please, I'd love to hear more," Michiru says.

"I can make it quick," Tenoh says. "At the game, just pay attention to one player."

"And who would that be?" Michiru asks, fairly confident that she's walking into a trap.

Tenoh flashes white teeth like a predator just caught up to its prey. "Me."

Typical, Michiru thinks, torn between rolling her eyes and getting up and leaving to quell Tenoh's raging arrogance. Instead, she decides to choose the option that will affect Tenoh the most. "Is that so? I've heard that Kubo Masahiro-san is having an excellent season."

Finally, Tenoh appears a bit troubled. "Masahiro-san?" he says incredulously.

"Yes, Kubo-san." And now it's Michiru's turn for a small, challenging smile. "Are you jealous, Tenoh-san?"

Tenoh dips his head and somehow manages to gaze up at Michiru through his surprisingly long eyelashes, regaining his composure far more quickly than Michiru had anticipated. "Perhaps I am," he says. "Only because I know you could do much better."

"Which I'll believe if I see it at the game," Michiru replies. Tenoh's eyes are a deep blue, almost hypnotizing, and she swears she's not going to be the one to look away first.

When Tenoh finally pulls back and straightens, Michiru feels a slight thrill of victory. "Well then, Kaioh-san, I'll just have to make it worth your while," he says. With a jaunty wave, he winks. "See you."

Only when she's sure he's gone can Michiru breathe regularly again.

She hadn't even realized she'd been doing anything differently.

To her credit, Elsa waits until Tenoh is all the way on the other side of the room and completely out of earshot before zeroing in on Michiru. "UM," she says.

"What?" Michiru takes a delicate nibble at a piece of celery, avoiding Elsa's stare.

"What do you mean, 'What?' I'm a human. I have eyes." Elsa leans in even closer and

hisses, "Michi-chan, I thought you were only into girls!"

"I am!" Michiru shoots back way too quickly.

"Yeah, okay, then what was that?" Elsa whispers fiercely, gesturing in Tenoh's direction.

Michiru doesn't give Elsa the satisfaction of looking over. "It was nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Elsa shifts into a high-pitched voice which she apparently believes to be a valid imitation of Michiru. "'Oh, Tenoh-san! I'm a beautiful, mysterious artist and I'm going to try to make you mad because apparently I'm in second grade! Are you jealous, Tenoh-san? Now can I kiss you and touch your butt and stuff?"

"Enough!" Michiru snaps, only her years of training in the social graces keeping her from making an even larger scene. "For the last time, I do not like Tenoh-san. I am not interested in Tenoh-san!"

"Hm," Elsa says skeptically, "well, okay. So you don't like him. But he's nice enough, Michi-chan. Maybe he honestly just wants to teach you about basketball so you're not totally lost at the game?"

Michiru glares. "I can handle myself, and it's insulting that he thinks I can't. And don't you find it suspicious how he always finds excuses to talk me when he knows that I'm the only girl in the school who isn't going to fall for his charm? I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but I don't trust him."

Elsa's silent for a moment, tapping her chopsticks together. "Maybe," she says, "but he sure seems to want to be your friend, at least. Do you think that maybe it's worth a shot?"

"I don't need friends," Michiru says. "I don't need anything, except to get all of this over with and go to university. All I want is what I've wanted from the beginning: to be left alone."

Elsa exhales. "You know what they say, Michi-chan, no man is an island. Or woman. Somebody famous said that. Or maybe somebody just made it up, but it's not such a bad piece of advice." Elsa gazes across the room. "And I mean, hey, if you have go straight for someone, you could do a lot worse than Tenoh Haruka-san."

Michiru avoids following Elsa's gaze and glances down at her half eaten lunch, not

particularly hungry anymore. She slides it to her right and sighs. "Would you-"

Gleefully, Elsa snatches the box. "I thought you'd never ask."

Later that evening, Michiru gets herself off with her cry muffled in her pillow and her hand working hard and fast between her legs as she thinks about just how much Tenoh Haruka irritates her.

It's at least the fourth time this week.

So Michiru attends the basketball game like the good girl she pretends to be, and plants herself on the bleachers, and opens her sketchbook to a blank page, and tries to focus on anyone but Tenoh.

This quickly proves to be impossible.

The other team is talented enough, but Mugen is better, and it's all because of Haruka.

He's everywhere.

He darts in between opponents, spinning artfully toward the basket, sending the ball up in a little floater that swishes through the net for the first points of the game. When he makes it, he instantly whirls and scans the bleachers.

Michiru presses herself against the wall, but no, her hunch is right. As soon as his eyes land on her, he points in her direction and flashes that devil-may-care grin. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of smiling back, but she can't quite stop the blood rushing into her face.

Michiru remembers something Elsa told her once, that the track team has been after Tenoh for ages now, that the coach had practically offered to sell his firstborn or something, but Tenoh turned them down. It makes sense why they would want him, though, to see him on the court.

The thing is, Tenoh is incredibly gorgeous. If he hadn't been Tenoh, and if Michiru hadn't been Michiru, or if they had met in any circumstance except for the hellhole that is high school, Michiru almost certainly would've asked Tenoh to pose for her by now.

But it's on a fast break that Michiru really sees it.

Tenoh steals the ball from the opponent, pokes it out like it's nothing, and takes off down the court. Everything is working, so in sync, so in tune. His muscles flex, and the ball bounces beneath his hand, and the wind ruffles his hair, and on his face is the tiniest hint of a smile.

Running, he seems fully at peace.

There's this twist Michiru gets in her stomach, the way her heart's rising up into her throat, as she trails her eyes over his body. She's fluttery, can feel her heart beat, and Kaioh Michiru, avowed lesbian, would give almost anything if he would just look up at her section of the bleachers again...

Michiru shakes her head hard, shifts in her seat, bites the inside of her cheek until the heat inside of her dies down. She picks up her pencil and starts to sketch.

Mugen wins.

The score is lopsided, and Tenoh, of course, is the star of the game.

Michiru takes the long way back to the hotel, after treating herself to a cup of tea in a nearby cafe to work on her sketch. She's pretty sure a nice, long, leisurely stroll in the crisp evening air will help return her to her senses, and by the time she makes it back, she's feeling considerably more sane, more in control.

Tenoh Haruka is just a boy she goes to school with. In a few months, she'll never have to see him again, and this will all be over, and that's okay, she tells herself, it's okay, just get through these few months and then everything will be fine.

What is most definitely not fine, however, is what's awaiting her when she pushes open the door to the hotel.

She's met by a crowd of giggling Mugen students in the lobby, high on the team's victory, trying (and kind of failing) to uphold regular social decorum, and Michiru is just done. She's not in the mood. There's no way that she's going to fight through this crowd and risk the usual stares, bumps, side comments.

Instead, she slips inside the nearest door.

The hotel gym, she sees, excellent; not only did she manage to pick the most abhorrent (and hopefully the worst smelling) room in the whole hotel, but it's also lined with wall-to-wall glass windows, making it, all things considered, an extremely poor hiding place. Michiru rolls her eyes (only a few months until graduation) and slips into the locker room.

Where she nearly slams right into none other than Tenoh Haruka.

His face goes from surprised to terrified, but not before Michiru takes in much more of him than she'd ever admit she wants to see: his hair, messy and damp from the shower, the towel around his waist, the clothes in his hand, a tan bandage securely wrapped around his chest.

All standards of propriety tell her to look away, but Michiru's eyes drift to the bandage. For a brief second she wonders if Tenoh had gotten injured at the game, or has been dealing with a tender muscle, although she can't recall him seeming wounded at any point during the game, and if she hadn't seen it, Tenoh must be a great actor, and-

Oh.

Oh.

The realization hits Michiru over the head and before she can say anything her gaze drifts down. Everything she sees is just another confirmation: the curve of Tenoh's waist, the subtle flare of Tenoh's hips. Moving back up Tenoh's body, there's the slender, lean muscles, the bandage mostly, but, now that Michiru's really looking, not entirely flattening Tenoh's breasts, the lack of Adam's apple at the smooth column of Tenoh's neck…

"Oh," Michiru says, because for once in her life, she is well and truly at a loss for words.

Tenoh looks about to be sick. "I-I never shower with the team," Tenoh starts, breaking the silence abruptly, voice shaking. "I went in here because I couldn't do it around them in my room, and everyone's celebrating right now, and nobody would think to look for me in the girls locker room, and, and..." The last of Tenoh's composure shatters, Tenoh's voice cracking. "Oh god! Nobody knows, okay? You can't tell anyone, Kaioh-san, I don't know what would happen. Please don't tell anyone. Please."

There's a strange ringing in her ears, and Michiru needs to get right the hell out of her for several different reasons, not the least of which being that her heart is about to pound out of her chest and her face is on fire and everything all of a sudden makes so much sense and wow, if she thought she had it bad during the game, she really, really needs to be alone now. "I have to go," she mumbles, edging backwards.

"Kaioh-san!" Tenoh's voice is thin, imploring, panicked, but Michiru's already out, and she lets the door slam shut behind her.

Michiru shuts the door to her room and flops down on her bed.

Well.

For someone who just wants to be left alone and graduate high school without getting into anything, Michiru has definitely gotten herself into something.

On one hand, she's grateful that she doesn't have to go through questioning her sexuality all over again.

On the other hand…holy god, Tenoh Haruka is a woman. On top of that, Michiru's never been as attracted to anyone in her whole life as she is to Tenoh. And now…

On the third hand, because it's just the kind of situation that requires that many hands, Tenoh is still Tenoh-incorrigible asshole flirt Tenoh Haruka, regardless of gender.

Before Michiru can get too far into this thought process, a sharp knock sounds at the door. She waits. The knock comes again, then the familiar voice: "Kaioh-san!"

She decides to play it slow and safe. "Who's there?"

She can hear the sigh even through the thick wood of the door. "Who else? It's Tenoh-san." Pause, "Haruka's fine now, I suppose, for you." For you. Damned if Tenoh doesn't know how to push her buttons. Michiru takes a moment, takes a deep breath.

"Will you open the door?" Tenoh-Haruka-calls.

Michiru rests her fingertips on the door and allows her mind to click through a vast array of possible outcomes if she does, indeed, allow Haruka inside. She does this as if there is any doubt as to what she's going to do.

Haruka's wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans. Her hair, despite being damp, still maintains the trademark level of dishevelment. But it's her face and her eyes that truly tell the story. "Can I come in?" she asks.

Michiru closes the door and the silence stretches out between them, a vast chasm. Finally, Haruka exhales and drags a hand through her hair. "What do you want from me?" she rasps.

"What?" Michiru's surprised-both by the question itself, and by the fact that Haruka can do that to her hair and still look so good.

"I don't know! What do you want? So you know now. What are you planning on doing about it, and how can I stop you?" Tenoh folds her arms across her chest and throws her a guarded look.

"Why do you do it?" Michiru asks.

"Fair enough." Haruka doesn't need to ask for clarification, but still steps right around the question. "Is it true what they say about you?" she asks instead.

Michiru frowns, and feels the familiar spike of frustration-regardless of her gender, Haruka is still Tenoh Haruka. "What do you mean?" she asks, lacing her voice with just the right amount of sarcasm. "That I'm a third year? That I'm good at art? What do you think, Haruka-san, and why do you think it's your business to know?"

Haruka's eyes widen a bit. "I guess I-"

"No, look." Michiru can feel herself starting to spiral out of control, but she's not particularly inclined to stop it. "I'll tell you if you tell me just what game you think you're playing."

Haruka looks utterly puzzled. "What game?"

Michiru takes a deep breath. "Why you keep talking to me. Why you've always been like this. Why you do it?"

Haruka looks genuinely puzzled. "I wanted to get to know you."

"Right," Michiru scoffs. "You have so much to gain from that particular arrangement."

Haruka's eyebrows knit together. "Who says I want to gain anything from it? Why does it have to be about that?"

"Who doesn't think about that type of thing?"

"Me," Haruka says. "Do you really think that's what life's about? What you can gain from the people you're around?"

"From my perspective, can you really see it being anything else?" Michiru says.

Haruka pauses. "From your perspective, I can't say it's gotten you very far, has it?"

It's the first time in the conversation that Haruka's even come close to an attack, but Michiru jumps on it. "And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that perhaps if you approached things slightly differently, maybe things would be different as well," Haruka says.

"If I approached things differently," Michiru repeats. "Yes, please explain to me how to run my life. That's exactly what I wanted from this conversation."

Haruka snaps her head up and looks her right in the eye, and Michiru has to fight back a shiver-not just at the eye contact, but at the fierce glare that Haruka's picked up out of nowhere. "Why do you always make things so difficult?"

Michiru's eyebrows shoot up. "I make things difficult?"

"Yes! You do!" Haruka says. "You assume that everyone is out to get you and the second someone reacts to you, you treat it like it's a personal attack. Have you noticed that?"

Michiru matches Haruka's glare. "So what do you suggest? I let my guard down? You should know what could happen in such a circumstance."

"What?" Haruka asks. "You're actually honest with yourself, for once?"

"You, Haruka-san, are one to talk," she bites back. "You hang around the edges of your crowd and soak up all the admiration you can get your hands on when really, you're just as much of a liar as I am."

Michiru instantly knows she's crossed a line, and Haruka takes one step back as if Michiru's actually punched her. But then her eyes narrow. "What did I ever do to you?"

"What?"

"Why do you act like this?" Haruka takes a deep breath. "You aren't better than everyone else, no matter how hard you might wish you were. So you have money. So you have talent. You'll get out of here soon enough, is that what you think? Is that why you feel like you can cut everyone down all of the time?"

Michiru's crossed her own line into white hot fury, and her eyes narrow. "Tell me more. Go on. Keep telling me why nobody likes me."

Haruka, unlike any sane person, does it. She actually goes on. "You always put yourself up on this little pedestal, because you think you deserve it. And whenever anyone comes near, you skewer them, and then you wonder why you're alone? It's not what you think. It's not because you're a lesbian. It's because you're nothing but a spoiled princess."

Something inside Michiru finally snaps. The next thing she knows, she grabs Haruka, shoves her up against the door, and pours all of her rage into the most vicious, searing kiss she can muster.

And Haruka must be more of a masochist than Michiru has ever imagined, because she latches on to Michiru and kisses right back.

Michiru manages to pull herself away, blood rushing in her ears. "You are an incorrigible ass," she hisses.

Haruka grins, dark and dangerous, and it makes more sense than it ever has just how women fall all over themselves at her feet. "Strong words, princess."

"Shut up," she snarls, fisting her hand in the back of Haruka's hair. Haruka answers with just that smirk.

It's a challenge.

Michiru is dead set on figuring Tenoh Haruka out.

She yanks Haruka's head down and kisses her again, tongue sliding into her mouth hot and dirty and then Haruka moans, low in her throat, the noise shooting straight down and Michiru needs her right NOW. "Call me princess one more time," Michiru says.

"What will you do to me if I do?" Haruka asks.

And fine, if Haruka wants to play games, Michiru will play games. She yanks at Haruka's wrist, pushes her backward onto the edge of the bed. "A better question," she says, "is what you plan on doing to me."

If Haruka is a challenge, Michiru knows that she, herself, must be one to Haruka as well, and she is a challenge to which Haruka is rising admirably. Haruka grabs Michiru, pulls her onto her lap. Michiru's nowhere near as delicate as she allows people to think, but she's always been slight, and it looked like absolutely nothing for Haruka to lift her, to pull her down for another kiss. Haruka's strong. She's undoubtedly a lot stronger than Michiru, and maybe she should be a bit nervous about this but instead it just sends another solid wave pulsing downward and she shivers. "You," she breathes. "You have spent the last two years driving me insane. Do you have any idea-"

Haruka cuts her off with another ferocious kiss, their teeth gnashing together, Haruka grabbing at Michiru's shirt and pulling her closer. "Yes," she breathes. "Yes, I have an idea."

Michiru closes the gap between them again and bites down viciously on Haruka's lower lip-if Haruka's going to be, for all intents and purposes, on top here, it's going to be on Michiru's terms and Haruka needs to know that.

Needs to work for it.

When Haruka moans, kisses her even more deeply, and rests her hand on the curve of Michiru's hip, right where her shirt and skirt meet, Michiru can't take it anymore.

Simultaneously, she grabs Haruka's hand and shoves it up her shirt as she grinds herself against Haruka's thigh, unable to hold back a whimper at the sudden friction. "Will you just touch me already?"

Haruka's eyes, darker than Michiru's ever seen them, flash. She cups a breast, strokes her thumb across the nipple, but through the fabric of Michiru's bra it's more torture than anything. "Harder," she gasps, trying to keep a certain authority in her tone because there is no way that she's going to give Haruka the satisfaction of thinking that she'll beg.

"I could do this better if your shirt was off," Haruka murmurs, and Michiru's on it in a second, pulling her shirt off and tossing it somewhere, who knows where. And then Haruka's unclasping Michiru's bra with an amazing alacrity and dragging her teeth across a nipple. Michiru hisses, tosses her head back.

Haruka pulls off, glances up. "You look so-"

"Stop," Michiru says. "There are better things you can do with your mouth right now."

Haruka smiles, moves her hand down. "Or better things…"

Michiru practically clenches just at the feeling of Haruka at her thigh. "Do it."

"Do you want me in-"

"Now," she gasps, because okay, maybe she's kind of throwing herself at Haruka, but she needs it, is getting desperate.

Haruka doesn't tease. With little aplomb, she slips her hand past Michiru's underwear.

Haruka glides what feels like two fingers into Michiru with almost staggering ease and it still doesn't feel like enough, still leaves her wanting, because she needs to be full. She's giving herself to Haruka and Haruka better take advantage of it and it's maddening just how good it feels while it's still just shy of being enough.

And then Haruka starts moving. "Oh my god," Michiru groans before she can stop herself.

"Sounds about right," Haruka says.

Michiru grits her teeth, manages to force out, "Believe it or not, the world doesn't actually revolve around you-ah!"

Haruka brushes her thumb across Michiru's clit and Michiru shoots forward on reflex. She doesn't even need to look at Haruka to sense her smirk. "Your world does, right now."

Michiru spits a curse and grabs onto Haruka, raking her nails across Haruka's back through the thin fabric of her shirt, gratified when Haruka growls in response and starts pumping her fingers even harder. "You don't own me, Tenoh," she manages, even though it's getting harder and harder to put together a complete sentence.

And Haruka just keeps going. Her fingers are longer than Michiru's and it's so different when it's somebody else doing it, and not you; there's this unpredictability, the tremble of not-knowing that makes every motion just a bit sweeter, just a bit better, and the truth is, Haruka is good at this, or at least good at knowing what Michiru needs, and Michiru's struggling to keep anything close to composure.

Michiru's scrambling for a good grip, digs her nails into Haruka's shoulder and Haruka jumps. "Fuck. What're you trying to do?"

"Make sure you feel this tomorrow as much as I'm going to," Michiru fires back. Haruka grits her teeth and Michiru still, through everything, manages a smile. "What? Too hard for you?"

"No," Haruka croaks, "do it harder."

A heady surge hits Michiru at the sound of it. Michiru wants to go harder, wants to go faster, wants to make Haruka feel at least a sliver of the feelings she's caused in Michiru over these past few years.

But then Haruka slips a third finger into her, and…

Haruka knows. She's not treating Michiru gently, not giving her space, not acting like she's untouchable. She's fucking Michiru, and hard, pounding inside of her with a slick, quick rhythm, no grace, just brute force, her thumb hitting Michiru's clit with every stroke, her other hand holding Michiru in place so she can't move, even if she wanted to, tracing her teeth across one of Michiru's nipples and Michiru knows she's not going to be able to hold out. She can already feel the tension mounting inside of her, the heat settling low in her abdomen, can feel herself clenching around Haruka's fingers, and she can't do anything else anymore, all she can do is grab onto Haruka. She grabs onto Haruka and digs in and closes her eyes and clenches her teeth and waits, trembling, the inevitable bearing down on her.

And then Haruka moves her mouth up, licking a trail up Michiru's neck to her ear, grabbing at her head to pull her down so Michiru gets the full effect of that husky whisper, "Did you ever think you'd do this?"

Michiru bites down on her lip so roughly she tastes a bit of blood. "Haruka…"

Haruka swallows hard; Michiru feels it, pressed close up to her. "I never thought I'd hear you say my name."

Michiru barely holds back a moan. "You never gave me a good enough reason."

Haruka takes a deep breath. "I want to watch you come," she mumbles, all at once, the words coming out in a jumble.

And Michiru realizes, with just that one simple sentence, that Haruka, with all of her bravado, even with her hand moving like that, is legitimately nervous, even with three fingers buried deep inside Michiru and her mouth all over Michiru's body, Haruka's still tentative-still thinks that Michiru's going to turn back, somehow? Still has no idea that Michiru's right on the verge of coming, quite spectacularly and quite literally all over Haruka?

Haruka knows what Michiru needs, but, Michiru realizes, even though she's riding Haruka's fingers, even though Haruka's the one whispering in her ear, that she's still in complete and utter control of the situation.

This is what finally sends her over the edge.

Michiru comes with a wordless cry, body contracting, shuddering hard around Haruka's fingers and bucking her hips and clinging onto her for dear life as the waves slam into her, one after another, over, and over, pulses of sensation that leave her almost lightheaded, a fuzzy ringing in her ears.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, holding onto Haruka, trying to regain her composure, but her normal steely demeanor is shattered, has gone all frayed at the edges, and it's, at least for now, a lost cause.

Besides, she thinks to herself, there are other pressing matters to attend to.

Because yes, okay, that was good, and she's still feeling it, still getting hit by the last few aftershocks, the cloud of arousal lingering around her, and the one thing she wants to do more than anything else she absolutely needs to pay Haruka back. She can't wait to have Haruka on the bed, can't wait to make her come apart.

"That seemed really good," Haruka says, her voice sounding like it's coming from a distance, and Michiru forces her eyes open. Haruka's flushed, her pupils nearly blown, and she's actually a bit breathless.

Michiru tries in vain to slow down her racing heart and pushes her hair back. "How would you know?" she says, only a slight tremor in her voice. "How many girls have you done that to?"

"A few," Haruka murmurs.

"Okay," Michiru says, fighting past the irrational wave of jealousy-of course Haruka's been with other girls; as one of the most popular, well, boys in school, it comes with the territory, there's a reputation to uphold.

But a thought occurs to her as she pulls herself upright, swings a leg over Haruka's hip, grabs onto the hem of Haruka's t-shirt. "What did you say when they wanted to do this?" she breathes.

With the touch, Haruka goes rigid, and she clears her throat. All of a sudden, the person she was just moments ago-the person with the dirty murmurings, fucking Michiru like her life depended on it-vanishes, and Haruka looks uncertain. "I wouldn't let them," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Michiru pauses, heartbeat still loud in her ears. "Ever?"

Haruka averts her eyes. "I…"

And Michiru, all of a sudden, feels like the most powerful being on the planet in this split second, to have been given the opportunity she has, right here, right now.

Instinctively, she senses that she's going to have to start off relatively slow here with Haruka, to ease her into it, and it's okay. It doesn't matter where Haruka's been; all that matters is that she's here, right now, with Michiru, and it's Michiru who's going to get to do this, and the thought has her wet all over again, tugging at Haruka's shirt. "Did you ever want to?" she asks.

"I...don't know."

Michiru half laughs, brushes some golden strands back from Haruka's forehead, kisses her cheek, her jawline, allows her hand to slip beneath the soft fabric of Haruka's shirt and caress her firm stomach. Haruka's muscles twitch beneath Michiru's palm and she gasps as Michiru traces small patterns on her skin. Goosebumps spring up on Haruka's arms as Michiru leans in and whispers, right in Haruka's ear, "Do you want to now?"

Haruka's fingers flutter around Michiru's biceps and for a moment Michiru thinks she's about to be pushed away, but instead Haruka grabs on, exhales, slow, shuddering, allows her eyes to flicker closed. "Keep going."

"Okay." Michiru gives her what she intends to be a reassuring smile, although she's not sure how much of the original intent gets through, as her next move is to lift Haruka's shirt. "Off?"

Haruka blinks at her. "Do you have to?"

Michiru gazes at her. "I guess not," she says, sliding her hand up Haruka's stomach to her chest-

-where Haruka actually does grab her hand. "Stop," she says, way more urgently than Michiru thinks the situation warrants.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine. Just...don't...can you not…" Haruka looks away and bites her lip. Michiru's fingertips barely graze the bandage around Haruka's chest and-

Oh.

"Okay," Michiru says, nodding, trying to get her head around it. "Okay. I see."

"Do you?" Haruka murmurs, looking back over at her, up through her eyelashes again.

Michiru never realized just how vulnerable Tenoh Haruka is. She never realized, either, just how big of a secret it is that she-that the two of them, now-hold. "No," she admits. "Maybe not entirely. But I do know that I want…" She moves her hand back down. Haruka, she imagines, deserves her playing it forward. She gently eases Haruka back so she's laying down, kisses her gently, softly, grazes her lips against Haruka's neck.

"Okay," Haruka whispers.

Michiru smiles at her. "I think I like you a lot better this way."

"What, terrified? Completely at your mercy?" Haruka dares to flick her eyes back to Michiru's, but there's a spark of life there.

"Not being an incorrigible ass," Michiru says instead, and dips her head to press a soft kiss just below Haruka's navel.

"Ah!" Haruka jumps at the sensation, such a ridiculously overblown reaction that Michiru can't help but grin.

She lathes her tongue across Haruka's hipbone. "Sensitive?"

Haruka's abs clench and all she can manage is a small whine.

Michiru moves her fingers up to undo the button of Haruka's jeans, pull the zipper down. "Lift your hips," she says, and tugs off Haruka's jeans, and underwear, and wastes no time. "Of course I thought about doing this with you," she says, tracing a finger up Haruka's wetness. "You have no idea how often I thought about it. I used to…" And okay, maybe she sees where that shyness Haruka has is coming from because it's surprisingly hard to get the words out, but she steels herself. "That wasn't the first time you've made me come," she murmurs, "not by a long shot."

Haruka's hips twitch and she gasps, "You-"

"I figure it's time I repay the favor?" Michiru says. And she's by no means an expert on this, but judging by the way Haruka's writhing beneath her and whimpering, she's pretty sure that she's not going to be able to mess this up.

Haruka all but shouts when Michiru's tongue first hits her. "You know," Michiru says, "we aren't the only people in this hotel?" She's only half serious. She honestly does not care how loud Haruka is; she's actually pretty stoked that Haruka's reacting like this, all things considered.

Haruka exhales. "Okay, yeah, sorry," she chokes out.

Any lowering of her volume with the next touch is negligible, but Michiru's not going to stop again. Haruka's just so wet, and slick, and she's making these little breathy noises and it seems like hardly any time has passed at all before Haruka's coming, Michiru grabbing onto her thigh to stay anchored as she bucks her hips, hard, shaking.

Haruka's breathing hard, coming down, hands over her eyes, and it' s a mix of adorable and amazing, that Michiru just did that, she she settles herself, stretches out next to Haruka, swipes at her face with the sheet and on a whim kisses her. Haruka doesn't seem to mind, meeting her with a gasp and a shudder, and it's fairly clear that Haruka's all but completely wiped out at this point.

She cracks an eye open and glances over at Michiru. "That…"

The look on her face is like nothing Michiru's ever seen directed at her before. It's open, and welcoming, and shining, and Michiru…

She can't take it.

Michiru sits up. "You should leave," she says, trying to keep her voice even.

"What?" Haruka's incredulous, pulls herself upright, but Michiru's already up, around the room, picking up articles of clothing.

"You need to go," she says, fighting the rising panic inside of her. This? She's not supposed to have this. She hasn't done anything to get this, and she can't have Haruka looking at her like she's that important. That's not what she wants. It's not how it's supposed to be and yeah, maybe it was worth it, to get the ridiculous lust out, but now it's out, now it's over, and now she can move on with her life, and Haruka can move on with her life, and she can just focus on graduating, leaving, like she's supposed to.

Haruka keeps casting glances at Michiru as she steps back into her clothing. "So you're really just going to kick me out after that?" she asks, voice low.

Michiru pulls her shirt back over her head. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she says, angling Haruka toward the door, and damned if she can't meet Haruka's eyes. "I promise I won't say anything. But you can't stay here."

Haruka blinks at her. "Are you panicking?"

"No!" Michiru snaps, angry at Haruka for seeing through her, angry at herself for letting it happen.

"Okay," Haruka says hesitantly. She pauses. "When I asked you earlier tonight if the rumors were true. I just wanted to know because I thought maybe, you might be the only person at this school who could maybe...understand my situation." With that, she slips out the door.

As soon as she's gone, Michiru feels a pang of regret. She thinks she should maybe fight it.

But should she?

She's spent the last three years of her life fighting everything. And Haruka...has a point. Where, exactly, has it gotten her?

Michiru pushes the door open. "Wait!" she calls to Haruka, who stops dead in her tracks at Michiru's voice.

"What?" Haruka asks.

Michiru takes a deep breath. "I just want you to know that...I'm sorry for what I said."

"What part?"

Michiru winces internally at the fact that this is a valid response for Haruka to have. "Whatever hurt you the most. I'm sorry."

Haruka allows her a soft smile. "Have you ever apologized to anyone in your life before?"

"Yes," Michiru says, although, in the few seconds she takes to wrack her brain, she can't particularly think of an occasion. "At the very least, I just apologized to you."

"Fair enough," Haruka says. Then she pauses. "Michiru."

The familiarity is maddeningly presumptuous, and Michiru should probably be annoyed. But the way Haruka says it-it's like she's savoring every syllable, like Michiru's name is a delicious candy melting on Haruka's tongue, and Michiru can't stop the secret dark shiver that races to her core. "Yes?"

"So. Is this actually goodnight then?"

Michiru allows her a half smile. "Goodnight, Haruka."

Back inside her room, Michiru's halfway back to her sketchbook before she reconsiders. She rises, pads over to the door, and flips the lock over so the door stays cracked open.

Just in case.