"Don't worry so much, just be yourself. I'm sure your feelings will get through to her." Mikoto had said once, years ago. She found that she now had to eat those words.

Life sure had a funny sense of humour, Mikoto thought as she slumped into the chair with a groan. She tilted her head up and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Mikoto was well-versed in many things. The art of seduction was not one of them.

Why did it have to be so hard? They had been dating for months now, and had known each other for what felt like forever. Overhead, the ceiling fan continued to whirl. She tried to focus on one of its blades, but grew steadily dizzier the harder she tried to follow its circuitous route.

Mikoto slumped even further, leaning forward to press her cheek against the cool cherrywood surface of her desk and let out a frustrated groan. She wouldn't have encountered this problem years back, with Kuroko pressing her advances at every opportunity, but they were different people now - still the same at their core, just a little more mature, a little more self-restrained.

Over the years, Kuroko had grown more temperate with expressing her affections. At first Mikoto welcomed the change, but now... Now she was not so sure. She let out a huff, blowing stray strands of hair out of her face. These few months had been the happiest she had ever been. It was just that, she couldn't believe she was saying this, but sometimes people had needs! (Needs that Mikoto didn't even know she was capable of experiencing.)

It was happening with greater frequency now whenever they were alone. They could be cuddling on the couch and watching television, and then Kuroko would casually lean back to say something, lips brushing against her ear, and Mikoto would feel it - the heat creep along the back of her neck to the front of her face, her palms would start to sweat and her heart rate would spike.

Kuroko could be doing the most mundane things, yet still Mikoto would grow hyper-aware of Kuroko's every action, and this strange, bubbling undercurrent of desire would build and build to a boiling point. And then Mikoto would be seized with this terrifying, paralysing urge. But to do what? And to what end? Mikoto's fingers would fidget at her side, and her body would tense up like a skittish animal. It was such a hard feeling to pin down! It was so embarrassing to think about, let alone voice aloud! The feeling welled from within and threatened to burst out of Mikoto like a great static discharge, electrocuting everything in range.

Mikoto didn't know what to do with herself... She was feeling increasingly like a volcano about to erupt. Her body was pulling her (unwillingly) into a fight or flight state she didn't know how to cope with. When it got really bad, she would short-circuit nearby electronics...

Just the other day, it had happened when they were cooking in their apartment's cramped kitchenette. As Mikoto was stirring the curry, she made the mistake of peering over when Kuroko was tiptoeing to reach something atop a high shelf. Mikoto's eyes widened as she zeroed in on the sliver of exposed skin at her midriff. Kuroko's tank top rode up like it was time for curtain call, and Mikoto stared in a magnetic lull at how her abdominal muscles tensed ever-so-slightly, stared at the crescent-shaped, tail-end of a faded scar, stared at the creamy expanse of skin.

Mikoto could feel her face heat up as electricity arced wildly from her fringe out into the air. How long had she been staring? She might have gotten a nose-bleed too. Who could tell?

"Onee-sama, it's boiling over! The curry's boiling over!" Kuroko had shook her shoulders and frantically tried to shout some sense into her, to no avail. It was as if Mikoto's mind had short-circuited.

Everything after that had been a blur.

By the time Mikoto had blinked out of her stupor, Kuroko had already teleported her over to the safety of the couch and was doing her best to salvage their dinner.

During the meal, Mikoto sat mutely at the table trying to process what had just happened. Leaning her chin on the palm of her hand, Mikoto looked across the table at Kuroko. Her long, wavy hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail and curly strands framed her face in a messily artful way. There was a delicacy to Kuroko's features that had ripened with age, sharpening her beauty to a point like a blade at a whetstone.

What a strange way to think of someone so fondly... Mikoto thought. Then again, Kuroko was always an enigma of a person, stitched together with contradictions. Mikoto's mind brought her years back, to the memory of a petite, stubborn pigtailed girl she was proud to call her best friend.

At the thought, Mikoto couldn't help the corner of her mouth from curling mirthfully up. Across the table, Kuroko shifted her attention from the omelette she was eating to Mikoto. Kuroko met her secretive smile with one of her own, though Kuroko's was a little more uncertain, a little more concerned.

Kuroko's eyebrow arched in an unspoken inquiry as she spooned a mouthful of curried rice into her mouth. A pink tongue peeked out, swiping the bit of curry at the edge of her upper lip. Mikoto watched the entire spectacle unfold in what felt like slow motion. Again Mikoto felt something resonate through her body like a bell that had been struck. The feeling cut so deep, like a dagger sliding through her ribcage. Mikoto averted her gaze from Kuroko as if the sight physically pained her. What was wrong with Mikoto?!

"It's nothing," Mikoto muttered restlessly, looking down at her plate as she shifted her food about. She knew without looking up that Kuroko would not be convinced. Mikoto knew that she had to eat if she wanted to convince Kuroko that everything was fine.

Realisation dawned upon Mikoto then as she tasted the first spoonful of the surprisingly palatable curry. How piquant... in the worst sense of the word! She thought back to the one commonality all those times before, to her other embarrassing reactions...

Mikoto wanted to slam her head into the dining table then and there. Instead she settled for slapping a palm to her forehead. So that was it! Damn it! It was like Mikoto was reduced to no better than a hormonal, teenage boy! What would her mother think? What would her sisters think? Oh god. Mikoto was so embarrassed with herself she wanted to die then and there!

"Onee-sama, what's wrong?" Kuroko looked worriedly at her from across their small, stubby table.

"Why are you covering your hands with your face?" Kuroko reached out to gently hold Mikoto's forearm. "You don't have to eat the curry if it tastes strange. Have more omelette instead."

"No, the curry's great. It's delicious!" Mikoto said as she hurriedly scarfed down another spoonful of curry to reassure Kuroko, then choked as a chunk of potato went down the wrong channel. Mikoto's chair screeched against the tiles as she stood in panic. She clutched her neck as she choked. She didn't mean it! She took it all back! She didn't want to die like this!

Kuroko teleported behind her in a flash and wasted no time performing the Heimlich manoeuvre. Bent over and heaving, with her hands braced against their dining table, and Kuroko cooing words of comfort into her ear as she stroked her hair, Mikoto felt the (unbidden, unwelcome, undesired) feeling seize her again. She could feel the maddening hum of electricity crawling beneath her skin, coursing through her heart and making her stomach flutter. Once more, heat started to creep onto her face. Really? Now? A near-death experience was not the right time for this!

"Are you alright, Onee-sama?" Kuroko asked, concern blatant in her voice as she rubbed Mikoto's back.

"Ah... Y-yeah..." Mikoto stuttered out as she spastically clenched and unclenched the fists at her side.

"Thank goodness!"

Mikoto could feel Kuroko sigh in relief when she hugged her from behind. Her breathy exhale tickled the back of Mikoto's neck. She could feel Kuroko's wispy hair brush against her exposed shoulders, and the press of Kuroko's chest softly against her back...

Mikoto gripped the edge of the table with white knuckled, trembling hands. Still trembling and slightly heaving for air, Mikoto met the judgemental gaze of the dislodged chunk of potato she had catapulted onto the floor, and levelled it with a helpless, frustrated glare.

With a commendable amount of calmness, she extricated herself from the embrace and excused herself to the bathroom. She splashed water over her face, her neck, her arms -any patch of exposed skin to remedy the choking heat. Hunched over the sink, doused in water and red to the tips of her ears, Mikoto let out a muffled sound halfway between a needy whine and a frustrated scream. In the process, she let loose enough electricity to shatter all the lights in the bathroom.

She could hear Kuroko rap her knuckles against the door.

"Onee-sama. Are you sure you are fine?"

"Y-yeah."

Mikoto slapped a hand (hard) to her face and groaned as she slumped to the floor. On the plus side, she did feel a little better now.

Unbeknownst to Mikoto at the time, the weeks following would be one of the most frustratingly embarrassing times of her life...

For R.D. Blax and ElementalMiko12. Blax requested "another reversal with Mikoto trying to get into Kuroko's pants and Kuroko being as dense as a shonen protagonist." Miko wanted more of 14 February. This is (kind of) a sequel. I hope you guys enjoy it! :D

Please bear with me a little more before we get to the meat of it! :)) Heads-up, this story is pretty slice-of-life. Expect humour, fluff and Mikoto feeling extremely embarrassed during her romantic endeavours. What do you think of the story so far?

I think Eric Clapton's song It's In The Way That You Use It goes well with this. Try giving it a listen!

Next time:

Mikoto gulped nervously. She had learned over the years that seeking Saten-san's advice tended to come with the cost of having to be the subject of her playful teasing and inquisitive nature.

"What's the matter?" Grinning wryly at her, Saten-san leaned forward with her hands clasped behind her back as she playfully skirted the boundaries of Mikoto's personal space. "Is Shirai-san going overboard again? I can ask Uiharu to make her tone it down if you want."

In response, Mikoto held up her own bowl of tempura batter she was still mixing in-between them, desperate for some space. "Ah! No, no. T-there's no need for that! It's not Kuroko's fault."