Quick light HaruMichi fluff piece, 700 words
———————————-Michiru’s mother had always been a hard woman, and over the years Michiru had watched that stiffness become literal. The slow progression of stony maintenance, chiseling away each flaw as it manifested so that she might become a statue of the woman Michiru saw in her parent’s wedding photos. When she had last seen her mother, she could not raise her eyebrows again yet, and she asked if Michiru had considered starting ‘getting work.’
She’d been appalled at the suggestion, she’d always promised herself she would be different from her parents in so many ways, bult as she leaned into the mirror now…
Michiru had thought it would happen so much later. But the lines around her eyes extended like a dozen little liner wings, and creases on her forehead would not dissipate no matter how she relaxed the muscles beneath them. The bones of her shoulders, elbows, knees, the lines of her neck, they had all grown more pronounced, seemingly overnight.
She opened her phone to look through pictures. When had it began? Wasn’t she still so young? Her mother hadn’t… but how was she to know when things began for her mother? She was nearing sixty, and Michiru had never seen as much as a gray hair appear unchecked. Perhaps she had the right of it. It was the only way, surely, turn to stone to bear the weight of age. Michiru would have to make some calls, and then—
“Michi?”
She straightened, smoothed her dress, fixed her hair. “Yes?”
“You’re taking awhile, the show…”
“Oh, yes.” Michiru looked in the mirror again. She had not even begun her makeup, and she needed it now more than ever. “Perhaps you could go ahead of me, I’m going a bit slow today.”
“I’m not going without you.” Haruka cracked the bathroom door. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, love.” She grabbed her foundation and unscrewed the cap in a hurry. “I merely got distracted.”
“Michiru.” She opened the door further and stepped inside. “I know you. You can talk to me.”
It wasn’t fair—Haruka was every bit as handsome as the day they’d met, while she… while she…
Michiru faced her reflection. “I’m old.”
Haruka’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m old.”
Haruka laughed, though not unkindly. “If we’re old now, we’re gonna be ancient in a few years.”
“I will. You’ll be fine.”
“What?” Another laugh, this time with the slightest edge. “I look older than you.”
Michiru could not find the words respond. Haruka stuck her face in the mirror beside her.
“Soon I won’t even be able to call myself blonde.” She gave her hair a good-natured shake. “And Mina likes to say I’ve begun the slow morph from butch noodle to ravioli.”
Michiru met her eyes in the mirror. It was all true, in a strict sense, and yet…
“But it’s handsome on you. You look just as good, better even, than before. And I…”
“You’re beautiful, Michu.” Haruka took her gently by the shoulders and turned her so they faced each other. “You’re the most beautiful woman to ever live.” She smiled sheepishly. “I kinda like see you get older. For a long time I thought I wouldn’t get to.”
“Oh, Haruka.”
“I know, I know, but really.” She stroked her face with her thumb. “I wouldn’t want you looking younger. This is where we are now, and I like it.”
“You don’t think…” Michiru glanced back to the mirror. “You wouldn’t have me get anything?”
“God no.” Haruka kissed her on the forehead. “You’re perfect, Michu. And you won’t ever not be.”
“You’re very sweet,” she said, but she felt her spirits lift. “I’m sorry I’ve made us so late.”
“It’s okay, I was gonna sleep through most the show anyway. I’m so old, you know, I can’t stay awake anymore.”
Michiru laughed. “You’ve been old a very long time then.”
“I suppose I have.” Haruka grinned. “Though you know, if you’re worried about being late, we could go now. You’re more than beautiful enough already…”
“I’m going to put on my makeup, Haruka.”
“I figured as much, but it was worth a try. Someday you’ll believe me on that front, too.”
She kissed Michiru’s cheek and let her be. Michiru selected a lipstick with a lightness in her heart, a feeling that could never turn to stone.
This is my first birthday where I feel like I’m… not old, but so firmly into adulthood that I can feel I will get old, so it seems appropriate to reblog this
SittingOverHereDreaming 