They looked like sisters, someone had said, once.
She’d laughed, then, shrugging it off as easily as a coat on a warm spring day. They didn’t look much alike, not to her. No, Haruka was muted where she was bright, her hair tempered to ash by the shadows of her life, her eyes gone grey with the storms in them, while Mina’s hair and eyes shone bright in the sunlight, and sparkled with the bubbly quality of her own heart, the champagne that never went flat.
It seemed distant, now, the way the colors in an oil painting could be bright and oh so far away, that day on the patio of some small bistro Mina had wanted to hate because Michiru had recommended it, and yet the blooms of the garden surrounding it perfumed the air, and the food was unfussily delicious, and Haruka leaned back in her chair easily as the waiter accused them, teasing Mina that she was so quick to deny her, so quick to make sure everyone knew they didn’t share anything but fries.
I’d let them call you anything they wanted, Ruka, she thought, staring at the gold glinting off the one earring in her left ear.
“Right is the gay ear, bud, are you trying to say–”
“No, right means you like guys!” She’d protested so highly, her nose wrinkling in a way that made her seem young, made her seem like she’d had a childhood, “But left means you like girls! Left is–”
“Left is for lesbian.” She said to no one in particular,and touched the choker at her neck. She shouldn’t have it. She shouldn’t be able to. It should have disappeared with the rest of Haruka’s uniform, when she’d given that last final sigh.
But Mina was leader, wasn’t she? Mina could bend the rules, just a little, and she’d taken it off, and held it in her hand, and though fate and destiny and all those words that were a swear in her mouth could take Haruka, she would hold this.
Her own choker never appeared again, when the warm wind of orange and yellow and love came over her. It was always Haruka’s.
Haruka’s. Not Uranus’. If it were Uranus’, it would have disappeared.
It was important to Mina, to note the difference.
The glass caught the glint of her hair, drifting in the wind, as her army formed behind her, her eyes searching into the reflection. Ash with the shadow of the day. Her eyes grey with the coming storm.
They looked like sisters, someone had said, once.
SittingOverHereDreaming 