Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon, its characters, or its universe. All rights belong to Naoko Takeuchi, Toei Animation, and other rightful copyright holders.
Story Context:
Lately, I’ve been completely obsessed with Haruka and Michiru, and with how quiet the fandom’s gotten, I figured why not write something myself? The main plot I’ve been working on is actually a different genre, but while I was digging into their character traits, I kept getting hit with these little bursts of inspiration. So I thought I’d follow that spark and write this piece first.
Welcome to Crystal Tokyo, where Queen Serenity reigns, Princess Usagi tries to keep it all together (sort of), and five incredibly powerful but occasionally dramatic princesses—Rei, Ami, Makoto, Minako, and Michiru—defend the realm. Things were going pretty smoothly until an ancient relic, the Space Sword, woke up after a hundred years of beauty sleep and decided to pick Haruka, a random palace guard, to be its new Swordbearer.
Cue the chaos.
Haruka’s a bit of a mess. Trained as a weapon, he’s not exactly used to things like “feelings,” “friendship,” or god forbid....“romantic gestures". His emotional range extends from “confused” to “awkwardly staring into the distance", and it’s giving everyone major secondhand embarrassment. Meanwhile, Michiru, who’s definitely aware of the situation, is calmly watching the trainwreck unfold with the most unreadable smile, and the rest of the team is just waiting for the inevitable explosion of emotions that might happen....eventually.
While everyone’s trying to navigate the world of teamwork, trust, and possibly a little romance (but Haruka’s seriously not helping), one thing is clear: Haruka’s going to need a lot of emotional support and maybe a few lessons in “how to be a functional human.”
(AU | Haruka is male | Slow burn | Seriously, Haruka—talk about your feelings | Awkwardness galore)
The arbor table had become routine by now. Post-drill cooldowns, light refreshments, teasing that didn’t cut deep. Haruka sat in his usual place, between Makoto and Michiru, who had taken to pouring his water without asking.
Today’s discussion began with fanfare.
Minako tossed a crystal tab across the center of the table. It hovered midair and unfurled in light—a formal invitation rendered in gold script.
“House Viarn is finally marrying off their heir,” she declared, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Three years of negotiations for one ceremony.”
Makoto grunted. “Sounds like a merger, not a wedding.”
Rei, reviewing the seating list on a second display, added flatly, “It is.”
“Still,” Minako mused, twirling her braid, “they’re actually in love, supposedly. Which is rare. And cute.”
Ami joined in from her usual quiet place at the table’s edge. “I read the bride composed a sonnet cycle for him.”
Minako gagged softly.
“Romance. Gross.” Then she grinned. “Unless it’s mine.”
The table rippled with mild laughter. All except Haruka, who remained uncharacteristically still. He wasn’t looking at the projection. He was watching the way Minako spoke. The way Michiru’s lips curled when she sipped her tea and didn’t comment.
He didn’t look confused. Just quietly studying.
Makoto noticed it first.
Rei, second.
Minako, not at all.
“There’s going to be a performance,” Michiru offered lightly. “Ceremonial music, of course. Dances. The usual post-vow procession.”
⸻
Haruka finally spoke. Not loudly. But clearly enough that it stopped every voice in its path. “What happens after a wedding?”
Five heads turned to him at once.
And for the first time that afternoon, Minako blinked.
Because the way he asked it—
like it was a tactical event—
like he was trying to understand what mission came next—
told them everything.
Haruka had no idea.
⸻
The question sat on the table like an unsheathed blade.
Haruka didn’t seem to notice.
He wasn’t nervous.
He wasn’t teasing.
He was genuinely asking.
⸻
Minako’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again, this time with much more enthusiasm. “You mean what happens happens?”
Haruka blinked. “I meant what comes next in the ceremony. Or… the ritual?”
Makoto covered her mouth with one hand, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.
Rei leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing—not in judgment, but curiosity. “You’ve never been to one?” Rei asked.
“No,” Haruka said. “Not one with love in it.”
That stopped Makoto’s laugh cold. Minako’s grin faltered just slightly.
Michiru, quiet until now, set her teacup down. Gently.
“You’ve seen arranged ones, then.”
Haruka nodded once. “I heard music.”
He paused.
“The guests laughed a lot.”
The way he said it.
Like laughter was still something observed from a distance.
⸻
Rei tilted her head. “And no one ever explained it to you?”
Haruka looked down at his hands. Then, softly, “No one explained most things.”
A beat of silence passed.
Then Minako leaned her elbows on the table, mischief returning like armor.
“Alright, girls.”
“Looks like it’s time for a lesson.”
Haruka glanced up. And for the first time...looked unsure.
⸻
Minako sat forward, eyes glittering.
“Alright. Step one—after the vows, there’s a kiss.”
She held up one finger. “It’s symbolic. It’s public. It’s meant to seal the union. Magic optional, tension mandatory.”
Haruka nodded slowly. “So… it’s a ritualized touch?”
Makoto snorted into her drink.
Rei exhaled a short breath—half laugh, half sigh.
“In a manner of speaking,” Minako said, grinning.
“It’s more emotional than tactical.” Minako said with theatrical patience, “but it’s expected. It’s kind of the whole moment.”
Haruka frowned slightly. “Is there a particular technique?”
Michiru coughed once and looked away.
Makoto wheezed.
“Okay,” Minako said, clearly thrilled, “let’s slow down.”
“It’s not a mission. It’s a feeling.”
She placed a hand over her heart. “You lean in. You make eye contact. You pause.... dramatic tension is important.”
“And then you—gently, softly—kiss the person you love.”
Haruka watched her like she was describing a covert infiltration. Eyes narrowed, posture straight.
“And this is expected of all married pairs?”
“Not just married pairs,” Makoto offered, amused. “Couples in general.”
“Dating, courting, stolen balcony glances…” Minako listed with a flourish.
“Hand holding. Letters. Gifts. Unspoken yearning. Piano duets.” She said the last with a sharp glance toward Michiru.
Michiru said nothing. Just lifted her teacup. But her eyes flicked to Haruka.
He was still listening.
Still thinking.
Still piecing the information together like battle tactics.
Haruka nodded slowly. Then murmured, “I see.”
But he clearly didn’t. And he was completely, profoundly clueless.
After a pause— so soft it was almost an afterthought— “What does a kiss look like?”
⸻
Silence.
⸻
Rei’s head turned sharply.
Makoto’s jaw dropped, mid-swallow.
Ami’s stylus froze mid-scan.
Even Michiru’s teacup stopped halfway to her lips. She lowered it, expression unreadable.
⸻
Haruka looked between them, visibly uncertain.
“It’s just—people talk about them often. And they write about them. But I’ve only heard the word.”
He tilted his head, like checking his own logic. “I assume it’s not the same as a forehead press or hand clasp?”
Minako stared at him. “You’ve… never seen one?”
“Not that I remember.”
His voice wasn’t embarrassed.
Wasn’t ashamed.
Just curious.
⸻
The table vibrated with suppressed laughter, disbelief, and something warmer.
Makoto shook her head, grinning. “You are unbelievable.”
⸻
Minako recovered first.
She leaned toward Michiru with a wicked glint.
“We’re going to have to demonstrate, huh?”
Michiru didn’t look at her. But her hand stilled on the table.
Haruka turned toward her, then back to Minako. “Why her?”
That was the wrong thing to ask.
Or maybe the perfect thing.
⸻
Makoto slapped the table.
Ami gasped.
Minako howled.
Rei deadpanned, “Because you only listen to her.”
Haruka blinked, startled. “I listen to all of you.”
“Sure,” Makoto said, grinning, “but only she makes you forget your sword hand.”
Haruka opened his mouth to reply... paused.... and color began to rise slowly into his ears.
He didn’t know why.
But something—in the way Michiru glanced sideways at him and didn’t look away—made the back of his neck burn.
⸻
The first blush.
And he didn’t even know what caused it.
⸻
The laughter hadn’t settled.
But the glances had begun.
Minako leaned across the table, chin resting on her hand like a predator toying with the idea of mercy. “So you’ve never kissed anyone.”
“Never seen one.”
“Don’t even know what they look like.”
She smiled sweetly. “You really are pure.”
Haruka looked away. Not embarrassed...
Just… uncertain.
Like he was cataloging the sensation under a label he didn’t yet have.
Makoto, unable to resist, smirked over her flask. “I bet if you got married, you’d carry your wife around the palace like a shield.”
Rei added without looking up, “No, he’d place her three paces behind him and two to the left, so she’d be outside any standard blade arc.”
Minako laughed.
“Unless she played the piano.”
“Then he’d propose before dessert.”
Haruka turned slowly toward them, frowning in confusion. “I don’t see how instrument skill correlates with marriage eligibility.”
They lost it.
Makoto nearly doubled over.
Minako clapped her hands once.
Rei didn’t laugh, but she exhaled hard.
Ami covered her mouth.
And through it all, Michiru said nothing.
But when Haruka finally looked to her for rescue...
When their eyes met....
She only raised an elegant brow and asked, “Do you think you’d kiss before dessert, or after?”
Haruka stared.
Blank.
Processing.
And then— as if something clicked just barely out of reach— his ears flushed red.
Visibly.
Slowly.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t move.
But the color crept all the way to his collarbone.
⸻
The Princesses quieted.
Not out of cruelty. Not even teasing anymore.
Just watching.
Because they’d never seen him stumble like this. Never seen him feel something before he understood it.
And Michiru?
She looked at him once more.... and smiled.
Not teasing.
Just knowing.
⸻
The table had gone still. Not silent—but stilled.
Laughter lingered at the edges, but no one was pushing now.
Minako twirled her braid between her fingers, the grin still there but softer.
Makoto leaned back, less a smirk and more an honest curiosity in her eyes.
Rei glanced at Haruka— then glanced at Michiru.
Then back again.
Haruka wasn’t smiling.
Still flushed.
But trying, visibly, to understand what had just happened to his body.
Minako broke the quiet.
“Alright then, swordbearer.”
“What’s your type?”
Haruka looked up, puzzled. “My… type?”
Makoto laughed. “Ideal partner. Who would you want to fall in love with?”
He blinked. “I don’t think that’s something I’m qualified to—”
“Top three traits,” Minako cut in. “Go.”
Haruka looked down at his cup, fingers wrapping around the rim like it might save him. He didn’t answer for a long moment.
Then quietly.
Without looking up.
“Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m breaking something by touching them.”
The breeze shifted under the arbor.
No one spoke.
Not immediately.
Because for all the teasing, all the nudging— that sentence hit.
Ami closed her scroll.
Makoto’s mouth drew into a thin line, not upset—just thinking.
Minako tilted her head, expression unreadable.
Michiru?
Still.
But her gaze hadn’t left him.
And slowly—
slowly—
Haruka looked up.
Eyes dark, but not guarded.
Just bare.
“That’s what love is, isn’t it?” He asked it softly. “Not hurting something just by being close.”
Rei exhaled. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s close enough.”
The wind carried the faint scent of tea and lavender.
Haruka stared at his reflection in the cup.
Didn’t speak again.
But for the rest of the afternoon— no one teased him.
And Michiru didn’t move away.
Not once.
Let me know your thoughts. All succeeding chapters will be on same AU settings.