There was just something about that girl.
Something that intrigued Mamoru every time he saw her enter the diner. The way Usagi interacted with her friends, it was almost a social science in and of itself. And the way he interacted with her? Boy! That was just a show. In the two years he had known her, they had yet to have a conversation that was coherent, if not civil. It wasn't his fault that every time he opened his mouth to say hello, something atrocious would escape his lips. It could not be helped.
The first time he saw her, Mamoru could barely convince himself to say hello. She amazed him, a sophomore at the time. She was so very exuberant and high spirited. He, a senior, hung out at the same diner after school. He was about to say something to her when she clicked her cell shut and ran into him on her way out the door that day, a hideous slurry of words escaped his mouth: "Don't run me over Odango Atama!" At that very moment it was done. His fate was sealed. There was a look on her face that told him that he had just put the finishing touch on a ruined day. However mean spirited their angry banter appeared, one could easily see that neither of them truly meant the harsh words that burst out between them.
Over the years, their groups had merged. Mamoru's best friend Motoki had begun dating Usagi's friend, Minako. Minako had asked the two to help tutor Usagi and her before sophomore finals. Motoki of course had haplessly agreed, thus sealing Mamoru's downfall. When the groups mingled they never talked about anything too deep, which relieved Mamoru to some extent. He had an innate worry that someone would misjudge him because of the way he had grown up—without a family and without friends to rely on. He hated it when people found out that he didn't have a normal childhood. He was finally able to maintain a life of his own when high school began. Their groups got along well enough to stay together after he had graduated, and hopefully well after the girls would graduate that spring.
There was just something about her carefree style, the way she twirled her hair when she was nervous. The way she squinted when she was thinking too hard. The way her eyes sparkled, as if almost tearful, when she zoned away from a conversation, as if something larger was always on her mind. But she would snap away from the thoughts that carried her off and be her exuberant self once again.
Mamoru wasn't a stalker, he was merely tastefully observant. Ever since his childhood in a group home, he had been a people watcher… the very reason he had decided to take up psychology as a career. Now he was years away from obtaining any sort of degree in the practice, but he maintained excellent standings at the university, and didn't expect it to be that far off.
One thing always remained, though. Mamoru felt a change in the wind, he just didn't know what it could be.