The strawberry sundae had been, for the most part, untouched. In the past hour it had melted into a soupy mess; Usagi had given it only a half-hearted spoonful of a chance before her head had dropped onto her folded arms with a wistful sigh, her lashes lowering over her eyes.
Mamoru didn't think she was quite asleep - how could she be, with the clamor of countless arcade games shrilling and chiming in a cacophonous symphony? But she was giving it a decent attempt at least, her breaths coming deep and even, as if she would lull herself into a meditative state right there at the counter.
It had been weeks since he had last taunted her over her poor test results, her propensity for lateness - which wasn't to say that either of these things had improved. But lately she had seemed so exhausted, so worn down, like a pale shadow of her former self. It hadn't seemed sporting to tease her when she so clearly lacked the energy to return it in kind.
The last time he'd done it, she'd only blinked at him blankly, uncomprehendingly, as if his words had bounced right off the fog she'd been enshrouded within, unable to penetrate her daze. And then she had tottered past him on legs that had been less than steady, her shoulders drooped with exhaustion.
That had been two days before he'd worked out her secret. She didn't know that he knew, of course. But he had his own alter-ego; he only marveled that it had taken him so long to recognize hers. He ought to have known before. He, too, had suffered sleepless nights, his fair share of bumps and bruises.
Except that they were so profoundly different. He searched for his dream princess, and she fought to save the world. Every night, she slipped out of her house under cover of darkness to vanquish monsters, sacrificing precious hours of sleep so that the rest of the world might dream peacefully. Every day, the dark smudges beneath her eyes grew more prominent, lingering like bruises that would never fade. Every day she collected more wounds, a scrape across her cheek, a bandage half-hidden beneath the cuff of her school blouse, a burn barely concealed by the long navy skirt.
Two nights ago, a monster had wrapped a leafy vine around her ankle, pulling ruthlessly until she had screamed in pain. The next afternoon, she had arrived late at the Crown Arcade after school had let out, walking slowly to disguise the limp, lifting herself carefully onto the barstool, struggling not to wince.
She brushed her myriad injuries off as the results of her clumsiness, laughed a bit too brightly, smiled a bit too widely. He gritted his teeth, stretched his lips into what approximated a smile, and pretended to believe her.
Just a few months ago, he would never have believed she was suited for anything beyond devouring ice cream and gossiping with her friends. Now it seemed she was better suited - sailor suited - for defending the world from the monsters that had invaded. She was only sixteen; it seemed beyond cruel for such a huge responsibility to be thrust upon her thin shoulders.
"Mamoru-baka," Usagi murmured without heat, her small hands curling into fists, though her eyelids didn't so much as twitch. "You think too loudly."
He coughed to disguise the sharp inhalation of breath he'd taken. "Excuse me?" he inquired, fixing her face, still half-buried in her arms, with an assessing stare. "Are you trying to claim you read minds now, Odango?"
A one-shouldered shrug, a heavy sigh. "No, but - I can feel you staring. I swear I really can almost hear you thinking. It's distracting; I really need just a bit of sleep." Her words came out distorted by the yawn that she performed with her whole body; her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her shoulders hunched, her back arched, her toes pointed.
"You won't get much sleep in here," he said. "You should go home."
She shoved her face deeper into her arms, shook her head a bit, mussing her blonde hair. "Haruna-sensei said she was gonna call my mom about my grades. Mom's gonna be furious. She'll probably stand over me and force me to study all night," she said mournfully.
Mamoru felt a flutter of pity in his chest for her - while she'd never been the best of students, she was so strained already, torn between too many responsibilities. Before he could think better of it, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and shoved it between her arm and the countertop.
"Here," he said. "Call your mom."
She lifted her head a few inches from the counter, stared at him vacantly. "Why?"
"I'm going to do you a favor. Just this once." Lest she grow suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't get used to it - this is a one time deal. I'm just feeling exceptionally generous today."
Maybe she trusted him a little bit, or maybe she was just too tired to argue - whatever the case, she carefully dialed in the number and handed it back to him. He hit the call button, held the phone to his ear, pressed his free hand to his other to block out the ambient noise of the arcade.
Two rings, and it connected.
"Hello, Tsukino-san; my name is Chiba Mamoru - I'm Usagi-chan's new tutor."
He watched Usagi's head pop up off the counter so fast she could have gotten whiplash. Her golden brows drew together in a bemused expression, her lips pursing. Usagi-chan? she mouthed at him, bewildered. Probably he'd never called her by her real name before; he hadn't realized that until now.
He ignored her, focused his attention on the irate woman on the other end of the line. "Yes, ma'am. She told me she needed help to improve her grades. I was the obvious choice; I'm a student at the University of Tokyo." Pause. "Yes, that University of Tokyo. I'm an excellent student." Usagi's mother's tone had gone from suspicious to simpering - clearly she was delighted at the prospect of Usagi receiving tutoring from him. "It might take a couple of hours, but I'm confident we can go over the material on her test and prepare her for a make-up exam tonight. I promise I'll have her home at a reasonable hour." He ended the call, climbed off the barstool and slung his jacket over his shoulder.
"Why did you tell her that?" Usagi groaned miserably, slumping in her seat. "Now I've actually got to study." She said it like it was a filthy word.
"You're going to," he said. "But at least I bought you a couple of hours of peace - and she probably won't yell at you when you get home." He reached out, grasped the back of her stool, and spun it. "Come on; let's go."
She grappled for the edge of the counter, balanced precariously on the edge of the stool. "Go where?"
"My place. You can sleep on the way." He hauled her off the stool, expecting a fight - but she trailed along docilely after him. Too tired to argue; in the natural light outside her face was too pale, her eyes older than they had any right to be, her shoulders sagged like they carried the weight of the world upon them.
Not the weight - the responsibility. He shoved that unpleasant thought aside, paused beside his car and opened the passenger door for her.
"You've got a car?" she asked, brows arching.
It was unusual for someone of his age - and impractical in a city like Tokyo. But he liked the freedom of it, the ability to come and go as he pleased without relying on trains.
"Bought it a couple of months ago," he said. "Hurry up; we'll catch traffic if we stay much longer."
She climbed in, settling into the passenger seat, her fluttering hands fumbling for the clasp of the seatbelt. At last she dropped her head back with a weary sigh and closed her eyes. He slid in behind the wheel and tossed his jacket at her - a habitual gesture; he always tossed it into the passenger seat. Rather than objecting, she curled her fingers around it, spread it over her, and snuggled beneath it like it were a blanket.
She was asleep before he'd even managed to ease the car into traffic, her soft breaths regular, fogging the window upon which she rested her forehead.
It took perhaps twenty minutes to reach his apartment and pull his car into the underground garage. She slept right up until he shook her shoulder after he'd killed the engine. In the yellow light of the lamps, the smudges beneath her eyes stood out in stark relief; the brief nap she'd managed would hardly sustain her for long. She stretched, pointing her toes and raising her arms high above her head. The movement shifted her blouse, dragged down the cuffs, revealing bandages wrapped tightly around both of her wrists. The right one was stained with dried blood; he wondered how she'd gotten those injuries. Surely he hadn't been present for every battle.
Though lately he'd tried to be. Somehow, he always seemed to know how to find her. Where to find her. Upsetting, since he couldn't seem to locate the one thing he truly needed to find - the Ginzuishou.
She more or less staggered out of the car, holding his jacket over one arm, her book bag dangling from her free hand. Her head barely reached his shoulder - it seemed incomprehensible that this small girl was responsible for protecting the city. She'd been lauded as a heroine more times than he could count, seemed larger than life in photographs on the front pages of newspapers. No one seemed to consider that she might possibly have a life outside of saving the world, that their safety rested in the delicate hands of a girl who was too young, too fatigued to carry such a heavy burden for much longer. She was cracking under the strain, and he was the only one who could see it.
He tapped his keycard against the control panel, and the elevator began its ascent, carrying them up to the very top, where it let them out in the entry way of his apartment. He took his jacket from her, slung it onto a coat hook.
She took a baffled breath, said, "This place is huge." She reached out to touch a vase set on a wall sconce, thought better of it and retracted her hand. "Your family must be super rich."
His parents had been, before they'd died. He didn't even remember them - but he'd come into their fortune, and it had been useful. "I don't have family," he said. "I live alone."
"Oh." She nibbled her lower lip, linked her hands before her. "I'm sorry - it must be lonely."
"Not really." He'd always been alone. He was comfortable with it, used to it. He used to wonder how she managed, always surrounded by so many friends vying for her attention, how she juggled relationships with such ease. It wasn't until he'd started having those dreams - dreams of the beautiful princess that pleaded so earnestly for his help - that he'd begun to crave that sort of connection. "Sit. I'll make some tea."
She wandered into the living room; it was sterile, bland, just like the rest of his apartment. He didn't fill his space with clutter; he'd never had much in the way of worldly possessions until he'd left the orphanage and come into his inheritance, and he didn't spend much time here anyway. It was just a place to sleep.
"I'm afraid to touch anything," she said hesitantly. The couch she was staring at he'd never sat on himself; it was simply a fixture - couches went in living rooms, and so he'd bought one. At last she wilted onto it, dropped her book bag at her feet, rifled through it to spread her books out on the low coffee table. He retreated to the kitchen, went through the motions of preparing tea.
By the time he emerged, she had fallen asleep again, curled on her side on the couch, hands tucked beneath her chin.
Again that stirring of sympathy in his chest. As much as he was aware that they might be enemies - they were both searching for the same thing, after all, the princess, the crystal - he couldn't seem to convince his brain to see her that way. He wished he knew what she needed the Ginzuishou for, whether or not they might be on the same side after all.
He deposited the tea cups on the coffee table, reached out to shake her shoulder lightly. "Odango, time to study."
She didn't so much as stir. But her lips parted, and she breathed in a desolated tone, "So many stars..."
Sleep talking? There was something familiar about her voice just then, like he'd heard it before. Her voice, but not hers - like someone was speaking through her. Would it be unconscionable to prod her for more information? There was the possibility that she might reveal some bit of information that might be helpful, might be useful.
He hunkered down onto his knees, whispered back, "What about the stars?"
"So many - so many worlds. How could I possibly protect them all?" A shuddering breath, drawn from some anxious, frightened place deep inside her. "How could anyone...?"
"Is that what you do?" he asked. "You protect the worlds?"
A frown etched itself between her brows. "I can't - I can't protect them all. I've let one go to ruin already for the sake of this beautiful Earth. And they keep coming, the star killers, the soul stealers, the world destroyers. As long as I live, they will come seeking power, seeking glory." Her breath escaped on a tremulous sob. "The greatest threat to this world is me."
Uncanny, to hear those words coming from her mouth. He hesitated, uncertain - but forged ahead at last, desperate to know. "The Ginzuishou - what do you want with it?"
Her hands uncurled from beneath her chin, stretched out, the fingers curving gracefully into a bowl as if to receive an offering. And she whispered in that eerily familiar voice, "The Ginzuishou - please, Endymion..."
Dream and reality collided, meshed, overlaid one another; he dropped back, the breath sucked from his lungs. That voice - he'd heard it before, in a dream, maybe in another life. The princess, her face shrouded in shadow, speaking softly in that same breathy voice, pleading with him to find the Ginzuishou for her.
"It's you," he whispered. "Oh, god - it's you."
His heart thundered in his chest, bursting with relief, with triumph, with confusion. Sailor V had claimed to be the princess, but she had always seemed wrong to him, like an imperfect copy. He'd thought that deception had put them at cross purposes; a false princess presented to fool him into surrendering the Ginzuishou, which he didn't even have in his possession yet.
Sailor V wasn't a false princess; she was a decoy. A stand-in to protect the real princess - Usagi.
Usagi, who didn't know she was the true princess. She couldn't; not with the way she and her allies fawned over Sailor V, revered her as their undisputed leader, deferred to her in all matters.
But this - this explained so much. Why he had spent so many nights protecting her when he ought to have been searching for the Ginzuishou. How he always seemed to know how to find her, as though he was drawn to her side.
He had been searching for her for months - and all this time she had been so close, just at the other end of Crown's countertop.
He couldn't tell her. She didn't know his secret, and she didn't know her own. It was buried deep inside her, just as his had been. But he could keep up the search, protect her, keep her safe.
Her hands were still outstretched - how long had she been waiting for him to give her what she sought? Were those memories locked inside her? If he retrieved it, would she recognize him?
Tentatively he reached out, caught her small hand in his. Yes - that was right. That sense of connection he'd always lacked came out in full force; their hands fit like interlocking puzzle pieces. It was her; it had always been her - he had just never been able to see it. He'd spent so long pushing her away when he should have been keeping her close.
But that could change. It would change. And it would start here - he could keep an eye on her, offer her a place to retreat for peace and quiet. As desperate as she had been for a bit of respite, she would probably take him up on it. Definitely if he tutored her, interceded on her behalf with her mother.
He stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "I'll get it for you," he whispered. "I'll get it, I promise." If he had to spend years searching, he would recover the Ginzuishou. He suspected it was the key to everything; his past and hers.
Her fingers twitched in his, gradually withdrew. She pressed her palms to her eyes, rubbed the sleep from them, and finally forced herself upright, smothering a yawn. "I'm sorry," she murmured sleepily. "I'm just so tired. What did you say you were going to get?"
"Tea." He slid one of the cups towards her; it let off white tendrils of steam into the air. "It'll help you wake up a bit."
She wrapped her hands around the cup and sipped gratefully. Still so pale - and those dark circles that ringed her eyes bit at his conscience.
"Look," he said. "You can come here, if you want."
Over the rim of her cup, her eyes went wide, brows climbing skyward.
He cleared his throat. "I have a lot of space. You can rest if you need to. At least, better than you could at the arcade." He paused. "I could help you study."
She blinked, perplexed. "You said it was a one time thing."
"I changed my mind."
Her eyes narrowed fractionally, suspicious.
He shrugged, reverted to old, familiar patterns to soothe her concern. "Maybe you're not as obnoxious as I thought you were. I could tolerate your company a couple of days a week." He could solve several of her problems - she'd perform better in school with tutoring, on the battlefield well-rested.
For a moment she looked as though she might make a sharp retort. Then she considered the cup of tea in her hands, her books spread over the table. She said reflectively, "Maybe you're not as annoying as I thought you were." And her lips quirked into a tentative half-smile. She took another sip of tea and said at last, "Thank you; I think I'd like that."
He tamped down the surge of elation that rose, nodded his agreement and said, "I'll get you a keycard - you'll need it for the elevator."
A truce of sorts. Maybe it would last until he recovered the Ginzuishou. Maybe he could keep her close after all, protect her even if she wasn't aware of it. Now that he'd found her - really found her - he didn't want to let her out of his sight. And she had no idea. But she could think whatever she wanted about him, as long as she stuck around.
His fingers were still molded in the shape of her hand, the memory of it burned into his skin. Changed, remade, irrevocably altered. The fragmented bits of his life snapping into place in an instant, goals becoming crystal clear, the bright future in sight at last.
"All right," he said, reaching for a textbook on the table. "Let's start with English."