While I was writing this, I sort of wondered if I was making it too hard to understand. I think maybe I worded it too awkwardly. I meant it to be a little awkwardly worded, but maybe I went too far. Please tell me what you think.
Drabble number seven: Things left unsaid
Mamoru sat just inches away from Usagi, watching as she sipped her milkshake.
"I love you," he didn't say.
She didn't smile and say it back, or reach for his hand, or offer him a kiss.
So he didn't slide his arm around her waist or settle her comfortably against his side.
She didn't giggle over his stories about his day at work, and he didn't chide her about her inability to get to school on time.
They didn't laugh together when he accidentally dropped a sugar cube onto his lap instead of into his coffee cup because he was too busy studying the way the light shimmered over her silky hair to pay attention to what he was doing.
She didn't offer to get him a napkin, and he didn't kiss her small fingers until she gifted him with a beautiful smile.
He didn't escort her out of the arcade, and they didn't walk together down the crowded sidewalk towards her house.
He didn't offer her his jacket, and she didn't refuse to wear it on the grounds that it was hideous. Together, they didn't stand on her porch for nearly a half an hour, until she didn't tell him that she had to go in or her father would come out with a shotgun.
And he certainly didn't walk home by himself, only to not call her the minute he walked in the door. They also didn't talk until midnight about trivial things that neither one wouldn't remember the next day.
All in all, it was probably the best day he'd never had.
He paid his tab, scooped up his books, and left the arcade, wondering all the while why he could never work up the nerve to just tell her.