Thank you so much for all the feedback, kudos, comments and everything! I am so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and that you are enjoying this story. I've certainly been enjoying writing it for you all.
A deep and special thank you to Irritablevowel for the spitpolish she gives all my fics, and the endless back and forth I have with her and Floraone now that I've discovered google docs to the determent of all.
Mamoru leaned against the elevator wall and shut his eyes. He felt sweaty in the unseasonable warmth.
One upside to coming home from work on a Saturday night was no rush hour train packed with businessmen in dark suits pushed together like sardines - but it did mean rowdy groups of young college kids and 20-somethings shouting plans loudly into their cell phones (just meet at Hachiko, he mentally shouted at them, you always meet at Hachiko) and shooting him strange looks while he just tried to doze against the window. As if they were wondering how someone who looked their same age was acting like an 80-year-old grandpa. Considering Mamoru was looking forward to unwinding with half a glass of sake and watching NHK before bed, they were pretty much right, he thought, almost sourly.
The elevator dinged and Mamoru peeled himself from the elevator's cool wall. He exited, already reaching for his keys when he looked up and mentally jumped, seeing none other than Tsukino Usagi standing outside his neighbor's door. She met his eyes with startled, wide blue ones and looked almost… nervous.
He looked at her in confusion. Why was she here? Unsettlingly, he felt almost like he'd forgotten some enormously important event, on par with Motoki's wedding (which he had been in, as best man, not even a year ago. It was a lovely night, spent ducking the unwanted advances of Reika's maid of honor and feeling Motoki's elbow in his side every time he spent a bit too long staring longingly at Usagi's table) or some other mutual friend's issue that had to be earth-shattering enough to bring the likes of Tsukino Usagi herself to his doorstep.
Although he was fluent in two languages and converstant in two more, the only words that came to him were:
"Odango Atama?"
She bristled immediately, hands coming to her hips, bubblegum pink lips forming a scowl. "You forget my name or something?"
He recovered quickly enough, having realized that yes, okay, Usagi was standing in front of him in the flesh (and a tank top and shorts) and while it wasn't the evening he was picturing, he could roll with this.
"Of course not, Tsukino-sama," he said. "Who could?"
Usagi huffed suspiciously at the new polite tone he was taking. "So you live here?" she asked, eyeing his door. She leaned back against the wall between the two doors, kicking her bare toes into the carpet a bit. Mamoru tried not to cringe. She shouldn't be out here without at least slippers!
"Yes," he answered, confused for a moment. Why was she here, if she didn't know that?
"Well, then I guess I'm your new temporary neighbor," she said. She bowed. "Douzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
"Y-you're-" He shut his eyes, remembering Tawase Yui mentioning that her assistant would be house sitting for her while she was in China. The manga artist was quiet and kept to herself, much like Mamoru did, and he remembered assuming that the housesitter would be stopping by to get her mail and clean now and then… not living there. And not being Usagi.
"Yup," she said, lifting her pert little chin up to him, almost in challenge. Daring him to say anything. "Right next door. All day, every day."
With practiced nonchalance, Mamoru kept his face as blank as could be. "Well, Tsukino-sama, please let me know if you need anything. I look forward to seeing you around. Have a good night."
She narrowed her eyes, pouting adorably. His polite language was driving her crazy, he could tell, but she couldn't say anything about it because what could she say? 'You are being too nice and it's pissing me off?'
He gave a small bow, unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned to unlock his door. It was closing behind him when he heard her soft "...Bye."
And he had to lean against the inside of the door, not moving, for far, far too long, while her voice echoed in his mind.
The very next time he saw her, she'd locked herself out and barged into his Usagi-free sanctuary with all the delicacy of a typhoon, thanking him for the coincidence of having Tawase's spare key with a hug that smelled like strawberries and vanilla and didn't leave him all day long and well into the night.
It wasn't long after that she knocked on his door again and when he opened it she rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. "Finally, you are actually home!"
"My shifts can be unpredictable," he said.
"Anyway, here," Usagi said, holding out a key in her palm. He had to graze his fingertips on her palm to take it. "I'll probably lock myself out again."
"I'll do my best to be home when you do."
She smiled, and that didn't leave him either.
He swore he smelled her shampoo in the elevator, in the hallway. He heard the murmurings of the television shows she watched late at night (he supposed aspiring manga artists-cum-admin temps didn't necessarily keep early hours) through his bedroom wall and the bass of the music she listened to in the morning as she got ready.
Although the apartment building had a dryer, she hung her delicates out on her balcony, so he knew far too much about the color of her panties than he felt he should, really.
As Motoki would say, "This isn't conducive to letting go." But Mamoru hadn't asked the girl of his dreams to move next door to him. He hadn't told her to walk around in adorable mismatched pajamas on laundry day, hair damp and down and spiraling around her face.
He didn't expect her to throw a karaoke party, get drunk and tumble into his arms, slurring and damp-eyed, begging him to tell her she was beautiful.
He certainly didn't want her building teetering towers of pillows and chairs in order to change her fire alarm, nearly killing herself.
Tsukino Usagi entered his life all those years ago with a flying test paper in his face, and a screaming fit when he'd even mentioned that perhaps she ought to study more. (Oh, okay, in hindsight he'd been obnoxious, but in his defense, he'd never seen a grade below a 90, let alone a 30.) Somewhere between the shoes hitting his head and her failing grades (that he always ended up seeing somehow), he'd noticed the crowd of people that seemed to flock to Usagi - the close-knit group of friends that surrounded her - classmates and peers and even Unazuki and Motoki and elementary school kids, and everyone, really.
And about when he realized why, well of course it was the sunlight in her smile and the warmth in her giggle and the genuine kindness in her eyes, he realized he'd become one of them. Helpless to the pull of her warmth.
But there was also the swing of her hips when she walked, the shimmer of her hair, the shape of her lips, the curve of her legs beneath her skirt… about then he realized how desperately he wanted her, and how she merely tolerated him. Usagi could be friends with anyone, but Mamoru she kept at arm's length. Sure, if he really needed her, she'd be there, same as everyone. He had no doubt she cared for him, deep down, the way she did for any of her friends, but there was a defensiveness about her whenever she looked at him. As if daring him to say anything. Mamoru was no stranger to walls, and he just watched her through them. Teasing was as close as he ever got to the truth.
After he graduated high school, they saw each other less, and after she graduated, even less. Soon it was every so often - a mutual friend's party or event, running into each other at the arcade, just a few times a year. Mamoru dated, he lived his life, he went entire days when Usagi didn't even enter his mind. But every time he saw her it all came back.
She was perfection to him. Everything he could ever want in one stubborn little odango'ed package. A petite blonde disaster nightmare. Who smelled like strawberries and vanilla.
And now she lived next door.
Mamoru never slept well in hotels. Perhaps it was something to do with being away from home - the uncomfortable reminder of a childhood spent untethered. Or maybe the pillows were just crappy, he reflected, who really knew.
The medical conference was decent enough, he knew some peers and managed to balance small talk with alone time, but the noisy ice machine down the hall was no substitute for Usagi's bubblegum pop music and midnight fire alarms.
Although now he was counting the minutes until he could return to Tokyo, he initially thought the timing of trip was fortuitous - after the embarrassing incident during the power outage, all he'd wanted to do was get away for awhile.
What had he been thinking, honestly? Walking into her apartment in soccer shorts when he knew what she was wearing, had already seen her nonchalant attitude - standing in his kitchen like it was any other day, as if she wasn't barely covered in shiny thin fabric, mouth around an ice cube, hair curling around her neck with sweat. After years of secretly lusting after Usagi, Mamoru knew not to trust his own body around her, and yet he still followed her into that apartment, where he knew she was waiting in that skimpy swimsuit with a bath full of ice and a penchant for klutz attacks. And he was supposed to be the smart one?
And now he was picturing it all over again, the way the ice cube landed between her breasts, her gasp at the cold, the response of her nipples through the thin fabric. He'd told himself not to look, not to dwell, because dear god, he was already halfway there and if she noticed...
And then she did notice, because she slipped, and was on him, all elbows and hair and impossibly long legs. His body didn't listen to his mind when Usagi's stomach was pressed against his erection and her breath was on his neck and he swore he felt her lips brush his skin… but she was struggling to stand and he was trying to make sure she didn't hit her head and a million things were happening at once and he was so turned on and felt so apologetic about it and…
And now he was thinking about it again.
Because of course he was.
For the fourth time in half an hour, he picked up his phone, only to remember he didn't have her phone number. (How was that even possible? How had he never asked for it, even for 'emergencies'?) Oh well. Asanuma would mention if there was any issue with her, he was sure. The man was texting daily updates on the state of Mamoru's houseplants for Pete's sake.
Sighing, Mamoru leaned back into the (way too soft) pillow and tried for the third time to fall asleep.
After their totally-not-a-date at the omu-rice restaurant and her demonstration of the 'eyes' the waitress had allegedly been giving him, (which he never noticed, while Usagi's version left his mouth dry and briefly short circuited his mind,) Mamoru watched Usagi in the elevator. An array of emotions splayed across her face in rapid succession: concern, then horror, then relief, then sadness…
She didn't even blink when the elevator arrived at their floor and opened, or respond to him calling her name.
Finally he went with: "Hey, Odango Atama!"
Usagi looked at him as if coming out of a deep sleep. He must have had an annoyed expression on his face, because she immediately bristled.
"Sorry, jeeze," she said, huffing past him.
Without thinking, he guided her out of the elevator with the pads of his fingers on her back, and regretted it the instant he felt her tense beneath his touch. He pulled his hand back.
Why had he gotten so drunk that night? Usagi had dated in the past, and while he hadn't loved it, it never had bothered him so much, but somehow now the idea of her with someone else had simply gutted him.
Mamoru hadn't even been able to stay in his apartment, not in his bedroom where she'd slept that time she was sick, not in that damn building that smelled like her perfume. He went to a bar he knew near the hospital, where his coworkers sometimes went. He let the first few shots burn their way down, and it got easier after that, he soon lost count. There were people there he knew, a lab tech from work, and an intern, and they ended up calling him a cab when everything had gotten too fuzzy around the edges.
He wished he didn't remember the cab ride, drunkenly lying back in the seat, asking the driver, "But why does her hair have to be so pretty though?"
Everything after that was a dizzy blur, Usagi's soft voice and softer hands, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing back his hair and god he had to taste her skin or he would die, couldn't she see that? Sitting up clumsily, curling fingers around her waist, tracing his mouth along her neck - was he babbling out loud how sweet she was, how much he needed her, how desperately he wanted her - or was he merely thinking it? He only vividly, sharply remembered her scrambling away, her face a mask of horror and tears. It was a mistake, the whole thing was a wrong, terrible mistake and Mamoru would pay for it in any way he could, for as long as it took.
Between his far-too-obvious physical reaction to her falling on him in the bikini, and his utterly unforgivable behavior while intoxicated, it would be no wonder if Usagi saw him as some dirty old man. Maybe she did. Maybe he was. He didn't even know anymore.
At the door next to him, Usagi was rummaging in her bag with a growing look of panic on her face.
Despite his inner turmoil, Mamoru couldn't help the smile that pulled on his face. Usagi was nothing if not… just completely and utterly Usagi. No matter what.
"Locked out?"
She giggled, twirled a strand of that impossibly beautiful hair around one finger. "Oops?"
Usagi decided to loiter in the genkan, and Mamoru supposed he couldn't blame her. She seemed so eager to get away, and that was alright. He'd give her her space, and little by little earn her trust again and maybe then… they could be friends.
He'd live with that. He'd been living with that. Never mind that now it seemed so much more impossible than it had just a few short months ago.
"Here you go," he said, holding her spare key out to her. Then he looked at her face, and started. "Usagi, are you okay? You look pale."
"I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!" she burst out, and then her whole demeanor relaxed, and she looked at him, right in his eyes with her blue, blue ones. Those impossibly perfect lips pulled into what could almost be a smile. "I'm in love with you." Usagi let out a breath. "Phew."
She took the key from his frozen hand, and turned like a dancer doing a pirouette. "Thanks!"
The door had been closed behind her for a good five full seconds before Mamoru remembered to breathe.