Hi there! Daikon invited me to participate in this 7 authors/one prompt challenge, and I'm excited to be back with my first actual fic in forever. It's been a minute since I've been able to participate in a fandom event (or write much at all), so thanks for including me after I essentially disappeared for a year (update that I did actually finish my PhD so yay now more writing time).

The prompt was "blind date", and the other authors participating are Antigone2, Beej88, BrownSugarHeartAttack, Daikon, UglyGreenJacket, and TinySagi. Everyone's contributions should be posted within the next couple of weeks if they haven't been already, so please give them all a read and a shoutout; I'm excited to see the different ways we approach this!

Thank you to Kasienda, UglyGreenJacket, and QueenRisa for beta'ing different parts of this. I've felt a bit rusty with writing, and your feedback has helped so so much! I feel like I'm legitimately out of words at the moment, but y'all are all awesome people, friends, editors, etc.

This story grew from what was supposed to be a one-shot to two chapters; I should have Chapter 2 up sometime next week. Enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day!


A series of questionable decisions led Mamoru Chiba to where he stood today, the familiar, musty smell of a place he'd never seen any reason to come back to clouding his nostrils as he fidgeted with his gloved hands.

Every single one of those decisions involved Motoki Furuhata.

First, Mamoru never should have let Motoki figure out that he was Tuxedo Mask. To be fair, he hadn't had much say in the matter. It was easy to frequently slip away unnoticed when you didn't have many friends. But Mamoru did have one friend, a friend who had burrowed himself into his life back in elementary school and settled there. A friend who knew him better than anyone else.

And Motoki did notice. He noticed when Mamoru, who had always been so dependable and chronically early, suddenly started turning up late to their monthly dinners. He noticed the puffy, dark skin under his friend's eyes and how he started ordering a second, larger coffee in the afternoons. And he noticed when Mamoru showed up at the Crown one day with a thick stack of books about crystals tucked under his arm, despite never having shown any interest in the topic before.

That this happened to be the day before Tuxedo Mask publicly announced to Tokyo that he was searching for something called the Silver Crystal and wouldn't stop short of robbing local jewelry stores to find it was…unfortunate timing.

Mamoru probably should have been less surprised when, just a few nights later, after a battle, he'd jumped up onto his balcony to find Motoki sitting on his patio chair, Mamoru's spare key dangling from his finger and a knowing grin at his lips. "So, this is what you've been doing with your time."

Mamoru opened his mouth to deny it, to come up with some sort of story as to why Tuxedo Mask was on his balcony while he, Mamoru Chiba, was currently not at home, but Motoki raised an eyebrow at him before he could even start, just daring him to try.

Mamoru sighed. "Fine. Yes." He reached up and pulled the white domino mask off his face, tossing it to Motoki, who caught it, wide-eyed. "But this stays between us."

Once Motoki got over his initial disbelieving curiosity ("Why a tuxedo? The roses just like…come out of nowhere? So you can just jump onto the 10th floor of a building, no problem? What about the 20th floor? The 50th?"), it was surprisingly easy for Mamoru to talk to him about everything else. The belief that finding the Silver Crystal was the key to understanding who he really was. The shadowy Dark Kingdom generals who filled him with aching familiarity. The strange connection he had with Sailor Moon that led him to her when she needed him and made him certain that she was the most important piece of the puzzle that was his fantastical alternate universe.

Sailor Moon's bravery, her power, her commitment to seeing the good in others — it all regularly left Mamoru breathless. The fact that she was absolutely gorgeous–that soft hair that smelled like strawberries and vanilla, that tantalizing curve of her hip right above the shortest blue skirt he'd ever seen–didn't help. The first time Mamoru had talked to Motoki about her, he'd immediately interrupted with a sharp "What about Usagi?", and Mamoru's cheeks had burned with embarrassment that his crush on Sailor Moon was so obvious at the same time that his heart did a little somersault just at the mention of Usagi's name.

His feelings for Usagi were…more than a crush. There was something deeper there, something that terrified him because he knew it could never be. Usagi hated him. And why wouldn't she? He had absolutely bombed their first meeting, though, to his credit, his disbelief at a test grade that low was genuine. But instead of apologizing, he'd kept going, entranced by the angry wrinkle of her nose, the uninhibited huff in her voice as she'd marched toward him and lobbed an insult right back.

And he never stopped, addicted to their near-daily encounters at the arcade, and terrified that, if he were to be his normal, boring self around her, he'd lose her attention completely.

But he'd kept his features neutral as he responded to Motoki. "What about Usagi?" he asked gruffly, only to be met with an incredulous look.

"Please, Mamoru. If you thought you were any good at hiding your moonlighting as a superhero from your best friend, you are infinitely worse at hiding how far gone you are for that girl."

Mamoru decided not to deny it, resigned to the fact that Motoki had managed to figure out his two biggest secrets with surprisingly little effort.

His fatal mistake, though, had been leaving that plea from the orphanage out on his table. They still sent out communications to all their "alumni", as if having aged out of staying there was some sort of achievement rather than a reminder of how unwanted they had been. Mamoru had opened the letter, forgotten about it, and left it sitting on a pile of textbooks in his living room.

That same night, Motoki had come over to Mamoru's apartment to do laundry (the fancy combo washer/dryer at his place was, like the motorcycle and the sports car, another benefit of his inheritance). When Mamoru emerged from the shower, he found Motoki holding the letter, a devilish grin creeping onto his face.

The orphanage had fallen onto some hard times. One private donor had recently passed away and rerouted all of his funds to his children, who were not interested in continuing his support of the place. Another had sudden, unexpected home renovation expenses, and she had to pull her sizable annual donation from the home in order to cover those. The letter was both a plea for individual donations and for fundraising ideas.

And this was how Mamoru found himself, fully henshined, standing in front of a life-size cardboard cutout of Tuxedo Mask in the main office of the orphanage, his eyes incredulously sweeping over the bold block letters on the banner above that eagerly proclaimed:

Win a date with Tuxedo Mask!

Mamoru was going to kill Motoki for ever talking him into this.


It has all started just a few weeks ago.

Maybe due to the amount of time he spent behind the Crown counter, a constant panoramic view of the establishment and its patrons in front of him, Motoki noticed things.

And not just about Mamoru.

Motoki often wondered what it would be like if any of his best friend's classmates from his fancy private school were to see the reserved, scholarly Mamoru Chiba in one of his regular shouting matches with a tiny blonde tornado.

A tiny blonde tornado who obviously felt the same way about Mamoru that he did about her.

Obvious to Motoki, anyway.

He wasn't entirely sure Usagi realized it herself. But he caught the way she would scan the room and her face would fall on the afternoons when Mamoru wasn't at the arcade. He noticed that Usagi was endlessly kind and bubbly to everyone around her, but had a special smile reserved just for Mamoru.

The two were like magnets, honing in on each other when they arrived at the arcade, planting themselves in the same two bar stools and spending the afternoon trying to get a rise out of the other.

And, much like his best friend, there was something else Usagi wasn't entirely discreet about, either. Did she and the rest of the senshi really think he wouldn't overhear their frequent conversations about youmas and crystals and battles as he set their drinks and snacks in front of them every afternoon? Did they really think he wouldn't notice the entire command center underneath his family's arcade?

Motoki had actually figured out Usagi's identity before Mamoru's, but, out of respect for Usagi, he'd never shared that knowledge with anyone. He had no reason to.

Until he did.

It had been a regular early spring afternoon at the arcade when Usagi came barreling in, as usual, but instead of gleefully shouting her order at Motoki as she entered, she beelined for her usual stool, dropped her school satchel next to her, and slammed a wrinkled newspaper on the counter. She sat with her head hunched over, focused on the page with the intensity she usually only saved for the Sailor V game.

"Usagi?" Motoki tried. "Chocolate or strawberry milkshake today?"

He was met with silence.

Mamoru was in his usual stool next to Usagi, a half-full cup of coffee beside him. He smirked, and before Motoki could try to stop him, one of his trademark caustic insults flew out. "Odango, did it finally sink in that you need to read to pass your tests?"

Motoki threw him a chastising look.

Usagi's head shot up, eyes flashing at Mamoru, and she pushed the paper across the counter to him. "Here," she said coolly. "So you can read about someone who is actually charming and cool. Maybe you can get some tips."

It was a piece about Tuxedo Mask, accompanied by a color photo that took up almost the entire area above the fold. In it, he stood crouched on a tree branch, his gloved hand clutching the tip of a red rose as he surveyed the ground below.

The tips of Mamoru's ears turned pink, and he avoided Motoki's gaze as he scanned the article and let out a snort. "What kind of junk is this, Odango?"

"It's not junk!" Usagi snapped.

"Is, too."

"Is not."

Motoki rolled his eyes and picked up the newspaper himself. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud: "Tuxedo Mask: Tokyo's Most Eligible Bachelor. Mysterious, handsome, killer fashion sense, and always there for Sailor Moon and the Sailor senshi–is Tuxedo Mask the ideal man?" He barely swallowed a laugh at the fashion sense line, thinking of some of Mamoru's wardrobe choices that made his green blazer look like haute couture.

"He is ! He is the ideal man!" Usagi exclaimed, nodding so vigorously that her pigtails swung wildly around her. She closed her eyes and let out a dreamy sigh. Mamoru stared at her for a minute, wide-eyed and wistful, before a dark, pained expression crossed over his features. He tipped back his coffee cup, draining what was left of it.

"You're living in a fantasy, Odango," he scoffed. "There's no way this guy is everything you think he is."

That was the same day Motoki went over to Mamoru's to do his laundry. The same day he saw the letter from the orphanage.

The same day Motoki had, if he did say so himself, his most brilliant idea to date.


Motoki had only been in the senshi command center once before. He'd been cleaning one night and somehow dislodged the lock under the Sailor V game that activated the command center's entrance, subsequently confirming his suspicions that five of his most loyal customers were also five of Tokyo's most loyal protectors.

Since then, he'd taken it upon himself to help keep their secret. If a customer spent too much time with the Sailor V game, he'd distract them by suggesting another game they hadn't tried before or asking if they wanted to taste an ice cream special he made up on the spot. He'd also stopped complaining to Unazaki when it was her turn to clean under the games and just did it himself.

He felt good about helping them, even in this small way. Like he was doing his own little part to help keep Tokyo safe.

Earlier this afternoon, balancing a tray of parfaits and fruit sodas in the palm of his hand, he'd overheard Minako say she was planning to come back to do some research on the latest dark energy reading their computer had picked up. The others all agreed to join, except Usagi, whose face fell as she explained that she had sleepover plans with her friend Naru.

It was perfect; an opportunity to talk to all of them about his plan without Usagi being around.

After the arcade had closed for the night, he'd managed to again activate the entrance to the command center, where he now stood waiting for the senshi to arrive. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep the goosebumps on his arms in check as the otherworldly, sophisticated control system beeped and buzzed behind him.

It had been one thing to confront Mamoru in the apartment that was like Motoki's second home. And Mamoru, to the best of his knowledge, couldn't shoot fire or lightning bolts from his fingertips.

The senshi, on the other hand…

In the end, it wasn't as nearly as dramatic as Motoki had worried it would be. When the four girls arrived, he greeted them with a sheepish "hi", and they regarded him more with confusion than anything else.

"Motoki? What are you doing here?" Rei asked gently.

He tried to channel the breezy swagger he'd used to confront Mamoru that night on his balcony, but it was no use, and instead of casually confident, his words came out in a clumped-together, nervous mush. "IkindoffiguredoutyourethesenshiandIneedyourhelpwithsomething."

"I told you all to be more careful talking so openly about senshi business in public," an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice scolded. Motoki jumped, and his eyes flew from the four girls across from him to the dark gray cat that had just jumped onto the control panel behind him.

Minako winced sheepishly. "Luna. I didn't realize you were here."

"Wait, that was the cat?" Motoki asked incredulously.

"Luna," the cat responded. "It's nice to finally be able to talk to you, Motoki. More importantly, as one of the senshis' guardian felines, I must impart the seriousness of keeping the identities that you have discovered a secret."

Motoki focused on nodding gravely instead of on the fact that he was being lectured by Usagi's talking pet. "Of course. I promise that the secret is safe with me."

"What can we help you with, Motoki?" Ami asked kindly.

Motoki pulled a wrinkled flyer from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it out for them to see.

"Win a date with Tuxedo Mask! A silent auction benefitting the Juuban Children's home. Bid on an opportunity to win a special date night with Tokyo's most dashing superhero!" Ami read aloud.

"What the hell is he doing?" Makoto muttered as she leaned over Ami to read the flyer herself.

"He's supporting a local charity," Motoki explained. "And," he took a deep breath. "I need Usagi to win this auction."

"Absolutely not," Luna replied. "We don't know anything about him or what he wants with Sailor Moon. We don't even know if he's on our side."

Motoki shot Minako a pleading look. "I can assure you that he is."

Minako took the flyer from Ami and pursed her lips thoughtfully before looking back up at Motoki "You know she's in love with Mamoru?"

So he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "I know that," Motoki replied.

"Then why would you—"

Motoki cut her off, "I would never do anything that would hurt either of them. I can't give you any more details, but please trust me on this."

Rei, who had been surprisingly quiet, shot Motoki a knowing look. "Motoki's right. We should do it." A jolt of surprised realization hit him. She knew. She somehow knew Tuxedo Mask's identity, just like Motoki did. She bit her lip and looked down at Luna. "I've seen things in the Great Fire…it's not my information to share, but…I promise this is a good thing."

Luna hesitated, but then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. She turned back to Motoki. "But, if anything happens to Usagi…" she left the threat unfinished, but Motoki tried to reassure her through his gaze, legitimately afraid of earning the magical cat's ire.

"How exactly are we planning to pay for this?" Makoto interjected.

Minako grinned. "Easy. Ami-chan, got any more of those diamond rings we can borrow?"


Mamoru turned from the life-size cardboard cutout of himself that stood in the orphanage's main office back to the director's desk. When he'd been in the home, he'd experienced a revolving door of directors, each one colder and meaner than the last. But Mrs. Sato, an older woman with kind eyes and graying hair she wore pulled into a low bun, seemed different.

"I apologize if all of the publicity around this has been too much," she said. "I know it has probably been distracting."

It had been a lot. There had been tabloid articles, a special episode of the Senshi Watch podcast, journalists and paparazzi crowding him after every recent battle. But he knew enough not to make the orphanage feel like more of a burden to society than it already did.

"No, it's fine. Luckily, I've learned how to lay low." He gave Mrs. Sato a small smile. "The secret identity thing helps."

"Ah, I suppose so," Mrs. Sato replied with an amused laugh. "Thank you for coming by today. I know that Motoki Furuhata is your sort of…agent for all of this, but I did want to thank you in person. We've already raised so much money. It will really make a difference for the children here."

And there it was. The reminder of why he'd agreed to do this, in the end. Mamoru didn't often dwell on the physical aspects of his time at the orphanage—the drafty dorm rooms, the rusting playground equipment, the nights he went to bed hungry because there wasn't enough food to keep up with his prepubescent appetite. He couldn't fix the loneliness the children there felt (which he dwelled on even less), but he knew that the money raised from this auction was more than even the sizable check he wrote the home each year.

Deep down, he knew he could suck it up for one night.


Mamoru slipped out of the alley next to the orphanage, his transformation dropped, and he greeted Motoki with an annoyed grunt. Sure, he could do this for the orphanage, but that didn't mean the date itself was going to be pleasant. And there was still one thing about it that was bothering him.

"Why don't I get to know anything about them before the date?"

Motoki waved his hand dismissively as they fell into step together on the sidewalk. "Because it's a blind date. So you don't google whoever wins it and decide to bail or talk yourself into how it's going to be the worst night ever."

"It is going to be the worst night ever. And I thought dates were only considered blind if neither party knows anything about the other. They're going into it knowing who I am. I should be offered the same courtesy."

"Eh, semantics. I did look it up though, and Urban Dictionary defines a blind date as 'when someone sets you up with someone you don't know'. No one except me knows you as Mamoru Chiba, the man behind the mask, and no one except me really knows Tuxedo Mask, so it totally counts"

"Ah yes, Urban Dictionary, that bastion of modern dating advice."

Motoki rolled his eyes. "Anyway, as we discussed, I'll get the information about the winner from Mrs. Sato when the silent auction closes and text their address to you that afternoon. Remember, you're due to pick them up at seven on Saturday, and then, well, you know what to do from there."

"You're not even going to give me their name?"

Motoki grinned. "Nope. I trust you to just show up there and do introductions yourself."


It was strange, transforming without the breathless urgency he always felt when whatever the connection he had with Sailor Moon beckoned to him. He was always so singularly focused on getting to her, heart in his throat as he tried to run just a little bit faster.

Now, his heart was in his throat for an entirely different reason, his stomach in anxious knots at the prospect of a date, even a meaningless one, with a wealthy stranger. It would likely be an evening full of forced small talk with someone trying to impress him without realizing just how insignificant the man behind the mask was.

Mamoru leapt from his balcony onto a rooftop below and pulled his phone from his pocket to check the address Motoki had texted him. At least it wasn't far.

He felt a bit ridiculous, bounding over the rooftops on his way to this farce of a date, but what was he supposed to do, stroll? Take the metro?

Not long into his journey, the landscape changed from sky-high apartment buildings to neat rows of large, single-family homes.

Mamoru took a deep breath as he jumped down from one residential rooftop to the street below, switched his phone to silent, and slowly approached the two-story house before him. He didn't even bother checking the house nameplate as he walked to the front door; it made no difference to him.

It will all be over soon, he told himself, thinking of a few hours from now, when he'd be able to get into bed with a cup of chamomile tea and the thick book on his night table.

Then, the door to the house opened, and the game changed completely.


When Usagi had first heard about Tuxedo Mask's date auction, she'd reacted with fiery, unadulterated jealousy. Sure, they'd exchanged maybe a total of five hundred words with each other, but she thought Sailor Moon was special to him. She thought she was special to him. Apparently not, if he was so willing to go on an actual date with a stranger but not to ever stick around and actually talk to her after a battle.

She'd dealt with it the way she dealt with most things – shoving food into her mouth and venting to her friends in Rei's bedroom. They'd listened patiently for an hour, until Minako finally jumped in to point out that Usagi's bitter muttering about him "whoring himself around all of Tokyo" was problematic, at best, and Ami pointed out that a donation of the size the date auction would likely raise could make a huge difference in the lives of the children at the orphanage.

Usagi's heart had softened at that. But…"I know," she whined. "But couldn't he just write them a check? Host a 5K? Does it have to be something so personal?" Deep down, she knew that a date auction with "Tokyo's most eligible bachelor" was likely to bring in more money than anything else. While it seemed out of character for him, he was likely doing it for the right reasons.

But it still stung.

Now, Usagi yelped as she attempted to quickly smooth on a layer of matte pink lipstick at the same time she tried to zip the back of her dress with one hand, a painful tug on her scalp as one pigtail got caught in the zipper before she yanked it back out.

It wasn't lost on her why Minako had suddenly gotten it in her head to set Usagi up on a blind date with "this great guy I know from school" around the same time that her superhero crush was about to have a very public date of his own. Her friends were trying to distract her, and, while she was still feeling a little wounded by everything with Tuxedo Mask, she appreciated their efforts and figured it wouldn't kill her to at least make a new friend.

Minako had insisted that it be a "true" blind date and hadn't told Usagi anything about him, even his name–just that he would arrive to pick her up at seven and to "keep an open mind", whatever that meant.

"Just be on time for once in your life," Rei had added. She'd sounded more serious than usual, so Usagi figured she could be 5 minutes late instead of 30. 15 minutes, tops. And yet here she was at 6:55, her room a mess of the piles of dresses she'd tried on before making up her mind about what to wear, her dresser strewn with tipped-over and uncapped bottles and tins of makeup, but actually, mostly ready to go.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang, and, with one last look in the mirror and a haphazard spritz of perfume, Usagi grabbed her purse and bounded down the stairs.


The door opened, and Mamoru froze, his throat dry as he drank in the pop of pink on her lips, the flowy dress she wore adorned with sequined strawberries, and the brilliant blue eyes that, for once, weren't narrowed at him in annoyance and instead, looked up at him in surprised awe.

"Tuxedo Mask…" she breathed, her face breaking into a dazzling smile.

A million thoughts came to him at once. Usagi was his date? How? Motoki had told him the amount of money the date auction had raised, and Mamoru had spent enough time listening to Usagi whine about blowing her allowance on snacks and arcade games to know that there was no way she could have afforded it herself. His hands came up to straighten his bowtie and smooth down his jacket. Had he even combed his hair? How could he kill Motoki and make it look like an accident?

He swallowed, his heart beating wildly in his throat, as he took in her smile, the becoming blush on her cheeks, that endless hair he'd spent so many afternoons at the Crown obsessing over.

And then it occurred to him. She didn't know who he was. This could be the do-over he so desperately wanted with her. He'd screwed things up so badly when they'd first met. But maybe, maybe he could have just this one night in which could woo her. Make her swoon. Be suave and debonair and maybe even get her to fall in love with him.

Mamoru Chiba was not suave. Mamoru Chiba was not debonair.

But Tuxedo Mask could be.


Me, trying to get away from the need for external validation: Would love to hear what you thought :)

Oh and yes the title does come from the 2000s film Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! that I remember absolutely nothing about.