1. I lied about being back with Chapter 2 in a week. I also lied about this story being a two-parter...it's now a three-parter.
2. The post-PhD job search is murdering me.
3. Massive thanks to QueenRisa for beta-ing this AND for her liveblog reactions of Bridgerton Season 2 episode 7 just now while I quietly made her suggested edits.
Usagi would have been less surprised had Jadeite himself been at her door. Tuxedo Mask didn't just…wander the streets of suburban Juuban. At least, Usagi didn't think he did. And yet, here he stood. The tall, dashing enigma of a man who had become a permanent fixture in all of her fantasies since the night she'd first seen him, bathed in moonlight as he'd stood in the window of Osa-P's, encouraging words just for her spilling from his lips. He looked out of place here, standing on the sidewalk that had witnessed Usagi's mad dashes to school, the skinned knees and fights with Shingo and forgotten lunches. He didn't know her reality, and seeing him standing in it, wondering what he'd think of Sailor Moon's day-to-day existence, was throwing her off her axis. And then it hit her–Tuxedo Mask didn't actually know Usagi Tsukino at all. And she had no idea what he was doing at her house.
"Hi?" she squeaked.
"Good evening." His deep, velvet voice shot through Usagi like it always did, pooling in her stomach and sending a trail of goosebumps up her arms. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for…?" she trailed off, confused.
"Our date, of course."
Usagi's breath hitched. Tuxedo Mask was her date? She was his? No…whoever had won his date auction was supposed to be some glamorous society person with a long list of accolades to their name and plenty of money to burn. Not Usagi Tsukino, middle schooler who always had a homework assignment she'd forgotten to turn in and could barely stretch her allowance money from week to week. It didn't make sense.
"Um…are you sure you have the right address?"
"I certainly hope so." He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her the maps app on his screen. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was thrilled by this small window into his reality.
"That's my house…but I um…I didn't bid on...I didn't buy…" Usagi's loud, nervous laugh echoed through the open door and into the genkan behind her, and she gave a silent thanks that her family wasn't home. "I mean I wasn't expecting…you."
"I hope you're not disappointed?" His voice was smaller than she'd ever heard it before. Hesitant.
Disappointed that Tuxedo Mask had shown up on her doorstep to take her on a date? Was he serious? "No!" she quickly reassured him, used to him leaving at the first sign of an awkward conversation. Or any conversation. "I'm just surprised. Good surprised!"
Tuxedo Mask visibly relaxed at her answer, and he shot her a flirty, lopsided grin that turned her legs to gel.
"My friends must have done this. They had said they were setting me up on a blind date. But I don't know how…" Usagi had so many questions. How did they pay for it? How did they get this past Luna? She thought back to Minako and Rei trying to psych her up for this blind date over the past week, and she made a mental note to somehow simultaneously thank and kill them both.
Usagi didn't know how to act. She had daydreamed almost this exact scenario hundreds of times. She, Usagi Tsukino, without the magic or the red boots, getting to spend time with the man she'd spent so much time obsessing over. But her daydreams never accounted for the actual mechanics of conversation between them. Or the nerves that were threatening to overcome her in his presence.
He looked good. Like, mind-blowingly good, those piecey bangs falling onto his forehead and slightly over his mask, that tuxedo that highlighted his slim, muscular build. Usagi rarely had the opportunity to just unabashedly check him out without the threat of being blasted by some youma or the awareness that he was about to spin on his heel and turn away from her, and so she drank him in now, her pulse throbbing erratically against her neck. She supposed an introduction was as good a start as any. She bowed awkwardly, feeling strange introducing herself to a man she technically already knew. "I'm Usagi."
Tuxedo Mask's lips quirked upward in amusement. "I know." He silenced the question on Usagi's lips with a hasty, "The orphanage gave me your information." Of course. They wouldn't just send Tuxedo Mask out on a blind date without giving him some idea of what he was getting into.
He twisted his fingers in a way Usagi had never seen before, and she gasped as a rose appeared in his hand, its blood-red petals a striking contrast against his pure white glove. He held it out to her. "You look beautiful, Usagi-san."
No way. There was no way this was actually happening, Usagi thought, taking the rose from him and holding it up to her nose to breathe in its sweet scent. But Tuxedo Mask still stood in front of her, and now, he held out his hand to her like he'd done so many times before.
"Shall we?"
Usagi swallowed hard as she placed her hand in his and he closed his fingers around it, the sensation of his gloved hand on her bare skin flooding her with warmth. His lips twisted into a teasing, strangely familiar, smirk.
"How are you with heights?"
Mamoru hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd scooped Usagi up into his arms and leapt onto the rooftop of the closest house. It certainly hadn't been that she would tie her arms around his neck and comfortably rest her head on his chest like she'd done this a thousand times before. But then, he was used to being surprised by Usagi Tsukino.
He thought back to their exchange at her doorstop. The power that accompanied his henshined form always gave him a rush of unfamiliar confidence, but his decision to channel the suave hero he knew Usagi thought he was had made him bolder than he'd ever been before. His cheeks burned at the memory of the words that had rolled off his tongue, her own pretty blush and wide-eyed gaze only serving to embolden him further.
Usagi shifted in his arms, and Mamoru swallowed the lump in his throat as the scent of her strawberry-vanilla shampoo floated up to him. Something nagged at the back of his mind, but it was far away and stomped out by the sensation of her silky hair blowing wildly around him, the feel of her tiny frame fitting perfectly in his arms, the way she'd slightly tighten her grip on him each time he sailed over the street and to the next building above.
They zoomed by Tokyo Tower, standing like a sentinel over the city's sparkling skyline, its lights reflecting on the sequined strawberries on Usagi's dress, and Mamoru let himself get carried away for a moment, thinking of taking Usagi to the top and watching the lights go out together before kissing her breathless.
He felt a slight pang of uneasiness in his heart. He thought back to her at the arcade the other day, ardently insisting that Tuxedo Mask was the ideal man. How would Usagi feel if she knew it was actually him behind the mask? He almost snorted at the thought. Mamoru Chiba was definitely the farthest thing from Usagi Tsukino's ideal man.
More than anything, though, he wanted to show her that maybe he could be. He needed to show her, to prove to her that he wasn't an asshole, that he did actually want to give her everything, to be everything to her, and this was the only way to do it.
Eventually, he would tell her, he promised himself. He would apologize for every teasing word, every biting comment.
But tonight was all about fantasies and wish fulfillment. For both of them.
It was going to be the perfect date.
Right?
Motoki had reserved a private room for them in the back of the restaurant, the idea being to save them from paparazzi who were eager to catch a glimpse of Tuxedo Mask and his date. The room, with its pure white walls and chrome chandelier, seemed to be going for clean and modern, but instead it was sterile, unwelcoming, and freakishly silent, the din of the main dining room bursting in each time their waitress came in.
Mamoru took a sip from his water glass and tried to ignore the churning anxiety that had settled deep in his gut, the silence around them ringing in his ears. Motoki was like some sort of sadistic fairy godmother, he thought darkly.
Something in Usagi's demeanor had changed since they'd arrived at the restaurant and sat down. She was uncharacteristically quiet, biting her lip as she scanned the menu in her lap.
Mamoru wracked his brain for anything he'd said or done that might have upset her, but he came up empty.
He looked down at his own menu, the restaurant's abstract aqua logo and a tagline promoting its French-Japanese fusion cuisine at the top. The options looked good, if unconventional — blue crab and seasonal vegetable mousse, shellfish consommé, tomato and yuba 'mille feuille'.
He set his menu down and looked back over at Usagi, who looked up and smiled nervously at him before turning back to her menu once more.
Mamoru had seen enough romantic comedies (courtesy of Unazaki) that he knew what he should say. That he was thrilled to spend this kind of time with her (he was). That she had the most gorgeous eyes he'd ever seen (she did). That he wanted to be with her more than he wanted anything else in the world (he did).
But it turned out Mamoru, even henshined, was still absolute shit with words. Especially canned, Hallmark-type words, the ones that he was supposed to say on a romantic date. The ones Usagi probably expected. He wasn't sure why he ever thought he wouldn't be. His superhero persona – the tuxedo, the poetry, the cape — it was all just a costume. One that was easy to hide behind.
Underneath it all, Mamoru was still a seventeen year old who had no idea how to act on a date with someone he'd been both antagonizing and pining over for months.
There was a reason Tuxedo Mask left battles as quickly as he did.
There was a reason Mamoru kept to himself and only came out of his shell with Motoki (who'd basically forced him to over the years) or to tease Usagi.
In most social interactions, he had absolutely no idea what to say.
He really shouldn't have given away his two party tricks (the rose and the rooftops) so early in the evening.
He took a deep breath. "So," he began. "Tell me about yourself."
Seriously, Chiba, tell me about yourself?
He was single-handedly shifting the evening from the world's most romantic date to the world's most awkward job interview.
Tell me about yourself.
Tuxedo Mask's words echoed in Usagi's mind and filled her with a familiar sense of inadequacy. What on earth could she tell this man that would make her enough for him? I'm barely passing middle school and I'm a bit of a crybaby. I guess I'm technically a superhero, too, but, unlike you, I am really bad at it.
It had felt so normal, him carrying her over the streets of Tokyo, that she'd relaxed into his arms and just enjoyed the ride, inwardly thrilled that he was doing this with Usagi and not with Sailor Moon.
But from the moment they'd arrived at the restaurant, the contrast between the two of them had screamed at her, impossible to ignore. Everything about him — the way he politely removed his hat the minute they sat down, the way he carefully sipped from his water glass, the way he managed to look completely relaxed in this fancy restaurant — exuded grace and poise.
Usagi, on the other hand, had gotten her dress stuck on her chair and basically tripped her way into her seat before dribbling water all over the pristine white tablecloth when she went to take a drink. It didn't help that their waitress was practically drooling at Tuxedo Mask all while looking at Usagi with undisguised disdain.
I know, Usagi wanted to say. I don't know what he's doing here with me, either.
She felt…defeated. Her dress was too childish, her makeup too gauche, her palate too unrefined (Usagi loved food, but absolutely nothing about foie gras croquettes sounded appetizing to her).
"Uh," she began. "I'm not that interesting. I like eating…sleeping…reading manga."
Part of her wished she was henshined right now. Sailor Moon might at least have a fighting chance with him.
But then, Tuxedo Mask would probably be disappointed to learn that Sailor Moon, underneath it all, was just an unremarkable fourteen year old. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Usagi rapidly blinked them away. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. Instead, she pasted a fake smile on her face. She could try to ignore the sadness in her heart for a few hours and at least make polite conversation with him. Tonight, she wouldn't be loud, she wouldn't trip again, she wouldn't stuff her face.
She would be the kind of date Tuxedo Mask deserved.
Mamoru moved his chopsticks to rest sideways on his plate to indicate that he was done.
How had this evening gone downhill so quickly?
Throughout dinner, Usagi hadn't acted like herself. Her addicting warmth, her uninhibited enthusiasm, her effervescent laughter — all missing. Instead, she picked at her food and asked him banal questions about his favorite color (black), what he did in his spare time (read, mostly), and his favorite food (coffee).
The Usagi he knew would have inhaled her food and barely taken a breath between bites as she went on and on about her friends or video games or hell, even that annoying upperclassman she knew from the arcade.
He was half-tempted to call her Odango Atama and fall back into their easy bickering. It wasn't at all what he wanted in a relationship with her, but at least he knew she'd be herself, cheeks flushed, arms crossed over her chest with indignant fury.
And then it hit him. She was bored.
Bored with the date, bored with how he had nothing to offer her, bored with him. Sure, she was being polite, because Usagi was nothing if not endlessly kind. But she needed to be with someone outgoing and fun who could match her excitement about every little thing.
Mamoru was never going to be that person. In any form.
The realization seared his heart, his surroundings fading out of focus as the moment crashed and stopped around him.
He wasn't going to be enough for her. Ever. Even as Tuxedo Mask.
"I'm gonna go use the bathroom," Usagi's voice broke through his thoughts, and he was grateful for the mask that concealed the emotion that, for once, was probably plainly written on his face.
Once Usagi left the room, Mamoru pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Motoki. Tonight has been an absolute disaster.
Mamoru stared at the bubbles that indicated Motoki was typing his response. There wasn't any encouraging thing Motoki could say that would make this any better. Surprisingly, he didn't try to.
Come to the Crown for dessert. Both of you. 10 minutes.
As I said, the job search is killing me and occasionally mutilating my self-confidence.
I'm a words of affirmation person.
You know what to do ;).
