Glancing around, Usagi saw that only a couple of the other tables were taken up. She guessed, correctly, that most visitors to the resort arrived on Friday or Saturday, the weekend. Since today was Thursday, it was bound to be quiet.
She and Mamoru filled the wait for their meals with idle chatter. Manga she had read, books he had read, movies they had seen, movies they wanted to see, their friends, her family, Chibiusa, the gift from Neo Queen Serenity, the resort, the cabin… they darted rapidly from one subject to the next with an easiness that had always been natural when they were together.
There had once been a time when Usagi had questioned whether she and Mamochan were compatible. They were very different people, with very different interests. It was true that they had loved one another since the days of the Silver Millennium, but suppose they had nothing to talk about? Nothing in common? Could a relationship like that survive?
Once they had begun to date, however, those fears had quickly been quashed. It was true that they didn't have that much in common: Usagi had tried to take an interest in physics, his subject of choice, enlisting the help of her genius friend Ami-chan to teach her some of the basics. However, the subject had proved so mind-numbingly complex – not to mention boring – that she had quickly abandoned it.
Likewise, he didn't share her interest in manga, particularly the funny shoujo ones that she enjoyed the most.
But that wasn't important. When Mamochan was speaking to her about his studies, it suddenly became fascinating. The enthusiasm he showed: his eyes bright; a smile on his lips; the words tumbling out in a constant stream; his hands moving to accentuate his words, or to demonstrate what he was talking about. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon she was nodding and asking questions, asking him to elaborate on things she wasn't clear on. The fact that she forgot everything the next day just didn't matter.
And likewise, he became engrossed when she was telling him about, say, Aurora Wedding. It was one of her favourite manga, a long-running series that followed the exploits of a team of beautiful girls with magical powers. She found that she could identify a great deal with the heroine, Linda-chan. She often read the latest issue in bed, before going to sleep, and her outbursts of emotion, ranging from joy (it could be so funny!) to sorrow (it was sometimes so, so sad…) had served to pique his interest. In this way he had followed the story vicariously through her for some time. Usagi herself was a member of the manga club at school, and Mamochan always had something positive to say about her little cartoons, unlike a certain friend of hers.
Usagi gazed out of the window beside her, at the twinkling expanse of the ocean. The only sound was the background noise of the other patrons, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Their own conversation had ended, with Mamochan apparently deep in thought about something. This was something else she had been relieved to discover in the early days of their relationship: silence could be just as fulfilling as the most vibrant conversation. It was never uncomfortable, never tense.
She could sit with Mamochan for hours, just with her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, and knew that she didn't have to speak if she didn't feel like it. Sometimes he'd fall asleep like that, his face as innocent and beautiful as a child's. Sometimes she'd fall asleep instead, and then she'd awaken just enough to feel his strong arms beneath her, gently placing her on the bed, kissing her forehead tenderly, before drifting back to sleep with a smile of contentment on her face.
Her gaze moved from the sea view to the stretch of land that made up the resort. She smiled as she spotted a couple walking hand-in-hand down the path towards them. They were talking, and Usagi could see the same easy repose between them that she had with Mamochan. The woman's head was bobbing up and down – she was laughing.
"Your meal, miss," said a sudden voice from beside her. A startled cry escaped her throat and her head darted around, her eyes meeting with those of the waiter. She smiled, flushing red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said, nervously rubbing the back of her head with her right hand. "I was miles away." He smiled. "Not to worry," he replied, a friendly note in his voice.
He set her meal down before her, and she thanked him graciously. He served Mamoru, too, before bowing his head and leaving them alone. "Itadakimaaaasu!" cried Usagi – probably a little too loudly – before hungrily devouring the food. Mamoru ate his own meal more slowly, glancing around on occasion to make sure nobody was paying attention to his wife's terrible manners.
Usagi stopped shovelling food into her mouth and looked up at the doorway as two new customers entered. She recognised them. They were the couple she'd spotted walking down the path with her hands linked. The woman was pretty, with short black hair and a kind smile, and she looked to be in her early twenties. The man looked younger, probably still a teenager, and he was certainly handsome, although it went without saying – of course – that he was nowhere near as handsome as Mamochan. They were both wearing loose summer clothing, like everybody else in the resort.
They were greeted by the same waiter that had served Usagi and Mamoru, and shown to the table closest to theirs. Guess they wanted the closest view of the sea too, Usagi figured. After they had ordered, Usagi caught the eye of the woman and smiled. The woman smiled back. That was all the invitation Usagi needed to start a conversation.
"Hiii!" she chimed. "My name's Usagi, it's a pleasure to meet you!" She leaned out of her seat, extending her arm for a handshake. The woman took her hand and shook it, replying "I'm Tomoko Iwamoto, this is my husband Kazuo." She bowed her head, adding "It's nice to meet you too."
Kazuo grinned at her. "A pleasure!"
"I'm Mamoru," chimed in Mamoru, giving the couple a polite nod, "Usako's husband."
The woman, Tomoko, screwed her face up with delight. "Usako!" she exclaimed. "That's so sweet!" Usagi nodded vigorously. "I know!" she agreed, "Mamochan is the sweetest husband in the whole world!"
"Mamochan?" asked Kazuo, raising an eyebrow humorously. Mamoru's face went red and Kazuo laughed, the others quickly joining in.
When their laughter had subsided, Tomoko turned to her husband, an expression of mock anger on her face. "Why don't you have a pet name for me?" she scolded. He held up his hands and shrugged. "Tomoko isn't really an easy one. It's not like I can just add a "ko" to the end." He smiled mischievously. "Unless you want me to call you Tomokoko!"
Tomoko rolled her eyes, while Usagi nodded. "It sounds good to me!" she said, grinning. "I love cocoa! I drink it all the time!" A collective groan came from Mamoru and the Iwamoto couple, before they all burst into laughter again.
"So, are you two here for your honeymoon?" asked Usagi, before taking another mouthful of her food. Tomoko shook her head. "No, we've been married for a year now," she replied, sharing a tender smile with Kazuo. "We just heard about this place and thought we'd come down for a little vacation."
Usagi swallowed. "Have you seen your cabin yet?" she asked. Kazuo replied, "Yeah, we just got finished unpacking. It's really nice."
"Ours too," agreed Usagi. "We haven't unpacked yet, though." She exchanged a knowing glance with Mamoru, both of them thinking about the beautiful glass flower standing on the bedside table. "We got a little distracted."
Tomoko and Kazuo watched them for a moment, before exchanging a knowing glance of their own. "Yeah," said Kazuo, "I remember when we were first married, we used to get distracted all the time."
Tomoko flushed red and smacked the back of his hand playfully. Kazuo shrugged, his expression one of exaggerated innocence. Usagi frowned slightly, confused. Mamoru, however, understood his meaning perfectly and held up his hands as if acquitting himself. "She didn't mean that!" he protested, unable to keep a smile from his face.
Usagi's frown deepened, and she leaned towards him, one eye slightly narrowed. "Didn't mean what?" she pressed. "What's that?"
"You know," said Mamoru, speaking quietly in an unsuccessful bid to lessen his embarrassment. "That. What married couples do when they're alone." Usagi thought for a moment. Mamoru could see her running through a mental checklist of the things they did together. After a few seconds, her eyes widened and she flushed as red as the setting sun.
"No!" she exclaimed. "I most certainly did not mean that!"
They all laughed again. "I'm dreadfully sorry," said Tomoko, holding a hand to her mouth to conceal her giggles. "My husband can be extremely rude when the fancy takes him." Usagi waved such a concern away. "Don't worry!" she insisted. "It takes a lot more than that to upset me!"
"Oh, I don't know about that…" said Mamoru drolly. Tomoko and Kazuo laughed, and Usagi glared at him. "Mamochan!" she hissed. "Just because Rei-chan isn't here, doesn't mean you can take her place and be mean to me!"
The Iwamoto couple's meals arrived then, and the conversation slowed slightly as they ate. Usagi had already finished hers, and proceeded to order the largest, most fattening – and undoubtedly the most expensive – dessert on the menu.
The conversation moved onwards, as the Iwamoto's shared the story of how they had met. They had both been set up on blind dates by well-meaning friends, and both of their respective dates had turned out to be quite undesirable. They had both made their excuses and left, and had happened to end up sitting next to one another in a small bar.
Noticing the glum look on Tomoko's face, Kazuo had asked her why she looked so despondent. He had listened with surprise as she had told him, before he repeated the same story back to her from his own perspective. Seeing more than a coincidence, they had exchanged numbers, and had been inseparable ever since, marrying after an easy courtship that lasted only a few months.
It had to have been fate, they maintained, and Usagi (a firm believer in such things, and with good cause) had to agree. Judging from the way they had told the story, smiling and laughing and finishing one another's sentences, they seemed to be a perfect match.
Usagi's dessert arrived then, a fearsome-looking mountain of ice cream and cake, and she had torn into it with ravenous ferocity. Mamoru watched her fondly as she did so, and as if feeling his eyes on her, she looked up and their eyes met over the table.
A tiny fleck of ice cream sat on the end of her nose. Mamoru couldn't help smiling. A messy eater or not, she was adorable. She did things her own way, the way she wanted to, not the way others thought she should. She was like a child in that respect, and he wouldn't have changed that, even if he could.
As she was finishing the last of the cake, and the Iwamoto pair were finishing their main course, the onus switched to the Chiba couple. "So, how about the two of you?" asked Tomoko. "How did you wind up together?"
After exchanging a contemplative glance, Usagi and Mamoru recounted a rather abbreviated version of their own tale. They omitted the more fantastic details. As magical as they were, they were also unbelievable. The feelings behind them, however, were easy to believe, just by looking at the young couple.
Why did I agree to this? thought Usagi glumly as she missed what she estimated to be the 500th ball to come her way. She was standing on the artificial grass turf of the resort's tennis court, with Mamochan on her right and the Iwamoto couple on the other side of the net. It was evening now, the sun having begun its descent towards the sea.
As the end of the meal had approached, Tomoko-san and Kazuo-san had mentioned that they had booked the tennis court for an hour, and would the Chiba couple like to join them? Mamochan had said yes, that would be great, and Usagi had nodded in agreement. She hadn't wanted to disagree with him, and she had convinced herself she'd enjoy it.
Usagi had never been good at ball sports, or indeed any sports. Videogames were much more to her liking. Still, she hadn't played tennis before, and there was a chance, however small, that she'd be a natural and wow them all with her performance.
However, that wasn't the case. Mamochan was a very good tennis player – he was good at everything, it seemed – and their opponents were even better. Usagi, on the other hand, had so far failed at every attempt to hit the ball, and as such, they had yet to score a single point. It had been half an hour now, and Usagi had long passed the point where embarrassment became shame. She just wanted to go back to the cabin and sulk.
Mamochan had retrieved the ball, and then they were playing again. Another short volley between Mamochan and the other couple, and then, inevitably, that little green ball came soaring towards her again. She watched miserably as it approached, half hoping it would strike her in the head and knock her out, so she didn't have to carry on playing.
Sure, it'd give her a headache, but she could spend the rest of the night being pampered by Mamochan, and that was no bad thing. It was certainly better than what she was doing now, making a fool of herself in front of her husband and two strangers.
The ball was still coming towards her. Right towards her, in fact, in a straight line. Usagi's heart bounced inside her chest. I can hit this, she thought to herself, tightening her grip on the racquet in her sweaty hand. It was an easy hit. It was practically aiming itself at her racquet. All she had to do was hit it. It didn't matter where the ball went afterwards. As long as she felt the impact of the ball against the mesh of her tennis racquet, she would be satisfied.
The ball was nearing her now, it's seemingly endless journey through the air coming to an end. Hit it, Usagi said to herself, willing herself to move. She did, putting her right foot forward. She moved her arm backwards, preparing to swing, but as she did, she lost her balance.
She tried to move her left foot to steady herself, but only succeeded in removing any remaining stability. She tumbled backwards, landing with a soft thud in a pile of arms and legs on the turf. As if to add insult to injury, the small, hard tennis ball finally landed – right in the pit of her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
Well, that's it, thought Usagi, from her sprawled position on the floor. I am the worst tennis player of all time.
The last straw having been placed on her back, she burst into tears and began to wail loudly, her mouth open wide and tears flowing from her closed eyes like twin rivers. In only a moment, Mamoru was beside her, helping her to her feet, cooing soothingly into her ear. She threw her arms around him and bawled into his chest, not caring how childish she looked.
"I'm so sorry, Usagi-san!" came Tomoko's concerned voice from behind her. "Are you okay?"
Usagi stopped bawling and nodded slowly, the movement of her blonde fringe against Mamoru's chest producing a rhythmic brushing sound. Tears continued to roll their way down her cheeks. They tasted salty on her tongue.
"I don't want to play any more," she said quietly. Mamoru's hand rubbed the back of her head softly. "That's fine," he said, like a parent gently reassuring a child. Usagi wiped her eyes with her sleeves and turned to give the Iwamoto couple a weak smile. "I'm sorry," she said between sniffles. "I ruined your game."
Tomoko shook her head. "It's our fault," she said. "We didn't realise you'd never played before. We should have been more considerate. You're not hurt, are you?"
Usagi shook her head. "No," she said, "just embarrassed."
Tomoko smiled at her. "You shouldn't be," she said kindly. "I've seen beginners a lot worse than you."
Usagi tried to give a snort of derision, but in her current state, it sounded more like a whimper. "I find that hard to believe," she said. Tomoko shook her head. "No, I mean it!" she insisted. "I remember one girl who let go of her racquet during a serve, and it went flying over the net and hit her opponent on the head!"
"Really?" asked Usagi. Tomoko nodded with sincerity. "He had a big red lump on his head! I felt terrible about it."
"You felt terrible?" asked Usagi incredulously, "just imagine how the girl who did it felt!"
"I don't have to imagine," replied Tomoko with a sheepish grin. Understanding sparked in Usagi's eyes. "It was you?" she asked, surprised. "But you're so good!" Tomoko shrugged. "I was a beginner once, too. It's all down to practice."
Usagi giggled, her mind showing her an exaggerated re-enactment of the scene Tomoko had described, complete with cartoon birds circling the dazed man's head. She mopped the last of the tears from her face with a damp sleeve. "Sorry for being such a baby," she said gingerly.
"That's quite alright," replied Tomoko. "Right, Kazuo?"
She turned to her husband, to see that he was grimacing as if in pain, with one hand held to his forehead. Despite his obvious discomfort, he smiled – albeit rather thinly – and nodded. "Yeah, don't worry about it," he agreed. He rubbed his temples with the palm of his hand.
"Are you okay?" asked Usagi, concerned, immediately forgetting her own worries. He nodded again. "It's nothing," he said. "Just a migraine."
"A migraine?" asked Usagi. Tomoko nodded, concern showing in her eyes too. "It's a bad headache," she explained. "My husband gets them every now and again."
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Mamoru, stepping forward.
Kazuo shook his head. "No, thank-you, I just need a lie down." He bowed his head slightly, one hand still clamped to his forehead. "Sorry for running out on you," he said apologetically. The Chiba's assured him it was fine, and wished him a quick recovery.
"Do you want me to walk you back?" asked Tomoko. He smiled gratefully, but gave her a brief shake of his head. "I'm sure I'll manage," he replied. "Besides, we've got the court booked for another half an hour. No point in letting it go to waste."
Tomoko nodded hesitantly, but didn't protest. Exchanging goodbyes with the Chiba couple, Kazuo turned and exited the mesh square that surrounded the tennis court, and began to walk swiftly in the direction of the cabins.
"Is he going to be okay?" asked Usagi, her voice earnest. "He'll be fine," replied Tomoko, watching her husband as his figure disappeared from sight. She turned back to Usagi and Mamoru, and seemed to brighten somewhat. "Now, shall we continue?"
"Count me out," replied Usagi. "I think I've shown myself up enough for one day."
Sensing that it was pointless to argue with her, Tomoko nodded, before smiling courteously at Mamoru. "Then, shall we have a one-on-one match?" she suggested. He nodded. "Sounds good to me."
Usagi grinned, any trace of the tantrum just a few moments earlier erased from her features. She wrapped both of her arms around Mamoru's right elbow and rubbed her head against his shoulder. "I'll cheer you on, Mamochan!" she chirped, before prancing over to the sideline. Mamoru watched her go with a fond smile on his face, and then picked up his racquet and turned to face Tomoko, who had returned to the other side of the net.
As Mamoru and Tomoko began their game, Kazuo neared the cabins. He stopped as a bench, some distance to his right, caught his eye. It was unoccupied, and sat looking out at the horizon. The sun was beginning to set and the sky was slowly turning a pleasant shade of amber. Beneath it, the sea rippled calmly. A cool breeze ruffled his dark hair.
He decided that such a serene scene might help ease his throbbing head, and so he walked over to the bench and sat down on it. He leaned back until he was looking right up at the orange, cloudless sky, and then closed his eyes. He let the wind caress his face. Other than the breeze, the only sound was the steady lapping of water against the rocks below. He felt himself relax. Already, his migraine was starting to rescind.
"Excuse me, may I sit here?"
So unexpected was the voice, low and female, that Kazuo practically leapt off of the bench with surprise. His eyes jerked open and his head snapped around to look at the newcomer. She was standing only a couple of feet away, at the edge of the bench. He hadn't heard a single sound while he had his eyes closed, aside from the breeze and the waves. Where had she come from?
He regained his composure and looked up at her, intending to apologise for his reaction to her sudden appearance. His eyes travelled up her body, tall and slender, dressed in a long white dress. He reached her face, and his breath rushed inward in an audible gasp.
She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
The features on her young face were perfect. Her green eyes were like emeralds, deep and mysterious as the nearby ocean. Her long, exquisite red hair shone in the fading daylight.
"My name is Mibo Akai," she said politely as she sat down on the bench beside him. Her voice was as soothing and calm as the sound of the waves. She offered her hand, and he took it in his. The fingers were slender, ending in perfectly kept nails, the same shade of red as her hair. Her smooth skin was warm and soft to the touch. He felt his heart flutter in his chest.
"Kazuo I-Iwamoto," he stammered. She nodded as if this were something she already knew. Her powerful green eyes were locked with his, and Kazuo noticed absently that his head no longer hurt. He was still holding her hand, and she made no move to withdraw it.
He could feel himself being drawn into those eyes, like a swimmer losing a battle against the tide. Her small, pink lips formed a radiant smile. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Kazuo," she purred. The fact that she had used his given name, without a polite suffix, didn't bother him in the least.
The image of Tomoko playing tennis with the Chiba couple, only a short distance away, jumped into his mind, and he hastily removed his hand from hers and turned away. What was he doing? He had the most wonderful wife a man could want, and yet he was practically drooling all over this stranger.
He placed his eyes firmly on the distant horizon. Even though he could no longer see the girl sitting beside him, her sweet, flowery scent continued to pervade his senses.
"Something on your mind?" she asked.
"My… wife," he replied, placing deliberate emphasis on the word wife, as if confirming it in his own mind.
"Oh, you're married?" Her smile deepened. "That's wonderful."
Her scent seemed to be growing stronger now. It was overpowering. He was having to physically fight the urge to turn and look at her again. He clasped his hands together in his lap, so tightly the knuckles went white.
"Look at me."
His mind protested weakly but his body did as it was told, and he turned his head to meet those enchanting eyes once more.
"What is your wife's name?" the girl, Mibo, asked. Kazuo opened his mouth to reply, but her name wouldn't come to his lips. He frowned, slightly, without breaking eye contact. Why couldn't he think of her name? He knew what it was. Of course he did, they'd been married for over a year.
"To… to…" he stuttered slowly, sure that his wife's name began with that sound. But what came after that? He strained to produce a mental image of her. She was… she was… she was shorter than him. He knew that. Her eyes were blue, he seemed to recall.
No, that wasn't right. They were green, and she had long, red hair. He realised that it wasn't his wife he was thinking of, it was the girl sitting in front of him. He could remember her name clearly. Mibo Akai.
"Well?" asked Mibo, raising her eyebrows slightly.
Kazuo searched his mind for something, anything, about his wife. Her name, her face, her eyes, her voice, how they had met, how long they had been married, where she was at this precise moment…
"I don't know…" he finally replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. He couldn't remember anything about her. Come to think of it, what was his own name? Where did he live? Where did he work? The answers eluded him.
"Are you sure you have a wife?" asked Mibo.
Her eyes were probing him, searching the depths of his soul. He tried to close his own eyes but nothing happened. Her eyes wouldn't release their hold on him. Her scent was all around him, forcing its way into his nostrils and down his throat. She was invading him.
Did he have a wife? He couldn't remember. He could feel a powerful lust growing within him, coursing through his veins, pushing all other thought away.
"Kiss me," she said softly.
He did so without hesitation, the last spark of protest within him dying.