The Secret behind the Roses
Written by: Jill Annette

Part One: Argument #17,834

Usagi looked at the clock across the café, its bright colors reflected the time: 4:39. One more minute, she thought. She glanced back down to the magazine article she was reading about time travel. The article caught her attention, not because it was actually about time travel, but the fact that it's being researched.

However, that wasn't her main concern. No, Usagi was waiting for a dark headed man to enter the café like he always did around this time of day, usually only ten minutes after she arrived. She would never let him know that she waited for him to show but she did.

Like this very moment, Usagi watched as he stepped through the doors and walked straight to the bar to order a coffee. Black. No cream. No sugar. Just black: plain. Every day.

She felt that way whenever he tormented her – plain. Usagi thought, possibly, that's how he liked everything in life. Plain and simple, apparently not, seeing that he picked on her mercilessly. Yet, he was still the object of her affection, no matter what he did to her.

The situations were almost funny sometimes. He would put her through so much misery until she was so down about herself that he'd start to feel bad about what he either said or did for a day or two. He would be kind then and always surprise her with a single, thorn-less rose that she would throw in an old shoe box the minute she arrived home. They just appeared, these roses, with a flick of his wrist, something she wanted to question but never has. Mamoru had his mysterious ways about him.

Like the masked man she fought with whenever she was Sailor Moon, Mamoru just had a certain air about him that made her swoon. Tuxedo Kamen was her protector and had saved her many times with his steel tipped roses. Roses much like the ones Mamoru handed her as an apology. She had her suspicions, but they were far-fetched and almost too good to be true.

"Hey, Odango Atama," came his familiar voice from the other end of the bar, breaking her from her reverie. "Whatcha day dreaming about?"

"Time travel," she quickly replied, looking down at the magazine in front of her. "Apparently it's being researched."

"You actually read about things like that?"

Usagi looked to Mamoru, dumfounded. "I know you don't think highly of me, but sometimes, yes, I like to know what's going on in the world."

"Never would have guessed, Odango."

"After years of telling you my name is Usagi, I really would've hoped you learned it by now." Usagi's shoulders slumped down, "I'm not an Odango."

At nineteen and twenty-five, Usagi and Mamoru had almost always had the same fights. He would tell her that she could fool him with the way she chose to style her hair and she would threaten to cut it. Oh, here we go again!

"If you'd change your hair, I might not have a reason to confuse you with odangos."

"Maybe I'll cut it."

Mamoru laughed, "You'll never cut your hair."

"Yes I would," Usagi retorted.

"You'd chicken out."

"No I wouldn't!"

"Then go ahead, Odango, maybe you won't be such a klutz anymore."

"I'm not a klutz, jerk!"

"Did I press the wrong button already?"

Serena gave him a halfway confused, halfway stupid look. "No, you did not press any button."

"Whatever you say Odango Atama."

Usagi picked up her things, "Do me a favor and go to hell already. You'd save many other people a trip because your ego would take up too much space. By the way, its Usagi."

"Nice one," Mamoru approved, unaffected by her battery. "I'll see you tomorrow, madwoman."

She brushed past him, eyes narrow slits, not completely sure why she had gotten so mad. Usagi felt like she needed to prove a point. Needed to do something. Walking down the crowded streets she passed a salon. Taking a few steps back, standing outside the door, Usagi looked inside.

Running her fingers through her hair, Usagi let the idea form in her head once again – let it marinate thoroughly – before finally deciding to act on it. She was going to get it over with. Taking barely one step inside the salon, someone greeted her.

"Oh, look at this hair!" the girl, who's nametag displayed, REIKA, exclaimed. "What do you plan to do sweetheart?"

Usagi shrugged, not knowing exactly what she wanted except, "Cut it."

"Any particular way?" she asked.

When Usagi shook her head once again, Reika took the blond over to a small waiting area with what seemed like hundreds of magazines with so many different styles of hair.

"All you have to do is pick one."

Usagi sighed, "Just one."

She started the long and painful task of picking out one from thousands.