Written for the UsakoMamorusongfic challenge.

It occurred to me at 7:30pm August 2nd that, hey, maybe I should write something for Mamo-chan's birthday. And so I started writing. Below is the result.

To read it with the lyrics, visit the UsakoMamoru LJ page. Link on my bio.

Happy Birthday, Mamoru Darling!

Feels Like Home
Alicia Blade

She didn't know he was behind her until his arms had slipped around her waist. One palm sought out her abdomen without hesitation, his fingers spreading wide on the soft cotton of her blouse, the tip of his pinkie brushing against a sliver of revealed skin. His other arm snaked up along her shoulder, pulling her back against his tall form, his toned chest. His knuckles teased her collarbone, his thumb tenderly rubbing over her quickening heart. He leaned into her, his chin against her temple. She felt his breath, warm, against her forehead. He craned his neck and his lips briefly touched her ear, before pulling back ever so slowly and pressing softly to her neck, where hair met skin. She shivered and his arms tightened. The hand on her stomach shifted, sliding subtly along her shirt's hem until she could feel almost his entire palm on her skin—searing. Her heart skipped. His lips tickled the side of her neck, gliding with excruciating patience and purpose around the base of her earlobe. She melted against him, desiring nothing more than the feel of his hands on her skin, the feathery touch of his lips along her chin.

A quiet moan escaped her. His knuckles shifted from their relentless teasing of her collarbone, his fingers inching up the flesh of her throat until their pads softly brushed her cheek and he coolly coaxed her face toward his. Her breath already coming in short, anticipating gasps, she could do nothing but comply. The movement forced her farther into his embrace and she raised heady, passion-filled eyes to his, hovering so close before her. Gazing into his mere perfection made her shudder, and he grasped her even more tightly until not a hair's width was left between their warm bodies. She was barely given time to drink in his inky, tousled hair, firm jaw, lips that were smoldering and teasing and tempting, intense, haunting blue eyes… navy, cerulean, ocean and sea and sky and nothing but the most profound, breath-catching, daydream perfect blue…

"Usagi, pay attention!" Ami hissed, kicking Usagi's chair and effectively snapping her from the fantasy.

Usagi looked around in a startled daze, wondering if that moan of desire had been as loud in the classroom as it had been in her head. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying her any attention and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief and set to calming her furiously fluttering heart.

"Usagi-chan, you're all flushed." At least, no one was paying her any attention except Ami. "Do you need to go see the nurse?" she whispered.

Shaking her head, Usagi shot a smile at her friend, still trying to rid her mind and body of the dream's aftereffects. "I'm fine," she whispered back.

Just another dream of him, she chided, checking the clock on the wall while her fingers aimlessly flipped through the pages of her textbook. Forty more minutes. Only forty more minutes before you can see him and hear his voice and look into those eyes and talk to him and yell at him and see him laugh and…

And…

And remember how much he does not belong to you.

"Have you heard? . . . It's true, I was told by . . . and she heard it from . . . and you know that he's best friends with . . . and he overheard . . . so it must be true. It's definitely true. Tonight, yes, tonight. Everyone will be there. . . . I heard that someone will even. . . . Didn't you hear? But shhh . . . it's supposed to be a surprise."

The rumors and gossip spread like brushfire through the arcade, everyone talking in hushed whispers among their peers, before passing the information off to the waitresses, the children, anyone who would listen, anyone who would spread the news elsewhere.

Usagi, however, was not paying attention. In the center of the arcade she felt dizzy with the bustle of patrons as her eyes scanned the room, every booth, every game machine, every stool, every crowd, every doorway, for a second, third, fourth time. To no avail. He wasn't there.

Her heart sunk down into her stomach, every moment of blissful anticipation for those few moments that would make the day worth living through, crumbled to pieces. He wasn't there.

"But he's always here," she murmured dejectedly to herself. True, it was the first day in months that she had come to the arcade at precisely 3:45 in the afternoon and he wasn't there. He wasn't drinking coffee. He wasn't studying. He wasn't playing the crane game. His presence would offer her no arbitrary moments of pretend companionship. His voice would give no peculiar, well-hidden, probably-didn't-mean-what-she-hoped-they-meant compliments. He would not fuel another twenty-four hours of fantasies and memories, where she could dwell on every word that had passed his lips, every brief moment that his hand unconsciously brushed hers, every time his eyes lingered upon her, every time her eyes lingered upon him when he wasn't looking.

"Usagi-chan, what are you doing?" Motoki was suddenly before her, one hand in his pocket, the other waving in front of her face. "Are you just going to stand in the middle of my arcade all day looking lost and forlorn, or are you going to let me make you a chocolate shake?"

At least with one of Motoki's world famous milkshakes, the afternoon wouldn't be a complete waste. "That sounds great, Motoki-san!"

"So are you coming tonight?" the clerk asked as Usagi climbed onto a stool at the counter.

"Coming where?"

He paused in making his ice cream creation to raise an eyebrow at the girl. "Haven't you heard? We're throwing Mamoru a birthday party tonight."

Her heart jumped at the mention of him.

"Birthday party? Is today his birthday?" She felt guilty for not having known it. How could she think about him every waking moment of every day and yet not know something so trivial as his birth date?

"Yep. The big 2-0."

She sighed quietly. There were times, when she didn't have him up on a pedestal of masculine perfection, that she could almost put them on equal ground and think that he wasn't that far out of her league, out of her grasp, after all.

This was not one of those times.

"Is he really that old?"

Motoki laughed at her sour expression. "I know, he certainly doesn't act it when you're around, does he? But anyway, it's going to be right here at the arcade. Starts at 8:30. I hope you'll come."

"Do you really think he'd want me here?"

"Bah, there're going to be so many people here, he probably won't even notice if you slip in and help yourself to some cake and ice cream."

He said it with a friendly wink, but it certainly didn't make her feel any better.

Still, a party with food and music and friends and him…

Any place with him in it was a place she wanted to be.

Even if he didn't notice her there.

"Sure, I'll come."

"Great. Let the other girls know, too, okay? In case I don't see them. Oh, and don't mention it to Mamoru. It's a surprise."

"Okay. Hey, Motoki? Are people giving him gifts?"

He shrugged. "I imagine some people will, but it's certainly not a requirement. I'm sure he doesn't expect anything from you, Usagi-chan, but you're sweet to think of it."

She smiled and nodded as he went to assist another customer. Drinking her milkshake slowly, she thought that of course Mamoru didn't expect her to give him anything.

But then, if there was anything in the world that she could give him to make him notice her, to make him think of her a fraction of the time she thought of him, she would beg, borrow, and steal to get it.

One more scan of the arcade confirmed that he still was not there to partake in their daily quarter-to-four argument, but the sting of disappointment was replaced with new fantasies, new daydreams to keep her company. She sipped the shake with a smile, picturing herself sneaking away with him during the party, finding a quiet room, a quiet corner, a quiet rooftop, laughing, talking, teasing… and she would give him a perfectly wrapped box with a perfect bow and he would open it and love it and show his appreciation for the unexpected gift by tying one arm securely around her and lovingly caressing her cheek with his fingers and giving her that heart-warming, affectionate smile that he so rarely bestowed on anyone and then…

But the problem with the fantasy was that no matter how hard she struggled to picture it, she had no idea what was in that perfectly wrapped box that made him so happy. That made him love her so.

"Say, Motoki-san?" she asked as she stood to leave, a spark of courage worming its way into her voice. "Where is Mamoru today, anyhow?"

"Oh, he went to—" He paused. "To… visit his parents."

Serena blinked in surprise. She'd never heard mention of Mamoru's parents before, but she supposed it only made sense for him to visit them on his birthday. She even felt a little guilty for having been so upset that he would miss out on one argument, and reminded herself that she was not the priority to him that he was to her. She said goodbye to Motoki and left the arcade, thinking how lovely it would be for Mamoru to one day want to introduce her to his parents, and how wonderful it would be to one day introduce him to hers.

"Motoki's throwing me another birthday party. He thinks I don't know about it." He chuckled and shook his head, picking a daisy from the grass and twirling the stem between his fingers. "Don't look at me like that, Mom. Of course I appreciate it, and I know his intentions are good, but really, another birthday party? He knows how much I hate birthdays—especially mine. No, it isn't your fault, or yours either, Dad. It's nobody's fault. This just… isn't the happiest day of the year. But I can't be upset with Motoki for trying to make it a little more cheerful. His heart really is in the right place." He shifted his weight and curled his legs underneath him to sit cross-legged on the grass. The day was warm and mild, perfect early-August weather, and the gentlest of breezes stirred his hair and the branches of the towering oak that shaded this corner of the cemetery. Moss and clovers were growing up around the gravestones and the grass was littered with the tiny white daisies, though Mamoru speculated that it wouldn't be if he sat there for much longer, as a small pile of beheaded flowers lay beside him. He discarded the flower and plucked another one, unable to keep his hands still.

"But I hate parties. I really do. I try to like them, but they're just not for me. I'd much rather be at home, reading, sleeping, anything other than pretending to be happy and proud that I've managed to live one more year." He sighed. "Maybe if I had someone to be with at the parties…" His thoughts stumbled and drifted to the girl they were never far from, and he shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the haunting image of her lithe arms, honey-sunshine hair, and the aura of sweet, angelic happiness that wafted in the air around her. "Yes, Mother," he whispered, afraid to say it too loudly even to an empty graveyard, "I still love her. And no, Father, I still haven't told her. I just don't know how. I just can't." He mindlessly plucked the petals from the daisy, the tiny white flakes sticking to the pads of his fingers. "You'd understand if you met her. Yes, I know, you think I'm perfect and any girl in her right mind would want me and all those things parents honestly believe, but this girl… she's untouchable. She has this perfection to her that's precious and fragile. And she has so many people who love and adore her, she doesn't need me. I'm almost afraid I would ruin her."

He dropped what was left of the flower—a pollen-filled center—into the pile of its brethren.

"Ironically, this is the longest time I've gone without seeing her in almost a year, and it's only been twenty-six hours. And I miss her. Desperately. Some mornings I feel like the only reason to get out of bed is because I know that I won't get the chance to see her if I don't. Mom, is this normal? To feel that I can't go more than a day without her smile, her laugh? I feel like I'm obsessed, or completely insane. I mean, take Motoki, for instance. I know he loves his girlfriend, but I don't see him panicking if a day goes by when he doesn't see her. I don't think he would die if they had to spend some time apart. Not that I think I would really die if I didn't see Usako for more than a day, but… but really, the thought is so awful that I don't even want to consider it as a possibility." He frowned at the stones, his parent's names carved into the granite, adorned with the words: Loving Parents of Chiba Mamoru. You are our light in the dark.

He shook his head, running his hands through his already messy hair. "I know these feelings aren't normal, they aren't a normal crush, a normal infatuation. I just don't know what to do about them…. She is my light in the dark." He hesitated, then couldn't help but smile. "Her family name is Tsukino, you know. Yeah, do you get the irony? Light in the dark?" With a groan, he tossed the sentimentality away and moved to stand. "And I'm nothing more than an obnoxious college student with a surprise birthday party to go to. Nice talking to you, Mom and Dad. Give the Big Guy Upstairs a hello for me, okay?" He blew his parents a kiss before he left, like he always did, and imagined his mother—the loving, wonderful mother that he couldn't remember—blowing one back.

"SURPRISE!"

"Wow. A surprise birthday party. I'm stunned and speechless."

"Oh, come on, you were surprised, weren't you? You didn't know! . . . Did you know?"

"I knew."

Motoki scowled, and Mamoru flashed him a smile and pat him on the back. "But thanks just the same."

Brushing away his irritation, Motoki pushed Mamoru into the crowd as the gathering broke into the first chords of "Happy Birthday to You." Mamoru let himself be pushed, too busy scanning the crowd of faces—some were familiar, most were not. But there were a great many people and a great many girls trying to circle around him and shower him with well wishes.

But he was patient and persistent and there—finally—he saw her, standing near the back row of game machines, Ami and Makoto at her side. Her dazzling blue eyes were glued to him, her cheeks flushed, but she almost immediately turned away when their gazes met.

Mamoru broke into a grin, his need for her satiated. The last four hours, four hours more than he usually had to wait to see her, had been torturous, but he felt relief well up inside every fiber of his being. The one momentary glimpse of her had filled him up, recharged him, set his world back on course before his life could collapse, pointlessly, around him.

Yes, these feelings were definitely not normal.

There was food—and lots of it. And drinks—and lots of them. And music, very loud music. And girls, very pretty girls. And guys, all trying to get the pretty girls to dance. Or maybe the girls were all trying to get the guys to dance.

Even Mamoru, who was truly not the party type, knew that the bash was a huge success.

And while he didn't dance, he did eat a lot of cake and joked around with a lot of his friends from school and inwardly rejoiced and celebrated every time he saw Usagi turn down a dance with a guy. Well, she did dance with Motoki once, but Mamoru knew that he was hardly a threat. The rest of the time, the girl stood in the corner chatting with her friends, when they weren't on the dance floor, at least. They seemed to be taking turns so that Usagi wouldn't be left standing alone. He didn't know why she was refusing to dance, but it certainly wasn't due to lack of offers.

The reason wasn't important. He just knew that seeing her in the arms of another guy would have torn his heart to shreds—especially on his birthday. It was a thought that had occurred to him as soon as the music had started, but it soon became apparent that he needn't worry.

But his relief on the matter aside, Mamoru was certain that something was wrong with the girl. Though she laughed and smiled with her friends, she would occasionally cast her eyes in his direction, before turning quickly away, a fleeting look of resolve on her face almost immediately being replaced with hopelessness. The look had been particularly strong when he'd opened his gifts—there were a lot of those, too, but none of them had been from her. He'd been wishing that there would be something in the stack of bows and wrapping paper that would be from her, something that would suggest she didn't despise him as much as he thought he did, something that would entertain dreams for weeks and weeks…. But there was no such gift and when he'd glanced at her while unwrapping presents—unwrapping Rei's present, actually—her expression had been so forlorn and crushed that he'd almost jumped up and ran to her and begged her to tell him what was wrong. He hadn't, of course. Rei had given him a coffee mug and a Crown Arcade gift card. Usagi, his darling Usako, had given him nothing.

But that was only to be expected.

He wished he had an excuse to talk to her, or tease her as was apt to happen, but he could think of no reason to break away from the current group of friends he was chatting with and approach her. He struggled to hear her chiming laughter over the music and the crowd, but such moments were few.

He played with the idea of asking her to dance. It was a fantasy he'd had before, but never had it stuck with him so strongly. Never had his chance been so perfect.

He wouldn't. He couldn't. But the mere thought flustered him, made him yearn for her, even more than usual. If there'd been even the slightest chance that she would accept, he would maybe have attempted it, but he knew she wouldn't. After all, she'd turned down every other guy in the room. While he loved to think that maybe she was waiting for him, and would only have him, he knew that that wasn't possibly the case. Why would she ever choose him above all the others?

It was stupid, she knew, waiting for him to ask her to dance. She knew that he wouldn't. She knew that the thought would probably never even cross his mind. But she pictured herself standing sad and alone in the arcade corner, tapping her foot and sending every silent signal she could think of that yes, she wanted to dance, and please, would he ask her?

But if he saw her there, he would only think she was bored, or tired, or both. And even if he did understand that she was waiting for a partner, a very particular partner, he would never bother to waste one of his birthday dances on her. Of course, she noted, almost proudly, he wasn't wasting his birthday dances on any girl. And that, at least, made her feel a little bit better.

"Why aren't you dancing?" Motoki practically screamed in his ear.

Mamoru flinched away and scowled at his best friend. "Because I don't want to."

Motoki rolled his eyes as if it was the most ridiculous excuse he'd ever heard. "Mamoru, you're the birthday guy. You could have your pick of any girl here—and there are a lot of pretty girls here. There has to be at least one who matches up to your oh-so-picky standards." He smiled cheekily, but the faltering, ashamed look on Mamoru's face made him pause. "Wait… there is one?"

Glowering, Mamoru shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I just don't want to dance."

The party host held up a hand, wagging his finger before Mamoru's nose. "No, no, no, I saw that look. That was the unmistakable look of a man who is fighting the inevitable. I can't believe it. Mamoru is actually interested in a girl, that I actually managed to invite. I knew if I invited half of Tokyo there'd be at least one." He looked over Mamoru's shoulder, scanning the packed arcade as if the mystery girl would have a neon flashing sign over her head. "So who is she?" he asked when no sign made itself apparent.

Mamoru pursed his lips and folded his arms, glaring at his best friend as well as he could. The look didn't faze Motoki for a moment.

"Oh, come on, you are going to tell me, aren't you?" He grabbed Mamoru by the elbow and pulled him toward the back counter, away from the other guests. "I'm your best friend, and this is monumental. You have to tell me."

The problem was, when Motoki said those words in that tone with that expression, Mamoru began to believe that he did have to tell him. With a groan, he folded his arms and kicked at one of the stools. "Don't laugh. And don't criticize. I know it doesn't sound, well, sane, but, I can't…. She just… And for God's sake, don't tell her. Or any of her friends."

Motoki looked offended. "Do you really think I would?"

With a sigh, Mamoru shook his head and leaned closer. "I have… a little thing… for…" His voice caught as he realized this would be the first time he'd said it out loud to anyone other than his parents. He never even spoke about it to himself. He wondered if feelings changed once they were out in the open. "For Usagi."

Motoki's eyebrows shot up and Mamoru felt a wave of queasiness inside of him. He knew that Motoki must be thinking he was deranged, crazy, pathetic, desperate, too old for her. These thoughts passed through his mind at the same time that he realized that, no, saying something out loud did not change the feelings in the slightest.

But then Motoki's eyebrows slowly came down and he blinked, and pondered, and considered, and finally said, "I see why you're not asking her to dance."

"You don't think I'm insane for liking her?"

"Usagi? Goodness, no. A little younger than I would have guessed, but age is just a number. And she's easily the nicest girl I've ever known."

Nice, Mamoru scoffed. Try irresistible, enchanting, warm, comforting, gorgeous, wonderful, generous, amazi—

"What?"

"I have an idea."

Before Mamoru could protest, Motoki had grabbed a basket filled with folded and crumpled papers from behind the counter and climbed up onto the marble countertop. The hired DJ stopped the music with a wave of Motoki's hand and soon the entire crowd was facing the host in excited anticipation.

Mamoru watched him with mounds of dread and terror.

And a little bit of curiosity.

And maybe even a touch of hope.

"Ladies and gentleman, I have an announcement to make."

But mostly just dread and terror.

"Some of you may have noticed that our honored guest and birthday boy, Mr. Mamoru himself, isn't dancing!" Some people in the crowd booed, but most just seemed confused as to why this announcement was worth stopping the music.

"And so, to help our shy bachelor along, I have devised a small game. In my hand I hold a basket. And this basket contains the names of every eligible girl here tonight!"

Mamoru jolted, feeling awkwardly betrayed. Had Motoki been planning this all night? He couldn't help glancing at Usagi, her eyes were wide as she stared at the basket, her hands clutched in front of her stomach. She looked pale. Mamoru's heart pounded. Was she hoping that her name wouldn't be called, or was she hoping…?

"I'm going to draw one name, and the lucky girl I call will get to share a dance with Mamoru himself!"

A wave of excitement rolled through the crowd. Maybe a normal guy would have been thrilled to see so many girls hoping for a dance with him, but Mamoru only felt sick and intimidated and he desperately hoped that Motoki didn't let him down, not so soon after imparting such a long-harbored secret.

"And the lucky girl is…" Motoki said, reaching a hand into the basket and shuffling through the papers. He pulled a slip out. The girls in the crowd all watched with hungry eyes as he unfolded it, read it to himself, gasped in mute surprise, read it again, then looked sheepishly back at Mamoru. Mamoru felt his heart plummet.

"Tsukino Usagi!"

But then his heart leapt back up to his throat. He didn't dare take his eyes off of his best friend for fear that they would immediately find their way to Usagi's angelic face, and see nothing but disgust and horror there. Motoki jumped off of the counter and turned to Mamoru with a huge grin.

"How did you… But… How…?"

"Good acting, huh?" Motoki whispered with a wink, slyly holding the paper so that only Mamoru could see the writing there.

His eyebrow quirked as he read: 2 cheeseburgers, no pickles, 1 Coke, 1 choc. sundae.

"They're the orders from this afternoon," Motoki clarified. "Smart thinking, wouldn't you say? Now, I do believe there's a very pretty girl waiting for a dance."

Mamoru grasped the feeling of gratefulness toward his best friend, and the near-overwhelming sensation that one of his long-awaited fantasies may be about to come true, but those were the only feelings he could pinpoint as he was shoved out toward the crowd.

Out toward her.

The crowd parted for her, like a dreamscape, framing her petite form. Her hair sparkled in the dimmed lights and her eyes were filled with fear and anxiety when they met his. Mamoru trembled, discreetly wiping his sweating palms on his pants, and tried to urge himself toward her, but some invisible chain held him back.

She wasn't too far from the door. What if she fled the moment he moved to take her?

But she looked just as glued to the ground as he was, wringing her hands, refusing to take her eyes off of him—just like he could not take his eyes from her.

Please don't reject me.

Her heart was fluttering, first from the utter perfection—a true fantasy, better than any she could have dreamed, was now making itself known in reality—but then from terror as he stopped and stared at her but did not come and take her hand. Did not come and take her lovingly into his arms. His blue gaze, even from across the room being the most endearing blue she'd ever seen, collided with hers. Her breath snagged. Waiting, dreaming, hoping, all the while dreading the possibility that he would refuse.

Please don't reject me.

The look of nervous uncertainty seemed to vanish from his countenance, replaced with just a tinge of assurance, and his eyes softened, his lips curled to a look of curiosity, his eyebrows quirked upwards in a question. He shrugged.

Air flooded her lungs and she had to force down the glowing smile that desperately wanted to be seen. She nodded and took one shaky step toward him. He followed and in an eternal moment they met in the middle of the room.

She still could not take her eyes from him, now that a new dilemma had arisen. In a dream he would have confidently wrapped his arms around her waist—no hesitation—but he did not do that, reminding her once again that it wasn't fantasy. That here she was before him, expecting him to touch her. Waiting to feel the skin of his hands, to lace her fingers behind his neck, to breathe in the cologne lingering on his chest.

He appeared to be just as lost as she was. Uncomfortable, uncertain, nothing like the cool confidence he so often carried with him.

The music started again.

"So, um… I guess…" Mamoru murmured, stretching his fingers out toward her and she wondered if it was possible for him to know how desperately she longed to throw herself into those welcoming arms.

With mutely pursed lips she followed his lead, tenderly touching her fingers to his bared wrists, the simple touch making the room spin and blood rush to her cheeks. Her hands continued timidly up his arms, brushing softly over his sleeves until they met the ridges of his shoulders. His hands, encouraged by her touch, sought out her waist and rested above her hips for a moment before cautiously inching toward her back, pulling her body toward his millimeter by anticipating millimeter.

Her eyes lowered, unable to hold his gaze. Her lips were parted as they sought out enough air to fill her lungs—the mere act of breathing felt as though it would shatter this perfect moment.

No longer hindered by the unmovable space between their stares, Mamoru edged nearer, his hands on her back guiding hr closer to his body. She offered no resistance. Her trembling limbs wound around his shoulders, her lips and cheek hovering over his collar, close enough that her breath could be felt beneath his shirt's material, but that the foreign feel of her long eyelashes against his throat was not quite recognized. She closed her eyes. He inclined his head toward hers until the tip of his nose touched the stray hairs of her bun, and then dared go no farther.

His heart raced; his breath quickened; he lived in dread for the moment that this moment would end. He didn't even know if they were really dancing, but was far too terrified of breaking the spell to attempt movement.

And then, too few, too short instants later, his mind registered that the song was over.

He held his breath and dared not move, thinking that perhaps if he was motionless, she would not think to leave his embrace.

Another song followed, almost instantly, without so much as a stir from the girl, and Mamoru couldn't hold back a sigh of relief, his fingers tensing slightly over the inward curve of her spine.

The subtle movement seemed to awaken her and she shifted slightly in his hold, her eyelashes fluttering open. Their gazes crashed again. She appeared briefly shaken, as if she'd forgotten where she was, before her eyes softened. He tried to smile and felt like he failed in the simple act.

Usagi opened her mouth as if to say something, but it took her a long moment to find the words. Finally, "How are your parents?"

His eyebrows lifted, the dreamscape returning. Maybe it really was just a fantasy, in which she was his lover and his parents were alive and…

"My parents?" he choked.

"Motoki told me you were going to visit them today, and that's why you weren't here… like you… always… are."

He couldn't help but smile at the very concept that she'd noticed his absence. Maybe even missed him. Ridiculous, absurd.

"My parents died when I was a kid. I was at the graveyard, 'visiting' them. That's what he meant."

Her eyes widened but he shook his head at her, a smile coming easier now, before she could offer any apologies.

"It's fine. It was a long time ago, and I like to think I'm very close to them now."

She returned him a shy smile and her fingers unknowingly crept up the back of his neck, threading into his thick hair. He withheld a gasp, knowing that she was completely unaware of how the action sped his pulse, flooded his every nerve with pleasure, passion, a need to mold their bodies together. He narrowly resisted the impulse to crush her against him, settling for a slight shift of his arms so that he could feel every curvature of her low back. The gap between their serene smiles became almost unnoticeably smaller. They both noticed. Usagi couldn't keep her traitorous eyes from sneaking one momentary glance at his alluring, forbidden lips, before she just as quickly snapped her gaze away to peer over his shoulder. Mamoru wondered if he'd only imagined it, doubting his sanity as he couldn't avoid looking at her lips too, just as she wetted them with a nervous, all-too-appealing swipe of her tongue.

Between her body in his arms and her face so close to his and her fingers entwined in his hair, he thought it was a miracle he had any self-control left at all.

"Who raised you then? Your grandparents?" she asked, with part curiosity, part avoidance of the impending silence.

"No, I grew up in an orphanage."

She looked at him in surprise again. Yes, she thought about him every moment of every day, but was quickly realizing that she hardly knew him at all.

"It was a long time ago," he repeated, and she nodded in understanding.

"Doesn't sound like it would be much of a home to grow up in," she murmured, one finger absently stroking the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He shivered—and was grateful that either she didn't notice or she didn't feel compelled to stop.

"There was a bed and food."

"Those things don't make a home. Home is a place where people love you."

He grinned at the philosophical tone of her voice and traced one hand along her spine up to the base of her neck, twirling a golden curl around one finger in mimicry of her own actions. She gasped, her hand stilling, and for the first time realized she'd even been doing it.

"Then it definitely wasn't a home," he said, pulling his gaze away from her in hopes that he wouldn't have to pull his idle hands from her, too.

She seemed to relax and the tips of her fingers hesitantly sought out the dark, feather-soft hair again. He had to bite his cheek to force down the glowing smile that desperately wanted to be seen.

"Happy birthday, Mamoru," Usagi whispered after a drawn-out, silent moment of heavenly, barely-there caresses.

He smiled quirkily and rested his forehead on hers, her sparkling blue eyes blurring in his gaze. Her heart, which she'd just managed to tame moments ago, started trembling again, but she could not stand to break the connection his stare had on her.

"Thanks, Usagi," he murmured, pausing only briefly before adding, "I'm glad that you came."

Her smile widened, the look sending his head spinning. Lord, how badly he wanted to kiss her.

"Me too," she responded, and he wondered if her eyes always glittered like this or if she was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I didn't get you a gift. I couldn't think of anything worthwhile."

With a chuckle, he shook his head—only barely, not wanting to lose the sensation of her feathery bangs mingling with his. "I wasn't expecting anything."

"I know. But I really would have liked to…" Her voice faded to a whisper. "I wanted to give you something that… that would… make you think of me."

I always think of you.

Neither could bring themselves to say the words out loud.

A third song was coming to an end. A fourth was beginning. They didn't acknowledge it.

"You're sweet to think about it, Usagi-chan. Don't worry about it. After all, it's the thought…"

"That counts?" she finished with a tight smile.

"Yeah," he confirmed, his fingers passing the stray curl of hair between themselves.

She closed her eyes, a blush rising in her cheeks, leaving him feeling blessed and content to be so close to her divine features. To think that mere hours—minutes—ago, she'd been nothing more than a far-off, impossible dream.

"Maybe a home…" she whispered and he knew the words weren't meant for him to hear, but he listed his head to the side in curiosity anyhow.

"A home?" Her eyes flew open, met with a teasing grin. Her blush deepened. When no response was forthcoming, he prodded, "A place where people love me?"

His eyes were twinkling mirthfully, but she couldn't bring herself to return the innocent smile. Her heat was beating too furiously; she'd never felt more vulnerable.

"Usa…" he whispered, his carefree grin beginning to fade.

She gulped, unsteady on her feet.

"Maybe, a place…" she whispered back, dizzily, "…where one person… loves you."

He analyzed her eyes, wondering if he possibly could have heard right, if his own desire could have completely misinterpreted her meaning, and yet her blue eyes were so filled with nerves, truth, hope, fear, there could be no mistaking.

Lord, how badly she wanted him to kiss her.

"Usako," he breathed, his lips taking a moment to curve into a brief, stunned smile, before closing the gap to hers. He let them linger only for a second, a delicate touch to her mouth, before pulling back and allowing her a moment to turn away, one more chance to take it back, to assert that he had, in fact, misinterpreted her meaning.

But a second later she lifted herself on her toes and kissed him—fully, unconditionally. He returned it with fervor, the very need for her pulsing like addiction through his veins. The world became her lips and only her lips; her porcelain skin, her silk hair, her fingers against his neck, her tongue, her taste, her waist, abdomen, back, shoulders arms; full, pouty, soft, delicious, caressing lips; into the fifth song and the sixth and maybe into the seventh.

And when they finally pulled apart, the ignorant party still swarming in the world beyond them, they were both breathless and dazed and filled to the seams with pure and perfect and previously unknown happiness.

He watched her, every part of him smiling, as she licked the taste of him from her lips and attempted to stand with her own strength on wobbling knees.

"And that's what home feels like?" he murmured into her hair, grateful for her laugh when it came and her twinkling, joyous gaze.

"I'm not sure what that felt like," she answered, cupping her hands around his neck. "But it's the only gift I have to give you."

He knew that no words would ever again sound so perfect.

"I'll take it," he whispered, kissing her again. Again. Again.

Please review.
Inspired by "Feels Like Home" lyrics by Chantal Kreviazuk.