Author's Note: Several people in the comments have expressed frustration with the Senshi for not realizing how much Usagi is struggling – because this is something that's important to me and I've been handling very consciously in the narrative, I wanted to take a beat to address this sentiment. First off, this is 100% truth in television – when a typically happy and supportive person is struggling, it's much more likely to be overlooked because we generally rely on positive people for their strength and don't think about them facing challenges. Additionally, and more importantly, Usagi is very explicitly NOT sharing what is going on with her with her friends. While I totally understand how this is frustrating to read, it's never fair to expect help that you haven't asked for; in fact, expecting people to be able to read your mind or to pick up on things that you're not sharing and then pry so that they can help is almost always a toxic way of thinking. So please go easy on the girls – they're trying to be respectful and are working with incomplete information. *puts away soapbox*
Now that that's out of the way, thank you so very very much all of you who have taken the time to read and/or to kudos, favorite, review, etc. August majorly kicked my ass, but having the influx of excitement and support helped keep me afloat even when I had zero time and motivation to write. So seriously, thank you.
And of course, all the love and thanks to my beta, FloraOne. I am seriously so grateful to have you in my life.
XX
Chapter 8 – Just Usagi
When she'd been not-so-subtly dodging Mamoru's texts, adjusting to her massive new workload had been keeping her pretty busy – though she suspected nothing on this earth would be enough to ever make her too busy for sex.
Unfortunately, it also seemed that no amount of overwhelm or anxiety was going to be quite enough to quell her crushing sense of loss, even though she knew it was stupid and unearned.
Mamoru had never liked her. Fucking didn't make them friends. They weren't in any kind of relationship. She still had her vibrator. She hadn't actually lost anything.
But it sure didn't feel like it.
And somehow, she was stuck standing on the train next to Ishikawa-san day in and day out as they went to check in on low-income families and shove forms at them, or to quiz single mothers experiencing unemployment on if they'd really applied to the requisite number of jobs this week, and yet all she could think about was how badly she missed Mamoru. Not just his kisses, or his touch on her skin, but his knowing smirks, their banter when she raided his fridge, the slight shake of his head when he called her 'Odango.'
She missed him.
Wasn't she supposed to be an adult by now? Rei would never be this pitiful.
She did her best to block out the thoughts, but it was hard. She couldn't unmemorize the expressions he made in the throes of passion, or stop the way his face flashed in her mind's eye whenever she teetered on the precipice of orgasm – and she couldn't find it in her anymore to pretend to think of someone else.
At least she had her work to distract her. Almost before she knew what had happened, Suzuki-san's folders had been turned entirely over to her and her recruit suit had been hung up in the very back of her closet, next to the heart-dotted blouse and the pink top with the bow.
Even though she hadn't made enough money yet to do a full shop for a professional wardrobe, she knew she would never be able to bring herself to wear those. But she couldn't bear to get rid of them, either.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
In the meantime, she was making do with a secondhand pencil skirt she'd bought at a consignment shop and had started begging Ami (or occasionally Minako) to loan her an appropriately conservative top once she'd cycled through the two button-downs and three cardigans that she already owned.
The days and faces began to blur along with her outfits – at least the Dark Kingdom and Mamoru seemed to agree that she desperately needed a break – until one Monday she found herself sitting at her desk with a midafternoon-pick-me-up Yamanashi Tete! Grape White Chocolate Cream Frappuccino and a stack of nondescript client folders, attempting to put them into some semblance of order.
She frowned down at the file in front of her, a feeling of deep unease unfurling in her belly.
Now that she'd opened it and skimmed over the summary sheet, she remembered her visit to see Inoue-san and his apartment full of airplanes. But she hated that it took her so long to remember the details – made her feel distant and unfeeling. No wonder Ishikawa-san made cruel jokes.
But that wasn't going to be her. She might not be suited to this job, might have been their last choice, but still. It was hers now, and dammit, she was going to care for her clients as best she knew how.
Resolved, she stood and slid the manila folder back into the box with its dozens and dozens of identical twins, then closed the cardboard lid, tossing her bag over her shoulder.
It was time to find the nearest stationary store.
XX
She arrived home that afternoon laden down with bags full of rainbow-colored folders and assorted washi tapes and a half-formed plan to plead until Rei agreed to let her borrow one of her nice blazers – it turned out office supplies were pricey, and her wardrobe shop was now going to have to wait until she got her next paycheck. But this plan flew from her brain the moment she stepped off the elevator and her front door came into view.
Every muscle in her body froze, and the bags slipped out of her hands, spilling out across the hallway.
There, on her doorstep, was an enormous bouquet of sunflowers and orange blossoms, so big that it would barely squeeze through her tiny genkan. Attached was a note, written in obnoxiously perfect calligraphy, but all in hiragana:
For Odango –
You are the sunshine
on a cold winter morning -
I ache without you.
Before she could stop herself, her phone was in her hand, dialing a long-ago memorized number.
He picked up on the second ring. "Good evening, Odango."
"Why are you sending me flowers? I told you, I'm not going to hop back into bed with you."
"I know."
"Then what are you doing?"
He didn't say anything, and she tried to convince herself that the contents of the note, that sentiment so close to what she wished he would say, wasn't squirming somewhere deep in her gut, rattling the box she didn't dare touch. That the moisture suddenly pricking at her eyelids was some kind of pollen allergy she hadn't known about before now.
Instead, she dragged a hand over her cheek and looked down at the bouquet he'd given her – a riot of yellow and gold, all wrapped up in blush pink tissue paper.
"Shouldn't you be… I dunno. Sending these to that girl you like?"
"I'll make a note." She wasn't sure if she imagined the warm undertone that accompanied his usual deadpan delivery. "Do you like them?"
"They're beautiful."
"They reminded me of you." There was a moment's pause, like he wanted to say something else. Then: "Have a good week, Usagi."
And he hung up before she could say anything else.
XX
She told herself to ignore him, and she did her best. It should have been easy – her file overhaul project was demanding a ton of attention, and balancing it with her actual home visits meant she was putting in a lot of extra hours away from home. But a few days later, he had chocolates delivered to her office.
Expensive ones, imported from Belgium.
Usagi was in the middle of sorting all her hikikomori client files into sky blue folders when the receptionist, Takao-san, brought the candies to Usagi's desk, all smiles and knowing cooing.
"It's so sweet of your boyfriend to spoil you," she said conspiratorially as she set the pink-ribboned box down on Usagi's desk, and Usagi didn't correct her.
That day's note, also all in hiragana, read:
Dear Odango,
A bad interview?
From you there is no such thing –
you charm everyone.
Her fingers twitched against her desk phone, but she managed to suppress the urge to call him, settling instead for slapping a line of airplane-printed washi tape across the top of Inoue-san's file.
After a long swallow and a deep, cleansing breath, she tucked the card into her handbag, resolving not to think about Mamoru any more today. She had too much work to do.
Despite her best efforts to ration the candies, saving each one as a treat for after she'd reorganized a section of her client files, she still finished the whole chocolate box well before lunchtime.
XX
By Friday afternoon, after a week of diligent work, she'd almost finished her file reorganization.
Refugees were now housed in pink folders, orphans in green, single parent families in sunny yellow. Every individual client who she could remember had been given a strip of decorative washi tape – teacups for Arisa-san, the single mother who dreamed of opening her own tea shop; teddy bears for Kaito-chan, the little orphan boy who had personally introduced Usagi to his best friend, Mr. Bear; and of course, airplanes for Inoue-san – stuck to the top of their folder.
She was doing her best to mentally note which clients didn't yet have a strip of washi tape so she would know who needed a little extra attention on her next visit, adding a star sticker to her list next to the names she couldn't place a face for at all. So focused on her task, she nearly leapt from her skin when a voice sounded next to her ear.
"This is an unusual hobby, Tsukino-san."
She looked up to find her colleague Watanabe-san from processing leaning over her desk, eyeing her new organizational system.
"I came to check and see how you're doing, as it's your first week out of training and I'm responsible for processing your client paperwork," The taller woman said, idly picking up one of the rolls of washi tape from the top of the stack – this one dotted with Sailor V iconography – with a sniff. "You do know your forms for the week are due this afternoon, right? Don't you think there are more efficient ways that you could be spending your time?"
Usagi's cheeks went hot, and her hand instinctively flew to the outbox at the edge of her desk. "I have them right here," she said defensively, holding up the stack of forms she'd deemed important enough to make her clients read.
Watanabe-san tossed the roll of tape back onto Usagi's desk, where it rolled on its side and knocked over the other piles.
Sucking on her teeth and forcing a polite smile, Usagi began restacking her two dozen or so tapes as the haughty woman rifled through the stack of forms. "Tsukino-san, you're missing all your copies of forms 24-B and 306-A," Watanabe-san said as Usagi finished repairing one of the damaged tape towers.
"Form 24-B is virtually identical to Form 24-C," Usagi countered. "Except 24-C is more comprehensive. I didn't want to waste my clients' time making them fill out the same form twice."
Watanabe-san's snort was nearly inaudible, but her acerbic words were not. "Yes, that's the utmost priority here." With a sharply arched brow, she reassembled the stack, tapping it against the edge of Usagi's desk. "So, what happened to form 306-A, then?"
"All of that information is captured across forms 105-B, 222-D, and 300. Form 306-A is excessively detailed and completely redundant."
"Mmm," Watanabe-san cocked out her hip, looking up from the forms in her hand. "So, you took it upon yourself to simply not use the form, despite being trained otherwise."
Watanabe-san's tone reminded Usagi uncomfortably much of Rei's immediately after she'd just fucked up a youma battle, and she raised her chin in an effort to salvage her pride and disguise the emotion that was starting to needle at her eyelids. "Would it change anything about my client files?"
"That's hardly the point, Tsukino-san. There's a certain way that things are done, and it's not appropriate for a freshman employee to question them."
She swallowed hard. "It's my job to advocate for my clients. I'm going to do my job."
Watanabe-san's perfectly painted lips quirked up. "Well, if this is your approach, then you may not have this job for as long as you hope." She dropped Usagi's stack of forms back into her outbox with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Have those fixed and down to processing by 5pm. Since this is your first week, I will let this sloppiness slide, but next week, I do expect the full set of forms, correctly initialed and signed by each client, and with the appropriate stamps."
Watanabe-san turned on her four-inch heel and left the room.
Usagi ducked her head, hoping that none of her coworkers – colleagues – were about to come check on her after that embarrassing scene. The last thing she needed was another cynical lecture from Ishikawa-san.
Fortunately, everyone seemed to be intently minding their own business, and she let out a little exhale of relief, followed by an inhale of frustration.
Reluctantly, she set aside her file boxes, double-tapping her keyboard to wake up her monitor so she could print off the dozen or so copies of forms 24-B and 306-A. A deep sense of injustice twisted in her stomach as she jabbed the 'print' key, fully aware that she was about to utterly waste a ton of paper, as well as the rest of her workday.
XX
Trudging home from the Metro, Usagi pressed a pigtail over her shoulder, wondering if it looked as bedraggled as she felt.
She'd managed to finish the stack of useless forms and drop them on Watanabe-san's desk by 4:55pm, but it meant the last of her file reorganization had to be put on hold for the weekend. Nobody else brought work home with them, and she wasn't exactly in the mood to draw more attention to herself.
She buzzed herself into her apartment building with a heavy sigh and walked past the wall of small mailboxes without stopping. She didn't feel like dealing with a stack of bills right now, and reasoned that maybe Minako had checked the mail this week – conveniently ignoring the fact that Minako only checked it at the beginning of the month, on days when she had a magazine subscription due.
Even after her long and demoralizing day, Usagi's heartbeat still sped up a little during her ride in the elevator, as it had every other day that week.
After the stunt with the bouquet on Monday, she kept half-expecting to come home to find something else on her doorstep and then called herself sixty words for stupid each evening when she didn't.
But tonight, as she stepped off the elevator, she found a large canvas grocery bag sitting on top of Minako's kissy-face welcome mat.
Her heart in her throat, she carried the bag inside to find boxes and boxes of homemade food packaged in cute Senshi-themed bentos – enough for her to eat her fill and still share with Minako. No note this time, but the red rose on top of the stack made it obvious who they were from.
Her heart pounded as she spread the half-dozen boxes out on the coffee table, taking in the ridiculous array of contents. She wasn't sure if she should start with the tsukune, the niku aspara maki, the rabbit-shaped umeboshi onigiri, or if she should dump it all in the trash and call Mamoru to ask him just what the hell he was playing at.
"You know," Minako drawled as she wandered out of her bedroom and draped herself across the couch next to Usagi, successfully interrupting her roommate's train of thought. "Between the gigantic bouquet and the extravagant homemade dinner, I'm beginning to suspect somebody is trying to woo you."
Minako scooped up the bento with all the Senshi standing posed and ready for action and popped the lid off, revealing tamagoyaki and inarizushi. Picking up the pair of Sailor V-themed chopsticks that Mamoru had also included in the bag, she continued conversationally, "It can't be Takara-chan, because you, like, totally blew her off. Is that Mitsuo guy back in the picture?"
Usagi's cheeks turned pink. "He's not," she countered. "It's… I don't know what he's doing, but he's not 'wooing' me."
"Uh-huh," Minako drawled, one eyebrow arched high. "You know that bouquet probably cost at least 20,000 yen. Is he totally loaded, or…?"
The Sailor Moon-themed chopsticks slipped out of her hand, clattering into the plastic of her bento. "Nuh-uh."
"Usa, Senshi of Love over here? I know my romantic gifts. Just because a bouquet isn't roses doesn't mean it was cheap, especially when it's bigger than its recipient."
She sucked in a breath, eyes drifting to the giant flower arrangement that she had faithfully changed the water for every day that week. The price hadn't even occurred to her, nor had the fact that he'd apparently very deliberately chosen not to send her the flower he could conveniently conjure at will.
Her heartbeat doubled in her chest. What was Mamoru doing?
Nobody would bother to 'woo' their nemesis-turned-fuckbuddy, no matter how good the sex was. Not when he hadn't shown any interest in the past six years, not to mention when he already had someone else he liked. Was this some kind of test drive? Practicing his romantic gestures so he knew what would impress the actual girl?
It seemed like a really expensive experiment, especially since she'd already told him it wouldn't work. But, Mamoru was a doctor. Maybe he did have the kind of money that he could afford to drop over 30,000 yen in a single week on an experiment – she just wished she wasn't the subject.
Appetite abruptly fading, she closed the lid of her bento – revealing a painted Tuxedo Mask dramatically sweeping Sailor Moon up into the Tokyo rooftops and out of danger.
Something caught in her throat, and she clambered off the couch. "I'm going to bed," she mumbled, feeling unsteady on her feet.
"It's barely 7:30pm! On a Friday night! I thought we were going out dancing!"
She shook her head. Dance clubs weren't Mamoru's usual scene, but neither were izakayas. If he happened to be there, dancing up on some other girl… She was pretty sure the closure wouldn't be worth the heartache. Not to mention the odds of Minako figuring it out the moment she saw Usagi's crushed face.
Much as she loved Minako, she was not prepared to deal with her soultwin's inevitable reaction to her own dumb choices. She didn't want to hear the tough-love speech about how she was too good for that baka (was she?) or go on the three-dozen blind dates Minako would set her up on to help her rebound.
She didn't want to rebound. She wanted Mamoru.
And that scared her more than anything else.
XX
AN: So I am posting this tonight because TOMORROW (9/14/2021) is an important election for California that is maybe not getting as much attention as it deserves. To be way overly simplistic, there is a push to recall Governor Newsom and replace him with a GOP candidate. If this recall passes, it could potentially tip the balance of the senate red in the event of a California senator's death... which could have major lasting repercussions for everything else in the US. So basically, if you're reading this and you are a citizen of California, please please please go vote against the recall tomorrow. Even if you aren't registered to vote, you can register in person on the day of.
Thanks for reading, y'all, and stay safe out there!