Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All rights to respective owners.
A/N: Yesssss I am alive and I have not given up on this story XD I know it's been a year and like three months since I updated this story but here is the new chapter finally! I'm super excited to get this out to you guys since I know a lot of you have been patiently waiting for it! Thank you to everyone who has wrote reviews, faved, followed, and even sent asks on Tumblr (which I love!)
I want to give the hugest virtual hug to FloraOne for giving me her advice, suggestions, and comments with this chapter and getting everything on track. I have no proper words to express how amazing and SWEET she is! Literally girl is a GIFT to an already wonderful fandom! Thank you SOOOO much for helping me Flora! I have NO idea how to thank you!
And obviously THANK YOU to everyone out there who has loved this story and have already said such kind things about it in tumblr asks and in the reviews!
Alright on to the story and the talk everyone's been waiting for!
ALSO P.S.: It's the second anniversary of when I posted the first chapter of Checkmate! Feb. 27th 2018 *sighs* those were the days.
Anyways, happy anniversary readers and friends!
Chapter Eleven
"Mamoru Chiba."
His name hung in the air.
It was the strangest release of emotions, the long-held relief that practically shook in his bones and he didn't realize how much he needed to breathe until it started to hurt.
"You…" she trailed off, the whole spectrum of emotions running through her eyes.
Then everything started to hurt because once the relief had spilled out and came, it disappeared with his ability to speak.
This was bad. Really, really, really bad.
She stared at him with a wide, startled gaze, and he couldn't pull himself away.
He'd spent all this time avoiding her, keeping her at a distance so that he could forget this stupid, stupid mistake. He should have never…..
He should have never stayed.
He should have just kicked her out way before, or left clean-up to someone else, or should have called in sick for the day - no, he should have never moved that chess piece, never left that first note.
He would have done anything to avoid this moment of standing in front of her, watching the tears that he caused fall.
The weirdest fluttering sensation floated in his chest as she looked at him in the way he had always wanted her to: full of recognition and so comfortable, so open, in a way that makes your heart react before the rest of your body. It was all wrong though, the way his gut pulled and tightened while looking at her, how he wanted to run away, far far away just because of her eyes and so he looked to the floor instead.
The weird silence stretched longer with them just standing there, not moving, and it was pure torture because he couldn't think of a logical move, he didn't know what to do with his heart clouding his head.
Apologize. Say all of this was a huge mistake - "it was my mistake" - confess he was an absolute idiot and they should part ways and pretend nothing ever happened. Would that be the right response? He started to panic because he had no idea what to do.
He wanted to take everything back - every single word they ever wrote to each other - he wanted them to be erased or sucked into an endless, black void.
Denial was too late to assume, escaping didn't even seem in the realm of possibilities, so it would be either continue the silence, or break it with words.
But what would he say. "I'm sorry." "This was my fault." "I never meant…" "You deserve more." "I'm so sorry…"
Nothing was enough.
Coming out of his thoughts, he froze. Her feet had definitely moved closer, and to his horror, they continued to move closer and closer and closer - until they were less than a foot away from his own. Shiny, beige heels and black, smudged shoes pointed towards each other.
His heart was beating in his throat as he drowned in the vanilla scent encasing him. She was so close and what was he supposed to do. Going against every good sense he once had, he raised his head and met her confused, amazed, expressive eyes.
She stared, blinking out of her glazed look. "You're…"
A small, relieved smile grew on her face and she shook her head, while her hands flew up to her cheeks to brush away the teardrops that had escaped. He could count the lashes on her eyes, spot the individual strands of hair that came loose from her buns and the wet trails under her eyes, smell the coffee on her breath because she was so unimaginably close that he couldn't not look past her lips, which were just slightly parted to reveal a flash of white teeth.
Then he watched as those teeth went down to gently bite the pink flesh below it before releasing. "How..." she trailed off, mouth popped open and puzzled.
Yes - how did he let this happen, how did he become so blind that he let it come this far, how was he going to go on after tonight.
Yes, how was a great question.
"All this time," she whispered, gaze searching first his face, then his eyes as if everything would be answered for her if she looked deep enough. And so she came closer, leaning forward and the addictive, soft poison of vanilla crashed into him even more.
He willed every muscle in his legs to take a step back, think with a clear head, not an excited, frantically beating heart. And her eyes moved down and he saw how they caught on his lips, then he watched hers, how glossy, pink flesh parted in response. There was nothing he wanted more than to let her close the space separating them, give in and melt into a dream of reality, to pretend that this could happen.
No. No, no, no-
This wasn't right, he stood in front of her with lies on top of lies and anything that would happen without the clear truth wasn't…..it wasn't real.
That step back from her felt like a mile away, but he could still see her bright eyes when they fell, dejected and lowered, and he hadn't realized that in his hands was still the stupid hat, twisted and creased from his tight hold.
They stood there for a while before she shook out of it first and turned away, started walking and he thought that this was it.
She was leaving, disappointed, disheartened with the truth of him, seeing the curtain fall, the facade slipping off, to finally reveal him in the ugly, bright light.
His insides crawled and ripped but he closed his eyes, fighting to accept it and not baring to watch her walk out of his life. He waited for the soft creak of the door shutting to fill the empty air.
He was ready, prepared, braced himself and his heart for anything.
He never expected the loud, rusty scrape of a chair that startled his eyes open to see her, standing at the table, holding the chair, waiting with those wide, shining, so optimistic eyes.
The firm hold on the hat reverted back, his hands twisting the fabric tighter and tighter as he stared at the chair, panicked and scared and unsure of what was going to happen if he did take it.
He wasn't prepared for this, to sit down and talk with her, no barrier to hide behind, just their voices. He never expected to get this far, to have her ready to hear, to even want to hear him out.
But he also never expected to obey the command.
Their eyes didn't meet once they were seated at the table - well, she stared at him and he refused to return her gaze.
She wanted him to look back, like he had before just a minute ago when a table wasn't in between them. When every emotion flew through her, and she didn't know what to feel or do, and at the end she was so ready to just kiss him, to finally feel the mouth where all of those words she read for months came from.
Although, she did feel it once. Years ago.
With no eyes to look back at, she took it as a chance to take him in; he was taller, didn't wear glasses anymore, his hair was styled differently - shorter now, and...
His eyes never changed of course, still always full of emotion that he so desperately tried to hide from everyone. Still intense, still blue, still him.
How did she not recognize him? How could she have not remembered right away? Why did it take so long for it to all come back?
She licked her lips, a million questions buzzing through her mind. She'd been so relieved to finally see him, to finally know who he was. Her nerves hadn't been able to set until now; this was it.
This was her chance to ask him anything she wanted. And yet, her mind was both blank and too full all at the same time.
Start small maybe.
"You don't wear glasses anymore," she stated, lamely. 'Nice, way to start off conversation Usagi.'
He nodded politely, confirming.
Okay so wrong shot.
She searched for the right words. To get this started on the right track.
"So why did you….I mean how…" she fumbled for it; the words, the tone, the one thing that could get him to meet her eyes in that intense, wide look.
What did she want? What did she want to know more than anything? Everything seemed important to ask, she needed to know all of it.
And that's what she did.
"Tell me anything-everything?" she asked. The cold, hard metal of the chair dug into her hands as she gripped the edges of the bottom, leaning forward in anticipation.
It felt like forever, waiting and waiting for him to pick up the conversation. She stared at him like a weirdo, studying his features when a car driving by behind the picture windows illuminated him in a strange light. She stared, waiting.
His eyes were there finally though, staring at her, hesitant and reluctant but he licked his lips, and it was a while before he finally spoke. "Okay."
Prepare bags, check. Sign into the register, check. Clean the counter, not check.
It was gorgeous weather for the beginning of the week.
The sun rays streamed in through the large windows, the street noise from beyond the walls seemed to bring an unusually comforting silence, the floating smell of coffee grounds in the early morning, and never had Mamoru Chiba ever taken the time to notice such things but as of recently, life was giving him the opportunities to, such as his new job.
It had only been a few weeks into the job, but already, he had never felt so satisfied.
Even if he had his orphan's pension and inheritance to fall back on in case of a sudden emergency, he didn't want to empty it before an emergency ever happened. Besides, he craved the experience a part-time job could offer him. It felt right to create his own living through hard work - well as much hard work as one can do at a coffee shop. And it wasn't all about the money, he needed to go out more admittedly and leave his apartment for something other than class.
As Motoki had put it, "You need to learn how to people." And those 'people' skills were forming, slowly.
In fact, the manager - the one who interviewed him - had disliked the formality of his first name so he shortened it - Rue was born then. And Mamoru surprisingly felt more for the new nickname than he ever had for his full name.
It was the perfect beginning to something more. He had grown several inches, filled out muscles his teenage body had entirely lacked, joined Tokyo-U's soccer team, jogged in the mornings, dare say, became more sociable. He was different, and a different he could live with.
In the middle of cleaning the counters, Mamoru heard the little bell ding, along with rapid footsteps and a soft, panicked voice. His smile widened with each step he took to the register, ready to attend to his customer.
They both reached the front counter at the same time and Mamoru quickly rehearsed his customer greeting in his head before spilling it out to the frenzied girl who quickly deposited a stack of textbooks on the counter. Her wallet was among the mess and he observed the familiar Tokyo-U keychain dangling off her keys as she rummaged in her backpack. 'Obviously a freshmen….'
"Welcome! What can I get for you today?"
She had long - really long - gold hair that made his stomach twist, and it was fastened sloppily into a hairstyle he froze at, but it was so undone in its state, that he brushed it off. And the way she was fretting, and the disorganized mess she had in her hands created such nostalgia in his gut, but he brushed it all off, because it was crazy and there's no way and 'you're just being-'
She finally faced him and he knew he wasn't crazy. She was older, but it was definitely her. And she didn't recognize him.
"I would love if you could make me a quick espresso macchiato, extra strong, like eye-widening kind of stuff. And some whipped cream on top! Love your guys' whipped cream!"
She stood there, in all her golden glory, still dazzling, still being late to class, still having blue eyes that could do such things to his mind and speech-
"N-name," his voice raspy and broken, but it came out much to his surprise.
"Tsukino Usagi," she sang, returning to dig into her bag.
It took him a full minute to be able to move his fingers and punch in the order, but he made the drink quickly, because once she skipped out of the coffee shop with the longer blonde streams following her, he could finally let out the air in his lungs, and think about how in the hell this was possible.
"That's when I first saw you again," he explained further, throwing his hands in the air, partially frustrated and exhausted. "I couldn't believe it, even after you left, I thought it wasn't real. Out of all places - out of all coffeeshops, you came to the one I was working at. You were...unforgettable."
Usagi's mind ransacked her college freshmen year memories, seeking out those seemingly unimportant coffee runs she always did in the morning. They were quick, frenzied flashes in her day, a simple task she forgot about once she tossed her to-go cup. She never thought about the interactions, never realized until now that if she had just tilted her head up and looked - really looked - that maybe….maybe nothing still would have happened?
She had no guarantee that her brain would have clicked.
"W-wait, you were a barista," she stumbled out, eyes narrowed in confusion, "But now you-"
"I'm not," Mamoru confirmed, eyes down.
"How?"
His eyebrows knitted together. "Uh…"
So she went to Tokyo-U?
He couldn't run into her there. She was a freshman, he was a sophomore, no way their schedules could ever match up. His classes were further into the day and more scattered, freshmen's tended to be more uniform and morning. He didn't even see Motoki on campus that much! He was safe at school but the coffee shop - the coffee shop….
He clutched to the false hope of her switching to another shop near campus to get her daily caffeine fix. There were plenty in the area so it was possible and logical.
But it was the same routine each morning. She would fly in like a bat out of hell, order some highly caffeinated drink, smile at him - give him a stroke - and then float back out like nothing happened, because nothing ever did happen.
Each day, he wished for just that one moment, for her to look up, have a look of recognition, a snap of her fingers and a 'I-know-you-from-somewhere' comment.
That's all he wanted, for her to remember him just for a passing second, one single moment.
And it never happened.
He spent a few nights wondering if he was so different. His hair was shorter, he switched to contacts, his jawline was a little sharper he guessed, he was taller, more built, more confident, less of what he had been considered in high school - a nerd recluse.
Was it the damn hat? He knocked it off and bore into his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering what she saw.
He didn't blame her. After all, why couldn't he be the one to bring it up instead? Why was he waiting on her to say something?
It was a simple and frustrating answer: he was scared shitless to say something to her. He knew how pathetic it sounded, but everytime the thought crossed his mind, his stomach coiled and twisted, and the action of speaking seemed like the most challenging thing in the world. And what if he did say something and still, she would blankly stare with no recollection. Why say something, why start something, when he deep down knew the result?
That's why he was silently hoping for her to say something, for her to remember first.
It wasn't after one Friday afternoon when he observed her down the line, two neatly wrapped, gold buns bouncing up and down, and his greeting got caught in his throat when a tall, dark handsome man materialized next to her, joined by their hands, her head laid on his arm lovingly.
He resolved that maybe it was better that she wouldn't ever recognize him. What would have come of it if she had? It would be like high school all over again, and that ending still haunted him. It really had been a blessing in disguise, and it saved himself from humiliation.
She had her own life, she had grown, and here he was reminiscing of high school days like some love-sick fool.
Continuing to see her everyday, talking to her, but acting like a stranger, when she was his first love-only love, wasn't productive, quite the opposite. He couldn't quit, he needed the job and he had already struck up friendships with the workers there. Plus, quitting a job all because of one customer sounded far too ridiculous.
He had to move on, or at least attempt to.
"Please, please," he begged, "Just take me off the register at least?"
Wasureta signed the delivery form with a flourish. "You want me to take you off your assigned position?" He handed the clipboard back to the driver and heaved the sack of coffee beans over his shoulder with a grunt while Mamoru lifted one up and over swiftly.
"Yes, as soon as possible would be preferred."
The two workers brought the brown sacks down onto the floor of the kitchen, the taller, ebony-haired one looked to his manager with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Well?"
"I-I don't understand Rue," Wasureta confessed, slightly out of breath, "You were so excited when I hired you. Why the change?"
'Because there's a blonde, blue-eyed freshmen girl who I was in love with in high school and still kind of am, and she comes into this coffee shop regularly and ….'
"I feel like the barista thing isn't working out," Mamoru answered instead, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets and looking away, "I just want a different position, I'll take anything else."
The manager sighed, clearly upset at the prospect of losing one of his best baristas. "Fine. I'll make the adjustments next week, but…"
"What?"
Wasureta rubbed the back of his neck. "There's only one other position open..."
It really could have been worse. He was already a thoroughly neat, clean person so getting paid to wipe down things with cleaning products was like getting a paycheck for being himself. It was grounded, easy, honest work being in the cleaning crew and that's what he needed the most.
Eventually the smell of bleach, disinfecting spray, and the sights of bodily waste and coffee spills were his new work environment, and he settled into it all too happily.
It kept him away from the counter, busying himself with cleaning bathrooms and floors upstairs, desperate to avoid her and her smile anytime she came through the door. It sounded extreme, but this was his way of moving on the best he could.
He did all he could to forget but, sometimes it's hard to forget someone who gave him so much to remember.
Her throat had dried up, and she blinked. "You switched jobs- you would rather clean toilets," Usagi breathed out, "...just to avoid me?" Was she that bad?
"No, no, no I-I just wanted to stop thinking about you and seeing you all the time made it worse and I just wanted to…." he quieted, frowning and closing his eyes. "Yes, I cleaned toilets to avoid you."
She gaped at him a little.
"To be completely fair, it really, really wasn't as bad as it sounded," he added on. "Everything was super sanitary and easy to do…."
The snort shot out of her nose before he trailed off with his sentence.
She nodded, but her face contorted in confusion then. "Why didn't you just say something to me?"
He shrugged, hands lazily thrown. "'Hey I know you don't remember me, and probably won't remember me, but I was your weird lab partner in high school who was also in love with you.'"
She froze the same time he did.
His words rushed to her head like some kind of addicting, spinning high. It surged and pulsed in her pounding heart, affected her in the most thrilling, intoxicating way because god what did he just say? Her skin burned with the heat of her blush and she watched his eyes widen before he masked his face and bent his head, croaking out a half-laugh. "Hell of an icebreaker..."
"You weren't weird," she corrected, shaky voice and all, "And I would have still wanted to know you."
Again, he shrugged in that helpless, defeated way. "I figured it wouldn't be worth it, and why bring it up when…" he trailed off, but she already knew the rest of it.
Why bring it up when she didn't even remember.
The silence commenced once more, but she wanted more.
She licked her lips, "So you've been working here for-"
"Almost six years," he continued softly, "I lied about that, before."
She nodded, so, so relieved that the conversation was able to resume. "Why?"
But he just lifted his shoulders - a shrug again - and he sat silently again, bringing her back to square one.
The silence that followed was deafening. So many questions floated through her thoughts, and so many strained memories flashed like a slideshow in her mind, a desperate attempt to remember one of their passing moments. It was just blurs here and there, never quite clear or looking at a face-
The flurry of emotions came back and at one part she was pissed, at herself, at him-everything in this damn situation. She was beyond frustrated, so confused and flustered, and still wanted more from him.
"So you never tried to talk to me before?"
He opened his mouth but seemed to be searching for the right words. "You had your own life and I had mine so I saw no point in trying to start something that didn't really….have an ending."
She looked straight into his eyes, soft but serious and watching him. "Then why did you move that chess piece?"
He froze, something swimming in his beautiful eyes that she couldn't quite .
Usagi went on anyway. "If you saw no point, why did you start something? Why did you start texting me?"
At her accusation, he shut his eyes in a defeated way. "I don't-"
"Why didn't you tell me it was you?" she cut him off and kept going. "Why could we never meet?"
His hand moved to fist into his hair, letting the strands slip out of his fingers slowly. "I-I just…"
"Did you think that I would make fun of you?"
"No nev-"
"I just want to understand why you had to do this-this whole chess stunt, saying all these things, playing me along-"
"-I was never playing you along-"
"-never wanting to meet me, and the wild goose chases - what-what about the love letters from high school?"
Usagi stopped then because his face turned so very horrified and alarmed.
He pushed it down quickly and blinked. "...l-love letters?"
The confusion fogged her mind, wondering why he reacted so much and like that. It wasn't something...
Oh, then the realization struck her.
Mamoru still assumed she thought it was Masao.
He never knew that she found the letters again and had pieced it together.
"The-the ones that I was given in high school," she explained, her voice softening. "The ones you sent me. Even those chocolates and roses and-and the whole time I thought it was..…"
His eyes flashed but quickly he shook his head, and she frowned, the seeds of doubt manifesting quickly. What if she was wrong and it hadn't been him?
Her gut swiftly cast out the questions because no.
No.
She knew they were from him. "Mamoru it was you who sent the letters."
He clamped his mouth shut tight after that.
"I can't believe it took this long, but I finally got it a little while ago, before we stopped talking and I know it was you Mamoru," she revealed. "The handwriting of the letters then and now, and even when I think back to it, I-I don't know why I never saw it."
And that time, he didn't try to deny it. He just shut his eyes, and let his head drift down with his shoulders. "Right," his voice broke and he gulped, "Right, yeah…..yes it was me."
The flutters resonated in her chest hearing the confession.
He attempted a sad smile. "I had the biggest crush on you."
Now the flutters were replaced by loud, rapid thumps her heart was making and the warm thrill that rippled goosebumps on her skin. She couldn't stop the breathless tone in her voice when she asked. "Can you tell me about it - the letters?"
He took a deep breath, steadied himself and started.
Each tiny confession, he chipped away at, and his voice carried through it all. Sometimes his words tumbled out faster than others during certain parts, trying to get it out before his courage was spent, and other times the words were mumbled, things that he seemed to never have said out loud. It was everything he could have said.
How the letters were Motoki's idea, how easy it was for him to write the letters, the happiness he felt when he saw how her face lit up at his words and actions, how it turned horribly wrong then, how it spiraled at her birthday party, how he had come to tell her and….now, she couldn't look back at that day the same. How the guilt clawed and tore inside of him, she could feel it in the way he paused, that slight crack in his voice, and his eyes - they've endured watching her fall for someone she thought was him. His eyes were the most broken part about him.
She hung onto every word, mesmerized how he kept going, that he was talking, telling her
all these bits and chunks of a story that had unfolded when her eyes were closed.
Before he even reached the end, the tears welled up. She never knew and thinking of those memories again, everything had been there and what if it had been different, what if she had found out and….it could have been different, so different.
All those little notes, the care that was placed in them, the amount of love in every word, and she never knew the real person behind it all.
"Thank you." The two gentle words slipped off her tongue before she could think about it.
He blinked, expression puzzled and taken back.
"T-thank you for the letters and the roses and-and the chocolates," she lamely amended, resisting a facepalm. How late was her gratitude? And just how stupid did it sound?
But it was worth it to see a ghost of a smile take ahold of his lips before it faded.
"I never said thank you," she added, biting back the tears that were threatening to slip.
"You don't have to," he said, softly. "They were just-"
"-the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me?" she cut in, an eyebrow raised but her voice breaking.
He tensed up even more, and she watched how his adam's apple bobbed. She was as nervous as he was but her nerves only fueled her further. Her hands, face, eyes laid open and eager all with that slight shake but he stayed closed up and so, so obviously nervous.
She smiled. "You're still sweet, even now with what happened. It's just crazy that we're here again…."
Panic burst through her when his eyes widened and his face contorted into complete horror. Oh god, what did she say?
"I'm not a stalker, or a creep obsessed with you or-" he rushed out.
What? "W-what?" she croaked out a laugh.
He racked a palm through his hair. "I didn't plan this - seeing you again, and I-I swear I'm not a crazy person, a creepy, love-sick stalker or something. I swear I've tried to avoid you this whole time…"
A small smile fought its way to her face. "I didn't think you were a stalker," she pointed out, "My friends did though."
He snorted, one corner of his mouth hitching. "I don't blame them."
She laughed and for once the silence seemed more comfortable.
He licked his lips then, and she couldn't stop from following the movement. "You still have them?"
She blinked, surprised to find him speaking first. "Have what?"
"The letters?"
A sheepish smile came upon her lips as the pads of her fingers wiped away the wetness under her lashes. "Yea, I still have them."
A flicker of emotion in his eyes and she didn't know whether to fist-bump or slam her head on the table.
He rubbed the side of his brightly flushed neck, and his other hand rested on the table. A whisper in her mind urged her to move a hand to his, thread their hands together, but nooooo, that would make things even more uncomfortable.
She craved to touch him, feel him and relish in the fact he was real and he was right here and all she had to do was kick this table away and be close to him - god what are you thinking Usagi?
She shook her head a little, and glanced upon his stoic gaze studying the table, hands clenched into fists now, lips shut tight.
"What about-" Usagi started carefully "-what about now, Mamoru?"
His eyes flew to hers, eyebrows furrowed.
"What about the last few months?" she tried again. "The chess game, the texts, this…"
The rich, blue irises remained puzzled, and a deep frown spread across his face. "What do you mean?"
His hand relaxed, spreading against the table, tempting her fingers nearby. 'No. Eyes up and away. Talk, Usagi.'
"This entire time," she explained. "I wondered about you. What you thought, what you did, how you reacted to things, what you went through. I want to know, anything you're willing to say about what happened now with….that." Her head tipped to the board game that started this only a few tables away, tucked into the corner.
For a beat, his expression was blank and she felt a tightness in her throat at the haunty thought that maybe this was the moment he'll cut off the conversation, kick her out, and forget all of this ever happened. And he could have done all that before even, and she would have still understood.
His gaze turned studious and hard, but the expression fell, and instead, became tender. "To be honest, I don't even know where to start."
Mamoru had ducked into the back to fill the mop bucket with water, and coming back out, he spied that golden hair out of the corner of his eye. Stopping in the doorway, he watched her stand before the untouched chess table, a wistful expression on her face as she gently pushed a white knight piece to a new square. For a few more beats she looked down at it, then proceeded to leave.
Mopping floors, cleaning tables, tending to the bathrooms throughout the rest of his day, Mamoru's mind kept rewinding to that small moment at the chessboard. He thought about it so much, he often found himself at the table, observing the motionless plastic chessmen.
Why had she moved a piece? No one ever comes to this table anymore - he did play games against co-workers on rare occasions after shifts - so why the sudden interest over a dusty, old board game?
He chuckled as the memory flashed in his eye, the time when he told her he was in Chess Club, and her eyes had completely lit up and the excitement had buzzed off of her. It had been so long ago and his throat tightened at that thought. That it had years since he'd last talked to her, since she had last said his name, last smiled at him, since he had known her.
He didn't know what compelled him to move that black rook. It was a small movement and it should have meant nothing. Yet, a part of him had felt that by moving that piece, it was a silent response to her move. With no words ever exchanged, he had answered her and his heart lifted to the skies, feeling a familiar but forgotten throb in his chest, one he had tried to suppress since he was 18.
It wasn't healthy, diving back in, finding a connection with her again, thinking about her.
Looking down at the board, he shook his head clear.
It was just chess. Why was he reading so much into it?
He left the piece in its new spot, and within a few days, other pieces were moved, and it wasn't just an innocent chess game anymore. The chess board was thoroughly surveillanced whenever she staked out at the coffee shop, apparently determined on her mission to find out who was moving the other chess pieces.
He should have stopped moving them immediately, as soon as she started getting suspicious, but he didn't want to stop, and he'd imagine the disappointment flood her face instead of the thrill it always had when she spotted a new piece moved.
It always stopped him, or he would convince his conscience that it was a deed for another day.
"Did you clean that spill upstairs?"
Securely positioning the mop handle against the wall, Mamoru tipped his head to Wasureta's turned back. "Yea, got the sign up too."
"Alright."
Assuming that was the end of their conversation, the black-haired janitor took a step towards the exit to begin his scheduled break, but just before he stepped a foot out, he was called back.
"Rue?"
Lingering in the doorway, he swiveled his head around to his manager. "Yea, what's up?"
"You know there was this incident today with a customer, a blonde one…"
Mamoru's stomach coiled into knotts. "R-really?"
"Yea," the man's voice was eerily calm, completely nonchalant in the conversation. "Going on and on about that old chess board in the corner, asking if we've seen anyone near it, moving the chess pieces, leaving notes…."
Of course Wasureta knew, he was the manager and knew all of the happenings that occured in these walls. Plus, he was the only other person who opened in the mornings with him.
"W-what did you tell her?" he asked, swallowing the lump stuck in his throat.
Finishing whatever he was doing on the counter, Wasureta turned to face him, a look of frustration painted over his young features. "Well I didn't tell her that I've seen you do it," he informed, "So you can calm down."
The deepest, most relieved sigh escaped Mamoru's lips, along with all the tension in his body. "Okay…"
"You're lucky I'm the only one who knows," Wasureta said, "Yuko and Momoto would have folded on you so quick."
A dry chuckle fell out of his mouth, and a short pause followed it, so Mamoru attempted another exit in vain.
"Why the secrecy?"
Making a clean getaway was out of the option obviously. "What do you mean?"
A deep frown came upon his manager's face. "I mean why don't you just talk to the girl. If you like her, ask her out or something. She seems really sweet."
The mere idea being said out loud gave him goosebumps on his arms, shivers up and down his spine, and a small sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Uh no, no I-I can't. I don't."
"Righhhtt," Wasureta drawed out, an eyebrow arched in suspicion, "So this mysterious chess player persona you're creating is….is just for fun?"
"No, no….not exactly."
Wasureta slowly nodded, but still wore a face of confusion. "So what are you doing then?"
"It's nothing-nothing you need to worry about."
"Rue, I've seen you move those chess pieces and leave those little notes and judging by the way this girl is reacting," his face softened then, turning much more sympathetic, "I think you need to create a better form of communication because clearly this isn't nothing. Plus she'll probably catch you one day with the notes."
Mamoru nodded his head. "I know."
Gazing up, a relief flooded the janitor when Wasureta's half smile emerged. "Go, I've kept you away from your break long enough," the dark-haired manager commanded softly.
"Thank you," he replied, and finally exited the backroom.
He thought back to that suggestion, however, when he was sitting at a table, nursing a cup of black coffee. This note communication he had created with her was risky, at best, and there needed to be an alternative way to contact her.
It came to him, but he dismissed it hurriedly, afraid he might actually go through it upon further discussion. And it kept popping up and he kept foolishly considering it, even listed the pros and cons of such an action. She wouldn't be able to trace it to him, there was no conceivable way, right?
The more and more Mamoru pondered the idea, the more it grew traction in his thoughts, and in reality. No harm, really.
He easily pulled out a slip of paper from his backpack, nestled in his work locker. It was small, but large enough to print out a single, dangerous message.
"My only rules are that you never directly ask for my name and that you never call me. Break either rules, and our game of chess ends. If you really want to get to know me, then I can't stop you blondie.
(080) 197-5330
I want to get to know you too."
And before the split second of courage could abandon him, he dropped the note into the compartment, and walked away.
His medical textbooks were propped open, notebooks filled with elebroate terminology, pencils, pens rolling this way and that way, but all of it was forgotten to him as his eyes only saw the lit screen of his phone, waiting for the end of the typing on the other end of the conversation.
"Yes. I have."
He sighed, a relieved smile breaking but that nasty, faint voice in his head that kept repeating such selfish things.
"Have you?"
His studies disappeared from his mind as the recopicated question struck him.
Their conversations, at the most, had been innocent, harmless, just simple question-answer interactions. She danced the thin line of asking questions, nothing too personal but still, a bit too specific. And he played along because he loved talking to her, their back and forth so effortless and easy, no awkwardness or promises, just simple talking. He couldn't get enough of it, silently reading the responses in her voice, the pitched inflections coming naturally. Sometimes, the subjects became heavy, then light, and sometimes the kind of conversations that you couldn't really describe into words.
Even in this persona - almost an alter ego now because he wouldn't dream of saying these things in person - Mamoru answered her curious questions truthfully since that way, to him, it kept their words real and raw.
"Yes, I was once."
Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot...that's all he could think of as he raced down the stairs. Panic consumed every inch of him as he blindly fumbled through the bustling crowds.
A vibration. "Are you here?"
"I like coffee, how could I not show up?" he texted back immediately, bumping into someone and repeatedly apologizing as a result.
It could have been all over, this mistake-this addiction of his could have been kicked if he had just let her go. And it wasn't really his fault, he had to intervene. He had to tell her, he had no choice….right?
Finally Mamoru reached the chess table, moving one of his rooks and remembering the notes, he slipped a piece of paper from his pocket (hopefully Wasureta hadn't noticed the missing notepad from the supplies yet) and he scribbled down the most cleverest line he could think of in two seconds.
"Catch me if you can Blondie."
He rolled his eyes at the words but nevertheless stuffed the note into the same spot and darted.
"Hey how's the-"
"Fine, great," Mamoru interrupted Wasureta as he shuffled into the backroom.
"Uh, okay," he said, "Did you finally decide to woo your chess partner?"
Mamoru shook his head sharply while untying his apron. "No."
Wasureta spun around. "What?! Why? And don't give me the 'she won't like me once she sees' bull, because we both know that's not the-hey where are yo-!"
Mamoru had already slipped on his wool jacket and slung his bag around his shoulder. "You guys have enough people, my shift's done, and I have a research paper that's due next week. I'm punching out."
"You're not even going to buy the girl a coffee?" Wasu called out desperately as Mamoru headed out the door, stopping with half his body out the door, the other half still inside.
Leave, just leave. His brain practically shouted the words and yet his body was moving to the opposite direction, drifting back inside the shop. And after a quick flourish of a marker, Mamoru handed over a paper cup - 'Blondie' adorning the side - to his manager.
"Get her a hot chocolate on me," he said, a sad smile on his lips.
And he left the shop, shooting her the most jackass-sounding text he could think while hopping on the bus. "You missed."
It was later into the night, after he was able to calm her down - talking and reassuring her that this meant something to him, it wasn't just a game - he realized how deep he was in.
Here he was again, entangled in this lie he created and tonight he could have ended it, the opportunity was right there for him to stop this with her before it reached its inevitable ending. And he already knew that every outcome possible involved heartbreak.
Yet, here he was, still stringing her along, talking through this 'Chess Boy' persona.
He knew this, his mind wanted him to end it sooner than later, and so he should listen to his logical, reliable brain, the one that always guided him.
But for a rare moment in his life, Mamoru was following his heart.
He should stop talking to her, but he didn't want to.
It was so selfish, and tonight when he texted her, revealing that 'Chess Boy' wasn't in fact her sleazy date, a relief swept his body.
A relief that meant he would still get her emoji filled good morning texts, still ask her how her day was going and hear how boring she thought her lectures were, to get those little flutters when her contact name popped up on his screen, to hear her thoughts, to ask her things that he never could in person.
To believe - to pretend - for just one minute each day that it was real, she knew it was him and everything was perfect. He would allow reality to crash down around him once that minute was over, but every day, everything was worth it for that single minute of warm, weightless emotion.
He loved talking to her, loved the ease and lighthearted feeling that consumed him like nothing else ever.
After connecting his phone to the charging port, Mamoru fell onto his dark bedsheets, staring up to the ceiling with a small, sad smile.
Of course the day when they would send their last texts to each other would eventually arrive and then he would have to learn to move on again, to try and start a blank slate, if that were still possible.
A sinking feeling crept up in the pit of his stomach thinking about that upcoming final day they would have, but he could at least find solace in one thing.
That day was not today.
"I couldn't stop myself from responding to you, even if I knew it was wrong that I was lying and pretending to be someone I wasn't," he went on, voice surprisingly steady and gaze unwavering as he looked to her.
Her eyes were the best way to see what was going through her head. How she reacted to each word, every emotion that tore through her at every recollection he had.
Wide, attentive blue eyes that never stopped watching him. It was because of those expecting eyes that he was able to even find his voice, relax just that tiny bit. His heartbeat still thundered in his chest but it served as a weird, comforting push of adrenaline.
"When you sent that last text wanting to know who I was," he paused, biting his lip, "I realized I needed to stop talking to you. I let it come too far and I had to move on."
Her eyes dimmed, perhaps from remembering that moment and she nodded, listening. A variety of expressions had passed her eyes the last few minutes, and bright smiles appeared here and there at special details or sometimes her lips parted instead.
He sighed. "And it worked, we stopped talking..."
Recalling all these moments, the same fluttering feelings bubbled back up and the idea this could work out popped into his thoughts again. That maybe she would want this-she would want him, just him.
The words tumbled out without pause, but he reached a point where he really should have stopped.
"….then Motoki basically forced me to go to that restaurant-"
Oh, she reacted to that. "Woah woah woah woah…."
His entire body froze, and he pulled his gaze down to the table but he could still feel her eyes burning into him like two intense, livid lasers.
God, no. Take it back, take it back.
"What do you mean…..the restaurant and Motoki," she whispered, not looking at him anymore but rather the table with a deep look of concentration.
Take it back, take it back. Take. It. Back. "No, no, nothing. My mistake, I wasn't-"
"The r-restaurant and Motoki, the date," she muttered, ignoring him and he could practically envision the little wires connecting in her head.
"That-that amazing friend Motoki was talking about, how….no, no, no…" she rapidly blinked, disbelief filtering through her until she stilled and gaped at him. "It was you."
Deny it? No, no, no-no more lies.
"Yes," he uttered ashamedly.
She openly stared at him in disbelief. "I ca-can't believe..." Usagi trailed off quietly.
Mamoru almost fell out of his seat at the loud screech the chair created against the floor when she rammed it back and promptly stood up, posture stiff and rigid while her electric blue eyes were suddenly on fire and aimed straight at him. "YOU STOOD ME UP!"
"I-uh wasn't-" he stumbled, stunned.
"You left me there by myself for an hour and a half!"
He flinched. "I know-"
"An hour and a half Mamoru!" she screeched. "That was so humiliating!"
"I...I know-I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"
"What?! It didn't enter your mind to cancel the date before I got there?!" she bellowed. "Hell, you could have canceled even when I was there, but like within ten minutes would have been nice. Not an hour and a half later!"
She was absolutely right. He really should have.
"I inhaled three servings of chocolate mousse because of you," she hissed, leaning across the table.
Mamoru tipped back in his chair a little, a little scared for what would come next. "Wait Usagi-"
"You stood me up!" she repeated, eyes wide.
"Yes," he admitted with a cringe.
"Why?!"
"I-" he paused, "I….I don't know. I was ready and there and I saw you sitting at the table waiting-"
He must have said something wrong.
Suddenly, she grew still, her eyes wide.
"You were there." Her eyes narrowed and her tone unreadable. "You actually came to the restaurant and saw me."
"Uh…" He really should just shut up.
She buried her face in her hands and slid her fingers to her temples. "You actually came there-you were at the restaurant and you still stood me up," she said slowly and carefully as if she thought she had misheard him.
"Y-yes, I did," he said quietly.
She sat there silently for a few seconds until her eyes popped open wide.
"Wait, the guy who gave me the roses," she tried to recall, rubbing her forehead. "He was wearing a mask but he had blue….."
'You're so screwed.' He sunk in his seat, awaiting her realization.
"That-that-THAT WAS YOU!? THAT WAS YOU TOO!"
"Uh-"
"What the hell?!"
"I know."
"What the hell!"
"It was horrible I know."
"Oh my god of course it was you-ho-how was it you?!"
"Well-"
"No, no, no. You know what, I'd rather not know."
He shut his mouth and nodded.
She sighed, disbelieving. "It was you, you were right in front of me, always you."
A snort blew out of her nose then a few giggles and-
Laughing, she really started laughing.
He became only more freaked out.
"I'm sorry," she managed to get out around her laughs. "It's just all of this is so-so-"
"Weird?"
"Yea kind of but also hilarious and unbelieveable," she added, grinning. "You know like this kind of stuff is so not my life."
"Oh, I-I'm sorry."
"No, I don't mean it in a bad way," she corrected.
He blinked, confused. "Oh."
She shrugged, smile disappearing. "Yea, well I guess getting stood up is sort of my life to be fair."
He became horrified, unnerved at her words. "You don't deserve that. I'm sorry, you never deserved that. I was scared and a coward to not face you, I'm sorry for-"
"What?"
"I'm not someone who would stand you up, ever. I couldn't-"
"Woah, woah Mamoru, I didn't mean you, I'm sorry, " she interrupted, realizing. "You had a reason to not meet me in a way and that's okay."
"Still doesn't justify it."
"But it's really okay," she assured, that soft, cheeky smile growing, "I still had a fun night with your card at least."
He did chuckle a little even if he did lose his ability to breathe for a few seconds after first seeing his account the next day.
"So see everything worked out," she cheered, throwing her hands up in a 'ta-da' gesture.
He furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "I guess...you're right. I still have to apologize."
"Don't say that," she bellowed. "We're both idiots that have made mistakes."
"I was the idiot that started this-"
"Actually I started it first-"
"Usagi-"
"I moved the piece first so I started it first," she stated proudly. "Ha."
He licked his lips and bit his lower lip to fight the smile curling his mouth. "Fine, but I turned it into what it was because of selfish reasons."
She tilted her head a bit. "I don't think it was selfish."
He turned his head away. "It was, believe me."
He swallowed hard, tried to breathe knowing her gaze was pinning him down.
"Everything I did-" he lost his nerve and ran trembling fingers through his hair.
"I just wanted to-" his gaze never dared to meet hers this time "-talk to you."
"Talk to me?" Usagi repeated, eyebrows scrunched together.
"Yes," he answered, raking a hand through his hair again, "That's all I've wanted to do since I met you. Talk to you and be around you, like everybody was at high school, the Crown - here now at the coffee shop...everywhere."
His eyebrows knitted together, suddenly concentrated. "That first day, at the arcade, when Motoki wanted me to finally meet the funniest, kindest, most 'awesome' girl he knew and he took me to your table, all your friends were around you and I think..." his voice cracked in a small laugh, "I think I was doomed the second you said 'Hi, I'm Usagi Tsukino.'"
She flushed, felt the heat blossom on her face, down her neck and chest. And her heart got even louder to a very unsafe point. Her lips parted and lifted into a smile, thinking back to that meeting - she could thankfully count on her memory for something - and remembered how she thought Motoki's friend was so adorably shy, greeting each of them so quietly and she remembered his eyes, how wide they were when she shook his quivering hand.
She wanted to reach through time and space just to slap past Usagi at how oblivious she had been.
"I had a crush on you for maybe three years, after that," he continued, and still his look was towards the table, "I told myself that it wasn't anything to deal with, that the feelings would go away eventually? But I kept seeing you at the arcade, at school, and I think…...I don't remember when it turned into something more than just a silly crush."
Mamoru let his voice trail off at the end, amazed at how he was able to go on for so long with his pulse pumping out of his neck.
And again, he was shocked that he somehow still continued with every logical part in his mind screaming for him to stop speaking. "Do you remember that one time when Motoki had assigned tutoring sessions during lunch? I think it was during your-"
"-first year," she finished, a soft, knowing smile gracing her face. "During lunch, you would either sit with the rest of the science club or, you would sit by yourself. I remember."
He nodded his head, but didn't make the slightest move to meet her gaze. "Yea, usually I would just keep to myself, read one of my books, eat, and leave as quickly as possible. That was….that was lunch for me."
He paused, and Mamoru pooled all of the confidence he could recover and finally, looked up to meet the shining azure depths that lit up upon contact. "That was lunch until you started sitting with me."
He forced himself to keep looking, to watch the blush flare up across her skin and recognize the fond look she had, and even though it caused the thumping in his ears to get louder, he kept looking. "You sat across from me, setting up your lunch and saying hi to me, like it was an everyday thing that Usagi Tsukino sat at your lunch table, like it was normal….and I seriously thought you might have been confused or lost or maybe you were dared to, I-I don't know."
"But you kept showing up," he uttered, seemingly confused at his own words. "I thought maybe it was pity, then, that you sitting with me was because of Motoki and you felt bad, but why show up so many times if it was just pity. And why would you try to talk to me, why share your onigiri with me, why try so hard if it was just…."
He swallowed down the lump, closing his eyes, only to open them again to his lap. "I finally realized on the last day. You had brought one of your favorite mangas and suggested that we switch reading materials for the period. I was reading something about time traveling siblings and sorcerers and you tried reading "Sense and Sensibility" I think. You said that a book with no pictures was not a book you could understand, and I laughed."
The smile tugged at his mouth but he wouldn't let it through, a stronger tug was happening at his heart. "The biggest smile happened on your face, and you kept making jokes, kept having that look every time I laughed or smiled. And when the period was over-"
"Well, the math death bells ring," Usagi deadpanned, but broke into a smile as she walked over to his side of the table. "Thanks for giving my manga a chance. I swear it grows on you!"
It was probably a mere five second embrace, but it felt like a century had passed before he could properly interact. An emotion too heavy, too unfamiliar had built up in his chest and his mind was too overloaded with her proximity to understand what it was.
"I'll see you next week, same time, same place Chiba-san," she farewelled while walking backwards, "And I hope your smile and laugh are going to make more appearances!"
She winked at the end before twirling around and disappearing out the door, and it wasn't until she was out of sight, her presence no longer lingering, that every single damn thing came down crashing for him and the unfamiliar emotion that had been lodged inside his chest was no longer in his chest, but instead his stomach, his mind, around his heart.
"I think that's when I admitted it, to myself," Mamoru breathed. "I don't know why that day, why it was that, that finally made it - real? Why all those feelings burst then, and not sooner or later. I just knew that I couldn't come back to that lunch table anymore, I couldn't sit across from you and pretend that I didn't love your smile, or your laugh, or your attempts at lame jokes, or that crinkle you get in between your eyebrows when you don't get stuff, or how you inhale your lunch, or the fact that you don't know how easy it is to see what you're feeling by just looking at your eyes-"
How was he supposed to explain himself? Are there even words in any language he knows that could fully express his tangled emotions, the crazy fluttering in his chest, the spinning in his stomach, or the sheer euphoria that overloaded his senses when he would see her?
"I couldn't act like I wasn't in love with you."
His heart was beating out of his chest, and it wasn't until he said the last word that he realized, that he finally did it.
He told her, no matter how anticlimactic it had been. Years of keeping it sealed in, the words came out, from his lips.
Feeling those strings of confidence returning, Mamoru dared to look up, bracing himself for whatever grim expression she was wearing.
But there was nothing grim about her wide, glassy eyes, or the translucent tear that glided down her cheek. Her smile was captivating, slow, at the same time amazed at what was said. His heart tightened.
"Ever since I saw you again, all those things came up again," he admitted, and he hated how his voice broke, "I wanted you to recognize me so bad, I hoped maybe with one look you'd realize, and we could talk and become friends or something…."
He licked his lips, regaining focus to what happened, not what could have happened. "But, you never did."
Usagi's face dropped, and now she was looking down, breaking their eye contact, a breaking ache shuddering in her body.
His insides twisted painfully, and it was over her pain, not his. "I accepted it and I tried to move on and I tried to avoid you here, I d-dated, I let Motoki set me up with anyone, I focused on school work, I-I ignored you completely. I did everything I could to give up on you and move on."
"I guess there was a part of me that never could and-" he sighed, heavy and low through his nose "-moving that chess piece, I saw it as a second chance. A stupid, second chance but, I still took it."
"And so I was 'Chess Boy'. I've never been great at talking and I guess it was easier, talking to you that way?" he said, eyebrows quirking in an adorable way to her. "It was easier this way. I got the chance to ask things I never could ask in person, without any pressure or expectations. And I realized it was like it was happening all over again."
Her look became confused, and she peeked up to clash blue against blue once more. "All over again?"
He hesitated in answering, running a hand down his face before opening his mouth, then closing it, only to open it again. "Falling for you again," he answered, quietly, a louder blush appearing, "Except doing it a second time, it was somehow worse."
"Whenever I saw my phone light up, it's like everything in me lit up, and shut down at the same time, and when I saw you here, when I talked to you..." he paused, licking his lips, and staring at the table, his mind scrambling to find words. "I never knew you could feel every emotion-that you could feel so much emotion just by seeing someone."
She felt her heart soaring, a new kind of hope pouring into her because those emotions - those sensations he described - they were happening to her right now as she looked at him.
"You can feel so happy, thrilled beyond belief, floating on complete ecstasy," he continued quietly, swallowing thick and unsteady, "Then it's so scary, also. It's insane, you know it's unhealthy to feel like this, to need someone like this and you can't fucking stop it. You try everything and in the end you feel worse than before. You feel broken, alone and suddenly it gets so insane, you get so consumed in this impossible dream, and you believe you can't-you can't-"
"-breathe," Usagi finished, a soft smile rising to her lips, "without them."
Her heart pounded seeing that surprised look in his deep eyes, a blue flicker of hope that lifted her heart higher and smile wider. "Yea, I think I know."
A quick transition occured in those dark depths, one moment a look of shock, maybe even a gleam of belief he was afraid to let in, but then it turned all hard, frightened, flustered and she was right where they started with him looking everywhere but her.
"Yea," he sighed. Silence filled the air around them and even if not a sound was made, it hurt her ears.
She felt guilty for wanting more, to hear what else was running through his mind, had the utter most need to hear anything he was willing to talk about. So guilty to ask such a thing after everything he had - hesitantly - shared. She wanted more, craved more, anything to push back the end, anything to keep him here, talking to her.
Panic flooded her mind when she caught the slightest scratches of his chair pushing back. The bitter taste built up and she felt so, so, so wrong for doing it but a part of her mind switched off.
She blurted out the first thing that came to her. "Impossible dream?!"
Mamoru's confused gaze flew to her wild one.
"Your impossible dream," she repeated, confident, curious, "Why do you think it's impossible?"
He started, never expecting such a question. Eyebrows knitted together, he thought for a second and his next words sent her for a spin this time. "Do you know the Schrödinger's cat experiment?"
The bewilderment etched on her face must have been clear as day.
"It was a thought experiment in the physics field," he explained, "Schrödinger placed a cat in a box that had some radioactive substance. He argued that as long as you didn't look in the box, the cat could be considered both dead and alive, because you couldn't know for sure until you opened the box and looked."
Usagi narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Ummm...ok?" she hesitated, wondering how suddenly dead cats and boxes were being thrown into the conversation.
He nodded. "That's what I mean by my impossible dream being impossible."
Attempting a half smile, he went on with the saddest, most vulnerable expression in his eyes that hit her like a brick wall. "If I never touch the box, If I never look inside, I can keep pretending that my dream is still possible. I can still have hope, I can still dream, even though in the back of my mind, I know what's really waiting for me in the box."
Her throat got tight, dry, and she knew the tears were starting to glide along the edge of her eyes and couldn't fucking stop them even if she tried.
"I knew that once I met you, when I told you the truth," he trailed off quietly, looking to continue, "The box would be open, and I would know that the dream - any hope - would be over. I know you wouldn't want me. You never did after all."
"Wait, what-"
"It wasn't a huge shocker obviously," he continued. "I had already worked out that I wasn't the most perfect person."
'You were better than perfect.' The words were clawing to come out of her mouth but Usagi felt her throat tighten with fear over the kind of reaction they would bring and they wouldn't form.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and a bright blush spread again along his skin, just as it was dying out. "I'm pretty sure I sound like a pathetic, creepy stalker but I swear I never…" His hands sprung onto his forehead and into his hair.
Something inside of her sparked alive, and it screamed at her. Without a second of hesitation, she slid out of her chair and made the small steps to kneel right beside him.
Her fingers fluttered under his frozen gaze, as they gently wrapped around his wrists. His skin felt warm and soothing under her fingertips and she couldn't resist outlining miniscule circles on it. She was sure an unspoken boundary had been broken, but touching him - something just as simple as the skin on his wrists and arms - was absolutely exhilarating for her.
A reassurance that he was here, real, and the bittersweet realization almost brought forth tears and a smile, all at the same time.
His hands relaxed into hers, but they shook.
"Usagi."
She took a breath and craned her head up to meet his gaze up close, emotions swimming in his eyes that took the breath away.
It became so many things; confused, stunned, vulnerable, and then very anxious.
"The box is open now, right?" she said, her eyebrow hitched. His hands remained in hers, she moved them and slipped their fingers into place, interlocking them together. "Is the dream over?"
He just stared at her, surprised with his lips parted.
She pushed down the fear and the voices saying 'no' in her head, and she leaned forward, coming even closer to his eyes and shaky breaths. He didn't move, but kept staring at her.
"Tell me to stop-" she whispered, her breath brushing against the skin of his cheek, "-if it is."
More words formed on the tip of her tongue. But this sudden, fearless courage that was taking over her instead had her leaning forward even further, pushing herself up, and placed a barely there kiss on his cheek, and his head moved just a little in her direction. Her lips dragged themselves to drop another kiss on just the corner of his mouth, catching a part of his lips and it thrilled her when he continued to turn his head until their noses were touching. His eyes were right there, intense, wide, and so dark that it made her bolder and come that inch closer until just barely she brushed his lips.
It was that final chance to back out, move away from her but he didn't move except his lower lip may have dropped a little bit more as she finally pressed their lips together.
It was slow, tentative, when he sighed into her lips. Her legs screaming in pain, Usagi released his hands and slid her freed hands against his jaw then through the hair on the back of his neck, gently pulling his head down to fully press their lips together and relieve the differing heights.
He hesitated, responding to her moves, trembling with her hands on his face and in his hair and his own hands wrapping around her elbows. His little gasp when she traced the line between his lips with her tongue. She savored his taste, the shuddering, soft hair falling through her fingers, everything felt perfect and in place, and this was it, this was everything she could possibly need...
It was so easy to believe it, to let it continue because that feeling of burning, spinning euphoria drowned him, along with the lovely smell of vanilla and cinnamon.
It was gentle, soft although passionate as well, for those few seconds of contact.
Even as he parted his lips for her, becoming completely content for the first time in months against her mouth….it wasn't really real, was it?
It was all because of lies and deception that they had found themselves here. Not because of anything else and he couldn't do this to her.
Years after first kissing her - his first kiss - he wondered if he ever got a second chance, would he finally tell her the words that have forever been frozen in his throat. Would he have the courage to tell her and be able to kiss her.
Instead, in a cruel twist of fate, he was the one to pull away this time, regaining his breath and straightening his own sense of mind and thundering heart. "Usagi."
Her lips chased after his but her eyes fluttered open and she retreated as soon as it was clear that he wasn't reciprocating anymore.
"I'm sorry that-that was too fast, you're right," she reassured, a nervous smile fixed on her lips as she steadied herself, staying much too close to him still.
"No, it…" he started but became lost on where to go, how to follow with the words that would make him hate himself forever, to destroy the one chance he'll never get again. This was what he had always wanted and yet he was throwing it away because somehow it was impossible to let himself be happy and open.
"I-I can't do this," he croaked out, quietly into the silence. "Not with you, not like this."
She blinked, concern forming on her face. "What?"
Mamoru fumbled a bit but pushed the chair back, causing her to stretch back to her full height and look after him as he stood and paced back and forth a little, opening and closing his mouth.
"Mamoru," she called so softly that it broke him even more as she tried to step closer to him.
"I-"
Her eyes were so confused and concerned watching him.
"I don't want this," he said, observing how her eyes fell and grew so scared now. "I don't want you like this. I can't…"
So don't hate me for leaving you guys on another cliffhanger! (And sorry it was long but I know some of you guys like long chapters so your welcome if you liked the length? lol) The second half is getting there and I'm going to try really hard to get out as soon as possible! I have a new job, school responsibilities, and several different things I'm currently in the process of planning in my life so I'm busy to say the least lol
Thank you to everyone who has read the new chapter and stuck around! (and thank you to Flora AGAIN for helping me with your advice, comments, and writing guidance on this chapter! 3 3 3) I hope you guys enjoyed and tell me what you thought!