The first times I saw you, you were…
7 - a rabbit (a Mamoru POV one-shot centered on episode 7 of Classic)

When I saw you for… I don't remember how many times I have already seen you,
but that time, for the first time…

"How old were you when you lost your parents?"
"Six."
His psychoanalyst seated on the couch.
"The doctors told me me how old I was."
"Hm." The psychoanalyst taking notes.
"Your farthest memory? Do you want to talk about it?"
"The hospital stench. That day." Actually, the smell of his own urine on the hospital gown, when he had woken up. By instinct, he had known he wasn't accustomed to sleep with his legs wet and cold. Was that a memory too?
"Do you have a mental image of your parents? Do you remember a moment with them?"
"I have a photo." The doctors had given it to him.
Here, a photo of your mom and dad. They'll always be with you.
He hadn't understood how. His parents were dead, gone. They were strangers that, according to everyone, had taken care of him until that moment in his life, but Mamoru didn't even remember them.
"I don't miss them" he had said, to immediately clarify the situation. "I'm not the one that wants to remember the past."
The psychoanalyst had nodded. "Generous people have offered you a home for some time and these sessions with me. Put them to use."
No.
The psychoanalyst had abandoned his notes. "Mamoru, I'm an ear. A mirror of you, with many answers. You can tell me whatever you want. Nobody will ever know."
"You help." So even the psychoanalysts - he had thought - were doctors.
"I do."
"I want to become a doctor when I grow up."
"To help?"
Yes.
At twelve he had told that man about his dreams, just to fill up the time of their sessions together.
About himself - of the Mamoru who wanted to be a normal child, who just wanted to be left in peace - he had revealed only one particular.
When I grow up, I'll be a doctor. And I won't need help anymore, from anyone.

"So the answer is no." Motoki gave up and cleaned the counter with a wet cloth.
Mamoru withdrew on his stool, letting him do his job. "I'm not into confidences."
"I knew it, but… I wanted to ask anyway."
Had he expected a negative answer? Mamoru hoped so, because he didn't want their friendship to change.
Sorry. He didn't say it. He hadn't made a mistake by refusing to open up, that had been just him being… himself.
Motoki rubbed a dry rag on the wooden plywood that made the Crown's counter.
"Don't think about it. If you had answered me, good, if you hadn't… At least, now you know I care about you."
If he cared about Motoki too, he should have answered that yes, he hadn't ever talked about his past with anyone, but he could make an exception for him - his only friend.
Motoki was shaking his head. "You don't have to tell me anything."
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"No. Here's your coffee."
Mamoru brought it to his lips, tasting it. "Why do you keep putting sugar in it?"
"Some sweetness is good for everyone."
"But you take your coffee black and bitter."
"Sugar for me has another form." Motoki crossed his arms, satisfied. "Tonight I'm taking Reika out."
"For dinner."
"Of course."
"Isn't it expensive?"
Smiling, Motoki went back to the preparation of the milkshakes. "With women you can't expect to save money."
Well, Mamoru thought, he had yet to experience that problem, but in his mind it was directly proportional to the woman's age. Reika Nishimura was twenty, two years older than Motoki. To reduce the distance between them, Motoki was doubly careful in giving her gifts, lavishing her with attentions and listening to her every word. All for a relationship that wouldn't last.
Mamoru had learned to be a good friend and had kept that opinion to himself.
Motoki let a milkshake slide to the other end of the counter. The girl who took it giggled ridiculously, blushing.
A joke every now and then was allowed. "If you lowered your standards, you could get away with some ice-creams." The Crown was populated by high school girls too. They didn't come to play with videogames, they chose it as a reunion place to ogle at the guy behind the counter - the blond one who covered the two-to-nine shift at alternate days.
"I'm not searching anymore." Motoki craned his neck, relaxing the muscles of his shoulders. "Reika gives me everything I want."
Everything?
"I mean…" High school girls liked Motoki because he always had an innocent and young look about him, a good guy vibe. Motoki himself knew that, so it was surprising for Mamoru to see his friend's eyes grow up by some years in front of him.
"Well… yes. Everything." Motoki hid a mocking smile, so adult on his face.
There it was, a good reason to have a friend. With who else would it possible to talk about sex? To whom, in some time, would he be able to ask for some advice, an opinion, or just a simple discussion on the matter? He would have asked questions already if for Motoki talking about sex wasn't the same as talking about Reika.
When the two of them would break up, the possibility of misunderstandings wouldn't be a problem anymore.
"Have you seen those girls?"
Mamoru turned on his stool, throwing a glance outside the glass doors of the place. He got a glimpse of a girl with a very short skirt, high boots and a showy pink jacket.
It was a little early for disco.
"They are going to the Cinderella Caravan show."
The name sounded bad enough. "What is that? A competition for idols?"
"No, it's for any kind of personal talent. But, as you say, I think they are just searching for the usual idol. Those girls produce money."
Mamoru could understand why.
From the age of thirteen, for about a year, he had gone through and idol phase too - he would tell no living sould about it, not for all the world's money. After all, he hadn't been at fault. At thirteen he had become aware of girls, of their naked legs, of theirs soft breasts pressing against transparent shirts… He had noticed idols on tv and magazines too, high school girls with cute dollish faces and sweet smiles that whispered in every song, 'Look at me, listen to me, I'll be really nice to you."
Luckily, he had grown out of it. Goodbye to the cute girl phase - now he was interested in girls that went at least to college.
Motoki's concentration was still on the street. He hadn't stopped shaking his head. "I bet that Usagi-chan will want to go too."
Chan? Motoki had a big problem: for him, any girl under sixteen was a potential little sister he had to take care of. Usagi Tsukino, aka Odango Atama, was particularly dear to him. He found her amusing and enjoyable to be with. He talked often about her, so much that they had figured out that they both knew her, separately.
"She is not a kid" Mamoru said. "She will manage on her own."
Motoki was concentrated and hadn't listened to a word. "I'll talk to her next time she passes by. Usagi-chan follows her dreams and that's a good thing, but you know how these talent-shows work…. They use the worst auditions to make people laugh."
Mamoru had to agree: not even Odango deserved such an humiliation.
Motoki pointed at him. "You live in the direction she always comes from. You are going back to your apartament now, right?"
Yes, but the question had the faint smell of a suggestion he had to decline.
"If you meet her, talk to her. You don't like her much, but she is just a middle school girl."
So?
"Someone has to warn her about the world's dangers."
"I'm not promising anything." Mamoru drank all his coffee and stood up.
Motoki was as tall as him, but in that moment was looking at him from a high stool of maturity that - dammit to hell - Mamoru had yet to reach.
"Be an adult, Mamoru."
Motoki couldn't have chosen a better way to blackmail had started thinking about Odango as a small curse, inevitable from time to time in his life, a source of smiles and occasional guilt trips.
Getting out of Crown, he thought about his next exam (he was ready, he would be the best of his class), about the money he had on his wallet (enough to rent a pair of movies, not enough to buy groceries) and about what to do during the next weekend (getting out of the city wasn't a bad idea, it had been a while since he had left Tokyo). He remained firmly on the path towards his apartament, because if his sixth sense wasn't wrong, Motoki had made him feel like a kid in order for his destiny to give him a chance to put a remedy to that.
Odango came out of the next corner, running in his direction.
Inevitable. "Ehi."
She came to an abrupt halt and turned left, hiding behind the wall of an alley without exit.
Mamoru went to retrieve her in her den, without haste.
How was he to convince her to follow his advice? By making a joke of it, of course. It would be the best course for both of them.
He wasn't mature enough, yet, to behave like a big brother, but he didn't care: with a younger sister like Odango, he would have run away from home already.
He put a hand to the corner of the wall, blocking her from escaping. "And here we have your Odango head. Don't tell me you are going to the Cinderella Caravan?"
She winced and, without a care for her fourteen years, she snorted like a pre-schooler, refusing to look at him.
He made use of the truth, the best weapon. "In your case, you can go with a comical act."
Odango angrily turned her head. "As if! Obviouly I'm not going there! At all!"
The only obvious thing was that he had made her change her mind about it. She had recently cried too.
"Now let me pass, I have to go home!" Usagi shoved a little at him, finding her way towards the main street. "Ugh" she grumbled. "What a jerk!"
And she was a funny girl that honored her name. She was… such a rabbit, with her chubby cheeks, big eyes and ears that in her case were long braids of hair. And that face, the beaten puppy one: it inspired in him… well, not the desire to console her, but at least to give her a pat on the back and tell her that everything would be fine.
Bah.
If he started to like her, he wouldn't hear the end of it from Motoki.
He shook his head and went back home.

7 - A rabbit - END