Commiserate
A/N: Commiserate-to feel sorrow, regret, or pity. Goodness. Just. I'm so done with life. -_- Sorry for the delays with these. I have about 5 more ready. I'll keep them tucked away for next month when I'm working on my Camp NaNoWriMo project.
If I know anything about Mamoru Chiba, I know for a fact he does not walk into the Crown Arcade with a huge smile sitting on his face. This rare occasion calls for one of two things: The freezing over of hell, or something to do with Usagi. Considering the latter is sitting in front of me- Hell must be damn cold.
"Konnichiwa, Mamoru-san," I remark as he approaches me, the smile still broad. Usagi peeks up from the corner of her eyes and I try to hide my own smile. "You look awfully chipper today."
Mamoru's smile manages to grow as he reaches the counter. "Today is a good day, Motki-san." The ebony-haired man hardly takes notice of the blond girl he sits next to, despite any movements or noises she makes to announce her presence.
I arch my eyebrow, waiting to hear the explanation of why Satan needs to buy puffy winter clothing. "Oh, really?"
He nods, his face turning solemn. "I met an incredible woman this morning."
Beside us, Usagi chokes on her milkshake. I glance over and Mamoru finally takes notice of the girl he has dubbed his "worst nightmare".
His dark blues eyes study her bright blue ones. "Don't kill yourself, Odango Atama!" He smirks before turning back to me. Usagi's cheeks flush but it seems I am the only person to take notice. Of course.
"She's truly a force to be reckoned with," he continues, going back to ignore the blonde.
I nod, feigning the act of listening. Usagi's eyes widen as she herself pays attention to Mamoru's story. She happens to be paying more attention than I am. "And what makes this girl so special?"
I deadpan, watching Usagi listen eagerly.
Mamoru's eyes fill with haze. "She taught me how to love."
A spoon clatters to the counter and before Mamoru or I have the opportunity to turn to face ehr completely, Usagi;s blond hair flutters out of the arcade.
"Baka!" I hit Mamoru on the arm and my finger fumble at my apron strings.
Mamoru's wide eyes follow my figure out of the arcade. I hate to admit, I commiserate for these two.
Two people in love. And somebody always manages to screw it up.
. . .
To Be Continued.