Part eight, drabble 60: One Touch

Mamoru drained his coffee cup, and stole a sidelong glance at Usagi. She was hunched over the counter, absently swirling the straw in her chocolate milkshake. It had long since passed the melting point, and she had taken no more than a few halfhearted sips of it since Motoki had set it before her nearly an hour ago.

There was something different about her, but Mamoru couldn't decide just what it was. But she'd been acting strangely…definitely not at all like herself. She hadn't participated in their daily skirmishes with anything near her usual zeal. Lately she tossed a few paltry insults his way in a vague attempt at normalcy, and then sulked at the counter for the duration of the afternoon, until evening rolled around and she left for him.

Maybe she was sick? Winter had come early this year, and the freezing bursts of snow that blanketed the city had left thousands of people unprepared. But she wasn't sniffling, she didn't appear to have a fever, she hadn't missed any school lately…no, she wasn't sick. What was the problem, then? Was she upset about something? No, that couldn't be it. Nothing fazed Usagi. She was bright and cheerful, regardless of the circumstances. It worried him to see her so morose, so, after much deliberation, he decided he'd have to make some sort of friendly overture to make sure she was really all right.

"I've never seen you so down before, Odango," he said, easing up beside her. She looked up briefly, surprise registering in her eyes before her gaze flickered uneasily away from his. She shifted a little away, an almost unconscious movement. But Mamoru didn't miss it. Had she really been avoiding him all this time? But what had he done to her recently to affect this kind of change in her attitude? In retrospect, he could see that she'd been avoiding confrontation of any sort with him. She offered none of her usual witty banter, she didn't speak to him unless he directly addressed her. She didn't even look at him lately.

"Odango," he said softly, sidling closer. She was huddled against the wall, staring down at the counter. Her fingers bit into the Formica counter top, knuckles white with tension. She seemed almost fragile in that moment, and Mamoru was determined to handle her as though she were made of glass.

"Did I do something that hurt you in any way?" Mamoru reached across the empty space between them to lay his hand on her shoulder, and she erupted in a flurry of motion.

"D-don't touch me!" she scrambled back, but his hand fell on her shoulder, warm even under the soft fabric of her fleecy sweater. Her eyes drifted slowly up to meet his, large and blue and so full of emotion that Mamoru felt as if the wind had been knocked from his lungs. Just this one touch, and suddenly he understood her reticence to his touch, why she'd been avoiding him, why even now her wounded eyes blinked back helpless tears.

Usagi had always worn her emotions openly, and now her heart showed in those marvelous eyes of hers, her love and her fear – her love for him and her fear of his rejection. She'd been unable to stay away from him, and yet terrified that he would somehow uncover her secret.

To his complete and utter horror, the tears she had been trying in vain to keep at bay suddenly poured profusely over her startlingly pale cheeks. Her trembling fingers touched her wet cheeks as though in disbelief, and she pulled them away, staring at the telltale wetness. All too quickly, she shrugged his hand off her shoulder, dashing frantically for the door.

"What the hell did you do to her this time, Mamoru…Mamoru?" Mamoru was out the door after her before Motoki had even finished his question.

The snow was piling higher, and his breath puffed out frosty and white in the air as he forced his legs faster, chasing after her. He wasn't sure his lungs even held enough air to shout her name. Her sneakers kicked up powdery snow, flinging it back at him as she dashed across the street to the park. The hills were covered in white, and Usagi's pink sweater stood out starkly against the white and gray scenery.

"Usagi! Damn it, stop running!" his lungs burned and the frigid air scratched at his throat. She disappeared over a snowy hill, and he heard a shrill shriek. He caught his breath, darting down the hill in time to see her struggling to regain her footing in more than a foot of snow. She trudged desperately along, but finally Mamoru had the advantage. He was more than a foot taller than she was - much more easily able to wade through the snow.

He caught up with her, shoving her ruthlessly down into the snow. The force of her fall sent snow flurries hurling into the air, and Mamoru grabbed for her to ensure she couldn't get away again. He pinned her down with the weight of his body, forcing her back to the ground with his hands on her shoulders.

"Damn it, why the hell did you run?" he shouted, frustrated with her unanticipated reaction and her continued struggles. The snow fell lightly all around then, tiny flakes sticking to her clumped eyelashes.

"Let go of me!" she cried, shoving at his shoulders. But she was so much smaller than he was, she didn't have his strength or his weight, and she knew that she was stuck there for as long as he wanted to keep her there.

"No," he said, holding her down firmly. "Stop struggling, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

Finally, she stilled beneath him, but those helpless tears still slid down her cheeks. He lifted one hand to gently rub them off her face.

"Please," the word escaped her tight throat on a sob, "please don't hate me."

He made an affronted sound, hurting because she was hurting. His cold fingers slid into her hair caressingly.

"I don't hate you. How could I hate you? It would be like hating myself." He bent down, brushing his lips across her forehead, feeling the tiny flakes of snow and her warm skin beneath his lips.

"I couldn't help it," her breath came in quick little pants, her eyes squeezing shut as if she could block out the sight of him, as if not seeing would make it less real. Her fingers crept up to clutch at his shirt. "I tried not to love you."

"Why?" His voice was curious, not reproachful, and his hands lifted her up so gently from the cold ground, tucking her shivering body up against his warm one, cheek pressed against his chest.

"Because you don't love me. You couldn't love me."

"Usagi," his voice was warm and husky, and his hands traveled reassuringly up and down her back, "no one could look at you like I have, speak with you like I have, argue with you like I have, or laugh with you like I have without loving you."

"I always thought you hated me. You've always seemed so distant, so unattainable." Her eyes opened, watchful and wary, but wonderfully free of tears.

"I thought you hated me," he laughed. "You were so beautiful, so full of life. I never thought you might love me in return. At least, until this afternoon. I was worried about you. You seemed so…tragic. You have such expressive eyes, Odango. I could see it right away, so clearly, and it surprised me. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I was afraid," she said. "I wouldn't ever have told you, if you hadn't found out for yourself."

"Just that one touch," he said. "And now, everything's changed."

"Is it?" it was a wistful little sigh, a prayer, a desperate hope.

"Of course." He flicked her forehead in irritation, then he kissed the tip of her nose. "Usako," he said, surprised at how easily the endearment came to his lips, "I'm yours forever, if you want me."

"Oh," her breath feathered out in a pure puff of white, and she laid her head against his chest, tucked securely under his chin. Her eyes fluttered closed, a smile chasing across her lips as her fingers tapped a faint rhythm against his chest. "I can't think of anything I want more."