She'd been talking for almost fifteen minutes, an endless stream of trivial thoughts and stories. Mamoru closed his book with a snap, startling Usagi from her train of thought. She stopped talking mid-sentence, a feeling of unease creeping up on her as Mamoru slowly removed his glasses and set them on the counter.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked uncomfortably as he turned to face her. "Because I really don't think this would be a good time to get into another argument. I mean, Motoki was really kind of irritated today, and I don't want to make him-"

"Usagi," his voice was low and calm, and it unnerved her completely. "Stop."

She swiveled back to face the counter, trying her best to ignore his heated stare.

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything. See? I'm just sitting here, not bothering you at all, so it's probably best if we just-" she squeaked in surprise as she turned to find him looming over her, her nose to his chest. He lifted her off the barstool, setting her on her feet.

"Hey," she protested, backing away from him, "don't…don't manhandle me."

His dark chuckle sent shivers skittering up her back.

"If I were manhandling you," he said, backing her up against the wall, "you would know it."

"Cut it out," she pushed at his chest, but trying to move him was like trying to move a brick wall. "You're…making me nervous."

"I know," he said. "Don't you think I know that? You're so jumpy all the time. You chatter on like you can't stop. You fidgit. You stare at me. We need to settle this once and for all."

"Settle what?" Her voice rose a full octave, high and panicky. "There's nothing to settle!"

"I think there is," he insisted, planting his hands firmly against the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her there. "Tell me why you're so jumpy all the time. What is it exactly that makes you lose your composure when you're around me?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back and gulping down her nerves. He leaned in slowly, and she could practically hear the blood pounding in her ears. He bent his head, brushing his lips lightly against her forehead, her cheek, and finally settling against her throat, right on her fluttering pulse.

"Your heart," he murmured after a moment, "is racing like you've run a mile. Why?"

"I don't…" her voice was a weak, dying gasp. She tried again. "I don't know."

"You know," he said softly. "You just don't want to say it. What are you so afraid of?"

She wrung her hands nervously. Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thump, and her eyes squeezed shut.

"You," she whispered finally. "Don't do this. Please don't do this to me."

"You can't pretend forever," he insisted. "You're going to have to face it sometime. Just get it over with."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think with him so near. Desperately, she grasped for a distraction.

"Motoki-san…he'll be back, soon."

"Uh-uh," he said, refusing the bait. "You're not getting out that easily."

His broad chest blocked out the light and he towered over her. She hated feeling small and helpless, hated him for taking the choice from her. Not, she admitted to herself, that she would ever have made one without his intervention.

"Look," he shifted, propping himself up with one hand, and settling the other one on her shoulder. "Will it make you more comfortable if I go first?"

His thumb rubbed against the neckline of her blouse, stroking across her warm, smooth skin.

"Stop that." She brushed at his hand in annoyance. His deep chuckle irritated her.

"Why should I?"

"Because," she began, lifting his hand off her shoulder, "I can't think when you do that."

"So don't think," he replied. He slid his free hand over her shoulder, his warm fingers brushing lightly across her skin. His hand cupped her neck, arching her head back just enough. His head bent towards hers, and her hands came up between them, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. She tried one last time.

"You can't…do this."

"Of course I can," he said, and kissed her. She could have turned away, but instead she let him settle his lips over hers in a light caress. He pressed closer, reaching an arm around her waist. He was so close that she could smell him, smell the tangy scent of his aftershave that still clung to him and the scent of the hazelnut coffee he'd spent the afternoon gulping down. She drew in a shaky breath, fingers desperately clutching his shoulders. She couldn't remember when she'd placed them there, when she'd stopped protesting and started cooperating.

"Whoa. What's going on?"

Usagi whimpered at the unwelcome intrusion, ducking her head so she was hidden from view. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders in distress, making him wince.

Mamoru pulled just a little away, but his eyes caught hers.

"Give us a moment," Mamoru said. His voice was strained, as though he was quickly losing control.

"Uh, sure," Motoki sounded bewildered. "I'll just…be in the back."

Awkwardly, Usagi unclenched her fingers, releasing Mamoru's shoulders from the death grip she'd inflicted upon them. Her gaze drifted downward, avoiding his.

"Hey," he cupped her chin, lifting her face to force her eyes upwards. "Cut that out."

"Cut what out? I'm not doing anything," she defended stoically.

"You're…retreating." He frowned. "I can practically feel you closing up. You're shutting me out, just like you always do."

"Don't get cocky," she ordered. "You're always like this, like you have some kind of right to…to just throw your weight around." She shoved at his chest again, winning a minor victory as he moved back a few inches to give her a little space. She tried to sidestep him and ended up pinned against the wall.

"Don't run out on me just yet," he ordered. "We haven't gotten anything settled." His hands held her shoulders firmly against the wall, and his eyes had gone nearly black.

"What's to settle? The less we have to see of each other, the better." Her throat burned with the lie. He glared at her and she glared right back stubbornly. "Can I go, please?"

"No. You're going to stand right there and listen until I say otherwise."

She bristled with temper at his arrogance.

"You just love to push me around, don't you," she said. "Can't you be a decent person for once in your miserable life and give a girl a break?"

"No," he snapped. "Now shut up and listen."

She shut up. When he spoke again, his voice was noticably softer.

"Look," he sighed, "I don't want to make you nervous. I don't want you to be afraid of me." He shifted closer, his hands gentling on her shoulders. "I love you," he said softly. She made a gasping sound, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as though she were afraid of what she might say.

"Don't say that," she choked out finally.

"It's true," he said. "And you love me. We both know it. God, it's so obvious."

"No," she denied hastily. "I don't. I can't. I won't." She shook her head, wide-eyed.

"Usagi, you can't keep doing this," Mamoru sighed. "You've got to stop running away. You've got to meet me halfway."

"No!" She shoved him with all her strength. He gave up gracefully, allowing her to dart around him towards the door. She paused at the exit, looking back at him helplessly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

"Don't," she replied. "I can't do this. I can't do this."

"You're scared," he said. "I understand. I'm not happy, but I understand. You'll figure it out sooner or later. I'll wait for you."

She fled.

"Well," Motoki said, emerging from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel, "that certainly went well."

Mamoru shrugged noncommittally as he dropped onto a barstool. He rubbed his temples and slumped over the counter, folding his arms over his head.

"She's like a butterfly," he said, his words muffled by the counter top. "If I push her too hard, if I chase her too fast, she'll get scared and fly away and be gone forever. But maybe, if I stay still long enough, she'll stop being afraid and come close enough to let herself be caught."

"Makes sense," Motoki said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I still don't know where all of this came from. It seems like a few weeks ago, you two couldn't stand each other."

"Yeah, well, for a long time I was sure she hated me. It took me a long time to figure out she really loves me," Mamoru agreed.

"From what I saw, she wasn't exactly thrilled with your declaration. She seemed downright horrified. How can you be so sure?"

"Well," Mamoru hesitated. "To be honest, I'm not. But I've loved her for a long time. There's never been anyone but her for me. There never will be. I figured it was time to take a chance, to find out what she really feels. She's been...acting strangely for a while, now. Whatever it is she feels for me, she's fighting it hard. I don't know how she'll handle it. It's possible she'll never come here again."

Motoki winced at his defeated tone. He'd never seen Mamoru so dejected.

"So," he said finally. "What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I can do," Mamoru replied. "Wait."

- -

Usagi wandered Tokyo, torn between laughter and tears. It was ridiculous to think that Mamoru was in love with her. It was a completely ludicrous thought. It had to be a joke or a dream...more likely a nightmare. Laughter gurgled in her throat - a strange reaction that she could not account for. She passed a store with bright, glossy windows as her hysterics dissolved into hiccoughs and sniffles, and was astounded that her reflection stared back at her with tears rolling down its cheeks. She touched her eyes experimentally, and wiped the wetness away furiously. She tried a smile in the mirror, but saw only a tremulous grimace.

Dismayed, she jogged across the street to the park. It was a cool evening, and her light blouse did little to soothe the goosebumps that rose on her arms. She rubbed them briskly, finding shelter from the cool wind in a thicket of trees down by the lake. She sat beneath the hanging branches of a willow as the evening turned to night, and the first few dim stars speckled the sky. At last, alone and cold and confused, she faced herself.

'I don't love him,' she thought, 'of course I don't. He's just...just Mamoru-baka. How could I love him?'

But the question wasn't how, it was why, and that was one to which she had an answer.

'He's a jerk. He's been horrible to me for years. I can't love him because he's seven years older than me. He's too smart. He's too sophisticated.'

She was lying to herself, and she knew it. She hadn't seen any of this coming. She might never have sorted out her own feelings if he hadn't forced her to do so.

She dropped her head into the cradle of her arms and let out a harsh breath.

'He doesn't love me,' she told herself. 'I don't know why he said he did, but he doesn't. He couldn't. He doesn't know anything about me. He's just...just trying to hurt me again.'

But she knew better than that. She'd failed to convince herself of anything all around, and a frustrated sob escaped her tight throat. She'd made a mistake. A big mistake.

'How could he have known? How could he have known I loved him when I wasn't even sure? What do I do, now?'

But of course, there was only one thing to do.

After all, he had said that he would be waiting.

- -

It started raining on the way, and she shivered, folding her arms over her chest. She didn't go home. She couldn't go home. If she went home, she'd lose her nerve. So she walked. Past the park, past the arcade, past the Hikawa temple, just beyond the college, right to Mamoru's apartment complex. She trudged up seven flights of stairs, her sodden jeans chafing her legs, her shoes making wet, slushing noises. Her heart jumped into her throat as she walked down the hallway, finally stopping in front of his door. She stood there for several minutes, waging a fierce inner battle, her heart against her mind, whether to stay or whether to leave. Finally, she forced herself forward, rapping quickly on his door. Her stomach clenched violently, and she bit her lower lip against the wave of nausea that rolled over her. She'd almost decided to cut and run when the door swung open, revealing a shoeless Mamoru in jeans and a white t-shirt. He didn't look at all surprised to see her.

"Usagi-san," he said neutrally. His voice revealed nothing, and she desperately wanted him to say something, just one little thing that might take some of the pressure off of her.

"Mamoru-san," she whispered finally, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "I...I just...I wanted to..." She trailed off, staring at him helplessly.

He sighed, leaning back against the doorframe. "Usagi," he said softly, soothingly, "I can't always be the one to bend. I know it's hard to tell me how you feel, but I need to hear it. I need to hear how you feel as much as you needed to hear what I felt."

"I didn't need that!" she gasped, galvanized by his words. "It was scary and...and confusing, and I didn't need it at all!"

"Well, then, I apologize," he said swiftly. "I'll keep my feelings to myself, if that's the way you want it." He turned, reentering his apartment, pushing the door closed.

"Wait!" Usagi cried.

He paused, the door half-closed, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Please...please don't go."

Obligingly, he stepped back through the door, crossing his arms over his chest. She nibbled her lower lip, twisting her fingers as she struggled to sort her jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. Her body trembled, but she was no longer sure if it was with nerves or cold.

"Usagi," he wheedled expectantly. Heat flared in her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"This is hard," she defended loudly. "I never thought I would be doing this, I never wanted to do this, Mamoru-baka, and it's all your fault!" Her hands fisted as her sides. His eyebrows rose in surprise, more than a little amused at the picture she made, every part of her body tense and shaking, her face flushed redder than a cherry. He moved forward, settling his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes opened, and she stared at him in surprise, as though she hadn't expected him to touch her.

"You're wet," he exclaimed suddenly, sliding his hands down her arms, to test the dampness. "And cold."

"Of course," she said crisply, looking at him like he wasn't too bright, "I walked here in the rain, baka."

"Come inside," he said. "I'll get you some dry clothes. I don't want you to catch a cold."

She followed him hesitantly, standing by the door as he disappeared down the hall towards what was presumably his bedroom to get some clothes. He had seemed so intimidating before, his eyes almost accusing as he stared at her expectantly. Now he was different, a little warmer, a little kinder. But she knew if she prolonged the inevitable, it would only irritate her, and he'd revert to that other Mamoru, the one with the cold eyes and the accusing stare.

He emerged a few moments later, carrying a pair of pajama pants and a large, white button-up shirt. He handed them over and ushered her down the hall to the bathroom.

She walked in, flipped on the light, and turned to face him.

"I love you," she said quite clearly, and shut the door in his face.

- -

"Usagi," Mamoru said patiently, "I can get a screwdriver and pop the lock."

He tapped a soft rhythm on the door. He'd been sitting there, on the carpet, locked outside of his own bathroom, for the last fifteen minutes. He'd tried just about everything – luring her out with food, with candy, with promises of milkshakes and chocolate sundaes – to no avail. With a sigh, he rested his head against the door.

On the other side, Usagi rested her head against the door, listening to Mamoru's rhythmic tapping.

"I'm scared," she whispered finally. The tapping stopped.

"What are you scared of?" he asked back, his voice low and gentle.

"Of…of something changing," she said, pressing her hands to the door. It was cool against her cheek, and Mamoru's clothes were warm and comfortable. Her wet hair was twisted up in a tight bun.

"Things have to change," Mamoru said. She was glad that he didn't sound angry. He was a lot more patient with her than he needed to be, and Usagi was grateful for that. She didn't think she would have the patience to deal with all of the time she demanded. It made Mamoru that much more special to her.

"Why? I liked things the way they were." Her voice sounded plaintive and whiny, and Usagi cringed as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Change," Mamoru said, "can be good. It will be good for us."

"How do you know that," she asked.

"Because I love you," he said, and she could hear it in his voice. "And you love me. You don't have to be afraid of this. I'll never hurt you."

"Do you promise?"

He smiled at the whispered plea.

"I promise," he said. "Now, will you come out? I want to kiss you."

"Oh…Okay." A few seconds later, the doorknob turned and she emerged from the room, studying her toes in obvious embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, in a tiny voice, "I've caused you a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing as she glared up at him. He swung her up into his arms, his nose bumping hers as he planted a kiss somewhere in the vicinity of her lips. "But you're definitely worth it."