AN: Ok, kids, this is for everyone who has a lame test in the next few weeks who wants a bit of an escape from anything school related. I understand that this chapter needs a bit of fine tuning, but my editor is in the midst of lame tests…so! Without further verbage on my part, enjoy!
Ellourrah
Chapter FourThe air was crisp and cool, a sudden compliment to the oppressive heat wave that had choked the city streets for months. The early morning traffic bustled hastily along; people ambled happily down the sidewalks and paths in response to the sweet release. Trees swayed headily against the gentle nymph-like wind and tiny dewdrops shattered the early morning sunrise to light the walkways in a splattering of confused color. Rustling leaves broke the still morning like a whispering woodwind symphony accented by trilling birdsong from the dancing treetops. The slow-rising sun gave stark contrast against the rigid, unforgiving buildings that broke the Tokyo skyline like jagged teeth.
But all of this went unnoticed to him. His thoughts were elsewhere, per norm, and had been stuck there for weeks now. Since that night, there had been no other attacks on the city's inhabitants, and nothing had been heard from the elusive Heroes that watched from above. The day might as well have been somber and cloudy, for all he cared. Such a silence could have been considered normal, unless one was waiting to get their hands on a certain blond hero for some answers.
It was all he wanted at this point. The questions had been building in the back of his mind long enough to drive any normal man insane, and he was not willing to give up on them. He found himself anxious for the next attack, waiting on pins and needles for the day to arrive when he could hear the sweet scream of utter terror breaking the silence; even though it meant another spike in the growing death toll. The inactivity was making him lose his mind, but it was considered a small sacrifice for the ultimate goal. Glowering cobalt eyes narrowed at the thought. Patience was not a virtue he had given much credit to in the past, however now there was some small inkling of regret for that decision. But it didn't matter how long it took, he was willing to wait. Knowing his luck, it would take another couple of weeks before the Dark Kingdom would strike again.
He paused mid-stride, feeling himself tense on instinct as it came into view. Even the sight was enough to cause a nervous jolt to shiver along his skin and sheen of sweat to break across his forehead. The most dreaded area in the world at exactly 7:53 am, which his schedule strangely forced him to be in at precisely that time every morning, was suddenly before him in all its horrifying glory. He muttered something dark beneath his breath, quickly positioning himself in the path of least probability.
Today could be the break in the sudden absence, and he had no intention of being mowed down simply because he was too distracted to notice a 90 some-odd pound girl rocketing through the streets at mach four and screeching like banshee. Furtively, his head snuck around the corner just long enough to analyze his chances of making it to school unscathed. A quick scan of the area proved his efforts futile as no one was around other than him. That was…weird.
For the past couple of days, Odango hadn't been at 'the corner', and that left him wondering if she was actually getting up on time. He couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped at the thought. Yeah, like that would ever happen. The day that whiny little brat made it to school on time; he'd die of shock, old age, or both.
He shook his head amusedly and slipped around the corner to continue his walk. It was almost like she timed everything, was late on purpose just to run into him. What a ridiculous, typical thing for a young girl to do. It certainly wasn't like she was the only one to do it, either. Seemed every time he turned around some middle-schooler was bumping into him or tripping up against him. Blue eyes rolled heavenward at the thought. If he had a nickel for every ridiculous little kid that had a crush on him, he'd probably have his retirement taken care of. Odango was now just one of the masses, just like every other girl.
It was sad. In the beginning, she'd been such a good distraction. She was too short to be taken seriously, too young to be attractive, and too fiery to give up when put down. It was a fun little game of childish name-calling, and the perfect stress relief from all of those anatomy courses he'd taken. Any time he'd been faced with a test, he'd calmly walked into the arcade for a little relief in the form of purely plutonic bickering. Maybe it was some strange kickback to the childhood he'd never had, but damn it, it was fun!
Or had been. In retrospect (and this was only after Motoki had non-too-gently pointed out the fact over coffee the other day) Odango had not been herself for a while now. Where she'd always been able to shoot absolute hell his way when he first met her, it made her all the more disturbing when compared to the girl he'd seen mere days earlier.
He'd been on his way home from the dry-cleaners, not expecting anything because it was late afternoon and everything was quiet as usual. But her tiny form had come barreling around the corner anyway, and smashed into him with all the force of a train wreck. The impact sent his clean clothes into the gutter and absolutely coated him in fine gold hair that clung to him like sticky fingers. That part, not counting the timing, had been normal; but the look in her eyes, the way she threw herself away from him and scurried off, was not. She hadn't even yelled at him for being in her way, which might have somehow helped the situation return to normal between them. Maybe he was just going crazy, but something about the instance bothered him, and he'd spent more than a few moments brushing the feeling away before he could take a closer look.
She had been a fun kid to talk to.
Well, she was a distraction at least from the other issues in his life –or had been. The thought sent a strange feeling through him… past tense. He rolled his eyes, wasting no time in pushing that feeling away just as he had all the others. Besides, his eyes narrowed in thought, he had other things to worry about anyway, and thinking about that juvenile brat… Odango was not on debate here, the real problem was…
"Chiba-san! Oi!" Stormy blue eyes settled across the newcomer in cool frustration, and he was suddenly considering his escape options while she made her way across the grounds. One glace proved the college campus already surrounded him on every side, and that his feet had carried him nearly to the science building on their own. He mentally shook himself, hoping his little visitor hadn't noticed how out of it he'd been. It wouldn't do to let her, of all people, see him preoccupied. He'd never hear the end of it. Quickly stifling the urge to roll his eyes, he replaced it instead with a welcoming smile.
"Matsumori-san." He nodded respectfully, already watching the short girl for any furtive movements. She stood at perfect attention to him, short form clad in the university regulation uniform in maroon and grey. As senior president of the journalism club, the student before him always had some excuse to come talk to him, which in turn helped her secondary position as acting president of his fan club. Words could not express how much joy that particular bit of knowledge had brought him. When they'd first met, he'd just barely come to this school under pre-med, and she'd been doing a column on most promising new-comers. Though nothing had happened right at first (she was too short, anyway) over the ensuing months she'd proven to be quite tenacious when it came to the things she wanted. He would have had a great deal of respect for that, if that something weren't him.
The farthest it had ever gone between them was a round of flirting over an interview for the biweekly newsletter that circulated the campus about him. He'd been acting much too strangely for a long time before that and the not-so-innocent little college girls had begun to wonder if he was alright. Questions had arisen about certain aspects of his personal life that he'd been forced to confront. It was bad enough having every girl on campus hunt him like a prize deer, but having a few of the guys encouraged by rumors really didn't help anything. Given his usual behavior around the opposite sex, the only reason the questions had been brought up where on allegations that he hadn't seemed too interested. Of course, to any ridiculous busy-body out there, it must mean he was either sick or gay. People assumed things –asinine as that was- and he had no intention of letting it slide by.
Just to drive the point home, he'd complied with her request for a personal interview in which he'd simply credited a change in major and the need to focus on his work for a while. Given the large switch from pre-med to business management, it had a bit of truth behind it, even if it were only partial. He hadn't ever been one to fill up his time with general classes, and had had to focus almost entirely on management courses to make up the difference since. The reason for the change? Well, medicine was interesting enough, but he was an admittedly selfish man, and a few pointers from a local big business owner had given him the direction needed to truly utilize his skills.
Of course, none of it was the real reason he'd been turning down women left and right beginning almost a month earlier. Something had changed in him, something that he couldn't quite put a finger on until that very interview. Matsumori-san had been utterly wicked after the gay question had been put aside, but her cute little jokes and sultry eyes had no effect on him like they would have. His tastes had changed, become completely exclusive to one single woman. As the conversation had progressed, he'd focused more and more on his thoughts of the beautiful Senshi, and had slowly realized that his feelings for her ran far deeper than he'd thought possible before that moment.
It was both exciting and depressing to admit he could not stand the idea of any other woman warming his bed if not Moon herself. Though it took a few more months to grip exactly what that meant for him, considering their rather distant relationship. After plotting and planning all of this time away, he had been absolutely certain of the course to take. It had involved a tiny bit of subterfuge on his part, in hopes of evading the other two Senshi more than anything else, but he'd had every intention of coming out with the truth in time.
One thought back to that night on the rooftops, however, smashed that little daydream to bits and pieces. She'd turned him down flat without even considering it. Of course, there was a reason for everything, and hers would be as good as any for breaking his heart and his nose in one fell swoop. They had spoken at least once as civilians, which meant she could be one of his classmates!
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he held the short brunette up to the legendary warrior and couldn't help but wonder. They were both vertically challenged, but there was no way their body types were even close. The girl before him was border-line straight up and down, hardly any curve to her at all. Her hair was short, cut stylishly to reflect some terrible fashion magazine she'd probably subscribed to from the states. It didn't even stand in the same world as the shimmering windswept cascade crowning Moon's gorgeous little head and swirling down around her lower thighs. No, likelihood that they were one and the same was not terribly high. He focused his eyes on her, hoping she hadn't noticed his mind wandering as she spoke.
"…rumor that you got in a fight with a Jr. High kid. Is it true she actually put you in the emergency room?" All earlier thoughts froze in the wake of her insinuation. Confident brown eyes clashed against shocked blue before his mouth curled into a cruel smile. So that was what she'd been curious about. He should have considered at least the possibility of the club wanting to know what happened to make his face to bruise so badly. Of course, even the idea of little Odango Atama causing such damage was really unheard of. Who in their right mind could even assume that scrawny little brat from the arcade could actually land a punch, let alone shatter his nose bridge?
"Excuse me?" He drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down on her short, stick figure form in contempt. Who would believe such a rumor, let alone have the gall to ask him about it? His mouth tightened angrily as he continued. "That is obvious hearsay, and I'm not even going to bother answering it. If you've got a problem with my broken nose, just come out and say it."
"Well," Matsumori grinned quietly and came forward a few steps till they were quite close and reached out a hand to finger his jacket. "Would you like to tell me the story? I promise to make it sound good in this month's newsletter." Her fingers slid around his lapel, lips pursed in sultry invitation as she tilted her head toward him.
A crawling shudder of revulsion tickled his lower spine and he quickly brushed her hand away in hopes of banishing the strange sensation. He retreated back a few steps, demeanor cold and uncaring as he shifted the pack and narrowed both eyes at her dangerously. It wasn't the first time she'd tried something like this, and he'd been perfectly clear on his part that there was nothing between them. Well, looks like he was just going to have to educate her like he did Odango; maybe then she'd get the picture.
"Look, Matsumori-san, let's be honest here. You've got no figure at all, you're too short and not even that pretty. So stop throwing yourself at me, it's pathetic." Strangely enough, the tiny twinge that had snagged at his chest just a few weeks earlier wasn't there this time. It was natural, an extension of his loathing for her and anyone like her. Pushy, snobby, spoiled little princesses who've never had to do a thing in their life; they had no idea what it was like to fight all the way to the top, to sacrifice. The world would be a better place without every single brainless, spineless little free ride like her. He didn't need them. He didn't want them.
She took an involuntary step backward, frozen words striking out at her like the crack of a whip. Her fingers clutched at nothing before her, head lowering as the horrified blush burned into her face. He felt no shame, though. She'd done nothing but push even when he'd told her he wasn't interested. It had been too much to hope she'd just run off crying, though, because Matsumori wasn't like that. Instead her shoulders straightened and her head lifted to level a dirty glare in his direction.
"I forget sometimes you're such a jerk. I forgive you, though, Chiba-san." He rolled his eyes at the hopelessness of the situation. She still wasn't getting it, was she? Her shifting eyes scanned the area, probably hoping that no one had been close enough to hear his stinging words before she cornered him again. "So what do you go for, Mamoru-san? Men?"
He grimaced, more at the fact that she'd used his first name than the none-too-subtle accusation. There weren't many people he felt that casual around, and she had never been one of them. He shot a cool glare in her direction and turned away. He had no respect for her, and it was obvious that she had none for him, either. Fanaticism only held sway for so long, after that he was just another rack of meat. It was irritating, and he had no intention of adding to the problem by continuing the conversation.
"Oi, Motoki-kun!" he called, relieved to see his familiar platinum blonde head bobbing not far away. A welcoming wave rose in greeting before the lone manager turned in their direction.
"So that's the real story, then? You're gay? Do you mind if I quote you on that last statement, Chiba-san? Which male student would you rather go to the dance with next week…?" The young journalist was going to drive him insane. His jaw tightened painfully as the questions continued to spill from her mouth at an incredible rate. He couldn't move fast enough across the yard, and Motoki couldn't seem to move any quicker than a convulsing snail. It was just as they finally met halfway that Mamoru could take no more of the ridiculous questions and high-pitched, squeaking voice. He turned, stopping short and causing her to crash into his chest haphazardly as his answer sliced through the endless torrent.
"Sailor Moon, if you must know." Both Motoki and Matsumori froze the second her name slipped past his mouth. In the same instant, he wondered if admitting such a thing had been a fatal mistake to his alter ego. Blond glanced at brunette unsurely as the moment stretched on in awkward silence. Admitting he had a crush on her would explain why he hadn't been able to see anyone else for months now. The problem was that if he ever did talk her into dating him, she'd be pegged as the city's heroine and lose her anonymity. Instead of risking the idea that his intentions might be taken seriously, he grinned in a boyish, offhand manner and continued. "Well, think about it. She's hot, got great breasts, long blond hair and she spends her nights kicking the shit out of demons. I'd go for that."
"Whoa, Mamoru-kun," Motoki warned, suddenly very serious though he had no context behind the statements. That strangely protective glint had returned to his impish green eyes and he seemed to tense the slightest bit. Mamoru zeroed in on the reaction instantly, wondering why his friend was suddenly so defensive. "Don't talk about Sailor Moon like that; she is more than a body."
He felt low just saying something so completely superficial about her, but being known as the campus playboy gave him a little bit more creative license. In all honestly, he really was madly in love with her, admired her in ways he couldn't even describe to them. But how would one explain her girlish laugh, or how her tears made his soul shiver without giving away too much? Besides, no one took his romantic interests seriously. Everyone knew he was just looking for a good time, and therefore his comments were perfectly in character.
It was this thought that made him wonder if he was Chiba Mamoru, or Tuxedo Kamen. One was a shallow womanizer, and the other… he shook himself inwardly and continued on the tirade, pretending he didn't feel anything more significant about her than blind lust.
"Tell me about it, the girl's about as mysterious as Santa Clause, doesn't hang around for any awkward social pause and is more likely to break your nose than go out with you." He chuckled at his own joke, but missed the fact that no one else was joining in.
"God is that what happened to your face?" He glanced over at her shocked tone, suddenly realizing exactly what he'd insinuated without even thinking about it. He stifled the urge to curse fluently and scoffed.
"Of course not! Her creepy cape-guy would kick my ass for trying." The forced boyish grin melted beneath honest amusement at the picture of his alter ego knocking him senseless. Maybe no one else understood the joke, but to him it was mildly amusing at least. "What's his name? Stalker Kamen?" Motoki especially was chuckling, now that the topic had veered from Moon and onto someone he could poke fun of without guilt. "I don't pay attention to the male side of things, especially when there happens to be one of those sweet little Senshi girls conveniently floating around."
"Dude, Mars is hot." All three turned suddenly, aware that others had been listening to the conversation with avid interest. The one who'd spoken was grinning dumbly, shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes. Sensing the quick escape from the real focus of the conversation, Mamoru grinned encouragingly and bumped Motoki to do the same.
"No way, Mercury's the one to go for. You know what they say about the quiet ones." The other guy broke in, adjusting frameless glasses. He looked like someone you might find on the cover of a computer magazine modeling wires and motherboards with short brown hair and his jacket hanging over one shoulder.
"Figures you'd would go for a chick with blue hair." Shaggy boy shot back, rolling his eyes. The other three had been completely silent up to this point, all wondering how the geek and the rocker had somehow ended up walking across the yard together. Random, he'd be the first to admit, but definitely ok at this point. Mamoru was just glad that no one had gone back to the original question, especially since Matsumori-san was still standing beside them.
"So what you're all saying is to get a date with Chiba-san, I'd have to be a Senshi?" The thought must have triggered that mouth again, because she stepped forward with predatory eyes, glaring around the group as if asking the greatest question in all of journalism history.
Horrified gasps broke out on all sides as that one terrible question fell from her tiny mouth. Every male was staring in hardened disapproval at the short, stick figure form before them and, creepily enough, trying to picture her in a sexy fuku. Mamoru shuddered, reaching up to rub his painful eyes at the thought. It'd be like wrapping skintight white fabric over a cereal box…
"Oh God please don't!" The rocker was also holding hands over his eyes, trying to block out the visual as his things clattered to the grass below. One could hear his buddy whispering 'sacrilege' under his breath and glaring heatedly at the girl who dared rip away his fantasies. Shaggy let his hands drop from his eyes long enough to grip her shoulders and in a shaky voice, begin again in slow words, almost as if he were talking to a child. "You couldn't fill out a fuku worth anything, Matsumori-san. Half the sex appeal would be gone."
"More like three quarters. What size are you anyway?" Glasses, Mamoru decided, was the meaner of the two. But not by much.
"Guys, come on. That's not very nice." Motoki stepped forward, tone firm and angry as he glared the other two down. Blue eyes rolled heavenward as the furiously blushing girl took off running toward the science building behind them. The blond could be such a knight in shining armor sometimes. Not that the dark man was really against that sort of thing, but there was a certain kind of girl you did that kind of stuff for. She was not one of them. "Mamoru-kun, I thought you were better than that."
"What, I didn't even say it! Besides, it's true." He shrugged, tired of the conversation already. Now that all imminent danger of being taken seriously had been tossed out the window, he turned to regard the two who had unknowingly saved him. Rocker was grinning at Glasses viciously and both were pounding fists at the victory. Once they noticed the upperclassmen, however, the shaggy one gripped the back of his head awkwardly.
"Sorry, guys. We overheard the conversation and thought you might need a bit of help." Glasses nodded as well, crossing his arms and turning away.
"More like we just hate her."
At the two blank stares, it was obvious they'd overstayed their welcome.
"Well, carry on!" One grabbed the other and suddenly Mamoru was quite alone and facing the disapproving glare of his best friend to boot. This day just kept getting better and better.
"So, is that what happened? You asked Moon out?" Motoki's glare only got more penetrating as the other man shrugged indifferently. But it was a useless gesture, and they both knew it. Motoki could always read him better than most, and at times like this it was hard to admit it was a good thing. "That explains a few things. Jeez."
Mamoru was left puzzling that last statement over as his friend quickly stepped over to the benches running along the path. They'd been friends since grade school, had shared a lot of things together since then, and had even ended up at the same university through some random twist of fate. It wasn't like they knew everything about each other, but sometimes it felt close. And just now, Motoki'd hit a sore spot. It was almost as if his buddy had somehow known Mamoru would do something stupid like go after a Senshi.
It wasn't like it would change anything between them in the long run; they'd always disagreed when it came to girls. The blond was your run-of-the-mill gentleman or knight in shining armor as the situation called for. Of course, his parents had been adamant on teaching him things like that. Mamoru, on the other hand, had never had the luxury of caring parents; his teachers had been older homeless kids, sleazy bosses, and after signing as a model, other models. Not exactly the best places to learn etiquette, he'd wager.
"And what exactly does that explain?" he shot back hotly, following close on his friend's heels to the bench. A few quick strides and he was settling himself down next to the oddly serious blond. The heavy shoulder pack shifted downward, hitting the ground with a soft thud. Early in the day and already his back was killing him. That dumb bag had to weigh at least a hundred pounds, he was sure of it. His homework had largely been left undone in the past few weeks, something he was going to pay for soon enough.
"Well, for one thing," Motoki glanced up at him before pulling out his biology text and turning his attention to the chapter heading, "you've been avoiding women at all costs and I catch you staring off into lala-land over your coffee instead of studying. Now, you've never turned down a decent looking girl in your life until late last year randomly, and it looks like you've got a couple weeks worth of homework molding in the bottom of you backpack. How was I not going to guess that something's been up?"
Wow, when put in so many words, he really had been obvious about it. No wonder Motoki'd been trying to set him up so much lately! Well, he could admit he'd been acting a bit strange, but for the usually bubbly arcade manager to be so serious over a crush…wait, that shouldn't be happening, should it? His eyes narrowed again, head tilting back curiously as he stretched the aching muscles in his back
"What do you care, man? She's a Senshi, it's not like it's ever going to happen." Glowering green eyes glanced up from the book, forgetting the fact that he should have been studying rather than having this conversation.
"Don't give me that crap, Mamoru. You just talked her up like she was some kinky porn star and already asked her out. What did you think she'd do, fall into your arms?"
God, that stung! His first pain-filled thought was how true it was, but he wasn't about to just back down. Years in a loveless orphanage had taught him all too well how to lash out in kind. Motoki was not the kind of guy to get all irritated over nothing, and whatever it was the other guy was hiding really angered him. The blond always had everything in the open. He always spread the gossip around, goofed off like a loon and talked like nothing in the world ever got him down. Motoki didn't have secrets, Motoki didn't have problems. Mamoru did. So what in the hell did he have to be angry about?
"Why are you suddenly so protective of someone you don't even know?" He asked quietly, the rage boiling through him suddenly making him painfully calm. But spontaneous Motoki nearly threw his books down in agitation and spun around to peer directly the cool gaze.
"Why do you have no respect for someone who sacrifices her life to protect everyone? She's saved me a couple of times now and it pisses me off hardcore to hear you talk about her like that! Show some respect, will ya?"
As the two stared each other down, it was the first time ever that Mamoru couldn't really fight back with a witty retort. He bit his lip to keep the rage from boiling over, noting that Motoki had done the same. They'd never fought like this before. Sure, Mamoru could be a cold, distant bastard, but Motoki had always forgiven him for it. To be fighting over someone he didn't really know –and his friend even less- that was too much. He had already regretted the brash decision to talk about Moon as if she were nothing more than a body, but damn it! To have his very best friend talk to him as if he were nothing more than some chauvinist…
Which he was.
The thought forced his eyes down to the backpack at his feet, and brought up the question he'd found himself asking before. Who was he, anyway? Some shallow playboy incapable of having a healthy relationship with a girl; or was he Tuxedo Kamen, who risked his life for the woman he loved without thinking twice? When had it all become so complicated anyway? And how many times had he thought of her as just that? A body?
He swallowed thickly, reaching up to brush fingers along his still bruising nose bridge. Given the fact that she knew him in civilian form, she must see him as the same. No wonder she'd turned him down flat. He had just had to push his luck and be the expectant one. She, on the other hand, had just been trying to save herself. And here, he'd been blaming things like PMS, thinking she didn't have the right to be angry at him. He should have looked a little more through her eyes. He should have cared.
"Though I think I woulda paid good money to watch that happen." Motoki broke through his thoughts amusedly, drawing his attention back to the present. Tiny little sparks of pain shot straight into his skull every time he touched it, but he couldn't help it. Besides, this little wound was nothing compared to what he was feeling right then –what she must be feeling like. "By a girl, no less. That's just priceless."
"By a Senshi, ok? Not just any girl." One glance in the blonde's direction showed a mischievous grin lighting the corners of his mouth, his eyes lost in thought. Mamoru rolled his own and tried to hide his answering smile. It was a funny thought, really. She probably weighed less than a hundred pounds, but damn could she land a good one when provoked. He was suddenly glad his friend didn't know about his alter-ego, or that really would have ruined his image!
"Ya, what is she? 6 years younger than you?" The blond shot back, wiping absentmindedly at his book before focusing on the words.
"Where did you get that?" Mamoru's eyebrows drew together in shock. There was no way that girl could possibly be that young! Not only would it be perfectly illegal for a child like that to rock a mini-skirt like she could, but that would mean a kid just shattered his nose bridge!
"Uh…just a guess, really. She does look really young." Motoki waved away the question distractedly, hardly glancing up from the pages before him before checking his watch quickly. Mamoru nodded finally, watching his friend for a moment. A comment like that, with an odd number like 6…what was he playing at?
"No way. 6 years would put her in middle school. Too young to have to fight." He turned to his backpack again, quickly unzipping the top to rummage around inside for his homework. Class would start soon, and it was the one piece he had bothered with over the weekend.
"She'd be Usagi's age. And we all know she's a bit of a spitfire." The statement was made in an offhand manner, one that didn't really catch Mamoru completely aware as he searched. Maybe it was the fact that he was so terribly distracted, but had he glanced over then, Motoki's impish grin would have scared him.
"Please, Odango-brain couldn't hurt a fly even if she wanted to. Besides, isn't she like twelve?" Mamoru muttered distractedly, still rummaging around in his pack. He could have sworn he put his finance homework in the black binder, but maybe it was the blue one?
"Actually, she seems much more violent when you're around. And she's fifteen."
A piercing wail broke through the soft morning chirps, sending Mamoru flying to his feet and papers falling to the ground around him. Motoki's jaw dropped in confusion and awe at the strangely defensive stance his best friend was taking. A second later, the wail came again, this time accompanied by a shot of golden blond hair and billowing blue skirt as the girl in question swung around the corner and shot off toward school.
"Oh, Usagi-chan. What are we going to do with you? She's been spending way too much time with that priestess, if you ask me. I don't know if she's helping Usagi-chan out or not." Motoki stated quietly, a soft smile playing on his mouth. Mamoru rolled his eyes in frustration and knelt down to pick up the mess of papers lying haphazardly across the sidewalk. God, of all the things it could have been –it just had to be that crybaby wailing about school! And here, he'd been hoping for so much more…
Mamoru grunted in frustration, obviously more worried about picking up the rest of his homework than wondering why Odango was running to school from the opposite direction than usual. It should have been a Youma attack! It should have been the signal he'd been waiting for weeks to get! His eyes lit up triumphantly at the sight of his paper lying innocently on the grass not three feet from him. He hadn't done a whole lot of homework lately, but at least he finished that one assignment without too many problems. It didn't matter; his GPA was high enough that a few missed assignments wouldn't touch him.
He settled himself back into the bench confusedly, realizing there had been no rhyme or rhythm to his thoughts a moment ago. Tired hands reached up to rub against his eyes as he thought. Why had his train of thought gone off course again? The paper…right, the paper. He focused on the sheet in question, barely listening to his buddy as he went over the calculations for the fourth time. It was only when the blond continued to press the conversation about Usagi's age that he stated his opinion at last.
"Who cares? She's just a kid, Motoki; you worry about her too much." And with that said, he focused again on number 11, wishing he'd taken the time to find his calculator during all that rummaging around. Damn it, he was tired! He didn't want to worry about ridiculous things like homework and equations and finances! He wanted to see Moon! Well, and he wanted a nap. Strange dreams had kept him up again, filled with things he shouldn't know…
"Fifteen, Mamoru. She's older than you think and you were nothing but an ass to her the other day. It's a good thing she's so strong or you could have crushed her confidence forever."
He bent, thinking back to the crushed, mouse-like look she'd given him at the corner that day…then shrugged as the calculator was yanked free. She'd knocked him flat on his butt without as much as an apology! That alone was grounds to irritate the hell out of the girl, guilt free.
"Whatever, she'll get over it. She's a tough kid." Not to mention the fact that his most favorite green jacket had ended up in the gutter with the rest of his dry cleaning. Of all the things she could have muddied, it just had to be that! Did she not realize that it was the only article of clothing so hideous it could actually cause the fan club to keep at least 5 feet further from his person in sheer panic?
"Fifteen, Mamoru. Not a kid."
But Motoki's words were lost to him as he turned back to his homework.