Chapter Ten
The room was dark, lit only by a small window directly over the main desk. Books lined the walls on all sides, their names lost to the blackness. All sound from outside had disappeared the moment the door had closed with a solid thump. The stark, pale winter light broke itself across a small desk, perfectly clean but for a few papers. A single shadow stretched itself across the sparse gray floorboards, ending as suddenly as it began.
Mamoru fought the urge to fidget. He was barely breathing at all, forcing his eyes to remain steady on the figure by the window, careful to keep his face as blank and steady as possible. A faint trickle of sweat rolled down the small of his back, itching as it went. The stale, crypt-like air froze from the inside, the age-old dusk choked and grasped as it slid down his throat. It had felt like walking into a grave the moment he had crossed the threshold.
"Chiba Mamoru." The dry, rasping voice ghosted through the room, causing his hair to stand on end and gooseflesh to ripple across his arms. He stood a little taller, fighting back the urge to cower in front of the shadow. It was like being caught in your worst childhood nightmare to stand here in the room again, to stare down the man who had been the harbinger of doom from your first memory. He suppressed the urge to shudder.
"Hai."
"I remember you." The man may as well have landed a heavy blow directly to his stomach. Mamoru breathed deeply, nearly choking on the old, stale air of the office. "The prodigy returns, eh? How is that big shiny school?"
His throat was dry. The old man was actually speaking as if he cared. The idea was ridiculous, as he'd quickly learned as a youngster. The director of operations in the orphanage did not care if you lived or died so long as he got his allotted money from the state, and you behaved. He'd only ever met the man once, and had heard stories of him for years. It was all he could do to keep down the childish terror clawing its way up his throat.
"It's good, sir." He croaked finally. The old man nodded, settling himself into the small chair behind the desk.
"And what will you become?" he asked quietly, straightening the papers with absentminded perfection. It was like being audited by the nastiest government tax collectors in the history of the world.
"Big business manager. Top forty company." His hands were clammy. Was he dreaming this whole segment? Another breath forced his lungs open, but it was painful.
"Business, hu? Well, we need those too. So why come back here?"
"I'm in need of public service hours, sir. I'd like to work with some of the kids…"
"Yes. I'm sure." It left little room for comment. The papers slid across each other as the ancient man peered down through thick glasses at them.
Mamoru kept his mouth resolutely shut. He hated being here, hated standing before the old man as if he'd been caught stealing food or something. He'd never stooped to that during his stay in the orphanage. A lot had happened since he left these halls, but it was reduced to nothing in front of the skeletal figure stooped over his desk. Hate and resentment blossomed in Mamoru's chest as he stared at the small figure.
"Well," he breathed dustily, adjusting the glasses as he looked upward. "Everything seems to be in order. I'll have the orderly show you around." He nodded toward the door, signally the end of the meeting.
Mamoru found it much easier to breathe the moment the door closed behind him. He battled against the need to lean on something and simply breathe for a few minutes. The director had given him nightmares more times than he could count. Even the mention of his name had brought terror screaming through his bones. The old man was crazy in that quiet, calculating way that they were all sure meant maiming and dismemberment with the added bonus of a straight face.
He shuddered; glad to be out of that tiny office and its dead occupant. Besides, it was silly to feel that way now. He was 21 years old, and had done a lot with his life. He was a super hero! He didn't need some stupid, irrational fear from a man who was nine-tenths dead and already decomposing.
"Chiba-san?"
The soft voice broke through his thoughts. She was short and old, with great round cheeks and wrinkles to share piling up around her eyelids. Her dark gray hair had been pulled back in a low ponytail, and her clothing was nondescript. She must have been new; he didn't recognize either voice or manner. He nodded, smiling casually.
"Right this way, I'll show you around." She turned, beginning the long trek down the hallway and toward the dorms. Mamoru followed silently, caught somewhere between running for the door and continuing behind the old woman. She spoke, hardly noticing his anxiety. "The children here are most taken from abusive families. They're brought here from the state before they can be placed in foster care. Most don't stay long unless their case is particularly difficult. Hizaki Umi is one of those cases. We do have another girl who comes to visit, but it's usually on Thursdays before dinner."
"How long as he been here?"
"Two years. He was found starving in an alley, no memories at all of what happened before he was picked up. He's a scrawny little thing, but fiery. Careful what you say around him."
"I understand."
At first look, the boy was hardly more than a slip of bone and flesh. His hair was dark, but whether it was from genes or coal, Mamoru honestly couldn't tell. His skin was black-smudged and wan, as if it had only been stretched across the bones. Dark, brooding brown eyes stared up at him balefully. The boy was searching, assessing in his own way. Mamoru let him, knowing how untrusting he must be at this point. Especially if he was as difficult as the orderly made him sound –his visitors must not stay long.
"Kon'wa, Umi-chan." Mamoru said quietly, looking down at the dark-headed little scrap of boy before him. Those dark, sharp eyes stared at him, saying nothing. It was like walking through another dimension, watching himself through the years, staring down at himself from afar. The otherworldly feeling plagued him as the boy finally glanced at the older woman.
"Chiba-san." He answered, watching the attendant smile and walk away after the introduction.
"How old are…" the young boy turned and walked away as the upperclassman began, and lay down on the meager bed roll. Mamoru took a breath slowly, remembering what he would have reacted like. This was going to be a long first visit. "Umi-chan."
"Shut up, baka. I'm not your project." The voice was filled with defiance and irritation, just as Mamoru assumed it would be. He took a moment to glance around the small, shabby room. It fit three tiny bedrolls, all lined up in a row. Three little chairs were set against the wall, each holding back a large writing desk that could be set across the lap. He remembered the top was smooth and easy to write on, but the bottoms were woven together and tended to itch at the knees.
He resisted the need to scratch at his legs as he thought, quickly turning eyes from them. The walls were grimy and dark, coated with dirt and decades of abuse from youngsters. It augmented the prison-like feel air, closed the room around him into a suffocating pit. A shiver broke across his skin, and he forced his eyes from the drab, black and white pictures along the wall. The awkward scrawling lines could have come from any child's hand, but for some reason seemed very familiar.
He pushed the thoughts away, focusing anew on the small boy across from him. Grimy light filtered down from above, decimated by windows coated with smoke and soot from the outside. It all but huddled around the small boy, and nothing but highlight the layers of silt and coal layering his clothes. He recoiled habitually at the thought of it getting in the bedroll, even as meager as this one was.
"Are you studying anything interesting?" He croaked finally, pulling one of the seats out from the wall to settle into beside the bed. Resolution spread across his face grimly as he sat and turned to the boy again, eyes as steadfast as his manner.
The boy glanced at him curiously, obviously irritated that the older man had not left yet. Mud brown eyes rolled upward, and he turned over to face the other direction.
Midnight blue orbs narrowed in on the rebellion dangerously. He glanced once more around the room, this time calculating instead of remembering. The drawings stood out, black on black, and weren't particularly good. The boy obviously didn't care about appearances either, and that left precious little room for a catalyst. A small frame faced toward the window, blocking his view from the picture within. The floorboards creaked as he reached across and gently tugged the corner back far enough to see.
A short bark of laughter broke the silence, almost cruel in it's intensity.
"I take it you know Odango-atama?" he asked, fingers rolling over the perfectly scrubbed glass. It had cracked down in the corner at some point and been taped painstakingly back together. Little Odango's face was screwed up in that donkey laugh, long blond pigtails flailing from either side of her head. Umi laughed beside her, and even his eyes didn't seem to hold a shadow as he did. The thought bothered him immensely.
"HEY!" Umi screeched, leaping from the bed to snatch the photograph back. The piece was clung to his chest with animal ferocity, a matching glare boring down on him from beneath dirt-caked hair. "Don't ever touch this! It's not yours!"
"Sorry…"
"It's not yours!" he repeated, voice thick and loud in the small room. The crumpled, unruly boy before him could not have matched the face smiling up from the picture.
"She's a friend then?" Mamoru hazarded emotionlessly. If nothing else it was a topic of conversation, which he was determined to get. It had taken everything he had to cross that threshold and he would not leave until he got what he came for. Charity.
"Shut up! Don't talk about her! You don't know her!" the boy spat vehemence, turned away to curl up on the bed again.
"Of course I do. We're old friends." Mamoru's smile was cold and enumerating in the deep silence that followed.
.
.
….
A jaunty whistle filled the apartment to the brim, the sounds of frying oil adding a sharp staccato rhythm to the melody. Colors splayed in a dramatic splash across the fine black of a pan. The long stripes of red and green blackened at the edges and peppered with the thin milky white of onion. Across the counter in neat little rows lay shards of cut chicken, mounds of cilantro, and crushed garlic. Each were added to the pan in time, the sudden smells of rich Mexican food bringing the quaint, quirky room to life.
Lime green tended to be a theme, shown in broad blocks of sofa and tiles of clock on the wall. A small sea turtle chain hung happily from the blinds on one window. His brothers, both of plastic and plush variety, lined the bookshelf and tv stand at random. The more adventurous ones lost in a game of poker around a pool filled with toes and feet from above.
Motoki grinned at the sight of it the moment he turned from the stove.
A few complicated (if awkwardly placed) footsteps, and the young man salsa-stepped into the living room with his plate full of food. He muttered something quietly under his breath, earphones blaring loudly. He set the plate down on the couch, spinning into a random pose with air microphone in hand.
"Nananana –na! Tacos!" he erupted triumphantly, recognizing a single word at last.
"Oi, Motoki-kun. You're Japanese." a dark voice called from the doorway. The blond nearly jumped out of his body in response to the tired, anger ridden voice. "I don't think that's a taco." The shadow added, quickly turning to ram his forehead into the wall.
"Mamoru-kun! You're back! How was the orphanage?" He smiled cheerfully, pulling the earphones away and settling into the couch as if his best friend hadn't just caught him dancing and listening to Mexican music. A dull thump erupted from the entryway, quickly followed by a second and third. Motoki gulped.
"I hate orphans."
Another deep thump followed. Brilliant green eyes blinked once, twice. He couldn't help but stare into the shadow of the entryway. Mamoru's shoulders were slumped and worn looking, tired creases bore into his eyes even from this distance. It was only a reminder, though, because most of it had come out in that tired, gruff voice. Motoki had never heard that particular tone in his friend's voice before.
"But…you're one of them." He admonished quietly, and couldn't help but smile. It wasn't quite a jab, at least not entirely.
"Motoki-kun. Shut up."
He swallowed thickly, lowering his gaze to the plate. The sick, haunted look seething just beneath the surface of those eyes scared him, as much as he did not want to admit it to himself. Finally, though he had to force his voice steady, he spoke.
"Want some fajitas? They're Mexican."
The answering stare froze even vibrant Motoki in place. Gaunt, dark circles stood out blatantly beneath drawn brows. Pale, maybe even shaking, the other man walked quietly into the room and all but collapsed in the large sofa. Motoki felt his lower jaw slacken a little in disbelief. He could not have left more of an impression had he come in with a handgun and killer intent. There had been a few times back in high school when Motoki had been seriously considering the possibility. Luckily that had passed with time as Mamoru grew more and more accustomed to the cues of society.
"Mamoru-kun?" he asked quietly, watching as his friend pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I should have gone home. Sorry, your place was so much closer."
He nodded, watching as the weariness slipped away with each breath. He couldn't help but wonder how much of it Mamoru kept tightly controlled and hidden from him. Already, the other was sitting up straighter, the color returning to his face. The tragedy of his past had not been a deep well of conversation between them. Motoki knew generalities on the subject, and understood his friend's reluctance to speak much about it. After this willing jaunt directly into the face of the beast, it was apparent that his friend would need a few moments.
"Let me get you a drink."
Motoki fumbled with a glass in the kitchen, hardly believing what he'd just witnessed. That man was always cold, calculating. He could look at life from farther away than anyone else could. Always removed, always emotionally detached, his friend had made it this far on that horrible upbringing without going mad completely. It was a self defense mechanism. The mere sight of what lay beneath was disturbing on the deepest level, especially with Mamoru's current goals.
He handed the shaken man a glass of something dark, instantly setting himself back in a chair across from the couch. He knew Mamoru pretty well, and knew he would want his space right now. Silently, the glass was taken and drawn from deeply. Even after the solid thump of it against the table stopped echoing in the small room, both remained silent.
Motoki had once made the mistake of pressing his friend when he'd been drawn back like this. The result could not have been more surprising, and unsettling at the same time. His voice would not –maybe even could not- rise in anger. The orphan had a way of cutting everyone off from him that felt like a quiet atomic bomb blowing even sound away.
His mind automatically conjured up that day last June when he and little Usagi had fought the last time. Even then, even in the face of her, of all people, he had been as chilling and removed as with every other girl. Usagi, all life and longing and youth, had been nothing more than a spring flower shriveling beneath the frost and snow. She had cried so much. Motoki could remember hearing her broken, desperate sobs through the thin wood of her bedroom door. He could still see the shadow in her eyes even now, months later.
"The director remembered me." The dark, hollow voice started finally. The sharp reminder of the present brought the usually bright man back from his somber thoughts. "That's something, I guess." They lapsed back into silence for a moment.
"I didn't realize it was the same place." Motoki croaked finally, the sudden revelation burning even deeper into his mind. There had to be a hundred such places all over Tokyo, so why go back to that one? "Anything else happen?" Motoki asked finally, not liking the brooding look in his friend's sharp eyes. The firm set of his jaw, angled in the light from the streetlamps outside looked almost sinister for a brief moment.
"I met a friend of a friend actually." Dark, almost black pits rose slowly from the carpet to catch Motoki's confusion. "Looks like little Odango's been playing again. I wonder if she knows how much it hurts them to just leave them in that hellhole."
At the mention of the short blond, Motoki started a little from the seat. He'd just been thinking of her, and how she was mixed up in all of this. Strange that Mamoru would run in to her while on an errand for his illusive mistress. Even stranger, that Usagi was a constant visiter to the same place that Mamoru had grown up in.
"Umi-chan?" the blond asked quietly, remembering the times Usagi would giggle over something the boy had said. The other nodded ominously, as if the revelation had been of something more evil than a friendship. "I didn't realize it was the same place. Yes, they're good friends."
The mute outrage boiled silently within his friend. Anyone else would think he was just sitting in quiet thought, but they'd known each other too long to not pick up on those things.
"Why hasn't she done anything for him?!" he whispered, but the voice was more intense than he probably meant it to be. Motoki shrugged.
"Because her parents can't take on another kid right now. They tried, believe me. I think Ikuko-san still bakes cookies for them every Thursday, and they have special arrangements for him to come over sometimes." He fingered the cooling food on his plate, suddenly saddened that he'd missed the time to eat it piping hot and fresh.
"She couldn't have done anything more cruel." Mamoru intoned quietly, his voice echoing. He lifted the glass and quickly drained the remainder of it.
"Don't be so quick to judge, Mamoru-kun. Usagi is a good friend. Very caring and sweet." The admonition had no effect, though. Still lost in thought, the other man rubbed the lip of his glass and stared hard into the ground at his feet. The stygian depths were cool now, almost to the freezing point.
"Yes. I can see that." He whispered finally, eyes narrowing as he spoke. Motoki clucked, standing to walk into the kitchen with an ease he did not really feel. The room had become ominous and heavy, two things he did not really understand. It had also held a lot of hostility, and against the most ironic of all people.
The water screamed loud, cascading and bouncing heavily off the smooth porcelain of his plate. He stared at the steadily falling spray in quite fascination, mind turning round and round. The implications of his friend's quickly growing hate would completely consume both of his best friends if he didn't find some way to stop it. Mamoru was a very decisive person, and once he'd made up his mind there was no going back on it. Usagi had already been thrashed by that, and Motoki would not sit by and allow it to happen again. He should not have allowed it the first time –but it had been sick fascination and even repulsion that had kept his mouth shut that afternoon.
"How do you know Usagi?" Motoki jumped again, feeling his heart pound heavily behind his eyes and ears. "I've never asked." He turned, glancing at Mamoru's dark form shadowing the doorway into the kitchen. The color had returned fully to his face, and he no longer looked as angry.
"My dad and hers were college buddies. Dad was Kenji's best man."
Mamoru nodded, leaning his head back on the pale white frame of the doorway. He seemed to be deep in thought, staring away into the distance and lost. Motoki turned back to the rushing water, and to his own thoughts.
"That explains why you always baby her." The somber man noted this quietly, almost to himself. Motoki just shook his head, glad that his friend really didn't know the half of it. Ever since that day when Sailor Moon had all but passed out behind the arcade after a fight, things had been so different. He remembered the door opening, seeing her fuku for a split second before the flash of light that brought the tiny, frail girl tumbling into his arms. He'd been shocked and heartbroken to see such a close friend in that much pain. Her arm had been torn up something nasty when he'd carried her into the back room. Unazuki had raced down from the fruit parlor to help staunch the flow of blood while Motoki tried to piece together the identities of other Senshi.
He felt like he knew Mamoru better than anyone, and he likely did. But the shock of finding out he was Tuxedo Kamen had really come as a blow, even as explanatory as it was. Even though it was difficult to accept on the surface, he'd be secretly pleased to hear of the heroic calling. Maybe with time the estranged man might find something in humanity that he could connect with and fight for.
"I protect her because I love her, Mamoru-kun. That's what you do when you care." He could almost visualize the other man nodding in agreement, even though he was focused on the dishes.
"She'd be stronger if she had to do things for herself." The other man muttered. Motoki shook his head resolutely.
"Not Usagi-chan. She can be a little lioness on her own, but people are her strength. She finds things in them. Good things. She makes them feel more whole, and that makes her happy." If only his friend could see what she did for others; putting them far above her own needs. Those girls she now hung around after school had all been loners their whole lives. He hadn't had a chance to talk with them much, since they were always doing other things, but they seemed sweet enough.
"She could do with a little less happy."
The water continued to pour into the sink, slowly filling the great silver basin. Motoki watched it, memories flashing over the multiple times Usagi had called for much needed stitches, or for Ami last Halloween. He tried to stifle the growing anger rising on their behalf.
"Why are you so down on her? You're not the only person with problems." The water shut off, swallowing the room in silence for a few blessed moments. He breathed a bit, thrusting both hands into the water to start the dirty work. It was a distraction, and he knew it. But those girls gave their lives for him and everyone else in this city, including the self absorbed Chiba Mamoru. The least he could do was show a little human respect.
"Just the only one that matters."
Case in point. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did anyway.
"You're a jerk." The dishcloth was grabbed a little more roughly than he wanted, but it couldn't be helped.
"But I'm working on it." The snide answer did nothing but frustrate the blond man as he leaned over the sink in frustration. Who would have thought that Mamoru really could be that much of a heartless, self-centered jack-off? He could see the goal quickly slipping from sight even as he stood staring blankly at the plate in the sink.
"At the rate you're going, you'll never get to where you want to be. You might as well give up. Just tell Moon she can do better and go back to the empty models you're used to." He sighed finally, knowing it was true. Even with the added bonus of being Tuxedo Kamen, his friend had no chance if he couldn't even consider the reality of her.
Motoki flipped the water on, busily scrubbing at a pan to ease his boiling emotions. He loved Usagi like a sister, but she really had some terrible taste in men –even if it was his best friend. He could still see her changing even now because of what Mamoru was doing to her. He hated every second of it.
"That's kind of harsh." The rumbling tenor voice muttered across the counter. Motoki glanced sideways before returning to his plate. Why did he have to be such a pushover for that stupid hollow look Mamoru did sometimes. It was like kicking a puppy that had already been kicked half dead.
"It's more than kind of true." he rinsed carefully, keeping his eyes down as he spoke. "You're courting –in your own words- the perfect woman. You want to change for her, don't you? It's not about the actions, Mamoru-kun, it's about the reactions. It's about what you're thinking; it's about what you want to do." The water shut off, causing a heavy silence to fall across them as he busied himself with the drying. His mind was working at a hundred miles an hour, trying to think of any way to help the situation instead of hinder. "If you're just staring off into space obsessing about her while you're talking with someone, you might as well end the conversation and set up a creepy shrine in your living room. You might as well just keep dreaming forever because she will never be ok with that. You know her better than I do, and you know I'm right."
"Yeah. You are." His friend said at last, breaking through his memories like a knife. He had no idea how difficult it was to see both sides of the argument and choose who to help. He was sworn to protect Moon's identity with his life, and to protect Usagi as both a friend and a brother. Her father would never forgive him if he ever found out about his daughter's night-time activities. It was hard already to get a hold of her when her parents called for dinner.
He could understand why Mamoru was the way that he was. Hell, he'd gotten so much better than when they'd first met that it was night and day difference. But even seeing that change now, Motoki wondered if it was possible for Mamoru to make that big of a leap into the unknown. Usagi needed someone who could understand and accept her for who she was. She didn't have time to deal with ego or unfounded dislike from some guy who really had no idea what was going on in her world right now.
"Did you really say 'courting'?" Mamoru asked, as straight faced as possible.
"Shut up."
.
.
…..
Usagi was a rolling beetle today. In fact, her heavy winter coat had gotten splashed by a passing car, and even looked faintly brown. The ridiculously puffy contraption completely obliterated the girl, down to the spindly fingers poking conspicuously out of the sleeves like insect legs. Her long, skinny legs poked out like antennae. It was cold, and now she was wet, and that stupid extra credit class was going to take away from training with Makoto.
The really, really sad thing about the whole deal was that she had been in a really good mood until that happened. The flowers were wilting in her bedroom, but at least they'd been there. Things could have gone much worse that night with Tuxedo Kamen, and yes, she had sobbed like a baby in front of him. The still alien weight of his Christmas gift fell heavy on her collarbone beneath the shirt. The silver glittered from being rubbed so much since that night.
It was onyx, the attendant at the mall had explained. She hadn't wanted to show Ami, for fear of what her friend would say. It was nothing that Usagi didn't know herself anyway. As much as she wanted to say it would never happen again, deep down it was all she hoped for. It wasn't at all what she thought her first kiss would be. Not even close. Sometimes, she found herself staring off into space, remembering the strength of him. The man had just picked her up and took what he wanted. The fact that it was incredibly attractive seemed wrong.
That jerk. How dare he do such a thing to her, carrying her off like that? She'd been so angry at him, so confused at what he wanted. At first, those fears had been confirmed and she'd loved being thoroughly ravished. But then he'd gone and cared about her when she'd cried. He didn't make any sense. Either he's a terrible man who only wanted selfish things, or he was a good man and truly wanted to make her happy. All this middle ground was not ok. If he was going to be terrible, she could just tell him to go away and be done with it.
If he was going to be a good...she didn't know what would happen then. He'd been a bully for so long to her –and he still didn't know who she was! How could anyone be that thick? Wasn't he some sort of super genius? Shouldn't he have figured it out in weeks, let alone almost 6 months? She sighed, feeling the weight of his gift against her breastbone. Mamoru-baka.
"Usagi-chan!" a gruff female voice called across the yard, bringing bright blue eyes around. Along the class 1 wall lay a huge line of girls gabbing and chattering to each other. A tall chestnut haired girl stood nearly head and shoulders above the rest, motioning for Usagi to stand beside her.
Kino Makoto was the newest member of their group, and strong and brave like Usagi wanted to be. She clearly intimidated everyone but the blond, as the area around her was given a wider berth. The dull army green skirt from her last school hung low below the oversized winter coat. Usagi couldn't help but grin. At least they'd be rolling bugs together in this stupid extra credit class.
"Oi, can you believe this is required for us? All these other girls are here for extra credit." The blond guffawed, staring at the long, long line of girls. Someone at the front of the line was leading them over to the Phys Ed building, where she was sure they'd be filling the bleachers and floor. Part of her felt sorry for whoever was teaching this thing; they'd have a heck of a lot of papers to read!
"I know! And here I didn't think there would be so many wanting extra credit." A mousy voice commented beside them. Usagi jumped, not expecting the blue haired genius to show up.
"Oh, Ami-chan! Don't tell me you're here too!" Mako pressed her head to one hand as she spoke. Usagi glanced from one to the other, feeling a little better now that her two friends were there. With Ami's help, this would be a piece of cake!
"Of course." She adjusted slim glasses and shifted the heavy bag on her shoulder. "I'm very much looking forward to a class on the views of self and humanity through the eyes of classic literature. It will make for a good addition to my other classes when I apply for med school." The blond nodded half-heartedly. Ami was so incredibly smart and cool. She had a bright future in medicine and could do anything she wanted with her life. Even if the other kids resented her for her smarts, they did respect her.
"I have to take it before I can get the entrance exam." Usagi muttered darkly, eyes suddenly flashing unholy fire.
"Yeah, me too." Mako nodded in kind as they followed into the large room. The bleachers were filling fast. Girls were everywhere! Where were all the guys? She saw two or three huddled together in one corner and couldn't help but giggle mischievously. It was every boy's dream to be caught in a class with this many girls! It'll be fun to watch them squirm if nothing else!
They found a few seats open in the very back, high enough that Usagi had to fight the urge to squint a little. That was really, really weird! Usually the last seats available were up front! Puzzled, obviously distracted, the blond jumped when the boy next to her grunted in pain.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! Didn't mean to…uh…drop my bag there…" He shrugged, reaching down to move her bag closer to the seat and turned back toward the front. She blushed; embarrassed that she'd been as thoughtless as to set it right on his foot. Poor guy. She hoped he wouldn't be sitting by them next time.
"Usagi-chan, it's starting." Ami whispered somewhere on the other side of Mako.
"Wow what a hunk! He looks just like my old boyfriend!" the brunette sighed. Usagi fidgeted with her book bag, trying to see over the heads of the girls in front of her as she worked to get her notebook free. She was going to try her hardest in here! She had to get past those stupid entrance exams!
"Oh, that's interesting. I guess I didn't notice who would be teaching." Ami noted casually, glancing down the row to the fumbling blond in nervous curiosity. Usagi would not like that one little bit.
The blond wrestled the notebook free, fought down the urge to crow in victory and turned both blue eyes to the microphone being tapped at the bottom of the bleachers. Her victorious grin melted instantly; face losing all color at once.
"Welcome to Self in Literature. I am your teacher, Chiba Mamoru…" the girls cheered raucously in response to the name. Even in her shattered state, Usagi could see the faint tightening of his mouth as he moved on. "and this is my assistant, Furuhata Motoki. We'll be team teaching this class. Outlined on this paper is a full syllabus, please take one and pass them on."
She couldn't hear anymore. The drone of his rich voice was doing strange things to her stomach and all she could see were his fiery blue eyes staring down at her drugged and heavily lidded. She could hear the gruff whisper of his voice in her ear; feel his lips on her neck. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit!
Ami couldn't help but giggle even though she felt sorry for her friend. She was turning some pretty funny colors right now. Makoto was staring off into oblivion with stars in her eyes and muttering about old boyfriends. The blue haired genius suddenly wished she had brought her camera and personal thoughts booklet. This class was going to be amazing; especially if she counted the things actually listed on the syllabus being passed around.
"Hey, do you have a pencil I could borrow?" The blonds' thoughts crumbled at the question and she glanced over to see the boy she'd so recently assaulted. He was irritated, obviously, and bored with the reactions of his fellow classmates. Usagi coughed, trying to clear her throat as she reached for her bag again.
"Yeah, sure." There was a scoff as she reached for a spare and passed it to him.
"This guy's such a retard. If I didn't have to have this class, I'd be out of here." Dark violet eyes turned back to her as he gripped the pencil. He shot her a self-mocking smile. "I bet you love it, don't you?"
"Who, Mamoru-baka? He's a selfish jerk." She nodded, both to herself and her new friend. It was bad manners to talk about him to someone else, but she'd already stated that to herself too many times to count.
"I'm Yamashita Sasuke." he nodded, the smile more relieved now. She smiled back, nodding in turn.
"Tsukino Usagi. Pleased to meet you."
The rest of the class continued without a hitch as books were passed out and assignments were given. Usagi found it incredibly difficult to focus on anything, and was sure more than once that he'd spotted her far in the back. What would he even say? What if, through this whole ordeal, he found out who she was? What if he didn't? What if he graded her papers and flunked her on purpose! What if he singled her out in class! She'd be horrified in front of so many people!
Anxiety gnawed on every single nerve right up to the last minute of the lecture. The idea of him –seriously, of all the people who could have taught this class! – teaching her about self when he was such a selfish, egotistical pig to anyone and everyone in the whole world, it was a joke! It was a really bad joke! How could she possibly be open and honest in her papers knowing he was grading them! He'd either find out who she was and corner her about it, or worse he wouldn't catch on to anything, but would tease her mercilessly about them!
The second class was dismissed; she clutched her things tightly to her chest, scooped up the assigned book and bolted for the door. With any luck, she'd get lost in the crowd of people slowly piling up between him and freedom. The stairs seemed to jumble together as she moved, threatening to take her down with every step. Stupid! This was so stupid! If she tripped, he'd definitely notice her in a heartbeat and that would be the end of that! Hopefully, since Motoki was teaching too she could maybe talk him into keeping her enrolment a secret or something.
The stairs slid past finally, and the young blond quickly fled to the door and the waiting winter cold outside. The other two blinked in surprise, still standing close to the top of the stairs and glanced at each other. Ami sighed, reaching up to adjust her glasses. Makoto plucked at her skirt a moment, feeling suddenly awkward.
"Well, should we go cheer her up?" the blue haired girl asked finally. Mako nodded.
"Yup. You get the manga, I'll get the cocoa."