Chapter Sixteen
He couldn't choke on the sobs any longer. They ricocheted like gunfire in the small confines of his room. The pent-up, burning sensation of tears finally seared his face for the first time since…god, he had no idea when. Unbearable throbbing weight ground into his lungs from all sides and squeezed the world-rending howl from an already void chest cavity. It was worse than emptiness, worse than solitude. From somewhere deep beneath the left rib cage, he could literally feel the open, gushing wound of the broken Link.
Broken…
The torment was more than physical, psychological. The constant tug at his side had become a searing piece of hell he could not escape. He clung to the walls in agony, barely forcing one foot in front of the other. It was no use trying a pain reliever, there was no physical wound. He could only hope the stash of scotch he kept there was enough to drown out the sound of her throaty, broken voice in his head. Or worse, the silver blue disappointment Serenity had given him. He cursed, feeling the fresh sizzle of his wound at the thought of her.
He sobbed, gripping his chest in agony. The thought again gashed open the bleeding laceration he once called his soul. She had made that choice without him. Why? The unfeeling, un-answering room stared blandly back, the rumple of his half made bed a testament to his rushed morning.
It was so empty. The walls stood bare, naked from all interest or warmth or life. The sterile, perfect greeting of his dust-free dresser and immaculate nightstand was offensive on every level. He surged upward, and gripped the first thing his hands could grab, a college textbook, and threw it with every ounce of strength possible into the disgusting hard wood. The dented book burst from the spine out, littering the perfectly organized area in chaos.
Oh god, he needed vodka, or Patrone…or some Everclear; anything to rip these thoughts from his head before he lost any semblance of sanity he had left. He shambled through the room, feet slipping unevenly on the slick pages of his broken textbook. There had to be something in the kitchen. When was the last time he'd bought alcohol?
There, back behind even cleaning supplies, his fingers slipped limply against the smooth glass that could only mean liquid relief. As hazy, dark eyes rose above the level of the counter, cradling the bottle and his chest, the dark shadow caught his gaze. For a crazed, half imagined moment, he could see Kronos' time-wrinkled face mocking him from the shade.
He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on when he came in. The emptiness would be too much, and it was more comfortable to pass the burning liquid down his parched throat if the light wasn't blaring into his retinas. Still, as he slunk toward the living room, his eyes never strayed from the patch of broken darkness, searching uncomprehendingly for what could never be there again.
His trembling fingers brushed the empty, dead thrust of the rose's stem in horror. Across the ground, the speckled signs of life bled in pools of shriveling silver and white. The light was gone, burst just as the head had done, and shed all at once. The last sign of their history lay in broken tatters beneath the crushing weight of his feet.
He knelt, feeling the first hint of a buzz as his fingers brushed along the crusting, half dead petals in anguish. It must have exploded when her sword had ripped through the bond, it must have ruptured even this anchor. He couldn't hold back the hard, choking, rasping agony tearing from his chest as he laid down among the shattered dreams he'd held so close.
The soft, heady scent still clung to the petals strewn around him. Their gentle crush against his face helped to soak away the heartbreak as he nursed the bottle closer. Hard alcohol had been a respite in the past, and yet this time the pain did not numb so much as blur the edges to a blinding mass. The fiery brew scorched his tongue and throat all the way down, forcing more tears to the surface as it did.
She deserved better than this. He should have done better. Over the past year she had grown so much, had changed so drastically. It was clear her goal in life was to protect the people around her. It was exactly what she should be doing. What has his goal been?
The sudden doubt tickled against his conscious. He was just a man. Maybe he had more power than the average one, and maybe he did spend his nights fighting demons; in the end he was just human. Humans make mistakes. Humans keep secrets. Humans love until they break. What was he compared to a Goddess?
One foot jut painfully out into the room, and knocked solidly against the coffee table. It was a play of the light, a strange shifting of the shadows that brought the ungraded final papers into view. The thought twanged with responsibility, which he promptly and firmly ignored. Right now, he'd fail every damn one of them just to spite the class for being such a stupid distraction.
The bottle sloshed a little in the silence as he pulled again and again, feeling the numbing medicine finally start to war against his heaving chest. She may as well have ripped that blade straight through flesh and bone. The gushing liquid brass coated his eyelids every time he blinked, and brought back the memory of her blackened, strained gloves clutching rock. He didn't have to see her face to understand the pain…
His tired, sleepless eyes settled on the bright corner of a term paper highlighted from somewhere outside the sliding glass door. Even from here, he could see the drunken slosh of Odango Atema's handwriting. There was something he could do right at least. There was so much he needed to atone for. So many things he had done wrong all this time. Usagi had taken the brunt of that pain, just because she was smiling. He had hated her for that smile, had told himself she would never know the kind of torment his life had been. Ironic now to know she was the other side of the coin.
He pulled another swig from the quickly draining bottle and fumbled upward to grasp at the sheet numbly. There was no coherent thought in his head. Frankly, the alcohol didn't leave much room for synapses. The man struggled, straining his eyes through the darkness and fighting the urge to compensate for distance that didn't exist. It took several tries, but eventually the corner of loose leaf was tugged free with a shower if typed words. The sheets broke the shadows in pixels of white and gray, and added to the strange inertia that gripped his fuzzy head.
The drunken man fell back, the world spinning circles in the most abominable way. The bottle sloshed and thunked hard into the carpet, caught between his shoulder and the ground. Even as uncomfortable as that was, he could not force himself to move from over it. The sharp edge dug into his tired muscle. The mix of scotch and rose was overpowering, enough to push the thought of his broken chance into the swimming blackness.
.
.
….
It was hours later that bleary eyes opened once more. The dark night had edged on without him, and the first breaking rays of sunlight bloomed across the jagged horizon. The clouds were beginning to bleed orange and red, and the sight of it belched an unwanted thought of bloody days to come. The ancient warning rang through an already broken thought process. His throbbing head lurched in protest to the weak fumblings of his hands over cloth and paper.
The overpowering scent of hard liquor swam against his nose, breaking through the last of the drunken stupor. She'd left him. Worse, she'd broken them apart permanently. He clutched the paper from his face, irritated that the once soaked sheet was sticking to the short stubble on his cheek. His hand slid around enough to crumple the offending piece and lift it toward the weak, multi-colored light. The slur of words came in great, unintelligible scribbles half smeared by what must have been tears last night.
A term paper. How incredibly unprofessional he'd been in treating it like that. His professor would probably ream him for the indiscretion, and frankly Odango would kill him. The gaping, open wound at his soul's chest stung harshly, drawing sharp breath from him. He gulped, flinging the half empty bottle in the desperate move to cover the aching spot. His muscles were searing at his arms and legs, clenching abominably at his neck and head, and left a confused and aching man in it's wake.
What was wrong with him? Why was this reaction happening now, of all times it could have hit? Even last night had been more…more spiritual than physical. He gulped again, feeling the cool air rasp against his dry throat. Rather than wonder, he stumbled to his knees and began reaching for the scattered sheets in the vain hope of finding some sense of order. Rather, his fingers brushed against one sheet in particular, and a shot of static raced up his arm hard enough to hurt.
He cursed, drawing the throbbing finger to his lips. This was stupid. His hangover would start soon and there's no way he'd want to work on them then either. Frustrated, still in pain, he went to grab the sheet in one handful and fell, slipping from the side table and pulling a second free. He lit hard into the ground, hard enough to force a tired groan through clenched teeth.
It took every ounce of strength he could muster to force himself up again. He needed coffee…and pain killers. The beginning of a migraine brewed in the back of his skull, promising slow and painful torture if he didn't get working on it soon. It had been so long since he'd had one, he'd almost forgotten how bad they were. Yes, some black coffee and a shower and…then probably more scotch. Maybe even a lot more.
The birthing light of early morning burst across the horizon as his feet steadied once more. His fingers still grasped the offending sheet that had cost him his balance, the stickiness of his fingers clinging to the heavy white paper. He glanced at it, tiredly wiping at his wet eyes one more time.
It was beautiful. The lancing pain bursting from his heart dropped the man to his knees before the piece. Rough hands gripped the edge, the breath died in his lungs. Burning, pleading tears ripped from an agonized throat; his head bowed in shame. The blurred image, even through tears, was too much. How could have not have seen it? How could he have looked over the fact?
Her graphite form was perfect, the uniform blowing in the wind. The gentle pressure folded material across the supple curves of her body, long lean legs outlined in thigh high black boots, the heels gave her a strength and poise she had never shown. It was none of these things, however that gave her away.
Her silvery blue eyes were steady, determined. The set of her jaw could have been accompanied by any royal command. Her hands were open and inviting, and conveyed a sure and steady strength. Her stance was confident. The shimmering golden hair flew back behind her, showing her power in form, showing her as a photograph could never do.
There was no doubt in his mind now, staring into this drawing, this simple sketch, that a Goddess, Princess, and warrior stared straight back at him, defying him; commanding both respect and recognition.
The simple, dirty lines of her imagination blurred together till they crowned the form like a burning corona through his bloodshot eyes. It was so simple, so easy even a child could have drawn it. Yet there she was, his Goddess, staring him straight in the face through the mask of a schoolgirl. Her slurred, drunken signature hid among the hint of shaded foliage in one corner, and crowned with a small anime bunny at the final 'i'.
How had he never seen it? This stupid sketch all but announced her from the rooftops, no matter how unschooled the hand. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Usagi was a dead ringer for Moon. He had even broken into her house, as if he were some kind of creeper, and still… He set the page down with infinite care on the coffee table, unsure exactly what to make of the information. No wonder she hated him. No wonder she had told him he wouldn't want to know.
Their conversation in this very apartment came back, the darkness within her, the lonely sorrow. Had he bothered to connect the dots... Even that damn rose had sparked at him with her there, all but screaming that his chosen was directly behind him. He hadn't listened. He had never listened, even when his body had screamed when she was near.
Worse yet, in his mind, was that he honestly didn't know Usagi at all. She had been a child to him for so long that he hadn't even noticed her growing up behind his back. She was still young, not yet 18, but as the picture showed, she was more than mature. The regal tilt of her head left no doubt that one day, somewhere down the line, his Goddess would return to her power and throne, that she would rule again.
He fell back against the carpet. What was the point of trying now? What was the point of getting sober if all he wanted in the whole world was to drown his idiocy with drink? He groped endlessly for the fallen bottle, grateful he'd somehow managed to save half of the fiery liquid from a woolen death. It sloshed unevenly in his hand, but the burn at his throat and chest helped to numb the fresh pain.
The first sheet lay by his face, forgotten in the rush for coffee. He grimaced, afraid to read the scathing piece knowing she'd written it. Right in front of his face this whole stupid time! He'd never even bothered to read one of them. Not one! Motoki was always so ready to help out his friend; that was because Motoki knew exactly who she was. Somewhere between outrage and betrayal, he slammed his fists into the carpet over and over.
No wonder his friend had been so protective! How many times had Motoki gone 'big brother' when Moon was mentioned? How many times had his friend pushed him to do something selfless, when any other guy would have commiserated, joined in, and drank over it? How many times had the blond mentioned in passing that Usagi was not a child; that she should be taken seriously. Maybe he had been trying to say it. Maybe he wanted his friends to figure it out. The thought tore fresh sobs from him, slowed the anger of his hands on the dented flooring.
Every time. Motoki had gently brought up the subject of her papers when they were grading. She was practically the only constant thing they talked about. And here he had one, inches from his hand, ready to be discovered. Shakily, he reached for it, unable to stop the impending pain. It was likely he'd never be able to look her in the face again, too ashamed and prideful to admit that he could have…
Her bright voice started with the first line, upbeat and bubbly and nothing like his Senshi.
Persephone, the fallen goddess.
I guess the real reason I love this story so much is because it seems so real. Sure, the girl is some flower goddess dancing around in the breeze one day. Sure the guy she ends up with happens to be the God of death. It's poetic.
The thing that really gets me about it, though, is her side of the story. She was minding her own business, had nothing to do with anything dark. And out of nowhere, this guy breaks up the party, drags her down, chains her there, and then tortures her with all the things she could have had if he'd just left her alone. And what does she do? She waits, day in and day out, pretty much forever. And then, right before she could have been saved, she just gives up and eats the pomegranate.
I get that. Sometimes, things happen and you have no control over them. You want so much to wait it out, make things better, and remember the good times. I think, in the end you just give in because there's no changing it on your own. You look at your life and you think there's no way it could be yours. Nothing you'd ever done could possibly lead to this kind of end. But there it is, staring you in the face.
I wonder about how lonely she must have been, sitting down in those dark caves with no sunlight at all. She must have learned a lot how to defend herself, how to fight back. I imagine Hades was a real prick and probably made her feel stupid and useless all the time. After all, everyone has to go through death at some point, it's just going to happen. I bet he thought he was pretty important. But flowers are about seeing the good in life. That's probably what made him want her so bad.
Mamoru set the paper down carefully, allowing the bright gush of her voice to fade from his mind.
"God, Motoki was so right. Her grammar is terrible."
Worse than the grammar, though, was the understanding that Moon may have worn a glamour to get his attention, but Usagi was no shadow runner to her counterpart. The maturity of her thoughts outlined not only the assignment, but mimicked her own life, accurately portrayed his, and set the stage for a much deeper conversation.
Her tone bothered him. Though the voice in his head read with all the bright, bubbly chatter of a young girl, there was something off in the way she placed her words. It implied the same kind of stress that left one sleepless, and lonely. He knew it well. Again, and again he thought of the image of her tired, limp body hanging in his arms that day. It haunted him.
More than anything, more than even the resoundingly perfect image of her drawing, this paper was the proof he needed. Moon was trapped by him in more ways than one. She had come to accept her fate as a guardian of this world, and had adapted where before it seemed impossible to. The maturity of her words echoed their past conversations, brought many of the fights to mind, both in uniform and out.
It was so obvious it made his teeth ache.
"Persephone." He whispered, barely registering the word so much as the memory. They'd gone over the story in the beginning of his Lit class. He knew of it, vaguely, they hadn't spent much time. His students had been assigned a writing project, along with something personal they had learned from the class.
It was sad to see how she saw things. All this time he had been working towards the 'us' when really he should have seen it through her eyes. If their roles had been reversed, would she have signed a contract without him? Would she have kept it a secret, thinking it was for the best?
This bright, bubbly girl chained to him for all eternity, no way out, no way to ever be free; the fallen Goddess a slave to death for all time. She had never been a fighter before this life. She had never seen the darkness this world had to offer until that last battle. She had been so carefree, so soft and sweet and gentle. And he had crushed the life out of her, forced her to be something else.
The knowledge that he had done something so unforgiveable racked against his core so darkly, so hotly, it could only be considered true hell. A hell he would live in for all eternity.
It was the guilt. This world was falling apart at the seams, and the monsters that had once plagued humanity were back again with a vengeance. It was the second world he had all but lead to complete destruction. The lives that had been lost before, the complete lack of care that both of them had displayed was so common at the time. It had been such a natural reaction to relations with the Gods. Everything else seemed so much less important; instead the things they should have been watching fell into disarray, and eventual revolution.
Could he bear it if this world came to that too? Could he possibly allow that kind of an end to happen again when he had specifically been allowed certain powers to stop it? He couldn't just rely on Moon to fix things he clearly was capable of handling. It was everywhere they had gone wrong back then. Strangely, he felt it was everything that had failed so far in this life. He hadn't been quick enough to her side this time, and she had been forced to fight alone. The Goddess must have broken through, must have been…held back by it.
She had seen what would be. Their love had been doomed from the beginning, and he in his obsessed, crazed mind had never considered what was happening around them then. It had led to the complete destruction of everything, everywhere. And here given a second chance, it was happening all over again.
That stupid chord, that sealing spell that had seemed like such a great idea before would prove to be their undoing. She had to break it.
She had to.
The aching weariness drug against him, augmented by drink and exhaustion. She had been right, there. He slumped back against the carpet, allowing the paper to fall from his grasp. Let the world burn. Let the endless ramble of useless thoughts bury themselves in the carpet. His Goddess had left him, as she had every right to. He had all but forced her to.
Maybe they really had been cursed from the beginning.
.
.
…..
"Minako-chan, what do you think of this one?" Rei asked for the fifth time in the last 20 minutes. The small shop was bustling with girls all trying to beat their way to the changing rooms. Usagi felt a little lost in the mix as more than one of them pushed past her a bit too roughly and sent her falling backward into Makoto's waiting arms. The strong Amazon absent-mindedly righted her friend before returning both hands to her pockets.
Saturday was hardly the right time to visit the mall, though the crowds were distinctly smaller than they had been the year before. Shops were closed throughout the structure, chunks of the stood open to the sunlight, and yellow caution tape stretched seemingly for miles. Even with the attacks on the city worsening, it seemed everyone and their dog had to get a dress for the dance.
The girls giggled and sighed and nodded as Rei spun fashion-model like and returned to the dressing room. Usagi didn't even bother to glance up, remarking silently that it was probably yet another flaming red cocktail dress, just like every other one she'd picked out all day. Really, there were only so many of those in the whole complex.
Her fingers trailed down to the hem of a sparkly amethyst purple number, noting the thick shoulder straps, empire waist, and plenty of space for cleavage. She liked it, even wondered how it would look on her. In the past, she'd worn all kinds of beautiful gowns every single day, and she missed it. It would be beautiful with a nice pair of sparkly silver sandals and a simple set of earrings. A wistful smile tugged at her mouth for a moment before the reality of her own date came back.
Sasuke was no Mamoru. She tried not to be disappointed in it, but frankly after the intense, smoldering man, a teenage boy wasn't much of a comparison. She was just glad to be getting out of the house, and more importantly have some fun. The past few days had been terribly agony, and her side felt swollen and sore where the link had been cut. It ached when she moved just right, burned when Mamoru came to mind.
The thought brought stinging fire to the back of her eyes and she dropped the fabric to take a few steps backward. Would it matter at all? The man had just stood there while she screamed at him over and over, had taken every unfair comment with nothing but acceptance. Maybe, if she were honest with herself, she'd admit at least some of the fault was her own as well.
Yes, as Serenity, and Usagi, and Sailor Moon, she loved him desperately. But it would be unfair for both of them to be tied like this, with Kronos pulling the strings. Even the Fates themselves were against them, and that would be agony to have to live with. She just couldn't bear to see either of them so unhappy.
"You should try it on, Usa-chan." Minako admonished sagely, watching her friend stare at the spicy little purple dress. It would be a good departing from frilly sleeves and ribbon-bedecked numbers Usagi was always wearing, yet soft and feminine enough to still show her personality. The model could see the undisguised longing in her dear friend's eyes, and could not find it in her to see her so unhappy. "I'll front the money for it, no worries."
Usagi forced a half-smile to her face, but anyone could see it didn't reach the eyes. Within her, the tall blond felt the familiar stirrings of Venus, a constant, loving answer to the sudden rift that had broken Usagi's spirit. As much as she wanted to hunt Kamen's punk-ass down and beat the living crap out of him, she refrained. It was a good thing, because Usagi would one day become a great lady, and she needed a good, humble man to stand beside her. Right now, Usagi just needed good friends, a smile on her face, and some serious time to sort things out.
"Oh, don't worry about Usagi, I'm sure she's got more than enough purple dresses in her closet she could use." Rei offered helpfully after returning from the dressing room. Her sizzling charcoal hair was flung over one shoulder still, the raven locks splitting the light. "Besides, that one doesn't look anything like what you'd wear, it's too busty."
It would be a departure from the norm, the priestess had a point. It made the dress that much more desirable, though. She was ready for something new, something harmless and fun.
"Don't worry, Usa-chan! We'll go down to that little dress shop you like and see if they have something more your style, k?" Rei continued.
Sad blue eyes turned to view each of her friends in sequence, wondering how they might view her in return. The structured, Hollywood glamour of Minako, complete with her fancy bow sculpted of hair and red spray that instantly made her smart 60's dress daring and flirty. The soft, almost invisible glimmer of pale blue hair trailed into the curious eyes of Ami, her face barely seen over a textbook. The glasses had slid down her nose again, with her darker natural lashes peaking over the top of their thin wire frame. Makoto had pulled her soft brown hair through the back of a racing cap, her orange and cream hoodie destroying the Amazonian physique. She stared at her tall, imposing friend. The small blond gulped, cleared her throat, and all but ripped the hanger off the rack.
"I don't think your father would let you out of the house in that, Usa-chan," Ami began, eyeing the piece doubtfully. The genius turned to glance at Makoto for support, but the brunette winked playfully and adjusted the bill of her cap.
"Are you sure, Usagi-chan? That's pretty racy…" Rei started, flailing one arm hopelessly as Minako tried to shush her.
"Can I grow up, please?" Her blue, blue eyes were begging. For a bare, honest moment, the raven-haired girl saw her friend for the first time. There were tired bags beneath her eyes, and she seemed broken from within. The muscle she'd built over the past year of training seemed to suspend her body in motion like a puppet. Her question was not about asking permission so much as making a statement. She was not a child anymore, and the tired, lonely girl before her was not enjoying her life as she used to –as she should be.
The amethyst dress swung, sparkling and feminine as Usagi slid past her friends and toward the dressing room. Rei and Ami shared a quick, nervous glance as the door slid shut. Minako grinned, readily knocking knuckles with her tomboy counterpart.
"It's on." Makoto muttered, grinning helplessly.
"Hey, about that. I found this great vintage cream dress for you…"
.
.
….
The supple fabric whispered across skin, the understated sparkles igniting as the piece flowed around her. The fabric clung to her, a single glance in the mirror revealed the long, lean form of a woman. It was strange how changing just one thing made her look older. None of her clothes at home seemed to cling the way this dress did. None of them made her feel… She looked pale and tired. The deep, painful dark circles beneath her eyes were even more noticeable now. It had been days since she last slept, her mind had not allowed even a moment's peace. The screams of dying children haunted the moments just before dreaming; enough her sweat-chilled body would tremble long after the last images had faded.
A deep breath of air banished the bubbling thoughts enough to focus on her reflection. Despite how awful her face looked, the dress wasn't actually that bad. Bunched fabric travelled down from her open collar, making her look taller. The bland, lacy white bra managed to look sexy peaking out from the dark fabric. It was clear she wouldn't be able to wear anything she owned as far as that went. The flirty, uneven cut of her hemline teased her thighs just above the knees, easily making it the shortest dress she had ever tried on except her uniform.
In the dim, flickering lights of the dressing room, it almost felt like candle light. The shadow of an arm traveled her waist, and a swift, chaste kiss touched her neck. She could almost hear the rumble of approval, though no one stood behind her. A sudden gulp caught in her throat. Endymion would have loved it, and Mamoru… a part of her wondered how she would make it in this life without him…
In the days that had passed from that night, every emotion had raged through her in hopes of finding some sense of peace. A terrible numbness swilled drunkenly within her, threatening to spill over and leave the burning nerve exposed. Too many times, the Novocain had sloshed too hard, had left her breathless and sobbing.
It was exhausting. Not just in the sense that she needed sleep, but an aching weariness that creaked from her very bones. Every cell grated for the need to lie her head down, feel a cool pillow beneath her.
No, she determined quietly to herself, she wasn't going to think of that. She'd been through this once before. A silent declaration had already been nailed into her forehead last night that she would not think of him. Instead, the image of Sasuke was forced into her brain; small in comparison and definitely nowhere near as overwhelming. It would be a night without pressure. She focused again on the tired reflection, wondering if a cat-nap might help with the shade beneath her eyes. Her fingers followed the neckline of the dress slowly, admiring how it curved with her chest before her fingers froze.
The onyx stone was clearly visible as the dress dipped lower than her cleavage. The shard of midnight around her neck glinted like the eyes of the devil himself. The pitch black depths wallowed against the shadow of her skin, seeming to devouring the room and lights. The mirrored glass surface glinted back haughtily, as if daring the room to fight back. The silvery chain and night-dark shard were harshly outlined on her pale chest as she reached up to touch it. Part of her wanted to relinquish the piece, knowing that whatever symbol it might have been, it meant nothing now.
No, she wasn't going to dwell on it! Almost exasperatedly, she blew at her bangs and, for the first time, lifted the necklace off her head. It felt strange, after having it there against her chest for so long, to be without it's comforting weight. Many times during this last year, it had served as a reminder that someone could see a little bit of good in her. Someone had cared for and loved her, thinking she had no faults; someone more incredible and frustrating and angering than she had any right to. Her finger ran along it's smooth surface, smiling almost bitterly as the irony of her last thought struck home. She had ended it between them, had used the crystal to break his hold over her.
Days later, she still questioned the wisdom of her actions. She'd been so unbelievably angry at him. What was she supposed to think, though? She…no, she wasn't going to think about it! Frustrated, the girl all but grunted the memories into submission, pressing her forehead hard into the cold glass. Her fingers still grasped the warm rock tightly. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't bear the thought of setting it down, or even relinquishing her hold on that tiny little part of him.
Her eyes met those of her mirror image, so downcast and mellow in the dim lighting. White teeth nibbled nervously at the soft pink of her lower lip, wondering if it was even right to keep it. The girl in the mirror seemed so lost for a moment. With one quick breath, she palmed the small piece and it's chain before stepping out to meet the firing squad.
.
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…..
"Oi! Mamoru, I'm finally here! Sorry, the final took longer than I thought…" the frustratingly bright voice broke through the drunken stupor enough to make him shift in abject misery. The bottle lay empty beside him, the other assignments scattered like fallen soldiers in his rush to reach hers. He just sobbed, crushing the palms of his hands against exhaustion-burned eyes.
"Hey man…grading under the influence? Seriously?" the intense smell of alcohol sweated from the walls, forcing Motoki to blink the sting from his eyes. The sloppy, drizzling form of his best friend literally pooled on the carpet. His hair was disheveled and his clothes looked slept in, and stained. Conspicuous piles of who knows what lay molding beside him, adding both depth and charm to the already overpowering picture.
Alarmed, the blond man threw his bag by the door and rushed to his friend's side. The empty bottle of scotch was lifted in mute confusion, even suspicion. Seriously? How long had he been laying here? From the smell, it had to have been days. He gripped a shoulder, hauling the fallen man bodily from the ground.
"You…you…bas-turb!" Mamoru murmured, fist swinging. The heavy blow smashed into pale flesh and sent the arcade manager falling back. "Such a," he paused to belch and decide if it was actually vomit or not, "basturd. I hate you."
The fallen hero continued his rant in muttering, unintelligible words that seemed to melt into hiccups. A curious hand rose to assess the damage to his pale chin, but thankfully Mamoru was too drunk to be able to land anything too severe. The blond shook his head once to free the stupor, and then gripped each arm to drag the limp body to the bathroom.
An hour later, the tall sloshing form slumped back to the living room, leaning heavily against the wall as he walked. It had given Motoki time for his hangover concoction to percolate, but not quite effervesce. It had also given plenty of time for worry. His dark, imposing friend was not one to haul off and get this smashed over finals.
At least his clothes were clean. The hair needed some work, but it wasn't like they were going anywhere. If he was lucky, maybe they'd actually get some grading done like they'd planned. Of course, that would be after some sort of explanation, maybe some organization, and coffee. The other flopped into the sofa like a burlap sack and sank back among the cushions.
"You bastard." The dark man's face hadn't moved an inch. Violent bags draw his eyes downward, the sunken flesh of his face was enough to make him look drawn, withered, and tired. His eyes were red from crying, and the slump of his shoulders may as well have been limp noodles for all intents and purposes. The blond sat back in mock astonishment
"What happened?" he demanded.
"You know what!"
Confused, still mildly alarmed, the other slid back in his seat, steepling his fingers carefully. It was time. Maybe it was past time, from the look of things. The sloshing gulps and hiccups began anew. Large European eyes scanned the desolate remains around him. The newly cleaned floor has been littered with white rose petals and soggy paper. Chunks of torn textbook littered the hallway leading toward the bedroom, and the bowels of the kitchen sink had all been loosed.
"How could you?" The choked words broke free through the tears. Never, in all the years that Motoki had known him, had the stoic expressed more than mild irritation until Usagi came into the picture. He'd always known his little sister had a way of pulling people out of their shells, but this was on another level. With the considerable damage in mind, he returned his gaze back to the pitiful, hiccupping man across the table.
"Um, the shower thing? Well," the blond started, feeling a little snide despite himself.
"No, you sick, twisted jask-ass! How could you keep this from me!?" his trembling hands shoved the mess aside, eyes searching frantically for her drawing. The paper was pulled out with all the tenderness he could muster before it was thrust into Motoki's face. "This! This right here! How could you!?"
"We…ll… Usagi's pretty good, isn't she? I keep telling her she shou…"
"Shut the fuck up!" Mamoru exploded, shoving the coffee mug away. "She's Sailor Moon, and you knew the whole damn time and wouldn't say one damn thing to me!" he choked, feeling the hot tears falling from his eyes again.
"I could have had her. I could have had her, Motoki-kun!"
Possessive, loving, perhaps a bit soaked in scotch, but the words rang true. The subtle weight bearing down on his chest lifted in triumph for his friend, only to be crushed again by confusion. The dark savior knew exactly who she was, and now was the time to be giving up? He blanched at the thought, all but leaping out of his chair in sudden opposition.
Mamoru glared at the horrified face of his friend, irritated it had ever come to this. His flicked a hand upward as if the situation were too obvious to be put into words. What was he supposed to do, run to her house like some stupid romance movie and beg for her on hands and knees? The woman had actually sliced a chunk of her own soul free just to get away from him! Not just that, but here, in this very apartment, something final had passed between them. Even the rose had begun to wilt then, even the world had begun to cave in after that night.
If only he could go back to that moment, staring at her form huddled into herself in his hallway. He had been so close, if only he'd looked harder at those darkened, pained eyes. If only she had let that somber wall drop long enough to see his warrior shine through. But it was gone, now, and that moment when he knew someone would claim her, he had all but given her up to do it.
Silence spread between them, thick and heavy laden. The kinder, wiser man allowed it to simmer momentarily as he poured a generous amount of dark brew into a mug. It would take a long time for his friend to put the pieces back together, but surely he had to know that Usagi would probably, eventually, forgive him. It was Usagi; and she shouldn't. That's exactly why she would.
"So you can't now?"
"She left me." Mamoru could barely get the words free. Desperately, he just wanted them never to be spoken by anyone. Even days later, he could see glimmers of bronze leaking from his side. It was a none-too-subtle reminder of how permanent her answer had been the other night.
"Wait, Moon did? How does one superhero leave another? Its not like you guys were official or living together or anything."
The dark man sighed, grudgingly wiping the sodden mess of his face. Their history was too long, too complex. But maybe it would do some good to get it all out, tell it all from the beginning and let every gaping wound bleed freely. At least that way if he had to kill Motoki, the stupid man would understand why he had to die.
.
.
…..
"Woah! Usagi-chan! Shut the front door, back up the bus, and park it by the bar! That is smoking hot!" Minako whistled through blood red lips, nudging Ami with a conspiratorial elbow. The mouse squeaked, but nodded furiously. Even Rei, who had crossed her sassy arms across her chest and jut a hip out in indifference was staring with wide, smoldering eyes.
"Usa-chan, that's really…really gorgeous."
"Sasuke's gunna shit himself." Makoto shoved both hands in her pockets, kicking at the ground as she spoke. Even Ami had to stifle her laugh behind a petite hand as she clutched her closed book to her chest.
"It's weird wearing something Mom didn't make." The downcast blond commented, turning toward the mirror. The lights were brighter here, made the shadows flee from her face. That same strength she'd felt against Kunzite returned with the vision of her guard around her. The dress was beautiful, but it was so secondary to having them all back again –the last of her life from before.
For a sweet moment, she remembered the loving press of her mother's arms around her shoulders, a soft kiss at her birthmark. The sadness at losing her would never leave. Yet she stood there, so grateful for the sacrifice that great Queen had made for her, for a chance to live again. A chance to love again.
And she'd take it.
"Sweet! Party at my place! Mako-chan, grab the dip! Ladies, we have a dance to crash!"
"Uh, Minako-chan, it's a school dance…" the tall brunette looked doubtful.
"Shut it! Like they're gunna turn away an international model and her posse, am I right! Let's go! Usagi, if that dress isn't in my hand in 2 minutes, I'mma rip it off your hot body!"
"Uh…" the short girl blushed straight to her toes
"English." Rei whispered, her face both alarmed and amused.
Ami nodded, but even she was grinning ear to ear.
.
.
…..
"So, you're telling me that for revenge the Fates made Usagi dress like a child, and turned you into the lamest super hero ever?" Motoki rubbed at his face tiredly, still trying to sort through the strange, and probably made up story he'd just been told. Sure, both of his friends happened to be actual superheroes, but that load of crock could not be real in the slightest. It was bad enough to be lied to from the beginning, but now this? "And…what now?"
"That's it. She doesn't want me." Mamoru grumbled, obviously giving in to his current despair.
The heavy crack of knuckle on bone boomed in the awkward silence that followed. The hefty blow knocked the brooding young man completely off his feet and into the newly cleaned carpet. His shocked face stared from his position on the ground while Motoki seethed.
"What the hell do you mean you don't know?! You're telling me that this…earth prince, this super hero, is just going to sit around moping while his girl is out with some kid? Did you even bother to ask her what she wanted!" Mamoru had never been so pathetic! Seriously, the guy honestly believed they were star crossed lovers from another life, and he was just going to sit back and take that kind of nonsense? Maybe the hit had been out of line, but frankly he'd taken a blow already tonight, and to know that his friend was actually giving up was just too much to take.
The news rocked the ground from beneath his still shaking hands. The stuttering, breaking heart in his chest heaved with the sudden onslaught of adrenaline, frustration, and finally pure hatred. The burning man barely felt the earth's subtle tremble beneath his sweating palms, barely registered the answering power building against the oncoming storm.
"She's where?" he ground out, barely able to contain himself.
"You heard me right, you moron! What the hell are you going to do about it?"
The waxing fury burned hot enough to freeze every inch of his skin in a shudder that purged the air from his lungs. The gentle flickering of the entryway light crackled against Motoki's eyes in a terrifying display that swept all doubts from his mind. There was no way the silken figure rising from the ground as if it were a coffin was anyone other than a supernatural prince of darkness. The shadows of the room billowed strangely around the solemn figure, sucked at the meager light, and stole the strength from the suddenly terrified man's knees.
How dare she. How dare she! He had worked his ass off trying to please her, only to get chopped off, slung out to sea, and she was right back in the damn fishing chair the second he was gone. How dare she look back over everything they had ever been through and decide that it wasn't worth fighting for? How dare she make that decision for the both of them without even consulting him! For a girl so set on his selfish ways, she couldn't even see the irony of her own! Worse yet was the thought that she could possibly choose anyone over him –a prince, a hero, her damn soul mate. As if any other man would even come close to what they had together. The idea of anyone else's hands on her, they're breath on her, staring at her…
His fists clenched abominably tight, their strain echoed through every muscle, sinew, and bone of his body.
Motoki fought a violent shiver helplessly as the weak creaking of the building began to yawn through the air. The cold, clawing fingers of blackened fury were slithering visibly through the air around them like coils of smoke laced in menace. For a bare moment, Mamoru was no longer the dark, brooding orphan set to conquer the world. He was, in a very strange and horrifying way, more than human, more than supernatural. The inky black depths of his eyes screeched far above the level of sound straight into the mortal man's skull, dropping him instantly to the carpet.
"Like hell." The deep, booming voice echoed through more than the apartment. The hollow sound shimmered in the air, as if the room no longer existed, and continued on into eternity. It was with a traumatized sort of detachment from reality that he watched the man he could have sworn was his best friend a few minutes ago swoop out of the apartment with all the preternatural grace of a specter in the fog. Wildly, he almost imagined the keys levitating off the front table and into an outstretched hand before the door swung shut by the wake of his passing.
Several minutes after the frightening figure had left, the plain, resoundingly normal arcade manager was still straining to catch his breath. The sweaty cold palms of his hands pressed shaky weight into his eyes. It was like scrubbing a stain in the retina, like trying to remove etching with soap. All there was to be seen, all that could be seen, was the soulless black hole of not-Mamoru's homicidal eyes, and all the impenetrable fear it inspired. Whoever this prince had been, it was not someone Motoki would like to meet.
In fact, the overwhelming fear proved to be the only source from which he could excuse himself from running after. It wasn't the kid's fault that Mamoru hadn't said anything. It wasn't Usagi's fault, either. More than anything, he wanted to see those two work it out, but after this…
"Be the hero, Mamoru-kun. Please."
The whisper broke his mouth unbidden, and was given without hope.
.
.
…..
The heavy swing music pounded the walls with drums and trumpet, matched perfectly with a swoony voice straight from the big band era. The ballroom was dimly lit, spotted with small tablets along the sides. Glittering taffeta dripped elegantly from the ceiling. The flashing, glittering steps of dancers twinkled from every inch of the room, laughter barely heard over the cacophony of music blaring from the speakers. It was up tempo and bright, two things Mamoru did not normally approve of.
A bright blast of trumpet signaled a 20's era jive, featuring some sort of modern beat and rap. The confusing mixture only heightened the other worldly mix of multicolored couples rocking across the floor. Complicated, twisting movements flared across the floor; more so than any dance he'd ever heard of. Even a few years ago, his classmates had thrown on a suite jacket over jeans and a t-shirt. Where these guys had gotten neon orange and purple suites was disturbing.
He shook his head, trying to see past the kaleidoscope of spinning skirts deeper into the crowd. The lights were low, and it made searching difficult. Not far away, he saw the tall brunette that followed Usagi around chatting up a football player. The sight boggled his mind a little –she'd always struck him as possibly batting for the other team. The boy looked just as animated, and even led her out on the floor a minute later. He glanced around again, watching the fairly advanced moves of the students and wondering how many of them took lessons.
This was too distracting. He paused, reaching for the tug that would bring him to her side. There was no answer, and the dull ache began anew in his ribs. Agonized hands gripped at his chest, a chill hiss broke from his lips. More torturous was the idea that he could have reached through their link months ago; it had never failed to bring him directly to her. The urge to slam his head against a nearby wall was more than temptation. Days ago, it still would have worked brilliant magic against his conundrum. Too late now; he would have to resort to older tactics.
There. The forbidden gold of her hair flashed in the light from the hallway. She was back several yards into the room, spinning and giggling. He didn't even have to be close enough to know that. The dark color of her dress melted in with the low-lit background, and made it impossible to see till her partner had spun her closer to the stage. His fleshy hand closed at her tiny, cinched waist as the song slowed and mellowed. The sight made his jaw tighten irritably.
He forced a few breaths in and out, trying desperately to calm the murder burning through his blood at the sight. It gave him time to truly appreciate the beauty hidden within the child he'd once known. Clumsy feet tripped through each step as if a single fault from collapse, yet she laughed and continued trying despite her obvious lack of knowledge. It reminded him sharply of watching her dance in the rain at the courthouse so long ago.
He had to wipe the stupid smile from his face, feeling the fear slink slowly from his joints. Moon, Serenity, and Usagi; it all came from the same mouth, the same short little spitfire. The fates could make it as difficult as they wanted, but in the end she was still the same woman he had known for millennia, had loved. He could do this, for the both of them.
He moved quickly, unaware that the couples all but leapt out of his way. The smug grin dominating her date's pathetically young face had his fingers flexing to break something. Usagi, the knockout she'd been in uniform, was breathtaking in dark purple, and he was not the only one to notice.
Breathe. Just breathe, he forced the thought through the rage, and reached up to smooth his hair back before stalking across the room toward the unsuspecting couple. They would just talk. They would just…scream and yell at each other till security came. Then he'd cheerfully beat the snot out of security if they touched her. Right.
The two were laughing and dancing, taking no notice of the oncoming battle. It was a short walk; the couples around him tended to jump out of the way rather than be plowed down in his wake. Just beneath the skin, he could feel the burn of Endymion rising up. The urge to shift just enough, just so she could see him, was almost overwhelming. He stopped himself. It wasn't about the past. It wasn't about bad decisions.
"Tsukino Usagi, you are a sight for sore eyes." He commented, deep voice booming over the top of loudspeakers. She stopped mid-spin, her hair quickly tangling in her date's jacket buttons. He could almost hear the visible groan as she rolled her eyes and nonchalantly pulled herself away, golden strands trailing behind.
"Well, I guess that's better than being the eyesore I normally am." Her arms immediately wrapped across her chest, as if she needed to defend herself from him. He zeroed in on the action, wanting nothing more than to gather her up and assure her he was not here to hurt her.
"H-hello Chiba-sensei…" The boy cleared his throat, obviously trying to get some attention. He flicked an irritated glance at the short, blue-bedecked monstrosity. There was no hiding the disgust as he turned back to Usagi.
"Stop. It's not like that and you know it."
"What exactly is it like, Mamoru?" Usagi queried with disgust, immediately moving closer to her date as if to protect him too. Mamoru all but growled at the sight, felt his hackles rising and Endymion step that much closer. He drew in a labored breath, focused his thoughts. He was just here to ask a few questions. He was just here to at least try the possibility. He was not here to commit murder, or to force her into making sense.
"We need to talk." The statement was given tensely, as the chaperones were making their way through the crowd to stop the oncoming fight. With Endymion so close to the surface, it was a dangerous situation.
"We really don't. I'm sure there's a dumb bimbo along the wall if you look hard enough." She spat, turning her back to him. It was useless, though, Sasuke was all but shrinking away from her. She groaned, blowing at her bangs in frustration. Now he was scaring her date off too?
"How sweet." He murmured, a little hurt at the comment. Those days were long gone, and she was well aware of the fact.
"Did you just come here to insult me?" she glistened as she spun, even her skin beginning to take on the light around them. He eyed the crowd, hoping it still looked normal enough to pass off as rage. Her date had melted into the crowd, which by now was ringed around them in interest. He took another breath, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and turned both eyes to her again.
"Of course not, I came to talk."
This was ridiculous to try here and now. They'd always fought, even as their counterparts. Now was like trying to hold a tiger by the leash in front of a group of gazelles, all the while hoping for the best. They needed to get away from here, where they could hash it out without prying eyes. Where they could burst into a raging goddess and…whatever he was supposed to be.
"Silly me, I thought those amounted to the same thing." She came forward, clacking her heels on the floor. The action was so familiar at this point that it almost hurt not to notice it.
"Is there a problem here?" An older gentleman asked, adjusting his square rimmed glasses as he came to a halt between them. The crowd dispersed like children on the school grounds, leaving the two steaming overtop of the sentinel.
"I'm sure Mr. Chiba was just leaving. He needs to make friends his own age."
"Charming. And here I was hoping for an adult conversation." He hissed. The chaperone had nothing to do with this, and frankly was a great idea given the state of things. Right now, however, was not the most convenient time to be bullied by one.
"I'm going to have to ask you to take this outside. You're disturbing the others." The gaunt man continued, ushering them with his hands. At least that was a good idea. It was too loud in here, and he could feel the remaining hangover pounding at the back of his skull though the alcohol still buzzed through him. It was healing quickly, another effect of his power no doubt.
Usagi slid back toward the crowd, allowing the teacher's hands to push Mamoru toward the door. The dark man bit back a snarl, easily shoving the other man aside amidst cries of distress.
"Nice try, but I'm really not leaving." He ducked his head, staring her down eye to eye. Furious blue met with barely retained midnight, and a firm hand gripped his shoulder.
The coal in his blood lit red hot at the action, spun the incredulous, demanding stare into the eyes of a shy middle aged man, tired and filled with obligation. Endymion burned through the gaze, down into the sniveling man's soul like the scythe of death, and promised agony should the fool attempt such an action again.
Without another word, the figure slunk off into the crowd as if the demons of hell were on his tail. Within moments, the sound of the door slamming shut was an added thump to the steady rhythm of the music.
"Nice, just bag on the science teacher like everyone else." The blond commented, bringing about that scathing sarcasm.
Their meetings made so much more sense now, that feeling of burning from the inside he had always attributed to anger or resentment, when really it was attraction. It had nothing to do with superficial things, as he had been so used to when they met. Her brain simply fired in response, and he could do nothing but feel that heat lick at him from the inside out. They would fight like cats and dogs, but if nothing else the makeup sex would be mind blowing.
"I just want to know one thing; then you can do whatever you like." He couldn't keep the sting from his voice, no matter how much time he took too respond. Before, there had been a level of intensity between them that left him with a tension headache. Moon had stood up to him so many times, but it had been arousing. Had he been misinterpreting those feelings for Usagi too? When was the point when his soul had recognized her, had screamed through every fiber of him whenever she was mentioned? Had he been in love with her from the beginning; and in not understanding the feeling filed it under irritation?
"I really can't, because my date has no desire to die!" She screamed, no longer caring that the crowd was staring, that the music had become a din in the background. He was doing it again, eclipsing everything around them with his presence, forcing her to pay attention to only him. If she could throw even one inch of that back in his face, break that cold exterior for a split second, it would be worth it.
"Then why the hell is he with you!" He quipped, stepping forward so they were toe-to-toe. Her perfume, that same musk she's always worn, made his insides jelly. The woman even smelled like her counterpart. Hadn't he been in close quarters with her a few times before? Why didn't his idiot brain put even that together?
"You are such a jerk!" She screamed, face reddening with the effort. Why did he have to point out the obvious so blatantly? It was like his answers took her futile life and rubbed her nose in it. She hadn't gotten that far yet; the future was still a mess of emotions and fears, and Beryl. She just wanted him to go away, take that much of the knot from the mass before her face and disappear.
"And I'll stop acting like one when you stop acting like you did at 13!" She flinched back a few steps, as if it had been a physical slap. He could see the growing question, could see how that comment might ruin any chance of talking through it. Before he could stop himself, though, the next thought rushed through clenched teeth. "Though I see you're finally getting comfortable showing off that body of yours. About damn time!"
Her jaw dropped. Did he just…compliment her? And why had it sounded like an insult? Since when did he compliment anyone! And now, no less, when she was on a date with someone else! It didn't take a full scan of the room to realize the less familiar face of Sasuke was nowhere to be seen. She scoffed, kicking at the ground with her shoe. It was just her luck. She'd just wanted to dance and forget all about him for 5 minutes, and of course she picks the one guy without a bone in his body.
"Mamoru-san, please go away. You have no right to be here." Her tired eyes screamed louder than words. She meant he had no right to her. The thought caused muscle in his jaw to jump.
"You're probably right, but I'm not leaving till we've had some conversation, Usagi-chan."
"Just who do you think you are?!" She screamed, reaching out to shove angrily at his chest. Just as quickly, he trapped both hands before she could remove them and stepped closer. He must have done it a million times with her counterpart, and the proximity was just as comfortable as if she'd been in uniform.
"You know who I am. And I know who you are." I know you, came his undertone in her head. The lines of his face softened a fraction as he took a deep breath. She felt dizzy and unreal, the thump of music made the moment heady. "How was I supposed to know you were hiding behind yourself? I spent a year looking for my warrior, not for the little girl you were when this all started. I was looking for a woman who has no problem taking care of business, and all I saw was the cutsie kid throwing a tizzy fit."
She froze. Had she really done that? It was the most ridiculous accusation she'd ever heard! She was just Usagi, no matter what she was wearing! What kind of idiot would not see that? Heck, she was pretty sure that's how Kunzite had found her on the street!
"Have your attention yet, my dear? Good. Because I'm here to tell you that if you plan on keeping up this crazy masquerade, acting like you're a child to somehow get away from the fact that we are who we are; well, I'm not going to sit around here and put up with it."
She gulped, putting together his meaning finally. The battlefield was no place for childish antics, as she had learned early on. But when was the last time she'd done something like that? The past several months had been spent training with the Senshi. She'd been working her butt off and he didn't even have the decency to give her credit for it!
"But," he continued as she looked away, his voice very low and determined, "You better know that the very second you decide it's ok to be who you really are, no force on this earth will keep me from you."
Chills broke her skin to gooseflesh. That tone, the one he'd used a thousand years ago, burned like the sun. She gasped, feeling the heat of it suckle at her skin, all warmth and invitation. She was dreaming. This was the strangest, most maddening thing that could have possibly happened, and she was definitely dreaming. The blazing weight of his hand left hers, and wrapped around her waist as if he had every right to.
"Mamoru-san…" she fumed, glancing around for her date in outrage and shame. She hoped, beyond all hope that the music had drowned out that last comment. "I'm a lot more than you give me credit for, and that includes the kiddie stuff."
He thought he could just waltz in here like the Devil himself, stake his claim, and drag her down to Hell as if she had no say. Stupid man. She struggled against him, uncomfortable and ashamed at the intimacy. The shocked eyes of her classmates had been staring all night, and now were latched in every pair to the two arch foes in blind fascination.
"Get away from me already! How many times do I have to say it!" With a great shove, she pried herself free and turned to run. The catch at her arm stopped her with a sudden jerk and the world twisted at the most impossible angle.
Mamoru hefted the girl cleanly over one shoulder, no longer caring what it looked like. Damn it, she was the one being difficult and he had no interest in talking over everything out here in the middle of school children. Besides, the lights in her skin were growing more and more intense. They needed a quiet space, and she didn't seem as aware of the fact. The shocked moment of silence before the storm felt ominous, but he'd be damned if they weren't going to at least pretend to have this conversation.
"Chiba Mamoru! Don't you dare! Put me down right now!" she screamed, kicking her silver heels helplessly in the air and beating against his back. He ignored her demands and simply continued out toward the main lobby with a confident stride –as if this were an everyday occurrence to him –as if he had every right to!
"Um, Miss, do you need help?" a chaperone asked politely from somewhere above her dangling head. She felt Mamoru stiffen, could feel the waves of menace melting off his tall, well muscled frame. The cry for help died on her lips as she realized that he very well would kill her would-be savior (and her for that matter). It was for that fact alone, and not her love for the stupid, pigheaded man, that kept her from screaming bloody murder.
"No." she grumbled angrily, crossing her arms against his back. She stiffened when his rough voice bubbled up in his chest and sent a tremor through her legs.
"Lover's spat." Quipped Mamoru smugly and reached up to pat her butt affectionately. The blond sputtered, dangerously close to exploding -at his words, the love tap, and what it was doing to her insides. The man looked at them dubiously for a moment before nodding and returning to his post. Mamoru grunted in approval and turned once more toward the door, obviously done with the place. All the while, the onyx pendant dangled in the air not a foot from her eyes, as if mocking her with it's presence. She quickly squashed the idea that somehow not removing said article had summoned him from the abyss. It was a ridiculous thought.
"I hate you." She muttered to no one in particular, though her eyes were trained to the silver and black pendant hanging from her throat.
…
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, you make this all a reality! (But for serious, because I struggle with commitment like a man!) Also, the next two chapters are officially WRITTEN and being EDITED! So yeah, we are actually going to finish this thing this time. Fo' realz! Special thanks to my editors, this chappie is still technically being edited, but I'll update it with changes later today.
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