Epilogue
She coughed, feeling the bruise in her chest thud painfully at the action. Through dust and chalk, the staggering form angled forward on haphazard legs. Behind him, the forgotten crowds burst free and littered the exits in panic. She slid up to an elbow, eyes glazing as air was forced back into her lungs. The general was muttering grimly, flexing his hold on the sword like a batter.
The sight made her eyes widen in horror, because the Kunzite she'd faced last week had been every inch a general, had been terrifying, accurate, and precise. This shattered-mirror version seemed to walk on ankles more than feet, his chest dislocated and dangling on one side through his ripped jacket. It clearly showed the compound break in a shocking display of yellowed bone through flesh.
He came no closer. Like the steps of nightfall, Kamen slid from the wreckage and laid the brunt of his cane lengthwise across the white-blond skull. The crack bounced off the walls in echoes as the figure crumpled like tissue. Moon heaved a breath, hissing in pain as her bloodless legs shifted beneath her. It was hard to stand. Even her sight was hazing around the edges.
"Moon? You ok?" her dark companion called from the front of the store, bending to lift the fallen sword from the ground. The pile of humanity at his feet twitched, the solid thunk of bones snapping into place filled the air as the figure rose on preternatural legs.
"Look out!" she screamed, chest aching with the effort. It was too late, the ghostly specter slammed a raging whip-kick low into Kamen's back. Black shadows slithered across the floor as he ground to a stop, too far away for her to reach. The deepening blue of her eyes shifted toward the hulking figure, watching as his body tumbled into place piece by piece.
She hadn't done that to him. There'd been some broken ribs, and she'd definitely left her mark, but that level of shattered had to have come from Beryl. The hollow, soul-stopping battle cry he'd challenged in the beginning was not without some meaning. If even the demon queen had turned on him, there would be no reinforcements. Her eyes sought the poisoned blade across the floor, but could not seem to find it.
"Look out!" A force slammed into her side just as the sound for shattering cement filled the chamber. The two slid just enough, his cape drawn up over their heads to shelter from the falling chunks of rock. It was so close she could feel the muscle of his arms tense and bulge across her abdomen, feel and hear the hiss of his breath as his back took the brunt of their collision.
It was too soon. They'd just fought, and there was an enemy raging just outside the tiny haven of his cloak, and it was just too soon. She tore herself away from him, sliding out into the open air and viewing the battlegrounds carefully. A moment later, she was behind another pillar, going through the scene in her mind as she tried to formulate a plan.
It was brutal. Kunzite's wrath spread in every direction as littered glass and stone coated the mall floor. Several store windows had been shattered, their mannequins and clothes bleeding freely like fallen soldiers. The white haired zombie stood among the wreckage as if he'd been pieced together from the bits laying at his feet. Moon drew a sharp breath, hissing as her chest spasmed in response.
"You should let me look at that later," Kamen muttered, taking position behind her. She shivered at the brush of his jacket against her back. Now was not the time to do this.
"It's not like you don't stare at it anyway." The man chuckled from behind, sending another bout of gooseflesh across her arms.
"Not now, Moon."
Another block of cement shattered against their column, sending shock waves across the both of them. Instinct forced his arms to move, to pull her close so the attack wouldn't touch her. He knew it was the last thing in a long list she probably wanted, but there was no helping it.
"Let go! He's coming..." The words stopped short as something exploded right by his hand. The hero fell back, cradling his charge close so he could take the brunt of the impact.
The second she could, Moon shoved against his arms and rolled, picking up a painful amount of debris in her wounded shoulder as she went. The best cover possible was a raised planter, but she took it gratefully, curling herself beneath the ledge. This was pointless. She needed to get to higher ground so there'd be a chance of winning against the enraged nemesis.
"You guys have a fight I don't know about?" The horrified voice of her date broke the disturbed spell on her brain and she glanced to her left. He was taking cover behind a store corner, mouth twisted in anger though she hadn't had the chance to answer yet
"Way to state the obvious!" she screamed back, tumbling away as a cement bench soared toward her. Reverberations hurtled through the air as the piece crumbled against a corner. The heroine ducked, rolling across the empty space to reach Kamen's side, and thankfully missing another chunk thrown at her. Just for a moment, a spare slice of time, she cursed the luck that his was the only viable cover close enough to reach. She shivered, pulling close to her companion momentarily.
"I think he's pissed!" The comment was rewarded with another cement trashcan shattering above their heads.
"You think?" he screamed back, ducking them beneath the cover of his cloak as broken glass launched in their direction. She coughed again, the aching grimace plain on her face. Within the darkened shroud, bare moments lapsed before the dark man rolled them out from under another onslaught. They swerved to a stop as his back connected with a plant holder. He grimaced, sitting upward to shift them around the protective corner. He was gasping for breath, favoring his left arm. "How did you win last time?"
"I kind of…had help." She grimaced, wishing he'd ease up on her shoulder a bit. The chunks of glass were digging further and further into her flesh every time she had to roll, and he was making it worse by holding her so close. Her white gloves tore at his hand, prying her throbbing shoulder away from his jacket.
"Are you kidding me?!"
A skeletal hand clamped across her shoulder and ripped savagely upward. The shock had her rigid in pain as it took the brunt of her weight. The crush of that claw-like grip shot electric lava through her brain and sent her nerves stuttering. Not a sound erupted; even her lungs ceased to work properly.
With the sudden loss of her warmth, Kamen turned in time to see her body dragged away, her face a scream of agony. Rage froze his blood in a sudden frost, rimmed his vision in black. The pressure built even as he stood, even as his silent footfall came like the reaper in the night.
His fist connected with a concussive boom that set the remaining windows rattling in terror. Chunks of flesh and bone littered the ground, followed quickly by the screaming corpse general. Profanities spewed from his blackened mouth in a foul river, unheard by the shadowed hero.
"Don't touch her."
Moon scuttled away the moment her shoulder fell from his grasp, staring in horror at the newly formed face. Well, lack thereof, she amended to herself. Mamoru must have used the smoking bomber in close quarters; not a pleasant mix with undead flesh. Her stomach churned uncertainly as Kunzite tried to speak. The muscles...
She shuddered, forced herself upright. There, just beyond her reach lay the poisoned sword he'd brought from the underworld. Her eyes hardened thoughtfully.
"You should have come when Beryl called, like the whipped plaything you are," Kunzite spat, trailing flesh from the exposed white of his chin.
"I had other things on my plate," Mamoru quipped smugly, the cane sword slithering free. He lunged, the blade aimed with surgeon's precision at the chest of his enemy. It was without success, though, as the ghostly man caught the offending blade in a firm grip. The screech of bone on metal rang through the dust-coated air like a banshee. The enraged general ripped the sword from his hand, sent it skittering towards the wreckage before hurling himself forward.
The reverberating crack of skull on tile blurred Kamen's vision long enough for a bony fist to smash against the side of his face. It was the only hit, though, as a streak of red leather crunched into the already broken ribcage, and sent the demon sprawling across the concrete. The boot was lowered, and Moon quickly offered a hand up to her comrade before Kunzite could recover from the blow.
Moon launched into a flying roundhouse as Kamen dove to sweep the feet out; each blow hitting precisely in tandem. The crunching body flipped several times before connecting with the floor again, this time in a heap of flesh and bone and silver hair. There was no time for thought, as each warrior righted themselves and shifted back defensively.
The crumbling remains of their nemesis began popping and boiling, the bones rearranging as he lifted from the floor on preternatural strings. Moon cast a nervous glance at her partner, but Kamen's mouth was a firm line without emotion.
The distraction almost proved her downfall as a clawed hand swept just short of her eye. A shriek burst from her mouth, and the reflexive curve of her arms would have been much too late. It was the powerful kick from her protector that halted the dead arc, and sent the white man tumbling across the ground. A cold chill freckled her spine.
The two glanced at each other meaningfully, turned, and unleashed hell.
The staggering figure was caught between Kamen's fist, and Moon's boot as the duo struck and fought in perfect rhythm, passing the increasingly battered corpse between blows like a volleyball. One bony hand latched to her ankle and yanked, pulling the girl off her feet, but Tuxedo Kamen was there, tackling and pummeling the figure with both hands. It wasn't long before Kunzite was still, barely breathing, barely moving as the shadowed hero climbed to his feet again.
"Grab that sword, would you?" he asked quietly, staring at the mass before them for any signs of movement. His gloves were stained dark, ripped in places. She nodded, reaching into her subspace pocket for the heavy black saber. A hell-black eyebrow arched, the quicksilver smile of appreciation lit his mouth as she gripped the cross-guard in both hands. "Seriously? You brilliant little minx."
His hand closed around the pommel, lifting the giant monstrosity with an ease that made her ears warm. Heaven blue eyes dropped to her own shaking hands, afraid to see what he'd do next. Kunzite wasn't the kind to just give up, she was sure, especially since he didn't have a Youma to do the dirty work. It made her wonder again if he'd fallen out of favor since their last meeting.
"It's almost…pathetic." Mamoru straightened, hands still locked around the weapon. There was shifting within the jacket now, as if tiny rodents were crawling around trying to find an exit. The idea made her blanch and pull both arms around her middle tightly.
"He was your best friend." she noted, trying to still the body-wide tremble. The mass was still lying flat against the tiled floor, obviously struggling to pull himself together again.
Mamoru made no move to deny it. His knuckles ached from the abuse. His eyes stung with dust. In another lifetime, perhaps he would have felt some sort of sorrow. It seemed safe enough to glance up at least, take stock of his companion. She was obviously zoning out, her flesh white and puckered.
"Beryl will devour y-." A clean flash of metal glinted upward in the dim overhead lights. The faint buzzing of lights filled the space between breaths. Moon felt her lip tremble, felt her stomach churn as Kunzite's face–as his head–smacked against the tile with a squish. Within seconds, the body followed. It was a gruesome sight, with swathes of black blood pooling across the ground like machine oil.
Kamen was still. In all the years they'd fought together on the front line, she'd never seen him do something so violent. The Youma were demons of the underworld–not human, not living, breathing creatures with a soul. The generals were different.
"I couldn't let him come after you." Her protector turned slowly, his masked face unreadable and hard. She gulped a sudden breath, wondering how long it had been since she last did so. The movement brought the pain in her chest forward with a harsh tug, drew tightly at her arm and upper back. A tired wince glazed across her face as she reached for the wound curiously.
"Are you alright?" The question finally broke from his mouth as he watched her pull a bloodied hand from her shoulder. Without another word, he strode forward quickly to survey her back and arm with clinical eyes.
Out in the open was not the place to be dressing a wound like that. The news cameras would be showing up any minute, and there was plenty of debris for them to catalogue without knowing the two were still there. He glanced around carefully, noting the first row of overturned tables in the food court.
It would mean there was a service hallway, probably bathrooms somewhere close by. With any luck, there'd be a family room big enough for two with a lock. There were no words between them as she allowed herself to be led down the long corridor. Her shoulder was beginning to throb, and she could feel the blood soaking into her uniform, squishing with every movement.
The door was bolted behind them, and she watched listlessly as he tore the gloves from his hands, the mask from his face. It wasn't the first time today she'd felt foolish standing in front of him. Letting herself get thrown through a wall was pretty irresponsible, especially after calling dibs on the first strike. If the girls were here–well, they were probably on their way if they'd been close enough to hear it–they would have expected more from her.
"Turn around," he commanded quietly, and she obeyed, pressing her forehead against the cool wall. Her chest was aching, but she wasn't going to complain as long as the blood loss made her woozy like this. The sparks tickled on the back of her arm as he worked. It was a nice distraction from the pain.
"I'm sorry I freaked out," she muttered finally, eyes latched to the floor. He nodded silently, afraid anything more would break the tenuous moment. Her hair shifted just enough as she turned further away. The skin was healing nicely across her blood-spattered arm. He tried not to notice how soft it was.
"Do you hate me?"
The question made his hands still instantly. Hate her? Was that even possible? His stunned silence forced a tiny sob from her. If he hadn't been in contact with her shoulder, he probably never would have known. Gentle fingers sought her chin with more surety than he really felt.
"Never." He smiled, so softly, and caught a tear as it fell from her eye. "You really are too sweet...Usa-ko."
She shouldn't care. Wasn't that the point of telling someone you didn't want to be with them? His gaze fell away first, before it could flood with tears, before she could see how deep the pain went. It didn't matter anymore. Rather than feel that world rending tear in his chest, he focused on healing her arm instead. It wouldn't be right to end their one date like that, with her wounded and thinking...
He gulped, pulled on her just enough so she could face away from him again. It didn't stop the rebellious tears from rolling down his face. He ignored it, though. There was plenty of time to finish his work and dry them before she had a chance to see. Besides, he didn't want her thinking about it when she had her own health to consider, and Usagi was too much of a humanitarian not to.
Now was the difficult part, though, because the damn fuku was hard and strong, and the glass had slipped deep beneath the edge of the shoulder pads, further than he could reach without angling her arm and maybe causing more damage.
"Mamoru," she shifted much too quickly for him to catch, and her wide blue eyes took in his wet face with growing horror. He shrugged, trying to play it off as he swiped at them half-heartedly.
"It's nothing. Probably dust. Could you de-transform maybe? This would be easier in the dress."
The doubt was apparent on her face as those heavenly eyes regarded him. Ever the stoic, though, it was easy to return gaze for gaze before she finally looked away.
The sudden flash of bare skin and white lace seared his retina the second it all faded. Slung low about her waist, bundles of sunshine yellow billowed and began to fall. She squeaked, reaching for the fabric while he quickly shut his eyes. Not that it mattered. The image of Usagi's toned body and generous curves would haunt his nights for the rest of his life; of that he was perfectly certain.
"Don't you dare say a thing!" the horrified voice all but growled while he tried to stifle the laugh. Why was it all of their best moments happened when someone messed up? The somber mood was broken, though. The shift of cotton and muttered grumblings snowed from his irritable date until the finality of the zipper hissed though the tirade. All the while, he was trying to keep a straight face. "I will never live that down, will I?"
"Sh, I'm memorizing," he quipped smugly, though he could feel his pants tightening still. Damn, she looked good. It just wasn't fair. It was like he'd only been offered soup and jell-o until someone hung a steak right there…and he couldn't touch it.
"Seriously? Stop!" Her hands swatted at him, forcing his eyes open again to defend himself. There was a short scuffle, with both childishly swatting at the other, fighting to hide grins. Usagi was the obvious winner by the end of it–she'd faked a painful whimper long enough to get a chest shot in before he could grab her arm again.
"Endymion gets all the fun." Mamoru's uncharacteristic, high-pitched whine could only be to mock the glowering blonde. She instantly shot him a withered, bland glare that could only be a rendition of his own face. The exchange had both of them stifling laughter as he shifted her back into position.
They grew comfortably quiet while he worked, slowly inching the glass shards out of her skin with the golden sparks. It was hard to block out the pain, but his touch was so soft and kind, as it had been with her head.
This wasn't fair. He'd asked her what she wanted, and there was no telling that night sitting on the back of his car. There'd been too many things rolling around inside her head–betrayal, pain, anger, resentment, disgust–there'd been an entire lifetime before this one that dictated every move and thought. There had been his apparent lack of trust, his selfishness and deceit.
What she wanted was love. Real, raw, aching love. Not the kind that makes you want to die for someone, or chains you to them, or enslaves you. But the kind that made you want to live for them. It wasn't about roses and romance, though those things were great, she conceded to herself. It was about being in love with someone that knew and didn't care that she couldn't cook or do math. She wanted someone who could see the good in her anyway.
Maybe that's what he wanted, too.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" The question caught him off guard as another shard inched free and fell away from her back. "I really suck at school. I really suck at a lot of things." She shifted a little, reminding him of the last few bleeding patches. "I think that you really suck at being with people. Like," she rushed on quickly, "like you just need a friend and can't find one."
"Ironic," he grumbled tightly, wishing there was a quiet place to ram his head through a wall. He was getting friend zoned-by his soul mate. As if this whole year hadn't been hell enough without her, he was now looking into a future where she'd always be right in front of him, and completely off limits.
It was enough to drive a sane man to drink.
"I would have been your friend, Mamoru, if you'd asked." The mouse-like whisper barely broke the quiet before he was already answering.
"So now we should order pizza and watch a chick flick, and you can tell me about all the cute boys in your class?" The last patch bubbled with fresh skin as the words slid free. "No thanks."
"No!" She spun, this time catching the self-mocking smile edging against his mouth. He looked so shuttered and closed off now. She wasn't using the right words!
"Mamoru-kun, wait! That's not what I meant!" A frustrated groan rumbled free of her tiny mouth as she looked around in agitation. "Why is it I can just talk to you right up until there's something important to say?!"
"Maybe because important things are deeper than what you're normally swimming in." The jibe was only half intended. She was much smarter than she seemed to be, but it was obvious how completely unaware of the fact she was. Maybe the capacity had been there all along, but the motivation lacking. There were a million possibilities for why she didn't seem able to realize how clever she was.
"See! This is what I mean! To you, I'm just an airhead, and to me you're just a jerk!"
"You're much more to me." His answer was given quietly. There was no need to shout what he'd already confessed a dozen times.
"Yeah, well, you are to me, too," she grumbled back, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
"You just said…."
"I know!" she exploded, arms flailing. It was adorable to watch how vivid and expressive she was. "I just wanted to say that we could have been close when we met. We could have been friends, and then…and then who knows. But you push people away! You're pushing me away right now!" One of those arms flung his direction, which he easily sidestepped without breaking a sweat.
"I was under the impression that's what you wanted." The quiet offering was given without a hint of emotion. It was amusing, on a dislocated level, how opposite they were.
"Why? Because I got emotional? I warned you I get like that sometimes!" Her glowing red face turned away finally, just enough not to meet his solemn gaze "And you get all guarded! I know! What I'm trying to say is that we're the same in different ways."
Confusion and amusement twisted along his brow, but he wisely chose not to comment. There was just enough encouragement to bolster her for the next part, because she was still working through it in her head while she spoke, and sometimes the words got mixed up and confused.
"We look different, but we're the same. We're both broken." She paused to draw another breath in. "When you get all closed off, that's exactly what I want to do every time I have to fight, every time I have to take a math test. I hate those things, and I'm not good at them. It's not fair, because you are really good at them. I want to be like that." The words tumbling free of her mouth seemed to make more and more sense as she continued; afraid the train of thought would be lost, she barreled on. "I think, oh gods don't hate me, but I think you want to be like me. I have people close to me, and you want that."
She nibbled at her lip nervously, hating herself for being so ridiculous and childish. Maybe he was lonely, and maybe he wasn't. Judging him would do nothing to reveal that, and she'd just gone and made a fool of herself again. It wouldn't be but a few minutes before the stunning upperclassman finally realized how stupid and pathetic she was. Then he'd just laugh, like he used to, and leave.
"Not the words I would have chosen," he smiled, ducking his eyes for a moment, "but yes. And no." There was a pause as she nervously twisted fingers through her hair. His dark, cobalt eyes were burning hotter now than she'd ever seen them. "I don't want an army of friends and family. Just you."
She shivered, both at the memories and his meaning. The disbelief from the car all but rammed into her gut at the thought. She hadn't read too deep into anything, the man really did mean everything he implied. A nervous gulp sucked at her throat.
He was so close. Oh, this whole date he was always so close! It made her senses go haywire and the lights flick out and the world completely disappear.
"No." he whispered, pulling back as his eyes closed. The loss of him was tangible and painful as he backed away. She all but shrieked in frustration until those eyes snapped open again, muffling the intensity and hunger in an instant. "Damn it, Usagi-chan! Stop sending mixed signals!"
Oh gods, he wanted her so badly. He could feel his whole body trembling at the idea of one kiss. And it wasn't fair because she'd already called things off, she'd already badgered Motoki, and she'd already flushed it all down the toilet several times at this point. He was fooling himself to think she'd change her mind. Both hands clenched with the effort of reigning it all in again. He could keep it under lock and key. He could let her go.
"Let's get you home. I'm sure you're tired."
"Wait!" Her soft hands clenched around his fist as he turned away. The tears began to fall again and he didn't dare turn back to her. She didn't need to know. She would never know. "Wait, Mamo-chan,"
The endearment froze him. It may as well have been Mercury blasting through every nerve rather than the tiny blond with her soft voice.
"Just tell me why." Her voice gave out finally, squeaking like a child at the end. It made her flush, made her hate how young she was beside him. It was embarrassing to realize where they were, what they were talking about. Every time they had a run in like this, it was always in some horrifically mundane place like an alley or a rooftop. It shouldn't matter right now, but a part of her craved candlelight and roses where the trashcan stood, and a chance to talk about this like a real couple.
"Complete sentences," he groaned, taking the opportunity to wipe at his eyes discreetly.
"Why do you love me?" The question made her quake with uncertainty. He'd said those words, but until this very moment, she'd never thought for a second it was real. That was twice now, seeing his eyes well and flow over. He wasn't the emotional kind. As far as she knew, he wasn't even capable of having feelings, let alone allowing them to be seen. Maybe she'd misjudged him? Maybe she'd believed her own insecurities rather than understanding he had a few of his own?
"Does it matter?" His gruff reply was cold and removed. If he hadn't been so determined not to look at her, she may have dropped it instantly. But there was a part of her soul that recognized, that knew, he was in pain no matter how he tried to deny it. Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was that innate desire to see others happy, but she just couldn't bear it.
"Yes," she choked, felt his hand twitch beneath her fingers. "Please, Mamoru, it's important." Her own eyes were dripping now. It was stupid to think this junction wouldn't cause them pain, but it still surprised her. She'd spent all year dreaming of and fighting him, wanting something she knew would be nothing but heartache and pain. It rent the world in two, made her feel as if she were following suit.
He turned finally, with red, tired eyes that seemed to bleed more than flood. In quiet despair, his gaze spread across her face. It was strange to watch his guard melt so immediately, to see his pain-filled blue orbs go soft. One hand rose, flinching just short of her face as the misery deepened.
"Don't cry, Usa..." Was it just her imagination, or were his lips quivering as he spoke? Her breathing stuttered, and the skin of her cheek crackled with electricity though he hadn't touched it yet. The muscle in his jaw leapt beneath the skin, and his fingers finally spread across her face. The tears soaked into the pads of his hands, warmed as instantaneously as their owner. "Because," his thumb rubbed against her cheek, and sent those same skittering lights flickering across her skin, "because you're so kind." That perfect, sweet smile pulled at his lips again, and it was all she could do not to melt. "There are so many different sides to you, Usa-chan. But that one's my favorite."
She couldn't help the thrill of pleasure that broke her skin into goosebumps. His confession meant more than he realized; after all, it was her father's favorite trait too. It was pure Usagi. Moon was all about dealing out punishment and righting wrongs. There had never been an opportunity for Serenity to show it while they snuck around. None of those stolen nights could really be remembered well, short of the last battle and…and their night. A nervous gulp tugged at her throat.
"Oh." Her uttered word hardly summed up the tempestuous thoughts burning through grey matter by the millisecond. She'd tried so hard not to think about it. The past few nights had been spent separating memories through the dream sequence, pulling the horror from pleasure. It was like every ounce of strength she put into avoiding those things during the day boomeranged back at her once she slept. She'd woken up even this morning, aching for something she couldn't quite name. It had been in his eyes at Christmas, though, and those dreams had given her a real, delicious taste of what was to come.
Hesitantly, she inched forward. He was maddening and imperfect and frustrating. He would drive her insane a million times a day, challenge her and push her till she met him toe to toe. He would protect her and tease her and never let anyone else hurt her, even if it meant his life. It was a terrifying promise to stand beside her even when she was angry, even when she was raging mad at him. It was truly, uncomprehendingly, unconditional love.
He knew her; all her faults.
And he didn't care.
The first hesitant brush of her mouth met with firm lips, as if he were holding back from her. For a crazed moment, she wondered if maybe she was losing her mind. They'd fought, then they'd beaten Kunzite, and now was the perfect time to be making a move on him? The teenager in her was rolling her eyes and throwing both hands up in frustration. The rest of her was licking the taste of him from her lips.
Intoxicating. The taste of addiction. There was the mindless feel of fabric beneath her fingers, the hard tone of muscle beneath, the smell of his cologne so close and warm. He wasn't breathing, his body stone beneath her hands. If it weren't for those stormy midnight eyes hooded in warning, perhaps she would not have been so bold. His shirt slipped beneath her hands, his shoulder, and his neck. Her fingers brushed against his skin, curled around the base of his skull, and pulled him close.
This time his mouth was softer, though he still seemed to hesitate. It wasn't until she pressed herself close enough to feel his body hard against her own that all resolutions were thrown to the wind. Both arms snaked around her, drew her closer still so she could feel every shudder and tremble of him. It was like feeling a spring uncoil with a twang and suddenly the machine was broken. But he was no robot.
With a gentleness that surprised her, his lips curled around her own. Those hands spread across her back and hip, so tender and soft and undemanding. His fingers caressed against her skin. It was nothing like Christmas, or Valentine's; he wasn't trying to trick or goad her. Instead, this seemed…grateful? Loving? It poured accelerant across her chest, filled her with something more than heat, more than love.
Was it possible?
Their mouths parted simultaneously, the brush of tongue exotic and thrilling. Her second hand spread across his chest, tangled in his shirt and held tight.
'I love your smile,' Endymion whispered that first night, even as Tuxedo Kamen yelled the same across a lonely rooftop. 'You're so sweet,' they both clashed in her brain like a fever dream. The words of love and longing and devotion mixed drunkenly in the swirl of her mind, returning over and over again. Those words echoed and mirrored like a gem, called without time or reference. Their lives were mashing together in a flurry of images and confessions and soft, aching kisses that had Usagi trembling.
It didn't matter! Hadn't he said the same that night on the road–that it was all from the same mouth? And it was, oh his taste was so perfect and familiar. It was strange to think of, but the idea that she could possibly kiss another mouth without that flavor was unbearable. And she'd fought it, so hard and long now that weariness crept through her bones. She was tired of fighting, tired of always saying "no" to something that had been written forever into their past. As inevitable as new life and the passing of time, it was worthless to put it off any longer.
Even as her lips curved against his, as his fingers touched her face and jaw with adoration and longing, that eons-long answer came gurgling upward. This time, she let the warmth spread. That light, so like a torch burning through the darkness of night, pulled her forward no matter how she'd fought it in the past. It filled her, spilled over her chest and head in one gentle swoop, and burst like a new star.
The two broke, shielding their eyes from the brilliance growing between them. She would have screamed, if the glow hadn't been familiar. She groaned though, eyes searing in pain as it grew too strong in the tiny room, only to be doused moments later.
Mamoru's fist clenched and glowed like a sun, suspended between them in the air. The blond gulped, staring at his hand in confusion as it simmered, glowered, and faded back to its original color. The man was studying his fist carefully, waiting until it was cool before flicking it open again.
The perfectly formed jewel shattered even dim bathroom lights across the flesh of his hand, sent rainbows across the walls. She gasped, hands flying over her mouth as she stared at the heirloom. Even he seemed to realize exactly what it was as he lifted it to the light, watched the silvery sheen glisten across the facets.
The Ginzuishu flickered back, an all-powerful weapon now in the hands of Tuxedo Kamen, Prince Endymion–perhaps two of the most obvious rivals for its power. She couldn't help the tremor of fear that licked at her. Even with the realization of moments before, she had to wonder if that was his motive all along. Had he known it was trapped inside her? Had he somehow outsmarted her in the hopes of gaining that power himself?
It was all laid to rest as his soft smile broke through, and he flourished through a gentlemanly bow.
"Your gem, my princess. I think you've been asking for this." The slight hint of humor in his tone eased the formal words, though, and had her smiling again as she reached for it. The weight of it pressed into her hand like a mother's embrace, and he gathered her quickly to his chest without another motion for the jewel. "Now will you stop with the freaky dreams? Or at least give me the other kind?"
"F-freaky?" she squeaked, face suddenly hot as he chuckled and swooped in for another kiss.
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…..
"Think about it, ok?" A sly grin twisted his mouth. "I'll keep charming the hell out of you." The arm draped around her shoulders tightened as his lips brushed her temple. The bags clutched in her hand swung awkwardly as she giggled. It took a moment to right herself as he tugged her away from a corner wall.
The remnants of their battle were being coated in crime scene tape as the last of the mall workers bled from the framework and into the street. They'd been lucky to catch one in the wreckage of the changing rooms while she grabbed her phone. It had taken a bit of fast talking on Mamoru's part to explain why they'd come back so soon after the fight. He didn't bother to explain why buying the pink dress was important either.
On a side note, at least she hadn't been flirting with him. Too shaken.
A policeman was ushering people into a group when they exited, and Mamoru quickly steered her in the other direction before they got caught in an interrogation. She didn't seem to notice the move. Clutched protectively in her other fist, the Ginzuishu felt unnaturally warm for a stone. She pulled it out now and watched as the last of the sunlight flickered across the surface.
"Where am I even going to put this thing?" she muttered, knowing full well she couldn't just thoughtlessly throw it in her shopping bags. If anything were to happen to the gem, she'd never be able to forgive herself. It was an heirloom from her mother, and the pain of that thought would never leave her. As discretely as possible, she cast a glance toward her bra and wondered if she could sneak it in before he noticed.
"Trust me, there's not an extra inch in there." The wicked grin spreading across his face had her blushing to the roots.
"You did look! Hentai!" she screeched, arms flailing. His hand slipped over her mouth just as quickly, and he cast a glance behind to make sure the police hadn't heard her. For one, it would mean interrogation, but for another, she was quite young…and out with a college student.
"Yes, and now I can die happy," he stated tightly, not the least bit repentant. She glared over his hand, whipping back around with her arms folded across her chest. Since she wasn't running off or punching him in the face, he took the initiative and wrapped his arm back around her. It was easy to see through the righteous anger. She was blushing and trying to hold back a pleased grin. Adorable. He didn't bother with the pretense before pressing another kiss to her brow. "Just use your sub-space pocket."
"Oh…right." The blush deepened as she stuffed the rock away. There was a moment of confusion before she stuffed the rest of the bags in, too.
"What did you do with the phone?" he asked finally, brow furrowed. It wasn't like she'd brought a purse, and surely she wouldn't…
"Oh, it's in here," …put it in a shopping bag. He threw a long sigh to the wind as she rummaged back through the pocket, pulling out bags and old takeout containers. His jaw dropped, and he was quick to still her hands before they could produce any other magical things in the middle of a crowded parking lot.
"Well, you asked me where it was!" she growled, a bit embarrassed to be caught doing something so thoughtless. Unlike Rei, though, his eyes were compassionate and he didn't just explode on contact. Instead, the bags were carefully taken from her hands, and he angled himself so she could stuff the food back without being noticed.
"I swear, only you would carry around that much junk." He was shaking his head, the chuckle barely shifting in his shoulders.
"Stuff it, Chiba!"
The two resumed their quiet walk into the parking lot, and suddenly he was grateful for the police being there. The detour meant he could spend a little more time with her. All in all, he could consider date two more of a success. They'd fought a little, sure, and there'd been a few misunderstandings. He must have said something right for her to be so bold earlier. He'd have to remember it for later.
"Ne." Her sweet voice pulled him back from the thoughts to focus on her once again. The dying sunlight was dancing in her hair, setting soft glow to her face. The flame in his chest sparked for the millionth time that night, and he couldn't help but press another kiss to her temple.
"Hai, Usa-chan?"
"Why did you, I mean…I didn't really mean for it to happen like this." She struggled momentarily, twisting her skirt as she looked away. "I just wanted you to leave me alone. You changed your whole life around…for me…."
"You didn't have to ask." He smiled, tilting her face back up towards his. Heaven blue eyes stared up at him finally, wet and adorable and beautiful all at once. She felt everything on the outside where anyone could see it. The girl had to be some sort of masochist. "Usa, you were right. Why should you date someone like me?"
In sincerity, he almost couldn't believe she was doing it right now. After the kind of stunts he'd pulled, any sane woman would have turned tail and run screaming. Well, she kind of already did that; even though the screaming had been in his face.
"Well, you didn't give me much of a choice!" The anger folded her brow and he had to stop himself from laughing. They were trying to have a serious conversation, and the girl was too adorable. It was distracting.
"Didn't I?" A hell-black eyebrow arched curiously. The beginnings of an amused smile flirted on his mouth as he reached up to rub at his chin thoughtfully. "I seem to remember begging for a date, knees in the dirt."
"Exactly. Like I could have said no to that!" She turned away again, fuming this time. The chuckle broke free at last.
"Oh, you could have," he mused quietly. The reminder of that night brought a painful twinge he didn't like thinking about.
"But would you have listened?" she screeched, getting more and more worked up as they made their way down the aisles toward the car. He winced; close proximity to that voice might mean a hearing aid in the future. He'd have to be careful not to piss her off in a building, otherwise the echo might mean the end of his eardrum.
"Completely." He was careful to hide the pain, and spoke with complete, unabashed sincerity. "I just also may have physically strangled anyone you happened to say yes to."
"Yeah, you made that point super clear," she huffed, feeling that frustration come back from the other night. His dark blue eyes settled on her pointedly, as if explanation was moot. "I asked him, not the other way around! Sheesh, you were acting like a jealous ex!"
"Which, of course, we both know I could never be." His tone was all serious, but his smile condemning. It was just like him to have that subtle sense of humor. He'd looked like a rabid wolf that night.
"You looked ready to tear his throat out with your bare hands," she stated quietly, wondering after that fight with Kunzite if he really would ever do such a thing. The thought had the general's mangled face gurgling up in the back of her mind, forcing a shudder down her spine.
"There's a novel idea. I'll keep it in mind the next time you start eyeing the competition."
There was a moment of quiet as he glanced around the parking lot. They should have made it to his car by now. A quick turn-around had them heading in the right direction this time. He hadn't really been paying attention to where they were going, too caught up in the conversation to notice how close to the road they were. Usagi said nothing about it, probably thinking along the same lines.
It was a pleasant thought, if it were true, that she was enjoying this as well. He never wanted to take her home. Her mother had mentioned something about a curfew, though, and that he would obey completely. A quick glance at his watch showed they were running short on time if traffic was heavy. He wasn't so sure it would be after the news of the fight hit.
"I still can't believe you stuffed his sword in your pocket." He chuckled, tightening his arm around her.
"Well, where else was I going to put it?" Her brow furrowed adorably, as if this solution had been the most obvious one. It just made him chuckle harder, till he felt tears running down his face. She was so…intelligent sometimes. It was the only place in the world that would have guaranteed Kunzite would never lay a hand on it again, and she hadn't even thought of that part.
"My gods, your beautiful mind; may our kids be so brilliant," he mused finally, lifting his hand from her hip to wipe at his face. He'd never laughed so hard, or so often in his life.
"Our kids, hu?" she queried, eyebrows wagging suggestively. He grinned.
"Yeah. We should probably start now, you know. Have like 50 of them." His wicked side-long glance froze her in her tracks as every cell jumped in sudden, painful self-awareness.
"What?!"
The world tilted in a split-second, the worst case of déjà vu she had ever experienced, as she was flung unceremoniously over one shoulder. The action knocked the wind from her, though she could practically feel his glee soaking through skin and fabric. It was addictive, silly, and the laughter was falling long before reason or humiliation had a chance to voice an opinion.
"We can't waste those genes, Usa! It's for your own good!" he called, taking off in a run towards the car.
"Ma-Mamo-chan!" she giggled hysterically, only half fighting his hold.
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She was still laughing as they walked up the dark path to her home. The warm summer air was heady, sweet, and filled with the scent of flowers. There was no wind to distract from the sudden quiet that fell across the two. The door loomed in impending finality. The silent barrier would be the ultimate test; if she were to cross angry, he was positive there would be no more chances. As much fun as their evening had been, the anxiety gnawed painfully at his gut and howled in the back of his mind.
At the same time, he was seething just below the skin. Did she see how real this could become? It wasn't just some random fantasy anymore; the woman at his side was as tangible and confusing and crazy as her counterparts had been from the beginning. The difference was this one he could wrap an arm around anytime he felt like it. The other thought blazing through his triumphant mind was the vaguely sacrilegious idea that it was no longer taboo.
The fates didn't like it, but he didn't really give two cents for that. Angry they had lost control of the situation, those hags had lashed out in the only way they could. They'd failed. The shining blond at his side leaned her head against his chest as they walked, smiled openly. It wasn't exactly long-term, but she was responding without hatred or sarcasm or fear. Considering where they'd been two weeks ago, it might as well have been a brand new civilization popping up in the desert.
"Oh, papa's home…" the words barely cracked the surface of his conscience before the world filled with a double barrel. A chill spread low in Mamoru's back, and his fingers tightened on her hip instinctively.
"Usagi-chan, you're grounded." The dangerous tone should have been enough to force her into submission, but the idea of Mamoru, her Mamo-chan, out here with a gun pointed at him made her quake. They'd just finally had a good date! She couldn't let him get blown away already!
"Papa, no…" she tried, wrapping both arms around her date protectively.
"I don't want to hear it! Go inside, right now!" The tone brooked no argument. She could see his grip on the handle tighten. It would only make matters worse for Mamo-chan if she stayed. He was Tuxedo Kamen; surely if things got too dicey, he could get away. Right?
Sufficiently cowed, and obviously struggling against tears, she turned wet eyes up at the upperclassman once and took the bags from his hand. The idea that she might be more afraid of her father than Mamoru's own death did little to calm the insecurity boiling in his gut. Obviously, she trusted her father more than he did. This thought supplied little comfort. As midnight dark eyes settled against brown without a hint of that fear apparent.
"Want to put the gun down?" Mamoru asked coolly, stuffing both hands into his pocket with a calm he did not feel. He would be easy enough to disarm and subdue; not all humans were born with his abilities.
But it would do nothing good for the sprouting relationship he'd fought so hard for.
"You stay away from her! We don't want your kind around here!" The business end of the weapon was flailed in front of his face, as if pushing it closer would somehow make the shot more intimidating. It didn't exactly take a ballistics expert to know even one bullet at the wrong moment would end him.
Who would protect Usagi then?
"Excuse me," he tried again, feeling the cold rage frost against his chest, as it had always done. The end trembled a little, nearly knocked against his nose. It did little to calm the fury as her father exploded once more.
"No, you listen! Don't you touch my daughter again! Last warning!"
"Oh for crying out–look." It only took the lightning fast reflexes of Kamen's hands before the gun was snatched away. It was long enough for him to twist the gun out of his assailant's grasp before he flipped the double barrel back. Two solid thumps erupted from the ground as the shells crashed down, leaving the weapon harmless as it was cocked back into place. "Now, let's try again. This time, without your stupid…gods, this is ridiculous."
The older man stared as the weapon was handed back. His eyes wandered between Mamoru and his now-useless gun for a few seconds, as if he was trying to figure something out. It wasn't long before the firearm was angled over one shoulder like a bat, and the father raging worse than before.
"She's not one of your playboy bunnies! I've seen you in the news, with your loose women and money! My Usagi is nothing like that! So get away from her!" He swung, and Mamoru calmly sidestepped the blow. Really, it would do her father no good to hit him. For one, a personal injury claim would bankrupt the little family, and two, assault was still a criminal charge.
Oh, and three, nothing would scare him off at this point. Least of all, her father.
"I assure you, my sex life is none of your concern." His clipped tone would have clued others in on how deep the anger ran at this point. It had no effect on the man before him, however.
"She's my little girl!" Kenji screamed, brandishing the gun as if to swing it again.
"She's my future wife!" Mamoru growled finally, unable to hold the emotion from his voice as he did. There was a moment, had they been in broad daylight, that his embarrassment flared on the tips of his ears. It didn't matter. If this man thought for a moment he could stand between them, there would be little more discussion to be had. He wouldn't leave on anyone's word but hers. "Here's how this is going to work." He continued, ignoring any further comment. "I love your daughter. You are going to leave us alone, and in return I'll leave you alone, deal?"
"How dare you even assume–"
"Says the parent that has literally trapped his daughter into being twelve for the past 5 years of her life." The cutting remark slid easily from the hero's mouth. Never having a true authority figure in his life served him well in moments like this. Age and position meant nothing when he was being threatened; and he certainly wasn't going to hold back and let this strange little man walk all over him.
"I was protecting her from people like you!" Kenji screamed.
"Thank you!" he roared finally, ready to tear his hair out. This was not exactly how he'd wanted this meeting to go. Her mother had been a breeze to charm, but that had been with the added benefit of having a face worth staring at. That meant nothing to her father.
Though, the older man was staring at him strangely, still hefting the gun over his head like a weapon.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Kenji muttered in confusion. The arms began to lower, just a fraction, just enough for piercing blue eyes to notice. Mamoru straightened himself carefully, meeting her father's incredulous gaze.
"I said thank you." he paused long enough to gauge the confusion on the other man's face. A solemn breath filled him before he could continue. "Your daughter is amazing. She needs to be protected, Tsukino-san. I'm glad you kept her safe."
"Till you showed up," the other remarked bitterly. The gun lowered completely now, shoulder rest hitting the cement.
But the idea boggled his mind to consider. There was always the self-depreciating argument about wearing someone else's shoes, but if Mamoru had a daughter, he'd want her married off to someone intelligent, capable–someone who wouldn't let anything happen to her. It was what Mamoru had always seen himself as.
Not that there wasn't ample room for improvement, he amended. Her father seemed only interested in keeping everyone away with tricks and intimidation–there was no logic to it. For a slim, subtle moment, he could almost imagine the all-seeing eye float above the photographer's head, could almost see the influence of the fates themselves.
"You'll have to explain your logic to me." He smiled without malice or irony. Those hags had less hold than they realized, and he'd be the one to smash it using the best weapon he had. "What exactly are you looking to accomplish here? You want someone who will cower at your feet, or someone who'll defend her to the death?"
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The front entry wasn't butter-colored anymore. Usagi nervously kicked the shoes from her feet, twisting her hands together out of habit and sheer annoyance. There should have been some assumption for her dad, what exactly did she think was going to happen? That Tsukino Kenji would take one look at them together, say 'Well, obviously this was destiny,' and calmly put away his rifle? What was she thinking?
It only took a moment before she was scurrying around the corner into the living room, out of breath and a little flushed, to race to the window. Instead, she froze.
Two boys peeked out between the curtains, their bodies turned away from her. Shingo was all too familiar, with his sandy brown hair and ridiculous preteen frame. But the patch of shadow dark hair, the wiry young frame beside him was what caught her off guard.
"Umi-chan?" she breathed, a little confused. It wasn't Thursday, was it? Not to mention it was a little late to be outside of the orphanage without getting in trouble. The duo turned in unison, the young faces splitting into wide grins.
"Onee-san!" he screeched, launching himself from the couch to her arms. The hurtling bundle slammed into Usagi like a train wreck and had both figures plowing into the carpet. Despite the awkward whoosh of air, the squeak and grunt of having the wind knocked out of her, it was Shingo's boyish laugh that practically layered frosting on the moment. Confusion mixed with happiness, the blond stroked Umi's dark head of hair with one hand.
"You are going to be in so much trouble! We have to get you home before they make you clean the toilets again!" The threat was without sting, though, and they all knew it. As if cleaning could somehow be a worse punishment than having to live in such a dark, lonely place. Umi's tiny body started shivering, instantly drawing her up on her knees. "Oi! It's not so bad…."
"No," he finally chuckled a little, so awkwardly similar to Mamoru's that it stilled her. It was like the laugh was held too far inside to let the sound out; like he felt things so deeply that expressing them was difficult.
The sudden insight struggled against her conscience for a moment before fading back again.
"Your boyfriend totally sold him to us!" Shingo whooped from the sidelines. He was standing on the couch, cushions puckered halfway up his legs. He was wearing his Senshi pajamas again, something she'd laugh about until the end of time.
"You don't sell people, little ingrate!" Usagi sassed, struggling to stand up with an eight-year-old hanging on her neck like a monkey. The results were less than impressive as her hair tangled in his hands and legs. This was about to get painful.
"Shingo, Usagi, that's enough. Where's that nice young man?" Ikuko mothered from the kitchen doorway, her eyes lit from within. The usual mix of mischief and tenderness was amplified tonight, so strong it seemed to wash over them like a tangible feeling.
It also brought them all back to the task at hand: spying.
"What're they talking about?" Umi queried, his face smashed up against the glass till his nose was upright. Usagi's fingers tangled in his dark hair as she peered over him and Shingo curiously. Mamoru, always the stoic, was facing them. There was no hint of the conversation from his end, neither did she expect there to be.
"We're trading Usagi for you," Shingo answered. She backhanded the twerp without a second look, forcing the stifled chuckle from Umi, and spreading mist across the glass.
"Stop, seriously Shingo. No one's being traded or sold." Ikuko shot her children a warning look before returning to the show in the front yard. The spatula in her hand was already touching the couch by Usagi's leg, so she didn't bother trying say something about it. Blue eyes rolled heavenward. Seriously, she got these things from her parents.
They watched, amazed, while the two men talked. A handshake passed between them and Shingo let out a loud whoop and jumped from the couch.
"See? Told ya! Now we get to trade out all those creepy bunnies for action figures!" The short figure started in on a weird little jig that included a lot of but wiggling and raspberries pointed at his sister.
"Mom, what is happening? Has the whole world gone crazy? Am I losing my mind?!" Usagi wailed, half tempted to race back outside and mow the two down for information.
"Oi, oi, enough with the hysterics!" Ikuko patted her head softly, quite accustomed to the emotionally-charged explosions by now. "Chiba-san arranged for Umi's adoption papers. He's set up a trust fund to help pay for living expenses."
"He what?" The implications were not nice. As blood drained from her face, and Umi stepped away from Shingo's antics, she could practically see the writing on the wall. Everything they'd done this evening had been for show. He'd done and said things to make her believe that he loved her, all the while setting up a trap back at home.
"Umi's practically ours. To keep. We meet with a lawyer on Monday." Her mother's warm violet eyes crinkled at the corners, completely oblivious to the real story.
"He's paying for it? That's stupid, why would he want to do something like that! It's not like he can buy me, ya know!" What if she'd said no? Would Umi be a prisoner in that horrible place forever because of her? Was Mamoru even capable of that kind of cruelty when he came from a similar background? The tears were welling up in her eyes, and the blocks falling into place as she watched. This was a trap, and she'd fallen right into it.
"Actually, he did it for Umi." A hand smoothed through one tail of hair, dribbling the strands across her shoulder. Her mother was looking at her intently, the velvety eyes spreading outward to take in the sight. Usagi felt another tremble of fear beginning in her gut at the sight. She'd completely forgotten about wearing the dress. "He came by this afternoon to see what we needed for the adoption. Apparently, he's been a mentor of sorts down at the orphanage, and it got him thinking that Umi should be part of a real family."
"Baka-san isn't so bad," the child offered finally in his quiet, solemn voice. He was crossing his arms, pleased with himself for some unknown reason. The words were still coming together in her head though, because maybe Mamoru really wasn't that cruel. Maybe he'd only wanted to help? But how would he even know where Umi would want to be? How would he know that this quiet, reserved little boy belonged to them?
And he did. He fit their family like a lost puzzle piece, his quiet sarcasm older than him by years would have the group in stitches of laughter. He filled that space in their home and in their family that felt like it had always been there, waiting for him. Waiting for the quiet one to even out the madness.
And Mamoru…
"So even if…if I don't date him, we still get to keep Umi?" she whispered quietly, hardly believing what was happening to them. Their family complete, and her dark prince by her side; was it possible for things to work out so beautifully? After everything she'd done as a Senshi to protect the people of this planet, was this finally the reward?
Her heart was aching, spreading so wide that it hurt.
"I'm not a pet!" The petulant boy kicked at her shin hard enough to elicit a yelp and a one-legged dance from the blond.
"The adoption will be final. He'll be a Tsukino." She grinned, watching her daughter nearly tumble into the carpet. That dress was stunning on her. It was amazing how different the girl seemed all of the sudden; so grown up and beautiful. When had that happened? With a sigh only a mother could produce, she shrugged and turned toward the kitchen again "Honestly, Usagi, we hardly even talked about you."
Kenji ghosted through the door, all of the fire burned out after the encounter. The blond tornado he called a daughter fled past him, out into the night. Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to grab her like he did when she was little, pull her back into the safety of their home and keep her under lock and key. A terrible sigh bled from him as he watched her go. She was grown up now, he'd have to face it.
The man turned away before he could see the exchange. It was strange to think just yesterday everything had been normal. Usa had wandered off to be with friends, Shingo had played videogames till noon. Who would have thought that tonight, everything he'd known would be ripped from him by some high-society pretty boy? Ikuko stood at the door of the kitchen, her arms folded; the ever-present spatula poking out beneath her elbow.
"Iku-hime, I think we've been outvoted." His wife came forward, a look of quiet understanding gracing her soft features. Her arms wrapped around him gently, knowing him, and how much he would need comfort. To see his little girl all grown up, meeting a nice young man…it had to be hard for him. The two held each other close, right there in the doorway.
He didn't even say anything about the greasy spatula on the piano.
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"Mamo-chan!" Her sweet voice called through the night, and he turned just fast enough to catch the bundle hurtling toward him. The force slammed into his front, so familiar from ages ago when they would collide at the infamous corner. He was about to comment on it, in fact, but found she had other plans.
The heady sensation of her mouth crashing against his slipped the ground from his toes and sent every thought packing. It was a burning, soft heaven made of flesh and tongue and desire. With all the desperation of a drowning man in his final moments, it was the first breath of gushing water than sunk him deep into the ocean to be lost forever. Her arms tucked around his neck, pulling his floating body off balance. The fleeting thought of her parents was the only self-preserving moment as his hands filled with soft cotton and long, flowing hair.
He tried, gods he tried, to keep it PG. Not for himself; all he wanted was to wrap the midnight shadows around them and disappear into the velvet blackness like a blood-lusting vampire. Her father had just barely finished begging some decency from him and he wanted so much to fulfill that promise and prove himself worthy of her. The sweet, spicy bundle in his arms was fighting, bickering with his tongue and hair and body. What was a mere mortal to do when a Titan Goddess threw herself into his arms and all but begged to be ravished?
Their mouths tangled and fought. Gods, her tongue was tearing him apart from the inside out with each burning pass! The touch of her hot lips all but sizzled and crackled with the pent energy that had been building all this time. The force of power built beneath the pressure of his hands, a perfect harmony of blaring, wild, passionate music searing till even he felt the transition.
There was no soul bond, no fate, no past or future–just the certain, almost frightening knowledge that even had these things never existed to begin with, he would still love her. It was the transcendence of time, space, and reality. It was the meeting of two age-old-souls incapable of true separation. It was beautiful, agonizing, terrible love that scorched down to the root of being and lodged its fiery hearth directly over the breath of life, and fed. The steady, burning inferno honed itself to a blowtorch, and whispered that power through every particle of his being.
With this, it spoke, we build our own world.
"Thank you," she whispered simply the moment they broke apart. Her eyes were damp again, and tears slid down her soft face as she spoke. He felt their startling wetness on one hand caught between his fingers and her hair. The shimmering silver-blue eyes glanced toward the house, and he followed in kind. The festering eight-year-old was promising slow death with every passing moment, his small arms tucked under themselves and a foot tapping heavily on the ground. Mamoru chuckled.
"I thought he'd make a killer brother-in-law." He was still laughing at the pun when her soft mouth pressed against his in sweet sincerity. She was blushing darkly in the phosphorescent street lights, and the vivid paint spread across her neck and shoulders. The supple contrast of smooth skin and soft cotton smoldered both his eyes and chest as she struggled for words. He beat her to it. "I love you."
The words came so naturally it almost surprised him. He'd told her before, but for some reason this time felt…balanced. It wasn't just right because he wanted her, or because he admired her, or even because she had never looked so beautiful. It was because it was true.
The struggle fled from her face with the dawn of a shy, tearful smile. The sweet tears dripped down her face in liquid starlight; and he watched, loving that they were for him. It was almost laughable now looking back over all the stupid things he missed over the past two years. If only he could have been bothered to look at her, see her. She was the light to his darkness, the sudden clarity to an obscure vision. His Persephone.
"I love you too." Her flushing skin darkened just noticeably. The gentle, soft touch of her fingers in his hair were the only reminders of reality. For the first time ever, she spoke without fear or hesitance or irritation lacing the endearment. A hopeless smile began to spread across his mouth, banishing the loneliness with a firm and unrepentant bitch-slap. And it felt good. "But quit making me cry, you jerk!" Her coy hands swatted at him.
She was pulling away, but the warmth boiling just beneath the surface of his skin didn't seem as affected by it. It may have been a play of the moonlight, or a strand of her impossible fairy-tale hair caught at the right angle, but a shimmer of light arched between their trailing fingers as they parted. In his mind's eye, the once golden link grafted into his soul still dulled in brass and decay. However, that same whisper of silver that was the summation of all of him clung to her in a simple, thin spider web. It was small, almost untraceable. Yet the idea caused a wicked, knowing smile to crack the edges of his awareness.
"Can I see you tomorrow?" he murmured, wishing he could reach out and pull her back into his arms. She smiled, her feet leading backward toward the house. His eyes traced the almost indefinable line between them with growing recognition.
"Yeah." She paused, kicking at the ground with her flats and turning her face downward. "And every day after…you know…if you want."
It was all the encouragement he needed. This new sliver of a link between them was not the golden, shining chord it had been. If anything, the ghostly line was nothing but a shimmering mockery of its divinely-induced counterpart. It was still there, though, and still glittering in the moonlight. He latched onto the idea like Prometheus to his fire, and fled the wrath of the all-knowing gods above.
This time, they'd forge it out of titanium. More than that, they'd do it together.
"Yeah? Alright then." He watched her back away till she turned to take the first steps upward to the porch. "Can I call you Odango?" he called, his tone only slightly mocking. After all, if this was going to be a long-term thing he couldn't promise the hated nickname would never pass his lips. Especially, or more specifically, because it was part of who she was.
"Goodnight," she called, her pigtails swishing just barely toward him as she reached for the door handle.
"Oh. How about Usako?" he asked with some finality, watching the magic sway of her hips as she stepped over the threshold. The door slid closed again, but not without her shy, knowing smile peeking out toward him, leaden with promise.
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My dearest subscribers;
It is with great sadness that I, Matsumori Yoshi, President, must inform you all that at exactly 4pm yesterday afternoon, our dearest love and purpose for this very article, died.
Chiba Mamoru was in his early 20s, 11 days short of his 22nd birthday to be precise, when the following events occurred at Crown Arcade and Karaoke. My dearest sisters, I watched with my own eyes these horrifying events and wish to press upon you all the severity of the situation that I will give account of presently.
As a second testimony to the things which you will shortly hear, I beg you all to look back on this strange year in our most beloved's life. He has been anxious and agitated since last summer, has disappeared from his favorite hangouts altogether, and has developed a disturbing talent for vanishing completely on any given holiday of importance. Reports that have continually baffled our Chief of Staff and Editor, Ootori Yumi, have been flooding our offices of strange questions, odd behaviors, and chillingly threatening warning signs that our dear Mamoru-sama, has in fact, been seeing someone.
Those rumors were fanned into all-out gossip 2 months prior to this report, when eye witnesses claimed Chiba Mamoru not only graced a dance with his presence, but actually kidnapped a middle school child who was last seen that night hanging over his shoulder and ignorantly threatening bodily injury. According to our extensive research, this girl has since been identified as Tsukino Usagi; who I'm sure you all remember as the same ridiculous girl that over a year ago was openly fighting with Mamoru-sama in the Crown Arcade on a daily basis. Whatever relation might have incurred through the battles was lost when he publicly renounced her accidental confession of love, and consequently setting us all at ease. The two had not been seen together in all that time.
Since the dance 2 months ago, the duo have been spotted together at nearly every street corner, which would be cause to worry for us all under normal circumstances, but we were happy to report that no romantic tendencies have been verified as the two are usually fighting. It would have been this office's pleasure to report that dangers of Tsukino-san and Chiba-sama being a couple have been labeled preposterous. However, the events of yesterday have forever changed our opinion.
Furuhata Motoki, junior manager at Crown and best friend of the great C. M., stated that everything had been normal that day. Tsukino-san entered the arcade at exactly 3:48, as always, and sat down at her usual spot at the bar to order food (which she has been known to eat a disturbing amount of). At approximately 3:56, not even ten minutes after her arrival, the arcade was pleased to house a tuxedo-clad Chiba Mamoru, holding roses and followed closely by college music genius, Kaioh Michiru and her well reputed violin.
The roses were quickly handed to Tsukino-san (who had bar-b-que sauce dripping from her chin like an animal) before he knelt and began to sing with the violin accompaniment. The song has since been identified as "Gira Con Me Questa Notte", an Italian number made popular by Josh Groban, and is not on the known favorites list of our beloved Mamoru-sama. Also noteworthy, the fact that Mamoru-sama was purposefully horrible (for we know that he cannot be imperfect), with the sole end of making Tsukino-san laugh like a donkey.
And so, my dear sisters, it is with the utmost grief that I relay to you, the death of our dear Chiba Mamoru, at exactly 4 pm, when he extracted a blue ring-box from his tuxedo pants. His funeral shall be held this next Saturday, August 3rd, in the Hikawa Shrine under the direction of our own Hino Rei. Let us all come and give our condolences on this most grievous day and wish our precious Chiba-sama a happy birthday as his godlike body is claimed forever by the irritatingly immature and inappropriate Tsukino Usagi, who, in an unrelated side story, was recently labeled hottest girl in Tokyo according to 9/10 of college men on campus.
Our condolences.
Chiba Mamoru fan club,
Matsumori Yoshi, President
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AN: Well, it took me exactly 8 years and 4 days to do it, but there you are. SoulBound.
I kind of want to cry right now. :)
First, I want to thank everyone who had a hand in this, Dablackrose, my sister Jessika, slightlyxjaded. You guys seriously rock my face off, I couldn't ask for better global and grammar editors. It's been so fun working with you!
So there's a ton of discussion to be had, which I'm hoping you'll take a part of.
First, what did you like? What did you hate? Where can I improve?
Were the characters believable? Was the ending satisfactory? Did you hate every second and wish Mamoru would just die?
I need to know your thoughts, so PLEASE take a few minutes to write me a line or two. Writing original fiction is a super demanding job, and I'd rather fix and edit now rather than get turned down by a publishing house later.
THAT SAID, I also want to thank my reviewers. You know I'd do anything for you guys ;)
Like what you read? Interested in more? Like my facebook page
/ellourrahlofthousefiction
Or search for Ellourrah Lofthouse fiction
This is the page I'll be updating in all the years to come, especially for upcoming works and (fingers crossed) publication :D
Also, I had the extreme pleasure of meeting one of my reviewers on facebook, and we've gotten along like a house on fire! So I thought –man, wouldn't it be cool to meet everyone else!?
Maybe I squee'd like a fangirl…
LOVE YOU GUYS! Stay tuned next week for another chapter of Sleeping Death, just in time for Halloween…
Ellourrah