23. Valentines
Sailor Raspberry
649 Words

Motoki frowned and bent to pick up an empty cookie tray, sending a curtain of crumbs to the floor. The room was a bit chilly, though he could have sworn he had turned the heat up. But the thought was coincided with the sour remembrance that, as he kicked the crumbs with the toe of his shoe, he was the one who had to clean all the leftover dishes. Stepping over stray streamers and hats, he wound his way towards the kitchen, glad that he could avoid crushing the slumbering party-goers fingers.

He plucked a heart-shaped cookie up from another tray, hoping that they weren't stale. And then he nearly dropped the tray, jaw slack and cookie falling to the floor as his gaze landed on the fully occupied couch.

It took him a few minutes to register that, yes, that was indeed Mamoru, hair wild and eyes shut. And that, yes, it was his fingers that absently stroked a messy mane of blonde hair.

Blonde hair that belonged to Usagi.

Whose head was sitting, quite comfortably, in Mamoru's lap.

He did a double take, shock squelching around within his mind.

This was priceless.

Shoving the tray aside, stomping – and crushing – leftover party favors, he grabbed his camera off the kitchen table and stumbled back to the couch. His shin knocked the coffee table, drawing a string of curses from his throat. But the sleeping duo did not stir.

Fumbling with the different buttons, he finally figured out how to turn it on, and then he zoomed in a bit. No, he needed to zoom out. He needed to get that kinky cupid that hung above their heads in the frame.

The flash was short lived, and he quickly darted away, shoving the camera into the pocket of his sweatshirt. But instead of heading back towards the kitchen, he turned and found his way into the computer room.

Motoki approached Mamoru with a cheesy smile, placing his morning coffee delicately on the counter.

Mamoru smiled back.

"Sleep well?"

He grunted his answer, lips latching onto the cup's rim.

Motoki fingered the photo in the pocket of his apron. "Hey Mamoru," he removed it carefully, placing it face down in front of him. "This is kind of a late Valentine's gift. You know." He shrugged and slid it towards him.

Mamoru, lifting it up to get a better look, felt his face heat impeccably, eyes wide as he absorbed the picture. "Where did you get this?"

But Motoki was already gone, disappearing behind a swinging kitchen door.

The doors swooshed open, and Usagi pranced in, cheeks pleasantly pink from the February chill. Her eyes fell on Mamoru's hunched form, and a small, discrete smile inched across her face.

"Hey Mamoru-baka!" She popped next to him, watching with attainment as he fumbled with the small paper in his hands. He made a move to shove it into his pocket. Her curiosity peaked. "What's that?"

He shook his head and tried to hide the picture, but she was quicker, tiny hands grabbing the sheet.

"Ouch!"

As she lifted the picture up to her face, she pressed a thumb to her lips, hoping to ease the dull throb of the paper cut.

Then her cheeks dropped to a ghastly white.

"Here, just give me..."

"No! No, I think I'll throw this picture away and erase any evidence that it ever existed."

But Mamoru gripped her wrist and pressed a piece of napkin over the bleeding cut. He could feel the jumping thump of her pulse. Her skin suddenly felt hot.

"There. That should stop the bleeding." He turned back to his coffee, eyes darting briefly to the picture still grasped in her hands.

Usagi was looking at it too. Her cheeks shaded back to their normal hue. "Where did you get this?"

He looked at her. She looked at him.

They both blushed.