AN: Hey you all. I know it's been a while since I've put one of these out, but first it was finals, then it was getting a job, then it was everyone's birthday. Anyhoo, the last three of these drabbles will be rather long. Why? Because I couldn't stop writing. I couldn't rush this 'valentine' series. ^^ Anyhow, I hope you enjoy. For those who get confused, the drabbles: Liar, Jacket, Red String of Destiny, Gift and Valentines are all one story.

I would like to thank Lavvy for editing these drabbles. There would be none without you :D

Disclaimer: I do not own sailor moon.

Jacket.

It just sat there.

Waiting.

As if it actually expected her to get up and go over to it. As if it, in fact, summoned her in all of its green tweed and crisp cleanliness to truly, essentially, and, in point of fact, remove herself from her seat to dally on over to the third stool from the right, and…

…Touch it.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. Any sane girl in the Eastern hemisphere would rather jump off the edge of the earth than touch that green jacket. The very green jacket that her disdainful adversary wore to the tip of perfection, directly over broad shoulders, muscled arms and one very appealing tan torso every day.

Each and every day.

Usagi scowled, switching her gaze from it to eye the females lingering in the arcade parlour. Blonde, brunette, and… Usagi huffed, red head, along with the rest of the females over the age of puberty did not let the green jacket go unnoticed.

"It belongs to Chiba-san," whispered one. Her russet hair was pulled back into an abominably messy bun, and Usagi wondered, somewhat –her cheeks flushed—nastily, if the girl had even bothered to do her hair that morning.

"Such dreamy eyes..."

"Did you see the way his hair fell in them today?"

"I thought I'd faint when he took off that jacket today. His back practically rippled with muscles."

A swoon chorused through the room, bouncing off all four corners so an echo ricocheted, causing Motoki to quit his constant cleaning to perk his head up, perplexed.

Usagi was in the process of bending her not-so-bendable spoon when one, in all her jubilance, professed, "I just bet," her hand clasped together, "that he left it there for me. Chiba-san never forgets his jacket."

Her head popped up instantly. If somebody were watching her, they might have cause to believe that she was actually eavesdropping on the 'hushed' conversation. Not that she, herself, would notice being watched because the fact of the matter was… The messy haired brunette was right. Mamoru never forgot his jacket.

Earlier that day, she was cemented to her place at the ringing door, frozen in absolute alarm. Sitting in his booth, there, he had been scribbling in his journal –she still had yet to find out what was in that journal- not moving, or speaking, or getting up to taunt her. And, while that alone would cause Usagi a great degree of astonishment, what immobilized her for the whole of two minutes was what he accomplished in two seconds.

He'd just stripped himself of the green thing, something that she might not have been sorry to see if it hadn't been so unlike him to do it. What's more! She had been seated in the Arcade for ten startling minutes, and still he'd insisted on secluding himself with that mysterious notebook until, impatient and utterly anxious, she had to scurry over to find out why.

Her heart sizzled at the memory of exactly how that particular meeting ended. The scent of him wafted through her memory.

Heaving a big sigh, Usagi dropped back from her rigid state to slump in her seat, still lounging in the same booth he'd occupied ten minutes before.

Her eyes jumped to the clock, the minute hand moving another centimeter.

Eleven minutes.

And the jacket still sat, taunting her in its place.

Mamoru never forgot his jacket.

"Especially in winter."

The same brunette murmured it. The blonde next to her poked her shoulder. "Well, it is rather warm today. Almost spring." But she fanned herself with a napkin as if her words had another suggestion all together.

"If that jacket is still there in five minutes," a red-head with shiny ringlets whispered, more to herself than to anybody, "I'm going to take it to Chiba-san himself. He'll be so delighted—"

"I'll just take it right now."

"Don't be silly. A lady should always leave a fifteen minute gap between exits before she acquires a man's lost possessions."

"How do you know?"

"Rule of thumb."

Oh, for the love of…Usagi jerked out of her seat, rounding the table in quick steps, until she snatched –gently— the jacket from its content position opposing her. Those hyenas might feel inclined to capture the baka's coat in five minutes, but it wouldn't be here. And neither would she.

" 'Toki," her lower lip pushed out in a sort of pout. "Do you know which way Mamoru-ba…um… Mamoru-san went?"

With the ease only known to natural Arcade managers, Motoki flipped the Sundae beaker upside down, not even watching it as he answered. "Home, I imagine."

Nimble and slim, her fingers pranced on the counter. "And where might home be?"

"Azabu." He frowned at a water stain. Obviously, he mused, the Oxy-dishwasher detergent didn't remove anything except for the transparency of glass. Damn influential commercials…

Usagi was hopping from one foot to the other. She could feel every eye in the room burning holes through her back. She hugged the jacket closer to her body. "Azabu," she repeated. "Which way is that?"

"Hmm?" Sighing at his lost trust in the media, he glanced over at the anxious blonde. "It's—why?"

"I have to find Mamoru-san."

"I thought you hated Mamoru."

"I don't hate Mamoru." His scent was on the jacket, she absently realized. And, it would probably cling to her clothes, even after her mother cleaned it. "I just dislike him with a great amount of emancipation."

"You know 'emancipation' means—"

" 'Toki," her eyes, blue and direct, seared his. The holes burning in her back were slowly disintegrating her resolve to find Mamoru of Azabu, Tokyo. "Mamoru."

His lips twitched at the corners. Although he was utterly smitten and devoted to his beautiful girlfriend, Reika, Usagi's face was so set in determination he couldn't help but stand back for a minute and appreciate. Admire.

In the end however, when the adorable Usagi huffed impatiently, Motoki jerked his thumb to the left, insisted that there were 'signs every where', and moseyed on, whistling a tune under his breath and flipping the beaker back into it's rightful place upon the shelf.

"Signs everywhere," she muttered, utterly lost not five minutes later. Her hand fisted. "I'll give you a sign. Everywhere."

The blonde sighed. "I suppose he doesn't need it back today." She absently kicked at a pebble. "I suppose," she continued, her nose wrinkling as she held up the jacket, "that he doesn't need it back." Her head tilted. "Period." The jacket was, despite its obvious comfort in her arms and the pleasant scent wafting at her senses, not as attractive as its owner.

She nibbled at her lip, then sighed. That was the problem, she mused. Her fingers ran delicately over a seam. The owner was too attractive for his own good. If she was being utterly honest with herself she might even admit that it was not her good morale totally that compelled her to return the forsaken jacket to Mamoru.

She might also admit that, to the third person viewer, her intentions were, in fact, quite obvious.

Tsukino Usagi had the biggest crush on Chiba Mamoru since Romeo met Juliet.

And that, Usagi reflected, her thoughts stinging her heart, made her just like every other girl fawning over him in Juuban. Which was entirely unacceptable. The only girl –correction: woman—that Mamoru would ever fall for would be one that was entirely unique and unlike any one he'd ever met.

Which would mean anyone other than her?

Mamoru would never be attracted to her.

Jerk.

"If life wasn't so short, I might be inclined to let you stand there all day."

The voice, so deep and familiar, grabbed at her windpipes.

"Odango."

And then clenched them together.

All of a sudden she didn't want to look up at him. Everything in her body was telling her to give it up, throw the jacket in his general direction and make dodge. Everything, that is, except for the very core of her that cemented her feet to the ground, and forced her traitorous eyes to jerk to his seated form.

It wasn't fair the way the sunset seemed to dance over his face like that, shimmering in his eyes and painting his features to utter beauty. His figure, so broad, demanding and bold sat lazily on that one park bench, his journal –the journal— laid out expectantly on his lap. The whole lot of his aura insisted that he was simply a college student who decided to devote his day to studying. His back was a bit hunched, his hair falling in strands towards the pages, his fingers playing with the paper edges.

But his eyes…Usagi's windpipes deflated. His eyes were only for her.

"Odango?"

The uncertain tone in his question popped her trance like a pin to a bubble. She couldn't stop the blush from swarming her face, but, thank God, managed to work her voice without fluxuating, and her tongue without stuttering.

"Mamoru-kun –er—ba… baka."

Kinda.

"Your jacket!" she announced, hoping to get straight to the point without any questions to her slowly inflaming face.

Still, his eyes took their time leaving her face and floating to the jacket before he allowed a, "So it is," and left it at that.

There was no clock anywhere, no watches or time devices counting minutes nearby, but Usagi could have sworn she heard time ticking by as silence stretched the seconds.

"You left it," she stated. "At the Arcade."

When he didn't say anything, she said, "In the booth."

His smile, confident and stimulating, slyly crept on his face. "Ah, yes." He winked at her, but slowly. "The booth."

His grin was doing wicked things to her nervous system. Before the memory of just what 'the booth' represented could invade her memory she managed to thrust his coat towards him and repeated, "You left it," once through her lips, and once in her mind.

His smile stayed, if not widened. "Yes." His fingers curled at the edges of his book. "I know."

"Yes. You did. And so I took it upon myself to…" she blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. I do."

"You knew you left it at the Arcade."

"Mhmm…" he hummed casually. He flipped a page in his journal, let his gaze float up to see her peering down at the book, and then, almost in amusement, closed it.

Annoyed, and not a little frustrated with the situation, Usagi grimaced and let her eyes meet his direct ones, then blushed when she realized she'd been caught peeking. Stupid, she thought. What he must think of you! … Other than what he already thinks of you, she reminded herself, simultaneously tugging at one of her pigtails.

Nonetheless, he continued to stare at her all too intensely. If she'd known that one look could make her heart pound rapidly in her chest and her nerves tingle with electric butterflies, she'd never had met this man's gaze.

The humming silence wasn't uncomfortable, but still stretched until she felt as if something needed to be said. "Well…" well? "Well, then…" she chewed anxiously at her lip as he continued to sit there, patiently, with all the world's secrets drowning in his eyes. Her fingers skimmed a seam, assembling her thoughts to circle from how amazing soft texture the material was, to what she should say next, until, finally, she realized that the silent man was probably waiting for his coat back.

God, she really was a ditz.

Her face might have been compared to a hot red pepper, so incredibly red was it. Mumbling an apology, she thrust the jacket towards him with a quick, "Anyways, here it is," and got ready to bolt.

Quick and firm, his hand braceleted her wrist before she could take one step. Prepared for a tease, a taunt, anything, her eyes stayed cemented to the icy ground even as he turned her around.

The suddenly heavy weight caught her by surprise, accompanied by the swift warmth and heavenly scent that encircled her instantly. Her eyes shot up to meet his as he was pulling his jacket around her.

"Actually," his voice vibrated into her ears and through her stomach. "I was hoping you'd wear it today."

You did? She didn't actually ask this, but the question continued to thud with her heart, resounding in her ears.

He didn't look at the sky, only in her eyes, when he said, "It looks like rain."

Rain in February?

It wasn't unheard of, but…

He turned his gaze down on her She could have sworn his breath wafted on her lips. This was insane, because he wasn't nearly close enough for anything of his to waft upon her, nonetheless her lips. The thought didn't, however, stop her own breath from trembling.

Not two seconds later was he on his way, the blackness of his turtleneck winking back at her almost, she tilted her head, mockingly. Which was just like him anyway. Usagi scowled. His stride was completely arrogant, both hands filling his pockets as if carrying anything was never something he'd have to worry about.

Her eyebrows curled together at the thought, because he wasn't carrying something. Because, she noticed, just as her head swiveled to the bench he was sitting on, he didn't have his journal –the journal—with him.

And neither did the bench. Or the ground. Or anywhere where the journal might have fallen.

It had simply disappeared.

And, when she happened to glance up, absently pulling the jacket closer to her body, there wasn't a storm cloud in the sky.