Mamoru, looking up from his newspaper, watched the whole scene play out in slow motion. Motoki placing a chocolate milkshake on the counter in anticipation of Usagi's arrival. The klutz herself swinging herself onto a stool, heavy schoolbag swinging wide. The awful crack as the glass full of thick, syrupy liquid hit the counter, exploding into a million shining pieces.

Mamoru hurriedly moved his belongings, not wanting them to get stained by the spreading chocolate. Meanwhile, Usagi was apologizing profusely as Motoki calmly and carefully began picking up the shards of glass.

"It's okay, Usagi, really," he assured her, smiling genuinely, despite the fact that she had just made a mess he now had to clean up. Grumbling under his breath, Mamoru began helping his best friend. He was just picking up a particularly big piece, when, still slick with Usagi's milkshake, it slipped in his grasp and a fiery-hot pain shot up his hand. He cursed, causing Usagi and Motoki to look up, concern in their eyes, as the glass fell back to the countertop, now wet with blood. Mamoru unfurled his fist, displaying a gash across the pad of his thumb, and Usagi's blue eyes went wide at the sight of the gushing blood.

His calm demeanor dissipating, Motoki sucked in a breath through gritted teeth as he crouched down, searching for a first aid kit. Finding it, he extracted a wad of gauze, which he pressed to Mamoru's injury, making him hiss in pain.

"Usagi, can you hold this in place?" Motoki asked hectically, already moving his fingers to grab rags, which he used to hurriedly sop up some up the mess. Then Usagi filled Mamoru's range of vision, blue eyes worried and scared. Chewing on her lip, she took Mamoru's hand in both of her warm ones, holding the reddening gauze in place. If his hand wasn't throbbing, he'd be appreciating her touch much more.

Then Motoki's slightly breathless voice broke into his thoughts, scattering them like startled birds. "I have someone covering me, so I can take you to the hospital."

His honey eyes flickered between Usagi and Mamoru, and some distant part of his brain wondered when Usagi had decided to come. And besides . . .

"I'm not going to the hospital," he said firmly, only a hint of shakiness in his voice, which was understandable, he thought.

"Mamoru, have you seen your hand? Your thumb was sliced open," Usagi piped up, her voice soft. It took him a moment to recognize it, it was so gentle.

Motoki dragged them to his car without further ado, his stained apron still hanging lopsidedly from his neck. The ride to the hospital was a blur of hazy images in his pain-filled mind; Usagi's worried face when she discovered the blood-soaked gauze; dark clouds blocking out the sun; the shining white walls of the sleek hospital, where, he recalled, Ami's mother worked.

Inside the hospital, they were shuffled by a nurse through stark, dimly-lit, and harshly scented hallways. The walls seemed to shrink and press down on him as bad memories swam to the front of his mind. Waking up in an unfamiliar place, with no memories to explain how he'd gotten there. Being informed of a tragic accident, and being sent to a bleak orphanage.

Faintly, he registered sitting in a little room, Usagi pressing a fresh bundle of gauze to his cut, and Motoki following the nurse out the door.

The ghosts of his past were still haunting him, swimming in his vision, echoing in his ears, lingering in his nostrils. His breathing was shaky, and he screwed his eyes shut, rocking a little, trying to dislodge the fear that trickled like ice water through his veins. He tried to make fists of his hands before realizing Usagi still held his right one.

Her fingers curled tighter around his, refusing to let go. "Shh," she whispered, and he could feel her warm breath on his face. "It's okay."

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" she persisted gently. He opened his eyes slowly, warily, taking in the beautiful, if slightly blurry, planes of her face.

"When I was six," he started, not fully believing he was telling her. It'd been after years of friendship he'd considered telling Motoki. He wasn't even friends with this girl, and he was telling her about his past? But this was Usagi, he reminded himself. It felt right. "I was in a car accident. My parents died, and I woke up in a room like this, unable to remember anything."

"Oh, Mamoru," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. Tears for him. "I'm so sorry."

She threw her arms around his neck, tucking her face into the hollow beneath his chin. As he felt her tears fall down his skin, as she let her emotions get the better of her, he regained control over his. In his lowest moment, she was there to help him back up, and willing to sacrifice herself in the process.

Usagi's warmth soaked through his skin, easing the throbbing of his hand and making heart swell. And he knew without a doubt that if Usagi ever fell, he would be there, no matter what the cost, to help her get up again.

Suddenly she pulled away, leaving him cold with her absence, and swiped at her eyes roughly.

"I'm sorry," she muttered gruffly. Mamoru couldn't make out all the emotions hidden in her voice — though, honestly, he could barely sort out his own at times.

The lights flickered, and the examining table sent a menacing shadow sprawling across a pristine, white wall. Oh, he hated it here. It wasn't just the smell and appearance — it was about the feeling it gave him, fear and foreboding and dread all mixed together. All of his instincts telling him to run for it . . . while he still could.

He exhaled heavily out of his nose, trying to keep his fear and longing at bay. But he already knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't rein in his emotions forever.

With a moan, Mamoru reached for Usagi, pulling the surprised girl onto his lap and to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the smooth, creamy skin of her neck. As he inhaled her sweet perfume, he felt her hesitantly place her arms around his middle, and rest her head against his.

They sat like that for what felt like forever; Mamoru hiding from his fear, and Usagi protecting him from it. Thanks to her, it didn't take long for him to calm down, but he wasn't ready to let go quite yet. He absorbed every detail he noticed, however small. The warmth of her skin. The flutter of her pulse beneath his cheek. The sweet fragrance he'd now decided was shampoo. The whisper of her hair across her shirt.

And so much more.

I love this girl, he thought, losing himself in the smell of her skin, the warmth of her body, the beat of her heart.

And instead of causing him more anxiety, as he'd predicted it would, his love made him feel completely whole for the first time in his life.