Mamoru had seen it all.
The batting of those thick, sooty lashes.
The curling of those golden locks around a slender finger.
The stunning smile with full, pink lips, and usually accompanied by the dazzling laugh that reminded him of wind chimes.
All of it directed at Motoki. Sometimes Mamoru wondered why he considered him his best friend. A small part of Mamoru — the logical part — knew that Motoki had no real feelings for Usagi. But the larger, more overwhelming part, hated him for every smile, every laugh, every comment he encouraged her with.
What he wouldn't give for her to look at him like that.
"Gah," he growled when Usagi tossed her head back in laughter, taunting Mamoru with the image of her creamy throat. He slid down from his stool and stalked out of the arcade.
"What's his problem?" Usagi asked Motoki, a worried frown creasing her brow as she watched him stride down the street, his broad shoulders hunched nearly to his ears.
When she turned back to Motoki, she was surprised by the sadness in his eyes. He spoke, and his voice was burdened with a heavy finality that would haunt Usagi's dreams for many nights to come.
"A broken heart."