Motoki coughed again, hacking into his elbow. Mamoru raised a concerned eyebrow, but before he could speak, Usagi beat him to it.

"Are you okay, Motoki?" she asked, worry evident in her tone.

"Oh," Motoki said, clearing his throat. "Yes. Thank you for asking." But his cheeks were flushed with fever, and he had heavy, violet circles under his eyes.

Mamoru didn't buy it. Instinctively, he turned to Usagi, a skeptical look on his face, just to find that her expression mirrored his.

A tingle went down his spine as he realized Usagi was looking at him. Not as an enemy. Not with anger. As an ally, looking for confirmation. Heart skipping a beat, he forgot about Motoki for a moment.

Then Usagi rolled her eyes at him as though saying, Can you believe this guy? and turned back to him. Heaving a sigh, Mamoru shifted on his stool as Usagi said, "I'm not so sure."

"I agree," Mamoru spoke up. "Should you really be working? Serving food?"

Motoki gave him a look of great vexation. "I've been very careful today. I promise. Besides, my shift ends in half an hour. I'll go home then."

Mamoru was still not convinced, but Usagi had softened.

"Well, okay then," she said, her voice like honey. "Is there anything I can do for you? I'd be happy to help."

Motoki fixed his brown eyes on her sparkling blue ones. "I appreciate the offer, but it's okay, really. I'll be fine."

The silence dragged out for what seemed like an eternity. Motoki and Usagi were still looking at each other, and as Mamoru watched, her cheeks turned ever so slightly pink.

Mamoru knew how immature jealousy was, made especially petty because Motoki was very clearly sick. But he could help the emotion that simmered in his veins, making him want to strangle his friend.

When he spoke, his voice was gruff. "Motoki, I think you should just go home."

"I agree," Usagi said, not looking away from Motoki. "You work so hard. You deserve a break."

"I really shouldn't . . ." Motoki said, conflicted, finally breaking eye contact to glance out the window.

"Look, it's late in the afternoon. There's hardly anyone here now. And if no one has come by now, then they won't be by later tonight," Mamoru argued.

Without warning, Motoki began coughing violently into his elbow. Once the outburst had subsided, he said feebly, "I guess you're right . . ."

"Please?" Usagi asked, her tone so tender and gentle that Mamoru couldn't breathe for a moment, jealousy coming back to choke him. And that was all it took for the blond clerk to give in.

"Fine. Just give me a moment." And he slipped into the back room.

After a few minutes, Motoki reappeared in street clothes, said his goodbyes, and left, the bell connected to the arcade's front door chiming merrily.

A few beats of awkward silence stretched out between Usagi and Mamoru, and he thought desperately for something clever to say. Then Usagi's sweet voice caught his attention.

"Thanks for backing me up with Motoki," she said sincerely, and Mamoru found it was too hard to look into her eyes.

"Oh, it was nothing," he mumbled.

"No, really," Usagi insisted. "Motoki works way too hard. He deserves a break more than anyone."

A wave of despair crashed over Mamoru. "I suppose so." And once again, he cursed himself for not being kinder to Usagi when he had the chance. Now it was too late, and she would never love him.

Usagi frowned, studying him. "Are you sure you're okay Mamoru? You're quieter than usual. Maybe you caught something from Motoki?"

Mamoru opened his mouth to disagree, but then he felt her press a small hand to his forehead. He stopped breathing, overwhelmed with a riot of sensation and emotion. He thought his heart would beat out of his chest, his breathing ragged.

Meeting Usagi's eyes, he saw that she was blushing. "You don't seem too hot," she quavered, just as nervous as he was.

"I guess I'm lucky," he whispered, voice rough like sandpaper. But he wasn't talking about his health.

"Yeah," Usagi responded, looking panicked. She hopped off her stool, withdrawing her hand as if his skin had burned hers."Um — bye Mamoru!" she called, already rushing to leave the arcade.

Mamoru watched the door slam behind her, the bell ringing cheerfully, and Usagi running down the sidewalk in that ditzy way of hers.

A smile broke his face into two ecstatic pieces. She had touched him. She had been nervous. And she had called him "Mamoru."

Maybe it wasn't too late after all.