Sailor Moon touched his face, the planes of which were made dramatic by the light of the moon. "Who are you?" she whispered, though she knew he wouldn't answer. He never did.
Tuxedo Mask leaned into her palm, and the sweet aroma of roses wafted through the cool night air. "I can't tell you," he replied, and despite her low expectations, her stomach sank.
He caught her dipping chin, the fabric of his gloves soft against her skin. Sailor Moon glimpsed a pair of cobalt blue eyes, and for some reason she could not name, her heart leapt. "You didn't let me finish," he murmured, a hint of teasing in his tone. "I can't tell you who I am, but I can show you."
Her breath caught in excitement as Tuxedo Mask removed his top hat with one elegant, fluid motion. "Would you like to do the honors?" he asked. His smile sent tingles up her spine. He didn't seem to expect an answer, which was good. She didn't think she had enough air to speak.
His mask was soft and smooth, almost silky. As far as she could tell, there was no string or ribbon holding it in place, and yet, it gave way to her fingers without resistance. He was so magical. Everything about this night felt parallel to reality. They were heading in the same direction, but tonight . . . tonight. It was a night of mystery and wonder, a night of words that did not need to be spoken to be heard, a night of the delicious taste of anticipation and the despairing knowledge that it couldn't last. Tonight would never touch real life.
But despite all that, and because of it, she pulled the mask away.
And looking at her, tenderly, lovingly, was Mamoru.
She must have dropped the mask in her shock, for when he took her hands, they were both empty. But all thoughts of the scrap of cloth left her mind when he said, "Hello Odango."
The corner of Sailor Moon's mouth hitched up in amusement. She was unsurprised that Mamoru — Tuxedo Mask — had figured it out. It wasn't as though she had a mask to protect her identity with, after all.
Mamoru smiled, a bit shy, and her heart swelled.
"Hello," she whispered, feeling pure, undiluted happiness well up from the deepest parts of her being. "Baka."
Mamoru laughed softly, his warm breath tickling her skin. He leaned in, then paused, as if waiting for her permission. Pulse pounding erratically, Usagi swallowed her gasp as his fingertips grazed her hips, his warmth chasing the cold away and causing goosebumps to spring up on her skin. "Mamoru," she breathed, fisting his jacket in her hands.
"Yes?" an equally soft reply.
"Kiss me."
She felt him smile as her eyes blinked shut, felt the distance close between them, felt the racing staccato beat of her heart. She tasted his breath on her lips —
and she woke up.
Usagi sat up sharply in bed, breaths sawing through her lungs, her heart galloping. She sat for another second, and the details of her dream came rushing back to her. Mamoru — Tuxedo Mask — Her body quivered with yearning.
Then she shook herself awake, fully awake. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded herself. Mamoru is Tuxedo Mask? Please. You're getting yourself excited for nothing. Now, calm down.
Usagi lay back down, shifting uneasily on her mattress. She needed to get that stupid dream out of her head, and fast.
That was not her first dream of a certain blue-eyed man.
It would not be her last.