Summary: In order to rescue a boy she hardly knows, defeat an enemy she's never met, and save a world she'll never truly belong to, Tsukino Usagi must first accept a destiny she never wanted.
An introspective re-imagining of season one's final arc told from Usagi’s perspective. What do you do when the sins of a past life come back to haunt you? How do you stay true to yourself when the lines of identity begin to blur? And when it comes to fate, do you ever really have a choice?
In the immortal words of Porky the Pig, "That's all folks!" 😄
What a long journey this has been. Like many writers, I wrote this story for myself, but it's been an absolute joy to share it with my fellow fans. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. 💖
Special thanks to @caelenath, @lilliebellfanfics, @random-mailbox, and @riverlethe for all the BTS support along the way. You guys were always there to cheer me on (or give me a kick in the pants) when I needed it. I doubt I'd have gotten here without you. 😘
Person, to Rei: Excuse me, but is this girl bothering you?
Rei, refusing to look at Usagi who is trying to show her how many marshmallows she can put in her mouth: No, she's my best friend. I signed up for this.
I'm still hung up on the "If Tuxedo Kamen had the decency to die for his girlfriend".
That's like, a majority of what he did tho?
-Endymion fell protecting Serenity from his own people!
-Manga Tuxedo Kamen taking the energy blast meant for Sailor Moon despite not yet knowing their past lives/connection. Dude just liked her a hella lot. It's implied that it killed him, but even if it didn't, it very well could have!
-Anime TK saved SM from Beryl after his memories returned
And those are just the times he DIED! There are more instances of him protecting her from attacks where he didn't!
I beg your pardon, @spunkypuca, but I'm afraid that you've mistaken our Mamoru for someone else. Perhaps you've been brainwashed by the Dark Kingdom. Not to worry, I (and all the other loyal Moonies in the notes) am here on Usagi's behalf to set you straight.
I know KpDH is new and shiny and undeniably delightful (3 watches under my belt so far 😁), but we Moonies have been around for a long time, and we keep receipts. We've loved these characters for decades, and sometimes that makes us just a teensy bit protective. 🤏
Jinu's great. He's easy on the eyes, not unlike Mamoru. He has sympathetic moments and unsympathetic moments, not unlike Mamoru. And after 400 years of suffering and reflection he finally chooses to sacrifice himself for the greater good. It's sweet. Touching. It even made me a little misty eyed. But his story, intriguing though it may be, is nothing like Mamoru's, and if we were to hold a competition in decency, my boy Mamoru would trounce little Jinu.
Luckily, it's not a competition. We can love all our blorbos, and we can make fun posts and laugh and meme and revel in these delightful worlds created for our enjoyment without ever having to draw unflattering, uninformed, or unkind comparisons. ❤️
...
But just so we're clear, my dude was even willing to put his life on the line for Usagi when he had no powers and no memories of who she was to him. How's that for decent?
Summary: In order to rescue a boy she hardly knows, defeat an enemy she's never met, and save a world she'll never truly belong to, Tsukino Usagi must first accept a destiny she never wanted.
An introspective re-imagining of season one's final arc told from Usagi’s perspective. What do you do when the sins of a past life come back to haunt you? How do you stay true to yourself when the lines of identity begin to blur? And when it comes to fate, do you ever really have a choice?
In the immortal words of Porky the Pig, "That's all folks!" 😄
What a long journey this has been. Like many writers, I wrote this story for myself, but it's been an absolute joy to share it with my fellow fans. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. 💖
Special thanks to @caelenath, @lilliebellfanfics, @random-mailbox, and @riverlethe for all the BTS support along the way. You guys were always there to cheer me on (or give me a kick in the pants) when I needed it. I doubt I'd have gotten here without you. 😘
After a week of drowning in needless angst, I thought I'd share a snippet of Part 2 here because misery loves company it's gotten a bit longer in the tooth than I anticipated, and I might have to schlep over to AO3 to properly post it. I just reblogged the first part, but because Tumblr is, well, Tumblr, here's the link to Part 1.
Fair Warning: Mamoru is not at his best here. To be clear, I'm not writing him as a villain, I'm writing him as a human. We all have our days, and this poor guy is having one of them. I'm still rooting for him...mostly.
Title: Happier
Summary: Mamoru wants a hug fight drink.
Rating: T
Words: 1566
The crisp sizzle of magic hadn’t yet left the air, but they were already laughing. Smiling. Congratulating each other on a job well done. As if they’d just won a game, not a battle. Mamoru remembered a time when each attack had ended in silence. A time when he could barely hear their laboured breaths, subdued murmurs, quiet sobs over the pounding roar of his own heart. They were much stronger now, more resilient. Warriors, all of them, forged in the heat of battle, tempered by years of experience. Him as well, he supposed, though his heart still pounded every bit as hard as it always had. As it always would, so long as she was there.
So long as she was in danger.
He watched the five of them from his secluded vantage point, a habit that also dated back to the early days when he’d been separate, alone. When he hadn’t been one of them. She’d changed that. Changed him. Changed everything. For a time, they’d embraced him as part of the team, a true equal. For a time, he’d stepped out of the shadows to stand among their ranks. For a time, he had known exactly where he belonged. At her side. Always at her side.
For a time…
Now he was the one who had changed everything. Broken everything. He was separate again. Alone again. Banished back to the shadows by his own self-imposed exile. Excommunicated from the only team, the only family, he’d ever known. And the only woman he’d ever wanted. Now he was forced to hover in the cold recesses outside her orbit, deprived of her warm, soothing light. He’d thought his long history as a lone wolf would ease the transition back to solitary life—he’d done it once, he could do it again. How naive he’d been. Loneliness had never been easy, but he hadn’t understood the true blessing of his own ignorance until he’d lost it.
You can’t miss what you never had.
Truer words were never spoken.
Their chatter died down as they each said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. When she lingered, so did he. He watched with a hooded gaze as she shed her transformation, triggering the familiar ping of awareness in his chest. Then she dug into the purse hanging at her hip and pulled out her phone. His lips pursed as the screen lit her features. His eyes narrowed as she scrolled through her notifications. And his fist clenched when her mouth curved in a smile. Not just any smile, a familiar smile. A smile he knew all too well.
A smile that, until recently, had only ever been for him.
Before he knew it, before he could stop himself, he was in front of her. She started, gasped, looked up, and he watched the gamut of emotions cross her features—surprise, alarm, recognition, relief, and finally, dread. His splintered soul shrivelled when she forced herself to smile, to hide her apprehension. He tried to remind himself that this was his fault, that he only had himself to blame, but he was still blinded by that earlier smile. The smile that had disappeared the moment she’d seen him.
“Mam— Tuxedo Kamen,” she said, catching her mistake as her gaze slid over his uniform. “What… What are you doing here?”
It was a fair question. After all, he never lingered after a fight. Not anymore. Not since…
Mamoru didn’t care about fair though. Fair was a foreign concept now.
“There was a battle, where else would I be?”
He didn’t recognize his own voice, and by the look on her face, neither did she. Her mouth opened in surprise, but she said nothing. Perhaps speechless, perhaps cautious. Perhaps both.
“You were late tonight,” he said, his gruff tone full of rebuke. Her brow furrowed before her lips moved in a silent bid to form words, but he didn’t wait for a response. “Did you have somewhere more important to be?”
This was not a fair question. It was, in actuality, a petty trap. He already knew the answer. Knew precisely where she’d been. What she’d been doing. And whom she’d been with.
Again he watched the swift progression of emotions flicker through her wide blue gaze—hurt, confusion, comprehension, shame, and finally, anger. She tucked her phone away in her purse, hiding the evidence no doubt, before crossing her arms.
“What do you mean, somewhere more important?”
He crossed his arms in kind, not to mirror her action, but to keep himself from reaching out for her purse, for the phone inside it, for the text chain he desperately wanted to read. “I think you know what I mean.”
When her nostrils flared, it transported him back to the old days, when everything he’d said seemed to light the fires of her outrage. “No, actually, I don’t,” she said, angling her chin. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Are you guilty of something?”
There was a pause during which she seemed to consider his words, then the heat left her gaze and she uncrossed her arms. “No,” she said, “I’m not. But something tells me you think I am.”
“Could it be your conscience?”
When she took a step back, he stepped forward, seeing her retreat, indulging the urge to give chase. “What is this? What’s with you?” Her features pinched in a scowl. “Did you come here to pick a fight with me?”
“No.” Yes. “I came here to tell you that you need to take this job seriously.” When her eyes went wide with astonishment, he peered into their depths, searching for secrets, searching for truth. All he found was indignation.
“Seriously? You don’t think I’m— Who do you think you—”
While she stammered and stuttered, too overcome with fury to form a complete sentence, he fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her, from sweeping her into his arms, from silencing her sputtering lips with a hot, claiming kiss.
Finally, she propped her hands on her hips and snapped, “Take off that ridiculous mask. If you’re going to stand here and accuse me of something, you can at least look me in the eye when you do it.”
A part of him hesitated, reluctant to shed his cover, his advantage, but the monster inside him was bold, impetuous, and raring to go. He released the transformation with nary a glance at his surroundings; too focused on her, too consumed by bitterness, to practice caution. A small thrill rushed through him as her eyes ran over him, as her breath caught and her angry gaze softened. Though her reaction lasted only a moment, he relished it.
She appeared to steel herself, straightening her posture, adjusting the strap of her purse, squaring her jaw. “Right. Now, what is it you want to say to me?”
I love you. I need you. I’m miserable without you.
“You’re slipping.”
“I’m slipping.” She echoed the words with none of his heat, none of his accusation. Just dull, lifeless incomprehension.
“Yes,” he said, dipping his chin in a single tight nod. “You’re distracted. You’ve lost focus.”
“I’ve lost focus.” Her confusion seemed to fade as she, again, repeated his words. The wide blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The pink bow lips pressed together. “Of what, exactly?”
Me. “Your duty.”
She balled her hands into fists—a telltale sign that she was losing patience. “I was late to one battle, and you think—”
“One battle is all it takes,” he countered, showing his own impatience. “One moment of hesitation, one mistake, can cost lives. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” Rich, coming from him. If she only knew what a hypocrite he was.
Her features slackened, shocked no doubt by his sobering question. Regret flared, signalling he’d pushed too hard, gone too far, before her expression hardened. Suspicion marked her gaze. Anger curved her lips. Resentment soured her tone. “You haven’t said a word to me in months. I can’t remember the last time I saw you outside of battle.” He could. Granted, it had only been an hour ago, but his memory went back much further than that. “Now, after months of ghosting me, you ambush me out of the blue to lecture me about duty?”
It was a valid question. Reasonable. He wasn’t in a reasonable mood though. He was, in fact, in a very unreasonable mood.
He raised his chin. “Someone had to.”
She arched a brow. “Is that so?” Stony-eyed, they stared each other down, each willing the other to bend, to capitulate, to concede. When neither did, when their stalemate threatened to go on without end, she pursed her lips in a bitter scowl then sighed. “Right. Message received. If that’s all, I’m gonna go.” Lowering her chin, she gripped the strap of her purse and stepped around him. When he shifted, causing their arms to brush, she paused. “I know this is important,” she said quietly, without looking up. “I would have been here sooner if I could have, but—” She broke off and shook her head before resuming her steps.
He should have left it at that. Should have swallowed the bitter words that rose up. Should have let her go. Instead he turned, took one look at her retreating back, and gave in to weakness.
“But you couldn’t get away from your date?”
***
Annnnnnd...scene. (Well, not really, but that's it for this snippet.)
If you're wondering why I wrote this nonsense what happens next, so did I so did I. Now, I'm not one for spoilers, but I can tell you that these two aren't kids anymore, they're full blown #adults, so it would be COMPLETELY REASONABLE to assume that they resolve their issues with a calm, rational discussion.
...
...
SPOILER: They don't.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading. 😘 If you've got breakup arc trauma too, let me know your coping tips. I find wallowing in their narrative pain to be quite therapeutic, but I'm also a fan of aromatic candles. 👍
UsaMamo Week 2024 - Day 3/6 - Inspired by a Song/Coffee
Late again, and it's tough to say how late because this is technically two prompts in one. I was originally planning to write this as a song fic, but wasn't really feeling it leading up to the event week. Then last night I read @caelenath's awesome song fic and felt inspired to take another look at my outline.
This is not the whimsical lark that my other UsaMamo week pieces have been (which is why I was torn about writing it) but it's an idea that's been nagging at me for a while now. This is only the first part of three, but I thought it would be nice to post it for the event.
Title: Happier
Summary: Mamoru wants a cup of coffee.
Rating: T (for language)
Words: 1722
“Thirty eight!”
Chiba Mamoru is not a melodramatic person. He is not given to histrionics. Flagrant displays of emotion are simply not his thing. Indeed, he is a calm, composed, and exceedingly rational human being. Life is stressful—his arguably more so than most—and he prides himself on his ability to ‘rise above’. But if this beanie-wearing, mouth-breathing barista doesn’t call his number in the next sixty seconds he might just lose it.
“Thirty nine!”
Mamoru stares down at his receipt and wills the numbers to change. Unsurprisingly, they remain the same. He can transform into a superhero in the blink of an eye, but he can’t change a number on a piece of paper. It may be the caffeine withdrawal talking but this seems…unfair. Unjust. Unacceptable. He is a reincarnated prince, the rightful heir to the planet beneath his very feet, and yet he cannot get a simple cup of coffee.
“Thirty seven!”
Are they counting fucking backwards now?
He takes a breath and stuffs the receipt in his pocket so he can run a hand through his hair. He needs to calm down. He’s just tired. He’s had another rough night of precious little sleep and this is just a bad morning. That’s all. One bad morning. At the end of a bad week. At the end of a bad month. He just—
“Forty!”
He just really needs some coffee.
It’ll be ready soon. So long as they serve him in the next—he checks his watch—four minutes he can still make it to the hospital before his shift starts. He thinks. He’s only just started at UoT and he’s still not used to the bus transfers. Getting to Keio was much simpler. He didn’t have to get up so early, and the coffee shop across the street was much faster. Not to mention better. He misses that coffee. He misses Keio. He misses sleeping. He misses…a lot of things.
“Forty one!”
Lucky number forty one strolls up to the counter to claim their prize. They walk away with a tall plastic cup full of frothy green liquid that looks like it was poured directly out of an infected nostril, and Mamoru can’t help but shudder when they take a long, noisy sip from the straw. Who comes to a coffee shop and orders…whatever that is? This is apparently a trend now—ordering non-caffeinated beverages at coffee shops—because the last ten people who have walked away from the counter have had similarly ridiculous drinks. Why does everything have to be dessert, or snot, in a cup nowadays? What’s wrong with a regular cup of coffee?
He needs to find another coffee shop.
“Forty two!”
He needs them to call his number.
He pulls out his phone to distract himself and scrolls through a list of notifications: weather, junk mail, update reminders—up to forty five now, he’s got to get around to doing that—and one text. His thumb hovers over the blue bubble for a moment or two before he eventually presses down.
Training session Fri or Sat ppl. LMK work schedules ASAP.
No ghosting Chiba. Ur old ass is getting rusty. 👴
As Mamoru rolls his eyes three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen. He holds his breath.
“Forty three!”
He doesn’t look away from those three little dots, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. He just watches them, transfixed, until finally—
I’ve got a shift at the restaurant Friday night, but I can do AM
Sat wide open
He releases the breath he’s been holding in a quiet sigh. Just Makoto. Not— His thumb hits the back button of its own accord then scrolls down through the list of chats, until…there, near the bottom. Sandwiched between an old banking verification and a number he doesn’t even recognize. He reads the date to the right of the name and winces. Again, his thumb hovers.
“Forty four!”
He taps. A string of texts populate his screen. He doesn’t need to read them again, he knows them by heart. But he reads them anyway. Like he always does. He can’t help it. He’s weak; in these moments at least. When no one can see. He should stop looking now. Should close the window. Should delete the whole thread while he’s at it. But he won’t. He can’t. He can do a lot of things—has done a lot of things—but he can’t delete those words.
I love you, Mamo-chan.
“Forty five!”
I’ll always love you.
Even if you’ve stopped loving me back.
“Forty five!”
I wish I knew why though.
I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.
“Forty five! That’s four five, people. Four five!”
I’m sorry, I get it now, I won’t bother you anymore.
Be happy, Mamo-chan. I want you to be happy.
“For the last time, forty five! Going once, going twice…”
Mamoru’s head snaps up. Forty five. Fuck. That’s his number.
He stuffs his phone in his pocket and rushes up to the counter and beanie-boy does not look happy. Mamoru begins to mutter an apology then stops as the barista shoves a large mug topped whipped cream, caramel, and chocolate shavings toward him. Mamoru looks from the mug to the mouth-breather and back again as his brain tries to comprehend what is happening. After an eternity of waiting they finally called his number and yet…this is not his drink.
The barista is staring at him with a bored, somewhat vacant expression and Mamoru can clearly see that he is wondering why Mamoru isn’t taking the mug and walking away. Apparently the barista can’t tell from Mamoru’s assumedly apoplectic expression that he has no intention of taking the mug. This mug is not his. It’s not what he ordered. It’s not what he wants. Apparently that’s just his life now. An endless string of miserable disappointments that he’s supposed to suffer through silently. But he’s fed up with being silent.
He wants his damn coffee, and he wants it right fu—
Mamoru blinks as a cheerful man with sandy blond hair steps up beside him. He points to the confectionery concoction on the counter and shoots Mamoru an apologetic smile before turning to the barista. “Yes, chocolate macchiato with caramel, right? I believe that’s mine and not this gentleman’s.”
Beanie boy looks from Mamoru to sandy-hair and blinks.
Sandy-hair glances at Mamoru and shoots him another overly apologetic look. “Right, umm, well, if it’s all right, I’ll just grab this and get out of your way.” Mamoru steps to the side and sandy-hair takes the mug and hurries away. Presumably to overdose on sugar.
Mamoru turns back to the barista.
Barista scratches his temple. The beanie must be itchy. Mamoru hopes it is.
“So…what was your order again?”
“Large. Black. Coffee.”
“Right. That’ll take a couple of min—” Beanie boy must have just learned to read facial expressions because his eyes widen and he takes a step back. “I’ll go get it now.”
Mamoru feels a little bit of the tension ease in his shoulders and he breathes a weary sigh. He’s being an asshole. He’s doing that more and more often now. He keeps telling himself it’s the long work hours and the lack of sleep, but he knows what the real problem is. It’s her. He misses her. But there’s nothing he can do about that so he needs to find a better way to cope than being rude to baristas. And co-workers. And neighbours in his apartment building.
The barista comes back with his to-go cup and Mamoru tries to smile and thanks him for the drink. The guy nods but appears otherwise unaffected and that’s fine. Mamoru’s not looking for a new friend, he’s just trying to be a decent human being. A tinkle of bells sounds as he reaches for his cup. A gust of air follows, and a familiar tingle between his shoulder blades compels him to turn. He follows the innate instinct before his mind can warn him against it.
The unmistakable sight of blond odangos makes his heart soar before the inevitable sensation of crushing gloom comes down hard upon his ribs. Just when he thought his morning couldn’t get any worse. He can’t handle this. Not right now. Not again. He’s not strong enough to face another awkward meeting, another painful interaction, another agonizing opportunity to break her heart. Why are they always bumping into each other? Why, in a city as big as this, can he not get through one single week without running into her? Why?
Mamoru knows why. Because they’re soul mates.
He looks around for an alternate exit, a side door, a window, anything so he can avoid being seen. Before he can consider hiding in the bathroom he realizes she’s not approaching the counter where he stands, she’s rushing over to a table. She’s out of breath, her cheeks are pink, and she’s spouting a string of apologies. He’s seen her look exactly like this countless times before, and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as the memories replay.
His smile disappears as a new memory implants itself in his mind.
Of Usako, rushing up to a table where a man with sandy blond hair is standing in wait. Where a man with sandy blond hair is taking her hands. Where a man with sandy blond hair is pulling her forward. Kissing her cheek. Making her blush.
“Don’t worry,” sandy-hair says, “your timing is perfect. Your drink just came out. I wasn’t sure if you wanted a muffin, a danish, or a doughnut, so I got one of each.”
Usako laughs with delight.
Usako laughs with delight.
Usako laughs with delight.
Mamoru heads for the door like the building is on fire. He doesn’t hear the barista calling after him, telling him that he’s forgotten his coffee. He doesn’t hear the tinkling of bells as he shoves through the door or the loud rush of traffic as he hits the sidewalk. All he can hear is Usako’s laughter play over and over in his head.
When was the last time he heard her laugh? When?
Mamoru doesn't know when. He can’t remember.
***
Ain’t nobody hurt you like I hurt you
But ain’t nobody love you like I do
Promise that I will not take it personal, baby
If you’re moving on with someone new
***
Happy Birthday, Mamoru! Sorry bud, this is a breakup fic. What can I say? I both love and hate the breakup arc.
The song that inspired this fic is Happier by Ed Sheeran.
Thanks for reading! ❤️
Be sure to follow @usamamoweek for all of this year's content!
Many thanks to our awesome hosts @random-mailbox and @lilliebellfanfics for making this possible. 😘😘
Thought I'd unearth this old post because I've (finally) been working on the second part. I forgot I'd written this in present tense. 😶 I've since switched to past, but let's leave it this way because I'm too damn lazy to change it for posterity's sake, shall we? 😘
Just a bitty contribution to @usamamoweek this year, cornily titled in my head:
Love is the Best Medicine
(Yes, really.)
Summary: Mamoru receives a little TLC from his Usa.
The eardrops were cold and hurt when they went in, but hopefully that meant they were working. And it was almost—almost—worth the pain if it meant he got to lie here in Usa's lap four times a day, head turned sideways so she could carefully drip the antibacterial medicine into his infected left ear. The instructions said to allow ten minutes for the drops to fully make their way into the canal and reach whatever microbes were causing his current miseries—swelling, hearing loss, fever, and a heavy malaise he couldn't shake. He hadn't had an appetite for days, and he worried about missing work despite Usagi's admonishment that he couldn't take care of other people if he didn't take care of himself first.
"You're a doctor. Aren't you supposed to know that?"
"Everyone knows doctors make terrible patients." The movement of his jaw from speaking spurred a bubble of pain in his ear, and he winced. "That's why we take care of other people instead."
Usa noticed his wincing and shushed him. "That's silly," she declared.
"That's just how it is."
"Ssssshhhhh! Stop talking. You're making it worse."
Usagi's bedside manner had an abrasive quality that he found hopelessly endearing, and he had to smile in spite of how lousy he felt.
By now she knew not to touch him anywhere near the back of his ear, so she did this other thing instead where she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. The warmth of her fingers there was the real medicine, a soothing caress that helped him relax as the eardrops slithered uncomfortably down his ear. She kept it up even after the discomfort passed, and more often that not, it was his undoing. The recommended ten minutes extended into twenty or thirty or forty minutes of much needed rest.
The first time he'd fallen asleep like that, he'd woken up to find the day turned into night, and Usagi was still there beneath him, sitting on the couch in the dark with nothing to do. Immediately he had felt bad, but when he tried to apologize, she shushed him like she did today, gently combing his hair back from his forehead in a precursor to the thing she did with his hair now. He had been worse then, at the peak of his fever and feeling like his ear might explode with the smallest provocation. Their bedroom had seemed farther than the moon, so Usagi brought the bedroom to him instead, dressing the couch with their comforter and a fresh, cool pillow. The determination in her eyes as she dragged the armchair over to the end of the couch nearest his head so she could spend the rest of the night beside him was a love he tried to deserve every day of his life. The next morning, he awoke to the muffled sound of her snoring and her hand dangling just a few inches from his. The pain was better and his fever had stopped climbing.
With his faithful nurse watching over him, he slowly got better, but he would miss this, these quiet stretches of time together—the quietest Usa had ever been, now that he thought about it—where nothing and no one else was allowed to demand his attention. He even mostly stopped feeling guilty about accepting her care.
Sleepily, he gave her knee a squeeze and murmured, "Thank you, Usako."
Her reply was muffled and unintelligible through his incapacitated ear. "What was that?"
"I said shut up already."
Smiling, he closed his eyes and drifted off, already looking forward—almost—to his next dose of medicine.
Sometimes, a fic doesn't have to get published, it can just be a series of messages on a Discord channel, between a dedicated group of friends going "oooh, you know what else would be cool?" continuously over a period of weeks and months :)
🥰😘🥰 can't wait for Steve @caelenath 🦦 to show us what he's made of while bi-definitely @lilliebellfanfics 🏳️🌈 Mamoru wears a t-shirt with suggestive lettering @goddessalthena 😏 before he gets yeeted into the cosmos @riverlethe 🌌 at the behest of his sentient hat @caelenath 🎩 to be a space pirate and fight space slugs @random-mailbox 🤺 in the pnw 🌸... of space. For reasons.
It's time to torture celebrate our favourite OTP again!
As per the usual, I am totally unprepared with no one to blame but myself, but there's nothing like a looming deadline to get you motivated.
This submission is a continuation of a series I started during 2024's event, so you may wanna hop over and read Parts One, Two, and Three first. Or maybe not. Maybe you thrive on chaos. 🤪
I chose 'The Journey' because no other prompt seemed to fit like life, love is a journey, not a destination. WHOMP WHOMP. In all seriousness though, when I thought about it, this silly little story is really all about 'the journey', and this piece is but one step upon that long and winding road.
(Tentative) Title: A Matter of Timing
Summary: Aged up, Friends to lovers UsaMamo Non-Senshi AU told in a series of snapshots.
Rating: T (for language)
Words: 4181
The Journey
Day 604 AU
“I know, I know! I’m late, but you would not bel— Hey, where is everybody?”
Mamoru slaps his phone down and springs out of his chair as Usagi blinks down at the empty table. Squashing a homicidal urge to find Minako and wring her neck, he shoves his hands into his pockets and forces his face into a neutral expression. “They cancelled.”
Usagi’s delicately arched eyebrows disappear beneath her windswept bangs. “Everyone?”
Mamoru glances back at the table to hide his cringe. He is going to kill Minako. “Seems so.” His voice sounds slightly strangled, so he presses a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. It’s a choice he immediately regrets because Usagi shoots him an odd look which makes him panic and reach for his phone. Backing out of Minako’s infuriating text chain, he reads through the list of cancellations; an unnecessary exercise, but a great way to avoid eye contact. “Makoto’s covering a shift, Ami’s stuck at the lab, Motoki and Reika had a last minute dinner come up…”
Usagi rummages around in her bright pink purse and pulls out her own phone. “What about Minako and Rei?”
“They’re…sick.”
Usagi’s brow furrows as she scrolls through her text threads. “That’s so weird, I just talked to Minako this morning. She sounded fine.”
“Food poisoning,” Mamoru offers, clenching his molars together. “Ate some bad Mexican.”
Usagi looks up and grimaces. “Damn, that sucks. You think they’ll be okay?”
“Oh, I think they’ll be just fine.” It’s impossible to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but Usagi doesn’t appear to pick up on it.
She frowns and drops her phone back in her purse. “Well, huh. So much for group night.” Their eyes meet, and she does this weird thing with her mouth that makes Mamoru feel simultaneously awkward and aroused. “So, umm, I guess that means it’s—”
“Just us. Yeah.” He tries to sounds casual, not apologetic. He fails.
Usagi eyes the empty table again before her gaze flits to the exit. Mamoru knows what she’s about to say, and he has about two seconds to decide his next move before she says it. “Would you rather—”
“Sit at the bar?”
Usagi’s mouth pops open and her impossibly big eyes go wide, but Mamoru pretends like he doesn’t notice. He just gazes down at her with a relaxed expression that masks his inner fear and prays that she wants a drink more than she wants to escape a potentially awkward evening. He didn’t plan this, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Though he’s not a religious man, he sends out a silent, ‘Thank you,’ to the universe when her lips curve in a smile.
“Yeah,” Usagi says with a nod, “let’s do it.”
***
“…so I finally manage to pull it out and, I shit you not, the guy looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘Thanks, Doc. I told my wife she’d never get two of them up there, but the woman is stubborn as a mule.’”
“No!”
“Hand to God.”
“That poor man!”
Mamoru snorts. “Don’t feel too bad for him. Next thing he did was ask me if he could take them home.” Usagi presses a hand against her mouth to stop herself from spitting out her beer. Mamoru grins at her puffed out cheeks and shakes his head. “I told him I had to send them to pathology and advised his wife to invest in something with a flared base.”
Usagi giggles, and a tiny smirk curves her lips as she sets down her empty glass. “No base, no place.” Mamoru feels a responsive flush of warmth rush up his neck and takes a sip of his beer to cool down. Usagi motions for the bartender. “Another round?”
Mamoru eyes the empty glass in front of her—her second of the night—and deflates a little as his responsible side sweeps in to burst his giddy bubble. He’s crazy about Usagi, wouldn’t change a thing about her…except maybe her tendency to overindulge. That’s not to say she has a drinking problem, it’s just that there happens to be a very fine line between ‘happily buzzed’ Usagi and ‘all bets are off’ Usagi, and that line can usually be found between her second and third drink. Ever since the Hibiya park incident, the group has had a strict cut off policy—one Usagi herself agreed to. Sadly, she always seems to forget agreeing to it after drink number two.
Mamoru doesn’t want to kill the carefree vibe they’ve got going, but he also doesn’t want to wind up fishing her out of another public fountain. He doesn’t care how alluring she looked in her soaking wet dress, that water was cold. Still, even as he recalls the bitter chill, an irrepressible memory of soft, tantalizingly outlined curves pressed against him blooms in his mind and suddenly he’s feeling very warm. All right, he concedes, adjusting on his stool, maybe he cares a little bit, but that’s not the point.
“Mamoru? Another round?”
He forces a smile and shakes his head. “Tempting, but I know I’ll regret it in the morning. How about we switch to soda?”
He can see Usagi’s disappointment even before she opens her mouth to object, but then she seems to think better of it and dips her chin in a small nod. Mamoru asks for a soda and a water and their second awkward silence of the evening descends as they wait for their drinks. He’s wondering if he should have cut loose and thrown caution to the wind when she breaks the silence.
“So…how’s Tomoko?”
He blinks, fazed by the sudden change of subject. “Tomoko?” he echoes as the bartender brings their drinks. He steals a glance at Usagi while taking a sip of water. Are her cheeks turning pink? “She’s fine. Why do you ask?”
Usagi fiddles with the straw in her glass but doesn’t take a sip. Nor does she look at him. “I noticed that you, um, you haven’t brought her to any more group nights.”
It’s not just his imagination, her cheeks are definitely pink. Almost the exact shade of the tiny hearts embroidered on her sweater. Interesting. He hasn’t brought Tomoko, let alone mentioned her, once since that night, so why is Usagi bringing her up now, nearly four months later? Also, why is she blushing? And why won’t she look at him? Her gaze is as fixated on her straw as his is on her face.
Though his mind begins racing with possibilities and his stomach does a little flip, Mamoru wraps his fingers around his glass and schools his expression before replying. “No, she prefers to drink with people who are less accident prone. Said she sees enough blood at the hospital.”
A sharp gasp escapes Usagi’s bow lips as her head jerks up and her brilliant blue eyes go wide. It’s precisely the reaction he was expecting—she looks horrified, but the straw is completely forgotten, which was his ultimate goal. “She said that?”
“No,” Mamoru says with a chuckle and half an eye roll. Maybe it’s wrong to tease her, but she’s so gullible. And so adorable. He takes another sip of water before adding, “Of course not. She said she had a lot of fun that night, flesh wounds and all.”
Usagi’s expression calms, but after a moment she’s reaching for her straw again. Her eyes dart between the glass and his face. “Yet you haven’t brought her back.”
No, he hasn’t. Why would he? He only brought Tomoko to appease the ex, and that douchebag is history. He could tell Usagi this, a part of him dearly wants to, but another part of him—the cautious (read: cowardly) part—wants to let this play out. Wants to see if Usagi is actually leading him where he desperately wants to go, or if this is just another case of wishful thinking on his part. So, dragging a fingertip through the condensation coating his glass, Mamoru answers, “No, I haven’t. Why? Were you hoping to see her again?”
“No— I mean, not no,” Usagi stammers, cheeks burning red now, “of course I’d like to see her again. She seemed really nice.”
Mamoru nods.
“And funny.”
He nods again.
“And super smart.”
An amused smirk tugs at his mouth, prompting him to take another sip of water.
“Honestly, she seemed…perfect. Perfect for you.”
It’s all Mamoru can do not to spray his mouthful all over the bar. Somehow, he manages to swallow, but before he can sputter a reply, Usagi is speaking again.
“You’re such a great guy, Mamoru,” she says, eyes bright, a soft smile curving her lips. “You’re smart and kind and thoughtful. You’re even funny”—she grimaces briefly—“sometimes. You’re always willing to help or give advice or just listen when anyone needs an ear.” Usagi lowers her gaze to the bar and traces a finger along the edge of her coaster. “Most guys—the ones I’ve dated at least—only pretend to care in order to get what they want, but you’re not like that. You’re not selfish, even when you should be. I know how hard you work and how difficult it can be to make time for nights like these. I just…” She sighs and drops her hand to her lap before lifting her gaze. “I’d hate to think you’re spending time with me—with us—when you could be with Tomoko instead.”
It takes Mamoru a moment to gather his thoughts. Okay, more than a moment. In his defense, the woman of his dreams has just told him how amazing she thinks he is, and he wants to savour that for a little while. Possibly forever. The only thing stopping him from ascending to cloud nine is the fact that the woman of his dreams thinks he’d rather be anywhere or with anyone but her. When he regains enough presence of mind to snap his jaw shut, he straightens his spine and looks Usagi in the eye. The undisguised affection in her gaze would make his heart soar were it not for the sombre shadows lurking behind it. She’s sad—he’s not entirely sure why, but he knows he has to fix it.
To hell with letting things play out, it’s time to be direct.
“Usagi, Tomoko and I aren’t dating.”
Her eyebrows shoot up behind her thick, charmingly tousled bangs. “You’re…not?”
“No, we never were.”
“You never—” Usagi’s brow furrows. “Oh, I thought—” Her cheeks flush. “Oh.”
“And she is most definitely not perfect for me.”
A look of genuine astonishment washes over Usagi’s face, even as a tiny spark of indignation flares in her eyes. Mamoru knows, without having to ask, that Usagi is undoubtedly offended on Tomoko’s behalf even though she’s only met the woman once. He loves that about her. “Why? What’s wrong with her?” she demands.
She’s not you.
He almost says it. Courage floods his veins, daring parts his lips, longing places the words on his tongue—then the shrill ring tone of a phone shatters the moment. His phone, to be exact. Usagi blushes when Mamoru utters a foul curse and digs his phone out of his pocket. He curses again when he sees the caller display. “I’m sorry,” he says, rising from the stool, “it’s the hospital, I have to take it.”
It’s Takahashi, a fellow resident. He needs someone to cover his shift. Mamoru casts a longing glance in Usagi’s direction before he steps into the back hallway where it’s quieter. “I’m just coming off a double, and I’ve had a couple drinks.”
“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t ask, Chiba, but Yamada is already working a double and Masaki is in Kyoto this week. My wife’s appointment is at seven, so I don’t need to be out of here until six.”
Mamoru glances at his watch, frowns, then rubs a weary hand over his face. “What about—”
“Eto isn’t answering my calls. You know how he is. Total ghost whenever he gets a day off.”
“Yeah, Eto’s an asshole.” A smart asshole.
“Please, Chiba, I’m begging you.”
Mamoru groans and closes his eyes as he drops his head against the wall with a dull thud. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, man, I owe you—”
Mamoru ends the call before Takahashi can finish. Takahashi owes him all right. It’s bad enough that tomorrow would have been Mamoru’s first day off in two weeks, but this is his first night alone with Usagi ever, and now he has to cut it short in order to be rested and sober enough to work in the morning. Another low curse escapes his lips as he stuffs his phone in his pocket and peels himself from the wall. Damn his bad luck.
Usagi is chatting with the bartender when he returns and taps her gently on the shoulder. Her smile is bright when she turns, but one look at his face dims her glow. “You’ve got to go.”
There’s no mistaking her disappointment, and he is simultaneously crushed and bolstered by her reaction. “I’m sorry, someone needs me to cover their shift and—”
“It’s okay, Mamoru,” Usagi says, grabbing his hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just happy I got to see you tonight.”
When she smiles and squeezes his hand, Mamoru has to fight the urge to pull her into his arms—to hold her close and tell her how happy it would make him to do this every night. To see her smile, hear her laugh, feel her touch, each and every day.
Instead, he says, “Me too.”
It’s a cowardly cop out, but it’s hard to berate himself when Usagi hops off her stool and gives him one of her infamous hugs. While he hates ending any evening with her, he lives for these hugs—savours each and every moment. The jolt of enthusiasm, the tight squeeze of affection, the soothing rock of connection, and finally the slow, reluctant withdrawal. It’s easy to get lost in these moments, to get carried away, but Mamoru manages to stay grounded by reminding himself that Usagi does this with everyone. That, special though they seem, her hugs for him are no different than the hugs she gives to the others, no matter how much he wishes they were.
When she pulls away, he helps her into her coat, allowing his hands to linger on her shoulders for a moment or two longer than necessary, then follows her to the exit, fingers twitching all the way.
They both speak at the same time when they reach the sidewalk.
“Will I see you next we—”
“Can I walk you home?”
Though Usagi looks surprised by his offer, Mamoru is pleased by the sudden flush blooming in her apple cheeks. She glances down at her wrist, which is a little odd, given he’s never seen her wear a watch, then tugs on the sleeve of her jacket as if to cover the lapse before looking up again. “Are you sure you have time?”
“I always have time for you.”
They’re both a little stunned by his response. This may be the first time Mamoru has managed to tell her precisely what he’s thinking without an ounce of hesitation, and before he can panic and walk it back, a bashful smile curves Usagi’s perfect pink lips and it’s all he can do not to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk.
She flutters her lashes—or blinks, hard to tell the difference—then dips her head in a nod. “I’d like that.”
Usagi’s apartment isn’t far from the izakaya, and despite the early morning ahead, Mamoru finds himself wishing she lived much further away than a mere seven blocks. They make idle chit chat during the short walk, and when her hand brushes against his, he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket to stop himself from grabbing hold of it. As much as he wants to take her small hand in his own, thread his fingers through hers, and confirm how perfectly he knows they’ll fit together, he won’t. He’s no gambler, and he’s not willing to risk ruining a perfect night on a potentially embarrassing long shot like unsolicited hand holding.
Before he knows it, they’ve reached her street, and Usagi slows her steps to a crawl as they approach her building. “I still can’t believe everyone else ditched group night.”
Mamoru’s easy smile flattens in a momentary grimace before he forces a wry grin. “Yeah, what are the odds?” Pretty high, it turns out, with ‘friends’ like Minako.
Usagi stops and pivots toward him. “I had fun though. A lot of fun. I hope, um”—she fiddles with the strap of her purse—“I hope you weren’t too bored without the others.”
Mamoru fists his hands in his pockets and meets Usagi’s shy gaze with uncharacteristic directness. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.” He can’t because he hasn’t. Ever.
It’s hard to tell if his response makes Usagi blush given the dark night, but judging by the wide smile that splits her face, she’s pleased. After a moment, her expression turns playful, sending a rush of heat up Mamoru’s neck…and to other areas. “Maybe we should ditch the others more often.”
He’s so enamoured by her cheeky wink, it takes him a moment to find his voice. “Maybe we should.”
“It’s a date.”
Mamoru’s mouth goes dry in an instant. She doesn’t mean it—at least, not the way he wants her to mean it. It wouldn’t be a date date, she’s just being funny. She’s being playful. She’s being flippant and casual, and she has no idea how those three simple words have completely paralyzed him. How such a small statement can feel so big. How could she? She has no clue how truly, madly, irrevocably in love with her he is. How far he’s fallen. How long he’s waited. For what, exactly?
What is he waiting for?
He swallows. Purses his lips. Pulls his hands from his pockets and reaches for her.
“Usagi, I—”
“Usa?”
They blink in unison, but Usagi turns her head first, missing Mamoru’s reaction. The way his eyes close, his hands drop, his face falls, his shoulders slump. The way he instantly knows that everything has just gone wrong. His perfect night is ruined. Why?
Because he knows that voice.
“Hideyo? What— What are you doing here?”
Mamoru turns with great reluctance and settles a bleak gaze on Hideyo a.k.a Twat-wad. The ex. The Ex. The Fucking Douche-canoe EX. He’s supposed to be history. He’s supposed to be in Paraguay or Uruguay…or some other fucking country, not here. What in the flying fuck is he doing here?
When Hideyo approaches Usagi, Mamoru squashes an urge to punt him into the street. “I’m here to see you.”
“Why?” Usagi asks, voicing Mamoru’s thoughts, albeit with less vitriol.
Hideyo inhales and runs a hand through his straggly, shoulder length hair. He’s ditched the perpetual man bun, but he looks as douchey as ever. “I need to talk to you.”
Usagi crosses her arms. “About what?” Though her tone is admittedly cool, Mamoru can’t help but wonder why she’s asking. Is she just being polite, or does she actually care what this jagweed wants?
“About us.”
It’s hard to be sure given the freight train—or blood, hard to tell the difference—currently rushing through his ears, but it’s possible that Mamoru growls. Like, actually growls. Usagi glances at him and frowns before turning her attention back to the self-obsessed tool in front of her.
“There is no ‘us’, Hideyo,” Usagi says, and Mamoru stuffs his hands in his pockets again to keep himself from pumping a fist in the air in triumph. “It’s late, I think you should go home.”
“I’ve come straight from the airport, Usa.” Mamoru clenches his teeth at the nickname. “I flew all the way from Guyana to see you.” Guyana. Whatever, he’d had the right continent at least. “I know it’s late,” Hideyo says, stepping forward, “but I can’t go home, Usa.” When Hideyo takes Usagi’s hands in his, Mamoru’s heart clenches painfully. “Because you’re my home.”
Time stops. Or maybe it doesn’t, but it certainly seems to as, yet again, Mamoru experiences a flash of perfect awareness. Another window opened tonight. A perfect moment of opportunity. Finally—after all the indecision, all the fear and hesitation and pussyfooting around, he was finally ready to take the leap, but the universe said no. Not only did it say no, it’s now forcing him to watch this pretentious, loathsome, self-serving dick weasel steal his moment right in front of him.
It’s hard not to see that as a sign. It’s hard not to take it personally. It’s hard not to launch himself at Hideyo and beat the ever loving piss out of him right now.
Hard, but not impossible. While Mamoru manages to stifle the urge to commit assault, he can’t stop himself from clearing his throat rather loudly when the moment stretches on too long for his liking. Usagi starts, as if from a daze, and looks up at him before blushing and snatching her hands away from Hideyo. Sadist that he is, Mamoru can’t help but wonder if she would have done the same if he weren’t standing there. Can’t help but wonder if she’d completely forgotten he was standing there at all.
For the first time, Hideyo seems to notice Mamoru. His beady little eyes narrow in recognition just like they used to, but only for a moment. Then he nods his head and says, “Chiba-san,” in greeting before looking between Mamoru and Usagi. “Maybe I’ve come too late after all. Are the two of you—?” He doesn’t finish the question, but all three of them know exactly what he’s asking.
“No, of course not.”
Usagi’s denial is automatic. Immediate. Dismissive even. Though true, it feels like a knife in Mamoru’s heart. He reaches for his chest, thinking to pull the blade free, but of course there’s nothing there. The wound is invisible to all but him, and he has no one to blame but himself.
“I’m gonna go.”
Usagi swivels toward him, reaches out a hand, but she doesn’t touch him. Not when she sees his face. Mamoru doesn’t know what she sees; nothing, he hopes. He can feel himself shutting down. Closing off. Withdrawing. Retreating.
“Mamoru, you don’t have to—”
“I do.” His tone is abrupt. Clipped. Gruff even. His gaze shifts from Usagi’s bruised expression to Hideyo in time to catch the prick’s look of triumph. “I really do.” He starts to turn when a rush of conscience makes him pause and look back. Though it pains him to do so, he meets Usagi’s eyes. “Are you—” still in love with him? He purposefully slides his gaze to Hideyo then back to her. “Do you need me—” He doesn’t finish the question, and it’s unclear whether any of them know exactly what he’s asking.
Usagi holds his gaze for several excruciating beats before drawing her lower lip between her teeth and shaking her head. “No, Mamoru, I don’t need— I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you next week?”
He doesn’t say anything else, just turns and walks away. He hates himself for it, but he can’t risk opening his mouth again because there’s no telling what might come out of it. Anger. Disappointment. Raw, unfiltered honesty. No, he has to get out of there as fast as he can before he does something foolish. Something humiliating. Something unforgivable.
His phone pings as he turns a corner, and for a moment his heart soars, thinking it’s Usagi. That she’s texting to say she’s sorry. That she wasn’t thinking. That she told the jackass to take a hike. He halts, pulls his phone from his pocket, swipes up.
Mamoru stares at the phone and feels a powerful urge to throw it as hard and as far as he can. He wants to scream, curse, weep. He wants to call Minako right now and tell her to go meddle in someone else’s life. He wants to march back to Hidouchebag and tell him what a slimy, two-faced cretin he is. Most of all, he wants to look Usagi in the eye and tell her all things he’s been too shy, too scared, too stupid to say in the six hundred odd days since he first met her.
Instead, he stuffs the phone back in his pocket and heads home, heart heavy and tail firmly between his legs.
***
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I'm late with this one, but better late than never, yes? This themeless installment just so happened to line up with wild card day. Fortuitous, no? A note to those of you who have read my previous posts in this series: I've added a timeline of sorts to the beginning of each chapter in order to make things a little easier to follow as we jump around.
Day XX BU (Before Usagi) & AU (After Usagi)
(This is the third part. You can find Ch. 1 & Ch. 2 here.)
(Tentative) Title: A Matter of Timing
Summary: Aged up, Friends to lovers UsaMamo Non-Senshi AU told in a series of snapshots.
Rating: T (for language)
Words: 3058
Free Day
Day 491 AU
“I know, I know! I’m late, but you would not believe the day I’ve had.”
Minako looks up at Mamoru with the expression of one who is not amused. "Har har har," she deadpans before smacking the seat of the empty chair beside her. "Sit your ass down, Chiba. You're three rounds behind."
Mamoru smiles and rolls his eyes before stepping aside. "Happy to, but we're going to need another chair." Minako blinks when she notices the woman to his right. “Everyone, this is Yūki Tomoko.” Minako’s eyes zero in on his right hand which is currently hovering directly behind the small of Tomoko’s back. “She’ll be joining us tonight." Minako’s eyes narrow.
All other eyes at the table go wide and a thick, palpable silence descends over the group until a shrill, “Hi, Tomoko-san!” rings out from the back. Mamoru’s eyes fly to the face he’s been dreading/anticipating seeing all week long. Even from a distance he can tell that Usagi’s cheeks are visibly flushed, but that’s more than likely due to the three empty beer bottles in front of her and not the fact that he’s brought a mystery woman to one of their gatherings for the first time since they met. He tells himself that that’s fine. That bringing Tomoko here tonight isn’t about seeing how Usagi reacts.
He figures after downing three or so beers of his own that’ll be easier to believe.
“There’s a free chair over here!” Usagi bellows, waving one arm in a wide arc. Makoto catches the rogue limb with a deft hand before it can hit her in the face. “Let me just—” There’s a screech of metal on tile and about two seconds go by before Mamoru realizes what she’s about to do. He reaches Usagi just in time to stop her from going ass over teakettle when she heaves the empty chair up off the floor. Makoto has frozen halfway out of her seat and is giving him a look that is part astonishment, part admiration. Mamoru shoots her an awkward smile as he settles Usagi back into her chair.
“Oh em gee, she’s so pretty!” Usagi hisses in his ear in the loudest stage whisper known to man.
Mamoru can feel the heat flooding his own cheeks now, but he manages to nod even though all he can think is, ‘Nowhere near as pretty as you are.’
It’s not until he’s carrying the empty chair back to a waiting Tomoko that it occurs to him to wonder why there’s an empty chair at all. Someone must be missing. His brain catalogues all of the faces he’s seen in the time it takes to swing his head back in Usagi’s direction. Makoto’s on her right, Ami’s on her left, and the douchebag is nowhere to be seen.
***
Forty minutes later Mamoru’s still wondering where Usagi’s jag of a boyfriend is. The guy has been glued to her side for months now—four months to be precise—crashing one get-together after another, trying to insert himself into their tightly knit group, seemingly oblivious to the fact that everyone but Usagi sees him for the pompous gasbag that he is. Mamoru wants to ask someone—mainly Usagi—where the chode is tonight, but he hasn’t had a chance. Bringing Tomoko to their regular group night has caused quite the stir. An eventuality that he had counted on but is now regretting.
The group has been peppering her with questions ever since she sat down and Mamoru can’t get a word in edgewise. Tomoko is completely at ease amidst a sea of inquisitive strangers as he knew she would be. He’s seen her manage raving meth heads in the ER without breaking a sweat, so she’s more than capable of handling this crazy bunch. Tomoko is intelligent, but not pretentious, confident, but not arrogant, witty, but not sarcastic. She is the perfect plus one and Mamoru cannot wait for her to leave.
Tonight is not going at all how he’d planned.
Reika draws Tomoko into a discussion about Cairo—they’re both avid travellers—and Mamoru leans back in his chair and tries to feign interest while keeping his gaze from wandering down the table. He thinks he’s been doing a decent job of the former, not so much of the latter. It might be easier to focus if he didn’t find Usagi staring back at him every second glance. Makoto has cut her off and swapped her to soda but her cheeks are still rosy. He wants to go over there and talk to her but he can’t. Right? That would be rude.
Right?
“You’re staring.”
His gaze slides to the left. Minako is eyeballing him. He doesn’t care. “Where’s—”
“Twat-wad?” Minako answers before he can finish. Her gaze flits to Usagi. “Not here.” That’s all she offers. Hard to say if that’s all she knows. She glances at Tomoko who is laughing at something Motoki has said. “Your date is charming.”
“She’s not my date.”
“Does she know that?”
“Yes.”
Minako drops the side-eye and looks him full in the face. Mamoru holds her gaze. After a few beats she raises an eyebrow and leans back in her chair before turning her eyes to Usagi. “Hmm…” she hums. “Interesting.” That’s all she says, but Mamoru knows that’s not all she’s thinking.
***
Tomoko joins him at the bar twenty minutes later. “Now that is a chatty crew.” Mamoru offers her an apologetic look but she just laughs. “They’re really nice. I never would have guessed a nerd like you would have such cool friends.” This isn’t the first time he’s heard this, and he doesn’t really know what to say so he just shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t get it though, I thought you brought me here to appease a jealous boyfriend. Where’s Mr. Insecure?”
“MIA, apparently,” Mamoru answers, stealing another glance at Usagi. She’s hugging Ami and trying to coax her into staying for one more round. Usagi knows Ami won’t stay because she’s got an early morning and she’s the most responsible one in their group, but she’s asking anyway because she knows it makes Ami feel loved. Usagi is amazing like that.
“Damn, you’re in deep. No wonder he’s jealous.”
Mamoru jerks to attention to find Tomoko studying him with wide, sympathetic eyes. He opens his mouth to speak then realizes there’s nothing he can say so he just sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Tomoko laughs and pats his arm. “I won’t tell you it gets easier because I know how much it sucks, but who knows? He didn’t show tonight. Maybe your luck is about to change.”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
“Well then, I guess you’re fucked.” Mamoru nearly spits out his beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then gives Tomoko a questioning look. She crosses her arms. “If you really don’t think luck is going to lend a hand, then you better stop watching from the sidelines and get in the game. You’ve brought me here to play defence when you should be on offence.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Offence?”
“Who cares if the boyfriend is jealous? It’s her attention you’re after,” Tomoko tells him, nodding her head at Usagi. “You want me to help you get it?”
They stand shoulder to shoulder as Mamoru considers her offer. Ami is finally parting from the group, but Usagi is insisting on walking her all the way to the door. Usagi never lets anyone leave without at least two goodbye hugs. Everyone complains about it but she never seems to care, and she always gets her hugs. No matter how much they grouse about it they all humour her. Because they love her. How could they not? She wears her heart on her sleeve. There’s not a false bone in her body.
Mamoru turns to the bar and sets his empty bottle on the polished wood. “Thanks, but I’m not interested in playing games.”
“Then why did you bring me?”
Mamoru sighs. “I told you. He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m a threat.”
“Yeah, but why do you care what he thinks?”
“I don’t. I could care less what he thinks.”
“Then what—”
“He’s a jackass, but for some reason beyond my comprehension he seems to make her happy. Except for when he’s sulking like a petulant child.” Mamoru takes a breath and flattens his palms against the bar. “I didn’t bring you to spare his feelings, I brought you to spare hers.”
Tomoko lays a hand on top of his and quirks her mouth in a half smile. He tries to mirror the expression but his heart just isn’t in it. The harsh sound of shattering glass makes them both jump and whirl around. Usagi is standing in front of them and her feet are surrounded by shards of broken glass. She stares at the pair of them like a deer in the headlights for two, maybe three beats, then her face turns beet red and a string of barely intelligible apologies—and several curses—spout from her lips as she drops into a crouch. Mamoru and Tomoko cry out in unison when Usagi reaches for the glass, but they’re too late. The damage is done, blood is already seeping from her left palm, and everyone is springing into action.
A waiter is rushing up with a broom, Tomoko is asking the bartender for a first aid kit, and a chorus of voices are crying out in concern. Mamoru is only vaguely aware of all this though because ninety nine percent of his focus is on Usagi. He scoops her up from the floor and into his arms before she has time to fully register the injury. It seems like the natural thing to do; he doesn’t want her to step on any of the glass, and as he makes his way to the restrooms it simply never occurs to him to bother putting her down. It’s possible she’s protesting, but he’s too busy deflecting the group and telling Tomoko to bring the first aid kit to the ladies’ room to listen. It’s not until he gets inside and sets Usagi down on the counter next to the sink that Mamoru realizes how fast his heart is beating. He’s pretty sure it’s not because of the extra cardio.
He takes a breath and looks at Usagi. “Are you okay?”
She blinks up at him with those wide blue eyes of hers. “Yeah,” she says but her voice is shaky.
After a few more breaths he feels calm enough to take a look at her hand. The wound doesn’t seem very deep, he needs to clean it to be sure, but it doesn’t appear to need stitches. He raises his eyes to her pale face and shakes his head. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to touch broken glass?”
Usagi looks instantly repentant which makes him regret the gentle rebuke. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
“What? Don’t apologize,” he tells her, reaching over to turn the faucet on, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I ruined your moment.”
The quiet comment throws him off balance and he shoots her a puzzled look. “What moment?”
Usagi peers up at him from beneath her lashes and Mamoru’s heart skips a beat, but his question goes unanswered because Tomoko arrives with the first aid kit. Mamoru sees Usagi’s immediate blush but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because there are more important things to focus on. He gets to work cleaning the wound. Tomoko offers to assist but makes no comment when he insists on tending to the injury himself. After they agree that stitches aren’t necessary—Usagi looks particularly relieved to hear this news—Mamoru dresses the wound. Usagi has been unusually quiet throughout. Mamoru chalks it up to shock.
“Looks like you’ve got this under control,” Tomoko says. Mamoru pretends not to notice the edge of amusement in her tone. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow so I’m going to take off.” She flashes Usagi a genuine smile. “It was nice to meet you, Usagi. Take care of that hand.”
Usagi nods and offers her a shy smile in return. “Nice to meet you too, Tomoko. I hope you’ll come again. I promise not to bleed next time.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Mamoru says dryly.
Usagi shoots him a quelling look. “Quiet, you.” Mamoru smiles.
Tomoko laughs at the pair of them then turns and heads for the door. She lifts her hand in a casual wave and calls, “See you at the hospital, Chiba,” without turning back, and then she’s gone.
It’s just the two of them again.
Usagi gazes at the bathroom door for several moments before turning her eyes to Mamoru. A faint blush lights her cheeks when she finds him watching her. This small reaction kindles a glow of warmth inside his chest.
“Tomoko seems really nice,” Usagi says. Her voice is soft and sweet and maybe just a little bit timid. It’s not like her to be shy.
“She is,” Mamoru agrees, taking a small step closer to her.
“And smart,” she adds, raising her chin to hold his gaze.
Mamoru nods and places his right hand on the edge of the counter a scant few inches next to her left thigh.
Usagi swallows. “And she’s a doctor.”
He smiles. “Yes, she is all of these things.”
“You two look good together.” Mamoru looks past her, to their reflection in the mirror. He knows he’s biased, but he thinks they look good together. He wonders what Usagi saw when she was watching him with Tomoko. What she was feeling. Was it anything like how he feels when he sees her with—
“Usagi, where’s Hideyo?”
Her smiles dims and she looks away. There’s an excruciating pause during which Mamoru holds his breath, and then Usagi says the three words he’s been longing to hear for four long months. “We broke up.” It takes every ounce of Mamoru’s considerable self control to swallow the whoop of delight that bubbles up in his throat. Usagi stares down at her bandaged hand and mumbles, “Don’t tell Minako. I’m not ready to hear ‘I told you so’ yet.”
It’s not easy to force his features into a sympathetic expression when he’s feeling nothing short of ecstatic, but Mamoru understands that this breakup must be painful for her so he focuses on that and the urge to dance a jig begins to fade. “What happened?” Translation: how did the asshat fuck it up again?
Usagi’s gaze flits to his face then back to her hand. “I don’t…really want to talk about it.”
“All right.” He doesn’t really want to talk about it either. Sayonara, shithead.
“I just…” Maybe she does want to talk about it. “I think I made a mistake getting back together with him, and I’m mad at myself for being so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Usagi.”
“No, just hopeless.”
The bitter reply hangs in the air between them, reminding Mamoru that if anyone in this bathroom is stupid, it’s him. He cups her shoulders in his hands and waits for her to look up before he speaks. “I should never have said that. I was out of line.”
Usagi shakes her head from side to side and leans forward into his grip just a little. “You were being honest with me, just like Minako was. That’s what real friends do. They tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard. I want you to keep telling me the truth.”
‘Okay, I love you.’
He gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Okay, I will.”
“Even when I don’t want to hear it?”
He nods. “Even when you don’t want to hear it.”
‘I hope you will though.’
“Good.”
Usagi smiles and Mamoru experiences a flash of perfect awareness. A window has opened. A perfect moment of opportunity, and there’s no telling how fleeting it might be. He’s had a number of chances like this before and he’s squandered each and every one of them. He promised himself it wouldn’t happen again. That when the time came, he’d be ready. The secret he’s long been harbouring unfurls in his chest and suddenly it’s too massive to contain. It rises up in his throat, sails along his tongue, and presses against his lips, begging to be set free.
“You’re a terrible singer.”
Usagi’s mouth drops open as Mamoru stares blankly into the mirror behind her head. A complete fucking moron wearing his face stares back at him. It’s unclear who, out of the three of them, is more shocked by what he’s just said.
“Shut up!” Usagi snaps, eyes sparking with indignation. She swats his chest with her uninjured hand for good measure. “I am not!”
Mamoru looks down at her and part of him wants to die. To just curl up into a ball right here and wait for death to claim him. But another part of him can’t help but notice how impossibly, unreasonably, irresistibly cute the girl in front of him is. That part of him thinks maybe it’s worth sticking around. You know, to see what she does next. He could go either way, but…
Usagi thrusts a self-righteous finger in his face. “I’ll have you know that some people really like my singing! I’ve been compared to Adele.”
Mamoru blinks. “Human people?”
“Shut up!” Usagi huffs as she hops down from the counter. “What do you know? Listening to you sing karaoke is like listening to an ox strangling a goat.” She sticks her nose up in the air and stomps off.
Mamoru stares after her in bafflement for a beat before jogging to catch up. He reaches the door and pulls it open in time for her to sweep through without missing a step. “An ox strangling a—what does that even mean?”
He’s gonna stick around. It’s definitely worth it. She’s definitely worth it. He wants to see what happens next. He’s got a good feeling that it’s going to be amazing. He can’t wait.
Today wasn’t the day. It wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t ready.
But he will be. One day soon, he will be.
***
Thanks again for reading! ❤️ NGL, three prompts was about three prompts more than I thought I'd write a week ago, but it's a welcome surprise.
Be sure to follow @usamamoweek for all of this year's content!
Many thanks to our awesome hosts @random-mailbox and @lilliebellfanfics for making this event possible. 😘😘
And here's Part Three. That's as far as I (and Mamoru) got last year. Neither he nor I had much of a plan, but we meant well. 😅
Part Four coming soon to a dash near you. 😘
Also: @usamamoweek is the place to be/blog to follow this week if you're craving UsaMamo content. Every year all kinds of amazing, talented creators submit awesome content in honour of our favourite OTP. (And sometimes I tag along and ride their illustrious coattails 😆) I hope you'll come check it out and discover some gems. 💖
I stayed up way too late trying to get this written for today, but I had fun doing it, so Imma say, "Worth it!" #NoRagrets
(This is the second part. Check out Ch. 1.)
(Tentative) Title: A Matter of Timing
Summary: Aged up, Friends to lovers UsaMamo Non-Senshi AU told in a series of snapshots.
Rating: T (once again for language)
Words: 2245
Second Chance
Day 367 AU
“I know, I know! I’m late, but you would not believe the day I’ve had. The studio’s AC broke down and I had to straddle a motorcycle for three straight hours wearing nothing but a g-string. It feels like someone took a cheese grater to my inner thighs. I need a beer and a tub of Vaseline.”
Minako waddles up to their table and drops down into one of the two empty seats with all the grace of a hippo.
“Beer we can do,” Makoto replies, sliding an open bottle down the table. “You’re on your own with the Vaseline.”
Minako catches the bottle and downs a hefty swig straight away before glancing at the vacant seat next to her. After scanning the assembled faces she curses and slams the bottle back down before reaching into her purse and digging out her phone. “I can’t believe she isn’t here yet. She fucking promised me…” She scrolls through a string of texts as glances are exchanged then chucks the phone on the table with a disgusted sigh. “She says she’ll be here in ten.”
“You’re half an hour late,” Motoki chides her. “Give Usagi a break.”
“I’m not pissed that she’s late,” Minako responds, wrapping her fingers around her beer bottle. “I’m pissed about why she’s late.”
“Why’s she late?” Makoto asks.
Minako glances at Rei, who raises her eyes to the ceiling before shrugging a shoulder. It’s unusual for Minako to appear hesitant, and while the subject of Usagi already has Mamoru on alert, he tenses when Minako’s gaze swings in his direction. Her eyes return to her phone before she announces, “She’s back with her ex.”
Mamoru almost chokes on his beer. Almost. He manages to swallow the mouthful, but it burns all the way down. A chorus of boos break out around the table. It’s possible someone even hisses. Hard to say. The roaring in his ears is making it a tad difficult to hear right now. But he wants to hear what everyone is saying, needs to hear it, so he ignores what’s going on inside him and focuses on what’s going on around him instead.
“I told her it was a terrible idea,” Minako says. “That there were at least a million better options out there,” her eyes slide to Mamoru during a subtle pause, “but she wouldn’t listen. I love her, but the girl is blind.”
“How did she even hook up with him again? I thought he went to Indonesia with the side piece.”
“No, it was Thailand.”
“I remember her saying India—”
“Who cares? The douchebag is obviously back. I thought Usagi was done with him.”
“People make mistakes. Maybe he’s learned from his.”
“Yeah right, Ami. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“Agreed,” Minako says, nodding at Makoto then finishing her beer. “People don’t change.” She pushes back her chair with a screech and sets the empty bottle on the table before standing. “I’m gonna need something stronger to get through tonight. Be right back.”
She heads for the bar and before he realizes what he’s doing, Mamoru is up out of his seat and hot on her heels. “What the fuck, Minako?” he utters in a low whisper moments after sidling up to her at the bar. “She’s back with—”
Minako silences him with a raised hand and orders several bottles of sake for the table from the bartender before whirling to face Mamoru, fire in her eyes. “I told you, didn’t I?” Mamoru rears back on his heels. “I told you to stop fucking around and ask her out, but you didn’t listen. Now look what’s happened. You’re both idiots.” Her scorching gaze moves past his face to a new target and he watches her scorn fizzle into disappointment. “Complete fucking idiots.”
Minako brushes past him as she leaves and he turns to call after her but the words die on his lips when he spots Usagi. He hasn’t seen her in nearly a month and the sight of her is like water to a thirsty man. She’s weaving her way through the crowded izakaya, making a valiant effort to reach their table without tripping and failing miserably. Were she a regular carbon based life form this would be a problem, but Usagi is made of rubber and sunshine—exact ratio to be determined—and is thankfully indestructible. She stumbles up to their table in one of her colourful outfits, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, and Mamoru’s heart can’t decide if it wants to shrivel or burst.
Back with her ex. How? When? Why?
A hand claps down on his shoulder and he drags his eyes away from the object of his affection/misery to look at Motoki. Mamoru hasn’t noticed his friend’s approach but the sympathetic expression on his face makes Mamoru queasy. “Tough break, bud,” Motoki says, giving his shoulder a consoling squeeze. “Told you not to wa—”
“Don’t say it,” Mamoru interjects through gritted teeth. His gaze travels back to Usagi just as she emerges from one of Makoto’s bear hugs. Her eyes meet his and light up in the way they always do, the way he’s convinced himself is unique to him. Now he’s not so sure. She smiles and waves and he lifts the half empty beer he forgot he was holding and nods, hoping he’s smiling back. Then, resisting the gravitational pull to fall into her orbit, he turns away and faces the bar.
Motoki turns with him. Probably out of solidarity. “By all accounts the guy is a total dick. My money says he’ll be out of the picture again soon.”
“Any guy who would dump Usagi is clearly a moron,” Mamoru concedes, “but it’s hard to believe anyone could be stupid enough to mess it up twice.”
“Sweet sentiment, but that’s the love goggles talking. Cynical, unbiased Mamoru knows exactly how stupid people can be.” Mamoru swallows a mouthful of beer and scoffs. Motoki pats him on the back. “Look, she’s giving the dude a second chance but he’ll blow it. Just make sure you don’t do the same when the window opens again.”
“Window,” Mamoru mutters. “It’s not like she had some bright neon sign on her forehead that said ‘Open for busi—’”
“Usagi!” Motoki exclaims, throwing his arms wide and jabbing Mamoru with a well placed elbow in the process. “Good to see you, kid. Get in here!”
Mamoru jerks upright and swivels around as Motoki enfolds Usagi in an enthusiastic hug. She squeals and giggles as he rears back and pulls her up off the ground. Mamoru isn’t jealous. He knows Motoki is like a brother to Usagi. He knows Motoki is in a committed relationship with Reika. He knows Motoki is just fucking with him now because any hug longer than five seconds is excessive.
Usagi’s feet return to the floor and Mamoru eases his grip on his beer bottle. Motoki says he’s heading back to the table and throws a playful wink over his shoulder that only Mamoru sees. It’s not until Usagi asks, “What’s wrong?” that Mamoru realizes he is scowling.
“Oh,” he says, shaking his head to reset his brain, “nothing. Hi.” He smiles and she smiles back and for a moment he forgets everything that has occurred in the last ten minutes and he can relax. Then the moment passes and he remembers and things get awkward. “How…are you?”
Usagi quirks her head and squinches her right eye during his lengthy pause but makes no comment on it. “I’m good,” she answers, her tone chipper. “How about you?” She nods to his beer. “Finally got a night off?”
He’s been on surgical rotation the past couple months so he’s been working a lot of nights, but he’s on to peds now, so he’s getting reacquainted with seeing the sun and sleeping in his own bed again. He’d even been flirting with the possibility of doing other activities in said bed with the diminutive blond standing in front of him until Minako dropped her bombshell and destroyed his hopes. So yeah, he’s got the night off, but fat lot of good that’s doing him.
Usagi is still waiting for him to answer. He takes a sip of beer because his mouth has gone dry and finally says, “Yup.”
She gives him an odd look, which makes perfect sense because he’s not himself right now and he’s incapable of hiding that fact. “Right,” she says, stuffing her hands into the tiny pockets of her bright pink polka dot shorts and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Well…good. I’m gonna head back to the table. Meet you th—”
“I hear you’re back with your ex.” Mamoru doesn’t mean to say it. It just kind of…spews forth from his lips. Like vomit. Funnily enough the sentence leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Also like vomit.
Usagi can’t hide her surprise. He’s never known her to have much of a poker face, and her eyes dart to Minako for a moment before returning to him. “Yeah…I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” She looks a little sheepish when she admits it, which makes him feel like an asshole. It also makes him feel irrationally angry because she shouldn’t be ashamed to be with someone. She should be proud, excited, over the moon. He should say something positive. They’re friends, and friends are supposed to encourage each other, even when they’re internally seething with jealousy and regret.
“How did this happen?” Not quite the positive statement he was going for, but it’s a good deal better than the majority of thoughts running through his head at the moment.
She looks down at her shoes—which are also polka dotted—and hunches her shoulders. “Oh, well, I guess he, umm, texted me a couple weeks ago. Said he wanted to talk, so we met for coffee…” She’s looking everywhere but his face now and Mamoru’s too focused on what she’s saying to question why she won’t look him in the eye. “One thing led to another…you know how it goes.”
Mamoru doesn’t know. Not in the slightest. He can count the number of exes he has on one hand and what’s more he can barely remember their names. He doesn’t have time for dating. Scratch that. He doesn’t make time for dating, but if he did he wouldn’t waste it on someone whose name he couldn’t even remember. And certainly not on someone who had betrayed him.
“Mmhmm…” is all he can manage to get out in reply. It’s hard to talk when he’s clenching his teeth so tightly.
Usagi’s gaze flicks up to his face before she turns to look at their table. The group is chatting and laughing together. Mamoru wishes he was over there instead. He wishes he was working tonight. He wishes he wasn’t such a coward. Minako looks up from the table and sees the two of them together. Her expression darkens. Both he and Usagi look away at the same time, and Mamoru wonders if they both saw something they didn’t like in that assessing blue gaze.
Usagi sighs and pulls her hands out of her pockets then stares down at them. “I’m guessing you know this already, but Minako thinks I’m making a mistake. She says I’m being naïve, that people can’t change.” When she finally looks up and meets his gaze her eyes are full of uncertainty. “What do you think?”
‘I think you should dump him and go out with me.’
If Mamoru had even an ounce of courage in his body—either liquid or real—he would say that out loud. Instead, as has been the case so many times over the past year, he plays it safe. “I think you have a very big heart and he’s lucky to have you.”
When Usagi says nothing for several long beats Mamoru tries to read her expression. Her lower lip pulls in the slightest amount, almost like she’s about to bite it and something flickers in her eyes. He wants to believe it’s disappointment, but Motoki would say that’s just the love goggles blinding him. Eventually her mouth twists up in a smirk and she pivots next to him and bumps him with her hip. Because of their height difference it hits him mid thigh. “Nice dodge.”
Mamoru forces a laugh and clutches his beer to his chest to keep himself from wrapping his arm around her and never letting go. “A year ago you told me you were a hopeless romantic. I guess it’s true.” The comment is meant to be playful, but as soon as he says it he knows it sounds like a judgement. Because it is.
Judging by Usagi’s flinch, she knows it too.
She steps away and when she looks at him with a bruised expression Mamoru wants to sink into the floor. “Maybe it was,” she says, “but not anymore. I believe people can grow if they really want to. I think that makes me hopeful, not hopeless. Sometimes you have to be willing to take a chance in order to be happy. ‘Fortune favours the bold’ so I’m gonna be bold.” She dips her head and starts to head back to the table before turning back and offering him a smile that doesn’t fully reach her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Mamoru. I missed you.”
***
Wanna read more? Ch. 3
Thanks again for reading! ❤️ I have no clue how many pieces are in this puzzle (or how they all fit together for that matter) but I'm excited to find out. 😅
Be sure to follow @usamamoweek for all of this year's content!
Many thanks to our awesome hosts @random-mailbox and @lilliebellfanfics for making this event possible. 😘😘
It's that time of year again, so let's celebrate our favourite OTP!
(Tentative) Title: A Matter of Timing
Summary: Aged up, Friends to lovers UsaMamo Non-Senshi AU told in a series of snapshots.
Rating: T (for language)
Words: 1055
First Glance
The day is ordinary. Average. Completely and utterly unremarkable in every conceivable way. Until he sees her. That’s the moment when the timeline splits. When his world is suddenly divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’. He doesn’t know it yet, won’t realize it for some time to come, but his life has just changed irrevocably. For the better or for worse, well…that all depends on whom you ask.
***
Day 9821 BU (Before Usagi)/Day 1 AU (After Usagi)
“I know, I know! I’m late, but you would not believe the day I’ve had. The magazine had me do, like, a thousand different poses. I swear, at one point the photographer was right up my asshole. I finally looked at Masami and said, ‘Is this a photo shoot or a fucking colonoscopy?’ Thank God I waxed!”
Minako sweeps up to their table, dumps her gigantic orange designer purse dangerously close to several drinks, and breathes a dramatic sigh. Her indisputably conspicuous arrival earns her a few cursory nods and a handful of waves. As far as entrances go, this is rather tame for Minako, and the table’s occupants have long since grown accustomed to her dramatic flair. It’s not until she snags a dumpling from the nearest plate that she garners any true notice.
Rei looks up with an angry scowl. “Hands off!”
Minako, who has already stuffed the entire dumpling into her mouth, closes her eyes and lets out an obscene moan between chews. “I haven’t eaten in twenty four hours,” she declares, reaching for another dumpling. Rei, who is clearly unsympathetic to her plight, slaps her hand away.
Makoto laughs from a few seats down the table and gestures to a nearby waiter. “Stop that before you lose a hand! You know how Rei is about sharing food.”
Minako looks down at Rei and mutters, “Stingy bitch,” before leaning forward and capturing her lips in a swift but fierce kiss. When she straightens up Rei still looks annoyed but her cheeks are noticeably flushed. Again, this behaviour is par for the course and few take notice. It’s not until Minako stuffs a finger and a thumb in her mouth and blows out a sharp whistle that heads finally turn. Only Ami has the grace to apologize to the waiter who has just arrived, but the woman waves her off. The staff are also used to Minako by now…and Makoto is good friends with the owner.
“Listen up, everyone!” Minako announces, producing a petite blonde out of seemingly nowhere. “This is Usagi! She’s just been dumped by her twat-wad of a boyfriend, and I’ve promised to get her drunk enough to forget he ever existed. Let’s make her feel welcome!”
There’s a chorus of much friendlier greetings for this new, unexpected arrival and as Minako goes around the table introducing everyone, the girl under her arm blushes and smiles and laughs as though she is absolutely delighted to be there. As though she’s completely at ease meeting a group of strangers. As though she doesn’t have a care in the world. Which can’t be the case if what Minako has just said is true. And yet, how can such a brilliant smile, such musical laughter, such sparkling eyes be anything but genuine?
“And this tall drink of water is Chiba Mamoru. Don’t let his looks fool you, he’s a total nerd.”
He’s heard his name, he knows this is his cue to say hello, but as soon as those big blue eyes land on him, Mamoru is struck momentarily dumb. Usagi smiles and appears unfazed by his sudden lapse. Whether she’s oblivious or just being polite is anyone’s guess, but the moment drags on long enough for others to take notice. The instant Minako’s gaze sharpens and her mouth curves in a cunning smirk, Mamoru knows he’s in trouble.
Minako pulls out the only free chair at the table with one arm and ushers Usagi into it with the other. “Mamoru, be a doll and get Usagi a drink while I go hunt down another chair.” She’s gone in a flash of blond hair and a clack of stiletto heels and Mamoru is left alone with the angel seated to his left. Well, not technically alone. There are still five other people there. Or at least there were. He’s not sure anymore.
When Usagi scoots forward in her chair and their knees brush beneath the table Mamoru wonders for a moment if he’s having a stroke. He’s trying to remember how to know for sure—troubling given the fact that he’s a doctor—when Usagi’s nose crinkles in an adorable smile and she extends her hand. “Tsukino Usagi. Photography assistant, recent dumpee, and hopeless romantic. Pleased to meet you, Chiba-san.”
Much to his surprise, Mamoru finds himself able to smile, raise a hand, and string several intelligible words together. “The pleasure is mine, Tsukino-san. Please, call me Mamoru.” He’s not sure what pleases him more: knowing he is not, indeed, having a stroke, or being able to interact with the beautiful woman next to him like a functioning human being. Before he can get too cocksure, he takes her hand and a bolt of lightning jolts up his arm. Metaphorically speaking. He thinks.
Usagi beams and gives his tingling hand an enthusiastic squeeze before letting go. From what Mamoru can tell, she is not likewise affected. He should be relieved. Strangely, he is not. “Only if you call me Usagi,” she replies, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth. The eye tooth on her left side is slightly crooked. He doesn’t know why but he finds that incredibly charming.
Mamoru smiles, much wider than he ever does. So wide his cheeks actually hurt a little. It feels strange but in a good way. “It’s a deal,” he says. “So, Usagi,” her name slips off his tongue like he’s said it a thousand times and he realizes he wants to say it at least a thousand times more, “what’s your poison?” Usagi’s eyes twinkle with delight and he knows he wants to see them do that at least a million times more.
A chair slams down on the floor to Usagi’s left, startling them both. Minako slings an arm around Usagi’s shoulders and flashes Mamoru a saucy wink. “What are we waiting for? Let’s drink!”
***
Wanna read more? Ch. 2
Thanks for reading! ❤️ I'm flying by the seat of my pants this year, so all bets (and betas) are off. 😅
Be sure to follow @usamamoweek for all of this year's content!
Many thanks to our awesome hosts @random-mailbox and @lilliebellfanfics for making this possible. 😘😘
Reblogging because it's UsaMamo week again, and I'm reviving this misbegotten romp for another round. Mind the dust bunnies, it's been in storage a while. 😘
UsaMamo Week 2025 will be the week of July 28 - August 3! We’re posting these prompts a little later than usual because life / work has gotten away from us. SORRY!
See below for the daily prompts. Almost every day has two prompts to pick from–you are not required to use both. You can do as many or as little day’s prompts as you are inspired to do. We’re accepting any form of creative work–stories, drabbles, poetry, drawings, digital art, webtoons, moodboards, photography, cosplay… whatever medium speaks to you!
Rules:
- Usa/Mamo must be the central pairing
- Any rating is OK as long as you flag / label correctly
- All types of fanwork are accepted
- You can do one prompt or more, there’s no minimum
- Tag a Tumblr post with #usamamoweek2025 and/or @usamamoweek to be reblogged by this account
- Tag #usamamoweek2025 on AO3 as well
If requested, we will share AO3 works on Tumblr
A note on generative AI
This competition is meant for fans by fans. A way for us to share our talents and headcanons and love of this fandom with each other in a supportive atmosphere. We strongly suggest you not use generative AI to create your works for the daily prompts. It means a lot more when it comes from you, not from a program based on an interpreted prompt & using data mined without consent. Trust me, we love every poorly worded sentence written at 11:59p, every disproportionate arm, and every tilted photo. Beauty is in the imperfections. If you do use generative AI, please label and tag your work as that bc transparency matters more than delivering something "perfect".
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
