The sun was low on the horizon, dipping into the lake as if it were slowly lowering itself into the water. The sky blazed with orange, gilding the far off city of Tokyo and the greenery of the park. Peace reigned, the scene empty save one man lounging on a park bench, an ankle propped on a knee.
Mamoru smiled and strolled down to where he sat, one hand in his pocket and the other swinging freely at his side. It only took a moment for him to reach the bench, for his knees to bend and his back to meld to the familiar curve of the seat. He tipped his head back. "Come here often?"
Motoki chuckled, one hand holding a bright blue bottle, the other holding a thin strip of plastic and swirling it around whatever was inside. "Well, it's not like I can stay in that arcade forever." He paused, hunching up his shoulders and shuddering. "God, can you imagine? Bratty kids bugging me for another sundae before they're even done with their first one. Tinny noises on a loop for all of eternity. Plastic everywhere." He shook his head, laughing quietly. "God, that'd be hell."
"No kidding," Mamoru said, cringing in tandem. "I don't know how you stand being in there all day."
"Well, all the utensils are plastic, so it's impossible to slit your wrists," Motoki joked. His lips pressed together, eyes flicking upwards. "You also can't stab anybody with them."
Mamoru raised an eyebrow. "Ever tried?"
Motoki leaned over, whispering like a co-conspirator. "Believe it or not, the boss frowns on homicidal behavior. Claims it's bad for business to slaughter the customers."
Mamoru shook his head. "Madness."
"You're telling me," Motoki sighed, pulling the plastic strip from the bottle. He lifted the ring at the other end to his lips and exhaled.
"Bubbles?" Mamoru asked incredulously. "You come out here to blow bubbles?"
Motoki closed his eyes and lifted his head, nose in the air. "It helps me reconnect with my childhood."
Mamoru snorted. "Says the guy who works in an arcade."
"I had a quiet childhood."
"Freak," Mamoru informed him solemnly.
Motoki opened his eyes, blowing another cascade of bubbles. "We are birds of a feather, peas in a pod, kindred spirits." He leaned over, waggling his eyebrows. "Soulmates."
"Personal bubble," Mamoru said sharply, moving away.
Motoki rolled his eyes but moved back. "Get a girlfriend. Maybe she'll hug you."
Mamoru knew what was coming. He'd known this conversation had been brewing for months now, and until this point, he'd been able to sidestep it or simply leave altogether. It would have been so easy to run again, but this time, something held him in place. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this time, Motoki might not let him leave.
"So, you seem to hang around Usagi a lot," Motoki said just a bit too loudly.
Mamoru sighed, slumping in his seat so far that he was one good wind gust short of lying on the ground. "Do we have to have this conversation?"
"Well, I was sort of hoping to have you locked in a closet so you couldn't run away from me, but since the opportunity's presented itself.... Sure! Why not?"
"Because this is dangerously close to me talking about my feelings."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Are you trying to get me to believe that it's a good thing? Because if you are, I will drown you in that soap."
Motoki frowned and blew another stream of bubbles directly at Mamoru's face. He ignored when one got sucked up Mamoru's nose and the subsequent coughing fit that followed, still continuing delving for information from a human lockbox. "Come on, Mamoru. You can't really blame me for being curious about this, you know. It took me two months to get you to say more than three words at a time to Reika, but some fourteen-year-old gets into the habit of hitting you over the head and it's like you're always together."
Mamoru let out one last hack before answering. "We're not best friends. We're not even friends. She's just... always around. Lurking in the shadows, waiting to throw donuts at me when I least expect it."
"Yeah, cause perky blondes are so prone to pulling a Bela Lugosi in broad daylight."
"Motoki, please."
"You don't have to spend the time with her," Motoki continued, plowing on as if Mamoru hadn't erected a figurative brick wall. When Motoki wanted to have a talk, steel and canons couldn't hold him back. "You make an effort. Yes, it's an effort to be kind of a jerk--"
"Hey!"
"But you're not the kind of person who gives people attention," Motoki said, staring him down. "They have to demand it from you, and that works about as often as swine take wing. But there you are, every other day with a nickname and freakin' eye contact, and I see it Mamoru. I see you two every day, so don't you sit there and tell me that you're killing time or that it doesn't mean anything because you don't do that."
Mamoru held his body stiff and still for a moment, and then with an exhalation of breath, released something from his skin that made everything go slack. "I don't know, all right? I don't know what's going on."
Motoki's frown deepened, and the time came for the bubbles to be set aside. "That's not like you either."
"Nothing's right when she's around," Mamoru muttered, hating himself and dragging his hand down his face. Maybe if the skin came off he could stop talking about this. "You ever feel that? Like someone walks into your life and messes it all up? You don't even know why, but... it's like a hurricane."
Motoki got a strange look on his face. "I didn't know Usagi had that kind of power."
"Sometimes I get the feeling she can do a lot more than that," Mamoru mumbled, a whisper so quiet that he doubted for a moment having said it.
"So, a girl, who is actually a force of nature, has irrevocably screwed up your life, and you retaliate by making a total ass of yourself." Motoki nodded sharply. "Well done."
"Don't make me hit you."
"But why bother?" Motoki said, once again making use of his selective hearing. "If she's so disruptive, why not just ignore it?"
Mamoru shook his head, his fingers reaching out for his temples. "I can't. Something about her... it forces me to pay attention. She's like the elephant in the room except that I can't help but look at her."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Motoki muttered.
"She's attaching herself," Mamoru murmured. "Latching on. And I can't cut her out or outrun her or look away because there's something about her that makes me... allow it."
Motoki ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck and giving one last look to the setting sun. "Any clue why?"
Mamoru's eyes drifted closed again, blocking out the orange sky and the sight of his once-best friend resting beside him with that look of concern that made Mamoru want to swallow his tongue. His mind instantly filled with thoughts of a tiny girl with blonde pigtails loud as a clap of thunder and breakable as a sheet of sugar glass. Even though he almost never saw her smiling, it's how he saw her now, reminding him of something lost. Something he knew he would never retrieve. But it had been miles away before. This time it felt just out of reach. It made his stomach clench, his heart race, and yet it brought quiet to his mind. Peace in the frustration of being just a step away.
Mamoru reached out blindly and grasped the bottle of bubbles. He mimicked Motoki's movements from before, and soon enough, the air around them was filled with bubbles. They drifted away from the pair slowly and soon, it was like they were barely there.
"Maybe she helps me reconnect."
