When Mamoru heard that Reika and Motoki had called things off after almost four years of dating, he was expecting to find his best friend curled up in the corner of the arcade, lower lip bobbing like it alone experienced a devastating seizure. He was expecting crying, something Mamoru never knew how to deal with. He was expecting despair of the deepest kind, a depression that would easily rival any of Mamoru's endless brooding sessions. In short, he was expecting Motoki to be a spineless, sobbing, pathetic wreck of a human being, and he was expecting to have to pick up the pieces without cutting his hands.
He was not expecting Motoki making a list.
Mamoru raised an eyebrow, and he approached cautiously. It would not do to startle Motoki, particularly since he was not shattered and destroyed. For all Mamoru knew, this signaled a psychotic break waiting to happen. Of course, he was more qualified to deal with that than emotion, but it was not something he was eager to experience.
"Hey, Motoki," Mamoru said quietly, inching closer and closer to his toe-headed best friend.
"Hey," Motoki returned, not looking up from his papers. His voice was perfectly steady; his face screwed up in concentration. And his eyes were completely dry.
Mamoru finished circling around, standing next to Motoki's stool. He vaguely thought that this was the sort of moment that called for a consoling hand on the shoulder, so he lifted his arm. And then he let it hang there, twitching with uncertainty and the shrieking voice in the back of his mind prohibiting him from human contact. He glared at it, as if the limb could be blamed for his idiosyncrasies, and then let it fall. Maybe touching was a bad idea anyway.
"I heard what happened," Mamoru explained, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Reika called me."
That made Motoki pause, but only momentarily. "How is she?" he asked, his voice bizarrely disconnected.
Mamoru thought back to the night before. Usagi and he had just gotten back from a restaurant he would have been able to afford if she hadn't ordered obscene quantities of the most expensive items on the menu. The phone rang just seconds after they walked into his apartment, and there had been Reika on the other end, sobbing.
Usagi had handled all of that business.
Through tears, hysteria, and a number of expressions that Mamoru had thought Usagi incapable of, he'd gotten the story after the two women hung up. The decision might have been mutual, but Reika was clearly heartbroken. She'd always been so capable, so in control, the stable, logical portion of the pair, but this had laid her flat.
And Motoki was making lists.
"Peachy," Mamoru deadpanned. "You two just ended a relationship that lasted half a decade. How do you think she is?"
Motoki shrugged. "Well, with the long distance--"
"Yes, I gathered." Mamoru rubbed his hand vigorously across his scalp, shutting his eyes. "Look, Motoki, I'll be honest. I was kind of expecting you to be emotionally devastated. Not that I was really prepared to handle that either, but... this is really freaking me out."
There was that damn shrug again. “Don’t know what to tell you, Mamoru. I’ve been expecting this to happen for the past few months, and… I guess I’ve just made peace with it.”
Mamoru frowned. “You knew this was coming?”
“Yup.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
“Seems that way.”
Mamoru pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have the skill set to deal with this crap.” He leaned forward, peeking down at whatever Motoki was writing. "And what are you--"
Motoki attempted to cover up his perfectly legible, almost girlish scrawl, but Mamoru saw it all right. There were the names of nearly all of his girlfriend’s girlfriends along with various attributes, and all under the header of “Possible Rebounds.”
“Oh. My. God,” Mamoru muttered. “Please tell me that you’re not--"
Motoki laughed, having the decency to look at least slightly chagrined. “Well, I just figured… since so many of them have crushes on me anyway.”
Mamoru found his head drooping forward as of he had an anvil tied around his forehead. “At some point on my way over, I must have stepped into a parallel universe where you’re an asshole. This is the only possible explanation I can come up with.”
Motoki turned to him, no longer hiding the paper, and in fact producing it as though it were some fine academic achievement. “You have to admit, the logic here is sound.”
“Christ on a bike.”
“Look,” Motoki continued undeterred, pointing at Ami’s name. “Let’s start with Ami. She’s absolutely brilliant. I like that in a woman.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Mamoru said, sitting down. He was quite certain he couldn’t deal with this stupidity on two feet.
“And she’s not one of those nerds who doesn’t care about what she looks like,” Motoki announced emphatically, as if Mamoru wasn’t already aware. “I’ve always said she was cute.”
Mamoru arched an eyebrow. “Funny, I never heard you mention it.”
“You must not have been paying attention,” Motoki insisted flippantly. “And then there’s Makoto. As I found out at the New Year’s Party last year, she’s always had some affection for me.”
“Thank God she doesn’t remember that,” Mamoru murmured, remembering a too-tipsy Makoto hanging all over a dateless Motoki while even the shameless Minako looked on in horror.
Motoki nodded. “But she’s a brunette. I like brunettes.”
“Why does all of this sound familiar?” Mamoru drawled.
Motoki continued to ignore him. “And she’s great at everything domestic. I mean, you’ve seen my apartment. It’s a sty. Sometimes even I wonder how I can stand to live there. But she actually likes cleaning! It’ll be like a thing with us. I mess things up, she fixes them.”
Mamoru felt that needed no comment.
Motoki frowned and glanced down at the list. “I actually don’t know why I put Rei on here. But I just really like how she dresses, you know?”
“Fashion. Right,” Mamoru sighed. “She’s even talked about working in a boutique part-time after she’s done with things at the shrine.” Mamoru straightened, stroking his chin. “Hmm, I think there might be someone else I know who does that.”
“And then there’s Minako,” Motoki concluded, his smile eerily wide. Mamoru thought it must be exceptionally painful. “She… she doesn’t even really have standards, right?”
That would have likely been the appropriate moment to lose his temper, but Mamoru didn’t get much of a chance to find out. With Motoki’s stutter, Mamoru’s expectations at last began to be fulfilled. The bright façade cracked. The smile began to fall. Eyes filled with liquid. And finally, Motoki’s lower lip had a seizure.
“Mamoru,” he whimpered.
Mamoru sighed and leaned back, bracing himself. “I know.”
Without anymore warning, Motoki fell forward on top of him, leaving Mamoru no choice but to hug him to keep them both upright. As if a cork had been pulled from a dam wall, the emotion poured out with crushing force. Motoki was like liquid in his arms, annihilated by the inevitability of their relationship. Reika had her career, and Motoki had his home. Some things just couldn’t coincide.
It was the worst punishment Mamoru could have received, and he had no idea what he had done wrong.
