3. f. Tangent, 4. c. Paper, 4. f. Clay, 5. d. Question
Aaand it turns out that my muse wants me to write ONLY Mamoru.
Tangent
One day, Usagi would leave him.
He tried to drown out her laughter from the back booth, but his brain was burning the sound into his memory.
He looked down at his math textbook blearily as if the secrets of their lives were charted out within it. Like a tangent, she would touch the curve of his life once, and then shoot off into infinity. And he would remain forever blinded, forever yearning for her brilliance.
But it was the second revelation that startled him: he would move the universe itself if only to race off into infinity beside her.
Paper
Mamoru tossed the piece of paper in front of Usagi.
“Nice try,” he said. “But the next time you use phrases like ‘your gargantuan ego makes my heart pitter patter’, try using a dictionary.”
Usagi flushed beet red. “How did you know it was me?!”
“Who else would send me a fake love letter?”
“Lots of people! Like, Motoki. He helped me mail it. Why didn’t you accuse him?”
“I recognized your handwriting.”
It took Usagi a minute to figure out that one.
“How did you know what my handwriting looked like?!”
It was Mamoru’s turn to flush beet red.
Clay
He couldn’t do it.
To love Usagi..!
She asked for too much.
If he allowed himself to love her, he would turn into sand, into clay-he would bend to her will, he would shape himself into whomever she wanted him to be. Her eyes would be the kiln to burn him into place; her voice would be the glaze that added colour to his life.
If her love ever left him, he would shatter into a million pieces.
And without her, he would be as cold and shapeless as a lump of clay for the remainder of his life.
Question
He was always near breaking on days when the fighting had been particularly nasty.
On days when she was a breath away from death-when he realized that she was fallible, was human...
Those days, he had little patience.
“Are you okay, Mamoru-baka? You look terrible!”
And then there was this one. So naive. So sheltered. He wanted to tell her, shake her, drive in that the world wasn’t the wonderful, happy bubble she lived in.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t begrudge her that innocence, just because his had been stolen so early.
“Shouldn’t you be studying, Odango?”
Tangent
One day, Usagi would leave him.
He tried to drown out her laughter from the back booth, but his brain was burning the sound into his memory.
He looked down at his math textbook blearily as if the secrets of their lives were charted out within it. Like a tangent, she would touch the curve of his life once, and then shoot off into infinity. And he would remain forever blinded, forever yearning for her brilliance.
But it was the second revelation that startled him: he would move the universe itself if only to race off into infinity beside her.
Paper
Mamoru tossed the piece of paper in front of Usagi.
“Nice try,” he said. “But the next time you use phrases like ‘your gargantuan ego makes my heart pitter patter’, try using a dictionary.”
Usagi flushed beet red. “How did you know it was me?!”
“Who else would send me a fake love letter?”
“Lots of people! Like, Motoki. He helped me mail it. Why didn’t you accuse him?”
“I recognized your handwriting.”
It took Usagi a minute to figure out that one.
“How did you know what my handwriting looked like?!”
It was Mamoru’s turn to flush beet red.
Clay
He couldn’t do it.
To love Usagi..!
She asked for too much.
If he allowed himself to love her, he would turn into sand, into clay-he would bend to her will, he would shape himself into whomever she wanted him to be. Her eyes would be the kiln to burn him into place; her voice would be the glaze that added colour to his life.
If her love ever left him, he would shatter into a million pieces.
And without her, he would be as cold and shapeless as a lump of clay for the remainder of his life.
Question
He was always near breaking on days when the fighting had been particularly nasty.
On days when she was a breath away from death-when he realized that she was fallible, was human...
Those days, he had little patience.
“Are you okay, Mamoru-baka? You look terrible!”
And then there was this one. So naive. So sheltered. He wanted to tell her, shake her, drive in that the world wasn’t the wonderful, happy bubble she lived in.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t begrudge her that innocence, just because his had been stolen so early.
“Shouldn’t you be studying, Odango?”