Chapter Text
It’s after Seiya leaves in the morning that Usagi notices.
He barely left a trace after serving as her bodyguard for the evening. Enemies defeated, they fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. Despite her friends’ worries, nothing indecent happened between them. She doesn't know why everyone assumed something would happen. She was home alone, and Seiya was a good friend, and her parents would be back the following afternoon anyway. Nothing more to it.
But her shirt smells like Seiya after he’s gone.
It’s not a big deal. No one would be able to tell. Besides, it’s nothing the washing machine wouldn’t be able to take care of.
Only Usagi would’ve noticed.
It’s undeniable to her, a lingering piece of Seiya. He always smells crisp and clean, fresher than a boy. (Nicer than Mamoru.)
The soft scent twists in her gut as she gets dressed that morning.
She intended to sleep in her bed, Seiya in the guest bed. Instead, she slept pressed against his shoulder, their hands in danger of touching. She must’ve drooled on his sleeve.
Would Seiya spend all morning thinking about her, too? Would he be bothered by her rosy perfume on his clothes?
Usagi is sure they feel the same, so she avoids thinking too hard about how he might feel. A preemptive protection for them both, a reason to stay in the dark.
Last night feels distant, like they slept in another solar system. Her clothes smell like Seiya, sure, but more lingers in her memory: his warmth, his easy breathing, how safe she felt closing her eyes next to him.
Did she fall asleep and then lean his way? An accident, an involuntary movement, all gravity’s fault. Or was she falling long before her eyes were shut?
Usagi doesn’t think about it. Before she puts her pajama shirt into her hamper, she presses the fabric to her face. She breathes in through her nose.
Seiya’s scent is already faint. Maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Easier to wash out.