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“Uh, Usako? How- how did you realize you liked girls?”
Tsukino Usagi looked up from her manga to find her fiancé seated next to her on the couch, idly flipping through one of the volumes of her current favorite boy’s love series. Despite his nonchalant tone, Mamo-chan had been a little off for several weeks now – a few too many throat-clears, a newly developed nervous tapping tic – those little hints he gave off when there was something he wanted to talk about.
She closed her book, setting it in her lap. “I’m not exactly sure,” she said with a little hmm of thought. “I think it was always kind of obvious. Like, I would see a pretty girl on Juuban-dorii and not want to take my eyes off her, you know? It was only confusing sometimes because the same thing would happen with cute boys, and I didn’t have the words to explain that right away.”
She tilted her head, trying to recall those first few confusing years of puberty. Remembering the stress of trying to figure out if she was gay or straight while also fighting the forces of evil and struggling to reconcile those early crushes she’d had on her Senshi with how crazy she’d gone over Mamoru.
“But it was never a surprise that I liked girls. There were times I felt like maybe I was wrong to not only like one gender, until I learned that was normal, too.”
It had been especially embarrassing that first year when she and Mamoru had just started going out and she’d gotten so flustered over Haruka. There had been several (very long) conversations with Minako before Usagi had been able to accept that being that attracted to someone else didn’t have to mean anything about her relationship with Mamo-chan.
But Mamoru, for whatever reason, didn’t look terribly relieved to hear this. “So you never… you didn’t question?”
“Um… well, see I didn’t,” she tapped her fingers against the cover of Dick Fight Island, a suspicion starting to grow inside her. “But lots of people do. People who maybe didn’t grow up with my Mama and Papa, for example. I think for people who grow up under really rigid expectations… like a parent who wants you to be a specific way…” She pressed her lips together. “You know, Rei-chan always knew she didn’t really like boys, but she wasn’t always sure she liked girls either. It took her and Mina-chan a while to figure that out.”
Mamoru cleared his throat again. “But she and Minako-chan have been together now for three years.”
Usagi nodded. “Yup.”
She paused, giving him space to speak. But as the silence between them only lengthened, Mamoru not saying a word, she reached out to gently squeeze the tips of his fingers. “But everyone’s experience is different. Why… do you ask, Mamo-chan?”
He withdrew his hand, running it down the back of his neck instead. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I bet it does.”
He blew out a shallow breath, elegant fingers scratching at one shoulder. “No, it… It wouldn’t change anything.”
Recognizing an important conversation half-formed, Usagi dropped her manga onto the end table. She slid into Mamoru’s lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “It’s bothering you, so it matters to me. You don’t have to share anything that you’re not ready to, but I’m here, Mamo-chan. Whenever you need me.”
Pressing his forehead to hers, Mamoru puffed out another breath against her cheek. “…We got together so young. You were only fourteen and didn’t really have much time to be with anyone else before, you know… fate.”
“Neither of us did,” she said gently. “You may have been sixteen and altogether dashing, but you weren’t exactly exploring your options any more than I was when we met.”
“Do you ever wish you had?”
Something twisted low in her stomach. She wasn’t entirely certain where this line of questioning was going, but she was pretty sure that Mamoru wasn’t asking because he thought she was the one who should have played the field more.
“Not me,” she said, hoping her tone was calm enough to hide that bolt of nerves. “I’m glad we get as much time together as possible. Across however many lives we have.”
Mamoru nodded, his fingers moving idly along her thigh. “But even so, you’re still confident that you’re bisexual.”
“Right,” she agreed. “Because it's about me, not about you.”
“I guess… I don’t quite understand what you get out of ‘knowing’ that you’re bisexual? If you only want to be with me, why does it matter?”
For years, Usagi had rolled her eyes at hearing this question, shrugged it off like water on a rainy day. There were always a few closed-minded people who wanted to call her ‘straight’ because she’d never slept with a woman, because her relationship didn’t ‘look queer’ from the outside.
But she knew Mamo-chan wasn’t asking because of that.
And so she sucked in on her cheek, thinking deep, for once trying to give the question the consideration it deserved.
“I think… It's important to know ourselves. Everything about ourselves.” Those years of fighting the Death Busters and Galaxia – learning to embrace all the complicated, messy parts of herself – had been both one of the hardest and most liberating things she’d ever gone through. Pulling Hotaru-chan from the rip in space rather than letting the others sacrifice her, fighting alongside the Starlights when even Luna was worried they couldn’t be trusted… She’d discovered that holding fast to her own truth, regardless of if other people understood, was often the only way she could begin to help anyone.
“For me, finding that word, that label… It was a relief. It meant that I wasn’t broken or wrong for feeling the way I do. That I wasn’t ‘half-gay’ or ‘half-straight,’ somewhere in-between but not belonging to either. It helped me to feel like I was still normal, even being a reincarnated princess who fights evil by moonlight.”
He chuckled against her throat and she smiled, snuggling into his lap, running her fingertips gently along his arm.
“And, you know, I’m still me, no matter who I’m committed to. I’m just as bi as Minako-chan is, but some people want to tell me I’m not because I’m with a guy when she’s with a girl. Knowing that I’m bi, telling people that I’m bi… It matters to me because I want other people to see that this is valid and real, that the love of my life happening to be a guy doesn’t mean I’m not queer. Being bisexual is part of who I am, and it doesn’t go away just because I don’t want to be with anyone but you.”
The chill air of his inhale swept her cheekbone. “So if I… I’m not sure, and… I do only want to be with you, too. But if I thought I… uh… I might not be entirely straight…?”
Her anxiety swelled, and she tamped down that not-quite-dead spiral of jealousy that had haunted their relationship all their teenaged years. She was an adult now, dammit, and she could show up for her fiancé when he clearly needed it.
Even if her immediate impulse was to shriek, Am I not enough for you?
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Or with us,” she managed, only a tiny pause signaling her inner conflict. “It would be about you.”
It seemed Mamoru’s half-admission had been hard enough for him, though – the only sound in the room was the honking of a car horn, drifting in through the open window from eighteen stories below.
She waited, counting to ten in her head, knowing Mamoru often needed time to gather his thoughts. When he still hadn’t said anything else after another slow count of twenty, she realized he might need more of an invitation.
Rotating slightly in his arms, she cleared her throat, looking for words that might give him space to open up without the pressure. “And for a lot of people, identity is a moving target. You know, maybe I’m bi and have always known I was bi, but Taiki-san had days where they felt more like a man and days where they felt more like a woman. And days where they felt like both or neither! Feeling some type of way today doesn’t mean you’re committing to feel it forever.”
The crinkle between Mamoru’s eyebrows lightened, as if this hadn’t occurred to him – that maybe this little hint of permission meant he could explore who he was without fundamentally changing himself.
Encouraged, Usagi gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze. “And I know that…” She was still trying to pick her words carefully, always a challenge for her. “…Whether or not you decide to commit to a specific identity, talking openly about what you’re feeling with someone you trust usually makes it feel less big and scary.”
His answering swallow was more a gulp, as though he needed to suck down his nerves. “As I said. I’m not sure. But I do think I might, uh… I might have some level of connection to some of the men I’ve known. Connection that went beyond… Well. You understand what I mean.”
Her hand trailed up his arm, thumb stroking his shoulder. “I do,” she assured him. “It sounds like this has really been weighing on you, Mamo-chan. Have you wanted to talk about this for a while?”
He nodded, that crinkle melting into sharp relief. “Since we went to that benefit for the orphanage last month,” he said, his words speeding up a bit, as if her gentle acceptance had uncorked something in him. “Fiore-kun couldn’t be there, because…”
Usagi’s heart squeezed. Her soul still ached for the loss of the alien who had once been Mamoru’s only friend, who’d ultimately given his life to keep Usagi and Mamoru together.
“But being there made me think about him, and the connection we’d had, and how if… In another life…”
If Fiore had come back to Earth before she and Mamoru had found each other, what might have happened between them?
The unspoken question hung in the air.
“I don’t look at men on the street, like you sometimes look at pretty women,” he continued. “I don’t… Honestly, I’ve mostly only ever felt interested in you. But…” He pressed his fingers into his forehead. “But there are a few people I’ve felt a similar connection to, and most of them were men. Fiore-kun, for sure. And before you and I met, I think I may have had something resembling a crush on Motoki – though meeting you overshadowed that instantly.”
The giggle slipped out of her without her permission – a chuckle of unneeded but profound relief. It was so perfectly Mamoru, as if he had unconsciously known the best way to reassure her jealous impulses was by reminding her she had always held the biggest piece of his love-starved heart.
“Oh! I’m sorry for laughing,” she apologized immediately. “But Mamo-chan, please don’t worry about making me feel better. Like I said, this is about you and what you’re feeling.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t trying to, Usako.”
She raised her eyebrows, and he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
“I really wasn’t, I promise. I’m only trying to be honest. And the fact is that, well…” His thumb caressed her thigh. “There have been men that I suppose you could say I liked, but there’s never been anybody I’ve ever liked as much as you… and I don’t quite know how to synthesize all of that. I don’t know what that means .”
Usagi shrugged. “I think it can mean whatever you want it to – including nothing, if that’s what feels right. Nobody else gets to decide who you are.”
“I know. And I… I appreciate hearing that. The only problem is that now that I’ve realized this, I’m not sure I feel wholly comfortable with not changing how I think about myself to some extent. For example, when…”
He cringed slightly and Usagi also braced – she knew Mamoru only made that face under one circumstance.
“When I was dead and you had that semi-flirtation with Seiya… Didn’t finding out that he was trans make you pause and consider reevaluating your identity?”
“No,” she replied with a sharp shake of her head, as if Mamoru should have known this was the most obvious thing in the world. And really, it had been. As much as she valued her relationship with Seiya, the dynamic between them had been barely a blip as far as her identity went. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Seiya-kun is sweet and attractive and if I wasn’t wholly committed to you…” She shrugged. “But my point is that bisexuality isn’t limited to being attracted to cis people. It’s about being attracted to all shades of masculinity and femininity. And I knew I liked more than one gender before I ever met Seiya-kun, so the fact that he could switch between a male and female body didn’t change anything for me. He was still just another person who could have been a 'what-if' in a world where I’d never met you.” She gave him a little nudge. “Like you and Fiore-san.”
Mamoru nodded slowly. “I… think I see what you’re saying. But… I guess it’s not the same thing, because you already knew…” He sighed. “I’m sorry, this is a lot.”
“I’m here for a lot. You don’t need to apologize.”
Looking reassured, Mamoru picked up the thread again. “You said that you feel it’s important to publicly own your identity, because it helps show other people that you’re valid. And I think that’s great, honestly, and it makes me feel so proud to call you my partner. So I… I want to show that same bravery, and I don’t want to hide behind the ‘straight’ label when I’m not sure if it fits anymore. But… I’m also not sure if I would be bisexual, or pansexual, or straight with some gay tendencies… or I’ve heard Minako wax on about ‘demisexuality’ which… that could fit me, but even then…”
He shifted slightly underneath her, and she carefully adjusted her balance. His eyes drifted towards the ceiling, face looking distinctly bewildered.
Usagi reached out and tenderly straightened the collar of his pink button down, reflecting back the necessary space to grapple with these questions.
“…I feel like I’ve just realized a lot about myself and I don’t know how to untangle it all and distill it down into one neat identity.”
She hmmmed, smoothing her fingers along the front of his shirt. “You know, ‘queer’ is basically just a term that means ‘at odds with the expected.’”
Mamoru blinked at her. “I thought it meant ‘falling outside of normative sexuality.’”
“Well, yeah, maybe in med school it does,” Usagi waved a hand dismissively. “But do you trust a bunch of old male doctors who have probably never questioned their sexuality over Minako-chan and Ami-chan?”
He snorted. “Touché.”
“But either way, using the stuffy medical definition or the real one, it still works as a nice blanket term. Don’t know what to call yourself? Queer. Know exactly what to call yourself but it’s too much of a hassle to explain? Queer. The specific details of your identity haven’t crystalized or they change from day to day? Queer. So maybe it doesn’t matter if you know how exactly to define yourself today. You can just… be under the umbrella and let everything else work itself out. Or not. There’s no rush.”
Mamoru exhaled, his shoulders finally going all the way back for the first time since the conversation had begun. “Thank you, Usako. It’s really… I’ve been worried about how you’d take hearing all this, and you’ve been nothing but understanding. I feel like a weight has been lifted.”
Gently cupping his cheeks, she pressed her forehead to his. “I love you. I want to support you no matter what, whatever labels you might decide fit you.”
He pressed her palm to his cheek. “I think… I think for now queer is right.”
“Okay,” she agreed, happy to accept that alongside the knowledge that this would be an ongoing process. After six years together, she was well aware that the conversation was far from over – that Mamoru would marinate and he would ponder, and when he’d reached either a place of new understanding or too many questions, he’d haltingly bring it up again. “And if this becomes a regular conversation we have, that’s okay, too. I’m here for that. And when you run out of books at the library, I can probably find you some more stuff online. Like, there are some queer creators on TikTok I like, and I follow a bunch of Instagrams that are on topic… OH, and I can totally get ideas from Ami-chan, too.”
His relieved smile – his straightened posture – was such a contrast to all the tension he’d been carrying around the apartment the last few weeks. Just seeing it made her feel lighter – she could only imagine how he felt.
“And, uh… Usako? Can you please not…?”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone. This is your news, if you ever want to share it.”
Mamoru’s arms wrapped tight around her, crushing her to his chest.
She squeezed him back just as tight, hearing his apology catch in the hair tendril next to her ear: “I’m sorry to put you through this so many years in.”
“Mm,” she mumbled, tightening her hug. “There’s no timeline for knowing yourself. Plus, we’re always changing. Maybe in five years, I’ll be the one having some kind of identity crisis and you’ll hold my hand through it.”
He chuckled, letting her go and smoothing a hand down the back of his head. “I just… I never would have thought anyone would be this accepting, and somehow you’re just rolling with all this new information and helping support me. It’s… Thank you, Usako.”
Grinning, she took his hand. “Of course, Mamo-chan. Welcome to queer solidarity.”