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Mamoru had never intended for things to go this far.
But when he’d seen the way she reacted to the love letter sent by that ludicrous imposter – he was only human, and if Tsukino Usagi liked any version of him? It wasn’t something he could just let go.
Perhaps it wasn’t entirely ethical to show up outside her apartment door in full ridiculous regalia, bouquet of roses in hand, and invite her to dinner, but… The way her eyes had lit up when she’d seen him standing there had made him not worry that much about morality.
Of course, that had been five months ago – back when he’d assumed he’d take her out once, maybe twice, before she got over the novelty of dating a superhero and moved on.
But she hadn’t.
Instead, she’d insisted he come over on Valentine’s Eve, where he’d done his best to hide both a limp from a recent Youma battle as well as how touched he was by her badly botched attempt at homemade chocolates (Mamoru, on the other hand, had needed to come up with a cover story, as the limp had lasted two and a half weeks).
For his White Day return gift, he’d taken her on a tour of the city’s best ice cream parlors, vaulting from building to building with her in his arms.
Since then, he’d broken her into the Ginza Art Aquarium for an exclusive nighttime show – since superheroes waiting in line at regular opening times would be sure to raise some unwanted attention – had met her in Shinjuku Gyoen park well past closing time for a midnight Hanami picnic, and had taken her up to the very tippy-top of Tokyo Tower for a champagne toast.
And he’d also had to cope with the surreal experience of sitting behind her in a booth at Fruit’s Parlor, eavesdropping on her conversations with her friends about this “great new guy” she was seeing and hearing all those sordid details.
About himself.
At least he had proof that she liked him.
And he’d gradually followed that proof from big, expensive, romantic nights out to more cozy, intimate evenings in – like tonight, where he and Usagi were relaxing at the head of her bed, sharing a charcuterie board and reading.
Hat and gloves discarded on top of the unpacked moving box Usagi was still using as a bedside table, he idly alternated flipping the pages of his medical journal with running his fingers through her hair, impossible to resist with her head warm and soft in his lap.
“You know,” Usagi commented, reaching up and tapping her shell-pink nails against the cover of his book. “Ami-chan and Mamoru are working on some research project about pediatric subdural hematoma.”
Something caught in his throat as he looked down at her. “Oh?”
“Small world, huh?” she said, adjusting her head against his thighs and looking pointedly at the title of his journal. “That you’re reading about the same thing.”
He tried to swallow – his guilt an impassible lump in his throat. “I can explain.”
“Explain what?” She flipped a page of her manga, tone almost bored. “That you’re Chiba Mamoru?”
His stomach dropped to his feet. Since the moment he had first asked her out, he had been doing his best not to think too hard about this inevitable moment.
“What are you talking about?” he hedged.
“Oh, come on,” she lifted her head, rolling out of his lap and onto her knees on the mattress next to him. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. I’ve known who you are for months.”
He gaped at her, feeling his mouth open and close like a hungry goldfish. “H-how?”
She gently poked him in the thigh, finger tracing over healed scar tissue. “Mamoru had the exact same limp on the exact same leg that showed up right after the exact same youma battle and also ‘just so happened’ to heal at – say it with me, now – the exact same time.” She rolled her eyes, sinking back into the pillows and snapping her book back up in front of her face – case closed.
Calves twitching with nervous energy, he leapt off the bed, raking a hand through his hair. “I- I told you I pulled a muscle training for that half-marathon!”
“Mmhm, you did say that.” She glanced up at him over the top of her manga, eyebrows arched. “The thing is, I didn’t believe you.”
“Why wouldn’t you-?”
“Well, I mean…” She looked up again with a sigh, tapping her lips thoughtfully. “There were other things too, once I knew to start looking for them. Like how you both sometimes stand.” She dropped her manga face down on the bunny comforter and stood up, striking a specific pose with her legs straight and her hand on one hip.
He winced as he recognized it; it looked quite a bit like a stance he often took in photographs.
Actually – his hand dropped off his hip, feet shifting self-consciously.
She threw him a ‘see’ look and flopped back onto the bed. “And I also realized that sometimes you knew things as Tux that you really shouldn’t because I hadn’t told you. But somehow they were always things that Mamoru might know because he had been at Fruit’s Parlor when I was talking about it.”
Both hands went into his hair as he inwardly cursed himself. He’d tried so hard to keep it all straight in his head but, as with any major subterfuge, some slip-ups were inevitable. He’d just never imagined Usagi would connect the dots so quickly or so accurately.
He knew she was smarter than people gave her credit for, but even he had underestimated her.
Swallowing down the roaring in his ears, he calmed his pacing feet and tuned back in to Usagi’s words: “…I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” She hugged her pajama-clad knees to her chest, tilting her head up at him. “For you to go to all that trouble to hide it from me, there had to be some reason you didn’t want me to know.”
“Besides the fact that we hate each other?!?” His huff of laughter was tinged with bitterness.
Her eyebrow arched. “You don’t kiss me like someone who hates me.”
His whole face flushed hot behind his mask. She had a point there, but his feelings had never been the ones in question. “Right. Then, besides the fact that you hate me.”
She snorted, tossing a pigtail over one shoulder. “Do you really believe that? You think I’ve stayed with you for, what, four months now, secretly hating you the whole time? You’re a doctor, you’re smarter than that.”
“But you’re- you-” He could hear himself spluttering ineffectually. His brain felt like it had just gone through a vegetable juicer, so the fact that he was forming coherent words at all was a point in his favor.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “You’re… Then you’re okay with this?”
She nodded, and his heart squeezed.
“You… you don’t mind that your boyfriend is Chiba Mamoru.”
Her shoulders – and her lips – went up. “Actually, turns out I kind of like it. Who knew?”
Shaking his head, unable to believe his luck, he sank down onto the mattress next to her, staring in wonderment. “You’re not even mad that I lied to you?”
Usagi shrugged, picking back up her book. “That would be hypocritical of me,” she said calmly. “Seeing as you still haven’t figured out how I know that you did not, in fact, pull a muscle, but really got slashed in the leg by that crazy green-thumbed gardener youma.”
He blinked in confusion. “Wait…How-??”
She grinned at him over the top of the manga. “I’m Sailor Moon.”
It was a miracle that he didn’t fall right off the bed.
“But don’t worry Mamo-chan,” she said with a wink. “I can explain.”