# 3: Hair (Sequel to # 2 Masks)

Mamoru stood speechless as the beautiful blonde’s face clouded and horror filled her eyes. “You!?” she exclaimed, backing away from him as if he were a venomous snake. “I hate you!” she spat and turned, running from the ballroom.

“What did I do?” he mumbled to himself, watching the last tendrils of hair drift around the corner. It shimmered like spun gold, just like—“Odango Atama?” He whispered the words to the unhearing ears around him. It couldn’t be. Odango was stupid, and this girl had spoken eloquently. Odango was a klutz, always falling all over herself and him, but this angel had practically floated on the dance floor. Odango was an annoying crybaby, but this magnificent creature had captivated his every thought for the past five hours. And most of all Odango hated him and this girl—“You!? I hate you!”

The fury in this girl’s eyes was the same as when he ran into Odango Atama, or when he found a crumpled test marked with a failing grade. For that matter, it was the same look he received when he called the girl Odango Atama. Odango. Such beautiful shining locks, flowing like spun gold—why had he never noticed before? She was beautiful!

As the image of her golden hair drifting through the doorway filled his mind again, he knew that he needed to go to her. She could not have gotten far yet, he figured. Surely he could catch up with such a petite wisp of a girl without a problem. But when Mamoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his treasured star shaped pocket watch, the hands showed 11:00. Odango had left at 9:30. He had just checked his watch and he distinctly remembered her admiring the heirloom. But, how was this large time gap possible? Had he really been standing there, alone, for over an hour?

Running a hand hastily through his thick, black hair, Mamoru turned to grab his overcoat from the nearby cloakroom. As he tugged it from the hanger, the coat next to his also came off, falling to the floor with a gentle thud. Bending to pick it up, an odd feeling of recognition swept over him. This little bunny patch on the lapel—he was sure that it was Usagi’s jacket. The girl had gone out in the middle of the night without any protection against the harsh December weather.

Mamoru clutched the jacket to his chest and ran out of the cloakroom with speed that was matched only by his racing thoughts and pounding heart. Odango Atama—Usagi—was in danger. But then Mamoru paused to remember the fact that Usagi had left over an hour ago. By this time she was probably tucked snuggly into her bed.

“Maybe I should wait,” he mused quietly. He would surely run into her in a few days anyways. But he knew deep inside that he had to go to her tonight. Tucking the jacket carefully into his tuxedo jacket, he jogged from the hotel. He was not entirely sure where she lived, but once she had run into him while he was out jogging. She had burst explosively from a house quite near to his own apartment. Surely this was where she lived. And if not, it was the home of a friend who could give him directions. Running quickly in the direction of her house, Mamoru completely forgot his car, parked just around the corner in the hotel’s parking garage. His desperation to see Usagi had taken over every one of his senses, most of all, his common sense.