Infection

A/N: I was pestering for a word this week, and I accidentally made our admin a bit grouchy. So this one's for you, Cheyla! (-Check out her work!)

. . .

My ears perk up as I hear the gentle bells of the arcade doors opening. Glancing down at my watch, I smile. 3:30 PM. She must have a detention or something. I dress my face up in what I hoped to be a megawatt smile before speaking. "Good Afternoon, Usagi-chan."

The man at the counter, reading his textbook with his customary cup of coffee, looked up to turn around to face the blonde. He is about to make his also customary teasing words of affection when he notices the girl's face is everything but happy.

I watch as my favorite patron sits at the counter, not even complaining how the only open seat is next to our very own 'Mamoru-baka'. "Konnichiwa, Motoki-Onii-san," she murmurs, dipping her head into her folded arms. She makes no other sound, and I take the hint to leave her alone.

Sharing a knowing look with Mamoru, I motion to Usagi with my hands. I pick up my order form and proceed to take the orders of the other patrons at the counter. Mamoru silently sighs in frustration. "Are you okay, Usagi-chan?"

"Go away Mamoru-san," I hear her whisper. I arch my eyebrow, especially since Mamoru actually proceeds to stand up. I know he has the slight infatuation with the young girl, but he seldom listens to her.

He beckons me over with his hand. "Go make her an extra-chocolate milkshake, put it on my tab," he tells me before picking up his school book and heading toward the doors.

Watching in awe as he exits the building, I hear Usagi's head pop up. "Is he actually gone?" She asks, bewildered. She had the same question as me.

"Yes," I say, turning around to the back to make the milkshake. Even the milkshake order is out of character for Mamoru. Maybe he is actually starting to show actual affection toward the girl. She is too sweet for him to continue to tease-if only I could get her to reciprocate the feelings.

A flick of the blender's power button after I added the necessary ingredients mixes them into a thick liquid. I pour the substance into a cold glass and slide the milkshake in from of the blonde. "Now that Mamoru-san is gone, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

The cheerful smile the milkshake caused falters as she purses her lips. "Not really," she admits, stirring her straw in the drink. Her blue eyes flicker down to watch the swirling chocolate in mock-fascination.

I give her a weary look. She isn't budging. "I can always call Mamoru back," I trail off, hoping to receive any reaction.

And a reaction I receive. "You wouldn't!" She gasps, almost knocking over her shake.

Nodding, I smile wickedly. "I would. I would do it in a heartbeat, if that is what it takes to have you tell me what's wrong." My plan is working extremely well, I can almost feel the tension coming from the girl.

"Please, Motoki-onii-san! Anything but calling Mamoru-san!" She pleads with me, tugging at my shirt sleeve.

I watch her antics with an amused grin. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you have a crush on the guy!" I joke.

The blonde becomes silent as she drops my sleeve and sits back down on the stool. She takes long slurps of her milkshake, avoiding my eyes.

My heart skips a beat. "You do!" I point an accusing finger at my favorite girl.

"Stop saying things so loud!" She hisses, a deep flush fanning over her face.

I laugh, pulling my apron over my head. Proceeding to take Mamoru's old spot in front of the counter, I lean into the girl. "Tell me when you first realized you were in love."

She sinks down miserably. "Last night," she whispers, not believing it herself.

Holding back a laugh of extreme happiness. Everything is working out perfectly, I think, remembering Mamoru's own crush. "How?"

"I don't know!" She shouts, her head popping up so her eyes meet my own."He's a stupid infection. He's taking over my mind!" She cries, pointing at her head. "He's like-the chicken pox."

Her outburst sounds eerily similar to Mamoru's from the month before. "I know the 'cure'," I tell her, my heart warm with all the happy feelings inside.

Her eyes brighten. "Really?" She grabs my shirt, "Tell me how to get rid of him! This stupid 'Mamoru-disease'!"

"Tell him," I smile.

The look on her face tells me she doesn't appreciate my answer. "Go to hell, Motoki-onni-san."

"Hey, you asked," I laughed, jumping away from her arms ready to strangle my neck. True love, I guess, is kind of like a disease. I smile to myself as I escape to my safe spot behind the counter. I so called this.