How to Confess Your Undying Love (Among Other Fun and Interesting Facts) in 5 Easy Steps

When Tsukino Usagi woke up that morning, she was well aware that it was going to be a day slightly different from any other. When she doggedly rolled herself out from beneath those pink bunny and cheerful star imprints, and smelled the scent of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, she understood she had a mission… slightly different from any other. When she managed to clamber to her feet, brace her hands on her dresser and catch sight of a pad full of scribbled instruction, she knew she was going to do it.

Lesson 1: "They say that confessions are good for the soul. So 'fess up." –Usagi, 14, quoting a Scottish proverb.

She was finally going to do it.

Lesson 1b: "They also say that confessions are good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff. One may have to take this into account, for if a tweed coat really is good for dandruff, then a confession may simply justify the existence a particular green jacket." –Usagi, 14.

As she leaned back on her the box spring of her bed and raised her fists to rub the sleep from her eyes, his image floated into her vision instantly.

Her heart did a little flip, echoing the mini jumps in her stomach. It always seemed as if her system was at the point of going into overdrive when she thought of him. It wasn't as if it was her fault –in fact, if it was anybody's fault it was his! She was not the one with the endless ocean eyes, or the gleaming hair that appeared to be fixated on repeatedly falling into those endless ocean eyes. She was not the one with that deep, thrilling voice that excited shivers down her spine. The one with the tough physique, the broad shoulders, the strong jaw or the birthmark right under his left ear.

But most of all, she was not the one who ordered coffee every day and let it sit, still filled to the rim and forgotten, as he studiously let the book in front of him catch his every interest.

She wasn't the one who melted like an ice-cube when a little girl with wide, curious eyes and feral red tresses wondered if, perchance, he was superman and, if so, might he be willing to pick her up to see the dessert menu?

She wasn't the one who lunged in front of speeding cars just to save a cat.

The one to get up as if it were no trouble at all.

The one to walk away as if there was no difference at all.

With that bloody green jacket torn at the sleeve.

It was him that she was in love with.

It was to him that she was going to confess.

Lesson 2: "It is absolutely essential to be prepared, both in mind and body. Look good. Feel good. Look good. Feel good. Look good. Feel good. Look… what? That's right. Good." –Usagi, 14.

She wore a blue dress that day in hopes that it would bring out the color of her eyes. Her hair was tied back in her usual buns, one in which she had to do over twice because she was afraid it wasn't 'odango' enough to be recognized as such, and her lips were thinly coated with strawberry gloss.

She might have added a rose bud to her hair, but she was afraid that, upon contact with him, it might look as if she was actually going to confess something.

This is not something one wants to look like when actually performing that same exact act.

Lesson 3: "Remember to remember. This might be hard to digest until one actually slips up and does the opposite. For example, remember to eat a hearty breakfast lest you begin falling asleep in class. Remember not to splurge your allowance on the new extra creamy, extra sugary doppelganger banana split in case you have no allowance to splurge the next day. And, for God's sake, remember to pay attention to minor details when getting dressed for fear you may get caught wearing two dissimilar pairs of socks in the middle of your confession of undying love. Which circles back to Lesson 2." –Usagi, wearing one blue sock and pink sock.

Usagi began walking out of the house with the same colored socks but different footwear: one red wedge sandal and one Micheal Kors Blitz sandal –neither of which she actually wanted to wear even though she begged her mother for the latter style for two whole months, and then managed to get it fifty percent off. Not a bad deal.

Still, only blue would do. A matching pair of blue sandals, which seemed to glitter with each step she took as Usagi made her way to the inevitable meeting.

Her stomach prepared to tie itself in knots as the budding thought skimmed the edges of her mind, but she immediately squashed both the thought and it. If she reflected on the idea too much, then there was no doubt in her mind she'd do a full 180 and walk herself right back to bed.

Drawing in a large gulp of air, so much so that her lungs filled to the bursting point, Usagi let her head fall back and hair swing fall behind; let the sun glance over her face before she exhaled, settled her shoulders in determination and forced herself to walk a tiny bit faster to her destination.

The inevitable destination.

Lesson 4: "Be omniscient. Perhaps not omniscient in the lordly sense, but at least try to know where your confessionee will be on the day you decide to "'fess up". This way he (or she for that matter) cannot take you by surprise and unsettle you even more than you already are. Knowledge is power … non-academically speaking." – Usagi, 14, during final exams.

It was 12:19:05 P.M, Saturday. It was June 19th and the year of the Tiger. The birds were fluttering impatiently in their nests and the breeze was the only defense against the warmth of the scorching sun. On this day the recipient of her admission would be, if her sources were reliable, on his way to visit a certain sandy-haired, green-eyed, apron-adorning comrade twenty minutes before setting out for another fun session of, Usagi looked towards the heavens in exasperation, studying.

He would be wearing that beloved green jacket, and sitting on the third stool from the right with a cooling mug of coffee that'd sit inches from a text book. If she was lucky he'd remember his thin-framed glasses, and they'd be perched on his nose, inching down with each wriggle, each sniff, until they slipped to a point where he was no longer reading through them, nose pressed up against the book to see the words, with the glasses still perched adorably on the tip of his nose, unnoticed.

It would be there that she would tell him. She didn't care if the entire room was full of giggling teens or curious children, or at the possibility that Motoki might pass out in shock when Usagi stole a kiss from the equally shocked beneficiary.

All she cared about was that she was going to make it. And if she was going to make it then it might as well be made in front of the entire world.

So you can imagine her surprised with the object of her affections came bustling around the corner, hands in pocket and a determined spark radiating from his eyes. But before she could manage an 'eep!' and scurry into some convenient hiding place, their bodies collided, momentum pushing them together and, together, pulling them to the ground.

Lesson 5: "Upon contact, make sure there is enough space between the two of you to allow a clear thinking mind. There is nothing worse than sputtering gibberish and then wishing the ground will swallow you whole …especially when it doesn't. At this point, just say it straight out. Mamoru, I love you. And there's nothing you can do about it." –Usagi, 14.

Usagi squeezed her eyes, bracing herself for the cemented ground, and when the cemented ground never touched she let one eye pop open in confusion.

He was still there, his breath puffing a bit, chest rising and falling from the brisk walk he was on second before. He was bent over her, black hair falling into striking eyes that were piercing her so intimately, just one look. His breath wafted over her face, his cologne embraced her senses and she was absently aware of the resilient hold on her waist that kept her supported.

The quiver in his voice almost went unnoticed when he breathed, "Usa…" and tightened the grip he had on her.

Her name penetrated her thoughts, snapped her back into reality. Her eyes blinked, slowly at first and then rapidly as a blush began to stain her cheeks. Her hands whipped up to his chest, not sure whether she wanted to push on it or pull it closer, and she began to stammer.

"M-m-mamoru, you…I—"

Space. She needed space. She needed an inch or two to gather her thoughts and separate them from his dominating presence.

She cleared her throat, or tried to clear it anyway. The speech that she recited last night, then again this morning, came back to her in little pieces. She would remember it, all of it; she simply had to look away from his eyes first. She had to look away from his eyes, take a deep breath, and say…

"Mamoru this may come as a surprise to you, well of course it will come as a surprise to you, after all in the past few months since our first meetin—eep!"

His mouth crushed to hers; swooping down to capture her lips and take them in a fierce embrace. His arms adjusted to encircle her tightly, hauling her to him in a grip that suggested no means for escape, with his hands absentmindedly rubbing at her back in a manner that left all ridiculous thoughts of escape to flutter logically from her mind.

Shock registered first, her stomach tightening and her body going rigid – not from repulsion, she wasn't crazy, but on the off-chance that this might be a dream. Mamoru, kissing her, yes, this could be a dream. The fact of the matter was, after all the instructions she gave herself, in all the imaginings she indulged in, she had never once expected Mamoru to actually… kiss her.

So as his mouth angled over hers, edging on desperation and deepening the kiss until her limbs went fluid, as a moan wrenched from her throat in a way that had his hands scrunching the material of her dress ruthlessly, she only let her hands run over his shoulders inch by maddening inch, anxious that she might pop this surreal bubble surrounding them.

He pulled away from the briefest moment, perhaps to take in air, before returning to her lips as if he could barely have endured that momentary separation. The growl that rumbled in his chest didn't make its way to his mouth, and all she found there was a hint of milk chocolate and a taste of something entirely Mamoru. Her hands forgot their timidity and cupped his jaw, rubbing against the stubble he forgot to shave that morning. With no thought to anything she wrote, anything she practiced on saying for the past hour, the past week, the past three months, she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

When he finally raised his head, at long last resting his cobalt eyes on hers, he brought his hand up to caress her flushed cheek, his eyes running over every feature as if he were memorizing her to the last detail.

Usagi leaned into his hand, never taking her gaze off his face. She swallowed, hoping her voice didn't waver too much.

"I…um…." she just couldn't think when he was looking at her! So said the only thing that would form in her mouth: "I love you" and couldn't quite believe she said it.

He stared at her for an eternity. The sound of an engine barely roared in the background so loud was the rushing of blood through her ears and the anxious butterflies biting at her stomach. Then, in her tunnel vision, his lips twitched up, then spread until he was grinning.

"I love you, right back." He brought her hands up, kissed the tips of them, never quite breaking eye contact with her. Never wanting to. "I adore you, Usako. Right back."

She watched him worship her hand wondrously, then curled her fingers around his. Shyly, slowly, she pulled herself closer to him. Her voice was sheepish and soft, and one he would come to revere instantly. "I wrote a speech."

His eyes sparkled mysteriously. His brow arched, confident and knowing, and that much more alluring. Then said in a voice – that voice so dark and heady that it was renowned throughout the female population of Juuban— and in that same, stalwart tone, "I didn't."

How to Confess Your Undying Love in One Easy Step

Lesson 1: "Just kiss her, you idiot!" – Mamoru, 19, sitting in the midst of an abundant number of crumpled papers.

End.