AN: Yes, I'm starting another story. I know where the other two are going, and I already have a lot of this one written, so I thought – why not?

I'm doing something perhaps a little unorthodox with the characters, but I think it still fits. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and its beautiful, wonderful characters do not belong to me.

Chapter 1:

After checking her makeup one last time in the mirror, Usagi left her dorm room with a small wave to her roommate, Molly. Usagi had been rather excited to find out her roommate was coming all the way from America and she quickly found Molly to be very sweet and shy and (best of all) she wasn't nosy. For instance, she never asked Usagi who she got phone calls from at odd hours, where she went when she left her room, and why she often dressed as if she was going on a date, but never mentioned any of the guys she was seeing, like Usagi was sure her other friends would have.

No, Molly was exactly what Usagi needed right now. She couldn't imagine what some of her other friends would have said or done if they knew what she was doing – had been doing for almost a year now – and Usagi had never been able to lie to them for long. If they had asked enough times, she would have told them, and they would not have been happy. But she knew she was doing what was best for her right now – what she needed to do.

Quickly making her way to the edge of campus, Usagi hailed a taxi and then read the driver the address she had scrawled on a notecard after her latest phone call. Chin in her hands, she watched the lights of the city flash past her window with a small swell of pride. She had done it. She had actually gotten into the University of Tokyo! Everyone had been a mix of astonishment and pride – the astonishment had hurt her a bit, but she couldn't really blame them, her grades had been abysmal for quite a long time – but she had done it.

She remembered visiting the campus with her parents: her mother pointing out pretty places she thought her daughter should visit or study in and her father mercilessly grilling the sweating tour guide about the safety measures on campus. And as she walked around she could really picture herself there: meeting friends for coffee, laying out on the lawn when the weather was nice, visiting a professor with questions about a paper. It was a dream come true.

Then she had gone into her meeting with the admissions counselor – something she had insisted she do on her own – and been told, quite kindly but firmly, that she had been denied financial aid. She remembered sitting there, her stomach feeling suddenly empty and yet too full, her hands shaking, her heart feeling too large for her chest, her throat too tight, her eyes aching with the tears she could feel building even as she blinked them away.

And just like that her dreams had crumbled. She knew her parents couldn't afford to send her for more than maybe one semester and while she could apply for more scholarships, they wouldn't cover everything and her family was already struggling under the weight of their recent loans to cover her grandmother's declining health.

She had nodded numbly and come out of the office to the flash of a camera as her mother took another picture of her "baby," her "college girl." Usagi had quickly smiled and blamed her runny eyes on the bright flash, shoving the bill into her pocket before her parents could notice. How would she tell them? How could she possibly tell them when they were finally so, so proud?

So she didn't. She went home and frantically began looking for scholarships, loans, job offers, anything that could help her get through this without burdening her family more than she had too.

Then, she lied.

When her father asked when tuition was due and how they should pay, Usagi had told him – in a desperate attempt to portray the stubbornness she often possessed – that she wanted to be the one in charge of the money. And then she had argued and wailed and pleaded with him that she could do it, that she wanted to learn how to handle her own finances and that she was growing up until, finally, he agreed. They set up a bank account with all the money they had set aside for college – the money Usagi led them to believe was all she would need for the next four years – and she praised Ami for making her take that graphics design class which now allowed her to create fake letters about scholarships and bills due.

Some of them were real – she had earned a few scholarships: from her previous school for her great improvement, from the club of elderly women who approved of her volunteer work, from a small fund at the University for students coming from her area – yet she knew it wasn't enough.

But she had a solution. A desperate, secret, her-friends-and-family-would-kill-her-if-they-found-out solution that would help her fill in the money that her scholarships, loans, and family money wouldn't.

She found a job.

Mamoru paced around his living room and wondered, for about the twenty-seventh time, what the hell he was doing.

He had never, ever thought he would stoop this low. Was it low? Maybe that wasn't fair, but it was desperate. Hiring a companion...anyone who knew him would be shocked, flabbergasted, appalled, and, probably, confused! He wasn't so sure how he felt about it himself.

Why was he – the youngest and brightest new resident at the University of Tokyo Hospital, one of the most sought after bachelor's in the area – calling a service that mainly catered to lonely, desperate men?

This was absolutely crazy.

He had to cancel. He paced back towards his phone and got so far as picking up the business card next to it before he set it back down with a sigh. Crazy, yes, but maybe that's because he was feeling crazy.

He had worked his butt off for years – studying, applying to internships, working extra hours – to get to where he was, and now that was all it seems like he knew how to do: work. It wasn't that he didn't like working – hell, it was the only thing that made him feel alive anymore! – but he hadn't had any real physical contact with another human being in...he didn't want to try to figure out how long.

The staff at the hospital was nice enough – some of the nurses maybe a little too nice – but none of them really took the time to get to know him. Not that he let them. He didn't have a social life. If it weren't for Motoki, he probably would have reached this point years ago.

And what exactly was this point? Mamoru groaned as he collapsed onto his leather couch, business card still in hand, and stared at the simple, black letters that were giving him such a headache:

Luna Nocturne Inc.

A subtle name for a business offering a rather disapproved of service, but which still managed to have a great reputation for dealing plainly, efficiently, and, most importantly, discreetly.

Mamoru had been carrying the card around for weeks, trying to build up the courage to call, but every time he started he had hung up – in fear, in disgust, in guilt – until today.

Mamoru sighed again and put his head in his hands. Why did this have to be so hard? So he hadn't dated in years – hadn't ever really dated. So what? He had been busy! He still was. He had thought about taking one or two of those nurses up on their offers, but that had seemed like a bad idea – mixing business with pleasure. Besides, he didn't want to get any sort of bad reputation at the hospital and he highly doubted the nurses would have been happy to know he was really only interested in one thing.

Mamoru snorted. For many people that one thing would have been sex, but Mamoru had no idea if that was even what he wanted, he just knew he wanted – no needed – something. Companionship? Someone to listen to him? Just the knowledge that, for a moment, he wouldn't be alone?

He shook his head, allowing himself to sink back into the couch. Saying anything like that, definitely would have gotten him a reputation.

Then he sat up with a start. What if someone saw her entering his apartment? He stood up and quickly ran to the phone, dialing like a maniac before coming to his senses halfway through the numbers. What did it matter? The woman he had talked to on the phone promised that their workers didn't draw attention. She would be dressed tastefully and would make her way to his apartment with the upmost care. Of that he had been assured.

Nodding his head, Mamoru set the phone back into its cradle and dropped the card next to it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to have a heart attack before she even arrived.

She... He wondered what she would be like. What kind of a woman would take a job as a companion? He had grown up learning the usual stereotypes – poor, uneducated, dirty – but that didn't seem right. From what information he had gleaned while doing a search on a public computer (dying of fright anytime anyone came within ten feet of him), the worker's at Luna's were anything but. Still, he wondered what she'd look like.

When the woman on the phone had asked him if he had any preferences and, for a second, he had had no idea what they meant. Once he did, he was surprised to find himself giving her an answer: blonde.

Where that came from, he wasn't really sure, but he kind of liked the idea of it now. Perhaps he should have said long, blonde hair. Was he allowed to ask for that?

Running his fingers through his own hair Mamoru groaned. He didn't even know what to expect. Should he offer her some tea? Should they go out? Would she expect him to take control of the situation, or would she come with a specific plan in mind? And what the heck should he be wearing?

Mamoru had contemplated changing about as many times as he had questioned his sanity. Sweatpants, since he was home? Semi-casual, so he at least looked like he'd tried a little? Date-worthy? Finally, he had settled for simply staying in his work clothes. He looked nice – a tie and button down shirt – but not fancy. And then, technically (since they were his work clothes), he wouldn't look like he was trying too hard or anything!

Mamoru nodded and then glanced at the clock. She should be here soon.

He stood there for a moment – between his couch and his coffee table, shifting his weight from foot to foot, nodding his head as he watched the second hand tick steadily on – then he was sprinting toward the phone like a madman.

What the hell was I thinking? I can't hire someone like this! What if my boss finds out? What if Motoki finds out? I'll just call and tell them I changed my mind or that something came up – his fingers fumbled with his phone and he cursed – This is the stupidest, most ridiculous thing I could possibly have –

Someone knocked at his door. With a start Mamoru looked up and swallowed. Setting the phone carefully back down, he made his way to the door and took a deep breath. Apparently, he would have to tell her in person.

Putting what he hoped was a kind smile on his face and commanding his hand to stop shaking, Mamoru reached up and opened the door.

Usagi gave her cab driver a bright smile and a nice tip and then made her way into the tall apartment building he had stopped in front of. Tipping her head up a little, Usagi walked carefully but confidently into the building; she had been taught that if you looked like you know what you're doing, people will naturally assume you do. Breathing a sigh of relief that no one had seemed to question her presence, Usagi got into the elevator and pushed the button for the 18th floor.

Whoever this guy is, she thought, watching the door close on the posh decoration of the main lobby, he must be rich.

The she quickly shook her head, mentally chastising herself. She tried not to label her clients as anything before she met them, allowing them to introduce themselves however they wanted when they met her. She had found quickly that the people who asked for a companion didn't always want to be themselves. Sometimes what they wanted – and what she offered – was the possibility of an escape.

Seeing her reflection in the door of the elevator, Usagi checked her appearance again. She was wearing a light pink dress that she could have easily worn to a picnic or to a nice dinner, along with a soft, white sweater to ward off the chill of winter that still lingered in the air. Her makeup was light – highlighting the blush of her cheeks and the outline of her eyes, without adding anything extra. Another thing she had found with her clients was that the people who called Luna's didn't want an experience, they wanted something real. Even if only for a little while.

Her feet sunk into the red carpet of the hallway as she stepped out of the elevator and she glanced quickly between the card and the doors she passed. 22...22...22! Facing the door, Usagi pushed down the nerves that always bubbled up before she met a client. She had gotten better at this over time – pushing away any shame she may have had at the beginning, feeling more confident in herself as she went – but sometimes she still had doubts. Is this really what she wanted?

No, but it could be worse, she thought, glancing at the name on the card before pushing it into her purse and raising her hand to the door.

Mr. Chiba, she thought as she listened to her knock echo into the apartment before her. I only ever knew one Chiba. and that was –

She heard the click of a lock unlatching and then the door opened.

"Mamoru?"

AN: Okay, sooooo what do you think? Please don't hate it! It may seem a bit odd for Usagi, but there's more explanation in the next chapter and I honestly don't think it's completely OOC.

Please, please, PLEASE review!