He's carrying really old books... so old that Mamoru is intrigued. He doesn't mean to follow, but sneaking has always been second nature to him, so he tails the tall guy all the way to the end of the row, where the stranger stops, looks around suspiciously, and whispers, "Is someone there?"

Mamoru might be a good sneak, but that doesn't make him a creep. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry," he says in his still-accented English, "I saw your old books, and I was curious."

He swings around the end of the aisle to face the stranger. "What are they about?"

A few minutes later they're chatting animatedly about demon lore and life energy as sunlight streams through a high, wide window. Sam has wide brown eyes, eyes that hold a sort of darkness that Mamoru immediately pities him for having to shoulder. But there's hope, too, something bright in the center of the pitch-black pupils, and Mamoru says, "I think that you have seen angels, too. Maybe one watches over you?"

"Maybe," Sam says, coy. "Angels aren't always so great, but I've got one of the good ones in my corner."

"Me, too," Mamoru says. smiling fondly. "Even if she drives me crazy sometimes."

"So does mine."

"Really?"

"Yes." A pause. "Maybe they're meant to."

Sam says it so readily that Mamoru looks up. Their eyes catch, and without knowing, or having a clue, they fall into an understanding, like they've been friends for years.

Better an angel to drive you crazy than no angels at all.