"Why won't you even look me in the eye?" she asks at some point, when they are alone and the night falls heavy around them. The beach was deserted, the sand still warm from the heat of the day and the sea lulling softly, humming an old song disguised in silence.

Gray had gone outside to clear his head, the heat in the house far too stifling for his taste and, although the night wasn't nearly cold enough for his taste, it had helped him some.

Until his thoughts went back to her, at least.

And yet here she was, dressed in pajamas, arms crossed protectively around herself, body slouching and eyes sad. Why was it that whatever he did to try and protect her brought tears to her eyes? Couldn't she just let go and be safe? Couldn't she simply see what he was trying to achieve? Apparently no, not really.

The sight of her, hair tousled and lips parted filled him with heat. One look at her eyes, though, one look at the unshed tears he knew he was to blame for, made it die away instantly, only to be replaced with guilt. The familiarity of the sight hits him next, a reminder of the months they'd spent together in acutely close proximity, seeing her everyday, listening to the rasp of her voice, then the long months of hiding, of pushing her to the back of his mind during his mission - that had been the hardest part, shying away from whatever reminded him of her - and then the stories of Rainfall Village and the guilt choking him, because that was what he had reduced her to.

"You won't look at me even now," she says and his eyes snap up at her before he can stop his reaction. He wanted to avoid her gaze, he wanted to rip his eyes from her, but it was too late, a year too late for that, or so her tears whispered to him.

"I am looking at you," he manages to croak out. She scoffs softly, nose curling ever-so-slighty at his answer, the short movement of her head causing tears to slip on her cheeks. The urge to go and wipe them, kiss them away and hold her close, to never let go, is strong, so goddamn strong, but he must hold his ground, it's for her own goddamn safety, you sick fuck -

- then there's the feel of falling snow, his parents' grave not ten feet behind and her arms around him her voice gentle and presence soothing, and now Gray hates himself more than ever.

Juvia opens her mouth, he awaits an answer, but there is only a puff of air, a trembling sigh, and she begins to cry in earnest.

She covers her mouth with the back of her hand and her gaze finally falls to the ground - and he should feel lighter, only her sobs fall each on him, weighing him down and they might as well be made of lead - she tries to calm herself, to regain her composture, but she only cries harder, and it takes every ounce of self-control he didn't know he had in him to not go to her.

But he remains rooted in place, watching her like one might watch a blank wall; only her display of emotion breaks him slowly and surely, little chunks falling by the dozens from the cracked ice structure thawing his heart.

She crouches then, sobbing uncontrollably, breathing words when she has enough air - they're questions he has no answer to and questions whose answers would mean ruining all he's trying to achieve, only hasn't he done that already? whispers a quiet little voice inside him; hasn't he, in his attempt to protect her, hurt her more than any other thing ever could?

The answer lies in her broken sobs and no, even if he'd cover his ears, he'd still hear her with that same painful clarity he sees in his ice crystals.

He struggles for words. He knows what he should do, the sounds he thinks of, the words are on his lips ('leave me alone. stay away. I don't want you near me.'); he should be harsh, cold like the bitter winter he grew up in, but these words of his, these words are wind when he feels the treacherous pull of his heart, and then it's all over.

How many steps are there? - two, three, four, five, yes there she was, sitting on the sand, arms closed tightly around herself, if only her arms had been strong enough to protect her from him, but they hadn't been, her arms are thin and frail and gleaming in the pale moonlight, and the sea roars as he falls to his knees beside her and pulls her to him.

Juvia's startled huff is lost to the sound of a wave breaking against the shore.

"You've no right to do that," she rasps, because her voice is always dry and low and quiet and at least now, Gray can't hear the thickness of tears in it, and considers himself lucky for it.

'You're right," he concedes softly, harsh words forgotten somewhere together with her sense of self-preservation, if she'd ever even possessed any, but he forgets about that as she melts into him, letting his fingers play with strands of her hair.

"I am," she answers, as if she's trying to convince herself of if, but it's hard to think quite so clearly when Gray is here and he's not pushing her away for once, and his arms are around her, and Juvia feels like she can breathe for the first time in six months.

A/N: this is what happens if you listen to sad love song for an extended period of time. Cheers.