He'll never tell her, but he still has the nightmares. They're not as frequent, and he has learned to simply toss the covers aside, make coffee, and wait by the window until the sun inches its way across the floor. He doesn't always wake with tears streaming down his face, but the circles under his eyes from the nights that bleed into early mornings linger for days. These are the only moments he's glad she's across the hall instead of across his living room. He leans against the wall closest to her apartment and ponders how he keeps his memories close - all of them, even the ones he wants to forget, even the ones that lead him to stare like this, into his coffee – and with that come images and sounds and senses. A damp towel, a striped tank top, her best expression of fear as she relayed her "nightmare." The final strands of her hair tickling his ear as he pulled her closer, closer, so he could feel her breathing; know that she was alive and well, even if her brother was not. He'd be lying if he denied ever thinking about going to her in these moments; relishing in the comfort she'd always provided. He knew Teru would give it freely, but they had never discussed that night since. She'd probably connected the reason for his sleeplessness, but they'd been over that subject once before and that was enough. There was nothing more to be said.

They don't talk about Daisy anymore, either, not seriously. They makes jokes sometimes, though, and he smiles slightly as he recalls their exchange a few days before.

"Daisy would have never said that." Her eyebrows drew together in an expression of mock frustration.

He had leaned closer, grinning. "Oh, you want me to speak like Daisy now? Should I get a horse and carriage to go with it?"

"Please don't."

"No, no. If you want me to speak with all that…elegance, I can try it. Here it goes: Teru, my sweet, beautiful princess, standing on the countertop and trying to dust that corner is not a job that you should be doing. It doesn't suit you. To be perfectly honest, you look like you're trying to be an acrobat – and failing. Miserably." His mouth had been twitching uncontrollably by this point.

"Go bald, Kurosaki."

"That was fine. That was nice."

"Nicer than saying I looked like a giraffe, maybe."

"You're a little too tiny to be a giraffe."

"Then don't say that in the first place!"

And now that he looks back, he remembers the flash of longing on her face and the way she holds Daisy's name in her mouth longer than necessary, like it's something that needs to be savored, saved. He knows he doesn't fully understand the place that Daisy held in her life – after all, he could always see her, even when she couldn't see him. She's too guarded sometimes, he thinks. Too strong. He loves that about her, but even when she didn't know the truth, she never complained about the same thing to both Daisy and Kurosaki. He can't help but wonder if she holds some part of herself back; if she thinks that pouring her troubles on one person is different than splitting in between. Even if they were the same all along. Even if he doesn't mind. Even if he wants to know. Even if –

He tilts his head back against the wall. The plaster is cool, a welcome relief in this time of year. It's probably going to be another hot day, but it'll be hours before that happens.

He wants to tell her it's okay, but she should know by now.

That's an excuse, and he knows it. He drags himself into the kitchen; pours another cup of coffee.

He wants to tell her it's okay, but the rest might come spilling about. Because he'd never tell her, but guilt is still a tangible word he wrestles away, and it shouldn't matter, because they've discussed it before. It's one of his most precious memories, but it doesn't heal the ache. Not completely.

The clock blinks a sleepy number, changing the minutes lazily. Three more hours until sunrise, and he's already going crazy.

He suspects she knows about the dreams. She's never asked him directly, but she's traced the circles with her fingers before. "It's work," he's told her, but he can only stand to meet her eyes for a moment before closing his own. He focuses until she is all that he knows, from the smooth tips of her fingers as she crosses the bridge of his nose and traces down his cheek before her hand caresses the side of his face, to the faintest hint of a callous that comes from grasping the pencil as she studies for her exams. Maybe, he thinks in these moments, he can sleep now.

And he'll never tell her, but she knows.

She knows, and she understands. She understands all too well that even if everything else is laid bare between them, they keep some things tucked away. She knows that sometimes feelings have to be swallowed down, that she has to pretend not to choke when the breath squeezes from her lungs, and that she's not the only one who has to try. She's gotten used to the nuances of his face; the twitching of the eyebrows, or the pull in his jaw when he passes hospitals and is reminded of white sheets and IVs and the heady scent of chemicals trying to cover up the inevitable.

They have different types of sadness, but the word is the same.

Hers sets in especially when the clouds gather and the rain makes puddles on the sidewalk. He's usually with her during the storm, provided they're both at home, and there is no shortage of comfort in that fact. But habits are hard to break, and it doesn't just happen when it rains. She doesn't know what it is that makes her feel like this, and she can't put it into words. Not again.

She feels selfish for even thinking it, but there was something nice about telling her troubles to someone who didn't know her – at least, not in the way that Kurosaki does. A text message couldn't say whether she had been crying, not like her betraying eyes. She knows she could go to him, and she usually does, but there's something different about seeing his face. She was always good at pretending, but it was so much easier to do that with written words than spoken ones. "I'm fine," is harder to say when there's tone and expression to account for. And though she doesn't mind falling apart in front of him – she can't even count the number of times she's done that before – she doesn't want to be a burden. Ever, she promises to herself. He would say that she wasn't, that she could never be, that he wouldn't mind even if she was, but she tells herself she's strong because she knows that if she says it enough, it'll be true. She doesn't need to bother him with everything.

And yet…every so often, she still finds her fingers dancing over her phone, typing out what she could – would – say.

Daisy, it's Teru.

I'm fine.

Do you ever find it hard to say what you mean out loud?

I'm tired of pretending, but I'm fine.

She should be happy. He's closer than ever; closer every day. She can speak with him and hold him and kiss him and why, why does she feel like she's drowning when it rains?

Kurosaki, it's Teru.

Sometimes, I still feel lonely and I don't know why. I don't know how to tell you this. I can't look at you when I do. I think I'm still a selfish girl. I have everything I want and I'm still not content.

But I'll be fine. It doesn't happen as much anymore, anyway.

Please bear with me. Thank you for being beside me.

She deletes the draft minutes afterward. She probably misses the nostalgia more than anything.

There's something heavy in her chest, in her lungs. Riko's working – possibly for the rest of the night – and the slow ticking of the clock counts her heartbeats in time, making her overly conscious of what she's lost and what she could lose. The pencil twirls idly in her hands. How can she try to answer questions when she can't solve the ones in her head? She tries to put some music on and dance around her room, but her feet lag behind her forced enthusiasm.

She needs to see him. She won't stay long. She won't say much. She won't break down.

She tiptoes across the hallway, inching his door open, and calling his name. There's no answer, and as her voice echoes through the apartment again. She steps further in, listening. There's water running in the bathroom, so she settles onto the couch to wait. She pulls a pillow to her, buries her chin in it, and lets her hair fall around her face. It has that scent she can never quite place – the one that reminds her of teasing and confessions and comfort and laughter all in one. It's so much better than her empty room, and she questions her resolution.

"Teru." Kurosaki's voice makes her jump up from the sofa. He rubs a towel over his hair and tosses it into his room. "Sorry, I didn't know you were coming."

"Ah, well, Riko's gone, and I just decided to drop by."

"You won't hear me complaining. Have you had dinner? Do you want some tea?"

"I'm okay." She realizes she's still clutching the pillow and places it back on the couch. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Okay. What do you want to see?"

"I don't care." She places the pillow back on the couch. She can't smell anything anymore, and she's always marveled at how you can become so desensitizes to something so strong that quickly. It's easy to forget something that's close, she supposes.

"Teru." She forces herself to meet his eyes. It's the moment she both dreads and longs for. Recognition is the closest thing to understanding, even if neither of them can put it into words. She gives the smallest nod, waits a beat, then grins and salutes him. "I know how much you love that bird movie, so we can watch that again."

The nuances appear again in the briefest narrowing of his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you though you hid it so well behind those action movies, huh? No, your secret passion for animals has been found out."

He steps closer. Dark circles. Again. Her eyes aren't the only ones that betray everything inside."I wouldn't say that, but if you're desperate to watch it, I'll do it. You know, for you," He says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and dropping a kiss on her head. It makes her feel a little better, and when the movie starts, he slips his fingers through hers, giving her something to hold on to.

The lights are off and when the credits roll and screen goes black, neither of them moves. She squeezes his fingers tighter, trying to gather herself, trying to force herself to smile brightly and leave graciously.

"You don't seem yourself tonight," he whispers. "You okay?"

She doesn't want to speak, but the words have been lingering above her lungs for far too long now. "Kurosaki…" she begins. "Kurosaki, I – you." She can feel it happening again; her inability to form the proper sentences blacking out along with everything else in the room. There's too much that needs to be said; too much that needs to be asked, and she's acutely aware of the lines that could be so easily triggered.

"Yeah?" His voice is low, rough. The precipice they're standing on is toppling and they're both bracing for the fall.

She can barely make out his face in the darkness, but those circles catch her eyes again; catch her breath. She folds her knees under her and draws herself up closer to him. Her thumb brushes under his eyes and when they close, she rests his forehead against his. Her fingers don't make their usual route down his face. His breathing isn't even, not like it usually is, and she supposes hers isn't either. It's tinged with the weight of the boulders that clog up her lungs, with the memory of the words that slipped away in an instant and never returned, with the frustration she feels at her inability to let her loose ends go. Not everything has to be tied up perfectly, she reminds herself. Nothing ever is.

And she knows this because of the telltale signs under his eyelids and the tears she's seen so many times before on his face and her own. She might not understand everything he feels, but she knows there's something powerful and strong and dangerously intoxicating. Feelings that keep him up all night, the way they do for her in the day. Feelings that pull you close like you're a friend, and then whisper all the ways you're wrong.

"Teru." It's so quiet, even in the stillness. "You can say anything, you know."

She may not have all the messages stored in her phone now, but she knows them by heart.

Teru,

It's okay to complain and cry sometimes.

It strikes her that the words aren't so much different after all. But then, hasn't she known that, really known that all along? "I know." She traces the circles lightly once more. "Kurosaki, too." She feels his breath catch, and for a moment, it seems as if everything will come spilling out from both of them.

"You can say anything, you know."

She closes her eyes again.

Kurosaki, it's Teru.

Her fingers glide across the bridge of his nose.

I don't know how to say this. Any of it.

She sweeps them down his cheek.

You have things you don't say, either, right?

One hand lands on his shoulder; the other locking behind his neck.

Things won't always be this way, right?

She's somehow pulled herself against him.

Even if they are…it'll be okay, right?

He raises his arms, locking them around her waist. It's a strange position; her kneeling beside him and both of them clinging to each other. His hair tickles the side of her face and it smells like fall. It reminds her of every moment she's spent with him and all the times he's helped her – from behind the guise of Daisy and completely as himself – and she wonders why she ever wishes she could want more than this. Just because it isn't as safe, just because he knows her even better now…it doesn't mean she's lost anything. Just that she's gained something powerful and strong and beautifully intoxicating. Something, someone, that holds her close, and whispers that she's okay.

"I'm fine," she answers into his shoulder, and this time she's not pretending at all. She pulls back, trying to find the center of his eyes in the darkness. "What about you, Kurosaki? Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer, so she resumes her path. Over the cheekbones, brushing by the lips, behind the ears, and into his hair. His head drops to her shoulder, and it takes her back to a time before she knew his identity and his pain and his love.

She kisses his head, lingers, runs her fingers through his hair over and over and over until the clock's slow rhythm lulls them both into a haze where guilt and regret and longing exist, but it's outside. Outside, and not between them.

"I'm okay," she feels the words more than she hears them.

She can feel his breathing slow, and she carefully extracts herself from their embrace. She doesn't go back to her apartment. They've exchanged something too delicate and meaningful, and she needs time to drink it in. She'll leave in the morning, but not before the sunrise, and that's hours from now. She quietly inches open the door to his room, grabs a quilt, and wraps it around her.

Really, they haven't explained anything tonight. They've recognized their respective feelings, but there are no words to accompany the explanation. But maybe, she thinks as she closes her eyes, words aren't needed. Maybe they'll voice them someday, but for now, understanding is enough.

A/N: That turned out more angsty than I originally planned. It's my first time attempting to write for these two. But there's such a beautiful angst in parts of this series, and that's one of the reasons I love it so much. Also, the scene in chapter 43, where Teru asks Kurosaki about continuing to send messages to Daisy has always stood out to me, so I wanted to do something with it. Thanks for reading!