I stare out over her head, lost in thought, and she twists slightly under my hand to face me.  From the lowers of my eyes I see her own, unearthly golden orbs in her pallid face, their gilt flow interrupted by the shadowy strands of her hair, and their expression is clear – she wants what I want, but is afraid to ask.  Afraid to admit that she wants this, she needs this, because some insidious strand of nastiness present in everyone whispers the things that make her doubt herself – what if he doesn't want it, what if I am being too forward, what if what if what if.  It is these what-ifs that keep us both from admitting what we feel.  It is those what-ifs that keep us apart.  Afraid.

It's almost surprising that two such as we, who fight daily for our lives – against our own kinds, even! – would be afraid to admit love, but the physicalities are harder to deny because they are there, in your eyesight, always present, and they pose the immediate threat.  The emotion is always there, but though it is closer in proximity than the physical it is seemingly more distant in possibility.  Because while failure in defeating a physical threat brings a certain consequence, no one knows what admission of an emotion might bring, whether a similar admission or a withdrawal. 

And it's not just the immediate consequences that we worry about, but those long-term.  She must return me to Darkness in order to lift the seal on herself, and also (we have assumed) on me.  Admitting that I love her and she loves me would make that love more real.  Harder to let go of.

So it is an eternal cycle; what of her, what of me, what of us, and what afterwards?  Do we know?  Do we want to know?

You can't live without having first known love.  Because it is not until that love is present that you know what life is about.  What it is really about, not the trivialities that appear to be its content.  It is love that makes you value every day.  It is love that makes you live, to know what you are living for.  To know there's a reason that you live.  And until you love you cannot live.

Until we admit that we love, we cannot live.

I still maintain the façade of looking outwards while just looking at her, and I think she knows, but because she is able to trace the paths of my eyes to the opposite horizon she is able to tell her brain that I am looking away from her and so it is okay – and so she can look at me and let her passion show, because she tells herself I do not see.  –I see.  I see her golden eyes trace the outlines of my mask and focus long and longingly on the slit that reveals a slight bit of my eye, the window to my soul.  She focuses her two visible eyes on my one, and keeps them that way – and I want to acknowledge – and –

And why not?  The way to defeat fear is to face it.

And I abandon the pretense of looking elsewhere and look at her, unmistakably her, and only her.  She gasps slightly, seeing that unblinking red orb focusing into her two of gold, and embarrassedly looks down; but my white clawed hand catches her chin and raises it up.  And though there have never been spoken words since we Bonded, we each know what the other is thinking –

There's no need to pretend anymore, Miyu.

L…Larva, I –

Shhh.  My smallest finger reaches over her chin to overlap and intersect her small red mouth; the universal gesture for silence.  She nods; she understands.  I know.