I hate it when he calls me a brat. I'd like him to see me as a man, a partner, not a child that needs to be taken care of.

I can't help it, I simply cannot stand him reading the porn. I'd like him to look at me, not at those naked women.

I shout at him, "Perverted Bishop!" And he retorts, "What do you know, you damned brat?" He isn't angry, of course, he only looks down at me like you look at one naughty and silly yet totally clueless child that you just can't be mad at. His eyes clearly say, "You'll understand, once you grow up".

Then I pout my lips and with very hurt look I turn away or even run.

Like a brat. Exactly.

I'd like him to look at me and see a man, a partner. I'd like to be the one to have his all attention. I'd like to be for him more than any woman ever could.

I mustn't.

I am a king's son. I'm a heir of history. I was chosen to reveal the truth. I am the body of Verloren and the vessel of Eye of Mikhail. I have my mission. One and only thing I don't have, is an own life and possibility to freely decide on myself.

He is a ghost, a god, a light from Heaven. No heart beats in his chest. His phantom body is cold. He has his mission.

One day we'll have to part. Once we defeat Verloren, Zehel will go back to the world he's come from. Frau will cease existing.

Hurts.

I... I'll have to introduce a new order to this world. It's my destiny.

I try to bear my pain proudly.

That's why I'm a child by his side. That's why I allow him to carry me on his arm. That's why I sulk and complain.

Only that way we can be together. Only that way we can protect ourselves from real pain.

The parting won't be difficult, if I don't attach him to me. He'll be my protector, and once he fulfills his duty, he'll leave peacefully to the place he belongs and longs to so much.

That time I'll embrace my arms, just like now, each time, when I refrain from embracing him. I'll whisper into empty air, the words I wish to whisper only to him. I'll clench my fists, the fingers I'd like to slide into his hair.

I'll soothe the pain with the memory.

Sometimes... in the sparse moments of night... he talks with me like with a partner. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I know we can understand each other. We could be together more intimately than lovers.

This very thought is enough to continue being a child in the daytime.

In the nights, I selfishly let myself hope our journey will never end.