Sometimes he walked with his eyes closed, just to wonder, maybe to sympathize. He got by fine- his sense of hearing and smell was overdeveloped enough as it was, and it was rare that he went anywhere he wasn't already familiar with. But it made him feel like maybe he was extending his emotions a little, trying a little. Every little bit mattered, when you were him, and she was... her.
Like a doll, like breakable china, yet so laughing and alive. So firm and real.
She couldn't see how she made him redden sometimes, how he'd change expression in surprise and how his eyes would soften. He knew full well she couldn't see, and yet he still tried to hide it. He was afraid that maybe her senses would pick it up somehow, like the wind over the strings of her violin- she would just know something was different, something wasn't right, and maybe these late-night visits would become less welcome. Maybe Mozart would learn to growl rather than wind around his knees and beg for attention. Maybe she wouldn't search for him with blank eyes and smile.
If people always acted on instinct the way animals did, she would know by now, in no uncertain terms. Animals didn't have a sense of chivalry, of shame, of propriety. Animals didn't fear rejection.
Maybe he couldn't approach her like an animal could, but he could love her like one. Fiercely, possessively, with no uncertain boundaries. Without a need to say it, or even show it too much. Taciturn and watchful like the owl, savage and territorial like the wolf. Even if she didn't know it, she would never want for it. Or anything, ever.
"How was the sonata...?" She sounded hopeful, little hands cradling the violin against her chest.
"Fine." He didn't know the words to say it was perfect, resonating, beautiful. That it was her. But she smiled anyway, maybe understanding, maybe not. She was probably just grateful for someone to listen to her practice. "It's getting late."
"It's very cold outside... it's been raining."
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." It was too sweet of her, perched on her chair, head cocked, forehead wrinkled in concern. And yet, as he watched, her face was something entirely different, something quivering and unsure.
"Why don't you... why don't you stay, for tonight...?"
Shido had never been more grateful that Madoka was blind.