You'd never been the most expressive of guys and you made sure she knew that beforehand. Because while you'd already fallen helplessly in love with her, there was still a chance that she could go and find someone who would give her affection in return, if you only made clear what kind of a person you really were.
The fact that luck was never on your side was—in this case—both a blessing and a curse, as, though she never came out and directly said it (and neither had you) you couldn't help but have the sneaking suspicion that she liked you as a little more than "just a friend." But that also meant that there would be a lot of pain on her side of the relationship (if there ever came to be one) when you refused to hug her or whisper sweetly in her ear or kiss away her tears because you just didn't do that kind of thing.
This also meant pain for you, because you already knew that it tugged painfully at your chest whenever you saw her crying, sad, or injured. Anything other than that bright, ridiculously radiant smile on her face made you crinkle your eyebrows in something akin to—but not quite—worry. It was more along the lines of irritation.
And when you were resting in the sakura tree when you were supposed to be in classes, she was the only thing on your mind, and you couldn't stop that, no matter how hard you tried. You'd thought that if you acted like you hated her—and you'd done that plenty—then she would stop liking you and stop putting herself through the torture. But that never worked because she saw right through you and always ended up making you feel guilty for pretending in the first place, though you'd never show it.
You called her stupid on a regular basis and you acted like a pervert toward her—possibly not just because you wanted her to think you were an animal—telling her she was ugly and stupid and shapeless, though you believed none of these things. And it hurt you on the rare occasion that she believed you, because more than anything you wanted her to figure out that you were lying. And of course, you wouldn't tell her yourself.
And on those nights you left for missions, you sat outside her bedroom window just before leaving, knowing that this might be the last time you ever saw her face—her perfect, angelic face—and this was as close to a goodbye as you would ever get. But you always came back, because just as you were about to die by the hand of another, you would remind yourself that she wouldn't have anyone to protect her if you kicked it now, and you'd have a last surge of energy and make it back barely conscious and tuck yourself away in your bedroom or the infirmary and wait to recover.
You wouldn't let her see you like that, because you hated that she worried, but of course, when you didn't show up to class, she worried. There was no way to avoid it and it pained you to listen to her frightened shouts as she pounded on your door, begging you to let her in, let her see you. But you never let her because that would make it worse.
The one time that you slipped up, the one time that you opened the door—you'd completely forgotten that you looked like hell and had only gotten up to make her shut up—you regretted it because you heard her small gasp and froze. You were unable to close the door because your mind was racing with only one repetitive thought: stupid stupid STUPID!
You knew this was how she would react, so you'd wanted to spare her the sight of your broken and bruised body, tried to pretend you were fine. You'd blown your cover in the one moment you'd let down your guard around her.
She'd pushed the door open and immediately forced you back into bed, then made you get up so she could change the sheets when she realized those were bloody. You remembered her nursing you—bandaging the wounds you'd neglected the previous night—until you fell asleep, hoping the sobs you heard were only a dream.
You were always in a foul mood on the days she was ill or hadn't shown up to class. You woke up like that, though, as if you had already known beforehand that she would be absent. And more often than not, you yourself would skip class to go and find her, unconsciously worried that she had been kidnapped or roped into doing missions for the Dangerous Class, but it always ended the same way; and you found her in her bedroom, asleep, or in the infirmary, sleeping there too. And you always took one look to make sure she was safe, and then left peacefully, not wanting to disturb.
It took you all of two weeks to decide that she wasn't the stupid girl you'd originally thought she was. After two months, you knew exactly what those feelings were, and knew that there was no denying it, no changing it. It was what it was. And it was so strong that you'd die without her.
She'd proven herself brave, smart—though she acted so simple-minded—and kind all around, and though she knew how to stick up for herself, you silently vowed to protect her for always, because there were powers out there that she couldn't comprehend with her little-girl logic and her little-girl ways.
But it was that little-girl innocence that you loved, because it made you feel a little less tainted. That purity that you wanted to be close to, wrap it around yourself and just remain there forever, because she was everything you were not, and that was exactly what you were searching for.
And when she figured out her feelings for you—on that day you were so happy—you had a bittersweet moment, loving the feeling of being loved, but also wishing she could distance herself. You were a selfish person, and you wanted her by your side, but you knew that you attracted trouble, danger, harm, and if she got caught in the crossfire, you'd never have that safe feeling again, never forgive yourself.
But you were so happy that your feelings were no longer unrequited, and you were happy that with that one kiss, she finally understood your feelings toward her. Happy that after waiting for so long, wishing so hard, that you finally got something you deserved, and it came in the form of a beautiful young girl that you couldn't be happier to know.
But you would never put it that way because you're not the most expressive of guys. And it's good that she understands that, because otherwise you wouldn't be able to love her without words the way that you do.
A/N: This was something I just randomly thought up and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it all down. It's not my best, and the grammar remains unchecked, but I just needed this to stop plaguing me so that I could work on my 4 page English Research paper rough draft. All the same, please review, and I hope you liked it!