He wants to just tell her.
There's an inkling in his heart that he just can't erase; red eyes burn their way through him, igniting every cell hidden deep within his body. Each laugh, word, glance; it was all a means to an end, yet he never knew what that was. Her eyes inspired, her words encouraged, even with a cheeky grin and but where is my white knight now?
The notion is just a joke, nothing more. Even Nasch thinks he's being ridiculous, a miracle in its own right – the idea of his light hands gently pushing her towards him were not of concerns for her own safety, but the deterrent of the misguided communications of feelings.
"She totally is into you, don't be stupid." He murmurs almost reassuringly, blue eyes lost to the task before him. "I haven't asked, and don't expect me to, but I think you're a safe bet. Safer than most, anyway. It's good to have a partner to keep you motivated, fight for and with each other like you guys have. You're good at that, Durbe." His eyes dart back to the textbook before him and he no longer replies, but Durbe knows the words ring true.
But even so, why can't he just do it?
Asking out girls was easy enough. Hey, want to get a coffee after class tomorrow? But it wasn't the same, and he guessed it troubled him more because of it. Not that asking her to coffee was hard; only the exact opposite. Crimson eyes would blink curiously, raised eyebrows more concerned with his apparent troubles in class than the beverage at her lips. She never saw past the friends.
And that was fine, was preferred by him. Silence was his virtue, his best friend without a body; he could hold his secrets to his grave. Sometimes, he feared he must, as her eyes light up with talk of a cute boy on the subway or did you see her Durbe? If Ryouga doesn't ask her out soon, I will! Kind laughter and strict words come easily, but her light let him blind; to blind to see anything beyond the words leaving her mouth.
Maybe he's too awkward; he rationalizes to himself. People like him were best left for bros, the best friends without romantic attachment. Her words to him were harsh at worst, as his to hers, and incredibly kind at best. But it was never enough, not ever close enough to the reading he was hoping for.
He was going to miss his chance. Fate creeped up on him in cruel ways, lifetimes of lost chances proving to him what others barely could. But acceptance always bled through, and this was no life or death, only a heart, and a potentially bad choice. When there is a bad choice, isn't it better to abstain until the feelings passed? A part of experience knawed at his thoughts when vulnerability is at its worst.
A one worded answer to something that could shatter his heart. One he's never let share.
Too late, too late. Every second you waste is too late.