She had always cared about him, he thinks.

The first time she met him it was with a proffered hand and a nonjudgmental smile. He'd reluctantly taken it, felt its softness and curious warmth upon his shell. When she started asking questions about his relation to the actual angel he'd answered and brushed her aside as tactfully as a beast could, leaving her in the corridor alone.

When she next saw him in the infirmary she'd bothered, bothered to try to heal and dress the wounds of a broken mess. She'd treated him with kind words and gentle movements, even when he pricked her with his thorns. Though he left with an admittedly half-hearted promise to stay out of trouble, her expression was more sadness than anger or irritation when he came in the next day.

He had been surprised when she'd approached him with a request to help her train. He'd tried his best, first teaching her how to protect herself, then how to retaliate- a decidedly failed venture. Despite this she had thanked him when they finished, with a smile on her lip and a tight grip on his wrist dragging him to lunch. Throughout the meal he found himself bombarded by questions he could not escape, and so he reluctantly told the curious star watcher of himself, of his shameful birth and his past. He told it as a historian, never once justifying his actions because he knew no reason with which to explain them. When she'd showed signs of feeling sorry for him he'd impulsively scoffed, inwardly reminding himself he never deserved this sympathy. The rest of the food was eaten in silent small talk.

She'd started treating him like a friend soon after that, a novel experience for the gargoyle. Intentionally meeting him, trying to talk to him- she always told him he was nothing other than human (he knew he was not) - and it was on one night where she managed to drag him out under the stars that she talked about herself. Her words spun tales of far-flung galaxies, of the cold expanse of space, of a lone girl surrounded by stars and stars. He noted the change in tone when she spoke of the red plumber, gratitude seeping from her voice like all of her emotions. Listening to her hero's escapades was however hardly entertaining- and perhaps slightly irritating, but at least this time he left slightly more politely than before. Admittedly not much more.

Then it had been his turn to visit her in the infirmary- seeing her bruised and battered was proof of his own incompetence. Somehow she managed to stop him from beating himself up, finding enough strength for her voice. She'd told him it wasn't his fault, that it was her choice (if he had done it properly she wouldn't be lying like that) and she was equally to blame as him; she said nothing regarding his competence as a teacher, which was perhaps for the better. For her sake he'd grown silent, acquiescing to her request to stay as she rested. The white angel had almost laughed if not for his sharp glare.

She'd asked him what he thought of himself in the fields, the wind tousling those platinum blonde bangs of hers. He'd answered as he saw it- a flawed reflection reflecting upon itself with all the bias and brutality of a mirror. She'd frowned -he'd thought that the distorting expression was becoming all too common on her face- and disagreed with him, tried to convince him that he wasn't a (defiling sacrilegious heartless twisted) stone äme Damnée. He'd looked at her when she said that no one was beyond redemption (how wrong she was) and he was no different, that she if no one else saw him as human. That last one had occupied his thoughts during that day's sleepless night.

When she first won a battle she'd attributed it to his help, with that face glowing radiant. He'd let her, offering a smile (he'd gotten better at making them look real) and watching her smile brighten more than he thought possible. Suddenly she'd hugged him, pressing her warmth against him and for a extended second there he stood, immobile (soulless corrupted corrupting) marble statue. Then like before he let her, placing his arms around her in an attempt to mimic the action. The light of her almost warmed him, as did her smile.

Some time later she managed to drag him into her room so as to show him the story she had read to the Lumas. The language was simple, tone childish, message clear- she'd nodded when he asked, smiling with just a tinge of sadness (he never would know what losing a mother would feel like). When the Luma- Shine, she'd called it- asked someone to read it aloud he did so at her request, feeling his voice fail to crack. He saw, knew why her eyes glimmered then.

The next time she tended to his wounds she'd gasped. Fingers deftly stitching up the wounds, she asked why he fought on like this. He had no answer (that would make her happy) and kept silent, telling her what she needed to know. When she pressed her head to his back he'd felt the liquid sting the healing wounds, felt her choke a sob. Eventually she'd blinked back the tears long enough to dress the wounds, apply the bandages. For her sake he'd given her a promise; a promise to stay out of combat until she judged him well. Her smile then might have been duller than usual, but to him it might as well have been a star.

She'd told him what she felt for him one night under the stars, expressing her feelings with a cherry tint to her face. He'd been shocked into deafening silence. Lit by the night sky he'd told her of his stone heart, of the mirror's botched job, of his (flawed incomplete unresponsive unfeeling) feelings. He told her of all he wasn't, all he couldn't, watched her blink. Then she'd shrugged. He remembered how she'd took her hand and placed it over where his heart (should have been) was, closed her eyes as if feeling the empty pulses. Her smile then was as bright before (so much brighter than it should have been); she'd said that nothing was set, that even if he couldn't love her in return she'd just stay by him till he did. He'd looked at her, saw the emotion in her eyes (the tears didn't lie), and let her choose. In return he'd made his own covenant (angels kept their guilt and shame forever, even the dead ones) to try.

A nudge and he blinks his eyes seeing, focusing on her face, her smile.

"Kuro?" He likes that (unstolen) name. "Anything wrong?"

He shakes his head, lets her press her warmth against him. "Just thinking."

"If you say so." A yawn, and she fell asleep once more against him- still with that smile.

If only he could care the way she did.

A/N: Thanks for reading! And...happy Valentine's Day...?

wanders off