I knew this was going to be difficult. I knew I was going to screw something up along the way, and that this time I wouldn't have anyone to fall back on.

So why did I even bother?

Why did I accept the offer to study abroad for a year? Was it the talk of "endless opportunities" and "hands-on experience with the world"? Was it my parents pushing me to do it?

I might never know.

I had gotten there with mediocre Japanese at best and a major case of jetlag. My host parents were kind enough; they were all smiles and polite questions when I arrived. I had my own room, and their children had already grown up and moved out. So I had much time for peaceful silence. I had gone to school starting the next day.

And I met him.

Kiku was his name. He was very fascinated with all I had to tell him of my home country, of Germany. He and I spoke English very well, since both our parents were in business. We used English to communicate while he taught me Japanese and I taught him German.

I remember the first time he genuinely smiled. I had told him he was my first real friend over stir-fry at a local restaurant. He looked shocked at first, putting down his manga to look at me in shock. Whether it was what I said, or the fact that I said it in Japanese, I'll never know. The look of shock then melted into the warmest smile I've ever known. I laughed a bit at myself. Silly girl. Don't let this boy into your heart.

But, alas, I did. And much too quickly for my comfort. Soon we were spending every day after school together, and we were addressing each other as Kiku and Luise, dropping all honorifics. People at school asked about our relationship status, and we assured that we were simply good friends. But, at that point, I wanted so much more.

I became good friends with the girls in my class, who stared in wonder at my bust size and giggled whenever I mentioned Kiku. They eventually told me that Kiku didn't really talk to anyone, and that, before he met me, Kiku was a shut-in.

"He really lights up when you're around," Noriko said, a short petite girl with chin-length black hair. The other girls giggled as I blushed.

Could it be…? Do I dare hope…?

The mid-point of the year went by and Kiku and I grew only closer. Soon the only time I didn't spend with him was dinner with my family and then sleep. My host parents would laugh softly to one another as I headed up to bed, talking of "young love". I pretended I didn't know the phrase.

Then, some Saturday in December, Kiku and I had been at a diner for lunch when I had just asked.

"Kiku, how do you feel about me?" I asked, looking out the window with a blush.

He looked at his hands and smiled softly. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"Hai," I answered.

I looked at him just in time to see the light in his eyes as he said, with that cool manner only he could ever pull off, "Ich liebe dich."

I cried for the first time since my bruder died. Kiku looked flustered, standing up and asking me if I was alright.

"….ki…" I stammered out amidst sobs.

"Anou, nani?"

I looked him in the eye, mine still spilling tears. "D—daisuki." I offered him a small smile. The look in his eyes was hard to read. In his eyes lay passion, comfort, desire, confusion, concern…

In short, he was overwhelmed by the very love that had lodged itself deep into my heart.

I suppose that that was the day we started going out. We never made a scene in class; as far as everyone else was concerned, we weren't an item. Kiku and I were not ashamed of it; we just didn't see the need to announce it to the world. He belonged to me and I to him, so what else really mattered?

January came, and the new year began with a burning love between us. I never dared to hold his hand in public, lest we make a scene. But sometimes when it was cold or just felt necessary, I would find myself on his arm. He would always give me that look of shock, as though he believed it was a dream that I was by his side, and then laugh softly. I always blushed, embarrassed by his ability to always stay calm.

February brought many things, including Kiku and my first kiss. It was on Valentine's Day, and I had made him a chocolate heart with our names written in white chocolate, his in kanji and mine in katakana. He smiled softly, accepting it, his hand brushing against mine. The girls saw it, and almost squealed with joy at the sight. I blushed, but kept my eyes on Kiku. When class let out, we walked together through the streets.

"I told my mother about you," I told him as we walked, me hanging on his arm once again.

"Ah, sou desuka? Should I go meet your mother?" He asked, calm as always.

"Not my host mother, I meant my mutti. In Germany." At his surprised look, I told him, "She would really like to meet you. I e-mailed her a while back about you."

"Anou, not to be rude, but why did you tell her?" I didn't say anything. "I don't know if I ever can meet her personally…"

I looked away from him, unable to deal with what he was implying. We had managed to skirt around the subject until now, and my heart wasn't ready to deal with the emotional battle his words had begun. I felt a warm pressure on my arm, and looked to find that his hand was gently gripping my arm comfortingly.

"Sumimasen," he said, his words cool but his eyes aflame with regret. I knew how he hated to see me upset, and shook my head with a smile.

"I'm fine. I promise." We stopped then. I'll never know why. Maybe our hearts told us to stop, to just look at each other there in the darkening side road of Yokohama. Maybe our hearts knew what was going to happen next, our minds being too slow to comprehend the message they were sending. The streetlight above us flickered and burned out, leaving us alone in the snowy twilight. We both looked up to the broken light instinctively, as though to plead it to turn back on. Then we turned to each other and our eyes met. Kiku was standing in front of me, turned to the side since we had stopped mid-step.

I'll never know what compelled me to do what I did next. It's one of life's greater mysteries, I suppose, what compels us to do what we do. Especially when it is so out of character.

All I know is that I was standing there looking at him, and my hands lifted without my permission to grab his chest. I gripped his coat, not knowing why, and pulled him to me in a rush of passion and desire. My eyes closed as his lips met mine, mine powerful and guiding and his unmoving from shock. I pulled away after a few seconds, and looked down at my hands that still gripped his coat. I suddenly felt embarrassed. Why had I done that? In the midst of my regret, I felt his hand lift my chin to make our eyes meet. When they did, he saw the growing tears in mine and pulled me into a surprisingly strong hug. He arms clinched around my waist as mine rose to wrap around his neck.

"Nakanaide…" He told me. "Daisuki dayo."

I sniffed. What about him made me so emotional? I'm stronger than this, dammit! I'm stronger… "Ich liebe dich auch."

Why am I so damn happy with you?

With March came another obstacle, another problem to overcome. He had come over to my house when my host parents weren't home, and what started as a modest peck had quickly become a make out session on my bedroom floor. He was above me (but only because I'd put him there) kissing me with a passion I had never known lay within him. For someone who had such a cool exterior, he really had a lot of fire in him.

He broke the kiss, panting. "Luise, I love you," he said, out of context and catching me by surprise.

"Kiku?" He raised his head to look me in the eye and I saw the tears welling in them. "Kiku, Liebling, what-?"

"Don't go. Don't go back. Please…" he begged, his head dropping to look at my neck.

I propped myself up on my elbows. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You know what I mean," he said, his voice filled with uncharacteristic bitterness. "In two months, you're going back home. Back to Germany."

I had been pushing it out of my head, but hearing him say the words broke my heart once more with the realization that this world I had built would not last. "Kiku… please don't say it…"

"I can't stop thinking about it…" He kept staring down, and he was shaking now. "I don't want to lose you." A tear fell onto my stomach, staining my shirt, and that was what pushed me over the edge.

"Kiku!" I cried, sitting up and pulling him to me. My own tears began to fall, and just gripped each other tightly as we cried. His tears were silent, felt and not heard. Mine came out in sobs, which embarrassed me to no end. Every sob made him hold me tighter, which in turn strengthened my grip. Soon he was crushing me, but it wasn't enough. I want him to melt into me, become part of me, so that no matter where I go, he'll still be there…

He pulled back suddenly and crushed his lips upon mine. I was taken by surprise, as one, I was crying, and two, I usually made the first move, but I soon pulled him to me once more by the hair, by his shirt, until our chests met again as our lips moved together in mesmerizing ways.

Before I could even register the action, I had unbuttoned both our shirts and our skins came into contact. He was so warm, contrasting my cool body temperature. I shivered with pleasure, and he pulled me closer, tighter than I had thought possible. I pulled him down on top of me, and soon we were rolling on the floor again, our tears only adding onto the burning desire. I kept thinking, I'll kiss him till the tears stop. I'll just kiss him until he feels better, and this wound shuts. Looking back at it, I think he had the same mentality.

The tears didn't stop, and neither did we. At least, not till about 7:00, when we decided he should head home. On his way out the door, he gave me one last look, desperate hope haunting behind those favorite black eyes of mine. I gave him a small smile, and bade him good night. He left without a word, and at that point I knew things weren't going to get better.

For the next two months, we clung desperately to one another, calm on the surface but dying inside. Every kiss was filled with urgency, as though it may be our last, every touch whispering our haunting nightmare to come.

And then, the day came. At the beginning of May, I said farewell to my host parents, who cried to see me go. I hugged them both tightly at the entrance of the airport, and said a heartfelt goodbye. Promises of letters were made, and I stepped into the airport. Upon reaching my terminal, I sat down and waited.

Kiku had barely spoken a word to me for a week. When I had texted him letting him know what time I'd be at the airport, he hadn't responded. I sat and waited for him, desperately needing to see him one last time. I had arrived at the airport an hour and a half before my flight simply to have time with just him before I left. Twenty, thirty minutes passed and he didn't come. I began to worry, and tapped my foot nervously.

After an hour passed I felt my heart begin to crumple. At this rate, I would see him just long enough to say goodbye and leave. Where could he be?

The voice on the intercom called for the first round of passengers to board the plane, and I kept sitting. I waited and waited, hoping with every inch of my being that this wasn't happening, that he would come for me now…

"Last call for passengers on the flight to Berlin…"

He didn't come. I stood up, flashing a too-bright smile to the woman checking my ticket. He didn't come for me. I boarded the plane, dreaming that I heard his voice, that I heard him call my name. I sat in an empty seat in the aisle, a Japanese woman to my right and her son in the window seat. I gave her a brief smile before buckling myself in. I didn't even get to say goodbye. My face stayed calm and happy as my heart broke—no, shattered within me. As soon as the seatbelt light turned off, I got up and went to the rest room. I shut the door, splashing my face with water. I looked up at myself in the mirror, looked into my own eyes.

It's true when people say that the eyes are windows to the soul. Really, it's true. But my eyes, at that moment, were clouded windows, fogged by the breaths of passion and lust. I closed my eyes and a single tear fell upon the sink, and I opened my eyes once more.

But I could no longer see into myself. The curtains had been drawn on the windows to my heart.

I got home, greeted my mother, and asked her never to say Kiku's name to me. She agreed, and stuck to her promise. I've never cried since that day.

Only two things in my life had pushed me enough emotionally to make me cry. The first is when I lost Gilbert, my older brother. The second was when I met Kiku. And since I had lost the only two people in my life that had pierced into my being with merely their eyes, I had nothing more to lose.

It's been many years since I last saw Kiku, and I am now married with a child on the way. After deleting the e-mail address I'd given to Kiku, I was emotionless for a very long time. I walked, I studied, I ate and slept, but I felt nothing.

My father took us on vacation to Italy while I was in college, and we stayed at his friend's house. That is how Feliciano and I met. He was a bright, happy boy who had never known heartache. I was an emotionless robot, internally empty from losing the single most important person of my life. Somehow, something clicked between us.

We went through the motions: dating, getting to know one another, a marriage proposal, and then the big day itself. My parents couldn't have been happier with my choice of husband.

And I would be lying if I said I didn't love Feli. I love him with all my heart—or rather, what is left of my heart. I can trust him completely, and his naïve nature and bright smile always seem to lift my spirits. He is quite like a child to me, someone I can take care of and nurture.

But not quite equal; no, he will always be a tad below me emotionally. For how can one know unrequited joy without also knowing of bottomless sorrow? Still, I love him, carry his child now as I write this. I will never love him as wholly and unconditionally as I did in that one year with Kiku, when I was so much younger and much less guarded. Feli has the ability to see into a person's soul, but my soul has already been guarded with many walls and layers of code he could never hope to decipher.

Maybe someday I will tell him this story. Maybe many years from now when merely writing Kiku's name doesn't break my heart all over again. Maybe when I can love him enough to cry again, to let him into my heart. I know Feli could fix me; it's merely a question of when I will let him.

Kiku… why didn't you come?

Verdammt…

Naite wa dame desu.

A/N: Finally! I wrote this after reading seven volumes of Junjou Romantica. I felt a compulsive need to write an angst fic, and suddenly I wanted to write for Japan. And, being the Germany fangirl I am, I decided Japan/Germany would be best for this sort of story. I feel like they can understand each other on a plane no one else could…

A bit of translation notes:

Ich liebe dich: I love you (duh)

Ich liebe dich auch: I love you too (again, duh)

Daisuki (dayo): I love you

Nakanaide: Don't cry

Liebling: Darling (German term of endearment)

Verdammt: Dammit

Naite wa dame desu: I must not cry.