The day you saw her with the youngest accommodator, Mei Lin, in her arms, you knew.

You knew with the rush of blood in your veins, you knew with the trembling seizing your hands, you knew upon looking at the sunlight caught in the strands of her hair. Your existence couldn't deny it; the duty you were supposed to uphold, the title you proudly carried since the eighth year upon the earth, was all but forgotten. Pointless, even. "To watch from the sidelines," he says, "and to never be drawn in by the war."

It's not the war that got you. No, not the sounds of an Akuma's battle cry, not the cool metal in your hands when you call upon your attacks, not the dead and dying civilians and comrades. It's much stronger than that, something you farce upon seeing a beautiful woman. That one emotion, the same thing you're trying to avoid. The same thing you can't afford to have, because if you do, your position, your beliefs, are compromised. A small, warm feeling. A fuzzy, growing feeling. Something that clings to your chest and draws all the air out of your lungs.

"Lenalee!"

Something that strangles you, chokes you, and keeps you that way until you beg for mercy. Even then, the strangling goes on, until it finally digs deep into the last droplets of blood seeping from your heart, and squeezes. The pain is unbearable, so you try to forget. She and Allen, a far better couple. You see the way he looks at her, the way she smiles at him, the way they fight together and worry about one another. A perfect couple; even Komui would approve. The whole Black Order, if, perchance, the Millennium Earl were to be defeated, would throw their marriage. She would wear white, black hair enshrouded in red flowers.

The only one, out of all of you, who would be alone is you. Shrug it off, even laugh, but you know it's true. A "special someone." What happens when you can never have a "special someone"? Eventually, it'll gnaw at you, the nipping loneliness, the want, the need to have her say your false name one more time. Just once. It doesn't matter if it's fake. You just want to hear that same voice you heard for two, three years, that same voice that worried and fussed over you, and even . . .

"Lavi!"

Cared. You care. You care with everything you have. She cares, too, but differently. Differently in that you aren't her "special someone." Yet, you continue on, sacrificing whatever it is you had to protect her. When she was sick, you helped her on her feet; when Allen disappeared, you were there by her side; when she vanished into the sea, you sought after her when no one else could; when Allen and her reunited, you stepped into the background, putting on that smile.

"I'm okay. Focus on getting Allen back. I'll distract the Akuma. Don't worry about me!"

You're not okay. It hurts. Whatever grasped your heart, it bleeds, it stings. Don't you want her to see? It's okay to interfere once, right? To interrupt what is meant to be. Allen, after all, is turning into a Noah. Love between an exorcist and a Noah can't happen. It's impossible. You aren't going anywhere. You're an exorcist, and will always be one.

Ah. Never mind. You're a Bookman, not an exorcist. You're destined to leave, and she will forget about you, or maybe smile sappily when she remembers you briefly. You're just as bad as Allen is. What makes you think you deserve her?

You don't.

The pain sears up your arm. The swarm of Akuma are pushing you to your limits. With Allen kidnapped, with Kanda surrounded, the only two left to get Allen back are you and her. And once she reunites with him once more . . .

Breathing is a chore. Fire stamp upon fire stamp, combo stamp upon combo stamp. Fighting is hard. Why keep it up? Why not just say it aloud? Three words, that's all, three words you can write with a swift motion of your hand. In an instant, all will come pouring out:

Your gallbladder, your liver, your intestines, all splattering onto the ground.

The attack occurred within seconds. Lenalee, Allen in her arms, back turned. Lenalee, eyes wide, surprise brushing across the features of her face. Lenalee, defenseless. Beautiful Lenalee, beloved by all Lenalee, big sister Lenalee. If anything were to happen to her, you wouldn't forgive yourself. The Akuma, cruel, evil, despicable, saw the opening, launched its projectiles at her, craving her death to please Death itself.

"La . . ."

Let Death take you instead. May he make you the greatest masterpiece, carved out of your stained flesh. You were struggling to breathe anyways.

"No! No! No!"

"I . . ."

Love her.

" . . . want . . ."

To love her with everything you have.

". . . you to forget me. I'm sorry."

And even when you say that, your body isn't uttering a sound. A shame. You were so good-looking, too. Smart, even. And you died for that? A girl? A girl who is now crying over your blood, your fixed eye, your cold hands?

For love?

You should have learned, Lavi. You should have known better.

For you, there was no room for love.

And now all you have is darkness.