You lie there on the bed, propped up on one elbow, watching with almost disinterest as he gathers his clothes. He pulls them on, one layer after the other, until he's once more untouchable. Except, you know that's not true: the both of you spent the better half of the past ten hours touching each other. It brings a slight smirk to your face, so what if it feels a little strained?

He pauses at the door and you open your mouth to make a catty comment but stop as you realize what he's waiting for. Your mask slips for a second and hurt darkens your eyes, but if he notices he doesn't say anything.

"Money's on the dresser," you say. He blinks, startled at the iciness of your voice. You sigh and lean back amongst the pillows.

"Keigo, are you okay?" he asks uncertainly. You shrug, fighting back the urge to hurl a pillow at him.

"Whatever. Yeah." You wave off his questions. It's not like you care, you accuse silently.

A tense moment in which neither of you say anything. Sure, silence is golden but you would have paid the world for him to contradict you.

"Same time next week then?" he asks. You know it's not because he loves spending his weekends with you but because he needs the money. And you need him, a lonely part of you whispers bitterly. You don't answer the question because he knows it already.

"It was a pleasure as always, Keigo," he says before bowing out.

"Yeah," you say, long after the door has shut, "and if I was inclined to believe you, maybe I wouldn't be in so much pain right now."

You roll onto your stomach. Sometimes, you wish your Insight wasn't so developed. If it wasn't, you wouldn't know as surely as you do that he feels nothing but obligation and friendship towards you. Your Insight doesn't always work, you find out, because as the tears begin to fall everything fades away until all that's left is white noise.

But maybe the Insight is defunct because the real weakness is in the user. Indeed, your heart is so broken you can't see the line between a deal made to help a friend and a selfish desire to be close to the one you love most.

You sigh at him at and at your obsession. You close your eyes for a moment, considering the thought of a dreamless sleep. It won't work however; you can only sleep when he's present. It's ironic because when he's around, the two of you never do much sleeping. Resigned, you settle into another restless night. You wait for sleep to come and wonder for the umpteenth time, with a quiet desperation you allow yourself to feel only when he's gone, if this is the closest you'll ever get to love.