AN: I first wrote this as a scene between two girls, but I wanted to get feedback on it so I changed it around into Glitch/Cain fanfic. So if it seems kinda OOC for them, that's why. I'd had this floating around in my head for awhile and I'm glad to get it down on "paper."

__

"Damnit Cain, do you want me or not?" I shouted, slamming my fist against the wall as I finally cracked after months of struggling to hide the desperate emotions I was drowning in.

"What?" he asked sounding stunned. This was clearly not where he'd thought our little chat in his new office had been going.

"Do you want me or not?" I repeated. "You're the one that started all this – you're the one who's sending all these weird mixed messages and I don't have a clue how you really feel about me! How could I? You never really tell me anything! One day you want to know everything that's going on with me and the next you avoid me like the plague." I couldn't believe I was saying all this to him, but the words were flying out of my month faster than I could control my emotions. I paced almost franticly about the room, stumbling over whatever lay in my path, my hands fluttering fitfully as my words rose and fell. I ranted blindly on, letting my feelings out without thinking about the consequences. "I want nothing more than to know what's going through your head! Just tell me. Even if it's "get the hell out of my life you crazy idiot," I have to know. I can't take this. I just can't."

He had stood quietly through my rant, taking it all in, now I focused my tear-filled eyes on his face and saw, to my disgust, an ill concealed smile flitting about the corners of his lips. How dare he? Here I was, pouring my heart out to him and he was trying not to laugh!

"So what do you want me to do, Glitch?" he asked at last in somewhat a husky voice.

Hadn't I just told him?

I tried to keep my voice from shaking.

"I just want to know how you feel about me," I said as calmly as I could.

"That's all?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"That's all that's wrong?"

"Yeah, isn't that enough? Shouldn't I know? Isn't that what people do, talk to each other?" My tempter was flaring and my vision was blurring. This wasn't me. Wasn't I the calm, good-natured one? How did he do this to me?

His smile grew a tiny bit into something that was between amusement and condescending pity and he took a few steps towards me. We were only a foot or so apart now, but it felt like miles. I had no idea what he was going to say or do. Maybe smack me for being such an idiot as to think he cared for me, maybe storm off, maybe laugh, maybe just give me that look that was as close to crying as he got. I pushed my quavering voice back into life.

"So what's the verdict?" I asked raising my hands in something that was sort of a shrug and sort of an attempt to reach out to him. "How do you-?" I might have continued; I hadn't thought that far ahead, but he spared me the trouble.

His hands were suddenly at my wrists hard, grasping me hard, and he shoved me backwards.

Oh no. Why did I ask? I thought wildly.

My back hit the closed door behind me with quite a nice thud. He had my hands pinned against the polished wood either side of head like I was trying to avoid being shot. I started to turn my head away, squinting as if to protect my eyes from his rage. Then he did the last thing I could have expecting even if I had thinking enough to anticipate his moves.

"Like this," he whispered.

Before the agony of total rejection could even cross my mind, his lips had captured mine.

Wait. WHAT?

He was kissing me. Cain was kissing me! I'd been expecting him to hit me or at the very least cuss me out and then tell me he wanted nothing to do with me, that he cared nothing for me, but he was kissing me! What the hell? And it felt, well, great. No, amazing. He was kissing me. He cared about me; he wanted me; he maybe even loved me.

I was so shocked that it took me a moment to think to kiss him back. Only when he started to pull away, hurt at my lack of response, did I react, kissing him back with the same gentle passion he'd showed me.

This was heaven; it just had to be.

He pulled away and looked into my wide eyes for a moment.

I opened my mouth to say something, but didn't know what.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked quietly, his smile a wickedly self-satisfied one.

His nails were digging into my wrists as he held me against the door, captive to his will.

I nodded mutely.

"Do you want me to say it?" he asked before I could even wish it.

Again, I nodded.

"I do want you," he whispered. "You're all I want, all I care about. And I love you."

I thought I might faint.

"I-," I started without a clue of what to say. A few moments ago I hadn't even been sure how I felt about him, much less how he felt about me. Do I truly love him? I asked myself. I thought about how it had felt kissing him. I'd never kissed a guy before (at least I couldn't remember having kissed a guy before; in fact I couldn't remember having kissed anyone before) so I didn't have much to go off of, but it had felt so... right. Yes, that seemed to be the proper word for it. Pinned to the door, inches from him, his breath on my face, the taste of his lips on mine, it all seemed perfect. I couldn't be happier, even if his nails were biting into my flesh. Just to be close him – that was enough. I tried once again to articulate my thoughts. "This is all I want," I managed. "To be near you, that would be enough, but to have you want me here," I was stumbling horribly over the words, but he seemed touched. "I love you," I said after a moment.

He smiled.

"But could you maybe let go of me?" I asked. He must have been rather caught up in the moment because he was really squeezing my wrists awfully hard.

He glanced at my captive hands, realizing for the first time how hard he was gripping them.

"Oh, sorry." He released them at once.

"It's fine," I muttered as I rubbed my wrists. He hadn't quite drawn blood, but there were five, deep, pink crescents on both on my wrists.

"I hurt you," he said, taking a step back.

"No, I'm fine," I assured him. "I couldn't be happier."

"You mean that?"

"Of course."

"Neither could I, but I never thought this could happen – especially not to me."

"Ditto," I mumbled.

We stood awkwardly for a moment and then he spoke.

"Well, shall we?" he asked, suddenly business-like.

"Shall we what?" I asked in confusion.

"Go."

"Go where?"

"Dinner." I could almost hear the "duh, you moron."

"On yeah, I'm starving."

"Me too, let's go."

He firmly took my hand in his and led me from the room.

This can't be happening, I told myself. Any moment now I'll wake up or someone will shout "April Fools!" even though it isn't April. But how can this be real? How can someone like him want someone like me? He's so great - talented and cool and strong and brave and perfect and I'm, well, a mess. It can't be true. But I guess, somehow, it is. And I'm not about to ditch it. Even if it is a dream, it's a good one and I'm going to take it while it lasts.

I squeezed his hand to say "I love you" and he squeezed mine back.

This was perfect and absolute joy.