He always knew he loved her.
When she poked fun at his hair, his accent, his personality, his smile, his hobbies, his face, he knew that he loved her. When she hit him, punched him, kicked him, hard, barely realising her own strength, he knew that he loved her. He knew he loved her from the word go - unwaveringly, undoubtingly, even when she screamed and threw things and stormed off he would simply allow himself to smile and be content in that one, unceasing truth.
Oh, it was easy to love her sometimes. When she laughed with him, she was easy to love. When they talked, all evening and all night, together, neither of them wanting to say that final "goodbye", she was easy to love. When, together, they fought - It's me and you against the world, babe, - he couldn't do anything but love her, with all of his heart.
He was her benchmark and he knew he had one, if for the sole purpose of loving her.
Occasionally he wondered if, maybe, she loved him too. He speculated that maybe they were meant to be, destinies intertwined, threaded so tight like string, or maybe rope. He didn't voice those thoughts. She lived for the moment, for herself. She didn't believe in fate and destiny.
Make your own, she'd have said.
They did.
Whether she went along with his delusions of grandeur because she agreed with his disillusionment of their Superior, or simply to humour him, she stuck with him until the end; he never doubted her.
To her, even with a heart, love wasn't really a force to be dabbled with. She stayed out and had fun. But he wasn't so lucky; she'd trapped him to her in a spiral of appreciation, attraction, flirtation, lust, craving, desire, need, obsession.
Sometimes he loved her so much that he thought he may very well break to spend one more night alone, one more hour waiting in the cold without her by his side.
He didn't expect that she would be the one to snap from the tension first, but she did. He remembers blazing eyes in the half-darkness, passion but even more carnal need - how could he forget?
The first time it was hungry, starved, desperate. Neither of them lasted long. But it was a bond they made together, a leap into the unknown, into the swirling forbidden depths of love and they knew they'd never, ever be content with returning alone.
Nowadays, it's slower, lazier, lackadaisical. They take their time enjoying each other's company, although they still make each single moment matter.
They're rarely apart but sometimes he thinks that it pays to be - because it just makes the return that much more powerful, overwhelming - and when you're toying with hollow ghosts and memories, you take as powerful emotions as you can get.
She sleeps when she goes to bed.
He holds her close, and dreams.