You imagine what it would be like to confess to him, to tell him everything you feel about him and ask if he will accept you. And he would put a hand on the side of your face and kiss you gently on the lips, struggling to formulate an answer. And you imagine that when the two of you break apart he smiles slightly and says, 'You're late.'

You imagine what it would be like if his eyes met yours when you sneak glances at him over dinner. How he would raise an eyebrow, slight amusement in his icy blue eyes - those eyes that you love so much. How you know you would blush and look away, and Okon would poke you in the ribs, but you would look back and meet his eyes as he looked at you - and you would see him smile so slightly that you would wonder if you imagined it.

You imagine what it would be like if you could wake up next to him every morning and you would mutter 'Good morning' before he would stand up and dress, and amusedly chide you for lazing around on the futon - and how you would complain that you were tired - and how he would raise an eyebrow and say, 'I know'. How, at breakfast Okina would make rather questionable jokes – but you wouldn't pay attention, because under the table, your hand was enveloped in his – and you would almost choke when Shiro asked you what was wrong, as you knew you would be staring into space with the happiest smile on your face – not daring to look sideways at his amusement. 'N-nothing!' you would stammer and continue shoveling food into your mouth as long fingers traced patterns on the back of your hand under the table.

You imagine what it would be like if he kissed you or you kissed him. You know that his lips would be bitter from all the green tea that he drinks, but you are imagining a kiss with him and that alone would make in all the more sweet – sweeter than any candy.

You imagine what it would be like if when the two of you trained, you would finally be able to pin him down onto the ground, but he would addle your thoughts with a kiss - and then chide you for being distracted when he has you pinned a few seconds later. And you know, outside of imagination, that the only times you could win against him when you spar is when he lets you – but that never stops you from trying.

You imagine what it would be like if when you brought his tea in, his eyes would be trained on you instead of the teapot, and when you had poured his tea you would sit down beside him and lean against his shoulder, a book in your hands – and you two would just sit there, reading in silence, sharing each other's warmth and occasionally wondering aloud if dinner was going to be soon, or 'My arm's falling asleep, lay in my lap'.

You imagine what it would be like to be so just… casual with him. Your breath would no longer catch when he stood close to her and you would no longer blush when his hand brushed yours – because you were so used to him and those hands would have done much more… Interesting things to you at that point.

You imagine what it would be like to wear a heavy yet beautiful wedding kimono that you knew you could not fight in. How you would feel knowing that you were getting married - and he was the groom. How happy your friends would be for you, how surprised everyone except for Okina would be – and how he would not be able to stop cracking completely questionable jokes after the ceremony and how you would blush – and later, when you are alone with him you would realize that all the jokes were completely on point.

You imagine what your wedding bed would be like and how achingly gentle he would be – and how you would say, 'Mou, Aoshi-sama, I'm not made of glass, you know'. How his chest was a map of scars – and as you trace the lines with you lips it would become a map to him and how your hands would grip his shoulders (oh so wide) and how his voice would sound next to your ear, gruff and strained and wanting as he gasped out your name and you gasped out his.

You imagine what it would be like to watch him sleep beside you, the only light being the moonlight seeping through the shoji and how beautiful he would look, and how proud you would feel that he was yours - and he was letting his guard down enough around you to show you this side of him. How the moonlight would cast shadows on his angular face and how his inky black hair would spread across the pillow.

You imagine what it would be like to pin your hair up as a married woman and how you two would stand side-by-side in the kitchen of the Aoiya, talking about anything at all or not really talking, but it'd be a comfortable silence, the kind you'd have come to enjoy with him.

You imagine what it would be like to confess to him – but you know you can never do it because the pain in his eyes when you smile at him, and the aching gentleness in his gaze when he thinks you're not looking is enough of a plea.

He's saying, 'Please don't.'

He's saying, 'I don't think I can do this.'

He's saying, 'If you do not love me as I love you, then it would be easier for me to look away and tell you that I am not right for you – and tell you to find someone else who has not been broken and put together as many times as I have – strayed into the darkness as many times as I have.'

He's saying, 'I love you.'

And he's saying, 'I'm sorry.'

So you try to smile.

You bring him his tea every afternoon.

You imagine.