It had never been a true romance.

This thing we had come into, whatever it was, was not a romance in the human sense of the word – far from it. This, if anything remotely resembling, was a romance of flesh. A demon romance. A tangling of bodies and passions, an intimate yet choreographed dance of powers. A tentative alliance to all outside parties, who of course remained innocent to the true nature of our engagements. The use of the word romance at all may in fact be far too generous.

Stolen moments were what constituted our affair. He caught me when I was alone, between my duties in the human world and when I was young in my human mind, weaving himself swiftly into my life under cover of darkness. The dead of the night was a common backdrop, and I for one had always found it appropriate, for several reasons. This was how Hiei had wanted it, and this is how we had agreed to carry on… and carry on we did, for longer than was probably prudent. We enjoyed each other. Perhaps it was for different reasons, but at very least the physical enjoyment seemed mutual.

I will admit, I did care for him, even if it wasn't part of the deal. It was foolish, I know.

But I digress.

Looking back on the past is not something I do with any particular grace. Truthfully, I would not wish to look back at all, but… how goes that old adage… one who does not remember his past is bound to repeat it.

Wisdom I will not readily forget.

I do find it odd, of course, that the great bulk of my introspection takes place here of all places, and now of all times, tangled in the sheets and the aftermath, the warm body of my nighttime lover slumbering in the chaos nearby. It is not terribly unusual, of course. I often find my thoughts to be abnormally unruly when this happens. I shift my head, cast my gaze on him. All three of his eyes are closed. His breathing is calm and even and I take a moment to listen. He sleeps peacefully, a rare and delicate repose no doubt fostered by exhaustion and at least some degree of trust – this show of vulnerability would be impossible otherwise. I take solace in this. I remember a time when he refused to stay at all.

I do not move. I cannot. I dare not wake him. Though I have yet to find rest myself, I have had centuries of practice in the exercise of patience. I return to my thoughts.

Tomorrow, this will be forgotten. Despite this brief moment of hedonism, we will return to the tournament, without a word, without a hint to anyone, not even each other. Now especially, there is no time for distraction. We allowed this night to happen because now more than ever, the future – our future, all of our futures – seem tenuous.

I cannot explain his motivations, of course, but I suppose I needed this. We may, after all, be charging to our deaths at the coming of dawn. Perhaps victory awaits us, though the latter may be an overly optimistic conjecture.

Only time will tell.