"Liesel," a voice in the darkness murmured.

Liesel's head shot up. Across the room was a boy with hair the colour of lemons. He stood there, young and frail, looking directly at her.

"Liesel, you left me. Liesel, why didn't you kiss me? Did you only love me after I was gone?"

"Rudy," she whispered, "it wasn't like that. I—I—"

"You said he wasn't your boyfriend."

"Rudy—"

The yellow haired boy began to leave the room.

"Rudy, nein! Nein, Rudy! Come back!"

"Liesel?" said a soothing voice.

She woke up sweating, flailing, and shaking. Max held her down softly so she would calm down. When she realised it was him, her breathing slowed.

"I'm sorry, Max. It was only a dream."

"Liesel, you scared me. I heard you screaming."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't have to worry about me."

Max was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He hadn't a shirt on and large, black numbers were visible on the inside of his forearm. He brought a hand up to stroke her hair and she leaned into it. He was so comforting. She looked at him and felt a small spark in her heart.

"I should go now," he said to her, suddenly embarrassed.

As he shifted to rise, she caught his arm. She held his hand for a moment and looked into his eyes.

"Max," she whimpered.

"Liesel?"

She sighed. Her mind mulled the possibilities of what she was about to ask of him. But she couldn't take it any longer. His eyes pierced through her heart and she felt heat spread from her heart through her finger tips.

"Please stay with me," she asked softly.

His dark eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the candle he had lit when he entered the room. The fire danced in his eyes and Liesel wondered if he felt the same warmth that she did when he touched her.

He seemed reluctant to share the night with her, but soon nodded and laid down next to her on top of the covers. One arm slipped under her head and his other arm draped across her waist. Her eyes locked with his and he blew out the candle.

Even in the complete darkness, he was still handsome. She could feel him breathing, his strong, lean chest rising and falling slowly. His eyes remained open, however, as the street lamps illuminated them. She couldn't hardly take the silence. She had so much she wanted to tell him. Yes, this feeling escalated quickly and suddenly and without consent, but it was real.

Maybe it was always there, this feeling of loving Max. When Mama told Liesel that he had woken up from his fever induced coma, she was overjoyed. She had been terrified that he was going to die. She had always cared for him. Maybe there had just been something holding her back.

Liesel's hand drifted to Max's chest. She felt him inhale sharply and saw his eyes close. It was not pain she saw, but something else that she could not identify. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Liesel," he whispered. There was something desperate in his voice, like he was holding something back. He pulled her closer so that their bodies were touching. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. Max's face inched closer to hers, their nose touched and their lips were centimetres apart.

Then Liesel's head moved past his face and rested on his shoulder. She regretted inviting him here, in this room. She couldn't possibly break her promise to herself. They couldn't be together. Liesel couldn't love him like he loved her.

Max sighed and buried his face in her hair. She felt him fall asleep yet couldn't bring herself to close her eyes.

All night she thought about the forbidden almost-kiss. She wanted to kiss him so much. His lips, thin and supple, were craving her. He wanted to kiss her. But if she had kissed him, they would be together. Liesel was incapable of loving. Everyone she had ever loved—her brother, her mother, Mama, Papa, Rudy, even Max for a time—had left. She couldn't love Max, or he would leave. She could never recover if he left.

All night, she concentrated on the feel of his warmth against her. She wanted to remember this like a dream. She wanted to memorise the rise and fall of his chest just in case it wasn't here tomorrow.

It must have been four in the morning when she pulled her face back to examine his. He looked happier in his sleep. He looked like the same Max that she used to tell about the day. What the sun felt like on her skin.

"If your eyes could speak," he had once said, "what would they say?"

His face was relaxed. Liesel could tell he was fast asleep.

She drew her lips close to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Max."

He probably didn't hear her, which was a benefit of waiting until he was sleeping.

She then lightly pressed her lips to his temple. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he was clearly still asleep. He would never know. She didn't want him to.