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Gilbert sat in awkward silence for a minute while Elizaveta hid her face with a curtain of hair. He was conflicted, each side tearing itself to bits.

There was what Natalya had said; You could always kill again.

And then there was the love that had blossomed from childhood to the painful ache eating away at him now.

He was already a killer; Roderich's blood was proof of that, the butterflies, all of it. He knew he was a killer. He knew he could do it again. It was not something easily forgotten.

But it wasn't something he could do to her. She was the love of his life; he felt silly even considering it.

"Look," he said, voice rough, "I don't mean to hurt you now. I just want..." You. I want you to reciprocate this feeling. All I want is you.

Elizaveta looked up, and her green eyes seemed to read those unsaid words. She said nothing, just reached up to brush her fingers lightly against a thin red line on his face, a scratch that used to be deeper, obtained running away. The light touch sent tingles through his skin, and he looked away.

"Can't we just start over from the beginning?" she asked softly.

"That's always the best starting point, isn't it?" he said, just as softly. Her hand didn't leave his face, and, carefully, tenderly, he placed his own hand over it, hoping against hope that she wouldn't move it away. His fingers barely brushed hers, light as a butterfly's kiss.

She pulled both their hands down and twined her fingers with his. "So is that a yes or a no?" Elizaveta looked up at him through her lashes.

"I don't know. Is it?" The albino offered a smile at her, and in response she squeezed his hand. The vial of cantarella in his sleeve was cold against his skin, and his smile faded.

Elizaveta obviously thought it was because of what she'd done a moment ago, and she began to pull away, her face closing off.

"Wait!" he said, capturing both her hands in his. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

There was no good way to answer that question, and he was not going to go with that infamous 'It's not you, it's me,' even though, in this case, it was the truth.

"Just a little thing," he tried, and Elizaveta looked at him, unconvinced. "If it's so little, then why won't you tell me?"

"Because...some secrets should never be told, you know?" Unbidden, the phrase brought back a faded memory of their childhood.

The light seemed golden. Elizaveta was dangling her feet in an ornamental pond, not as cheerful as her normal self.

"What is it, Lizzie?"

"It's nothing."

"Really now." The albino took off his sandals and plopped down next to her. "What kind of nothing makes you so sad?"

"Leave me alone."

The albino was hurt. "What did I do?"

"It's not you."

"Then why won't you tell me? Did I make you mad somehow?"

Elizaveta turned away from her friend's earnest face. "No. It's just because some secrets should never be told, you know?"

From the look on her face, Elizaveta was obviously remembering that too. She put a tired smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. For everything."

This time, he knew she meant it with her whole heart. He squeezed her hand tighter. "So we build upwards from here?"

In answer, she stood up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He'd never smiled so wide before.

Inside his sleeve, the cold glass against his skin spoke to him, and in the cloudy sky, butterflies circled overhead, but he ignored them. This warm need, this wanting inside him, that could sustain him endlessly, and the warmth of Elizaveta's hand in his could only be matched by the warmth of her body pressed against his, their lips meeting in a kiss, and...

Even though he had his darling angel, he wanted more.