You imagine what it would be like to tell her your feelings, to confess to her, betray yourself to her. How her large sea-green eyes would widen and how she would bring a hand to her mouth with a surprised giggle turning into a choked whisper of your name. How soft those small pink lips would be. How she would grin and tell you, 'Finally!'

You imagine what it would be like to wake up next to her every single morning, to have her wake with a sleepy moan and break into a smile. How she would throw the window open and then stumble back, unbalanced, so lithe and skilled yet somehow endearingly clumsy. You imagine her saying 'Good morning!', always so happy, and then she would sit with her back to you and you would run your fingers through her hair and then braid it.

You imagine what it would be like if you glanced into her room as you passed by on the way to breakfast and she would throw her shorts at you and laughingly call you a pervert while you rolled your eyes and told her to hurry up – and maybe not keep the door open so wide – not that you minded. And then, giggling, she would throw another article of clothing that you would dodge and then fold gently outside her room, sliding the door shut more, heading down to breakfast with a slight smile.

You imagine what it would be like to walk through town, and she would grab your hand excitedly and drag you around to look at things that she seems to think she's seeing for the first time. How, if it by some chance started raining you two would duck under any awning, panting and dripping wet – and she would just laugh and laugh and you would watch her wring the water out of her sleeves and smile inadvertently at the concentrated face that she has. You find it cute.

You imagine what it would be like to lay in her lap as she read aloud to you. Outside of imagination you have always liked her voice (when she was not screeching for one reason or another). How, if she stuttered or read too fast, you know you wouldn't care and how you would lift the book and plant a light kiss on her lips when she's not expecting it – because that light blush on her cheeks is something that only you can produce and you know you would feel so ridiculously proud.

You imagine what it would be like, when she brought you tea she would stay for longer than she usually does and then she'd surprise you with a kiss. You can imagine what her lips would feel like under yours, how she would grin at you letting down your guard and then wink and pour you tea, impishly pretending that nothing had happened as you try to get your breath back and your heart to beat slower and less loud. And you would shake your head, because only she could do this to you – and then you would try to hide a smirk, because you know you'll pay her back double for this and render her shaking and unable to move by next morning.

You imagine what it would be like to work up the courage to propose to her, to spend long nights thinking about the correct phrasing, about whether it should be serious and romantic, or something soft and sweet – maybe a little ridiculous? Would you say something clichéd or would you try to come up with something that really tries not to sound clichéd – but actually does – painfully so. You probably would, you think.

You need not imagine how the ones in Tokyo would be so happy for you, how Sagara would be much too lewd, how awkward and disbelieving Yahiko would be, how overly emotional Kamiya and Himura would be and how Takani would already be readying herself for delivering a child. You imagine how flushed and happy she would be when all of those people rush upon the two of you with congratulations.

You imagine what your wedding bed would be like, how she would look, panting and moaning beneath you, her lithe body arching and her lips parting with sweet gasps and her eyelashes fluttering. How she would feel against you, how soft her skin would be – but you knew that she had many more scars than she let on – yet you would kiss every single one. How playful she would be, and how you would barely be able to keep ahold of your sanity when the mere thought of it would send you over the edge.

You imagine what it would be like to watch her sleep beside you, how she would move and mutter, restless in sleep as she is awake, how she would look with the early morning sunlight softening her already soft features and how you would stroke her hair, careful not to wake her because she looks so peaceful and achingly beautiful.

You imagine what it would be like if when you were in the Aoiya's kitchen – and she was out there serving customers – how you would watch her as you always do, but when she turns around to look at you, you do not look away – you smile slightly at her and she smiles back. How she would come back and tease you about it, 'Oh you're so in love with me, aren't you!', and how you would fluster her in return, how she would grab a few more trays and stand on tiptoe, kissing you on the cheek before running back out, always with that grin – and how Okon would roll her eyes and hide a smile.

You imagine what it would be like to tell her how you feel – but you cannot, for the eager, trusting look in those beautiful sea-green eyes is one that you, with everything you have done, to her and everywhere else know you do not deserve, and you wonder if she even tries to hide that she loves you when you beg her not to – for it would be so much easier to reject her if she did not smile at him like that, if she did not look at him like that.

She's saying, 'I love you so much – more than anything else in the world!'

She's saying, 'Hey, Aoshi-sama, why won't you look at me?'

She's saying, 'Don't you think I can tell what you feel? That you love me? I always will love you, no matter what you've done to me, because you came back to me. I waited – and you came back.'

She's saying, 'I love you.'

And she's saying, 'I'll wait – no matter how long it takes.'

So you let her bring you tea every day.

You treat her as if there is no-one besides her in the world – yet you dare not approach her.

You imagine.