In your sleep, you move closer to me. Something is bothering you, causing your seraphlike face to momentarily reflect an inner turmoil. Cautiously, I gather you in my arms as best I can.

You relax and allow me to tighten the embrace. The warmth of your breath against my naked flesh causes my heart to race as you snuggle into me. For several days now, we've found a way to hold back the misery and lonleiness. Each morning we go back to pretending everything is fine, but here in the void we cling to each other. For mutual comfort... or out of a growing love?

I still don't know what you want--who will make you happy.

That first night, I stayed awake and watched you. Drinking in the sight of you by moonlight, so near to me physically, I waited and hoped for some sort of unconscious response to my presence. You remained curled up on your half of the bed, back to me. Ordinarily, you turn at least twice an hour but it was nearly dawn before you moved.

I got up to collect some fresh clothes from my room and take a shower. My hand on the bedroom doorknob, I heard a gentle rustling. Looking back, I saw something extraordinary.

You now lay nestled in the slight depression my body had made. Questing fingers clutching a pillow, you mumbled--then smiled. Not the customary grin that is present on your fair features throughout the day (and causes me to melt inside every time it's directed my way). No, this was the one I had longed to see since first glimpsing it in a photo.

This time, it was for me.

The next evening, you were awkward and uneasy. Your eyes begged me the question you didn't feel it proper to ask. After all, a moment of weakness is allowed even the most battle-hardened soldier, but to repeat it supposedly lessens the warrior. Finally, I settled the situation by changing into my loose sleeping outfit and slipping under the sheets. Hair still damp and the scent of your soap hanging in the air, you slid in next to me.

You leaned over and gave me a quick hug. It startled me as much as the whispered "Thank you."

Gradually, I've become more comfortable with expressing my thoughts, my feelings. Perhaps soon I will have the courage to demonstrate the depth of my affection for you.

Hands lightly roaming over your contours, I imagine what it would be like to touch your skin without the barriers of silk and cotton between us. Not in a brutal show of force and possession, but as the natural extension of two souls moving to the same gorgeous goal. Will we one day explore those levels of intimacy? For now, it is enough to hold you and protect you from your fears.

Resting your head on my chest, you seem at peace. So much of me wants to keep you like this forever--safe from a cruel, callous world.

Yawning, I sink back onto my pillow and tug the blankets up so that we're both covered. Just before I fall asleep, I stroke your hair and press a kiss to the flaxen strands.

Stirring, you murmur a name.

"Trowa."

In a moment, my heart is utterly destroyed. It is as if a spectre had risen from its grave to stab at me.

Gingerly, I push out from beneath your arm and leave your side. I do not stop this time when I hear you shift, but continue woodenly to my own room. Under cold sheets in my lonely bed, I come to realize my mistake. How could I have ever won you over when another still claims you from the frozen reaches of space? He gave his life for yours--the precious life I tried to take. I am not worthy of your devotion and could not make you care for me. I will cherish this brief time togther knowing it has come to an end tonight. The emptiness I feel will one day vanish, I am sure... although this is little solace in the silent world of dreamless night.


Farewell, thou are too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate.
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprison growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. (*)