“I can't tell him I need him. I can't need him, period -- or really, we can't need each other, because who knows how long either of us will last in this war?”

“I think about pressing myself against him, but I can't, because all our secrets would keep a space between us.”

“He moves his thumb in a slow circle over the back of my hand. It is meant to comfort me, but it frustrates me instead. I need to talk to him. I need to look at him.”

“I try to think of something helpful to say. I'm not going to die -- but I don't know that. We live in a dangerous world, and I am not so attached to life that I will do anything to survive. I can't reassure him.”

“His fingers leave streaks of cold on my skin, invisible to the eye, and I think about wrapping his shirt around my fist and pulling him in to kiss me; I think about pressing myself against him, but I can't, because all our secrets would keep a space between us.”

“I hear my heartbeat. I have been looking at him too long, but then, he has been looking back, and I feel like we are both trying to say something the other can't hear, though I could be imagining it. Too long - and now even longer, my heart even louder, his tranquil eyes swallowing me whole.”

“I stare at him for a second. I can't help it. To me there's a difference between not being afraid and acting in spite of fear, as he does.”