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It’s not what she says.

She doesn’t say anything, she never has. She doesn’t
say I’m beautiful, and she doesn’t say she loves me.

But she tells me every day.

She looks at me with her deep, brown eyes, and I see
into her soul. She calls my name and it comes from her
heart.

She was never a good liar.

Her hand rests on my stomach, gentle, light, but so
definitely *there*. I can feel every tiny movement as
she breathes, her fingers brushing my skin as her
chest rises and falls. I hold my breath to make sure
it’s her movements and not mine, that it’s not my
imagination.

Still, quiet, I can feel her. It’s all her, the
tingling sensation washing over me, the spinning of
the room, it’s all because of her.

Her hair, still wild and untamed from the events of
the night, is spilled over her shoulders and I think I
can feel every single strand that touches me. Every
strand that wraps around my fingers when I kiss her.

I sink further back into my pillow as a contented sigh
escapes my lips. Soon, as she falls deeper into sleep,
she will pull me closer and won’t let go. I wait for
this every night, for her strength to capture me and
tell me that I’m safe. That we’re safe. This was all I
ever needed, her touch, not her words. The
confirmation of her feelings comes from this, her skin
on mine, her letting me sleep in her bed.

Letting me see her sleep.

Her lips are parted, her eyes are closed and her body
is relaxed. In sleep, she lets me see her innocent,
peaceful, and she knows I watch her all night long.
She knows, and she lets me.

But if I move, it will all change. Her mouth would
close tight, her eyes would snap open and her body
would move from mine. She knows, and I know, that she
likes this. She likes me here. But she would never say
it.

But it’s fine, because I know.

I know because when she falls back asleep, her body
unconsciously finds mine once more. It happens every
time. She loves me, even if she’ll never admit it. And
I feel the same.

To the people that know us, we’re slayers, friends,
nothing more. They don’t see the look in her eyes as
she brings me to climax, or the way she watches me
when she thinks I’m not looking. They don’t hear the
way I whisper to her as she falls asleep, saying
nothing and telling her everything.

Telling her that I’m in love.

We let them believe that that is all we are. We try to
let each other believe it. I know she needs the
distance, the safety of silence. Saying the words
makes it so much scarier. But somewhere, somehow, she
knows. Just like I do. This is fate, destiny. Love.

She moves slightly and her arm wraps tightly around my
body, holding me closer than she would ever admit. The
smile is small on my lips, but it’s there. Now I know,
and I can sleep again. I close my eyes and drink in
the feel of her skin against mine.

“Goodnight Faith.” I whisper as I relax into her.

It’s not what I say.

I don’t say anything, I never have. I don’t say she’s
beautiful, and I don’t say I love her.

But I tell her every day.

I look at her with my bright green eyes, and she sees
into my soul. I call her name and it comes from my
heart.

I was never a good liar.

But I try.

For her.