[ he sort of expected her to reply with something like that; he knows she'll never stand for him talking about himself like this, even though she knows exactly the kind of person he is. She knows, and she's still willing to stand so close to him, to hold him; she wants to. Just like his students, who did everything in their power to try and save his life despite knowing that he'd dashed a thousand others against the rocks. He's so flawed. But she loves that about him. His chest aches like a second knife is being driven through it; he doesn't fight it ths time, either.

Her words are still sinking in. She loves him. Finally, they can touch. They're both dead - he's dead - but he's not mourning, he's peaceful. It's all strange, and a little sad, but it's wonderful, too. He hears her, but he can only respond with a short laugh under his breath, gently closing his eyes to let himself feel her touch. And... because his gaze keeps wandering towards her lips, and he doesn't trust himself. ]

Of course. [ he could make another quip, but he can't bring himself to this time. ] ... If you make me much happier than this, sensei, I won't know what to do. I'm afraid that I'm going to suddenly wake up from this dream. I wouldn't have guessed that a dead man could be afraid of something like that.