You love me, Hiro-san. I know that.

You can see right through me, no matter how much I try to hide. At first I thought it was because I was special, that I was the only one you knew so well. It made me both happy and sad when I realized the truth. You're so sensitive to other people that you can read strangers almost as well. Sometimes I think that's the biggest reason that you try to keep up your pride.

Your father probably told you that men should be strong and women should be empathetic. Knowing that he would never acknowledge one of your greatest strengths, along with another important part of who you are, must have left indelible scars that my medicine will take time to cure.

You show that you love me in many ways. You blush when I whisper your name, you stutter out refusals when I ask you to do corny things with me, and your eyes beg for more when I'm moving inside of you. Whenever I think that you've given yourself, even the tiniest bit, to me, I get so happy I can hardly stand it.

As the years passed, the author grew on me. At first I thought he was a puffed-up buffoon who hurt his best friend through ignorance. While that was unforgivable, I realized some time ago that he inspires you in a way I cannot. His view of the world is so far away, beyond the clouds and the moon and the stars, that I don't even understand it. I think you glimpse pieces of it once in a while, and that's why you loved him. He makes you happy, and while it hurts to know that it's because of someone else, that makes me happy too.

But he doesn't understand you at all. Sure, he's known you much longer than I have, and he's experienced parts of your childhood that you wouldn't tell me even if you got drunk. And that's why, if I can use a cliched saying without you hitting me, he can't see the forest for the trees. He has so many parts of who you are floating around in his wonderland of a mind that he hasn't yet put them together. He doesn't know who Kamijou Hiroki the man really is.

I stopped hating him when I realized that. It was the first time when I thought fully to myself that I might actually deserve you. I fucked you extra hard that night, and despite you yelling at me to slow down, you were blushing and moaning every second. That's a part of you that will always be mine.

The professor is different.

I've gotten past how he spends more time with you than I do. I've come to accept that he's a very tactile person and that his utterly nonsensical personality will drive him to hug you or jump on you. I know now (after walking in on him with that underage boy the third time) that he probably has no romantic interest in you at all.

That's not enough for me, though. I can still compare myself to him and realize that he's more closely matched for you than I am by far. Every place I look to compare us he comes out on top. He's the same sort of smart as you are, so you're able to hold engaging conversations with him about the most academic (and therefore most interesting to you) topics whenever you feel like it. He can handle your temper; he doesn't just avoid it like the author does.

But much more than the author, and more than me, he also shares your empathy. At first I thought it was just because he loved literature as much as you do, that you were kindred spirits. But beyond that, he also knows just what to say to you when you're down. Sometimes when you and I have a fight, you go to school to grade papers for a couple hours. When you come back, you usually complain about how he molested you or shoved more of his work off onto you. But you don't say it the way you do when you're truly angry, and you've usually fizzled out of your earlier temper that was the cause of our fight.

I've never been able to do that to you. At times like that when we fight, you always run away. I lack the skills, the knowledge, the courage, to calm you down so you can stay at my side all the time. I hate that part of myself, and I wish I could console you like the professor can.

I know it's unreasonable to want to be the only person in your life. The other doctors at work joke about how their wives go to quilting conventions or have tea parties or watch romantic comedies with their friends. It's not normal for a couple to not have any outside friends and only rely on each other.

But I know I'm unreasonable. The part of me that wants to be the only one in your life is always afraid that you will realize that someone else is more suitable than me. And because I know I'm unreasonable, another small part of me tries to remind the rest of me that despite how amazing you are, you choose to stay with me.

That's why, in answer to your unasked question, I was mumbling to myself that "Hiro-san loves me," as I tried to fall asleep. The reason you don't ask isn't because of your pride or because you don't care about me. It's because you already figured it out.

And while you're reading my thoughts, I love you too, Hiro-san.

a/n: I don't think that Nowaki could truly hate people that care about Hiroki. But I do think he'd avoid talking about them if possible, hence me not using their names at all.