"Don't look at me like that. I can't bear it when you look at me like that."
"Then what will you have me do? Just leave, steal away like a thief in the night?"
"Please, it would be better. It would be easier."
"And why should it be easy?"
"For you, not me. This is never easy." A deep breath. "At least not for me. I am not like you. I feel... too much. I can't feel, not like that and do my job. Can you understand that?."
"Shutting yourself off isn't the answer, my love."
"Don't call me that."
"What should I call you then? My friend, my partner... my life?"
"Just pretend I'm not who I am. Pretend I'm a casual acquaintance you just met. Pretend I am a stranger to whom you were attracted to and dallied with for a few moments. Dress and walk away just as you have with others. I know you have. I've watched and I've learned what it takes to not care any longer."
"I won't for a moment believe you don't care. You're flesh and blood, just like me."
"No, to be just like you would be to admit..."
"Admit what? Admit what, partner?"
"Why does the truth frighten you so much that you would throw all that we have away in an attempt to deny it?"
"You think I don't care? That I don't feel? Damn it, can't you understand? To admit this is to admit love, to admit there is someone I care about more deeply than anyone else in the world. To admit that is to admit frailty and invite disaster. I have fought against that my entire life. I have fought to be strong, to be the rational one, to think with my head and not my dick..."
"Don't cheapen this like that. This isn't just a stolen moment. This is us. This is what we are. This is real. It's as real as my hand on your skin."
"I can't help myself. Your skin is so soft, just begging to be touched. To not love you would mean my death. Don't you see? This is as real, as strong, as right as anything can be. You tell me don't. You tell me don't—don't what? Don't touch you? Don't feel you? Don't want you every second of every day."