Honinbo Shusaku/Sai. To love without touching - the most painful love of all.
I try to touch him and he flinches away from the deathly cold of my touch. It hurts, somewhere inside of me. His eyes grow sad, but I know he will grow hot just from having my eyes on him.
The passion flares within me at the sight of him, and I see the answering smile on his face as he passes to the sleeping area.
The ache in me to touch him only grows as I watch the movement of his body on the mats and the sweat gather on his skin. How I long for him - and yet it is impossible. The closest we are ever together is when we sit together beside a goban. My name, so intimate in his voice, is whispered across the room. I come as close as I dare, hovering beside him as we touch ourselves while looking into each other's eyes.
His lips, so close, and I can't touch them. It's agony as I come, the fluid disappearing as it exits my body. My voice echoes in his mind alone with his name, and he replies with my own, spoken for all the world to hear.
As we lay together, not touching, I whisper to him again all the things we would do, had he been born much earlier. How my love would wash over him and take him whole into me.
I will love him until he dies.