"I know already," Dia murmurs, not a hint of bite to her words. Sheepishly, she lifts her head to meet Mari's eyes again -- her cheeks are pink (pretty) and her smile is sincere, with that sort of quiet patience that she's always been capable of, but so rarely allowed to surface. Her hands are soft around her own, and Dia traces her thumb along the edge of Mari's palm, hoping to draw courage from it.

The time is now. She sucks in a breath.

"Mari-san, I..."

The first hurdle wastes no time rearing its head: she doesn't know how to say it. That's right, she was just about to settle the matter in her head when that accursed truck sped by and washed it all away in a great splash -- now she can't remember what she'd decided. I like you feels too juvenile. I love you feels too weighted. I admire you doesn't quite carry the right implication, and god Mari's staring right at her with those big, expectant eyes. She has no idea what to say! She has no idea what to say!

Dia's heart lurches up into her throat, and she jerks her hands away, wiping sweaty palms back and forth on the lap of her bathrobe.

"I-I can't do it like this! It's impossible! Turn around, or something!"