They were the right counterbalance to one another.

ROMEO: I love you.

RIMMEL: Romeo...

ROMEO: I love your glasses, your clumsiness, your wild hair, even the way you snort when you laugh. (He smiled) I love you in spite of yourself, Rim.

Can't you love me in spite of myself?

I had no sister, but I felt as if she were one."
"A sister? You think of a woman that gorgeous as a sister, but you fell in love with me?"
"You are more beautiful than Asha. I see this inside of you as well as outside."
Mari shook her head. "Have I told you that you sound totally crazy sometimes? You expect me to believe that she never lit any fires in you, and I did?"
"Yes," Alain replied, his tone faintly bewildered as he looked at her. "Asha never changed the way I saw things, as you have."
That reminded her of something. "What did you tell her about me? That I define your world or something? I couldn't believe you said that."
Alain nodded. "You define the world I see. Yes. I needed to explain what you mean to me in terms another Mage would understand."
Mari could feel her lips quivering but tried to fight of laughter. "Alain, I 'define the world' for you? That's too much."
"Too much?"
"It's so sweet, it's nauseating."
Alain pondered her words. "What is wrong with that statement? I see the false world through my own illusions. You are now my reference for those illusions. Why should that make you feel ill? You define the world I see.

The truth is I do love you. Admitting that means opening myself up to all that pain when you leave. After you realize this wasn’t love, but gratitude.

Delicately, she parted her lips, swept them against his, and kissed first his top, then the bottom. Letting her lead, he pinched his brows together and held still. She didn’t come at him with fire. She told him a story. And he’d be damned if it didn’t start with once upon a time like she were proving he was some kind of hero. Specifically, hers.

For Gascoigne and Clinch were not so dissimilar in temperament, and even in their differences, showed a harmony of sorts - with Gascoigne as the upper octave, the clearer, brighter sound, and Clinch as the bass-note, thrumming.