He's never said it to me.

He's never said the three magick words that make it all better. He's never said the words that girls dream of hearing from their significant others. He's never said them.

On the other hand, I've never said them either. It's like if we say it, it'll cheapen the words, or it'll cheapen us. I. Love. You. Three easy words that hold so much power over us. It doesn't make sense. They should come easy for us. I mean, I love him. He loves me. It should be easy.

But it's not.

It never has been.

You remember those little endearments that couples are supposed to exchange all the time? Honey. Darling. Muffin. Sweetheart. Dearest. Lover. The list goes on. You know what he calls me? Kid. Never has been one to say my name often. It's kid. Not exactly the romantic statement of the year. But I think it's because he doesn't know what to call me. Am I Marie? Am I the little girl from Mississippi that got lost when she found out she was different? That she was deadly? Am I Rogue? Am I the young woman who took her differences and ran? Am I the one that became stronger for it? Or am I kid? The person who taught him what it was like to care?

I'm still a virgin. Yeah. Twenty Four and still a goddamn virgin. Kind of ironic when you consider who my partner is and the statistics. But it doesn't matter, because I'm only a virgin in technicality. I'm only a virgin in body. In mind... Well you wouldn't be a virgin either if you had two grown men and an insane woman floating around up there.

He's only touched me twice. We've only met, skin to skin, twice. The thick blades of metal have met my flesh a million other times. The first was when he stabbed me through the chest. It was moments later when he was in my head, and I knew him almost as well as he did. Not exactly romantic either, but it did its job.

I have this weird liking for metal. Must be from the fact that there's admantium running through his entire skeleton. Must be from the fact that I like to run my bare hands over the warm blades that he brings out when he's angry. Must be from the fact that I have a man who can manipulate metal in my head. It was kind of funny to see my lovers expression when I forced his hand on my hip by using Magneto's fading powers. He was almost scared.

Not that Logan's never been scared. He just doesn't admit it. Not even to me. Not many people know he can be scared. Because most people didn't see him in that train when he found out Magneto was after me. Or in that statue when he nearly gave his life for me. It's kind of flattering. He's only scared for me.

I'm not exaggerating either. When he thought Magneto was after him, he went after me anyway. Sometimes I can convince myself it was just because he felt responsible for me. But then the piece of Logan in my head reminds me that it was more than that. Always more than that.

He makes me smile. He makes me smirk. He makes me scream and pant and cry all at once. He makes me who I am. He makes me remember the agony and remember the ecstasy. He makes me want to live when I want to do is waste away to nothing. He's like that, I guess. I mean, without him, I'd probably be dead by now. If not by Magneto, then by some trucker who got lucky with a knife, or just frozen to death on a Canadian road.

There is no romance in our relationship. Well, at least not the kind you'd expect. He's been gentle, he's been sweet, but romantic he is not. And he's only gentle in sweet when he's positive he can get away with it. He's got a reputation you see. The badass. He's kind of a jerk when you get down to it. But I love him anyway.

When I was little, I always imagined my "guy" would be like Scott. Sugary sweet and slim and affectionate at every turn. Instead I got this guy who smokes cigars without a care in the world for his heath or mine. I got this guy who wears as much clothing as me half the time, making his big frame even bigger. I got this guy who thinks "kid" is an endearment that'll get him off the hook when I'm mad at him. I got this guy who's been a loner for the fifteen years he can remember and has to adapt to living with me. I got this guy who drinks bear when he doesn't want to deal, and who runs when he realizes he's in love with me and doesn't know how to say it.

Needless to say, our relationship isn't exactly conventional. And we haven't even started on my side of things. Let's face it, how many woman have the problem of being unable to touch any living human being. Including my Logan. Sure, I could touch him if I want to. It'd just hurt like hell and he'd be in a coma for at least four hours.

The streak of white in my hair is my trophy. My proof of purchase. It can mean several things. The first being that I know what pain is and no one can tell me differently. The second being that if I didn't have it, it'd mean I wouldn't have Logan. Because if I hadn't been up in that machine, he never would have realized how much he cares, how much he wanted to care. And without that, both of us would be different people, and I don't like to think about that.

As for why I love him, well... I love him because he's Logan. Because he's not sugary sweet. Because he's rough and gruff and knows how to hold me when I cry. Because he's mean and rude and knows just what to say when I'm down. Because he's an amazing lover who has an imagination to die for, it kinda helps when you can't touch your lover. Because he's mine, because he said he'd take care of me and he does every day. Because he's everything to me. A brother, a father, a friend and then a lover, even though no one else would care to know.

It's painful. It hurts when I realize I'll never get to touch him without hurting him. It hurts when he grabs my hand without a worry or a care, because if he touches my skin, I'll still feel responsible. It hurts when he smiles at me, because I know what it takes to get him to smile. It hurts to watch him at night, because even now he's not at peace, although he hugs me in the morning and lets me hold him for awhile, even though we both know it won't chase the darkness away for long. It hurts. Everyday. But having him... well, let's just say it makes the pain bearable.

He's never said those three words to me. And I know he probably never will. After all, we are the epitome of imperfect relationships.

But... It's kinda fun that way.