Love is corruption

Even for one like himself, he knew the symptoms well enough. She would start to do strange and crazy things. Her usual enthusiasm was exhausting, but she became even worse in the weeks between the time when she broke down on his shoulder in tears, realizing that her old crush was just that-a crush-and the all too inevitable confession.

Love is a disease

He would see her cheeks turn red with the fever and she would grow feverish in his presence. Her cheeks would flush with heat, and she would enter her delusions without warning. She would grow mellow around him, while growing excitable at the same time.

Love is a poison

People had died for love before, and she would die for him. She had and would shield him, she would aim a blow at an enemy she could not defeat, risking herself, to ensure he would be alright, to buy him time to strike that one extra blow that could mean the difference between victory and defeat. She would never run away when he was fighting, and would give him support in every way she could, whether it was healing little cuts or her shields or the occasional attack.

She would die for him. But the thing that almost sickened him was that, not only did he grow angry at even the idea of her death, but he would lay down his own to ensure that he never saw such an idea become more than that.

Love is… a rose

It had its thorns, but it was still worth it. The him of a year ago would have killed anyone who suggested that he would do such things for those weaker than him—for mere trash. However, the him of the day when she said "I love you" was more than willing to respond in kind. He was surrendering to one that, if it wasn't her, would be trash, would never be worth it. But that no longer mattered. Love made it irrelevant. All that mattered was her lips on his, his hand in hers, and that he enjoyed the sweetness before the venom came forth and made its claims.