He doesn't hate the look she gives him when they're all alone, showing how happy he makes her and how lucky she thinks she is when really he's the one who's got the luck to have been accepted by her.
He doesn't hate it when she tries to cook things for him, and he doesn't hate pretending that he loves to eat her burnt creations.
And he really doesn't hate it when she gives up on making lunch and goes out to pick up his favorite sushi.
He doesn't hate it when she hits him for flipping up her skirt or something perverted of the likes.
He really doesn't hate it when she laughs, not even when it's at his expense.
He doesn't hate teasing her about the way she talks, her optimism, even her chest.
He doesn't even hate--what is it?--that hammer thing she always hits him with at every witty comment he makes.
He doesn't hate it when she smiles. He really doesn't hate it when she smiles that secret smile, the one just for him.
He doesn't hate it when she sticks her nose into other peoples' business--not even when she gets into trouble, because he really doesn't hate the sheepish, puppy dog look that appears on her face when she's in hot soup.
He doesn't hate her endless happy, hyper giddiness--despite what he leads on.
He especially doesn't hate it when she kisses him back.
And even more especially when he doesn't have to kiss her first.
He doesn't hate it when he's the shoulder she chooses to cry on.
And he doesn't hate it when she talks about 'Sam'.
He doesn't hate the confidence she wears like a tiara, a princess in her own right.
He doesn't hate the determination she has or her strong will, or even her kind-hearted need to help people.
He really doesn't hate how innocent she is.
And though he could do without her cluelessness, he doesn't hate that either.
He doesn't hate the spring in her step when she's happy,
And he doesn't hate the stomp of her shoes when she's furious.
He doesn't hate her possessiveness.
He really doesn't hate it when she says she loves him and she needs him, especially because he loves and needs her so much more.
He doesn't hate the way she can read him like a book.
And he really doesn't hate that she saved him from himself.
He doesn't hate that she's so considerate about other people, even when she's the one who needs to be taken care of.
He doesn't hate her friends.
And he wouldn't dream of hating the time he gets to spend with her.
The list could go on and on forever.
The things Akito couldn't possibly hate about Sana number into infinity. Because, quite simply, he couldn't hate anything about her. He couldn't hate her. Not one little bit.
And the reason why that means a lot is because, as anyone just observant enough can figure out, the things Akito doesn't hate are the things he loves.
And he really, really, really--with all his heart, beyond the stars and back--doesn't hate Sana.