The Hitachiin twins saw things from two very different perspectives. One saw in color, bright reds and yellows and electric blues; hues would bleed together to form a kaleidoscope of a world. One saw in black and white, crisp ink bodies on white paper but nothing in between; things were seen as all or nothing, there or not there, to make a world where sharp figures and sharper details could be seen.
In the beginning, one cared not for the colors surrounding him: everything was all the same, just a jumbled mess of clashing colors that held no more significance than mere background haze. The other was beginning to discern the silhouettes of others, but did not care to look at them more closely; they were not important, and he shunned them in favor of the one right before him.
Then, when they were discovered by the lucky king, the Sun, things began to shift. One began to see colors forming into shapes, and he would smile and toy with them, blindly believing his brother saw the same. The other had long since seen shapes like these approaching, and he too began to toy with them, encouraged to join his twin.
But then the arrival of that girl, that very interesting girl, brought gradual, drastic, change. One opened his eyes wide and saw her so clearly amidst the colors, and stood up, reached out in wonder. The other stood as well, deciding to look more closely at her solid shadow, hoping to see exactly what his brother did.
Soon they discovered that the girl could tell them apart, and that she was cracking open their glass globe without ever knowing or realizing what she was doing. For one, the sea of color washed in and immersed him in the outer world; carried by the waves, he chased after the girl, reached out to others, and reveled in the fascinating new place. For the other, the bold shapes and knife-like lines remained static and stiff as always, leaving him behind and alone in the broken glass garden.
The new experiences were firsts, and they all served to distance the two brothers. One had never realized that the deluge had not reached his other half; he was growing independent, and he always would assume that his brother was reaching out and exploring just as he. The other, however, was only just letting go of the desperate hope that his twin would return to the solitary world, and was now stepping out to observe more closely those distinctly etched details in the shapes he now cared to see.
One, whenever he decided to take a break from his exploring, would turn around to find his brother whom he knew was there; said twin always would be looking at some unknown detail, and he would always look unhappy with this new atmosphere. So the one who saw in color would take it upon himself to show his precious other half the goodness of this place, recounting events and telling stories, smiling and laughing and joking. But the other, upon looking up from his observing of shapes, would see his brother whom he knew enjoyed this world. When the stories of that girl or their king would arise, a terrible empty ache would consume him from the inside out, and he would suddenly feel left alone, out of the loop, and so much less important compared to these wonderful new events.
Day after day would pass, each going the same for the first brother. He would explore and then return to his twin, excitedly sharing stories and retelling events, feeling that eventually the other would ease into the happiness of new occurrences. I'm happy, he told himself, so he should reach this happiness sometime, too. We're together.
But with each day, the second brother would discover something different about himself. Sometimes, these realizations would result of brooding or self-reflection; sometimes it came from the more frequent conversations with others. At some point, he realized, that he was being such a terrible person that it was sickening; he knew he had to change, and that he was going to get over it. I'll be strong, he told himself, so that he can be happy and I can heal. We will finally grow apart.
---
Another important day came, after a while. The first brother teasingly remarked to the second that man, you have such a black and white perspective on things! And then he laughed and laughed, stopping only at the thoughtful look on his twin's face. It was this simple joke that inspired the huge realization for the second, the turning point around which his perspective spun;
And then the second brother realized. He really did see things in black and white. He really did forget the shades of grey in between.
He quickly looked around the world again, seeing things as though through new eyes. The harsh contrast, the here or not here attitude he used to possess was brought down, revealing many many more ideas, details, concepts--
More and more realizations fell into place.
That's how he finally knew. Love was not a black or white issue.
Love was not something that was taken away from him and given to another.
And his brother was always there, waiting for him to finally realize that…
…he was not being left behind.
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Kaoru thought he could see everything. He thought he saw how his brother was leaving him to chase his own independent dreams and love.
But in the end, he opened his eyes
to the shades of grey.
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This is my take on the whole "Kaoru's being left behind wahhhh" angst. I still enjoy reading such, though, as it actually can be a very nice topic that can be made very reasonable...but still, I believe Kaoru's just not seeing things correctly.
There is a lot of meaning to this, most of which is subtle. I hope it's alright. :