I don't own the characters, only the plot ;)

Summary: One night, Gene realizes something. It is his last time, so he writes Mai a farewell letter.

Almost countless trivial things hold the memories of you

Almost too often I'm on my guard to those scattered little things

And almost too often I see you come back, even when all are delusional

I thought I'd die from the unceasing longing

Damn. I miss you terribly

Even though I keep your photographs, you don't know how afraid I am that somehow I'll forget how your dark-blue eyes would reflect on mine, or how it'd feel to have your jaw grazes upon my shoulder when your arms embrace around my waist.

You won't know how terrified I am if someday I'll start to forget your voice. I don't want to forget the sound of your laugh nor how you'd call my name. Not even the way you tease.

You won't know, will you?

Have you any idea how hard it'd be?

How could you do this to me?

I think it's just me who might've forgotten

So, tell me again, why do you leave?

I see that note, or maybe it is her journal left open on her desk, as if she wants me to read it. I don't know why she wrote that. Anyone who happens to read it will think that I'm the bad guy and she's the only broken hearted.

Oh, dear... She even still has our picture on her desk. Ah, what is this feeling? I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I take her journal and a pen, I thought of writing her a farewell letter while I watch her sleep for the last time.

Hi, Love. It's me. I believe and I hope you still recognize this handwriting of mine. Please, before you start to freak out and burn this journal, (what a pity since you write a lot deal of great things here) do spare me a little of your time. I haven't much of it either.

You see, I've read your journal. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, but the curiosity has left me no escape.

And it left me dumbfounded, especially for the last written page.

I want to tell you that I'm not the one who wanted to leave.

Being killed by accident was never on my plans, Sweetheart.

But you know what, I don't think you'll have a hard time losing me.

Even now, I see that you already get over me.

How pathetic, I let the fact hurts me.

I pause and look at her. She shifts, trying to find a better position and mumbling something. She's really cute. I find myself smile sourly. I begin to write again.

I see that you still have our photograph. It does seem long time ago. We were on that park around your hometown. I remember the air was humid and the wind was a little too strong for early autumn. But still we spent hours outside despite the weather. I knew you love autumn. I could see it, the way your eyes smiled when their gaze behold upon those reddish foliages. You smiled a lot, you laughed a lot. And I'm so glad that you were happy because I'm the one to accompany you at the time.

Now I'm not sure anymore if you ever had your heart on me, or it was a camouflage all this time. But I like to pretend, while looking at this photograph, that once we were in love. That once, you did love me.

Because I did.

I don't know what to write anymore. Suddenly I feel both exasperate and drain out.

I look at her. My eyes linger for a while on her face, trying to hold the last memory of her in my mind, in my heart. I can't do this anymore but I add the final word on the letter nonetheless.

Goodbye.

The letter is silly and hasty, and I haven't told her everything I really want to say. But this is all I get and I care no more for the words are all but drifting away.

I put her journal opened on her desk.

I hesitate first, but I kiss her eventually on the forehead before I walk out of her room and leave her who still deep asleep, cuddles in comfort beside another man.

My twin brother.

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