But this place held none of the oppressiveness of Jiiha village, and the cool, almost too clean air was nearly enough to make him forget. He held up a hand against the faint light, studying the pale skin and not-quite-faded calluses. But there was no dirt under his nails, no dust and mud. Just a smudge of ink, evidence of the piles of documents and papers Rossiu was so intent on plying him with.
He let the hand fall to his lap and tilted his head back; Simon never grew tired of looking at the night sky. He and Nia would often just stand together on the balcony, fingers gently entangled, gazing out over the city. She understood him like no-one else here did.
He finally let his eyes rest on the dark, unmissable silhouette of the city's statue. Four years, it had almost been. Four years tonight.
"This is how far we've come, Bro'," he murmured, "...though I think you'd be finding it a bit dull."
He placed his hands either side of him flat against the floor, and all was perfectly still. Ganmen never managed to get close to the city, and Simon could hardly remember the last time he'd felt one of the telltale earthquakes.
Back then. It hadn't been the last, and it certainly hadn't been the first, but it was one which still stayed with him.
The village, their whole world, had been shaking, crumbling and cracking in the dark, accompanied by thundering noises and the threat of collapsing in on them and -
And Kamina had turned, he hadn't run - (Simon still hadn't been used to calling him brother, then, though looking back he wondered how he could ever have been anything else) - and then those arms had come down around him, solid with muscles Simon didn't think he'd ever have, and the smell of skin and sweat and dust. The warm, heavy weight resting over his shoulders pulled him close and held him firm, cheek pressed to the hard softness of Kamina's stomach, worn bandages fraying beneath his nose.
The ragged-nailed tips of his fingers had crept up and dug into the skin of Kamina's back, clutching desperately, trying not to envision the precious-hated last moments of his parents.
His breath had come shallowly as the tremors ceased, and Kamina - his brother - hadn't let go. Even now, he still remembered that look of understanding he'd been given, somehow devoid of the derision or dismissiveness he was usually faced with.
He didn't think Kamina had ever known just how much that had meant to him.
But - no, wait. Of course he had known him before that; so when had it really started? Weeks before, years before? Simon didn't really think he could pinpoint the exact moment.
He remembered, though, peering through the window of his room in Jiiha village - much younger then - small hands pressed flat against the cold grey stone, eyes fixed on the proud, strange boy outside who was yelling at the chief with his fists clenched, voice loud and unafraid. Other adults were standing nearby, watching in disapproval and shaking their heads.
Simon hadn't understood. Was it really okay, to cause trouble like that? He hadn't thought so, but he'd kept watching. After that, he had always been aware of Kamina.
Blinking, he took a deep breath and choked back a laugh. In his mind he could practically hear his brother's voice telling him to get off his ass and actually do something instead of sitting around moping.
"But I'm allowed, though... right? Just for an evening. I'll be diplomatic again for Rossiu tomorrow, even if... that's probably not the sort of thing you'd want to hear." His mouth twisted into a small smile.
He stared down at his hands and suddenly all he could think of was how they had looked, covered in his brother's blood. And how they had looked when, just weeks before that, he'd timidly lifted his fingertips and pressed them--
Simon swallowed, mouth dry. The room suddenly seemed much darker.
It hadn't been an earth-shattering moment. For him, it had seemed a natural extension. Kamina had been sitting relaxing against one of Gurren's feet, lazily twirling a spanner between the fingers of one hand. Of course he'd waved Simon over, grinning.
Kamina had become tanned from the surface-sun, and Simon had laughed because small patches on his shoulders were pink and peeling in between the dark ink of his tattoos. He could barely remember what they talked about that evening, sitting by their ganmen as the sun set - only recalled later in the middle of the night when he'd woken up, face resting against the warmth of his brother's chest with an arm careless around his shoulders, as had happened so many times before.
For once Kamina wasn't snoring, and as Simon turned to look at him he'd muttered something, and his grip on Simon's shoulder tightened in his sleep. He'd felt a burst of affection, then, and reached over to pick up Kamina's sunglasses from where they had fallen in the dust.
He'd paused, considered for a fraction of a second, and with one hand clutching the glasses, he'd timidly lifted the fingertips of the other and pressed them lightly against his brother's lips. He felt Kamina's breathing hitch, and momentarily drew back a little.
The kiss which followed a second later was impulsive, but tentative and curious, and the sharp edges of the glasses he held had dug sharply into the palm of his hand.
He'd jumped as Kamina's arms suddenly shifted and oh-- his eyes were open and dark, his voice rough with sleep saying, "Simon," and then he was being pulled down against his brother's chest and held tightly, while one of Kamina's hands buried itself in Simon's hair.
Simon had closed his eyes and tried to imprint the contact on his memory; prior to coming to the surface, it had been a rarity since his parents had died. But Kamina wasn't a parent; was a friend and a brother and something else entirely, and was murmuring hoarse words to him that he couldn't quite hear.
Kamina had tugged him back, then, and had looked at him searchingly. Simon hadn't been quite sure what he'd been looking for.
Did he find it? Simon didn't think so, because his brother had just given him a lopsided smile and pulled him close again, pressing a kiss against his forehead.
He didn't remember when he'd drifted off to sleep again.
"Simon?" He opened his eyes to the pale pink light of sunrise and found Nia crouched beside him, smiling gently, "Simon, you fell asleep on the floor again..."
He accepted her hand and she pulled him to his feet, appreciating just how well she knew him when nothing more was said, and instead allowed her to lead him across the room and through to the balcony outside.
Four years. It still felt wrong, somehow, to turn around and realise that Kamina was not there. He would... never forget.
But as they gazed out over the slowly dawning cityscape, Simon brushed their fingertips lightly together, and smiled as the first rays of sunlight four years on caused the tall, bronze statue to gleam.