Three AM. Toma had been trying to sleep for the past hour now. He turned over onto his right side again, so he could stare across the room at its other occupant. Glare at him, almost—damn him for being able to sleep so peacefully.
The lights were out, curtains drawn, but even that scant light coming in from between the fabric panels was enough for him to clearly make out the blonde's untroubled form.
All of this was Seiji's fault.
He turned back onto his back, and absently glared at the ceiling while he reflected.
He remembered: the second round against Arago, in the Youjakai: "Did you hear something?"
Silence.
"It sounded like Seiji." Ryo added.
More silence. Then he spoke. Lied: "Yeah, I heard it too."
But even then wasn't when the whole thing had started—he had tried for so long—for months now—to figure out when his feelings for his brother-in-arms had become more than platonic. But that was the closest he could ever get—the memory of that pang of jealousy, that Ryo had heard Seiji call out—that it was to Ryo Seiji called—rather than Toma who had heard Seiji's voice.
It was then , though, that he had come to fully realize how desperate he was to have Seiji back—why he had gone along with Ryo's half-baked plan of assault on the Youjakai. Why he had left Ryo's side in battle, time and time again.
The first time had been to call the other three to form Kikoutei; the second, to find to where the three captives had been moved. Each time he had reasonable, sensible excuses. Yet that hadn't stopped Ryo from commenting, that first time: "That's so unlike you, to go off on your own like that."
He remembered the jolt of terror that had shot up his spine at that, that he was so transparent, so easily discovered.
Yet Ryo had never gone beyond that one comment, and so there the matter lay.
No, that still wasn't entirely the end of it. New York...he had been the first to see that news report. He had never held much stock in clichés, but there was no other way to say it—his heart had stopped dead when he saw Korin on that screen. He had convinced Naste that he should be the first over there—a conversation he could not remember at all, for how clouded in fear and panic it was, a conversation he only knew had even happened at all from the events that had come of it. Somehow it had come about that Naste and Jun were to come with him, while Shin and Shu were left to intercept Ryo.
The flight that had lasted an eternity and longer—even when spend along by a sizeable tailwind from Tenkuu.
The investigation...he had sent those two on the trail he thought was cold and taken the hot one for himself. But the murder of his source had never figured into his calculations.
Heart attack after heart attack followed them each step, all the way to Little Tokyo.
To where Seiji was.
Prisoner.
Tied up.
Tortured.
And, even in such a depleted state, he was still willing to fight, for the sake of his honor. Even such a weakened body could not restrain his spirit.
In New York there had been Luna, too—a fact that Ryo (much to Naste's disappointment) wouldn't soon let them forget. She had been good and tough and fiery, yes, but he would never understand how Ryo could have become so enamored of her after a mere three days.
He thought back to the start, before his allies had become his friends. If Seiji had died then, at the start, how would he have reacted?
Now, in retrospect, he says he would be devastated: that he loved him even back then.
But he knew that's not true.
Back then, he only saw the facade that Seiji put up, cold and distant and aloof. The lone wolf, who would defeat the evil, allies or no. His light had been that of the moon—stark and cold and uncaring, casting an eerie flatness upon the world.
Which wasn't to say that Seiji had changed; rather, it was his understanding of him that had changed. Seiji was still the moon—but cold as he may be, he was the one who cast the light in the darkness, and drove the darkest depths of night out.
Though the man himself might not seem as much, his was a stark, yet gentle light, one that calmed after the overpowering brightness of the sun during the day.
The moon with more secrets than answers. He—no, he should be fair—they had begun to puzzle them out one by one. Where he disappeared to every night before bed. Why Seiji kept bonsai trees.
Why he didn't have a girlfriend.
It was that last one that had—hands down—been the most disappointing by far. For a while, he had actually held out hope—each glance, each word, each movement, anything that could possibly be a sign than Seiji shared his feelings, Toma took as one.
The crushing despair Toma had felt upon finding out that, between his sisters and his upbringing, Seiji simply felt he wasn't ready to enter the dating world at large...it was something he tried not to dwell on. Yet it seemed as though every time he let his mind wander, it ended up back here.
He sighed, rolled over once more—right side yet again. Glance at the clock. Five-thirty—he had now been at this for three and a half hours.
He quietly growled in frustration, before creeping down the hall to the bathroom, silently thanking...whatever was responsible...that no one had noticed how quickly the Nyquil was being used up as of late.
He pointedly did not think about New York, how what had happened there had been the tipping point for the whole thing, how he had been able to share a room with Seiji just fine before then, before New York had gone and put him in his place...had made him imagine life without Seiji. How Death had come so close to Seiji, but had taken Luna instead; he was pointedly not thinking about any of that at all as he crawled back into bed and thanked heaven that tomorrow—today—was Saturday. He might finally be allowed a full night's sleep for the first time in far too long, from a drug induced stupor or not.
The Youjakai seemed to have other plans for him that Saturday.
Two more opponents, the pair of whom claimed to be carrying out Arago's will. They also claimed to have plenty of followers back in the Youjakai, but he wasn't buying that, either.
(Rumors that he had spent the rest of the day sulking around the house when Naste had pointed out that something had to have be keeping Kyra and the Masho from dealing with the new problem were greatly exaggerated. It had only been an hour or so. After which he had belatedly retorted that Kyra and the Masho's responsibility was the Youjakai, and the Youjakai alone—they didn't have to do a damn thing to help protect the earth. He didn't give any concern to the dirty looks he got for that one, for bluntly stating that their allies might not be as noble as the others might have liked to think. And also, for the fact that he might be right.)
The battles could hardly be called as such: the pair would appear from nowhere, fire a few attacks—until they managed to land a hit, like as not—and then disappeared as quickly as they had come. Toma personally thought the whole point of the exercise was to drive them slowly mad, until they couldn't fight back anymore. And, in his case, it did seem to be working—although his now chronic sleep deprivation could well be helping him along that particular path.
At any rate, the battle, true to character, was over nearly as soon as it had been engaged. While they had all suffered some minor scrapes and bruises reacting to the unanticipated assault, it was Seiji who was the unfortunate victim who bear the brunt of the attack this time.
He tried his damndest to focus on tending to Seiji's wounds, rather than...other things (he could so easily just lean over and kiss him...). And then there were Seiji's protests to top the whole thing off.
"I'm fine, Toma. It's only bruises."
"It was internal bleeding from bruises that likely killed King Arthur. Now let me see." He had long ago stopped worrying that Seiji would catch on to the other reason he was so eager to take a look at the bruises. They had long since fallen in the habit that he and Seiji would be the ones to care for one another's wounds—Shin and Shu had likewise paired up, while Ryo had been abandoned to the ministrations of Naste. He almost felt sorry for his leader. Almost. But instead he had mentally filed it under 'payback for being stuck with an emo leader for half the war', and let it be.
Although Toma imagined he was less than pleasant to be around now, himself.
"Seiji, just let me have a look already—"
"I'm fine, Toma."
"—or I will—" one of the few advantages of being a genius: being able to come up with plans at the drop of a hat "knock you out, strip you naked, and then look you over. If I'm feeling generous." Genius or no, it always helped when the minds' of others filled in the blanks for him, of what would happen if he wasn't feeling generous—their minds could do it more effectively than he ever could.
Hearing the seriousness of his tone, Seiji submitted to the examination. The archer, for his part, was very pointedly not thinking about what he would do with an unconscious and naked Seiji—a mental exercise he had become quite good at over the years.
Satisfied that his patient was not about to hemorrhage to death, he reluctantly allowed the blonde to resume about his business.
Even knowing it was futile, he still returned to his—their—room, to attempt to get more rest.
Made more futile still (and he was surprised that was even possible) by the arrival of Seiji.
"Toma."
"Yeah?" he tried to find somewhere to look besides the blonde in the doorway. Failed.
"Is there something you would like to tell us?" Seiji finally asked.
"No."
And, after dinner, the same scene played out again, although like hell could Toma figure out what it was that Seiji was trying to get at. The blonde could be like that sometimes.
"Toma." This time he gave up, and just stared straight at his roommate.
"Yeah?"
"Seiji?" he prompted, after the silence had become too much, even for him.
"Nothing," the other man finally said, and left as abruptly as he had come.
Life continued on as ever for them. The defeat of the pair was barely noted, for how easy it had been. Seiji, for reasons no one was quite able to figure out—perhaps he considered himself an adult at last—had been going out with a girl for the past month now.
And Toma...
He is dealing with it the best he could. The smile of bitterness he had worn every time she was spoken of—no, at the mere mention of the word girlfriend—had faded, but he can't quite bring himself to smile for real again. Not yet, although he is trying. Trying to be less selfish. Trying to stop wishing that he were everything to Seiji. That, he thinks, is a reasonable goal, or at least more likely than his original one, to completely overcome his feelings for Seiji. It's been years now, after all, and yet he still loves him.
He's learning to take what he can get—he's grateful for the bond they already share: friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms. And if Seiji loves her, and not him, well...Toma thinks can learn to deal with that, too.
It's hard to even grudge her Seiji's affection, when he can see how much happiness she's brought him already. The sun, who brings light to the moon.