AN: Klaus PoV for this story. WARNING this story is about the unrequited love of a brother for his sister, incest. If that doesn't jive with you please don't read this.

I could classify my mind as a library. Honest to God I could, and have. I keep all my thoughts and memories clearly labeled and put in the correct order. I have a section for this and a section for that. I practically have a section for everything you can imagine. There is however a place that I hide memories, in hopes that I'll eventually forget them. I do have a name for this box.

Eyes. Loads of them. I have memories of the oddest looking eyes. But even with in this strange box I keep a beat up folder I've labeled as 'Terrible Shades of Pink'. But I know that it really should be labeled 'Wonderful Shades of Violet'. A change you must agree. I'd love to say small, laugh at my mistake and claim that I'll change it later. I wish I could never have to see that file and when I did I could chuck it out.

But I'm not that fortunate. It's been almost thirty years since all that took place. And yet I have now created a real file that I have honestly labeled 'Terrible Shades of Pink'. It's a manila folder and it's shoved into the very back of my messiest drawer. And yet I can still find it in around twenty seconds. I only dig it up when I'm alone.

I got desperate once to look at it. I had passed out an exam. Something on verbs or humanity's refraction leading to our inevitable demise or something of the like. I very slowly reached in that drawer and even slower pulled it out. I glanced nervously over my class as if they actually knew what lay hidden under these innocent photographs.

Yes, I keep photographs of you in there. My hands danced about the entrance as I glanced at them one more time. By this point I'm sure they noticed my odd behavior. Who wouldn't?

I gained up courage by telling myself that it was all a misunderstanding on my part. I just never labeled that properly. But when I pulled them out I started crying and had to leave the room. It was a horrible day. Just a wretched Wednesday.

I have a full section of wretched Wednesday's in my mind. The next one being your wedding where I was the best man. I had that little folder tucked under my arm as I snapped your photo over and over again. I gave my speech and went home. I can still remember the smell of those scented markers I used to blank out your husbands face. And the glues consistency I used to paste my face in his place.

It was a bad night.

So here I am. A brother-in-law and uncle, and people are now turning on me. Now that Sunny's married why haven't I? I've had so many rumors about me being gay spread about that I almost got kicked out of my job. But I proved them wrong by marrying a nice girl. She was a lawyer. We were married for eight years. She was pregnant. I was angry.

I don't really remember how she realized that I had a folder full of you. Your hair. Scraps of your clothing. I think I even stole a bottle of your perfume and put it in there. She just, somehow magically, managed to find it. She claimed it was on top of everything. I know it wasn't. Because I'd taped it to the bottom of my desk drawer. She demanded to know what was wrong with me. I told her nothing. She started breaking down and when she finally realized just what the truth was, she went into hysterics.

I got angry. I acted appalled. I pushed her out my fourth story window and pretended she'd tripped over a badly placed book. You weren't fooled. You moved away. So now I'm writing to you and sending you the file. Because soon enough I'm going to stop dusting my library of memories. And if the lights don't go out it won't matter. I'll be stuck in a room with a box and I won't know anything but it.