Love
#05 needed #06. Junas needed Amagi Miroku.
He liked to think it was mutual, that Miroku needed just as he did, needed air, needed water, needed him. But Miroku never needed: he wanted. Wanted freedom, wanted equality, wanted revenge, wanted power. Wanted, but did not need.
Junas needed. He needed Miroku, needed to see his face, his smile, the way his hair fell against his skin, the way his lips moved when talking, always with that ghost of a smile. Want would imply lack of imperative, lack of necessity. And that was just what Miroku was to Junas: imperative and necessary to the utmost extent.
Junas wished he had a word for this. Friends, Miroku had named the two of them, shortly after the Escape. Friends. Made of fire, made of fiends, made of ends. Were they?
There was another word, one he had only heard in passing, on the streets. Not from Miroku. He had been hesitant to bring it up, hesitant to tell Miroku something, to share something with him for the first time in memory.
Love. Silly teenage girls with stupid teenage boys. Old couples, hand in hand. Husband to wife, mother to child. Was this a better fit, a better match for the two of them?
Junas would wait. Wait for the understanding to come, wait for Miroku to bring it up, take initiative, as Miroku always did.
And Junas would follow that initiative, accept it. As he always did.
