Grey
A pillow smacked her in the face first thing in the morning.
"Come on, sleepy-head, are you going to sleep your life away?"
She shoved the pillow off and glared at her strangely cheerful brother. He smiled at her innocently, then headed to the bathroom.
Just for that, I'm not getting up, she thought resolutely, or as resolutely as a half-asleep girl could. Grabbing the pillow she just shoved, and hugging it to her chest, she closed her eyes once more.
"Aya!"
She flung the pillow away, shooting straight up in the bed.
Her brother stood over her, hands on his hips, and apparently time had shifted, because his hair was sticking up in wet clumps, and he was wearing a towel.
Just a towel.
As she watched blearily he dropped his hands and headed over to his bag, which was half-spilled across the desk now. He began sifting though the small bundle of clothes there, clearly looking for something clean to wear.
A drop of water slowly rolled down his bare back, absorbing into the edge of the towel and turning the pure white slightly grey.
She blinked. Then blinked again. Then she rubbed tiredly at her eyes.
"Get up already," he said, far less cheerful than before. He turned back to her, clutching a pair of dark trousers in his hands. "We have to leave very soon, so go take a shower while I get dressed."
She stared at him in confusion, swaying slightly as if she would topple over back into unconsciousness at any second.
He dropped his pants to his side, then stomped over to the bed, ripping the warm covers off her in one abrupt motion. "Get up! Come on! We have to be at the train station in an hour."
She glanced at the drawn curtains, realizing it was streetlight, and not sunlight, which pressed against their edges. Then she shuddered as the cool air hit her bare arms, giving her goose-bumps, and rousing a few synapses in her brain to make an attempt at connection. She was still so tired.
"I'm up, I'm up," she muttered disgruntledly, crawling to the edge of the bed and nearly tumbling off. She sat with one leg tucked under her, and stared at the worn, unmemorable carpet.
Aki huffed once, then tossed the covers back to the bed, taking up his pants once more. Then he looked at her pointedly, raising his eyebrows.
She looked back at him stupidly, clearly not understanding.
"I need to change," he prompted, hitching his towel up some as if to underline his statement.
Oh, right. She had meant to say that aloud, but her body didn't want to cooperate with her this morning. Er...evening. That was probably for the best, she decided, since that comment was practically inviting mockery. He was in a mood tonight, and she wasn't sure why.
Musta got up on the wrong side of the bed, or something.
At least he got up, her own brain nudged her pointedly.
Ugh, now there's no getting back to sleep, not when I start thinking in complete sentences. She sighed and glared at him, all at the same time.
It said, I'm up, damn it, now leave me alone.
Casting her a measuring look, as if to make sure this wasn't some placating trick, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
Oh. My. God.
Forcing herself to get her feet under her and get up, she stumbled to the bathroom and closed the door.
Then she stuck her tongue out at it.
( ) *
He slumped as the bathroom door closed, falling on the edge of the bed and slapping his hands roughly over his face.
What was he doing...
He swore he wouldn't try. He swore!
The towel...
I should've grabbed my clothes, changed in the bathroom, then woke her up. A few moments wouldn't have mattered in the long run.
Instead, he had purposefully left his next change in the bedroom, conveniently giving himself a reason to go back in there. He got some strange thrill parading around her virtually undressed, of flirting with her so subtly that she wouldn't be able to call him out on it. Not without seriously second-guessing herself.
He pulled his own hair a little, and made some sound deep in his throat. A sound of frustration and self-loathing.
I said I wouldn't do this. I said I wouldn't!
( You're only human. Did you really think you could be around her everyday and not act on your feelings? )
He stared a long moment into his own emotions, then dropped his hands, exhaling deeply.
I give up. I really do.
He wasn't sure what he was giving up exactly, but he could feel something shifting in him again. Thoughts and ideas rearranging themselves to better suit his desires. His desires coming forward to compliment his emotions.
And the guilt...
The guilt slid right off his shoulders.
The line of his eyebrows smoothed out, his lips relaxed, allowing his held-breath to finally escape him. He sat up, releasing his death-grip on the towel...that he was still wearing.
( Now. Isn't that better? )
For who? For who is this better? Consciously accepting wrongs as rights---still doesn't make it right.
( You're looking at this from the wrong angle. The first question you ask is: What is wrong and what is right? But the second question is far more important: Who gets to decide? )
He thought about that for a long second, then shook his head. I don't know.
( There are no absolutes when it comes to morals and emotions. Every situation, every rule has exceptions. And then you have to question who first put these rules in place, and what were their intentions. Then you have to decide what works, and what doesn't. )
I have to manipulate the grey area of my conscience, until it is skewed just enough to fully accept a blurring of the line between wrong and right.
Then justify my actions with the same reasoning. I get it. Really, I do. And it's true, there is no absolute wrong or right...
Still doesn't mean it's right.
( Doesn't mean it's wrong. )
It just is, he concluded, feeling the decision solidify in him.
Some things just are.
TBC...