Reflection

Light and darkness blended beyond the glass. He and Aya were the only sleepy passengers in a moderately comfortable train-car. There had been an older couple that had shared the passing miles with them hours ago, but he had closed his eyes 'momentarily' and now they were gone. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that his 'moment' of rest had lasted nearly a half hour.

Aya was still asleep beside him, drifting in and out of consciousness as the night edged on. With her chin tucked to her chest in repose, the long tail of her hair curled around the base of her throat. It had been catching his attention infrequently the entire ride, the strands glittering an almost metallic gold, and calling to his curious fingers. Every so often she would shift, and some new enticing feature would distract him.

But he kept returning to that curl of hair.

No wonder Touya and Yuuhi wanted her. No wonder all my friends at school always wanted to...

His hand tightened into a fist on his thigh.

Aya is so beautiful, but she never much had time for boys before this. He remembered teasing her about a lack of boyfriends. It wasn't a lack of interest on her peers' part, but more a lack of...separation.

Aya rarely went anywhere without him, not even wanting to. And while her girlfriends seemed perfectly happy with that, the presence of ones brother really seemed to dissuade potential 'suitors'.

It didn't help that I was---am---so protective of her.

On more than one occasion he remembered turning away curious eyes---it hadn't even occurred to him that he might be a little too involved in his sister's love-life then...

And now...

Now, I know what it is I'm doing. But I don't think I'll stop.

Emotions are antithesis to logic. There were many things he knew he should do, or in some cases, shouldn't do. Those things never really seemed to coincide with reality.

Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his arm out along the back, resting it there for a long moment. Then he slowly slid it down until his fingers were half-buried in that soft gold hair.

He relaxed slowly as the silken strands wound through his fingers. He tilted his head back and stared calmly up at the shadowed ceiling. Someone had written their initials in burgundy lipstick two feet to their right. He studied the hastily scrawled characters and tried to imagine exactly how they had achieved that.

Or more importantly, why?

One of life's mysteries, he supposed. It was full of them, after all.

His vision of her had shifted again. Actually, it was less of a shift, and more of a ...clearing. At the same time, he was worried that it was all in his head. That he was becoming too aware of her, and as a result, would begin to spin her reasons and actions in such a way that would benefit him most. And then completely miss what they really were.

At the same time, he knew his own behaviour had changed slightly. He usually swung between extremes of his character. Extremely sweet, extremely kind and doting. And then extremely antagonistic, prodding at her and teasing her until she lost her temper.

When she yelled at him, her hair flying and her eyes bright---he felt a little crazy. He could hardly breathe; his heart would be beating so hard.

It was all about reaction. It was about seeing her respond to him, of knowing that he could affect her, and seeing the physical manifestation of that affect.

It was all to pacify that urge in him---that urge to make her see his emotions, to make her acknowledge that he was in love with her.

At the same time, it was a torment, throwing wood at fire, in hopes to control the flame. Accepting the truth about his emotions had given him a measure of peace for a short while, but that had quickly gone up in smoke.

Peace hadn't withstood the test of time. It had lasted only as long as her shower. When she had stepped out in her more solemn clothes, her wet hair pulled back to leave her face fresh and clean, he knew instantly that any peace he ever achieved was forever going to be temporary now. The strength of emotion she inspired was a direct contradiction to the word 'peace'.

This was not quite how he'd imagined it.

At the same time, he couldn't imagine loving anyone else. It fit in his head. Aya and love. Though those pieces were never supposed to meet up on any neural pathway, they connected quite seamlessly in his heart.

A hand stilled his, and his head snapped around in shock, not having realized that she had awakened again. With a far too serious look, she slid his hand out of her hair, then twined her fingers through his. She turned to him.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep."

He blinked at that, still breathless at being caught touching her. Even if it was a platonic touch---No. None of his touches felt platonic anymore.

"What? Why would you be sorry? I'm glad that one of us could get some rest."

"But I left you here alone," she frowned.

He smiled gently, feeling his heart swell painfully in his chest. "I wasn't alone, of course. You were here right beside me," and I was able to look at you as much as I want, without fear of being caught.

She squeezed his fingers, resting them on her knee. " I doubt I was a very good conversational partner. And...and..." her hand tightened further. She turned and stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of her. "I'm sorry. You know, for all of this."

He looked confused for a long moment, then shook his head slightly. "Aya, don't be like that."

Her head shot up, and she stared at him in bewilderment. "Nani?"

He placed his hand on top of hers, catching her in a double-hold and rubbing his thumb back and forth across her soft wrist. "Don't be something you're not," he clarified. "You are my loud, brash sister. Don't you ever forget that." Even if I do from time to time.

She took a deep breath, and he decided to blame her contriteness on sleep deprivation. It wasn't like her.

"Our lives are pretty much destroyed," she began quietly, her bangs falling over her eyes as she seemed to shrink in on herself. "Mom is sick; she blames me for everything that happened." Her shoulders drew in even further, and a tremor shook her words. "Our family has turned against us. We've lost everything..." she took a choked breath, her voice becoming smaller and smaller. "And dad..." her nails dug unconsciously into the back of his hand. "Dad is..."

"Gone," he said quietly, when she couldn't seem to get her words out anymore. He couldn't seem to bring himself to say the proper word for it either. Their father was so much more than 'gone'.

She nodded miserably, still refusing to look at him. "And it's all my fau---"

"Shut up!" he snapped sharply, having vaguely realized where she was heading with this speech from the very beginning, but refusing to allow himself to believe it. It hurt.

He pulled sharply on her caught hand, squeezing her fingers to almost the point of pain, and forcing her to look at him. He had a glimpse of shocked, tear-filled eyes, before he was up, dragging her to him blindly. His arms were tight, like bands around her, and he shook her once, the emotion in him so strong that he couldn't help but physically react.

She was limp in his hold, not reaching nor pushing away. He had clearly caught her off-guard.

And it wasn't about his desire for her. Or his impossible love. It was about love, and shared memories, and knowing every line and hollow of someone else's soul. As simple and complex as the feelings he had always carried for her, right from the beginning.

"Mom's distraught. Someday she will get better, Aya. And she will realize the truth of what happened here. She doesn't hate you, all right? She just doesn't know the truth yet. And our family..." He paused, tightening his hold on her, even while being all too aware that he was holding her far too tightly already. "The way I see it, I am your family, Aya. Not them. And don't you ever forget that.

"And dad..." He panted, the pain stinging inside him. "That wasn't your fault," he continued more quietly. The blurring of his vision made his eyes utterly useless, so he closed them, hiding his face in the curve of her neck. "That was no ones fault, but that man who was our grandfather." Because he's not anymore. I refuse to call that monster family.

"But Ceres..."

And that was my fault. I don't know how, or when, or even why...

"Ceres isn't you, Aya. No more than I am the man she claims that I am. You don't believe I'm that man, do you?"

She shook her head vehemently, her arms now squeezing around him, tighter and tighter. "Aki is Aki," she whispered.

He relaxed at the clear conviction in her voice. The problem was, he now believed that was true. He just didn't believe that either of them really knew who exactly he was.

"Well, Aya is Aya," he returned.

She did a sort of snort/sniffle, clearly finding amusement in how he had turned her words back against her. The hand that was fisted in the back of his shirt slowly unwound, then reached up and tugged hard on a lock of his hair.

"Ow," he said, though he smiled weakly as he did so.

"Brat."

Then her hand gentled, falling down his hair to rest warmly on his bare neck. "I love you, Aki."

He flinched, not because of what she said, but because those were the exact words he wanted to hear so badly.

"I love you, too, Aya."

Always.

TBC...