Disclaimer: I don't own anyone here, not now, not ever.

Summary: The perfect threesome? Akira, Midori and Yui. Enough said.

IN THE HALF-LIGHT

Yui stayed in the garden, alone with Akira. He was happy the clouds of doubt had dispersed but was expecting nothing more this evening though they were now alone. That bit of an incident in the common room a few hours ago had suddenly revealed something he had refused to acknowledge: he was tired and no longer desired anything.

If he could have believed that Midori needed his companionship out of pure necessity – Midori as the worse of the pair – it would certainly have given him pleasure. But as it had been wordlessly agreed upon from the beginning that he was the worse one, all Yui could see in Midori's infatuation with Akira was a painful self-sacrifice, a generous effort to anticipate Yui's inclinations and turn them into the gears of a happy companionship.

When he caught him staring with unabashed love at Akira, he wanted to go down on his knees and ask his forgiveness. He had been marked forever by the sight of Midori's jealousy, that wound he himself had inflicted. He could not even bring himself to meet his indignant gaze and could only lower his eyes, hoping that will appear all the more touching.

But are such games really an exercise in penitence?

The thought occurred to him that when he decided to sleep with Akira, he had hoped to drive away her anxiety about his love and affirm Midori's sense of identity; in other words, he wanted to be both free and guiltless. On the contrary, it was a horrible effort. He found himself carefully weighing his every word (Yes, he loves Akira. He loves the moon too. As much as he loves the wind and the ground he was standing on.), measuring the length of every gaze, and behaving more like a scrupulously considerate, solicitous, courteous, and impartial diplomat than like a lover. At any rate, he failed. Akira felt even more insecure and Midori left for Thailand.

Now he saw that there was no way to change what had been decided years ago. Midori was still the same, and he was still the accused.

But why then had he gone through all the trouble? On whose behalf had he done all that? For a long time now, anyone else could turn Akira into a cheerful, sensual and happy girl. Brett, Satton, Midori, Satoshi – anyone but Yui. He saw himself as a parasite.

Really as a parasite? Wasn't that what Midori had compared himself to?

Yes, as the years went by, they had become twins – souls originating from the same source, with the same vocabulary, the same ideas, the same destiny. Each had given the gift of Akira to the other, each to make the other happy. Each had the impression of having to push a boulder uphill. Each one was tired.

Yui heard water gurgling in the stream and ran a finger down Akira's soft throat, and he reflected that he had never been able to live the way he wanted, to have the things he wanted and to have them the way he wanted them. He longed to run away to a place where he could paint his own story, paint it by himself to his own taste and out of the sight of loving eyes.

And deep down he did not even care about painting himself a story; he simply wanted to be alone.

… … The End … …

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