Title: Sunset

Fandom: Nabari no Ou

Rating: PG/K+

Characters/Pairings: Miharu/Yoite

Warnings: Um...slight spoilers? Nothing that big though. I haven't read the manga past chapter 17, so this doesn't include any of the events that occur later on in the manga. Contains slight shounen-ai/slash as well.

Disclaimer: Nabari no Ou, in all it's various forms, does not belong to me.

A/N: This is my first major escapade into the Nabari no Ou fandom, and...just about my first fanfiction (ever). So if you see any mistakes or anything seems overly OOC, I'd really appreciate it if you'd tell me. I think Miharu actually sounds a lot more like Yoite than himself, but...it just came out that way. Heh. :p

Sunset

It's torture, he thinks, but he can't help but come back to him, every time. Yoite has done the impossible. Yoite has made him feel. Broken his shield of indifference and shattered his uncaring facade into millions of microscopic pieces. It's tearing him apart. Desperately rending him apart from the inside out and there's nothing he can do about it.

Every second he spends with Yoite is bittersweet. For once in his life Miharu wants something. For once in his life Miharu cares. For once in his life he wants to be selfish; to use the Shinrabanshou for himself.

He knows that he can't. That…

This is what he wants. This is what I promised. But…I don't want…to let him go…

It's a constant battle in Miharu's mind. Grant Yoite's wish, or…grant his own. He knows what Yoite wants but he can't bring himself to accept it, but can't bring himself to deny Yoite his one wish, his one desire, his one desolate bid for happiness either. But Miharu's mind can only wrap itself around the thought that a world without Yoite would be a very bleak world indeed.

But as they sit there, side by side, watching the setting sun melt into the horizon, Miharu forgets. He loses himself in the moment. Pressed up against Yoite's side, hands fisted in his jacket, Miharu contents himself by watching Yoite's face, haloed by the vibrant rays of the setting sunset. And for once, he lets himself be happy.

There's a sort of desperate understanding moments like these. This is who I am. This is who we are. I'm just Miharu, and you're just Yoite. Not the container of the Shinrabanshou or the future king of Nabari, not the Kira-user, or a member of Kairoshuu; just Miharu and Yoite. In moments like these, there are no expectations, no obligations, and the burden of hundreds of people's desires no longer weighs him down.