AN: Darryl’s a character of mine that’s been hanging around for a while… poor guy. He’s desperately in love with his brother, so be warned, there is incest mentioning here. I’ll leave it to you to decide how far it goes, but Darryl was writing, so it’s bound to be somewhat sexual. Fiend that he is. But it’s only lime-ish… nothing explicit because I won't let him do that. By the way, this has absolutely nothing to do with No Regrets. It’s a side story to a completely different plot… so, enjoy And please review Let me know what you think…

I look at him and see everything I’m not. Everything I’d like to be. Everything that I love… and everything that I shouldn’t.

It’s beyond my memory to try and find out the exact minute I started loving him the wrong way. I can pinpoint the almost exact time he turned to me one day and offered to fool around.

He had been upset that day, because the girl – some foolish bitch who didn’t know what she was missing – that he had been chasing turned around and gave him a huge set down. He didn’t care for it in the least, he never does, but it must have stung his ego more than he cared to admit, because he turned inevitably to me. He knows I can never tell him no.

That was the first time we slept together. I knew it was wrong at the time, and I know it is wrong still, but when it’s all I can do to keep from passing out with pleasure and joy when he touches me, how can I stop?

It would kill something in me to do it, especially since I know he won't love me the way he does forever. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to find someone to really love and be happy in doing so. When he does, because he certainly will, I think my soul will shatter.

People talk about unrequited love like it’s a cursed thing, something to be hated and rejected. They don’t realize it can twist both ways; it can hurt so bad you think you’ll explode with the tightness in your chest, that you have constant headaches because you cry so much and so hard… But it can also bring relief, simply because you can't, or won't, give up hope that they’ll love you back. The recipient of my love might never feel exactly the same way about me that I feel for him, but when he’s holding me, and whispering nonsense into my ear because I can't stop crying, it helps. It lets you believe against all reason that he could possibly feel the same way.

And yet… and yet I’m losing control of myself lately. He’s found me crying more in the past fortnight than he’d ever known I’d cried before. And somehow his touches don’t ease the pain the way they used to. It’s grown so bad, I can stand to be near him. I almost switched dorms, but I foolishly told him, and his expression… It was so confused, so bewildered… I couldn't leave him. It might be destroying me inside, but I will never leave him.

And that, I suppose, is my problem. Looking ahead at all the years we have left to live, I know he’ll find love. I hesitate to say true love, because that’s what he should be feeling for me… But I wouldn’t burden him with my feelings. He’ll find true love one day and be happy; married to some nice girl, or cute boy, and I’ll have to stand around and watch. I’ll have no choice.

He says he loves me and says he needs me, and maybe he does, but not in the same way. He’ll never need me like I need him, not even to the slightest degree. He thinks we’re fooling around when we sleep together, kissing and other stuff. From his point of view, it’s right; it’s the way things are supposed to go. I’m his brother; dependable and consistent, and I’ll always be there for him. For my view, it’s heartbreaking and soul soothing all at the same time.

I’m beginning to hate the voice in the back of my head. It is determined to be logical through everything, and while I usually manage to block it out in everyday life, it comes back with a vengeance each night. It nearly always comes back with his arrival to my bed – or mine to his. It’s been like this a while now, and even though his kisses drown out the surrounding world, that impudent voice refuses to be silenced. And while I try to dream that his kisses mean forever, that his hands allow for an eternity of adoration, I know that it’s not the truth.

Have you ever tried to dream something yet knew it would never happen? It makes the dream exceedingly hard to believe – more, I think, because somewhere in human nature there’s a perverse will to be cruel to oneself. That same sense is one I have in abundance – what other way to torture yourself than to let yourself fall in love with your own brother? It doesn’t seem fair… and yet, in some masochistic way, it is. I shouldn’t have let myself fall in love with him. Love would have been fine, we could have dallied away our time until we each found someone to fall in love with… It’s just bad luck that my one, the one I fell in love with, is simply not attainable. Perhaps the worst thing is that he is; I’ve already attained him in more ways than I had dreamed possible. The problem, and one of the things that brings terror and desolation with it, is how do I maintain him?

How do you keep the wind captive? Embroil it with nets and such?

Well, he kind of likes bondage… but it wouldn’t work for a long-term basis…

Would you entrance it and hope it stays fascinated by you?

Or would you simply let it come freely to you?

I started crying last night. He stopped immediately and kissed my tears away, murmuring reassurance, asking me to tell him what was wrong. I didn’t know how to tell him. All I could do was shake my head and cry harder, silent tears that, I think, alarmed him more than noisy sobbing would have. I would have been fine, honestly I would have, but he rolled his body away from mine, and the loss of his skin and warm weight hurt more than I can say. So I, in turn, rolled onto my side and started crying harder.

It was really bad form; I can say that now. Usually I wait until he’s in the shower before I start crying. Then, of course, I have to leave before he gets out, because once I start, I can't stop. It’s another symptom of how broken I’m feeling.

Anyway, so I was curled in the fetus position on my side, and I could feel him watching me, I knew how confused and surprised he was. I’d stopped crying from the physical pain years ago, but that’s what he thought it was. Or at least, that’s what I assumed.

He wrapped his arms around me and whispered nonsense into my neck, apologizing more than half the time. And I realized that his apologies hurt more than they should have, because it felt like he was apologizing for something else.

It hurts.

And it will forever, because how on earth could he love me back the way I want him to? Why would he want to? It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. The thought of him being married is pure torture, because it would be the wrong person up there with him. Knowing him, I’ll be standing next to him, but on the wrong side. I’m doomed to spending my life second best for him, because, although I know he loves me as much as he is able to, I know I’m just a brother to him. I’m just a good fuck, always willing, desperate enough for him to let him do as he wants… and although I know he’d never want to hurt me, and it would devastate him to know he is.

If only it were easier. If only it were possible. If only.

It’s destroying me. I’ve taken to avoiding him; before last night, I hadn't seen him for a while. Aside from those times where he snuck up and saw me crying. I caught him at it a few times, and he started to ask what was wrong, but I just walked away. I know I hurt him then. And that’s torture too. You’re never supposed to want to hurt the person you love, and I feel terribly guilty about needing to – because it is something I need to do. I must avoid him; absolutely have to… Or he’d drive me insane and wouldn’t know it. And there’s also that malicious part of me that wants to make him hurt too – because surely I don’t deserve to live like this? I haven’t done anything terribly wrong, other than a few pranks… I long to hurt him as bad as he hurts me sometimes. A fleeting desire of revenge, because how could he do this to me?

And then I remember that I did it myself. He might have dug the hole, all those years ago by offering himself to me for fun, but in truth, it was me who threw myself in. Hell, I pulled the soil back down and told him to dance on my grave.

He doesn’t know. He should never have to know. He won't ever know, because I will never tell him, and who else would? Nobody else guesses that I feel the way I do about him. They all think its in fun that we spend each night in the same bed – no one would ever imagine that it has a deeper meaning for me. Why on earth should they? I’ve hidden it as best I could. And if I seem a bit too quiet during the times I think nobody’s watching, well, who is going to notice? Not him. Even though he comes to find me then, and his concern ignites impossible hopes within me, he never asks what the reason is. I suppose he guesses, but none of them would have been the right guess… Or he would have confronted me about it. Not confront, as such, but he’d joke about this ‘bizarre idea’ he had about us, and when – if – I am ever faced with that, I’ll break down completely. And then he’ll know.

So when he wraps his arms around me, and cuddles me, and comforts me, he’s thinking all the wrong ideas. He’s probably decided I’m in love. There are definite signs that even I can't hide anymore. Constant daydreaming, always in tears, perfect emotional turmoil… He isn’t stupid. He can guess what that means. It’s all I can do to think about anything else… Nights serve as a distracter, when I can believe, for however long we stay together, that we are together, in ever sense of the word. That I am his and he is mine, and we don’t have – or need – any others.

I don’t know how long I can go on. I’m beginning to break, there are cracks in my defenses, and most of them grew worse because of last night. I knew I was caught when he smirked at me, I hoped I could get through it. I never expected him to be so… gentle… and warm… and… loving…

I have no chance with him. I know that. Yet, after last night, I thought he might… that he just might have… maybe…

Somehow though, it hurts more now than it might have before. And I can't help thinking that maybe this is what makes people want to shrivel up and die. I’d live… but only for him. Without him, it isn’t worth it.

I’m crying again. Big surprise there… He has a date tonight. With a girl. As if to rub in the fact that I’m his brother, and he never once considered the thought of taking another guy for a lover… let alone his twin.

How do you catch the wind?

I wish I knew.

I have the feeling, though…

That maybe…

Seeking the answer will destroy me before I find out.