(A/N: Isn't it hilarious how I always think the next chapter is going to come quickly, but it DOESN'T?!

I didn't think it was too funny either.

Anyway, if you're still reading this, and if your favourite character happens to be Seth, then you're in luck, because this next chapter features our dearest intellectual being an angsty teen brooder for over 4000 words.

Seth's chapters are easy to write out if one considers the amount of words that come flowing out of me when I'm writing him, but it seems to me that there's never much that happens in his chapters. :/ Why is that? I guess his thoughts take up too much space or something. He needs to relax a little more and let stuff happen to him. X'D Seth baby, I love you so, enough to say that I even have a weak spot for guys like you, but SHEEZ.

Anyway, enjoy. I'm off to bask in my rediscovered Ouran High School Host Club fandom. Please take the time to tell me whether you enjoyed/hated.

~Chapter Thirteen~

Seth

I have lived on this Earth for over nineteen years now. For some time now, I had thought, perhaps somewhat arrogantly, that this was enough for me to fathom most of the everyday occurrences of my life, and therefore to no longer be surprised by every little development, with all its minute details.

This is probably why it enrages me, time and time again, when Sean proves me wrong.

That day in mid-July, just when I was thinking that life had taken a fortunate turn for the monotonous, we arrived home one day, and the moment I had closed the door behind us, Sean suddenly burst out: “I’m getting laid!”

This statement alone would not have been all that unusual. After all, it was nothing I had not heard before, on numerous occasions, since my dear twin brother seems to derive an intense pleasure in informing me of most every detail of his lavish love life.

What did make the normally ordinary statement a strange and slightly upsetting one was the fact that after uttering his enthusiastic confession of premeditated debauchery, he tottered over to the couch and collapsed along its length, hiding his face against his elbows. He was the very picture of despair, which, after a revelation such as I’m getting laid, is not the expected picture at all.

I was in a relatively good mood that day, so I decided to play the sympathetic brother and sat down carefully on the one corner of couch that he was not occupying in his apparent grief. I waited for a few minutes for him to explain himself, but when he refused to volunteer any information, I prodded him by asking in the gentlest and least sarcastic voice I could muster, “And that’s...bad?”

He raised his head and twisted around long enough to shoot me a that’s not funny look before slumping back down. I sighed – abandoning the sympathetic approach – and pushed his feet off the couch, which must have been quite an unexpected move to him, seeing as he nearly toppled completely off the couch and onto the floor. I worked to smother my smile, even though he would not see it, anyway.

After a few moments of fighting gravity, he stopped struggling and let his knees fall to the floor while he clung to the couch cushions with his arms. He glared half-heartedly at me from that position. I smirked deliberately this time and settled myself more comfortably in the now vacant space. He pulled himself to his feet and sat across the couch from me, no longer glaring now, but melancholy again.

“Yes, it’s bad,” he said melodramatically, but briskly, as though continuing a conversation in the most natural, uninterrupted manner. “You don’t have any idea what this means, do you?”

“I do,” I answered, just as briskly, perhaps feeling my feathers a little ruffled after the you-don’t-have-any-idea comment. “You have a boyfriend at the moment. I assume it’s him you’re planning to sleep with.”

“Saturday. I’m picking him up after his club activities. We’re going on a date and then we’re going back to his place and we’re going to...”

“...to?”

“To...to do it.”

“…yes. A-And?”

I admit my voice trembled a little at that moment, not from surprise or disgust, but from a strange out-of-place mirth at the infantile tone and referral to the act of making love as doing it.

“Seth.”

“W-What?”

“You’re laughing.”

“N-No.”

“You’re laughing! Don’t turn away, I can see you laughing.”

“Oh, come off it,” I said to him, swallowing my chuckles now that he had made my odd behaviour all the more obvious. “So what’s the problem? I thought you liked him. What do you want me to do, stop you?”

“Yes.”

I regarded him with surprise this time, as he curled up into a ball on his end of the couch and hid his face in his hands. This was getting stranger and stranger, and I was getting more than a little worried. Normally Sean would jump at a chance like this, but now…

“Sean. Don’t tell me you made him a promise you don’t intend to keep.”

His voice was muffled and miserable as he said, “Yes.”

I sighed, leaning a little closer towards him. “So why did you tell him you would?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have a reason.”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Well, it was stupid, then.”

“Don’t tell me that like I don’t know it!” he yelled from behind the shield of his hands, but his voice was still muffled and still miserable, rendering his attempt at righteous anger a little pathetic.

I could not help sighing again, feeling sympathy for my stupid brother even while telling myself that his romantic dilemmas should be none of my concern. Still, if there was one thing about relationships that I know as well as anyone, it’s that honesty is usually the best attitude to adopt. I decided to remind him of it.

I leaned back on the couch, and when several minutes passed without either of us saying anything to the other, I said to Sean, “You should tell him, then.”

He shifted and said, “Tell him what?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You should tell him that you can’t do...whatever you promised him.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s only right.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I thought you cared about him. If that’s true, then don’t you at least owe it to him to tell him the truth?”
”...about what?”

“I don’t know! It’s your problem, not mine!”

He jumped as I said this – I had spoken louder than I had originally intended – and twisted around from his spot on the other end of the couch again, staring at me with eyes that had gotten wide like a trapped animal’s.

He looked at me like he did not know what to do, but I decided to no longer humour him. I rose from the couch and gave him my sharpest look, my last attempt at forcing him to take action.

“Figure it out for yourself,” I said to him, curt now that my annoyance had reached its peak.

I left the room.

As one can well imagine, I had gotten quite tired of hearing, year after year, of Sean’s tiresome romantic and sexual escapades. It was simply ridiculous, farcical, the way that every encounter seemed to culminate in the exact same scenario: Confusion, Rupture and Heartbreak, the three great acts of my twin brother’s dramatic little love life.

He would insist that there are four acts, starting with Love. Of course. But I never really believed him, simply because it cannot be love if it ends.

And to me, it seemed, there was always an ending, a sad, sudden ending, without closure. Because how can it still hurt if all has been resolved?

I asked him once, when we were younger. He looked at me like I was crazy, a true madman, and said to me with his strange, sad smile: “I don’t know.”

That time, I had had the distinct feeling that what he was telling me – “I don’t know” – was the same thing as “Figure it out for yourself”. And this knowledge incensed me beyond all imagining.

So, that day in our fifth month in Japan, I should have been feeling the same as I had all those years ago, when I had asked Why and he had answered Figure It Out. I should have been furious and exasperated, which by then would have been completely normal, everyday emotions for me.

But I could not. All I felt was an odd sort of melancholy that by a person more naive than myself could have mistaken for loneliness.

Ridiculous.

The week passed in relative peace. Sean, normally informative about his relationships and the concerns deriving from them, no longer discussed his promise to Megumi, and I did not ask.

Friday came, then Saturday morning. He was awake and moving about at an unusually early hour. His behaviour that day trumped that of the preceding week; he seemed to positively quiver with nervous energy, jerking about in the flat with the sharp, erratic movements of faulty clockwork.

Finally, maddened at his constantly twitching, staggering self, I put down my morning coffee on the counter and said, “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Mutely, he shook his head.

I only frowned at him, picking up my coffee again when he looked away.

Slowly, he reached out across the dining table and picked up his glass of juice, but the cup slipped through his fingers and landed back on the table. The bottom of the cheap glass shattered, the remaining piece tipping over into the pile of its own remains. I sighed. He mumbled “sorry”.

He moved to clean it up, but I pushed him gently away from the table. With his demeanour, he would probably cut up his trembling hands on the glass before managing to clean everything.

As I mopped up the juice with a paper towel and gingerly tossed the glass shards into the garbage, I reflected, wryly perhaps, that when something hits Sean, it hits him hard.

When I was done, I found him sitting at the entrance to the flat, tying the laces of his worn running shoes like he had forgotten how.

I stood watching him, unimpressed, and after a while he turned to look back at me, sighed, and did up his laces in the proper, adult-like fashion.

“Bit too dramatic with the laces?” he asked, to which I responded with a nod and something like a laugh.

He scratched the back of his head, sighed again, and stood. He turned to stare at me.

“I really did drop the glass, though,” he said, apologetically. “Sorry.”

“I know you did. It’s fine.”

“You know me too well.”

“Far too well.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, Seth. It was his idea. He seemed so happy.”

“He must have.”

“I’ll make him sad.”

“Probably.”

“Really sad, Seth.”

“He’ll get over it. If he cares for you, shouldn’t he agree to wait?”

“Yeah, but...”

“But”? It took a lot of strength to not utter the words: “What now, Sean?”

“But...it’s not like there will be another chance, you know?”

“Why not? As long as you’re dating...”

“I can’t. I’m breaking up with him.”

“...what?”

He hung his head then, looking honestly dejected in the manner that only Sean can. No exaggeration this time, no play-acting. He was truly crestfallen.

We stood in silence for a moment, and during that time I toyed with the idea of saying something compassionate and reassuring in the likes of “It’ll be okay” or “It’s best, in the long run”, but instead I opted for the more characteristic response, and told him, “I thought so.”

He rolled his eyes at me, although a hint of his usual smile passed across his lips.

“No sympathy from you, I see.”

“None whatsoever. Move, I need to get my shoes.”

“Mmf. Meanie.”

Carefully, I pulled on my shoes and hoisted my bag up onto my shoulder. We left the flat together and emerged into the autumn sunlight.

After walking a few blocks in the direction of the station, realization suddenly hit and I asked Sean in a bewildered voice, “Wait, why are you following me?”

He glanced up as though he, too, had only just noticed where he was, but he soon relaxed and laughed gently.

“Oh, right. I thought I’d, y’know, hang out with you for a bit. Until I have to meet Megumi at school.”

“I’ll be working,” I reminded him. “I won’t have much time to spend sitting and humouring you.”

“You can work and humour me at the same time. You’re enough of a genius for that.”

“I don’t need to be a genius to deal with you.”

“Aw! Seth! You get meaner every day, I swear!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ve been more annoying than usual, too,” I muttered to the sidewalk, and although he prodded me all through the train ride to repeat what I had said, I did not.

The problem with a mind like mine is that there is always some thought or another flitting about, zipping this way and that and leaving an endless, zigzagging trail of tiny thoughts in its wake. That way the train of thought multiplies ceaselessly, as it constantly erupts into streams of thoughts and sub-thoughts and footnotes of thoughts. Although I normally think of such an activity as one of the few worthy of my time and effort, sometimes I cannot help but yearn for the empty mindedness of those such as my twin brother.

Anything for relief, I think at those times. Anything to get away.

Instead, in my desperation, I cling to the two things which have always been a constant in my life: school and Sean.

The cigarettes are a failsafe, one that has, regrettably, been resorted to more and more often, far more often than I ever thought necessary.

More than once that day, I felt the need to abuse the failsafe rise in me, but for some reason, I felt particularly inclined to surpass the urge. On that count, on that day, perhaps I could afford to be a little proud of myself.

I worked, speaking only briefly and formally with the librarians on duty, as I went about my business.

Toumo Daigaku boasted a rather impressive collection of periodicals, journals and non-fiction sources, as well as a sturdy amount of recreational reading material. Mum always said that she thought I was happiest when surrounded by books, and perhaps she was right. I felt my spirits lifting over the course of the morning as I monitored the borrowing and returning of books, loaned study rooms to groups of students, and managed the photocopying fees. The three elderly women who normally ran the place wandered the several floors of the library, handling the more advanced aspects of the books’ coding and shushing students whose voices rose too high above the accepted decibel level.

According to the most jovial of the librarians, the students at Toumodai were reluctant to take jobs at their own school library on the grounds that it was too dreary and soulless a job, but it suited me just fine. On top of that, I was proving to be the most proficient of all the student workers to date, which assured me easy relations with the staff, increased pay, and continued proficiency.

Although the once-a-week job was pleasing to me at most times, that day, for many reasons, my mind did not seem fully occupied with the task at hand. The streams of thoughts were filling my brain again, shooting off in all directions like handfuls upon handfuls of shredded ribbon.

Sean was sitting nearby, browsing though the recent newspapers, and was sagely minding his own business, which was fortunate. I did not wish to have to deal with him and his romantic misadventures any more that day. Quite frankly, his presence in my place of work was beginning to irk me, although it should not have.

For hadn’t I been the one silently complaining to myself how Sean was never home, how he was spending more time with that Megumi Takahata than with me? Wasn’t I the one who was always annoyed that he was not taking the train home at the same time as me, because he was taking the evening to go traipsing around with him?

Should I not have been happy that finally, finally, after those weeks of being virtually ignored by my own brother, he was coming back to me again?

Of course I was happy. I was happier than I would ever admit to anyone, especially him. But at the same time, there was this unease that consumed our time together, something that burnt up the happiness like a fire eating up oxygen.

The whole morning, I gave in and allowed myself to wander the pathways of my mind, while my body went about the comforting, mundane tasks that a student library worker is required to undertake. Thus, by my lunch break, I had figured it out.

There was no problem in my own behaviour. I was acting in the manner that I normally did whenever Sean went through his “phases”, his periods, so to speak, of romantic action. These frequent episodes varied in emotional intensity; one would be fleeting and pass quickly, while another would be dramatic and protracted, like puberty all over again. But always, there was the break-up, the solution, the cure to all his troubles. And he would smile again, and shrug, and be happy, as though nothing had ever happened.

This time, it was different. Even though Sean’s break-up with Megumi Takahata was not yet official, it was impending. Sean had made his decision, and usually this is enough to give him peace of mind. This time, however, for some reason or another, it was not.

This worried me, mostly because it meant, assuredly, that this thing was not finished. And if it was not finished, then Sean might as well not be my brother at all.

Until his problems were resolved, the status quo of his little world restored, he would belong to someone else.

That day, I saw Megumi Takahata, and for the first time, I truly hated him.

I do not take well to strong emotions such as hate. I find them cumbersome and draining, and certainly impractical when the grand scheme of things is considered. Even the level of academic passion required for me to perform as well as I do in school is a heavy thing for me, which is the reason, perhaps, why it is the only passion I will allow in my life. There is nothing simpler in life than to focus on one goal, and one goal alone. All it necessitates is the will, and, of course, the ability. Following this rule, I believe that anyone at all would be capable of accomplishing absolutely anything. To this rule, there are no exceptions.

It is because I respect this rule so rigourously that anything extraneous thrown in my path is sure to unsettle me, and I do not enjoy being unsettled. In fact, there is probably nothing in the world that is more irritating to me than to be disturbed and have my balance thrown off. And as is the unfortunate case for me, any spark of irritation is sure to burst into the flames of rage, if left unchecked.

But of course, it is always checked, for it simply does not do for me to lose my temper, or be consumed by anything that would impede my studies. I always make sure to curb any of those heavy, troublesome impulses. Then, once the urges passed, I can return to my books and pens and swirling, shooting thoughts.

Quite frankly, I do not possess the energy for much else.

That is why on that day when I realized that the story with Megumi Takahata was just beginning, when I realized that my brother Sean would not be returning to my side as planned, and that I would have to toil on alone for some time longer, I did not even have the strength to openly display my loathing to the face past the library door. Nothing was stopping me, really, from letting my eyes tell him just how much I despised him, since Sean had left the place a few minutes before, presumably to meet with his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

I tried, truly I did, to tell him that I detested him, that I wished ill upon his very existence, but in that split second where we caught each other’s eye across the threshold that was the barrier between our two worlds, I found that all the energy I thought I possessed in my youthful body had dissipated, leaving me dry of any of the resolve I would have needed to hate anyone with such intensity.

Then the moment passed, and he was gone, the door swung shut over his dark-eyed face. And I knew that I had utterly failed at delivering my message.

I turned away from the door and frowned down at the library ledger that I had been writing in just before the incident. It had been a mere act of fate that I should happen to glance up at the particular moment where Megumi Takahata was passing by the open door, some cosmic misfortune, perhaps, orchestrated by the powers above that were seemingly hell-bent on making my life as difficult as possible.

It was a feeble, narcissistic thought, to believe that anything in the universe should be so preoccupied with me as to wish me ill in the way that I had been wishing Megumi ill. But I can be very selfish when the mood takes me, and it had.

Suddenly, I longed for the warm, sheltered place across the oceans, the home that I had left behind. It was so much more difficult to apply my principles here than it had been there. Why, then, despite this fact, had I chosen to study abroad in some country that had virtually nothing in common with my own? Why had I decided to isolate myself within this exotic land, estranged from all that I knew?

Surely, even as a change of scenery, the choosing of this place was a gross exaggeration.

Surely, I had been mistaken.

That had to be it.

And yet, it could not.

Because I do not make mistakes.

None of this was my fault. From the beginning, everything that had happened to me had been but a by-product of the misdeeds and misfortunes of others: first Megumi Takahata, then my own brother, and even to some extent that Yuki character that Sean encountered not too long ago. Each and every impediment on my path thus far had been a consequence of their senseless actions, not mine.

But was I a victim? Certainly not. Although their interference – whether intentional or otherwise – had unsettled and annoyed me, the long-lasting effect of such mindlessness on my inner self was negligible. Nothing but pests, all of them...even Sean. Even he, beloved brother that he was, could do nothing but get in my way. Since the beginning, he had been acting the most selfishly of all.

Leaving the school library that afternoon, I felt an immense sort of relief wash over me, like a light breeze. I felt calm, calmer than I had felt in a long while. Finally, things would turn out better, now that I had figured out something new.

I hopped into the train to head back home, then reconsidered and got off a couple of stops earlier than my usual station in order to reach the nearest supermarket. I did the groceries, quickly and efficiently, as I always did, and laden with three plastic bags, made my way home.

Walking down the street of my temporary dwelling, I could not help but cast my gaze around in the afternoon light. It was a fairly quiet neighbourhood, entirely residential save for a couple of low-key, family-owned stores. The buildings were towering but clean. The interior of my apartment building in particular was spacious yet frugal in design, which pleased me and suited my goals perfectly. I had selected this type of apartment specifically for the roominess it offered, seeing as a typical, cramped Japanese flat would not have suited my tastes nor been conducive to any serious studying.

As I was covering the last few steps before the apartment building’s front entrance, I realized for the first time that this area was actually quite nice. Quiet. I decided, as I was struggling for my key, that starting tomorrow I would start running in these streets. I had been neglecting my cardiovascular training for some time, so getting back into it would be a tedious affair, but well worth the effort. Running was one of the few activities I undertook that required very little conscious thought, so it was a boon of sorts, a salve for my tired mind. And the exercise would do me good, seeing as I had been doing nothing but sitting and studying for nights on end. If I did not remain vigilant, my health would begin to deteriorate.

I finally managed to grip my key well enough to turn it in the lock, and the door swung open easily. I made my way up to the flat and carefully put away all the groceries, then showered quickly and settled myself at my desk.

By the time Sean returned from Megumi’s side, I had already prepared and eaten my supper, and was reading over my various notes one final time for the night. I tried to disregard the bumps and clinks he was making as he trudged around the kitchenette and sitting room, and when he passed by the half-open door to my room, I was careful to ignore him altogether.

Despite all my efforts to remain indifferent, however, I could not help but stiffen as I heard him stop just outside my doorway. I could feel his gaze on me, could feel the emotion of him in the way that I can when he is truly happy, or truly miserable.

Of course, I already had some clue to what had transpired that evening. In all his selfishness, Sean is still not the kind of person to sleep with someone he intends to sever ties with. And if his apparent sadness was any indication, I thought it safe to assume that the ties had been severed.

I was dismissing him in my mind already, knowing that soon he would tire of waiting and go to bed, but then my fingers lost their grip on the mechanical pencil they had been absently twirling in the midst of my reading, and the instrument dropped to the floor. I sighed, and set my papers down, and leaned down in my chair to retrieve the pencil. As I did so, my head inevitably turned, and I caught a glimpse of him still standing there, leaning forlornly against my doorframe with a beseeching sort of look on his face.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment, then I straightened and turned, setting my pencil gently down on the desk. Then I heard Sean begin to move away. I heard the sound that his hair makes when he runs his hand through it, and the sound of his clothes shifting over his skin.

“Good night, Seth,” he said.

“Good night, Sean,” I said, and I was going to add, in a brotherly fashion, “It’s going to be all right”, but he was already gone.