A/N: For the siblingship in Destiny.

In a way, he had always been the younger sibling. Shinn was older by age—but Shinn was also impatient, reckless, boyish, and a different kind of impulsive; the kind of impulsion that was reserved for boys and not really teenagers. Mayu had always been more responsible, more outgoing and more reasonable—to the point that even her childishness bordered along the edges of maturity, and in comparison to Shinn, the case was that there really wasn't anything to compare to.

In many ways, it had been Mayu that played the role of the older sibling, and Shinn was the younger one, still hiding in the folds of mother's dress, still the one holding back and being stubborn, like how many younger siblings are.

I'll never forget, he promises himself. I'll never forget this day. I'll never forget what they did to us. I'll never forget what they did to me, to everyone.

And he doesn't, for a very long time—the grudge is there, sitting in the hollow depths of Shinn's still heart like a tumour being nursed. In a sense, it provides a kind of comfort—the idea of not having forgotten, and the idea of still remembering—the idea rests fresh in his mind; a prodding twinge of reassurance and certainty that ensured that those times would always linger.

And somehow, the haunting events of that day stopped appearing. The dreams he used to hold prisoner, locked up in his heart, started fading, and his supposed hatred for Orb began to fade gradually, without him even really realizing it,until one day he wakes up and finds that he's not covered in cold sweat and tears and the stale aftertaste of bitterness. He hates it. Stop it, he tells himself; You hate Orb. You want to destroy Orb. You want to have nothing to do with it. But Shinn wants a lot of things, and to want the hate of something that had already been forgotten is impossible to reattain. And for a few days, he's still, cold, and listless, with hands shoved deep into his pockets, fingers fiddling with the small cell phone strap that belonged to his sister, and with the inevitable realization that all of what he had before is gone—and he has no idea how to react to it.

The strap is cool to the touch; he feels like it's the only representative of familiarity that he has left.

.

"Do you ever forget?"

Athrun jumps, looks up at the sound of Shinn's voice, and unclasps his hands. "What?" he says dumbly; it is rare that Shinn comes to him for anything.

Shinn shuffles his feet and turns his head so that Athrun can't see his face. "Forget," he whispers, so that Athrun has to strain in order to hear. "Your previous battles. Your enemies. Your allies." Shinn's voice cracks. "Your family."

Athrun watches the way Shinn's face tightens. He watches the way Shinn's fingers curl around his sister's cell phone, knuckles white—clinging to the only lifeline he has in this storm. He watches Shinn's broken self struggle to stay attached, watches his sanity fluctuate.

Family.

Athrun remembers his mother—the smell of lilac and lavender swirling in a mist of almost painfully languid emotions. He remembers Nicol, who was not like family but who had been like a younger brother—Nicol, and the running of dynamic falsettos and the delicate arrangement of chords, accidentals and beautifully-threaded tumble of melody that came rushing together like liquid and colour and vibrancy. There was absolutely nothing trapped or restrained about any of his pieces. The opening notes are clear in Athrun's mind. The rest of the song is drowned out by the wave of crackling static, into the sea of never-ending changes.

Athrun remembers, and smiles sadly along to the twist of his heart; doesn't even pretend to not understand.

"Never," he says quietly, because it's true.

From a few meters away, he thinks he can hear Shinn's broken sob out in the open and pretends that he can't, because he knows that he wouldn't want him to hear.

Instead, he closes his eyes and hurts with him. Time is a healer, but sometimes it does nothing but bring pain.

.

The day he finds that he can't remember what Mayu's face looks like, can't remember what she smells like or what the atmosphere around her had once been, he cries—holds onto the pink cell phone tightly and swears he'll never let it go—that it is the only thing preventing him from escaping sanity. And even though the thought isn't true, he desperately, desperately wants to believe it is.

.

Hi! Mayu here! Sorry I can't talk to you right now; I'll call you back later! Please leave your name after the beep!

"Mayu," he begins, slowly, in a whisper, "I still think about you. I still think about your clumsiness and your occasional stupidity. I think about when I used to help you with homework and when you asked me what remorse meant. I told you I didn't know what it meant, but you just smiled and called me smart and told me to tell you when I found out.

"I've forgotten, and it took me so long to realize that—I don't know what I'm saying, Mayu, but if you were here and if you could hear me right now I'm sure you would understand; you've always been able to understand what I couldn't. You've always been able to do so many things. You've always been just been able to, and now that you can't, now that you don't, I'm really, really lost.

"I'm stupid but you're my sister, Mayu, and I'm sorry, so sorry for forgetting. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you and I'm so sorry we didn't spend more time together, and I know what remorse means now, and I'm waiting to tell you if you still want to know."

Shinn's voice cracks. "Come back. Please, please come back."

The dial tone comes across more clearly than anything he's heard in a long time.

.

He's forced to understand the weight of everything he's lost when he passes Athrun's room one day and hears a recorded tune from a piano play. The melody is soothing and rippled with emotion, a joyous but melancholic call-and-answer of harmony and texture. Shinn's eyes shut as the piano player transitions into a set of slow, languid runs, keys pressed with purpose and dignity and with the heavy weight of sorrow.

Shinn doesn't know a thing about music. He grew up listening to rock and pop, and he has no idea what makes music sound good, what elicits the being in a person who produces it.

And all of the world's beauty isn't yet restored to him at that moment; it comes in and overflows until he can no longer contain it, until Shinn can do nothing but cling to his lost memories one last time. He cries for Mayu, for his mother and his father, for Athrun, for war, his monochrome world, and for himself. He cries for everything and nothing.

When he trudges back to his room, he falls asleep with tear-stained cheeks and with his sister's cell phone burrowed in his pillowcase, believing with all of his heart that everything will be okay.

In his dreams, he hears a 'finally, you idiot' and a girlish giggle and smiles in his sleep because he knows it's her.

.

Things mend.

He could do everything he used to do to pretend she was still there, still existing, still living; he could laugh at lightening. He could smile at thunder. He could drink raindrops; lean into the wind, and see the sun come out, but Mayu would truly never be anymore.

So one day, he'll cry for a storm that's passed—never to come again.

.

.

.

.

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(Hi! Mayu here! Sorry I can't talk to you right now; I'll call you back later! Please leave your name after the beep!)

Owari

2011.07.19