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If this wasn't their life but one of those gag manga you read on a weekly magazine every Sunday, this weird love triangle would be the main source of jokes; there would be no sadness or doubts, only smiles and funny, sometimes embarrassing, misunderstandings.
Instead this is the reality they have to deal with everyday: they are young and they feel something that isn't quite passion and yet goes way beyond that; they are too young for this, Himawari and Doumeki, and yet, for the first time in their life they treasure someone more than anyone and anything else, and as they watch Watanuki walking ahead of them, they know that this feeling won't waver, will never go away.
Right now, the distance between them and him is insignificant: one, two steps, and they could reach him. They could, but they won't, because they like watching him like this, as he makes plans and mutters excitedly to himself. And this is a very selfish thing, because the truth is that they care for him so much that his happiness is enough to make them smile too.
If Himawari is learning to smile for real, to hope, to believe that her life doesn't have to be all pain and regrets, it's thanks to Watanuki. Doumeki doesn't smile, not even now, but he wolfs down anything Watanuki cooks with devotion, which is weird for a picky eater like him and yet, it feels extremely natural – like the right thing to do – because it's food that Watanuki made, and there is nobody else Shizuka trusts as much as him.
It's not that Himawari doesn't understand what he tries to convey with each compliment or bento or batch of cookies: she's grateful and so, so happy to know that he cares for her so much, but she also knows that someone like her can't ask for anything more than Watanuki's friendship if she really treasures his existence; she also knows that he's too selfless and too purehearted to let his feelings grow and change into something different from puppy love. Himawari knows that his fondness for her is a silent vow to support her always; he won't leave her or forget her, nor will he ever think of her with less affection than today – and this is enough to make her cry with joy. So she just laughs, and teases, and pretends she doesn't see how he tries to reach out for her.
Doumeki knows that, as a boy, his words will never be considered as carefully as hers, but he's also aware that it's because of this that he can do what Kunogi can't, won't do, and get close enough to make Watanuki splutter and blush or rebuke him when he's acting like a selfish, brainless martyr again. He doesn't care if Watanuki will never look at him with tenderness or speak to him with a soft smile, because he can be his equal, and the person who can help him face ghosts and everyday's dilemmas (not that Watanuki will ever admit it though).
They can't think of each other as rivals, because they aren't. They are mutually grateful even if they never say it aloud: thank you for making his life easier; thank you for making his life happier.
Their love for him is destined to stay frozen in time, a flower that will never bloom even as they grow, sigh and watch over him. But even so, even if it isn't perfect, even if they aren't always smiling… as long as Watanuki's there—because Watanuki was born, this can be happiness, too.