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Anthy doesn’t mind Mikage’s company.
That is, not more than she minds much of anything else, she decides. He’s quiet, tending to focus on his pursuit of eternity, leaving ‘Mamiya’ to his own devices. When they do speak, it’s mildly engaging. Mikage seems to have an endless love for philosophical discussion, asking actual questions instead of simply preaching at her.
It’s unusual.
She knows there’s not too much consideration to his words, this man who drove himself to find eternity while the real Mamiya wasted away, undesiring— but, the thought alone is respectable.
In that way, she finds him similar to Utena.
They’re painfully alike, really. Always inquiring, trying to show concern— but nevertheless doing what they think is best. It’s an innocent cruelty. Almost childish.
She hates it sometimes.
But at least they try, however misguided.
All in all, Mikage is easy to work with. Malleable, his resurrected mind so fractured and pieced together that fitting little suggestions in the tapestry is simple. He’s doing so well for her brother— truly machine-like. If not for a certain flaw:
Mikage is utterly besotted with Mamiya.
Or at least, with his concept of the boy.
It’s pathetically funny, how much effort Mikage subconsciously puts into convincing himself that he isn’t enamored by another man, and yet how much effort Anthy has to put into keeping him sedated from that truth.
There’s a reason she must appear as Tokiko’s brother, instead of rewriting Mikage’s mind to believe she had a sister, one beyond merely looking different from “Anthy Himemiya.” For all his words about how Mamiya is more suited to be a bride, Mikage cannot truly love a woman. The spark of friendship and fascination he felt for Tokiko seems to have been just that. There’s a cruel irony to it.
Anthy’s brother has had her press this aspect of Mikage’s psyche as far back in his mind as she can without making his loyalty waver. Still, every so once in a while, sparks of lucidity seem to overtake him. Affection pierces his affluent shell.
She’s seen it, as he licked the blood from ‘Mamiya’'s pricked finger like a man dying of thirst. As he rushed to hold ‘Mamiya’ each time he collapsed of illness. As he fussed over ‘Mamiya’ in his sickbed.
It’s silly.
She’s apathetic to his displays, but they distract from his work. Which makes them unfavorable to her brother.
Still, trying to pull on the threads of her magic to get him to stop seems to result in one of two things: dangerous clarity as he revolts, or complete collapse. So, Anthy has found it best to just wait it out. Play along if she must.
Mamiya Chida will continue to be the boy Mikage loves, whether her brother likes it or not.
…
Mikage is scribbling away at his desk, writing through scenarios and statistics that don’t truly matter because her brother has orchestrated his scene from the very beginning; his work is pointless now, unless Akio chooses to give him something to do on his behalf. A lab rat’s wheel.
Mikage sighs and pushes his chair back, perhaps accidentally touched by the awareness of his situation Anthy has. Perhaps just bored. Even computers must cool their processors.
He stares up at the ceiling with those rodent-like eyes, blinking tiredly.
He turns his gaze to ‘Mamiya’, and his expression softens.
“Mamiya, would you come here?”
Anthy listens, walking over with the slow gait of a sickly boy. When ‘he’ is within arm’s reach, Mikage smiles and takes Mamiya’s hand, gently pulling ‘him’ to sit on his lap. His odd, lanky arms draw him close, trying to find comfort in a physical touch.
Seeking intimacy he never reached with the real Mamiya.
I see, thinks Anthy. So it’s one of those nights.
She pulls ‘Mamiya’’s face into its usual soft smile, compliant as Mikage’s hands pull ‘Mamiya’ into an embrace, petting the back of ‘his’ head. He’s gentle, at least, but she pulls back from her own mind all the same, viewing the body she inhabits as a puppet of sorts. It’s easier, too, when ‘Mamiya’ looks like a different person.
It’s a dream. Someone else’s subconscious. She doesn’t need to be a participant, just a doll. Lovely and sweet.
She can almost pretend she isn’t repulsed.
Mikage’s hands are wandering, tracing over ‘his’ back, touching ‘his’ face—
Slender fingers make all-too tender contact with the back of her neck— and for a moment those nails feel like the metal tip of a sword about to pierce and the eyes on her face feel simultaneously full of loathing and desire and Anthy is wrenched into the forefront of her own mind with the force of a rope tied to her neck and jerked forward.
The impudent part of herself, the witch, a feral animal that refuses to stop clawing in protest of the pain no matter how many years she has had to just take and take and take— No matter how well Anthy keeps it oppressed, it still manages to scream.
Outwardly, she stiffens, almost imperceptibly.
But it’s enough.
Mikage, in his mechanical awareness, pauses. The haze clears as he asks, “Mamiya—?”
Anthy knows her role. To correct this. To please. She smiles, apologetically. “It’s nothing, Senpai. I only thought I needed to cough, but the feeling passed quickly.”
She leans forward, nestling her head against Mikage’s neck. She knows ‘Mamiya’’s hair is soft,
knows
Mikage should like this— yet he’s unmoving. Something foreboding crawls up the base of her spine. He pulls back and looks over ‘Mamiya’ with scrutiny.
“You don’t feel like doing this, do you?”
Dread settles in Anthy’s stomach, a dull old friend, too familiar to be discomforting. She braces herself silently for scorn, for a lecture, because doesn’t she know he’s doing her a favor? Doesn’t she know this is her place? Doesn’t she know he’s showing her a love that only he can give her because she will always be a witch— if it hurts it’s not his fault, not his fault, never his fault never his fault your fault YOUR FAULT—
The vitriol she awaits never comes.
Instead, Mikage shifts so that ‘Mamiya’ sits in the chair alone, standing up to power off his computer and return pens and papers to their organized places for the next day. Anthy watches silently.
“Well then,” he announces, attention still fixed on his affairs so that Anthy cannot see his emotions. “I suppose it’s too late in the evening for any of this. Forgive me for being so abrupt.”
He returns to help ‘Mamiya’ up, his expression isn’t one of anger, or even the exaggerated pity that her brother showed sometimes when she screamed, the type that made her skin crawl—
poor thing, I can’t help it, you know.
No, he only seemed… indifferent
“Are you coming?” He asks, shaking her out of her stupor. She nods, trailing behind as Mikage opens doors for ‘Mamiya’, leading her down corridors to the room where they sleep— As Mikage readies himself for bed, allowing ‘Mamiya’ the space to do the same, she keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to snap, to yell, to strike at her.
It never happens.
She stands, a silent observer as Mikage curls up in his white bed. “Goodnight, dear Mamiya.” Is all he offers.
She’s certain there’s another layer to this, even if she can’t see it. A hidden resentment. The professor is perhaps just too tired to be furious yet.
She sits on the edge of Mikage’s bed, stroking his arm tenderly. Once, twice. Mikage leans into the touch, subconsciously it seems, but catches her hand before it can continue a third.
“Mamiya, I don’t want you to force yourself past your limits. That includes the things you do for my sake.”
“I don’t feel tired, Senpai—” she starts, only to be cut off.
“You’re a smart boy Mamiya, you know that’s not what I meant.”
Mikage pushes her hand back to her lap, turning back to sleep.
“You don’t owe me anything. Now please, go rest in your room.”
Anthy tilts her head. She doesn’t feel relieved, per se, just… confused. Uncertain what to do with any of Mikage’s responses. He truly is mechanical, she decides, so indifferent to what he may or may not touch.
Or maybe subconsciously, he’s just oversaturated on fantasies.
“I want to give you something though, Senpai.” She says, hesitantly. She’s not sure why.
Mikage is silent, thinking.
“Then sleep here. On the other side of the bed. This way I can monitor your breathing, and know it remains steady.” He says slowly.
Practical, yet self-serving. This, Anthy can provide. ‘Mamiya’ joins Mikage in the bed, keeping his distance. She can practically feel the contentment that radiates from Mikage. Whether he admits it or not, Mikage is as selfish as the rest.
Between Utena and the Professor, Anthy feels she grows more sick of chivalry by the day. She doesn’t know why they play at being “respectful.”
Still, when she leaves to return to Utena, she grants Mikage a falsified memory— one where Mamiya finds his embrace in the night, where the boys wake up in each other's arms. It’s saccharine, but she knows he’ll believe it.
Poor, starving thing.
…
She still doesn’t know entirely what to make of it days later, when Mikage is returned to ashes.
For all Anthy knows, maybe the “kindness" he showed her was her own silent wish, a longing for days before every hand that touched her was cruel. Maybe that pink hair just reminded her of Utena, so much so that she began to mold him after her.
There’s no such thing as a prince.
But she wonders if, for Mamiya Chida, Mikage could’ve come close.