Youji Unlovable
by Nix Winter
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kruez. The Weiss Project does and I'm grateful to them for creating something so wonderful to play with.
Notes: I'm rewriting this story. I have renewed my faith in Aya and Youji. My Youji muse has been so lonely.
Youji pulled the helmet off, bleach blonde hair falling around his face in soft curves. In Aya's dream Youji moved with the same exact grace that he had in real life. They were in the United States, early fall, far to the north and the leaves had been dozens of colors. Youji had taken to the open spaces of the north west like a flower opening. He'd put on a little muscle, and while Aya had never noticed the nervous tension to Youji when they'd been in Tokyo, or he had, but he'd never imagined Youji without it - seeing his blond lover without that nervous tightness had etched that wide and brilliant smile deeply into Aya's heart.
Deep enough to bleed. With a gasp he found himself sitting in grayness, hands clenching sheets like shadows under the dim light filtering through the blinds. It had been three weeks since he'd seen Youji that day.
Krittiker didn't know where he was and Aya believed them. The local law enforcement didn't know where Hiro Suzuki had gone. Wandered off somewhere, maybe. Wasn't that how those homosexual things went? As Najiro Watsuki, Aya wasn't going home till he found some trace of Youji.
The mission they'd come for had been accomplished. Even Manx had suggested that maybe Youji had just decided he liked America.
Aya threw the damp sheet back and drew his knees up, head resting on them, arms around them. Youji would not have left him.
It wasn't like they hadn't fought before this. It wasn't the first fight they'd had.
It wasn't the first time Aya had said stupid things to his lover.
He wasn't even sure what the fight had started over. Something small.
"You had a nightmare last night. What was it about?"
"I don't know, Aya. Really. It's alright." Youji had smiled that softly mysterious smile, like a wisp of thought carried away on a breeze.
"I'm your lover. I need to know."
"I don't want to talk about it. We all have nightmares."
They did.
Aya hadn't meant what he said. Face pressed to his knees, tears running down his legs, he swore to the gods, to his ancestors, to all the American politicians that he hadn't meant it. Somehow he was afraid to go home too, afraid to leave this place least Youji not know where to find him and come home to him.
They'd been lovers so long. Before Aya-chan woke up, they'd been lovers.
Youji would come back to him. Youji wasn't unlovable as Aya had accused him. Youji had to know he hadn't meant it.
Aya rose, the moonlight less gray now, laying silver across scars that covered his body and he reached for his book of poetry, only to find himself carrying to the window, to look out as slender fingers pushed open the yellowing plastic slats. Youji was alive. He was out there - somewhere.
Tomorrow, Aya was going to find him tomorrow. It was such a shallow hope and yet Aya clung to it with all his being as he opened up this book and read one poem that Youji had particularly liked, even though it had seemed so forlorn to Aya at the time.
I can see the twilight
just a few years away
softly blue, promises turned to mist
Where is my love?
Where is everlasting truth?
Somewhere missed
Somewhere of
where I've not been
and my hands
twilight shows on them
little lines like the feathers of time
These hands have done some good
These hands have done some wicked
and tonight, my love
where ever you are
I'm not afraid of the twilight
My hands can type still
and maybe when you pass by
you'll see my words and know
how much I loved you