It. Has. Been. Forever. I'm sorry. In order to pursue a writing career, I've had to break away from fanfictions. I'm a published writer now (in a book), and a monthly columnist in the newspaper. All thanks to this website. So, thank-you, everyone!

This is my first time doing a Loveless fanfiction (let alone any fanfiction in a long time). I finished the anime last night, and I just needed to… get this out there, I guess. The past and present tense seems a little awkward to me, reading this over.

As always, reviews and critic appreciated.

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Loveless.

What a cruel, suiting name.

Back before he had met Soubi, Ritsuka liked it that way. No one loved him- how could they? They didn't know him. He didn't even know himself. His life was a blur behind tears and regrets. The pain, the memories, and the lack of memories… it should all just go away.

Bruises scattered like stars, like butterflies amongst the intimate flecks of paint. Memories of a boy he once was, the boy he no longer is. He is Ritsuka. Isn't he? Who would believe him? The old Ritsuka is gone, melted at the birth of spring, a whisper of the wind and blue against his skin.

Soubi would believe him, though. He always would. Soubi was ordered to love him, but nonetheless, he loved him. Perhaps, Ritsuka's name was the cruel truth. Perhaps, Soubi didn't love Ritsuka, and said all those words out of pity, out of a promise made so long ago.

The scars of the past cut too deeply, and it hurt to touch and to tend to them. Yet the pain reminded Ritsuka he was alive. The marks they left reminded him of his sin. If he didn't remember… if he couldn't remember who he was... no, he couldn't forget. He wouldn't forget everything again.

No, he isn't Ritsuka. He is Soubi's. He is Loveless. A dreamer lost in a coma. A mirage of a boy who no longer exists. A picture by his bed, a picture of Soubi and himself.

That's all that matters now.

"That one's cute." He murmured, lifting the print to Soubi's eyes. Ritsuka was facing his billboard, looking through their memories, the pictures of them.

Soubi smiled; a knowing smile, a fond smile that he frequently wore around his Sacrifice. "I agree." His larger arms adorned Ritsuka's waist.

In Ritsuka's opinion, when Soubi wasn't lying, he was much more comfortable than any belt. The Sacrifice leaned against him slightly, a trace of a frown gracing his features. "I can't decide. Which one should I frame? They're all good."

Soubi pulled him closer, allowing Ritsuka's back to meet his stomach. "Whichever one that you like."

Ritsuka's frown stayed in place, his brow furrowing. "You're not helping very much." His cheeks colored the contact with his Fighter's warm body. "Look, how about this one?" It had been taken a week ago by a stranger on the streets upon Ritsuka's request. The two of them were side by side, sitting a bench, Ritsuka's face alit with happiness. He could remember every detail of that day, Soubi's arm around him and the aimless wandering along the streets, the teasing that had said volumes about their feelings for one another.

In the picture, Soubi was looking down at Ritsuka. His eyes betrayed the same contentment that Ritsuka's did, but the smile spoke of affection beyond words, beyond his lips and ink and paper. I love you. He didn't have to speak it aloud, for his expression did.

Now, with his arms firm around him, Soubi was smiling again. "Good choice. Shall I help you put it in?"

"I can do it." Ritsuka said, slipping it into the frame he had purchased this afternoon, resting it belly-up on his bed. He slid from Soubi's embrace, balancing his chin on both elbows and staring down at the happy people in front of him, hidden behind glass. His fingers attempted to shatter the barriers, break into the carefree yesterday and tell Soubi that he loved him too.

He didn't need to. Somehow, through the warm palm on Ritsuka's shoulder, he knew Soubi already knew. They could create new memories, new pictures to frame, and a new life that didn't involve watching their backs.

Loveless. It was an ironic name, because where Ritsuka was standing, he wasn't loveless at all.

Perhaps Beloved was rubbing off on him.