The Red Candle

By Nix Winter

Notes: I don't own WK, alas, but I do own some others.

"Youji?" Aya asked, stepping into Youji's room. It had been two weeks since Youji had been shot.

"If you say so," the blond said, smiling playfully as he looked up from the video game he was playing. "What's going on, Beautiful?"

Aya closed the door behind him. "I came to check on you," Aya nearly whispered. So far everyone was putting his increased attention to Youji down to the fact that he felt guilty, or some responsibility for the blond's injury. What he really felt was hope, a fluttering kind of excitement even. "How are you feeling?"

Aya smiled as he sat down in the only other chair in the room. The smile made him feel lighter than air, fluttery like a yaoi girl in bishonen heaven. He hadn't known he was attracted to men when his family had been lost, and then revenge had been his only attraction, until Youji pried his way under the ice. So this feeling, confusing, disturbing, was most easily compared to the way he'd seen his sister with her manga.

The smile widened a little. It only made it better that Youji didn't know that Aya didn't smile. Youji didn't remember Aya, so that left room for Ran to be reborn, at least in the secrecy of Youji's room.

"I'm good," Youji said, putting his gameboy down. His hair was shorter now, trimmed to a little over an inch on most of his head, because it had to be shaved over the wound. Gauze dressing still covered the seven inch gash. "I'm fine, you k now. I beat the sixth level just before you came in. How are you?"

There was an edge of flirt to his voice, a warmth that Aya had only seen hints of before the depression had pulled Youji under. This warmth and fire in Youji spread easily to Aya, making sexual warmth rise in him. Aya couldn't even bring himself to shove the attraction away. It was too vital, too much a part of the tenuously fragile life he saw in Youji.

"I'm well," Aya said. He shifted a little in his seat, scratched the back of his neck. He was a man.. Men didn't really feel these kinds of things. Men didn't find hardness hiding under their sweater for the first time in months when sitting near another man. Especially not a man who was as powerful and masculine as Youji, graceful with such strong hands, such beautiful eyes like emerald magic drawing him in. Youji's lips, soft and full, so very expressive , sometimes covered in lip gloss even, those were not the lips that a real man longed to kiss, to press his lips too, smother under a possessive kiss, and share with no one ever again. Youji didn't have the kind of hair a man wanted to touch, wild and golden, short and silken and so damn masculine.

"Aya, Baby," Youji purred softly, sounding so much like his old self, from Aya had first met him. "Do you have something on your mind?"

Goosebumps sprinkled over the back of Aya's neck. Youji's voice was like a warm blanket, all silk warmth. "I will not take advantage of you in your current state."

"Oh?" Youji asked, hand under his chair as he helped himself scoot forward. "What state is that? Would that be the state of being out of this world attracted to you or the state of wanting to touch your hair to see if it's real?"

Aya pressed himself back in the chair, eyes watching Youji's fingers glide across his knee. "No, idiot, i mean your amnesia."

"Oh," Youji purred, moving just a little closer, until one of his knees touched Aya's, and Aya's face flushed. "That. I remember that I love you. I remember dreaming about you many times. I know the first thing I knew was your voice. Yelling at me, likely, but I remember you. We are lovers, aren't we?"

"No," Aya said, leaping from the chair, to move behind it. "We are not lovers. I'm taking care of you because you're my friend."

Youji followed, moving into the other chair, hands on the back, thumbs caressing the back of Aya's hands. "You don't have to protect me. I'm not so fragile. You don't have to pretend we weren't lovers. I know you have a scar on your back, right side and that I always thought it looked like a rose stem. I know the carpet matches the drapes, if you know what I mean." He followed that with a wolfish grin.

Aya's cheeks matched his hair. "It's not what you think! We're not lovers."

Youji's warm hands slide over Aya's, gliding towards his wrists, when the red head pulled away, backing towards the door. "You don't remember, but you're not gay. You like girls. You have a different date every night. I'm not gay."

Youji's green eyes narrowed. He pivoted in the chair, one leg over, leaning back against the side of the large padded chair. One bare foot moved swung slowly, the frayed ends of his blue jeans brushing against pale skin. "That's too bad. A broken heart can't be good for my health."

"You can't seduce me," Aya said, violet eyes narrowing in defensive anger. "And broken heart? How can your heart be broken? You don't even remember me."

Youji rolled forward, wrapping his arms around his knee. "But Aya, you're my only memory. You're the only truth I know. I Love you."

Panic set in and Aya forgot how to breathe. An admission of love was the last thing he'd ever expected from Youji! Love was the last thing he'd really expected from anyone. He couldn't breath, literally. Panting, he reached for the door. Just being attracted to Youji was enough of a shock. Black lights danced around the edge of his vision, and just as the world lost all balance, strong arms caught him and pulled him close.

He out massed Youji by a good twenty pounds of muscle, but it was Youji's strength that pulled him out of the darkness. "Aya, Aya, Beautiful," Youji's voice soothed, "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's not like a serial killer or something. I'm not going to hurt you. Come sit with me here on the bed. It'll be alright,"

For the second time since he'd been Aya, not Ran, he found himself crying before he knew he was crying, arms clinging to Youji's bare chest. Fingers slowly combed through his hair, soothing, comforting, but he didn't hear the words, all he heard was the beating of Youji's heart.

Slowly Youji's words settled into a soft humming, a comforting murmur that was nothing he remembered, just a wordless song from the deepest of the collective human spirit.

Aya's words rose. "I was so afraid, Youji," he whispered, clinging to Youji, wet cheek against Youji's bare chest. "Just like my family, just like my sister, I saw you falling and it was all my fault! Youji, I love you. I'll die if you end up dead on some floor somewhere and God, I'm so disgusting! I want to touch you and kiss you and make sure you're breathing and hold you so that I know you're alright."

Now it was Youji's turn to shiver, as he ran his hand down Aya's back. So many things he did not remember. He didn't know what he was doing to get a bullet wound to the head. "What's wrong with wanting that? I know I don't remember a lot of things, but I don't think it's a crime to love someone in Japan. Is it?"

"You wouldn't love when your memories return, and I will have used you."

Youji scooted back onto his bed, guiding Aya in with him. He wiped his face with loving fingers, drying away tears. "I will remember what I'm feeling now too, and I'll know I was the one that needed you," Youji said, lifting Aya's chin with the side of his hand, as he leaned forward to steal a kiss.