This is a fic based on a foreign film that's called by three names. Kurosufaia, Cross-Fire, and Pyrokinesis. It comes from Japan, and I fell in love with this movie when I found it. I know it probably doesn't have much of a fanbase here, but I'm hoping one will grow. If you want to see the movie, you can probably find it in Blockbuster under either Foreign or Drama, under P.

For those of you that don't care to see the movie, here's the summary:

www dot tohokingdom dot com/webpages/m#reviews/anthony#r/pyrokinesis.htm

There's the link. Replace the #s with underscores.

Enjoy.

Missing Since December

Dispirited, Kazuki opened the door to his apartment, started to step through, and paused. Something was different about the air in here, but he couldn't quite place it. . . . no.

He turned the lights on.

It couldn't be Junko. Hasagawa's death a few weeks before—it had to have been someone else. He'd seen her die, after all.

"Thank you, Mr. Tada."

"Don't go! Don't leave me!"

"Goodbye. Goodbye."

The fire had consumed her from within; all that had been left were her clothes. Her clothes and the locket.

Kazuki stepped through the door and closed and locked it behind him, then shed and hung his coat up before slipping into house shoes.

Then he reached up and drew the chain out from under his shirt, where he kept her picture close to his heart. Gingerly he flicked the locket open, smiling sadly as he looked upon the three of them—himself, Junko, and Yukie. Two dead, one to go.

He remembered taking the picture; the Company Dorm Party, but he didn't remember anyone offering her a copy.

But it was here, and it was her, and that was what mattered.

A few minutes later he was standing at the sink dressed in house clothes rather than the suit he had been wearing before, determinedly chopping cabbage for dinner.

As he pressed the knife down over and over, he noticed vaguely that it was getting warmer in the room—not so much that it was annoying, just enough so that he stopped in his ministrations for a moment and shed his indoor jacket.

When he turned back to the cabbage, something flickering orange caught his eye in the window, and he turned, half-intending to close the blinds to block out the setting sun. His eyes lit upon the flicker, and he stopped cold.

It was Yukie's candle.

Yukie's candle, which had only been lit once before, and which he'd sworn to himself to never light again was burning.

He gingerly walked over to it, disbelieving. As he picked it up, some of the wax ran down the candle and over his fingers, and he suppressed an invective.

There was a noise at the door and he spun around, candle clutched tightly in his hands. Miraculously, it didn't go out.

Its luck didn't hold when his fingers grew lax in their grasp, and it went out on its journey to the floor.

Kazuki didn't notice.

"Junko," he whispered, hardly daring to breathe. "It was you."

"Hello, Mr. Tada," she said shyly from her position in the open door. "May I please come in?"

"I—yes!" he exclaimed. "Get in here!" he stalked over to the door and dragged her in by one arm, eliciting a yelp from her.

He yanked the door closed with his free arm, and then just froze, unwilling to believe that she was really back. He just stared at her, feeling a happy buoyancy in his chest that he hadn't felt since before she died.

"Ms. Aoki—how are you—I saw you—" he floundered, lost for words.

"I know," she said quietly. "I thought I was going to die, too. But when I finally let the fire come out, I didn't die. I was the fire, but I didn't die."

"The bullet. . . ."

"My body cauterized the wound. It's still very tender, but it's healing."

"But your clothes. . . ." he said weakly, wondering at the stupidity of the question since she was, clearly, wearing a red knit sweater and black skirt under a clearly new black leather jacket.

"Were burned?" she asked, smiling slightly. "I was. . . unclothed when I finally came back to myself, and I thought that was what happened to them."

"No," he said distantly. "They're in that box under my bed," he pointed, but she just looked at him.

"You kept my clothes, Mr. Tada?"

"Ah. . . yes. But please—" he felt pained. "Please, call me Kazuki."

She looked away suddenly, cheeks slightly pink. "Okay, Mr. Kazuki."

"C-can I get you anything to drink?" he asked, remembering his manners with a painful flush.

"Oh—no, no thank you."

"Please, Ms. Aoki, you look half-frozen." While this was partially true, as she was hunched down in her coat as though trying to hide from the weather, the steam rising off of her clothes from her power said otherwise.

"O-okay," she said, smiling a little.

He poured them both cups of tea before remembering that she was still wearing her coat. Suppressing a yelp, he turned back to her and helped her remove the warm leather, then hung it next to his own.

They sat down at his tiny table and an awkward silence ensued, in which they both drank their tea, each casting nervous glances at the other, afraid to say anything.

Eventually Junko stood up, casting him a strange, wistful glance before saying, "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Kazuki, but I'm afraid that I need to go now."

"But you just got here!" he protested, realizing that she had the same look in her eyes that she had had on the sidewalk that night.

"Kazuki. . . ." he only half caught the whisper that left her throat, and then he stood up.

He sighed, and then, unable to hold it in any longer, wrapped his arms around her. Now it was her turn to freeze, since she was undoubtedly remembering the last time they had hugged. He didn't care about that right now, and just held her tighter, coat and all, relishing in the feeling of her alive and in his arms once again.

Slowly, her arms came up and she gingerly hugged him back.

When they finally broke apart, even though he felt like he could have stayed like that forever, she looked up at him, and there was a clear blush across her cheeks.

"Mr. Kazuki?"

"Yes?" he hoped he hadn't responded too rapidly.

"Would you. . . please. . . call me Junko, like you did before?"

"Of course—Junko."

She smiled.

He was so enchanted by it that when there was a light touch on his chest, he jumped.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she said. "It's just—you have my locket."

He looked down, surprised, to find her holding the piece of jewelry between her thumb and forefinger, and her smile was pensive.

"Did you open it?"

"I liked the picture," he said in lieu of an answer, "but where did you get it?"

"Tomoe gave it to me. She said you never claimed them, and since I was in the picture, she thought. . . ."

So that was where his photos had gone.

"So you put it in your locket?"

She nodded.

Her head bowed more, and she clasped her hands together in front of her, gripping the candle so tight as to make her knuckles turn white.

Why wouldn't she look at him?

He knelt next to her. "Junko? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She said it too quickly.

"Does it have anything to do with the picture?"

She moved away from him slightly, and placed the candle back on the windowsill.

Please, he thought. Don't run again.

"Mr. Tada," she began, eyes holding something beseeching, but he stopped her.

"Your necklace," he said quietly before reaching up to the nape of his neck and undoing the clasp. He slipped it off of his neck and reached around hers, placing the necklace where it belonged.

Instead of removing his arms, he let them drop around her and pulled her into his arms again. This time, though, his hand angled and pressed her face against his neck, and he held her as tight as he could.

Time passed.

Soft breath commingled with wetness on his neck, and he realized she was crying. Not a lot, but enough to concern him.

He pulled away, and then saw that although her eyes were indeed damp, they shone.

He felt as he did that night on the sidewalk in front of Chez Dako, and breathed her name.

I could live forever on the memory of that moment.

"I will never forget you, Junko," he whispered.

And when he kissed her, Yukie's candle burned brightly.