Rainwater was trickling down his face. A distant, removed part of his mind was wondering why it stung but felt blessedly cool at the same time.

His body was aching and there were sirens in the distance. He wanted to lift his head and yell at them to shut up, to let him sleep, but he was so tired he couldn't seem to open his eyes. Something slid down over one eye and cheek, too thick to be rain and he wondered briefly and irrationally if he was crying blood.

Then there was golden silence, and he felt warm again.

Yohji was snapped out of the warmth by a dreadful shock. Suddenly he felt cold again, and his body felt like it would break apart from the pain, and there was shouting and movement around him -- the sense of frantic activity.

"We need those units of O-neg over here, *now!*"

"Someone hurry up and bring the crash cart; we're losing him!"

"Nurse, type his blood -- we're going to need more and he needs it now!"

"Get Doctor Ishida--"

"Heart rate dropping--"

Yohji's eyes fogged out. *If it's so much trouble, just let me go.*

"Someone GET THAT CRASH CART!"

More silence.

"He's coming around."

Slowly, reluctantly, Yohji began to open his eyes. He wanted to sleep forever and he fiercely resented the people who were depriving him of the opportunity. Hadn't he done enough? The thought moved sluggishly through his head and he forgot why he deserved -- no, he'd earned this rest.

There was a man in a white coat bending over him. So he was in a hospital; well, that made sense. This was hardly the heaven people dreamed of if he was in a bed that dug into his spine, wearing -- Yohji checked that portion of his chest not covered by white sheet -- yes, wearing hideous hospital clothing, and forced to eat bland, supposedly nourishing hospital food. Beyond the doctor stood a dark-haired woman, dressed in stylish professional with a serious expression on her face. On the other side of his bed, there was a ginger-haired teenager with huge blue eyes, and a rangy, sloppily-dressed young man with chocolate hair and eyes.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked him, straightening up from peering into Yohji's face. He had a short, neat dark beard and glasses. Yohji had the oddest sense that he should find him familiar, but he was unable to place him.

'That's a stupid question,' Yohji wanted to say. He felt like shit. His body was aching like he'd been worked over by a kendo team and he, without armor. Why did doctors always ask you dumb questions like that? His head felt thick and fuzzy and he almost wanted to reach up and touch his scalp to make sure it wasn't split open in several places.

"Well, I'm not dead," Yohji said aloud, voice lacking force.

"Yohji-kun," the teenager to his left sounded like he was choking off a sob.

"You are very lucky," the doctor informed him in serious tones, taking off his glasses and tucking them in the breast pocket. He glanced at the teenager and the young man across the bed. "It was a close call."

Yohji shut his eyes briefly. It sounded like what all doctors said on daytime drama. You're lucky you escaped with your life, blah blah, you should be grateful for this second chance. When he'd had so many chances already...the thought slipped away from him. Yohji's brow creased. How many times had he been near death? Why would he be in the position of dying so frequently that the concept was matter-of-fact to him?

"Yohji, what happened?" the dark-haired woman asked in a crisp tone, at odds with the worried cast of her face.

Yohji blinked and considered it. There was a blankness where the reply of memory should be. "I don't know," he said at last.

Impatience flitted across her face. "Well, then who was responsible--"

"Who are you?" Yohji interrupted her. He should probably remember her. She was speaking to him in a familiar fashion, as if she had the right to grill him for details. She was a classy-looking lady, with upswept dark hair, a tailored maroon suit with a short skirt. He would remember a fine-boned face like that.

Shock crossed three faces. The doctor unfolded his glasses and perched them on his nose again.

"I--I'm Birman," the woman stammered, after glancing at the doctor.

"Birman." Yohji frowned. He scrutinized her. She did seem vaguely familiar, but... "Sorry. The name doesn't ring a bell. Anyway, isn't that a breed of cat?"

"I'd like to run a few tests," the doctor told Birman, who nodded, face still frozen.

"What happened to me?" Yohji succumbed to the urge to put a hand to his head. There were bandages there, and something that felt like dried blood on his skin. Hospitals never bothered cleaning you up until later, until they were sure you weren't going to die.

"You were...in an accident," the ginger-haired teenager told him, voice soft and subdued. His blue eyes were large and appealing. "Yohji-kun, don't you remember us?"

Yohji looked him over. He was cute and appealing in the way that pretty young boys often were. He was wearing an apron, as if he had been called away from someplace in a hurry and forgotten to remove the protective article. He scrutinized the young man beside the boy. That one's clothes were baggy and he slouched a bit; the brown eyes fixed on Yohji were serious and upset. Neither of them resembled him closely enough to be a relative. As far as he was concerned, they were both strangers.

"No, I'm sorry..." Yohji said slowly.

"The head trauma was not severe," the doctor said, leaning over. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Eight?" Yohji suggested. When the doctor grimaced in alarm, he said hastily, "Just kidding! It's four; I see four fingers."

"That's not funny, Yohji-kun," the boy said reproachfully.

The doctor took off his glasses again, looking at him thoughtfully. "What day is it? Do you remember your name?"

Yohji lifted a hand to rub his nose. His fingers were so thin, and they shook. He needed a cigarette. "I'm not sure what day it is," he said honestly. "My name is Kudou Yohji."

The doctor nodded, frowning slightly. "My name is Doctor Ishijima. I'm in charge of your case. We'll run a few more tests, but my best guess is that you have trauma-induced amnesia. Barring any physical symptoms cropping up to complicate the situation, you should regain your memory eventually." He allowed his expression to soften. "It's not a serious condition, just inconvenient."

'Yeah, you try not remembering a single fuckin' thing about the people who are worried about you,' Yohji wanted to retort. The boy's eyes were so torn up and anguished, Yohji felt bad for him even if he couldn't feel bad for himself.

"The accident...I was in a car wreck?" Yohji hazarded. His body certainly ached like he'd been smashed up in a tremendous force.

Doctor Ishijima nodded. "You may not be ready to remember yet," he warned. "Let it come back to you slowly."

Yohji felt a flutter of panic, the first since he'd woken. "What's going to happen to me?"

"We'll take care of you, Yohji-kun," the boy with the sweet face assured him. He exchanged a glance with the older youth. "I'm Tsukiyono Omi."

"So you're not my little brother," Yohji mused aloud. Omi had certainly been acting like it.

"N-no," Omi blinked. "We're your friends, your--"

"Your co-workers, too," the older boy interrupted. "I'm Hidaka Ken. We all work together, in the Koneko no Sumu Ie."

"What's that?" Yohji said blankly.

Birman's lips twitched. "A flower shop."

"I work in a flower shop?" Now he really needed a cigarette. "I thought I was a private investigator." There was a niggling hint of something else in the back of his mind, something that he did or had done. He couldn't quite remember.

"No, that was a few years ago. Four or five," Omi told him.

"Oh." Yohji lapsed against the bed. There was a lot of tension in his body; he hardly realized how much until he relaxed a little.

Doctor Ishijima cleared his throat. "I'll want to keep him overnight for observation, of course. But you can take him home tomorrow morning, barring any complications."

Yohji winced. He hated that word. 'Complications.' It was a word to smooth over something like coughing up blood, or going into a seizure, or a bruise on his head turning out to be a nasty hematoma with swelling on his brain.

"But he'll be okay." Birman made it a statement, not a question. Yohji was grateful for that.

"Yes, most likely." Doctor Ishijima nodded.

Why did they always have to qualify it? Why couldn't doctors just say 'yes' and leave it at that?

Omi grasped the bed railing beside him. "We'll be back for you tomorrow, Yohji-kun," the boy reassured him. There were tears in the corners of his big blue eyes. "We were so worried about you. But you're going to be okay." Was he always this emotional? Yohji must have come very close to dying -- and this boy must be very close to him, a very good friend. He wished he could remember.

He'd always wanted a little brother; he supposed it was how he'd thought of the boy -- before.

Ken grinned at him. "Yeah, I'll check you out first thing." There was a strained look in his eyes, too. Even without being told, Yohji knew these boys were more than just co-workers to him. They had looked so stricken when Yohji couldn't remember.

Doctor Ishijima looked at them. "I want a word with you before you leave." He turned back to Yohji. "Nurse Iwako will be in to take you for a few tests, nothing rigorous. Please cooperate. I assure you, I don't think your condition is serious or permanent so there is nothing to worry about, just a formality."

"Take care," Omi told him, finally releasing the railing from his white-knuckled grip.

"See ya tomorrow," Ken gave a little wave.

Birman looked at him, expression serious. "You'll be okay," she informed him, as if it would happen by the exercise of her will alone.

If Omi and Ken were co-workers, who was Birman? And why was she going by that odd, obviously foreign name?

"Now, there are a few things I have to warn you--" Yohji heard Ishijima's voice say, very quietly, before the door snicked shut.

He was too tired to worry about it. He let his eyes fall shut. One thought chased him into the little sleep.

Had he *wanted* to die in that accident?

Yohji's eyes snapped open with the shock of fright. The room was dark and disorienting and he had no clue as to his surroundings. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding; he had dreamed...something. Already it slipped away into the darkness. It must have been a nightmare because his pulse was still racing.

*But then, I've had so many nightmares to choose from.*

Yohji's eyes searched the blackness. It was one thing to know he'd had nightmares. Everyone did. Yet he couldn't remember a single one. There, by the door -- a slice of light gleamed dully against tile. There were muffled footsteps and muted chatter outside. He remembered now -- he was in a hospital.

What had woken him?

He held his breath and heard it. Someone else's exhalations stirred the quiet of the room. He wasn't alone. It was perhaps the sensation of being watched in his sleep that had startled him awake.

"Who's there?" Yohji was proud of the fact that his voice didn't tremble.

A light clicked on in the corner of the room. It cast a crescent of illumination over a seated figure, barely enough to make out a rangy figure in a dark trench coat. The man had red hair and pale features and even from a distance his eyes glittered violet. "They told me you don't remember anyone," the man said, voice cold.

"That's right," Yohji returned. "Who are you?" This man was no exception. He was a stranger to Yohji, and it was *way* after visiting hours. He groped for the call button beside his bed.

"You don't remember me?" There was a hint of anger in the redhead's tone now, as he lunged up and out of his chair, fast and graceful as a cat. His fingers dug into Yohji's wrist. Yohji struggled against him but it was no contest; he was an invalid in bed and the man was obviously fit. "You don't remember *this?*" And more astonishing than his presence, the man leaned over, trapping Yohji's hand against his pillow, and kissed him.

It was not a chaste brush of lips. This man pried his lips open and dove into him with tongue and determination. When he was finished, Yohji lay weakly in bed. The man released his wrist, expression watchful.

"Oh, so we had that kind of relationship." Yohji looked up at him. He was a towering black figure. "I'm sorry. I don't even remember your name."

The man's eyes were still cold as he moved his lips, barely. "Aya."

'It's a girl's name,' Yohji wanted to protest, but there was something forbidding in Aya's expression that prevented him from saying it. "Why weren't you here during visiting hours?"

Aya's eyes flickered. "Birman couldn't get a hold of me.."

"Do we work together?" Yohji was confused. This man who moved with deadly grace didn't seem like he'd have any part in something so harmless as a flower shop. He was very good with--the memory melted away before Yohji could recall it. Whatever it was, Aya's specialty was not something soft-edged like flower petals.

"Yes," Aya inclined his head. His eyes were narrow. "Why don't you remember?"

"They tell me I have amnesia," Yohji attempted a shrug. "I don't have a whole lot of control over it. Do we...do we live together?"

"No," Aya told him.

Yohji sighed. "You're a talkative fellow, aren't you?" He wanted to ask exactly *what* the nature of their relationship was, but he was afraid to ask. Aya's eyes were forbidding. "Could you help me out? I'm thirsty?"

The pale face was still closed-off and cold, but the hand that pressed a cup to his mouth was considerate. Once he had enough, the cup eased from his lips. It was as if Aya had tended to an invalid before.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," Yohji said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Aya would be beautiful in repose, he felt sure. With his eyes closed to soften the blade of his expression, it might not hurt to look at him. "I don't know..."

"Then there's nothing to talk about," Aya straightened, lips pressed in an uncompromising line. "I don't want your apologies. You nearly killed yourself. I don't have patience with idiots, and you--"

"How bad was that accident?" Yohji spoke over him, Aya's words touching off a spoke of fear in him again. "How long have I been here? I'm going home tomorrow; it can't have been too long..."

"I'm leaving," Aya told him, expressionless.

"Why?" Yohji demanded.

"I'll be seeing you." The black trench coat swept the darkness along with it, and the door clicked shut behind Aya. The light still burned in the hospital room but for all intents and purposes, the man might as well have turned it off with his departure. Yohji was left in a welter of confusion.

Aya was so angry with him for not remembering. But how could Yohji have a relationship with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger?

Yohji fixed his eyes on the cup at the bed-stand. At least he could have been a little nicer.

The "Kitty in the House" was a small shop tucked away in a bustling commercial district of Tokyo. Ken paused at his elbow as Yohji stood outside the shop, taking it in. It was a pretty little set-up, with hanging plants and potted flowers decorating the front of the building, drinking up the sunlight and advertising the custom within. It wasn't familiar in the least.

"Remember anything?" Ken asked him.

"No," Yohji shook his head, brushing back a strand of chestnut hair. He was getting irritated at Ken for asking that question so many times.

As promised, the younger man had come to check him out of the hospital that morning. The tests Ishijima had ordered had all come up negative, whatever they were. Yohji took that to mean there was no brain swelling or other irregularities that would cause his stay in the hospital to be prolonged. The doctor had assured him there was no apparent physical cause for his amnesia. Then he'd recommended to Ken and Yohji that they keep his routine as normal as possible, to stimulate his memories.

Walking into his apartment had been like walking into any other cramped Tokyo city apartment. The only thing he recognized was the fact that he was a pretty sharp dresser. Yohji smirked at the recollection. His closet was pretty well stocked, and the furnishings of his apartment were simple but well chosen. He had a nice home entertainment system, too. DVD player, stereo system, 30-inch TV... They must be making very good money as florists.

While Ken had fixed them something to eat in his kitchen -- the man knew where everything was better than *he* did -- Yohji had done some discreet rummaging in his own bedroom. He found what he expected to find, after Aya's nocturnal visit to him. There was a supply of condoms and lubricant in the nightstand, and after rooting around in his desk, he'd found some rather explicit yaoi magazines.

That, at least, felt somewhat familiar to him.

Ken pushed open the front door of the shop and it chimed sweetly.

"Irasshai--" Omi looked up from a planter, then blinked. "Ken-kun. Yohji-kun! How are you feeling?" It was apparent now where the apron came from, the one Omi had been wearing yesterday -- this one was stained with dirt and vegetable matter. Yohji couldn't suppress the thought that the boy looked cute in an apron, dirty or not.

"Not too bad," Yohji drawled, "for someone who was in a car wreck." Ken had insisted he spend the morning resting quietly, so they'd sacked out on the couch and watched TV. His restlessness had finally driven him to snapping at Ken, who gave in and agreed to take him to the shop. Apparently he would have been working the afternoon shift today, if not for...

"Maa." Omi looked chagrined.

"Don't worry about it," Yohji waved a hand. "I'm bruised and banged-up, but otherwise feeling fine. But...I still can't remember anything."

"You should be home, resting," Omi fretted. It made Yohji grin, listening to the kid fret like a hen with one chick.

"Do you always worry this much, kid?"

"I--"

"Always," Ken interrupted whatever Omi was going to say. He ruffled the teen's ginger-blond hair.

"Well, someone has to!" Omi sputtered.

Yohji found himself laughing easily, along with the other two.

The flower shop was quiet, with no customers right now during this afternoon hour. It was probably before the afternoon rush, when people got off of work and schoolgirls were released from school. There was an old woman dozing in a rocking chair in the corner, a cat snuggled on her lap. He wondered who she was -- Omi or Ken's grandmother, maybe? They would have said something by now, if she were related to Yohji.

There was something bothering him; it had been tickling the edges of his consciousness since this morning when Ken had so-solicitously taken care of him all morning. If Aya was his lover, why wasn't *he* doing any of those things? Was he -- what exactly *was* his relationship with Aya? The man had seemed so closed-off and angry. Was Yohji in love with Aya, or...maybe Aya was taking advantage of him. There had been something predatory in his kiss, forceful and demanding.

Aya had said they worked together, but for that matter, could he take the man's word that he worked here? Yohji's instincts had informed him that even if he couldn't remember or believe the evidence of his eyes, Aya was not the kind of man to work tamely in a flower shop.

"Momoe-san, it's Yohji-kun," Omi was saying respectfully to the old woman snoozing in the corner.

"Eh? Yohji, you say?" The woman opened her eyes, straightened, and peered at Yohji through thick glasses. "Ara! Yohji, are you feeling better?"

"Best as can be expected," Yohji shrugged. He bowed slightly. "Have we been introduced, charming madam?"

"Ara!" Momoe laughed again. "You haven't changed, Yohji, even if you don't remember a thing."

Yohji shrugged again, smiling. That was good to know.

"Momoe-san takes care of the shop for us sometimes when we're busy," Omi explained. "I usually have school during the day, so she's a big help."

"What about Aya?"

Omi blinked. "Aya-kun? You remember him, Yohji-kun?"

"Ah..." Yohji hedged. He wasn't sure how much they knew about...about *whatever* was going on between him and Aya. He'd have to be careful. And vague. "I...remember he works with us. Doesn't he?"

"Aya isn't usually around during the day, you know that," Ken replied with a frown, face twisting briefly, then he looked up from a planter, biting his lip and grimacing. "Sorry! I...I..."

"It's okay," Yohji assured him, to spare him the tactless use of 'I forgot' Ken was trying so obviously to avoid. So, Aya did work here. Sometimes.

Why did something in him want to see that man again? He had been rude, and cold, entirely unlike a man visiting his invalid lover in the hospital. If he remembered anything, even the smallest glimmer about *why* he was doing...whatever it was he did with Aya...this would be easier.

It was all a blank. And deep inside where the bruises didn't hurt, there was another kind of ache.

Yohji settled into an afternoon at this unfamiliar flower shop, where his hands accomplished tasks his brain couldn't account for. Omi had to tell him what to do, but once he pointed him in the right direction Yohji knew what he was doing, somehow. And he knew without being told where most of the stuff in the shop was, although if he stopped to think about it, he got confused and had no idea what he was looking for.

The afternoon came and went and it was full of chattering girls who cooed over Yohji and scolded him for getting out of bed and fussed when they discovered he couldn't remember any of their names. He just grinned and started spending more time in the back room working on flower arrangements, until the crowd of girls subsided. Yohji discovered that his fingers moved by themselves, deft in making flower arrangements. Again, if he stopped to think about what he was doing, he lost the ability to do it. Even this was something he couldn't remember consciously.

Eventually the girls were all gone and Ken was sweeping up the shop and Omi closed down the cash register with a sigh of exhaustion.

"Can I do anything?" Yohji asked the boy.

"Un!" Omi replied, looking gratified. "Could you carry the pots inside for the night?"

Yohji grimaced but nodded. He was sorry he'd asked. He started hefting the medium-sized pots and carrying them to and fro. It was a lot of work, running a flower shop. He wondered what on earth had caused him to change from a career as a PI to this life as a flower man. On that score, he drew a total blank.

He bent to pick up the last flowerpot and a pair of legs entered his vision, starting at simple but expensive red pumps, and moving up sheer nylon stockings to a fitted red mini-skirt. Yohji stood, pot in his arms.

"These legs are...Manx!" he exclaimed without thinking.

"Yohji?" The woman gave him a puzzled glance. She was lovely, in a pale blouse and red suit-jacket to match the skirt, her auburn hair arrayed in large, elaborate curls. "I heard you had lost your memory. Have you regained it so quickly?"

Yohji shook his head. "Sorry, the name just popped into my head." He tilted his head and gave her a gallant grin. "But I think I would remember someone as pretty as you!"

She shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. "You haven't changed, Yohji."

"That's funny, Momoe-san said the same thing." Yohji carried the pot back inside the store, and tucked it beside the others. Manx followed him. Here was another woman with a foreign name...and he was pretty sure a manx was a breed of cat, too. What was going on here?

"I just stopped by to see how you are." When he turned around Manx was looking at him, eyes...sympathetic? He didn't know this woman well enough to be able to read her.

Yohji shrugged. "I'm feeling like I got beat-up, and I can't remember a damned thing, but aside from that..."

Manx nodded. "You don't look too bad."

"Thanks," he said wryly. "That's good to know." And surprisingly, it was. He didn't know why, but this woman's opinion mattered to him. Yet her attitude was as businesslike as Birman's had been yesterday.

"Hey, Yohji, we're done back here and--" Ken stopped, seeing the woman who was with him. "Oh, Manx. I didn't expect to see you." His tone was odd -- guarded as well as surprised.

"I just came by to see how Yohji is," the woman said smoothly. "That's all."

Some of the tension left Ken's stance. "Oh, okay."

Yohji looked from one to the other. What was going on here?

"I was just about to take Yohji home," Ken said, still looking at Manx. Yohji got the strangest sense that he was almost asking Manx for permission, without being obvious about it.

Manx nodded. "Yohji...you don't remember *anything?*" Her expression betrayed nothing but for some anxiety tightening the corners of her eyes.

"That's right, he doesn't remember anything," Ken said, before Yohji could even open his mouth. "C'mon, Yohji. Do you still have the keys for your Jeep?"

"Uh...yeah," Yohji replied, looking between Manx and Ken again. There was a lot of subtext here that he just wasn't getting, and it was damned *frustrating.*

Manx smiled at him. "Get well soon, Yohji. I do hope you feel better." The sentiment was sincere, he could tell that much. But there was something beneath that smile that made him feel uneasy.

"I will," he said instead. Manx sashayed out of the shop and they locked up after her.

"Omi's going to come with us," Ken told him. "He can make something more for dinner than scrambled eggs and grilled fish."

"It was a perfectly good breakfast, Ken," Yohji assured him. "But really, is that your *only* dish?"

"Urusai na," Ken grumbled.

Who was Manx? And *why* did she stop by to ask Ken if Yohji remembered 'anything?' It was obvious to him that was the real purpose of her visit. What had he been doing in those five years since he was a PI?

Harsh breathing filled the room.

"Ha...ha...AHH!"

Yohji exploded out of sleep clutching handfuls of bed-sheet. He lapsed onto one elbow, pushing tangled and sweaty hair out of his eyes. The room was dark and quiet except for stripes of shadow and light that chased across the ceiling of his room, reflections from street-cars below.

"I know you're there," he called out, voice low. He was only partly guessing. He had left a light on in his bathroom, to chase away the dark if he woke up during the night.

It would be just like this mysterious, cold Aya to turn it off.

"You've always had good instincts," a deep voice answered in the darkness, startling him. He turned his head. Aya was even closer than he'd thought, in the chair closest beside his bed.

"I left a light on."

"I turned it off."

"I noticed."

Aya did not reply to that. After a moment, Yohji wondered if he would say anything at all. How long had the man been sitting in that chair, watching him in the dark? He must have eyes like a cat.

"Why are you here?" Yohji asked finally, folding under the weight of that silence. It unnerved him. He had the feeling Aya could wait indefinitely without speaking, until he got some sort of reaction >from Yohji.

"So you're still pretending not to remember me."

"No, I don't fu--no, I don't remember, I have amnesia!" Yohji snapped out, patience gone. "I told you that I don't remember you, and if >I told you I don't remember, I mean what I say! You have to know that. Where were you today?"

He sensed Aya moving in the darkness, then felt weight settle on the bed. Yohji scooted away from the dark shape.

"Hey...what are you doing?" He tried to pull up the sheets around him defensively and they wouldn't budge. Aya was sitting on them. He was wearing barely anything, his customary bed-wear, and Aya probably knew this. "Don't come near me."

A light clicked on and shone over pale, perfect skin. He could see Aya now on the edge of his bed, shirtless. "Hey, stop -- ARGH! Put some clothes on!" How could someone so beautiful be this utterly cold and heartless? He couldn't *remember* anything, for crying out loud!

Aya ignored him and crawled across the bed. Yohji was frozen like the oft-mentioned deer in headlights, the bug in amber, the helpless bird before a snake, wide-eyed and unable to move as Aya pinned him to the bed without even touching him, a hand on either side of his head.

"I'm not ready for this," Yohji told him, breathless. "I don't even know you!"

"You've known me well enough for the past two years," Aya told him, mouth set in a grim line.

"Really?" Yohji was fascinated. At least he had a time frame now. "Are you my boyfriend or do we just have sex every so often?" Judging by the half-used tube in his nightstand drawer and the fact that there was already a replacement tube beside it, 'every so often' was a drastic understatement.

Aya growled and bent his head. Yohji's eyes fell shut without thinking. Instead of an assault on his lips, he felt pressure against a spot above his collarbone, right at the joint of neck and shoulder. Teeth nuzzled the spot lightly, then he felt tongue and a seal of wet hot pressure and oh GOD he was sucking and HELLS how did Aya know that was one of his major turn-ons!?

He whimpered. 'Duh, Yohji. Apparently you and Aya have been lovers for two years.' Aside from the mouth gnawing on his collarbone Aya had maintained the distance between their bodies, and yet that tingling hot-spot had jumpstarted an erection in the scrap of silk he called underwear. He wanted sex and he wanted it now.

"Stop it! Get off of me," Yohji's hands were pushing at the marble of those slender shoulders. He slitted his eyes. He was every bit as stunned as the chill expression of surprise that crossed Aya's face.

"You don't want me to stop," Aya argued.

"Maybe that's true!" Yohji conceded, hands still keeping distance between them. If Aya were to lower himself...just...so... 'Oh, kami, don't think about that!' With a visual check, he could barely make out the bulge that ruined the line of Aya's expensive trousers, but he knew it was there. "I won't sleep with someone I can't remember, no matter how sexy he is."

'Froze' was not the word for what Aya did. He was already thinking of the beautiful redhead in wintry adjectives. An odd expression crossed the other man's face and he...paused...looking down at Yohji.

"You think I'm sexy?" The query was low-voiced, barely audible. Then he was pulling away, sitting up, hitching himself to the edge of the bed.

Yohji rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow again, tangled in his bed sheets and even more thoroughly ensnared in confusion. "I never told you that before?"

Aya made a snorting sound, a low derisive noise in his throat. "No, and it's a pity."

The man stood up from the bed, slim hands clenched into fists. Yohji watched him pick up a shirt from the chair he had claimed and dress himself in quick, precise movements. Before Yohji could frame an appeal that was vague and wordless in his head, Aya was out the door.

"Something more complicated than a lover," Yohji decided aloud, "but considerably less than a boyfriend."

He was weak and confused, nerve-endings still throbbing from the mark Aya had sucked into life on his shoulder. Yohji resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Yohji strolled into the "Kitty in the House" at nine o'clock on the dot, a cup of take-out coffee in his hand.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning and despite his pessimism, he'd gotten back to sleep with relative ease after Aya's midnight visitation. So waking around seven had been no problem -- he'd even lazed at the kitchen counter with a newspaper and his first cup of coffee.

A shocked squeaking noise came from the direction of the register.

"Yo-Yohji-kun!?"

"Hmm? What's up, Omi?" Yohji raised an inquiring eyebrow, wondering at the blankly surprised expression on the boy's face.

"Omi, what--" Ken ducked through the door, apron in hand, to peer at the teenager. He spotted Yohji and his eyes bugged. "Whoa! Yohji...you're EARLY! You're...uh, you're *really* early!" The youth sounded every bit as shocked as Omi looked.

"I am?" Yohji was puzzled.

"You never get here at nine!" Omi confirmed. "More like ten or eleven at least...almost every single morning shift we've ever scheduled you for..."

"I got up at seven, the normal time..." Yohji was still confused. When he had played with his alarm clock the night before, he had already discovered it was set at seven a.m. So even though he didn't remember it, obviously it was the usual time he got up... Yohji chewed on his lip. What was he doing during all those mornings he claimed to be late? Aya flashed through his mind, and he dismissed the thought.

"Yohji-kun, now you have no excuse to be late in the future," Omi informed him. "Even after you regain your memory!"

Damn. Yohji had the woeful feeling that he'd just let himself >down.

Still, he tackled the list Omi handed to him with enthusiasm. Once again a crowd of schoolgirls swept the "Koneko," and again Yohji rode it out in the back room. He let Ken and Omi handle the smiling, flirting girls who wanted to know everything from blood type to favorite color to the star that was highest in the sky in the hour of their birth.

Omi poked his head through the door some time around ten-thirty. "Yohji-kun! This isn't like you!"

"Huh?" Yohji looked up from a bunch of rhodesias he was repotting. "It's not?"

"No, it's like you're hiding back here!" Omi exclaimed, blue eyes worried. "Anyhow, I have to take the deposit to the bank, can you give Ken a hand by tending the register?"

"Sure," Yohji stood, brushing the heaviest of the dirt from his apron then wiping his hands on a towel. His brow creased. "Omi, where *is* Aya, anyhow? Does he ever work here?"

Omi hesitated. "Aya-kun...well, he has other stuff to do this week." The teenager's tone was neutral, but was that a hint of censure in his eyes?

"Okay," Yohji said affably. The answer, as well as the look in Omi's eyes, made him uneasy. Was Aya trying to avoid him simply because he'd lost his memory? If that was so, Yohji wanted to re-think the whole sexual aspect of their relationship.

Pre-amnesia Yohji was rapidly developing into a concept he thought of as 'the other Yohji.' It was almost as if he were two separate people, because some of the things in the other Yohji's life were strange and incomprehensible to him as he was now. He wasn't even sure if filling in the missing blanks of memory would turn things around until they made sense. Aya was one of those things.

Yohji didn't want to have sex with someone who was only interested in his body. As things stood, that was how Aya was coming across. What had the man been doing to the other Yohji? ...And yet, the look on his face when Yohji had told him he was sexy had been more than just surprised. Not exactly *flattered,* but... it was the look of a man who had been told something he hadn't expected to hear, a piece of news that *changed* something between them, and how he viewed Yohji...

The shop was noisy. He'd braced himself to expect it, and he kept the grin on his face as girls' chatter washed over him. Ken was in the middle of the shop with a greenery-overflowing planter in his arms, stuck between three girls with an expression of mute suffering on his face.

Yohji vowed to stay behind the cash register even if a fire broke out in the shop.

"Okay, Yohji-kun," Omi said, hanging up his apron on a peg and picking up a little canvas bag. "I should be back in an hour, if the bank isn't too busy."

"An hour?" Yohji stared mournfully at the packed shop. "Omi, are you sure--" He wished he knew how the other Yohji had handled this. He did *not* feel up to the task.

"It'll be all right, most of the girls will be gone in half an hour. Tickets for the new SMAP concert go on sale at eleven o'clock today and they won't want to miss that," Omi reassured him, as if reading his mind.

"Oh, okay," Yohji said with barely-concealed relief.

Omi eyed him skeptically, but let it pass. *That* made Yohji wonder even more strongly how the other Yohji had comported himself in the flower shop, and how much it was at odds with his true feelings. To him, it didn't make sense to assume an attitude that was only a pose to cover how he felt. And yet, doing just that was ingrained so deeply into the Japanese it was second nature.

True to Omi's word, a scant twenty minutes had passed before the shop was emptied of girls. He heard "SMAP" squealed in breathless tones more than once, as well as the name "Kimura Takuya" spoken reverently. Ken heaved a sigh and grabbed a watering can, beginning to make a tour around the store. Yohji relaxed behind the register and pulled a magazine from its rolled-up position in his back pocket.

He was so engrossed he barely noticed when Omi returned from the bank and Ken flipped the sign to 'Back in thirty minutes -- LUNCH.' The teenager stood next to him as he slipped the canvas bag into its place beneath the register.

"Yohji-kun!" Omi exclaimed, his voice breaking on an upward spiral.

"What!? What is it?" Yohji jumped, unlit cigarette falling from his lips. And it was a good thing, because the white stick fell into his lap. "I didn't light it, I swear, I figured it was bad for the flowers..."

"Y-you're reading a yaoi magazine..." Omi informed him in shocked tones, as if he wouldn't know.

"Um...yeah." Yohji tucked the cigarette into his breast pocket and scratched at his chestnut hair.

"But you're not...I mean, you don't...I thought...I mean, we never knew..." Omi finally choked and waved his hands frantically, crimson diffusing in a slow wave across his face.

"When did you turn gay, Yohji?" Ken filled in bluntly, peering over Omi's shoulder at the dirty magazine in question.

Yohji snapped it shut and tucked it between his thighs. "You mean you *didn't* know I'm gay?"

Okay. That explained a lot.

Like why even though being with Aya in 'that way' felt natural, their co-workers and friends still didn't know about the relationship. At least, Yohji had suspected they didn't know; now he was sure of it. He had figured he was comfortable with his sexuality, but perhaps that was only true now that he didn't have any memories of struggling with it. And maybe...maybe, that explained Aya. Perhaps Aya had had to fight the other Yohji's denial to get where they were, and then the amnesia had taken away the little he was able to get.

But he was still a right bastard about getting it, Yohji decided.

"No," Omi replied, blushing and clapping a hand over his mouth when his voice broke again.

"No," Ken echoed, with dark eyebrows upraised.

Yohji shrugged. "So, now you know."

After the lunch break, Yohji had been scheduled to make deliveries for the afternoon. This was, of course, complicated by his amnesia -- he took one look at the list and balked. He remembered less than half of the locations, and even that much was fuzzy. Lucky for him, Ken stepped in to help. Rather, Omi made a strong suggestion...

"I can handle the shop for an hour or two," Omi had said earnestly, giving Ken some kind of complicated *look.* "Why don't you help Yohji-kun with the deliveries, Ken-kun? We've finished the list of arrangements due tomorrow."

"Hei, hei," Ken had sighed in resignation.

As Yohji started up his Jeep, he remarked, "He sure has you whipped."

Ken gave him a sharp look. "It's not like that, so don't even think it."

"Ken," Yohji said in hurt tones, "you're glaring at me! How am I supposed to know these things? I'm lucky I remember my own name!"

Ken relaxed enough to grin. "All right, all right." In a moment, in a very quiet tone, he said, "Besides, he's underage." The sound was almost swallowed up by the Jeep's engine as they roared up the street.

Ahh... sou ka.

Yohji smirked and nodded acknowledgement, but didn't risk meeting Ken's eyes again. Ken might punch him.

"Okay, first stop is a couple of houses in one of the residential districts..."

The delivery route passed uneventfully, up to a point. Ken gave precise directions, but he was impatient. And a backseat driver to boot.

"Listen," Yohji growled at last. "If you check the blind spots one more time, or clutch the hand rail or yell out the speed limit even, I'm going to backhand you!"

Ken gulped. "You may not be able to remember shit, but you still drive like a maniac."

Yohji held up a warning finger.

They made several deliveries in peace. That was when Yohji broke the afternoon with some apparently volatile topics.

"Are you guys -- I mean, do you mind I'm gay?"

Ken blinked up from the delivery list and an odd expression crossed his face. Yohji caught it because he was glancing out of the corner of his eye -- which would have made Ken yelp and tell him to mind the road, if he'd seen him. "I don't care; it's just confusing after all this time."

"What do you mean?" Yohji prodded.

"Well, I've known you for a few years now, and the whole time you've been -- I mean, you *acted* like a major playboy." Ken raked a hand through messy brown bangs. "It's misleading, and other than that you've been an up-front kind of guy."

Hmm. "A few years?" A thought occurred to him. "Would you say we've all known each other for around three years, then?"

"A-aa," Ken said slowly. "The three of us, anyhow. Aya -- he, uh, joined us around two years ago."

Yohji wondered about that little stumble in his speech. Aya had *joined* them -- but it sounded like Ken had been about to say something else and shifted his phrasing in mid-sentence.

It was very difficult to piece together a clear picture of 'the other Yohji' when he was getting misinformation. And he was sure his friends weren't being entirely honest. There were things they were holding back.

"Anyhow," Ken continued, a hint of red creeping across his face, "I'm not...eto...well, I'm not entirely straight either. And Omi--"

"That's okay, I figured Omi in the first few moments after he opened his mouth," Yohji interrupted. "He doesn't exactly wear a glaring sign, but it's pretty obvious he's not intended for women."

Ken was really blushing now. "Um...yeah."

If they *didn't* have a little romance going on, Yohji was betting Ken wouldn't last out the year before Omi got his way. It was the quiet, polite ones you had to watch out for.

"K'so! Turn right!" Ken exclaimed, after glancing at his list and looking around.

"Ryoukai," Yohji agreed, and ignored the younger man's impassioned screeching as he wove through three lanes of traffic to make a right turn within ten meters.

"Oh, I saw God," Ken said weakly, balling up the list between shaking fingers.

"Hmm, they usually don't say that until *after* I get them home," Yohji mused.

"YOHJI!"

Yohji changed the subject. It was a strategic move; although the next stop was a hospital, he didn't want to have to cart Ken into the emergency room for blood loss when his nostrils ruptured. "Ken, I've been wondering...why do we need three full-time guys -- well, four if you count Aya -- and a part-time old lady on call at all times in such a tiny flower shop?" He had been reasoning this out all day.

"Huh?" Ken's expression was blank for a moment, then Yohji had to turn his eyes back on the road. There was definite caution in the other man's tone when he said, "I'm not sure what you mean."

Now, that was an outright lie.

"You saw how busy we were today, Yohji," Ken continued. "It's like that every morning and afternoon. With four guys like us working there, we draw huge crowds of girls almost every day. So..."

"So, the numbers still aren't adding up in my head," Yohji interrupted him. "Humor me. I know a little about finance; I took a course. I think I took a course. ...Anyhow, even with the number of arrangements we made and delivered, and the fact that I was on the cash register today... Well, I don't think our cash flow, balanced out by our expenses, matches up with the kind of income I apparently make. Isn't our overhead huge?"

"What's overhead?" Ken said blankly.

Yohji eyed him narrowly. "Are you sure you're a businessman?"

"Ah, iya," Ken waved his hands. "I let Omi handle that part. I just do flowers and deliveries."

"That's another thing," Yohji mused, spinning the wheel to take a right. Ken yelped but managed not to grab at the door in panic. "Why is a teenager doing that job? Shouldn't he be in school?"

"He's seventeen, and he's taking a year off before college," Ken replied. There was a defensive edge to his tone. "Besides, Aya handles a lot of the business aspect--"

"Aya's hardly ever in the shop," Yohji countered. He discarded the fact that he'd just caught Ken in a lie -- first Omi, now Aya handled the business?

"You don't have to be *in* the shop to be doing paperwork," Ken shot back. That defensiveness was a solid wall now. "Look, Yohji, you--ahh! Turn left here!"

Yohji was in the right lane. He ignored Ken's panicked cries as he cut through two lanes of traffic, flipped his signal on, and left the blaring horns in the dust as he made a narrow turn in front of oncoming traffic barely thirty meters away.

"Mommy," Ken sobbed as they pulled to a ruler-precise stop in front of a hospital.

"Here, right?" Yohji ignored that with dignity and clicked his seatbelt free.

"Yeah," Ken fell out of the Jeep on his side of the car.

"If you kiss that pavement, you're walking home," Yohji warned him.

"Your driving hasn't changed a bit," Ken said weakly.

Yohji hefted the two arrangements out of the back of the Jeep, handing one to Ken, then started up the sidewalk. He grated to a halt when he caught sight of the front of the hospital.

In his mind's eye, red sidelocks streamed around Aya's face, contorted in anger. Raised in front of his body, the thin sliver of light bouncing across a beveled blade -- a genuine Nihontou.

"Aya," Yohji mumbled, unthinking.

Broad shoulders tensed under black leather, a long trench coat. Aya's back was to him, rain silvering over the lines of his body as seen through a car window. The front of the hospital was before Aya. How long had he been standing there? Long enough to be thoroughly soaked. And then the car moved on.

Aya's figure blurred in the rain, in the rearview mirror.

"Yohji, oi, Yohji!" A hand was waving in front of his face. "Hey, snap out of it!"

Yohji blinked and shook his head. "Huh? Ken?"

"Yeah...are you okay?"

Yohji focused on the concerned brown eyes of the man next to him. "A-aa, I think so. Have I..." He squinted up at the hospital sign again. The Magic Bus Hospital. "Have I been to this place before?"

"This is where Aya was, for awhile."

The thought filled Yohji with wordless panic. "Aya was in the hospital, too? What for!?"

Ken waved his hands frantically, catching the undercurrent of Yohji's look. "No, no -- not Aya-kun. Aya-chan was in this hospital, for a long time. She was in a coma. Not Ran -- Aya-kun, I mean."

Yohji stared at him, not comprehending. "I don't get it."

"When Ran first...came to work with us, we called him 'Aya.' And then we found out his sister, Aya-chan, was in a coma and he had assumed her name. So now we call him Aya-kun and she's Aya-chan and..."

Yohji held up a hand. "Stop, before you make it more confusing." He mulled that over.

"Did you..." Ken was watching him keenly.

"I remembered something," Yohji replied. "Not very much, just Aya in front of the hospital. Aya-kun," he corrected himself.

"Oh."

Aya's face flashed before him again, in an entirely different mien. Sweat-damp, red tendrils tucked behind his ears, violet eyes heavy-lidded as Yohji looked up the length of his body. And the man's head went back as Yohji bent his own head to--

"Yohji!! Are you okay!?"

Yohji's head snapped up. "Fine! I..."

"What was that one?" Ken looked the part of innocent curiosity and genuine interest.

"Nothing," Yohji flushed. It wasn't like him to be embarrassed, he knew that much about himself -- but apparently, this was a subject that had the power to mortify him.

He was painfully aware of the fact that if Ken and Omi didn't even know he was gay, they were in the dark about he and Aya. He'd figured that out earlier, but this only drove the point home. The only person he could ask about Aya was Aya. And Aya didn't seem the type to give out casual answers.

He wondered why they had been keeping everything secret.

Ken tugged at his elbow, expression inquiring. Yohji gave him a nod. They entered the hospital, bearing flowers.

He clicked the last lamp off, and waited.

Yohji was not such an infant that he assembled the pillow-disguise of a sleeping figure under the sheets. So he sat in the chair he'd dragged over to a corner across from the bed. He knew Aya would be drawn to the bed, empty or no. This was the part where instinct took over, even if memory was telling him to go to hell.

He snapped awake with the violent shock of a man who didn't realize he'd been sleeping. His heart was racing and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths. The clock beside his bed stand glared at him; it was near midnight. The witching hour.

What an odd dream.

Aya, in his mind's eye, had worn leather -- buckles cinching in the sleeves and the chest-front of the long coat. In his hands, a bare katana. And Yohji had tied him up in glittering thread-fine wires, tweaking one to bring him casually to his knees. Aya's expression, shock. Anger. And then the woman Birman had crossed over the wires to stand in front of the redhead, leveling a small but deadly gun at Aya's pale forehead.

*...Did I never tell you I loved you?*

Yohji passed a trembling hand over his sweaty forehead. Had it been only a dream? There had been no blurry, truly dreamlike quality -- it had had a razor-sharpness to it, which was why Yohji had been shocked to find himself awake. He hadn't realized he was sleeping.

*Just once. This one time... mo ichido.*

He was awake now.

It must have been a dream. Why would he string Aya up in a nest of wires anyhow, like a kid playing at outsized cat's-cradle?

A slice of light slanted across the hallway, drawing his eye in a snap, and vanished just as quickly. Yohji held his breath. Aya was making his silent appearance.

The shadow of the man ghosted over to the edge of the bed, and stopped.

Even expecting it, Aya's low voice startled him once the man spoke aloud.

"You still don't remember."

Yohji started up from his chair, clicking the light back on to glare at the invasive redhead. "That's kind of obvious, isn't it? What are you, slow? Listen, you'll be the first person I tell if I get my memory back, but in the mean-time..."

"What am I supposed to do?"

Aya looked at him steadily. There was no hint of emotion in that question, nothing Yohji could respond to. And Yohji rather felt like tossing the question back in his face -- what was *Aya* expecting from *him?*

He wasn't wearing the leather trench coat from Yohji's dream -- the same one, he realized, that Aya had been wearing in that flashback of the hospital. The weather was warm out so he wore only jeans and a dreadful shade of orange sweater that clashed hideously with his red hair. Why hadn't someone told him redheads couldn't *wear* that color?

"Most of us are trying to move on from that accident," Aya said sharply, not giving Yohji time to marshal his thoughts into a proper answer. "You don't remember but that's the only thing stopping you from--"

"That's not it!" Yohji shot back, stung by the implication. "I object to having sex with a man I don't even remember!"

"Are you sure that's the reason?" Aya said darkly. He hesitated for a long moment, violet eyes locked on Yohji's, then gave him a taut nod. "Fine. I'll go." He swept out of the room. As silently as before, the shaft of light appeared from an opened door, then vanished.

He'd gotten what he asked for; now why did he feel unsatisfied?

Yohji clicked the lamp off again and stood there, frustrated -- oh, his body told him about that plainly -- and confused, and resentful. There was something about Aya's mere presence that got him geared up in expectation. He wanted...he... Damn! Yohji tried to relax his clenched fists. If Aya were gentler, he thought, he could fall in love with that man again. He was beautiful, but it was a razored-ice kind of beauty. A trickle of half-comprehensible recollections were not enough to rebuild the feelings for this man, especially when he was sure his feelings had been as tangled and complex as the dream of himself weaving a web of wire, with Aya at the heart.

He wondered if Aya had ever been gentle or tender in their relationship. But that wasn't the only thing wrong. 'I never even told him he was sexy, before I lost my memory...' Yohji thought.

Maybe he was at fault, too, in the relationship.

Yohji chewed on the butt of his unlit cigarette as he tore apart the morning paper. Omi and Ken had left the shop in his care for the morning, with Momoe-san as supervisor, as he'd proved himself a capable flower-man over the past two days.

They had been trusting him more by himself, starting yesterday. Ken and Omi had left him to his own designs for dinner, because they'd had an unspecified 'something' to attend to. It was nice not to be treated like a child.

Although he was an amnesiac it seemed he had retained his memory for current events.

Part of the reason he was checking the paper was to make sure there weren't any large gaps in the news as he recalled it. This had necessitated going through half a box of papers for recycling in the rear of the shop. Yohji considered it worth the effort; he was sure his friends were keeping something from him, especially Aya. At first he'd thought it was the length of this stay in the hospital -- as far as he was concerned, he'd woken up the day after the accident and gone home the next day. But if he'd been in a coma for an indefinable length of time...

Yet there wasn't any gap in his memory of the recent news. But that bothered Yohji even more. From the fuzzy memories he had of the accident, he had been in really bad shape, maybe even dying-bad. When he'd woken up, though, Doctor Ishijima had pronounced him fit to go home the next day. Those two pieces didn't click in Yohji-land. He was worried, and trying not to show it.

He *must* have been held longer than he'd thought, because no doctor, no matter how good, was a miracle-worker.

The bell jingled a sweet distraction and Yohji looked up from the paper, smoothing his frown away and replacing it with a smile.

"Irasshai," he said to the sweet-faced girl in a school uniform. He scrutinized her. If women were his type, and that were a junior college uniform and not high school, he supposed he'd find her very attractive. Her face reminded him of someone.

"Konnichi wa, Yohji-kun!" the girl answered. This was no surprise to him; virtually every girl who frequented the shop knew his name and could reel off his vital statistics and flower specialty at the drop of a hat.

The shock came when he turned his attention back to his paper and the girl stamped her foot. "Kora, Yohji-kun! Don't ignore me like that! This is the first time I've dropped by in days, and that's all you have to say to me after the accident!?"

Yohji looked back up, unlit cigarette drooping from his lip. He took it out and tucked it behind his ear. "H-ha? Do I know you?"

"O-oops," the girl's face turned chagrined. "I forgot...Omi-kun told me you have amnesia, but I didn't realize..." Swiftly she bowed an apology, which Yohji waved off.

"Don't worry about it. It seems like I'm offending everyone with my memory loss," Yohji said, thinking of Aya.

"Anyhow, I'm Fujimiya Aya." The girl gave him a sparkling smile. "It's nice to meet you again for the first time."

Yohji stared at her. "You're not Aya," he said dumbly. He had red hair, and a fine-boned face...okay, so she had his face...and an uptilted nose and violet eyes, not brown, but...all right. This was the sister, Aya-chan.

"You're thinking of my brother Ran!" Aya-chan laughed. "I guess I'm the only one who calls him that, though."

Yohji stared through her now, seeing a red-haired, painfully thin figure tossing on the sheets of a bed. He concentrated, trying to capture the memory. The red-headed man on his bed was mumbling 'Aya...Aya...'

*I still don't know your name...well, it doesn't matter. Shall I just call you Aya, then?*

Furious violet eyes glared at him. A back faced him, rigid, as he walked away. *That's fine. Call me that.*

"Yohji-kun...Yohji-kun?"

A slim hand was waving in front of his eyes. Yohji focused on it. "Ah...gomen, gomen." He rubbed his head sheepishly. "I..."

"You remembered something?" Aya-chan clasped her hands behind her back and smiled, the expression oddly sad. "How much have you forgotten?"

"Since the accident...everything," Yohji said slowly. "I don't remember anybody, or what I did before the accident, or working here in the shop...I didn't remember my apartment or even how to drive around Tokyo without getting lost."

"I'm sorry, Yohji-kun," Aya-chan told him. "I know how it feels. After I woke up from my coma, I lost four years of my life."

Yohji looked at her, sobered by the thought. It could have been worse. At least he would get his time back; Aya-chan's four years in a coma were years she could never regain.

The cheery shop bell jangled again, underscoring his grim thoughts.

"Yohji-kun, we're back!" Omi waved from the door. Ken held it open behind him. "Ah, Aya-chan! How are you doing?"

"Good, you're back," Yohji acknowledged. He took his apron off, balled it up, and chucked it into a corner. Without preamble, he announced, "I'm taking a break." He wanted to mull over the remembered fragments, and the dream of last night.

Three sets of eyes watched him walk out the door.

Yohji got as far as the chairs edging the Koneko no Sumu Ie before he plopped himself down. He searched his pockets for his cigarette before he remembered it was tucked behind his ear.

He heard a faint jingle that meant the door had opened.

"Yohji-kun?" Footsteps approached. "Are you okay?"

Yohji lit up and blew a smoke ring. "I don't know. I remember...something...about Aya. Not very much, but..." He shook his head.

*Aya, fully clothed, but restless and tossing amongst the sheets of Yohji's bed. 'Boku wa...ah...'*

*'Feel any better?'* Yohji stood beside the bed, hips kilted. This one was one of the most gorgeous things Yohji had yet seen.

*'It's none of your business.'* Shoulders faced him in a childish-seeming resolution.

* 'That's something to say when you're in MY bed!'*

Omi edged into his field of vision as Yohji shook his head, freeing himself from that fragment. His big blue eyes were worried, and full of pain. "If you need to talk--"

"I'm not ready to talk," Yohji interrupted him. Nobody knew that he and Aya were an item. He couldn't betray that secret without knowing *why.* He hoped he was starting to remember...at least, from the beginning...

"All right..." Omi conceded, looking reluctant. "I'll be in the shop if you need me."

Yohji nodded and blew another smoke ring. He wanted to stay out here for awhile.

Why had they kept it a secret? Why was Aya such a bastard?

...For that matter, why had he, Yohji, been in that accident? He was a fast driver, but not a reckless one.

Sirens were echoing through his skull.

*Have to finish the mission in time...*

In slow motion, glittering wire spooled from his hands. It trapped the black-garbed redhead in a deadly embrace. Yohji waited, wires tensed at the tips of his fingers. Birman walked out of the shadows and flipped her thumb down in an emphatic command.

*...Did I never tell you...*

Yohji jerked both hands.

Blood flew on the night air. And Aya's head rolled...

"DAME~EE!"

Yohji clutched his head, awash in a sea of bloody sheets. He groaned and forced his eyes to stay open. Awake, he was awake, sitting up, not consumed by the nightmare... It was worse than that time Asuka's ghost had followed him every time his eyelids fell shut. Because it was more than Aya dead; it was Yohji's own hands causing the damage...

Aya!

He turned onto his side in the bed, reaching out to shake his partner's shoulder. He could be an ass in the daytime, but Aya was always good about chasing his nightmares away...

Aya's side of the bed was empty.

"Shit!" Yohji sat up, coming fully awake now. He remembered.

He remembered *everything.*

From joining up with Weiss to hauling an unconscious Aya up to his apartment that very first time... He remembered Birman showing up with the tapes that would send them on their missions. And the income he had wondered about? That came from their assassination missions... The flower shop was their cover. He remembered the end of Este, and facing off with Schwarz, who had let them live for some inexplicable reason.

And he remembered every facet of Aya.

He remembered things about Aya that no other person alive could know. It brought heat into his cheeks. Even now, knowing, it had the power to embarrass him.

From the very first time he'd tangled Aya up in his wires, perhaps, it had been inevitable. Or maybe it had been from that first time in the Koneko no Sumu Ie. He'd showed up late, and looked at the unconscious, beautiful redhead with a grin. It was a sense of mischief that prompted him to haul Aya up to his room, rather than letting him sleep it off on the floor of the stock room, or even hauling him up to Omi's room to wake up gradually.

Even then, Aya had talked in his sleep. 'Aya...Aya...' And that was where his name came from.

'Shall I just call you "Aya," then?' He had asked it flippantly, sure it would elicit the younger man's real name.

Back rigid, turned to him, the redhead had answered, 'That's fine. Call me that.'

*Whu--? You're not serious?*

Aya was almost always serious, he'd soon discovered.

"Aya..." Yohji raked his hand through the silk sheets, frustrated. That one... he had picked a hell of a night to actually carry out his wishes and not molest him while Yohji was still bereft of memory.

But now... He could trace it back to that very first time Aya slammed him up against a wall, and instead of pounding the shit out of him, kissed and ate at his mouth as if he were the only palatable dish left on the earth.

Aya had never been gentle. Yohji embraced that part of himself that had been innocent and questioning, when he couldn't remember. He answered his own questions. It was true...there had never been anything gentle or tender about their relationship. But it was only once he had forgotten everything that he could actually recognize wholeheartedly the part of him that wanted...no, needed Aya to take him like that.

And they'd never told anybody...they had kept their relationship clandestine because Yohji wasn't ready to accept it in himself, and Aya didn't want to upset his sister or the situation amongst their teammates. It would be especially hard to take seeing that they weren't the image of >a picture-perfect couple, either... Even if an insult had the weight of an endearment, it didn't sound very promising.

"Aya, where are you?" Yohji growled.

It was well past midnight. For a change, it looked like Aya was respecting his wishes.

"You bastard," Yohji whispered. Why wasn't he *here,* where he belonged? That was why Aya had staked out his apartment for those first few nights. With memory, he knew that now. Ch'. This was a fine time for Aya to actually start *listening* to him.

"...Aya." Yohji whispered the name very softly, a talisman against the darkness. Yes, Aya was a royal bastard, a prick, and a heartless one. But he belonged...

Eventually, he slept.

Golden sunlight poured over his skin, warming his body.

"Mm..." Yohji curled to one side, trying to absorb the heat. He wakened slowly.

Something brushed over his face. It wasn't hair and it wasn't silk sheets. In fact, it wasn't any part of him whatsoever. Yohji opened his eyes and came to a leisurely sort of awareness.

Backlit by the light, red hair a blinding halo, Aya was sitting on his bed. When he squinted, Yohji could see him well enough to recognize Aya's trademark expressionless look.

"Okita?"

Yohji nodded, feeling Aya's fingers slip through his hair, leaving him. "Aa."

"I have something to do today, with Aya-chan. I thought I'd stop by now to see...how you are." Aya's tone was so carefully neutral.

Now that Yohji was himself again, he could hear the hurt concealed beneath that veneer of neutrality. *Aya...*

"I remember you," Yohji told him. And felt like he was burning up. He didn't know what else to say. That he hated Aya as much as he cared for him, maybe? That initiating sex hadn't been his idea at first, but Aya never gave him a choice? And that trend now dominated their relationship. That he couldn't give up something he had grown to need, even though he didn't like Aya's attitude? ...Even when he had lost his memory. Already his body was stirring in Aya's presence; the mere association made him hungry.

Yohji twisted in the sheets until he was facing away from Aya, that light-gilded figure. He couldn't bear to look at him, the glory he despised and *craved.*

"Mo ichido," he requested, voice hoarse. What he said every time -- as if this time, like all the times before as he promised to himself, this was going to be the last. "Just once. This one time... mo ichido."

Aya knew what he was asking for. He always knew.

Long fingers slid into his hair, grasping and possessive. With a tug, Aya pulled his head back, bending down and pressing his mouth to Yohji's jaw, to his throat. He kissed with open mouth and a bit of >tongue and just before he pulled away, the sharpness of teeth. Yohji squirmed.

"No teeth, you know--" At least, not where their friends and teammates could see Aya's lovemarks.

Aya snorted softly and sat up on the edge of the bed, tugging off his black short-sleeved shirt. Good, at least no orange sweater today. It was probably too warm outside... Aya lowered himself to the bed behind Yohji, red hair a fiery aureola, rosy nipples standing out on his pale chest. Yohji felt wiry arms sliding around him, pulling him close, and shut his eyes. The beginnings of Aya's erection pressed against him from behind.

Strong hands digging into his bare skin, Aya flipped him to one side, and then straddled him. Yohji made a sound, something wordless, a moan maybe -- his hands went to Aya's black-clad hips and Aya pushed them away, taking them and pinning them above Yohji's head with one hand.

"You want me to be helpless?" Yohji arched a brow, lifting his hips up experimentally against Aya's weight.

"Why not?" Aya returned. "Think of it as punishment, after those nights of abstinence."

Yohji winced. Then bit his lip as a cloth-covered ridge dug into him, hard painful pleasure. Aya rocked against him, pushing it into him. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Why should I?" Aya's voice was low and resonant as he bent forward, capturing not Yohji's mouth but a small brown nipple. Teeth locked around it and Yohji groaned as Aya's tongue stabbed at it, shaping it. Aya's fingers curled against his captured hands and Yohji let them twine with his own fingers.

Aya's tongue made a slick path to the other nipple, making it tighten into a peak that throbbed a message straight to his groin. Yohji groaned, feeling himself harden at last under this onslaught. It was almost painful, with Aya's jeans still digging into him. He was dressed solely in a pair of dark green briefs.

He had to let go of his grip on Yohji's hands as he moved down his torso, but Yohji kept them there. Intent, he watched the red head move lower, pale thin lips touching every part of him available, hands digging into his sides and leaving furrows. He watched Aya's hands stretch the silk over his throbbing bulge, removing the obstacle, taking him in hand and making him grow. He almost squeezed his eyes shut but it was too perfect, too vital to watch Aya's tongue emerge to moisten his lips, then approach...

Yohji let out a low hiss, belly clenching as Aya's tongue moved over the very tip, light like a cat's lap, stroking him. He caught the first few pearls on his tongue and drew back, hands tugging on the underwear tangled around Yohji's thighs.

He made a noise of protest as Aya stretched it, making the elastic bite into his skin. Yohji watched as Aya scowled, then jerked, ripping the briefs off his legs and tossing the scrap of silk to the side.

"Hey!" Yohji cried. "Those were expensive, yarou!"

Aya grunted. "You can always buy another pair."

He groaned as that mouth descended on him again, angling to the side, missing his growing erection by inches and fastening onto one reddened thigh. Aya sucked on him, teeth pressing against the irritated skin, violet eyes burning up at him as he made a deliberate impression. When he pulled away, the mark flowering to the surface throbbed in time with Yohji's hard-on. Aya moved to the other thigh, biting, suckling, mapping a slow trail to the juncture of his legs. Yohji let his head fall to the pillows but couldn't let his eyes close, determined to watch everything.

One hand cradled his balls, lifting them up and away from his body as Aya nosed his erection, eyes fixed on him. Yohji could only stare helplessly back. "You're evil," he told him hoarsely.

Aya *smirked.* And then his tongue emerged and swiped over the head of his erection in a broad stroke that made Yohji collapse against the pillows again, a fresh supply of blood flooding down to his cock.

Aya hardly ever took him in his mouth. He always made sure Yohji came, of course, but he wasn't the type of guy to go down on him every time. This was one of those times. Yohji gasped as Aya's mouth fitted over the head of his erection, violet eyes still searing a path up his body, locked on him. There was something primally intimate about watching Aya like this, their gazes connected as Aya moved, taking more, lips stretching over Yohji's hard cock.

This was the time he felt they could speak to each other without words.

*What do you want? Tell me!* Aya's eyes never asked; they demanded.

"Ahh...ha..." Yohji's breath came harsh and shallow. "Haa...Aya..." *You, I want you to fuck me, you know I always want the same thing!*

Aya's head bobbed up and down. Yohji finally closed his eyes, giving in to the taking of his body. When Aya did this to him, it was never a submissive gesture. It was the seal of his triumph over Yohji's body. He could still feel Aya's eyes on him.

*Say it, I need to hear it.*

Yohji's hands clenched near the headboard, still crossed above him where Aya had placed them earlier. He played so desperately at being the ladies' man because he didn't want anyone to know he liked having the choice taken away from him like this. The playboy, the flirt, was always a step ahead but when they came together, Aya was on top. He always had been.

"Aya!" he groaned, hips pushing up against the brutal iron hold. A tongue curled skillfully around him; his cock was being taken deeper into velvet-responsive muscles that squeezed and coaxed. Aya's throat. Yohji's belly tensed. "Aya, ima iku--"

He shouted and tried to thrash as a hand moved beneath him again, cupping, pulling and angling his balls away from his body with gentle pressure as they tightened up against his body. He moaned, inarticulate to express his frustration as *that* thundered through him in a near-miss, almost there, singing through his veins, but--

"Not yet."

"Fuck," Yohji breathed. "You..." His voice was a low growl. He strained up again, but Aya's arms were thrown over his hips, immobilizing him.

"You know it'll only be worse for you if you finish before I do," Aya growled back. His breath was hot against Yohji's thigh. Yohji squeezed his eyes open and stared at the flushed face between his legs. He wanted Aya to bury his head again, to let him come, but he knew Aya had other plans.

Aya released him at last and Yohji whimpered, pushing his hips up in urgent circles, but he wasn't relieved for long. Aya straddled him again, making a long arm and reaching for the drawer in the bedside table. His denim-covered erection kissed Yohji's naked one, making him groan, but any friction was good.

He brought back the half-used tube and a condom and laid them on the sheets. Their eyes locked again. Aya was pushing against him, slow, unmistakable thrusts. The look in his eyes was raw. *This is the only time I can see you like this.* Aya was in charge, but there was something in Yohji, a part of him during their sex that made Aya *lose* his cool control.

*...Did I never tell you...I...*

Aya's fingers went to the too-tight apex of his jeans and he fumbled the button open, grimacing. A low noise came from him as he eased the zipper down and his underwear poked up through the gaping V. Yohji stared at it, fascinated, licking dry lips. His underwear was red, a shocking contrast with his grim monochromatic scheme for the day. He wanted to reach a hand forward and touch the lump straining upward, wanted to watch Aya's head tilt back and see him swallow hard, then lunge forward on top of him. His hands twitched.

Aya leaned over him, violet eyes hard on him, pressing down on his crossed wrists. "Keep them there," he hissed.

Yohji nodded, closing his eyes briefly. Aya's hand moved from his wrists and trailed down one bare arm, tangling in Yohji's hair again. Both hands framed his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

"Look at me," Aya commanded.

Yohji opened his eyes. Aya's violet eyes glittered at him, inches away before his mouth slanted down over Yohji's, kissing him for the first time. Their eyes were open for another second, daring each other to close first. Yohji gave himself up and let Aya into his mouth, a tongue sliding deep into him and caressing, then retreating as teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. Aya licked him and pressed his tongue inside again as their hips began to move.

"Unh..." Yohji groaned, feeling his cock trapped between his own stomach and Aya's. Aya kissed him again, a wet messy sensation, then sat up. He was flushed, hair mussed around his face as he pushed his jeans just far enough and pulled himself free of his underwear. Yohji groaned again, a thrill of anticipation sparking through him at the sight of Aya's naked cock. He wanted it inside; he needed...

Aya rolled the condom down over the swollen organ, the head of it blushing even more fiercely than his cheeks. He squeezed out a generous amount of lube and stroked himself, eyes pinning Yohji to the bed. Yohji lifted his spread legs in a wordless invitation. He was past any need or desire to resist. Aya wiped his hands off on the sheets, making Yohji grimace -- it meant he'd have to wash the sheets today, and it meant Aya was going to penetrate him without stretching him open first.

*You're still angry with me.*

Strong hands slipped beneath him as Aya eased between his sprawled legs, arranging Yohji over his lap, lifting him into the best angle for penetration. Yohji mewled a wordless sound of need, of frustration -- he was so ready, he was aching and his skin felt like it would split if Aya waited much mo-- "AHH!"

Hunching over him, Aya moved into place. One hand had slipped down to adjust, then he was grasping Yohji's hips and shoving, skewering into him with one brutal thrust.

"K'so," Yohji caught his breath, pain-stars obscuring Aya in his vision for a moment, hands clenching together above his head. His thighs tried to clench, too, stopped by Aya's narrow hips moving between his legs. "Oh shit, oh God, oh..."

Aya withdrew partially and slammed into him again, eyes narrow above him but still glimmering violet into Yohji's own green. Yohji lay helpless as Aya thrust a few more times and then he moaned, the pain easing into something bearable. The head of Aya's cock was rubbing up inside him in the best sort of way and he realized Aya had managed to hit his prostate with each stroke, making him forget the pain of that cruel entry that much quicker.

He lifted his hips up to accept it, matching Aya's rhythm. Aya's breathing was ragged as he thrust, then let go of Yohji's hips to bend over him fully. One hand grasped his shoulder and Aya sought his mouth again, fitting their lips together. The kiss was almost absent-minded as they both focused on the more primal joining, rhythm quickening. Aya's strokes were urgent and he knew the man wouldn't wait much longer.

A hand snaked between them and Aya's fingers closed over him, pumping. Yohji cried out, muffled by Aya's tongue in his mouth. Aya. Everything was Aya. The breaking sun washed over him, turning his hair into a brilliant head of flames. He strained up, frantic, throbbing in Aya's fingers with Aya's cock pumping inside him. The fit was perfect. This was how it was. This was why his feelings for Aya were all twisted up inside.

"Ahh...Aya...shit!" Yohji cursed again, powerless to stop as his belly tightened again, and this time he was flooding their sweaty skin with sticky spurts, Aya catching his seed in his fingers and rubbing it over his tensed stomach. The other man pushed his legs up higher and reared over him, truly fucking him now, cock stabbing in and out. Yohji tightened down around him and watched, almost awed, as Aya threw his head back and an expression of release crossed his face.

He looked...peaceful.

Yohji murmured something wordless as Aya settled on the bed beside him again, stirring the sheets around so he lay on a dry section. He was already pulling the condom off and tossing it aside, hitting the trash can with a sodden thump, making Yohji grimace. His eyes were closed and he felt as contented and cream-satisfied as a cat while Aya lay beside him, their bodies pressed together.

He felt a hand against his face. It was gentle, as was the kiss that followed, soft on his bruised lips.

"I have to go."

Yohji cracked one eye to see Aya sitting up, haloed by the sun again, tucking himself back into his underwear and pulling his jeans up over the narrow hips. They didn't always have leisure in their alone-time so Yohji managed to quell his resentful feeling. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, eyes somber as they studied Yohji in his boneless sprawl amidst the stained sheets.

"Yohji. You know I..."

"I know," Yohji returned, not letting him finish, feeling his stomach tied in knots. He never let Aya finish that sentence because he was sure he knew what he would say, but there was dread in him that he *didn't* want to know.

Silently, Aya left the apartment. There was the far-off click of a door closing behind him.

Silently, Yohji watched him leave. He buried his face in the sheets and wondered why he wanted to cry.

It was not a nice day outside. The weather was cooling and drizzly and Yohji turned up the collar of his jacket, tucking his hands into deep pockets. He watched tiny wet spots form on the white skin of his cigarette.

He put it out before stepping into the Koneko, wiping his feet carefully on the mat. It wouldn't do to have Omi yelling at him. He grinned to himself. He had quite a surprise for his friends.

"Yo!" He pushed open the shop door, tilting his head at the jingling that greeted his entry. He grinned and waved cheerily as Omi looked up from behind the register, and Ken paused in his sweeping of clippings.

"You look genki today, Yohji-kun," Omi observed.

"Oh, I am," Yohji smiled. He gritted his teeth briefly over the fact that he'd slipped up in his amnesia -- now they not only knew he was gay, but he could *never* come into work late again! There went his morning bouts with Aya, unless he made special arrangements with whoever worked the morning shift.

Well, so they knew. It solved the difficulty of trying to tell them later.

"Sleep well?" Ken resumed pushing his broom about.

Yohji shrugged. "Pretty badly, actually," he replied. He looked at them both. Omi and Ken? It was a possibility he'd never thought of, before. But a Yohji without memory hadn't been wrapped up in the complications of his own sexuality, and his odd entanglement with Aya. He agreed with his previous estimation -- those two would be making it within the year, if Omi had his way. Which, in his sweetly stubborn fashion, he was uncannily good at.

"Then why...?" Omi registered bewilderment.

"My *dear* friends," Yohji began, standing with hips kilted, arms akimbo. "Thank you for your patience with me during the past few days. But now, I have my memory back."

"You...Yohji-kun!" Omi stepped from behind the counter, beaming. "You're back!"

"I guess I am!" Yohji grinned in return.

"Good!" Ken swept the clippings into the bin. "That means you can do the deliveries by yourself." He leaned against his broomstick, grinning too.

"Hey, I'm wounded," Yohji mimed taking an arrow to the heart. "And you were a real bastard about my driving. We all know I'm the best guy at those stunt-driver escapes."

"Yeah, you practice every day," Ken muttered.

"Well, great!" Omi perked up. "You can take the morning shift by yourself tomorrow when I go to school, and Ken has soccer coaching!"

"Damn..." Yohji sighed, raking a hand through his chestnut hair. "Caught by my own self. Can't you go easy on me? I was an amnesiac victim!"

"I told you, Yohji-kun," Omi said, voice reproachful but with a sparkle in his eye, "now you have no excuse to be late!"

*Well,* he thought to himself, *I have an excuse, but you probably don't want to know.*

"So, what's on tap for today?" Yohji moved over to the hooks in the back of the shop and hung up his coat, grabbing an apron. He wondered if Aya would be in later. That drew him back to the past few days, and how Aya had been gone for all of them. Had it really been because Yohji had lost his memory, or had he not been scheduled because he was busy with Aya-chan?

"Well, we don't have any deliveries today," Omi told him. "We're expecting a crowd any minute, though, and Momoe-san won't be in today."

"And Aya?" Yohji said, alert, tying the strings around his waist.

"Ahm...Aya-kun...h-he's..." Omi faltered.

"Oh, hey, Omi, don't we have a list of arrangements today?" Ken asked, re-entering the shop from the back room.

"U-un, due tomorrow," Omi replied, looking flustered. And upset. "Yohji-kun..."

"Hey, Yohji," Ken swung around, expression puzzled. "What did happen in the accident, anyhow?"

Yohji stopped in front of an arrangement of white roses, thinking. He frowned. There was still a blankness in his memory, aside from wailing sirens and the shouting voices of doctors in the ER. "I...I don't remember that," he said honestly.

For a moment, fear bit him in sharp talons. *Did I try to kill myself...over...*

The shop door chimed as it was pushed open.

"Irasshai--" Omi said automatically, looking up. Yohji swung around, too.

"Konnichi wa," Aya-chan replied, walking into the shop with a bag slung over her shoulder. "Oh, everyone's here today." Like Aya that morning, his sister was wearing black, a sleeveless dress and a cute little hat. She looked subdued.

"Ya, Aya-chan!" Yohji flipped her a wave. "Where've you been in this nasty weather?"

"I brought flowers for Ran," Aya-chan replied quietly. "It was warmer this morning, but it got cool so suddenly."

Yohji stiffened. "What do you mean?" Bringing flowers, on a day like this...but Aya-chan lived with her brother. "I don't understand."

Omi touched his shoulder. His look was peculiar, a mixture of confusion and pity. "Yohji-kun, I thought you got your memory back."

Yohji pulled away from him, steadying himself on the counter. He remembered the rain that day. He remembered the sirens and the ache in his body. "I was in a car wreck." His mouth was dry. "Whose car was it?"

His Jeep was fine; he'd been driving it around the past few days.

"Oi, Yohji..." Ken took a step towards him, face all over confusion.

Yohji shook his head. "Whose car!?"

He already knew the answer. Aya's Porsche, twisted wreckage, flipped end over end on slick pavement. Trapped in the wreck, he remembered turning his head.

"It was Oniichan's car," Aya answered for them all.

He fell to his knees and heard Omi exclaim something. He couldn't hear him; he was lost in the floodgate suddenly opened.

'Take care of Aya-chan.'

*Oi...hey...no, you don't need me to promise that, you'll always be there to...*

'Don't forget me.'

And on that wet exhalation, Ran sagged forward.

And Yohji shattered.

"The emergency room..." Yohji stood up. He staggered. "The crash cart, the heart rate dropping...he was right next to me, he was there dying and I woke up with barely a scratch, and I couldn't even..."

"Yohji-kun!" Aya-chan's eyes were full of sorrow. "You don't have to. You shouldn't--"

"He's dead." His Jeep was fine, it was Aya's Porsche that had been totaled in the wreck. But Aya had been with him just this morning. "He died right next to me, he, an assassin -- he died in a simple, stupid car wreck!" He ground his fists against his eyes, but he couldn't cry.

"I'm sorry...Yohji-kun..." Omi stretched a hand out. "The doctor said we shouldn't mention anything...traumatic, and..."

He remembered Aya from that morning, red hair backlit by the sun. *I have to go now.* Memory or dream? Yohji sank to his knees again, and saw Aya-chan from the corner of his eye as she fluttered beside him, white hands reaching out but not touching.

"And I forgot. I forgot him. I broke my promise right then." Yohji was numb. Aya couldn't be dead; Aya always took care of Aya.

*He had seen that car, white light barreling towards Yohji, speeding through the red. And Aya spun the wheel. And the Porsche, so responsive, spun around. Yohji saw it in slow motion as Aya jerked with the impact. Their eyes met.*

*The car started the first of its many somersaults.*

Yohji clutched at his arm, fingers scraping over the tattoo bared by his sleeveless shirt. Now his eyes were wet. 'When you gonna learn?'

Somewhere in a light-struck room, Aya turned his head, crowned with flame. *Yohji. You know I...*

*I know.* But now he would never know. Not for sure.

Yohji cried.

Send Alyssa Tay Tanoko feedback!

The author's other fics are archived at Firedancer's Universe of Chaos.


Many apologies for not marking this as a deathfic, minna-san, but I thought it would spoil the whole fic...