Author Notes: This is a continuation/sequel to Three Little Words: Cause. I'm not going to say you have to read that fic first for this one to make sense, but I'm going to strongly suggest it.

Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Aya's past, maybe. Warnings for past instances of suicidal tendencies. This is not a happy fic, but there will be a "happy" ending.

*~*~*

Aya stood on the roof, staring out into the city lights, huddled into his coat. Winter had fully descended on Tokyo in the week that he had been on enforced bed rest. Though he’d had Youji to join him for part of that, when the blonde hadn’t managed to escape the virus that had knocked out and probably almost killed the redhead. It wasn’t as though Youji had needed to stay in bed with him, but he did welcome the warm body to curl around. And he’d never admit it aloud, but part of Aya genuinely liked the gentle cuddling they’d indulged in.

Three weeks after the injury that had helped contribute to his invalid state, Aya’s thigh was healing, the itchy new skin an exercise in ignoring the demands of his body. He could walk unaided, but if he tried to move too fast, the newly knit muscles of his quads protested, and it wasn’t quite so easy to hide the limp. Youji didn’t fuss over it; Aya hoped his lover understood why he had to push himself. He couldn’t afford to be down for too long.

The redhead shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and stared out into the night sky, storm clouds looming. The city lights reflected off the clouds, making the sky appear a pale rose pink. There would be more snow come morning. So far this winter, he hadn’t been able to keep any heat within his body, even with the heavy coat and gloves he tugged on before venturing onto the roof. It seemed the only way he could keep warm anymore was to be in Youji’s presence.

Aya sighed. He hadn’t pulled away from the older man, even after the blonde had uttered those three words he never wanted to hear fall from those lips. When he would have normally run from the words that he considered a death sentence for his lover, he didn’t, but continued to let Youji hold him, their hands entwined over Aya’s pale stomach. But he couldn’t bring himself to run, not from Youji. He cared too much for the man to leave him like that, wanted to be with him too much to do that to himself.

Aya tried to ignore that it had happened. He pushed the memory out of his conscious thought, because dwelling on it would only lead to feelings he had to deny.

He couldn’t let himself love Youji. Everyone he had ever loved, or loved him in return, was somehow ripped from him. If he could keep himself from acknowledging any deeper feelings for the blonde, maybe he wouldn’t be taken away. Maybe Aya wouldn’t be left behind again. So Aya buried anything more than affection deep within, locking it in the safe place where his devotion to his sister lay, where it was out of conscious thought, but still a presence, able to be taken out and examined in the quiet moments when he was alone, unable to sleep.

He had to hope that someday Youji could forgive him his coldness. Maybe after he had Aya-chan back and the world didn’t seem hell bent on destroying his life, or taking the few precious things he had from him, he could be what Youji wanted. He could be who he wanted to be. For now it was enough to think that maybe Youji knew, that he understood, and was happy with what Aya could give him.

“Aya?” Youji’s familiar voice broke into his thoughts. Only the blonde’s head appeared through the roof access. He probably wasn’t dressed to venture out into the biting cold.

“Hn?” he answered without turning, gaze locked on the city lights.

Youji hesitated. “Phone for you.”

Aya turned around. There was only one reason anyone would call him, only one person that would have need to contact him that way. He looked at his lover questioningly.

“I didn’t ask,” Youji replied, pushing the door all the way open, inviting Aya back into the warmth of the house and the news on the phone.

Aya nodded as he walked back to the door and the arms of his lover, brushing the first new fallen flakes of snow from his parka as he did so. He was pulled into a quick, tight hug when he stepped through the door, and he accepted the comfort, the silent promise that no matter what was on the other end of the line, Youji would be there.

When he stepped back, Youji made to move for his room, but Aya reached out, without words, taking the taller man’s hand and tugging him along for a few steps. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this alone. Wasn’t sure he could do it alone.

Youji followed close, his fingers lightly brushing Aya’s back as they quietly traversed the metal stairs. Aya tugged off his gloves and shoved them into his coat’s pockets before tugging the zipper down. The cordless phone sat on the small table, face down. Aya looked back at Youji once and received a small smile, confidence shining in the green eyes, for once not hidden behind sunglasses.

“Fujimiya,” Aya answered after picking up the phone. Youji stood against the wall, waiting patiently, legs crossed, arms folded over a dark sweater.

“Fujimiya-san,” the unfamiliar voice greeted him. “Watanabe Kouhei, from the Magic Bus hospital.”

Without thinking Aya extended his hand and was relieved when it was taken and squeezed lightly. “My sister?” he asked trying to keep the hope out of his voice. No emotion, he reminded himself, years old lessons never forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Fujimiya-san,” the doctor started.

Those three words started Aya’s world crumbling. He never felt himself come to rest against the floor; Youji had caught him before he could land too hard.

“When?” he choked out, distantly aware of Youji’s arms around him, trying to bodily still the shudders that had started to run through him.

“Just this last hour,” the doctor said sadly.

That was all Aya wanted to hear. The phone fell from his hand and hit the floor. Instinctively he brought his knees to his chest and rested his head against them. There was a buzzing in his ear, a mixture of Youji’s voice and the murmur of the television in the next room, whatever movie the blonde had been watching forgotten.

Aya-chan was dead.



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