Based on the following prompt: Soubi x Ritsuka. Soubi loses his memory. He doesn't remember Seimei, not being a Fighter, not even his name, nothing. At some point he should say: "God, I'm a freak!"
"Oh, shut up," Ritsuka mutters, flushing with mortification as the world settles around him; they are standing in the local playground, which seems apt considering the schoolyard bullying into which they have just been drawn. If it is beneath Ritsuka's dignity, then it will be several fathoms below Soubi's, and he blinks, suddenly realising how quiet Soubi has become. He tugs at Soubi's sleeve (ostrich feathers, where does Soubi come up with this stuff?) but Soubi is stiff and silent. Ritsuka rolls his eyes and says, "I didn't mean you, dummy."
Soubi turns then, and looks down at Ritsuka. "Are you speaking to me?"
"Duh! Who else am I going to talk to?"
Soubi stares at him with a goofy expression, then surveys the dark, empty playground with apparent confusion. "I don't know."
"Soubi, don't you dare go all weird on me now. It's already way past my curfew; I don't have time for your crazy talk."
"Agatsuma-sama?" Ritsuka says mockingly. "Whatever. C'mon, are you going to walk me home or what?"
Soubi's eyes return to him; they look dazed and naked without glasses. "Who are you?"
He could take Soubi to a hospital, or maybe to Septimal Moon. He figures Soubi wouldn't be keen on either of those ideas, but the only other option is to call Kio, who is likely to yell a lot, blame Ritsuka for Soubi's sudden loss of brain function and prescribe beer.
Soubi is still watching him owlishly. Ritsuka reaches for an ostrich-lined pocket and Soubi jumps back, covering his groin in a reflexive motion. "Oi, what do you think this is, a pick-up? Gross. Your glasses are in there, remember?"
"Remember?" Soubi pats his own pocket cautiously and pulls out the glasses. He puts them on, a practiced, familiar gesture that gives Ritsuka hope.
"Soubi? Are things looking a bit clearer now?"
Soubi looks even more baffled. "You're a child."
"Well, yeah, kinda." His ears flatten in embarassment. "I mean I'm a teenager now, but I guess I'm still sort of short for my age."
Soubi runs a hand across his own head, searching for ears. "I'm a grown-up?" he asks, tugging at a long hank of hair.
"You had your 21st birthday party a few weeks ago, remember?" Ritsuka tucks the hair back behind Soubi's ear. "We sang karaoke. Yuiko made strawberry shortcake and dropped it on your finals project, and you got really, really drunk."
"That sounds very grown-up." Soubi's head sags in exhaustion, and Ritsuka can't keep himself from holding Soubi's face gently between his hands and stroking his soft, scarred earlobes. "I want to remember, but my head feels so strange."
"Does it?" Ritsuka stares up into Soubi's tired eyes. "Soubi, I order you to remember."
"I can't," whispers Soubi. A rivulet of blood trickles from his nose, and Ritsuka reaches for his phone to call a taxi.
Ritsuka bundles Soubi into the back seat of the taxi, then curls up next to him, ignoring the driver's disdainful expression. He gives the address of Soubi's apartment and coaxes Soubi's head onto his shoulder, stemming the bloodflow with a tissue. Soubi is quiet and too trustful, and when they reach the apartment he does not flinch as Ritsuka searches his pockets for money to pay the sneering driver.
Inside, the warm, still air holds the scent of nicotine and mineral turpentine; Soubi has been working on a new piece. He looks about the room without recognition, although his nose twitches with interest when Ritsuka throws the bloody tissue aside and pushes him into a chair. He shrugs off his coat and watches as Ritsuka bustles about the kitchen area. "I'm an artist?"
"Uh-huh. A good one." Ritsuka fills a basin with water, then stands beside Soubi, wiping his face gently with a damp washcloth.
"And you...you live here with me."
"As if! Man, that fighter did a number on your head." Soubi's nose has stopped bleeding, but Ritsuka can see a vein throbbing viciously at his temple; he presses a soft kiss there, trying to soothe Soubi's anxiety as well as his own. Soubi turns into his touch with a sigh but does not seek Ritsuka's mouth with his own; Ritsuka wonders if he wants to.
He turns away to rinse the cloth, trying to hide his confusion, and Soubi says, "I was in a fight."
"Yeah, fighting's what you do best."
"And that's how I was hurt."
"Uh-huh." Soubi is examining his hands, looking for signs of a scuffle, but there is only the old scar left from Youji's attack and the chafed marks at his wrists. "It was my fault. I was supposed to take the damage, but it didn't work."
"No!" Soubi takes Ritsuka's hands and tugs at him until he kneels in front of him. "I don't understand what's going on here, but I know it's not your fault. You're just a kid. I should be the one looking after you."
"Dummy. You don't know anything. That's the whole problem." Soubi's hands are shaking in his, and it scares Ritsuka; what if the spell does not wear off? They'll be one mismatched fighter unit with two scrambled brains between them: an easy target for their opponents. He squeezes Soubi's fingers and smiles weakly, saying, "You probably need a cigarette. They're in your coat pocket."
Soubi looks down at him with a troubled expression, then turns to search for a cigarette and lighter. Ritsuka sees blood starting to soak through the dressing around Soubi's neck; he waits until Soubi has taken a long, hard draw on his cigarette before he reaches to unwind the bandage. It is tacky against Soubi's skin; Soubi examines it with puzzlement as it slithers down into his lap, then touches his neck with tentative fingers and asks, "What is it?"
"It's your name, Beloved."
Soubi laughs uneasily, although he can feel for himself the etchings at his throat. "That doesn't sound right."
"Shh, you'll make it worse," says Ritsuka. His nose flares at the tang of iron, and he leans in closer, tugging Soubi's head towards him. "I can lick it better."
Soubi laughs again, more naturally now, and curls his arms about Ritsuka, pulling him up against his body. "I expect you can."
Ritsuka ducks his face into the crook of Soubi's neck, feeling a little shy as Soubi's teeth close on one of his ears; it reminds him of the day they first met, and now they are meeting again. "Gently," he grumbles needlessly, because he trusts even a Soubi without memory to treat him with care, and Soubi removes his teeth with a soft murmur of apology, leaving the more subdued embrace of his lips. Ritsuka licks delicately at the barbs on Soubi's neck and swipes the flat of his tongue across Seimei's name, grinning at the convulsive hitch of Soubi's throat as he washes him clean.
"God, I'm a freak. That feels so good. You've done this before," Soubi says, sounding almost disbelieving.
"A whole bunch of times. You get in a lot of fights." Ritsuka's breath gusts as Soubi clutches him closer, and he braces a knee cautiously between Soubi's thighs. The wooden seat feels hard, but Soubi bears the brunt of his weight with apparent ease. Ritsuka realises that Soubi is hard too, hot and urgent against his knee, and he can't fight the blush that heats his face as he tries to pull back and give Soubi some space.
"Don't," Soubi pleads, and Ritsuka stills, because he finds he wants to stay where he is and because it is not like Soubi to ask him for anything. "Please don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere, dummy. You're stuck with me, remember?" He presses his mouth against Soubi's and slips his tongue inside, passing the scent of Soubi's blood back to him. Soubi submits easily, instinctively; it is difficult for Ritsuka to think when he is this close to Soubi, but he sees that this is what Soubi is, what birth and training have made him: someone who will obey Ritsuka if he can.
He sees this, but it comes to him slowly, and it is only after long, foggy moments of pleasure that he can break from Soubi. Sensing the way Soubi's fingers clench helplessly at his smock, trying to drag it up, down, off, and absorbing the insistent but somehow diffident shove of Soubi's pelvis against his thigh, Ritsuka is clouded with a heady, frantic mix of triumph and shame. It is only Soubi's unwilled acquiescence that lets Ritsuka separate them, and then Soubi says hesitantly, "I do remember. We are stuck."
Ritsuka is panting, damp with sweat, and he reaches behind himself to untangle Soubi's hands from his clothing and interlace their fingers. "Stuck like your poor brain. Soubi? Are you okay? I didn't mean to..."
Soubi shakes his head, denying the question or the apology or perhaps both, and draws Ritsuka's hands, left then right, to his lips. "You...what is your name? You didn't tell me your name."
"My name is Ritsuka, remember?" Ritsuka kisses Soubi again, mouth to mouth, skin and memory. "Remember, Soubi."
The errant spell casting is unravelled as easily as that, so easily that Ritsuka laughs out loud at the absurdity of it as Soubi's eyes clear to gleaming. He nestles into the warmth of Soubi's body and grins happily when Soubi says, "Ritsuka. Tell me what to do."