Work Text:
“Was that…a goodbye kiss?”
“A kiss to seal a vow.”
Nezumi smiled.
“We will be reunited, Shion.”
Nezumi, I'll be waiting.
No matter how many years pass, no matter how old I get, I'll be waiting here for you.
The wandering star and the fixed one. Someday, our paths will cross again. When that happens, I'm not going to sit quietly and let you go.
Nezumi, I'll be waiting for you.
No. 6, Vol. 9 by Asano Atsuko
(Translated by canis_m)
It’s just a dream, whispers the rational part of his mind.
But the rest of him is in agony.
He’s standing next to a hospital bed that holds a cold and motionless Nezumi. The only thing he can focus on is the dull drone of the heart monitor. Flat-lined. “He’s been down for eight minutes. He’s gone, Shion.”
The scene shifts and he’s reading a letter from Inukashi. He’s smiling as he makes his way through her usual anecdotes about little Shion’s rowdy relationship with the dogs when the final sentence, one she tacked on at the end, crammed in like an afterthought, leaves him winded. “Nezumi’s settled down, he’s not coming back.”
Another shift; he’s old and wrinkled and slumped over in a wheelchair, alone and broken. He recognizes his surroundings as the old Twilight House. A nurse comes to him and asks him if he’s ready to die. “What else is there to live for? He broke his promise.”
No no no no NO. That won’t happen. He wouldn’t break his promise.
The shrill beep beep beep of his alarm goes off and—blessedly—pulls him from sleep. The room is cold—he’s cold, despite having layered two extra blankets on his bed.
As the fog of sleep lifts, Shion sits up abruptly and scans the room.
Nothing is different. Everything looks as it did before he went to bed last night.
He stands and walks to his balcony doors. They are opened invitingly wide, the strong breeze outside billowing his curtains out. Shion pauses in the doorway and looks around: nothing on the balcony, no shadows moving in the trees beyond.
I was so sure. It has to be today, doesn’t it? It has to…
But the evidence is to the contrary.
Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Shion shuts and locks the balcony doors.
His alarm beeps again. He’s got fifteen minutes in which he needs to shower, dress, eat breakfast, and leave for work, and not the slightest ounce of desire to do any of those things.
What else am I going to do all day? Act the fool and stand here, convinced that he’ll show up any minute?
No, he knows it’s best to go about the normal routine of his day. If he doesn’t keep himself occupied, he’ll go insane.
But he can’t help glancing out through the glass doors one more time.
“Happy Birthday to me,” he says sadly to the empty room.
The moon is already bright and the sky is mostly dark as Shion walks down the familiar dirt path later that evening. Nine rows down and twelve columns over. He doesn’t even have to think about it; his feet automatically take him there.
He brushes his fingers against the stone as he murmurs, “Hello.” The plastic wrapped around the cone of bright purple flowers crinkles as he lays it on the ground.
Here lies Safu: her soul was too great to be confined to this world.
Shion thinks yet again that the words are not quite enough, but it was all he could think of at the time.
Graveyards had never existed before in No. 6. What place did a reminder of every person’s mortality have in a utopia? Shion had pushed for that change during the reconstruction. He wanted to be able to create a proper memorial for his friend, and to give others the chance to do the same for their loved ones who hadn’t survived that horrific massacre four years ago. Now, headstones of all shapes and sizes lined the grassy fields of what used to be the park, with beautiful bouquets of flowers laying on almost every mound. There seemed to always be someone visiting here, chatting contentedly to the spirit of a loved one or sitting in silent tears for a quiet reunion.
Shion lowers himself to the ground next to Safu’s headstone. He begins to talk aimlessly about whatever events had transpired since his last visit, imagining the amused expression she’d have as he recounts the awkward luncheon with visiting officials from No. 4 (the officials of No. 6 had been quite flummoxed over how to address the two mistresses the Officer of the Treasury had brought, especially with his wife seated right beside him) and the joy they would share as he assures her that the Mao Village is flourishing after the trade agreements.
He falls quiet after a time, content to listen to the crickets chirp and feel the slight breeze ruffle his hair. He’d debated for a while after first joining the Reconstruction Committee on whether he should dye his hair and do what he could to blend back in to respectable society, but he’d ultimately been unwilling to cover up his battle scars, for that’s what they are. It’s not as if he looks bad—Quite alluring, I’ll say—and he’s secretly proud of being able to show people what he was willing to endure to survive and fight.
Happy Birthday, Shion.
It sounds like a whisper coming from the wind. Shion doesn’t care if it’s his mind playing tricks on him or not. “Thank you, Safu.”
And because he has no one else to talk to about this, Shion starts to tell Safu about today’s missing piece.
“I don’t know why I had expectations,” he begins. “It’s not like we ever…but it just made sense. I thought maybe he’d been waiting this long on purpose so we could celebrate our anniversary together.” He chuckles. “He’d call me a monkey for referring to it like that. But it is what it is, right? Eight years today. Four years since we last saw each other, and four years before that. It just made so much sense to me. I was so sure…but he’s not here. I don’t know where he is. No one knows. How much longer will he make me wait? He wouldn’t just—he promised to come back. I know he will. I just wish I knew when.” Shion hugs his knees close and closes his eyes, determined to force the doubts and disappointments from his mind. But four years already…how much longer? “Nezumi…”
Shion presses his face to his knees; no one’s around to see them anyway, but he’d still rather hide his tears.
“I’m sorry, Safu,” Shion says as he wipes his nose on his sleeve like a little boy. “I’m not very good company today. I should go.”
Shion stands and brushes the grass and dirt from his pants. Another hasty swipe of his sleeve across his face and he’s ready to smile again. “I’ll come back soon,” he promises. “Goodbye, Safu.”
The breeze that follows him back down the path feels like an embrace.
Fall gives way to winter. Winter melts into spring. On the first day of summer, with the sunlight streaking in through the cracks in his curtains and a drowsy thought to remember to turn on the air conditioner, Shion awakens to a tapping on his door.
Beep beep beep.
Shion groans as his mind struggles towards consciousness. He’d been oddly restless last night, wandering aimlessly around his house until he’d caught sight of the clock on the wall, cursed, and forced himself up to his bedroom. The grating sound of his alarm clock sounds like punishment and feels like someone took a screwdriver to his brain. He slaps the “off” button on his alarm but continues to lay prone in his bed, willing himself into a functioning state. It takes a few moments, but the haze of sleep finally begins to lift—and he hears a tapping noise outside his balcony door.
Shion narrows his eyes in the direction of his door, but the sound has already stopped. He listens intently for another moment, then chalks it up to some lingering dream as he finally pulls himself out of bed and trudges into the bathroom.
It takes Shion a little longer than usual in the shower—he’s half-asleep while standing up and needs to keep shaking himself to remember that yes, he does need to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, and no, the shaving cream doesn’t belong on the washcloth—and then he’s staring blearily at himself in the mirror and wondering if it would really be so terrible to take a mental health day from work.
Tap tap tap.
Shion frowns as the sound reaches him through the bathroom door. A stray twig, perhaps? Curious, Shion secures his towel around his waist and walks back into his bedroom.
When he sweeps the curtains aside, it takes Shion a moment to realize what he’s seeing.
It’s Cravat.
Shion can only stare at the patient, expectant expression in the mouse’s eyes.
“N-Nezumi?” he croaks.
Cravat cocks his head, and that’s when Shion notices the mouse has something in its mouth.
He scrambles to unlock the door and let the little mouse in. Cravat darts into the middle of the room, spits out his burden, and turns to Shion with a happy cheep.
Shion crosses the floor slowly, sinking down beside the mouse and distractedly running a finger over his sleek brown fur. He immediately recognizes the thing Cravat had been carrying: it’s the same message capsule he used to send to his mother.
Fingers shaking, Shion opens the capsule and pulls out the small scrap of paper.
It reads: Any room for a rat?
And that’s all it takes for Shion to inexplicably burst into tears.
Though it hadn’t so much as been hinted at in the note, Shion knows that Nezumi will come to him after nightfall—I’m a rat, nocturnal by nature.
That doesn’t stop him from spending the day in agitated impatience, with every request and every setback seeming like a personal attack to hold him in the office and keep him from seeing Nezumi.
When the clock strikes four and there are no more emergencies to contend with, Shion flees the building. Anything else that comes up in the next few hours will just have to damn well wait until tomorrow.
It’s close to five in the evening when Shion finally makes it to the middle of Lost Town. He hurries up the steps of the shopping row, smiling as he smells the warm, familiar scent of fresh-baked bread. It smells like comfort.
When they were well into the reconstruction of No. 6, Shion had offered to relocate his mother into one of the newer, more elegant sections of the city, but Karan had turned him down. He couldn’t honestly say that he hadn’t been expecting that. Throughout his childhood in Chronos, Karan had always been listless, worn down from the lack of any real opportunity to be productive. Chronos had been designed for maximum comfort with minimum effort, and Karan, though she tried to hide it from her son, had been stifled by that lifestyle. When they moved to Lost Town, Karan had flourished. Having to work for a living had given Karan purpose, and for the first time, Shion saw his mother truly happy. So it had come as no surprise that Karan elected to stay in Lost Town after the reconstruction. She had made a life for herself there, and friends who would have sorely missed her and her pastries.
The bell above the bakery door dings as Shion steps inside. He takes a deep breath as he looks at today’s offerings: muffins of every imaginable flavor, breads studded with raisins and nuts, cakes iced with fluffy, cloud-like frosting. He smiles; his mother has become a true culinary connoisseur.
“Shion?”
And there she is, coming down the stairs as she wipes her hands on a towel. A split second later, a blinding smile touches her lips and she rushes the rest of the way down to throw her arms about her son. “Shion!”
“Hi, Mom,” Shion says, returning her hug just as fiercely.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Karan says as she draws back. “Come, sit. I’ll make you some tea. It’s been a while.”
Shion grimaces at the passive-aggressive reprimand. “I know. I’m sorry. There’s always so much still to do.”
There is forgiveness in Karan’s eyes as she nods in agreement. “I know.”
She leads him to one of the tables she’s set out for customers to enjoy a leisurely breakfast or lunch, chattering about how well business is going and how Lili, who she has come to regard as her niece, occasionally comes to assist in the kitchen. Shion drinks the tea his mother sets before him and tells her about some of the projects he’s currently assisting with—the five year anniversary of the Unholy Day Massacre, as most people refer to it, stirred up a lot of activity that even now, months later, his department is still contending with.
“I’m glad,” Karan says suddenly. “You seem fulfilled. Your work has meaning and you do good things. I’m…very glad.”
Shion flushes slightly at the sudden praise. “Me too, Mom.” He takes another sip of his tea to hide his pleasure. A glance at his watch startles him—almost six o’clock now—and prods him into remembering why he’d come in the first place. He feels a flash of guilt for not simply coming to see his mother, but placates himself with the thought that at least he had taken the time to talk to her and not simply run in, asked for his favor, and run back out again.
“Ah, Mom,” he starts, “you know what I’ve really been craving lately? Your stew and cherry cake. I keep wishing I had some around my house to heat up and eat when I have time to sit down for dinner. If it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could make me some to save at home? I’ll help, of course.”
Karan looks exceptionally pleased by this request and insists that of course it’s no trouble, and if he’ll start chopping up the carrots and celery, she’ll get started on the cake right away. They continue chatting amicably as Karan prepares and pours the cake batter into a pan in no time. After depositing the cake into the oven, Karan moves to the stove to cook the stew, directing Shion to chop up more vegetables and fetch herbs from the spice rack.
“You know,” Karan says slyly as she stirs the pot, “you’ve never asked to bring home any of my food before. And all this about wanting enough to get extra helpings out of it…it gives me the feeling that there’s someone at home you’re hoping to share this with.”
Shion’s knife stops chopping. “Um,” he says.
“I knew it.” Karan grins triumphantly. “Tell me, Shion.”
“Someone…someone is coming over tonight,” Shion admits, turning to meet his mother’s gaze. “I thought this would please him.”
“Him?”
Shion flushes and looks away, and the answer becomes clear. Karan knows there’s only one person her son could be this eager to see.
“Nezumi?”
Not that she needs to phrase it as a question. Not that she needs to see Shion’s nod of confirmation. But seeing it makes her lift a hand to her heart; the rush of emotion surprises her as she realizes that she, too, is eager for Nezumi to return.
“Oh, my,” Karan says. “He’s coming back? Truly?”
“I received a note this morning.”
A swirl of enthusiasm and delight sweeps through Karan. “Oh, Shion, after all this time! That’s wonderful news! You’ll have to be sure to bring him by, that boy took a liking to my lemon poppyseed muffins.” Karan smiles encouragingly at her son. “You must be so happy. Nezumi is finally coming home.”
“Yeah.” But that tone of voice doesn’t hint at the excitement Karan would have expected to hear. She gives him a questioning look that makes Shion duck his head. He starts chopping vegetables again. “It’s just…just been a long day, Mom. Of course I’m happy to see him again.”
The questioning look doesn’t leave Karan’s face, but she understands that the topic is closed now and obligingly changes the subject.
An hour later, Karan has carefully packed the food and thrown in a few muffins against Shion’s objections. “You’ll need a good breakfast tomorrow,” she says matter-of-factly, patting his cheek.
Shion gathers up the bags and looks at her apologetically. “I should get going now,” he says. “He’ll probably be showing up soon.”
Karan folds her arms around Shion, hugging him close. “Of course,” she says. “Put that stew on the stove as soon as you get back so it’s warm for him.”
“I will,” Shion promises. “Thank you, Mom.”
Karan presses a kiss to his cheek. “Of course,” she says again before stepping back. “Now get going. And don’t you forget to bring him to visit.”
With one last smile, Shion departs. He wonders at the queasy feeling in his stomach that only intensifies as night draws nearer and nearer.
Shion is beginning to panic.
It’s a quarter past nine, and there is still no sign of Nezumi.
Did he interpret the message incorrectly? Is he getting his hopes up too easily again?
Shion paces around the room to keep himself from putting away the stew in defeat. There’s still time. Nezumi could still come.
Cravat suddenly appears by the table. Cheep cheep cheep.
“Are you hungry?” Shion asks. He slices up a thin piece of cherry cake and tosses it to the mouse. “Someone might as well eat.”
Cravat digs in, and Shion wants to cry or vomit or throw the table across the room. He isn’t sure which urge he wants to give into most, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.
There’s a sound.
Shion freezes.
Did he imagine that? Is he too desperate to—
No, it’s there, the noise is real, there’s someone knocking on his door.
Shion flies to the door, as if he’s afraid that taking one nanosecond too long will make the person on the other side disappear.
He opens the door…and there, finally there, is Nezumi.
“Shion,” Nezumi says in casual greeting. He gives Shion a critical once-over, then grins. “You didn’t change your hair.”
Shion makes a strangled sort of sound and, before he can even think to stop himself, he rushes into Nezumi, arms circling around his waist in a stranglehold.
He almost sobs in relief when, instead of being pushed away, he feels a pair of arms wrap cautiously around his shoulders.
“Nezumi,” is all he can manage to say in a shattered voice.
The arms around his shoulders tighten and he feels breath against his ear. “I promised we’d be reunited, didn’t I?” Nezumi murmurs.
Shion knows he shouldn’t keep Nezumi standing in his doorway; it’s hot, and there’s food waiting, and Nezumi is probably exhausted and wants to sleep soon. But he needs to just take a few more moments to reassure himself that this is one dream he will not be waking from.
“I can’t believe you made your mama cook for me,” Nezumi says, dropping a bite of cherry cake on the table for Hamlet to munch on.
“She wanted to,” Shion says defensively.
Nezumi smirks and slices off another piece of cake.
Shion studies Nezumi over the rim of his mug. Those grey eyes framed by those long, thick lashes are utterly unchanged and he’s still wearing his hair the same way, but the rest of his face has taken on a chiseled sort of maturity now that he’s a man.
Shion still feels like a gawky 16-year-old beside Nezumi.
Nezumi swallows the last bite of cake and sighs in satisfaction. “I’m gonna have to thank your mama. That was even better than I remembered.”
Shion stands to begin washing the dishes and putting away the leftovers. He turns on the faucet and lets the hot water fill the empty stew pot. “If you’re tired, you can head on up to bed. I’ll be along as soon as I finish cleaning up.”
There’s a pause. “To your bed?”
Shion gives Nezumi a brief, puzzled look. “Of course. It’s the only bed I have.”
“No couches?”
Shion shrugs. “I have a couch you can sleep on if you want to. I just thought you’d prefer a bed.”
A low chuckle escapes Nezumi. “Of course you’d think like that.” The chair scrapes back against the floor as Nezumi stands. “I think I will head up to bed.”
“All right,” Shion responds. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come up. Good night, Nezumi.”
“Good night, Shion,” Nezumi says softly, and then he is gone.
They fall into a strange sort of pattern over the next few days. They sleep in the same bed. Shion rises early for work; Nezumi mumbles and mutters until Shion has finished getting ready and slips out of the room, after which he assumes Nezumi goes back to sleep. He’s not sure how Nezumi spends the day while he’s gone, and he doesn’t ask. He comes home in the evening with take-out, and they sit together at his small kitchen table to eat and talk idly.
They never talk about five years ago, or where Nezumi has been, or why Nezumi is back now. Shion wants to ask—questions have been burning in his mind since Nezumi turned from him and walked away, he needs to know—but more than that, he wants Nezumi to want to tell him.
It has been four days since Nezumi’s return, and instead of the happy reunion Shion thought it would be, he feels like he is now living with a stranger.
Shion hates it. He wants to pester Nezumi with questions, rage at him, cry on his shoulder, anything that will produce any sort of emotional reaction from Nezumi. He can’t stand this new Nezumi who only expresses the mildest of amusement, the faintest hint of derision, the shadow of anger. Nezumi used to always be bursting with emotions; he used to overwhelm Shion. Now, Shion feels as if he is living with a crude imitation of his friend.
They’re sitting in the living room where Nezumi has claimed control of the remote; he keeps flipping through channels on the television, not content to stay on any one channel for more than five minutes. If Shion had any room in his head to care about anything other than the man next to him, he might be irritated.
Nezumi abruptly turns to Shion. “I want hot chocolate.”
Shion clucks his tongue in exasperation. “It’s too hot out for hot chocolate.”
Nezumi simply crosses his arms and stares at him.
Clearly, this is an argument he is not going to win. Shion stands with a sigh and walks into the kitchen. The cocoa maker is stashed in one of his cabinets and it takes him a moment to recall where he hid it. He curses as he struggles to dig it out, curses as he remembers how heavy it is, curses as he dumps it onto the counter. And then he curses himself inside his head for constantly being in a foul mood and being too quick to anger these days.
“You kiss your mama with that mouth?”
Shion whirls in surprise. He hadn’t heard Nezumi follow him, hadn’t even heard the television turn off. “Sorry,” he says automatically. “It’s been a bad day.”
Nezumi makes a noncommittal sound as he drops into one of the kitchen chairs. “What happened?”
You won’t talk to me. I feel like I don’t know you anymore. You’re slipping away from me even though you’re right in front of me.
“Nothing worth talking about,” Shion mutters as he turns on the cocoa maker.
They’re both silent as he fills two mugs and takes them to the table. Nezumi doesn’t even look at him as he mumbles a quick “thank you” before grabbing the steaming mug and taking a large swallow.
The silence settles around them again, and Shion hates how familiar it’s starting to feel. He swears it was never even this silent when he lived on his own.
He can’t help his thoughts from turning to where they usually do in these oppressive moments: Nezumi. Why is Nezumi even still here, in this house with Shion where they are both merely existing with one another? After his time in the West Block with Nezumi, Shion can tell the difference between living with someone and merely existing with someone, and what they’re doing right now is most certainly not the former.
Something inside Shion snaps.
He clenches his fingers around the still-warm mug of hot chocolate. He shouldn’t ask. He’s dying to, but he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it would be better to wait for Nezumi to bring it up…but he’s beginning to feel that Nezumi never will. How much longer can he go on not knowing the answer? Not even one more second. The question bubbles up inside him, burning and insistent and before he can stop himself, Shion’s mouth opens and the words creep quietly out: “Why did you leave?”
Nezumi makes an impatient noise. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does.”
Nezumi turns startled eyes on Shion, but Shion is even more surprised at his own outburst. “It does matter,” he repeats. “I’m so sick of always being left in the dark. You think it’s enough to know that we’re here and we’re alive and we’re together, and maybe that was true back then. We were strangers then. But you know that’s not true anymore. I saved your life and you saved mine and we’re not strangers anymore.” Shion is determined now; he’s opened the door on this conversation at last, and he refuses to allow Nezumi to slam it shut in his face. “I deserve to know.”
Nezumi’s gaze is mocking. “And why is that?”
“Because I care about you!” Damn Nezumi for being so calm, so reserved, so unwilling to let down his walls. Shion wants to cry and rage at him until Nezumi feels as shaken as he’s felt for the past five years; why is it that he’s the only one who’s suffered through their separation? “You—don’t you care about me too? At all?”
An unreadable look flits across Nezumi’s face as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Idiot. How can you ask me that?”
“Because I honestly don’t know the answer.”
“Don’t kn—“ Nezumi chokes on his angry words, swallows them down forcefully. “Come on, Shion. You know.”
“Do I?” Shion’s gaze shifts to the window; he suddenly feels distant, detached. “I don’t know that I do. I never know with you, Nezumi. That’s my whole point.”
He stands and takes his mug over to the sink, dumping its contents down the drain; his stomach is churning too much for any more of the drink. He keeps his back to Nezumi, clenching his fingers around the edge of the cold marble countertop. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Not knowing where you were or what you were doing or if you really had any intention of ever coming back? I didn’t let myself doubt you for a long time. I assured myself that you must be doing something important, but that whatever you’d set out to do would surely be resolved soon. Then you’d come back like you promised and you’d tell me all about your travels. I held onto that belief for a long time. But then years started passing and…and no one heard from you, no one had any idea where…no one even knew if you were alive.”
Shion’s throat constricts as he recalls every nightmare, every worry, every thought he ever had that shook his faith in Nezumi. He blinks furiously to keep the tears from dripping onto his cheeks. “I kept forgetting what you looked like. I never thought that would be possible, not in a million years. But the shade of your eyes, the texture of your hair, the scar on your back…they kept slipping away from me. I’d panic and just sit there thinking about you until I had a clear picture back in my mind. You never gave me any pictures to hold on to, so I had to try to make one myself. But memory is such a fickle thing, Nezumi. For years, I was left with nothing but memories that became fuzzier every day.”
Does he understand yet? Shion wonders. Can he tell how much I care? How much I missed him? “Things kept slipping away from me no matter how hard I tried, and I kept hoping you’d be back soon and set my memories straight. But the years kept going by and there was no word and I…”
The silence falls heavy and oppressing as Shion fights to take steady breaths; it’s a struggle to keep from gasping and shaking as five years’ worth of agony rips through his mind. All the insecurity, all the loneliness, the doubts and regrets and the quashed impulses to seek out Nezumi on his own, it all swirls together in his head and makes him dizzy.
“And now you’re finally back and you won’t talk to me, and I feel like you’re further away now than you were a year ago and I don’t know why you won’t just talk to me.” Shion shudders at the force of his own emotions and bows his head in defeat for letting it all get the best of him.
He freezes when he hears the chair scrape back against the floor. Is Nezumi going to leave again? Did he make him angry?
But then he feels two arms encircle his waist and he can’t stop the single tear that escapes to roll down his cheek. He can’t explain it, but he feels everything in that embrace. Now you’re truly back, Nezumi.
Nezumi’s head comes to rest on his shoulder and Shion can just barely make out his murmurs over the roaring in his head: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Shion doesn’t know how long they stand like that. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Maybe he’ll look outside and see that snow has started to fall. He doesn’t care. All that matters is Nezumi is here; his arms are around him and his breath is on his neck and he is here.
When Nezumi pulls back, Shion turns to face him automatically. He knows Nezumi has something to say, just as he knows, now with utter conviction, that Nezumi cares for him.
Shion can practically see the thoughts whirring through Nezumi’s head, the way he contemplates then discards words until he finally finds what he wants to say. Shion sees the decision in his eyes, and in that moment, he makes a decision too.
Nezumi swallows hard. “Shion, it’s a long story—“
“No,” Shion interrupts him.
Nezumi’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “No?”
Shion smiles at him as he raises a hand to gently cup Nezumi’s cheek. “I don’t need to know right now. Knowing that you’re willing to tell me is enough.”
Nezumi’s face makes it clear he doesn’t believe a word Shion is saying. Shion just smiles wider, his thumb swiping idly along Nezumi’s cheek.
“Shion…”
“Hush, Nezumi.”
Shion’s lips stop whatever words Nezumi was going to say next.
The kiss is brief, chaste. But as Shion pulls back, he sees Nezumi lick his lips.
An odd, rapid flash of fire sweeps through Shion’s body. He suddenly has an urge to lick his lips too, but he refrains.
“What was that for?” Nezumi’s voice is unusually solemn.
Shion considers. They’ve only shared goodbye kisses before, and this certainly wasn’t that. What, indeed, had that kiss been for? Something unnamable, perhaps, but Nezumi’s asking for a name anyway. The simple question suddenly seems dangerous. If there’s anything he’s learned from Nezumi, it’s that words can prove to be treacherous things. He knows it would likely prove to be a folly he can’t recover from if he chooses the wrong ones now. So what had that kiss been for?
“To welcome you home.”
Nezumi smiles and Shion thinks that, maybe, just this once, he managed to find the perfect words.
It’s as if Shion’s outburst had breeched the wall between them. They may not be talking about all the important things yet, but now, there are times when Shion feels as if the five-year gap between living with Nezumi in West Block and living with Nezumi here in No. 6 never happened at all.
Nezumi has finally dared to dive into Shion’s vast bookshelves, and it makes Shion smile to see the once-familiar sight of Nezumi lounging with a book becoming commonplace again. Sometimes Nezumi will entertain Shion with a spur-of-the-moment performance from one of the many plays; sometimes, he’ll even get Shion to act along with him.
One day, Shion comes home from work to the sound of “Für Elise” filling the house. Nezumi had somehow managed to find a piano, and now he plays it often, with relish.
They cook together and read together and, on the milder summer nights, they go for walks through the quiet streets. Shion asks Nezumi during one of these walks if he’d like to go visit Safu, and Nezumi responds solemnly that he would. When they reach Safu’s grave, Nezumi bows on one knee, kisses the headstone, and says, “Thank you.”
The tender moment brings tears to Shion’s eyes.
On the ninth day of Nezumi’s return, they are sitting in companionable silence in the living room, each engrossed in a book. Shion had never dared to imagine what life would be like when Nezumi came back—Nezumi has always been too unpredictable anyway—but this quiet life filled with moments of joy has to be better than anything he could have dreamed up.
“Shion.” Nezumi’s voice breaks the silence with an almost-questioning tone.
Shion doesn’t even look up from his book. “Hm?”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me.”
This time, Shion looks up. “Hm?”
“When you said you didn’t know if I cared about you…” Nezumi looks oddly uncomfortable. “Did you mean that?”
Shion bites his lip and looks away. “I…I guess I did.”
Nezumi’s eyes have a far-off, deadened look to them. “I suppose neither Inukashi or Rikiga told you about that day. When you died.”
Shion sucks in a breath. This is the first time Nezumi has brought up anything substantial about their past together. “No. We never talked about it. None of us wanted to.”
Nezumi taps his fingers against the pages of his book. “We were supposed to meet them in the shipping area. I don’t remember how I managed it after you were shot, but the next thing I remember is Rikiga laying you on the ground and Inukashi insisting we had to leave. They were going to leave you behind. I was too weak to carry you—I couldn’t even get myself out of there without help, and neither of them was strong enough to be able to carry you out. They were just going to leave your body there. So when Inukashi finally dragged the old man out…I stayed behind.”
“Nezumi—“ Shion feels winded. “Why?”
“You were dead,” Nezumi shrugs. “I felt like being dead too.”
Shion remembers an argument they once had over Romeo and Juliet with sudden and startling clarity.
“He loved her more than anything in this world,” Shion had protested. “He just wanted to be with her in the end.”
“She wasn’t all he had,” Nezumi had argued back. “It was selfish of him. Until you have nothing and no one left to live for, you have no right to take your own life.”
“Nezumi…”
Nezumi doesn’t say a word as Shion plucks the book from his hands and settles himself in his lap.
They fall asleep curled up together on the narrow couch.
“I’m home,” Shion calls out, kicking the door shut behind him. His arms are laden with grocery bags; Nezumi had been muttering something about tomato sauce in his half-asleep state this morning, and Shion thought it would be fun to make lasagna together that night.
Nezumi appears in front of him, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the La Veille,” he thunders.
Shion almost drops the bags. “Oh. Uh.”
“It’s enormous,” Nezumi goes on. A fanatic light has entered his eyes. “Seats more than 3,000. And there’s balconies. A pit for the orchestra, chandeliers, velvet curtains—it’s—it’s—Shion”—his tone has turned accusing—“did you build it for me?”
Shion refuses to meet Nezumi’s gaze as he stalks past him into the kitchen. “There were several of us in the Reconstruction Committee who wanted to bring the arts into No. 6,” he evades. “We started with a number of small theaters to garner some interest and to educate people, and as the popularity grew, so did the size of the theaters. La Veille is the most recent construction. Drama has caught on quite spectacularly—we had the funds to make it a bit of an extravagance.”
“Shion,” Nezumi says flatly. “It’s called La Veille.” He snorts. “I’ve spent enough time reading French books to know what it means. What, are you going to pretend it’s a coincidence?”
“What brought the theater to your attention?” Shion asks, rifling through the grocery bags with more interest than is necessary.
Nezumi strikes a pose. “Auditions,” he announces with grandiosity. “The stage is my one true love, and she called to me.” He flashes Shion a grin. “I was roaming about and saw some signs for The Phantom of the Opera. I didn’t rehearse at all, and I still managed to land a callback tomorrow. What do you think? Do I have a chance at being the Phantom?”
“Not Christine?” Shion asks innocently, arching at eyebrow.
Nezumi shoots him a withering look. “Well, I can hardly use my old stage name, now can I?” He shakes his head in mock-disgust. “I can’t believe you named a theater after me.”
Shion’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Well, if nothing else,” he says, “you can at least take it as a good omen.” He pulls a jar of tomato paste and the assorted herbs he’d picked at random out of one of the grocery bags and shoves them at Nezumi. “Here, make some sauce.”
Nezumi grumbles under his breath as he takes the jars and spreads them on the counter, taking inventory of his ingredients. “Wait, tomato sauce?”
“Yeah. We’re having lasagna.”
Nezumi stares at him.
Shion’s smile suddenly turns the slightest bit…wicked. “I’ve had a terrible craving for tomato sauce since this morning. Haven’t you?”
And when the baffled expression crosses Nezumi’s face as he starts to ask “How did you—” Shion begins to laugh helplessly.
“So,” Nezumi drawls, “have you learned anything about sex yet?”
It’s late on a Friday night and they’ve just gotten into bed, having stayed up late to watch a documentary on cowboys that Nezumi had been utterly engrossed in. The fact that Nezumi is striking up a conversation now that the lights are out is no surprise; Shion is used to Nezumi’s tendency to talk himself to sleep. He doesn’t understand it, but somehow, whatever meaningless conversation they have soothes Nezumi into slumber—sometimes, amusingly enough, while he’s in the middle of a sentence.
However, this topic of conversation hardly seems to fall under “meaningless bedtime talk.”
Shion refuses to show his discomfort. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to have while we’re in bed.”
He can feel Nezumi’s smirk. “So that’s a ‘no.’”
It’s the truth, but Shion doesn’t want to discuss it. Nezumi would never understand. He doesn’t understand.
“You’re, what, twenty now? How much longer you gonna wait? Have you at least kissed anyone?”
“I’ve kissed you.”
Nezumi groans and turns to face the wall. “You’re such an ape. I meant kissed anyone you wanted to kiss. Obviously. Talking to you is like talking to a six-year-old.”
Shion’s quiet for a moment. And then, with heartfelt honesty, “I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you.”
He feels Nezumi shift back around to face him, but Shion can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. “You’re such an idiot,” Nezumi says quietly. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“I—“
“Of course you don’t.” Nezumi scowls. “How can you still be so dense? Honestly.”
“Nezumi, I know what I’m saying,” Shion insists. “I do. I just…I don’t really understand it.”
Silence reigns again. Shion resolutely stares at the ceiling, refusing to look at Nezumi. His hands are clenched and he’s biting his lip and he’s so nervous and he doesn’t know why. He’s just being honest, the same way he’s always been. So why does it feel so monumentally different?
“I guess I really have to teach you everything, don’t I,” Nezumi deadpans.
The sudden pronouncement startles Shion into turning his wide-eyed gaze onto Nezumi. “What?”
Nezumi lifts himself onto his elbow and stares down at Shion, his expression a strange mix of curiosity, solemnity, and…something Shion can’t place. Isn’t sure he wants to.
“Do you want to kiss me right now, Shion?”
Shion wants to say, “Are you making fun of me?” but something in Nezumi’s voice makes him think that he probably isn’t. Then why is he asking me that? It doesn’t feel like a joke, but it can’t possibly be a serious question, can it? So instead, Shion says, “I don’t know,” which is the most truthful answer he can give at the moment.
Nezumi leans in so quickly that Shion can’t help the gasp that escapes from his lips. He expects Nezumi to laugh, but the serious expression on Nezumi’s face doesn’t waver. Their noses are almost touching, and the only thing Shion can see as he stares into Nezumi’s eyes is his own puzzled face.
“Do you want to kiss me right now?” Nezumi repeats.
Shion’s heart is pounding and it’s hard to breathe and his palms are sweating and how does Nezumi expect me to think clearly like this? He’s aware of Nezumi’s breath ghosting over his face, the heat of Nezumi’s body, those beautiful grey eyes staring at him. Shion’s struggling to ignore all these things and think of how to answer Nezumi’s question…and then Nezumi licks his lips and oh, he did that before and it made me want—made me want—
And with perfect precision, everything falls into place and Shion thinks, So this is lust.
Nezumi is still waiting patiently for an answer. Shion brings a hand to Nezumi’s cheek and whispers, “Yes,” and he’s not sure who moved first but they’re kissing and it’s wonderful.
He’s never really noticed before, but Nezumi’s lips are pillow-soft and fever-warm, and now they’re moving against his own with purpose. Shion tries to match Nezumi’s movements and he hopes he’s succeeding because oh, it feels so good, and he wants Nezumi to feel good too.
Their kiss goes on until Shion feels the faintest touch of Nezumi’s tongue to his own, and then Nezumi pulls back with a groan. “Hell,” Nezumi pants.
Shion silently agrees; he hasn’t the breath the respond out loud.
The two lay sprawled over the bed for several minutes, just listening to each other breathe. Shion feels warm all over and, while Nezumi isn’t looking, he licks his lips.
“You know,” Shion says, “I think I’d like for you to teach me about sex.”
He’s half-expecting another reprimand for his blunt speech; instead, Nezumi bursts into pure, unadulterated laughter. He curls towards Shion, throwing an arm over his chest and laughing into his hair, and Shion smiles.
Nezumi presses a kiss to Shion’s head and remarks with amusement, “Should be interesting.”
Silence falls again, but this time it is a content sort of quiet. Eventually, with a smile on his face and Nezumi’s heartbeat in his ear, Shion drifts blissfully into sleep.
Shion’s day has been thoroughly, quantifiably miserable.
It had started when, while trying to turn off his alarm, he’d accidentally knocked the clock onto the floor. The resultant clattering mixed with the insistent beep beep beep had made him cringe.
It had made Nezumi livid.
“Hell, shut up,” he’d hissed, burrowing further into the blankets as if the cocoon he’d created could keep out the sound.
Shion had hurried to turn off the alarm and set the clock back on the nightstand. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Be quiet,” Nezumi ordered. “Just get out. Go to work. Just go away.”
Needless to say, Shion’s morning did not go well, rattled as he was by Nezumi’s somewhat unwarranted fury. And at no point did the day even come close to taking a turn for the better.
Documents that were supposed to have been processed and sent on to the senate yesterday were claimed to have never been filed in the first place. A particularly overbearing citizen kept calling to harass Shion about the rejection of his proposed ban on “vigorous activity” in the park (“These damned kids! Always hollering and carrying on! Is it too much to ask for some quiet in the park? And there they are, running after each other and doing those damn fool tricks on the skateboard contraptions. I tell you, that’s not how we were in my day…”).
The fax machine jammed up. The coffeemaker short-circuited. They ran out of paperclips because whoever had done the inventory check last week had failed to make note of how few they had left, so they’d never been restocked (and isn’t it ridiculous how much you miss the presence of a simple paperclip when you need one?).
Shion feels utterly spent by the time the clock strikes five. He is tempted to curl up under his desk and sleep rather than drag himself back home, but his bed is the bigger temptation—or, more to the point, the person he currently shares his bed with is.
Shion doesn’t acknowledge the fact that that person was furious with him this morning and probably still is. Nezumi’s temper is a fearsome thing.
And so it is with great trepidation that Shion opens the front door and wearily calls out, “I’m home.”
Nezumi is stretched out on the couch with a book in his hand and Hamlet on his knee. He doesn’t even look up as he says, “’Lo.”
Shion goes into a sulk.
He slouches into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of juice, which he then promptly puts into the refrigerator because he decides he isn’t in the mood for anything sweet. Then he drags himself up the staircase to splash some cold water in his face and try to school his expression into something neutral, rather than the pout he’s currently sporting. Back down the staircase he goes, where he debates finding his own book to read but reasons that he’s in no state of mind to concentrate, so he turns on the television instead and gives himself the simple task of staring ahead and trying not to think at all.
“You look like someone’s killed your pet,” Nezumi quips from the other side of the room.
No, just like someone’s been completely boorish to me for no reason, Shion wants to retort, but he refrains.
“Would you quit sulking? You’re not five, and it’s distracting.” Nezumi pauses. “What the hell’s got you in such a bad mood anyway?”
Shion does not want to have this conversation. He lets out a frustrated sigh and growls, “Nothing.”
Nezumi lifts an eyebrow in mild surprise. “You’re never in a bad mood,” he remarks. “Now I know why. It doesn’t suit you. What’s wrong, Shion?”
And just like that, Shion can feel his anger and irritation draining away. Because, he reasons, Nezumi might have brought on the bad mood in the first place, but at least he cares enough to ask. And really, isn’t knowing that Nezumi cares reason enough to be in a better mood?
With a note of apology in his voice, Shion says, “It’s nothing, really. Just a lot of things going wrong at work today. Murphy’s Law, you know?”
Nezumi gives an understanding sort of, “Mm.” There is a pause, and then he stands, grabs Shion’s arm, and barks, “Come,” as he hauls Shion into the center of the room.
“What are you—“ Shion starts to say, but one of Nezumi’s hands is on his waist and the other has taken hold of his right hand, and there’s Shion’s answer.
Smiling, Shion places his left hand on Nezumi’s shoulder. “I’ve forgotten the steps,” he confesses.
“You’re a quick study,” Nezumi assures him, and then he begins to move.
One two three, one two three. Shion keeps his head ducked down, trying to study Nezumi’s feet to figure out where his own should go, but he feels Nezumi’s finger under his chin and raises his eyes. “Don’t look down,” Nezumi instructs. “Look at me.”
It sounds like a counterproductive command, but Shion obeys anyway. One two three, one two three. He’s beginning to stumble less now; his feet are slowly beginning to retain the pattern Nezumi’s set out for them. Their fumbling dance is beginning to feel more and more like an actual waltz, and Shion lets out a delighted laugh.
“Are you ready?” Nezumi asks, an impish grin on his face.
“Ready for what?”
In a move too fast for him to ever see coming, Nezumi raises his hand and pulls Shion forward. Shion instinctively—though he doesn’t know how or why he has that instinct, what does he know about dancing?—let’s his body fall into the spin Nezumi is guiding him in. He’s whirling around faster than he ever thought he could go, getting dizzy and light-headed and about to say, “No more,” when Nezumi’s arm suddenly slips behind him, strong and steady, and the room is no longer spinning because he’s bent backwards over Nezumi’s arm, Nezumi’s face grinning down at him.
Shion goggles up at Nezumi in shock, his thoughts whirling (Did I just do that? How did I go so fast? How did I not fall?). “What—what—“ he splutters, before a new emotion overcomes him and he finds himself crying out, “Wow. That was amazing!”
Nezumi hefts him back onto his feet and arranges the two of them back into a waltzing position, pulling Shion into the slower, more familiar steps. “We’ll make a dancer out of you yet, Shion,” he says, smiling.
Shion smiles back dazzlingly, and they’re quiet for a moment as their feet tap out the one two three, one two three.
There is a moment where Nezumi seems to be steeling himself, but then he blinks and breathes out a sigh and says, “I’m sorry about this morning.”
Shion feels his face flushing slightly and looks away from Nezumi’s gaze. “No need to apologize. I was being loud.”
“You were,” Nezumi acknowledges, “but I didn’t need to be such an ass about it.”
Shion is utterly perplexed. He can count on one hand the amount of apologies he has ever managed to secure from Nezumi, and none of them have ever been about Nezumi’s temper. The way Nezumi sees it, Shion assumes, is that his anger always has a reason, and thus he never feels a need to express remorse. Besides, Nezumi is the type to have no regrets over his personality: he is how he is, and everyone can either accept it or go to hell.
So why is he suddenly apologizing for his behavior?
“Um,” Shion stammers. “It was nothing. Really.”
“You idiot,” Nezumi grumbles. “Just accept my apology.”
Shion glances up at Nezumi and that’s when it hits him: Nezumi is embarrassed.
A light, fluttery feeling passes through Shion’s stomach and moves straight into his heart.
“If you insist,” he says, striving to make his tone light. The weight of this conversation feels ridiculously thick with unspoken things, things neither of them is ready or capable of expressing just yet. Shion knows it’s best to do as Nezumi says and let the moment pass before it becomes stifling. “I accept your apology.”
The moment doesn’t quite pass—there’s still a hint of unease in Nezumi’s eyes and an air of confusion around Shion—but they continue to waltz around the room, content to let it be.
Shion’s head is thrown back against the pillow, neck exposed, eyelids fluttering, mouth open as he pants and begs and moans. It’s almost more than Nezumi can take.
The curtains are drawn and the faint light of the full moon spills into the bedroom. It falls across Shion’s white hair, making it gleam in the moonlight and utterly captivate Nezumi. He slides up the bed and nuzzles Shion’s hair, his tongue dipping to caress the curve of Shion’s ear.
“N-Nezumi,” Shion gasps. “Yes, there, again.”
Nezumi obliges and indulges himself in the sound of Shion losing control. It’s absolutely heady, like a strong, fine wine, and Nezumi has to work to convince himself that he’s indulged himself enough for tonight.
He pulls back and Shion, with a sound like a contented kitten, curls towards him, tucking his head under Nezumi’s chin. Nezumi has a sudden sense that every bit of themselves was molded to be a perfect fit to the other, and the thought brings both pleasure and revulsion. (Probably more of one than the other, but since there’s only himself to admit it to, well, it’s his prerogative to ignore the probability if he wants to, dammit.)
Caring is a difficult thing. It’s brought him moments of both the greatest happiness he’s ever known and the most severe anguish he’s ever endured. Is it worth it? Do the two extremes balance each other out and make it all okay?
“Nezumi,” Shion says drowsily. “I have something to ask you.”
“All right.”
“And I don’t want you to get angry with me.”
“…All right.”
“And I want very much for you to answer me, and to answer me honestly.”
“Are you gonna ask, or are you gonna keep being a brat?”
Shion sticks his tongue out at Nezumi; Nezumi snorts at the childish display. “All right, all right, ask your damn question.”
“Why did you leave?”
Nezumi’s mouth twists into a frown: this again. He supposes he should have been expecting it—he had conceded before, when Shion asked that first time and then mysteriously stopped the conversation before it had really begun—but Nezumi was too willing to put it behind him and pretend it didn’t matter anymore. Foolish. He should have been working on what to say when the time came to really have this conversation, because he should have known it was a conversation they have to have.
And that much is clear to him right now, in this moment. They’ve both been dancing around a lot since he first came back into Shion’s life—there’s too much neither of them understand about the other, too much that hasn’t been said yet. And the fragile look on Shion’s face is a warning sign: if they don’t have this conversation now, Nezumi might very well permanently damage whatever they’ve managed to build together up to this point.
Nezumi strokes Shion’s hair, giving himself a few precious moments to collect his thoughts. There’s so much to explain, but the words aren’t coming to him easily. Nezumi gives himself a bitter smile; words have always been his forte, his greatest delight, and now they are utterly failing him.
“I don’t really know what to say,” he admits somewhat ruefully, murmuring into Shion’s hair. “I don’t really know where to start, there’s so much…”
“It’s okay,” Shion says reassuringly. “Just talk to me, Nezumi.”
And so Nezumi talks.
“I suppose part of me always had this vague notion that once No. 6 had been brought down, I would travel the world. It felt like something I needed to do. I spent the majority of my life hidden in the forest with my family, my people, and then my hatred of No. 6 pulled me to the West Block. I’ve spent all my life having some reason to keep me grounded in one place, so I thought that I’d finally be free once No. 6 was destroyed.” Nezumi makes an exasperated sound. “Then I met you.”
There is something inside Nezumi that is raging, demanding that he shut his mouth and disappear now. It’s the part of him that shut down all of Shion’s attempts to get close to him in the West Block, the part of him that turned and walked away when Shion had asked him to stay. But now, there is something else growing inside him, something that’s tired of holding all the walls in place, something that won’t let him walk away anymore. It is with an almost content acceptance that Nezumi acknowledges this new part of him, and he yields to it.
“But your work in No. 6 wasn’t finished when the wall was brought down,” Nezumi continues quietly. “In fact, it was just beginning. But mine was. I spent so many years on just that one goal, and once those walls fell and the No. 6 that I knew was no more, there was nothing left for me here.” He gives himself a self-deprecating smile. “Or so I tried to tell myself. You asking me to stay…maybe that would have been reason enough to. But I just couldn’t. You had a purpose, your own goal to work towards. If I had stayed…what would I have had?” Nezumi shrugs. “I guess I was jealous that you were suddenly the one with the agenda. But the rational part of me knew you were right where you belonged and I couldn’t hold that against you, and that now that you knew where you needed to be, it was time I find out where I needed to be too.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, each of them trying to digest his words. Before he can stop himself, Nezumi lets out a helpless laugh. “It doesn’t really matter what excuse I give, does it?” he says wryly. “We both know the truth.” He can’t quite bring himself to say the words out loud, but he knows Shion understands: I was just running away.
Shion’s fingers lace through his; he can tell Shion wants to say something, but he doesn’t want to let him speak, not yet. Now that he’s finally gotten this much out, he feels compelled to keep going, to explain as much as he can. He owes it to Shion. “At any rate, there was a part of me that believed that getting away for a while and seeing what else is out there would be good for me. And so I left.” He slants a sardonic grin at Shion. “But I got bored. I’d always had something to keep me grounded, and now I had nothing and…I hated it. I hadn’t expected that at all. I thought it would be great: I’d be free, no attachments, able to go where I wanted, when I wanted. But I hated being so alone.” He fixes Shion with an accusing glare. “You broke me.”
“S-sorry,” Shion stammers.
Nezumi scoffs and shakes his head. “Idiot. I was just kidding.” He runs a hand through Shion’s hair; he’s always doing that, but it’s so silky and beautiful and he can’t ever stop touching it. “After that revelation, I kept having to fight myself from coming back. You had work to do, and I didn’t want to be in your way. I knew you’d become someone important to this city, and I knew you needed to be able to devote yourself to your work, at least for a little while. So I kept myself away to let you do what you needed to do. And then one day…it was the strangest thing. It was horrible. I woke up and felt like it was too late. There was some niggling thing inside me that insisted you must’ve given up on me, that I’d stayed away for too long. I’d been afraid of coming back too soon, and now I was afraid of coming back at all. If you weren’t waiting for me, what was there for me to come back to? But I’d promised you. I didn’t know what I’d find, but I knew I had to fulfill that promise. It took me a long time, but there was finally a morning where I woke up and didn’t begin doubting right away. So before I could stop to second guess myself again, I scribbled that note and sent Cravat off. There was no turning back after that.”
Now Shion’s the one caressing his hair, running his fingers through the long black strands in gentle motions. Nezumi lets out a little sigh of contentment—and then a strangled cry as Shion’s fist closes on his hair and pulls him up.
Shion’s sitting up now, and Nezumi finds himself looking up into his heated gaze. “You stupid bastard,” Shion says, sounding offended and enraged—and just the tiniest bit amused? “Fool. As if I’d ever forget you. As if it were possible for me to not wait for you until the day I died. Do you know how ridiculous you sound? You stupid bastard.”
Nezumi is both shocked and—if he’s being honest with himself—a little bit proud of Shion’s outburst. “Ow,” he says, trying not to laugh for fear that Shion will get the wrong idea. “Could you let me go? I feel properly scolded now.”
Shion scowls but lets go of the fistful of Nezumi’s hair. Relieved, Nezumi pulls himself into a sitting position across from Shion.
“I can’t believe you honestly thought those things,” Shion grumbles.
“Yeah, well, I was feeling irrational, okay?” Nezumi rubs his scalp. “That’s the problem with feelings. They make you stupid. They make you weak.” He glowers at Shion. “You really did break me, you damn brat.”
The irritation abruptly fades from Shion’s face as he stares curiously up at Nezumi. “What do you—“
“I mean,” Nezumi breaks in, frustrated, “I was fine on my own. Great, even. But I had a debt to repay, and you sure as shit made sure that I paid it in full, and then there you were, all the time, with your questions and your crazy ideas and your stupid need to help everyone. I wanted us to remain strangers. I didn’t want to get attached. But you had to go and claw your way under my skin, and suddenly my house became our house and one word from your mother and I was ready to risk my life for your friend. Do you know how infuriating that was for me? And I kept trying to squash it all deep down where I couldn’t feel it anymore but I can’t, and the really infuriating thing about that is lately, I’ve been feeling like I don’t want to.”
Shion is gaping at him, eyes blinking in confusion. “Nezumi, are you—“
But Nezumi cuts him off again. “I guess what I’m trying to tell you with all this,” he says, suddenly calm, “is that you’re what’s keeping me grounded now.”
The wondering look on Shion’s face is precious, priceless. “Me?” he whispers.
And Nezumi leans in to press a kiss softly, decisively to Shion’s lips. “You,” he affirms.
“Nezumi…” Shion bites his lip. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because of course I’m happy to hear that, but…I can’t be enough for you. You’re so…you live big, Nezumi, and you need—you deserve—a big life. I’m not enough to fill it. I wish I could be, but I know I’m not.”
“Stupid,” Nezumi says affectionately, running a hand through Shion’s snow-white hair—I just can’t ever stop touching it. “You built me a theater, didn’t you?”
Shion looks up at Nezumi, his eyes bright. “Is it enough?”
Nezumi kisses him sweetly. “More than.”
The greatest happiness he’s ever known and the most severe anguish he’s ever endured. Is it worth it? Do the two extremes balance each other out and make it all okay?
As Nezumi settles back down on the bed and pulls Shion into his arms, he considers the thought. Is every moment of joy worth every moment of misery? He thinks of Shion’s goodbye kiss, Shion being captured by the Bureau of Peace, Shion asking to die as a parasite steals his life. Shion lying dead on the ground. And then he thinks of Shion’s vivacity, his goodness and his occasional wit and his honesty, the way he’ll read to mice and dirty children and give his water to someone else even when he’s parched. He thinks of dancing with Shion, cooking with Shion, sleeping with Shion, kissing Shion.
Is it worth it?
If it’s not, Nezumi decides, he damn well doesn’t care. After all, what kind of life could he lead now that he’s tasted both sides of the sword? He’s tried it, hasn’t he, and those five years of relative monotony and colorless existence against the life he’s living now have convinced him that no matter what heartaches follow the good…he wouldn’t give them up for the world.
Shion breathes out a contented sound in his sleep, and, impulsively, Nezumi murmurs a word that might start with an “l” and end with an “ove” but it is his secret, his truth, and he holds it close, this thing that is both salvation and destruction, and lets it sweep into his crooked heart.