#minamiren

“What? Why not?” Shion said, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Think of all the places you could go if you had them.”

Sitting up straighter, Nezumi put the bookmark back in his book and folded his arms with a glare. “Is that all you can think about? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Shion tilted his head, seeming even more perplexed. He studied Nezumi for a long moment, then said, “I would’ve thought that a wanderer like you would be happy to have more freedom of movement.”

Nezumi took a deep breath, willing Shion one last time to drop the fucking subject. Shion hadn’t even put the feather down, and was still holding it in his palm like it wasn’t just a piece of garbage.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Nezumi said through gritted teeth. “Now will you please get rid of that thing?”

Looking down at the feather in his palm, Shion hesitated. “Can I put it in a box somewhere, or do I really have to throw it out?”

“Do what you want,” Nezumi said, feeling like his teeth were beginning to creak with the tension in his jaw. “Just put it somewhere I don’t have to see it.”

“Right.” Shion shot him a worried look, then left the room. Nezumi slumped back against the sofa like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out a miserable breath and putting the book over his face.

After a minute he sat up and opened the book. But he could immediately tell it would be fruitless to try and continue reading.

Stowing the book in his pocket, Nezumi got up from the sofa and left Karan’s house. He had been planning to have dinner there, but now he had no taste for it. As he walked through Lost Town, he turned his gaze away from the dark sky to the rubble of the wall below. The scars on his back ached, and he fiercely concentrated on the sensation. He couldn’t fly again. He wouldn’t. He had known it since the day he lost his wings.

⁂

A few days later, Nezumi was in his underground room tinkering with one of his robot mice, when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Shion was standing there with a plastic bag, looking apologetic.

“What’s that?” Nezumi said, raising an eyebrow at the bag as he let Shion in.

“It’s the dinner I owe you,” Shion said wryly. “Seeing as you didn’t stick around to eat it. I’m sorry, by the way. I—”

“No, wait a minute,” Nezumi said, shutting the door behind Shion and coming back to stand in front of him again. “I want to get the full effect of this performance.”

Shion rolled his eyes, but the tense set of his mouth relaxed. “Yes, you can grade me on it. Listen. I’m sorry I pushed you about your wings. I still don’t understand why you were upset. I always want to understand as much as I can about you, but it really wasn’t my business. I should’ve known better.”

Nezumi tilted his head and said, “Six out of ten. I took three points off for stating the obvious. That’s what you should know better about. But your genuine emotion won over the judges by a narrow margin.”

Shion spluttered a laugh, setting the bag down on the table. “I’ll take your feedback under advisement. How have you been?”

“Fine,” Nezumi said, though in truth the past few days had weighed heavily on him. “What did you do with the feather?”

“Huh?” Shion said, looking surprised. “I put it in my bedside table drawer. Why?”

Nezumi looked away, letting the expected wave of pain flow through him. Getting rid of his feathers had always hurt, but even thinking of keeping them had been far, far worse. His family would’ve treated them as sacred, storing all of his feathers away from the age of his first moult until he was on the cusp of adulthood. Then they would have used them to make a special cloak that represented all the wisdom he’d gained since he was a child. Wrapped in his own feathers, he would have gone forth as a newly respected adult member of his clan.

But even knowing that, Nezumi had never been able to treat them as special. Letting Shion keep a feather as some kind of token for now was a compromise between what Nezumi knew to be right and what he could tolerate. He was ashamed of all the ones he’d lost and given up, but without his wings, he would never have enough for a cloak. A thin scarf would’ve been possible at best, and that would’ve been painful.

Nezumi took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “There may be others,” he admitted. “Don’t get excited about it.”

"Others?” Shion said, momentarily confused. “Oh. Feathers. But Nezumi, I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” Nezumi interrupted. He sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Even if every single one of them grows back, it won’t change anything. I’m not flying.”

The following silence from Shion was deafening. Nezumi could practically feel him bursting with questions. With only his teeth and lips to keep them contained, it seemed to take Shion a herculean effort to hold them back. But he did.

Nezumi gave a quieter sigh — a real one, and hated himself for it. He turned his gaze away from Shion’s face and said, “My body might betray my family, but I won’t.”

Nezumi knew that his heart was healing. That his soul was healing. If they weren’t, he never would’ve been able to return to No. 6. But that didn’t mean he was ready for his wings to grow back, even if his body thought it was time. It was a kick in the teeth that the universe was finally returning something it had taken to him, only to do it in a way he didn’t want.

“Betray your family?” Shion blurted out. “I mean — sorry. I just—”

After watching Shion struggle for a moment, Nezumi said, “Ask your question, Shion.”

“Why would it be betraying them to fly?”

At that, Nezumi actually raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “None of them will ever fly again. Why should I?”

Shion blinked. He opened his mouth, and Nezumi braced himself, his heart suddenly pounding. He recognised the look in Shion’s eye. It was a “third option” kind of look.

“That’s not true,” Shion said, as if he were the one stating plainly obvious facts. “If you fly, they’ll go with you. You’ll carry them with you, Nezumi. When I fly, I bring Safu.”

Nezumi stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to believe that spiritual mumbo jumbo you just spouted?”

“I’m serious.” The look in Shion’s eyes now was a special kind of deep-seated grief he only ever got when he was thinking of Safu. Even Nezumi couldn’t bring himself to believe Shion could be lying with a face like that.

For a moment Nezumi thought about it. What it would be like if he flew, and felt his family with him. The thought was nauseatingly terrifying.

Something of what he was thinking must have shown in his eyes, because Shion said gently, “I struggled with that too, when you were away. After the wall fell, I realised my flight feathers were growing back.” Citizens of No. 6 weren’t allowed to fly without a special permit. Shion’s feathers had been clipped for the first sixteen years of his life. “Safu and I used to hop and glide over obstacles or down from ladders and chairs when we were kids, but she never really got the chance to fly. I thought for a long time about whether I should try flying for myself, and if it would be betraying her. But when I was finally in the air I realised… well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Try your best,” Nezumi said drily.

“Shush.” Shion shot Nezumi a brief amused look before returning to his serious tone. “Maybe it’s because Elyurias was here, and this place is special. I don’t know. But the wind is a great equaliser. It’s always flying around us even if we’re not flying in it.”

Something in Nezumi’s gut resonated with what Shion was saying, although he didn’t understand the actual words. Realising that was giving him a headache.

“You’re making no sense.”

“Oh, well…” Shion started, frowning in deep concentration. Then he gave up, shaking his head. “At least for you, your family’s genes are in your body. If you fly, they literally will be flying too. If you don’t want to, I would understand. I just don’t think you should give it up without thinking about it a little more. We have sympathetically regenerating wings for a reason.”

“I’ve had a lifetime to think about what No. 6 stole from me. I’m trying not to do that anymore.”

“But this isn’t No. 6. It’s your own body. And I’m asking you to think about what you could gain,” Shion said, that determined look in his eye once again.

Nezumi held up a hand to signal he was done with this conversation. “We don’t even know for sure my wings are coming back. It could be years, if it happens at all.”

“And if it’s not?”

For a moment, Nezumi hesitated. A large part of him still wanted to say he would never fly again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think flying could be enjoyable or worthwhile. It was that the idea of flying again felt profoundly wrong to him. Dishonourable, perhaps. Selfish. Undeserved.

Nezumi didn’t know if he could get past that feeling. It felt so big and final. But Nezumi’s hatred for No. 6 had felt so big and final too — and yet still, he’d asked Elyurias for mercy. And although it was perhaps an order of magnitude smaller his own, he did respect the validity of Shion’s loss and his experience of grief. A vain wish flitted through his heart, that Shion was somehow right. Nezumi gritted his teeth, recognising that wish for what it truly was.

It was Shion finding the chink in his armour, getting under his skin. Only Shion was capable of doing this to him.

“I’ll worry about it then,” Nezumi said begrudgingly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

As the words left his mouth, Nezumi could have sworn he felt his shoulder-blades expand as if they were breathing. As if his wings were already there, immaterial and invisible, simply waiting to be called forth.

⁂

As more and more feathers grew in, Nezumi’s back became tender, with a low-level bruiselike ache that was easily alleviated by sitting in front of something warm. It was nothing compared to the agonising inferno his wings had first burnt up in. The process wasn’t the slightest bit gory, or even bloody. He simply woke up, or glanced at himself in the mirror, and saw that the feathered chrysalis on his back was a fraction bigger than it had been the day, or the hour, before.

Part of Nezumi wished the process would just hurry up. Waiting for it to be over was agonising — mainly because he couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried. He spent more time in Lost Town, or invited Shion to spend the night with him. Shion was a great distraction, and to his credit, said nothing about the wings at all. It was better to have him there in the middle of the night, when Nezumi woke up and felt the weight of history smothering him from behind. Shion’s warmth and the soft noises of his breathing would pull Nezumi back to the present. Waves of grief would wash over him, but somehow by morning he would always have fallen asleep again, and would wake surprised.

After around six months, the wings detached from his back. It was as seamless and physically painless as the rest of the process. Nezumi simply stretched, and suddenly they sprang free.

It had been around four weeks since that day. After checking on them every day, Nezumi was confident the wings were done growing. He kept them furled unless he was safely out of range of witnesses or mirrors, and the knowledge that he physically could fly remained his secret.

Despite having seven months to think about it, Nezumi still wrestled with the question of whether he would try to fly again or not. He told himself he just needed time.

It was as he was walking home from Lost Town again one day that it hit him. The answer was right there, staring him in the face. He looked at the sky above the broken wall of No. 6, and turned back to Shion and Karan’s house.

⁂

Several days later, Nezumi and Shion stood in the shadow of that very same wall. Shion looked doubtfully up at the distant, crumbling top.

“You’re really serious about this?”

“I have wings, Shion. I won’t die. That’s the point,” Nezumi snapped. He was already regretting his decision, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“I know you would survive a fall, but you could be crushed!” Shion said, gesturing emphatically. Nezumi rolled his eyes.

“Just get on with it, Shion.”

Shion let out an annoyed sigh, but Nezumi could see the worry in his eyes. Though soon it shifted as Shion’s mind switched gears, and a calculating, focussed expression took its place.

“Right,” Shion said, nodding decisively. He fastened the chest and waist straps of his backpack. Then he spread his wings and leapt.

Nezumi had seen Shion fly before. In fact, Shion loved flying. It seemed to have become one of his favourite activities, no matter the weather. The first time Nezumi opened the door and found Shion there in a raincoat with water absolutely streaming from both wings, Nezumi had banned him from flying over in bad weather. Mainly because the amount of water that could run off a pair of wings would’ve required a floor drain to remove from his room.

Still, Nezumi had to admit he liked seeing Shion fly. He seemed so happy — so free, so young. In a way, having his wings clipped had saved him. He had no bad flight-related experiences thanks to No. 6, because he had no flight-related experiences prior to its destruction at all. Only the clipping itself and the lack of the ability to fly had been traumatic to him. Having wings and being in the air were his joy.

Shion’s alabaster and crimson wings flashed in the sunlight as he rose effortlessly to the top of the wall. With a messy series of flaps, he vanished as he landed. There was no movement or sound for several minutes. Then Shion’s distant figure reappeared, tossing a rope down the side of the wall.

Nezumi knew he was not going to be able to climb a rope up the entire height of the wall. That would’ve been a ridiculous proposition. What he was going to do was climb up the rubble on one side of the break, and secure himself with the rope just in case. It was a precaution Shion had insisted on when Nezumi first declared his plan. They even had a climbing harness, which Nezumi was already wearing. All he had to do was attach the rope with the belaying device and he would be ready.

At first the going was easy. The rubble near the base of the wall was widely dispersed, and there were plenty of hand- and foot-holds, and Nezumi’s hands were protected from the rough cement chunks by gloves. He climbed up the first third of the way easily and fairly quickly.

It was as the mound of rubble ended that the climb became more difficult. Nezumi began having to place his hands and feet more carefully, on increasingly smaller ledges. Although his endurance was high from all the walking he’d done in the past two years, and his legs could keep going for many miles, his arms grew tired faster than he’d expected.

But Nezumi gritted his teeth, refusing to even consider giving up. He focussed on the immediate area in front of him, not looking up to check his progress. He didn’t spare a glance for the city below. He simply kept going, hand over hand, fingers seeking their next purchase, wings held tight to his body, as his hands and feet carried him higher.

Just one more minute, he told himself over and over. See, this is easy. You made it a few feet. You can do it again. And then he did. Inch by inch, minute by minute, Nezumi climbed so high he felt the air turn cold around him.

In the last twenty feet or so, the wall became nearly impossible to climb. There were cracks in the wall so thin he could barely even feel them through his gloves. Nezumi glanced up once, then pulled his gloves off one after the other with his teeth. In his haste and exhaustion he fumbled them, and one dropped from his mouth. Rather than falling straight down it was immediately picked up by the wind and blew away like a leaf. Gritting his teeth, Nezumi reached for the next handhold as best he could. Moments later, his feet slipped.

This is it, he thought to himself. I won’t be getting to the top.

But no sooner had he thought it than the harness around his waist cut into him, at the same time as his feet found purchase once more. Letting out a shaky sigh, Nezumi kept climbing onward.

Despite knowing that he was close to the top, he was startled when he reached up and found only air above him. He pressed both palms to the top of the wall. Then, hands wrapped around his forearms as Shion helped him up.

Nezumi hadn’t asked Shion to help him, but he barely had the strength left to make it to safety, and was glad of the help. He collapsed onto his stomach, letting Shion half-drag him several feet away from the edge. For a few minutes he lay there panting with exhaustion, until Shion handed him a bottle of water. Then Nezumi sat up enough to start gulping it down. Shion took the opportunity to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. When Shion handed him an oat bar from the bakery, Nezumi ate it ravenously, and felt a bit of strength come back into his limbs.

“You did it,” Shion said wonderingly. Nezumi shot him an unimpressed look.

“You doubted me? As if we both don’t know you’re capable,” Nezumi said once his mouth was no longer full.

“You really think so?” Shion said, seemingly taken aback. Nezumi just shrugged. As far as he was concerned, anyone who could climb a mountain of corpses could easily climb the wall of No. 6.

After taking another oat bar from Shion, Nezumi took off the climbing harness. Shion packed it away in his bag, along with the coil of lightweight climbing rope and the blanket Nezumi had been using. He offered Nezumi his hand, and Nezumi stood. Together they approached the edge of the wall.

The city of No. 6 was spread out beneath them in all its ruined glory. Light glittered from a thousand points of metal and glass, but Nezumi’s eye was drawn to the conspicuous vacant space once held by the Correctional Facility. The Moondrop, too, really did look like an insignificant blister. His chest suddenly filled with a nameless, wordless emotion. He’d reached many high places and seen many beautiful views in the years he’d been away from No. 6, but none of them had been like this.

“It’s so small,” Nezumi said. His tone came out with far more emotion than he’d intended. Shion simply nudged Nezumi’s shoulder with his wing and said nothing. When Nezumi looked over at Shion’s face, he thought perhaps Shion understood.

“Are you ready?” Shion asked.

Nezumi smiled. “Yes.”

“And?”

Nezumi spread his wings. Instantly the wind caught them. Without him having to jump or even flap, he was lifted up into the sky.

Nezumi’s heart swelled until it felt like it could burst out of his chest. He tilted his wings and banked effortlessly, circling around in a great swooping arc. The world grew blurry, and he blinked a few times before realising tears were trickling down his face. Although he wished he could say it was from the strength of the wind, he knew it was solely because of his own feelings. But high up here, above the world, who else but he would know if his heart transgressed?

After gliding in circles for a few minutes, Nezumi’s tears stopped of their own accord. He looked down and saw Shion staring up at him openly. Nezumi thought he saw a glint of wetness on Shion’s cheeks as well, and shook his head to himself.

There’s no need to be so dramatic, he thought. I’m the one who regrew his wings, not you.

Briefly, Nezumi considered landing. But instead, he raised one hand and beckoned to Shion.

The expression on Shion’s face changed to one of beaming joy. He opened his wings and lifted up into the air, then began flapping to catch up to Nezumi. When he arrived he was panting and smiling, his eyes still sparkling.

“Oh, Nezumi!” he exclaimed. “Look at your wings!”

Raising an eyebrow, Nezumi turned his head. It took him a moment before he saw what Shion was seeing.

The wind was sweeping over Nezumi’s jet-black feathers, ruffling the countless tiny plumes. They rippled like stalks in a cornfield, waves passing over their glossy black surfaces. Far from being plain, they held countless rainbow colours hidden iridescently within. A familiar colour caught Nezumi’s eye, then another. Though it had been years since he had seen his family’s wings, shock shot through him as he recognised the sky blue of his father’s wings, and the deep salmon of his mother’s. Even the light pink of his little sister’s and the dark emerald of his Gran’s were there. Yet though they were present, his wings felt the same. They didn’t hurt, and nor did they feel burdened. His family was simply there.

“Was this what you meant?” Nezumi said, turning sharply to Shion.

“No! I had no idea!” It was obvious Shion was being honest. He didn’t even seem to know what Nezumi was talking about, only that it was important. How could he, when out of everyone in the world, only Nezumi knew those colours?

Nezumi took a deep breath, working through his shock. Then he gave Shion a small smile.

“Well, come on then,” Nezumi said. “Show me how to get to your mom’s house.”

“You sure?” Shion said. Nezumi nodded, and Shion took the lead.

“Mmmm,” Nezumi hums noncommittally, letting his eyes drift shut and tipping his head into the spray, knowing that Shion will take it for the acquiescence that it is.

There’s the sound of rustling fabric, then the shower door opens and Shion steps in with him. He shivers at the little draft of cold air, but the steam quickly heats the space back up when Shion closes the door behind him. There’s a moment before he feels fingers running through the ends of his hair behind him; Shion carding through the strands, tugging gently at any little tangles.

It feels nice, so he does nothing to stop it. 

“Long day?” Shion asks gently.

Nezumi would roll his eyes if they were open. As it is, he huffs an exasperated sigh. “Stop being domestic and just wash my hair, since that’s what you want. Don’t beat around the bush.”

There’s a quiet snicker behind him. “Yeah, okay. Keep your eyes closed, then.”

Nezumi waits patiently for Shion to pop the cap on the shampoo behind him before he raises his hands to Nezumi’s scalp, beginning to gently massage the shampoo into his hair. They don’t do this all the time, but it has happened often enough for Nezumi to relax into the routine, appreciating the feeling of Shion’s fingers in his hair. 

Shion has always seemed to have a bit of a fascination with Nezumi’s relatively long hair, combing his fingers through it from the time that he realized he could get away with it without Nezumi biting his hand off for it. He pets it when he thinks Nezumi is asleep, plays with it when they kiss and has been surprisingly adamant that he enjoys washing it for Nezumi whenever they shower together. Nezumi feigns exasperation about it, but truthfully–it’s nice.

Even if sometimes it makes Nezumi feel like he might just be another one of Inukashi’s dogs that Shion is washing. If Inukashi ever found out that he let Shion do this, he would quite literally never hear the end of it. 

Shion steps back when he’s done, allowing Nezumi to wash the soap out himself–he learned not to trust Shion not to accidentally wash the shampoo into his eyes after one too many incidents. Afterwards, Shion runs conditioner through the ends; this is something he rarely does to his own hair, but Nezumi insists on it. 

Nezumi washes the rest of his body as Shion takes care of his own hair and washes himself quickly and efficiently. Shion ducks out of the shower first, knowing that Nezumi will want to stay and enjoy the water pressure as he lets the conditioner sit for just a bit longer before he rinses it out.

They don’t always shower together, but the showers that they do take together often end up like this; quick little things for convenience, a short time where they share space without having too much conversation. They’re too prone to constant arguments to want to start one in the shower, and so they often simply wash in silence, taking care of each other or just moving around each other and feeling the presence of the other nearby. 

Once, Nezumi would never have considered being so vulnerable around another person. Now, he can be thankful that he has the opportunity to. He has been given something that could only too easily be taken away, and he has learned to hold onto that–to take it in both hands and clutch it tight, selfish and refusing to let go. 

When he exits the shower, a loose pair of soft fleece-like pants around his hips and a towel around his shoulders to pad against his dripping hair, he sees Shion curled up on their bed with a book. His coat and superfibre are missing, likely having been put into the closet by Shion when he first got home. Shion is wearing a full set of pajamas, as he hates sleeping without a top on. Nezumi suspects that he never got over the jarring scar that wraps around his body, as much as he has been forced to accept the ways that the attack changed his appearance, although Shion claims he simply gets cold during the night without it.

Shion is rereading a book that he’s read before; an old classic mystery by Agatha Christie, who he’s been fascinated with in the past several weeks. After many years of recommendations and plenty of time to catch up, Shion is finally becoming somewhat cultured. Meanwhile, Nezumi’s current book is sitting on the bedside table on the opposite side of the room. They usually do this at night; they curl up together with their books, reading until one or both of them get too tired and they turn off the lights for sleep.

It’s disgustingly domestic.

However, it’s Nezumi’s life these days. He has become the disgustingly domestic and complacent couple that he spent all of his younger years disdaining.

Still, he fought hard to get to the point that he was able to relax like this. He will cherish it while he can.

Shion is so engrossed in his book that he doesn’t look up as Nezumi approaches. It’s too easy to reach out and snatch the book right out of his hands; surprised, Shion yelps and lunges back after it, but Nezumi just dances back a step with a laugh, closing the book despite protests.

“Nezumi, my bookmark wasn’t in there!” Shion exclaims, looking far too distressed for what is simply a stolen book. 

“You can find your place again,” Nezumi reassures. “Or is it too difficult to figure out where you had been in a little book like this?”

“That’s not the point,” Shion complains. “It’s nicer to be able to just open up to your spot and be able to read immediately.”

“Then you should have kept a better hold of your book,” Nezumi says imperiously, setting the book down on the bedside table and instead climbs into the bed, throwing a knee over Shion’s hip.

Shion’s face lights up adorably as Nezumi leans in to kiss him. He pushes himself up to meet the kiss, humming contentedly into it.

Nezumi pulls back, laughing as Shion automatically tries to follow. “So am I forgiven for losing the spot in your book, Your Majesty?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shion huffs an exasperated breath out through his nose, sitting back and looking up at Nezumi kneeling over him. “Well, I suppose that you can make it up to me,” he sniffs.

“Why, Shion,” Nezumi says dramatically, “It sounds almost as if you are propositioning me. How shameful.”

A delightful little blush spreads over Shions cheeks–as much as he is willing to match Nezumi beat for beat these days, he has always been so expressive. When he’s embarrassed or worked up, he never fails to blush about it. He’ll never be able to keep his feelings to himself. It’s something about Shion that Nezumi used to think would get him killed or taken advantage of, but Shion has managed to wield his transparency as a weapon of earnestness that eventually causes everyone to fall under his spell.

It’s uncanny.

“Well, if I were, what would you say?” Shion finally gets out, his eyes darting up to search Nezumi’s.

Nezumi laughs and reaches up to cradle Shion’s face in his hand, using his thumb to trace over the scar under his eye. Shion’s hair is still damp, the white strands almost transparent until they dry out. The contrast against his flushed cheeks and ears is adorable.

“I can’t say that it wouldn’t work,” Nezumi jokes and leans in to capture Shion’s lips in a kiss again.

Shion’s expressiveness extends to the bedroom, as well as the way that he will earnestly stumble into anything new and fumble his way determinedly through it. Nezumi is fully aware that he is the first person that Shion ever slept with, and while he doesn’t believe in a guaranteed future, he plans to be the last. Shion didn’t have to say anything to him for it to be obvious–the first time they were together Shion had shaken like a leaf, nervous despite being the one to have initiated things in the first place. Nezumi had let him do as he’d liked, and Shion had been rather terrible, something that Nezumi wouldn’t stop making fun of him about for days afterwards.

Frankly, with Nezumi’s attitude, it was a miracle that Shion ever decided to sleep with him a second time. But he’d taken the teasing as a challenge rather than a let down, and they’d tried again, and again, and Nezumi had finally properly taken charge and shown Shion how best to take care of someone else (and taken care of Shion at the same time), and sex between them has only improved over time. 

Tonight, Shion pulls Nezumi close. They don’t bother to discard all of their clothing, choosing instead to hold each other close and exchange kisses as Nezumi presses them together and gets the both of them off like that, quick and simple and warm.

Later, after a second shower, Shion will go into the kitchen and prepare mugs of hot chocolate for the two of them, something that he’d had as a child as a treat from his mother on the coldest days of the year. While Nezumi never finished his–it was far too sweet–he allowed the warmth of the drink to heat his hands, and sipped slowly at it to savor the taste until he was satisfied. 

They would slip into bed properly afterwards, this time late enough that neither of them would bother to pull out their books. Instead, Shion will turn off the lights as he curls up against Nezumi’s side, who would push him away in the height of summer but is willing to tolerate the body heat during the winter cold.

Now he felt compelled to follow it, his legs moving faster as something told him to walk faster and even faster, or it would be too late. He wasn’t sure why he felt this sense of urgency, but he knew he had to reach the light.

“. . . Shion, hurry. . .!”

Shion finally arrived at the area of his university where the light came from and, immediately, it entranced him. It was a small little thing that was moving around in circles, changing from a harsh white to a warm gold to a soft blue to a bright red and other colors. Shion was fascinated by how it moved, walking closer to see it. It reminded him of something but, for the life of him, he could not remember from where or even what he was supposed to be remembering.

“Shion!”

The scream seemed so loud, as if someone had shouted right in his ear. Shion flinched, covering his ear with a loud shout. He looked around but there was no one but him. It was just the strange light and him. Where had that scream come from?

He saw the light stop moving, as if it was waiting. Was it waiting for him? 

“I’ve been waiting for you, Shion.”

The voice sounded so familiar, so clear in his head. It felt like he was talking to an old friend. He felt at ease as he walked closer to the light. He stretched out his hand and the light floated to rest on his palms. It glowed a brilliant scarlet shade for a long time, illuminating their surroundings and chasing away shadows.

The light didn’t burn, it was as warm as Shion expected it to be. He held it up closer to his face, moved by its beautiful swaying and the way it felt so right to be held by him.

“Why were you waiting for me?”

“Silly Shion, you don’t remember?”

Remember? Remember what? 

What was he supposed to remember?

“I. . . I’m sorry? I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be remembering. . . sorry.”

The light floated up and down excited. It was cute, Shion thought with a smile as it approached and rested itself on Shion’s nose.

“Shion, I was waiting because you are. . .”

The ground was no longer underneath Shion and he felt himself start flying, seemingly thrown into the air. Shion opened his mouth to scream, clutching the light closer to him, and was about to yell when he crashed right into a hard chest, sending him and the owner of said chest crashing against one of the nearby trees. 

“Ouch!”

“Oh, sorry!” Shion yelled out, trying to get up, “Something launched me, oh no, my bag! My laptop is in there! My essay!”

“Shion, dodge!”

Shion did not understand why the light was so panicked until the other person tackled Shion to the floor and Shion’s eyes widened when he saw something sharp had stuck itself to the tree trunk where, just moments before, his head had been.

“Oh shit!”

“That’s an understatement, what the hell got you on that spirit’s shit list?”

“What spirit?! That thing looks like a massive guillotine blade!”

“Never mind, get up!”

Shion felt the person get off him and the person, his savior, grabbed his arm to help him get to his feet. Before Shion could get a proper look at his savior or even thank him, he was being dragged abruptly to rest his face against the person’s chest again just in time to avoid another attack from his mysterious assailant.

“If you’re going to pick on the weak, at least do it in a way that isn’t overkill. This is like using a gun to kill an ant, damn spirit.”

Shion frowned, trying to get out of the person’s arms because he would not stand for this rudeness, “Who are you calling weak? I’ll have you know that I’m in excellent condition, I just wasn’t expecting to be thrown in the air!”

“You’re not impressing anyone, kid, so don’t even try it. Just hang on tight and let me handle this, you’re definitely unsuited for this.”

Shion was ready to protest when his savior picked him up and his hours watching his computer screen and writing about Paradise Lost while not eating must have fried his brain because his savior jumped, and they were flying up in the air.

They were flying!

Shion clung to his savior and looked up to see his face. It was a young man that must have been his age but that was where their similarities ended. This young man was beautiful with a slender jawline and fair skin that was as beautiful as the moonlight that illuminated his beautiful features. His hair was long and reflected the moonlight, floating around him like some kind of heavenly halo. All of these features were beautiful, but it was his eyes that took Shion’s breath away.

Oh my goodness, his eyes.

His eyes were glowing silver, a precious stone that befit such a beautiful person. They were gray but calling them gray was a disservice to how wonderful they were. They were so full of life and filled with so much expressiveness. It was like an ocean of silver that Shion wanted to drown in.

His eyes were also. . . familiar?

It was the same sensation Shion had with the light, this sense of familiarity. He knew this person but, for some reason, this person was also a stranger at the same time. A familiar stranger, the perfect oxymoron that was consuming Shion’s waking thoughts.

If this was a dream, things would make sense. This was, however, not a dream.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Shion was startled back to reality by the young man’s voice, feeling sheepish that he had been caught staring. He was about to apologize for his blatant ogling when they landed on the roof of one of the buildings. The young man let him go and stepped forward, summoning something from nothingness.

“Of all the days for me to patrol when I should’ve been having my break . . . that damn dog owes me.”

Shion stared at the weapon and saw it was beautiful silver blade that glinted with the light of the moon. This young man was so complimentary to the moon with his beautiful blade and eyes, his beautiful savior of the moon. 

“Wait!”

His savior turned, raising an eyebrow, “What?”

Shion felt his heart race just a bit before smiling, “Thank you. . . for saving me. You didn’t have to, but you did. So thank you.”

His savior looked surprised and flustered for a moment before he smirked, overconfident and arrogant. However, underneath that bravado, Shion could see how he was still happy over his thanks. This person was so gentle. . . Shion needed to give him a hug.

“Who else but I could save you? You’d be helpless without me.”

He was still some arrogant person, but Shion didn’t find his arrogance obnoxious. At least, not while he was still looking at him with rose-tinted glasses. 

His knight in not-so shining armor turned just in time to use his sword to deflect attacks that resembled what had attacked Shion earlier. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a scorpion’s tail that crossed with the world’s biggest butcher’s knife and wasn’t that bizarre?

The knife tail was attached to a monster that was hissing, ant-like mandibles clicking as its eight – eight! – pair of eyes stared them both down. The monster looked like a cross between a person, a spider, an ant, a scorpion, and other creatures and that was so unsettling. Shion clutched the light closer to him.

“A monster!”

“That’s right. We just call them spirits, but monsters is a good way to call these things.”

The monster- no, the spirit, hissed and it began to speak. Speak?! Shion have never imagined the thing could even speak! A creature that shouldn’t exist doing things it should never be doing. . . he really must have passed out in the library from exhaustion.

“You insignificant, scurrying little rat! That is my prey! I found the Pearl! It’s mine! Mine!”

The spirit attacked and the person used his sword to shield himself and Shion. Shion felt warmth against his chest and looked down to see the light was glowing brighter. Something was pressing against his chest and, instead of hurting, it felt right.

“GIVE IT TO ME!”

“Get down!” 

Shion felt himself land on the ground before even realizing that he had even been pushed. His savior was dodging various attacks, swinging his sword with such precision like he was a trained dancer. The spirit was relentless, and, to Shion’s horror, he could see his protector getting his arms and legs sliced by the spirit’s bladed tail. Blood splattered on the snow like paint on an artist’s canvas and Shion’s heart hammered against his chest and the light. 

Despite the cuts and gashes, the young man had not stopped defending and striking when he could, swinging himself and the blade around to hit the spirit and deal it great damage. He would also yell words that Shion found familiar yet could not place and any hit after he chanted the words made parts of the spirit’s body burn. 

He was so brave, a hero of myth that leapt out of the pages of an epic. Despite the pain that he must be feeling, his gallant hero was still fighting and even making comments as he danced around the battlefield with poise and elegance. It was like he had done this many times before. 

“You’ve got some nerve attacking this area when it’s under our protection. That desperate to chase after a myth? The Pearl is a myth.” 

“IT’S MINE, YOU LITTLE RAT, YOU EXORCIST SCUM!”

The spirit screeched as the sword blasted it with a large gust of wind that made the snow on the ground flutter around the exorcist, his beautiful dark hair whipping around his face. The blast sent the spirit flying, making the exorcist look back at him with a cocky smile. 

The exorcist spun around, his sword making a circle around him that began to glow. Shion stared at the glow of the circle and the exorcist closed his eyes, beginning to chant an even longer phrase than the ones he had been using previously. To his awe, symbols were forming in the circle, moving around the circle in an almost hypnotic manner. The spirit looked agitated, hissing, and writhing around as it tried to make one last ditch effort to attack the exorcist.

“Watch out!”

The exorcist opened his eyes and, oh, they were glowing this time. He raised his sword and swung it, releasing a cyclone that twisted and turned with parts of the exorcist’s blood and the snowflakes that were caught in its path. The spirit was caught in the blast and completely vanished, as if it had been disintegrated. 

Something fluttered to the ground and the exorcist reached out his hand to catch whatever it was. He put it in his pocket, huffing and looking annoyed. Shion moved before he even realized he was doing it, coming face to face with the exorcist.

“That was incredible! How did you do that?! Was that magic? How did you learn how to fight like that-?”

“Whoa, slow down!” The exorcist half-laughed, taking a step back, “You must be some nutcase if your first questions are how my powers work and not what you just witnessed.”

“You already told me – it’s a spirit monster and you. . . it called you an exorcist! Exorcists get rid of evil spirits, like shamans.”

The exorcist looked amused and a bit annoyed, making a hand sign that made his sword disappear. Shion wished he could learn how the exorcist was capable of doing that when he saw him flinch, holding his arm where he had been sliced.

“Let me see that-.”

“Back off,” He hissed out, almost hostile, “The wound is a spirit one, these things are dangerous to ordinary people like you. Unless you want a violent death, step away. I just need a cleanse, that’s all. I’m fine.”

Shion knew he wasn’t fine. He looked pained despite his best efforts to look confident and unhurt. How could he not be in pain? What person shrugged off multiple slices and gashes like it was nothing? Was he running on adrenaline? If so, the adrenaline was going to run out soon and then this exorcist would be incapacitated by the pain.

Shion had to help. He didn’t know what a cleanse entailed or if that was just code to disinfecting the wound or something, but he had to help. This person had risked himself in order to save him. He could’ve just left him somewhere alone and left. But he didn’t. He had stayed behind to save him.

He had to help him. He had to!

“. . . Is that a wish, Shion?”

Yes, it was his wish to be able to help this exorcist with moonlight in his eyes. He wanted to help him, he couldn’t fail him again, he shouldn’t let him die again-.

Again?

“Anything for you, old friend.”

Shion reached out his hand and watched how surprised the exorcist with the most beautiful eyes was when he cupped his injured cheek. He didn’t want his face marred with these wounds. These wounds were his fault. He refused to let them fester and hurt this young man who had fought to protect him.

Something was glowing. In the reflection of the other young man’s eyes, Shion could see a brilliant light. It was beautiful, illuminating the area they were in. It complimented the young man so well, it was a beautiful glow.

“What are you doing?”

Shion sure didn’t know but he saw with his own eyes as the wound on the young man’s face slowly vanished, as if he had never been in battle. Was he. . . healing him? Was this Shion or was this the power of the light? He wasn’t sure but he also didn’t care. 

He had wanted to help and, this way, he was helping.

The glow settled down just enough that the young man reached out and grabbed Shion’s hair. Belatedly, Shion realized that the glow that had been so mesmerizing had been coming from him, specifically his hair that was glowing a bright white. When it stopped glowing completely, it became its usual brown.

“The spirit mentioned the Pearl and I thought it was kidding. Fucking hell, the fucking Pearl is real? The higher-ups are going to have an aneurysm when I tell them the Pearl was here, right next to headquarters, this whole time. How did you find it?”

“The light- I was following the light, it was calling to me?”

Shion tried to show him the light but, instead of the beautiful light that had hypnotically led him to this situation, he showed the exorcist a pearl the size of his palm. The young man pulled away, releasing Shion’s hair as if he had been burned.

“The damn Pearl of the Goddess. . . after five hundred years, it’s back.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

The exorcist looked at him with so much pity that it made Shion recoil. Pity? That was the wrong emotion. Why should he be pitied for having found the light, the light had helped him heal the exorcist? It was a good thing, wasn’t it?

“We need to get you to headquarters, you’re not safe here.”

“Headquarters? Wait, wait, I have things to do, I have a paper due tomorrow-!

The exorcist rolled his eyes and grabbed Shion’s hand. He began dragging him to the edge of the roof, getting up on the ledge like he was walking up the stairs and looking down at him, trying to drag him up.

“Come on, it’s either your damn essay or your life. Trust me, the essay will not kill you.”

“You don’t know my professor.”

“I’m not letting you die, you idiot!”

Shion wanted to argue more but something about the exorcist’s expression made the argument die on his lips. The young man was angry, yet it was less about being mad and more about being frustrated that the person he was trying to help was not allowing him to help. Hadn’t he been frustrated with himself because he’d been unable to help his savior?

“. . . my name’s not idiot! It’s Shion!”

Shion stepped forward, trying to avoid looking down because they were really high up. The exorcist grabbed his hand as Shion almost tumbled down, quirking his eyebrow in an amused expression. Shion felt himself be at ease because, for some strange reason, this expression felt so right, so familiar.

“Nezumi.”

“Huh?”

The exorcist lightly flicked Shion’s forehead, a level of playfulness Shion had not expected from such a powerful person. It made his heart race, and he knew it was not because his life was in danger or because he was on top of the roof of a four-story tall building. 

“My name, doofus. You have to get used to singing my praises, Pearlkeeper, I know this will not be the last time I save your life.”

“Who says I’ll continue being such a damsel, huh?!”

The exorcist, Nezumi, laughed, tugging his hand, “Stop whining and jump!”

Shion would never have jumped if anyone else had asked him to do so. Only an idiot would jump if a stranger asked them to. However, Nezumi had saved his life, so he’d easily earned Shion’s trust. Nezumi also didn’t feel like a stranger with his wonderful smile and beautiful eyes that almost haunted Shion with their familiarity. 

When someone like this young man, like this exorcist, like Nezumi, asked him to jump . . . 

Well, Shion jumped.

The two jumped off the roof, holding each other in the freefall before taking flight into the winter night sky, the shining moonlight illuminating them and the path ahead towards their destiny. 

That’s the end of this oneshot! I hope you enjoyed this JJK x Inuyasha-esque supernatural meet-cute au. Not your average meet-cute but it suits their au selves. This was so fun to write, even if I procrastinated parts of it because a fast-approaching deadline is a great motivator.

Heavy inspiration for Shion’s role were Yuji Itadori and Kagome Higurashi with a dash of Yuta Okkotsu while Nezumi’s role was inspired by Inuyasha, Maki and, surprisingly, Satoru Gojo. If I ever continue this, the inspiration might become more apparent.

BTW, Shion’s laptop was unfortunately wrecked. Fortunately, he saved a copy on a cloud because laptops are cruel sometimes. Mine crashed twice during the creation of this fic, haha. 

Happy Holidays, thank you for affording me the chance to write about one of my favorite pairs and create another universe for them to fall in love all over again. I hope you spend the holidays with people you love and doing the things you love. Thank you and hope to see you around!

Shion’s ears catch the sound of something shifting outside—footsteps in the mud, out of sync enough to be heard even over the mind-numbing drizzle of the rain. He feels proud of noticing in the moment, although Nezumi would likely simply laugh at him, having heard the approaching figure ages before. 

Still, the steps most likely belong to one person. 

Shion rises off the couch, stumbling a bit as he makes his way over to the door. He opens it just as Nezumi approaches, hand tucked into his shirt for the key he keeps strung around his neck. 

Nezumi frowns at him as he stuffs the key back into his shirt, displeased. “You didn’t know that was me,” he accuses, although his heart doesn’t seem into it. Something in his voice feels…empty. “Why do I go through so much effort to keep you alive when you offer yourself up on a silver platter to anyone who wants you otherwise?”

“The chances were good enough that it was you over anyone else that the risk was worth it,” Shion says simply, frowning as Nezumi shoves past him and into the library, trailing muddy footsteps. He’s not usually so rough, nor so careless with how he tracks into their living space. For a rat, he likes to keep things from becoming unduly filthy. 

Shion wanders after him, rounding the corner into the library to see Nezumi shucking off his boots, leaving them where they fall and rising from the couch, only to collapse face-first into his bed. 

“Nezumi?” Shion asks hesitantly, after several moments of nothing but labored breathing from where Nezumi’s face was smothered in the dirty pillow.

There isn’t an immediate response. Then, “Not tonight, Shion.” His voice sounds tired to a degree that worries Shion, but it also makes him want to listen.

Shion stands there quietly for a bit, over Nezumi, wondering how Nezumi could simply ignore him when his energy is usually so frantic, so alert, to the point that he’d never leave his body open to the whims of someone standing above him. Three days ago, he tripped Shion and nearly dislocated his arm for startling him. His reflexes had been amazing, Shion had asked him four separate times to repeat the move for him later. This Nezumi…it is almost like he isn’t even here.

Finally, Shion gets ready for bed.

The morning dawns still grey and drizzling and wet, and Nezumi wakes Shion up by shoving a mop and bucket at him and telling him to get cleaning before his shift with Inukashi. Shion laughs as he accepts the bucket willingly, not minding the work—especially not when Nezumi seems to have come to life again.

———

Shion had thought it was a one-time event, but it wasn’t.

Sometimes Nezumi comes home sad.

It’s not anything drastically different than his usual moods, except it still feels like it is. There’s something subtle about it, a dark cloud a shade too black over all of his movements.

On these nights he doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean, doesn’t read. Doesn’t do anything. He stalks through the library past everything and gets in bed, just like that, no matter how filthy his clothes are, and then he doesn’t leave.

The first time it had happened, Shion thought it was a simple bad mood. The second time, Shion thought he was sick. After that, he realized that there was something different going on.

———

“Yeah, he gets like that sometimes,” Inukashi tells him when Shion asks, feeling a bit guilty to be talking about Nezumi to anyone behind his back, but Inukashi is one of Shion’s few connections that aren’t Nezumi himself. “Just goes off the rails for a night or a few days, disappears, misses practice sometimes. Gets away with it by being the best we’ve got here.”

“So he’s not ill?”

Inukashi waves Shion off. “Just a mood. He always snaps out of it. Now keep working, I’m not paying you to waste soap.”

Shion nods and goes back to the German Shepherd that he’d been washing. 

———

The weather is nice tonight. On nights like this, with clear skies and a beautiful view of the walls of No. 6, Nezumi likes to sit outside and watch. Shion believes that he likes to imagine what he’ll do to the city when it finally falls, the way he believes. 

When Nezumi comes in before twilight is more than a few minutes past, Shion looks up from his book curiously. When Nezumi falls onto the couch and doesn’t move, Shion realizes what is happening.

For the first time, he has the thought to do something about it.

Shion approaches slowly, cautiously. Nezumi is always unresponsive and uncaring in these moods, but he knows better than to antagonize the man unnecessarily. It won’t end well for him. 

When Nezumi fails to respond to his approach, Shion settles onto the couch next to his shoulder, frowning down at him. Nezumi faces the back of the couch, his legs pulled up under him in what strikes Shion as a shockingly vulnerable position. Shion feels his hip brush the back of Nezumi’s shoulder, but Nezumi doesn’t move. “I’ve heard of things like this, in class,” Shion ventures. “Safu was better at neurological issues and chemical imbalances, but—“

“Saying my head is fucked up, Shion?” Nezumi laughs hoarsely, tilting his head just enough to look up at Shion out of the corner of his eye. “I thought we were well past establishing that.”

Shion shakes his head. “No, I’m saying that at home, my mom was like this, back when I was a top student. Before—“ 

Before Nezumi.

Shion shakes his head, recovers. “She was tired all the time, and sad, and she was happy for me but never had the energy for anything other than being sad. My failing out of the program helped her, in a way. She always said people brought her life.”

“I perform in front of hundreds at a time,” Nezumi says acerbically. “I doubt more people are going to do anything other than making me want to start bashing heads in more than I wanted to before.”

“No, but…maybe one person?”

Nezumi rolls his eyes, returns to his previous position staring at the back of the couch cushions, but he doesn’t say no. Doesn’t push Shion off the couch or yell. Maybe he doesn’t have the energy to. Maybe he simply is waiting to see what Shion has planned.

Shion is waiting to see what he has planned too, just a bit.

He leans over to Nezumi’s feet, loosens the laces of his boots. Nezumi’s shoulders tense when he starts, but slowly loosen back up. When he finishes, he tugs the mud-crusted boots off of Nezumi’s feet and tosses them to the floor. He shucks off his own shoes, then fits himself onto the couch behind Nezumi.

He’s forced to tuck close in order to fit on the couch, his knees bending into the curve of Nezumi’s. His arm goes around Nezumi’s waist from behind, and Shion tucks his nose against the back of Nezumi’s neck, not bothered by the low ponytail tickling him.

The whole time he positions himself, Nezumi stays stiff as a board. But when Shion finally falls still, Nezumi lays his hand over Shion’s arm, long fingers gripping around his wrist. 

“You expect a hug to fix things?” Nezumi asks, and it seems like he’s trying to sound acidic, but his voice shakes just a bit too much to hit the mark.

Shion shakes his head against the back of Nezumi’s neck, glad his smile is hidden from Nezumi’s view. “No, just trying to prove you’re not alone,” he says instead. “I don’t think things are going to be fixed. But this isn’t terrible, is it?”

A long silence. Shion finds himself focusing on Nezumi’s warmth, on how it feels to hold a warm body against his chest. It’s nicer than he might have expected, and it comes to his own attention that this is his first time doing anything like this with someone. He likes it, thinks he would like to do it more often—especially if Nezumi is the one he’s able to do it with.

Nezmui’s fingers tighten around his wrist, then let go. He turns all the way over, shoving his body in such a way that nearly shoves Shion off the couch entirely. Nezumi grabs him at the waist, pulls him close just so that he doesn’t topple off the edge. 

Nezumi settles down a moment later, letting go of Shion’s hip, leaving a brand of heat where he’d grabbed. Shion wraps his arm back around Nezumi’s waist; the move feels far more intimate when they’re facing each other than it had when Nezumi had been resolutely pretending that he hadn’t been there.

“No,” Nezumi finally says, shocking Shion out of his momentary stupor.

“No?” Shion repeats, a bit stupidly. Nezumi’s eyes are not often so close to his—they’re a gorgeous grey, Shion thinks.

“No, this is not so terrible,” Nezumi reiterates. “Going to soothe me physically, until I forget my worries, city boy?”

The words are teasing, an entendre that even Shion can catch, but he finds himself reacting to them anyway. He leans in, catches Nezumi’s hips in a clumsy kiss. His lips are softer than expected, although maybe he should’ve known—Eve always takes care of her appearance. Shion pulls back a moment later, smiling wryly.

“Not what you expected?” he asks.

Nezumi looks a little bit shocked, but his recovery is quick enough. He raises his hand to cradle Shion’s jaw, push back into his white hair. Uses the leverage to pull Shion into another kiss.

This one is sweeter.

Nezumi pulls back and grins. “No, but I wouldn’t complain if you knocked me out of my moods like this more often,” he teases.

Shion is tugged to his feet by Nezumi, dragged to the bed, and bundled in. In a reverse of their position from earlier, Nezumi shoves Shion down first before manhandling him into a spooning position, Shion tucked up against Nezumi’s chest.

“You have my permission to do this when I need it,” Nezumi mutters finally, right as Shion is finally falling asleep. Shion nods sleepily.

————

Nezumi doesn’t have the moods often, but when he does—when he tracks mud through the library and collapses onto the nearest surface that he can pass out on—he isn’t alone anymore. Now Shion is there, to get into bed with him, to hold him, sometimes to kiss him when Nezumi permits it.

He regretted it. In the end, even if he was the one who lashed out, or Shion was whining, or he was nitpicking, or Shion was just upset… It didn’t matter. Did it? They had snapped at each other, Shion yelling, Nezumi cold as ice. And they had both said things they did not mean. Nezumi could never honestly say with one hundred percent certainty that Shion had made his life exponentially worse. That wasn’t something he could calculate. And even with the calculations, given Shion saved him all those years ago, it was highly unlikely one bad take on a novel could ever overpower that kind of kindness in a time of need.

“I guess…” he mumbled to himself.

At that moment, Nezumi found the resolve to hunt Shion down no matter what had been said. You lose more doing nothing than trying, he thought. No, that’s not right. Some old magazine he had in the makeshift library had said it. What was it again? Something slightly different. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. Was that it? Eh, maybe.

Picking up his jacket and scarf, he headed towards the one place he knew that Shion would go if he was upset. Day or night. Heat or snow. That was the place. That boy lacked friends. It wasn’t like Nezumi had many—any, really—but he had connections. Shion had neither to speak of. And it showed. Terribly.

Walking through the dusty area of West Block, he came upon the property recognizable as Inukashi’s hotel. It wasn’t the nicest place compared to the pristine buildings within the walls, but it was mighty nice compared to the other places in the area. Shion had had feelings about the establishment, the people, all of it. But, as this place was familiar to Nezumi, a place he trusted to a degree, it was a safe place for the white-haired boy.

He walked up the pathway to the door and into the foyer. It wasn’t night but it was still dark, a few minutes until sunrise. He and Shion had had that argument after staying up through the night discussing something they shouldn’t have touched, not with a 50-foot pole.

“Alright, Inukashi. Where is he?” he called out, knowing that that person was standing somewhere in the darkness of the building.

And he was right. A moment later, they spoke their response, stepping into his line of sight.

“Why should I tell you, Nezumi?”

“Because you just did,” he told them.

Without another thought, he walked down a side hallway. Their attitude told him Shion was here. If Shion were here, he would be either doing his task (washing the dogs) or trying to take a look at the puppies. Both of these could be found in the same space of the hotel.

Walking from the main room and through a series of hallways, Nezumi passed by the same kind of people who always frequented the hotel. The sick and needy, the people of West Block who needed help but would not receive it. The people who would die here. Without a doubt. It wasn’t worth feeling sadness or regret over. There was not a time for that kind of emotion. 

He looked away from these people as he walked toward the light outside.

So you came here.

That was what he wanted to say but not what came out. Instead, he was silent as he watched Shion set up the large tub of a barrel they used to wash the dogs, gathering supplies and being followed by a gaggle of puppies.

He wondered if it was his place to say something. He had come here to bring him home. Right? Make some grand point? But was he going to do that? Could he?

He wasn’t sure.

Nezumi felt himself focus on each of Shion’s movements as he stayed just out of view. 

If Shion were a more observant person, perhaps he would have noticed Nezumi. All it would take would be him moving just slightly, craning his neck, and he would have spotted him. Nezumi was not trying to hide this time. He was practically standing in the open. Anyone could get him if he behaved like this in a public setting. He was leaving himself open to an attack.

However, Nezumi noted that while he was all about equal opportunity when striking, Shion hardly ever decided to attack. He wanted to talk things out, supposedly. He saw the best in others even after what that city had done to him. 

Nezumi remembered what it had been like to remove that creature from him. Nezumi had seen atrocity after atrocity committed by that horrid city. Hell, he was one of those to suffer at the city’s hands. Still, unlike Nezumi, no urge for revenge consumed Shion, only the desire to help others. He wanted to save his mother, his friend, Safu, and the “innocent people.”

It was unrealistic. It was hopeful in a world where hope could get you slaughtered, but it was still admirable. Maybe. Nezumi did not know if he wanted to admit something such as that. Not now. He didn’t want to say he admired someone who embodied the very things he was told were bad, the kinds of views that his elders had always warned him would end his life one day.

Nezumi did know one thing, though, he did not want to see this light snuffed out. He wanted Shion to stay the same. It was a reassuring existence in his life, this person who was still the same as when he was young. As he had changed and grown into something horrific, Shion was the same kind of savior he had been when they first met. Somehow.

Sure, he was a bit street stupid, but good people often were blind to life’s evils.

“Ah! No! Don’t take that, Lucky! I need that!” 

Shion was chasing after a younger dog who was running away with his sponge. He nearly tripped over a bucket as he did so, yelping as he regained his balance. The boy reached for the sponge again only to trip over the barrel tub instead and cursed (probably) under his breath.

It was, admittedly, a cute sight to behold. And at the sheer oddity of the emotion in his chest, the fluttery feeling mixed with utter confusion, it made Nezumi laugh first softly before it became a bit less controlled and more audible amongst the quiet ambiance of the early morning.

“Nezumi?”

He heard someone call his name and noticed Shion was next to him with a sponge in one hand and arms wrapped around a dog, no doubt the culprit behind the great sponge heist. 

Just how had he snuck up on him? 

It wasn’t that Nezumi didn’t know he was there, though. It was more that he did not care, did not mind him being this close.

“Yes?” Nezumi responded after a moment of recovery from his laughing fit.

Shion raised an eyebrow at him, not entertained this time. When once he had splashed water on him, this seemed far less the situation to do so. There wasn’t the same energy between them now, not after that fight. Thinking about the argument made Shion’s chest twist uncomfortably.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the rat, “You don’t like dogs.”

“Well, they aren’t the worst people in West Block,” Nezumi told him.

Was Nezumi talking down to him again? Shion felt his face heat up a bit, an expression of annoyance overtook his confusion.

“Don’t be that way, I came to take you home, My Prince,” Nezumi continued.

Nezumi was making fun of him! He knew it! And it made him feel… something. Annoyed? This! This was why he left. Nezumi just saw him like that book character. He wasn’t. He was… He could learn and live here and help! He was useful. He wasn’t going to make Nezumi suffer. Shion didn’t want to be the stupid rich citizen of No. 6 that everyone secretly (or “overtly” according to Nezumi) hated. He didn’t want to be hated like that.

“No, I’m not going. I have work to do.”

That was how Shion chose to explain his decision.

“Washing the dogs? Didn’t you do that recently?”

Nezumi was right but that didn’t matter.

“Maybe,” he told him and in an instant, he could hear Nezumi’s tone shift.

“Maybe so? Shion, you haven’t slept, let’s go back.”

Nezumi’s goal had been to hunt him down. He hadn’t considered what to do next beyond bringing him back to the bunker.

“Neither have you. Why am I different?” Shion shot back.

“I’ve lived under worse circumstances, Shion,” Nezumi told him matter-of-factly, “And you? You haven’t. You lived within the pristine city walls, I don’t need you getting sick out here.”

“No. I’m not going.”

Shion felt like a child. He knew he was acting a bit like one too, but no matter what he did, Nezumi would always treat him as one anyway. Did it matter?

“You can’t stay at the hotel,” Nezumi warned.

He just wanted Shion to come back with him. He hated airing his feelings publicly. But, as it would seem, Shion would allow him that privacy he sought.

“How do you know that?” Shion said, no longer pausing to think over his words.

“Inukashi won’t let you. Just be a good boy and—”

“No,” Shion said again, “I’m mad at you.”

Shion glared at him, narrowed crimson eyes staring right through the rat.

“Ah.”

Nezumi fell silent, thinking on his words once more, having gotten an answer he did not know how to respond to instantly. It wasn’t a surprising response from the other, just not ideal for his cause.

They stood in silence for a minute or just about that long. It was awkward as neither gave up. Nezumi did not speak and Shion refused to stop glaring at him (all while holding a dog in his arms who desperately wanted that sponge back in its mouth).

What broke the silence was neither of the men present nor the dog. Lucky, that was his name, had decided that this moment of “peace” was his time and quickly jumped from Shion’s grasp and at the sponge. He sunk his teeth into the material and ripped it from the boy’s hand before tearing off in another direction post, knocking Shion to the ground.

Nezumi didn’t mean to laugh, but it was a bit funny.

“Are you alright, Shion?” he asked in an almost teasing tone.

“Shut up, it wasn’t that funny, Nezumi,” Shion responded, still back down on the cold dusty ground, “I said stop laughing!”

“It seems funny to me,” Nezumi argued as he walked the few steps over to him.

Standing next to Shion, Nezumi reached out a hand to pull the boy to his feet.

“Come on, the ground is cold.”

At that, Shion took his hand and was pulled to his feet.

“Thanks…” he managed, not making eye contact as he had lost his resolve.

“Let’s go home. We both need some sleep after earlier,” Nezumi said after a moment.

“Alright,” Shion agreed.

With his sponge stolen and his body about to give out, it might be best to leave the chores for another day. It was only at this moment that he realized how incorrectly he had dressed for this early morning weather. It was cold, his fingers felt frozen.

“Oh dear,” Nezumi chided, “That won’t do.”

Before he could protest, a jacket was thrown over his head. He would have declined, not wanting to be cared for, but warm, so cold, jacket warm. No more cold.

“Mm,” he hummed in response, unsure of what to say to that.

They began walking around the property rather than through the building to head back to the bunker. Nezumi dragged Shion along by his hand as if he was worried he would get lost. 

Am I just a child to him? Shion wondered this to himself as they walked. He and Nezumi had argued all night after Shion said he wanted to help with work. He had pressed and pressed Nezumi about why he said “no” until Nezumi snapped at him. He said he wasn’t useful to his work and that Shion should just stay home and try not to get injured.

Something about it had made Shion’s blood boil. Was it the implication that he would get in the way? Was it his desire to not feel useless? He had always tried to help his mother at the bakery.

“I’m sorry,” Nezumi said to him suddenly.

It startled him and Shion barely processed it amongst his own thoughts.

“…What?”

“I’m sorry for saying those things,” Nezumi repeated, adding to his statement, “I don’t want you to get hurt, it’s what I meant. My line of work is dangerous, theater aside. People want me dead, you know. It’s not about your capability.”

Shion nodded, that made sense.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Nezumi said, “I’m sorry.” Those were words he typically refused to say.

He looked up at him now with widened red eyes, hopeful to hear it again.

“I won’t say it again,” Nezumi said, the playful edge in his voice returning.

“No! You apologized!” Shion spoke more enthusiastically now than before. 

“Then you remember so there’s no need to say it twice,” Nezumi mused.

“Nezumi! You never apologize! Say it again!”

Shion reached over to bat at him but Nezumi dodged him, laughing at his missed hit.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, won’t you?”

“Nezumiiii…” Shion whined.

And that was their new “argument” for the walk back home.