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Nezumi had always had his attention. Shion had wanted more and more of him, to know, to be equals, to prove himself to him, to touch him, to be with him. He hadn't always been in love with Nezumi, or maybe he had. Sheer dumb luck had made sure they were intertwined on the most intimate level of fate ten years ago, now.
A moment with him was all it took, a scream through a window changing the entire course of his life. He couldn't imagine it any other way; maybe it was more than luck, after all. Just a night, a night where he woke up to wish that he hadn't found his bed empty, wondering if it was a dream. That was all it took.
Four years, confusion, longing, curiosity, acceptance… Nezumi was symbolic of many of the questions he had had about the city at the time, but he was an enigma in himself.
Then, those whirlwind months- full of flirtation, fighting, tears. Hot, passionate emotions that brought a new, frustrated confusion to the both of them, in Shion's earnesty and Nezumi's defensiveness. Neither of them were ready for love, but somewhere along the way there was a deep, unforgiving trust established, something unnerving and unbreakable, daunting and beautiful.
So much happened. The wasp, the threats, Shakespeare, embarrassment, the bodies, the disease, the thievery, Eve, the newfound knowledge that his comfortable life was built on piles of corpses, Eliyurias, little Shionn, genocide, the mountain, his own murder of a man, losing Safu and yet always being with her at the same time, his own death and revival.
Those moments between them seemed the most real, though. Stares that meant too much and yet couldn't be deciphered at all, Nezumi's biting, confusing flirtatious comments that were always backhanded compliments. Shion realized now they were that way for Nezumi's own safety. There were moments of stuttering over words that should have come easily, and for Nezumi, pursing his lips and looking away.
There were nights where Shion silently joined Nezumi in bed and sobbed silently, clutched his back and mourned for the people of the West Block, confessed his desperate need to see his mother and his childish desire to run back home. Nights where he asked to join him and nothing happened, where they comfortably fell asleep. Nights where they went to bed naturally and just gazed at each other in adoration, but tense, far too tense and anxious, the silence biting. Nights where Shion got drunk or Nezumi felt reckless, where they explored each other's bodies haphazardly but never had sex, leaning on the excuse of being horny teenagers to smother any real meaning. Real meaning was scary.
Real meaning was what kept Shion strong during those years without Nezumi, four grueling years that were satisfying, made him happy, that he loved, that he needed to grow without Nezumi, but despised and felt empty during all the same. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't felt like giving up at times, gotten irritated and stopped leaving his window open, locked it even. Little Shionn was Shi-Chan suddenly, Riri beginning to show the signs of teenage angst and independence, her own sass coming through. His mother sported a streak of gray hair that suited her, he lived in his own condo away from her, a nice little spot not nearly as nice as Chronos but more comfortable and sleek than the Lost Town store. Things had changed, he had gone from revolutionary to advocate to council member, but he refused to be a figurehead. He fought whatever fight needed him, never caring what people thought, boldly moving forward. It was for himself, at a certain point, and that was what he needed, but it started as a way to make Nezumi proud, and that sentiment never left. He had what he needed, he raised Shi lovingly with Inukashi's help, he had a comfortable living, enjoyed his hobbies and continually studied. He had little luxuries, bottles of wine and the privilege to watch the sun rise on his days off.
When Nezumi returned, his hair was shorn to a sharp bob that rested at his mid ears, even taller but just barely less androgynous. Shion didn't know what he expected his reaction to be, but he had simply gawked at him before fully embracing his presence and welcoming him back. He had doubted himself, a bit. He had given up and cursed him for leaving him at times, resolute he had been abandoned, he had had moments of weakness and times when he screamed at the sky that he just wanted him back. Nezumi didn't ask, though, and didn't care that Shion hadn't had other flings one way or the other, didn't want to know if Shion waited patiently or wrote him off. He took Shion as he was, and so Shion didn't make him take the obligation of staying.
Looking back, Shion realized that's part of why he did.
They had endless time to catch up, but the first month neither of them had the patience. Shion showed Nezumi the city, his new No 6., not a holy city, but an earnest one. Nezumi had given a small, fond smile, but Shion knew it was still sore, and they had ended up spending most of their time together at the old apartment in the West Block the first month, which was still not fully integrated, but there was a vast improvement in quality of life. Nezumi was much more impressed there. Nezumi, in turn, had surprised Shion, recounting tales of his adventures in great detail, how he slept anywhere from a comfortable hut to a tree to ruins of a palace, the people he met and their customs, recounting their art with passion that Shion hadn't seen from him so openly before. He didn't ever give a moral to his stories, didn't tell Shion what he had found in these fantastical places. He didn't need to. Shion saw how much he had changed, and he found he liked it, found himself warmly smiling in adoration, cheek in palm as he studied Nezumi's bright, uninhibited expressions more than listening to the tales. Nezumi saw beauty in the world now, and if Shion had helped that even a little, he was happy.
There was work to be done, with the city and with themselves. Nezumi, despite his better judgement, fell into the role of a whimsical housewife, taking whatever acting jobs he pleased. He dramatically draped himself over the couch and quoted Shelley perhaps too passionately to no one, eccentric in not knowing what to do with himself, odd and flamboyant seeming to be a comfortable nature to pair with his biting sarcasm that no longer had a place. Gone were the days of negotiating where there was a gamble on his life for doing so, so he took up gossip, his own little harmless drama manipulation and information brokerages to himself using the neighboring women. He didn't go too far, never writing a story of betrayal or affairs, but he had fun directing. That life would grow boring for him, though, even waiting for Shion to come home rather than drinking in a desolate forest alone. He gardened, he cooked, he cleaned, and he greeted Shion with dinner and a chaste kiss to the jaw when he came home despite that persistent 16 year old in him that fought it- he knew it was good for him. Still, he did act, did leave Shion notes that he would be back with less and less information on where he was and more and more time gone. He never strayed past a week, though. Not again. Shion allowed it, happily allowed it, didn't bother questioning what he did. It was needed. Nezumi was that kind of person, he needed to kick his legs and run free, but he'd always come home. The window of Shion's condo remained unlocked; the new city wasn't free of danger, but Shion could fend for himself. In his long hours, he hadn't lost the edge Nezumi had taught him.
Nor the knowledge he was capable of murder. Flashbacks were hard, panic was hard, remembering was hard. They spent many more nights crying and shaking while the other gently comforted than they spent in passionate heat the first six months, even the first year… not to say they neglected the latter. Gradually, they grew to where Shion could practice the exercises he learned in therapy with Nezumi, Nezumi growing less fumbling with his empathy, and Shion could apply cream to Nezumi's still angry burns, never properly healed. Nezumi didn't like the airport, Shion didn't like guns, and neither of them knew how to feel about wasps. Gradually, ever so slowly, though, life became manageable. Shion handled his work hours better, spending time with Nezumi. Nezumi went out more on odd jobs and to perform, letting Shion take up some of the housewife role.
Nezumi opted to let Shion take him first, a shuddering, helpless virgin, but they gradually found their way into balance, swaying wildly before they eventually found a language of touch all their own, taking and giving whatever they needed at the time, or wanted, when healing and time allowed the luxury. Neither of them thought going all out every time was very practical, despite Shion eventually learning and getting used to taking in Nezumi.
That's not to say Nezumi didn't get railed much more often by a Shion frustrated with a bill going nowhere after hours of grueling, meaningless bickering to let off some steam.
Nezumi didn't think he minded at all, either.
Not when they became fluent with each other. Not when Shion started so panicked, hips stuttering and engulfed in the awe, then moved to careful, tentative touches, too worried and soft for Nezumi's taste. He was a rat, he would jump ship at the first sign of sinking, and that was his instinct, even if he was tied intrinsically to Shion now. He wouldn't jump, but he would skitter, flinch, look to hide if he was handled too delicately. Eventually, Shion saw beyond even his acting and noticed, taking confidence in his own actions and giving Nezumi what he needed, occasionally taking for himself. Bold Shion was a treat Nezumi was taken with, Shion who didn't mince words or flinch or blush when Nezumi chided or mocked him, only agreed that yes, he had worked him up, or yes, he was a pervert, and repeated his orders as if they were obvious, only tightened his grip in Nezumi's hair. It was all obvious to Shion when the light in his eyes darkened a bit, when he got a bit heady with his own desire and stopped treating Nezumi like glass- instead, he became putty.
When Shion came home and slammed the door, startling the war stricken Nezumi even- too much housewifing lately, maybe, he would have to go find trouble soon or he'd lose his edge and accustomation to the sound of gunshots, he would think- he found himself not settling into an irritated shock at the sudden sound, or worry for Shion, but found instead his own uncanny anticipation. Maybe he was just fucked up. Perhaps he had wanted Shion to change, at least here. He didn't really care what it was when Shion had him pressed against the dining room wall with a hand hooked under his leg, Nezumi feeling his own drool streak down his face and knowing damn well he was stupid with ecstasy. It was alright. He didn't really have to be cool for Shion anymore, he was alright, and now they supported each other. It was no longer endlessly returning debts, saving each other more literally or through kisses, touches, soups made and welcome homes given. It was now something more.
I want to see you as an equal, Shion had said, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he had reached it- or even gone too far, nearly pausing as he drifted a bit out of his mindless state of needing something to manhandle and jerk around while fucking Nezumi senseless into the floor. He slowed ever so slightly, earning a whimper that was meant to be a sound of curiosity amongst the helpless, loud moans, louder than Shion ever could've imagined Nezumi would allow him when they first started being truly physical.
Tears had scattered on Nezumi's burns, an I love you was gently whispered, a "remember that" being added, more rare, a quick but gentle motion of hands along Nezumi's sides, and the I love yous became a rushing river, but Shion by no means switched to love making, giving Nezumi what he had by now long known was a treat for him.
Shion could still send him spiraling in the best way, confuse and fluster him.
That night Shion had asked him if he was truly happy, if he had domesticated Nezumi a bit too much. He assured him he could be honest, he loved him too much to tie him down here, and that he wouldn't forget Nezumi's nature, wouldn't forget what happened to him. Nezumi had considered, truly considered for just a hair of a moment. There wasn't really such a thing as truly happy. There was always compromise. He did lose something when he came back, stopped freely moving when and wherever. He was at peace, though, something he had never felt, and he certainly got himself into enough trouble to not feel tied down whatsoever. He had lost a little meaningless luxury in globe trotting, but Shion was worth much more, the peonies, Junior, seeing no. 6 become something real and beautiful. Utopias didn't exist, he couldn't possibly have both. This was much closer to heaven, plenty close.
He had flicked Shion's nose and told him his speech was awful, that he needed lessons, and of course he was happy, he didn't mind his role if it was with Shion.
Shion didn't tease him, didn't linger on the sentiment of that statement, even though he certainly could, certainly deserved to after all those mockings from Nezumi.
"It's not a performance, Nezumi. I don't need lessons, they're my feelings- the way I say them doesn't have to be flowery and performative to say what I mean, they don't have to be philosophical to not be childish. I love you."
"I love you too, Shion."
Nezumi took in a little glance of surprise on Shion's face at him having finally said it and smiled softly. It finally felt right… no, it always had. It finally felt safe. He tucked himself closer into Shion's arm. Finally, at last, after all those years, finally letting go of the charred forest. He had found home.