A/N: This was originally posted on my newly-made writing blog on Tumblr (the url is theblack-orange, if any of you are interested. I will post most things there first, as well as some graphics and works I don't have the guts to post on FFN yet... It might get interesting, who knows. Yes, I am aware that this is shameless self-promotion.)
Beware of this one: the sap might kill you.
(Also, all the cool kids were putting vocabulary definitions in their fics. I just want to be a cool kid!)
burrow/ˈbʌrəʊ/ noun
a hole or tunnel dug by a small animal as a dwelling.
There's dancing, that night, in their home.
Hamlet doesn't think he ever saw anything quite like it. And he's seen many things: he's a mouse, he slips in crevices the bigger mammals don't even consider, spaces they don't think of as spaces just because they're so small one wouldn't be able to stick a hand into them.
But Hamlet is a mouse, and a small one at that, and he can go wherever he likes - if he doesn't find shrieks and stomped feet to greet him, that is. He's seen more things than anyone ever will.
He sees Cravat move closer to Tsukiyo, burrowing his nose in the other's fur. Tsukiyo tries half-heartedly to shrug him away: he's too concentrated on what's going on to pay attention to him.
Hamlet remembers a time when he wasn't Hamlet. Just as Tsukiyo and Cravat weren't Tsukiyo and Cravat. Their scents are still more familiar to him than those sounds, but he can recognize them when the white-haired boy utters them. His ears will perk up, nose vibrating, when he hears his voice...
"One, two, three..."
Sion whispers under his breath. Nezumi chuckles in response and Sion looks up at him with a frown.
"What? Why are you laughing?"
"That was my line, I believe."
It takes Sion a moment to catch up, and when he does, he turns red. "Well, I'm just trying to do it right! And I know I'm bad at this..."
"Actually, you're not awful, for a beginner."
Hamlet and the other mice are sitting on the bed, on their hind legs, taking in every detail of the scene. Sion's arms resting on Nezumi's, their hands intertwined, their feet drawing circles on the floor.
Sion is biting his lip, mindful of not stepping on his partner's toes.
"Don't look at your feet!"
"I'm not!"
"You are too."
Hamlet remembers a time when he wasn't Hamlet. He remembers a time when their silent, human companion's laughter never echoed through the water-stained walls.
The laughter that springs up when Sion advances a request, accompanied by a sly smile: since he's not that bad, Nezumi could let him lead, for once. His reason has its logic, after all: What if I find myself dancing with a girl?
The ghost of a frown creases Nezumi's brows, but it's gone and replaced by a smirk soon after.
"Why, you will let her lead!" he sneers. Sion sputters in indignation, and his slip in concentration somehow manages to send them both crashing against one of the libraries, making books fall down on them like rain.
A very heavy kind of rain.
The mice are startled by the sudden noise and run in all directions. Hamlet darts under the bed, watching their humans' crumpled forms on the floor from the dusty darkness.
Nezumi's gaze is hot with irritation. "See? Proves me right!"
Sion scowls at him and silently rubs at the bruise-to-be on his forehead, where a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dreamhit him with its corner.
There's a sigh, and a muttered something that sounds way too much like "airhead"to be a coincidence, and Nezumi's long and pale fingers brushing Sion's hair away. He leans close to examine the spot that's already turning dark.
For a moment Hamlet has the thought his human might close the distance and press his lips to Sion's forehead. The desire to do so radiates from his body like heat.
He doesn't, but their gazes as they lock onto each other almost make up for it. Sion's mouth is a thin line on his face. He's trying to be offended and failing.
And then, suddenly, there's laughing. It's partly the realization of what a mess they made, partly Sion amused by his own clumsiness. There's light scoffing on Nezumi's part, a faint smile as he shakes his head.
There's a kiss, and a - fondly - whispered: "Idiot."
And silence.
Hamlet remembers a time when he wasn't Hamlet.
It was a much colder time; a time with no dancing, a time with no good-natured fighting, a time when danger was always about to knock on their door.
There's still danger, and there's still cold. But now, in thistime, where he has a name and his human has a companion, danger and cold can be locked out. Even if only for a night.
And even if only for a night, in the small hole where the mice dwell, it's the safest and warmest place of all.