Disclaimer: I don't own No. 6
You may want to stop if you haven't read the Beyond. Small spoiler ahead.
He's making that face again; his fake mask.
It's different from what you remembered on that faithful day, two year ago; the downfall of No. 6. Back when he was beside him. His face, though covered with blood and soot, glowed against the weary atmosphere. It was his smile that got your attention. It was the tired but complacent smile of a survivor, of a beneficiary of a second chance, of a proud companion of a mysterious man.
You want to cover him, to hide him from the things that making him don that fake smile of his. But you know that he'll wear that mask for you, too.
Only him can bring Shion's smile back.
His lips are moving to form a smile but his eyes are dead inside. It is different back when he was still here;
You stop your own thoughts, mentally correcting yourself. It's Shion-san. No matter how many times he gave you his permission to call him by his name, you can't help it. You can't call simply by his name. He calls him that and you accept the reality that you cannot have that same level of familiarity.
One would think that having a downy white hair and red scar would make Shion-san more distinct in the crowd but apparently it's not always the case. The people are too into the gathering for the anniversary of the downfall of No. 6; a celebration for the second life after the whole day of mourning and remembering the dead. You watch him at a corner of your eye as he sips his wine delicately then stop to pour his wine from his wine glass into a burrowed mug. That suits you better, you think fondly. Your eyes widen at the hint of smile, a precious and sincere curl of his lips, under the subtle curve of his eyes. It's as if he's remembering a drunken past.
Probably a past with him.
You watch as he stands to get away from the bustling crowd and into the doors leading to his office. With a sudden burst of inspiration, you stand to get a wine bottle and a wine glass. With silent footsteps from the carpeted floor, you followed him.
You were about to pull the ajar door when a sight caught your eyes. Balcony windows wide open and thin curtains flowing to the gentle night wind, there he stands with arms wide open. You watch as he moves his arms to an unfamiliar stance while his weight leans to one foot. His other foot moves into the unheard beat and then the other follows. You watch as he steps into a boxed formation as his hands grasp the air in front of him. With a careful turn, he faces your direction but he does not see you for his red wine orbs are hidden from his lids, seeing a person you cannot see.
You can see him smiling in the dark, an actual smile of bliss that soon dissolves into sobbing lips as tears fall from his close eyes. You watch as he falls down as he tries his hardest to muffle the sound of his cries. In the billowing sound of the now raging wind, you can hear him, pass his clamped hands, quietly calls out for a person; Nezumi.
Behind the ajar door, a world beyond the world of the longing man, you whisper;
Nezumi… please come back to him.
If you read the Beyond, I was writing this in Tori's pov.