"One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it… and the journey is always towards the other soul." — D.H. Lawrence
Nezumi had seen many shades of red throughout his life. When he was younger, the color was associated with death; the blood of his parents and of family friends who had died when No.6 obliterated his people. Red clouded his vision as wild fear paralyzed his body, teaching him what it felt like to lose everyone that had ever mattered. Red covered his hands as he finally found the strength to run, and it dripped down his back as he desperately attempted to live, to escape, to keep going.
Red symbolized the eventual loss of the old woman who had dragged him out of hell, protecting him with her own life as they escaped from the forest. It symbolized all of the wounds inflicted on his person from the dystopia that continued to take and take and take until there was nothing left to give. Soon enough, the color's meaning became associated with something else; no longer did he associate it with death, but with anger. Rage. His hatred for the city that cowered behind large impenetrable walls, keeping out anything that it deemed dirty and impure, or reckless, or that challenged its laws.
It was only natural for Nezumi to be scared beyond all belief when red appeared in front of him once more, this time in the form of a snake coiling around the body of a man that threatened to change his entire world.
Nezumi had fought so long for some sort of consistency, only to find it in a dimly lit home on the outskirts of West Block, surrounded by books and a wealth of knowledge that one couldn't even begin to comprehend in No. 6's classrooms. Literature piled up almost to the ceiling, books he had collected by trading in the booze and gifts that piled up in his dressing room after each and every performance. Alone in the comfort of his own home, where no one could reach him, Nezumi lost himself in the pages of Shakespeare's comedies and tragedies, as well as the stories of authors such as Charles Dickens and Jane Austen.
After years of horror and living in the worst conditions possible, he had finally found a sense of peace… although every time he stepped foot outside, he was greeted with the sight of those walls, the civilization that stole everything and continued to haunt him.
Yes, red was the worst possible color on the spectrum. It reminded Nezumi of everything that had hurt him, that had been torn from him. It ignited the anger and rage within his very core, and worst of all, the hurt, the bitter resentment that came in the form of salty tears and a heavy heart. Yet, as he watched the snake coil its way around Shion's skin, the color became something…different. And as the days progressed, the consistency that Nezumi had spent so long building for himself became inconsistent. Shion challenged everything, frustrating Nezumi to no end. Red was still associated with anger, but not as much as before.
The meaning behind the color red was changing rapidly; it was changing so quickly that Nezumi wanted to run and forget that he had ever seen it. But that… well, that was four years ago, when they were 16. And Nezumi had tried running away, only to realize that the color he hated so much had grown on him. In their four years of separation, every time Nezumi spotted something crimson, he immediately thought of Shion, his heart leaping into his throat in a way it never had before. And as the years continued to progress, the color Nezumi hated turned into one he loved.
And now, underneath soft sheets, limbs tangled together and smiles pressed into flesh in the form of kisses. Nezumi's lips traced the edges of the red scar on Shion's torso, savoring the feel of his lover's skin after so many years.
And as his face finally met with that of Shion's, and as stormy grey eyes met with a brilliant shade of ruby, Nezumi knew that the color red had slowly infiltrated his heart, wrapping it in a warmth only Shion could provide.
And he didn't need to experience any color other than red, ever again.