A/N: There are very brief, very vague references to the novel in this, though I don't think they would be enough to confuse someone who hasn't read it or to spoil anything for someone planning to read it. Also this is my first fic for this fandom, I'm just testing the water a little bit, please enjoy.
The library was lacking in the classics. There was no longer a ban on such a thing, but even so, they were rare to non-existent. Printing them just hadn't been a priority. Instead, it was filled with educational texts in every subject. Once, in a past that seemed so distant it might have been another life, Shion would have been pleased to pour over those texts. He loved to learn new things. They didn't hold his interest now.
But he wasn't here to read anyway. He had very little free time between appointments and obligations, but what free time he did have, he liked to spend here among the books. He didn't read them. He just wanted to be surrounded by them again.
He hadn't been back to that small basement library since the day No. 6 fell. The smell of the pages, the chittering of mice, the flickering of candles - he missed them all. The clean, newly bound books here in this library were a poor substitute for the books in his memory, but their presence soothed him.
He wanted so badly to go back to that room. That small, chilly basement room, where he learned more about the world in a few months than he had in the sixteen years prior. That room where he learned what hunger felt like, and what pain was. That room where he learned how much he was capable of caring for another human being.
It was still there. Though the ruins of what was formally the West Block were being rebuilt to be more functional and livable, Shion hadn't let their attention turn to that small section. There was no need, not yet anyway, and so the small basement room remained untouched for now.
Still, Shion never went back.
He pulled a book from one of the shelves, some text on human psychology. It's contents didn't matter. Shion took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the paper. Clean, chemical. Not the same smell he was used to, but his memory jolted at it anyway.
He remembered a voice, crystal clear, beautiful, and enchanting, reciting Macbeth. Act five, scene five at Shion's request. He remembered the same voice spitting acidic insults his way, insults that always rang true in Shion's heart. Rather than inflicting pain, they helped him grow.
Shion never returned to that room because he couldn't stand to be there without Nezumi.
In someways he was trying to forget. Coward. He could practically hear Nezumi's voice, even now calling Shion out on his stupidity. You can't pretend that nothing happened. Nezumi didn't allow Shion to forget the things he experienced, no matter how devastating or painful. Everything was a lesson. Shion supposed Nezumi would call this a lesson in getting to close to another person. Shion still didn't regret it, no matter how painful.
It wasn't really that he wanted to forget altogether. If that were the case, he would avoid books at all cost and keep the windows closed at all times. No, he didn't want to forget entirely. He couldn't forget Nezumi even if he tried.
He had his limits though. He couldn't go back to that room, he couldn't allow himself to see it again. The memories were hard enough as is, if he went back there, they would be too much. He might go mad. He wanted to remember, but he wanted to forget too.
He had told Nezumi he couldn't go on without him. Nezumi had, once again, been right. Shion was living. He found other things to live for, things to fill his days with, new people and things to treasure. He was getting on without Nezumi just fine.
It was during the quiet moments that those grey eyes came back to haunt him. And in those moments, Shion surrounded himself with memories. That was why he came to the library to surround himself and books, that was why each night, no matter how the weather was, Shion would throw the window open wide.
Reunion will come, Nezumi had said. He's sealed his promise with a kiss. Shion would get by until then. He'd get by on books, open windows, and memories until that day came.