Hello again everyone!

Riika is back with the first part of her next story! Excited? I know I am!

Anyways, my obnoxiousness aside, thank you for the kind reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy my work. After all, I don't write this stuff just for me. If I did, it wouldn't be here!

Anyways, without further ado, Here is Chapter 1.

Disclaimer: I do not own No. 6. If I did, would there really only have been like 4 semi-fluff scenes? No. There would be more, because the fandom demands it!

It was midnight by the time he reached the ruins of the wall that used to separate No. 6 and West Block. They had long since cleared away the rubble, but the still-standing parts of the wall were left untouched as a reminder of the terror that once was. And now, he stood staring out at the rebuilt West Block. There was no West Block anymore, though. No No. 6. He had made sure of that long ago. They were now one city-state, though most of the residents lived in the former No. 6 since many of the homes had still been intact even after the devastation that had plagued the city thanks to Elyurias.

It was a long minute before he his feet moved forward. He walked for nearly thirty minutes at a slow pace before he figured out where he was going. He stood immobile a few feet away from the stairs that led underground to the place he had spent his time in for much of his 16th year of life. When he had left the bakery earlier he had told himself he was going to visit Inukashi. But it was inevitable that he end up here. It wasn't the first time. Nor would it be the last. Once he reached that wall, no matter what he intended to do, his feet would lead him here. To this place that held so many wonderful and not-so-wonderful memories.

He hadn't gone inside though. Not once, in these past four and a half years, had he gone inside. For some reason he could never bring himself to do it.

But today was different. He willed himself to move. To go down the stairs and push the door open. He wanted to be there just one more time. Just one more time. It had been so long. He surprised himself when he found he could force himself to move the last the few feet to the stairs.

He spent a longer time going down than was necessary, but he didn't care. This was hard for him. He placed his hand on the doorknob but hesitated a moment before pushing the door open. It creaked from being out of use for so long and the sound echoed eerily down the hallway. He repressed a shudder as he made his way down the hall to the door he knew led to his home.

He was starting to reconsider going inside. Maybe he shouldn't. What if it had changed since he'd last been there? No. He couldn't turn back now. He had made it this far, there was only one door between him and his former home now. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and opened the door, stepping inside.

It was exactly the same as they had left it. There were piles of books he hadn't sorted yet still cluttered around the room. The stew pot was still in its place. The key protector on the piano was up. Even the blankets on the bed were in the same messy position they had been when they'd left for the correctional facility. He almost couldn't believe it. He lit one of the lanterns with a match he was surprised still worked after all this time.

He gently wiped the dust from the piano keys and slid the protector down over them. He glanced over at the wall and caught his reflection in the broken mirror. His white hair glowed in the candlelight and his eyes held a sliver of remembrance in their crimson depths.

He moved to the pile of books by the bed. He skimmed the titles. They were all the ones he and his partner had read the most. He was reluctant to disturb them, but picked up the copy of Macbeth that was on top. It had been the first book he'd picked up here. He flopped onto the couch, sending up a poof of dust. He coughed before the dust settled and he flipped open to a random page in the book.

He had been reading for a while when the light dimmed. One of the candles must've gone out. He thought. He didn't really mind. There was still enough light to read by. A few minutes passed and the light dimmed again, casting dark shadows across the room, before quickly regaining its former intensity. This time, he looked up. That's odd. He thought as he set the open book down on the table.

The light flickered again, but this time he was watching. The candle flames didn't so much as move, never mind dim. Creepy. He noted. He shrugged and picked up his book, leaning back into the couch again.

Another few minutes passed and he saw a shadow on the wall. It seemed oddly familiar. He glanced around but he was alone. A moment later it was gone. I must be working too hard, he decided and got back to his book. At some point, his exhaustion had caught up to him and he fell sideways, asleep, with the book held loosely open to the page he'd been reading.

He let his eyes flutter open and he stretched. He glanced around for his book, trying to find where it had gone. Macbeth was nowhere close to him. Hamlet, however, was open on the table. "But I wasn't reading Hamlet," he thought aloud.

"Yes you were, airhead. Can't even remember what book you're reading? That's pretty pathetic."

The familiar voice made him freeze and he titled his head back until he could see the source. He found his eyes immediately locked with the steel-gray ones of his friend. "Nezumi?" he asked, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"Are you sick or something? Who else would I be?" Nezumi seemed confused.

"You're back!"

"I had to work late but I've been home for a while."

"Work?"

Nezumi sighed in frustration. "The theater. We had a late performance today."

"The theater," Shion repeated quietly to himself. The pieces seemed to click together then. "Nezumi?"

"What?"

"What's the date today?"

"January second. Shouldn't you know that already?"

But I thought..." His voice trailed off. January second. That can't be right. It was September fifth last I knew.

By this point, Nezumi had gone back to his book. Shion was still pondering the date.

"Nezumi?"

"What?"

"Have you-?" His didn't get to finish his question.

"Shion."

He was sure that was Nezumi's voice. He wouldn't be able to even pretend it was someone else's. But Nezumi hadn't spoken. He knew, he'd been watching.

"Shion."

There it is again. But if that's not Nezumi, who is it? He wondered.

"Shion!"

He blinked his eyes closed and when he opened them again he saw that it was rather dark in the room. He sat up and glanced around curiously. He was alone, the copy of Macbeth in his hand still. "It was just a dream. Weird. It felt so real," he said to no one in particular. It made sense that that had been a dream. Still, it felt so real... He flipped Macbeth closed and placed it carefully back where it had been in the pile. He blew out the barely there flame in the lantern and left, closing the door behind him.

As he left the underground shelter, he felt the dawn breeze sweep over him. It sent a chill down his spine, though the morning was relatively warm. "It's already dawn. I should have been at Inukashi's hours ago. She's gonna kill me!" he thought aloud, taking off at a run towards the inn.

He didn't stop running until he was almost there. He took a moment to stop and breathe. The cool morning wind swept past him and he was almost sure he could his name being called from somewhere nearby. It's just the wind, he told himself as he made his way into Inukashi's inn, mentally preparing himself for the shouting and cursing that he knew was coming.

What did you think, huh? It took me forever to get this chapter started. Hopefully the rest of it will come together as smoothly as I want it to. Should have the next chapter up around this time next week.

Reviews are always welcome. They help me get better!

I think I heard someone say catnip, so I'm gonna go find it! Have a good week, nya~