A/N: Thirteen ficlets in response to a set of ship meme questions I saw floating around. Most are cute, some are serious, some are sad. They all more or less exist in the same universe, but aren't arranged in any particular order except the order in which they were written.

HAVE FUN KIDS.

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This is where my heart is. I was human when my heart was stolen by him, and I was human when I longed to be by his side. And this fact won't change, no matter what name I give to these feelings.

-No. 6 volume 4, chapter 4 (translated by 9th Ave)

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i. who kissed who first?

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Shion closed the door behind himself. Nezumi watched his retreating back – running away, like a coward – and listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. He held his breath until certain that Shion was gone. Gone like everyone else in Nezumi's life.

Good riddance, he thought. Shion was annoying, a crybaby idealist, a burden. If he wanted to go and get himself killed, he could go fuck right off and do it, why should Nezumi care? The underground room was quiet and peaceful without Shion's pointless airhead babbling, and Nezumi would have more food and space to himself.

But his ears rang with the absence of Shion's voice and breathing, and something hidden and denied in the vulnerable hollow where his heart beat ached with the absence of Shion's presence. His lips still burned from where Shion's had touched in the only kiss he'd ever wanted to give or receive.

Loneliness welled up. He should be used to this, he'd been alone a long time, but it never got better. The loss of his family, of an entire people, carved a hole in his back where the cold seeped through. Shion was going to leave, and when he left he would go shredding through Nezumi on his way out the door.

His eyes stung. This was what the old woman warned him of, the creeping poison that weakens, that kills. He should have listened better. He should have left Shion in No. 6. It was too late now – he could no more cut Shion away than the scars branded onto his back, like an omen, like a curse. He could shed his skin but the burns were etched into his bones, and Shion's poison laced their marrow. The moment Shion laid his hands on Nezumi the night of the typhoon, he was lost.

He didn't need anyone. He didn't want anyone. He didn't need Shion. He was fine without him all those years before they met. He would recover from this loss like he recovered from all the others.

The first tears fell. They streamed slow down his cheeks and seeped bitter into his mouth. His tears were warm but not as warm as the phantom warmth of Shion's lips, burned forever to his. And this is all they are going to have left of each other, the memory of this false kiss, the stand-in for all the things they could have had but never had the time.

Nezumi curled his knees to his chest and dropped his head between them. Good riddance.