Found this little gem in a notebook hiding in my desk, so I typed it up. Just a little meaningless drabble fic. Hope you enjoy, nonetheless! I don't own No.6.
If anyone were to ask him, Nezumi would say that a favorite color was a waste of time. But if he were to be honest, once upon a time he would have answered "brown".
Brown was a staple color. The pigment of the earth, dirt coating the West Block, and dust on his books. It was the color of bread, of cooked meat, of the wood for fires. It was half of the forest he had once called home. A warm earth tone, and the umber of a rat's fur.
Coincidentally, it was also the color of caked mud on a wound, hot chocolate, warm stew, soft hair, and once of beautifully merciful eyes.
But recently Nezumi felt his favorite color changing, because now white held a newfound glory. It was a color rarely found where he lived, save for the ghostly pale skin of starving beggars, though recently it invaded his vision. The barren alabaster of the looming wall, pureness of falling snow, soap suds on dogs, and Shion's new hair color. For himself, shrouded in the darkness of sin and grudges, it was the most unattainable color of all. But it suited a boy who was just as unattainable, if not infinitely more precious.
White was the color of Shion.
Nezumi had to call it his favorite.