A/N: Apologies for the super-extreme lateness of this update. I've been going through some... interesting... times. Also, this chapter kept not being what I wanted it to be! T_T

Still not completely sure how I feel about it, but I'm a lot happier with it now, anyway.

To anyone following Heaven & Hell, that update will be next to come. ^_^;

In his mind's eye, Nezumi saw trembling lips hovering mere centimetres away on the other side of the door; red-irised eyes likely watery and dim. But he was out in the hall, and Shion had locked himself in the bathroom.

"What the fuck, Shion? I told you—" What— Why am I angry? Nezumi reproved himself, moderating his tone from its initial snarl to an uncharacteristically small, increasingly uncertain murmur; "—It's fine now. I'm— we're fine now. Aren't we?"

No answer but the soft squawking of morning radio coming from the (empty) kitchen.

"Shion?"

"—'m sorry. Just— I'll be out in a minute, 'kay?" He didn't need to utter another syllable. Sensitive type that he was, Shion's tortured voice already gave everything away. His irregular pitch signaled how overcome he was; his unsteady pace his embarrassment. The way he barely choked out 'okay' at the end—

Nezumi wanted to hit something— lash out, pound fists into the eggshell bathroom door and pastel blue hallway; to kick around the modest furnishings that came with Shion's compact apartment. But the flat hadn't done anything wrong; Nezumi had. He had always been talented at upsetting others. Usually it was intentional— even calculated. But even when it wasn't, he'd never had reason to concern himself about ruffling some feathers in the past. Things were now very different. How very frustrated he was with his inadequacy at putting the former No. 6 resident at ease.

Even after half a year.

"Yeah," a more subdued Nezumi replied without a trace of ire, resentment, or impatience while taking a seat on the nearby living room sofa. He rubbed fingers across his scalp, ruffling his unbound hair in frustration. "Take your time," he unexpectedly crackled. The former sworn enemy of No. 6 cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his forehead against accusing fingertips.

Nezumi grew angrier at himself for permitting his voice to shrink and retreat— as if his words were the utterance some wounded heard the notes of disappointment and concern in his voice, Shion was likely now heaping self-reproach on top of his irrational fear. It felt unnatural to Nezumi, this powerful desire to offer reassurance. For one as gifted as he at manipulating others' emotions, he realized, he was startlingly incompetent at understanding his own. Even more so expressing them.

Paradoxically, as much as he wished to provide comfort, he still wanted to run away.

I'm so sorry, Shion.

I'm still afraid.

We're so different, you and I— but I think you're scared too.

It's as true now as two and a half years ago: I can spend the rest of my life with you, and still never really understand you. Yeah. But I could never forget about you.

Even when I tried.

He slouched and let his head fall back against the sofa.

What do I do now?

...

When he was cast for his first supporting role in a major motion picture, Nezumi began to grow restless. The world was going to be seeing him on the silver screen, but when shooting wrapped up, he remained unfulfilled. His performance was fine— excellent even— and his colleagues (both before and behind the camera) played their roles competently as well.

So why was he so dissatisfied?

Cinema audiences wouldn't applaud (or heckle) pre-recorded presentations. Barriers of time and distance stood in the way as well. Kind of like a peep show arranged by old man Rikiga. He laughed to himself about it back then, but those laughs rang hollow…

Prior to this, moviegoing had become Nezumi's addiction. For a long time, he had secretly longed to experience the 'movies' he'd occasionally heard or read about while living in the West Block. Soon after he left the region of No. 6, he was finally able to fulfil that wish. From there, he graduated quickly from audience to extra, and then even faster from extra— directly to his most recent part.

At first, however, he could hardly put into words how he felt, once pictures began to play. Not that he needed words, of course. The mice already understood.

There wasn't anyone else.

To the jaded people in the different numbered city-states, their galleries, theatres, stadiums— all such entertainment venues simply always had and always would exist. Still, movies affected people. Children skipped out of matinées and into fresh horizons of fantasy. Young couples mimicked the pictures' romantic rituals. Those old enough to remember the world before the war often left with tears in their eyes.

Now Nezumi, too, could look directly into history and listen to the authentic sounds of an entirely different era. Plentiful farmlands, sprawling cities in their prime, and pure untouched nature— rainforest, savannah, Arctic tundra… extinct animal species…

Extinct peoples, too.

He sighed.

Yet when he was cast for his first supporting role in a major motion picture, Nezumi began to grow restless.

Shooting wrapped up for feature and featurette; cast, crew, directors, and producers all moved on and Nezumi was no different, heeding his agent's advice on promotional matters with characteristic sarcasm and lip service. The young actor felt no particular attachment to any of these people, the studio, or their associated locales.

And still, he remained disturbingly unfulfilled. Why?

The answer came to him the first time after the shoot was completed that he could escape from bright daylight into the welcoming darkness of the cinema.

With a dispirited huff, he'd slumped into his usual spot at the back of the Bijou. Since when were his movements so listless and inelegant? Well, no matter. To all others in the sparsely-populated auditorium, Nezumi existed in an entirely separate universe. This may be one room, he mused, but we are not all in the same place. Families, couples, groups of friends; all were cloistered within their own realms.

Others' enjoyment, he supposed, lay not only in immersing themselves in filmed entertainment on the silver screen. It was the common experience. Within a year, Nezumi's beautiful (if he did say so himself) features would be projected onto theatre screens just like this one across the globe, and yet until that very moment, he'd never truly understood this simple fact.

He could always watch movies alone. And enjoy them. That would never change. However, there had always been an integral portion of the experience he'd be missing: the simple pleasure of sharing with another— someone whose company he could appreciate. Nods of agreement and heated debate; mind reading and picking of brains; awe and ridicule.

Distance and intimacy. Push and pull. Magnetic repulsion and attraction—

An old memory materialized within this new awareness. That underground room and its mismatched sets of twins: two cups to wash, two plates, two piles of books to read, two towels, pairs of shoes— all manner of mundane objects came to mind. He remembered that home now abandoned and empty.

Alone in the back of the theatre that day, a single uninvited tear dropped from his eye.

Even before the last-minute hiring for his break out film role was clinched, and as the two year mark was drawing ever closer, Nezumi was thinking about returning to see Shion. He thought about his hypocrisy back then, teasing the boy about his response to Safu's frank confession. Why wait two years when he had a sure thing directly before him then and there, right? Yet hadn't he done the exact same thing? Unlike Shion, Nezumi had no excuse, either.

He and Shion weren't ever just friends.

Fearful as he was of having someone to protect— several times more afraid of Shion doing the same— and as fascinating and rewarding his sojourns in the numbered cities, ragged trading posts, and spare rural villages blooming here and there; there would always be something missing.

...

The mice appeared impatient with Nezumi's inaction. The one called Hamlet scrabbled down haphazard piles and individual books jutting from the bookcase in front of him in order to perch by Cravat's side on the sofa's arm. Though Cravat was usually the more hyperactive of the two, he only tilted his head expectantly as Hamlet testily squeaked disapproval. He then chirped sagely in agreement. And they were right. Tsukiyo shouldn't be the one consoling Shion right now.

So he found himself standing at the bathroom door again. Knocking. "Hey… do you think could I come in?"

He was about to speak again into the answering silence, but Shion managed to cut it short: "I'll be out in a sec, alright?"

"Please, Shion."

More silence.

After one of those odd moments that seem to stretch uncomfortably into eternity, he heard a click. Inside, Shion stood with his back turned, vigorously rubbing at his eyes as if seeking a better view of the pristine glass shower doors. Nezumi took a hesitant step forward.

"I'm not crying," Shion sulked defensively.

"Uh huh," Nezumi smiled and before he realized it, he was hugging Shion from behind, and resting his head on his left shoulder. "Heard that one before."

Nezumi couldn't truthfully deny the brief thrill he felt as Shion shivered gently in response to the words spoken against his skin. Good thing no one asked.

"I won't lie." He continued, turning his head to the side to address the short downy hairs at the nape of Shion's neck. "It is hard for me to say I live here. Don't think I'll ever be able call this place 'home,' but you know why that is, right?"

Shion nodded slowly. Nezumi wondered just how the airhead could project such misery without so much as a look.

You'd've been an incredible actor if you could be so subtly expressive on command.

"I'm not someone to measure your success by. But I meant it when I said I was impressed. Without you, they'd never have pulled it off, Shion— the balance you've brought here. Your New City is rapidly becoming the envy of the other Numbers."

Shion remained silent and motionless except for his slow, steady breaths. If it weren't for the fact he was standing and supporting the weight on his shoulder, Nezumi might have suspected he was asleep. He squeezed Shion a little tighter before going on.

"Anyway, I'm saying you should be proud of this place, and I mean it. Even if there's nothing this city can do to keep me here—" Nezumi took a breath mid-sentence. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, but after all it wasn't only what the airhead wanted to hear. It was the honest truth. "—except have you in it."

Shion gasped and stiffened, then carefully loosened Nezumi's arms, shifting smoothly around to face him while still within them. Nezumi recalled how frighteningly graceful he could be whenever gripped with a strong sense of purpose.

Glossy eyes scanned his, an accompanying deep flush still visible in Shion' cheeks and nose.

"Hey. Shion." Nezumi took Shion's cheeks in his hands, sliding fingers back behind his ears as he whispered: "I'm sorry."

He leaned in and paused, watching Shion's eyes closely. When they shut in acceptance, he pressed forward. The tentative apology kiss was fervently returned.

"Forgive me?" He pulled back, stroking Shion's cheek.

"It's okay. I knew it already— that you can't get over your bad memories of No. 6 so easily. Safu feels the same way, you know. She hasn't ever said so, but I can tell. Especially with how she moved so quickly to the West District." He wore a bittersweet smile.

"Oh? I thought it was because of Inukashi's invitation, and how well those two get along."

"Well… there's that too." Shion laughed and Nezumi was glad to hear it. "But the West Block is part of the new No. 6 now, remember. I hope that in time, things will change for both of you. Then, maybe this city can be home for all of us, instead of just me."

"I can't say how I'll feel about this place in the future, but I'm not going to leave you behind again. If there's anywhere I won't come back from, you're going with me."

"I know. I always believed in you, Nezumi," he beamed, though tears remained in his eyes.

Nezumi rolled his eyes and smiled with endearment at Shion's unfortunate turn of phrase. "Still saying embarrassing stuff like that…"

Shion grinned sheepishly and blushed anew. "Yeah, well…"

"Still an airhead, too." He rested his forehead on Shion's, then let their noses glance past each other before bringing their lips together again for longer this time.

"Happy 19th Birthday, airhead. Let's get some breakfast. We've got a long day ahead."

Special thanks to my one-and-only superstar reviewer, Bleached-Whale, for motivating me to continue this story (instead of just putting it on the backburner and working on other projects), as well as those few of you who added this fic to your favourites. Two more chapters to go. Hope you're still out there! ^_^;

Thanks to everyone for reading. Please review!