A/N: Thanks for ahiku, lawlya, Shinwa-Tsuki, Yoshioka Ai, brendainhogwarts for the reviews either here or on ao3! I'm sorry it took so long. (rest of the apologies in the end of the chapter). As always, a special thanks for color2413, who saved my fic once again from my English skills.
Act III: The Drunkard's Dream
It had been three months since Nezumi decided to stay in Tokyo. The school year started long ago, and Nezumi had to quit his job as a teacher and replace it with a new one as a translator. It wasn't a fascinating job; most of the files he got to translate were utterly boring, but he did it anyway. His official reason was that he refused to be dependent on Inukashi, but in reality, he worked because he was completely bored.
He worked in his room, leaving only to buy food or books or to meet with Shion occasionally. Not much has changed in Nezumi's opinion; his life was still quite uneventful. The only difference was that instead of teaching entire classes, he tutored Shion a bit. It was Shion's idea, like most of the activities in Nezumi's current life. Shion spoke English fluently, but he had never gotten around to reading important pieces of literature in the language. Nezumi couldn't quite say that he enjoyed teaching Shion; he was insufferably curious, which made their pace incredibly slow, but Nezumi got used to it after a while. None of his students ever showed so much interest and in a way, Nezumi grew fond of Shion's nature.
Shion enjoyed their sessions from the very beginning. Yes, he was grateful for the opportunity to learn, but mostly for the opportunity to meet with Nezumi. Although their meetings were strictly for learning and nothing more, Shion managed to open Nezumi up little by little. It was a hard process. At first Nezumi refused to answer even the most trivial questions such as "how was your day?" and "what are you working on right now?" Slowly, Nezumi gave in, answering with polite short sentences, never showing any interest in the other party.
Later Nezumi gave more sincere answers, telling Shion about his work and life in more detail, and sometimes he even listened to Shion as he spoke about the same subjects. Yet they kept their chatting to a minimum, leaving their sessions primarily for studying. After a while, Shion decided to invite Nezumi to watch a play with him at a local theater.
"For school purposes," he justified. "I want to watch Shakespeare, not just read it."
And so they went on a play, 'Romeo and Juliet', after which Shion had to sit and listen to Nezumi complain for a whole hour about the acting and the translation to Japanese. Shion decided to mark that day as a turning point. For the first time, Nezumi's lectures expressed his own opinion instead of other people's interpretations. The thought made Shion smile to himself, but Nezumi was too busy complaining to notice.
From then on, it became a routine. Nezumi taught Shion a few times a week, and almost every weekend they went to watch a play or sometimes a movie. Occasionally, they visited a museum. Nezumi never even noticed the shift in their relationship throughout these months, and Shion decided it was probably better that way.
Shion fondly caressed the little sticky notes on the side of his copy of 'Hamlet'. One of the many little things Shion has learned about Nezumi during their sessions was that he refused to write on books directly, a habit that left Nezumi's books covered almost completely with colorful notes between their pages.
"Look at this one," Nezumi pointed. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't."
Nezumi began to explain the importance of that specific quote, but Shion wasn't listening anymore.
"You know," he said, "I think this was the first time I heard you speak English."
Nezumi stifled a sigh, openly irritated that Shion had stopped listening. "What about it?"
"Your accent," Shion wondered, "it's not Japanese. Not British either."
"I lived in the United States for the first six years of my life," Nezumi said matter-of-factly.
"Really?" Shion asked with amazement. "Your Japanese is amazing!"
"As I said, it was only for six years," Nezumi replied.
"Six years is a long time," Shion insisted, "especially when it's the first six years of your life."
"My grandmother was quite frantic about my Japanese, actually," he admitted. "She refused to converse with me in English. She also made sure I learned writing and reading in Japanese and English at the same time so I wouldn't know one language better than the other."
"That sounds hard," remarked Shion, "but at least it worked, didn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess," Nezumi agreed and tried to pull back to 'Hamlet', only to be disturbed by Shion again.
"What were you doing in the U.S.?" he asked.
This time Nezumi did sigh. "My grandmother lectured about nuclear weapons. We traveled all over the place, never staying in the same place for over a month. In the end she decided her efforts were futile, and we moved back to Japan."
"It was only you and your grandma?" Shion immediately regretted asking such an intrusive question, but Nezumi didn't seem to mind.
"Yeah," he answered monotonously, "I never met my parents. It's not a big deal though, because I don't know what it's like to live with that sort of thing, so it's never really bothered me."
Shion scratched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling as if he had crossed some sort of invisible line. "I never knew my father either," he told Nezumi, as if to return the favor, "so I guess we're the same in that regard." Then he laughed. It was a short awkward chuckle, which gave Nezumi the feeling it wasn't so funny and that he probably shouldn't pry into the subject any further.
Their lesson went on until Shion's phone rang.
"Da?" he answered, and Nezumi knew by then that Russian meant Safu. Shion once told him that Safu learned a new language whenever she had business with a new country, and because she was a genius, she ended up speaking that language semi-fluently and sometimes even better than that. Nezumi lost count of the languages Safu could speak, but Shion, with his incredible memorizing skills, could chant them in both alphabetical and chronological order as easily as he could recite his phone number or address.
That revealed to Nezumi why Safu spoke Russian, but Shion never explained why he could speak it as well. Nezumi tried to ask once, but Shion avoided the question so gracefully Nezumi had only realized the next night that he hadn't gotten an answer.
The conversation went on for awhile, and Nezumi sat quietly and listened to the foreign language until Shion hung up the phone and said, "Safu is back from her business trip; she wants to meet downstairs at the hotel's coffee shop."
Nezumi only nodded slightly and waited for Shion to pack his things before they left the room and headed for the elevator. He had gotten used to being around Safu a lot, because being friends with Shion evidently required it. Nezumi figured that it worked the other way around too, because Inukashi seemed to befriend Shion through Safu.
They met downstairs as promised.
"Shion!" Safu waved from the table she picked for them, and the two joined her.
"Hey Safu," said Shion before sitting next to her.
"Walking suit," teased Nezumi, acknowledging her existence.
"Ice queen," Safu replied with her own nickname for Nezumi.
Shion hurried to prevent the conversation from deteriorating further. "So, how was your trip?"
"The usual," Safu said, waving her hand nonchalantly. "You working on anything special?"
"Not really," replied Shion.
"How's Inukashi doing?" she asked. It was a completely unnecessary question, as every medical report regarding Inukashi went through Safu before Inukashi got it.
"She's fine," Shion said. "Nezumi and I went to visit her in the hospital every once in a while."
Safu smiled. "Yeah, she told me," she said, and then gave Nezumi a sad stare.
Shion looked at both of them awkwardly until his phone rang and he got up to answer it.
"Excuse me," he apologized, "I need to get this."
He left the table, giving Nezumi and Safu some time alone, something that enthused neither of them.
"Do you know," Safu spoke eventually, "what I used to do to people who hurt Shion?"
Nezumi didn't respond to that out-of-the-blue question. He only looked at Safu's direction, and she decided to take his silence as an invitation to say more.
"I kneed them in the balls," she said, and Nezumi, even more puzzled than before, stayed still, making no sound.
"You will not be an exception," she added, just before Shion joined them once more.
"Sorry, that was work," he apologized again.
What was that about? Nezumi wondered.
"What did they want?" asked Safu, as if the conversation between her and Nezumi never happened.
"One of my coworkers is getting married, so he's inviting us to a bar not far from here tonight," he explained.
"Whoa!" Nezumi covered his mouth with his hands with cynical shock. "Shion the party animal."
"Very funny," Shion pouted, and Nezumi couldn't help but to grin with satisfaction.
"Nezumi is jealous because he was never invited to parties," Safu taunted, receiving a piercing glare from Nezumi.
"And I'm sure you were always super-popular," he replied. "Everyone wants a walking suit at their party."
"Nezumi, Safu," Shion begged, "please don't."
But it was too late. Nezumi and Safu were already too busy with their teasing match to listen.
• • • • • •
Nezumi sat by the table in his room, working on whatever it was that he needed to for work. It was a lazy day for him, and he enjoyed the leisure of the normal routine. Nezumi typed quietly, his eyes moving from the original copy to the screen, then his watch, then the screen at amazing speed. He took a deep breath and stretched. Time seemed frozen to him. He couldn't decide whether it was the document he was translating or the itch to do something else, which he had felt ever since he had sat down to work.
He stood up to get a drink, hoping that somehow it would alleviate his boredom. On his way back to his desk, his wish came true: his ringtone broke the silence of the room, making his heart skip a beat when he saw Shion's name on the screen.
"Hey, I thought you were out with friends," Nezumi answered, speaking in the most irritated tone he could muster.
"Are you Nezumi?" an unknown voice answered, and Nezumi felt his heart sink.
"Who are you?" he asked immediately. "Where is Shion?"
"He's fine, man, just listen for a second," replied the voice calmly. "I'm his coworker and we went to a bar together. I just need you to pick him up. I… I don't think he can drive home."
Nezumi was too relieved to be mad about Shion's getting himself drunk, but the thought still crossed his mind as he sat in his car and drove to the address that coworker sent him. It was a small bar, but it seemed clean enough. Nezumi grumbled to himself as he walked inside and found Shion sitting at a table with a guy that seemed to be the caller.
"Thanks bro," the man said and patted Nezumi's back a little too hard. "He's fine, you see?"
"Well, well—isn't that my pampered Prince, drunk as a skunk?" teased Nezumi the moment the other guy left the bar.
Shion gave him a sour look. "I'm not that drunk," he replied.
"Drunk enough so that another person had to call me so I could pick you up," Nezumi argued, and gestured to him to get up so they can get going.
"I'm not that drunk," Shion repeated. He then tried to get up, but stumbled and fell right into Nezumi's arms.
"Not that drunk, eh?" Nezumi smiled. "You can't even walk straight! My, do I need to carry you to the car, my Prince?"
Shion pushed Nezumi away and straightened up. "I'm fine," he mumbled as he staggered toward the exit.
Nezumi grinned as Shion struggled to open the door of the car, fell into the seat by the driver, and then tried stubbornly to buckle his seat belt without Nezumi's help. They drove without a word other than Shion's instructions, the smell of alcohol permeating the car. Shion proved that indeed, he was not totally wasted. His vision was a little fuzzy and he took a while to tell Nezumi when to turn, but finally they arrived Shion's apartment without much trouble.
They both went out of the car and into the building, where Shion, as if to prove a point, insisted on pressing the correct button in the elevator without Nezumi's help. When they reached the floor where Shion's apartment was, Shion walked clumsily toward a simple, brown door, where he fumbled for his keys in his pocket and then invited Nezumi inside.
"I'm going to take a shower," he announced. "Make yourself at home."
"Don't you need help?" teased Nezumi, receiving a grumpy look and the third "I'm not that drunk" of that night.
With loud steps, Shion disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Nezumi in a room that seemed to be both the kitchen and the dining room. It had little furniture: only necessities for cooking, a small table, and two chairs. There were three doors that led outside of the room: the apartment's entrance, the door through which Shion had disappeared, and the third, which Nezumi assumed led to the bedroom.
Through the wall, Nezumi heard water running. He decided that nothing would come from his standing in the middle of the room, so he might as well sit. He moved toward the table, where the chairs were, but froze when he saw a magnetic board with pictures of Shion above it. He stood closer to get a better look.
There was a picture of Shion and Safu standing next to each other. It seemed like the picture was less than a few years old, probably taken when Shion still attended college. Safu was already wearing her typical suit.
Right, Nezumi thought, Shion did mention Safu's graduating early.
There was another one, which also seemed quite new. It was a picture of Safu, Shion, Inukashi, and an older woman sitting by a dining table. The woman, Nezumi assumed, was either Shion's or Safu's mother. She smiled a warm, hearty smile at the camera, and Nezumi decided to ask Shion about her identity when he came out of the shower.
The third picture was older, much older. It appeared to be Shion, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, lying in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages up to his throat, smiling as if nothing had happened. Safu, seemingly at the same age, sat next to his bed, looking obviously concerned, unlike Shion. The strangest thing about the photo, however, was the fact that Shion's hair was white.
The last picture was the oldest. It had the woman from the other picture, a baby, who seemed to be Shion, and a man. Judging by the way they stood together, Nezumi concluded that the woman really was Shion's mother and that the man was probably his father, the one that Shion was unable to remember. It was obvious from the man's features that he was not Japanese. In this picture too, Shion had white hair, but this time, next to his dad, it seemed obvious where it had come from.
"Nezumi?" Shion's voice startled Nezumi, who was too engrossed with the pictures to notice that the water had stopped running.
Nezumi turned around to comment about the pictures, but the moment he turned around his mouth went dry. Shion was standing there, dripping wet, covered only by a towel. Nezumi's heart jumped to his throat, and he almost missed the fact that Shion's hair was suddenly white, and that he had a weird, red stripe coiled around his torso.
"I forgot to take clothes," he apologized, and then strode to the door, which Nezumi guessed was the one that led to the bedroom. Nezumi stood and stared blankly at the said door. After a moment, Shion emerged again, wearing a loose T-shirt and pants and holding the towel in his right hand. His white locks were still wet and they dripped water onto his shirt, which didn't quite cover the stripe that coiled up to his neck.
"Um…Eh…" Nezumi tried to speak but couldn't find any words.
"Say, could you drive me to that bar tomorrow morning?" Shion asked casually. "I need to pick up my car."
After a moment of silence, Nezumi managed to pick himself up.
"Your hair…?" he said almost inaudibly. After the first moment of shock, Nezumi realized his hair wasn't white, it was very, very pale blond.
"My hair?" Shion repeated, confused.
Now it was Shion's turn to panic. He looked from side to side helplessly, as if searching for a hiding place. Eventually, he realized he couldn't find one and settled on covering his head with the towel and curling into a ball-like stance.
"Shion?" Nezumi bent next to him, putting his hand on his shoulder.
He's shaking, he thought sadly, trying to understand what made Shion react the way he did.
Shion said nothing. He kept squatting and shaking, praying that a mouth would open up in the floor and swallow him right there and then.
"Shion, what's wrong?" Nezumi tried again, in vain.
He was helpless. He didn't know what made Shion act like that, and he didn't know what to say to make it better.
"Shion listen to me," he attempted once more, still achieving no results.
Finally, Shion calmed down, and looked up to Nezumi.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but you should probably go home now. I'll be fine and… It's kind of late. You probably want to be back home so—"
"No," Nezumi interrupted, and Shion's head sank back to his knees.
"Please," he begged, "please leave. I don't want you to see this."
"See what?" questioned Nezumi. "Your hair? I see it every day."
"Not like this," Shion insisted, burying his face even farther.
"So what?" Nezumi pressured. "What's wrong with the way it is now?"
"You know what's wrong!" Shion exclaimed, and Nezumi abandoned any hope that this conversation would lead somewhere. Instead, he chose a less sensitive way to persuade Shion to open up to him.
"Shion," he said softly, "you said you don't remember your father, right?"
Shion froze.
"Do you have any idea where he might be right now?" asked Nezumi, trying to see how far he could stretch Shion's limits.
Shion consider the question, then answered with a dry, defeated voice, "his homeland, probably."
Nezumi grinned. "Which is where?"
"Russia."
It was the only answer Nezumi needed.
"I suppose you haven't run across many people who were fond of foreigners."
Shion shook his head. "There's my mom, of course, and Safu. Inukashi too."
"But you know," Nezumi spoke softly while drawing calming circles on Shion's back with his palm, "that I grew up outside of Japan, right? And that I also lived the past few years in a foreign country."
Slowly, reason returned to Shion. After a while, they both sat by the small table, drinking hot chocolate. Then, Shion told Nezumi the whole story.
"I don't really know how my parents met," he admitted, "but I do know that my mom wound up moving to Russia with my dad. They lived together for awhile, and eventually I was born. About three months after that, my dad left without a word. My mom stayed in Russia for three years after that, hoping that he might come back one day. But he didn't.
"My mom never really liked living in Russia," Shion continued, planting his gaze in the hot chocolate in his hands, "so naturally she came back to Japan. We lived in a small town, where most of the people hadn't ever seen a foreigner. I attracted attention, and very negative attention at that. I was bullied, a lot. My mom wasn't doing much better; no one wanted anything to do with a woman who left with a foreigner and came back with her tail between her legs, but eventually, she earned enough money and we moved to Tokyo.
"In Tokyo, my mom's life changed for the better. Foreigners were a common sight in a big city, and almost no one bothered to question her about her whereabouts. But it was harder to hide my appearance, and kids aren't as understanding as adults when it comes to this sort of thing. I was bullied, less frequently, but still bullied. Luckily, I met Safu, who grew overseas, so for her, I wasn't that weird at all. She fought anyone who tried to bully me, and she was quite capable, so it worked for a fairly long time.
"Until this happened," Shion touched the end of the red mark around his neck. "It wasn't the first time bullies got carried away, but it was the first time I was actually admitted to a hospital for awhile because of it. I never came back to that school; after that incident, my mom had me transfer, and Safu transferred with me. I started dying my hair and wearing makeup to hide the scars. I started anew, and ever since, I lived peacefully. The end."
Nezumi said nothing for a while. There was nothing he could have said. I'm sorry? I wish I had been there to protect you?
"Of course Safu knows my story already, but this is the first time I've told someone else," Shion smiled awkwardly, trying to melt the silence. He stood up and took his and Nezumi's cups to the sink.
"Well then," Nezumi clapped once and stood up as well, "I guess you'll be fine now."
"I will, thank you," replied Shion, and Nezumi had to admire how quickly he recovered from this scene. He walked toward the door, Shion following.
"Thank you for listening," he said before Nezumi left.
"No problem. And," Nezumi added, "I'm sorry if I forced you to speak about something like that."
Shion shook his head. "I feel better now that you know, really. Also," he smiled, "whenever you'll decide to tell me your story, I'll listen. It's a promise."
Nezumi grunted. "What makes you think I have a story?"
"Inukashi said you have one."
"She did?"
Reminder to self: kill Inukashi later.
"She did."
Now, Nezumi was outside of the door, ready to leave.
"Nezumi?"
He turned around to look at Shion, but instead received a light brush of Shion's lips on his own.
"Good night," Shion smiled one last time and closed the door.
"Good night," Nezumi mumbled, standing still. Then he smiled and turned around, walking away from Shion's apartment.
"Good night," he repeated.
A/N: I'm sorry about many things with this chapter but to keep it short I'll focus on the main two and a half: I'm sorry it took so long. Like really, super long. I'll try to make sure that won't happen again. Also, I'm sorry that the reason for Shion's hair and make absolutely no sense (and it wasn't even white) and that I probably offended every Japanese person in the world when I spoke about treatment toward foreigners.