Um, yeah. Sorry for the wait. On the bright side, Merry Christmas? (Or whatever celebration you celebrate.)

This chapter is mostly introspection, so sorry if it's a bit dull... I had some serious blocks writing this chapter. I hope it doesn't show.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None

The door opens. Shion's head immediately snaps up, and yes – it's Nezumi.

Nezumi.

Oh god.

The tall man strides in his direction, hindered slightly by the plastic crutches… and he walks right past him, ignoring Shion entirely.

Shion puffs out a whiny sigh. He isn't surprised. It's already been two weeks since his… confession (even thinking the word makes him cringe) and Nezumi has barely given him the time of day since. Okay, he tries to reason with himself as he gazes wistfully at the object of his affections (now sitting two rows in front, currently hiding a battered, dog-eared copy of King Lear behind his textbook). I was expecting some confusion, maybe some awkwardness, or at worst a bit of the cold shoulder. Not… He purses his lips in exasperation. Not whatever this is.

"Shion!" his teacher calls, sounding reasonably irate, and Shion quickly comes to the conclusion that he has been trying to catch Shion's attention for a good while now.

"Um, yes sir?"

The balding man heaves a gruff sigh. "Were you not listening? I asked you to read out the next paragraph."

Lilac eyes dart to the dark figure slouched against the wall. Everyone in the room has turned to look – either disapprovingly or with a bored humour – at the bumbling albino.

Everyone, that is, except the one person who matters.

Shion's heart floods with lead. He begins to read the bland words, but his own voice doesn't even register in his mind. He's fairly certain that he sounds somewhat like his pet cat just died, because a couple of the girls are glancing at him with raised eyebrows, but he can't help it. Safu's always said he's like an open book.

The rest of the lesson continues in much the same way. The only word Shion can form in his mind (and in his notes, outlined with a bubble cloud – which over the course of the lesson morphs into a mood-appropriate thundercloud) is 'Nezumi'. Nezumi this, Nezumi that – it's really quite distracting.

Shion sighs.

Maybe it would be better for both of us if we went our separate ways.

The bell rings, and the class lethargically begins to pack up; most of them are only half-awake.

Shion pulls his bag onto the desk to make for easy packing, but quickly feels annoyance bubble in his chest when he sees the soggy fabric. His water has leaked. All over his lunch, his books… everywhere.

He breathes in. Exhales.

Today really isn't my day.

He can feel eyes on him.

Staring, making the hairs on his neck stand on end and his skin prickle and itch.

Nezumi swallows, stubbornly glaring out of the window. It isn't that he doesn't want to meet Shion's expectant gaze… he can't. He finds his own emotions difficult enough to handle, let alone someone else's.

This is giving me a headache.

The tall man raises a pale hand, heedless of the fact that he's interrupting; the teacher bites back a sigh and responds (with a tinge of annoyance), "Yes, Nezumi?"

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

The expression on the teacher's face clearly reads, What are you, five? but he waves an assenting hand anyway, turning hurriedly back to the blackboard.

Nezumi awkwardly gathers the crutches leant against his desk and hobbles out of the classroom.

The drone of the elderly man's lecture is cut off abruptly as he shuts the heavy wooden door behind him. Faced with the empty silence of the corridor, Nezumi sighs.

He wonders what he's going to do now. He doesn't actually need the bathroom – asking to leave had been a bit of an impulsive decision. For lack of something better to do, he readjusts the crutches in his grip and heads towards the bathroom anyway.

It's not far down the corridor, and when he pushes the dark green door open, the room is empty, even quieter than the hallway. He glances around just in case. Upon reasserting that the bathroom is, in fact, devoid of life, he pulls out a small slip of silver plastic from his coat pocket, pops two of the painkillers into his hand and swallows them dry. He grimaces at the foul taste.

A gentle clack echoes eerily around the tiled room as Nezumi leans the crutches against the counter. He turns on the tap and cups his hands underneath it to gather water. He sips a little of it to wash away the bitter tang of medicine, and the rest is splashed on his face. He rubs wearily at tired eyes as water trickles down to meet the neckline of his t-shirt, darkening the grey fabric; then, still slightly bent over the sink and cupped hands hovering above and dripping onto the counter, he makes the mistake of looking up.

He looks awful. The reflection in the rusty mirror gazes darkly back at him - rings of purple outline his eyes, betraying his poor night's sleep, and the pain from his slowly healing leg has drained the colour from his cheeks. His hair is unbrushed and some is falling loose out of his sloppy attempt at a ponytail, resting limply on bony shoulders and tickling the sides of his neck.

Shion is in love with this bastard.

Nezumi suddenly stands up straighter, and his jaw sets. He tugs the elastic out and rakes his fingers through the tangles for a good few minutes, until the locks settle pleasantly around his face. A finger tentatively touches the tired purple smear under his eye. I can't really do anything about my face… Oh well, this'll do. He brushes the creases out of his shirt, wipes a mark off his jeans and raises his chin.

He breathes deeply, blinks slowly.

Nezumi nods fractionally at his reflection in satisfaction and grabs his crutches.

The door swings shut behind him with an explosive bang as he heads down the corridor with renewed determination.

Shion believes in him. He can at least try to believe in himself too.

Cool or cheesy?

Nezumi narrows his eyes at the selection of Doritos taunting him from the rack. He shifts his weight onto the other crutch and stretches his injured leg out a little. He plays absentmindedly with a strand of loose hair as he considers his snacking options, but before he can make a decision, there is a wrinkled, arthritic hand on his arm.

He jumps halfway down the aisle with fright.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I surprised you, dear." And now Nezumi feels very, very stupid, because as it turns out, the offender is nothing more than a kind old lady in a wheelchair.

"It's fine," he mumbles, bending awkwardly to retrieve his dropped crutch and tugging his hood further over his face in an attempt to shield his embarrassment. He has a feeling the old crone can see right through him, but there's no harm in trying. "Can I... Can I help you?"

She smiles. "Sorry to be a bother, but you're a tall young man. Would you mind reaching to the chips for me? My granddaughter seems to have run off somewhere and, well." She gestures to the wheelchair and a spike of guilt pokes at Nezumi's stomach.

"Of course." He points at a random brand on the top shelf. "This one?"

The old lady appears to find that amusing and chuckles to herself. "That will be fine, son."

The chips have barely reached the woman's hands before a familiar (and not entirely welcome) face pokes around the corner.

"Nezumi?"

"Safu?"

Their incredulous voices, both marred with sneers, chime in unison down the convenience store aisle.

"What were you doing to my grandmother?"

Well. She really flung herself at that conclusion.

Nezumi wrinkles his nose. "Helping her with her shopping, like you were supposed to be doing."

"You know my granddaughter? I say, it really is a small world."

Safu glances at the old lady, and looks visibly pained at having to bite back the comment she so desperately wants to throw at Nezumi. Miraculously, she manages, grabbing hold of her grandmother's wheelchair handles and promptly turning her around. "Sorry Nezumi, we're busy."

But then she pauses, casts back a softer, thoughtful glance in his direction - which lasts just a little too long - and Nezumi has just opened his mouth to say something sarcastic and probably rude, when she finally turns and carts her grandmother away and around the corner.

Nezumi blinks, a little uncertain. However, that uncertainty quickly grows into intense confusion with a tinge of foreboding when Safu reappears at the end of the aisle, grandmother-less and superior as ever.

"What?" Nezumi grouches.

"I want to talk to you." A pause. "About Shion."

A flush creeps up Nezumi's spine. He fights to keep his voice neutral as he replies, "What about him?"

Safu purses her lips. "You know what."

Yes, he most certainly does know what.

"You can't leave him hanging forever, Nezumi. Shion has an abundance of patience, but it's not infinite. Either love him or leave him. Your choice." Her mouth thins and she squares her shoulders. "But do something."

Nezumi can't stop those words from ringing in his head.

Even after he's returned home, where he engages in a satisfyingly distracting argument with Inukashi over picking the wrong flavour of Doritos. Even after he beats Rikiga at chess three times in a row. Even after it gets late and Rikiga leaves to pick up his Woman of the Week (as Inukashi names his flings) and he's left to stare numbly at unfinished homework while Inukashi blasts offensively loud rap music from their bedroom and their dogs howl and yap over the top of it until he can't even hear himself think anymore.

Safu's stern condemnation of his actions (or lack thereof) will not stop taunting him.

He throws his pen down in frustration and slams the textbook shut. He isn't going to get any homework done at this rate, with his mind so loud and… otherwise occupied. He closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose, curling up on his swivel chair the best he can with a broken leg and hugging his steaming coffee close to his chest.

Safu had made the whole situation sound so simple. Like there's a yes or no answer where love is concerned. Is there? Is that how emotions work? Does Nezumi only have the two options of "yes Shion I love you" or "no Shion I feel nothing", like he's filling in one of those anonymous questionnaires he finds in the mailbox?

If so, he really hopes there's an "other, please comment" option on this questionnaire, because yes or no isn't going to cut it.

Nezumi sighs deeply. He lifts the mug to his lips and breathes out, sending miniature waves of coffee skittering across the surface of the liquid. He takes a sip.

If he's totally honest with himself, he does feel something for Shion. He's known it for a while. There's just something about the man; underneath the irritation, frustration and secondhand embarrassment he feels for him is a deep-rooted sense of warmth and affection, almost the kind he feels for Inukashi or Rikiga on a really good day, but not. It's more, different. Stronger. Hotter. No matter how much he tries to avoid it or deny its existence, it's there.

The problem lies with how to classify it. Shion said that he loves Nezumi. Do I love Shion? he asks himself without really wanting an answer, tired and frustrated with his own indecision and the vague nature of emotion.

He gazes absently out of the window, at the evening street lit up in gold and orange; at the first flickers of life in the streetlights as the sunset dims and cools. The summer solstice was last week, and the days are as long and as bright as they get; but already there is a noticeable difference as the days begin to shorten and he knows the days only get shorter from here on out. Less yellow, less orange. More grey. More black.

Silver eyes follow a loved-up couple ambling down the street, kissing and holding hands and seeming to radiate golden happiness in the tender light. Is it really the beginnings of love? he wonders as he watches them cuddle by the side of the road. Or is this just the first real friendship I've ever had? If I start something and it turns out to be nothing more than platonic, then I've ruined our relationship forever. Whether these feelings are romantic or not, I care about Shion, perhaps more than I've ever cared for anyone before. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I lost him.

The man on the street turns away to light a cigarette. And what if it really is love? Do I even deserve him? He's happy as he is now, with a wonderful, loving family, a best friend who cares for him deeply and a stable, faultless school record which is sure to stand him in brilliant stead in the future, leading to a secure future and, ultimately, happiness. Isn't that the aim of life? Happiness?

I can't guarantee him that. For him to get involved with me – multiple school expulsions, a bunch of failing grades, a criminal record and enough emotional baggage to break Atlas' back – it would reflect badly on him, both personally and professionally. It shouldn't, but it would. Is it really okay for me to put his entire future in jeopardy just for some fledgling romance which might not even outlast the summer?

Nezumi exhales harshly into his coffee. Bubbles pop defiantly back at him.

"– Don't you think so, Safu?"

Safu blinks, startled out of her reverie. "What?" she asks of the girl beside her. Apparently they'd been having a conversation while she was thinking over the list for this evening's grocery shopping.

The brunette rolls her eyes in good humour. "Miki and I were just talking about how good that new movie looks. You must've seen the trailer for it – it's been playing everywhere. Man, I can't remember its name." She glances helplessly at Miki, who shrugs in a don't-ask-me sort of way. "You know, the one with that guy – what was his name –" She clicks her fingers as if it will help her to remember his name, and Safu watches and waits with boredom. As a general rule, she's disinterested in movies whose only appeal is the hotness of the actors who are in them.

But then Miki and her friend (for the life of her Safu can't remember her name) freeze, coming abruptly to a jerking halt in front of an empty classroom.

"Oh my god," Miki whispers.

Safu follows their line of sight, and –

Shit.

Through the open door, the classroom is mostly visible – if you can even call it a classroom anymore. The desks, chairs, bookshelves are all upturned, and whatever once rested on them is scattered and broken across the floor. The wind whistles through a crack in the window and the smashed lightbulbs drip flecks of glass. The rest of the occupants appear to have fled, but standing statue-still in the centre of the room, the eye of the storm, is –

Safu gasps.

The keyboard blurts quiet sounds of protest at him as he idly presses down keys at random. Music class isn't really fun without Shion. With Shion's compositional genius and Nezumi's talent for performance, they make a brilliant team.

Without anything to perform, though, Nezumi finds himself rather lost.

Why isn't he here?

Shion had been in his first two classes of the day – Nezumi is sure he's seen him today – but now he's MIA without any explanation whatsoever. Nezumi had even asked Mr. Knox if he knew where Shion was – but at that question the usually bright and cheerful teacher had clammed up and left the room with some pathetic excuse.

Nezumi wearily pulls out the sheet music Shion had composed for their class performance next week and lazily rearranges it on the stand for a few moments before actually beginning to play it. If Shion isn't here to further the music, the least Nezumi can do is practise it a little. It's been a while since he's played at home, anyway. He could probably use the practice. I don't want to get rusty.

He's just reached the ninth bar for the third time when he hears something that freezes his fingers in place.

"– about Shion?"

Nezumi pricks his ears automatically at the mention of the name and he concentrates on picking the conversation out, the hum and buzz of the rest of the class fading into the background. He doesn't turn around for fear of interrupting the flow of conversation.

A female voice replies with a gossipy interest, "No, why? Did something happen?" She suddenly gasps and continues in a lower tone that Nezumi almost doesn't catch, "Does this have something to do with that classroom incident?"

Nezumi's brow furrows. 'Classroom incident'?

"Uh-huh," the first voice confirms enthusiastically. "How much have you heard already?"

"Not much," she admits. "It only happened like, an hour ago. I just know that someone went batshit crazy in a classroom or something."

"Pretty much, yeah," the first voice says.

Nezumi's heart begins to race. What the fuck does Shion have to do with a trashed classroom? He wouldn't… would he? A heavy feeling of dread settles in his lungs.

She continues in a casual tone, as if what she's saying is a normal, everyday occurrence. "I don't know exactly why, but Shion just went insane and completely trashed the classroom, and everyone had to run for their lives. Apparently he was the scariest thing anyone had ever seen. I heard the school is going to sue his family for damages, and Shion's been suspended. Personally, I'm surprised it's only for a month. Maybe he has teacher's pet privileges or something."

Nezumi can't breathe. He stands and just about manages to grab his crutches and leave the classroom before collapsing against the nearest wall.

Shion? he thinks frantically. Why? Fuck, is he okay? What happened?

His vision begins to sparkle as his breathing escalates, the extra oxygen overloading his brain and sending stars flying across his eyes. He deliberately slows his breathing and braces himself with one hand against the wall, shutting his eyes. He concentrates.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Nezumi opens his eyes and takes a final deep breath, letting his vision blur a little before settling on something resembling normal. God, he thinks to himself far more calmly – though with just as much worry.

God, please let him be okay.