"Great," Nezumi drawled. "But this time, hit the target."

Shion's arms ached, as did his fingers. The gun in his hands was hard and cold, and heavier than he ever could have imagined, given its size. Though he never imagined himself holding a gun.

The citizens of No. 6 had no need for weapons, and the Babylon Treaty made it so only those charged with protecting the zones from feral attack could carry firearms. Shion had had a few classmates who aspired to become part of the Security Bureau, specifically so they could volunteer for wall patrol and shoot a rifle, but Shion had never been interested.

The gun Shion held now was not a rifle, but a handgun. Nezumi had told him the make and model when he handed it over, but Shion's heart had been pounding too hard in his ears for the info to register.

"How can you be this bad? I was never so terrible."

Nezumi made a sound that was very nearly a sigh, but he caught himself at the last moment. Shion had noticed this was a frequent thing with Nezumi, but he's not sure why he's so adverse to sighing.

"I'm trying," Shion mumbled. "It's not easy."

He lowered the gun, his hands shaking, and toggled the safety on before pulling the borrowed earmuffs down to rest around his neck. The goggles Nezumi provided as makeshift eye protectors he did not touch. He was pretty sure they were the very same goggles that Nezumi had given him to wade through the sewage during their escape from No. 6.

Nezumi pulled his own earmuffs down. "I never said it was easy, but you'd think you'd show at least a little improvement in the last hour."

Nezumi eyed the target. It was a series of concentric circles drawn onto the wall in felt-tipped marker. Nezumi had drawn several to practice on, some large, some quite small. He had even traced a human silhouette on the wall for Shion's amusement.

Shion had been amused earlier, but his good humor evaporated as soon as Nezumi held the gun out to him. Until Nezumi pressed the biting metal into his hand and began to instruct him on the safety and loading procedures, Shion hadn't truly believed Nezumi meant him to handle a gun.

His hands sweated on the grip, and his biceps hadn't stopped feeling like they were vibrating since they had absorbed the recoil of his first shot.

"I think you've got a good constellation in the making," Nezumi said, "but you're far from a star marksman."

"Maybe you're just a shit teacher," Inukashi called down from the balcony. They leaned against the railing, rifle up and eye glued to the scope, scanning the horizon.

When Nezumi had woken Shion at the crack of dawn and dragged him to the hotel, Shion had no idea what was in store for him. Neither did Inukashi, apparently. They threw a fit when Nezumi pushed his way into the lobby and announced that he was renting the space out for target practice.

Inukashi quieted, though, when Nezumi had tossed them a bag of silver.

"This is for borrowing my home for the morning?"

"And for your service as lookout. I think we'd all prefer this to be a No Undead zone."

Inukashi opened the bag and poked around while Nezumi looked on with a bored expression. But both their eyes were bright with calculation. Shion had seen enough of Inukashi and Nezumi's interactions to know that a bargaining was about to begin.

"This amount is good for a few hours," Inukashi concluded. "But if you need me to take care of any party crashers, I'm going to need more."

Nezumi lifted his chin. "More coin?"

"More ammo."

"Ammo?" Nezumi's voice was placid, but in the hushed sort of way that evoked the stillness of a meadow seconds before the adder's strike.

Inukashi was no hapless innocent, however. They crossed their arms over their chest and met Nezumi's icy gaze with equal parts fire. "Yes. Unless dandelion puff here shows surprising talent, you'll be here a while, attracting every zombie in West Block. I expect you to reimburse me for every round I'm forced to fire on your behalf."

"That seems fair, Nezumi," Shion hazarded.

Nezumi and Inukashi turned on him.

"Stay out of this," Nezumi hissed.

Inukashi glanced between them and then flashed their canines at Shion. "Thanks for backing me up, Shion; I knew I liked you." They turned the feral grin on Nezumi. "Look at that, your boyfriend thinks it's a fair exchange. And since you're doing this for him—I'm assuming—" Inukashi's eyes flitted between them, something dangerous in their assessment "—that's the deal. Take it, or you can play wall patrol yourself."

Nezumi looked ready to throttle someone, and Shion felt he was just as likely a candidate as Inukashi.

"You'll have your ammo," Nezumi growled.

Inukashi's expression brightened, but Shion wilted. Nezumi was going to be miffed the whole morning now. He should have known better than to speak for him. Nezumi was always telling him to only think and act for himself and no other.

Shion dropped his gaze, and it landed on one of the dogs lumbering in the gloom near the wall. It was a shaggy breed, and its coat was dirty and mud-matted from the recent rain. The dog panted from carrying the extra weight around, and sunk down to the floor after a few steps.

"I can wash your dogs for you," Shion blurted.

For the second time in as many minutes, Inukashi and Nezumi turned to him.

"As you said, Nezumi's doing this for me"—Even if I don't want him to—"so it only makes sense that I should offer to repay you as well."

"Shion." Nezumi's voice was a low warning that Shion chose to disregard.

"I don't have any money or skills right now, but I know how to clean, and I'm a hard worker."

Inukashi studied him. Shion had no idea what thoughts were running behind those dark, calculating eyes, but he held their gaze, hoping to be found worthy.

"Deal," said Inukashi.

They snatched Shion's hand and gave it a hard shake.

"There was literally no reason to—" Nezumi hissed, threw up his hands, and turned away.

Inukashi watched the display with explicit amusement and said to Shion, "Until Nezumi makes good on the ammo, you'll come twice a week to wash the dogs. For free."

Despite Nezumi's disapproval, Shion had felt a burst of pride for contributing to the arrangement.

Now, with the gun in his hand and an hour of failed attempts weighing on him, Shion felt nothing but choking fear.

"By all means, Inukashi," Nezumi called up to them, "if you think you can succeed with Shion, then come down and do it. My pride won't suffer for it; all I care about is that I can trust Shion to blow a zombie's head off if ever the occasion arises."

"I'm too busy keeping lookout up here to do your job as well," Inukashi snapped. "Someone decided to make a racket and waste dozens of rounds teaching a talentless amateur, and now I've got every zombie within hearing distance shambling to my door."

In perfect punctuation of the point, Inukashi's shoulders squared and they fired through the second-storey window. The shot made barely a sound. Inukashi had some sort of suppressor affixed to their gun, and the window they were firing through was already devoid of glass.

"That's one magazine," they called down to Nezumi, voice suddenly cheery.

Shion bit his lip. "Sorry, Inukashi…"

"Don't apologize to them; apologize to me," Nezumi said, arching an eyebrow. "The mutt is getting paid to do their job, while I'm doing this for free. Those are my blanks you're wasting. Imagine if they were real bullets. Do you know how valuable those are?"

Shion sighed. "Then why are you teaching me? I never asked to learn how to shoot."

"And I never asked to be saddled with you, but what's done is done, and I'm not keeping company with someone who can't cover my back. Do you want to be useless deadweight all your life?"

"…No."

"Well, then." Nezumi moved to his side. "It's not that hard, Shion. Let's go over this again. Lean forward a bit. Hold the grip with both hands, thumb-over-thumb."

Shion did as he was told, keeping the gun aimed down at the ground, just in case.

"Good; we don't want any pinched fingers, do we? And when we fire, we…?"

"Take two deep breaths, and then hold my breath when I squeeze the trigger to keep the aim steady. And squeeze slowly, not hard or fast."

"Good boy."

Shion speared him with a look. Nezumi snorted and snapped Shion's earmuffs over his head again before placing his own. Shion tried not to sweat too much as Nezumi guided him to stand in position to fire at the human-shaped target.

"Just relax, alright? You can do it," Nezumi said and stepped away from him.

Shion drew in a shuddering breath and raised the gun, toggling the safety off and chambering the round. He squeezed the trigger, tensing up and gritting his teeth against the shock of the muzzle blast.

The shot went wide, and Shion released a moan of frustration that was almost a sob. He toggled the safety back into place.

"Can I move closer?"

"You're already pretty close," Nezumi said, a trifle testy. "You should be able to hit the damn target."

"Okay, but," Shion said desperately, "we're doing this so that I'll be comfortable enough with a gun to shoot zombies that come near me, right? So I would only need to shoot when they're really close, and they move slow, so I should be able to get close enough that it's impossible to miss. That should work, right?"

"Yes, that's true; one zombie is usually slow and not much danger, but that doesn't mean you should underestimate them. Have you ever seen a rabid dog, Shion?"

"No."

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. "Of course you haven't. No. 6 wouldn't have such things, would it?"

Shion chewed his lower lip. He knew No.6 was a sham, but he felt an urge to defend his education anyway.

"I do know about rabies, though! They covered the virus in our biology classes, since the symptoms are so similar to the infection. Did you know that in the first wave, scientists believed the strain was a mutation of rabies? They never found any connection, though, as far as I know. In fact, the school assemblies never really discussed the origin—"

"Okay, new tactic," Nezumi cut him off. "Just pretend all the zombies are airheaded boys who spout facts you didn't ask to hear. Then it should be easy to drum up the urge to shoot them in the face."

Shion's mouth hung open, still poised to explain what he knew of the infection's background. He closed his mouth. Scowled. Tried to cross his arms, but then remembered the gun was still in his hand and hastily abandoned the idea.

"You're extremely disagreeable," he huffed at Nezumi.

Nezumi fixed him with a mirthless smile. "Perhaps the problem here is you don't have enough motivation to succeed?"

Shion tensed as Nezumi approached. The levity in his tone never boded well for those on the receiving end.

"Maybe you need to feel threatened in order to get over your whining and do something productive."

Nezumi hooked a finger under Shion's chin and tilted his face up. Shion tried not to have too much of a reaction. Nezumi touched him seldom, and he always did so with an ulterior motive—a motive that wasn't what Shion wanted it to be.

And yet, reminding himself of this didn't stop his heart from rabbiting, or quell the warmth coiling in his stomach.

"What do you think?"

The cold edge of Nezumi's knife whispered against the side of Shion's throat and his pulse jolted.

"I don't—" Shion took a step back and pushed Nezumi's arm away with his free hand—"appreciate that. Don't point your knife at me. Not even as a joke."

Nezumi only smirked and Shion's anger rose.

"I'm serious. Point that thing at me again, and I swear to god, I will punch you."

"Oh, really?" Nezumi's mouth curled into a vicious grin. He stepped forward and leaned down until he was so close Shion was forced to tip his head back and away.

"Tell you what, Shion. If you manage to land a punch on me, I'll kiss you."

The fire burning in Shion's chest sputtered out. He searched Nezumi's playful expression, but his mind was blank and he had difficulty making heads or tails of it. "You… You're incentivizing me to punch you?"

Nezumi's grey eyes flashed with amusement. "Not really. It's not like it'll ever happen; you won't be able to lay a finger on me unless I let you."

"Is that so?" Shion wanted to sound light, but his mouth twisted peevishly. Nezumi was always so full of himself. He wanted to land a punch just to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face.

But Shion pushed that to the back of his mind. He would certainly not be able to catch Nezumi unawares now, when the temptation was so alive between them.

Inukashi's voice floated down from the balcony. "Are you done shooting?"

"Not quite," Nezumi answered, his gaze still pinning Shion in place.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Giving Shion a pep talk."

Nezumi chuckled to himself and finally stepped back. He slipped his knife into its holster and waved a hand toward the targets on the wall. "If His Majesty would be so kind."

Shion eyed the wall, fresh determination singing in his blood. He raised the gun. Then paused and lowered it again. "And what if I hit the target this time?" He turned to Nezumi. "Do I get a kiss for that?"

Nezumi's eyebrows shot up, but his surprise settled quickly. "Mm… No."

Shion's heart fluttered. Nezumi was not willing to make that bet, which meant that he thought there was a chance he might lose. Which meant he truly believed Shion was capable enough to hit the target.

Shion grinned. He felt buoyant, and proud, and raring to prove himself. He slid the safety and chambered a blank round.

Shion stared down the human silhouette on the wall, imagining the bullet exiting his gun and lodging in the plaster where the head was outlined. Nezumi was forgotten, Inukashi's firing a distant sound. All that existed was this moment: Shion with the gun held out before him and something to live up to. He breathed in slow, held his breath for one, two, three, four seconds and squeezed the trigger.

The gun muzzle kicked and the plaster coughed up a plume of dust. The neck of the human target bore a small puncture where his bullet had struck.

Shion gasped and turned to Nezumi.

"Very nice," he said, offering a small smile in response to Shion's ecstasy. "Now again. But relax your shoulders. You keep tensing up right before you take a shot and it's tipping your aim."

Shion twisted his mouth to the side. "I'm afraid of the recoil."

Nezumi nodded. "The 9mm is as gentle as you can get without sacrificing lethal power. You can handle the kickback."

Shion glowed. Nezumi didn't sound admonishing or derisive in the least, simply instructive. Matter of fact. He wanted nothing more than for Shion to succeed and to build his confidence. Shion didn't know how he didn't recognize it and cooperate sooner.

Nezumi didn't drag him out here to punish him or shame him for his inexperience; he was letting Shion into his world. He was trusting him to have the self-reliance and wherewithal to stand at his side in times of danger.

Shion shot again, and this time grazed the edge of the target's head. He grinned and fired again. By the time he emptied the magazine, he had been hitting on, or very near, his intended target every shot.

Shion practically skipped over to Nezumi. "I take it back; this is fun."

"Now it's fun." Nezumi shook his head, but he looked pleased. "Let's do one more round, then I'll let you go."

Shion passed the handgun to Nezumi. "You can keep me forever, if you'd like," he said, and immediately regretted his phrasing.

Shion blushed, expecting Nezumi to make fun of him any second now, but Nezumi appeared too distracted ejecting the used magazine to have heard anything amiss. Which relieved Shion—but also disappointed him to some degree.

Nezumi walked him through the process of reloading for the second time, but Shion's attention had been drawn to Nezumi's hip holster.

"What, uh… caliber? Is that the right word…?" Nezumi raised his eyebrows at him. Shion swallowed his fluster and rephrased, "What kind of gun do you have?"

"A Glock 22. And you have a Glock 17."

Shion nibbled his lower lip. None of that meant much to him. "Is yours is more powerful than mine?"

"The caliber is larger and it has more kick, but they both kill zombies, and that's all that matters." Nezumi clicked the new magazine into place and held the gun out to Shion.

"Can I try yours?"

Nezumi's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I think it would be good to practice with a different gun."

Shion had been doing so well with the one Nezumi had given him, he was eager to try out another. He was high off the one success; he could only imagine how good it would feel to pull off his improved aim with a second gun—and Nezumi's own, no less. Then he would really believe he could face down a zombie.

"Just in case," Shion added.

"In case what? I get eaten by a zombie and you need to take my gun?"

"No!" Shion's heart seized at the thought. "I just meant— You never know what will happen in a real situation. I could lose my gun, or it could jam, or I could run out of rounds and have to grab someone else's, and then, maybe… But maybe not."

Nezumi's expression grew steadily more amused as Shion talked, and Shion's neck prickled and burned. He dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling silly. For all he knew, guns were very private things to their owners, and he was committing a faux pas by asking to test drive Nezumi's.

"Never mind, actually. I'll just take mine back."

"No, no," Nezumi said, retracting the Glock 17. "I wouldn't dream of refusing a direct request from His Majesty. Not especially after you've done so well and are so eager to learn more."

Nezumi traded Shion's gun for his Glock 22. The two guns were nearly identical in look: sleek, titanium silver polymer and a chunky, squarish build. The weight was the only difference Shion could perceive; Nezumi's gun was heavier. He felt the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach again.

"That has real bullets in it. Watch for the recoil," Nezumi warned. "It's not as nice as your 17. Make sure you lean a little forward, and hold tight around the grip."

Shion nodded and approached the targets. It's alright, he soothed himself as he prepared the gun for firing, you've got this. Same gun, just a little bit of a step up. He squared his stance, took a few steadying breaths, and raised the muzzle.

Shion was not prepared enough for the snap when he pulled the trigger. The bullet thiwped high into the wall, and the muzzle bucked and struck back at him like a viper.

"Fuck," Shion heard Nezumi hiss as the gun smashed him in the face.

Shion stumbled back a step and tried to blink the bright white flashes from his eyes. He couldn't feel his nose, so he reached up to make sure it was still there. It was—and there was also blood.

"Uh, Nezumi?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, you hit yourself in the nose," Nezumi said, voice calm, but he moved fast to Shion's side and tugged the superfiber cloth from around his neck.

"I'm not using that!" Shion yelped and pushed it away. "That's expensive!"

"We have to stop the bleeding, Shion. You don't know—"

"The fuck just happened?" Inukashi barked.

Shion pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. He hadn't had a bloody nose in years, so long ago he couldn't even remember the last time. The sickly salty tang tickled the back of his throat, and the hand he held beneath his chin to catch the rivulets was hot and wet in seconds. A few droplets hit the lobby floor.

Inukashi had pulled their face away from their rifle sight and hung over the balcony to look down at them. "Is he bleeding?" Their voice went from angry to deadly serious in an instant. "What, are you an idiot? Get him out of here, Nezumi, before any of them catch the scent!"

"I know," Nezumi snapped back. He grabbed Shion by the elbow and steered him toward the staircase.

Shion's heart pounded as he was led through the second-floor hallways. Distantly, he could hear Inukashi firing their rifle.

Blood. He remembered the way the zombie Nezumi teased all those weeks ago had gone berserk when it smelled Nezumi's blood—and that had only been a prick of his finger.

Shion's hand was coated in red.

Nezumi ushered him inside one of the hotel rooms and left him standing by the door. Shion pinched the bridge of his nose harder, begging the blood flow to stop. His marksmanship may have been improving, but he didn't feel up to facing down a horde of hungry zombies just now.

The goggles he wore began to feel more uncomfortable with his nose starting to throb, but he couldn't do anything with them with his hands occupied as they were.

Something brushed his legs and Shion skittered back in surprise, but it was only a dog. It had apparently followed them into the room, and as Shion watched, it licked up the drops of blood that escaped his fingers and landed on the floor.

"Here. Sit," Nezumi said, and took him by the elbow again to set him down onto a bed. He pulled a chair up to sit across from Shion, and tugged the hand Shion held under his chin. "Let me see."

Nezumi tugged Shion's goggles and earmuffs down and pressed a cloth to Shion's nose, firmly. Shion spent the next minute training himself to breath steadily through his mouth, and he felt stupid and overly loud every second of it.

"I'm sorry."

Nezumi shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you handle my gun so early. That was my fault."

Shion's stomach clenched. If Nezumi was admitting fault, then it must be very dangerous to bleed so close to the fence line.

"I think it's done," Shion hazarded. His nostrils felt crusty, but not wet anymore.

He took the cloth from Nezumi and gently peeled it from where it had adhered to his nose. It was not a cloth, he realized upon further inspection, but a pillowcase. Inukashi was going to be furious, and no doubt demand reimbursement.

Shion studied the dark stain to avoid Nezumi's stare, which he could feel sticking to his face as surely as the dried blood.

"You sure like to take other people's stuff and use them as tissues," Shion said after a moment.

"You sure like to make messes that I have to clean up."

Shion's shoulders bunched, but he didn't have enough time to feel truly guilty before Nezumi plucked the pillowcase out of his hand and began scrubbing hard at the bloodstains on his chin. Shion protested in pain, but Nezumi was relentless.

"I've got it. You don't need to— Ow!"

"You have to get all of the blood off before you're allowed to go outside again. I'm not wasting any more bullets."

"I know. I get it, so—"

Shion sputtered as Nezumi scrubbed at his mouth. He fully believed Nezumi did it to shut him up. Shion swatted Nezumi's hand, his pain now converted into full blown resentment.

"You're rubbing too hard! If you won't let me do it myself, then let the dog lick it off instead!"

Nezumi stopped scouring his face. "That's disgusting. You'd rather let that mangy dog lick your face?"

The dog sat at the bedside, panting gently. When Nezumi flung a hand toward it, it wagged its tail and rose to press its muzzle against Nezumi's fingers. He clicked his tongue, but patted the dog's head once, all the while glaring at Shion.

It was an odd scene. Shion didn't think Nezumi liked animals. But then he did have mice.

But those feel more like roommates or colleagues than pets where Nezumi is concerned.

The thought brought a smile to Shion's face. Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

"You like dog spit that much?"

"What? Oh. No, I was…"

Shion was saved from coming up with a response by the entrance of Inukashi. Their diminutive form radiated rage.

"Get that blood off your face," Inukashi growled at Shion. "You are never practicing shooting in my hotel again," they said to them both, and then at last, only to Nezumi, "You owe me two full magazines, dipshit."