"Here we are," Shion announced as he pulled the door open.

There was the sound of a match being struck and the darkness in front of him was bathed in dim light. The room into which Nezumi was led looked like a converted bomb shelter. The walls were sallow concrete, and some places had crumbled away to show the brick behind. The entire right side of the room consisted of floor to ceiling bookcases. Shion lit two other lanterns at the far end of the room and returned to him.

"It's not much, but it's away from town, so it's quiet, and I don't have to worry about being bothered. I think it's cozy."

What is this kid going on about? Am I a hostage or is he trying to sell me a piece of real estate?

Shion guided him over to a couch and instructed him to sit down. "I'm going to take a shower. I won't be long."

Shion disappeared into the space between two bookshelves. A moment later, he could hear the faint sound of running water.

If he were going to attempt an escape, now would be the time. Nezumi twisted his hands in the bonds, but they were too tight, and the friction only succeeded in causing a burning sensation around his exposed wrists. He groaned. He was beginning to feel like his entire life was a conspiracy to keep him chained like an animal. He shifted in his seat and contemplated just walking out the door. It would be easy, but the issue was what he would do once he was outside. The rope tied around his hands would definitely attract attention, and should he be approached, his incapacitated state would leave him essentially defenseless. It would be better if he could find something to cut or loosen the ropes. He looked around the room for such an item, but there appeared to be none.

The exhaustion of the morning began to weigh on his body. Perhaps he should gather his bearings before attempting heroics. He slumped and leaned his head against the wall. The back of his head fluttered with pain. He maneuvered his hands to probe the spot: bruised, no doubt, from the crash. He rotated his left shoulder. It was still sore, but the pain wasn't unbearable. It seemed he was lucky. He shifted his other shoulder, his limbs, and neck to test for injuries. Other than an overall sense of fatigue, it didn't seem like he had incurred any other damages.

He stared at the bookcases across from him. Not only were they floor to ceiling, but they were filled wall to wall as well. He had never seen so many books in his life. There were even boxes of books and scrolls in the corner, and stacks underneath the coffee table in front of him. He wondered if this had been a library at some point, or if Shion had hoarded all the books himself.

He looked around the rest of the room. There was a kerosene heater in the middle of the floor, a piano and chair by the door, and a single bed to his left. The walls were unadorned, with the exception of a small mirror next to the piano and a clock piece above the bed. It appeared to be broken, suspended at nine-o-seven. That was it. Overall, the décor seemed to be aimed toward practicality rather than aesthetics. It didn't provide much in the way of entertainment.

As promised, Shion didn't take long in the shower. He was back within the frame of five minutes. He took one look at Nezumi's withering expression and snorted, before disappearing into the book stacks again. There was a pocketknife in his hand when he returned.

Nezumi wet his lips. "Changed your mind about killing me?"

The boy shook his head. "Stand up. I'm going to cut the rope."

Nezumi raised an eyebrow, but didn't move. Shion's face fell. Nezumi tensed as the teen approached, and remained wary, even as he crouched down beside him.

"Sorry about this, by the way." He nodded at the rope. "It really is procedure. Hold still."

Nezumi watched in bewilderment as he sawed at the rope. It took only a moment, and then it slithered from his wrists and fell onto the table in front of him. Shion clipped the knife closed, paused, and then elected to drop it into his pants pocket. Nezumi ran his thumb over the sections where the skin had been rubbed raw.

"You sure it's okay to cut me loose?" Nezumi asked with a smirk. "Aren't you afraid I might jump you as soon as your back is turned?"

He was speaking half in jest. His condition wasn't ideal, and besides, he was still in the process of sizing the teen up to see if he actually presented a threat. It seemed Shion regarded him just as warily. He furrowed his brow in thought. His gaze swept over Nezumi's figure, and Nezumi twitched. When the boy reestablished eye contact, the sad smile that graced his features communicated something very close to pity.

"Go take your shower," he said. And then he added insult to injury: he turned his back to him and started to walk away. Nezumi clenched his jaw. He hadn't intended to act so soon, but if his captor was determined to be such an unmitigated ass, then he deserved to be pummeled right then and there.

Nezumi snatched the severed rope and lunged at Shion, but the downside of joking about attacking someone, moments before you actually follow through, is that your target is prepared. Nezumi had aimed to hook the rope around Shion's neck from behind and use his weight to pull him down, but Shion anticipated the blitz, and chopped his wrist so hard Nezumi's hand went numb. With no grip, the rope slipped from his hand. The next thing he knew his right arm was twisted behind his back and he was forced face down on the bed. Nezumi turned his head aside and growled. The pain in his chest reminded him that he had also sustained a bruise to his sternum, courtesy of the Security Bureau.

"You had to know that wouldn't work."

Shion shifted above him. Nezumi inhaled sharply and glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Let go."

"That was a good try," he said conversationally. "You're a lot quicker than I expected, especially given your injuries."

Nezumi clutched the edge of the mattress with his free hand and dug his nails into the fabric. The botched attack was humiliating enough, but his captor seemed intent on prolonging his torture.

"Though, in the future, I would recommend only trying to use skills you've already mastered. If you bring in a weapon you don't know how to use, you might as well be handing it to your opponent."

He had wound the rope around the length of Nezumi's pinned arm, and it bit into his flesh as Shion applied pressure. Nezumi winced. His chest ached; he was afraid that the uninjured shoulder Shion was pressing on was going to pop out; and to top it all off, he felt even more murderous than before.

"Get off of me," he hissed.

The rope went limp and the strain on his shoulder disappeared. Nezumi pushed himself up. He remained hunched over the side of the bed, trying to collect and focus his seething rage. No matter how badly he wanted to, he knew that a second charge would neither be wise nor productive. He had to choke down his loss for now and regroup.

He turned around and discovered that Shion had retreated to the other side of the coffee table. Well, at least he wasn't being completely underestimated. It wasn't much of a balm to his wounded ego, but he'd take what he could get.

"You can take your shower now."

Shion's voice was level. There wasn't a trace of superiority in it. It was as if nothing had even happened. Nezumi hated it.

"Don't worry," he continued after a beat. "I won't watch you while you're in there." This he said in a lighter tone, although Nezumi couldn't be sure if he was trying to improve the mood or make fun of his paranoia.

"Hilarious," Nezumi sneered. He brushed by the table and strode in the direction of the shower.

"I put a set of clean clothes outside the door," the boy called after him.

XXXXX

Nezumi internally cursed over and over again while he showered. Half were directed at the boy waiting just outside in the cramped apartment. The other half were aimed at the piece of junk he called a shower. It was old and the controls were absurdly sensitive. It took him a full five minutes just to adjust it to a temperature somewhere between searing and arctic, and even then the spurt was susceptible to sudden and unwelcome bursts of cold water.

He pressed a fist against the chipped tiled wall. He had escaped from underneath the yoke of No. 6, only to find himself in a whole other prison. Now what? The answer was, unfortunately, nothing. There was nothing to be done. Not at least until the opportune moment.

He recalled the incident that had just transpired. How easily he was swatted away and pinned like an insect. He grit his teeth. That had been foolish of him, a real class act. He needed to calm down before he got too worked up and made another stupid mistake.

He hoped the warm water would soothe his injuries, because as it was he felt like crap. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up into the spray. The water running over his lips reminded him that he hadn't drank—or eaten—anything since the day before. He was suddenly overcome with an intense thirst and near sickening hunger. It occurred to him to open his mouth and drink in the shower water, but the thought was instantly dismissed. Even if the pipes hadn't been rusted, stories he recalled of the West Block being a poisonous garbage dump were enough to discourage him.

Maybe showering in this water isn't such a good idea either.

As though offended, the shower stopped producing hot water and dumped a torrent of ice water on his head. He gasped and sprang backwards.

"Stupid piece of junk!"

He twisted the knob to try to coax it back to a comfortable temperature, but it refused to expel anything warmer than sixty degrees. He glared daggers at the nozzle. You know what? Fine. This is just as good a cool down as anything. He grit his teeth and stepped under the flow. He fought to regulate his rapid breathing and erratic heart rate, but he commanded himself not to move until he either completely calmed down, or the water ceased to affect him.

XXXXX

When he emerged from the stacks of books, Nezumi's face was a mask of neutrality. His hair hung loosely over his shoulders, leaving dark water stains on the plaid shirt Shion had laid out for him. He was cold, but he had it under control. After a few minutes under the stream, his body adapted. He stopped shivering and actually began to feel a little refreshed. It had done the trick.

Shion was perched on the end of the coffee table. There was a kerosene heater in front of him with a kettle boiling on top of it. He sat up when he saw Nezumi.

"Hey, do you want… Are you okay?" He took in Nezumi's drenched and seemingly demoralized appearance with a measure of concern.

"You have horrible taste in clothing."

"Better than sewage drenched sweats."

Nezumi couldn't argue with that. He toweled off his hair and, having searched and not found a better place, tossed the cloth onto the end of the bed.

"I'm making tea," Shion said, turning back to the kettle and dropping a sprig of something into it. "Do you want some?"

Nezumi sniffed. He was cold and thirsty, and tired now to top it all off. Tea sounded wonderful. Some last vestiges of his wounded ego wanted him to refuse out of spite, but there was no point in punishing himself for something so petty.

"Sounds fabulous," he said airily.

The damp sensation on the back of his neck was growing uncomfortable. He pulled the hair tie off his wrist and twisted his hair up into a messy bun. He scanned the small expanse of the room a second time. It was still as simple as he remembered. There was nothing more to it than what could be seen from where he was standing. It was no Chronos—or even a Lost Town apartment, for that matter. But it had everything necessary for a typical house. It was clean and tidy, and with the domestic scene of a pot of tea boiling over the heater, he could imagine that some might even call it quaint.

His attention was drawn to the upright piano by the door. Or maybe it was some type of small organ? There were rows of bars rising up from behind the keyboard. He moved towards it.

"What are you doing?"

Nezumi rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm not gonna make a run for it." Not yet, anyway, he thought to himself. "I just want to look at the piano."

The wood was old and faded, but like everything else in the room, it appeared to be in decent shape. It looked like any other piano, except for the weathered bars that protruded out of it. Maybe it was an organ after all. There was a pattern carved into the center of its backboard, which he reached out to run his fingers over. It didn't look like it had been played in a while; there was a thin layer of dust on the keys.

"Tea's ready." There was a note of agitation in Shion's voice that drew Nezumi's curiosity. "Here. Come get it."

Nezumi raised an eyebrow, but slunk away from the instrument and took the cup from where Shion had placed it down beside himself. Shion poured another cup of tea into a regular glass. Apparently his eating utensils were as sparse as his furniture. Nezumi waited until the other boy took a sip before sampling the liquid. It was bitter, but not in a bad way. It tasted like an herbal medicine.

"Pretty good," he said without thinking. The other boy smiled at him, which he chose to ignore. He took another sip and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "Why are you doing this?"

"Hm? Doing what?"

"First you cut me loose, now you're making me tea. I'm not sure this is what your boss had in mind when he sent me here."

Shion studied him for a moment. "Are you asking me why I'm treating you like a human being?"

"Yes, I am, because it doesn't make any logical sense."

Shion sighed. "Look, this may feel like a prison to you, but it's my home, and I think it'd benefit us both if we weren't constantly at each other's throats. Obviously, friendship is impossible, but I believe a mutual tolerance could be agreed upon."

"That's stupid. You realize there's nothing stopping me from killing you in your sleep, right?"
"You won't."

Nezumi raised his eyebrows. "Oh, is that so? Please, enlighten me as to how you arrived at that conclusion."

"I'm going to tie you up again before I go to sleep."

Nezumi sneered. Such an answer was not unexpected. However, if this kid thought he was going to passively sit by and be rebound, he was even more idiotic than he seemed.

"How's your shoulder?"

Nezumi shifted it, but its condition remained the same as when he last checked it. "Worse than I'd like it to be. That was a pretty sloppy kidnapping."

"Seeing as you're currently in one piece, drinking tea on my couch, I'd say my 'kidnapping' was a success."

"Managing to pull it off in the end does not excuse its poor execution."

"In what way was my execution poor?"

"You bombed the car I was in."

Shion blew on his tea. "I timed it so that the car wouldn't be close enough to sustain any serious damage. And besides, you were walled in by officers, weren't you? You were the safest person in that car."

"You dislocated my shoulder."

"No," Shion said slowly. "I fixed your shoulder."

"It wouldn't have needed fixing if you hadn't overturned the car."

"I'm sorry that the car flipping over was so traumatizing for you—"

"I'm not traumatized."

"—But I did what I had to do to get you out of there. I wouldn't expect a sheltered elite like you to understand, but things aren't easy here in West Block. We went through a lot of trouble to get information on the Security Bureau's movements, and I did the best I could with the short time I had to plan." He narrowed his eyes. "You said you don't know what No. 6 wanted to do with you, but I've known enough people that have disappeared into the Correctional Facility to say that whatever they do there isn't good. If we hadn't intercepted you, you'd probably be dead right now. Instead of criticizing my methods, you should be thanking me for saving you. I didn't have to."

"You know what? You're right." Nezumi's voice filled with an outpouring of gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you so much for rescuing me from certain death, and showing me what real freedom looks like in the West Block. When you dragged me here at gunpoint, tied me up, interrogated me, discussed killing me, and decided to keep me hostage in your home, you were only thinking of my wellbeing. I don't know how I didn't see it before."

"I'm trying very hard to be patient, but I do have my limits."

Nezumi sniffed and gulped down another mouthful of tea. "So you came up with the plan all by yourself?"

"Yes, I did," Shion said hotly.

"And was shooting that officer part of the plan?"

"Well, that…" A conflicted expression crossed the teen's face. He turned away and switched the kerosene heater off. "Well, no. Ideally all the officers would've been knocked out in the crash… But things don't always go according to plan. He got in the way, so he had to be eliminated. It's unfortunate, but it was necessary."

"Necessary, huh?"

Nezumi recalled the incident. He had been a little dazed from the explosion and a blow to the head that had caused a brief period of unconsciousness, but he had been more or less aware of his surroundings. They had been fleeing from the wreckage of the crash when a bullet whizzed by. He had looked back to see their pursuer, and the next moment, the Security Bureau official twitched and fell dead. Shion had shot to kill without an ounce of hesitation.

Shion avoided making eye contact and passed his cup of tea from one hand to the other. "What about you?" he said quietly.

"Hm? What about me?"

"You really don't know anything about the other officer's death?"

"This again?"

Nezumi brought his mug to his lips to buy him some time on answering. That had been another shock. He could only remember the look of fear on the other teen's face when the man aged before their eyes and crumpled to the ground like a withered leaf. He hadn't done anything, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence that he should see it in a dream the day before, only to have to it happen for real before his very eyes. He couldn't quite understand it, but he had a nagging feeling, like something bigger was at work in No. 6.

"Like I said before, I don't know anything. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you."

"Is that so?" Shion said in the same soft voice.

He didn't mention the dreams again, and Nezumi was grateful for it. Being forced to admit it once was embarrassing enough.

Nezumi finished off his tea while the other boy sat and stared at the wall, absorbed in his own thoughts, he assumed. For lack of better things to do, Nezumi tried to count how many books the room housed. He got to fifty-seven before Shion spoke to him again.

"Do you like books?"

Nezumi shrugged. "Can't say for sure. Not much reading material in No. 6. Nothing intellectually stimulating, anyway..." He crossed the room and stood in front of the farthest shelf.

Shion passed behind him and climbed over the covers of his bed to lounge against the wall. He nursed his tea from there while Nezumi perused his collection of literature.

"Feel free to take out any book you like."

Nezumi plucked a random book off the shelf. It was a beige soft cover, well worn around the edges, and the title seemed to be in another language. He read it to himself. Tartuffe: Moliere's classic comedy. He leafed through the pages. It seemed to be a French play. Hiro's face rose up in his memory.

"Hey, do you have The Scottish Play?"

"The 'Scottish Play'?" Shion considered this for a moment, taking a sip from his cup. "I'm not sure," he mused. "What's it about?"

"Well…" Nezumi frowned. What had Hiro said about it? "It's a tragedy about a Scottish king. I'm pretty sure it's by Shakespeare—"

"Oh!"

"What?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Go on," Shion said hurriedly.

It didn't look like nothing. He was shielding the lower half of his face with his cup, but there was smug amusement sparkling in his eyes. Nezumi glared at him.

"Quit laughing," he snapped. "It's not my fault I don't know the plot. No. 6 doesn't allow us to read classics."

"Wait, what?" Shion straightened against the wall. "You're not allowed to read classics at all in No. 6?"

"Nope. Not one. I imagine they think the content is too inflammatory. Don't want their citizens getting any ideas of their own, now do they?"

"That's horrible."

Nezumi shrugged. "But there are some that still remember the classics from before the city became so totalitarian. An acquaintance of mine, for example, was a really big fan of The Scottish Play, and told me that if I ever somehow got a chance to, I, and I quote, 'Just need to read it, because it's the most tragic masterpiece ever to be written, and never to be replicated.'"

Shion was smiling openly. "Your friend speaks like that?"

"I kid you not. So, do you know it?"

"A tragic masterpiece that goes by the name of The Scottish Play, huh?" From the way he was biting his lower lip, it was obvious that the boy was trying to fight a smile from forming. "Hm… I might know what you're referring to, but I'm not sure."

The corner of Nezumi's mouth quirked. You know exactly what I'm talking about, you arrogant bastard. It was hard to imagine that the boy sitting across from him was the same one who had controlled his countenance so well in that basement.

"Do you think you could you recite a line or two?" Shion asked, a little too innocently.

He never wanted to punch someone in the face as much as he did now. Here he was trying to be sociable, and this twerp was laughing at him, all the while putting on an angelic face. Where did he get off acting so self-important, just because he had read a few books?

Nezumi smiled sweetly at Shion and felt a small sense of satisfaction when he was repaid with a look of confusion. He returned Tartuffe to its place on the shelf, straightened his posture, and began in a clear voice,

"She should have died hereafter:

There would have been a time for such a word.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle,

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing."

Nezumi poured every ounce of his being into the performance, giving life to a character whose personality he could only guess at, and emotional context to a scene for which he had no reference. He knew the words so well, he let their own inherent music lead him, adding a touch of regret here, an undertone of anger there. The overall tone of the speech, however, was a stony helplessness befitting of what Nezumi imagined was a king who had nothing left to live for.

When he had finished, he fixed the teen with a haughty look. "It goes like that. Ever heard of it?"

All traces of smugness had drained from Shion's face. His eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted in an expression of awe. His steaming cup hovered in his hands at chest level. He stared unblinkingly at Nezumi for a number of seconds.

It quickly became uncomfortable. "Hey, snap out if it." Nezumi waved his hand in the air in front of Shion.

"Oh." Shion blinked. He stared at Nezumi for another second or two and then he broke into a grin. "Wow…" He tried to cover his mouth with a hand to stop the smile from spreading, but he gave up just as soon as he started. "Wow," he repeated. "I'm an ass."

"I agree."

Shion laughed. The sound was clear and genuine. "I'm sorry, Nezumi, I…" He shook his head. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to act like that?"

It was Nezumi's turn to be smug. "I didn't learn it from anywhere. Like I said, No. 6 isn't a fan of the classics—or anything creative for that matter. I've only performed once, and that… wasn't acting. It was more like improv."

"You've never had any training, and you can still perform like that?"

"I know. I'm very impressive."

"You are, though. You're really talented. I've never heard anyone recite Shakespeare that well. Your intonation and emotion are flawless. You've really never read the play before?"

Nezumi grimaced. The boy's eyes were shining. He half expected him to start drooling or ask for an autograph.

"You know, I don't usually have an aversion to compliments, but every time you open your mouth, it pisses me off." The barb rolled off Shion, and Nezumi's scowl deepened. "So you do know the play."

"Oh. Yeah, I know it." He put his cup down and hopped off the bed. He came to stand beside Nezumi at the bookshelf. Nezumi shifted, taking a deliberate step away.

"That's Macbeth. Act five, scene five, to be exact…" he carried on as if he hadn't noticed Nezumi's displeasure.

He dragged his eyes over the rows and rows of books, and then knelt down to get to the lower shelves. Nezumi stared at the top of the teen's head and wondered, if he were to push a few of the red bound encyclopedias off the shelf just above where he crouched, what were his chances of escaping successfully before Shion recovered himself? He compared that percentage with his calculation of whether or not such an action would result in a serious head injury, and then tried to gauge how guilty he'd feel should that be the case.

"I know it's right around… here!" Shion yanked a book off the shelf and held it up for Nezumi to take.

The cover was bland, splashed in mute blotches of color. A fancy cursive script in the center read: Macbeth. He understood then why Shion had laughed. Still, how was he supposed to know that 'The Scottish Play' wasn't its name? Hiro spoke the words with such reverence anyone would have thought it was the title.

The book looked well cared for, and had a nice weight to it. Act five, scene five, huh? He flipped through the book until he found it. The words stood out crisply on the paper, just as he had always imagined. However, now he was holding the play in its entirety, which he had never dreamed would be possible. The passage he had so studiously engraved into his memory was but twelve short lines in a book that spanned many more pages in both directions.

Nezumi was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Shion studying his profile with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Sorry my compliments annoy you, Nezumi," Shion spoke at last. "But I really do think you read well. Do you think you could read that passage again for us?"

Nezumi looked up from the page he was reading. "'Us?'"

Shion pointed to a row of mice perched on the coffee table. There were two brown mice and one black.

"These little guys are my roommates, Tsukiyo, Hamlet, and Biscuit. Hamlet—the dark brown mouse—his favorite is Hamlet, obviously, but he likes all of Shakespeare. Tsukiyo and Biscuit are a little more particular, but they all seemed to have been really impressed by your performance."

The mice chirruped as though in agreement. Shion bent down and cupped his hands. One by one, the mice jumped into them. They waited patiently as he lifted them to face Nezumi.

"Guys," he said, "this is Nezumi. He's going to be living with us for a while."

The mice chattered. The darkest one crawled to the edge of Shion's fingers and twitched its nose. Nezumi gazed into its eyes as deep and sleek as marbles. He had scarcely ever seen a mouse before. It was a matter of course that mice would be strangers to an overblown neighborhood like Chronos, but even in Lost Town they were rare. Mice were seen as pests and carriers of disease, so, naturally, they had been cut from the city's friendly park critters list.

And yet, he supposed here in the West Block mice were commonplace, and apparently there were those who voluntarily lived with them. The black mouse reared back onto its hind legs and batted its whiskers while the other two climbed over each other. So these are my namesakes, Nezumi thought to himself. Not so bad.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'roommates'?" he said aloud.

"Mm-hm." Shion set them back down on the coffee table, and leaned down to stroke the dark brown one's head with the tip of his finger. "They were born here a year or so ago. I was cleaning out the shelves, and found them nestled in between the books. I was a little shocked to see them there, and to tell the truth, I wasn't even sure what they were at first. Have you ever seen a newborn mouse? They're kind of funny looking because they don't have any fur…" Shion laughed to himself just thinking about it. "Anyway, I found them and raised them. They're exceptionally smart."

Nezumi rolled his eyes. "You talk a lot, do you know that?"

Shion looked at him as he made his way to the couch and plopped down. He cracked Macbeth open to the first page and swung his feet up onto the coffee table with a dull thunk. The mice scattered with a raucous squeaking and disappeared into the book stacks.

"What'd you do that for?" Shion cried indignantly.

"What'd I do what for?" he retorted.

Shion pressed his lips into a hard line and stood up. He glowered at Nezumi for a number of seconds, but he soon grew tired of holding a staring contest with the backside of a book. He huffed, and Nezumi could've sworn he heard him mutter "jerk" under his breath before he gave up to return to drinking tea in bed. Nezumi smirked and began reading.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds between them being the soft shick of shifting pages and the intermittent sound of tea being sipped. Both carried on as if the other wasn't there. After about an hour, Shion got up to grab a book off the shelf. He pulled out several of varying shades, sizes, and length before deciding on a stark white book. He slid down to the floor in front of the bookcase and began reading. Another hour passed in this way.

XXXXX

At some point, there was a knock on the door. Two heads snapped up from their books. Shion put his novel down and got to his feet.

When he opened the door, Nezumi saw the girl from earlier that morning standing there. From where he sat, she was half-shaded in the doorway, but he could tell that she was clutching something tightly to her chest. Her face brightened when she saw the boy at the door.

"Hey, Shion. How's the babysitting going?"

"It's going well enough."

Safu peered in at Nezumi. "Why isn't he tied up? And his feet are on your coffee table!" She turned incredulous. "Shion, what are you doing? Don't you know anything about keeping prisoners?"

"Safu, it's fine, calm down. I just didn't see any point in keeping him tied up. He won't cause any trouble."

"How can you be sure of that? We're holding him hostage. That doesn't exactly breed friendly feelings." She lowered her voice, but Nezumi could still hear her hiss, "What if he tries to attack you?"

"Eh… I don't think that'll be a problem…." Shion laughed awkwardly and eyed Nezumi.

Safu exhaled noisily through her nose. "Here. I brought you dinner." She handed the bag she was clutching to Shion.

He peered inside and smiled. "Thanks, Safu. You're the best."

Safu pursed her lips. "Yeah, well…" She caught Nezumi smiling wryly at her and leered. "What're you smirking at?"

"Nothing." He looked down at his book and pretended to start reading again. Safu made a disgusted sound.

"It's fine, Safu," Shion insisted a second time. "I've got this under control."

"Yeah, yeah." Safu waved him away. "I got it. I'll leave you alone. But you be careful, alright?"

Shion nodded. "Really, thank you so much for the food." He closed the door behind her and sighed.

"Bit protective, isn't she? Your girlfriend."

"Huh? Oh, Safu? She means well." He paused, and looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't decide if he should. "She's not my girlfriend," he said at last.

Nezumi chuckled at the cliché. "Did you tell her that?"

The boy cleared his throat and ignored the comment. Nezumi dropped his boots to the ground to clear the table. Shion placed the bag down and began pulling out its contents. He clunked a sad-looking loaf of bread and a bag of crackers on the table. Shion seemed to be anticipating some kind of snide remark, because he immediately jumped in to defend the food.

"Now, I know it's not a caviar or anything like what you're used to in No. 6,"—Nezumi did a double take—"but this is what we have. You'll get used to it."

"What did you just say?"

"What?"

"Repeat what you just said."

Shion tilted his head. "You'll get used to it?"

"No, no, before that. What do you think I used to eat in No. 6?"

Shion's expression clouded. He seemed to sense that he had said something strange. If Nezumi had been feeling merciful, he would have taken pity on the boy's self-consciousness and dropped the matter. However, he was a captive with no outlet save for the mockery and exploitation of the faults of his persecutors.

"You didn't say anything wrong," Nezumi said in a soothing voice. "I just didn't quite hear you. Please, could you just repeat what you said?"

"I said…" He squirmed a little under Nezumi's steady gaze. "I know it's not caviar…" His voice dropped off and he looked down at the food he had laid out on the table.

Nezumi smiled. He hadn't made a mistake this time, but the fact that he corrected himself just proved that he had no idea what he was talking about.

"That's what I thought you said. Might I ask you one more question?" Shion glanced up at Nezumi from beneath the fringe of his bangs. "Do you even know what caviar is?"

"Yeah. It's…" He looked embarrassed and confused for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "Fish." He smirked. "It's fish."

Nezumi furrowed his brow as if he was disappointed that he knew the answer. "Okay, very good. But do you know what kind?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it matters a lot. Not every fish is considered a caviar." He pronounced "a caviar" in the most self-important tone he could concoct.

Shion frowned. He dragged the chair in front of the organ over to the table and sat. Nezumi raised an expectant eyebrow.

Shion scowled and made a show of shrugging. "I don't know, okay?"

"That's what I thought." Nezumi leaned back and crossed his legs. "Do you want me to tell you?" he drawled, letting each individual word dangle in the air.

Shion narrowed his eyes. "You have a horrible personality, do you know that?"

The corner of Nezumi's mouth quirked. Despite his bristling, he could tell that Shion wanted to know. Or more like had to know, now that they had drawn out the conversation so far. All he had to do was wait.

The boy clicked his tongue. "What is it?"

Heh. This is fair recompense for your cockiness earlier. What was a caviar, indeed?

"Caviar is shark meat," Nezumi stated. He paused a moment to let his words sink in, and then added, "But you can't call any shark meat caviar. It has to be a shark that you catch with your bare hands."

Shion screwed up his face. "What?"

"It's the truth."

"I don't believe you. No. 6 isn't even close to the ocean. How is anyone going to catch a shark, let alone with their bare hands?"

Not as gullible as you look, huh? That's fine, though. I would've been disappointed if you were.

Nezumi nodded sagely. "You're absolutely right about that. And that's precisely why it's considered a delicacy. Only the most high-class citizens have access to it. It's so expensive to have it delivered that no one but the privileged elite in Chronos can afford to eat it."

The suspicion on Shion's face had given way to uncertainty. "You're serious?"

"I swear on the health of my grandmother."

Shion stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and frowned. It made loud, unpleasant crunching noises. Nezumi made a mental note to be careful when he ate it. Shion was quiet for so long, that Nezumi, too, began to eat. He tried the crackers first, but they were stale and tasted like couch stuffing. He ripped off a section of the bread and picked at it to remove the parts with the largest colonies of mold.

Nezumi was halfway through his piece of eviscerated bread when Shion sighed. The sound was weighed down with such a profound sense of sadness that it secured Nezumi's full attention. Shion's face was a caricature of torture. His eyes were dark and glazed, and his mouth was set into the most childish pout Nezumi had ever seen.

"Well, I guess I'll never get to try a caviar…" he muttered. He crammed another portion of bread into his mouth and chewed sullenly.

Shion's words took a moment to process, but when they registered, Nezumi was powerless against them. That expression, the mention of "a caviar" again—it was too much. Nezumi burst into a fit of hysteric laughter. He collapsed onto the couch, grasping his sides.

"What? What?! What's so funny?" Shion demanded.

"You! The look on your face!" Nezumi choked. "It's so—priceless!"

"Shut up!" Shion stuttered. "It's not funny. Stop laughing!"

Shion's violent embarrassment only succeeded in making him laugh harder. It was getting hard to breathe and his sides were aching with the effort. His chest felt like it was being ripped open; his bruised sternum did not appreciate the overexertion of his diaphragm. He gasped, tears filling his eyes, but he couldn't be sure if they were a result of laughter or pain at this point. Injury eventually won over hilarity, and the last of his fit was punctuated by coughing.

He lay staring up at the ceiling as he caught his breath. "That was too funny." He wiped at his eyes. "Look, look at this. I'm actually crying." He began chuckling again, but quickly reined in his mirth.

"I still don't understand what was so funny…" Shion grumbled. His face was a deep shade of red.

"Heh. Don't worry about it."

The ceiling began to blur and Nezumi closed his eyes to stop it from whirling. Shion said something, but he felt too heavy to try and make sense of his words. Something landed on top of him. His eyes slid open against his will. A coal-colored cloth lay in a bunched heap on his chest.

"I don't have a spare blanket, so use that."

Nezumi grabbed a handful and rubbed it between his fingers. It was a tough material, but very light.

"Superfibre?"

He cast a questioning look at Shion. Superfibre was top tier material. All the Security Bureau officers' uniforms were made of it. The fabric was ten times as durable as steel, and so served as a reliable bulletproof vest, and yet it was breathable and nearly weightless.

The boy shrugged. "We have sources."

Nezumi smoothed it out. The piece he had been given was designed to be a shawl, so he couldn't use it as a full blanket, but it'd do fine as a covering for his torso. He draped it over his arms and positioned himself more comfortably on the couch.

"You don't do too bad for yourselves. Thanks."

"So you are capable of courtesy."

Nezumi heard the comment, but the prospect of sleep was more alluring than carrying on the conversation. He closed his eyes again and was insensible in seconds.