Safu, Shion, and Nezumi were to spend the first night in No. 6 in Rikiga's office. It was no five-star hotel, but he had a couch and they would be relatively safe while Rikiga and his team took the temperature of the world outside. Just looking out the window, Nezumi knew the city was in shambles.

Safu had prepped Rikiga for how he should break the news about the mayor to the citizens. It had to be him; Safu had thought that as the head of the Information Bureau, the people would be quicker to accept his explanations.

At first, the crowd in front of the Moondrop was nothing but ripples of shock. The mayor? Dead? How could this happen?

Then came the wave of anger. How dare the man kill himself! He had a duty to his people! But nothing could be done; the citizens could sweat and rage all they wanted, but there was no one in front of them to blame. Some had taken to screaming at and insulting the officers that had come to quell the mob, but these men and women were not satisfying targets. They were just as terrified and confused as the rest of them.

After Rikiga announced that a citywide meeting would be held at the end of the week, the crowd lapsed into silence. With fresh orders from an authority, many were content to return home to suffer their anxiety in private until the appointed date.

There were still a few stranglers in the square, though, talking in small, furtive groups. Occasionally, they glanced up at the broadcasting screens or the Moondrop. These people made Nezumi tense. They had the stench of ambition about them. He had an inkling that these were citizens that had grown discontent with city over time, but had kept quiet and obedient for the sake of their lives or families. Now that the city was vulnerable, they were beginning to stir.

Nezumi traded a glance with Safu. Her face was grave, but dauntless. There would be no more overthrows so long as she was around. Nezumi's uncertainty edged away. The citizens plotting below better watch out. He had a feeling Safu would be a loud and formidable voice in the upcoming meeting.

It would be hard to get anyone to listen, though, at least at first. As residents of the West Block, Safu and Shion would be regarded with suspicion and hatred. They would be called criminals by the ignorant, terrorists by the fearful, and scum by the prejudiced. But Nezumi had no doubt that if anyone could make the citizens see reason it was Safu and Shion. Safu had the drive and Shion had the charisma.

Well… If Shion's up to it by then.

Nezumi looked back at the couch where Shion was sitting. He looked beaten, in every sense of the word. He kept staring at his hands and rubbing them. Nezumi was well enough acquainted with Macbeth to guess the reason. He crossed the room and sat on the other end of the couch.

"You should get some sleep."

"I know. I just…"

Nezumi sighed. "You'll drive yourself crazy if you keep this up. Stop." He pried Shion's hand away from the other and pressed it down on the couch between them.

"Nezumi…"

"I'm going to find food."

Nezumi jolted at the sound of Safu's voice. Shion drew his hand out from underneath Nezumi's, almost guiltily. Safu didn't acknowledge either reaction.

"I'll be back soon."

Nezumi's eyes followed her from the room before he turned back to Shion. But the boy had clammed up again, and his hands were now balled into fists in his lap.

"Shion," he groaned. Actually groaned. He needed to sleep ASAP.

"I screwed everything up," Shion said quietly. "Safu won't even look at me anymore."

Ah. Well. Nezumi shifted, and decided the best and only response he could offer was a vague one. "She'll get over it eventually. You'll work it out." Shion shook his head and Nezumi sighed. He hadn't enough energy to console Shion, and Shion hadn't enough to be comforted. He pushed up onto his feet. "We'll figure it out."

"...We?"

Shion's eyes lifted and Nezumi read the question—and hope—in them. His stomach twisted.

"Sleep," he said, both as a command and a deferral.

Shion seemed to accept this and got to his feet as well. "Safu can have the couch."

In spite of himself, Nezumi felt a pang of fear. He didn't mean to sleep by him, did he? It shouldn't have been cause for alarm, since they had shared a bed these past few weeks, but… Things felt too delicate right now. Shion was wrecked, and he was looking for something to hold on to.

Not me. I can't. You know that, Shion.

Nezumi clenched his jaw, uncertain as to what he should do, or if anything should be done at all. Then came the guilt. Shion was hurting; he should stop thinking about himself for a few hours and let him take what solace he could…

Shion watched him for a moment. Then, he smiled, faint and bittersweet. "Good night, Nezumi," he said, crossing the room to curl up in the corner.

XXXX

After that first night in Rikiga's office, Nezumi was looking forward to settling back into the relative quiet of the bunker. It was strange; West Block was dirty and loud and dangerous, but Nezumi preferred all that to the quiet cleanliness and safety of the city. He just wanted to be left alone to read. Living in the bunker with Shion had turned him into a hermit, he realized, but Nezumi was not as bothered by this as he might've been.

Unfortunately, the bunker they returned to was a ruin.

The books were all over the floor. Some barbarian had gutted the shelves, probably looking for money or other valuable hidden objects. Nezumi had seen horrors in the last few hours, but this was sacrilege of a different kind, and it hurt in different, but no less painful ways.

Worse still, the pots and bowls were gone. The chopsticks and glasses were gone. The space heater was gone, dragged out of the room, if the grooves in the dirt were anything to go by. Nezumi assumed the thieves had come in the hopes of claiming No. 6's bounty, and finding the residents absent, decided to take whatever they could carry for compensation.

But while Nezumi regretted the loss of the practical objects, the only things in the room that were irreplaceable were the books, and he didn't think many, if any, of those had been taken. Many West Block citizens probably couldn't read, and wouldn't value books for anything more than kindling for their fires.

Unfortunately, literature doesn't feed or warm you. The pillows and blankets were among their losses, so Shion and Nezumi spent the first few nights curled on the bed with their coats and shoes on. The only thing good thing to come out of it was that some poor fool had taken the wall clock. At least they suffered through the cold nights in silence.

Those first few nights were long. Shion hardly slept. When he did, he had nightmares. Nezumi spent several early mornings staring out into the pitch dark while Shion whimpered behind him.

It frustrated him, because he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't even know how to help. He could see how hard Shion struggled to cobble together some sense of normalcy in the waking hours, but he fell apart again at night.

Which part should he tend to? Should he pretend not to notice Shion's difficulties and encourage his attempts at strength, or should he acknowledge his pain and comfort him? Logic advised the former, but emotion—these terrifying, suffocating feelings that crept up on him and now refused to lie dormant—screamed the latter.

Was he even capable of being comforting? If he let Shion lean on him, what would happen when he wasn't there to hold him up?

Don't be ridiculous, his inner voice scoffed. He can take care of himself.

He knew Shion was stronger than he looked; he could survive without him. It wasn't like he was Shion's only support, either. There was Safu and Renka, and even Rikiga and Kaoru could be counted as possible sources of comfort.

Shion wasn't even clinging to him like he had feared. He used him as a point of reassurance, he was more relaxed in Nezumi's presence, but he didn't fuss when Nezumi left to go out into town or the city. Some days Shion could even be convinced to shadow him like a silent, nervous ghost. He was healing, slowly, but certainly.

Nezumi thought often of leaving, but the weeks rolled by and he never managed to get farther than the thought. His plans hadn't changed—he was going to strike out and explore the world outside No. 6—but he needed to make sure things were stable first. He would stay until he was sure Shion could stand on his own.

The days went on, and by the second week, Nezumi needed to get a job. No offense to the bunker, the books, or Shion, but he would go stir-crazy if they were all he saw every day. Besides, since the Resistance no longer had a purpose, its members were no longer paid and provided for. Which meant he and Shion were broke.

It took a while to find something suitable. Nezumi was picky, he knew this, and he half-expected he'd end up settling for something mediocre. That is, until he came across the playhouse.

It wasn't much to look at, but it attempted to not look like a dump. The graffiti on the door was half-rubbed out, as if someone had went at it with a cloth, and there were tarps and plastic bags spread tight over the holes in the windows. Someone obviously cared about the place.

He went in and eventually ferreted out the owner, a squat mustached man. Nezumi hadn't so much as said a word when the man's eyes widened and he practically pounced on him.

"Takashi? Is that you?"

Nezumi almost stabbed him out of shock. Who was this weird hobo and how in the world was he calling him by that horrible name? The man pawed at him, his eyes wide and searching, as if he were looking at a ghost, and Nezumi felt something like recognition scratching at the back of his mind.

"It is you, isn't it, Takashi? You look different… but I'm sure…"

Nezumi swept the man's hands off him. "How the hell do you know that name, old man?"

The man seemed to finally gain some of his self-possession back. "Oh." He laughed. "I guess you wouldn't recognize me. I must look like a filthy street urchin to you, eh? The years haven't been very kind to me—although they look like they've done you favors abound. You're quite a long way from the grumpy little squirt I knew." He laughed again, a hearty sound that Nezumi suddenly knew he recognized.

Wait… Nezumi's eyes widened. "Hiro?"

"Ah hah! You haven't forgotten me! What, did you think No. 6 guillotined me for putting on a play? No sir. I was locked up for a while, sure, but then I just got banished." The man grinned impishly. "I always fancied myself a Romeo, but the banishment really helped the delusion along."

Hiro kept on talking and talking, and Nezumi just stood there, dumbfounded. Of all the people he would meet again, Hiro? It was bizarre and confusing and just a little bit amazing.

I guess I can stop blaming myself for getting him disappeared.

Hiro was dirtier and skinnier and, Nezumi suspected, a little kookier than before, but he didn't seem to lament his circumstances, and certainly didn't blame Nezumi for anything. And he had a theater now, like he always dreamed.

By the time Nezumi tuned back in to what Hiro was rambling on about, the man had started fussing over how handsome he had become, how he had thought he saw an actor in him when he was younger, but now he looked the part too, and why hadn't he shown up before he had done the casting? Nezumi didn't even have to audition; he would have a job at the theater whether he wanted it now or not.

He knew he had made the right career choice when he saw the look on Shion's face.

"The playhouse?" Shion sat up straight, his eyes flashing. The fire in Shion's eyes had dulled in the weeks after the Hunt, but slowly, he was gaining the spark back. "You're going to act?"

"Don't get too excited. I just started; I probably won't be cast in any good roles for a while."

Shion's eyebrows drew together. "No way. I've heard you read, and the actors there are horrible, anyway. You'll be the lead in no time."

Nezumi secretly agreed. He had sat in on the cast's practice run and it wasn't pretty. They were preparing for a performance of Hamlet, and although Nezumi was initially intrigued, the excitement died quickly. There wasn't a single person in the troupe whose acting was not an offense to the Bard.

Hiro had apologized in private for the state of the performance. "You see what I have to work with. I can only play one role, sadly—Polonius. Yes, I know, perfect for me, eh? But now I've got you, too! Between us, we can make this show into something worth watching."

Unfortunately, Hiro had already promised the role of Hamlet to one of his more… seasoned performers, and he explained that stripping him of the role was a headache best avoided. Besides, he had a very particular role in mind for Nezumi, one he knew he would be perfect for the moment he laid eyes on him: Ophelia.

Nezumi couldn't complain; she was just as prominent a character as Hamlet, and he would get to be dramatic, which he was good at. And he didn't even have to pretend to feel bad about stealing the role; the thirteen-year-old boy from whom he took it couldn't run out of the theater fast of enough when he heard.

Nezumi grumbled about Shion coming to see him, but these protests were half-hearted. He was grateful that his work at the theater drew Shion out of the bunker. Shion attended his performances without fail, and, after a reasonable amount of time, Nezumi stopped protesting. He had many fans now, but he always enjoyed seeing Shion tripping over himself to describe how much he enjoyed his acting.

"The whole audience was crying, did you notice?" Shion gushed as they walked back from his latest triumph. "Your portrayal of Ophelia is so… so pure. I don't know, I can't even describe it, but you're amazing, Nezumi! A natural!" Shion grinned at him, his face flushed with admiration and secondhand pride.

The expression made Nezumi's stomach tighten. It had been so long since he'd seen Shion smile with such abandon. He had become thinner since the incident at the Correctional Facility, alarmingly thin, but the grin lit up his face, making it look fuller and healthier. The way it was supposed to look.

And then Nezumi remembered that it was him that put that smile on Shion's face, and suddenly it was a little too bright to look at. He turned away, as if distracted by some nighttime noise, and tried to sound dismissive when he huffed, "You're the natural."

XXXX

He's doing it again.

Shion lay very still in bed, watching Nezumi. There was a novel in his lap, but it was closed, and Nezumi was staring hard at the wall. From where he lay, Shion could make out the tiniest furrow in his brow and the slight downturn of his mouth.

These days, Shion almost always woke to this sight. Most times Nezumi noticed his wakefulness immediately. He would turn with an arched eyebrow or disapproving frown and mutter some droll variation of "it's about damn time," maybe with some reference to Sleeping Beauty thrown in. But there were also times like this, when Shion would catch him unawares.

He liked these moments, because he was able to look all he liked at Nezumi without having to see the strain reflected in his eyes. Shion knew how difficult it was for Nezumi to show compassion towards others, and it made his chest swell with gratitude, knowing how hard he was working to be supportive.

But there was pain, too.

It had already been a month. If it weren't for him, Nezumi would've been traveling the world, reveling in the freedom of a life unburdened. But he was here, and it was all his fault.

I'm holding him back.

He could feel Nezumi's longing on these early morning vigils, plain in the unguarded tragedy of his face. He looked so soft and sad, and it made Shion's heart ache.

Leave, don't let me hold you here, I can't bear to see that look on your face when you think I'm not watching—he wanted to say these things to Nezumi, even scream them at him. But Nezumi never said a word about leaving, and no matter how loud the voices in his heart cried Shion didn't dare bring the topic up himself.

I'm so selfish.

Shion scowled into the blanket. It was a small movement, completely soundless, and yet somehow, at that exact moment, Nezumi broke out of his reverie, as though he were attuned to Shion's fits of self-loathing. He zeroed in on Shion, his eyes narrowing to sharp grey slits.

"About damn time," he rumbled.

Shion couldn't help but smile, and just like that his melancholy retreated into the corner of his mind. It was hard to dwell in misery when Nezumi looked miffed.

This was why it was so hard to tell him to go. He felt peaceful with Nezumi near. When he had his full attention like this it seemed that nothing else mattered, no matter how selfish that was.

"I already told you that you can wake me up whenever you want. I'd prefer not to sleep in."

Nezumi grunted noncommittally.

Shion rose to a sitting position and pet the mice that rushed to greet him. Tsukiyo was the first to push his way into Shion's hand, basking in the attention. Both he and Nezumi were relieved when they got back to the bunker and found the little black rodent squeaking along with the others.

They owed their lives to the mouse, and so he had taken to lavishing Tsukiyo with extra affection as thanks. It didn't take long for Biscuit and Hamlet to get jealous. They chirped in a peevish chorus and Shion laughed a little as he doled out ear scratches.

"I've been thinking," Nezumi said suddenly, and something about his tone made Shion go still. It was the pensiveness, the slight hesitation, as though he was afraid of Shion's reaction.

He's finally going to say it.

"I'm going to cut my hair."

What?

"It's too long now," Nezumi continued, running a hand through the pale strands as if to demonstrate. "It gets in the way. And it's annoying to have to yank it out from under your elbow all the time when I want to get up." Nezumi glared at him like he had been doing this on purpose.

"But it looks nice long."

Shion liked it, and he knew for a fact that many others did as well. Nezumi's new boss was besotted with his long white hair, and it was a favorite attribute of Nezumi's steadily growing fanbase. Nezumi had wondered whether he would have to dye it to a more conventional color for his roles, but his boss insisted that his looks gave a pure and otherworldly aspect to his Ophelia that made her seem all the more tragic.

Shion agreed and was pleased it would stay as it was. He had grown fond of the color, such a stark contrast to Nezumi's stormy demeanor.

"But…" Shion said after a moment, finally managing a mental image of Nezumi sans his shoulder-length hair. "You would look good with short hair, too."

"I look good no matter what," Nezumi said, half-sigh, half-brag.

"That's true."

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. This was something he also did a lot lately. It wasn't unfriendly, but it was guarded, as though he suspected Shion of… something. Something he dare not call him out on.

It made Shion feel shy and more than a little nervous. He bowed his head toward the mice, hoping his own unkempt hair would hide his expression from Nezumi's scrutiny.

"Is your barber friend still around?" Nezumi said finally, and Shion's stomach gave a sharp, unpleasant twist.

"You mean… Yuichi?"

"Kaze's brother… right?" And here Nezumi went quiet.

Kaze. Shion still thought about him often. His memory was a wound that had healed imperfectly. So many lives had been lost in a moment: Kaze, Yamase, Yoming, Getsuyaku.

Poor Renka.

Shion had been there when Safu broke the news, and… devastation was too common a word for the way Renka shattered. Shion hadn't known Getsuyaku well, and he and Yoming often clashed, but he had known them, and he had fought for the same future with them. He mourned the injustice of their deaths as deeply as he mourned for his friends.

He had witnessed Renka's grief, but he hadn't seen Yuichi since before the Hunt. He wanted to, he knew he should, but he couldn't. Guilt and fear had prevented him, and it took a long time—almost the entirety of a month—to convince himself he wasn't to blame. After that, shame held him back. Did Yuichi blame him? Would he be angry Shion hadn't come by earlier?

But…

Shion's eyes drifted to the double barrel shotgun in the corner. Safu had given it to him after things calmed down and charged him with returning it. It felt like spite at the time, but he had come to understand Safu only wanted to help him. She knew him better than anyone, and she knew he would need a catalyst to make him reach out to Yuichi.

Maybe she's not the only one who realized I'd need an excuse…

Shion glanced back at Nezumi. His face was composed, but as always his eyes told Shion what he really wanted. There was feeling in them, simple, but startling in its beauty, like the glimmer of light on water, or the sight of the sun's rays breaking through a storm ravaged sky. It was warmth, and wariness, and the promise of protection.

Nezumi wouldn't push the issue if he wasn't ready to face Yuichi. The realization made Shion's chest tighten. Tears pricked at his eyes and he hastened to turn away before Nezumi noticed.

"Shion?"

"Let's go," he said quietly. "I've been meaning to see him anyway."

XXXX

Yuichi had changed since the last time Shion had seen him. Shion's childhood memories conjured up images of the tall, bearded and mustached man coming into his mother's bakery, buying bread and complimenting his mother in a calm, baritone voice. After Shion had joined the Resistance, his memories changed to reflect the frustrated man Yuichi had become. The amusement dancing in his eyes had transformed into anger and desperation as he berated Kaze time and again, trying to convince him to stop wasting his time in the Resistance, that he was going to get himself hurt.

They were far apart in age, and after their parents were taken in the Hunt, Yuichi had to serve as both brother and father to Kaze. But Kaze hardly ever listened. He believed he was doing the right thing, for his family and for West Block, and no amount of shouting or begging from Yuichi deterred him.

The man in front of Shion now was altered yet again. Time and misfortune had streaked his beard and hair with white, and made him appear gaunt and shrunken. His dark eyes stared unwaveringly at Shion, but he could not discern what it was now that they reflected.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he finally said, his baritone flat but not unfriendly.

Shion ducked his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I meant to…"

Yuichi held up a hand. "Please. I know."

His eyes settled on the gun Shion had slung over his shoulder and his brow pinched in recognition. When Shion handed it to him he held it gently, and a glimmer of the old Yuichi flashed over his face, the warm, passionate one from his mother's bakery. Yuichi stared at the gun and Shion and Nezumi watched him with the reverence that only shared loss can instill.

Finally, Yuichi drew in a measured breath. "Thank you."

Shion bowed his head. Yuichi cleared his throat and moved to the other side of the room to tuck the gun out of sight.

"Yuki is well," he said as he came back. "I don't suppose you've seen her?"

Shion mumbled a negative and glanced over at Nezumi. There was guilt in his expression as well, but he covered it better.

"She left the hotel. Now she does odd things, keeps busy. She helps out here from time to time." Yuichi shrugged and glanced toward the door, as if he expected her any minute now. "She's a good woman. She was too good for Yuji; I used to tell him that all the time." A wry smile twisted his lips. "Kid never listened to a word I said."

There was grief in Yuichi's looks and words, but it was unobtrusive, as if he were being careful not to burden others. The loss of Kaze was only a month old tragedy, but already Yuichi had managed to heal enough that his memory was bittersweet.

He's lost as much as I have, and yet he keeps pushing forward.

Even Yuki, it seemed, had conquered her feelings enough to get out and try to reclaim her life. Instead of retreating into their grief, Yuichi and Yuki had chosen to extend themselves outward, getting involved in the community, and even finding solace in each other's company.

Everyone deals with grief differently, Shion reminded himself, but he couldn't help but feel ashamed at the way he'd folded in on himself and alienated the ones who cared for him.

Nezumi stepped up beside him, and Shion felt a light touch at his back. He didn't look at him, but it was reassuring all the same. Tentatively, Shion leaned into the touch, and he was relieved that Nezumi's hand didn't withdraw.

Nezumi offered Yuichi a shallow nod. "I didn't know Kaze for very long, but he helped me out. More times than he needed to. He was a good man." Shion noticed the way Nezumi tensed and tucked his chin in as he said this.

This is the first time I've seen him act shy.

Yuichi accepted his words with a soft agreement. "I never approved of the Resistance, but I won't say there weren't good people involved in it." He glanced between them. "I know he could be a handful sometimes, but I can't thank you enough for taking care of my brother."

Shion's face burned. Yuichi was thanking him? Even Nezumi shifted uncomfortably at the words. This wasn't right. It would be an insult to reject Yuichi's thanks, but he could not accept that gratitude and not offer something in return.

"Safu is demanding an official apology from the city. For the Hunt, and… and for the way No. 6 has treated us. For everything they've done to us, and all we've lost."

It was clumsy attempt, but it was all Shion could manage. He wanted desperately for Yuichi to understand that what had happened to his brother, to his friends, and to his parents years before was not going to be forgotten. Their murderers would not go unpunished, and No. 6 would be held accountable for its actions and for its ignorance.

Already the other cities were getting involved. Outcries from No. 2 were loud and condemning. Being the closest to No. 6, geographically and politically, they were not pleased to learn about its secret weapons cache. Within a few days after the Hunt footage's release and the mayor's suicide there were representatives from No. 2 on the Moondrop's doorstep, demanding that No. 6 disarm. Delegates from the other four cities were swift to follow.

There was a heated debate now about how No. 6 should be penalized for violating the Babylon Treaty—or whether they could be, since the main parties responsible were already dead.

Surprisingly, the citizens of No. 6 were the most adamant about punishment for those involved. There were movements to round up the higher ups in the Security Bureau and Correctional Facility, and try them in a court of their peers, something that had never happened in No. 6's history.

"And she's working to get the wall torn down. It'll take time, but there are already motions to lessen the restrictions between West Block and the city. They've let Safu stay inside the wall—and Renka and Lili, too."

They offered Nezumi and Shion a place as well, but they refused. Safu reserved a place for them both anyway, in case they ever changed their minds.

"I know it's not much, but it's something. It might take a while, but one day… maybe…"

Yuichi furrowed his brow a little at this news, but whatever he thought about it he didn't say. Shion knew none of these changes were enough to bring back the ones West Block had lost, but he hoped that once the city started moving in a more positive direction, and with one of their own in the leadership committee, that Yuichi and others like him would begin to heal. Perhaps even learn to trust again. Shion wished this most for himself.

"Well. Thank you for returning Yuji's gun." Yuichi cleared his throat, and his eyes roved to Nezumi and rested there a long moment. "Sorry, but… Your hair, is that it's real color?"

Nezumi smirked. "You like it? Well, it's your lucky day, because I want you to chop it all off."