The wind had picked up. Snow was dancing about, carried on whistling breezes that seemed to sing quiet little songs in the distance. Shion was suddenly very aware of how cold it was. There was a lingering chill in his cheeks that seemed to sweep down into his throat, only to then choke inside his chest.
Words absolutely failed the white-haired boy. He was normally rather good at filling in awkward silences with nervous stutters and many questions, yet now his voice was stolen away by the cold, forced to remain hidden and silent under a thick layer of shock. How long had he stood there now? How long had this silence persisted? He could not be certain.
The boy before him seemed just as enthralled in the same surprise, and just as silent for it. Bright grey eyes lurked beneath his dark bangs as they whipped about in the wind. He wore a familiar black coat and very ragged pants that were torn all the way up to his knee, exposing tall boots beneath. He seemed skinny and pale, much different from the fit and lively boy that Shion recalled in his memories. Perhaps it was merely an illusion brought on by the lack of cloth around his neck. After all, Shion still bore the boy's scarf around his own neck now.
"Shion…" Nezumi said. The word held wonder, happiness, and perhaps a taste of trepidation. He did not advance forward, or even dare to break the gap between them. Rather, the dark-haired boy frisked his bangs back to peer at Shion through the dark, snowy air. He squinted, as if unsure of what he was seeing. How anyone could manage to miss Shion's bright white hair, even in such a gloom, was difficult to imagine.
Yet while Nezumi held back, reluctant to make even the slightest movement away from or towards the shorter boy, Shion instead closed the gap.
Something snapped in Shion's mind very quickly, throttling his senses like a caged animal, throwing aside any stray remains of shock that had held him grounded. Without much thought into the action rather than pure instinct, he found himself throwing his arm forwards, nailing Nezumi hard on the cheek with a quivering fist. So forceful and sudden was the assault, Nezumi had no time—or perhaps no desire—to shield against the blow. Rather, the boy was thrown backwards into the snow. He stared up with wide grey eyes at Shion, trying to form a facial expression that seemed caught between surprise and spite.
"What are you doing here?" Shion practically bellowed down at the boy. "You disappear for months, then suddenly decide to come back for a stroll at night?"
"Shion, I—"
"Not even a message, or, or—you could have stopped by!" Shion felt his voice quivering beneath his words, depleting the power that they held. His eyes stung as he fought against tears, and his throat positively clamped tight with restrain. "Were you going to just leave again without stopping by?" he asked in a hushed voice, speaking deliberately slow to hide the emotion cracking beneath.
Shion quickly sank to his knees, unable to hold it all back. He fell before Nezumi in a sprawl, staring down intently at the snow between them, unable to meet those stunning grey eyes. He tried to continue his rant, to force all of the words he wanted to say straight into Nezumi's ears here and now. But… his voice would not cooperate. It was all he could do to remain stoic, forcing back his emotions even as fury and pain rose in his belly.
It was then that a very cold hand slid through his snow-damp hair, tracing past his ear and across his chin. The hand was cold, damp, and even shaking from what could only be too much time spent in the chilly weather, yet it held a very gentle touch that made up for its icy temperature. It was as if the gentle grace of butterfly's wings on a spring breeze.
"Shion…" Nezumi said again, this time in a tone more baffled than anything. "You really are an airhead."
Before Shion could even register the insult, he found himself pushed backwards into the snow, his wrists pinned down in the cold by Nezumi's strong hands. "Hey, what are you—" he suddenly trailed off, lost in Nezumi's defiant eyes. The dark-haired boy was staring intently at him with a piercing gaze that could rival knives.
"Why are you so worked up?" the dark-haired boy asked quietly.
Shion felt his cheeks burn with a blush, and the reaction had absolutely nothing to do with the chilly wind. "After you left for so long… I think I have a right to be angry!" he simply said, fighting for proper words to explain himself.
Nezumi frowned. He kept one hand firmly planting Shion's wrist down into the snow, while he raised another to rub at his cheek. "I said I'd come back," he growled. "What, you don't trust me?"
Shion tried to unhook his wrist from Nezumi's grip, but the more he struggled to get away, the stronger Nezumi made his hold. "T-then why were you hiding here?" Shion asked. "If you really wanted to come back, why didn't you just come home—to my home?" he tripped over his words more than a newborn horse trying out its legs. All rage aside, he felt very close to breaking under his emotions now. He was angry, full of fury at Nezumi, yet… he was glad to see the boy. Glad to know that he was safe and that, for whatever reason, he had truly returned… hadn't he?
Nezumi heaved a deep sigh. He motioned forward with his hand; Shion expected perhaps a nice revenge slap for the punch, but was surprised when Nezumi instead grabbed the scarf around his throat, pulling it up to his face. "I didn't go very far to begin with," he said.
All anger seemed to melt away from Shion in that instance, or at least slip away to hide in the shadows. How he could remain furious with Nezumi so close, so quiet… there was no way he could. Though no tears stung his eyes alike the time Shion had been stained in blood, there was something very familiar in look that they held. Something very deep and caring, while at the same time very melancholy.
"Where were you, then?" was all Shion could bring his lips to say.
Nezumi's eyes widened in surprise now, perhaps at Shion's sudden submissive state. After such a strong punch to the face, the boy was bound to be very wary of another blow. Yet, even with that threat still very much alive, he slowly released his hold on Shion's wrists, letting completely go. He backed away, crouched down to stare tentatively at the boy. "Not far, I said," he replied bluntly.
Shion felt all respite fade away again. He was even tempted to punch the boy again now.
But Nezumi seemed to catch the subtle clenching of Shion's hand. The boy appeared to be inching back still further now—or, at least, appeared to be. For Shion was very surprised when the boy sprang forward suddenly, rather than further away. Instead of a punch, instead of being forced down into the snow once more, Shion found himself wrapped tightly in the boy's arms.
"I'm sorry," Nezumi said. He gripped tighter, burrowing his face into Shion's shoulder. The grey-eyed boy's body was still quivering, although now Shion was not so sure that the action was a result of the cold.
Despite the questions that Shion still ached to ask, he could not help but be swept up into the emotion. Returning the gesture, Shion wrapped his arms around the boy. First loosely, he quickly tightened his hold like a vice. Within a few simple seconds, Shion was holding on very tightly to the boy, as if he were the only thing keeping him from sliding off of a very precarious precipice into a gaping cliff mouth below. He forgot the snow and the darkness. He forgot the cold. All that he could think of was the presence of the boy before him, highlighted by his very familiar scent, his very familiar voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated quietly in the white-boy's ear in that voice. His steaming breath warmed Shion's frozen ear, and he burrowed tighter into the crook of the grey-eyed man's throat, seeking still more warmth.
"I missed you," Shion whispered back quietly. He was blushing now, his face hidden deep into the collar of Nezumi's coat. He almost hoped that Nezumi had missed those quiet words, but the tight squeeze that that taller man offered him spoke otherwise. Tears stung at Shion's eyes. Happy, relieved, overjoyed tears.
Neither one seemed to want to separate. It was very slowly and reluctantly that they both pulled away, still holding on just barely by loose strands of clothing and searching arms. They stared at one another silently, regarding every feature and detail from blushing cheeks to snow-sodden sleeves. In that time, Shion removed the scarf around his neck with jittery fingers, depositing the cloth around Nezumi's neck where it belonged. The scarf seemed to complete Nezumi. The look reminded him very dearly of those wonderful times back within the Western District.
Then Nezumi suddenly stood up, patting the snow from his pants legs. When Shion did not immediately spring up after, he held down a hand to assist the white-haired boy. Shion grabbed on tight to his cold fingers, allowing the grey-eyed boy to jerk him skyward. His legs felt like gelatin, though, and would not hold him upright. He quickly fell forwards, flailing his arms, only to be caught by a strong hand around his waist.
Nezumi was laughing now, that rich deep laugh that he always did. "You're still as much of a klutz as always, Your Majesty," he said, still laughing.
And all that Shion could do in return was laugh along, still leaning against the boy's arms. What good would being angry and spiteful do now, when the friend he had longed for was finally back by his side. Perhaps even friend was too weak of a term for this now. No, he felt something much deeper than friendship for the grey-eyed boy. Of course, Shion was Nezumi's friend, that would never change. Yet he was very aware of stronger feelings for the boy—and almost certain that they were returned.
Nezumi was pulling Shion along by the hand, trudging through the snow, heading deeper into the park. Shion at first wondered where they were going, but resisted the urge to ask when a swing set loomed into view. It was not a big swing set, nothing fancy, but there were two perfectly intact seats that seemed simply made for them.
They sat down on the seats and began to swing.