Okay, so this chapter's really contemplative, but since it's only the first one of twelve I guess that's tolerable. I just want to build this up correctly and get a deeper understanding for the characters. And yes, even though this chapter's about Shion, there will be Nezumi in later chapters as well.
As stated in the description already I wrote this for the 'Twelve Months' challenge from the german (.de/t/11255/1), which mainly means I'll post one chapter each month, each month has got it's on theme and I have to work with that theme.

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Chapter 1: January - Remembrance

How strange are the tricks of memory, which, often hazy as a dream about the most important events of a man's life, religiously preserve the merest trifles.
– Richard Burton

It was raining.

No, that was an understatement: It was pouring, storming, the wind lashing at unsuspecting branches, breaking them off just to throw them at windows, picking up litter that was lying around just to drop it everywhere on the streets and in the parks.

Accompanying the storm was a freezing cold. After all it was January, and even though winter was late this year, the temperatures were soon gonna drop below zero degree. Combining that with the furious wind made it obvious that hardly anyone would like to take a step outside if they could help it.

With a silent sigh Shion glanced outside the window. He had been so absorbed in his work that he had missed the first offshoots of the storm, and now he was trapped here in his office.

He had forgotten to bring an umbrella and if he went home without anything to shelter him from the vicious rain he was gonna catch a horrible cold, that much was for sure. Borrowing one was out of question as well since he was all alone in the little two-room cottage building, located in the park, that had been former host of the moon-drop.

He preferred this seclusion occasionally, whenever he felt like he couldn't get anything done in the bustling headquarters of the Reconstruction Committee, where everyone who dropped by seemed to need his help with something or appeared to shove even more work onto him.

So he had made himself his own little office out here, with an assistant who worked in the second room. But today was Sunday, his assistant wasn't working and nowhere in this damn building was a spare umbrella. He had to remember to place one in the cupboard that stood beside the entrance door, so that he wouldn't be forced to stay in the future, just because of some stupid storm.

It wasn't as if there weren't sleeping accommodations in his office, after all he had to work late into the night alarmingly often but the old couch wasn't exactly comfortable. And on top of it, little Shion was currently staying over at his mother's since Inukashi said she needed some time off and Shion hadn't seen the little one in like forever, much to busy with his work.

So he had hoped to spend the evening with them in the warm, cozy living room above his mother's bakery, perhaps tugged under a few blankets to shield them from the cold, perhaps with a few candles chasing away the darkness due to the potential power outage caused by the storm, surely with a lot of baked goods on the table and laughter and happiness.

Instead he was trapped here, equally in the dark and even though he couldn't exactly complain about the actual room-temperature, he still felt cold inside. A cold that couldn't even be chased away by the cup of steaming cocoa he held in his hands. It was his first cup since quite a while.

He usually drank coffee now. It had started out with a mixture that was almost only sugar and milk with a little drop of the black, bitter liquid, but as things had progressed, the rebuilding going on and organizational choices were required from him, the work gradually piling up on his desk he had found that mixture to be much to ineffective. Reducing sugar and milk by the same degree that the pile of papers grew, he had now reached the point where his coffee was as black as the night and his desk was hardly spot-able anymore beneath all the documents and books.

One of the reasons why he was working even though it was Sunday, by the way.

He could have got all of those documents and books as digital copies, but he had discovered that he worked much faster with real paper, enjoying the feeling of it, and the sound of his pencil scratching over the surface whenever he jotted down notes.

The only disadvantage was that it took up horribly much space, resulting in his buried desk.

But now he didn't want to think about work and since he wasn't trying to stay awake for work he had settled with the hot cocoa which was still much more to his liking than the bitter taste of coffee.

Too late had he recognized the similarities, too late had he realized that he hardly would be able to repress the memories, alone in the dark, with hot cocoa and a storm roaring in front of his window, to exhausted from work to distract himself by looking through more documents.

So here he was, standing at the window, giving in to his fate, to the unpreventable.

Here he was, thinking about Nezumi.

Two years had passed since Nezumi had left him. Two years, seven month, 28 days and roughly 20 hours.

He'd kept track.

And he hated himself for it.

The first months had been the worst. He had jumped every time when he had heard Hamlet squeak, expecting it to be Tsukiyo or Cravat or one of Nezumi's robotic mice, telling him he was coming back.

Everything had reminded him of Nezumi, every book, every meeting with Rikiga, with Inukashi.

The way the bed felt so spacious and cold without another body to share it with—because seriously, Hamlet definitely didn't matter much—the way how the artificial light in the bakery was so much brighter than the flickering flame of the old gas lantern that had illuminated the raw stone walls.

Every droplet of water reminded him of the dripping wet twelve-year old that had suddenly appeared in his life, turning it upside down and hitting him with much more force than the typhoon of that day could ever have.

Every passerby made him hear Nezumi's mocking voice, how he would've made fun of them, said that they were to weak or to thick or to stupid looking, how they looked like they'd lived a life full of luxuries and devoid of any deprivation.

And there was cooking, reminding him of the stew that had been their usual dinner. Buying meat brought back how Nezumi had taught him how to bargain in his usual harsh but effective manner.

Whenever Shion had been to soft at bargaining Nezumi had forced him to work overtime at Inukashi's, until he re-earned the difference between the price he paid and the price Nezumi had allowed him to pay.

After a few days of blistered hands and arms that felt as if he wouldn't be able to lift them in the next three years he had started to try much harder. He became a lot better at arguing, more adamant to stand his ground with regard to the price. Surely, he still used to spend more money then Nezumi, since he wasn't capable of the flirting Nezumi used to get his food at the lowest price possible, but he had gradually picked up a few techniques and those still came in handy whenever he went shopping nowadays.

Fish used to remind him of Nezumi too, since he instinctively avoided it, the fact that Nezumi didn't like it having been etched into his subconsciousness.

But not only those supposedly 'major' things triggered memories. Sometimes it was only waking up in the morning, wondering what special ingredient he should add to the stew that day to make it more interesting before he realized there was no reason to cook a stew, no weary, grumpy, hungry teenager coming home in the evening to appreciate his efforts or complain about the poor seasoning.

Sometimes he thought he heard Nezumi's voice in the way the wind drafted around his ears, thought he spotted Nezumi's hair in the crowd or felt like he was being watched by those entrancing gray eyes.

But whenever he turned around, whenever he looked closely, whenever he stilled his movements to listen no one was there. It was only him and his imagination.

The turning point had come when he had been out with Rikiga one day, sitting in some sort of fast food booth, absentmindedly studying whoever walked by, listening to him talking about how he was publishing real articles once again, how beautiful Karan had grown and how annoying Inukashi was. Shion smiled and nodded and agreed from time to time for good measure, so he wouldn't seem rude, as a result agreeing to help Rikiga with the research for his article about how the reconstruction was going.

Then a girl had walked by, wearing a pale blue summer-dress. It was floaty and reached down to her knees, with a little flower on the left strap.

Not even aware of it he had thought about how Nezumi would've probably looked better in that dress than the girl did.

It had took him a few moments, much too long in his opinion, to really realize what he had just thought and to that his reaction was instantaneous: a furious blush, that painted his cheeks crimson.

"What's up, Shion? You're burning up. Don't tell me you've caught a cold, have you?", Rikiga had asked him worriedly.

"Oh, no, it's nothing.", Shion had tried to wave the matter aside, but since he knew it wasn't exactly believable, considering the burning he felt in his cheeks, he added: "I guess I'm just a little overworked."

"You should take it easy, Boy. It's not good to work till you drop!"

The funny thing was, that at that point he hadn't even been particularly busy. Sure, he'd always had something to do, but he had time to help his mom with the shop occasionally or to go out an afternoon with little Shion.

It was after that talk, after realizing how desperately he had to miss Nezumi, if even girls started to remind him of the gray-eyed actor/actress, that he had decided something had to change.

So in opposition to Rikiga's advice he had started to take on more and more tasks, until not only his desk but his thoughts about Nezumi were buried beneath work as well.

His waking hours he had spent working until he dropped into bed, falling asleep that fast it came akin to passing out from exhaustion.

His mother was worried, Rikiga often scolded him for making his mother worry, Inukashi told him that she could use help with the dogs some time and that little Shion missed him, but Shion continued with his new-found living pattern.

That way, more than two years had passed with him barely thinking of Nezumi.

As of lately he'd even been able to reduce the amount of work and increase his free time without falling back into old habits, like being reminded of Nezumi at everything he saw or did, which was one of the reasons why he had actually looked forward to his first free afternoon in a while.

Still, as he stood there, facing the storm and nipping on his hot chocolate, he slowly felt the frustration subside, and the cozy warmth that started to fill him surely didn't only originate from his drink.

Thinking of Nezumi still resulted in a pang of pain, still made him feel like there was something missing inside of him, as if he was incomplete, but the feeling was dulled and as he didn't avoid it anymore, he realized that he could actually remember the time they'd spent together fondly.

He closed his eyes and felt as if he could smell the damp scent of Nezumis underground library, a smell of old, slightly yellowed paper mixed with a hint of the ingredients and spices he used for cooking.

He could almost hear Hamlet, Cravat and Tsukiyo as they scurried around the room and over the books, perhaps searching for some crumbs of bread.

And there was the noise of Nezumi breathing calmly, sitting beside him on the couch, completely at ease and defenseless as absorbed as he was in his book.

Yeah, the way Nezumi—who always was stiff and shut of around anyone else—relaxed around Shion, finally let go of the mask he was hiding behind outside, stopped acting, even if it was only for those little moments—that fact made Shion feel content, warm and... proud.

He was proud that he was a person Nezumi could feel safe with, even though he still wasn't quite sure how he had become someone worth of this honor.

But most of all he was thankful that Nezumi had chosen him out of all persons to open up to.

A little smile crept onto his face and it stayed there even as he reopened his eyes, kinda loosing the mental image, the scents and the sounds, the feeling remained.

Another sip of hot chocolate, a droplet on the window, suddenly a thunderbolt, then a flickering of lights.

Nothing of those things could shake him right now. He noticed how the time passed only by the way the rain started to subside eventually, until it was only barely dripping anymore, and he could finally leave.

He unhurriedly walked into the little kitchen, washed his cup and left it in the dish rack to dry.

Then he went back into his office, gathered all of his important belongings, put them into his bag and finally shrugged into his coat.

But before walking out of the door, he turned around and threw a last glance at the mug.

I guess being trapped here wasn't that bad after all.

And he knew that from now on he would always be reminded of this afternoon whenever he saw that certain mug, would be reminded of Nezumi and their time together, but he found he was actually grateful for that.

Because perhaps..., he decided as he stepped outside and pulled the door close behind him, ...perhaps it isn't such a bad thing to bask in remembrance from time to time.