Notes: Did I stop midway because I'm lazy? Pshaww. I did, because it's deep. Right.

The Rest is Silence

The baby laughed in the face of No. 6's fallen walls, gaze buoyantly jumping from ruin to ruin. She didn't notice the many people standing all around them, her and the boy carrying her frail form, staring in blank awe at the destruction shining yellow and golden in the evening sun.

Shion didn't notice them either. He kept his eyes on the dusty ground, forcing his feet to move forward. His whole body ached with exhaustion and something else. Something ugly and bitter, gnawing at him almost like the parasite bee had. He pushed it away.

Part of him had been inclined to turn around and run after Nezumi. Or dare a quick glance at him to see which direction he was taking, at least. But that wouldn't do. It was hard to remember why, with this small, fragile thing in his arms and unprecedented weights on his shoulders. But he couldn't afford being weak now, that meant betraying Nezumi, Safu, and himself. Or so he imagined. It was really hard to remember.

He stumbled, the baby giggled happily. Before he could stop himself, a few tears spilled down his cheeks. Just from the shock, of course.

The new society blooming where once No. 6 and West District had been existing separately had, as it turned out, no need for Shion or his story. Nobody seemed interested in the cause of the collapse of the walls or who had suffered for it. Who had sacrificed herself for it. It made sense in a way. Who would believe a sixteen-year-old from the poorest area of West District and a colourful criminal record like his own when he told tales about parasitic insect viruses and other nonsense like that?

No. 6's government had more important issues to deal with. Its subjects demanded integration and compensation for the previous population of West District. Some even went so far as to appeal to a trial for those who had initiated the deporting process of these "unwanted individuals."

Shion soon found the city in a mould-breaking state. Protest marches occurred on a daily basis; the usually calm and obedient citizens of No. 6 developed a tendency of perpetual defiance and acting up. He often thought about joining the No. 6 Movement, as the protestors liked to call themselves, but his part-time job in his mother's expanding bakery and watching over Sumire — that was the baby girl's name now, because his mother still had that thing for wild flowers — took up almost all of his time.

In the evening, when he was free, he would withdraw himself to the balcony and watch the skyscrapers swallow up the sun eagerly, day by day. Whenever it promised to be a wuthering night, however, he would lock himself up inside his room, blanket covering his entire body.

He was only partly sure why. Storms always made him think of Nezumi, how they first met, but, somehow, they also became reminders of their last parting. He didn't want to, but he remembered every last detail about it, the way Nezumi had smiled, the way the dried blood on his sweater had appeared almost beautiful in the darkened light of the sunset. It'd been a good light. It had made the boy in front of him look warmer, less polished. More human, than actor.

Yes, he remembered everything.

Almost one year after the Holy Day he started having these dreams. At first they were wonderful, the best kind of dream you can have, really. Safu was still alive, still herself, and Nezumi was there too, all happy and smiling. The three of them were together and that was enough. Only, then the world around them started fading into sharp white noise and, eventually, Safu and Nezumi would disappear too until just Shion himself was left. Mostly he would wake up around then, it would be shortly before dawn, and Sumire would be bawling her lungs out for whatever reasons babies had when bawling.

While rocking her back to sleep, he sometimes wondered if he was really in love with Nezumi and what kind of love it was. Whether he should have complied with Safu's insistence on having sex with him or just stayed with her altogether.

Had he loved her?

Loved her?

Loved her, certainly. As a friend, as a confidant, as a sister, maybe a little like he loved his mother — he used to feel responsible for both. But Nezumi was different. He wasn't allowed to feel responsible for him; even now he had to wait for him to return instead of searching for him.

It isn't fair, he would think then, and wait for morning to arrive.

Time flew by almost unnoticed.

No. 6 was celebrating the third anniversary of its reunion with West District this year, and there hadn't been one single message from Nezumi. Shion had tried sending out the rats to go look for him several times, but they had never found anything. And if they had, Nezumi had programmed them well enough not to tell him.

Life began to slip back into the same routine it'd had before the first cases of parasite bees infesting humans had happened, and Shion wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. He wished he could go back in time and relive his months at Nezumi's side once again. A few days would be enough, too. Even one second of seeing his face.

His wish was not granted that year, or the year after that, or the one after that.

Nearly seven years in total passed.

Shion was living alone now, because the neighbours had begun to gossip about a grown man of twenty-three still living with his mother. He preferred it this way. He wasn't even lonely or anything. Not after all this time he'd spent away from Nezumi.

He didn't particularly enjoy the life he led but he was doing all right, he guessed. Deadened and sort of callous, but all right.

A typhoon was crashing over No. 6 that night.

Even at the age of twenty-three, Shion still harboured that habit of hiding in his bed and he was still afraid of the memories he had stored away so carefully in the very back of his mind many years ago.

The windows in his flat were chattering and shaking in time with the wind, the floor, too, seemed to be trembling. It was almost as though the tempest was trying to blow away the whole house.

Sleeping was impossible in such a night. Around two o'clock Shion decided he might as well read and spend his time doing something at least half worthwhile. Hunched up in one corner of his small bed, he flopped open the old and tired paperback of Nezumi's edition of Hamlet.

Half an hour later he could hear the first droplets of rain land on the roof. Within seconds it was pouring. He was now halfway through his drama, having skimmed through the pages rather than actually read and internalised their content.

The rain hissed into the silence.

Setting the book aside, he let his gaze drift aimlessly through the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cravat flitting across the floor. The rat stopped in front of the balcony door, pulling vigorously at the curtains with its tiny teeth.

Something knocked against the glass.

Shion sat up, startled.

Oh.

It knocked again.

He held his breath, gripped his chest with one hand, and slowly made for the door. His free hand shivered as he opened both curtain and door.

A cold gust of wind and rain hit his face.

"Man, slow as ever, huh?" A soft chuckle. "I almost thought you hadn't heard me."

Oh.

He hadn't changed at all.

Sitting on the couch, steaming hot chocolate in his hands, he looked just like the sixteen-year-old boy Shion used to know. It was as if someone had cut him out of the past and inserted him into the future. But he was imperfect, his nose was red from the cold outside, his hair hung wet and loose about his shoulders. Maybe it was a little longer, too, it was hard to tell.

The clock ticked, snapping and loud. It was already past three in the morning.

Whispers of footfalls sounded as the rats scurried between their feet, ecstatic that their master was finally back.

"Aren't you going to talk to me at all?" Nezumi asked after a while when he had set his mug down on the table.

Shion stared at his hands lying limp in his lap. He waited to feel something. Some big emotion.

"You were right," he said at last. "I didn't accomplish anything. I couldn't."

Nezumi's expression hardened. "What happened to you? I know you're better than this."

Shion closed his eyes. "I'm tired."

"Oh," Nezumi said awkwardly, fumbling absently with the tablecloth. Had he had this tick before? "Sorry. It's late."

"It's OK," Shion said and went to the dressers in his room to get the other blanket.

The next morning he woke up before his alarm went off.

On his way to the kitchen he passed the living room. He halted. He had almost forgotten that Nezumi was here. For a moment, he watched him sleep, all of his three rats cuddled up next to him. Then he got ready for work.

"Where've you been?" There was a strangely sharp edge to his tone. Shion stared.

Shrugging out of his coat he said, "I'm not responding to questions to which you already know the answer."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Outside a few belated storm clouds rolled by.

"You've changed," Nezumi said.

"You haven't."

And Shion realised, then, that it was too late. They weren't sixteen anymore.

They were strangers now.

"Why couldn't you just wait for me?" Nezumi snarled, standing up from his seat on the sofa. "All I wanted was for you to stay you!"

With mild fascination Shion watched as Nezumi stormed out of the apartment.

It was night when he returned. Shion was a little astounded that he had even bothered.

"Were you drinking?" he asked as Nezumi shoved him aside and slumped down on the couch.

"None of your business."

"You're staying at my place so it is my business."

Nezumi glared up at him through lidded eyes. When he didn't say anything, Shion decided to leave, but one of Nezumi's hands held him in place. His palm felt hot against the skin of Shion's arm.

"What," he mumbled quietly and half hoped Nezumi hadn't heard him.

"Why are you making everything so difficult?" Nezumi's voice was dangerously close to a whine.

Shion sat down beside him. The springs cut themselves into his thighs, his knees. He shut his eyes, biting down on his lip. His chest hurt.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love," Nezumi recited, and kissed him.

It was a light, sweet little thing, almost capable of easing the pain.

There was a hole inside of Shion, in the shape of Nezumi. Even though the cut had ben clean and smooth, it'd been large enough to hurt whenever the wind blew sharply through, but he had gotten used to it. Now, that Nezumi was back, he had no idea how to patch it up again. What had life been like with him before? The memory seemed distant, like a tattered out-of-focus photograph that was sometimes sepia-tinted. And there was no chance of grasping and keeping it.

In the morning he woke up alone, crying, and so terribly afraid.