Chapter Text
Shion can only stomach a few more spoonfuls of oatmeal after Nezumi storms out—he feels he’s eaten enough at this point anyway. He stares down at the depleted plates of food and absentmindedly swirls his finger in the glass of water, still cool to the touch. He has only taken two sips of the orange juice, its flavor acrid and syrupy in his mouth.
He moves the tray from his lap to the floor, lets out a soft groan when his bruised arm presses against the bed too hard. He flops onto his back, letting himself sink into the cushions as the wooden frame of the bed squeaks in protest. He lets his arm fall against his face, covering his eyes.
Shion much prefers his plain, white-walled home. The history in this place makes his stomach hurt.
Torey—hopeful and idealistic in the way people think Shion is—is most likely buried under paperwork and proposals by now, most likely overwhelmed.
Shion sighs heavily, feels like an idiot for leaving his phone at his house. He wishes he could at least call the other man, get a sense of what has happened in the days he’s been here.
With Torey’s help, Shion has managed to keep the city constantly progressing. It’s not utopian by any means, and Shion knows such a thing does not exist. There are divides and prejudices many will not let go of, but there is no deprivation in No. 6. Even the sharp despair of hunger is faded in the memories of former West Block residents. Inukashi, who once devoured food like they would never come across it again, has learned to savor every bite, to appreciate the tart sweetness of an apple pie.
Shion’s first basic pushes for reform, which had focused on an equal distribution of resources and then free education, proved surprisingly popular in a city once renowned for the self-interest of its citizens.
For all his supposed popularity, things have always been a step away from going out of control in the restructural committee, from falling back onto the depraved path of the city’s predecessors. He has been forced to purge the committee of those who would put their own ambitions above all else, and more than once throughout the years. It’s a continuous process he hoped would end after he successfully ousted Yoming, but greed is something always seeping into the edges of everyone’s vision.
He admits he has resulted to some rather unsavory methods; he waves off Torey’s increasing suggestions of employing personal security, finds the concept ridiculous.
Shion shifts to lay on his side, decides he may as well try to sleep through this day. Maybe he can’t convince Nezumi to leave him be, but he’s sure he can make Inukashi and Karan see reason.
Then he hears soft, hesitant footsteps; not coming from the stairwell, but from down the hall.
“Papa Shion?”
Baby Shionn pokes his small face into the room, sees him in bed and toddles in, face open and sweet.
Shion forces himself to brighten up in response, even if he really wants nothing more than to burrow under the covers and pretend he’s asleep.
Shionn is five or six now, has wavy, dark brown hair and a chubby, lightly freckled face.
Shion loves him, is grateful that he is healthy and being taken care of by Karan and Inukashi. Still, their relationship mirrors that of a distant uncle and his nephew. Although Shion has recently seen him more regularly since Inukashi moved in, maybe once every other week.
“Shionn, don’t you have to get ready for school?” He says gently, looks toward the doorway half-expecting Inukashi to come and herd him away.
“I can’t find my other sock,” Shionn says mournfully, looks down at his bare left foot. Shion smiles, is always taken in by Shionn’s cuteness even if he doesn’t quite know how to interact with him.
“Papa Shion, don’t you have to get ready for work? Are you feeling sick?” Shionn walks up closer, to Shion’s bedside and Shion feels the back of the boy's small, sticky hand on his forehead.
“Mmmm, you feel…” Shionn scrunches his face in concentration for an extended moment. “You feel warm?”
Shion gingerly takes the boy’s hand off his face, decides it’s time he gets up. “C’mon Shionn, I’ll help you find your other sock.”
When Nezumi trudges into the back kitchen, he finds Inukashi leaning over a counter, carefully slicing the crust off a peanut butter sandwich.
Karan is manning the counter, already tending to the morning rush of hungry customers. Nezumi considers offering her help, keeps his mouth shut when he sees how she seems to be fully in her element.
Being busy is good, a much-needed distraction.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Inukashi says, dark eyebrows raised. They carefully wrap the sandwich in wax paper, start slicing the red skin off of an apple in smooth, practiced movements.
Nezumi can’t help but envision those hands, small and steady, warm on Shion’s skin. He doesn’t dwell on the thought, wills it away as forcefully as he can.
“It’s fucked,” Nezumi says, lowly so only Inukashi can hear.
Inukashi stares hard at the skinned apple they are now slicing into wedges.
“I’m not sure what we do now,” They admit along with a breathy, nervous laugh. “We’ve never…I mean, no one’s ever confronted him like this.”
Nezumi looks up at the ceiling, toward the direction of the room Shion’s in.
“Whatever the hell that was, it can’t happen again. I’ve been gone, I know. I also know I don’t have a right. But I don’t want him to keep being like this.”
Inukashi stiffens up, places the knife on the cutting board and faces Nezumi. “You…you mean to stay?”
Their face is set familiarly, holds that intensity like when they were both kids butting heads as they tried to survive in West Block.
Nezumi threads his fingers through his hair, meets Inukashi’s gaze, no trace of apology in his face. “And if I do?”
They stay like that, tensed and silent.
Inukashi is the first to end it, turns their back on Nezumi as they busy themselves placing Shionn’s lunch into a paper bag. Something cold is washing over them, something final. But they also know it in their gut: Shion might never get better if Nezumi were to leave now.
They don’t want to think about the future, what Nezumi’s continued presence means for them, for Shion. But they yearn to see Shion’s easy smiles again, his thoughtless kindness. Inukashi realizes they’ve missed it for years.
What would they give to see him like that again?
They ignore the warm prickling in their eyes, set Shionn’s lunch on the countertop.
“Go get Shionn, yeah? I’ve got to walk him to school now.”