It was a battle. Ever since that first touch, ever since Nezumi stupidly left his guard down long enough to let Shion actually touch his neck the kid had grown in confidence and just wouldn't stop.

A touch here, a prod there, brushing against his shoulder when they sat down to read, gently covering his fingers when he handed him his tea, warm breath against his neck when they were supposed to be sleeping. And all too soon (no, too late, Nezumi reminded himself, much too late) he would pull away, leaving Nezumi with a swirling gut and a heart beating far too quickly for his liking.

Nezumi fought back, silently matching feel for feel. For every shoulder brush, he'd get the kid back later by messing up his hair, or stroking his scar. For the breath on his neck he'd take his hand and give it a too-hard squeeze in the middle of the night. Just to get back at him.

It wasn't soft, it wasn't affectionate, it was a response to a challenge.

But Shion didn't get it. Like always, he misinterpreted the signals.

It means nothing! Nezumi wanted to yell, I'm screwing with you! Why the hell are you smiling so wide for!?

But the words knotted in his throat before he could shout them. He wanted to hurt Shion, and he knew how. But he couldn't.

He couldn't get rid of that smile, even if it was there for the wrong reasons. He couldn't bring himself to kill something so inexplicably nice that had somehow managed to grow out of his vicious actions.

Shion had a knack for that. In the twisted, parasite city he was born in raised in, he still managed to grow up to be something beautiful. Something raging and dangerous, but beautiful nonetheless.

Like a fire, Nezumi's mind added, he's like a fire right in the middle of that damn city

And Nezumi was a child again, scared and running and trying desperately to avoid getting burned.

He had known so much fire in his life. The fires of his childhood, the kind controlled by the city, with angry, deadly flames that only sought to burn, kill and choke everything he loved.

Safe fire that cooked his food and kept him warm at night. Fire that he could read by. Fire that kept him alive during lonely, bitter nights with only a shirt and memories of warmth and another heartbeat so similar to his own.

Which was Shion? Shion who had slipped into his daily life after just a week of him staying. Shion, who smiled over his morning hot water (like hell they could afford coffee) who thanked him for moldy bread and dried meat with such sick sincerity that it made him want to give him twice as much as they could afford.

He'd always known that Shion was someone rare, someone to be treasured. From the day he'd heard Shion open his window and scream, fully scream with all the rage and power of a persistent flame in a freezing city, he knew. There was more to Shion, much more. And he was terrified to find out exactly what that 'more' was.

He plays the game he sees in Shion's eyes knowing that it isn't, and never was, for fun. Knowing that his touch means something and everything to them both. He is powerless and safe and warm and terrified all at once, wanting to run and stay with every fiber of his being.

He refused to look away from the flames even as they burned him, scorched their way into his skin, marked him- changed him. He refuses to look away from Shion as he does the same thing. Only Shion is lighter. Softer. Kinder. He smiles so easily, really smiles. And Nezumi can't look away for a reason that isn't always terror, but is always terrifying.

He needs that smile to stay as it is.

He needs the sincere smile that had grown out of the ugliest of cities. The honest, loving boy that washes dogs and organizes books. Who silently climbs back into bed after being kicked out in the roughest way possible.

He needs Shion; if only to escape his own broken expressions; patchwork smiles built on exactly what others need to see, the ashes that remained after growing out of something truly beautiful.