Hey everyone! This is my first Fanfiction that I've ever posted, so I apologize in advance for any discrepancies or general OOCness. Read and review, please!

Disclaimer: I do not own No.6 or any of its characters. They belong to Atsuko Asano.

Sometimes when Nezumi wandered, his mind would too.

He could be sitting down reading, or strolling along a crowded pathway, it didn't matter. He would notice the slight tearing on the page he was on, and remember how Shion would patch up the books in their library until they were almost in better condition than when he first acquired them. "You should take better care of your books, Nezumi," he would rebuke lightly. "Look! They're practically falling apart, see?" And Shion would hold up a random novel for Nezumi to see, trying to look stern and failing miserably. When this happened he would jerk the page just a little bit too hard, and the page would rip entirely and he left it like that, because Nezumi didn't repair the books, that was Shion's job, only his.

Other times he would catch a glimpse of white or red on the street and his head would snap around, thinking Shion, no matter how fleeting the glance or how impossible that was. It was never Shion, of course not, but the white of an elderly beggar's hair, dried red blood smeared on gaunt cheeks. See, Nezumi? He would tell himself. It's not Shion. Shion is back in the West Black, where you left him, alone.

But he's not alone, a little voice would remind him, half fact, half reprieve. He has Inukashi and Rikiga and his mother, Karan, wasn't it? Besides, he wouldn't stay alone for long anyways, with how he attracts people like a moth to a flame.

Back at the seedy motel he was staying at, Nezumi clenched his hand. His mind had wandered again, into unwanted territory, but he couldn't get it out. Instead, he continued on that chain of thought, spiraling madly. Just like how he had drawn me in. I knew it was a bad idea, that I should just repay my debt and leave while I still could, cut off my ties, but I was trapped. Shion emitted light and heat like a furnace, invaded my space and made me dependent of his warmth, until separating myself was akin to cutting off my own air supply.

So it was impossible for Shion to stay alone for any amount of time, but that didn't mean the people he appealed to were of the savory kind. He still didn't know that the world, its inhabitants, weren't as good as he thought they were, no matter how many times Nezumi had tried to warn him, had tried to show him. He still saw the best in anyone, everyone, even when they didn't deserve even a fraction of it. Knowing the boy, Shion would invite them into his life, his home, with open arms, thinking he had just made a new friend. They would just use him for their own gain, pretend that they cared, then toss him aside without a second thought, heedless to his suffering or hurt. Like you, the voice whispered, traitorous, revealing. You're no better than them, those scum.

Nezumi couldn't deny it, even if he wanted to, because it's the truth, ugly and raw. He's no more worthy than the criminals and con-men that will just use Shion when he lets them, and he will, because when has he not? He's always covering up his own naïveté with words like "I wanted to" and "I don't regret anything", but it never helps him, just aids in destroying him quicker, faster. And Nezumi had taken advantage of that innocence and unfaltering belief, using it to save his life and ruin Shion's, dragging his savior into the dirtiest depths of reality with him under the guise of protection. He didn't deserve that cruelty, the scraped-by existence that Nezumi lived, the harshness eating away at him until only a shell remained, hardened and rough. No, Shion deserved the safe, privileged life he had once lived, the life of a prince. His Majesty deserved the best, to preserve that rare purity and innocence he was born with, keep it from being sullied by the filth of the outstanding ide world. So he never changed.

Shion deserved so much more than what Nezumi had given him, a life fraught with danger and a companion that was more of an enemy than a friend, threatening one minute then insulting the next. Someone who couldn't even make up their mind of if they wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

But then Nezumi hadn't been the only company Shion had kept, had he? The boy had attracted those children, and even Rikiga wasn't half as bad as he could be. Inukashi was another story, possibly even more fickle than Nezumi himself at times, but Shion's meeting with her was brought on more by Nezumi than anything.

Maybe then Shion would find the right people, the right person, someone who deserved his love and gave him everything he wished for. Would it be a girl like his friend Safu, intelligent enough to keep up with him and his theories, open-minded enough to believe in his far-fetched ideals? Gentle enough to not break him in all his fragility—but, wait, no, that wasn't right, Shion wasn't weak, not truly, just vulnerable. He was sure Shion was stronger than anyone gave him credit for—Nezumi had seen it in his eyes, when he was faced with near-certain death from the parasitic wasps, when he was in the correctional facility and steeled himself against all of the death and depravity there. So perhaps it wouldn't be a girl, but a boy—a man—someone strong enough to defend Shion against threats, because he may be strong, but his body is delicate, a wispy, thin-stemmed flower. He would also have to be perceptive enough to discern the good from the bad, the safe from the dangerous, something Shion had never been particularly adept at. But he, the imaginary man that was becoming more and more vivid as time passed, also needed to be supportive, not criticizing, even when Shion's air-headed tendencies became more than the average person could bear, even when his ramblings made absolutely no sense at all, based entirely on wishfulness and idealism. This man could not be average because Shion himself was not average, or normal.

Shion was human, yes, and as such had his faults, but it was his humanity that made him who he was. He was not twisted and jaded like the rest of them, but bright and hopeful, seeking out the third option when most didn't even believe it existed. He was undaunted by anyone's skepticism or limitations, and gave everything he did his all, no matter what it was, washing dogs or saving an entire city.

He wondered briefly what Shion was doing at this exact moment. Was he off on another crazy adventure, endangering himself for even just one person's happiness, or had he finally taken Nezumi's advice and stayed out of trouble? He could be sitting next to an open fire and sipping hot chocolate in between reading stories to attentive mice, or wrapped up between sheets getting ready for sleep in a warm, comfy bed. The thought made him smile a little, remembering bits and pieces of those scenarios. Shion would crack open a long-forgotten book lost in the shelves to read aloud, whether his audience was the mice or the empty air. He never did get any better at enunciating his words properly, the words plain but yet passionate, not dramatic but involved. When night fell and Shion crawled underneath the covers, he would curl in a little on himself, burrowing into the scratchy blankets with ease. His hair would sprawl onto the dingy pillows like a dove's feathers, as soft as it looked when Nezumi crossed the space between them to lightly touch the strands. It was in these small, unfettered moments that they could coexist without opinions or time or the world disrupting them, and it was peaceful.

Nezumi lied back on the bed he was on, and turned on his side, closing his eyes. He wanted those moments back, but he couldn't have them so he pretended, pretended that the space beside him wasn't empty, that the air wasn't silent and still. He pretended Shion was right there next to him, reading him a passage out of Hamlet maybe, or The Happy Prince, pretended that he was good enough to deserve Shion and his comfort. It almost worked, for a while. But nothing ever lasted forever, and Nezumi was left cold and alone in the situation he had brought only on himself.