"They say that things just cannot grow beneath the
winter snow, or so I have been told. They say we're buried
far, just like a distance star, I simply cannot hold.

This is my winter song, December never felt so wrong,
'Cause you're not where you belong… Inside my arms."

Summer had gracefully spread its wings over the skies of a new, ripening version of No.6. The sun's light had showcased a civilization once specializing in deceit with well-deserved warmth, its rays illuminating new buildings and structures and young, laughing faces. Where there had once been hundreds of thousands of citizens who strived to make No.6 a place to once again feel proud of, there were now millions, the numbers increasing with each and every passing hour.

A new sense of life and purpose were now embraced and accepted by its people. This sense of life was only shown through the eyes of those who knew what it was like to hold a worn book in their hands, or to watch their favorite play being performed on a magnificent stage, or to indulge in the expression and creativity of works of art that had once been banned from No.6. And, if that overwhelming need to live and to experience life to its fullest wasn't a direct result of viewing a painting or reading a famous novel, it was a result of almost being put to rest by a world that had once kept hidden so many thousands of secrets from its people.

Within the city that a certain raven-haired individual had once described as being filled with humans who blindly followed without bothering to ask any questions, there happened to be people much like Shion; there were fighters, there were people who had been shown the cruel reality of the world they were a part of, that had fought back against the system and had lived to tell the tale or, better yet, write about it. That will and utter need to survive and to keep fighting was unmistakable even now as Shion rode his bicycle to his place of work. It was found in the windows of the bookstores, and within the words typed out on pages of new books. Life was now found all over a city once encased in such monotonous routine.

Shion was undeniably proud of how No.6 was shaping up to be, and with each and every smile he saw curl upon the lips of the people passing him by, he knew he was doing something right. He had worked day in and day out to bring the arts back into No.6, spending much of his time writing grant proposals and begging for funding. Shion had made bringing back the arts his most precious goal within the reconstruction of this new, powerful civilization. He strongly wished that people could experience how wonderful literature and art and music could be, from both the comfort of their own homes to the large theater he had had constructed in the middle of the city. Such forms of expression had once been so foreign to him, and ever since he picked up that first book in Nezumi's tiny little home, Shion knew that the world deserved to know about such magnificent treasures. Perhaps the words of Mark Twain, or Jane Austen, or Oscar Wilde would help to inspire a new generation of No.6 inhabitants.

Just as quickly as the heat of summer had brought about such brilliant change, autumn had begun to make its presence known. Heat waves were stifled with cool breezes, and before Shion was even able to concentrate on actually breathing, winter had rushed in, claiming his city with massive snowstorms that decorated No.6 with glistening white and the brightness of warm-colored mittens and scarves. Hot chocolate once set out for two remained in only one steaming mug now as Shion looked out his office window.

It was snowing. The sky this morning was a shade of grey that Shion was all too familiar with. Although there was no storm threatening to spill out from the heavens above, the memories of snowball fights and swings and a dirty, rundown playground still filled his mind.

What had once made Shion burst out into tears now made the white-haired boy smile.

It had been three years. Three insanely long years filled with business proposals and things Shion was never taught in any school. He had seen many different aspects of life; he had seen the good in people, the side of humanity that he wanted more than anything to accept and to cherish. He had also seen the bad, the sneaky and conniving side that threatened to bring No.6 back down to its knees. But, despite all of the obstacles that had blocked his path — both emotionally and physically, that is —, he was still able to bring about constructive, wonderful change to No.6.

At 19 years old, Shion had accomplished so much. As he continued to look out the window, he knew that he was no longer the boy he had once been, a boy so naïve of the world that surrounded him. No, Shion was certainly not a young boy anymore… he had grown up. Wavy white strands of hair had grown longer, just centimeters away from touching his shoulders. His body had matured, shoulders much stronger than they ever had been before. Perhaps it was from the weight of the world that he carried upon them, or perhaps it was because of all of the burdens and responsibilities he now held in order to keep No.6 flourishing… whatever it was, the years had helped to turn him into a man that his mother could be proud of.

From the comfort of his office, Shion let out a heavy sigh. His mug of hot chocolate was once again placed down upon his desk, only so that he could rub at his tired, sleep-deprived eyes. 'At least it's Friday,' Shion thought to himself as he ran his fingers through his messy hair. Before he could spend any more time contemplating falling asleep at his desk, Shion's scarlet-colored eyes snapped open. "AHHHH! It's FRIDAY!" Shion nearly yelled as the realization hit him. His kneecaps hit into the underside of his desk as he abruptly stood up, and with a painful yelp, Shion sat back down and rubbed at them, his lips twisting into a pout.

Today wasn't just any Friday…it was last day he and his mother would journey into West Block to gather the remaining two boxes of Nezumi's books. Today was that Friday, the most important part of his week. After today, Shion would no longer have a reason to step foot into West Block, much less the old home he once shared with Nezumi.

Once he was able to gather his thoughts and leave the confines of his office without hurting himself, Shion made his way down several flights of stairs and into the lobby of his office building. He waved his goodbyes to the security officers before he pushed open the main doors. Shion then wrapped his thick wool scarf around his neck before adjusting his messenger bag, and soon enough, the white-haired man was speeding down the side of the road on his bicycle, making his way home.

"Well, that does it!" Karan chimed in gleefully, adjusting the weight of the cardboard box in her arms as she continued to stand in the doorway. "After more than ten trips back and forth, we've finally reached the end!" Karan nudged her son with her elbow, seeing as her hands were occupied. Bright red eyes made contact with hazel ones as he turned to her and smiled, although the expression he wore on his face was quite strained.

"Who knew that a person could collect so many books! And to think, he must have brought all of these here all by himself… I wonder how long it took him?"

"Even if he brought a few here every night, I'd imagine it took him over a year to collect all of these," Shion replied as he broke away from his mother's gaze. Instead, his eyes drifted over to the now empty bookshelves.

An image of a young Nezumi sprinting with stolen books filling up the span of his arms appeared in the back of Shion's mind, forcing a pained smile to mark his lips. His fingers tightened their grip on the sides of his box as he took a step towards the door, knowing that he had to get going. He had spent much too long in Nezumi's home already… and being here any longer than necessary would only rip open the wound that had taken so long to close.

'Three years, Nezumi… Why haven't you come back yet...?'

Shion shook his head and swallowed hard as he forced the thoughts to leave his mind. No, this certainly wouldn't do… he would not break down here… he would prove to Nezumi just how strong he was, even if he wasn't here to witness his growth.

"Ready to go, Shion?" Karan asked, looking over at him with gentle, loving eyes. Shion took a deep breath and nodded his head, following her lead as they began to exit the tiny home.

Shion whispered a low goodbye as he closed the door behind him, knowing deep down in his heart that he was saying goodbye to more than just an empty home. His farewell did not go unheard, however, as a frown marred Karan's face.

It was only ten minutes into their journey back home that a familiar face came running up behind them, calling out Shion's name insistently before stopping to regain his breath. The flask in Rikiga's hand was shoved into the inner pocket of his jacket as he breathed heavily, immediately regretting the decision to sprint after both the white-haired man and his unknown companion.

Both Shion and his mother turned around to face the yelling individual.

"Shion? Hey, wait! You didn't think you'd…. b-be able to leave West Block without…. without paying me a visit first, did you?" Rikiga spoke through labored breaths, his hands placed on his knees in an attempt to support his upper body. "Man, I'm really out of shape," Rikiga murmured bitterly to himself.

Upon realizing whom Shion's companion was, Rikiga forced himself to stand up straight, his cheeks immediately turning a rosy shade of pink. "Oh…K-Karan!" Rikiga stuttered, his overall embarrassment evident in the sound of his voice. "I wasn't… expecting to see you! Actually, I wasn't expecting to see either of you… It's still dangerous here, you know!"

Shion laughed and put his box down beside his feet. In a quick motion, Shion reached over to hug the flustered man before him. "It's good to see you too, Rikiga," Shion smiled, patting Rikiga's back before pulling away. "I'm sorry I've been so busy lately; the last few times you've been in the city, I've either been in meetings or have been stuck working late. But I'm glad my mother has been keeping you company!"

Within a matter of seconds, Shion could feel his insides clench up, internally flinching at the words he had just spoken aloud. Words scribbled onto a letter that had been sent his way a week ago came to mind almost immediately. "Old man Rikiga's been in a good mood lately, since he can go back and forth to where you are since there's no more wall. Life can catch you by surprise, so be careful. It'd be a real tragedy if that old geezer became your stepfather."

"Yes, you're right. Karan's always too good to me. I could never go hungry with her filling my plate with her cravats and muffins!" Rikiga smiled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Rikiga had been to No.6 several times to visit Shion and his mother since the fall of the walls separating No.6 from West Block. And, despite being a bit disappointed each and every time he arrived in Rose Town (which had formally been known as 'Lost Town',) only to find Shion was too busy to come and see him, he couldn't say he was all too upset that he got to spend some quality time with Shion's mother. No, he definitely wasn't complaining about that…

His cheeks were still tinged a subtle red, and despite the idea of Rikiga becoming his stepfather being utterly terrifying, Shion couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Hey… how about you guys come back for lunch? I don't have anything going on right now, and besides, you came all of this way! You both must be starving!" Rikiga's eyes lit up as he spoke, already running through a list of places he could take them. Impressing Karan was at the top of his list of priorities, after all.

"A-Ah, that sounds absolutely wonderful, Rikiga-san," Karan smiled as she held on tighter to her box of books. "But I really should head back to the bakery. The customers can't ring themselves out, after all!"

Karan…. Always so thoughtful, Rikiga thought to himself, despite his obvious sulking. He felt like he could cry out of both sadness and utter admiration for the woman before him. "I'll see you at home?" Karan questioned, her gaze directing back over to Shion.

"Oh… yes! Please be safe getting back, okay? You don't have to carry that box if it's heavy, mom, I can just make another tri—"

"No, don't be silly! I'm a strong woman, I can handle it!" Karan beamed, winking at her son before hoisting the box up in her arms. She took a step backwards, preparing herself for the long journey home. "I hope you two men have a magnificent lunch! It was great to see you, Rikiga-san."

Rikiga said his farewell to Karan through teary eyes, wanting more than anything to chase her down and confess his feelings to her once again. He decided to fight the urge, however, and just look back at her son. It had been so long since Rikiga had spent any time with Shion… and he looked so much different now. Older… more mature. It was strange to the older man, yet, in a way, heartwarming. "Alright! Follow me, Shion!"

Despite the smile that presented itself on Shion's lips, he couldn't help but follow after Rikiga with a heavy heart, the box full of Nezumi's last few books weighing him down with each and every step.

Instead of getting whatever delicacies could be found in West Block's marketplace, Shion and Rikiga settled for takeout. Soba noodles were picked up with chopsticks and then dipped into a flavorful sauce before being devoured completely, a minor slurp here and there resounding from the white-haired boy as he continued to munch.

Despite the obvious comfort Shion felt in Rikiga's presence even after all of this time, the older man couldn't help but stare at the albino with concern. His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked away from Shion's contented face, only to trail down and over to the box that had been left by the front door of his home.

What did those boxes contain, anyway? They had to have been important for not only Shion to return to West Block to retrieve them, but for Karan to accompany him as well. He squinted his eyes a bit as he attempted to get a better look, the noodles resting in his chopsticks growing colder by the second.

In truth, Rikiga had a feeling that Shion's arrival in West Block was somehow related to Nezumi… but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to believe it. Perhaps his age was to blame, or the fact that he didn't have any children of his own… but ever since meeting Shion over three years ago, there was always this underlying need to protect him from all harm. Maybe he felt he owed it to Karan, or maybe he saw bits and pieces of himself in Shion… but whatever it was, Rikiga could not bring himself to cope with what those boxes represented, and that innocent face that continued to mask so much despair.

It had been three years since Nezumi walked away, disappearing off into the horizon with what seemed like no intention of ever coming back. And despite Shion believing with all of his heart that Nezumi would return according to some promise, Rikiga wasn't that optimistic.

Breaking away from his thoughts, Rikiga's fists clenched around his white chopsticks and his eyes drifted back over to Shion.

"Shion, I forgot to ask you before, but… why are you here?"

"Hmm?" Shion said after swallowing bits of noodle, his eyes bright and filled with uncertainty. "Because you invited me here for lunch…?"

"No, no… I mean, why are you in West Block?"

"Oh... well, I had to pick up a few things."

"A few things? For what, the Reconstruction Committee?"

"…Um, No…" Shion didn't really like where this was going. His eyes dropped down to his food, chopsticks fiddling around with a lone soba noodle. "…Just… personal things, I guess. From the underground home."

Rikiga's face grew entirely too serious in a matter of seconds. "Shion…" Rikiga began, trying desperately to keep himself calm and composed despite his obvious frustration. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You've come back before to gather his things, right? What makes you think Eve's going to come back?"

Shion bit the inside of his cheek before speaking. He then placed his eating utensils down onto the plate, and looked at Rikiga through determined eyes. "Because he promised. And Nezumi wouldn't break a promise."

"Ahhhh, Shion," Rikiga said through a heavy sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck as he suddenly broke eye contact. He could still feel Shion's intense stare, although he wasn't very threatened by it.

"I don't think he's coming back. It's been three years, Shion… he hasn't written, or tried to get in touch with anyone here, including you. I just…—" how the hell was he supposed to say this without making the poor boy cry? Was it better to be this brutally honest with Shion if it meant he would move on with his life that much sooner? What if Shion waited his entire life for a call, or for a letter that never arrived? How could Rikiga, who only wished Shion all of the happiness in the world, live on knowing that he didn't even bother trying to get through to Shion?

"…I just don't think Eve has any intention of coming back, and why should he? From everything that's happened here, where would he even go? His home is ruined; West Block is a horrible excuse for a city and has only gotten worse through the years. The fact that he's been gone so long just shows that he's probably found someplace better, at least in his own stubborn opinion."

Rikiga removed the napkin that had been strewn across his lap, and placed it carefully on the table. He could feel the trembling boy in front of him trying desperately to hold himself together, which just made this even harder. His voice lowered, and he wrung his hands together. Shion would understand, right? That Rikiga only wanted the best for him?

"I just… think it's time to move on, Shion. I know you care about him, but—"

"He's going to come back, Rikiga," Shion spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. "And even if he doesn't, it's not like I can just…let him go. You can't… you can't just expect me to forget—"

"Of course not!" Rikiga interjected, his eyes finally lifting to meet Shion's crimson stare. He could see those huge, precious eyes becoming more and more glassy, and his heart ached for him. "But you're miserable, Shion. I haven't seen you in months, and I can tell just by looking at you. You're going through the motions, and throwing yourself into your work… and at the rate you're going, you're going to collapse from a heart attack at age 20! Eve wouldn't want you to waste your time on him; you know that just as well as I do." Rikiga took a breath, and studied Shion carefully. "…You wouldn't be letting him down by living out your life, Shion."

Shion didn't know what to say to that. After all, what could he say? Did Rikiga honestly think that Shion never stopped to consider the fact that Nezumi wouldn't return? He had spent so many nights a complete and utter wreck, sobbing into his pillow… he had analyzed every single syllable of that promise, that oath… but to even consider the idea that Nezumi wouldn't return, it filled him with such excruciating heartache.

"I don't expect you to understand, Rikiga," Shion replied quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I can't give up on him. I won't give up on him." 'Not when just the thought of seeing you again is the only thing that's keeping me going.'

There wasn't anything particularly special about No. 3. The skies were just as blue as they were in No. 5 and No. 2, and the people were just as lost in their own little lives as they were any place else. Although, as Nezumi stopped to consider the places he had been in the last three years, he had to admit that he liked this one the least. Why? He honestly wasn't sure.

Perhaps it was because of the way his boss seemed to hate his life, in turn making Nezumi's own life miserable. Or maybe it was the lack of decent food… or, rather, food to his liking. But, at the same time, it didn't take much to appease Nezumi, especially after spending so much of his life taking whatever he could possibly scrounge up or find or afford (which was more along the lines of half moldy bread) when he lived in West Block. But there was something…foul about No. 3. Nezumi just couldn't quite place what it was that was making him hate it so much.

It wasn't the smell… after all, how could a rat possibly call itself a rat if it couldn't adapt to the sewers, or any environment it chose to situate itself in? To be a rat was to survive, by any means necessary. Could it be the lack of music or theater? Maybe that was it; the arts did not have a strong presence there. Politics had much more of a calling in No. 3 than anything else, and Nezumi tried to steer clear of anything regarding bickering old men who spent too much time complaining. He had seen enough of that in No. 6, not to mention the fact that he had already served his time fighting the system. He had played his part in the destruction of one of the biggest city-states in the world, and he had no intention of getting involved in another messy situation.

The raven-haired man continued to contemplate the reasons for the hostile emotions that had been jostling his nerves, all the while leaning over the counter with his chin resting gracefully in the palm of his hand. His bony elbow dug into the soft wood of the countertop as he waited for someone to come over and check out a book, or to pay an obnoxious late fee.

"Nezumi, quit loafing around. Don't you have a job to do? Or did I hire you for absolutely no reason?" Hideki, his young boss grumbled bitterly before disappearing into his office. Nezumi rolled his eyes and, instead of tossing an insult in the general direction of the man slamming the door behind him, he bit his tongue. There was no point in fighting him, especially since Nezumi was in dire need of money. He had only been in No. 3 for a few weeks, and as the winter months began to settle in, the cold began to seep through his leather jacket and chill him to the bone.

And, sadly, warm articles of clothing as well as heavy blankets were rather expensive in No. 3, or anywhere for that matter. And he could barely afford new gloves with the amount of rent he needed to pay at the end of every month.

However, despite the desperate situation Nezumi was in when it came down to money, what really irritated him about his boss was the way he was so careless with the books that stocked the shelves of the small library. It was made clear to Nezumi that Hideki only ran the library because his father had unexpectedly passed away, leaving his first-born son to deal with his problems. And, what was even more obvious was the fact that Hideki held absolutely no regard or respect for the marvels of the written word.

And watching another individual handle something that he personally loved with such a disdain was enough to really piss Nezumi off.

Regardless of Nezumi's inner turmoil when it came to his job, he continued to show up day after day, unloading trucks of donated books from local universities into that small little library. However… it would only be a matter of days before his entire universe was flipped upside down.

Upon the offer of getting paid to work overtime in exchange for unloading an unexpected delivery of books, Nezumi gladly accepted and stayed even after his 10-hour shift had ended. It was a little bit past midnight, but Nezumi was only concentrating on the extra blanket he would finally be able to afford. He had jumped up into the back of the truck after unlatching the door, and his strong arms were already hoisting box upon box of books down onto the grounds behind the library.

And all would've been fine if his boss hasn't come out, offering his help. Nezumi's eyes narrowed as the slender man slipped out the back door, making sure to put the little block of wood underneath the bottom in order to keep the door propped open.

"I've got this," Nezumi called out as he jumped back up into the truck. "You hired me for a reason, right~?So let me take care of it."

"Nonsense, I'd like to go home before sunrise. You'll need an extra set of hands if I want that to happen," Hideki replied as he began to open up the boxes. Literature that was deemed too old and worn down from the nearest university had been donated to the library, and if Hideki wanted these books to be signed out and borrowed by other people tomorrow, then they had hours of unpacking and cataloging cut out for them. And that thought alone was enough to make Hideki feel bitter.

Nezumi rubbed his face in annoyance and tightened his cloak around his neck, avoiding the wind chill that plunged the temperature down below freezing. And suddenly, that aggravated feeling presented itself again, that feeling he just couldn't explain. It came back so swiftly, making him grit his teeth. Why was he acting like this? 'Why the hell am I so miserable here?' he asked himself as he gently lowered another box onto the ground from the truck.

His attention was then directed to the man 'helping' by the back door. In an attempt to save some time, Hideki was sorting out the books, and discarding whichever ones he deemed unworthy of being in his library. The rejected books were then tossed roughly to the ground, thousands of pages of the novels Nezumi cherished being ripped from their bindings, only to be swept away by the wind.

It was only then that he saw a particular set of golden letters flash in his silver eyes, revealing themselves in a string of words that had wrapped around Nezumi's heart in a way that he had avoided with every fiber of his being. Those letters came crashing down onto the cold, snow-covered pavement, along with the rest of the precious novel.

Nezumi was not the biggest fan of The Happy Prince, but as he watched the hardcover snap off and fall face down into the snow, it felt as though all of the patience he had shown his boss and the city of No. 3 snapped along with it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Nezumi shot at his boss as he jumped down from the truck and walked over to the discarded pile. Hideki glared, stopping what he was doing in order to thrust all of his attention to the unruly raven-haired man.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?"

"The asshole that's throwing books around, that's who," Nezumi replied as he crouched down to get a better look at the broken book. The Happy Prince, written by Oscar Wilde. 48 pages. A story he was not all too fond of, one that reminded him of No. 6. One that reminded him of…

Oh. So, that was it.

"You're treading thin ice, kid. Your little comments are getting on my nerves!"

Nezumi picked up the cover of the book, fingers running over the smooth letters of the title. His hand grasped the spine as he attempted to hold it together the best that he could. The Happy Prince. 48 pages. A story that reminded him…

That reminded him of Shion.

I haven't made you very happy, my prince, have I? Nezumi murmured as he stared down at the book. He continued to ignore Hideki's backhanded comments… instead, the world became… silent, for once. And Nezumi finally understood.

All of this aggravation, all of this anger… it was all because he couldn't say it. He couldn't admit it to himself. Not until this very moment, with his knees pushing into the cold wet snow, with his hands gripping a book that Shion's mom had read to him as a child.

Three years. It took him three years to come to this startling, earth shattering realization. And, just like that, he forgot about the extra blanket he required in order to get himself through the cold winter nights. He forgot about the snow that was seeping into his kneecaps as he got up and walked away from his boss, from his job, from everything he hated in No. 3.

And as he continued to walk home, with his head spinning and determination filling up his heart… he knew what he had to do.

It was time for him to come home.

Author's note: Agh, sorry this chapter took so long to post! I really enjoyed writing this one, and hope you guys like how this story is progressing! Please review and let me know what you think? :3