thethirdpath

[thethirdpath]

Just as Shion had changed, he knew that Nezumi had moved on in the months that passed between their goodbyes and their tear-stained reuniting. The raven-haired boy had felt the earth under his own two feet, let himself be carried upon the wind like a petal torn from a flower, beautiful and hypnotizing, but light and free, with no innate ability of its own to spread roots and steady itself. Yes, Nezumi was much like that metaphor, such a beautiful thing with no real want to call any place in particular home.

The rat had surely seen parts of the world that Shion's eyes would never fall upon, had walked through cities and ruins and seen the history of their Earth through his own eyes, felt the rays of sun upon his skin and maybe even dipped his toes in a cold sea. The possibilities were endless, and with a life like that, Shion, thinking of nothing but Nezumi's well being, could understand why such excitement would lead someone to not wanting to return home.

How long would it have been till he looked upon the stormy eyes so close to him now had it not been for the interference of the city's scientists? How had he ever managed to capture Nezumi's heart?

His words and his resolve weakened for a moment, drawn on by guilt over caging such a beautiful thing, bottling the winds and the rain and the typhoon that was Nezumi and keeping him close, all to himself, never letting him see the world. At least, that was his fear, that Shion was entirely too naive, too weak, too childish, too mundane of a boy for Nezumi to ever truly live with. Rather, such a relationship would require the one he had waited for to settle.

The thought was something that made his heart ache.

Shion's small smile dipped at its edges, his bottom lip fell slightly ajar and he again braced his palms against the row of boxes, letting his irises dip towards the corners of his eyes, breaking any eye contact they had shared in that moment. 

Nezumi's blow would land unhindered, the sudden movement not even drawing a reaction from the doe-eyed boy. He instead seemed to be gazing at nothing, lost in thought as his hands were pinned above his head at the wrists. Was living in this city really what was best for the two of them? Shion wanted nothing more than to be together with Nezumi again, and in a way, their situation was an answer to that wish, but it was in no way an answer to Nezumi's.

Was he just being selfish?

Nezumi liked the defiance in Shion’s eyes as he challenged his statement. It was with those words that he realized he had been gone for too long. Shion had moved forward. Had changed. There was a conviction behind his speech and a firmness in his features that was different from before, despite that his tone still resembled a child’s. Shion was a contradiction of being so frail and so powerful at once— a mystery to Nezumi, and he always would be. The fool had said that he wanted to stand as equals besides him, and true to his word, he had pushed himself to come this far.

Standing up abruptly, Nezumi almost knocked the bag of baked goods off the counter as he rounded on Shion the same way he had during their first encounter, his gaze challenging.

“Really? I thought you’d be too busy twiddling your thumbs over paperwork.”

Without warning, Nezumi’s arms shot out to immobilize the other, well aware that Shion’s back was braced not against the wall but against stacks of boxes. Four years before, the boy had not even the mind to resist, merely given him a wide-eyed look of surprise. But now?

[thethirdpath]

Shion: “Waltz” by Mono;zone

[thethirdpath]

[thethirdpath]

He closed his eyes for a moment, the smile still pressed between his thin lips like a lover's whisper. He leaned against a stack of boxes, both palms out flat against the cardboard to support the weight of his body along with his dusty bottom. Shion took a moment to simply breathe, to enjoy the musty smells of old books and listen to the mice chirping as they downed their breakfast. He listened for the sound of Nezumi's own breathing as well, always quick and labored compared to the relaxed chestfalls of the snowy-haired boy. The pace of their breathing was yet another stark difference between the two boys that rooted in their upbringing, one sparked on by a life of security and the other a needed adaptation for a life of alertness and danger.

Yet, the unsteady pace of the other's breaths never failed to calm Shion's nerves, to put his worrysome heart to rest and allow him to sink into sleep on nights where the wind and rain eroded at his nerves. There was a certain calmness that he experienced around Nezumi, and only Nezumi, a tranquility around a boy who brought nothing but the stress of new experiences and conflict and heartache into his life: the eye of a storm. 

He opened his eyes as Nezumi spoke, his bottom lip falling slightly ajar into some form of a pout in response to the other's words. He continued to lean against the books, but angled his small body in a way that was more open to conversation with the other, keeping his palms flat against the boxes to steady himself in the movement.

"You're teasing me like I haven't done something like this before. I didn't just sit around idly waiting for you for all these months. I'm not that scrawny anymore."

And while he spoke in the whining tone of an upset child, there was quite a lot of truth to the smaller boy's words. The past months of rebuilding had been exactly that: rebuilding. They consisted of days of heavy lifting and construction, of moving corpses and returning the united cities to some semblance of peace and normality. Before they could even think of hierarchal duties, basic structural problems needed to be attended to by the Reconstruction Committee, and Shion got dirty with the rest of the citizens. Over the months he had built up cords of lean muscle, worked away the majority of the baby fat that he had harbored while living in Lost Town, and had grown into looking like more of a young man than a boy, although he still carried those eyes of a child.

"If it's sentiment, then it's a true one. Wherever you are, I feel at home."

He let the weight of his own words hang in the air as well, turned to completely face Nezumi as he tended to every time he spoke with such a serious tone. He looked the other in the eyes, in that unknowing yet intense way that intimidated Nezumi so, the way that laid it all bare for him to see. He blushed then, broke the eye contact and instead focused upon looking at his shoes, resting his palms on his flour-stained trousers.

"I mean there's nowhere I'd rather be right now than back in our own world, but at the same time, It hurts too much to leave your side."

“Such eagerness. I hope you’ve put some muscle on those scrawny arms of yours.”

The comment was neither harsh nor mocking, simply another jab at Shion’s privileged upbringing. In fact, he had been impressed by Shion’s dogged determination in the past as the boy took upon himself the task of reorganizing his entire collection of books— not that he’d admit it. Nezumi reached for a cup of coffee, feeling the warmth of the container spread to his fingers.

Home. What they had back in West Block was a roof over their heads, a shelter, a den. Nezumi had never attached such a notion to their living quarters, or so he’d thought, for he couldn’t deny that here he was trying to reconstruct the space they’d shared for however brief a time. Home was a word that existed in Shion’s vocabulary, not his, and yet faced against his shadow, hadn’t he uttered the words I’m back himself and received Shion’s warm welcome in return?

“Still tossing words around so carelessly…you’re as sentimental as always.”

He let the statement hang, the teasing smirk disappearing from his features, replaced by a contemplative expression. Shion’s smile was content and childlike, filled with an eagerness for what awaited them. It reflected a heart that was not clouded by bitterness, no matter what sort of circumstances they had been subjected to.

“Shion. Are you fine with this?”

With being trapped in this city. With living here, unable to carry on the reconstruction project. No matter how idyllic this metropolis seemed on the surface, they were both aware that it was but a facade. And Nezumi couldn’t let go of the bitterness and resentment that stirred within. Yet here Shion was, cradling the famous tragedy in his arms as he smiled so easily at him.

[thethirdpath]

Junjou-yaoi:

２人暮らし２

Pixiv ID: 23105232 Member: あお

[thethirdpath]

Junjou-yaoi:

Pixiv ID: 20243493 Member: ガリコルド三世

[thethirdpath]

[thethirdpath]

Junjou-yaoi:

猫なのにネズミって

Pixiv ID: 26615023 Member: あお

[thethirdpath]

Junjou-yaoi:

２人暮らし２

Pixiv ID: 23105232 Member: あお

[thethirdpath]

[thethirdpath]

He picked his way through the piles of unshelved books and stacked boxes, reveling for a moment as he breathed in the familiarity of the smell of the place, the musty smell of aging pages and stale air. To some it may have been off-putting, but to a boy who had spent the most liberating months of his life living in a rat's den of a basement apartment, it smelled of comfort and safe spaces and home. While the City would never be a place he could truly call home, he felt so much more secure in his situation knowing that both he and Nezumi had a space to retreat to and call their own.

He picked a book up from the top of a pile and cracked it open as he picked his way around to the counter, beamed widely as he saw the titular page, the scrawling font of the author's name, Hamlet. Shion gave a warm sigh and a happy hum at the memories the title dredged up, and he gently closed the book, cradling it in his hand as he tiptoed over the floorboards of their new hide away.

Shion caught Nezumi's gaze for a moment, listened with wide, childish eyes as the taller boy continually scolded him, only to respond with another innocent laugh, an expression of genuine bliss to be in such a situation with the West Block's rat once more. He laced his fingers together over his thighs, twiddled his thumbs a moment, an innate habit driven by the need to keep his fingers moving, before reaching out to scratch one of the mice rather generously under its chin, nodding in acknowledgement as it squeaked out its thanks and returned to its breakfast of muffin crumbs.

"It's a big day, how couldn't I stop to get us breakfast? It's the most important meal of the day, you know! Even the great Nezumi needs to keep his strength up!"

He chose to banter back, though his words reflected no ill meaning, merely a boundless reserve of energy and anticipation for the day, the beginnings of that excitement that always shook Shion to his very core. He was glowing with it, beaming like he had as a little boy.

"Well, it looks like I'll have some shelves to arrange again. It reminds me of home."

The chime of the door bell interrupted the silence as the crisp morning air ushered in a white-haired youth and the smell of freshly baked pastries. Nezumi could hear the boy stumbling and shuffling through the store, no doubt aware of his late arrival. Shion did not know the meaning of subtlety, but despite the lack of grace in his entrance, he seemed to fill the room with a warm presence. Nezumi glanced up from the pages to see the one he awaited, chest heaving, present the contents of his haul on the counter.

Eyebrows raised and frown in place, he fixed the other with a stare, his silence speaking for his exasperation, because really, Shion? While Nezumi made no move to accept the offering, his mice held no such reservations. They stood alert, nose twitching in the air as their tiny paws guided them towards the source of the smell. The tension dissipated quickly and Nezumi let out an exasperated sigh, caught somewhere between impatience and fondness. The boy looked content, standing there with a ridiculous smile and splotches of white staining his clothes. He smirked faintly and shook his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the spearhead of the reconstruction committee. Excuse him, he’s not usually late and covered in flour.”

The airhead was frustrating in that way of his, but Nezumi found that he could not be angry because the gesture was so typically Shion, and he couldn’t fault him for being distracted by the nostalgic lure of baked goods. Setting the book to one side, he selected a muffin and broke off a piece for the rodents who happily nibbled away at their breakfast.

Nezumi then gestured towards the shelves of books that towered around them. “So what does His Majesty think of our new arrangement? A bit cramped and unsuitable for royalty, I realize.” He accentuated the statement with a mock bow, a wry smile forming on his features.

[thethirdpath]

He was never before aware he could run this fast, never knew the exhilarating feeling (something like flying) that came with the slamming of feet upon pavement, of the frantic swinging motion of bent arms to match the flailing of his legs. His lungs burned in the midmorning chill, as the sun had not yet fully risen and melted away the last grips of a biting winter. His breath came out in short, labored puffs of steam and he saw the air cloud and wisp past his eyes, through his hair, ran through it and felt the small mist of his own body heat dance over the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his eyelashes.

Shion was late.

He was late and he knew that. Perhaps it was Nezumi's influence, or just the influence of the many books he had lived with those few months ago, but Shion could not keep himself from thinking back to one in particular, a strange tale about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole. The white rabbit, so caught up in the business of his queen and his punctuality for such, could utter no other words than the surprised "I'm late!" as he closed his stopwatch and hopped off in a haste. Shion was nowhere near as uppity as that rabbit. In fact, if he thought enough about, his beloved rat would much more likely compare himself to the book's protagonist, that doe-eyed girl who stumbled so unfortunately into a world of wonder.

Shion gave a laugh as he ran, continuing to account the similarities in Nezumi's voice to entertain himself as he scrambled. Yes, he could picture it now, Nezumi holding the book, a thumb between the pages and an index finger on the spine, open in his palm, his other hand held above his heart as if speaking a soliloquy, a great oath, as he'd go on comparing 'his Majesty's' fall from grace, his stay in the West Block and his exposure to so many new outlooks upon life to the trials and tribulations that Alice faced in her Adventures in Wonderland. He'd go on to compare Shion to the girl, her foolish tenacity, her childlike naivety. He'd say it with a laugh, maybe run his hands through Shion's hair as if petting a puppy, and continue on. 

There was one more similarity between them, Shion thought as he ducked into an alleyway, still holding his precious cargo to his chest, but not tight enough to damage the contents of the brown paper bag. He continued to sprint, to jump over small obstacles and pivot clumsily around mothers and children. Yes, that one similarity was strikingly obvious: if Shion showed up to their bookstore without a good excuse for his late arrival, much like the red queen in the book, Nezumi would have his head on a platter.

Shion just hoped there was enough of a lapse between now and teatime, and that his queen wasn't all too testy. He stopped at the door, pulled it open and listened to the bell above the frame chime. The mice in the back chirped, sounded a second alarm to the presence of their companion's return. He stumbled in, left his coat in the closet north of the door, and made his way through the stacks of books, the towering shelves.

He paused, a white shadow looming over the boy working the counter, and slid his precious cargo, a paper bag full of pastries and a foam cup full of coffee towards the other as a peace offering. His trousers were stained white with flour, his chest still heaving from the commute, but he smiled, brightly at the other, gripped the cold top of the counter with whitened knuckles, and let go a tired sigh.

"Sorry I'm late. Good morning."

It was a small bookstore situated in a nook of the shopping district, abandoned by its previous owners who had forsaken the stories in favor of entrepreneur pursuits that were not failing in the age of e-books and new media. The dusty shelves adorned with the beginnings of cobwebs were desperately in need of cleaning before the place could be presented to the public, but Nezumi had chosen this particular hovel for reasons other than making a profit.

This small, homely space that smelled of old books felt more his own than the living quarters arranged for him by the scientists. The wooden shelves stacked full of novels were reminiscent of the rat’s nest he had shared with Shion back in West Block. The dark-haired teen moved along the narrow aisles, examining the collection of the bookstore that would become theirs. As he reached the end of a section, his eyes traveled from the titles to the old-fashioned clock on the wall which had just struck five past the hour.

“…he’s late. That airhead better not have gotten lost.”

If the boy didn’t come stumbling in soon with a smile and an apology, Nezumi had half a mind to go out and find him. Surely, Shion would know to avoid the dangerous sectors and shady individuals on his way here. They’d had more than a week to settle in, but that was no reason to lower one’s guard. The encounter with his shadow made for a less than a pleasant welcome to the city, emotionally exhausting - in an uplifting way - as it was. Nezumi had come to terms with the truth he had known all along, that Shion had taken root in his heart where he had no right to be. As for where that left the two of them…

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Nezumi idly selected a book from the shelf. His shadow had spoken for him then, but now…now, he supposed, it was his turn. Settling down, he blew a layer of dust off the old volume and slowly began to leaf through the pages. Although the actor had already committed many of the passages to heart, it was entirely different to feel the paper between his fingers and see the stories come to life before his eyes.

Prior to Shion’s arrival, books were the sole companion that had carried him through the starving nights when he had struggled to get by. It was easy to forget the hunger that constantly gnawed at him, lost as he was in the tragedies and romances and adventures. Now, however, Nezumi felt almost listless as he turned the pages, waiting for the other to arrive.

[thethirdpath]

Why did you join Citta?

Name some habits your character(s) have that you like/dislike.

Are you in anyway like the character(s) you roleplay at Citta?

Who does your character despise the most at Citta currently? 

Who do you POSSIBLY want your character(s) shipped with?

An event you’re hoping that happens someday?

Potatoes or Tomatoes?

[thethirdpath]

✉

Send ✉ for a drunk text.

The requested field of text shall remain empty because Nezumi simply would not allow Shion to consume that large of an amount of alcohol unsupervised. The other knows the dangers of intoxication, has seen how people have used it to take advantage of others first hand. His need to see Shion safe and sound would have prevented him from even letting the doe-eyed boy experiment with alcohol.

And so Shion’s texts would stay sober.

[thethirdpath]

go and throw apples on people

He paused, playing the automated message again, repeated it twice, three times over, before his lips turned south in a frown. This was confusing. What sort of significance would this sort of dare hold for him?

“Uh, I don’t think I will. Thank you for the offer, though.”

[thethirdpath]

The dare had weighed heavily upon Shion's mind since the words had left the speaker of that faceless automaton that delivered such messages on nights like these, nights where his best friend and lover was tucked away in the sheets, sleeping soundly amongst a pile of books and mice and warm feelings, showing clearly the remnants of another late night spent with a reading lamp and a work of Moliere, waking dreams spent in the pages of another world. Shion had smiled, pulled the blanket up higher upon Nezumi's sleeping shoulders and slipped out into the cool morning to clear his head, to decide whether or not this was a path he had really wished to take. 

He was on his way to that little bakery at the edge of the district, the one that smelled of butter rolls and muffins and home, yet lacked the warm smiles and the motherly love that he had come to associate with such smells. It was a good substitute for the old comforts of home, yet the holes in the illusion had left holes in the boy's heart as well. Breakfast was not delivered as he rushed through the doors to the kitchen, off on his way to work. He entered as a customer, not as a son, and it left him aching in a way no outer warmth and sweet pastry could soothe. 

He had stopped, then, feet planted firmly on the curb by a crosswalk, back leaned rather haphazardly against the concrete pole that supported the stoplight, hands shoved into pockets. His mind was fuzzy, full of conflicting stormclouds of thoughts, and in that moment, he had forgotten the lessons he had learned in the west block, the ways to cover his hair and scars and to keep alert and make himself look small so as to not draw attention to himself.

Shion would come to regret that negligence later.

In one quick moment, a dark shadow loomed over him, blocking out the small rays of midmorning light that had lit up his day. Shion blinked, looking up, tearing his focus from his feet, just in time to get his chin caught in the hands of an elder man. How many years this man outranked him by, Shion could not say. His adam's apple twitched. The cloud-haired boy gulped back a wave of nausea and fear, stood still through the touching, steeled himself against fighting back. Not yet. He was not strong enough to take someone like this head on.

And then he spoke.

"W-Wha? Russ-?"

Any attempt for the boy to try to make sense of that last word was wiped away, cleaned away along with every other thought in his mind. His eyes widened, he felt himself try to pull away, but only found himself pushed further against the concrete pole, felt muscular arms wrap around his small frame, press him close. He could only feel the warmth of another body against his, and just as he had in the West Block, could not react, neither negatively or positively, to the sexual touch of another. He was frozen.

At least until the man chomped down upon his lip. He let out a yelp, made an attempt to push the other away, brought a small hand to the bleeding skin and pressed against it, hard. 

The poor thing didn't know he was marked.

♥ no homo ♥

Well, the faceless creature known as an anon had been right. This teen resembled his navigator a little bit, although not enough for the man to mistake this stranger for the prissy princess. Not that he was personally attached to Abel in any way or form nor did that help the other’s case, as Cain could care less if someone was an exact copy of his favorite navigator or not. Besides, the white haired boy seemed appealing enough- and so the fighter approached him with a slight smirk.

“Come here, krasotka.”

Whether the guy listened or not didn’t matter because the presumed elder was already grasping the other’s chin, fingertips biting into the skin as he leaned in to close the waning gap. Brushing his smugly curved mouth against the boy’s, he applied just enough pressure to prevent any possible objections from escaping- teeth gazing across the soft skin underneath them soon after. Within that same moment, the fighter harshly bit down, canines sinking into the push of a plush lower lip until blood beaded out from the pierced flesh.

Oops.

[thethirdpath]

♥ Cain

“W-who?”