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Shion was shrouded in darkness. Books aplenty piled high around him. Some were filled with poems and others were long, slow-building stories of knights and damsels in distress. What started off as just one or two had piled up and become twenty or thirty. Piled together, the books blocked the faint light of the lantern sitting just an arms reach away. Such darkness would have bothered Shion once upon a time but now the boy was used to the dark. His eyes had adjusted quite a bit since his move to West Block and no longer ached from the strain.
Cheep. Cheep.
Amber eyes fell down to where Cravat sat on Shion’s bended knee. The mouse was standing on his hind legs and rubbing his tiny paws together. His grape colored eyes blinked up at Shion patiently.
“Let me guess?” he asked. “You want a tragedy, right?”
More chirping was his answer.
A fond laugh bubbled from Shion’s lips and he looked past the stack of books surrounding him like great Roman pillars. His eyes fell onto a small stack of Shakespearean plays. He had read them all to the little mouse already but that was nothing to worry about. Cravat never tired of the tales. Honestly, Shion doubted he ever would as well.
Clearing his throat, Shion grabbed Hamlet off the top of the stack. A bookmark was in place between the yellowed pages and Shion flipped to the page it marked.
Lay her i' th' earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be
When, thou liest howling.
Shion thought over Laertes’ words as he read them. He envisioned himself standing by Ophelia’s violet dusted grave. The petals blowing in the wind and Ophelia standing nearby, heavenly wings spread wide across her back.
He smiled.
It was a lovely image.
“Shion?”
The boy in question snapped out of his thoughts and shut the worn book resting between his palms. Cravat squeaked in disappointment and scurried from his knee.
A soft apology left Shion’s lips and he then stood and made his way out of his pile of books.
Nezumi stood in the doorway. His cheeks were tinged pink most likely from the cold and weariness hugged his shoulders.
“Welcome back!” Shion greeted with a smile. “How was work?” He looked Nezumi’s tired form over again. “Long day?”
Nezumi huffed in answer and kicked off his coat and boots. Free from the clothing, he staggered over to his and Shion’s bed, collapsing onto the squeaking mattress. He rolled onto his side, facing away from the door and Shion altogether.
Shion shared a look with Cravat and the two other mice. The little creatures had now joined together on the spine of a book with Faust written in curling silver letters. It sat on the nightstand next to the bed, giving the mice a perfect view of Nezumi’s turned away face.
A chirp sounded from each of them and Nezumi tsked, no doubt staring daggers at their small bodies.
Knowing something was wrong, Shion stepped forward and took a seat on the bed. Nezumi stiffened and only more so as Shion’s finger’s brushed lightly at his long, black hair.
“Shion—”
“You’re warm,” Shion realized. He bent forward, pressing his forehead to Nezumi’s. It was a familiar gesture, one he had done years ago when a bleeding VC broke into his room back in No. 6. “Nezumi, you’re sick!”
Nezumi only huffed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said and he tried to curl away from Shion’s touch.
Confusion tugged at Shion’s brain and he reached out, squeezing Nezumi’s arm. He opened his mouth as he did, words slipping from his lips only to be quickly waved away.
“I’ve told you, haven’t I?” Nezumi turned his feverish gaze on Shion’s face finally. “That stupid heart of yours is going to get you killed.” He poked weakly at Shion’s chest. “Look after yourself.”
It was always like this with Nezumi. He has scolded Shion plenty of times but the one thing he has scolded him the most for is his heart. He did so the day Shion first met Karen and Rico and offered to read to them without payment. He did it again too when he grew upset over the foul words Rikiga had directed Nezumi’s way. And Nezumi has done it a hundred times more whenever Shion tried to get to know him or even simply help him.
This time was just the same but Shion was wiser now. He knew how to work his way between the cracks.
“I’ll make you some Macbeth soup,” Shion offered after a beat. “Sound okay?”
A sigh left Nezumi’s lips and he rolled over so he was settled on his back. “Okay,” he agreed with little fight. “Just don’t cry to me when you catch this damn thing too.”
Shion smiled and ran a hand through Nezumi’s hair again. “I won’t,” he promised and he got up from the bed to get the soup started. The mice scurried after, chirping to him and one another.
Since the first few times he had been taught, Shion had found that he had grown pretty skillful in cooking Nezumi’s favorite soup. Macbeth soup was and wasn’t like regular soup. It had carrots, meat and broth just like any old soup would. What it had that other soups didn’t; however, was the fun— the endearing, joyful fun that came with mixing each ingredient.
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.
Nezumi chuckled as Shion spoke the words. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before he too joined the fun.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Smiles spread throughout the room and with a final taste, Shion deemed their dinner ready. He scooped a spoonful for Nezumi and handed it over before taking some for himself and the mice to share.
Nezumi closed his eyes and hummed. “It’s good,” he said and took another sip.
Pride swelled in Shion’s chest and he took a sip himself. He hummed as the warm liquid washed down his throat and slurped up another spoonful to chase the first down. He watched Nezumi in the corner of his eye as he did, watching for any sign of Nezumi’s ailment worsening.
They had to be careful with this. For the past couple weeks, an epidemic had swept through West Block. Nezumi had reassured that it was a natural— even yearly thing. He had told Shion that once or twice a year, a deadly virus sent its victims spiraling into a crippling fever that left them dehydrated and incredibly weak. Without the proper care and antibiotics, most died and sent West Block’s population numbers tumbling.
Shion harshly chomped a spoonful of veggies in his mouth.
Nezumi wasn’t going to be one of those people. Not on his watch.
A cough rattled wetly from Nezumi’s lips. He folded forward, his shoulders shaking from the force of it. “Sorry,” he choked out when it came to a stop. “Swallowed wrong.” Wiping his mouth, Nezumi stood from his place on the bed. He stepped forward to steal another spoonful of the soup for himself when—
Crash!
“Nezumi!”
Panic rushed through Shion's veins. He leaped from his seat, spilling his meal onto the floor.
Nezumi struggled against the carpet, limbs shaking from the effort to pick himself up. By the time Shion finally reached him, Nezumi was exhausted and panting into the cool floor.
“Damn,” Nezumi swore and he leaned heavily into Shion as the boy helped him to sit up. “Why’s it so cold?”
“It’s not,” Shion whispered and he ran a hand through Nezumi’s sweat-drenched hair. “You're burning up.”
Nezumi hummed softly against Shion’s neck, his eyelids fluttering as he grew wearier.
If he were alone, Nezumi would probably have died right there on the floor. His body would have rotted away into that of a skeleton and become littered with a thick layer of dust like the collections of books that towered throughout the small home.
Shion carefully eased Nezumi into his arms and carried him to the bed.
Fortunately, Nezumi wasn't alone.
A cool forehead pressed against a warmer one. “Stay with me,” Shion whispered. “Stay with me, Nezumi.”
Shion dabbed lightly at Nezumi’s brow with a cool cloth. They had eaten and got ready for bed what felt like forever ago but none of them had fallen to sleep. Instead, they were both up, Nezumi trapped in a fevered dream and Shion forced to stay up and act as his nurse.
“Angel,” Nezumi panted as he stared blurrily up at Shion’s face. “Angel.” His finger reached upward and brushed lightly at the tips of Shion’s white hair. “You’re...angel.”
A chuckle rumbled in Shion’s chest. “If only you could hear yourself,” he mused and he reached out, taking Nezumi’s fingers in hand. “Bet this would make you blush.”
One of the mice chirped and Shion chuckled as all three of them turned to look at the book Shion had discarded hours ago. The yellow pages had flipped to where Shion had left the bookmark and he smiled as he remembered the lines he had read.
“A ministering angel, huh?” He smirked and squeezed Nezumi’s fingers lightly in his hold. “Yeah, I guess that can be my role today.” he settled down on the bed then, curling into Nezumi’s side. “It’s okay,” he whispered against the overheated skin. “I’ve got you.”
Nezumi’s eyes fell shut with Shion’s words. His face relaxed as he drifted off, peace evident on his face.
Shion watched him silently, nostalgia easing itself back into his heart. He kissed the hand still in his. Worry was playing at his heart but he refused to let it eat him up. The spreading illness was terrifying but Shion forced himself to remain calm. He and Nezumi had been through a lot and survived things others couldn’t. They had goals yet, futures to strive for. No little illness was going to take that away.
Shion closed his eyes, feeling himself too starting to drift away.
That night, Shion dreamed of violets and a beautiful angel who watched over him and Nezumi as they slept the night away. Nezumi’s fever broke in the middle of the night and Shion breathed a silent thank you to the ministering angel he was sure had really come.