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“I never took you for a white dress kind of guy,” Nezumi drawls from where he’s currently lying, legs sprawled gracefully across Shion’s lap with his socked feet half-hanging off the arm of the sofa while Shion flips idly through a wedding magazine a colleague had gushed over earlier in the day.
Shion pinches his big toe. “Who said I’d be the one in the dress?” he replies, trying and failing to repress the grin that paints itself unbidden on his face.
Nezumi, beautiful, complicated, antagonistic man that he is, lowers his book slightly to raise a sculpted eyebrow in a knowing look that clearly tells Shion exactly what he thinks of that suggestion. It’s a look Shion has grown to love over the last three months; it’s two stops short of exasperated and sits right between highly amused and what Shion has nervously taken to calling endeared. (Only in his head of course, never aloud). That look tells Shion that Nezumi is in a good mood despite the full-length rehearsal he’d had earlier in the day ahead of tonight’s opening performance.
Shion has always envied Nezumi’s ability to stay calm under pressure. Nezumi was due on stage, in the leading role no less, in just under 5 hours time. The city mayor was due to be in attendance, in a funding bid orchestrated by one of Nezumi’s theatre colleagues. Reese or Ryan or something, Shion wasn’t entirely sure; every time he tried to say hello in the corridor so far while waiting for Nezumi to appear after the play’s close, Nezumi would magic himself up from one doorway or another, grab Shion by the wrist and steer him sharply away while muttering about annoying chatterboxes.
It made Shion feel oddly fuzzy inside and he had to bite his lip to keep the joyful squeal from surfacing every time Nezumi’s little display of jealously unfurled. The first and only time Shion had accidentally let out a little puff of laughter at being forcibly dragged past a bewildered Reese/Ryan, Nezumi had snapped at him to stop being such an airhead but Shion hadn’t failed to notice the tinge of pink that had dusted his cheeks, visible beneath the rogue and layers of stage makeup.
And if Shion occasionally made sure to wait for Nezumi within eyesight of his theatre colleague, who was to know.
Shion feels a gentle thump as Nezumi taps his book - The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland, Shion has half a mind to notice - against his head. “Oi,” Nezumi begins, “stop thinking so loudly; it’s distracting. Alice has just met the queen and it’s about to get juicy.”
Shion finds himself reaching up and nestling his fingers between Nezumi’s purely on impulse; it’s difficult because Nezumi seems loathe to release his grip on the lower spine of the book but eventually he gets the picture and, with a roll of his eyes, transfers Alice to his free hand hanging off the side of the couch.
Shion looks down at Nezumi’s hand, tracing his thumb over the intricate whirls of body paint he’d applied earlier today in preparation for the evening performance as a tattooed gunslinger. “I don’t know; I’ve always through a Spring wedding would be nice,” he begins before trailing off softly.
“I wasn’t aware you were a closet cross-dresser,” is what Nezumi wants to say to break the silence, eyes casting over the double page feature of lace gowns in Shion’s lap. Instead, he takes in Shion’s rounded shoulders and downcast gaze and steels himself for a question that must be on the tip of Shion’s tongue.
Shion probably thinks he’s being subtle but over the last few weeks, Nezumi has gotten to know his little airhead fairly well. An involuntary scrunch of his nose means Shion’s displeased by something and isn’t sure how to voice his discomfort without causing offence. Nezumi hasn’t seen that look too often; it mostly appears when Karen’s bakery gets the occasional rude customer and Shion has the misfortune to be out front on the till. His nose-scrunch - which Nezumi refuses to call adorable, thank you very much - is most times followed by his diplomatic smile, the one that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes but still somehow conveys ‘I’m pleased to be here and your rudeness doesn’t upset me in the slightest’.
But the look Shion has now could only be described as skittish, his hands still tracing the outskirts of the inky patterns across Nezumi’s knuckles.
Just as Nezumi begins to seriously reconsider Shion’s cross-dressing as a viable option, the other man stills.
“I think Mum always wanted me to get married eventually. Before everything happened,” he tacks on.
Nezumi swallows down the impulse to say something snarky in reply (“Sorry I don’t have boobs and the state won’t recognise our joyful union” springs to mind) and instead shuffles upright, the better to see Shion’s face. If they’re about to have this conversation, Nezumi doesn’t want to get any wires crossed.
But before Nezumi can so much as open his mouth, Shion visibly back peddles, shaking his head slightly and letting his fringe fall over his eyes; Nezumi recognises it as a nervous habit and mentally reaffirms he needs to start either marching Shion to the hairdressers once a month or learn himself how to cut hair himself without decapitating the recipient. It would make his life much quieter, he absently thinks, but in many ways the apartment would feel too empty without the usual steam of constant chatter that fills it.
“Ok, your majesty,” Nezumi starts slowly, “so we’ll have a Spring wedding. All the better to keep me on Karen’s good side.”
Shion’s head snaps round so fast, Nezumi isn’t sure how it doesn’t snap off. Shion gapes at him, mouth round like a fish as he struggles to form words.
Nezumi would be amused if he weren’t so concerned.
Those damned fingers start to entwine with his, this time with more determination.
Interlaced, Nezumi wonders if it’s too late to bolt.
“Can we?” Shion asks and Nezumi isn’t sure what he’s asking at first. “Get married, I mean?”
Nezumi snorts. “Not if that’s how you’re going to propose. I’m a man with refined tastes, you know. I could have any man or woman within a 10 mile radius and I bet they’d have the good grace to at least take me to dinner before asking.”
“Let’s go to dinner then!”
Nezumi looks at Shion for a full-beat, Shion’s eyes gleaming with excitement. It’s contagious and Nezumi tries to quash the fluttery feeling that’s beginning to take up residence in his chest every time Shion turns that look on him.
“Not to crash your wedding plans but I have a show in,” he looks at his watch, a gift from Shion for his birthday. (Nevermind that it had actually been Shion’s birthday but the man was damned persistent when he wanted to be and had all but shouted that Nezumi needed to have a birthday so why not share his?). “In less than four hours,” he finishes.
“Tomorrow then,” Shion retorts and the hundred kilowatt smile he flashes shouldn’t be legal.
Nezumi wasn’t sure what sort of day today would be when he’d first woke up (he’d expected a little anxiousness - even leading men get nervous from time to time), but setting a wedding date was definitely not on his agenda.
After a moment, Nezumi brings their entwined hands up to his lips, curling his fingers underneath before pressing a soft kiss to Shion’s knuckles. Shion’s cheeks darken at the action but the smile doesn’t leave his face. Nezumi looks at Shion and sees, not for the first time, a friend, lover and confidant.
“Tomorrow,” he agrees.