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It's Shion who spots them, on the way home from their first visit to Inukashi and Shion's younger namesake since they've arrived back in No.6.
"Oh," he says, letting go of Nezumi's hand to crouch down. "Nezumi, look."
He points at the clotted mess of grass, moss and leaves that comprises the mouse nest, and the tiny bodies noisily wiggling within it.
"They're so small," breathes Shion. Nezumi places his hand on Shion's back, high between his shoulder blades, and leans over to inspect.
"Too small," remarks Nezumi. He makes no further comment when Shion looks to him in askance.
"Where's their mother," Shion wonders, after they listen to the cacophony of squeaking for a few moments.
"Probably dead," says Nezumi, offhandedly. He pats Shion's back and stands. "That's nature."
"But they're little, Nezumi. And they're still—"
"Won't last the day," Nezumi tells him. There's warning creeping into his tone, but his expression is uncomfortable. "Come on, let's leave them be."
"But can't we—"
"Shion, if that sentence is going where I think it's going—"
"I'll take care of them," vows Shion. Nezumi sighs, gazing heavenwards in silent supplication. "I will, Nezumi! I can't just leave them here to die horribly!"
"You are the worst ecologist," Nezumi states. "Just leave them in their ecology and be rapt with the knowledge that you bore witness to the cruel indifference of nature or some shit."
Shion remains crouched, gazing resolutely at the squirming babies. "At least they can be somewhere safe and warm for a bit."
"It's summer."
"Somewhere safe and warmer, then," Shion amends. He extends a hand towards the mice, delicately touching one of the fuzzy bodies with a finger. The nest erupts in sound and motion. "Look, they want to live, Nezumi."
Nezumi begins to say something derogatory, but Shion is already ignoring him, trying to come up with the best way to transport the litter. He determines that an inner pocket of his faithful shoulder bag is probably safe for small rodents, and finds a half-used tissue to stuff inside it, for bedding.
"Shion," says Nezumi, heaving another immense sigh as Shion endeavours to pluck up the pups and deposit them in their temporary home, amid much rodentine consternation. "Look at you. Look at this. Why do you make these choices."
"Pay him no mind," Shion instructs his living cargo, carefully lifting the bag and rising to his feet. "I saved him, too, so he has no room to talk."
"I wasn't an enfeebled blind newborn," Nezumi points out, striding out a few steps ahead of Shion's slowed pace. "And my chances of survival were a lot better, you should know."
"I want to try."
"Of course you do," mutters Nezumi.
"Try not to get attached," Nezumi warns, sitting on the kitchen counter and warily observing make-do nest, which is actually an emptied out Kleenex box that Shion has stuffed with ripped up tissue paper. Shion is on his laptop, tabbing through endless online articles on the proper care and feeding of young mice. "When they're that young, they can die for no reason at all."
Nezumi doesn't think he has to mention that these babies have every reason to die right now, from cold or hunger or shock. Their wiggling and squeaking has grown less frequent.
"I'm going out to get supplies," Shion says, giving Nezumi a look that's more than a little defiant. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
"Shall I call our landlady and tell her you're breaching the no pets part of our rental agreement," Nezumi calls after him, though the front door clicks shut halfway through his sentence. He turns his gaze back to Shion's foundlings.
"Congratulations," he tells them, "you've picked the biggest suck in the universe to rely on."
Shion comes back an hour later, laden down with more things than he can properly carry, looking a little frantic.
"They probably need to be fed," he mutters to himself, ignoring Nezumi completely as he began to set up a tank and god only knew what else on the kitchen table. "Or will that stress them more? Where's my laptop—"
"Just feed them," Nezumi interrupts, pulling up a chair and seating himself backwards, letting his chin rest against it. "Feeding reduces stress for pretty much all animals."
"I thought you weren't helping," sniffs Shion. Nezumi only raises one eyebrow in silent incredulity at this bit of sass. Shion fusses with the placement of the heating pad underneath the tank for a few seconds before sighing and looking up. "Sorry. If you have any advice, I'd love for you to share it."
"My advice?" Shion's face opens up expectantly. "This is a bad idea and will only end in tears."
"Nezumi, that's enough," Shion replies. He's speaking in a tone Nezumi hears rarely, and even more rarely directed at himself. The message is very clear.
Nezumi retires to the bedroom to read for the duration of the evening. Shion comes to bed after midnight, rather pointlessly, as he's up every two hours after that, jostling Nezumi out of his sleep every time he stumbles out of bed.
At four-thirty-three, Shion accidentally digs the heel of his hand into Nezumi's ribcage as he crawls out of bed.
"Fuck!" Nezumi erupts, full of an energy he really doesn't want to have, with less than two hours of uninterrupted sleep and less time than that until the sun rises. "Fuck," he exclaims again, when Shion's sleepy countenance does nothing to indicate that he's received the message.
"Sorry," Shion slurs, "I need to feed them every two hours, and I'm still adjusting the formula—"
"Shion," says Nezumi, low and threatening. "Stay the fuck where you are."
He hauls himself out of bed, storming towards the kitchen and leaving Shion to dazedly settle back underneath the sheets.
The mice are indeed bloated, their bellies round and hard.
"That airhead," Nezumi mutters, and reaches for the bottle of electrolyte solution.
At half past ten, Nezumi knows Shion is awake from the panicked gasp that comes from their bedroom, the pounding of footsteps, and Shion's self-flagellating stream-of-consciousness.
"Two are gone," says Nezumi, when Shion explodes into the kitchen. "Probably not your fault, even with your shitty formula mixing."
"What," Shion answers, a bit stupid from the sleep deprivation and burst of adrenaline. "Nezumi, you didn't wake me."
"You were doing it wrong," growls Nezumi, "and I didn't want to have to explain to you how your well-meaning but ultimately crap care resulted in – what."
Shion's expression is the very picture of wholehearted adoration. It makes something in Nezumi's gut twist; probably an ulcer.
In any case, Shion doesn't try to kiss or hug or fawn over him, instead opting to plug in the coffee maker, which is about a thousand times better. "Tell me what I was doing wrong, then. We can maybe take shifts, if you're willing."
Nezumi snorts at that, but somehow he ends up talking mouse care over coffee and brunch, and in the afternoon, consents to give his sleeve for Shion to snivel over, when they hold a burial service in Shion's favourite park for the two deceased pups.
The timing of the whole rodentine affair is nothing short of fortuitous, according to Shion. According to Nezumi, Shion's definition of 'fortuitous' is nothing short of inaccurate.
"I'm glad we have time to do this," says Shion, one afternoon as he handfeeds the two slow-to-wean stragglers who are refusing to pick up the advanced art of eating formula off a soggy piece of bread. "I don't know what we'd have done if either of us were working right now."
"Not violated our rental agreement, probably."
"Go back to sulking over a book if you're going to be like that," remarks Shion. "Anyways, you said they'd be able to fend for themselves within the month, so we'll set them loose and –"
"We'll what," interrupts Nezumi. "I said 'fend for themselves', not 'magically become wild undomesticated mice.'"
"They are wild mice, Nezumi," disagrees Shion. At Nezumi's look, his expression softens into puzzlement. "Or I guess they were. They're probably tame now, aren't they."
Nezumi sticks his hand into the small tank that houses the other seven surviving pups. They scurry up to it in a furry, wobbling swarm, sniffing and clambering all over it. It's the best performance of fearlessness that Nezumi could have asked for.
"This is not wild mouse behaviour."
Shion winces. "So then we can't set them free in a park?"
"And here I thought you wanted to keep them," Nezumi grins. Shion's wince morphs into a full-body sigh. He puts the pup squirming in his hand back into the tank.
"Your mice always took care of themselves," Shion says, meaning Cravat, Tsukiyo and Hamlet. "Couldn't these?"
"Mine were smart. Jury's out on this bunch."
"Darn, and I forgot to pick up that mouse IQ test on the way home the other day," groans Shion. Nezumi shoots him an amused look. "When does above-average intelligence kick in, anyways?"
"You're the sciency one. Do a study."
"I can't, I don't have a control group."
"You've thought about it," Nezumi laughs. Shion rolls his eyes. "Okay, we could stop babying them—"
"We're not babying them, we're caring for them."
"You croon at them," Nezumi grimaces, "and probably worse when I'm not around to put a stop to it."
Shion's expression is all reserve and innocence. "Believe what you like, Nezumi."
It sounds like a challenge. Nezumi abruptly stands, picking up the tank in one hand and a handful of non-soggy bread in the other. He jostles the babies as he traipses over to the living room, Shion and about a thousand questions per second trailing him.
He dumps the tank onto its side in the middle of the room, to furious sniffing (the mice), a hand at his elbow (Shion) and uncertain squeaks (both). The bread he scatters about everywhere, making a mental note to refuse responsibility for vacuuming on the grounds that he had to conduct science.
"Be free, you little wallhuggers," Nezumi tells the bewildered pups. He turns to Shion. "Behold my IQ test in action."
"They won't know what to do," worries Shion, following Nezumi back into the kitchen and only having to be steered away from the mice once. "What if they get hungry? Or cold?"
"Put on your shoes, I'll take you out for dinner."
"But—"
"The children will probably survive," drawls Nezumi. "Worst case scenario, we'll find them all in huddled in a corner."
Huddled next to the tank is exactly where they find them, but it's a productive sort of huddle, given the dent they've made in the soggy bread stockpile remaining in the tank and the mysterious disappearance of most of the scattered bread pieces. The two stragglers look up to Shion curiously as he kneels before the mousepile, but otherwise don't clamor for food.
Shion looks to Nezumi in surprised pleasure.
"Don't give me that," Nezumi snorts. "I know my mice."
"You're a real Renaissance man," Shion agrees, rising to kiss him on the cheek, heedless of the long-suffering frown that intends to deter him.
The mice take to their newfound freedom with zeal, and Shion is so delighted he wears a jacket with deep pockets and announces that he's transporting them to his mother's bakery for a morning out.
"Are you taking them on a field trip," Nezumi groans.
"No!" Shion's tone is belligerent. The mice are trying to perch on Shion's shoulders all at once, but factors such as the clumsiness of youth and Shion's limited shoulder space are making that difficult. Instead it's like a rotating display of rodents parading and leaping halfway down Shion's upper arm and then back up again. "I'm just showing them the way. They should be able to take messages and things, right? Do you want to come? My mom's making brunch."
"Yeah," says Nezumi, grudgingly.
Not even Karan's eggs benedict and perpetually enthusiasm at seeing Nezumi, however, can quite mask the sense of being outnumbered that Nezumi feels encroaching upon him. The two stragglers find homes in Karan's apron pocket and refuse to leave, closing their eyes in pleasure whenever Karan strokes their piebald fur.
"You know, Mom," Shion begins, sneaking a look at Nezumi and looking away when Nezumi refuses to change his intolerant expression, "those two really seem to like you. If you wanted to keep them…"
It's not a subtle sales pitch even by Shion standards, but Nezumi can't get exasperated about it when he agrees with the end goal. Nine mice in the flat are nine mice too many. So is seven, Nezumi thinks, but at least they'd be free of the straggler duo and their habit of dozing in Shion's hair, which Nezumi personally finds unforgivable.
"Oh, I couldn't," Karan smiles. She clearly can, though. Nezumi can tell by the unfair distribution of mouse-intended cookie crumbs. "But of course I'll feed them if they should find themselves visiting!"
Mice don't 'visit', Nezumi wants to say, they come to take advantage of the fact that you feed them and pet them and gradually turn them into fat, stupid pets.
Not that he blames them.
Nezumi keeps coming home to fewer and fewer mice; it turns out Shion is highly effective at rehoming. Of the nine pups who survived Shion's dubious maternal care, only four remain: the two who're in ownership limbo until Karan gives up the ghost and just takes them already, and another pair with temperaments, Shion claims, that make them difficult to adopt out.
They are also, mysteriously enough, the only mice in the litter with grey fur.
Nezumi calls bullshit.
"Don't be silly," says Shion, looking guilty. Suddenly making the bed becomes a task requiring his utmost concentration. "I'm not trying to keep them."
"No?"
"No," agrees Shion. The two mice in question are peeking out from the cuffs of Shion's longsleeve t-shirt. "That wouldn't be responsible of us. We can't even have pets here. Maybe Inukashi's Shion would like them!"
"I wouldn't wish any rodent behind those enemy lines," Nezumi snorts. "You want to keep them. Just be honest about it."
Shion smoothens down the coverlet. The mice take that as their cue to bound across it, off it, and out of the bedroom, cheerfully chirping as they go.
"Shion," Nezumi sighs, dragging a hand through his hair when Shion doesn't answer or look up. "The timing isn't great. You know that."
"Yeah."
"We don't even know if we'll be living in No.6, let alone a pet-friendly place, in another couple months," Nezumi tells him, unnecessarily. "Which—"
"We should talk about that," says Shion, looking up. He sits down heavily on the just-made bed, destroying his careful work from moments earlier, and then flops down on his back. Nezumi realizes then, from the way the collar is too-wide around his collarbones, that Shion's long-sleeved shirt is actually his own.
He feels set up. "Stop wearing my clothing. It's not as attractive as you think it is."
"That's fine," murmurs Shion. "I'm not trying to be attractive right now."
Nezumi strides up to the bed and stares down at Shion. Shion stares right back at him. "What are you trying to be right now, then."
"Talky?" Shion suggests. Nezumi spreads his hand out over Shion's left knee, digging his thumb and middle finger into the ticklish spot just above it. Shion yelps in a rewardingly loud fashion. "Ohmygod don't do that, Nezumi—"
"Don't lie to me about the mice," says Nezumi. Shion smiles, ruefully. "You've fallen right into their trap, airhead."
"Are you surprised," Shion grins. He sits halfway back up to grab Nezumi's wrist and pull him onto the bed, which Nezumi allows by reasoning that if he can't intimidate Shion by looming over him, he may as well get comfortable. "Mice have a way of—"
"Stop now, your metaphor is paper thin," interrupts Nezumi, pained. He lets Shion negotiate them into a cuddle. The mice have found the crackers Shion left out yesterday evening, Nezumi realizes, if the crunching sounds from outside the bedroom are any indication.
"What are we even doing, Nezumi," asks Shion. Nezumi tilts his head to regard him.
"In the philosophical sense or generally or what?"
"In No.6 again," Shion clarifies. "Do you want to—"
"I—" Nezumi begins, fortunately catching himself before a horrible sentence like 'I'm happy wherever you are' comes out. He sighs, watching Shion's hand on his chest move with it. "I'm not picky."
"Yes, you are," corrects Shion, lasting about two seconds before dissolving into giggles that he muffles against Nezumi's upper arm. "Sorry, it's just you really are about everything and—"
"Good to know you don't use your advanced knowledge of me for evil purposes."
"Only for buying you birthday presents."
"That counts as evil."
"I got an offer to teach," Shion says. Nezumi looks at him. "At No.5's university. I mean I don't know if that's something I want to do long-term but—"
"Yeah, I read your offer letter when it came last week."
Shion gives Nezumi's arm an affectionate squeeze. "Of course you did."
"Well. If you can keep me in the lifestyle to which I have grown accustomed, then why not."
"There's a really active arts scene, too."
"So your internet search history would indicate."
"Nezumi!"
"What," Nezumi defends. "I typed 'a' for 'artichoke dip' because I wanted to make some fucking artichoke dip and I got this slew of autofilled—"
"You like artichoke dip?" Shion asks, apparently mollified.
"Yeah, the stuff with that cheese, whatsitcalled, in it. They had it in that pub near our flat in No.2."
"I'll get you some for your birthday."
"Evil," concludes Nezumi. Shion just smiles a toothy smile. "So we'll be out of here by the end of the summer, then."
"Okay," says Shion. His stomach chooses that moment to growl, reminding Nezumi that neither of them have had breakfast yet. "Did you ever make that dip?"
"No," he huffs, sliding a hand behind Shion's back and leveraging him into a sitting position. "Go save the crackers from your mice."
"Oh, the mice," Shion remembers, rising to his feet and walking his fingers along Nezumi's chest until Nezumi consents to stand as well. "I'd still – like to keep them."
"Would any mice do or are you attached to these," Nezumi asks. He hopes Shion won't attempt a metaphor again; Shion's lips quirk but he wisely refrains.
"These," says Shion. "Since they're from here."
"Xenophobia isn't a good look on you, Shion," he lectures.
"They're probably—" Shion pauses, whether to concentrate on wrapping his arms around Nezumi's waist or on his next words, Nezumi doesn't care to speculate. Shion's shampoo makes his hair smell like peppermint. "Your mice were descendants of ones originating from the Mao—"
"Seriously, you're doing this?"
"—Forest, and these ones are smart, too, so they probably are as well," Shion continues, doggedly. "I think it's important for you that—"
Nezumi lets out a loud sound that is half 'argh' and half 'fuck'.
"—you can take a bit of your heritage with you wherever you go," he finishes. He hasn't acknowledged Nezumi's interruptions in the slightest. "Also I've named them so—"
"And here I thought your madness had a natural end point."
"Can you guess?" Shion pulls his head away from its natural position, which is to provide a forehead rest for Nezumi's cheek, and smiles. "Their names."
"I care more about the fact that they're going to town on our cracker supply right now."
"You're really concerned about the crackers, Nezumi." Nezumi just glares, holding onto the expression for dear life even through the kisses to his mouth, nose and jaw that follow. "C'mon, guess."
"No," he says. "I make it a point of not getting personal with the reason we'll get kicked out of this building."
"Nezumi," Shion cajoles, repeating a different name entirely and holding Nezumi's eyes. "If I go rescue your crackers will you—"
"Please," Nezumi snorts, shaking free of Shion's gaze and arms. "I don't negotiate with emotional terrorists."
The mice are perched atop the package of crackers they are in the process of decimating when Nezumi comes into the kitchen. They look up at Nezumi's approach, inaccurately determine him not to be a threat, and continue nibbling away at their illicit treat, whiskers and noses quivering.
Neither so much as flinches when Nezumi passes his index finger over their rounded backs, but they do chatter at him in disagreeable alarm when he removes the crackers from their greedy clutches.
"Tsk," he concludes. There isn't a single cracker that hasn't been nibbled on. The two mice sit up on their hind legs, expectantly. "You cocky little—"
"Don't call them mean names," Shion scolds, yanking the crackers right of Nezumi's hands and returning the lot of it to the mice. If mice could look triumphantly smug, these ones manage it. "It's not their fault I left food out."
"No, you're right," Nezumi allows, "everything about this scenario is actually your fault. How do you plead?"
"I don't like seeing mice succumb to failure to thrive, that's all," says Shion, in the mild tone that always signals he's trying to get away with something. "I really love them and I think they deserve better than—"
"I am not a mouse, Shion."
They let that hang between them for a moment.
"I actually hate that I had to say that," Nezumi comments. Shion nods sympathetically.
On the counter, the mice devour the last few crackers, pleased with themselves as any conquerors.