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Nezumi pokes at his eyelashes once more and groans, "My eyes hurt."
"Perhaps it's because you keep jabbing your fingers into them." Shion carefully watches the other boy's reflection in the mirror. Standing a couple feet behind Nezumi, he sees himself reflected too.
Nezumi spares Shion an unamused glance before continuing to preen. He always complains about his long, dark lashes. Although incredibly lovely, they do tend to poke into his eyes and each other, causing nearly constant discomfort for the boy. Of course, he refuses to use an eyelash curler which could easily remedy the problem.
His stubbornness, his determination to do things his own way--even if it is somewhat detrimental--draws Shion in; it captivates him. In it, he sees strength that has built up over the years. He sees the pitch-black nights Nezumi spent with just his grandmother, all the nights Nezumi shivered, all the nights the fire burned too bright, too hot, again and again and again and again, with no hope that the searing flames of his memories would die down. Shion knows this fire still rages and still scars the beautiful boy in front of him.
But for the moment, Nezumi is preoccupied by the sting at the corners of his eyes, pulling at his lashes and inspecting his waterline. Shion considers how quietly the internal fire burns and wonders how the silent but persistent lick of those flames does not wholly consume Nezumi's mind. He also considers the fact that a small irritation of the eye caused by tangled lashes seems a torment unique to his companion as well. That, however, is fairly humorous, since Nezumi is always unnecessarily dramatic about it.
A small grin sneaks onto his face as he watches the other teen in the mirror. This does not go unnoticed by Nezumi who, finger still at his eye, nose an inch from the glass, glares at Shion. A glint of curiosity shines through the annoyed glower. Shion stares back intently, admiring slate eyes for fragile moments that he wishes could last an eternity. Nezumi ends it all too soon when he returns his attention to himself. In an effort to hold that challenging gaze again, and perhaps to annoy his companion just a little too, Shion breaks the silence.
"Nezumi?" The word is a bit clumsy and loud in Shion's ears after that minute or so of quiet. An uninterested grunt answers Shion. He tries again.
"...Nezumi." Grey eyes move their focus from lash lines to meet deep red eyes through the mirror--a better response, but not good enough. Shion wants Nezumi to face him, so he makes a third attempt.
"Nezumi." Shion speaks softly and deliberately this time, resolutely fixated on the reflection of the boy in front of him. Nezumi spins on the balls of his feet. In an instant the two are standing face to face. Finally, the desired results.
"What?" Nezumi demands. Dark fringe flutters back into place in the wake of the swift turn and a light gasp slips past Shion's lips. Narrowed grey eyes peer into wide burgundy ones.
Shifting his gaze down a couple centimeters, Shion notices a single eyelash on Nezumi's cheek. It is hard to miss, considering how long and dark Nezumi's lashes are and how pale his skin is; it contrasts gorgeously with the growing pink flush beneath it.
Shion lifts his hand, brushing it gently against Nezumi's jaw before his fingers approach the fallen eyelash. His touch lingers as he savours the feeling of the face before him, suddenly remembering how soft peaches feel, how they too seem to blush in his hands. His index finger and thumb grab the small hair underneath Nezumi's left eye, which still carefully assesses his demeanor and follows his movements. Shion remembers boxes of peaches in the bakery--vulnerable. On countertops they sit waiting to be used in pies and tarts expertly and lovingly crafted by his mother. The backs of his fingers caress Nezumi's cheek before he withdraws his hand; it feels a little warmer than it normally would. He remembers the fires in his own home, neither violent nor destructive: the ovens that feed a community, that sustain his mother, that have warmed and comforted him his whole life. He decides he wants to build that kind of fire with Nezumi. Perhaps the painful flames can never be extinguished. But if in addition, a stronger, healing flame burns brightly for him, maybe the damaging fire will start to feel like dying embers instead of an overwhelming blaze. And maybe, eventually, he will find himself wrapped in gentle heat at night instead.
Shion shifts his attention from Nezumi's cheek to the eyelash between his fingers. He settles it onto the end of his index finger, and looks at it thoughtfully for a moment. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and, holding his finger up and to the side, exhales, blowing away the eyelash. When Shion opens his eyes and turns his head forward again, he is met with a baffled though amused Nezumi wearing a gentle expression that makes his heart race and arms prickle.
"What was that just now?" inquires the clearly confused boy, moving a couple inches closer.
"I made a wish," is Shion's matter-of-fact response; he leans forward almost imperceptibly as he speaks.
"You believe in that stuff?" Nezumi questions.
"I believe in wanting something so badly you'd do anything to make it happen. If you want it enough, there's always a way."
His words are met with silence. Nezumi's eyes move to Shion's mouth and something in the grey hues seems to soften momentarily before his attention snaps back up to red eyes.
"Only someone like you would say something that naive," Nezumi retorts with a smirk. "What did you wish for anyway? To see me naked because I've seen you?" he sneers proudly.
"No! That wasn't my wish," although Shion blushes at the thought. "But I'm not telling you what it was anyway. If I do, my wish won't come true."
Nezumi rolls his eyes and scoffs. "That shit isn't real, Shion. You won't get what you want by sitting around and wishing for it. That's how you've lived your whole life though, isn't it, your majesty?"
"You're right. I spent years only wishing. But I believe I'm finally ready to start pursuing too," Shion admits with an affectionate smile and piercing gaze.
There are more moments of silence as Nezumi struggles to think of a witty response. He finds critical thinking is becoming increasingly difficult in this situation. His chest pounds when he sees Shion's face; the sweet expression sends shivers up and down his back. His face heats and he can feel more blush rise on it. He wants to reach out, feel the smile and warmth on Shion's cheeks. But he manages to stop this train of thought before his hand has the chance to move on its own. For reasons Nezumi cannot understand, Shion is disarming, and therefore dangerous.
"Are you crying, Nezumi?" Shion asks, suddenly ending another prolonged silence.
"Huh?" Nezumi mentally applauds himself for his eloquence and self-awareness.
Shion pulls his sweater sleeve over his hand and uses it to gently wipe away the tears streaming down the unfamiliar countenance before him. He had not expected Nezumi to look so beautiful while crying.
"You're stunning," Shion breathes, slowing his motions.
Through all of this, Nezumi has remained perfectly still and he himself does not know why. Shion is touching his face, watching him blush and cry, and so far he has done nothing but let Shion get his fill. The reality of Shion's closeness and his own defenselessness brings Nezumi back to his senses.
"I know I am," is his terse response as he pushes Shion's hand away. "My eyes hurt. I'm going to bathe."
The next second, Nezumi is striding past Shion, making his way out of the room and down the hall. Shion does not turn to watch him leave; instead he follows his figure using the mirror. After the tempestuous boy completes his characteristically graceful exit, Shion looks to his own reflection and takes a few steps toward it.
He notices an eyelash on his cheek--more precisely, on his scar. Carefully, he lifts it, handling it like he would delicate wings. He closes his eyes and fully inhales, gathering a breath he hopes will be strong enough to carry his desires yet gentle enough to preserve them. He silently makes his wish again. He exhales and a spark ignites in his chest.