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“Then the time for being sad is over,
And you miss them like you miss no other,
And being blue is better than being over it,
Over it...”
~from Panic! at the Disco’s Hallelujah
The day Shion let go of Nezumi stands out clearly in his memories, a memory so distinct and so vivid he knew that even as an elderly man he'll be able to relive that one moment over and over again as if it were only yesterday.
It was about two years since the Wall had fallen, two years since Nezumi’s departure, two whole years and here Shion was brewing tea, the late afternoon sun shining through the windows, saturating the entire makeshift house in brilliant golds. In the distance he could make out the Dogkeeper and a toddling little Shion, taking their sweet time on the way back from Rikiga’s place where Shion only went to be babysat if Karan wasn't available. Barking and the excited shouts of children were the only disturbance to the overwhelmingly peaceful atmosphere.
Shion poured his tea into a china cup he'd found not so long ago and kept hidden away for fear of little Shion breaking it. Dainty and delicate, a chip or two did little to detract from its quiet charm. Two blue songbirds graced the front, singing from a singular branch, though one sat upon a slight offshoot by his lonesome.
Like me, he mused but thought better of it. No, like Nezumi.
Hamlet jumped from the counter and scurried up Shion’s shoulder as he went and sat outside on the steps, overlooking West Block from just inside old No. 6. He took a sip of his tea and soaked up the sun’s warmth, feeling oddly content for such gloomy thoughts. A year ago he might have teared up. Back then if the Dogkeeper had walked up with little Shion right about now he would have had to smile up at them with swollen red eyes and forced cheer.
He'd felt so devastatingly alone at the time and he still did, but back then he had wanted Nezumi while now he just wanted…
Not to feel quite so lonely?
It was probably six months prior when Shion had begun to notice the change, the shift in thought patterns, the painful absence of someone who had meant so much beginning to demand less and less constant mental attention. While once he had thought of Nezumi at least once every day even if only in passing, suddenly he had found one week he hadn't given much thought to him all! The guilt was horrible, gut wrenching, and for awhile that guilt was more than welcome.
After all, Shion had gotten so used to feeling the pain, to pangs of longing every time something reminded him of Nezumi… of everything reminding him of Nezumi. He thought of him constantly and spoke of him little. Karan, being his mother, sometimes managed to get him to open up, but all she could really do was listen. Who could understand, after all? Nezumi was special, what they had was special, it was beautiful and there couldn't be anything else like it. No one else could understand, he had felt so sure of it.
Nights where he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t escape the constant bombardment of worries and accusations and everything in between, became a constant. In the day he worked hard to rebuild the city and it was easier to keep personal thoughts at bay, but the night wouldn't let him rest in peace.
He’s never coming back, the voices in his head whispered. You knew that. He knew that. Get over it already. “But I don't want to…” he’d sniffle pathetically into his tear drenched pillow, nose clogged but somehow still running. He must have looked a sight. “He’s coming back and I can wait. I'm not selfish. I can...wait. I can...I miss Nezumi…”
Each time he’d fallen asleep exhausted, each time imagining he could feel Nezumi’s arm draped over his side, could feel his warmth seeping into the sheets, feel his rhythmic breath against the nape of his neck. Each time he’d pretend Nezumi had never left at all. Playing adult make believe.
He didn’t want to say things like “true love” or “soul mate” or “the one” because he was a logical enough person to know that was bullshit and scientifically unfounded, but he finally knew why words like that existed. What once were meaningless phrases suddenly made sense, fit perfectly, and had no better equivalent.
He was in love.
And he was in so much pain. Agonising, heart wrenching, beautiful pain. It had started so soon after the love that the feelings became intertwined, and Shion almost didn’t know one from the other. So when it began to die away and the guilt took hold Shion embraced it like an old friend as if to convince himself, “I’m still in love.”
But he wasn’t. Not really.
He held onto that guilt, tried to cry at night, tried not to fall asleep before he’d conjured up a pretend Nezumi. Tried to remember his face. Tried not to think about that cute young lady he'd spotted near Lost Town on his way to visit his mother or the tall blond man from last week's city council meeting. He tried so hard. But then it was gone. That nagging, horrible, comfortable guilt was gone and it was time to grow up and face reality not sniffling into a pillow but smiling as he awoke to a new day.
As Shion sipped his tea, the Dogkeeper barely a kilometer away, he knew it wasn’t completely gone. His attachment to Nezumi was strong. He’d always care about him, but he’d care most about the Nezumi he’d known and loved. And that Nezumi would stay in his memory, his first love, a spring flower so colorful and delicate and awe inspiring that it lived on in memory forever even if the real one wilted during the night.
As little Shion ran up to him on his stumpy little legs and the sun began to set, splaying pink and orange hues all over the valley, Shion didn't think about Nezumi. He set down his teacup, and embraced his godson, wondering where the Dogkeeper had taken him that he smelled so bad and planning to have a private word with them when little Shion was inside.
In that moment, though he didn't realize it right then, he finally gave up on an old dream and made room for the all the new ones. Shion had mourned his spring flower far long enough.