Beyond the Horizon

55. Scattered

Shion breathed Nezumi's scent deep into his lungs and felt the world slide perfectly into place. He had missed Nezumi while they were apart, spent night after night worried and crying into his thin pillow over imaginings of what the Lab might be doing to Nezumi, but he never realized just how deeply the separation had cut into his core until this moment.

          Suddenly, the room was brighter, the air crisper against his skin. The sounds of battle faded to the background as Shion focused on his heart pounding in his ears and felt Nezumi's own heartbeat fluttering like a caged thing between their chests.

          For a perfect moment, Shion and Nezumi occupied their own universe where everything was right and warm and nothing mattered but the shared air they breathed.

          Shion squeezed Nezumi tighter, buried his mouth and nose deeper into the crook of Nezumi's neck. He had forgotten how perfectly they slotted together, but he swore he would never forget again—that they would never be apart long enough for it ever to be a possibility.

          He's so thin. Shion could feel the outline of Nezumi's ribs through the worn fabric of the jumpsuit, the sharp jut of the vertebrae in his spine. His beautiful face was marred with the yellowed edges of a vicious bruise. What had the Lab done to him? How had they hurt him? They had tortured him mentally, Shion knew; the officer had said as much. They had tricked him into thinking Shion was dead, had tried to destroy Nezumi by convincing him he had no one and nothing left to fight for.

          But it didn't work. It didn't work, because Nezumi is here. He's here, and he's fighting, and he's here.

          Shion's breath hitched. The tears that slipped down his face and onto Nezumi's collarbone were the first fiercely warm things he'd felt in a lifetime.

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Shion's tears scalded Nezumi's skin.

          He felt like he was drowning, but for once it was the good kind of drowning, the best kind. Like sinking into a plush mattress, like surrendering your whole being to a tight hug, like letting yourself fall because you trusted the arms waiting to catch you. The strength of Shion's hold on him made Nezumi's bruised ribs ache, but the pain was sweet, welcome even, because it meant that this was real. That Shion was really here in his arms, alive.

          Alive, alive, alive. Nezumi curled his fingers into the soft leather jacket Shion wore. He should have known better than to believe Horizon Laboratories' lies. They built their empire on twisted truths and misery. He should have trusted that Shion was stronger than them. Shion had always been the strongest person Nezumi had ever met. Nothing save for divine intervention could ever bring him down, and now nothing less would prise them apart.

          Shion's hair tickled Nezumi's chin. Shion's hair. Nezumi's heart fluttered, and, carefully, he pulled back to look Shion over.

          Nezumi kept one arm hooked around Shion's waist—unwilling to let him go again so soon—but he brushed his fingers over Shion's trembling jaw with his free hand, taking in the transformation with rapt wonder. Shion's hair and brows were the downy white of a fresh fallen snow. The tears that clung to Shion's pale eyelashes made his red eyes glisten like polished garnets.

          What had they done to him to cause such drastic changes to his appearance? Nezumi felt a protective surge against his sternum. The idea that someone had experimented on Shion, had done something so pervasive that it bleached and bloodied Shion's natural features, made his jaw tighten.

          But then, Shion didn't seem to be in pain. He looked the same as he always had: bright-eyed, adoring, and adorable, even if a bit paler now in every respect.