He was a flurry of movement dressed in a faded red tunic and dingy white slacks. There was a streak of mud across his one cheek and a bruise at the corner of his lips. Eyes that could have been kind – eyes almost amber but far too dark to be anything but black – were cold and dead and painless. He flowed like water in his attack, striking at one person, twirling around to attack another, leaping over another who had already fallen to bring down the last.
He stood the victor in the center of seven fallen boys, each about his own age or a year younger or older. He didn't actually care.
He didn't shout at their unconscious forms or rustle through their clothes for any loose cash. He turned around and limped away, leaving them behind.
One of his downed attackers held a pocket knife, blood bathing its metallic blade.
Stumbling along, he went out of city limits. Walking further, he entered a forest.
Going even further, he came to a meadow.
The sun had long since fallen and the throbbing pain in his leg finally dragged him to the grassy floor.
He laid there, anger making his dark gaze sparkly in the clear night. He stared up at the sky, every star glistening in the darkness above, the moon closer than ever.
His anger boiled over. "What was my meaning?" He growled to the heavens. "Why was I born?" He howled. "I am here! I am alive, but I am alone! I've never met a kind soul and I've never had a moment of peace!" He clenched his jaw.
Lightening began to dance in the sky above. He took it as a sign that the heavens planned to smite him.
"Why have the world conceive me if I am to die without cause! Why have I lived this miserable 15 years just to be torn down by all of those who should have loved me and raised me?"
The lightening came down in blinding strikes, echoed by deafening thunder.
"If I was born for nothing, –" He swiped a hand furiously across his eyes, enraged with the tears he felt falling. "– than kill me now!"
Blinded as he was by his own tears and the lightening, he didn't see the creature loping around each thunderbolt, steadily coming to the ground.
Yet he felt the small, warm hand that caressed his bangs from his face and brushed through his already mussed hair. "Is that how you feel?" A light, feminine voice questioned in a sorrowful tone.
He flinched and sat up, pushing himself away from the woman. He hadn't heard anyone approach him. He hadn't sensed a thing!
He stared at the female before him, possibly in her twenties at the latest. She had straight, jet black hair that collapsed in a graceful wave to her hips, her skin pale alabaster. Her eyes were dark, so dark that it took a moment of looking into them for him to realize that they were tinted amber. There was sadness, warmth, gentleness, and a steel determination in her gaze.
She retracted her hand and placed both palms in her lap, her legs folded beneath her. She wore a red tunic like his, only hers was bright and without tear. She also wore white slacks, yet hers were stainless…
He took notice of that instantly; not even a grass stain or a speck of dirt – was there any way into the meadow without going through the forest? Perhaps; after all, this was his first time in the meadow himself, yet…
Subtly looking about himself, all he saw at the edge of the meadow at all sides were trees and shrubs.
How was she so clean?
She tilted her head curiously at him. "Why do you lie alone and scream your woes at the sky?"
He turned his head away. "The sky is the only thing in the world that will not turn away from my woes." He tensed.
Why had he told her that?
She laughed softly. "That is true; Tsuna always listens to everyone's troubles without complaint."
He frowned. Tsuna? Who was Tsuna?
She put a hand to her lips. "Sorry, I doubt you wanted me to laugh at your expense." She looked truly guilty.
"… It doesn't matter… There's no reason to feel sad about it."
She shook her head. "Of course there is. I can tell just by looking at you that you rarely speak to another person about your troubles."
Above, the lightening and thunder was loud and bright and clouds were circling in.
"Let us begin again!" The woman pleaded. She bowed, forehead touching the ground as she placed her hands demurely in front of her. "Hello! My name is I-Pin; may I ask you your name?"
He stared at her in shock.
Had anyone ever actually bothered to say something as simple as 'hello' to him? When was the last time anyone had bothered to ask his name?
For years, he had been 'you', 'bastard', 'useless boy', 'child', 'brat'… The list went on forever, but not one of them his own name.
Now that he was finally being asked… He couldn't… He couldn't… "I… can't remember. I can't remember my name." He had had one at one point, he knew. Vaguely he remembered his mother looking down at him, bruises marring her swollen flesh after his drunken father had left for bed with another woman on his arm, and whispering his name before telling him to go to bed. That had to have been years ago – maybe around the age of three or four; five at latest.
Perhaps he couldn't remember his name that night because of what he had seen the next morning – his mother with a pair of scissors in her hand, her throat slit. His father and lover had been murdered in his parents' bed.
Later, he had learned that his mother had finally snapped; she had taken the lives of her husband and his mistress and then she had taken her own life. She had only spared his life.
He remembered that day with painful clarity, such that no small child should be able to remember with; he remembered that day now, trying to recall his own name, and felt the hatred and agony well in his chest.
"I am sorry…" The woman's – I-Pin's – soft voice penetrated his dark thoughts. Her small hand touched his cheek and it was only then that he realized that he was crying again. "I did not mean to bring up such painful memories for you…"
He jerked away from her touch. "It's nothing!" He snapped. "Stop pretending to care and leave me be!"
There was a shocked silence. "… Pretending?..." Her meek voice caught him off guard. "I am not pretending. I do care!" Her voice was steadily getting louder. "I could hear you screaming from miles away! So desolate and pained and abandoned…"
He watched, torn between awe and horror, as she began to cry. He felt awe because no one had ever before cried for him; he felt horror because steam rose from where the tears trekked down her cheeks.
She rubbed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were opaque instead of dark amber. She sniffled and then straightened her shoulders, becoming calm again. "I am sorry… It is unhealthy for me to cry… And I do not think you care to look after another crying…"
Unhealthy? It could be unhealthy for someone to cry?
He looked away, ashamed nonetheless. "You don't have to apologize; you didn't do anything wrong… I am…" He gritted his teeth and then forced himself to continue. "Sorry for making you cry." When was the last time he had uttered an apology and meant it?
"Oh, no – you do not have to apologize!" She waved a hand in front of her in a sheepish manner. "It is my fault for not making my intentions clear from the start and leading you to believe I was pretending!"
He scowled inwardly. They were getting nowhere with this apologizing business.
And then her words caught up to him; he had been so startled by her tears, he hadn't paid attention to what she had said. "Was I screaming that loud?"
"Hm?" She tilted her head curiously at him.
"You said you could hear me screaming from miles away; was I that loud?"
"Oh!" She grasped one of his hands in both of hers and he was again drawn to the fact that she was so extremely tiny… and yet she shed heat like a fire. "No, no, definitely not! It is just that I am very perceptive to the pain of those who will come to be dear to me."
He stared at her with furrowed brows. "… Those… who will come to be dear to you?"
She nodded. "Yes! The same thing happened many, many years ago. I heard a child crying and I traveled for many days, searching for the child – I flew across the sea and into land I had never before heard of! There, I found Lambo." Her expression softened. "We have been close friends for a very long time now. He is like my big brother."
She brought his hand to her lips and pressed her searing lips to each scarred knuckle. With widened eyes, he watched as the small, crisscrossing scars seemed to sizzle and then disappear as smoke.
"I hope that we as well will become close. And I hope… to give meaning to your life so that you will grow strong and sure with yourself." She put her fingers in her mouth and then touched the wet digits to his bleeding calf.
The wound that had been inflicted by his enemies burned for a short minute and then the pain entirely was gone. Looking through the small tear created by the blade to the wound, he saw nothing but clear skin.
She cupped his face between both her hands and leaned forward. He flushed darkly as her lips touched the corner of his own and then rested over each his eyes. Next, her lips gently touched his forehead.
"You do not remember your own name? Than I shall give you a new name and, perhaps, you can take that name and begin a new life."
His eyes snapped open as she enfolded him in a loose embrace. Her heat drugged him, bathing his sore muscles and aching soul with warmth. He went limp, now accepting the tears that leaked from his eyes. "Who am I?" He asked her in a small voice – like a lost child, a forgotten heart, a tortured soul.
"I do not know who you are." I-Pin murmured. "You will find out who you are."
"But you said you would give me a name."
"A name will give you a title; a name will not give you an identity."
He understood now, so he nodded against her throat, feeling his last words clog in his throat.
"I will name you…" And she paused, tilting her head up to the sky as the lightening cracked and the thunder groaned. "Fon."
His hands tangled in her tunic and he held on tightly, accepting the title without question as he cried silently.
"It is a strong and beautiful name; and, just like its meaning, you shall be like the wind: changing. The wind is gentle, but at times can be vicious. I hope you will be calm and helpful like the summer breeze that brings relief. And I hope you will also be fast and merciless like the storm's wind when that in which you love is endangered."
She stroked back his hair. Her delicate fingers wound each wayward strand into one elegant braid that ended at his shoulder blades. She pulled a strand of her own hair free and tied his hair with it.
Above, the thunder and lightening had quieted. The storm brought on by the heat wave was leaving, dragging itself to the east.
The starry sky above was revealed again.
I-Pin pulled slowly away from him. "I have to go now." She pressed a kiss to his forehead again. "But I will be back. And we will meet again. I hope that, when our paths next cross, I will see the you that is strong and beautiful."
He looked at her with all the desperation of a child, wordlessly begging her to stay.
She wiped his tears away and stood. "You should not cry… If you cry now, I might start crying, and it is unhealthy for me to cry."
He forced the tears back and stood to his feet as well. "As long as… we meet again… I can be happy." For the first time in a very long time, he smiled.
He became a completely different person when he smiled – his jaw was no longer clenched, his eyes no longer cold; his gaze was gentle, if not teary, and his pearly white teeth were revealed between softly parted lips.
"Smile like this more often." She feathered her thumb over his bottom lip. "This is… the most beautiful smile I have ever seen."
He felt his heart dance in his chest. Was that true? Could his smile alone make her look so happy and proud?
The thunder grumbled from far away and I-Pin separated herself from him.
He watched her move some steps away. "Can I walk with you to where you need to go?" He hurriedly asked.
She looked at him over her shoulder and giggled. "I need to follow the storm, or else the wrong sort of people will see me and try to kill me for their own wealth. You would not be able to keep up."
He felt indignation rise in his chest. Someone would try to kill her? He wouldn't let them!
His anger chilled into shock as the woman – the beautiful, petite woman who had just held him in her arms and comforted him – faded away.
Before him was a Chinese dragon of shimmering scarlet and golden scales, whiskers flickering from its muzzle and its long, winding tail swaying lazily.
Without looking back, the dragon took to the sky.
Staring as he was, he was just dully aware of his hair coming loose. Putting a hand to the braid she had wound, he found the makeshift hair band missing.
Looking to the ground, a glistening red scale shone among the green blades like a bleeding ruby.
Author's Note: I would like for this to be considered a sequel to 'Color Me In'. I was thinking about 'Color Me In', and then I-Pin and Fon came to mind because, in my opinion, their relationship is just as strong and highlighted as Lambo's and Reborn's.
I know it's an abrupt ending, but I couldn't think of any other way to end it… I'm sorry…