[Ichigo's POV]

I couldn't do it. I couldn't make them happy. I was a ditsy girl and my little baby sister is a supposed 'musical star' to the point that mama and papa spend all the time with their shining star and just send disappointed stares at me. Grandma isn't here anymore (A/N: I know really when Michiko died but it fits in here), and there is no one to support me now.

They are just wrapped up on how Natsume is so 'amazing' and the one to 'lift their family name' unknowing that they even have another daughter, and it sickens me how each time they fail to realize I live in this world.

Tired with all of this drama, and tired of all of this sickening PDA on a daily basis, I just run.

I know, what am I thinking of? I am a five year old running like a fool in a pastel blue dress with a sketchbook filled with pastry drawings which happened to be very good sketches for a five year old. Some people considered me a prodigy in art, and some called me a showoff.

I didn't care and just ran to the nearest park at my house that I run to every time my parents neglect me.

Sitting underneath a maple tree, I just began to open my notebook and sketch my favorite desert ever:

The Strawberry Tart.

It is the only thing in this world that makes me smile, and the way my grandma makes it makes me want to leap into the air despite the fact that I was crying dramatically two seconds ago.

That is the thing.

When grandma died, she took all my happiness and girly side and cute adoration with her. My whole love for endless sweets and frilly stuff went with her.

No matter how hard I try, I will never fall in love with pink though I might wear pink sometimes, but I prefer blue or green now. I might enjoy some sweets but I am not a glutton anymore, and I might like cute stuff, but now I gave up on my cute-stuff collection.

"Oi."

I look up to see annoyed chibi caramel eyes peering hard on me. I raise an eyebrow. What is this kid's problem? Burn him down to hell. Language of a five year old is not limited when you hear your parents say colorful things about you.

"Whaddya want?" I icily ask.

"What are you drawing?" he asked, trying to play it off cool but I could sense bubbling curiosity underneath.

"Well none of your beeswax it is," I glared at him before putting in my sketchbook in my satchel of art supplies.

"Why can't you tell me?" he asked. What is this boy, spoiled?

"Um," I cutely tap my chin and said, "Just because."

He looked like he could explode and then I added for furthermore reason, "You are a stranger I just met two stupid minutes ago. Why should I just openly show you my sketchbook? For all I know you could just be some jerk like all the boys I met in kindergarten."

His angry face disappeared in a second and he slumped down next to me.

That was a second.

No one ever wanted to sit next to me, because, well, I am pretty but I glare at people to get away from me.

I wore my hair in weird pigtails just so that my baby sister could be the center of the attention with loose, average-pretty caramel hair. If both of us had our hair loose, Natsume, in my opinion, would be pressed in a corner, long forgotten. But she is so cute and adorable and kind to me from the bottom of the heart despite all the attention she gets, so I want her to feel pretty all the time.

I just wanted to feel pretty too, so I just had my hair undone right now, just for now.

"So is that why you frown so much all the time?" he asked.

"All the time? What are you, a stalker?" I asked him.

He froze and said, "No, just asking."

I sighed and decided not to kill him for now.

"Hardly," I huffed and leaned back into the tree. Sometimes life is such a living nightmare that I wished this whole thing was a photograph that I could drop into the fire and burn, burn, and burn.

"What do you mean?" he asked, but not in a dense way. I mean, he wouldn't be able to draw the conclusion like anyone that the reason a child is angry because of fake love and parent negligence, right? Not possible.

"My parents…" I mumble, drawing my knees to my chest, "are stupid."

I expected him to laugh or call me weak like all the other boys did, but I felt him nod and looked at him in surprise, "You aren't going to laugh at me? I mean, I guess I sounded like a spoiled brat right now, you know. Someone who has no right to complain."

"No, you have all the right to complain," the boy agreed with me.

I stopped and asked him, "Why do you think that?"

"Because parents do favoritism, right? Who they love most, what they favor the most, things that they favor over their own children sometimes? I get that," the boy looked at me with blank eyes.

I didn't know what to say other than this boy is very smart.

"My parents think work, wealth, money and status is more important than status," the boy grumbled.

"My parents love my sister because she is a normal child who loves the piano and wants to be a musician like my mother. They hate me, though," I sadly murmur.

"Why do they think you have no talents?" the boy clenched his fists.

"No, I do. I can draw exceptionally good, in my mother's view and dad's opinion. They just hate me because I do not want to be an artist," I sadly bury my face in my knees. A warm arm wraps around my shoulders and I relax into the warm arm around me, gladly.

"Why?" he asks.

"I want to be a patisserie like my grandma, who made sweets for me when I was sad. I want to make everyone happy by making sweets with just one bite, like my grandma," I told him my dream which I told nobody outside my house, "and my parents won't let me go to a specialized school, so…"

"I want to be one too," he suddenly said.

I froze.

"I want to do that too," he repeated.

"Why don't we do it together?" I smiled at him.

"Do you really think we can do it, you know, together?" he asked.

I nodded and then smirked, "Why, you gonna back out like a little chicken?"

He scoffed and said, "As if. I am not a girl."

Sometimes the comment would sting. I never got degraded being a girl, but it felt fun doing this word throw off with this boy that I just met on a rough start.

"Oh, really? You know, not all girls are weak," I slyly smirked.

"Yeah, right! Bet they can't lift a fork," he laughed, and I poked him in the ribs making him roll over laughing.

I giggled and then started tickling him on the sides where I was confirmed that this cold guy was very vulnerable to. It was confirmed when he started to protest when I lightly tickled a precise spot on his sides, "H-Hey! S-Stop it! T-That t-tickles!"

"Aw, it does? I will keep it in mind then!" I smile politely, inwardly smirking.

He looked ghastly pale and then said, "Please do not tell anyone! I beg of you!"

I laugh and said, "Oh really? Now where is that 'manly' pride I heard you boasting of two minutes ago?"

He noticed that and then got up abruptly and coughed like a man and said, while nervously pushing his hair back, "Don't tell a living soul about my weak sides."

I chuckle underneath my breath and said, "Yup, that is so my prince charming."

He looked like he wanted to pee on the spot so I let him off his misery by crossing my heart, hoping to die and he let out a huge sigh of relief like a deflated balloon.

I laugh at my last thought and he raised an eyebrow and became nevertheless persistent to my continuous peals of laughter, and he asked me, "What?"

"You sound like a deflating balloon when you sigh like that!" I laugh wiping tears of laughter away.

He glared at me for one moment before flushing pink for some cute reason and bursting out into laughs like me. We couldn't stop laughing for a long time now and at this rate, I didn't want it to stop at all, like a picture, you get my point? This is the most happy I had been in, well, all my life, like grandma is alive in my life again.

I smile at him and we go and sit on the swings, me dragging my little bag of sketchbooks with me.

He asks once more, "What do you draw?"

I stare at him and ask him, "What is your name?"

When he stares at me with a confused face, I continue, "You are a nice person, but unless you give me your name, you are still considered a total stranger in my view."

He sighed and rolled around his big caramel eyes and I snort softly underneath my breath.

"Makoto Kashino, or you could just call me Makoto," he gave me a smile. Wait.

He SMILED.

I smile and say, "Can I call you Ma-kun?"

"My friend Andou calls me that, but I guess you can too," He shrugs.

I nod and ask, "Do you let a lot of people call me that?"

"Uh heck no. Only he can and now can you. I don't let that green haired narcissist Hanabusa call me that. Now what is YOUR name?" he looked at me curiously.

I laugh and say "Ichigo Amano."

"Can I call you Ichigo?" he asked.

I smile and say, "Sure."

He smiles back at me and we continue to swing on the swings, pumping our legs higher and higher until we almost could taste the cotton candy of the skies above.

"So you never told me what you draw in those sketchbooks of yours," Makoto asked me.

"Hmm, those are sketches of my future sweets," I said, "Based off of vanilla, strawberries, and batter-based products. My grandma was famous for it."

"Wow, that's nice," he said.

I smile and say, "So what do you want to specialize in?"

"Chocolate," he answered immediately.

I smile and say, "I like chocolate very much, you know. I made chocolate covered strawberries once, and they were good."

He smiles and says, "Yeah, I guess strawberries are the best fruit."

I sigh and say, "It sounds like a nice dream though."

He turned to me and asked, "Why?"

"Because my little sister is playing the piano, and I am the only oddball out. My mom is some famous instrument player and my dad is a famous painter, or so I think. My dad's side is nothing but pastry chefs but that is ignored as my parents thought baking sweets for a living is completely useless, like I told you," I sighed.

"What mean parents you got there," he said.

I nodded and sighed and said, "I want to go to St. Maries like my grandma did, but they will not pay for it, because they want to crush it down. Or maybe it doesn't fit into their 'picture-perfect' stupid image they have."

"You know, if your parents aren't willing to pay for you to go to Paris, where the main branch is, you can just go to the one in here in Japan," he said.

Makoto is just sometimes oblivious to money costs, isn't he?

"Money is the problem here," I sighed.

"Well, I have the number of this one instructor that goes around trying to get talented people in the academy. I know I will be going because of my family's damn wealth but you can get in if you impress him enough," Makoto took a little card out of his pocket and gave it to me.

I gave him a suspicious stare and slowed down my swinging and came to a complete stop.

"Now, what is a boy like you doing with a business card in your pocket if money isn't the problem for you?" I asked.

He shrugged and said, "Sometimes my parents become obnoxious to the point that I call the number just to run away I guess, for safe keeping."

I didn't get his point but the family he told me he had sounded kind of oppressing so I could understand imagining him just calling the number to get into the school and running away from his family for what seems like forever in his mind.

I stuff the card in the pocket of my pastel blue sundress and nod to him saying, "Thanks."

He smiled at me, and it felt so good that I didn't want this to end, this perfect heaven that seemed to be custom fit for me, for this moment right at this moment.

Suddenly, I just noticed how the sky was turning into a thousand colors, like the prettiest cake there was out there, like one of those show-cased brand new pastries made in the shops of Paris, and where lovebirds would check them out in wonder, hoping to afford the expensive thing. I sigh in wonder and amazement in the beauty of the sunset, not caring how late it was because all I would get to the worst was a lecture from my parents before I was free to do as I wish.

A warm hand reached out and grabbed my right one and I turned to Makoto with an alarmed look at what he was doing.

"What? I just want to hold your hand, Ichigo. Is it all right with you?" he asked, innocently.

I smiled and nodded and whispered, "Do you think I can make it? You know, become one of those patissieres that can make people happy?"

He smiled and nodded, "Together."

I sent him a confused stare and asked, "Forever?"

"We will open a shop and we will make sweets and deserts with our specialties which are directed towards making people smile after just one bite," Makoto smiled, "For you, and for me."

Before I could respond, something cold was being put on my thumb.

"It is a ring, and it is a little bit too big for you, so I put it on your thumb. This ring will represent our dream of having a shop together," Makoto smiled at me, and I found myself unconsciously smiling as well.

I looked at my hand and twirled around the ring, and smiled when a little flower shaped almost like a vanilla flower faced me.

"Do you like it? I am sorry it is silver, you know I couldn't get gold because of my limited allowance!" he burst when he caught me staring at the ring.

I smiled at him and said, "No it is okay. I am just happy that someone is supportive about my dream. I like that."

He calmed down and smiled a small one and held out his hand and I put my hand in his and I said, "Thank you so much Ma-kun."

He whispered, "No, thank you."

I don't know how long we just sat there like a pair of birds, but I was a five year old, so acting childish is all right for me. People passed us and whispered underneath their breaths about how cute we were, on the swings, happily sighing at the sunset that seemed to sunbathe our faces.

"I will work very hard to become a patissiere, and you will do the same to be a patissier, promise me? No matter what, cross your heart and hope to die," I held up a finger childishly.

"C'mon, Ichigo, I promised, didn't I?" he gasped.

But when I wouldn't move from my spot, he chuckled and held up his hands in mock defense, in my view and held a finger to his heart and made a criss-cross motion over the left part of his chest, and I gave him a confused stare and said, "Wait, the heart isn't there."

He gave me a smirk and said, "Oh yeah? Where do you think it is?"

"Here," I confidentially placed my hand on where I am sure my heart is, in the middle of my chest, but surprisingly couldn't feel any heartbeat. Am I dead?

"Silly, the heart is here," he moved my hand to where he thought it was, and he was right. I pressed my hand in further and felt heartbeat, deep and consistent.

I looked up at him and let my hand drop and asked him, "How did you know?"

He grimaced and said, "My family is a line of doctors and medical specialists, so of course I would know."

"You aren't going to be a doctor right?" the fear of him breaking the promise we made and him crushing his happiness crept into my mind.

"No, I won't. If you will not stop working on it, I will not stop working on it," he smiled at me and I smiled along with him.

"Thank you, so much," I smiled, "You aren't like the others."

"The others who love just for looks?" he asked, "That is sickening."

I nodded, and said, "Glad someone shares my resentment."

He faced me and smiled and said, "Well you have his number, so you call him to show how much of an amazing patissiere you are so you can come into the school as soon as possible, if not at the same time as me."

I smiled back and looked at the time. It was late.

"Mother and father will be a bit concerned," I murmured.

"Well you should go home. My mother and father might not care but my big sister will have my head for making her worry to death," Makoto smirked.

I smiled and said, "Yeah my little sister might wail her head off if I am not there for a long time."

He smiled sadly and said, "Yeah, someone in this world cares."

I nodded and turned around and said, "Thank you. I am so glad I met you."

"We will meet again, right?" he asked.

I nodded and said, "Yeah, we will."

I turned around and then went home, turning and twisting around that ring that held so many memories for me, too much.

At least I will have something to work for and someone to be inspired by. My cheeks flushed as I replayed his name in my head and took in his face and his kindness.

We will meet again.

Right?

oOo

Next chappie is the last one! I think, or it might be a three-shot if it is that long!