This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful WantingFreedom for being an awesome author with great stories, as well as having a lot of great advice and everything. Thanks for your reviews, and your advice! I hope you read this chapter and more to tell me what you think :]

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU KNOW THAT RIMA IS 18. And that Nagihiko is still 17 (his birthday is in July whereas Rima's is in February right?)

I don't own Shugo Chara!

This chapter's name is Da Capo, meaning 'from the beginning'. And to those of you who don't know, Poco a Poco means 'little by little' or 'gradually'. These are all musical terms, just so you know.

VERY IMPORTANT: I'm only using the horizontal ruler if the POV is changing.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter of the series:

Poco a Poco

Da Capo (From the Beginning)

"From the beginning, our love shall surely bloom …"

Blood. There is blood everywhere.

There is only one colour, only one scene, that fits after this pure crimson red, this rusty metallic smell.

Black … nothingness.

--

Blood, I thought, as I blinked my eyes furiously against the sunlight streaming in through the blinds.

But unlike every morning, there was one other word that lingered in my mind, seeming so significant that it confused me.

Anniversary.

The anniversary of what?

March 14th. White day, in other words. But I really didn't care for such trivial things, and after saying the day aloud, it hadn't triggered anything else in my thoughts.

The only thing I could think of was the day that supposedly, my mother died in a car crash, and I was found in the midst of it all, still alive. My father, apparently, was long dead.

I smiled bitterly at the poor lie. Sure my mother was dead. Sure my father hadn't been around for ages. They couldn't take advantage of the situation like that. I wasn't stupid.

But somehow, the words, the date, didn't bring those thoughts to mind. They only brought ones of happiness, of joy, and also a memory of a melodious sound. One not like bells, but not like the gentle trickling of water either. It was something more. Something dazzling.

The colour gold flashed in front of my eyes, the hue and tint matching perfectly with the sweet sound. At first, it was soft, like caramel. But suddenly, it became liquid topaz, piercing and livid.

I sat up drearily, after remembering the strange flashback-like memory, and though I didn't understand it, I knew it was definitely something I've experienced in depth before.

But with the moments of joy, and the satisfaction that soon followed, came an aching feeling. As if I lacked something that I hadn't noticed until now, something that was too important for me to forget.

I sighed again at the obviousness of my confusion. It shouldn't matter to me anyways. Who cared about life? We'd all die anyways. And for me, if no one adopted me soon enough, I'd be dying pretty soon. In about four and a half months actually, when I turn 18 and I'll be kicked out of this wretched orphanage. Without anywhere to live, I'll die pretty quick, even if I did have a job then. It's not like I had any money saved up either.

Light, calm footsteps sounded from outside in the hallway. They weren't like the sharp clacking footfalls of Hiroshima-san's high-heels. They were gentler and much more elegant.

I stared up at the door, waiting for the person to come in. Was it a new worker? Was she or he coming to scold and chastise me for being late to the breakfast table? Was she going to use the whip again or the supposed 'gun' that all the other orphans rumoured Hiroshima-san would use on me next? Either way, I didn't move, I just continued to stare up at the door with empty eyes, a blank expression on my face. They could kill me if they wanted. I wouldn't really care.

The door burst open seconds after as I continued to look, not seeing anything until I looked down.

She was just a child, maybe 12 years old, with long golden hair. Perhaps trying to look superior, she lowered the pair of dark aviator sunglasses she was wearing and then removed them completely, revealing two shining amber eyes.

"Do I know you?" I asked in a mix of arrogance and confusion. She frowned a little, seeming disappointed. I thought I heard her mutter something, and for the strangest moment, a thought crossed my mind, one that told me that whatever she said was important.

Soon, Hiroshima-san appeared behind her.

"This is the one!" the girl yelled, pointing at me, her eyes never wavering from my face. It was starting to get a little unnerving, actually.

But then I smirked and looked up at Hiroshima. "Is this your daughter?" I asked darkly. I knew she loathed me. She would never have me in her house.

Hiroshima-san pressed her fingers to her temples, looking very frustrated.

"No. This is Mashiro-san. She's here to adopt you."

"Please, Mashiro-san. Think this over. You're only 18, only five months older than him. And you're still in school! What are you thinking?" Hiroshima-san asked me, almost yelling.

I sat calmly in silence for a moment, twirling a strand of my long blonde hair absentmindedly as I thought. Becoming impatient, the mousy-haired orphanage worker continued.

"Please, Mashiro-san," she began again, pleading, "things happen when you adopt too early, especially if it's a teenager you're adopting. Stress isn't good for someone your age. You might start having suicidal thoughts …"

I smiled at her gently, hoping to ease her worry.

"It's fine," I lied, "Everything's in control. I've already made up my mind. Just by looking at him, I know I'll love him." These last two statements were not a lie. I knew I would care for him until I died. It was as simple as that. She didn't know how long I've waited for this.

A vein seemed to pulse dangerously in the woman's temples.

"If you're completely sure about this …" she said menacingly, as if trying to intimidate me, "then I have no choice. But be warned. You won't be happy."

Gee, thanks for the tip, I thought sharply as I thanked her warmly.

He walked in, as if it was the least significant thing in the world and leaned against the wall nonchalantly.

"So this is my new mom, huh?" the teenager asked and appraised me for a moment. "A little short, don't you think? What are you, seven?" He smirked, as if content with his work.

"Why you …" Hiroshima-san began, as if saying his name would kill her, before I cut her off with a small raise of my hand.

"It's alright," I began, "I wasn't expecting him to be well-mannered." Not in this dump of an orphanage, at least. "Teenagers his age are in the rebellious stage, right? All about sex and money?" This seemed to shut him up for the moment, visibly fuming.

Hiroshima also seemed impressed by my retort, and hastily began fumbling with contracts and such. For the most part, she filled them out by herself, with the occasional need of my signature, until she finally came upon one sheet of paper.

"Name?" she asked cautiously, an expression on her face obviously stating that she didn't think I could handle this. Just as the violet-haired teenager kicked off the wall, his movement almost inhumanely graceful, about to protest, I quickly and quietly said, "Fujisaki Nagihiko." Both the woman and the boy stared at me for a moment, uncomprehending as to why I knew his name. I smiled innocently and this seemed to break Hiroshima-san out of her bemused reverie.

"Well … then," she began awkwardly, "I'll need you to sign this, Mashiro-san, and then you're set …"

--

Thankfully, I was able to drive a car, for this would be more comfortable than transportation by bus or train. Though it was silent and there were only the two of us, Nagihiko and I, it was the atmosphere that made the situation slightly unpleasant.

Nagihiko, who only had his orphanage uniform to wear, was noiseless, even as I began to steer the car towards the shopping district. When I pulled the car to a gradual stop, I stepped out, and he did not. I simply dismissed this for the reason that he was embarrassed to be in public wearing what he was now.

"You know, I'll run away," he began threateningly, smirking.

I scoffed, responding sarcastically, "Right, wise-guy. And, oh. Let me think. You have loads of places to go. Every family in the world wants a 17-year-old smart-ass. Just sit here and be a good little boy while Mama goes and buys some clothes." He seemed a little surprised that someone like me could spew such words. But my life was slowly starting to spiral downwards and I was beginning to lose myself. Perhaps he could help me find myself again.

Nagihiko was someone who liked loose, comfortable clothes. But judging by how he acted, I suspected that he preferred tight clothes and hoodies. Not very fond of the idea, I proceeded to buying both. When both my hands were sufficiently full with purchased merchandise, I walked back to my car, which was a black Porsche, about an hour or two after arriving to the mall. As I caught sight of the insides of the car, I was not surprised to see him still sitting in his seat, looking very irritated. When he finally saw me lugging the bags back, he simply smirked and sat there.

Such a gentleman.

I threw the clothes in the back seat, and was slightly satisfied when I heard him groan a little as the bags made impact with his face.

"Aren't these a little … I don't know, big for you," he asked, looking truly confused.

As I started up the car, the engine purring, I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him.

"Those are yours."

He stared at me, not believing what I said and pulled out some jeans. "But how do you know the size…?" the indigo-haired teenager continued.

"Well … it's not hard to guess," I lied. It wasn't a lie, exactly, but not the complete truth either.

The rest of the ride followed in silence, and I was slightly pleased seeing as my head was throbbing and my stomach contorting. Conversation would have done no good for my condition.

We arrived at my apartment a few minutes later, and I was glad to see Nagihiko finally assist me with the clothes and luggage (of what little he had).

"Thank you," I told him, panting a little.

"Whatever."

Once inside the apartment, I didn't relax at all. Setting everything aside, I nimbly turned towards my 'mother' and pinned her to the door, my violet hair swishing. She was sweating a bit, her cheeks flushed, but there were several flights of stairs in this building, and I carelessly thought this the reason.

"Who are you?" I interrogated, my gaze firm and my face only centimeters from hers, which was warmer than I expected. She smiled weakly, her eyelids drooping.

"Who are you?" I continued firmly, teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

"So I really do have to start from the very beginning, huh? Or maybe even farther …" she whispered and a tear, mixed in with her sweat fell down her cheek as she fell unconscious.

I let her lay there in my arms, her forehead against my chest. It could have been minutes or hours as I contemplated what her words meant. And then I looked down again, and remembered that she was, at the moment, unconscious, or at the very least asleep.

I walked into the main hallway, carrying the petite child-like blonde, her head bouncing gently against my chest with each step I took. I turned left into the master bedroom, and was surprised to see it nearly empty, only a deep blue king-sized bed occupying any space in the room. Though it was obviously unused, not a speck of dust covered the room.

I frowned a little and exited the bedroom before walking through the hallway once more and turned to the right to see another room, obviously smaller, filled with comedy posters, photographs, clothes, and a bright orange queen-sized bed in the corner. I walked across the room with only a few strides and gently set the girl down, her head resting on the pillow and her face disturbed.

After gazing at her surprisingly small body for a little longer, I proceeded to walk away, only to be stopped when I felt a soft tug at my jacket. I turned to see the blonde still lying on the bed, her legs slightly bent, a tiny fist gripping a handful of fabric, mumbling "Don't leave again …"

I glared for a while before relaxing my eyes. Settling down into the bed beside her, slightly crinkling the colorful blanket, I muttered, "What a bother," though I knew she couldn't hear.

I lay there for a while, my arms behind my head, listening to her even breathing.

Was this what it felt like to have a mother? To have someone that cared for me, even if I didn't know them? Thinking of my real mother made my eyebrows pull together.

Turning on my side, I realized that the situation was a bit reversed, seeing as I was comforting her when it was supposed to be the other way around.

I grumbled quietly, unwillingly wrapping my arms around her thin waist as she began to whimper. Having a mother was something that could take some getting used to.

But I had to admit, having her by my side felt good.

I'm rather depressed for many reasons, be they foolish or serious … My parents are seriously pissed at me. I need some cheering up. Extra piano practice and homework don't really help with that … *Emo* This seems to be happening a lot, nowadays (the going emo thing).

If you are not hooked yet, this has some angst … some stuff about music … and love and heartbreak (as said in my profile). Trust me, lots of love. Hope you'll like that. It's gradual, too, so don't worry. Can't give away anymore :p And memories of course. Yeah, I know that part is cliché but ... it's pretty important for the story. Sorry. I know I am committing suicide by publishing this fic, for now I have 3 series going on … but I love it so much and I don't want it to get stolen T_T If you liked this, you might like them too :] I'm not sure. I'm not a mind-reader.

... Or am I? Review?