There were people who survived in the darkness, striving on despite the lack of hope, but did they live? Perhaps not. There were people who lived in the light, growing and becoming more than they ever were, did they live? Perhaps. One could never quite determine the life they existed in, not unless they sought to classify with honesty and a taste for reality.
She had always been his Light, but shadows always sought to consume what it could not defeat.
"Hello! Would you like to share my buns? Mother made me a bagful!"
"–W-what?"
"Buns! Mother baked them for me! There is a lot, it's good! I promise!"
Without even waiting for a response, the sudden arrival simply plopped upon bench ( invading the boy's privacy and somber ponders ), reaching into a paper bag and offering up said food, shoving it into his hands. Removing his option, and giving him no room for refusal as she consumed her own share. Short legs swinging, bright beam and sweet smiles were all that he obtained from her presence, confusion running rife. He was a menace, child of a disgraced war hero, he had no place in the orphanage he was sent to, and no place did he have in a rich child's life, judging by the silk she wore and ribbons adorned. Still, he was not about to complain when food was given, a starving child devouring the steaming treat without thought. If she was anything like the others in the orphanage, he would simply grit his teeth and consume even sand and dirt.
Yet it was the best meal he ever had since the passing of his father.
A simple bun, made from a loving heart, he presumed, had a flavour he could not put a finger upon. His father was never one to bake, though he made a decent meal in the short period of time they spent together. He was happy then. There was no prejudice, no animosity, all Natsu was, was a little boy with energy to spare, always eager to assist. A thing of the past. The boy had come to realize that the world was cruel, and though echoing were nothing but rumours, humans were a spiteful race. Few remained innocent, untouched by the taint of whispering devils, few, like the child with dancing honeys and silky gold.
He was not staring.
One was simply not enough, and stomach growled and demanded for another, a command that brought loud giggles to the girl beside, before she planted the entire bag upon him, waving the half-eaten bun she still nibbled on. Still, she asked for nothing, and merely sat by his side with a cheerful tune that was only disrupted when voice called for her return. Reluctance etched upon features, but she dusted crumbs off face and lap, leaning close to press a kiss upon each cheek before she clambered off the bench.
"Bye bye, Mr. Pinkie Ears!"
"I do not have pink ears!"
"Yes, you do, they're all pink now!"
The first time they met, she was his angel in the creeping darkness, an unexpected light with no requests but an acceptance in the gifts she offered. For a boy neglected and rejected, she smelled like sweet kindness he had never really understood ( not at this point in life ) – and she was gone like the drifting clouds, a dream if not for the warmth of food upon his lap and the heat of shyness embarrassment burning his ears.
"No! Let me go! Help! Somebody help m-"
Useless thrashing only served to drain what little strength she had remaining from a long day of school, drained from the numerous exams they had to go through, and surely the physical activity so soon after she had barely recovered from an illness did her no good. But there was no one to blame for her late night, no one but the blonde herself, who lingered a tad too late as she browsed a reference book with no heed for the time. A lone lady returning in the dead of the night was a target; for the clothes off her back, or the money in her wallet, to a group of men who had little to lose, even the warmth of her body. Help did not arrive in the form of a knight in shining armour, but a teen no different from a hooligan; unexpected.
"She said to leave her alone."
"What the hell, man? Just let us be, you want a go, wait your turn."
"Kay. I waited. My turn now."
If he was malnourished, it did not show in his movements, swift and forceful. If she had to describe it, the word would have been dynamic, the manner form twisted and knees smashed; akin to a flame dancing against the dimness of midnight. Drawn like a moth to flames, she watched with jaw agape as her rescuer took on with ease, the men who could have ended her life. Three against one, it was an unfair fight from the beginning, for them jumped him all the same with little care for honourable battles. Yet he had sidestepped one, only to catch another with a double elbow smash, effectively breaking a jaw and causing a howl of agony to echo through the alleyway. The other two, lightly intimidated, but were reluctant to yell uncle, not when pride was at stake. Nonetheless, he made quick work of the trio who eventually bolted with tails between their feet, desiring to keep their limbs intact when he upped the heat a notch, exhibiting maneuvers that would shatter bones.
"–T-thank you. I don't know wh-what would have happened if you weren't here…"
"Yeah, whatever. No need to thank me. Get outta here and go home."
She did not think twice to linger, darting close to press two soft kisses upon cheeks before she fled the scene, leaving behind a teen with darkened cheeks as curses flew freely. Once more did his ears burn, and once more did he raise his head and watched as golden tresses scattered in the midst of a run.
The second time they met, he was her hero in the frigid twilight, the sole person who came to her rescue in the midst of hazy fear and pumping adrenaline. Advantage could easily be taken, the demand for repayment of his deeds could come in the form of cash, that he seemingly required ( what with tattered attire and haggard appearance ) or if he was lecherous….more. He was the unforeseen chevalier, a champion lost to the harshness of bottom lines – the boy with a hunger for buns and loneliness in his eyes.
"That's enough! Stop! He's not going to hurt you anymore!"
"He tried to kill me! He slashed at me! I have the right to fight back!"
Agitation clear upon the pinkette's expression, flailing arms promised agonizing damage to those who had the unfortunate luck to pick the man as target, fists tight and tense. Yet she held no fears, gently pushing him aside to tend to the other, raising a brow at the battered form. One would often assume that the armed attacker would be the one to come up on top, yet he was the one worse for wear; features already beginning to swell, and arm twisted at an awkward angle.
"I'm not saying that you don't, I'm saying that there is no need anymore. He's down. I'll take care of him, sit down. You're hurt, let me look at your wounds for you."
Command given, pointed stare demanded obedience one would not predict from a violent person, a man who had, just moments ago, been beating down another of a larger build. Yet he sat, as she requested, grumbling endlessly about how he had done no wrong, and was assailed when he was doing no more than minding his own business. It was not as though he had much to give, but the clothes upon his back, given by an old lady for his assistance with heavy carts. He earned it, and now it was sliced at the arm, chill surely to seep it through the gap, though the crimson staining material was likely the more important cause for concern.
But she was there in the matter of moments, gripping arm tightly ( a marvel for someone her size ), eyeing the wound with a sigh. Not deep, thankfully, but the woman would play it safe, and tugged bag closer in order to extract required items. Cotton and alcohol to clean the wound, before needle and thread stitched the slash wound up. He, however, was not about to get a silent treatment.
"You're strong. Why do you use your strength like this?"
"Like what? Protecting myself is a crime now?"
"No, I mean, have you not thought of…using it for helping people?"
"You mean like the police or the army? Like hell they'll take me. I'm not exactly the type of guy authorities would want, not with my record."
"–Would you like to help me then?"
"What? Carry some boxes? Wash your fancy car? Thanks, but no thanks."
"A bodyguard."
"What?"
"I need a bodyguard. I'm going out of the country, there is a war and they need help, first aid. I'm not a trained medic, I'm not allowed to go without a bodyguard."
"You barely know me. I could be a murderer."
A foolish desire, by a woman sheltered, no doubt. She knew little of the world, he told himself, and it was pointless to assist such a woman, who would surely kick up a fuss if things were not done right. He had seen enough of those, rich ladies who believed the world was but a silver platter, and their prestige protected them from the harms of reality. Foolish thoughts.
"You're not. You might not remember, but you saved me when I was going home late from school. And I remember you from when we were children. Mr. Pinkie Ears."
Oh. Her.
"–The hell?! I do not have pink ears! That was because you just randomly ki-kissed me!"
"Like I said, Mr. Pinkie Ears. And I did not randomly kissed you! It was your cheeks! Cheeks! People will get the wrong impression!"
The third time they met, it was the start of a partnership, unbeknownst to them, one that would eventually develop into a relationship that made others scowl with the bitterness of jealousy. To lay faith in each other's abilities, one to guard and protect, the other to tend and heal; they were a pair soon to gain a reputation that preceded them. Two who marched into the midst of war and aided those on both sides. Two who cared little about the feuds and cared for all with the same amount of diligence.
"Hey, Mr. Pinkie Ears, can you pass the buns?"
"I do not have pink ears!"
"Sure you do~"
Revenge was so sweet, a dish best served cold they claimed, and he savoured it with the relish of a flavour of Lucy Heartfilia and her penchant for strawberry lip gloss. He was no fan of the ice cream she had just consumed, but the taste of his girlfriend ( and the fact that her ears burned darkly with embarrassment ) was a lure he could not turn away from, a perk he always had the hunger for. He could not understand the men who could resist their women. Once upon a time, he had believed that love was a thing he could not understand – not that he did now, but at present he understood that he would do anything for the blonde beauty. All she had to do was to pout or bat her lashes and he was sold. A dangerous power he allowed the woman to attain, but she was as benevolent as an angel.
"Ha! Mrs. Pinkie Ears!"
"–S-s-shut up, Natsu you idiot!"
"Just giving you a taste of your medicine, Lucy~"
"W-we're not married yet!"
"Yet. We will be, someday."
"I might not say yes!"
"–Wait, what? Why not?!"
A relationship of utter trust, occasional teasing, and a future to look forward to. Perfection was impossible, yet they teetered so close to it, neither desired anything more than what they already had. Perhaps in the future, marriage and then children.What more could they ask for?
But all good things come to an end.
The Magnolia Times 3rd December 2015 Relief Program a sham?
"Unlock Hearts is a sham!" claims single mother Wisteria Sanders. The agitated woman marched into The Magnolia Times office with a vendetta, as her four year old child was admitted into the hospital due to pneumonia. According to the twenty eight year old woman, she had called the hotline for help and had been assigned Doctor Heartfilia, a renowned lady who lived in the area. Told to expect Doctor Heartfilia within the hour, the enraged mother claims that the doctor neither showed up nor sent a message along to inform that her presence should not be expected. The child then collapsed and Wisteria was forced to rush him to the hospital. He is now warded and expected to be discharged within the week.
"I don't mean to be horrible, but no mother wants to see their child in the hospital. I had faith in Unlock Hearts, we had faith in this doctor, and she doesn't even turn up! We were waiting for her the whole night! This is not what a responsible doctor should do!"
The Magnolia Times 5th December 2015 Doctor of Relief Program pronounced dead at 5.37am.
Lucy Heartfilia, sole heir of the Heatrfilia Konzern and founding member of the growing Relief Program, Unlock Hearts, was pronounced dead at Mercy Hospital. Admitted three days ago, the doctor had been spotted in the vicinity of her home, with her medical bag in tow. The Police believes that she responded to a call for help and was attacked during the journey. It is suspected that the crime was premeditated and her assailants laid in wait.
It is unknown if her boyfriend and bodyguard, Natsu Dragneel, was involved in this crime. The man had been arrested for assault and is now hospitalized at the same hospital. He claims amnesia.
Any one with information is requested to come forth to assist the investigation.
They kept the news from him, it was horrifying enough to wake with no memories of one's life, but to know that their beloved no longer existed in the same world, and that the public believed he had a hand in her demise; it was plain atrocious. They knew, too well, how the male adored his girlfriend, how they were inseparable, and how both shared smiles and affection that could not be mocked.
Yet even if he remained cut off from reality, the male held his possessions close, the few things he had that none could snatch from him. Of which, a ring he allegedly wore at all times, one he toyed with as he attempted to recall all that he had lost. There and then, the glint of engraved gold beckoned to him, and it was with narrowed vision that he peered upon words of affection.
'Forever Yours, Love Lucy.'
The ring was new, unmarred, it could not have been a heirloom. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…. It rang a subtle bell but no image rose to mind, and the nagging void within chest simply enlarged his curiosity. She was someone who mattered, dearly, by manner in which he adorned said ring. A lover? His girlfriend? His wife? If so, where was the woman when he was hospitalized? Did she turn the other cheek when news of the assault reached her? He could not imagine a woman being proud of the fact that he had assaulted someone.
The longer he lingered upon such thoughts, the deeper the thirst for knowledge gnawed within him. They claimed to be his friends, they could offer him the information he desired. If they refused…he would find a way, somehow. This Lucy….she was important, too important for him to casually overlook.
"Be honest with me. Who's Lucy?"