The girl rolled her eyes. "You aren't going to tell me your name?" He must have looked beyond confused, because she sighed and rolled her big brown eyes. "You kidnap me and walk me home, but you won't tell me your name?" She held his gaze as he stared at her some more. This was the first sober human he had talked to in years besides the pub's owner, Don, and he didn't want to send her running for the hills when she found out what he was.
But for some reason, his normally strong resolve crumbled at her innocent, expectant stare. 'Oh well,' he thought, resigned to what was about to happen. 'We talked a bit, I guess.' "They call me Salamander at the fights. Happy?" He didn't even wait before turning around to leave. He didn't want to see the horror fill her eyes, didn't want to watch as her face contorted into a scream for help, for someone to come get him away from her.
So when he felt her small hand grip his arm again, he was both confused and annoyed. 'What, does she want me to wait for the cops to show up?' He grit his teeth as he tried to be patient, which was a new experience for him. It was taking everything he had not to throw her to the ground and bolt.
But when he looked at her, she didn't seem afraid of him. If anything, she seemed scary, and maybe even a bit annoyed. "That's not what I asked." Her voice sounded like she was talking to a child, which grated on his nerves just a bit. "What's your name? Because I don't go to the fights, so I can't call you Salamander."
He began to feel sorry; he felt like all he had done was stare at this girl throughout their entire interaction. She was the most baffling person he had ever met. 'If this is what sober people are like, I am never leaving the pub again,' he swore. Coming with her was a mistake enough. Telling her what he was was even more dangerous. And telling her his actual name…
His mind drew a blank, for two reasons. One was that he couldn't come up with a single reason that telling this girl his real name was a bad idea. The second, well…
What even was his name?
A raw feeling clawed its way up his throat at the realization. Had the Salamander consumed him? Was he really only a monster that lurked in the night, striking fear into everyone who had the misfortune to be around him? He remembered the drunk man that had told him the horror stories of the Salamander. "They say he has no regard for his opponents; that he only adds them to his win tally and doesn't give them a second thought after victory." The man's unfocused eyes had been so full of fear that it made him lose control. He had left him in an alley, and…this was the first time he'd thought of him since. 'No,' he thought, and he finally recognized the feeling in his throat as panic, making his fingers start to twitch. 'I am not only the Salamander! I can't be, I'm—'
"Natsu. My name is Natsu."
It came out so calmly, so simply, he doubted she had even noticed his inner mental breakdown. Even he was beginning to doubt himself. Had he truly—? No. He had forgotten his name. And yet, he realized that no one had called him Natsu since he had started fighting. They had been content to let him become mindlessly trained to come when they rang, and so had he. It made his blood boil, both in anger and shame.
The swish of bright blonde hair caught in his peripheral vision, and he cooled off. Now more than ever, he didn't want to scare away the one person who didn't seem to care one way or the other what he was; even if he suspected she merely didn't know about it. She met his eyes, smiling somewhat shyly and playing with a lock of hair so intricately that Natsu's fingers twitched again, but not to make a fist. Confusion rose in him again, but he brushed it off. She didn't even seem to realize she was twirling the strand around, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. "Okay, then, thank you, Natsu, for kidnapping me and walking me home."
She spun on her heel and strutted off, leaving Natsu standing under the street lamp.