I'm starting another story. Oh shoot.

Well this one's a bit on the romantic and cheesy side. A bit light if you tell me. The idea of it all was funny to me, and I thought why not.

Here's my romantic and disgustingly sweet side, instead of the usual cold dark grey me.

Roxas will always be my little brother. That's what I told him ever since I was first assigned to him.

He was around five years of age when I began to take care of him, and I was around eleven years old. I was the old maid's daughter. I seldom went with my mother to help around the house during the weekends. But when my father died (God bless his soul), things changed rather quickly. I was forced to quit school, in order for ends to meet. When you have at least five younger siblings, being the eldest, I had to take responsibility.

Sometimes I ask myself, why?

Why couldn't be born in some noble family, instead to a poor and uneducated couple, who has more kids than they can handle?

Well, I'd like to think that we don't pick our stories, or our beginnings. I am my own writer of my story, and I make my own chapters. I just have to make do with what I have, even if it's rather unappealing to most people.

I huff the hair that covers my eyes in annoyance. Taking care of an eight-year-old little boy is hard work. Especially if said boy was bawling his eyes out, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Tears streamed down his blotchy cheeks, dirt decorated his nose, and a nasty looking scratch was on his knee. Overalls hiked up to his thigh. The swing moved with his every movement; legs kicking erratically, and arms flailing around.

"I told you to stop moving Roxy," I say, wiping the wound with a washcloth.

"Y-you told me it wouldn't hur-hur-hurt!" He blubbers, wiping his nose with a sleeve. "Liar, liar! Pants on fire!"

"I wasn't lying," I say trying to calm him down. "Remember what I told you?"

"No!" He yells.

I refrain from sighing. I move the collar of my shirt, revealing a puckering old scar, his eyes widens into saucers, mouth gaping.

"That's old scar!" He says, "The one with the knife!"

"Well, remember I said that it hurt very very much?"

"Yeah!"

I grab his small hand, placing it gently onto it. His fingers trace it, scratching slightly. "While I waited for me mama, I told myself 'it doesn't hurt'. Kinda like trickin' my brain you know."

"That's stupid Nami," He crosses his arms, his lisp evident. It sounded more like 'thupid'. "You can't trick you brain, or else that means you're an idiot."

"An idiot? Why you!" I hiss, ready to smack the back of his head, "I was just saying the all yous gotta do is to put your mind over the matter."

"Mind over matter?" He echoes, not quite getting. His eyebrows scrunched together, forming a 'C' shape. I watch amusedly at the gears running in his head. "I dun get it."

"Well, pain is a temporary feeling I mean, kinda like putting layers of chocolate over pickles so you don't get the yucky taste." Or the vitamins, I think as I recall one episode of a very stubborn Roxas not wanting to take his medicine. "What yous tasting is the chocolate, instead of the pickles. You focus only on the chocolate and not the pickle, get it?" I hoped.

"Oh, yeah!" He says, nodding his head. Then he narrows his eyes, at me. Dark blue eyes hidden in his eyelids. "Have you been puttin' pickles on my chocolate?"

"No sirree." I say, poking his nose, "I couldn't do that to you." I smile.

"Okaaaay," He says, not totally convinced. "Ah ha! So if you don't mind it, it don't matter, right?"

I beam at him, "Yes exactly, you are a smart little boy, ya know? I swear by the time you end your school days, you could be smarter than me." I compliment him.

His lips stretch into a toothy grin, corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm already smarter than you, Nami."

I slapped his shin, where the wrapped bandage was. He howls as he feels the pain shoot up to his thigh. Clutching his leg, and he whimpers softly, "Since when you wrap that?"

"While I was making my point, Ya see know? Mind over matter."

He wrinkles his nose at me, pouting his lips. I thought he was so unbearably cute sometimes, that I had to give him a tight hug. "Poor Roxy. My little baby." I kiss his temples, and his cheeks, and his nose.

He thrashed harshly under my grip, head wriggling uncomfortably, "I'm not your baby! I'm eight!"

"Oh, so you're man?" I ask, smiling at him.

"Yeah!" He thumps his chest, jutting out awkwardly. "I'm a man, not a baby."

"Well, I guess you could be my little brother." I supply.

"Eh," He says, shrugging, "Well, I don't know, I guess that's fine."

"You don't seem so excited."

He swings back and forth, legs barely grazing the dirt. He glances at me, a red tint on his cheeks, "Well, cause, everyone thinks I'm just little. Papa says when I grow up I gots to marry a pretty girl, and how could someone like little me?"

I snort at him. He's way too young to talk about marriage. I pinch his cheeks, he swats it away, "Hmm, you're right. You're really little for your age."

"You don't have to rub it in." He grumbles.

I hug him closer, treading my fingers into his messy locks, "Well, someone's gotta have to like you for who you are. The outside doesn't matter, only the inside."

"The only girl who likes me is you," He points out. "Does that mean you have to marry me?" he shudders.

"Pft, dream on, kid." I laugh. I imagine an older Roxas holding a bouquet of flowers to a young woman, and kissing in an alter. I sigh, as I bid him goodbye for his new life. I sniffle slightly, and I cough afterwards to disguise it.

"Well, I don't know Nami. It seems like no one will really like me for who I am," He sulks, then glances at me, "You call me a brat all the time. Ma doesn't even care about me, and pa is barely at home."

I wince at his tone. I couldn't blame him. Mrs. Highwind was suffering Postpartum depression, and it was taking a huge toll on the family. One time, I had found Roxas lying outside on the steps, shivering and sneezing. His lips were a deathly blue, and his fingers were numb. He had told me his mother had accidentally locked him out.

"Well, I accept then." I say, rubbing his shoulder.

"Huh?"

"If you can't find a girl, then you could always turn to me." I joke, "Which I highly doubt anyways, you're gonna find a girl who's gonna tolerate you. That Xion girl from down the street seems nice, pretty cute too."

"Eh, her?" He gags.

"Roxas, she's sweet."

Using his real name meant I was serious, "Well, too sweet. Like I'd get diabetes."

I direct into the house, scolding him along the way.

That was twelve years ago.

.

.

.

I deposited all the paintbrushes into a jar. Then I proceed to mop the floor, dyeing it in all sorts of colors. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. As begin to organize the different sets of paint into the shelf, I felt the bell in front ringing.

I felt a twinge of annoyance enter. Was this person an idiot? The shop was obviously closed. The big red sign on front was hard evidence for that. I glance behind me, seeing a pair of black shoes. I just mopped that! Inwardly groaning, I plastered a smile into my face as I turned to face him fully.

"Sir, I'm sorry we're closed today, you could come back…" My voice died down, as I faced a tall and handsome man. I gaped slightly at the sight. Blonde hair almost covered his eyes, and a suit was tailored to perfection, and eyes bluer than any ocean caught my attention. A crooked smile was on him. He holds a bouquet of lilies.

I must be dreaming.

I pinch at my skin, and I blinked. He was still here.

"Uhm," I say, "Hello."

"Hi," He responds, lips curling. "Naminé."

I choke a bit as he says my name. It sounded so…weird. I gather enough courage to speak, "Do I know you, sir?"

He looked baffled, almost offended. "You makin' formalities for me now, Naminé? Why, I thought you'd never forget me."

Red tinted my cheeks. Oh Lord. Did…I sleep with him? "Have we met before…during a bar, perhaps?" I squeak out.

His eyes widened, and he laughed. I felt rage creeping into me. Great, it was one of those loud booming laugher. "Is there a problem? Look, if you looking for another lay, I'm interested, mister. I'm quite busy."

"I can see that," He glances on the mop in my hands. He chuckles softly, swiping a hand into his hair. "I know I grew up a bit, but I don't think I look quite different,"

"I really don't know you." I say, inching towards the counter.

He takes a step forward, almost trapping me, his face is way too close, and I feel his breath on me. Mint and cigarettes. "Take a good look."

I comply hesitatingly, staring at him, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. My eyes fixates on the scar under his eyes, the tiny freckles decorating his nose, and the strong piercing blue that seemed be like endless pools of water. He bites his lip, and his gaze goes unfocused, he leans into me, whispering into my ear. "Nami..."

"Let's play, Nami!"

My hands fly into his chest, pushing him back. Blood goes up into my head, my hand covers my mouth, while the other steadies the heart thumping against my rib cage.

"Roxy?"

He smirks crookedly, handing me the lilies, and my hands are limp as I hold on to it.

"In the flesh, Nami,"

I glance at the card on the flowers, and my eyes go wide.

ROXAS HIGHWIND

ATTORNEY AT LAW.

…

aw, fuck.