Disclaimer: Shugo Chara! and the characters Amu Hinamori and Ikuto Tsukiyomi are rightfully owned by Peach-Pit.

First Encounter

"Ikuto?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, I still remember when we first met." Amu had the tiniest hint of a smile on her face. "Things were so . . . different back then."

I grinned. "You sure you remember?" I asked mysteriously.

She turned, annoyed. "Of course I do! It wasn't that long ago!"

"Really?" I scooted closer to her on the park bench. "I think it was."

Amu turned scarlet. "Ikuto! I told you not to come so close!"

But I wasn't really listening anymore. I was thinking about that time when . . .

The rain came down harder and harder as I walked into an alleyway, splattering onto my fragile umbrella, as if trying to crush it with a thousand tiny hands. In fact, I felt as if I was being crushed; my violin seemed to be a tonne heavier than usual. And I was angry; at my father, my mother, my sister; at Tsukasa-san and Tadase; but most of all, at Easter. Just the thought of those men dragging me away to meet my 'father' made me want to scream out into the dark, foggy sky. But I couldn't. I always had to be the mature one, the responsible one–the one who had to look after everyone else. Life was just so unfair! I stomped my foot irritably in a puddle; muddy water splashed upwards and soaked my shoes and trousers. I groaned. I was just about ready to burst.

Then I heard it. A child, crying softly. Why would a child be here? I was a child too, but the voice sounded like a toddler's. It was much too early for any shops to be open. I crept around buildings, trying to find the source of the voice. "Hello?" I called softly.

The crying instantly stopped. A small head poked out from behind a shop. A girl, about three years old, with a mop of untidy pink hair and large, petrified golden eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and tear-stained, and she was drenched from head to toe. She took one look at me, screamed and ran off. "Hey, wait!" I yelled, running after her. I didn't really have to, though; she didn't get very far before she slipped and fell flat on her face. I walked up to her as calmly as possible.

"Stop it! Go away!" she shrieked, trying to scramble up.

"N–No, I won't hurt you. Are you all right?" I asked, holding out my free hand. My other hand was struggling with the umbrella, which was being blown about in the fierce wind.

The girl looked up at me then, into my eyes. She shook her head tearfully. I grabbed her hand and hauled her onto her feet. Suddenly an ear-splitting clasp of thunder sounded. The girl squealed and clung on to me like a baby koala. I carefully shielded her from the rain, looking around desperately for somewhere to shelter. My eyes landed on the barbeque area of the community hall. "Look, let's go over there," I said, practically dragging her along.

As soon as we were under the roof, I let go of the girl's hand, closed my umbrella and dumped myself on the concrete floor. Beyond the hall the rain was still pouring, a deafening roar that echoed in my ears. The girl tugged on my jacket. I turned. "Why are you here?" I asked her.

"There were these men in my house. In the middle of the night. And then . . . they chased me out. And I ran and ran, and now I don't know where I am."

Men? Thieves? Or murderers? "What were the men doing?"

"They were . . . stealing things."

"So they were thieves?"

The girl nodded, looking scared. "We always have them. That's why we're going somewhere else."

What did she mean? Toddlers were so hard to understand. But I couldn't help liking this little girl. "Well . . ." I said slowly, "do you mean you're moving to live somewhere else because your street is known to have robbers?"

"Sort of." The girl shifted closer to me again, with tears in her eyes. "What do I do now?" Her voice wobbled.

Calm down, I told myself. If you can deal with Utau, this little girl is nothing. "Do you know your home address?"

"I . . . can't remember it." She buried her face in my jacket and sobbed.

I tried to think of something else. "What does your house look like?"

The girl looked up. "It's . . . really red. The bricks and the roof. Everything. And the driveway."

My heart started to pound. I knew a house like that! I had to walk past it every day to get to school. "Is it single storey or double storey?"

The girl looked confused.

"I mean . . . how many levels does it have?"

"One."

Yes, it had to be that one. There was no other house in the neighbourhood like that. I stood up, forcing a smile. "I think I know where you live. Let's go."

"No!"

I stared at her.

"No! Thunder-san is scary!"

I sighed. "Then let's go when the rain stops. Okay?"

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

Minutes passed, but the sky showed no sign of clearing up. Then a light bulb switched on in my head. "Um, do you want to listen to me play the violin?"

The girl stared at me. "Vi–Oh–Leen?"

"It's a musical instrument." I lifted it out of the case. "See?" I squeezed my eyes shut and played a fast, cheerful melody, begging for the rain to stop all along. I pulled the bow along the D string for the last time and opened my eyes. It had worked. Weak sunlight was filtering through the clouds, and best of all, a huge rainbow stretched across the sky. For a moment I stared at it in awe; then I snapped out of it and packed up my violin. I slung it onto my back and picked up my umbrella. "Now we can go," I told the girl.

But she was gazing at the violin case as if it was the most wonderful thing in the world. "I like that sound," she said.

When the red house finally came into view, the girl's face broke into a huge smile. "I'm home!" she yelled, running up the driveway. Then she turned back to me. "Thank you!"

"Ikuto! Hey, Ikuto!"

And then I thought I'd never see her again. The next day she'd already moved.

"IKUTO!"

My eyes shot open.

Amu let out a sigh of relief beside me. "Ikuto, stop daydreaming."

"Oops. Sorry." I grinned. "Hey, Amu, have you heard this before?" I picked up my violin and played the exact melody I'd played to that little girl.

I looked at her expectantly when I finished.

"Well, it sounds familiar . . ." Amu shrugged.

And at that moment, I really couldn't help it. I laughed at her. "Amu, you have amnesia."

"I do not!"

"Amu, you've changed so much."

"I have not!"

Well, what could I expect? She'd only been three years old, after all.

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TsubameTrebleClef