Rain falls down outside an old dormitory, somehow gentle and unforgiving all at once. Sitting on an old bed in an equally old room, with a hand stuck out a just-as-old window, is a boy with sad, blue eyes. The damp, warm air from outside fills the room to ease the chill of the AC – or maybe just the chill in his heart. The lightning flashes before his eyes, followed by the rumble of thunder that echoes alongside the pitter patter in his ears, and the rain? It’s been falling for hours.
The boy’s pointed ears twitch as water hits the cement roof, the glass windowpanes, the thin leaves, the wet ground. In a way, it almost sounds new like this, with the recent… changes to his body. The sound, the sight, even the smell of the rain feels so different from how it used to, but… rain doesn’t change. Rain is old in a timeless, unaltered way. That consistency, that promise of eternal sameness used to bring him comfort, but now it only serves to remind him of his own fateful existence.
His father is dead (deep down he knows it’s his fault; everything is his fault, he ruins everything, he’s a-), his brother distant (if wanting him dead counts as distant), and with no friends to speak of (funny that he almost thought they might give him a chance), he feels so terribly alone.
If rain could emote, he thinks it might would be mocking him right now. I am the rain, it would boast. I am endless and constant and never alone, it would taunt. At times mortals may resent me, for I care not for their feelings nor health. But I am revered and welcomed by all the earth and skies, through which I make my aimless journey for all of time. The baggage with which I travel is free of worries, plans, responsibilities, and regrets, and I await no destination. I always exist somewhere, if not everywhere at once, and I will never know the insignificance of a life such as your own. Never will I be forgotten or commanded, nor shall I suffer pain or strife.
…Yeah. Ok, maybe he shouldn’t project his angst and bitterness onto innocent objects with no consciousness. If anything, it’d probably be fair to say he’s jealous, that he envies the nature of rain. His own nature (
demonic cursed evil) only bears resemblance to rain in its colour, and even still it’s harsh and cold in comparison to the variety of peaceful blues that water consists of.
He’s always been as bright and dangerous as a forest fire, indiscriminately burning those in his way. Born without a gentle bone in his body, he’s struggled to connect with others… at least not in ways that don’t include his fist connecting with their face. Time and time again his fiery temper has won out against his best efforts to be civil, to be cautious, to be… human. Now, with the truth laid bare, it makes sense that all he can seem to do is fight. After all, it’s a demon’s nature to destroy things, and because Rin is the boy with the blue flames, he’ll keep fighting until his mortal body gives out.
In moments like these, though, with rain dripping down his cold fingers, he can’t help but wonder when the tides of time will finally extinguish his spirit.