A/N: It's extremely rare for me to write anything out of the blue these days, as my fics now are mostly for challenge communities and personal requests from my dear friends over at livejournal. So, as a pleasant surprise for myself, this was born a few days ago at work, inspired by misheard song lyrics, hence the title is not in English. The meaning is obvious, though, so I won't be providing a translation. Oh, and random info – word count is 696 for this fic.
Warnings: none, worksafe.
Disclaimer: Reborn! is the intellectual property of Amano Akira and all associated companies. I claim no association with any of them, no profit is being made from this and no copyright infringement intended with this fan-made piece of fiction.
Do you know that tale of a Brazilian butterfly who flapped its wings – once – and a hurricane tore down Tokyo? It isn't a lie, you know. Even right now, as you are reading this, it's happening. Somewhere in this world a tiny butterfly beats its fragile colourful wings – once – and… nothing happens. Somewhere across the world a hurricane is waiting to happen and… it doesn't. The clouds peter out, the wind settles down, and a butterfly half across the world drops down dead, somebody's curious little fingers having torn out its ornate little wings.
Do you know why the storm doesn't happen? Do you know why the storms do not occur every second? There are millions of butterflies all across the world, flying over fields of crops, flowers and grass, and past stone and steel and glass of countless cities. Millions of wings beating in perfect sync. Thus, by a logical conclusion, we should be living in a world of storms. Then why are we not? Simple. You have to want a hurricane. You have to desire it. No butterfly lives or was ever born with the thoughts of a reckless storm in mind; their lives are too short to want anything else than the life they are leading right now, this instant, this wingbeat, this calm flutter along a light warm breeze.
But every now and then a butterfly is born, and a storm is born, connected. They cannot live on their own. For a while it is possible, yes, but not forever. They exist on their own, unaware of each other until one day… The butterfly wakes with the thoughts of a restless hurricane in its peaceful mind. It is suddenly aware of something else and its mind is wandering, wandering… Searching. And somewhere across the world a hurricane is brewing, stewing slowly in the clouds above, gathering winds, and seeking an outlet. It is ready to burst, to tear across the world, but something is still missing, and so it roams on until something connects in the universe and suddenly they become aware of each other – the butterfly and the hurricane. The very existence of the hurricane pulls at the wings of the butterfly, making it want, desire to flap its suddenly brittle wings, just once, and it feels like it'll break if it doesn't comply. They pull at one another equally – the storm and the butterfly – and gravitate toward the one moment which they have been living for.
The butterfly flaps its wings, once, and the hurricane bears down on the Earth.
Chrome walks and Mukuro walks beside her, aside from her. Light, measured steps, taken with care and caution, and greater intention. Mukuro turns, and Chrome turns with him, echoing his every movement. Echoing his very existence. They walk in sync – a tornado wanting to happen and the butterfly whose wingbeat will set it off. They exist separately, they began their lives separately, but they are inseparable. They walk on their own, but their paths are mirrored and they cross at one point, each step an echo of one already made. (Their minds gravitated towards one point in time and met, becoming connected.) Mukuro talks and Chrome listens, soaking up every word, because he is the cause and she is the reason, and he will be set free with the flap of her wings. Or maybe he will make her wings beat in resonance, in response to his actions, to his will.
Once the butterfly has become aware of the power within her wings, it can no longer exist without a storm to catch the gentle flutter of them. There is only one – a butterfly and a storm. Because Mukuro exists, so does Chrome. Because Chrome lives, so can Mukuro. The cause is action. The action is reason. The reason is reaction.
Chrome turns, takes a step, and so does Mukuro. The flames flare up, the trident swings, and Mist billows around them, erasing people from existence. Mukuro laughs and Chrome's voice is a gentle echo at the back of his mind. The hurricane rages free and the butterfly's wings tremble from the resonating beat which set it off.