A/N: Well okay. I really shouldn't be here at all, but I really wanted to write... wish me luck for my A Levels :(
This one-shot is about the same length as Touch. Similarly, it was a piece that just tumbled out and half the time I wasn't really conscious of what I was writing so uhm... sorry? Hope you enjoy it anyway :)
Steal (my breath away)
by Rock-n-Round
They meet on a cold, November evening.
Nastume shivers as he wraps his red scarf tighter around his neck, breaths coming out in small puffs. He trudges along the sidewalk, head low and steps uncertain. Around him, the city bustles with life, cars flashing past and people hurrying by. But Natsume feels anything but life. He feels sort of like a snowman trapped in a snow globe, watching as people pick him up and put him down, then move on with everyone else but him.
Amidst his thoughts he suddenly feels fleeting warmth in his soul, tugging and screaming at him to look up, look up. There is another one of him nearby. He snaps his head up quickly, eyes scanning the crowd before him. A shoulder brushes past his, and Natsume gasps in surprise as a small jolt runs down his spine. He looks back, turning and frantically following the trail of warmth left behind by the figure moving away from him. When he is close enough he reaches out, hands gripping onto little shoulders as he turns the figure around. The world stops around them.
"Are you… an Alice?" he asks the figure (a pretty brunette, he notes), voice scratchy with disuse.
The girl's eyes shine with confusion and she tilts her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Alice." There is an awkward silence (it's awkward to Natsume), before the girl smiles. "I don't mind being friends though."
A hand is thrust out towards him, and Natsume pauses for awhile before reaching his own out slowly. He inhales as he wraps his cold fingers around the girl's, feeling that fleeting warmth return tenfold. She is definitely an Alice.
"I'm Mikan Sakura. It's nice to meet you."
His hands sparkle like the falling glitter in a snow globe when he pulls it away, and Natsume can't help but feel light.
They happen to run into each other at the convenience store on Natsume's birthday.
It is a particularly cold day, Natsume thinks, as he haphazardly tosses brands of instant ramen into his basket. He looks outside the store, seeing frost creep up in random shapes and trails on the windows. He inhales sharply and exhales slowly, letting some hints of his fire seep out through his fingertips as he attempts to warm himself up. He stops using his Alice when he feels warmth rushing towards him and it's not his.
He hurriedly makes his way towards the dairy section, accidentally knocking over boxes of cereal on the way. When he finally stumbles into the right area, he sees the same girl with two cartons, one in each hand, and a silly expression that Natsume makes out to be concentration plastered on her face. Her tongue is out and her eyebrows are scrunched together. Natsume thinks that she looks ridiculous (and endearing).
He walks up and stops behind her, snatching the strawberry flavoured milk out of her hands. "Strawberry milk is a sin."
The brown head turns in surprise, eyebrows temporarily up before melting downwards, her face slackening into a goofy smile. "Oh, hello, Natsume. Why is it a sin?"
Natsume shakes his head in disapproval as he places the strawberry milk back. "Strawberry and milk do not match. They're like opposite charges that repel."
Mikan hums in thought, plucking off the same carton of strawberry milk and placing it into her basket and then throws another in Natsume's. The boy scowls in distaste, but accepts it anyway. "But don't they always say that opposites attract in love?"
Natsumes pauses for a moment, caught off-guard. "Well," he drawls out, "I suppose people can be stupid sometimes."
There is a giggle, followed by soft hiccups as Mikan breathes in at intervals of laughter. Natsume likes to think that Mikan is breathing in his coldness and turning it into warmth. Mikan waggles a finger in front of Natsume's face, as if to reprimand him. "Don't be such a pessimist, Natsume. Who knows, maybe you'll fall in love with someone as different from you as the night is from day." (Natsume muses at this.) Mikan pokes his nose and smiles brightly at him. She then skips off to pay for her groceries, and Natsume swears he sees stardust drifting out from Mikan's fingertips.
He goes home that day, his head feeling like cotton but Natsume thinks that this might be the best birthday ever since he ran away.
Strawberry milk was actually pretty tasty, too.
Natsume wakes up at three in the morning with a pounding headache and fatigue deep in his bones.
He groans as he disentangles himself from the fluffy white sheets (why did his bed seem extra comfy that morning?) and a string of curses follow him into the bathroom. Natsume feels the cold air slicing through his pale skin and shivers unconsciously. Throwing on a hoodie, he groggily searches the bathroom cabinet for some aspirin, swallowing it dry before crawling back into bed.
He hears melodious laughter and sees sparkling rubies in his sleep, but somehow it feels like soulless cackling and crusted blood.
They somehow manage to meet up for dinner on the first day of December.
It is somehow warmer than last week, Natsume feels, as he sits across Mikan and sips on his wine. She tosses him a tentative smile to which Natsume timidly responds with a slight smirk. "How have you been, Natsume?"
"I think I got sick last week from that strawberry milk." Natsume puts down his wine glass and leans forward. "I told you it was a sin."
Mikan just pouts and shakes her head. "It is not! I was perfectly fine after having it. You're just weak!"
"I rarely get sick." Natsume says, and he thinks that it's true. The last time he felt under the weather was when he overused his Alice. "I should be compensated. I could have died."
He lets his lips curl upwards when he sees Mikan roll her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Natsume. No one gets sick from milk! You're just weak! Admit it, you're weak weak weak weak-"
Natsume taps her temple in annoyance. "If you don't stop chanting, I'll have to make you."
But Mikan doesn't stop. She chants and chants and chants and even singsongs it once in a while to break the monotone. Natsume reaches out to pull her chin towards him, inhaling her warmth and pressing his mouth onto the small, beauty mark right above her lip. Natsume feels his insides turn and something flickers within him. Mikan stops.
A second later Mikan moves in, and Natsume reciprocates. They kiss, close-mouthed and cautious. Natsume feels like he is on fire as parts of his coldness leave him, with Mikan stealing it and exchanging it for warmth. It makes him giddy like a schoolgirl having their first kiss and he knows that it is anything but innocent. But Natsume does not stop. He shoves out his uncertainty and clings onto the warmth she emits with desperation.
They leave the waiter standing there awkwardly, their pasta going cold in his hands.
When Natsume brushes his teeth that night, the toothpaste he spits is pink against the white, porcelain sink.
Ruka finally visits after two years.
Natsume greets him with an Alice-powered hug, laughing as he hears Ruka hiss in response. "Hey! That isn't how you should greet a best friend after so long." Ruka complains. He rubs at the thin fabric to dissipate the heat.
Natsume scoffs. "You deserve it for disappearing on me." He slumps down on his coach and watches as Ruka tugs off his shoes and neatly places them next to the doormat. His eyelids slip shut. "I was lonely, you know. And worried."
He feels the sorrow and guilt Ruka emits, and accepts it with open arms. Natsume shifts when he feels a weight next to him. He opens his eyes and sees an ocean of apology in Ruka's blue orbs. The blonde's jaw is slack, and there is silence as Ruka contemplates. "I'm sorry," was all Ruka supplied after a while.
Natsume sighs. "But you're alright now, right?"
"I'm fine, we're safe now." Ruka's smile was serene. Natsume basks in it and breathes for the first time in two years. "How're you, Natsume?"
Natsume leans back into the couch, head turning away from Ruka. "I met another one. She doesn't know she's one though, so I have no idea what her Alice is."
Ruka wrings his hands together. Another one could mean trouble. "Is she…?"
"No, she's safe."
He hears a sigh of relief, but somehow Natsume is only filled with dread.
Natsume feels colder.
He blames it on the weather, really. It must be the effect of global warming. Natsume shoves out the little voice telling him that no dummy, global warming makes it warmer¸ brushing it off and opting instead to focus on choosing a thicker coat for his trip to the grocery store.
It is a good day out despite everything, with the sunset painting splashes of orange and pink on the sky's canvas. Natsume watches as the city forms a silhouette, letting himself marvel inwardly. There is a bounce in his step today, and his head is turned up to face the world. The city around him slows down as stressed adults retire home and cars groan to a halt. A little smile graces his face.
When he is three feet away from the store, Natsume is hit with a gust of warm wind, and he instantly relaxes, embracing the heat. A bell clinks and he eagerly steps in, following the trail of warmth left behind. He soon finds Mikan crouched in one of the aisles, face scrunched as she looks at different brands of pancake mix like it is the most puzzling math question she's ever seen.
"Pick one or make your own, woman. It's not that hard."
The girl does not even spare a glance at him. "Natsume, this is extremely important." He raises an eyebrow at this. "It determines my level of happiness for the day. A good stack of fluffy buttermilk pancakes satiates my tummy and my tummy is the boss of my mood."
Natsume can't help but let amusement tug at his lips. Pancakes are easy to make. Natsume thinks it is fortunate that Ruka taught him the art before he left, because she was right. Pancakes somehow make things better. "I can make good buttermilk pancakes," he says before he can help it.
At this, Mikan looks up from her study of pancake mix labels. "Is that an offer?" She beams at him, and Natsume thinks that he's made a mistake. The way his knees are slightly wobbling tells him so, and the way his heart is fluttering and pounding against his chest amplifies it.
"Uh," he intelligently replies.
Mikan winks. "I'll take that as a yes." She glances down at her watch, "Have you had dinner yet?"
Natsume shakes his head slowly, cautious of the way Mikan's eyes glint in glee. The next moment they are flying through the store, shelving items into their shopping baskets randomly and there's a we need self-raising flour right- oh wait how about milk, AW dang how could I almost forget buttermilk, they are called buttermilk pancakes for a reason, Mikan- and suddenly the next moment he is in the kitchen of Mikan Sakura's apartment.
Natsume groans when Mikan hands him a spatula. "Chef Hyuuga, how may I assist you?"
"Isn't this supposed to be your breakfast?" Natsume asks in exasperation, still trying to wrap his mind around the way his day unraveled.
"This is my breakfast!" she replies happily, "Breakfast for dinner!" She claps her hands once for emphasis.
Natsume resists the urge to smash his head into the nearest object, and he soon finds himself grabbing the self-raising flour anyway. Mikan watches in curiosity as he scoops out twelve tablespoons of it and dumps it into a bowl. Natsume can feel the warmth of her body behind him, and his heart twists in ways he thought was not possible. Little hands snake around his waist and he sucks in a breath out of reflex, almost dropping the spoon of sugar in his hands. Then suddenly Natsume feels weak, like the wind is knocked out of him and he gasps for air.
But the little hands remain there, and he thinks that it must just be his nervousness. "Natsume," a muffled voice asks, "what's an Alice? Why'd you call me one?"
He stiffens at that question, but somehow he answers easily. "It's… a power, to put it simply."
The head removes itself from his back, and Natsume frowns mentally at the loss of heat, but somehow he breathes easier. "You mean like a superpower? Does that mean you think I'm a superhero?" He feels the grin she radiates.
"More like you're the offending criminal," he retaliates playfully, and he feels a hand removing itself and a fist replaces it. "Ouch," he mocks, "this is what I mean, criminal."
Mikan's laughter carries throughout the room. Natsume thinks that it must have the power to go through walls. Maybe that's her Alice. That would explain why his mood instantly lightens at the clear, bright sound. It must have gone through his heart.
"So do you have an Alice?" she ventures, and Natsume pauses. When he doesn't reply, he feels a face nuzzling affectionately against his back, as if to say, it's okay if you don't want to reply, I'm sorry. He feels comforted but at the same time, he feels like it's getting harder to take in air. He chokes and coughs once, then twice. When the head relocates to his shoulder and he feels skin against his neck, he drops the spoon and his body reacts instantly, white hot shivers ghosting down his spine. It hurts, but he turns around anyway, his fingers automatically weaving into her auburn tendrils. He pulls her in, exhaling his coldness and inhaling her warmth. Then Natsume kisses her, slow and passionate. His eyes are glazed over, and his thoughts are all Mikan, Mikan, Mikan so he ignores the sparkling red rubies scattered across the floor.
Their buttermilk pancakes felt like it was missing an ingredient or two when they eat it later, but Mikan claims that it's the best she's ever had.
Natsume returns home and drowns in fire as fever consumes him for the next three days.
When he wakes up on the fourth day, the first thing Ruka does is to scold him.
"Why'd you use your Alice, Natsume?" Ruka hisses, his whispers sounding like a loudhailer. Ruka's hands are worrying over Natsume's overheated face as the blonde feels his temperature.
Natsume grunts at the cold and slurs. "Didn't."
There is silence, and Natsume lets the stillness cradle him. "Are you sure?" He detects the uncertainty in Ruka's voice, and he nods once.
"Really." He feels the hands against his face slacken and pull away from him.
"But you don't usually get this sick unless you've overused it, Natsume." He hears a sigh, "Maybe you've gotten the bug or something."
The bug, Natsume thinks. Just a bug.
When he drifts off into slumber four minutes later, the bug morphs into a girl with the brightest grin he's ever seen. He smiles back.
Natsume feels like his head is stuffed with cotton.
Despite that, he feels much better than the past few days, so he deems it as an improvement. The first thing he does is to head down to the grocery store because he is weirdly craving for a sweet drink, and there is none at home. He ignores Ruka's mothering and throws on a random coat. He hastily jams his sneakers on and makes his way out of the door.
The store is busy today. Natsume weaves through the crowd fluidly, stopping once or twice as he contemplates between apple juice and coke, or peach tea and sprite, before he finds his winner sitting at the dairy section. He picks up the bottle and starts to turn away before he pauses and grabs another half a dozen.
As he sips on the drink on his way home, Natsume thinks that strawberry milk is an extremely good change after a week of bland porridge and plain water.
Natsume bumps into her again as he picks up dinner two days later.
They decide to dine in, so they shuffle into a random café and plop down after ordering. It is Mikan that initiates the conversation.
"How have you been the past week, Natsume?"
He thinks back to the fever and his bed. "I've been sleeping a lot." He answers casually.
"Sleeping?" Mikan crinkles her nose (how cute, Natsume thinks), "Sleeping is for the weak!" She declares loudly, and few heads turn to stare at her. She doesn't recoil.
Natsume rests his right hand underneath his chin, trying to cover up the red skin on his neck that is flushed with embarrassment. "You're too loud," he scolds lightly. "People are staring."
But Mikan only smiles. Natsume's breath hitches for a second. "Sorry," she says, but she doesn't sound one bit apologetic.
Their conversation carries on, topics revolving around everything and nothing. They catch up on what's happened the past week (well, mostly Mikan's week) and when their food arrives the words hanging in the air disappears. They dig in.
Once they step out of the café, Natsume feels warm hands finding their way to his, and he naturally wraps his larger ones around it. Mikan swings their intertwined fingers back and forth happily, humming a happy tune to which Natsume's heart beats to. Blood is rushing to his ears, and he sees vehicles zooming past and there's roaring. But the roaring isn't from the cars. He blinks once, twice and then concentrates on listening to Mikan's voice to drown out the chaotic noises.
Their steps slow to a stop before Mikan's apartment, and he feels a tug at his hands. Natsume obliges, leaning towards her and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. Before he can pull away he feels the warmth on his hands displacing themselves to his neck, and he is trapped. They kiss, needy and desperate and Natsume doesn't even know why. All he can do is to hold her waist and inhale her scent, feel her warmth and surrender, even though he feels like his insides are flipping themselves out and his breathing is more than irregular. It hurts.
He endures it with enthusiasm until they separate, breaths forming clouds of mist against the chilly December air. His fingertips are burning and he catches her hand in his. It's somehow rougher than just now, like there are granules of sand stuck between her fingers.
"Goodnight," he whispers, running his thumb along her knuckles.
She looks up at him. "Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Natsume."
Natsume nods dumbly and watches her until her shadow disappears. Her words linger in the air and he can't help but think that it sounds like a beautiful curse.
He doesn't sleep well that night, with his face planted firm against the pavement ten feet away from home.
The first sound Natsume registers is that of incessant beeping.
He pries his eyelids open, and he is met with white. He is happy for moment before he takes in the smell of cleanliness and realises that he is in the hospital. Then he thinks back to the pavement, the dinner and Mikan, Mikan, Mikan-
His eyelids slip shut as the monitor beeps wildly.
Mikan visits that night.
Natsume knows it because he's only half-asleep. The sedatives make him woozy yet alert. He finds it sort of morbid.
"Natsume, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" She reprimands him half-heartedly even though he doesn't respond. "You better wake up soon, or else I'll shove strawberry milk down your throat. Or maybe I'll smash pancakes into your face. Or tie your hands up with pasta." She rattles on about how to achieve death by food. Natsume thinks that he's never been happier, really.
When Natsume feels fingers slipping into his, his breath hitches once and he exhales. He desperately grabs at the warmth that is seeping through her fingers. He hears her inhaling. He feels her taking away his coldness and leaving her warmth behind. He remembers her smile. He surrenders and she steals him.
Natsume inhales once, but he doesn't exhale again.
A/N: Sorry for the sad ending! If you're still confused, Mikan stole Natsume's Alice unknowingly but Natsume knew it would happen. But he let it happen anyway.
Do review and tell me your thoughts as well as your favourite lines :) It makes me happy!
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!