Honeysuckle, a gakuen alice fanfic

Honeysuckle

Written by The Lonely Serenade

Disclaimer: I don't own Gakuen Alice.

A/N: In the language of flowers, Honeysuckle means the bond of love.

"You have beautiful eyes," she whispers, "But why do they look so sad?"

A pause.

"…I-I'm sorry."

—Because he still loves her, even when she's now a stranger, with that ghost of a smile on her face.

She still has that scent on her, you think.

It is a mix of something mild and soothing, most likely fresh lilies and apples, and you can't help but feel the painful throbbing of your heart when she passes you like you're not even there. She turns around the corner and she suddenly disappears from your sight, prodding your throat burning with the desire to raise your voice and scream out her name like you had done in the past. But you realize, after a mere nanosecond later, that you have no right to do so.

(You are a stranger).

She doesn't know you—

(You are a nothing but a stranger).

—And you're okay with that.

(…Even if the notion hurts you so, very much that you find yourself unable to collect air properly into your lungs).

She doesn't recognize you—

(You think the blaring noise you're hearing must be the sound of something breaking).

—And when your vision starts to blur and you're lost in the smell of medicines, disinfectants, and cafeteria foods; you realize that that something is your heart.

She

Your

First (—and LAST)

LOVE

"Hey, Natsume?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not saying goodbye."

"…I know."

"Even if my memories are wiped out, I think…" She murmured, "I think I'll still remember you."

"I will remember you."

"I know," she whispered, this time softer, "And we will meet again."

"I will find you."

She beamed. "I know, and when the time comes, smile for me, please?"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with him aside from the mild concussion on his head, but just in case we should—hey, he's waking up!"

When Natsume Hyuuga comes to consciousness, all he can think is how the bright light inside the room hurts his eyes and that a machine is placed beside the bed he is currently resting on. His mind is hazy—probably the after effect of some sort of drug he was given—and there is a pounding in his head that prompts him to close his eyes again. His body is hurting all over; his throat feels as dry as dessert, and he suddenly feels tired—very tired, that the idea of going back to sleep is very tempting; in fact, the beeping sound of the machine almost lulls him, if not for the sudden brush of a cool palm across his cheek.

It is just a simple gesture; a simple touch, but in a heartbeat, a sudden jolt of electricity runs down his spine.

He knows this touch.

"Hyuuga-san, you're currently in Tokyo University Hospital and I'm the doctor who is in charge of you. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

He knows this voice.

And when he opens his eyes, at the same time dreading for the worst (—hopeful) possibility, he finds himself looking into the face of the person who became the roots of all his beginnings.

The person who once—no, still plays a great existence in his life.

She's the same, he muses right then. Still so bright and…happy.

She's happy.

The girl who has been haunting his mind for ten years, the girl who in the past, picked the tiny pieces of his broken life and mended them together into a figure, before she left with his heart in her palm. She still looks like the same girl who kissed him with salty tears of not-a-goodbye, and the one who gave him a hopeful promise of remembrance, of warmth, and of life that spoke happiness. And her hair is still that lovely shade of chocolate brown, if not deeper, and her face glows with something that he can't quite decipher, but even without knowing who she is inside, right now, her exterior is so much like the girl he knows that his hands ache to prop himself on the bed and bring her close into his embrace.

"Hyuuga-san?"

He blinks, and he realizes that she's leaning close until he could see all the details that are her—the small freckles that brush her cheeks, the small crease between her eyebrows, the tilting she does whenever she's confused, and the pair of pink lips that he used to (sinfully) dream and touch and kiss.

This is all too much.

"Mikan."

His Mikan.

He finally found her.

But he sees the glint of confusion enters her eyes as she moves away and feels the tight contracting of his heart (breakingshatteringbleeding), because she doesn't know him, doesn't recognize him, doesn't know that he is Natsume Hyuuga—the man she has promised her life to—and he swallows painfully at the notion of her breaking their promise.

She doesn't remember.

You have no existence in her heart, the treacherous voice inside his head whispers.

He clenches his fists and grits his teeth in frustration. Shut up, shut up, shut up—

"Mikan?" the woman echoes, flabbergasted as to why this patient calls her so familiarly. He sees the look of bewilderment in her brown eyes and the slight twitch of her lips as she speaks to an unfamiliar girl who's furiously writing down on her small notebook, "You may go now, Koharu. I need to speak about something with Mr. Hyuuga over here."

The nurse, Koharu, pauses for a while before nodding politely to her superior and walks outside of the room. It isn't until he hears the door shuts with a soft 'click' that the brown haired woman begins to talk again, "I think it is hardly appropriate to call me by my first name when this is our first time meeting, isn't it?"

No, this isn't, he wants to tell her.

We first met each other ten years ago.

You're Mikan Sakura.

I know you.

I hated you.

I love you—

("Mikan?")

—But you knew me.

"Hyuuga-san. You suffer from a mild case of dehydration," At this, she gives him a pointed look that makes him remember the time when he forgot to take his medications and had to listen to her nagging while putting wet cloth on his warm forehead, "that explains the reason why you suddenly fainted in the middle of the busy hallway—which, I refrain you from doing so in the future because I would rather not have you stomped by my nurses."

She has always been good at taking care of others.

"I will have one of them to check you out in a few hours or so. In the meantime, stay in your bed and don't even try to pull a bravado act such as escaping. Because I know how much you hate to stay in the hospital…"

Suddenly, she pauses in her speech and gives a contemplating look that tells him she's bothered by something, and as if he had just been poured with a bucket of ice water, his mind finally registers her words.

Because I know how much you hate to stay in the hospital…

Because I know how much you hate to stay in the hospital…

…She knows.

Moving faster than he has ever done in the past, Natsume grabs her wrist and pulls the oblivious doctor forward until she falls ungracefully to his bed with a loud "Oomph!" and continues his inappropriate action by grabbing her chin and brings her face a mere inch away from his.

The brunette is about to open her mouth and give him her fiercest glare for being so rough with her, but his sharp, crimson eyes renders her speechless as they scrutinize her, penetrating her very soul. She has to force herself from gulping nervously when he shifts forward and moves his cold hands from her chin, trailing slowly to her cheek, and tilts his head so that his lips (oh-so-tempting and sinful) brush the tip of her earlobe.

The brown haired doctor feels shiver running down her spine as his warm breath caresses the side of her face, and bites her lips when he nuzzles into her hair and speaks in his deep, baritone voice, "How?"

It's just one word.

One question.

But his voice triggers her heart to beat even faster than before, even more rapidly, and she is sure that the infuriating man can feel it too, for she just saw his lips curved upward to form the tiniest of smirks. Blood starts to rush to her face and she has to bear with the unfamiliar sensation of butterflies churning in the pit of her stomach.

"What are you talking about?" she bits out tersely, although she cringes inwardly when she notices the apparent nervousness in her voice, "Please let me go, Hyuuga-san."

Natsume narrows his eyes. "Don't call me that."

"I will call you as I like."

"I will not repeat myself again. How do you know? And don't even try to lie, Mikan. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Do not lie."

The girl fixes him with a glare and starts to wriggle her way out of his hold. "It's not that uncommon to assume that most patients do not enjoy being held in the hospital for a long period of time."

"Mikan."

She mimics his early response. "Don't call me that."

"How?"

"I don't know, okay!" She finally snaps, slapping his grip on her wrist as she tries to stand up from his bed but fails to do so, "I just know. So let. Me. Go."

"I don't want to."

Thump. Thump.

There it is again. Her traitorous heart beating. Why is this man so capable of making her flustered just by mere words?

She refuses to acknowledge this. She's his doctor, and he's her patient. She doesn't even know him!

"I don't know you."

Her words hurt him more than he would like to admit, but he should have expected this, because she's Mikan and she's the only who can bring him absolute happiness or the opposite.

But it hurts.

It hurts (like a scorching, scathing pain; burning, stabbing, piercing).

Hurt because it's the truth.

I don't know you—

I don't know you—

—She doesn't know you, you're a stranger, she hates (hatehatehate!) you—

"I'm sorry."

Mikan has to blink twice when she hears the man's words, not entirely sure of the situation because he suddenly apologized—which is a good thing, she tells herself, it is his fault for assaulting her in the first place—but again, when she sees that pair of crimson eyes, so beautiful yet sad, her heart throbs painfully because something about his man just makes her ache.

"I…" She breathes and finds herself unable to say anything else. "I will be going now."

"Hn."

Once more, the familiarity of his action makes her chest tightens.

"Take better care of yourself."

When he doesn't answer, she forces herself to look away and moves toward the door, hesitating as her hands ghost over the knob, but shakes her head and whispers, "Goodbye then, Hyuuga-san."

When she is finally out of the room, he lets a tear escapes from his eyes for the first time in ten years.

He misses her so much.

He loves her so much.

But he doesn't know how to have her back.

"Mikan-sensei."

Mikan pauses in her writing before she tilts her head. "Hm?"

"That man just now…he is Natsume Hyuuga, isn't he?"

"Well according to his license," she shrugs, "Yes."

"He is Natsume Hyuuga."

"Hmm."

"He's the Natsume Hyuuga."

"Yes…? Why do you keep on saying that?"

"He's Natsume Hyuuga, the multi-billionaire who owns the Hyuuga Corporation, whose net worth is around five billion dollars."

"Oh? Is that so."

Koharu face-palms at her nonchalant mentor. "Aren't you the least bit surprised? He is a legend! He even graduated from Alice Academy—"

"Wait, what?"

The doctor-in-training blinks. "Uh, he's a legend?"

Mikan shakes her head. "No, the sentence after that."

"He is a graduate of Alice Academy—"

"Alice Academy?"

Koharu nods. "Yes, it's a special school funded by the government where only the gifted and talented are accepted."

Thump. Thump.

Alice Academy?

Why does it sound so familiar?

"I-I see…"

"Sensei? Are you okay?" Koharu asks when she sees the brown-haired woman rubbing her temples, "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," Mikan breathes shakily, "Just…just tired."

Truthfully, she doesn't want to be here.

But as the representative of the surgical department, and as the representative from Tokyo University Hospital, she needs to be here.

She is not looking forward to plastering fake smiles for the rest of the evening, but she knows that in order not to attract attention, she has to. It's not like the event itself is not enjoyable. She is actually quite excited to attend this gala, what with all the famous surgeons who are attending—Nanakama Ryoutaro, Genzou Tooyama, Ito Junpei, and the list goes on and on.

She just hates how the ambience seems to be so…formal.

And there are still other attributes that add to her discomfort.

One: Her dress is too revealing to her liking.

Two: Her heels are too high for her feet to not be suffering.

Three: She absolutely, unquestionably, unequivocally hates the apprehension that has been bubbling inside her mind ever since she steps inside the grandeur building.

And there's also the fact that this charity gala is being held by one of the branch companies of Hyuuga Corp.

Although she keeps telling herself that the chance of her meeting Hyuuga-san again today is close to zero—he is, after all, the CEO and chairman, so she doesn't expect him to show up in all of the little events that his companies sponsored, God knows how many there are—there's just this feeling, this intuition that something is going to happen tonight.

She supposes it is her own fault.

You reap what you sow.

She wouldn't be feeling this way if it weren't for her…her attitude towards Hyuuga-san two months ago. But something about him just unsettles her. His intense gaze seems to penetrate through her very being, wrapping her, clouding her in this invisible fog where she can't see what's right and what's wrong.

She knows he can read her like a book.

Thoroughly and meticulously, like a predator.

And of course, the prey is no one else but her.

She doesn't know how she can reach to that conclusion from their brief…contact, but she just knows that he knows her.

She just knows.

"Mikan Sakura?"

A deep voice interrupts her from her reverie, and when she turns her head, she stands face-to-face with a young man who she speculates to be in his mid-twenties, his black suit and blue tie accentuates his grey eyes—wait, grey eyes?

"Are you a half?"

It is about ten seconds later when Mikan finally realizes what she has blurted and covers her mouth in embarrassment. To make things worse, the person in front of her lets out an amused chuckle and it is all she can do to not bash her head to the nearest table and ends her life right there and then.

"It seems the rumor is proven to be true," the man speaks in a smooth tone—although a voice at the back of her head protests that it is not as wonderful as Hyuuga-san's—and kisses the back of her hand lightly, "the youngest cardiologist of Tokyo University Hospital is a charming young woman."

Mikan blushes at the compliment. "And you are?"

"Hotaka Ibiki."

"Hotaka-san—"

He sends her a charming smile. "Call me Ibiki, Mikan-san. If that's okay with you, of course."

"Ibiki…san. May I help you?"

"Yes," his grin perceptibly widens, "Would you like to dance with me?"

"Ah, that…" Mikan purses her lips and contemplates inside her mind how to refuse him politely. It's not like she doesn't want to dance with him. But after living in this world for twenty-one years, she has to admit with no little shame that she has absolutely zero talent in dancing or anything that requires her being graceful for that matter. "I'm honored, but—"

Her words are cut off as two muscular arms suddenly envelop her from behind and she emits a small squeak of 'eep' at the feeling of a well-built body against her small back. The two hands then move to her waist, keeping her tightly as she tries to protest, but as the warm breath of the intruder ghosts over her temple, the little alarm at the back of her brain rings loudly and she just knows who the person is.

There is no one that has ever made her body tingles with pleasure by mere contact aside from him.

And her speculation is once again correct.

Natsume Hyuuga, the very person who has been haunting her mind since two months ago, the same person who has left a mark at her heart from a simple hug, is now behind her, crimson eyes burning with something she could not quite discern.

Is it annoyance? No, it is something more, something like…passion, but not the gentle kind, it is the kind where you can't help but shiver in fear at sight, something boiling and raging.

Anger.

Why is he angry, though?

Honestly, being caught in this predicament, she is the one who is supposed to be angry. Who is he to interrupt her conversation with Ibiki-san? Who is he to tangle his fingers so familiarly in her hair? Who is he to place himself so comfortably behind her? And who exactly is the person, with his mysterious blood-shot eyes and enigmatic aura, that manages to send her heartbeat skyrocketing just by his presence?

Who is he?

"Mikan."

If she wasn't sure before whether or not the man was angry, now she is utterly, completely sure that he is furious. From an outsider's point of view, it would have looked like there is nothing particularly disconcerting about him; he would have looked like your average billionaire—tall, dark, and handsome. Heck, girls would have swooned at his moodiness. But somehow, Mikan knows better.

She can see it in his reactions toward the little things, like the tiny flicker of irritation that turns his eyes into a deeper shade of maroon, or even the miniscule tightening of his grip on her waist when he sees her hand still in Ibiki-san's clutches.

She just knows; everything about this person, she just—she just knows.

"Hotaka," Natsume greets the other man, his voice dropping an octave lower, and she can't help but shiver, from either fear or excitement she doesn't know.

"Hyuuga-san." The half Japanese man answers with a pleasant smile, although she can sense the animosity that he bears toward the black-haired lad currently holding her in his arms.

"I'll be borrowing Mikan for a while." The way Natsume sentences it is not a question; and from the narrowing of Ibiki's eyes, she knows that he knows it too.

"Ah, I'm not so sure about that," he replies with a tone that sounds a tad too cheery, and she cringes inwardly when Natsume's body starts to stiffen, "Unless, Mikan-san is okay with that?"

Now, both pairs of eyes are on her, and she feels like cursing at the male species and their stupid testosterones. Like seriously.

Though deep inside her heart, she knows exactly who between the two men that she is going to choose. They have an affair that is yet to be settled. And she needs to talk to him about a lot of things, because if they were to leave things between them like that, she would not be able to live with it. There are just too many questions to be left unanswered.

Sighing silently, she hardens her eyes, and starts softly, "I'm sorry, Ibiki-san. But Hyuuga-san and I have something that we need to talk about."

"Oh." Ibiki looks a bit disappointed and downcast when she gives him her reply, but by hook or crook, she gets the uncanny feeling that he has expected it. "It's alright, then. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mikan-san."

Mikan smiles. "Likewise, Ibiki-san."

He winks secretly as he starts to walk away from the two of them, but she's not the only one who catches his bold action.

"That bastard," Natsume mutters under his breath.

Now, she only has one more male to deal with.

Natsume Hyuuga.

She takes a deep breath and turns toward him. "Hyuuga—I mean, Natsume-san."

She hopes she is not being too forward with the name-calling, but after what they had been through, she thinks it would be more fitting to call him by his first name. She starts to feel unsure, though, when he remains silent for a minute or so, so she scolds her childish—wishful—mind and glances at him, but her breath gets stuck in her throat when she catches the evident pleasure swirling in his crimson eyes. What's with this person? Wasn't he angry?

"Come, Mikan," he murmurs silkily, one hand stretches out in invitation, "Let's talk in a more appropriate place."

So she takes his hand.

She is beautiful, he thinks.

Her chocolate brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, leaving some strands to frame her pretty, delicate cheeks that makes him want to stroke them and feel their softness right under his fingertips. Her face is a bit red from the wine that he has seen her drinking minutes ago, and she wears this slinky, black halter dress that made him stop in his track when he first caught her entering the gala.

But that damn Hotaka had approached her first, had put his filthy lips on her smooth hand, and if it weren't for Ruka's grip on his shoulder, he would have bashed that bastard's head straight to the wall.

Oh, he knows him alright. Hotaka Ibiki, the hotshot, Harvard-graduate lawyer whose status as a ladies' man exceeds even the infamous Akira Tonoichi; but he knows him well enough to even consider him as an acquaintance, someone who he can hold a decent conversation with, and perhaps someone who he can consider hiring as his private lawyer.

Not until tonight that is.

After this, he wouldn't even consider being in the same room as him.

And Mikan—sweet, innocent, lovely Mikan (who is hishishis)—had called him Ibiki.

He is called Hyuuga-san, but this infuriating, pest of a lawyer gets to be called Ibiki!

But he called you Natsume-san, a voice inside his mind whispers.

Natsume-san, eh? He thinks somberly. She used to call me just by a simple Natsume.

Once again, the bitter taste of reality wakes him up from his unrealistic (wishfulgreedyzealous) dream, because no matter how much the Mikan in front of him looks as beautiful as the Mikan in his past, she is not her. No matter how much he yearns, longs, and wishes for her to return to him, it is simply an unattainable feat.

She is not his anymore.

"Natsume-san."

Don't call me that. "Yes?"

She releases a shaky breath. "Shall we talk?"

He sees her amber eyes, so trusting and expressive and gullible, looks up at him with this…this uncertainty, and a little bit of wonder, that makes his heart clench painfully when he realizes that after all this time, he could still read her like a book.

But she doesn't know you anymore.

(Shut up—)

"I notice, that something has been…off, ever since we met each other at the hospital." She says slowly, fingers twiddling, and the notion of her doing the antics that she used to do in front of him sets his emotions running haywire.

"Do we…" she swallows, "Did we know each other…before?"

Yes, you did.

You loved me.

I love you.

But now you don't even know who I am.

How could you?

(Shut up, shut up—)

"You," he pins his gaze to hers (hoping, yearning, wishing), "You really don't remember a thing?"

Her eyes widen. "So we did know—"

"That's the word isn't it," he cuts her off bitterly, his tongue rolling even smoother than he thought it would be, "Did. Did know. Past tense. Have you noticed that?"

Mikan bites her lips. "I—"

"No, it's true. Even after all this time, I'm the only one with this ballistic, no—insane imagination, hoping, wishing, that somehow no matter what you will remember us. That you will remember me. The time we spent together. The first time I kissed you. The first time I held you. The first time you promised you were mine. The first time you embraced me after a life-threatening mission. The first time I saw you cry. The first time you gave me your alice stone. The first time I gave you mine. The first time I gave you my heart. You—you forget. Everything. You broke our promise. You said you would remember. You—"

"I don't know, okay!" Mikan hollers back fiercely, "I-I don't, I don't understand a thing! I don't even know what you were talking about! Were you my lover? Was I yours? I don't know any of that! I don't know you! Were you implying that I lost my memories, that all this time, for the past twenty-one-years, I've been fed with a lie?"

"Mikan—"

"No. You listen to me, Natsume." She glares vehemently. "I won't lie to say that I didn't feel anything when I first met you, because I did. I did feel something. But I don't know what it is. You just—I just know everything about you. I feel like I know you. My heart tells me that you are someone, not a stranger. And I'm not freaking lying."

She is shaking, and he notices the tears that she is trying to hold back.

Because of him.

(She hates you.

She cries because of you.

…Who are you to hurt her?)

"I—"

"You have beautiful eyes," she whispers slowly, as if her voice would break if she were to say it any louder, "But why do they look so sad?"

Natsume flinches at that question but couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"That's what I thought when we met for the first time. And I wondered why this beautiful person, who has everything that everyone has ever wanted, looked so heartbroken and dejected and lonely? Why did he call my name with so much pain, with so much love, when we barely even know each other?

"It was amusing at first. But you looked so sincere, so honest. It scares me.

"That's why…I-I'm sorry."

Natsume clenches his fists at her words. "Why are you sorry?"

Because she hates you—

She loathes you—

She hates you, hatehatehate—

(—Shut up, shut up, shut up!)

"Because I hurt you, didn't I?"

At her answer, he looks up because he wants to ask why does she care, but then she gasps and he wonders what causes her to do so. It's not until he feels something wet trailing down his cheek that he realizes that he is crying (pathetic, a voice hisses), and he grits his teeth in frustration (get a grip of yourself dammit) before grabbing her wrist—

And kisses her.

It is a simple brush of the lips; one that he uses as a chance to clasp a necklace around her neck, and he knows he should pull away, but he chooses to imprint the taste of her forever in his mind because there will be no more of forever after this, because her lips are warm and his are not, because her lips are still so soft and sweet and addicting, and because she is Mikan.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, feeling her warm breath brushing his face (for the last time, he reminds himself).

Mikan could feel Natsume slowly releases her from his hold, so she blinks her eyes open and sees a beautiful silver chain with a small orange stone dangling from it. But before she could ask him (Why did you kiss me? What is this necklace for—?)

He is gone.

That night, Mikan Sakura goes to bed with the necklace she got from Natsume (and the small, strangely flickering orange stone) on.

And she wakes up in the middle of night, having dreamed of fire, death, blood, laughter, lightning, prisons, explosion, Koko, Permy, Iinchou, Ruka-pyon, Hotaru, Mother, Father, and Natsume—

Natsume.

What was that? She thinks, but goes back to sleep.

The following morning, Mikan Sakura throws up in the bathroom and cries.

Because she remembers.

It is his birthday today, she realizes.

That's why she is standing in front of the gates of Alice Academy, hands clutching her chest tightly at the sudden flood of memories that washes over her.

It's been so long.

Too long.

She betrays him.

Will he forgive her?

She doesn't know what or who to trust anymore.

"I'm so weak," she laughs bitterly as she wipes the tears that start to fall, "How can Natsume cope with it all this time?"

(Do you actually think he will still love you?)

"No, I don't."

(Good, because you don't deserve him.)

"I know. I don't."

(But you still love him, don't you?)

"I do," she declares faintly to herself, "I do. I love him. I love him—"

(What are you even doing here?)

"—I want to meet him, I miss him, I need him—"

(Then turn around, Mikan.)

"Mikan."

She chokes on her sobs and shakes her head, because he can't be here, it must be her imagination, she is imagining stuff in her head again—

"What…what are you doing here?"

—But his voice is so real, so palpable, and so like Natsume's that she refuses to believe that it is not him; so she turns around and finds herself in the presence of a surprised, ragged looking—

"Natsume?" She whispers.

The black-haired lad softens his crimson eyes (ah, she misses those crimson eyes), and starts to walk slowly towards her as he asks, "Why are you crying?"

"It's your birthday today."

He stops in his steps. Did she just—

"And you didn't even smile for me when we met again. You broke your promise too."

He stills as he hears her reply. A scene from a long, long time ago plays in his mind.

"I will find you, Mikan."

"I know, and when the time comes, smile for me, please?"

"You…" Natsume breathes, and he is back to longing, hoping, wishing—now believing, "Do you remember?"

And suddenly he is thrown back with a sweet-smelling woman in his arms, her hands grasping his shirt tightly as she shakes and trembles and cries, "I'm so sorry—I-I'm so, so, sorry that I forgot about you. I love you, I love you, I love you, Natsume—"

"Mikan," he cuts her, feeling like he himself is about to tremble (because ohgod she remembers and she smells like fresh lilies and apples and she remembers), "I forgive you."

He strokes her cheek and watches as she slowly calms down—her eyes closing, sobs subsiding—and leans into his touch. "I-I miss you so much."

Natsume brings her closer and feels his heart slowly picking up the broken pieces. "I miss you too."

"Natsume?"

He kisses her temple, her cheeks, her nose, before finally leaning in to press his lips against hers. "Hm?"

(He loves her—

So very much—

He loves, loves, loves her.)

She gives him her brightest smile, and Natsume feels as if the last piece of his broken heart has been put back in place. "Tadaima. And Happy birthday. I'm sorry that I'm late."

It ends with a click, and his heart is now once again complete.

"Okaeri, Mikan."

The End.

A/N: My writing is so weird now (so I apologize, and if you notice some grammatical errors…well, I apologize for that too). Oh my. And I just realized that I haven't posted anything since last year. I mean, I've been busy (which is not a valid reason, I know, teehee) but I have been catching up with Gakuen Alice these past few months. Can't believe that it already ended, though. I will forever miss this superb manga. I've been following it since my primary school days, and considering the fact that now I'm in high school, it speaks a lot about my love for it, hm? ;)

I just saw some people posting these awesome pictures of Gakuen Alice from the memorial book, and honestly, I AM SO FREAKING BOTHERED BY IT. They are cute (with a capital 'C'!), but there's this one picture of Mikan and Ruka—WITH A KID!—that catches me off guard. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, TACHIBANA-SENSEI? Will our darling Natsume die? Is that what you mean, huh? Huh?!

…Anyways.

Enough of me and my dramatic ranting.

But seriously, I'm dying from curiosity here! (HINTHINT: if there's anyone who knows what it means, please tell me!)

I tried to buy the memorial book from e-bay, but it's like $200+, and I just bought myself an iPod touch so I need to restrain myself from spending too much money. Ugh. Consumerism is a scary thing.

Like seriously.

Consider this story as a Christmas present from me to all Gakuen Alice fans!

Kindly share your thoughts about it through reviews -winkswinks- and remember: constructive criticisms are also welcomed!

Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy it! :D

Sincerely,

The Lonely Serenade.

P.S: Wish you guys a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!