Midnight in Paris
Part One
Braided Hair and Teddy Bears
"Because I waited until the clock struck twelve, but you never came."
Natsume Hyuuga was constantly eyeing his golden watch with irritation. His body was becoming sore from sitting on the cheap stool of the café, and he was there for five hours.
Scratch that, I look like an idiot.
He pounded his fist on the table and winced at his fourth cup of tea, glancing around the vicinity just to spot that curly brunette head.
She had promised. She had told him that she was coming.
She was none other than Mikan Sakura.
And the fact is, she wasn't there for a marriage proposal or just a simple date. Not even for sweet talk, or reconciliation, or a schoolmate reunion, or a best friends' chat, or a discussion about their futures together. Nope, not even a teeny- weeny bit of romance in there.
She was expected to fly to Paris for a million-dollar deal.
And Natsume was horrifyingly infuriated with the absolute tardiness of that girl.
If only she wasn't the heiress of the world's biggest company…
Mikan Sakura was the daughter of the world's richest billionaire, and she was believed to be the most coveted girl of other wealthy upperclassmen. The newspapers all say that she was smart, charming, assertive, money-wise, Albert Einstein-brained, an advocate for impoverished families, the most beautiful and alluring maiden…
And Natsume wasn't surprised that she couldn't even speak French.
Hey, even papers lie nowadays.
The moment Natsume called her "guarded" cellphone, she picked it up rather immediately and panted as she spoke. "Hi."
Natsume stifled a laugh. She didn't even ask who the mystery caller was.
"Bonjour, belle jeune fille. Puis-je parler avec votre père?,"* he murmured fluently, ignoring the dead silence on the other end.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds…
Still no voice emitted.
Natsume tapped his chin in frustration. He sighed and attended to the best alternative there was.
"Hey. Can I talk to your dad?," he said casually. This time, he could hear a gasp of relief.
"Thank goodness that you can talk in English! I swear that I could've answered you only if Google Translate was faster."
Google Translate? Natsume bit his tongue to prevent him from hooting. What the heck is up with the 'smart, charming, pretty' daughter of the CEO?
"Are you sure that you're not the mansion maid or whatever?"
Natsume waited for the girl's reply.
"What the hell is up with 'mansion maid'? I'm Mikan Sakura, you hear that?"
"Then why don't you act like you are Mikan Sakura?"
Mikan stopped breathing and Natsume could hear her distant facepalm. "I am Mikan Sakura. It's the news again, isn't it?"
And Natsume really burst out laughing now.
"What? What's so funny, Mr. Stranger?"
Natsume regained his stern composure and whirled his mechanical chair around. "It's just that your dad is indisputably making up your ideal personality for the press. No wonder he's so desperate."
"What did you just say? Daddy? Desperate? Hold on, where are you, Mr. Stranger? Wait just a minute, I'm going to kick your butt and haul you to jail! Wait- hey, where's the special GPS they installed in here? Just hold on, Mr. Stranger- I think this is it-"
Suddenly Natsume's phone vibrated and a moving picture appeared on the screen. He scrutinized the somewhat pixilated image and could make out heaps of cotton candy, bunny pajamas, and pigtails.
"Hey, why did you just put it on videocall?," Natsume yawned, rolling his eyes at the childish display, complemented by everything pink.
"Eeekk! I thought it was GPS but it's videocall! Oh, God, this is really humilia- wait, how do you turn this thing off?"
"Let's just get on with it already, bunnyface," Natsume said. "I'll talk to your dad. Now."
"Bunnyface? How dare you! You're not going to talk to Daddy. Not until you apologize." She pouted like a five-year old child and her jolly eyes began to water. She was twirling a strand of loose hair and was munching on the carnation-pink colored popsicles.
"Fine. I'm sorry, bunnyface."
Mikan waved the stick of the popsicle and turned away. "Oops. You said bunnyface again."
Natsume gritted his teeth and cracked his knuckles impatiently. "I. Am. Sorry. Now let me talk to your 'daddy' or else I'm the one who's going to kick butt."
"Yay! Mr. Stranger apologized! Um, well, daddy's not here."
Natsume also threw his phone outside the window in madness but just glared at the 'kid'. "You should've said it earlier, bunnyface. I just wasted my time chatting with an eighteen year old who doesn't know her alphabet."
Mikan glared head-on, but apparently her 'glare' looked like frantic hypnotism. "You! My name is not bunnyface! It's Mikan!"
"Then what do you want me to call you? Strawberry fields?," Natsume said sharply.
Mikan raised her thin eyebrows. "Strawberry fields? Wait-" She looked around and saw underwear hanging on her headboard. "Kyaa! The maid must've left it on my bed!" She ran off and tossed the underwear quickly into the laundry and she returned, her face beet red from embarrassment. "Forget that you've seen that! Ever!"
"Tsk," Natsume commented, snapping his fingers in alert and jarring his senses back to reality. "Okay, here's the condition, Strawberry fields. I'll book you a plane to Paris and we'll meet at Café du destin. Three pm sharp. I don't want any lame excuses- or any excuses, for that matter."
Mikan nodded eagerly and started daydreaming about Paris, hours away. She seemed to be calculating her additional expenses for the baggage counter, and also seemed to drift off just when she remembered to ask something she should've asked a long time ago.
"What's your name, Mr. Stranger?"
Natsume smirked and widened his blood-red eyes for effect. "You'll know when you get there."
Part Two
Café of Destiny
"Because I waited until the clock struck twelve, but you never came."
Natsume, in boredom, scrawled unintelligible phrases on the table napkin with his fountain pen. It was unintelligible, but as you peered closer, you could see that he was, in fact, drawing Mikan's pouted lips and wrinkling eyes. Wrinkling not because she really had wrinkles, anyway.
Mikan had never returned his messages; not even left a single call to indicate that she had already arrived. Natsume was totally kicking his dad out of his executive seat once he gets this over with.
Yes, Natsume Hyuuga was also heir to a similarly multi-millionaire businessman, and like any other traditional (or otherwise called boring) system, Natsume was tasked to expand his father's empire by marrying someone with great fortune.
Natsume rolled his eyes when he first heard of the plan. "Dad, are you fond of watching those corny soap operas? Because that is not happening to me. Ever."
And inevitably, he still did his assignment because of force.
So he ended up in Café du destin, waiting and waiting and waiting for a girl he barely knew. What he did know was that she was rich but typically an airhead.
Six hours have passed. The Parisian sky was getting darker and darker by each fleeting moment, pouring a soft orange into the horizon. As they say, Paris was indeed the city of love, and sunsets were obviously landscapes for global romances. Except Natsume wasn't after the romance. It was pure business.
Seven hours, and still no vital sign of Mikan. He surrendered to his conscience and stood up, going for the Louvre and enjoying himself while the idiot found her way to Paris.
It was indeed beautiful, he said. Though he never regarded the entrance as a necessary addition, the Louvre was never spoiled by the distraction the glass entrance made. It was purely majestic.
Natsume wondered if he was going to take Mikan here.
After all, they were going to get married, then just get divorced when the Hyuuga company has taken the advantage. It was the least he could do for ruining her future.
He would let her see the beauty of the world hidden beneath layers of pigment or corners of sculptures; because even in the worst depictions, one can see the grandeur of the creator's feelings.
He would tell her that "The Thinker" was nothing much but just another person who was deciding on which flowers to give to his beloved. Natsume was sure that any dunce would laugh at that not so hilarious statement.
Natsume would practically lie to her, even if Mikan was already stupid. He would deceive her for the glory of their family.
He left the museum half-heartedly, then jumped at the sound of his phone. He was certain that an idiot was on the other line, but still answered it.
"Strawberry Fields. Where are you? It's past the deadline."
Mikan sighed nervously on the end and panted. "I-um, got a little delayed?"
"Delayed with what?," Natsume spat, annoyed in every way. "Delayed with figuring out which lingerie to use?"
"Yeah- what? No! I'm stuck at the airport while I'm talking to you."
"Okay. Which airport?"
No answer.
"I said, which airport?"
Mikan bit her nails and murmured, "Ehh..the Libyan airport?"
"The WHAT?"
"I'm sorry! I went to the wrong plane and then I just saw these African people and figured out that I am in Africa, and now I don't know how to get to Paris!"
Natsume cursed under his heavy breath and said, "Just get another plane ticket!"
"Umm I don't have any money."
"You WHAT?"
"I don't have any money!," Mikan repeated fervently.
"I can't believe this!," Natsume stomped angrily, "You're just so stupid-arrrgghhh! You live in a mansion and yet you couldn't have any euros with you? Unbelievable!"
"I'm so sorry! It's just that I grabbed the maid's casual clothes to escape and I realized that her pockets were-er, rather filled with cobwebs so that happens. I'm penniless. Help me, Mr. Stranger!"
Natsume rolled his eyes and brought his other phone out, intended for undercover purposes. He slid his finger down the screen and clicked. "Natsume Hyuuga here. Repeat. Natsume Hyuuga here. Send retraction team to Libya: operation search for Mikan Sakura. If you don't do so, I'll send you packing with nothing but your Christmas bonuses. Make it quick."
He turned to Mikan back. "Problem covered. In any case, do not, ever, leave where you are. Got it?"
"Yep! Thanks, Mr. Stranger! Oh-wait! How old are you?"
"I said that you'll know by the time you get here."
"Aww I'm not going to end this call if you're not gonna tell me!"
"Fine, bunnyface. I'm eighteen. Same as your age."
Mikan hopped excitedly, as evident in the background noise. "Oohh! And we are meeting up in Paris, right? Two teenagers who go to the city of love. How romantic!"
"Stop talking like a grandma, bunnyface. Besides, you're still not here. Get your butt moving."
Mikan made another pout. "Didn't you say I'll never leave where I am?"
That got Natsume stabbing his tongue with silent toothpicks. As far as he was concerned, Sakura Mikan didn't have even an inch of a brain. But she sure had common sense.
"Just testing if you were really stupid," Natsume lied. "Just wait there and I'll call you again."
"You'll fetch me?"
"Of course not!," Natsume mused arrogantly. "I'm not your butler. Just wait there."
Click.
Natsume stared at his dead phone and smashed it to the misty pavement, eyeing the devastated state of his device. Yeah. How else was he supposed to call Mikan Sakura?
And why was he intent on hearing her voice again?
Could it be that he was beginning to fall for the likes of her?
Natsume slapped his forehead with the help of his watch. He would never, ever, be accustomed to people like Mikan. He was clearly a product of something far greater than prestigious universities; he was perfect and unblemished unlike those tacky advertisements. Natsume was the definition of Narcissus. He had everything. And, yes, somehow he loved himself.
Not.
He never got satisfied with what he does.
So why was he, the perfect human being, falling for possibly the girl with the lowest IQ on the planet?
Mikan Sakura had handfuls of money, but always forgot to spend it. Mikan had teachers, but never really learned anything. Mikan had her looks, but wasted them on 1970's children's ponytails and baby clothes. She practically threw her everything away.
Natsume was on the verge of liking her, not because she was perfect, but because she was the complete opposite.
She was imperfect.
Thus, he needed her, because if she was just as perfect as he was, then there was never a need for Natsume to seek her in the first place.
But wait a minute- who said that Natsume could think of "mushy" things right now?
Natsume groaned in dismay as the church bells chimed ten times. Crap. It was ten thirty.
Still no sign of her.
And he waited, until the clock struck again, until it reached the twenty fourth hour of the day. He didn't dare sleep. He needed the victory over the Sakura enterprises immediately.
Or did he? Even though he had only conversed with her through calls, Natsume started to have sympathy for the clueless girl. She expected what other couples expected in Paris. Love, to be exact. Engagement rings, first meetings, weddings, and happy ever afters. Natsume expected paper bills and company merges.
His heart fluttered whenever he saw brunettes passing by. Destiny, he thought. Just playing its dirty tricks on him.
But in every way, he knew.
He was falling for Mikan Sakura after each passing second.
Part Three
The Airplane Crash
"Because I waited until the clock struck twelve, but you never came."
It was twelve o'clock.
She still wasn't here.
Natsume began pacing around and going everywhere- antique shops, cafeterias, tourist spots. It really was late, after all.
And she still wasn't here.
So here he was, making a fool out of himself while wasting a midnight in Paris all alone. Others slept in their comfortable beds, snuggling close to their loved ones and never letting go. Natsume, on the other hand, had not even taken a hold of the girl he was waiting for.
A midnight in Paris. And he was going to remember this for the rest of his life.
The first time he never bothered to rest.
The first time he had endured the nibbling cold without a built-in heater.
The first time his heart thumped for someone so wildly, as if something terrible was going to happen.
Something terrible was going to happen.
Natsume sometimes had the sense of foresight. He felt as if there was a disaster coming to reap something that was so dear to him.
Too bad he was feeling it now.
After all, Mikan's plane flight was supposed to be two hours ago. She was supposed to be accompanied by Natsume's men, supposed to arrive at the café where a red-eyed teenager was waiting for her.
Too bad that never happened.
Natsume's pulse jumped fiercely when he saw the Technicolor television, playing an airplane crash. "December eighteen, folks. An airplane crashed into a spa in Greece, headed for Paris, France. Libyan officials suspect a terrorist attack, but are still investigating the case. All passengers are reported to be dead."
Paris…Libya…
Mikan!
Natsume's heart stopped skipping in anxiety.
He had been waiting for nothing.
She was dead.
Part of his predicament was solved; because their company would be the omnipotent one after Mikan's father dies. There was no need for arranged marriages, after all.
But he tasted bitterness in his mouth. Not because he wasted his sleep amidst the sober dusk of France.
He waited.
He waited as if it was the most coveted opportunity in the world.
He waited as if he was indeed proposing to Mikan, not as a businessman but as a lover.
He waited for someone to come into his life and sneak her way to his emotions.
She never came. For all he knew, Mikan was just a lifeless body who was now being shipped to her home.
Natsume rushed hastily to the airport, feeling like the wind was peeling his face off and drying his tears away. It was the first time he cried this much. He never even fully knew who he was talking to, but still.
Natsume Hyuuga fell in love with Mikan Sakura.
He opened the doors with ease, running to the arrivals department and searching for those pigtails, those almond locks, those beautiful eyes. Nothing.
She's dead.
Slowly turning around, Natsume's steps began heavier with the guilt he had inside of him. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have suffered.
"Mr. Stranger!"
Stop haunting me, he thought, clutching his shaking head in his arms. I didn't want to, anyway…
"Hey! Mr. Stranger!"
It's my fault! But please don't haunt me! I love you, Mikan…
A cold hand was placed on his shoulder, causing him to freeze up like an ice statue. Then Natsume screamed.
"Mr. Stranger! I didn't know you could be such a girl," a petite woman said, folding her suspicious arms across her chest.
Natsume looked up to assure himself that he wasn't seeing ghosts or anything of the kind. "Mi…kan?"
"Yeah!," Mikan yelled, punching his fist into the air. "I knew it was you!"
She's not dead.
And Natsume glared at her hazelnut orbs.
He stood up and pulled her wrist, shouting while he did so. "You idiot! I thought that you're dead! We were supposed to meet hours ago!"
"I'm sorry!," Mikan bowed. "I just got it all mixed up. It's just that the arrow pointed left and-"
She had no chance to continue because Natsume pulled her wrist closer and placed his lips on her own.
"Mmppfff-"
Natsume loosened his grip and instead placed his hand on her neck, kissing her more to let her know that he had been worried.
Mikan closed her eyes, and when they broke apart, Natsume inhaled. "Mikan Sakura," he whispered to her ear. "Will you marry me?"
Mikan's eyes widened in surprise and then she caught a glimpse of a shining diamond ring, carefully sitting on a red velvet case. "You're kidding, right?"
Natsume rolled his eyes. "I don't kid about anything," he said, kissing Mikan again on the lips.
Mikan's eyes watered and she clapped happily. "Yes! Of course!"
With that, Natsume slid the delicate ring into her fair finger, smiling a little bit when he stood up straight again. They looked at each other, realizing that destiny, indeed, had played a serious joke on them. But they laughed at it and accepted that even though it was funny, it was real.
Mikan returned the warm smile. "By the way, now that I'm here…"
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"What's your name, Mr. Stranger?"
A/N: Yeah! Epic ending! I just love you, Natsume, and please don't kill me if I describe you as the most intelligent person then end up making it look like you're stupid. Heehee:D
Tell me if it's corny, I'm telling myself so too. Leave a review! :]
Read on!
~buttercupbella