"Natsume," she would say, staring at you while you sat under the tree, usually after tiring times such as missions. "Natsume, are you okay?"
You feel a mixture of annoyance, uneasiness, and a twinge of happiness. Annoyance because she interrupted your supposed-to-be peaceful evening, uneasiness at her finding out what was really wrong with you, and finally, happiness because she's showing concern for you.
You wouldn't reply, because you were the careful type who always took precautions. Yet she didn't give up probing you, so you took out a manga to distract her. Emotions carefully masked, you wouldn't so much as glance at her, silently willing her to walk away.
But she didn't.
Carefully lowering your manga, she lowered her face until it was only a few inches from your own. "Natsume, I know you just returned from a mission. You must be really tired. Why don't you go to your room to rest?" She told you softly, her tone so gentle it made you want to caress her face lovingly.
But you didn't.
You were Natsume Hyuuga. You were the one who did the missions for the sake of others, the one who didn't flinch at pain, the fire wielder. The one who loved, more than anything, Mikan Sakura.
They had gotten everything they wanted. You suffered, did the dirty work, and hid the pain behind the blank mask on your face. You got stabbed, slashed at, and risked your health for the missions. You gave them everything.
Everything except Mikan. You aren't going to give her up to the darkness in your world, even if it takes your last breath away. They won't get her, ever. You'll make sure of that.
And so, you brushed her away, always holding her at arm-length so that she wouldn't change. Ever.