A/N: This is inspired by the recent BBC production of Howard's End; Taylor Swift's new song Call It What You Want and the iconic film Notting Hill. Enjoy!

Chapter One: A Winter Star

Finally, Natsume thought as he took a long, well-deserved drag on his faithful cigarette. The sweet, ashy aroma of tobacco lit the air around him. Sighing ever so quietly, he sunk down to sit on the cold step, stretching his leg out on the dark pavement in the alley. It was struck him as poetic that behind the glittering restaurant was this dingy, disgusting alleyway. Behind everything beautiful, the cold and degenerative truth lies.

Inside laid the treasure: the golden décor, the golden and abundant champagne, the golden necklaces draped so casually around women of all ages. Everything was extravagant, opulent… obscene. Sometimes, in the kitchen he laughed with the others about the gross opulence of the wealthy; how they decorated their children with diamonds, spoiling them with expensive phones from a young age. Sometimes it was absurdly funny, especially when the little boys looked like adults, in their little suits with their hair combed neatly. But other times, he just felt disenchanted with their obscenity. Depressed, even. Tonight was one of the latter times.

The last table he had waited had spent nearly ¥200,000 on their dinner. Although their tip was generous, the attitude of the father, mother and two children were rotten. They were cold to one another, prudish, but worst of all, completely lacking empathy. They were civil to him, but every time Natsume interacted with them, be it to get their order or to place the plates on the table, they (including the children) made it perfectly clear that he was below them, inferior, waiting and serving on them. There was no mutual understanding there—he, Natsume, according to their behaviour towards him, existed only for their convenience. To them, he was a waiter first, a fellow human second. To them, it wasn't judgement or prejudice to see him in such a way; they squashed and limited his existence to as a waiter and they did not let him forget it.

He crushed the dying cigarette under his foot.

He thought of that bottle of wine—one which had cost more than a month of his salary—and how the parents only took one sip each from the bottle. He thought of the truffle scallops and caviar that they did not even touch, despite having had ordered them. He remembered the way the children played with the foie gras on their plates. He had watched this all from the sidelines. Other waiters who saw raised their eyebrows amusedly, inconspicuously of course, whenever they passed him.

But tonight, as he had returned the plate of untouched scallops back to the kitchen (to be binned, of course), disillusionment simmered in his gut.

The cigarette had helped ease his mind, forget all the details, distance himself away from the golden world. And hey, thank God his shift was now over. From this dingy alleyway, at the back of the restaurant, the sky was very thin. The tall surrounding buildings sliced his view of the night. Not that he'd be able to see any stars anyway… this was Tokyo, the city of artificial light, the city of no-stars.

It always seemed ironic that he lived here.

As a Ph.D. student funding both his own postgraduate and his little sister's undergraduate degrees, Natsume needed this job. Well, he supposed his could find other part-time jobs; it was just that nowhere paid half as well as here, and the tips were better than any other place. He also tutored students of all ages for some extra cash too. He also coached the local under-fifteen football team. He was a busy man whose life revolved around work, studying and exercise. He didn't mind it—he liked to keep himself occupied after all. He liked routine and liked to keep his mind disciplined.

It was just that sometimes, the very glaring disparity between his life and those who dined at the restaurant shocked him. He wasn't bitter; no… it was more of a dumbstruck incredulity that sometimes tipped over to exasperation (like tonight). When he first took this job, to him, it was like witnessing a live social experiment. He had never been inside like this one and watching the lifestyle of the rich and famous was completely new. But like everything new, the novelty faded: the glimmer dimmed, the gold faded, the silver turned to rust… now, to him, it just seemed like a banal circus parade.

He was about to light up another cigarette when Narumi, his manager, popped his head out from the backdoor into the alleyway, flooding light from inside.

"Natsume-kun! I thought I'd find you here."

He lit the cigarette, holding it with smoky two fingers, "What do you want, Naru?"

At first, Narumi frowned. "I thought you said you were going to quit!"

"I tried. But it turns out that I'm a nicer person as a smoker."

Naru pouted disapprovingly.

Natsume liked his manager. He was rather eccentric and unconventional, but incredibly accommodating to all the staff. Many of the diners seem to like him as well. His light, easeful manner was completely inclusive; he treated everyone kindly and equally, always listening with the utmost sincerity.

"So?" Natsume urged. "What do you want? My shift's over and I'm not doing any overtime; I don't care how busy you are."

"Well," from the airy texture of his voice, Natsume quickly understood that his assumptions had been correct, "it's not your conventional overtime—"

"Forget it. I'm tired. I have football coaching from 7a.m tomorrow."

"Oh, come on! It's not like you have anything else to do with this fine, Saturday night!"

Natsume looked back and glared, cigarette dangling from his mouth. "I have plans. To sleep."

"I'll give you ¥10,000." The tone of Narumi's voice changed. "Off-payroll. I'll give it to you now."

A pregnant pause. Then, Natsume raised his eyebrow. "You serious?"

Narumi nodded, grinning. He was reeling in the fish! "Yes."

"How many hours?"

"Well, if you'd just listen to me, I'll tell you!" Natsume didn't say anything, so Narumi explained; "You just need to return this purse to a customer. She left it on her table." He then pulled out a shiny, black designer purse and shook it lightly in his right hand. "An important customer forgot it."

"Why doesn't she come and get it?"

"I can't get a hold of her." But something about the way he said it made it plain to Natsume that this woman was not the type to return, even for her purse. She was the type to be pursued.

"She'll realize soon enough. Won't it be better just to leave it here?"

"Natsume, her family is one of our most special customers. They are practically like our patrons. I should think it's part of our service to return this directly to her."

Natsume looked unconvinced.

"How do you know where she lives?"

"The restaurant sends her family a New Year card every year."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course!" He chirped happily. "Like I said, it's part of our service to her family. She'll appreciate it. She's wonderful! And I'm certain if you do this, you can look after her next time she comes with her friends or family. She tips very generously."

He didn't need much more convincing. If anything, the ¥10,000 was enough incentive for Natsume.

"Fine. I'll go." He stood up and threw the dying cigarette away. He held out his hand and accepted the black purse. He had already changed out of his waiter's uniform (after all, he wasn't allowed to smoke in it) earlier, the minute his shift had ended, so he was ready to depart. "What's the address?"

Narumi told him and Natsume entered it on his phone. He then gave him the promised fee. With a satisfied but churlish smirk, Natsume stowed the crispy note in his wallet.

"Thanks," Natsume nodded, before turning away, ready to make his journey into the nicer part of town to return this purse.

"Natsume!" Narumi called after him. "Her name is Mikan Sakura!"

Hers was the nicest house, on the nicest street in the nicest part of town. Everything about it demanded superlatives, but all Natsume could say was, "Jesus, fuck."

As he approached the large front door, Natsume could hear music seeping from the beautiful house. It felt rather odd, he mused, hearing such music come out from such a charming house. He had always thought rich people only listened to opera or Chopin or some other dead European bloke from a hundred years ago.

There was a huge knocker on the door, shaped like a lion's head. He opted for the doorbell instead. To his surprise, despite the music and the general clamour from inside, the door opened rather quickly: the music flooded outside, revealing a tall, slim woman with black hair and a green, skin-tight sequin dress. She was holding a glass of champagne, of course, and her cheeks were rather rosy. First, she looked curious. Then, she looked interested.

She leaned on the doorframe, draping herself like an elusive curtain (all to his amusement). "You're rather dishy," she suddenly said, her voice low, "you here for the party? For me?"

He raised an eyebrow and stepped back. "Are you Mikan Sakura?"

Her expression changed. She stood up tall again and barked with a sudden mighty laughter. "Oh no, honey, no. If it's Mikan you're after," her tone had gone from sultry seduction to frank consideration, "she's probably upstairs. Come in," she jostled her hands, beckoning him, "quickly. We don't want to let the cold air in."

He didn't move. He just held up the purse. "I'm just here to return this. If you could pass it to her—"

The woman's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, her purse! You marvellous man! Oh, how gallant of you! Yes, she mentioned that she probably left it at Goemon," She reached her manicured hand out; Natsume thought she would just take the purse, but then, she grabbed his arm instead, pulling him inside. She shut the door quickly, and soon, Natsume was engulfed by the decadent music.

"How nice it is of you do bring her back her purse!" The woman continued. "I'm her friend, Sumire."

Natsume could hardly hear or see her. The lights were dimmed, the music was blaring, and the space was crowded. People trickled down the intricate staircase, bouncing from room to room, holding drinks and each other, as they laughed lavishly. It was not like any house party Natsume had ever been too. From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw singer Reo Mouri and model Yuri Miyazono. They had once been his little sister's idols; she had their posters plastered on her wall at fifteen. But it couldn't possibly be them, no matter how uncanny the similarities were—

"Reo!" Sumire called, to Natsume's disbelief (shit, it is Reo Mouri!). "Where's Mikan?"

Reo Mouri glanced in their direction and shrugged. "Upstairs, I think? Last I saw, she was with Hotaru." He then returned to his conversation with Yuri Miyazono.

"Come, let's go find her," Sumire said to Natsume, pulling him further into this land of the gods and monster, the illustriously famous and notoriously renowned. Actors, singers, models, socialites, sons and daughters of politicians and bankers—they were all congregated here, in the nicest house on the nicest street. He shouldn't be too surprised though, should he? Especially when considering their similar calibre and the fact that the foyer alone was considerably larger than his family's flat.

"So, who are you?" Sumire asked as they ascended the twirling, excessive staircase that oversaw everything.

"No-one," Natsume answered, neither in jest nor in self-deprecation. Honestly, he just wanted to leave quickly; he was not interested in idle small talk and mindless prattle, especially in the vicinity of such people. He didn't want to intrude. He was just here on a job.

"With a face like that? Impossible." Sumire joked. She glanced back at him to peak another look. She brazenly laughed—he wasn't quite sure if she was laughing at him, or at her own thoughts. "Mikan? Hotaru? Where are you guys?"

Faintly, they heard a voice call from the next floor up. And so, they ascended even higher, up to the golden heavens, up the tower.

"Mikan! Are you here? I have a tall, dark and handsome surprise for you!"

An exasperated voice came from the other end, "For God's sake Shouda, if you've hired strippers tonight, I'm going to kill you."

Natsume raised an eyebrow.

"No Hotaru, I haven't, I—wait," she abruptly stopped and looked at Natsume, analyzing his clothes and arms, "… you aren't a stripper, are you? No judgement if you are!"

"No," he deadpanned dully, and just shook the purse that was still in his hand, "look, I'm just here to return this—"

From the other end of the corridor, two women appeared. They walked towards them, elegant and poised, the corridor their runway. One, with short black hair, was tapping away furiously on her phone—a woman, clearly, on a mission, in her leather pants and blood red sheer top. The second, wearing a black silk robe and stiletto ankle boots, smiled at Sumire before curiously inclining her head at Natsume. She was a brunette, and Natsume didn't know if it were just her risqué choice of outfit or whether it was everything put together as a whole, but she was, as far as his body was concerned, his type. From her dark curls, light eyes, pouty lips, all the way down to her slim ankles, he liked it all. She was beautiful—and sure, the other two women were too—but she was his kind of beautiful.

Natsume averted his eyes. He did not want to interrupt or impose. After all, he was here on a mission himself.

"Mikan, you slut, what are you wearing?" Sumire guffawed, amused. "You can't go down like that! Change back into the white dress."

The brunette shrugged. "I'm not going down. I'm staying up here. I'm going to bed. I can't be bothered, not tonight."

"Don't be silly," Sumire waved this off, "you can—"

"No, no," Mikan said. "Not tonight. I'm sleepy. Besides, you organized tonight, not me. Just make sure everyone clears out before 3am, latest. No more drugs, please. Third, fourth and fifth floors are out of bounds."

"I'm going too," Hotaru said, not bothering to look up from her phone. "Toyota's stocks are falling. I need to buy and sell. I've got no time for games."

"You bitches are no fun," Sumire said, shaking her head.

"So, who's your friend?" asked Mikan, looking at Natsume, pulling all the attention and focus on him like a compass.

He turned his eyes to her. He had avoided eye contact before this. But now he looked, it was hard to look away. To his surprise, he saw genuine interest in her expression; she was looking up at him expectantly.

"He's not my friend, he's yours."

Taking this as his cue, Natsume held out the purse. Even Hotaru looked up from her phone to see what he was passing to Mikan.

Mikan's face lit up in recognition. The previous sleepiness in the eyes had completely vanished. "Oh, my purse!" She reached out for it.

Finally, he was free of the purse. She took it in her arms.

"Thank you! I—"

"I'm off, Mikan." Hotaru informed quite suddenly. "I need to get on this quickly," she motioned to her phone, "and call New York." Then, very brusquely, she kissed both her friends an adieu on the cheek twice like a Frenchwoman and bid Natsume a goodbye with a passing nod before walking off.

"See you next week, Hotaru," Mikan called after her.

Then, "Hey," Sumire suddenly called after her too, "wait, Hotaru—I need your help before you leave," she then turned to Natsume and Mikan, explaining, "if anyone, Hotaru can tell Matsudaira to stop being an ass downstairs," she then followed Hotaru, but not before she bid Natsume and Mikan a goodbye and a good night. "I hope I see you again, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome!"

In a blur of green sequins, she left, like a flash.

And then, he glanced at Mikan Sakura. She was still looking at him. She smiled.

He cleared his throat. He stepped away. He had done what he had come for. "I'm going—"

"We can have our own party up here," she suddenly said, and her smile became coy. "You brought my purse all the way here for me. I can't let you go… not without thanking you first."

He felt as if he were in some weird, surreal film. As inviting as her smile was, and as divine as she looked in that honeyed, loose robe, Natsume shook his head. "Look, I don't think you understand—"

"Why don't I know you?"

He hesitated. The best explanation he could think of was, "It's a big city."

She laughed. He wasn't even trying to be funny.

"I know everyone who dines at Goemon." She lightly informed him, the laugh lingering at the corner of her lips. "But I don't know you."

"That's because I don't eat there," Natsume replied; he saw her eyes flicker to his lips, and couldn't help his own eyes from doing the same. The electricity of mutual attraction crackled between them, and whilst Mikan seemed to move towards it, Natsume was trying to get away. He didn't have time for this, but more pressingly, he was sure she wouldn't care about him once she knew who he was. So, he hastily shattered the mystery, destroying the illusion: "I work there. I'm a waiter."

He waited for her to release him, to send him away from her golden castle.

She did not. To his surprise, she without any prejudice, she stepped closer to him. "Oh?"

Her perfume was nice. Spicy. Light. It was distracting.

He further attempted to paint himself darkly. "My manager, Narumi asked me to bring you your purse."

He wondered if she understood his subtext: I am not kind or generous. I did this for the money.

Even if she did see the subtext, she chose to ignore it. "That was nice of Naru-chan. And even nicer of you to bring it to me. I need to thank you properly."

She was flirting with him, relentlessly. Though, like a true lady, she was waiting for him to make the final move. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation, daring him to look down at her chest, daring him to take charge and kiss her against her affluent walls.

Should I just go for it? Quickly, a greedy, hungry and impulsive voice within him said Fuck yes—look at that face. He imagined her naked; he imagined fucking her into her expensive mattress. He could do with a one-night stand; it had been a while, and he missed the dewy smell of women. That same voice then assured him that this situation was a gift from God and to turn it away would be an act blasphemy. It's not every day a hot, rich girl wants you—do it, or regret it for the rest of your life. Enjoy one night of riches. He imagined how jealous his friends would be if he went through with this. He could already see Koko's dumbstruck gape.

But like most decisions in his life, reason overran his desire.

As professionally as he could, Natsume replied, "You can thank me by requesting me next time you come to Goemon. Rumour is you tip well. I should go."

Mikan's jaw slackened. He was turning away… he was walking away from her. Tip him? He wasn't jesting. But nor was she; she wasn't done with him!

"Wait," she called after him; thankfully, he turned back to look at her, and she jostled over, her silk robe clinging like water to certain curves, shimmying, her thin heels clicking against the floor. "how can I request you if I don't even know your name? You know mine. It's not fair."

"Hyuuga."

"And your first name?"

"Natsume." He turned to move.

"Natsume," she suddenly said, her voice clear, lacking that previous frivolous tone. Instead, now, it was rather vulnerable and meek. "If… if you're not otherwise busy… if you're not engaged, both in terms of your time and in terms of your affections to another… if you want to… I'd really like to spend some time with you. If you want."

He looked at her curiously, masking the extent of his bewilderment. Suddenly, a loud raucous laughter from downstairs echoed, reverberating between them, acutely reminding Natsume that she was not alone in her house. At this very second, there was a party going on downstairs, a party filled with illustrious people that she knew. Her house was brimming with people; surely she could call one of her friends from down there to come up here to spend time with her. Surely Reo frickin' Mouri would be a better choice than him! He wondered why she wanted his company tonight. He didn't have much to offer. He didn't really have anything, really. He was a nobody, but more seriously, he wasn't her friend. He was a stranger.

He wished she would stop looking at him like that… like he had the power to either make or break her night.

"I can't. I have work early tomorrow morning. I need to have an early night."

"Work?" She inquired. "At Goemon?"

"No. I coach a local junior football team on Sundays."

She smiled, interested. Then, "What about tomorrow evening then? Can I see you then?" He opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted him, suddenly shy, pushing a forced nonchalance, "If you're working though, I understand."

He was going to decline. But the way she had said that, like a nervous afterthought, made him reconsider. It made him see her as a woman, asking a man out. The little details, like the fact that she was a customer and infinitely wealthier than him dissipated. The power disparity balanced and the red warning sign that read 'Do Not Trespass' all nullified in Natsume's mind.

And so, finally, he crossed the red-tape and teased her back, "I'm really not that interesting," she returned his smirk wholeheartedly; brightly she beamed, as he mused, "what's going on in that head of yours? I wonder."

Pleased to see his reciprocation, happy to hear he was no longer speaking to her in polite form, she easily replied. "You don't need to question my intentions. They're honest and good."

He goaded her further, "Says you, wearing nothing but a robe. Nothing about you is innocent."

She smiled. It was enigmatic but telling all at once. "What's your number? I'll text you."

She did text him. She texted him early the next morning, at 7a.m. He was with Luca, grabbing their first coffee of the day. Luca was his best friend who also coached the football team. Training was just about to start.

Some part of him was surprised she texted him. Some of part him believed that she had not been serious last night, that innocuous mischief resided in her eye. But according to the text, perhaps not. She still seemed keen to see him.

He asked her why she was up so early on Sunday.

'To say good morning to you, silly' was her gentle nudging response.

After practice, he went to Denny's with Luca and soon after, his other two friends joined them. Koko complained about the weather as he sat down. Mochu immediately started to flirt with the waitress. They all ordered ramen.

He had known Luca, Mochu and Koko since elementary school. At 24, to one another, they were all like brothers, a part of each respective family.

"So lads," Koko chirped, lacing his fingers together, his hands on the table, "shall we go get a drink tonight? End the weekend with a bang?"

"Pass," Natsume declined, just as both Luca and Mochu were accepting.

Luca frowned. "You're not working tonight, are you? I thought Sunday evening was your night off." Luca often worried for his best friend, who, in his opinion, worked far too much.

"No, I'm not working," Natsume replied as he snapped his chopsticks apart, "I'm seeing someone tonight."

Mochu reacted first, "What! Who? Who is she?"

"He didn't say it was a woman," Luca pragmatically pointed out.

Mochu raised his eyebrows incredulously at Luca, scoffing, "Luca, you blind bat. Just look at his shit-eating smirk. It's obviously a woman."

"Who is it?" Koko asked, "That girl from the bar from last time?"

Natsume shook his head. He opened his mouth to reply, but Mochu's grumbles superseded his words, "Don't know why I'm so surprised. Natsume going on dates is nothing new or exciting at this point. You know, when I finally score a date, I'm sure the universe will implode from shock. That'd be breaking news."

"It's been too long," Koko mourned on behalf of Mochu.

Gravely, Mochu nodded. "At this point, I've forgotten the feel of a woman," Mochu melodramatically bemoaned.

Luca rolled his eyes; he heard this lament at least once a day. He turned to Natsume, "So, who is she?"

He opened his mouth with the intention to tell them about the rich, pretty girl from last night. To spill all the details about her house, the party she didn't attend at her own house and its distinguished guest-list. But something stopped him. He had never been superstitious, but for some reason, he felt that speaking of her would jinx the date. Some part of him hoped that tonight wouldn't be a one-off, like all his other dates. He felt he should approach it differently.

So, instead, he ambiguously answered with an accompanying non-committal shrug, "We'll see."

A/N: Welcome to my new story! This is my winter gift to you :)

January is always such a 'ughhhhh' months, so I thought I could warm it up for you all with this story! I'll be updating every day (!) so you won't have to wait months and months on end for development (like Resistance… sorry readers…)

Rather than focus on 'how they got together', this story will focus on Mikan and Natsume as a couple, loving each other, overcoming normal couple issues and also the issues that come from their very different lifestyles. It's super lovey-dovey, so maybe have a rubbish bin beside you when you read this, you know, just in case you retch.

So, see you tomorrow!