A/N: I don't own Alice Gakuen.

Portrait Era

"Through here," Mikan instructed as she pulled back the decorative drapes in the corner of the club, only to reveal a small door. She opened it, revealing a narrow brightly lit staircase and let Natsume go through first. Once they were both through she closed the door behind her, muffling the music outside, though the heavy beats still leaked through, reverberating deeply against the walls.

"Are we allowed here?" Natsume inquired, as he climbed up the stairs. He glanced behind him to look at the girl. "What is this place?"

"It's just the backstage of the club." He had reached the top of the staircase, so she further instructed, "Left."

He obliged and she followed him. She noticed the faint hesitancy in his step.

"Don't worry." Mikan continued, "We'll be fine back here. I know the owner of this club. At least, my friend does. But I do know the security team quite well. We come here often enough. Take the door on your right—"

But before Natsume could touch the door handle, the door opened, revealing a tired-looking man dressed all in black. Upon seeing Natsume, he immediately perked up; the weary expression sharpened into an alert façade.

"What are you doing back here—"

"Hayate," the girl brightly called from behind him, waving, "hey! He's with me."

Immediately, his vigilant expression melted into a warm, welcoming smile. "Hey Mikan, you good?"

Mikan pushed past Natsume and gave Hayate a brief hug. "Good to see you."

"You too. Hey, is Hotaru around?" Hayate asked in a hopeful tone.

Mikan giggled. "Not tonight."

"Shame." He glanced back up at Natsume; unlike before, he regarded Natsume in a friendly manner, concern now present in his eyes. "What we got here? You alright, mate? That's a nasty cut you got there. Some meathead get you?"

"No, it was Anna," Mikan revealed sheepishly.

Hayate's eyes bulged in disbelief; then, he laughed, "Oh shit! Anna? No way! Dude, she's like five foot. What'd you do to her—insult her pink hair or summin'?"

"It was an accident." Natsume and Mikan explained at the same time.

"She was dancing a bit too violently," Mikan clarified with a grimace, "and smashed his jaw when she was jumping up and down with her fist up. She was too drunk to notice."

"Damn. Well, we got a first aid kit in there," He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, behind him, through the room he had just left, "feel free to use it. I have to go down, but nice meeting you, yeah?" Hayate clapped Natsume's shoulder. "Take care, man."

Natsume nodded in thanks.

"Thanks, Hayate." Mikan smiled, waving him off as he descended down the stairs. "I'll let you know when Hotaru's around."

"You do that," Hayate grinned, looking back at her, "and make sure she stays away from other men, you hear me? And make sure he stays away from other short, rabid girls, including yourself."

"Very funny," Mikan sarcastically called after the departing Hayate before turning back to the bleeding man beside her, "sorry about that. Let's go find that first aid kit," she passed and quickly tottered into the room, and Natsume couldn't help his wandering eyes from lowering down to admire her shapely ass in that white dress, especially when she crouched down to rummage through the cupboard.

"What's your name?" her sudden question ripped Natsume from his not-so-innocent reverie.

Natsume cleared his throat and averted his eyes away. "Natsume."

"I'm Mikan. I'm really sorry about everything; I hope my friend hasn't ruined your night. I—aha!" She had found the first aid kit. She pulled it out, holding it up like it was a prize, stood up, and turned around to face him as she popped the box open. "Here we go. Please, take a seat." She motioned towards the two plastic chairs before she turned the tap on to quickly but efficiently wash her hands with soap.

Natsume sat down as she placed the kit on the neighbouring small table. She took the chair beside him, gracefully falling into the seat, before she rather noisily scooted her chair towards him, the chair legs scraping the floors.

"Let me have a look," her brown eyes focused intently, unwaveringly on his lips. "… I think it looks worse than it actually is. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Not anymore," he cleared his throat again.

Natsume swallowed; it had been a while since a pretty girl was this close to his face. In fact, he wondered, when was the last time… he mentally tried to calculate it, but he gave up sooner rather than later. Besides, his mind was preoccupied enough by the face in front of him—this was no time to dwell on past flames. He liked her beauty spot. Her own lips were very comely too, pouty and nude. It was a pity his were all bloodied up. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced up to meet his eyes. He blinked, hoping his face didn't give away his thoughts.

She smiled at him. He meant to smile back, but he quickly remembered his mouth and jaw were covered in blood. She might mistake him for Pennywise—best not to smile yet, he reasoned.

Mikan rummaged in the first aid kit box; first, she found a pair of medical gloves and popped them on before she pulled out sterile cotton pads and the bottle of disinfectant. She dabbed the solution on four pads before she looked back at him.

"This might hurt." Her apologetic voice was as gentle as her touch; very carefully, she pressed the cotton against the rupture, before softly dabbing the general area. With the other pad, she cleaned up the blood that had spilled on his jaw.

Natsume did his best not to flinch. He also tried his best not to look directly at her face (but it was proving to be very, very difficult).

He thought it'd be best to say something (or, at least, attempt to speak despite the cotton pad pressed against his upper lip) rather than stay in observant silence. "Do you do this often?"

"Hmm?" she questioningly looked at him.

"It's just you seem like you know what you're doing. You even put the gloves on," he spoke rather monotonously, but Mikan saw the teasing in his eyes.

She laughed. "Honestly? I have no clue what I'm doing. My best friend's a doctor and I saw her tend my little cousin once. He ran head first into a glass door," poor, silly Youichi, she mused fondly, "and I remember her doing something like this. I think." She laughed again. "And what about you? Do you get injured often? You didn't even wince!"

"Not recently. But as a kid, I was in the infirmary all the time."

She continued to wipe off the blood, before, "There. You're all clean, blood-free. But I think you should keep pressure on the cut for fifteen minutes maximum." His fingers now held the cotton pad against his own lip, "Also, I can't imagine that going back out there would be good for it. Clubs always struck me as a bacterial breeding ground."

"Well, when you put it like that, I think you've put me off going out there for good. I guess I'll just have to stay here all night with you."

Mikan smiled, impressed. Wow, she thought; if she didn't know any better, she'd say that this guy was utterly flirting with her. But surely he's gay? What else would he be doing at Reo'son a Saturday night? But then again, she supposed she, Anna and Sumire were all straight and they frequented the club a lot. But since when did straight men come to Reo's alone on a Saturday night? He could be bi, her mind reasoned.

"That sounds like a rubbish way to spend your Saturday night," Mikan teased, "I'm awfully boring."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She admitted with a mock sigh. "I like painting; I love my slippers; on average, I drink about ten cups of tea a day and I can't think of anything better than watching television shows about moving to the countryside. Oh, and I also like to collect orange-scented things, like tangerine shampoo or clementine lip balms."

"Because of your name?"

"Yup!"

Natsume smirked. "You sound like a perfect Saturday night to me. A bit old-fashioned, I admit, but perfectly decent."

"Didn't you get the memo? I prefer the term 'old soul'," Mikan guffawed, mirth colouring her cheeks.

"Sorry gran, we don't send letters to each other anymore. Memos are a thing of the past, like you."

Mikan shoved his shoulder, delightfully amused.

"So, what do you do? Are you an antique's saleswoman or something?"

"Oh, antiques! Another hobby of mine," she joked, before she replied, "but alas, no. Sadly, I'm a software developer."

"Oh, shit." Natsume didn't expect that; he was impressed. "An old soul with a modern twist."

"Versatility is my specialty."

"So is rhyming, clearly."

"Naturally." Mikan rhymed before her straight-face fell and light laughter took over once again, dusting the conversation prettily. "And you? What do you do?"

"I'm a financial advisor."

Mikan pulled a face.

Natsume solemnly nodded in accordance. "And before you ask, it is as boring as it sounds."

"More boring than my orange-scented body lotion collection?"

"More or less. Though perhaps more conventional."

"But boring nonetheless." Mikan simplified.

"Unquestionably."

Even Natsume couldn't stop the corners of his lips upturning. He was relishing this easeful conversation and her amused grin that accompanied it. If it weren't for the occasional twinge, Natsume would have completely forgotten about his bust upper-lip.

"Joking aside—"

"I wasn't joking—"

Mikan shushed him, "—what does a financial advisor do? Do you make money by telling people what to do with their money?"

"Simply put, yes."

"Wow, that's genius. Why didn't I think of that? Hey," her eyes widened mischievously, "do you ever get tempted to advise a filthy rich geezer into giving all his money to you?"

"I think that's highly unethical. And most likely illegal."

"Like," she made a phone-shape with her left hand before putting it to her ear, "'Hey, Mr. Yamada. I reviewed your accounts today, and I advise that you transfer your two hundred billion into my account, prontissimo. See ya,'" She hung up her make-belief handphone.

"Poor Mr. Yamada—"

"Oh!" Mikan interrupted, her previous concern returned, "Your lip is bleeding again."

"What? Oh," suddenly, he tasted the metallic tang again, "shit." He hadn't realised but his hand had relaxed completely—hardly any pressure was put against his lip.

"Here," Mikan held another cotton pad, soaked in antiseptic.

"Thanks," he took it and held it firmly against his lip.

"I'm sorry." Mikan apologised again.

"It's not your fault."

"It partly is." Mikan admitted, "I bought her first drink, and I knew she shouldn't have had those last two drinks, but I didn't stop her."

Natsume smirked as best as he could. "You pushed her down the rabbit hole."

"I think I watched her fall down the rabbit hole. Her ex-boyfriend dug that hole." Mikan explained meaningfully, "That should explain the vigorous and violent Survivor dancing."

"So, what you're saying is, your friend split up with her ex and as a result I have a split lip?"

Mikan grimaced. "Regrettably and poetically so. Again, I am really sorry." Natsume shrugged off her apology, but she continued, "If you do require any medical attention, as I said, my best friend is a doctor. She's not here tonight, but I'm sure she can look at you—"

"It's fine." Natsume insisted. "It's nothing."

Mikan nodded, but then, her eyes wavered to the poster hung up on the noticeboard. The noticeboard was placed right behind Natsume, so he turned around to see what had unexpectedly and rather suddenly captured her eye. He gawked; momentarily shocked to see his own father's name pinned up on the poster behind. It was a rather decorative flyer, filled with painted faces, advertising 'Ioran Hyuuga's Two Hour Lecture and Q&A on his 1980s 'Portrait Era', the event date tomorrow at the stuffy gallery Natsume had spent most of his childhood. He couldn't believe he didn't spot it when he first entered—especially as two of the portraits advertised in the poster were of his mother!

What a bizarre place to advertise his father's talk! Here, in the break room of a club? Strange, he mused.

He glanced at her. She was still looking intently at the poster.

"Are you a fan?" he asked, curious.

"Are you kidding me? Yes," she sighed longingly, "I love Hyuuga-san's work. Especially his Portrait Era."

"Really? I always thought them to be quite dull."

Mikan gaped, affronted. "What! How are they dull? I mean, all the colours and the exquisite brushstrokes!"

"I don't know. People don't look like that," he pointed at his mother as an example, "people aren't blue."

Mikan couldn't help but laugh. "That's true. But art doesn't need to imitate life—it can represent and transcend it. There's so much to be said about Hyuuga-san's work. I mean, every portrait is so different—even when he's painting the same person. There's a certain uniqueness to each one, and I always felt as if he's trying to capture the moment with the different techniques and colour. Everyday our emotions and feelings change—so why shouldn't his portraits represent that visually, or at least attempt to? I can't stand realism; all the subjects are fixed in an eternal, sterile landscape. Any artist can paint a face realistically. But to evocatively paint the human complexity within the framework of ephemerality, relying solely on colour and brush technique? A true artist." She concluded definitively, before she smiled somewhat bashfully.

"You weren't exaggerating. You are a big fan." Natsume kindly smiled at her.

It had been eye-opening to hear this stranger speak of his father so passionately; other fans of his father's work that Natsume had met had all been old, stuffy academics or art-dealers with moustaches, never young and enthusiastically vibrant. He and his little sister had never really cared for art, much to his father's displeasure, and as a result, they always had attended his lengthy art shows and panels with an air of childish reluctance and vexation. He remembered hating art lessons at school too—his art teacher had been very excited to have Ioran Hyuuga's son in his class, but such excitement soon turned to a very evident disappointment once he saw that his pupil did not inherit his father's creative talent and ingenuity. For a long time, Natsume had brushed aside his father's talents, desperate to step away and detach himself from his Ioran's looming and weighty legacy, but perhaps it was time for Natsume to review his father's work as an adult, with a clear and objective eye, rid of any lingering envy.

"Are you going to his talk tomorrow?" he asked. "At the Matsumoto Gallery?"

To his surprise, Mikan frowned before she groaned irritably. "I wish," she bit out, the pining undertone softening her harsh delivery, "but it's completely sold out. I've been trying to get tickets all week but with no luck. Actually," she derisively laughed at herself, "before coming out here tonight, I was on the phone to the gallery for twenty minutes, hoping to nab a last-minute cancellation, but no luck there either."

"Well, if you'd like, I can get you in. You can be my plus one."

Mikan's head snapped in his direction, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "What! You have tickets?!"

"Not per se. But I can get us in."

Mikan struggled for words. "But… how can you—"

"You could say I'm like a VIP. I'll be able to get the two of us in with no problem. Front row seats. You can even meet him afterwards if you'd like. You can even join us all for lunch."

Mikan was silent for a moment, but then, she started to laugh incredulously. "Okay, now I know you're joking. Very funny—"

"I'm not."

"Liar! You're smirking!" She contradicted, laughing.

"That's just how I look. I'm not joking; I can get you in. If you're with me, you'll get in, I promise."

She continued mirthfully, "What? Are you, like, Ioran Hyuuga's financial advisor or something?"

Natsume chuckled, in a somewhat private matter, as if he was remembering something. "I mean, I definitely do help manage his account and I definitely did talk him out of buying that shack in the mountains, but I'm not his advisor. At least, I don't get paid for any advice I give. No; I'm his son."

Mikan's jaw slackened, her eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. "His son?"

"Yeah. I'm Natsume Hyuuga."

Mikan regarded this man before her with a new sense of critique. Ioran Hyuuga's son? But he looked nothing like the artist! Ioran Hyuuga, the man who, as far as she knew, always dressed in baggy slacks, loose and creased shirts, with the scruffy beard? That same artist related to this man, well dressed, smart and sleek? Certainly, this man before her also had very tousled black hair, but that was the only point of resemblance.

As if he were reading her mind, Natsume said, "I don't look much like him. I take after my mum—" he pointed to the two portraits of his mother on the poster, "see? He painted her when they started dating in the 80s. It marks the inception of his Portrait Era."

Mikan moved towards the poster and scrutinized the two portraits Natsume had pointed at. She remembered these paintings well; she loved them both, marvelled at their difference despite the same subject. The woman was very beautiful, she had always thought that, and Mikan could see now a resemblance; Natsume possessed this woman's eyes, mouth and jaw.

He then moved to pull his wallet out of his jacket and fluidly produced a business card. He held it before her. Gingerly, she took it before inspecting it.

Persona Financial Solutions Co.

Natsume Hyuuga
Financial Advisor

She looked up at him, aghast and pale. "Oh dear God. Natsume Hyuuga, you're not kidding, are you?"

"That's what I've been saying."

She clapped her hands to her mouth. Natsume had assumed she was about to launch into praise and flattery, so he was surprised when she started to apologise, "I'm so sorry! I must have sounded like an absolute idiot, talking about your father's work like that! Running off with my mouth like a total pretentious twat—bloody framework of ephemerality! I'm so sorry! I'm mortified."

"No, not at all," Natsume quickly insisted, "it didn't come across that way at all. In fact, the human complexity in the framework of ephemerality was my favourite bit."

"You're teasing me," Mikan fell to the chair and covered her face with her hands, trying to hide her blush.

"Only a little." He sat back down too. "Come with me tomorrow. He'd love to meet a fan like you."

She looked at him. She bit her lip uncertainly. "I… I mean, I would love to go, but I don't want to take advantage of your kindness! Besides, my friend hit you! You're still bleeding. You shouldn't be doing me any favours."

"You came to help. This," he dabbed his lip pointedly, "doesn't matter. Come with me tomorrow. I'll introduce you, and you can join us for lunch. Think of it as my way of thanking you."

Mikan pressed her lip together. She didn't know whether to grab this chance that was laid out so deliciously before her, or decline politely. Her love of art got the better of her. "Okay," she agreed, "if it's okay, I would love to go tomorrow. But I'm saying no to the lunch. I don't want to intrude."

"You won't be—"

"Even so. I'd rather just go to the talk, if that's alright?"

Natsume nodded.

"I'll repay your generosity, I promise." Mikan vowed, thankful and purely stunned by the coincidence. She couldn't help but voice her absolute amazement, "Strange, isn't it? My friend hits the son of the artist I so desperately wanted to hear talk. Life is so surreal sometimes. Oh, by the way," she added as an afterthought, "you should really tell the people at the Matsumoto Gallery to change their waiting tone!"

With his eyebrows furrowed, Natsume nevertheless replied, "Duly noted." With an amused, crooked smile.

"Such a weird night," Mikan marvelled at the universe, "I bet you didn't expect your night to go like this, huh? Here, with a girl in the backrooms." She tittered.

Actually, all things considered, Natsume was pretty pleased by the turn of events; here, with a handsome girl, who was definitely his type—

"I could introduce you to my friend, if you'd like?" Mikan asked, with a suggestive grin. "Unless, of course, you're already seeing someone—"

"I'm not," Natsume clarified, and before he asked, "are you?"

"No," Mikan snorted in a self-deprecating manner, "I've been single forever."

"Then have dinner with me."

Mikan looked at him, barked an apprehensive laugh, before she saw the sincere look in his patient eye. "Wait, you're serious?"

"You know, we're off to a bad start. You keep thinking that I'm lying when I'm being serious."

"So… you're asking me out? For dinner? Like a friendly one, right?"

"Well, I'll do my best to be friendly."

Mikan still needed clarification. "A lunch-date or a date-date?"

Natsume looked perplexed. Was there a difference? He didn't understand why she was so confused. Was it so hard for her to believe that he was asking her out? Was it his hair?

"A date where I take you out somewhere nice to eat. That kind of date." That was what people did on dates, right? Or had he got that wrong all his life?

Mikan couldn't help it; she couldn't help but blurt out, "Are you gay?"

"No, I'm not," Natsume simply said, "no matter how much my mother prays for that, I'm not gay."

Single, hot and straight; straight, hot and straight; single, hot and straight—She cleared her throat, desperate to clear her rambling mind, "Do you mind me asking what are you doing at Reo's on a Saturday evening, alone?"

"I'm not alone. I'm here with some friends—oh, fuck." Natsume suddenly stood up. He had completely forgotten: he was here for Luca! How could he forget so easily—this was no time to ask a girl out on a date! This was Luca's night, his coming out party! Here, in this little room with the girl in the white dress, he had forgotten that they were in the backroom of a gay club! And here he was, being the straight little asshole he always was, asking a girl out, instead of hanging out with his best friend downstairs—oh shit, he realised, she could be gay too!

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Mikan asked.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot my place. Well, our place, technically speaking. I just assumed you were straight, despite the fact that we are at Reo's. I'm sorry." And to think, Luca had just explained to his friends how irritating it was that society always assumes an individual to be straight—he had gone and done exactly what his best friend had, rightfully, protested about.

"I'm actually straight." Mikan revealed, "We're here for our friend Naru and for the great music."

His type and straight! And single… since forever. Oh God, he couldn't fuck this up now.

"I'm here for my best friend's coming out party. I," he looked down at her with the intention of telling her he needed to leave, but he hesitated. She was totally his type, down to that beauty spot on her neck. He couldn't let this chance slip him. "I should go back; I'm here to celebrate his coming out—"

She stood up. "Of course—"

"I was wondering whether you want to, uh, come down? With me? Join us?"

"Oh," she also stood up, considering her options. One glance at him was all it took to make up her mind. He was cute. "Yeah sure," she replied with a smile, "I mean, I definitely owe you a drink, right?"

"Careful; you'll be watching me fall down the rabbit hole otherwise."

She laughed. "Let me find my friends first. I should let them know."

"Alright."

"Oh, here. I should give this back to you," she held out his business card.

"No, keep it. It's got my number on it." He grinned at her. "I'll see you by the bar."

"Sumire! Sumire, your phone's ringing," Narumi pointed out before he turned to the taxi driver and apologised, "sorry, hon, I know we're a bit rowdy."

The taxi driver acknowledged Narumi's apology silently. It was Saturday night, nothing new to see here.

"Ugh, hold her," Sumire pushed Anna, who sat between them in the backseats, towards Narumi before she fished her phone out of her purse. "Hello?"

"Where are you guys?"

"Didn't you read my texts? Anna's not feeling too good. We're heading back to Naru's now."

"You're kidding."

"Nope, we're in the taxi now. I'm sorry babe, we wanted to wait but Anna was practically drooling on the floor and you were nowhere to be found—"

Narumi picked the phone from Sumire and said, "Just get a taxi back to mine. You can stay over too."

"… Well, I think I'm going to stay here for a bit longer—"

Narumi gasped. "Oh my God! Are you with that hottie?"

Immediately, Sumire snatched back her phone, ignoring Narumi's vocal protests. "No way!"

"Put her on speaker, dammit!" Naru demanded, excited.

Sumire complied, and placed the phone on top of Anna's head so they could both listen to Mikan, "You won't believe it! He's Ioran Hyuuga's son!"

"Who?" Narumi asked, frowning.

"You know, that artist Mikan adores. The artists whose show she was dying to go to." Sumire explained offhandedly, before she spoke into the phone, "Is he gay?"

"No, he's not—"

"Hah! See, I told you so!" Narumi cackled.

"Is he single?" Sumire continued her interrogation.

"Yes—"

"Mikan, I hereby forbid you to come back to Naru's," Sumire declared. "You need to go back to his."

"I don't think—"

"Mikan, you've been single forever. A week ago, you were complaining that there were not hot guys around you. Well, God heard your complaints and He has rewarded you. If you don't do something about this, you will be croaking about this regretfully on your deathbed."

"Don't listen to her," Naru said, "just do what you want, okay? Other hot guys will come—"

"Um, no. No, they won't," Sumire stubbornly insisted.

"—so don't do anything you don't want to do, okay? I rescind Sumire's command: you're more than welcome to get a taxi to mine."

"… I think I'm going to hang out with him for a bit. He's nice."

Sumire sighed in relief. "Thank God."

"He got me tickets for tomorrow! So count me out of brunch. Also, can you text Hotaru that I might be late? I've been texting her but she hasn't replied."

"Sure thing. Text us when you're heading home, alright?"

"Enjoy!" Sumire sing-songed. "Call us tomorrow!"

"Be safe!"

A/N: Third installment! This story will move quickly and finish quickly :)

Hope you liked it!