He kissed her, she kissed back, and then she ran away. Really, everything was so damn that moment that she could barely keep her head straight as she packed her bags, readying herself for the trip to the mansion later that afternoon.

"Stupid Mikan," she kept saying to herself, "stupid, stupid Mikan."

Blindly she threw this and that to the large tawny suitcase Natsume bought for her when she left the apartment. She smiled a little as she remembered how she ended up taking this suitcase after his insistence — he complained about the huge bulk of clothes she had and saw the bulging in her old red suitcase (almost only half of this one) and so he took her to the mall just before closing and purchased this Voyager bag for her (eventually after many irritating repetitions of "I'm fine with this one" and "Don't buy me anything").

After twenty minutes of reckless tossing and stomping all around her suite, she was finally done packing and the room was empty and lonely. Vaguely, she thought she heard the floor elevator's beep and suddenly thought of what she would do when Natsume got here. She walked mechanically towards the bed and plopped, face down, into it; she barely noticed the light creak of her oaken doors and the muffled thuds of designer flip-flops.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you; sulking never does much good to the skin."

She started; she knew that voice anywhere. Hell, the perfection, the silky velvet of that fluent speech could only belong to one woman, because her male counterpart was none other than her brother, which she had to admit halfheartedly. She lifted her brunette head and saw marble-like formations of jade eyes framed by a shock of long green eyelashes pasted on an alabaster skin that looked so fragile. She was leaning by the edge of the door wearing bleach white shorts and a yellow halter, her short curled hair resting lightly on her shoulders, the tips cascading down to the middle of her torso.

"Permy? Oh—is everyone back?" she asked, getting up from her pathetic lying position and sitting down on the bed. Sumire rolled her eyes gently and closed the door. She walked towards Mikan and sat down beside her, leaning her body on her arms.

"Well, obviously. Mom and Dad got over their discussion as to which flowers to buy for your room at the mansion and so we got home earlier than scheduled," she said; Mikan began babbling apologies for the bother but Sumire cut off her. "Don't apologize. It's our pleasure to make you feel at home; it's a Hyuuga family trait to be so accommodating. And will you please stop calling me Permy? It's such an ugly name."

She looked at the brunette from the sides of her eye and saw the corners of her mouth twitch a bit before reverting from its original position: a miserable frown. She looked out the window to her right then back again to the morose lady beside her.

"So, what happened to you?" Sumire inquired, eyeing Mikan with a critical gaze. "You look like you've been dumped in hell twice for the past hours."

She watched as Mikan's eyes reflected a trickle of surprise; seconds later she gave a forced laugh and scowled at the carpet beneath their feet. Surely nothing could be so horrible as to erase the smile from her face? More and more Sumire keeps getting curious. What happened?

Mikan turned a watery gaze towards her while brushing the tears away and through suppressed sobs she mustered a few words. She seemed to have thought it through, and evidently she wasn't in the mode for any sort of light discussion.

"What…" she was steeling herself to ask what she wanted to know, "—what's Natsume like?"

Now it was her turn to be taken aback. What kind of question was it? Who asks about her brother anyway? Except for fan girls, of course…

"You're asking what kind of a brother he is," Sumire clarified, confused. What did her brother have to do with her now? And wasn't she his girlfriend? She should know it himself. Although, Sumire reasoned out, given that we've never met her before, maybe she knows nothing about what Natsume's like as a brother.

"Uh-huh," Mikan said, hiccuping slightly. "I just…wanted to ask."

Sumire perked an eyebrow and turned away from her, drawing a great breath. She thought for a second or two and decided that it wouldn't be dangerous enough to tell her. Although admittedly she still did not see what this was all about.

"Well, I don't know what your purpose is by asking that, but fine. I'll oblige to answer your question. Mostly he's the quiet, caring guy." She was still looking away from the brunette, her arms supporting most of her weight, her long white legs crossed. "He attends to us very often and at times when Mom and Dad aren't around you'd actually think he's our father. There are times though when he ends up going crazy and he suddenly laughs from nowhere. He's not like how critics see him at all."

Mikan's unwavering gaze pushed her further on. She looked amused at her innocent curiosity, and though she never told anyone this story, she decided it was safe to do so to her.

"I first met him properly when I was seven."

"Seven?" Mikan said, curious about the long time they hadn't seen each other. They were supposed to be together, weren't they? And suddenly, an insane idea popped into her head and before she could stop herself, she said it aloud. "Why? Are you…adopted?"

Sumire scowled, her green eyes sparkling with furious indignity as her green head snapped towards her. She looked absolutely livid. "I am most certainly not!" she screamed. A second later she looked thoughtful. "But I get why you think that, so I guess I understand. I know you think it's a long time for brother and sister not to meet. Weird, isn't it? But I'm a pure Hyuuga, so no need to question my parentage. I know that for sure.

"No. I wasn't adopted, but Mom took me to Paris when I was two so I could spend my years growing up there, being taken care of by my Aunt Shizuka, dad's sister. They'd visit me every after a few weeks, just after their stay at the mansion, you know, after peak seasons. You know peak seasons, don't you?"— Mikan nodded, Sumire looked satisfied and plowed on —"Well, surely it pains them to keep me separated from my sibling, since there were only two of us back then, but they had to do it, for both of our well-being."

She threw the black comforters over both their bodies; the two girls had now settled down by lying in Mikan's bed as Sumire told her story.

"'Well-being?'" the brunette scoffed as she clung to the blanket and stared at the ceiling. "Why?"

Sumire gave a sour laugh and propped her head against her palms, elevating her head and leaving her room to gaze at the curious brown-headed girl. "You don't know, do you? I did tell you, you still had a lot to learn about Natsume."

"Go on," Mikan pushed her, turning to her side. They were face to face in bed and amber bore deeply into jade.

"When he was still young, Natsume" — she gulped — "hated me. I never really knew why, but I guess it was jealousy. There were times when he'd just keep quiet whenever I was asleep and he'd settle down beside my crib, crying; most of the time he'd spend his days torturing me…you know, taking away my toys, pinching me, and all that. Eventually they said I began fearing him that I'd just lock myself up in my room and never come out if he's around. Mom and Dad also noticed how much he would change whenever I was around him, and so decided to bring me far away from him."

A glint of black passed right through her green eyes before it became glazed.

"When I came back, however," she said, after snapping out of her trance, "Natsume was changed. He took me in with a small smile. He was eight and I was seven, and we became the best of friends. Every start of term, though, I'd leave for Paris. That's why you never met me back at the academy. I was in Paris studying. I was alone and it was…sad.

"But every summer when I come home he'd always keep me busy. Natsume'd take me to different places and he'd show me this and that. He is the best brother one could eve have. People — even Aoi — think I'm in love with my own brother and that I'm a rabid fan girl—and in some cases I must be—but the truth is I just really love him. You really can't tell what kind of person he is just by looking at him; the saying 'don't judge a book by its cover' most aptly applies to him."

Mikan's eyes were closed. Sumire nudged her gently by the arms, asking "Are you still awake? Mikan?" and yet the brunette merely turned to the other side and snored lightly, making Permy roll her eyes, annoyed but amused at the same time.

The brunette actually fell asleep, she thought as she clambered out of the black bed. She checked her watch; it was four-fifteen. Forty-five minutes more for the brunette to rest. In the back of her mind she thought she knew what had happened to the brunette that made her be so, but before she could mull it over any further as she reached the door, she heard Mikan mumble lightly in her sleep.

"Natsume…"

"Oi, Polka-dots."

She awoke with a start and sat up while looking around saying "Where's the fire?" when her eyes met his crimson ones and a heavy, dark scowl appeared in her beautiful face. She begrudgingly lied back down to bed and covered her face with a pillow.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, her voice muffled by the cushion. He rolled his eyes and sat down beside her bed, leaning on the bedside drawer with his head bowed.

"We're leaving for the mansion," he said simply, running his pale hand through his thick black hair. "You need to get up."

And get up she most certainly did, leaving him alone inside her room. He let out a defeated sigh and followed after her.

"Mikan," he said from across the hallway. She stopped but did not turn around; she merely replied unemotionally a short "What?" and for the second time he sighed.

"You're leaving for the mansion without your things?" He rolled his eyes at her childishness. She groaned and trudged past him without even looking him in the eye; now his patience was getting tested, and truth be told, he didn't think he could control his rage at the moment, when he himself was so awfully distressed about the afternoon's proceedings.

He felt a gush of wind and looked up to see her dragging her brown suitcase rather difficultly down the hall. He gave a tiny crooked smile which was gone in an instant and rushed forward to help her. She struggled at first but allowed him to take her luggage all the same. She gave him a stony glare, but as he looked more closely, her eyes betrayed her. The murky brown was distorted by a depth that he knew could go on for miles, and he saw the whirl of emotions inside her. Well, that was what she was: her eyes were the windows to her soul.

He eventually lost track of time; he did not remember going into the elevator or ramming the number 75 on the floor selection or even opening the doors to his father's second office. All he remembered was the fact that his hands were curled tightly around a cold steel handle and that Mikan Sakura barely spoke a word to him throughout the entire way.

He heard Mikan's audible gasp as they entered the room and immediately ran forward to greet little Youichi and Aoi, both of whom planted kisses on her cheeks (Youichi took the liberty of running, with his little penguin trot, into her arms). She then went to Sumire and gave her a small hug and kissed Shino lightly on the cheeks before returning to his side.

His anger, which was already receded on the way, had flared alive at the look of contentment on Shino's face.

"Mikan, Natsume," Mr. Hyuuga acknowledged. Mikan gave a bright smile to the latter's direction while he gave a small grunt. Mikan went forward to give Mrs. Hyuuga a short kiss on the cheek and went over beside Shino. Now he was really furious.

The door creaked open and in came another raven-haired girl. Mikan smiled widely and ran forward to meet her best friend and hugged her, staying with her the whole while that they were in the room.

When they were all settled (Mr. and Mrs. Hyuuga seated and the rest in a circle around them, standing up), Mr. Hyuuga cleared his throat and began the plans for their trip to the mansion.

"Now, the mansion is quite far from here," he began, his eyes alight with joy, "and the van is a little too small for all of us. Hotaru here is joining us until her parents come back from Milan, and Natsume's band as well — they're waiting for us downstairs, along with your friends, Mikan dear"—Mikan started and squealed with glee—"I believe they are Anna and Nonoko, and so we will be having trouble with the arrangement of people inside who's cars. So we have decided that Aoi and Youichi will come with us inside the van, along with your possessions, while the band — excluding Natsume — will be taking Koko's Grandia. Now the problem lies with your four," he pointed at Mikan, Shino Hotaru, and Natsume. "Who'll be going with whom? So we decided that Mikan goes with Shino and Hotaru goes with Natsume. If there any slight objections, I'd rather you say them now, because it's a three-hour drive, and your companion will be a good thing."

Mikan and Shino were reasonably pleased, but Hotaru knew better that Hyuuga Natsume was currently in a bad mood. If his aura was set in daggers, nearly everyone in this room would be dead by now. Thinking that only the young brunette at the far end of the room could control this blazing man, she spoke in her monotone drawl.

"I think I'll go with Shino," she said, much to general astonishment; Mikan face was pulled down, the grin sliding off her face like slime; Shino looked like he'd been smacked in the face with a baseball bat, and Natsume's head slightly cocked upwards, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Hotaru," Mikan said, pleading. Hotaru merely shook her head.

"I don't think it'll do me any good, Uncle Ayura, staying with your talkative son. And seeing as we're both so enthusiastic about speaking to each other, I don't think I'll enjoy the journey that much."

Mikan groaned and Natsume smirked, sending Hotaru a gaze that clearly meant "I owe you one; check your bank account later tomorrow." Hotaru's mouth yanked upwards, and in a split second the two of them were suddenly caught in a quick laugh only the two of them understood.

"What are you laughing about?" Mikan suddenly said indignantly as Hotaru and Natsume enjoyed the laugh still. None of them replied but Natsume suddenly grew interested at her tone, and all forbearing rage of that afternoon was suddenly dissolved into thin air. He stepped forward and towered over her, his smirk still in his perfect face, ignoring a scandalous Shino. Her look of surprise was nothing compared to the look in her eye that says clearly of what she truly felt inside, although he doubted she knew of it herself.

"You sound jealous, Polka," he said, his breath fanning her face.

She closed her eyes then turned around, crossing her arms and puffing her cheeks as she usually did when flustered. "I am not, Hyuuga. Please don't let your over-sized ego take over your imagination; I am not jealous of you staying with Hotaru while inside the car."

The second after she said that he knew she regretted it; his smirk grew even wider it almost looked like it hurt. He'd never been this amused in his entire life.

"Whoever said it was about Imai staying with me? Better watch your words, Sakura," he said, waving away her retort and saying to the room at large, "We'll leave now, Mom, Dad."

Before he left he hugged Aoi and ruffled Youichi's hair before ramming his knuckles gently on his little brother's closed fist.

"Bye-bye, Watchumi-nii," Youichi said, pulling at his brother's pants and kissing him when he was low enough for him to reach.

Natsume took the handle of Mikan's luggage and closed the door, leaving her inside the room. She screamed furiously and ran after him.

"Well, this is interesting," said Mr. Hyuuga as Mrs. Hyuuga pretended to fix her bag during the lovers' quarrel, the corners of her mouth pulled upwards. "They are definitely something to look out for."

"Yeah," Hotaru seconded, "definitely."

And then she beckoned to a miserable-looking Shino to carry her bag. The latter looked disgruntled as Mr. Hyuuga sent him an apologetic look, infuriating him even more.

"Get in."

"No. I want to go with Shino."

"Fat chance, seeing as they're already gone, genius. Now get in."

"No."

He slammed his fist into the hood of the pearl white Ford Fusion and glared at her, his brows furrowed. She returned the glare with one of the same intensity, her hands firmly crossed across her chest, her body stiff and her feelings rigid.

"Why are you so damn difficult, Sakura?" he growled, still looking at her through angry red eyes. His voice, though a little less restrained than normal, was cold with burning anger; they were already a little over fifteen minutes behind schedule. "They've all left! Can't you see? We're the only freakin' people left out here! Pull yourself together, you idiot, and get in the damned car!"

"Don't—" she said, moving towards him and ramming her finger against his firm chest, "—call me an idiot."

"Well then get in the car, stupid," he lazily spat back at her. He went around and opened the driver's door and revved the engine. On the other hand, she stood there beside the passenger seat door, remaining as stubborn as ever, refusing his last warning. He rolled down the passenger window.

"Get in."

She didn't move an inch. He shrugged, and as he closed the windows, he rammed on the gas and sped away. Senses caught up with her and instinctively she yelled, her feet suddenly awakening from a slumber. From afar she could see his triumphant smirk and made a mental note never to fall for his parlor tricks ever again.

"No! Wait! Alright! I'm coming! I'll get in the goddamn car!" She ran after the humming contraption which stopped a few feet from her, and catching her breath, she wrenched the pristine door open and primly sat against the smooth velvet of the seat, looking out the window, breathing huffily. "Cold-shoulder" must have been literal, because Natsume felt the car temperature drop several degrees upon her entering. After that, however, she barely spoke a word and kept her arms crossed so tightly it look like she was never going to unravel it again for years.

He began to clear out of the manor driveway and out into the highway.

He was getting impatient and so he decided to speak first.

"This is about what happened this afternoon, isn't it?" he asked, daring her to deny her thoughts. He occasionally glanced at her and what he saw irritated him even more.

"Will you at least say something? It is so out of your character to be so quiet," he desperately said in an attempt to liven up the moment. Five minutes inside the car and this was all you got. He was already scared of the prospect of spending the entire trip in stone-cold silence and he was not too proud to deny that he was really in need of any kind of recognition from her. Even if she showered him with a stream of profanities — and he knew she wouldn't, but he was hoping at least — he'd gladly take it. He just wanted her to say something.

"Please," he said; his voice was now soft and lonely. "Speak. Say anything. Blab about my pride, my ego. Scourge me. Beat me to death with insults that don't even sound insulting because they come from you. Say something. The silence is driving me crazy."

It was then that he noticed that she was looking at something by the dashboard and realized that it was their first ever CD. He hastily plunged his hand towards it and inserted the CD into the player, taking her by surprise.

"I—I'm sorry," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. He rolled his eyes and waited for the CD to load. Ten minutes. Well at least things were improving. Although he knew that was the wrong word.

"You're sorry," he repeated, scoffing, a few minutes later. "Sorry for what?"

She looked in front of her without really seeing anything. When she spoke, it was like she was from a distance; her voice had no contempt, no anger, no nothing…it was almost unnerving.

"I'm sorry—just that."

He scowled. "Well, that clears things up."

"Can't I be sorry for no reason?" she said testily, and they barely noticed the songs were already playing.

"No. You can't be sorry for nothing, dolt," he drawled, his irritation slowly fading away. He chanced a glimpse at her and saw that she was frozen again. A second later he realized she was listening to the song; he smiled, yet he was a little annoyed because she hadn't heard his last statement; that would've been a nice fight if she heard.

She spoke with her eyes glazed; her full attention was snagged by the song.

"You…" she mumbled distractedly.

"I what?"

"I—you—nothing," she said.

And the next few flies that made soft contact with his windshield were witnesses to the sudden safe, comfortable silence between them, along with the interior of the car who saw the change of auras.

In an effort to distract herself, she took a notebook from her backpack at the back of the car. Rummaging through it she found that she had no pen.

"I haven't got a pen," she said, stopping her search. She threw the bag back to the back seat and stared at the cover of her worn-out diary; it was still the same. It still had the same old yellow butterfly sewn onto its leather cover, the same gold ribbon stuck to it, the same golden lock and key…

She heard his light chuckle.

"You still have that diary," he noted, keeping his eyes on the road. Her brown eyes scanned the lengths of his face and saw nothing sinister, so she took it as a harmless comment.

"Yeah," she said, opening the cover and proceeding to look at the second page, where she wrote a small introduction.

January 1—a New Year's gift from Natsume Hyuuga.

This is my first ever diary, given to me by my half-mortal-enemy. I like this a lot. No matter what I think of nobody will scrutinize me or tell me that what I think is horrible…this diary will take everything I write without a single speck of complaint.

And I am very thankful.

She gave a light snarl, thinking of how stupid she was at that time to write something as horrible as that, and read the last ever entry. It was over four years ago.

November 27.

Yeah, what a beautiful day. I dumped myself into the trash can, slipped on a banana peel, and kissed Natsume Hyuuga in public after he blackmailed me to doing so. Wow. What a wonderful day —

She slammed the diary shut and closed her eye. Damn, why do I have to be reminded of that now?

"You okay?" Natsume asked, carefully turning to the right, his crimson eyes bright and amused. "You haven't got a pen. Well, it's not just you who keeps keepsakes the same way, you know."

She was baffled by this declaration, unable to decipher what he meant, but moments later (with a small "Oh!") she realized what he must've been talking about, because she reached out towards his right jean's pocket. He looked shocked because she just took it from him like nothing, but did nothing rash. When she sat up in the passenger's chair, she saw the familiar blue fountain pen she had given him—well, he borrowed it and never gave it back—when they were in sixth grade.

"You still have it?" she asked through bright wondering eyes. "After all these years and you never told me when we were in high school?"

Suddenly, the semi-miserable aura inside the car lightened greatly. Natsume answered her, a small knowing smile lighting up his face. "Why? You're not exactly one to contradict, you know. And you never thought of asking, so why should I tell you? And now you speak to me like I exist? A while ago you seemed intent on ignoring me and keeping your mouth shut for the rest of eternity."

She looked at him long and hard and he looked back as they waited for the red light to turn green. She looked—well, stared—at him, searching his face hungrily for any sign of impatience or love or whatever it was she was looking for anyway. She was asking him questions, but not actually saying a word, and he was doing exactly the same.

Suddenly, with a flash of red and amber, they understood what this ride was meant to be for them. Both of them needed to take a break from this horrible fight they were so forcefully waging…both of them needed a truce.

"Okay, okay," she said, laughing wholeheartedly and finally managing to look away from his firm gaze, "fine! Fine, I get it."

He looked relieved but surprised that they had managed to stare at each other that long without any glaring or leering. "Get it? Well that's new; you never really get anything."

She threw him a playful glare but ignored his jibe. She smiled again and took a deep breath. The light was still red and she closed her eyes.

"Alright. Fine. We'll have a truce for tonight—and just for tonight."

He laughed and a brilliant smile emanated from his figure. The smile engulfed them both, and without command from her muscles, she beamed as well.

"A truce? Seriously, Mikan, do you think we're waging a war here?" he said, still not over the foreign feeling quite close to euphoria and laughing harder than he'd ever done. Where does this girl get her ideas? He mused.

She laughed with him, keeping her eyes closed. But when his words sunk in, however, she stopped abruptly.

"Why?" she said suddenly, stopping him as well. "Weren't we waging a war? I thought we were…"

A laugh again. "You're crazy," Natsume said, much to her chagrin. "Well, thank you for making it known, Master Hyuuga!" she yelled back. She looked livid and her cheeks were puffed up, and he, instead of shutting up like she intended him to, merely laughed again. Unable to stand it anymore and finding Natsume's rapture ultimately infectious, she cracked a smile which led to a long session of chortling.

When they got over it (which was a few seconds later; the traffic light was still red) she suddenly grabbed the notebook, turned to the last page, and scribbled with the pen, her teeth in between her tongue.

He just looked and looked and looked at her, finding it funny how she never changed her ways; she still wrote in that diary with her left hand, she still stuck her tongue out whenever she concentrated, and she still mumbles when she writes.

"There! All done," she said. By that time Natsume already noticed the weird behavior of the traffic light, because the stop light was still red. How long would it stay that way, he didn't know. And I certainly do not care.

"What's that?" he said, keeping his tone light. This was a one-time chance; this was his chance to come out of his shell and be himself around her after four years of unwanted separation.

"A contract," she said brightly. He smirked. Typical Mikan, he thought, a contract for a three-hour truce?

"Give that to me," Natsume said, grabbing the notebook. She pulled it out of his reach.

"Nu-uh, Mister," she said. She felt nice … it felt good to be on good terms with him again. It was like breaking free from a hard defense. She checked the time on the dashboard: 7:40. They'd been on the road for twenty-five minutes already.

She had to accept it though: she missed him. Much, much more that she would acknowledge in front of his smug face.

"I'll sign it first," she said, putting a thoughtful finger on her chin.

This time they didn't notice the light go green and the cars rushing past them, some honking loudly telling them to snap out of it and get a move on already.

She handed the notebook then to Natsume, who signed it in a jiffy with his clean-cut script.

"There! So now, Natsume Hyuuga, we have a truce," she said in a businesslike tone, smiling a dazzling smile. She held out one small hand and he took it and shook it, her hands completely lost in his wide grasp.

From behind them, an impatient gruff voice said, "Are you two done doing sweetie-sweeties or are you gonna wait for next winter before you get a move on?"

Their loud laughs drowned the sound from the car stereo; the first Cire CD lay abandoned on top of the dashboard.

"And remember when you actually spat your soda on Kitsy back then when Luna professed her love for you? That was hilarious!" she said, her silvery laugh driving him insane. They'd been on the road for nearly an hour and a half already, and his throat was raw with laughter. It almost tore when he breathed in and out, but he was happy with what came in exchange.

They had been doing this for over an hour already. They were still far from their destination, but it felt like they've been driving for days. He couldn't keep the smile off of his face as she animated old anecdotes, every now and then pointing out that somewhere in the past he'd been stupid and idiotic as well.

"Well, at least I didn't stay that way," he said, after Mikan's retelling of his crazy idea of setting Hotaru and Ruka up, ending himself with a particularly nasty hit from Hotaru and Ruka's angry fists. "Unlike some people," he teasingly added.

"Oh, shut up," she said, slapping him playfully in the arm. He smiled and stuck out his tongue at her when all of a sudden, the car gave a low grumble and the engines went dead.

"What the—" he began, turning the key in the ignition, trying to restart the car. Mikan, who had been laughing, stopped abruptly and joy was instantly replaced with fear. It was past eight in the evening and night was drawing in fast, and when she looked out of her window, she saw nothing. They were in the middle of nowhere.

Natsume was silently cursing as he kept on turning the ignition, trying to make his car somehow wake up. The mansion was still miles away, an hour's drive at the very least. Finally giving up, he went out of the car and opened the hood.

He was engulfed by black smoke the moment the hood popped open.

"Oh, damn," he said as he checked the various parts. He heard the passenger door close and heard the small pattering of her feet against the gravelly ground but he didn't look up. Instead, he lifted his arms and took off his shirt, leaving it on his shoulders as he began fixing anything out of place with the car.

She watched him nudge here and there, fix this and that, move this to here and this to there. She just watched his expert hands move all across the car's system and he was panting when she broke the news.

"Um, Natsume?" she began warily, wondering what his reaction would be once he found out; she didn't even want to think about it, but she had no choice.

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the car parts.

"We ran out of gas."

She watched him stiffen and slowly met his flaming gaze, biting her tongue to stop herself from giggling.

"You didn't even tell me?" he growled, his eyes narrowed. "You knew all along and you didn't even think of telling me?"

His tone was gruff and definitely mad; this irritated her.

"You're mad at me?" she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes to tiny slits.

"Of course I'm mad!" he said, his voice growing louder. "You knew all along that we ran out of gas and instead you just watched me work?"

A moment's silence and the stone-cold reaction were so tangible. Neither of them spoke, each other keeping their backs to themselves.

He realized, after some time when his head had cooled down, that his overreaction was way uncharted, so he decided to start a favorite pastime instead: the usual bickering. It was one way to get the anger drained completely from her system.

"God, you're desperate, Sakura."

Her head snapped. "What?"

"Oh, stop the charades. You're desperate. You didn't tell me we ran out of gas so you could watch me work the car half-naked."

"Oho!" she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "and I'm desperate? Listen to yourself, Hyuuga, you egotistic moron!"

"Whatever. You just can't let yourself say that I'm really just plain hot."

She was about to retaliate but the words got stuck to her throat; involuntarily, her eyes roved around his bare torso.

Truth be told, he was hot. He was a six-pack-stud, and seeing him there with low-waist jeans and shirtless was indeed kind of breathtaking, but that didn't stop from hating him even more, especially when she noticed she'd been staring at him and he was smirking smugly.

"I told you," he said. "Come on, Sakura, admit it. This is all your fault."

"A while ago you accused me of being desperate, and now you're saying that your stupid car's breakdown was my fault?" she spat, inwardly thankful that he didn't react to her sudden swoon.

"It was."

"Wasn't."

"Was."

"Wasn't!"

"Was."

"Wasn't!"

"I thought we were supposed to have a truce?" he asked out of the blue, interrupting their ludicrous "Was-Wasn't" exchange.

"Wasn't — what?" she said, clearly stunned at his sudden change of subject.

"A truce, Sakura Mikan. We're supposed to have one."

It finally hit her head. "Oh, yeah…right."

He snorted and laughed lightly at her idiocy.

"Truly you are the world's greatest idiot."

"What did you say?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He laughed again and instead told her, "Let's just call the guys, tell them to pick us up, eh?"

"My phone's dead," she said, shocked. He snapped his head upwards, defeated because he found out that his phone was deadbeat hours ago. The only chance left was Mikan's, and apparently, that one option was lost as well.

He grunted, but he let it drop anyway.

"That clears things up," he said nonchalantly, standing up and taking out his guitar from the trunk of the car. They had been leaning against the hood of his car for the past twenty minutes, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no connections to anyone anywhere with a dead vehicle. Fortune just seemed to want to make their moments last a little longer.

"What's been cleared?" she said hopelessly, staring at her lifeless phone, as if somehow it would start beeping again so they could call Hotaru and the others. "We haven't got any way out, we're alone and in the middle of nowhere…what do we do?"

"We wait," he replied simply. He was back beside her and he clambered onto the hood, tuning his guitar. He was still shirtless.

She stared blankly at him. "Wait?" she repeated, her face sallow, wary, tired. It was nearly nine already, and it took just a small dose of common sense to figure out that no car will ever pass the highway at a time like that.

"Yes," he said, beginning to play a song, "we wait."

She groaned. "I don't like the idea that much," she whined as she, too, went to sit on the hood in an Indian sit, staring across the distance to the small collection of lights ahead of them, obviously miles away still.

He, who was playing idly on his guitar, suddenly thought of a funny idea which he knew she'd spank him for, but did it nonetheless. Knowing it would cause him a few bruises and most probably a black eye, he took his chances and took the plunge.

As she was looking off into the distance, he grabbed her waist and poked it, shouting "Boo!"

As predicted, she shouted at him so loudly and chastised him by repeatedly hitting his head with her sandals; she nearly fell off the side of the car had he not grabbed her waist and pulled her back to safety, laughing heartily at her reaction.

"You" —hit— "FILTHY" —hit— "SNEAK-THIEF!" she screamed, finally growing exhausted. "YOU NEARLY HAD ME KILLED OF HEART ATTACK! I hate you," she mumbled, putting her face in between her knees. He just kept laughing; suddenly he stopped and gently began playing a melody.

"And I'd give up forever to touch you," he began, his eyes on her small frame. She raised her head and looked at him dubiously.

"'Coz I know that you feel me somehow," his dark red eyes boring holes into hers. She was still rooted to the position, unmoving.

"You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't wanna go home right now," he continued. She was now smiling and rolling his eyes at him. She settled her chin on her left kneecap and listened to his song.

And all I can taste is this moment
and all I can breathe is your life
and sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
or the moment of truth in your lies
when everything feels like the movies
you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

"I missed you," he said, after the song ended. His guitar was between him and his chest, and his eyes were still into hers.

She snorted. "I bet you did," she replied, sarcastically. Her eyes, strangely, made no protest to looking back at him with nothing but innocence.

"No, come on. I'm being serious here. I did," he said, shaking his head and still looking at her as he donned his shirt.

She smiled. "You know, I'd have to say I actually did, too."

He snickered. She raised an eyebrow.

"But don't let it get to your head, Natsume. It's only in effect until the truce is over," she added defensively. Still, he laughed airily and put down his guitar.

"Crap," he said, more to himself than to her; he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her in for an embrace, "can't I give up everything just so this never ends?"

She smiled a carefree smile and allowed herself to be in the hug, not bothering to answer his rhetorical question; she knew what he felt, anyway, because it was exactly what she felt at the moment, too. "I missed you so much," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. She wound her tiny arms around his lean waist and breathed his scent in. "I might kill you after this, though," she added thoughtfully, looking up from her present position. He only nodded and grinned.

"Sure," he said, stroking her hair. "I'm ready for that. In fact, with the way you seemed to have surrendered for tonight, I might just be dead already. I wouldn't be surprised if I never woke in the morning."

She slapped his chest and wound her arms tighter around his waist, planting a small kiss at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes and savored the moment her lips touched his skin. Colors flashed behind his eyelids and there was nothing but bliss and pain inside him that moment. He began to sincerely regret what he had done four years ago, wondering how he managed to make it for four years living without this kind of feeling inside him.

"You know, I really think I am dead already," he said teasingly, just so he could divert his thoughts from the track it was headed for. "That kiss felt awkward. And wet."

"Oh, shut up Hyuuga," she said playfully, withdrawing her arms from his waist and bringing them closer to her, inside his embrace. "I know you loved it, either way, wet or dry."

"I love you," he countered, "so maybe I could love wet kisses, too."

Another playful slap hit his chest. He breathed in and smiled in contentment. When he opened his eyes he saw a falling start and wished things would be back to where they really belonged—right in this moment.

It was one of those nights Natsume Hyuuga would never, ever forget.

Edited. (:
~Ash.