The following days remained frantic, hurried, chaotic and yet, deliriously warm and bubbling with joy that seemed almost misplaced. I didn't quite find it in myself to resent or confuse it. Natsu and I had stayed at each others' place as always; on days that the pink-haired boy seemed worn out of his mind, he stayed at my apartment. He had found a talent for being able to find short periods of time to simply lay on the couch; arms sprawled in different directions, humming show tunes to himself, indulging in the warmth of the sun that gazed from the windows, and head lost in the clouds whilst grinning to himself and petting Happy.

It was all so tempting; watching the boy relax—even if it was only a few minutes—made me think of what would happen to my own mind if I simply sat down next to him, embracing the warmth of the sun for myself. I often wondered if the sun really was the only source of warmth, considering the pink-haired creature. In the midst of paperwork, schedules and entertaining-yet-dangerous meetings, the hot days spent doing the most simple activities such as washing the dishes with Natsu were like seconds that I would kill to rewind.

Currently, we were situated in my apartment; it was a weekend afternoon and soon we would be heading off to Central.

We remained busy even outside school—evident from many stacks of paperwork found in almost every corner of the living room. But it didn't seem to matter much now that Natsu had resolved to shut his eyes and hum a pretty tune.

Some enigma of feeling, it was. The peacefulness of the room couldn't help but offer me every bit of content. I was stirring my coffee, but my head only wandered elsewhere.

"Lucy." the pink-haired boy called out, his voice still drowsy.

I glanced at the pink-haired boy and realised his eyes were still shut, "Hm?"

"Have you drank your coffee yet?"

A pause, "…No?"

He finally flickered his eyes open and suddenly stared at me from across the room, "What's wrong?"

I cocked an eyebrow, "What?"

"You've been stirring that cup for about ten minutes now."

I gazed back down my cup and the looming realisation of the time that had passed pierced through my mind. "Oh God, this is your fault."

The pink-haired boy laughed, "How the hell is it my fault?"

"You've just been looking very relaxed and it makes me feel like I should relax. But look,"—I held up my hands as if introducing the room—"we've got a fuckton of work to do."

"So, relax." he shrugged.

I sighed, finally holding my cup, my hands prickling from the warm touch, and taking a sip.

"I'm trying to."

"You're failing."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

"Why do you push this so hard?" he asked.

I cocked an eyebrow, "That's a terrible question"—I took a sip—"Erza, Kagura, Minerva, literally everyone pushes hard on this festival. We don't even drink anything for weeks because of this."

'Sounds hardcore."

I laughed, "I know we all seem like we're over on edge because of this. At that's because we are. I mean, Spring Festival has never gone haywire. Not even a single year."

"I still don't know." he muttered and I only smiled; Natsu had never seen the Spring Festival. Never seen the lanterns fill the sky or felt the atmosphere.

I sighed, taking another sip, "You've just..never seen the Spring Festival, my little stormtrooper. I can't even describe it."

I thought about my own statement briefly before truly realising that I really had meant it; the Spring Festival was everything all at once and it'd still dazzle you in the process.

"All this philosophical talk is making me hungry." Natsu suddenly muttered.

I laughed, holding my cup as I strolled to the pantry, "What do you want?"

"Hmm, is there still that bag of cheese chips?" he called out.

"Uh-huh." I snatched the bag, and in swift movement, I turned and threw the bag at the pink-haired boy's direction; it flew across the room pass the kitchen island. Natsu barely pulled his hands out as his eyes widened.

Having a bag of chips slam into his face wasn't Natsu's most glorious moment.

A piece of paper was on my face.

Actually I could feel a piece of paper on my face. Although that really didn't add anything up and my head only spun. Where the hell am I, actually?

I blinked against the paper and for some dumb reason, my head continued to spin and hurt and God, why the hell do I feel smashed?

In my opinion, my tolerance of not drinking vodka on March was actually impressively high. I slid the paper off my face as my eyes met the ceiling. What is the time, where am I? Am I drunk?

I resolved that at least I wasn't drunk, that I was laying—why?—on the floor and that I was surrounded in stacks of paper. At least it wasn't a new thing that I was. My ears recognised the light snore and suddenly the memory of Natsu whining about wanting to continue the council work in his apartment snapped back through my head. I was at Natsu's and I quickly concluded from the darkness that it was already late.

I spotted the couch from the surface of the carpet and made out the outline of the pink-haired boy; he was still in his shirt and jeans, his hair was going insane—his low ponytail nonexistent as his hair fell—and he was laying with his whole body facing the ceiling. He slept like I had observed he always did; with a light snore and the most peaceful-looking face in the world. My lips curved as I spotted the black—almost blue—haired cat sprawled on his chest asleep, on top of a familiar clipboard. Natsu's left hand remained on Happy's back and unsurprisingly, below the couch was around four or five stacks of paper.

I was reduced to a smiling mess; my hair was going places too. I wondered how long it had been since we both passed out from exhaustion. There were mugs evidently previously filled with coffee nearly everywhere and two empty chicken noodle cups were placed on the centre table with their respective plastic forks.

I staggered as I got up. My legs were starting to feel a lot like lead. After a quick 360 degrees overview of the apartment, I closed off the window curtains that meet the floor—the city was already near pitch darkness—picked up a few mugs and threw them in the sink, turned a floor lamp on after a debate on whether or not the extreme brightness of the apartment lights would wake the cheerful pink-haired boy up. Except he wasn't real cheerful in his exhausted state; he looked tired, worn out and I could only smile when I realised it would have to be me when it came to heading over to the streets and buying the noodle cups the next day.

I strolled to the familiar hallway. Natsu's apartment was nothing new anymore. I knew of its atmosphere, its distinctive scent and the layout of the entire area. I liked it; the pink-haired boy's interior designing skills wasn't really anything significant but it was the creativity he had subjected. He hung up souvenirs from travels that would spark interesting conversations. He had a Metallicana poster stuck up on his wall—it wasn't his, it was some guy he met from a concert and he was drunk when he had randomly gave Natsu the poster after proceeding to do some folk dance then falling over then getting up, doing the dance for another eight minutes until he finally fully passed out and Natsu had to find his girlfriend and help her carry him to his apartment and apparently he seemed to have some kind of attachment to mozzarella—a random framed poster of characters from the Simpsons which was some kind of great find apparently from a charity shop in America, charcoal drawings from France from someone kind in the street doing art that Natsu had a drink or two with afterwards, postcards, a few more photos of himself in random areas—mostly with a random group of people each photo—and more souvenirs. There was also a potted cactus placed on a shelf as a shot at modern interior sophistication.

Shelves were stuck almost everywhere, with the peculiar contents; books, more souvenirs (one being a miniature whale which frankly gets him laughing every time), pencils that he had gotten from children, a few shells, random little treasures and I loved all of it. It was all like pieces of Natsu's soul that made him whole, because he was one of the few people of Earth that would treat a butterfly hairpin from a young girl from Taiwan like it was gold, or a few pencils given after a quick little drawing session with a person in France.

He had collected books from charity shops; he had apparently actually liked the way books from charity shops had some kind of old and nostalgic feeling to them. He took a few silly children's books; books with talking giraffes and animals and kids in christmas, and a few novels; some were horror and a few were old classics. He had picked them out at random with no real attention to what it was going to be about and he read them on vehicles—mostly trains where the track lead to someplace else; some place worthwhile where he would meet someone who would lend him amusement for the time being. No one would ever truly suspect Natsu of reading books for his time being—he sorta seemed like the type to just indulge himself to some game on his phone—but it was all mapped out for me. And Natsu didn't really analyse the books after reading, didn't try to question the meaning behind the description or the character's resolves—instead, he just enjoyed it as he went and I could see that. Because Natsu was Natsu and he seemed like the type to just try to live in what was in front of him rather than what was behind.

My legs had lead me in the pink-haired boy's room—plain bed and walls, which was unsurprising and surprising at the same time—and I swiftly pulled the blankets from the bed and headed back to the warm living room, closing the hallway door behind me.

Natsu remained asleep.

Clutching the thick blanket, I bended over to examine the pink-haired boy's face. His chest rising and falling so peacefully, it sent another unconscious curve down my lips. He looked content as the light of the lamp next to the couch hit his facial features; they were rather gentle-looking on closer inspection, now that his face was devoid of any wide grins, glares or whatever expression Natsu wore in his constantly rapid moods. I let my hand go to Happy's soft fur, suddenly feeling the need to be affectionate towards the unusually cheerful cat. Natsu and Happy seemed almost in sync; always looking for food and always cheerful. I had quickly informed the cat of my presence as his eyes flickered open.

"Hold on, Happy." I whispered so silently, it almost felt like I was just mouthing the words, "Natsu can't have a cold now."

The cat seemed to agree as he leapt off Natsu's chest, leaving only the clipboard and the pink-haired boy's hand on his chest. He had done it so gently, as if the cat was almost aware he needn't wake his owner. I lifted the clipboard and placed it on a centre table, afterwards spreading out the blanket and letting it cover the pink-haired boy. Don't catch a cold, you idiot.

I smiled and resolved my next series of actions; as carefully as I could, I slowly lifted the upper half of the boy—he remained unaware as I placed myself on his head's former area, letting his head rest on my lap.

Thankfully, the boy only continued to snore. Happy took this as a signal to make his next move as he leapt back up to Natsu's chest, curling up beneath the blanket. I wondered how the cat would be if he could talk.

And then it is just us; Natsu, Happy and I. Residing in the couch with only the floor lamp providing yellow light and the silence accompanying us alongside the faint noises of the North Wing and Natsu's light snore. After slowly whipping my hair into what was suppose to be a top bun, I took a handful of paper from the short stack placed on the table beside the couch, flipping a page every minute or so, petting Happy in the process as the cat fell back in a lazy sleep. It was nearly 9pm.

I really should wake up Natsu. I really should remind him about how we desperately need to finish the paperwork on Monday if we don't want to get bombarded with angry clubs. I really should order some pizza so that he agrees to stay up late and do the work. I really shouldn't be quietly just checking the work on my own, letting the pink-haired boy sleep out of consideration. I really should allow myself to be a little mean considering my position in the council. I really shouldn't be smiling peacefully at the cat and the pink-haired boy. I really shouldn't be finding the peace relaxing. I really shouldn't be silently enjoying the few hours of quiet. I really, really should wake up Natsu.

I don't sleep until 4am instead.

Oh Lord, the nalu chapters are here and I'm tired. Been dealing with friends and their boyfriends this week, that's cool. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I haven't got anything too nalu-centric after this, so indulge in it as much as you can. There's going to be quick nalu next chapter and that's it for this arc unless I somehow fit a tidbit somewhere between all this chaos. Gotta head to Melbourne on Monday, so not sure about the update by then. Schoolwork is all right. I need to do some photoshop for Humanities. Can you believe it? Goddamned Humanities.

Anyway, I sorta wrote this chapter with Natsu deeply burning through my head. Because I understand that even if Natsu is this food-loving guy who's insanely strong and all that, he's actually really smart and I can't even describe how strongly I feel about this. The fandom is lacking in the actual Natsu appreciation. You can see in chapters that he can be serious when he wants to and some people just pass him off as this food-loving, fire-breathing protagonist. And he is. It's just that he's actually more than that too.

Alright, thank you for reading as always. I love you reviewers.

Till next time,

Ice

Stark; (adj.) Severe or bare in appearance or outline.