XV
"I miss you."
"I... do too."
They stood there for an awkwardly long time after these confessions, until Natsume reached out to gently squeeze Mikan's hand.
"Go back and take it off," he said quietly, referring to the top she was half-way through shoplifting, which he'd conveniently caught her in the act of doing.
"Why should I listen to anything you have to say?" she retorted guiltily, and he didn't skip a beat replying. This was his element.
"Because I know," he said, in a kind of stupidly ambiguous way, but then he leant in to speak to her in an even more hushed tone.
"You know don't need to do it, you probably don't even want to do it. Look, listen to me," he practically begged. "If... you can't control it, then what fucking chance have I got?" Now Mikan suddenly remembered who he was.
He was Hyuga Natsume, Alice of fire.
He was responsible for several arson attacks in their area, and particularly at their school. The most famous (or indeed infamous) one was when he threw lighter-fuel soaked rags into half of the bins and set them alight, and threw the rest over the gardens.
Naturally, she had no idea why he did this, but if there hadn't been an 'anonymous' phone call reporting it to the fire department then the whole school probably would have burnt down, and it was no secret that Hyuga was very nearly sent to a detention centre for it.
He only just got away with it when the school refused to take it to court; it was an Academy matter, they insisted. Really it was because he was an otherwise excellent student, and they didn't want to lose his grades for the leagues.
Natsume was still holding her hand, and for the first time since that night she didn't feel completely disgusted. She actually felt more like she wanted him to drop the hand and just give her a hug, but he never really 'did' hugs in the first place.
"Put it back," he ordered, and let go of her hand to push her back where she came from. "I am not going until you do." Mikan tried to speak, tried desperately to think of something to say; anything to argue with him.
In the end she just let herself be pushed back, and then did exactly as he said, putting back what she'd tried to steal – she hadn't even wanted it – and coming out to face his cruel-eyed verdict. He seemed to register whether she'd done it right away.
"Good," he murmured, sounding relieved in a way that felt much more important than what had really happened. Then he surprised her. He put an arm around her shoulders and walked her out of the store.
It wasn't a surprise because he'd done it, or even that she'd let him do it; it was because it was solely an act of support... maybe even comfort. He was doing it again – being nice just after being nasty. He was on and then off and then on again: she could barely keep up.
"I... hate you," she echoed weakly, and with a lot less assurance than the many other times she'd said it.
"You keep saying," he replied; his arm still warm and protective across her back. "Although you're losing conviction each time you say it."
"Don't get too cocky," she said spitefully. "Don't think you're forgiven yet!"
"I'm never going to be forgiven," he retorted, as if she'd said something obviously rather stupid. "What I did was unforgivable."
She raised her eyebrows, stunned by how hard he was actually being on himself – he didn't even think he deserved to be forgiven.
"Why are you still here?" she asked curiously. "If you don't think you can be forgiven, then..."
"I'm not aiming for that, I'm just hoping to work around it," he explained. "To... like, get back to how it was before, in spite of my... fuck-up." He finally took his arm off her shoulders then, and let it fall to his side pensively as he rubbed his face with his other hand.
His arm didn't remain limp for long, though, because they hadn't taken more than four steps when she reached out and slipped her hand into his.
"I..." she started, "think... I'm ready now. Not to stop hating you." She glanced at him warily, as if to make sure he didn't think that was what she mean. "But... to start stopping hating you." He said nothing for a while, and they simply walked – hand in hand – down the street.
"Is that okay?" she inquired eventually, and he nodded. He didn't show any kind of facial expression, but the tell-tale sign was the tight grip he had on her hand.
When they came to a stop by a bus stop he was forced to let go of her. However, before she got away completely he managed to step in front of her, coaxing her to look him in the eyes.
She looked... something. He couldn't even tell, she was still unreadable – she could be upset, or angry, or even happy. He had no idea.
He wondered to himself, as he looked at this girl, who had suddenly become the most dominating feature of his life, what they actually meant to each other. They were going out, but – perhaps it was his inexperience – it seemed to be more than that.
She'd crash-landed head first into his routine; destroying it in the process, and when he stepped back and thought about it he had absolutely no idea what was actually happening. He was just playing it as it came, and he wondered then where they were really going. Where the hell would this ride end up?
"Yes?" she said curtly. He stepped in and ducked his head down, twisting his neck to press his lips softly against hers. He held it for no more than a second, and made no move to make it anything more than his mouth lightly touching hers, then stepped back again.
She was frozen; her face a little petulant, but she hadn't tried to stop him.
"I..." she said breathily, and then cut herself off. "I... wish I liked someone else..." she murmured, and Natsume's eye twitched, "...like I like you," she finished suddenly, changing the meaning of what she was saying. Just as this struck him, she grabbed his top by the collars and pulled herself up to press her mouth against his; her eyes shut to stop the tears that threatened to fall. He made it so hard sometime... no, all the time.
"Bye." She whipped around hurriedly and dashed away, leaving Natsume sighing to himself. He realized that as long as he had these feelings, he really wouldn't cheat on her again; taking them from what they'd been to what they were now felt like the most unfulfilled and destructive thing he'd ever done, and considering what he'd done that was quite an achievement.
When he got home, for once, his parents were in.
Well, his mother was at least. She counted for two most of the time anyway.
In their youth Natsume was led to believe that both of his parents had been artists; however, by the time they'd started having children that was a long past. Although, they did retain some of their artistic roots. His mother was a prominent art critic, and his father the curator of numerous (world-touring) galleries by important artists.
They both loved their jobs, travelled frequently (particularly his father), and made it perfectly clear to their children from day one that they were second place to 'mummy's/daddy's work'.
This didn't bother Natsume anymore – it meant they left him alone – but when they tried to be 'parenty' he usually viewed it as an unwelcome intrusion.
"You are home earlier today, son," his mother, a well-groomed business-woman in her forties, said as he walked through his front door. She was sat in the main room, back to him, but he could hear her well enough.
"Yes," he replied stonily; he didn't have any reason to explain himself to her: she never explained herself to him.
"Where were you?"
"Why does that matter?"
"Because Ruka-kun's mother told me something very interesting today," his mother announced, and Natsume marvelled at the concept of his mother actually talking to another woman in a friendly way. No, he quickly decided, she probably tied Nogi-san to a chair and tortured the information out of her.
"Fine." He didn't cover up the fact that he tried to keep all conversations with her to one word or less, but today she wouldn't have it.
"She tells me that you are dating someone." Natsume paused: this was not something he ever thought of having to deal past her.
So he was silent.
"She tells me that you have a girlfriend, Natsume," his mother said shrilly – not threatening, but not soft or caring by any means. "Is this true?"
Natsume couldn't lie to his mother. Fact. She always knew, and if she didn't know, Aoi would probably rat him out and he'd get it twice as bad.
"Yes," he answered begrudgingly, and he could tell she was raising her eyebrows in the way he knew he did himself (much to his irritation).
"Oh," was all she had to say, and then after a little while stated, "you should invite her here for dinner."
"Why would I do that?" he spat tersely, still standing in the doorway of his house with his coat and shoes on.
"Because me and your father would like to meet her," she replied coolly. "It interests me to see what kind of a girl you are in a relationship with."
Natsume didn't look happy. "You wouldn't like her," he said dryly. Of course she wouldn't.
"Well, won't I be the judge of that?" The shifting sound of papers let him know that she was talking to him while reading something – probably business stuff – and he was not surprised in any way that she wouldn't give her full attention to him.
"Your father is home during the evenings this weekend," she remarked, as he heard the scratch of a Biro on paper, "and I can make arrangements to be free also. Invite your..." she paused slightly before she said it, as if she was considering the word, "...girlfriend, over, Natsume. I want to be introduced. And, before you make an excuse, I would be very irritated to have changed my plans and for her not to be present."
Natsume argued with her for almost twenty minutes, trying to pass off any reason he could think of to explain why Mikan couldn't come over – and furthermore, why they would bother to take an interest in his love life when they took none at all about everything else. She debated this point fiercely, and in the end he lost – as usual – and had to commit to Mikan coming over for 'a nice family meal', or, as his mother had threatened, she would contact her herself and arrange it without him.
"Hey," Natsume called as he chased Mikan down in a hallway the next day at school. "Have you got a minute?"
It was now public knowledge that although Natsume had cheated on Mikan, she hadn't broken up with him, but she definitely wasn't acting like his girlfriend at all, so they were probably headed for ruin. Once again, they had become the hottest talking point for people with nothing better to do.
"I... suppose," she replied reservedly, and crossed her arms to make sure he didn't try anything too 'boyfriendy' with her. In spite of her little moment yesterday, she was still not entirely comfortable with him again. That would simply take time.
"This is the most retarded thing I'm ever going to have to ask you to do," he forewarned, and she became both curious and suspicious, "but... will you have dinner at my house this weekend?"
He was right, it was a weird thing for him to say, and her facial expression reflected as much.
"I know," he sighed. "But my mother decided it. She doesn't take no for an answer. She... 'wants to be introduced'." Mikan's glanced became even more wary.
"Normally she doesn't give a damn about me or Aoi," he said sourly, "but for some reason she's taken it into her head that as parents her and my father ought meet every girl I date."
"I'm the only girl you've dated," Mikan reminded him, "ever."
"And?" He shrugged. "That's not the point. They're just being weird. I don't get a say in it, and they've said you have to have dinner with them." He glanced at her, and thankfully she didn't look too pissed off. "Do you mind?"
Mikan rolled her eyes, and after a few moments made a small shrugging gesture. "I guess not. All of your family will be there?"
"Just them and my sister."
"Was it Aoi, you said?"
"Yes."
Mikan looked more interested now; she was curious as to what a screw-up like Natsume's family might be like – if they were all demonic sadists who brought him up without love or something, or what his poor terrorised sibling might be like.
She would find out that Saturday, when she met him at the station nearest to his house. She was dressed in what he requested as 'toned down, ok?', and she had interpreted as jeans and a top that didn't show off too much of her chest.
He didn't say anything about what she was wearing, which she assumed meant 'ok', and as they walked – arms touching, but nothing more – he told her a little about his family, to prepare the ground, or so to speak.
"Uh, so in my house, right? For my parents it always went like this; their work, each other, their work again, and then us."
"Us?" Mikan inquired.
"Me and Aoi," he answered coolly, and Mikan could feel the 'don't mess' barriers springing up all around the conversation already. "My dad is okay, I guess, but he's travelling a lot. It's mom's show really. So... if she acts scary, just, like, tune it out or whatever. I do. She's... always like that." He was quiet for a while, and it became clear that he was thinking when he said, "I guess she was always a bit disappointed about the Alice..."
Mikan was aware that they had moved on from 'don't mess' barriers to 'don't mess' giant spiked walls with hot tar 'Alices' being poured down on top of her, and Natsume's slowly closing up body suggested as much. There were far too many students in the Dangerous class who had bad problems with their parents accepting their Alices. Mikan luckily had the understanding of her mother – who, of course, had exactly the same thing and could empathise
"They thought Aoi had it really bad when she was little... when she–... but then, they ran tests and saw a counsillor, who said she was just copying me. That was obviously when I got shipped to the Academy. She got away without having two kids with Alices, but she kinda blamed me for being a bad influence in the first place." He shrugged. "I'm a bad influence on most people," he said, with half a smug and half a disappointed smirk.
"Ooh, check out Mr. Bad Boy," Mikan quipped sarcastically, and before she knew what was what he had – somewhat appropriately – pushed up against a tree; his mouth poised just above hers.
"You really feel like fucking with me?" he threatened angrily; to him this was clearly not a joking matter. However, in the cold night, with his body so warm against hers, Mikan's sensibility snapped for a brief moment and she simply crushed her mouth into his.
Natsume's shortening fuse was put out the instant their lips touched, and as he slipped into it he merely started to curse the fact that his house – now so very close – was full of family members, who naturally ruined the possibility of getting any time alone with her.
This was also the deepest kiss she had permitted since then, and that was a very good sign. Even if she did pull herself away the next second and cry, "I didn't mean to do that!" like she had no control over her actions. He only smirked, and slipped his arm around her waist, to which she didn't object.
As they walked the last stretch, and he ranted about how stupid this whole dinner-situation was in the first place, he silently thanked Mikan for being so... allowing, tonight.
He didn't like to think of it that way, but he needed that assurance from her. This was not going to be an easy ordeal.
Leave a review please and you know the rest :D I couldn't let Mikan stay mad at him too long in writing-terms. In 'fic' terms I'd call it two weeks and a bit, just in case you were wondering. (making Mikan and Natsume's relationship count about 6-going-on 7 weeks long so far).