HA. OH MY GOD. I UPDATED AND I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF AND HOLY HA HA HA.

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Gakuen Alice. If I did, the manga would not be as holy friggin' depressing as it is right now. Also know that the science and the random literary facts in here are likely completely inaccurate.

The Social Failwork

"Yes, because protruding human flesh with sharp metal objects is so aesthetically enlightening."

Heartbroken Confession

He still remembers the first time they met. If it wasn't for him, someone certainly would have had to call poison control and certainly, that would have been quite a damper on Tsubasa's "We're-Halfway-Through-Uni-Let's-Go-Apeshit" party.

"You do realize that you're about to drink an amalgam of surfactants, liquified gel dentifrice, and dihydrogen monoxide." He leaned against Tsubasa's rusty old dorm refrigerator and watched as the lean brunette, pink in the face and likely suffocating in the overcrowded dorm room, lowered the plastic cup from her face. She gave it a scrutinizing glance and placed it down, shoving it away from her with the tip of a red, chipped nail.

"That last one sounded pretty dangerous." She swallowed and he could nearly see the water slip down her throat. "Should we uh, call a chemist or something?"

He would have laughed at the way her brown eyes widened in terror. Keywords: would have. But everyone knew that Hyuga Natsume did not laugh. Not at silly brown eyed girls with silly braids that thought dihydrogen monoxide was a dangerous toxin.

"Only if the local water supply has been polluted with fluoroantimonic acid." Ruka always told him that making jokes would help improve his poor social skills. However, the way she slanted a brow in confusion indicated that keeping his mouth shut as usual and being ostensibly cool and indifferent worked much better. "Which isn't likely… cause it would have exploded."

She at least attempted to feign laughter, but the way she edged slightly away from him told him his attempts to be "more social" had failed.

"Hn." Ruka had told him that "Hn" was always his last resort. He'd also laughed at Natsume, painfully amused that girls perceived him to be infinitely cool and constantly swooned over his good looks. They were all deceived, blissfully unaware that Hyuga Natsume, despite his athleticism and cool-boy reputation as the university soccer team's star player, would rather spend a day indoors with his chess team than be dragged to Andou Tsubasa's stupid dorm parties any day.

In short, Hyuga Natsume was a closet nerd.

"That's all you have to say?" She laughed for real this time and Natsume briefly noted that her laugh was just as silly as the rest of her. "'Hn'? I was kind of hoping you'd tell me more about this… fluoride… anti.. monotone base…"

"Fluoroantimonic acid." He corrected her.

She looked at him again with those ridiculously brown eyes. Her gaze was uncritical, but that didn't stop him from feeling uncomfortable. "Who knew the resident university bad-ass was actually such a science dork? Hyuga Natsume, correct?" She stuck her hand out but he was speaking before he had time to think about shaking of any form.

"I'm actually a finance major." The words were slipping out of his mouth like silk. Maybe it was Ruka's influence. Maybe it was because she was a university student that still wore her boringly brown hair in silly braids. Maybe it was because she already knew who he was and that made him feel something in his stomach and he wasn't quite sure if it was awkwardness or heartburn from Yome's cooking.

"Oh, A Finance Major. That's a peculiar name." She grinned and brazenly grabbed his hand, holding it in hers and forcing a hand shake. "Joking. Sakura Mikan, thanks for saving me from sulfur-ants and gel dentists."

"Surfacants and gel dentifrice. Also known as dishwater and toothpaste."

"Eh. Details."

"Shanking really is quite artistic."

And for the last year and a half, Natsume thought he was the socially inept one. Ignoring the strange glances of his peers, he readjusted the backpack on his shoulder. He glared at his female best friend, her eyes still as insanely brown as ever.

"Yes, because protruding human flesh with sharp metal objects is so aesthetically enlightening."

"I know, it's like friggin' Da Vinci." She paused to think for a moment. "Though, I don't think my professor would appreciate me shanking someone in front of the board of education for my final project."

"Da Vinci would probably be more insulted." He grumbled and tried to dismiss Mikan's insanity.

She didn't even listen. "Then again, if it wasn't a very severe shanking and it was someone I knew, and I merely used it as a model for… a drawing or sculpture of some sort to present…"

Natsume did not like that tone of voice. Natsume did not like the way she was looking at him. Natsume did not like that she was proposing that he be her… shank victim. Or specimen. Or whatever. It didn't matter. She had most certainly lost her mind, if she had her sanity to begin with, which he doubted. He quickened his pace. "Hn."

"No, no no. Don't you give me that 'Hn.' I know that 'Hn,' that's your 'No way in freaking Hell,' 'hn.' Except of course, you lack the social skills to actually verbalize it into a coherent sentence." She quickened her pace behind him and in that moment, he wished she wasn't so athletic and that she hadn't been the captain of her high school's track team. God knows how frightening it is to have an athletic, psychopathic art-major who wants to shank you chasing you. Or well, maybe He doesn't exactly.

"Why can't you be normal?" He grunted. "Do a penguin sculpture or something for your final assignment."

The light scratching of her boots against the snow-drizzled pavement came to a halt and was replaced by a snort. He turned around to find her face half-covered by the cow-printed gloves he'd gifted her last Christmas. She was obviously fighting off a fit of hysterics and he looked down to make sure he hadn't stepped in dog excrement or gotten himself into some other situation she'd find hilarious.

"Seriously. Penguin sculptures. That's your idea of normal?"

He realized his mistake. Turning away from her, he frowned into his scarf and grumbled. "Penguin love lasts forever. It's perfectly reasonable to conclude that artists would find that… artistic." At that, Mikan lost her battle against her laughter and everyone in the quad turned to them with bemused expressions.

Always drawing attention, she was, with her stupid laughter and her stupidly brown hair and her stupid, shiny brown eyes. Stupid girl.

"Just a pencil." He called out to the girl trudging behind him. "You're allowed to sta—shank me with a pencil. And that's it. And only on the arm."

He didn't even need to turn around— he could practically hear her grin.

A lot of people thought they were dating. Their professors, their peers, the Alice University Times' gossip columnist, his half-insane neighbor... and her uncle. The university president.

"Tea, Hyuga?"

Natsume stopped himself from shifting in his seat and bolting out the polished double doors as Mikan's uncle's cold colored eyes, so unlike her brown ones, bore into him. Some male-to-male headbutting, initiated by the legal guardian against a supposed threat to his darling niece. "No... sir."

Yukihara Kazumi set down his teacup a little too loudly. "I see."

Awkward silence.

And this is, Natsume thought to himself, is what happens when you put two laconic, socially-incapable men in the same room. Especially when one of them thinks you're dating his relative.

"Mikan and her older cousins should be home soon."

Natsume couldn't bring himself to do anything but nod.

"Quite the star you are, I hear. Current top of your class, star of our soccer team, nationally-ranked chess team captain. But, Professor Narumi also tells me that you can be rather insubordinate in class. Resistant to authority. Lazy. Cocky." The way Kazumi was cracking his knuckles against his palm nearly made Natsume cringe. The forced smile slid off Kazumi's face. "As president of the university, I should be rather glad to have a magnificent student with credentials such as yours. However, I shall give you fair warning that if you hurt my niece in anyway, the university will find that your qualities and person are... replaceable."

"Please tell me you're not threatening Natsume with expulsion, Uncle Kazu." Never before had Natsume been so relieved to hear that stupid voice. He glared at the star-tatooed boy through the corner of his eyes. Andou freakin' Tsubasa.

"Yeah, at least threaten to tar and feather him, or something." Akira Tonouchi was a dead man. At least, he'll be one once Natsume gets to him. The long haired boy, however, merely laughed and ruffled Natsume's hair, ignoring his growl of protest. "Or even better. Say you'll force him to talk to people. That oughtta scare the crud out of him." He pondered for a moment, marveling at his own brilliance. "They should make a movie about you. Call it... The Social Failwork."

Kazumi looked genuinely curious and Natsume concluded that something was most definitely wrong with this family. "I was unsure of what the best means of torture were."

"What, you two left me to bring in all the groceries by myself— thanks a lot, by the way— so you could torture Natsume?" Mikan tapped her foot impatiently. "I expect more out of two grown-men about to graduate from university! Honestly, and Uncle Kazu! With your intelligence and wisdom, you should know better." Her fake pout morphed into an impish grin. "Obviously, the best way to torture him would be to disband his chess team."

Yes, there was certainly something wrong with the stupid girl with the stupidly brown hair.

"You didn't have to punch him." Somehow, the flaming scarlet color of her dress seemed to augment the level of her fury. "Best friends don't punch random men at bars for each other. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

"That 'random' man was leering at you like you were the last piece of steak at Outback."

"Maybe he was a vegetarian!" That earned her a deadpan glance. She merely rolled her eyes at him and tightened her exposed arms around her chest. Her arms scraped against the sequins of her dress, glowing a light red, and loose strands of brown hair were tumbling out of the loose bun she had knotted her hair into.

Brown and red. He'd laugh at the irony. But again. Hyuga Natsume doesn't do laughing.

"You fail to see the point behind the simile."

He had thought she couldn't contort her expression into any other strange expression but she proved him wrong. "You fail to see that I don't need my best friend to step in and deck every nice man that offers me a drink across the face. It's rude."

"Polka. He offered to let you have a drink from his—"

Eh, she waved him off, her face flushing at the memory. "Remember one of the first things I said to you before we became best friends? Details, details."

He flipped around and if his eyes weren't already naturally red, Mikan would say that for a second there, she had seen them flash like fire. "You keep saying that. 'Best friend.' It's like a fucking anaphora."

"Actually," She rolled her eyes in a matter-of-fact way. Sometimes, she really made Natsume want to just slam his head into a concrete wall. Or drop an anvil on himself. Or something. "It would only be an anaphora if I used it at the beginning of all my clauses. English junkie, hello. I'm not entirely stupid." There was a pause and her attitude seemed to shift. She straightened up, growing more confident by the femtosecond. "I think you're jealous."

Jealous? Natsume's entire body froze at her sentence. His arms taunted him by refusing to budge and Hell, he couldn't even blink. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have absolutely no reason to feel jealousy of any sort. "

The grin painted on her face slid. "Oh, come on." Her uncrossed her arms and let them dramatically thwack against her sides, only to raise them again in annoyance. "You gave a man a right hook and then threatened to singe his eyebrows off, just because he was hitting on me." He couldn't find the words quick enough and his hesitation encouraged her to keep going.

"We've known each other for two years. You made a fluoroantimonic acid joke—yes, I remember the name now, no not because I'm a freak, because meeting you meant something to me— the first time we met. You got me the ridiculous cow-printed gloves I pined after all year for Christmas. You carried my books for an entire month when I hurt my foot. You sat there and took it like a good sport when my insane, extended family members joked about torturing and maiming you. Hell, you let me shank you with a number two pencil."

She stopped and the way she looked straight at him with those insanely brown eyes that were all stupid and watery made his knees weak. "Tell me. Tell me that all meant nothing and that I'm nothing more than your best friend."

He was sure that his hormones and emotions were having a World War inside of his body. "I punched him because he was an idiotic sleaze who was making moronic suggestions to my 'best friend.' And they never threatened to maim me."

If there was one thing Mikan hated, it was definitely people who avoid the subject. "Holy freaking eggrolls, Natsume. People say you're too arrogant and too proud to say what you really feel. That you hide behind a mask of indifference because of it. I've always defended you; saying that you just weren't good at socializing. But you know what? I'm starting to think they're right." She looked hurt, like someone had slapped her across the face, and she looked vulnerable and by God, did Natsume feel like an idiotic asshole and a half.

"I can read you like a book, Natsume. I know that you feel it too. But, if you can't shove aside your fucking pride and pull that six foot pole out of your ass for five seconds of your time to tell me how you really feel, you're certainly not worth a second of mine."

She snapped back on her heels towards the other direction. Click, click, click, she went, stomping away from him. From everything they... weren't. From everything he wanted it to be.

What happened next, Natsume wasn't quite sure.

He wasn't quite sure how her wrist ended up in his hand. He wasn't sure how her head ended up against his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to give enough of a damn to wonder too much because she smelled like vanilla and lilac and her hair— her insanely brown hair was so crazily soft. He wasn't sure how his lips ended up against hers, but that was something he wasn't even going to bother trying to figure out or analyze because no matter how many adjectives, figures of speech, similes, or metaphors he tried to use, there was only one word to describe it:

Perfect.