Disclaimer: I do not own Gakuen Alice. This is merely a fan fiction written to exploit the charactors and bend them as twistedly as a rabid fan as myself would desire.

Now guys, please don't flame me off because of the Yuka x Narumi—it's only a fanfiction. If that pairing isn't your cup of tea, then focus on Nastume and Mikan only. Narumi doesn't even make a proper appearance here.

I don't know if this is sloppy; I only wrote this in a span of two days while it takes me nearly forever to write on chapter. . . so forgive my disgraceful grammar and spellings; I didn't write this on Microsoft Word. Also, I do hope Natsume isn't so. . . OCC.

In case you're confused; the first scene is written when Mikan and Yuka move into their new apartment with the absence of Narumi. The second is basically at night when Mikan is devoid of her sleep.

Enjoy xx

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To Be Separated by a Concrete Wall

Through my window, I could see the sun shine merrily in the blue expanse of sky; birds chirping with mirth, bathing under the amber sunlight.

. . . It made me want to belch up in my sink.

"Mikan . . . those socks don't match." My Mom, Asumi Yuka, said, anxiety lacing her voice.

I detached my gaze from the window and directed it at her blankly. She fidgeted slightly and I looked down at the red stripped socks in my right hand while the other held a lime polka-dotted sock.

"Oh." Mechanically, I laid the matching socks in the drawer and went back to unpacking my suitcase.

"You'll love it at your new school. And isn't Tokyo as metropolis as they say? Better than the quiet old Nagoya."

I frowned. I loved Nagoya. I loved the way how cars hardly passed by the shrine in which I lived with Grandpa. I loved the way how I could fine peaceful solace where as the streets of Tokyo were noisy enough to damage my hearing capacity permanently.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" His voice broke, all the emotions that she futilely tried to hold back. But I didn't turn to look.

"I'm not mad." My voice sounded gruff even to my ears. But how could I take this so lightly? What is the point of being a good girl when life throws the worst kind of spin ball at you? I mean, what would YOU have done if you were sipping Red Bull on a Saturday night, watching recaps of your favourite soap opera and your Mom drops a massive bomb by going all, 'Hey, guess what!? I'm getting married and we're all moving to Tokyo!!'

Narumi wasn't a bad guy. I liked him (though I can't say the same about his. . . dressing sense, for the lack of a better term.)

I remember how we first met. I was 14 when I was brought to his birthday party; at that time I engaged myself in the food counter, peeling foil wrappers to unravel those finger-licking milky chocolates. By the time I had my sixteenth(—or was it seventeenth?—)piece, Narumi sort of blinks at the stray wrappers like it were lizards slithering around and goes all, "How many Kinders can you eat in just 5 minutes?"

See? He had the gall to call me fat. I still haven't forgiven him for calling me fat.

On an entirely different note—Mom must really like Naru; he had her singing all week (—her imitating Ayumi Hamasaki had nearly cost me my ears—) and grinning for no particular reason (—which freaked me out a lot—). What I mean to say is; I've never saw her this happy.

I would fight back a smile when I watched Naru on the doorstep with a sloppy grin and a handful of roses in one hand while Mom blushed prettily and when he thought that I wasn't looking, he'd lean to place a fleeting PG-13 kiss on her lips and laugh with mirth when she would half-heartedly scold at him to behave.

They were a bunch of sappy fools in love and I had no right to complain.

. . . Or that's what I thought INTIALLY.

Now that things have been steady for long enough, Naru has become the very reason as to why my Mom decides to ship us—ME—off all the way to Tokyo without second thoughts. I had to leave the place I was brought up in. I had to my best friend Hotaru too! I wonder what I've done to deserve this.

I mean, I rarely tricked Mom (except for when I wanted her to buy me something ridiculously overpriced like that box of Swiss chocolates last month or—) and never made her ashamed-faced (with an exception to the time when I broke Hayama's neck for letting his hands roam over me where they shouldn't while we danced at my school's fairwell—).

Generally, if I were on fault; my Mom understands and issues a little warning, i.e. "YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING *beep*! WHAT WHERE YOU THINKING? HOW COULD YOU *beep* EVEN *beep* DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT? *beep* *beep* *beep*!" And hence forth.

But noooooo. It seems like shouting profanities at me was not enough to ease her temper.

I understand that she's head over heels for Naru and la la la, but shouldn't she place her daughter first rather than a man. I mean; I have been such a perfect little angel all my life.

In the general sense.

A while later some sort of choky, raspy, sniff-y noise invades my inane thoughts. It was Mom, I thought with sudden insight. Great, she was crying. And now that stupid guilty feeling erodes me.

I rub a hand soothingly up and down her back as I try futilely to calm her loud, choking sobs that reverberated throughout the flat we just moved in (also the new addition to the family—Narumi L. Anjo) "I'm sorry!! I know you had to give up the track team's captain post you worked so hard for!" she wails for what seemed like the umpteenth time, burying her head on my tensed shoulders and soaking the thin (very new) grey shirt I'm wearing.

"It's okay." I comforted her by rubbing her arm soothingly and passed her a piece of tissue but she tactfully ignores it and blows her nose using my shirt. My new, discounted –but that's not the point—new shirt.

"B-but," she sputtered, coming to Naru's defense, "You know that Narumi likes you, hon. You don't get to meet a lot of guys who'll buy you a box of chocolates every time he sees you."

"Which is kind of insulting," I stated dryly, "because most of the chocolates he gets me are the sugar-free ones."

"Mi-chan," She switched from looking distressed to exasperation, "you're just dying to give me one of those 'how could you do this to me' speeches, aren't you? What I don't understand is YOUR problem with Narumi—"

"I don't hate him, Mom," I said for the umpteenth time. Why was he always throwing Naru at my face when I had nothing against the guy? Okay, maybe a little grudge but the truth really was . . . "It was just the two of us earlier and now all you ever care is about Narumi" I paused at Mom's warning glare and quickly amended, "-san."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh c'mon. Ever since you started going on with him, he is all you ever thinks about! A little craziness is healthy but now you're down-right OBSESSED with him."

"Am not!" was her indignant reply.

"Oh yeah?" I countered and grabbed a few of her office files over the table next to me. Flipping though the pages, I said, "Then let's have a look at the office documents you were supposed to submit a month ago before we moved out. Hmm. . .how intresting. Four whole productive pages of writing 'Mrs. Narumi'."

She snatched the book and retorted, "What I do is none of your buisness—"

"It IS my business." I cut her off sharply. "I'm involved in it!"

I scrambled to my feet and grumbled before she could say more, "I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I'm being a bitch about it." A sigh escaped my lips when Mom looked like she was about to release the water works. "Mom, I'll just go order take-out before Narumi-san gets here, 'kay?"

"Sure," she wiped her face. "Make sure you don't order mushrooms. You know what it does to me."

Sighing once more, I strolled out of my new apartment. I paused in the dimly lit hallways when my canvas shoe-clad foot came in contact with a clomp of mushy—

"MOM?? CAN YOU BRING ME ANOTHER PAIR OF SHOES? I JUST STEPPED ON DOG SHIT!!"

. . . I hate this city. Period.

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My blood-shot eyes stared at the bare white walls of my ceiling, mocking me to punch the scrapes where the paint eroded. The mirror beside me rattled and so did the coquettish big vase and the dainty dressing table, all because of the impact of the heavy nu-metal music blasting from the other side of my apartment and my new neighbour's which was barely 14 meters away from my own.

I shut my eyes tight, and muffled a pillow over my face, but to no avail. The Paramore song pounded against my wall and soared through my ears. With my neck protesting, my eyes prickling and my sanity slowly seeping out of my ears, I jolted out of my bed and stormed out my room and practically kicking my door, making it swing as far as it's hinges could permit it, I got out the apartment.

In front of the culprit's mahagony door with a name plate that read 'Natsume Hyuuga', I lifted a finger and pressed the door bell. And rang. And rang. And waited.

. . . oh, joy. Looks like he wasn't going to open the damn door anytime soon.

I drew in a long breath to calm myself. Aristotle in his comfy room would have to sod off with the music or I'd have to track him down to de-arrange his face and then the music player would suffer.

After consecutive ringing—and a bruised, red finger at the process—I was just about to kick his door open and barge in like the SWAT, but thought the better of it when I felt a rotund, pot-bellied woman in Hello Kitty flannel pajamas prying on me, with a coffe mug in her hands and standing on the porche of the opposite flat. If I ever broke into a male's house around this hour, no doubt I'd provide the old gossipy cat fodder to feed about the new neighbours.

So, I bristly strode out of the apartment building and searched for his window. Since he was on the first floor as me, it was easy to spot his French window and I could see blurred silhouettes of shadows thread on his plain flaky navy curtains—waiting, conspiring, and hoping that I've left.

Well, tough luck, asshole; Judgement day is here.

I hoisted myself over a teal, big trash can placed in proportion to his balcony and began climbing the wall. I swung my legs over the other sides of the rails and located the window panes. Tugging on it, I slide the windows open and was hit with a full wave of loud, robust octaves of music. Mentally preparing to aim a kick where the sun don't shine, I looked around for the bastard.

That's right! Maim, trash, kick! But what if it's Natsumi and not a male but a female? And she doesn't have a scrotum. . .?

And what the hell is a scrotum anyways?

I was just about to slither my way unnoticed into his dark flat and smash the music system if it were not for the naked man, standing proud in all his nude glory.

No, hold on!

He wasn't nude; he was wearing something. A low waist, ripped jeans that highlighted his tanned, gleaming back, in the light shades of polished oak, with a wide, broad shoulder atop. As he twisted and punched the red boxing bag, unintentionally making his hair shade his vermilion eyes mysteriously, I could see hints of musles rippled on his back and his toned arms and I gulped.

Connecting my fist against his teeth was wholly out of the line, especially when he looked capable of effortlessly crushing my entire bone structure.

But he did have a good face to look at and was irrevocably hot. At least that's what my estrogen hormones tells me. So hot that my friends back in Nagoya, Anna and Nonoko, would have pasted his picture all over their walls. And they even had boyfriends.

"Heyyyy," I called out to him but even I couldn't hear myself over the music.

"Helloooo, Natsu-chan," I was hoping he'd be insulted with the nick name and pay me heed, but he continued punching the bag, absolutely clueless. How much volume did he put it on anyways?

"OI!"

Eyes as red as blood snapped at me in alarm, just around the time I pulled myself over the ledge and landed on the marble floor with a resounding 'thud'.

And the next words that flew out of his mouth were, "What the fuck?"

Not really the vocabulary I was hoping to receive but then again, can't blame him. I mean, even I would land a karate chop on whoever breaks into my house.

"Hi, I'm Mikan Sakura—your new neighbour," I smile at him pleasantly and motion my eyes to the music system beside him. "And I was hoping if you'd turn the music off. Some of us are trying to sleep at this hour."

In a swift move, he slammed a balled fist against the system's 'stop' button, abruptly halting the music and stared at me, this time not as dumbfounded as before.

As I prepared to leave, I heard him say in that rich, caramel voice, "Is it me or did you get in through the window?" He had a nice voice. I wouldn't mind listening to him say 'mornin' neighbour' every time I step out the house for school.

I looked back at him and nodded.

Red eyes flashed in disbelief. "You're kidding."

He shrugged into a shirt and and began weaving it's buttons, missing one.

I couldn't help pointing out. "You missed one there."

"So why are you here again?"

I shrugged. "Like I've said before—couldn't get any shut-eye with all the music playing in here." My previous annoyance flickered in me once more and I amened in witheringly, "You know, it's pretty rude to keep the volume high."

"Says the girl who broke into someones' house," he shot back smoothly and smirked. "You do this a lot?"

"Only when I have to." I looked at the clock that read 11:45 and sighed. "So I'll be leaving then."

As I walked, I didn't notice the hem of my pleasant skirt get caught on a persistent nail of his drawer. Groaning inwardly, I tried to untangle it. Natsume sighed, and I think I heard him mutter something suspiciously along the lines of 'troubelsome' before helping me unhook it.

I grounded my molars and yanked harder and then—

Riiiiiiiiiip.

Natsume smirked with a roguish twinkle in his bright crimson eyes. While I, on the contrary, looked anything but pleased as I held a the skirt's torn fabric and looked down at my now mini-skirt with a slit creeping mid-thigh on the side.

Looks like at the end of the day, discounted clothings don't last all that long.

Gawkily tugging on the dress to make it seem longer, I caught Natsume's gaze trail down my legs and cleared my throat (also to cover up the fact that I was blushing to the roots of my brunette hair). He didn't avert his eyes, instead he simply commented impishly, "Nice."

Cue my awkward laughter. What was I supposed to say to that?

Once I was lead out the door, I heard him say behind me, "Next time, use the door."

I looked around and found amusement dancing in his eyes with a ghost of a smile that lasted for less then a second. The distinction was very subtle.

Dazed, I muttered a sloppy 'good night' and fled back into my own apartment, where my mother waited for me.

"Mikan, where did—"

"Mom," I squealed with the stupidest grin plastered on my face, and flung my arms around her neck, hugging her tight. "Did I tell you how much I luuurve this city?"

And my hot, new neighbour.

Reviews would be appreciated.

~~Clover Luck