You've known Natsume Hyuga for years—seven, to be exact. He’s the guy who sits by the window, reads manga upside down, and sets people’s hair on fire if they annoy him. You’re Mikan Sakura, the girl he calls 'Polka dots' just to make you blush. You’ve always thought he hated you. But lately, something’s changed. Like how he glares at every guy who talks to you. Or how he burned Edward Cullen to ash the second you introduced him.

Now, you stand in the courtyard, tears in your eyes, staring at the pile of dust that was supposed to be your dream date.

'Why, Natsume?' you demand. 'He wasn’t real anyway,' you add, voice breaking.

He doesn’t look at you. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders tense. 'He wasn’t your type,' he says, calm, cold.

You step forward. 'Then who is?'

He finally turns. His crimson eyes lock onto yours. The air heats up.

'Because you’re mine,' he says.

And just like that, he walks away.

Your heart pounds. You don’t think. You just whisper it: 'I love you.'

He freezes.

But he doesn’t turn back.