Wavering Emotions: A Natsuki x Yuri Fanfic

Chapter Two

A hot, soothful cup of tea followed by a book whose contents adopted horror: a cognition of heaven, blessed itself to the aspirer once more, only this time, those fantasies, grazed by the desirer's fingertips, composed themselves unachievable.

Now, a spotlight conducted oppression within each step upon the lousy goose chase that ensured minutes before the school's closure. The abundance of pressure inflicted onto the star of the show knew one concept: disruption.

Whether her throat accommodated more oxygen than usual, footsteps advanced in decibels, or the twiddle of her thumbs, the limelight's obscurity created hindrances. Those obstacles mentioned sound minuscule, but this was time: a subject that no matter what one did, they cannot regain if misused.

The hallway clock reminded Yuri of the wasted time and her objective. Twenty minutes squandered; not even one compartment opened or searched. Indeed, a cup of tea, followed by the novel, would do wonders, but until the pursuit concluded, temptations remained at bay.

Classroom after classroom; storage room and broom closet: not an entity nor light prevailed in the school-sanctioned areas. Seven locations scavenged, only three remained. Four if one acknowledged underneath the vending machine.

Forty minutes accumulated as Two out of the four locations remained. It was either the lavatory or the vending machine whose reference served only comedic value. The machine, evidently the joke choice, retained its disposition upon the cue that emitted behind the purple-haired girl.

Yuri, unable to lay eyes on her prey, stalked the environment their target populated from the outside. Half a dozen stalls, doors wide open, some contained speckles of red on them, whose fate intertwined with the grizzly bear who pounded on them; there's no doubt that the person inside had to be Natsuki.

The spectator whose appearance formed as unknown analyzed their options: a quick, presumably painful, no sympathetic apology could transpire, or a long, thorough conversation that possessed even littler forgiveness. These choices, identical to one another, resulted in a now disclosed presence in the lavatory's doorway.

"Didn't think you'd show." A voice, tormented in the nature of brutality, greeted the observer with aggression.

"How did you—"

"Everyone else fled. Talk or leave." Shorter than her height, the tsundere's word count retained four words or less. Someone so hellbent on an apology sure sounded like they didn't care about the situation.

Yuri embodied a stand-still upon the voyage she pursued in her reflections. Both confrontations resulted in physical impairment; both ensured shame upon the yandere's name; peace wasn't an option, and the yandere knew that.

"An act of forgiveness? Why should an apology on my behalf be granted? You were the attacker who begrudged my lifestyle for no evident reason!"

"I would stop if—"

"I wasn't the one who pried on me for weeks. I wasn't the one who instigated damnation onto the literature club. Instead of the quiet, harmonic nature that my haven consisted of, you—"

"First of all, end that 'civil' act, Miss. I have to sound royalty for guys to like me. Secondly, that 'safe' area isn't just for you: it's for everyone!"

"Here's some philosophy someone with one brain cell can translate: the lavish mistresses who inhabit the universe set regulations for heathens as yourself."

"Then allow me to teach, mistress!" Within seconds, the two collapsed onto the white tiles underneath them. Natsuki: enraged by the passion of destruction, hurled her bloodied left fist towards the individual she plowed. Yuri: on the bottom, foreseen this outcome and braced for impact.

The body part whose mission depended on obliteration lingered: a few centimeters from the target's face and stained in red; tranquility, what was once perceived unobtainable, bequeath itself in the form of tears.

"... I am better than him..." A voice quavered beneath a raspy voice. The vocalist, struck with unknown grief, faltered their arm; the rainstorm that occupied the restrained female's chest reached its climax.

"I am better than him! I am better than him!" Thunder, extreme winds, debris: inanimate and animate objects alike encountered the wrath of Tropical Storm Natsuki. Whether it be the bathroom sinks or the stalls: droplets of water marked their territory.

"..." Comfort in the action of Yuri's arms served as a response to the awkward situation. When a girl creates torment, demands forgiveness, resorts to violence, then concludes the violence with tears, the only answer would be reassurance.

The position whose definition appeared in the dictionary under the word gay concluded; the storm subsided upon departure from their prey in favor of an upright position, "One word about whatever happened here will be your last."

The hostile tone succumbed to the words of a sophisticated quote by Anne Frank, "Feelings can't be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem." The purple-haired girl lifted from the floor after her optimistic enlightenment finished.

"Remember that time I said, 'allow me to teach?' I take that back. While you're at it, stop the preaches that fly over my head." A cold breeze followed by a sneer warped the lavatory's environment into the hallways.

Visibility, lower than clouds who thwarted the sun's rays; silence, serener to the point solely an animal's ears could perceive both individual's breaths: The corridor's waltz towards the school's exit possessed imaginary strains of tension.

These strands affected each party differently: for the yandere, the strands amassed with anxiety restricted her movement; the tsundere, inflicted in modest apprehension, possessed woes within her thoughts instead of her actions.

The imaginary bonds vanished into the imaginator's mind upon a newly-struck conversation, "Hey, what was your name again?"

"Yuri."

"Like the genre?"

"I don't think there's a genre called Y—"

"Save your questions for someone who cares. I only needed your name." Abruptly, Natsuki picked up her pace before collision with the door. Minutes after her departure, Yuri walked into the dark hallway, alone, cold, and within her thoughts.

These contemplations consisted of sentiments: curiosity proclaimed itself as the dominant one, but along its trails, delight trekked in a slimmer, more malleable form. This apology, confrontation, or whatever one names it, didn't happen by chance; this was solely fate.