Wavering Emotions: A Natsuki x Yuri Fanfic

Chapter Five

Back turned, tear shed, adieu's supplied: Skellington manor, along with its owner, disappeared from their uttermost visitor whose face flushed brighter than the seven colors of a rainbow.

No alarm, heads up, or justification given: a heart-to-heart moment evolved intimate as incoherent lips planted themselves onto an unsuspected Natsuki. Even though the interaction happened minutes ago, warmth still lingered on her lips, and her mind played tricks.

Those tricks, some minor, some major, centralized on an idea of a terrestrial plane where the two of them ended happily, in a humble house, with a Shiba Inu named Scrugg—

"The hell's wrong with me! I'm the victim! You can't just peck me on the lips without repercussions! " Concentrations at an all-time low, groans, and deliberation portrayed themselves in an orange sunset. While she enjoyed her time, her rickety shack classified as home was inbound, thus the conclusion to this bittersweet story.

The staircase trembled upon the boomburst on the other side, "That's him, no doubt." The door creaked open; pair a thousand dead rats with a grandpa on the jewelry channel, and you'll get the condemned interior of the tsundere's home.

The presumed figure, tuned not to a jewelry show but a criminal dramatization, manifested hibernation as his verification checked out thanks to stenches of shoddy dollar store liquor. Bottle after bottle, no remnants remained— only a downward spiral that'll eventually mature into pancreatic cancer.

"Would it kill you to clean up for once? " A scoff, followed by the TV's silence, instructed the drunkard's daughter to her bedroom after one hell of a day today.

Box spring alone, coils exposed, followed by moldy residue in the corner: at least creatures of the night responded to miscellaneous rants about school life, complaints, even predictions of tomorrow. On top of companions, the frame contained a storage department where three measly mangas secreted from public view.

One consultation towards a winged creature later, Natsuki's imageries obscured heavier than before," 'M-My thoughts just melt around you...! ' " A voice line from her admirer played on endless until pillow met face.

"It's not fair she gets to manipulate my emotions! I didn't ask for her to do this, did I!" A damped groan skewered the two-dollar pillow, followed by sobs which drooped from cheek to cushion upon the pillow's shift to chest.

Both females stressed by miscommunication: perhaps the bittersweet story didn't have to end in tears. Maybe, just maybe, some light from heaven could grant wisdom to those wounded, but first, a fork reflected the aid.

A fork harbored in one's very own kitchen; plastic or metal, malleable, the metal one is, breakable belongs to the other. Sentiments have shredded this voyage to know that a relationship between the two was futile, but a one-sided relationship might steer the members into course.

Not two, nor three, but one: unilateral love sounded perfect. The word's connotation chimed applaudable, followed by a nice ring. Flattery aside, if the two were to engage in this archetype, friendship wouldn't end, not to mention if Natsuki ever felt the same way, she could fully profuse when ready.

Although, the suggestion was rather childish. The admirer most likely possessed standards that expected a full-term relationship instead of feeble unrequited devotion. Let alone if she even felt that way after an abrupt departure.

In a fumble of thoughts, the box spring's squeak reverberated on a wooden door's impact. Now, a cave troll stood in the doorway, very woozy and weapon-cladded, "W-Why's a bitch like you upset at... t-twelve in the afternoon..." Burps staunched the room; grotesque wouldn't begin to define the actions nor the figure's outlandish presence.

"Didn't take you long to find the bottom—"

"This's what's wrong with your generation—  they think they're entitled to shit when we did all the work!" The wielder defied his weapon in exchange for another bottle of intoxicant. How many beers were unknown, but the man's temper was far from tolerant.

Backlash, evidence, bloodied blows: daughter in right hand, followed by a busted glass on the left, Natsuki's father pinned his target as the shard abraded their neck, "... Give me a reason... Why shouldn't I make a fountain..."

"G-Get the fuck off me!" The shove kick combo; both candidates initiated Mortal Kombat. The rules are simple: winner keeps respected homeland safe, along with their life. The loser, on the other hand, not so much.

What was expected to be a gruesome challenge reached its climax with ease. The contestants, now on the staircase, depicted the drunkard on his knees, "I... I'm sor..." As intoxicants do, the consumer erupted into sorrow.

The boozer's only child, even though depicted with a vengeful temperament, felt sympathy in the state of vulnerability she maintained, "... Sure you are..." The child silenced herself upon the shove the opposite contender used.

"T-This is why you s... should trust no one." Natsuki regained her posture after the sudden shove. Her father's legs, on the edge of the top staircase, grew weary—

"There's the difference between you and me." A hand provided additional aid to the defenseless; beneath that petite figure, forgiveness lingered. The old bastard, even though so much damnation, pain, and regrets derived from him, he ultimately was her father, someone who raised her his whole abusive life, someone who with probably three cases of alcohol, made her the person she is today.

Unable to comprehend the assistance his daughter offered, the man assumed an inbound assault, "P-Papa!" A body tumbled down the stairs: the deed, which wasn't a part of the itinerary, welcomed top priority.

"D-Don't die on me...!" Head contorted the other way, arms perpendicular from one another, spinal cord most likely fractured to the point of no return; the entity wasn't dead, but there's no way paramedics could arrive on scene, especially without contact.

While death was prompt, and indeed, her father abused her daily, he was the only prominent member of the girl's life. Without him, this shack would receive foreclosure, food wouldn't enter the area, and insanity would ensure.

"I-I-I killed h—" Instability vowed struck faster than the twenty-eight metaphorical stab wounds. There's no chance the police wouldn't scrutinize this scene, especially since the owner was a regular customer for shopkeepers.

"I have to leave." A new name, clothes, sense of personality: Natsuki proposed the conclusion to flee. If the situation worked with the crisis with Yuri, the same applies to this situation- except for the possibility of chains and shackles.

Outside in rainfall, hyperventilation struck those guilty while blood flow to the brain decreased; Crash, bang, alakazam: pure concrete ameliorated thoughts with its rough texture within a fraction of twelve minutes.