Wavering Emotions: A Natsuki x Yuri Fanfic

Chapter Six

Forehead caressed, perplexion incalculable: while she wasn't an exemplary individual, God explicitly states he forgives all and that access to the pearly gates attains on death. Even though years have flown since biblical studies arose in her life, it didn't take a genius to figure out heaven's white, not whatever this was.

No pearly gates nor staircase to heaven; a colorless-driven landscape daubed in shades of black, coveted by senses of seclusion, yearned attention for those who pitched inside. For what's presumed to be heaven, Natsuki expected less black and more white. Maybe Moses sent incorrect directions to the promised lands in favor of a velvety couch.

The walls, the couch, all jet black: purgatory, perhaps even Hell, would have been preferred when realization correlated with Yuri's house, "Did she put a tracker on me? " Deep within bewilderment, the faltered individual's head pulsated upon a drop in their blood pressure with the quick stand they took; looks like the 80-year-old man entrusted by heavens above mandated a sacrifice thanks to the plentiful squeaks amplified by furniture.

"Natsuki, is that you?" A conductor inquired before their ensemble shushed. In the room, baton in hand, hopes crushed, heart saddened, their reaction was upon visual sight of an unconscious entity. 

After a few minutes of unexplained stares, postponed duties continued without worrisome fabrications as a much stronger intake of oxygen complimented the scene as the couch discharged whimper number two minutes after their departure; all this activity added onto the hammer, which caved in seventy-five percent of the tsundere's skull. It wouldn't be long until law enforcement traversed on scene, so now was her chance.

Two clicks in, the dapper door, almost unlocked, refuted further access thanks to the kitchen's sudden halt in performance. A brilliant opportunity, now wasted, resulted in an unexpected pillow-to-face romance with the couch, "What's it this time! "

Chair in hand, Maestro Yuri arranged an encore towards her confined victim. The ravenous fans, individuals who paid to see her performance, didn't mind the personal act since they didn't murder their father and have a happy life outside of orange.

"First my mother and now you: that benevolent smile, no doubt ensnared my tracks, but the silence, the profuse isolation, days when life felt purposeless— all of it abolished when that cold heart acknowledged my existence with its warmth." Her hand, plastered onto Natsuki's forehead, tears spattered like a musical ostinato, continued the tragic tale.

"My emotions, no me, myself, craved heat all over. The apology served as a blanket, while the manga session shared was the seven heaters. No matter what happened, the excessive amounts wouldn't diminish, and my internal temperature's desired regulation. Will the cruel selfishness I tell myself justice end when the fire department reaches my doorsteps?" The tale's foreclosure approached in metaphoric sorrow; hope, molded into the shape of a petite figure, bested the atmospheric sadness with its pink eyes.

"Stop your tears, you idiot." Unable to tolerate arisen self-defamation, the tsundere broke her silence, "And I'll have you know that I don't take blame for my qualities, you idiot." A hug, initiated out of pure happiness, hindered time itself.

This was the second time both girls shared a hug, and this action was long due. Their hands formed a temporary contract that rebounded profused blushes on one another where even Icarus's wings would melt thanks to the massive red spots. Happiness stronger than Hephaestus's hammer itself struck a conversation in what felt like years while Hera smiled upon their reunion.

"I-I didn't expect you to hea-hea-hear—"

"Please don't hyperventilate. You've already seen where that leads." The contract, now null-and-void in favor of a new one, adjusted the parameters to include the virtuoso to accompany their beloved infatuation.

So many questions yet so little time: Yuri's mother, who apparently suffered a tragic coma to the yandere's fallacy of intimate emotions: whatever the topic be, stupor inscribed itself onto the pink-haired female.

"Looks like the both of us have questions." Breaths at a consistent pace, the atmosphere modified time once more to resume its course.

"Eh? What questions do I have to answer?" Yuri skated her cold index finger across the tsundere's neck, specifically where the girl's father proposed facial reconstruction, "I'm alive, aren't I?" Avoidance of the subject, of course, whenever a conversation arises, clear answers never prevail on her behalf.

"Alive, yes. Ruined your clothes, bent me out of shape, and troubled residents of the community you also did." Badger's couldn't contend with the amount of persecution on scene. Sometimes, Natsuki wondered why she fed on her friend's adoration.

"My old man did a number on me, whoop-de-do."

"That 'number' almost created a blood clot! You could have died!"

"Try to replace 'I could have' with 'he died.' "

"H-How did you accomplish murder within the five hours we've been apart!" Stress was one of many reactions to that information; not only could the justified self-defense evolve into involuntary or voluntary manslaughter, but now their guest paid for a permanent stay under suspicion.

"I didn't expect you to react this way, Miss, 'I prowl other's abdomen for fun.' "

"Don't shift this on me, Miss, 'I read inappropriate gay manga' " Silence embodied the domain: what once radiated tranquility converted into all-out tactical warfare. While both stood contested, the impaired general broke the war zone with a chuckle.

"Pfft, I can't help that I appeal to those around me, can I?" Her witticism nature established ease onto constricted tension. For once, prevention of a cataclysmic crisis departed from the anarchist.

"R-Regardless, I gave my consolations." A fluster wavered onto the somewhat intimate response; whatever happened, those five hours apart did more than accomplish murder; it unlocked an entire wardrobe of emotions, and they did wonders for Yuri.

"Save the sorry's for another day. I still have questions which revolve around that rant earlier."

"Rant earlier...?"

"Remember the quote, 'first my mother, now you.' What happened there?"

"That's a long narrative..." The purple-haired caretaker shifted her gaze towards time: half-past ten at night, "How about we save it for—"

"I'll go get a movie while you prepare the story." With an upstairs direction, curiosity trailed each step taken. Thirteen years, forgotten about that dreaded accident, returned to the light as a gut-wrenched interpretation pulled near— although this wrench's motives had more than meets one's eye.