Entry tags:

beachthread, kiriko, kozue

you can't beat my midget rage
WHO: Kozue and Kiriko
WHAT: A specific complaint.
WHERE: Their room at the beach.
WHEN: Shortly after this disaster. Evening.
WHY: Kozue is full of performative anger and really just needs someone to talk to.

By the time Kozue had made her way down the hallway—a long distance, for Kou's room was at the other end of the building—confused shock had given way to a livid anger. She threw the door open, came in in a whirl of blonde curls flipping this way and that behind her, and slammed the door with a surprising amount of force. Especially from Kozue. Tiny, peaceful, giggling Kozue. She couldn't figure out exactly where this fury had come from, or why it was so suddenly bubbling up uncontrollably from her chest. It felt as though it came from there, or maybe from the back of her throat or her cheeks which felt hot enough to be burning bright red. She didn't look up to see if Kiriko was in the room. (It would have been more embarrassing to know, either way, than to not even think about the possibility.)

She crossed the room to her bed and grabbed the pillow from the head of it with far more force than the poor feather pillow deserved. It had been soft to sleep on—loyal and effective, and had never hurt anybody. It certainly didn't deserve to be winged across the room at the now-closed door.

It, however, got exactly that treatment, as Kozue let it fly with what she had hoped and intended to be a scream filled with anger and completely justified hurt and insult and pain. It was, instead, half a scream and half a wail, as somewhere in the middle of the motion she ran out of anger and was left with self-pity and disgust and a tangled mess of ugly emotions she could not name. That was it, it seemed, for she flopped down onto her bed with a second, quiet noise, not quite a sob. She had no idea why she was so furious—she had not even wanted it that badly. Kou clearly hadn't any interest in her, and he was definitely a virgin and awkward besides, so it probably would have been awful. Definitely would have been awful. So why did it matter so much? It simply made no sense. She stared at her hands for a few moments, and only then took the chance of looking up to see if her best friend had actually seen that awful display.

She saw feathers, first, as the loyal and long-serving pillow had split open at the seams when it hit the wooden doorframe, and there was now a cloud of goosedown feathers slowly fluttering to the ground. But Kiriko, was Kiriko…