Deux or Don't
A whacked YYH 'fic
If I owned YYH, I would have written myself in.
Ch1 Wake-up Call
6:01 AM, Tokyo, Sarayashiki Sector
The most annoying alarm clock in the whole world was going off. It sounded like a colicky baby wailing.
Another alarm clock lay dormant next to the mattress on the floor. It had gone off a minute earlier, but the tousled figure in the bed had muted its cat-like tones. The second alarm lay five feet away; the figure, proving to be a girl, bear-crawled out of the covers half-asleep, turned it off, and passed back out.
A third alarm rang – this one sounded like twenty rapid wolves howling. It was set on a shelf five feet away from, and five feet above, the second one. The groggy teen bolted upright, jumped over to it, smacked the button, and once more passed out, hand on shelf.
A fourth and fifth alarm went off at the same time, mixing jackhammer clatter with a five-year-old's tantrum – the resulting cacophony woke the girl a fourth time, for good. The jackhammer alarm, set behind the open door's hinges, was hurriedly shut off; the tantrum's din started to climax, sending her rushing into the bathroom.
The last snooze set, she stared into the mirror – the lights being motion-sensitive and ensuring her wakefulness – with minor aggravation.
Facing her was the ever familiar Caucasian face, hopelessly surrounded by merciless black-brown hair that barely obeyed a brush enough to set a bit above shoulder length, due to it curling under slightly.
Ignoring her bedhead, she took stock of the rest of her appearance; no zits - that made two weeks without, thanks to Mom's genes – on her lightly flushed cheeks; the elbows that rested on the cold! counter were as ever, muscle-less despite martial arts and padded with pudge; and, as ever, her eyes remained a pale brown – or green – that many referred to as 'hazel'.
She could tell without measuring that she'd grown no taller in the night, destroying once more her dream of 6'1'', or even 5'5''. Slightly pooched stomach meant that all those curls hadn't taken effect yet, and that still she weighed what the doctors called 'a good weight' at 140 lbs.
Glaring at her lack of classical beauty, she turned back 'round and headed to her closet in order to pick some mostly clean clothes off one of the piles.
Skipping to the pantry, she flung it open to reveal – some Melba toast and Malt-o-Meal (or whatever Japan's equivalent is) – which she gleefully flung out, landing both in the trash can in one move. "And OUT with the fake health crap! From now on, weight loss will be attributed to better choices and EXERCISE!"
She dashed back to pantry, dragged out peanut butter, bread, and honey, dashed to the fridge as the bread toasted, grabbed an apple, snatched up a table knife and a banana, ran over to the toaster as it dinged, and in less than 90 seconds had prepared banana honey peanut butter toast, as well as an apple and a belatedly-remembered glass of milk.
She gulped down the last of the meal, yelped at the time, shoved her brush into her bag, and ran down the street as she hopped on her shoes.
The now fully prepared girl rushed into the school doors, hung a left past the hallway containing her first classes, and dashed into the library – as the doors unlocked.
Settling down in one of the broken-in, graffiti'ed chairs with six manga and two novels, she started to try and fit them all in before the bell – at nine.
"Miss?" The soft voice and light touch on her shoulder woke her from her catatonia. "It's almost time for class."
She looked at the clock. 8 fifty. She glanced at the student aide – don't get angry, there's no way she would know, she was just being nice – smiled, thanked her, rose, and left.
At about five paces from the door – thankfully there were no teachers in sight – she bounded towards the girl's bathroom – mercifully also deserted – stripped off her shirt, and rubbed her shoulder raw.