It wasn't like she normally frequented the place or anything.
She was a nobody, a nothing in this expansive, lonely city-Walking outside to know that no one has a clue who you are meant confining herself to a life of solitude locked in her room most of the time. She doesn't bother with friends-Not really, anyway, because you can't call those people who would never come help her out of serious jams-not even to come help her study because what the fuck is math-friends.
Today is a fluke, if anything, and if her gaming systems weren't packed up in boxes, ready to be shipped off in the upcoming week to god knows in the middle of ass fuck nowhere, she would never risk the feeling of debilitating loneliness to travel out on her crummy bike to the local arcade.
However, she needs her Guilty Gear fix, and that's enough to break her unwritten code of norms.
She doesn't know the beautiful head of long silver hair rocking the DDR machine in the midst of game machine labyrinths, flashing lights, and 8-bit music-just that her hips and legs and entire being are rocking out to one of Reincarnation's fast beat hits, something about reaching for the truth, Hanamura doesn't really know-But the body becoming one with the badly enunciated English and fast beats is enough to send sparks up and down her spine, and for once in her life, she's forgotten her Guilty Gear addiction, if such a thing is possible.
Tentatively, as if afraid to scare off some incredible, graceful, once-in-a-lifetime deity of nature back into the brush of obscurity, she makes her way around the DDR machine to see the face of this dancing goddess. She's dressed plainly-the type who tends to blend into a crowd because she prefers to observe humanity from the outside. However, despite the black slacks and white button up, and a grey-green jacket folded carefully over the rail of the machine, Hanamura finds her intoxicating. Her posture (all broad shoulders and few curves with only a hint of femininity in the way her shirt curves outward at the chest) pulls back into perfect confidence. She is someone who does not need to demand respect-her posture does it for her. The only real feminity to her body is in her hips, which, Hanamura realizes, are what drew her to that dancing frame in the first place-The way they move, sway, swing, rock-Hanamura Yoko realizes too late that her breath is caught high up in her throat, and part of her tells her that she's in love.
She's happy she's not a man, if only for this moment-because that, coupled with the way her cheeks are ablaze and how she can't stop tugging at the ends of her pleated skirt would be a true recipe for disaster and embarrassment.
Hanamura realizes after much fidgeting and checking out this goddess that a pair of intense silver eyes keep flickering between her and the screen, not distracted long enough, however, to miss any of the rapid fire arrows that dictate her movements like orders. (Hanamura thinks briefly that this is the only time this girl takes orders-She's too dominating, and that thought dries her throat quickly, and, fuck, when did she start checking girls out anyway? She was straight, damn it!)
"-quarter on the dash." Hanamura's head snaps up to those intense eyes, half-lidded by silver bangs that sweep over her forehead, going back into a loose ponytail that makes the woman (not a girl, no-Hanamura is a girl, all subtle, soft curves and immaturity. This person, no matter how young, is clearly a woman) seem like a warrior, windswept and ready for battle. Her words go right over Hanamura's clouded head.
"H-Huh?" Yoko asks stupidly, because it's all she can manage. Eloquent. So fucking eloquent, all the time, aren't you? she bites inwardly, wishing she could, for once, talk to people in a way that didn't make her look like a moron.
"If you want the next game, put a quarter on the dash." the silverette repeats, a slight huff to her voice borne entirely of the fact that she's clearly been at this game for some time, and not in the least from irritation at being interrupted. Seeing a lack of understanding in her features-Yoko is clearly a case of 'all lights are on but no one is home'-The silverette glances over again and feels the need to elaborate. "That's how it works around here-You need to call the game."
"O-oh, I-" Yoko clears her throat and shakes her head. "I-I'm not-" Her eyes fix on those hips again, mesmerizing like a hypnotist's pendulum swinging back and forth to the beat, and her mind goes blank. But then she brings it back with a sudden kick and shakes her head. "I'm not-I mean, I don't want to-I'm just looking!" she insists, face suddenly lighting up again because god who the fuck does that? and the silverette is now all raised eyebrows and curiosity because she's clearly being checked out by some little strawberry-brunette high school kid who looks more like a little boy playing dress up in cream-colored sweater vests, pleated skirts, and thigh-high socks. Yoko shakes her head, feeling even more dorky than when she walked in. "I-I'm not a lesbian, though, I swear!"
This strikes a chord in the silverette, who starts and misses a few beats, thrown off as she tries to pick the flow of the song back up. It works eventually, but by then her perfect score is marred by a handful of misses. "Is...Is that so..." she mumbles, face unreadable, and Yoko feels an ashamed blush turning her face the color of those tomatoes her mom always packs for her that she flicks off the side of the roof alone at lunchtime.
"I-I'm sorry, that-That came out-" She shakes her head, and feels it might be better to leave before she makes a bigger fool of herself.
So she does, fleeing to the comfort of one of the Guilty Gear systems, drowning her embarrassment in kicking ass as Chip. The silverette doesn't object-Doesn't go after her; she just keeps playing her game, likely glad to be rid of someone so obnoxious.
When Yoko takes a tentative glance back towards the DDR machine a few minutes later, the dancing silverette is gone, and she feels like an idiot.
Some people have called her way of thinking homophobic in the past, and for a teen in a media-driven society, that, unfortunately, isn't unusual. However, the encounter with the silverette has gotten Hanamura thinking, and as she lays in her bed that night, her eyebrows are furrowed as she replays every second of the encounter repeatedly in her head, face flushing every time she remembers how much of an idiot she is.
She tries to visualize a scenario where she does not come off looking completely silly fawning over the silverette, and, more so, does not come off as a homophobic bitch.
There aren't many scenarios she comes across that work out like she would want them to, however.
It comes to the point where she's laying in bed, getting herself emotional and over a girl you will likely never meet again, she reminds herself. But she can't help it; she wants to see that girl again. Maybe it's her intense desire for friendship speaking, but she isn't sure.
She just knows she wish she could take it back.
Yoko finds herself out and about the next day, riding the bus around just for the heck of it. Her parents are still packing, and with her talent to laze around wherever it is her parents seem to plan to clean next, it didn't take long for them to 'shoo' her from the house. She certainly had no patience or energy for her bike, either-Not after yesterday. Bus it is, then, she had told herself.
So she rides for hours, face against the window, simply staring at a passing city that might as well be dead to her now-She's not going to see it after this week, not for a long time, if ever. The countryside will be her prison now, and that anonymity that currently leaves her friendless and lonely will be gone, replaced with being known by everyone and their grandparents.
She doesn't know whether to be happy or afraid.
The bus ride bores her fast, and these conflicting thoughts of her family's upcoming move for the sake of her father's job are making her nauseous. As soon as she recognizes part of town, she gets off, looks around, regains her bearings, and lets her stomach settle.
Yoko soon determines where she is, and begins to walk. When she passes the arcade, watching her with judging eyes after yesterday's incident from across the street, she shifts nervously as she wonders whether to go in or not.
Finally, the brunette crosses the street, says 'screw it' to all the jaywalking laws because she's already unhappy and doesn't feel like dealing with traffic and crosswalks. She enters timidly, pushing the door open like someone who has no right to be there, and immediately realizes the silverette is back, doing the exact same thing as yesterday. For a moment, Yoko has to check her phone (an orange razor with a cute frog charm she lovingly dubbed Jiraiya long ago) to make sure she hasn't cursed herself to some creepy Groundhog Day loop. It's the following day, so Yoko comes to the conclusion that she has not, in fact, cursed herself in her own stupidity. The silverette is back, and Hanamura feels her chest tighten.
At first, Yoko determines to leave the girl alone, not make a bigger fool of herself. She goes back to Guilty Gear, tries to forget the silver-haired girl playing DDR (today she's wearing a turtleneck and god does she look gorgeous in it); however, she can only concentrate so much on kicking Bridget's ass before her eyes are flickering between the game and the DDR machine.
When it's gone a full minute between the Game Over screen and Yoko's realization, she steps back from the machine and tries to gather her nerves; her small fists tighten at her sides, and she tries to look bold as she walks up to the machine.
The silverette notices immediately; her eyes flicker between Yoko and the game, and she does a quick double-take in surprise-she clearly did not expect the girl to come back. Other than that, however, she makes no motion of knowing her-and by that, Yoko interprets, she doesn't seem offended, which Yoko fully expected.
"Hello again." the woman on the DDR machine comments, and Yoko doesn't know how to react-She only thought as far as walking over.
"H-hey, um..." Hanamura rubs the back of her head, cheeks becoming hot against her will, and she chews on the inside of her lip. "Um-I-about yesterday-" She realizes the song has stopped, and the woman has stopped, leaning against the railing, sipping from a water bottle as she catches her breath. Her hair is a little dark, sticking down against her pale, lean face from a slight dampness of playing for so long. Yoko finds it mildly attractive, in a weird way, and finds herself struggling to find words again. However, the silverette's eyes are calm, and Yoko sees no judgment in them-For that she's grateful. "I, uh. I didn't mean to. Y'know, sound so stupid the other day-I mean, I kinda sounded like a bitch, and-"
"-and like I didn't mean to sound homophobic and-"
"It's OK, really-"
"-and I kind of have this tendency to stick my foot in my mou-What?" Now Yoko is staring at the silverette, whose pretty pale lips (pale like everything about her and it's beautiful damn it) are quirked upwards in amusement. Yoko really didn't imagine it to be this easy; thought that- "But-But you left yesterday, after I..." The silver-hair stops for a moment, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as she thinks, but Yoko can hardly tell with her fringe coming over her eyes. Then her eyebrows smooth out, face softening, and she nods.
"Oh, that." she comments, and steps down for the next person who has approached to play some DDR. Yoko cocks her head slightly, inviting her to speak, relieved as part of her tells her it's not your fault, thank goodness. "I live near here, and after a long day of DDR I always like to get my favorite brand of milk coffee. But they don't sell it near her." she explains calmly, looking almost sympathetic for causing Yoko stress and worry. Her voice is soft, melodic-almost like she doesn't use it much, and to Yoko, that makes it even better to hear it, because she feels special just talking to this girl.
"Ohhhh, I getcha. So by the time you hop a train and back for your coffee, it's late, huh?" Yoko snaps her fingers, grinning a bit and giving an understanding wink. The silverette smiles, (god is she breathtaking, too; her smile is perfect; Yoko is really beginning to question herself over this girl) and nods in confirmation. She then checks her watch-stainless steel hanging loosely around her thin wrist-and nods to herself; it's time to go, Yoko realizes. Her heart jumps into her throat.
"H-hey, uh-" Yoko puts a hand on the girl's shoulder as she turns to grab her coat; she stops, glancing over at her. Hanamura gets the feeling her eyebrow is quirked in inquiry. "If-If you're going-For your coffee or whatever-Um. Mind if I...?" Yoko trails off, wincing in and outwardly at the level stare she's getting, completely expecting to get told off and rejected.
"Sure." the silverette comments; she grabs her coat and starts walking, and Yoko does a small dance of grins and small flails as she hurries after.
Her inner voice can't help screaming with excitement.