💬 。 the gyaru at your school has a crush on you. she confesses 3 times until you accept~ !
•⠀ masterlist 𓋰 3,600 wc ─── ᛫ fem!ユウマ x fem!r ✶ cute moments, unrequited love, rejection, a bit of angst, happy ending, description a kiss. don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.
the academy was strict about uniforms, but yuma treated the rules like suggestions she could bend until they broke.
every morning she arrived with her pleated skirt rolled just high enough to make the teachers sigh but never quite high enough to get written up. her bleached-blonde hair was always styled like she’d spent an hour on it (she had).
the heavy winged liner and glossy lips were non-negotiable. most importantly, her bag— covered in clinking keychains and little charms gifted by her friend harua—always had her uniform tie tucked somewhere between her notebooks, like she only put it on for roll call and immediately freed herself again.
the bracelets were the loudest part of her. thin gold ones, leopard print ones, beaded ones, a few with little bells. they sang every time she moved, announcing her presence before she even entered a room. it was like she needed the whole world to know she was there.
you, by contrast, were invisible on purpose.
your skirt sat at regulation length. your socks were pulled up properly. your bag was plain navy with one small keychain your mom had given you years ago. you moved through the hallways like a shadow, head slightly down, earbuds in even when they weren’t playing anything. you had a plan: keep your head down, graduate with good enough grades, get into a decent university, meet a nice quiet boy who liked the same calm things you did, and eventually settle into a boring but safe office job. nothing that made your heart race. nothing that made people stare.
yuma made everyone stare.
she was everything you weren’t supposed to want.
the first time she really spoke to you was during cleaning duty.
you had been assigned the back hallway with two other girls who immediately paired off, leaving you to wipe the windows alone. you didn’t mind. the quiet rhythm of the cloth against glass was soothing.
then the jingling started.
yuma appeared at the end of the corridor, still in her indoor shoes, bag slung over one shoulder. she wasn’t supposed to be there—her cleaning group was on the third floor—but she walked straight up to you like she had every right.
“you always do that thing with your mouth when you’re concentrating,” she said, leaning against the wall so her bracelets chimed against the painted brick. “like you’re trying not to smile at your own thoughts. it’s cute.”
you froze, cloth still pressed to the glass. “i… what?”
she grinned, all glossy lips and sharp liner. “nothing. just observing.” she reached over and plucked the cloth from your hand, started wiping the next window herself. the keychains on her bag swung and clicked together. “you don’t talk much, huh?”
“that’s okay,” she said, softer than you expected. “i talk enough for both of us.”
she stayed for the rest of cleaning duty. didn’t even pretend to help the others. just kept finding excuses to stand near you, asking quiet questions about your favorite subjects, whether you liked the new vending machine drinks, if you were going to the culture festival. every time you gave a short answer she didn’t push—just hummed like she was filing the information away.
when the bell rang for the end of after-school activities, she bumped her shoulder gently against yours.
“see you tomorrow, quiet girl.”
the nickname shouldn’t have made your stomach flip. it did.
the first confession came during lunch.
the classroom was unusually quiet once everyone else had scattered for lunch. most students had either gone to the cafeteria or claimed other empty rooms to eat with their groups. you liked it this way—just the low hum of the old air conditioner and the faint smell of chalk and floor polish.
you sat at your usual desk by the window, unpacking the simple bento your mom had made. nothing fancy. just rice, some tamagoyaki, and pickled vegetables. safe. predictable.
you were halfway through eating when the jingling started in the hallway.
it grew louder, closer, until it stopped right at the doorway.
she didn’t ask if she could join you. she just walked in, dropped her bag on the desk beside yours with a bright clatter of charms, and sat down sideways in the chair so she was facing you.
“figured you’d still be here,” she said, voice carrying that easy, attention-seeking lilt she used with everyone. but her eyes were softer when they landed on you. “you don’t like the lunchroom chaos, right?”
you shook your head, suddenly very aware of how plain your own bag looked next to hers. just one small keychain from your mom. no bells. no leopard print fox tail. no cute cat charms.
yuma didn’t seem to mind the silence. she pulled out her own lunch—some convenience store onigiri and a bottle of strawberry milk—and started eating like this was the most normal thing in the world. for a minute neither of you spoke. the only sounds were the quiet clink of her bracelets when she moved her hands and the soft rustle of your chopsticks.
then she glanced at you again.
“i like you. wanna go out with me this weekend?”
your brain short-circuited.
you stared at your bento for half a second, cheeks burning, heart suddenly too loud in your ears. the plan flashed through your head like a warning light. yuma not apart of the plan at all. she wasn’t quiet or boring like the boy you’d made up in your head—god, she wasn’t even a boy.
you quickly shoveled the last few bites of rice into your mouth, not even tasting them. your hands felt clumsy as you snapped the lid back on your bento box and stood up too fast, chair scraping against the floor.
“i… have to go to the bathroom,” you mumbled, barely meeting her eyes.
you grabbed your bag and left before she could answer, the sound of your own footsteps too loud in the quiet hallway.
behind you, yuma stayed sitting at the desk, one leopard-print bracelet sliding down her wrist as she absently traced the edge of her strawberry milk bottle. she didn’t call after you. she just watched you go, a small, thoughtful smile on her glossy lips.
a few days had passed since the lunch confession, and the air between you felt different — thicker, charged, like static before a storm.
yuma didn’t bring it up again. she didn’t corner you or make a scene. but she also didn’t disappear.
she started sitting one desk closer in class. not right beside you — not yet—but close enough that you could hear the soft clink of her bracelets whenever she shifted in her seat. close enough that you caught the faint scent of her vanilla perfume when she leaned forward to answer a question. close enough that sometimes, when the teacher wasn’t looking, she would glance over at you with that small, knowing smile, glossy lips barely curved, like she was remembering exactly how fast you had fled to the bathroom.
you tried to stick to the plan.
you kept your head down. you ate lunch in different spots each day—the library one day, the back stairwell the next—anything to avoid another empty classroom with just the two of you. you told yourself the flutter in your stomach was nerves, not disappointment. you reminded yourself of the quiet boy and the boring office job waiting in your future. safe. predictable. nothing that made your heart race.
but yuma made everything race.
she started walking part of the way home with you on the days you stayed late for cleaning duty. she never asked. she just appeared at the school gate, bag slung over her shoulder, keychains singing with every step. her skirt was still rolled high, tie still forgotten in her bag, bracelets still loud—but when it was just the two of you on the quieter side streets, something in her shifted.
it’s like she softened a bit—just for you.
one afternoon she kicked a pebble along the sidewalk and said, almost casually, “you know… i don’t actually like being loud all the time. it’s just easier than letting people see when i’m tired.” she glanced at you sideways, blonde hair catching the late sunlight. “with you it feels okay to be quiet sometimes. that’s new.”
you didn’t know what to say. your fingers tightened around the strap of your plain navy bag. the single small keychain from your mom felt suddenly too simple next to everything she carried.
another day, after school, she caught up to you in the hallway when no one else was around. she didn’t say anything at first—just walked beside you, close enough that the sleeve of her uniform brushed yours. the leopard-print and gold bracelets on her wrist chimed softly with each step. when you reached the shoe lockers she finally spoke, voice lower than usual.
“you’ve been avoiding the lunchroom,” she said. not accusing. just observing, the way she had during cleaning duty. “and me.”
you stared at your indoor shoes. “i just… needed space.”
yuma nodded slowly. one of the little bell bracelets gave a single delicate ring as she adjusted her bag.
“okay,” she said, shrugging. “i can give you space.” then, quieter, almost to herself, “doesn’t mean i’m gonna stop liking you, though.”
she left first that day, but the scent of vanilla and the ghost of jingling bracelets stayed with you the whole walk home.
the tension kept building.
you told yourself you were still following the plan.
every night you lay in bed replaying the bathroom excuse, the way she had looked at you every time you interacted. the quiet boy and the boring office job felt farther away every time she smiled at you like you were the only person in the room worth performing for… and the only one she wanted to stop performing so much around.
the second confession found you when you went up to the rooftop after school to breathe.
the late sun was warm on the concrete. cherry blossom petals from earlier in the season still scattered across the ground. you sat on the bench with your plain navy bag in your lap, trying to quiet the storm in your chest.
the jingling found you anyway.
yuma appeared at the top of the stairs, bag slung over one shoulder, blonde hair slightly messy from the wind. she walked straight over and dropped down beside you—closer than before. close enough that your knees brushed. close enough that you could smell the vanilla on her skin and the hint of the shimmery gloss on her pretty pink lips.
“i gave you space,” she said, voice low and a little whiny, like she’d been holding it in for days. she leaned in, glossy lips forming a small pout. “but i’m not very good at staying away from things i want… and i want you.”
your brain short-circuited again.
before you could even open your mouth, the bell rang—sharp and sudden, signaling the end of school hours.
you stood up so fast the bench scraped against the concrete. your bag strap slipped in your sweaty grip as you mumbled something that wasn’t even words and practically ran for the stairs, heart hammering against your ribs.
yuma stayed sitting on the bench, watching you go with wide eyes and parted glossy lips. one of the little bells on her bracelet gave a single, lonely chime in the sudden quiet.
she didn’t call after you.
but the whiny, honest way she’d said i want you followed you all the way down the stairs and out of the building.
it happened on a friday night.
yuma caught you at your shoe locker after school, bag already slung over her shoulder, keychains clinking. she looked at you for a second like she was deciding something, then spoke before you could run.
“come to karaoke with me tonight.”
not a question. not loud or performative. just… hopeful. a little tired.
you should have said no. you knew you should have. your plan was still there in the back of your mind but the way she was looking at you, the way she’d given you space after the rooftop only to come back softer, made something in your chest ache.
you nodded before you could stop yourself.
yuma’s glossy lips parted in surprise, then curved into the smallest, brightest smile you’d seen from her yet.
you nodded again, cheeks burning.
she didn’t push for more. just bumped her shoulder gently against yours like she had after cleaning duty all those weeks ago.
“meet me at the station at seven.”
the karaoke room was small and dimly lit, neon lights casting everything in soft pink and blue. yuma had picked a private booth on the top floor, away from the noise of other groups. she kicked off her shoes, rolled her socks down a little more, and flopped onto the couch like she owned the place. her bag landed beside her with a bright clatter of keychains.
you sat stiffly at the other end, plain navy bag still clutched in your lap.
she didn’t make you sing at first. she just queued up a few songs, sang along. her voice was so unique. so beautiful. nothing like the loud tone she used at school. it was soft, a little raspy in the low notes, warm in a way that made the tiny room feel even smaller. she didn’t look at you while she sang—just stared at the screen with her glossy lips moving gently around the lyrics, one leopard-print bracelet sliding down her wrist every time she reached for the remote.
you couldn’t stop watching her.
halfway through the second song, she glanced over at you. the neon light caught in her heavy liner, making her eyes look darker. she didn’t say anything. she just smiled—small, a little teasing—and patted the space on the couch right beside her.
you moved before you could talk yourself out of it.
the second your thigh brushed hers, the air in the room changed.
yuma stopped singing. she set the mic down on the table. turned toward you slowly, one knee tucking up onto the couch so she was facing you fully. her bleached-blonde hair fell over one shoulder. the glossy shine on her lips caught the pink neon.
not fast. not demanding. just… close. close enough that you could smell the vanilla on her skin and see the sparkly details of her makeup. close enough to see the outlines of the pretty blue contacts in her eyes.
her eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up.
you felt it coming. you wanted it. your heart was hammering so hard it hurt.
but the second her glossy lips were barely an inch away, the panic hit like a wave.
the plan. the safe future. the fear of how much this would change everything. the way your chest cracked open every time she looked at you like you were the only person worth being quiet for.
you jerked back so hard the couch creaked.
“i— i can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have come.”
you grabbed your bag and bolted for the door before she could say a single word, neon lights blurring as you fled down the hallway and out into the cool night air.
behind you, yuma stayed frozen on the couch, one hand still half-raised like she’d been about to cup your face. the song kept playing softly in the empty room. her bag sat beside her, keychains silent for once.
she found you between second and third period in the empty back hallway near the old art room.
yuma didn’t look like she’d slept much. her makeup was still perfect, skirt still rolled high, bracelets still jingling with every angry step, but her eyes were sharp and hurt.
she stepped right in front of you, blocking the path.
you flinched, fingers tightening around your bag strap.
yuma’s voice cracked with frustration. “don’t lie to me. i saw it. in the karaoke room. you wanted me to kiss you. i felt it. but you ran anyway. you’ve run every single time—lunch, the rooftop, now this.” she took one step closer, the leopard-print beads on her wrist clinking sharply. “i know you like me. i know it. so why won’t you just let me have you?”
your throat felt too tight to speak.
yuma’s glossy lips pressed into a thin, angry line.
“i’m done confessing to someone who keeps treating me like a mistake,” she said, voice low and shaking. “figure out what you actually want. because i can’t keep doing this if you’re just going to keep running every time it gets real.”
she huffed, turning and walking away, the sound of her bracelets fading down the corridor like the final note of a song.
you stood there alone in the hallway, heart pounding, plan crumbling, and the ghost of her almost-kiss still burning on your lips.
you stood frozen in the empty hallway long after the sound of yuma’s bracelets had faded.
your chest felt like it was caving in.
she was right. you did like her. you had liked her since the cleaning duty days, since the way she noticed the small things about you, since the way her voice turned soft and beautiful in the karaoke room. you wanted her.
but the fear was louder than ever.
not just the fear of changing your plan.
the fear of what it meant.
you had never liked girls before. not once. you had spent your whole life assuming you’d end up with a quiet boy—someone safe, someone who fit the picture you’d always carried in your head. the idea of wanting this—wanting her—felt like stepping off a cliff with no idea what was at the bottom.
your legs moved before your brain could stop them.
down the hallway, past startled students, heart hammering so hard it hurt. you spotted her turning toward the old stairwell that led to the rooftop and took the stairs two at a time.
when you pushed open the heavy door, yuma was standing at the far edge, back to you, gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping her upright. her bag sat on the ground beside her, keychains silent for once.
she heard the door. her shoulders tensed.
“don’t,” she said without turning. her voice was hoarse. “if you came to run again, just don’t. i can’t—”
“i’m not running,” you cut in, voice shaking. “not this time.”
yuma slowly turned around. her heavy winged liner was smudged. the glossy lips you’d almost kissed last night were pressed tight with hurt.
you stepped closer, hands clenched at your sides.
“i’m scared,” you whispered. the words came out raw. “i’ve never…um—i’ve never liked girls before. i always thought i’d meet a nice boy. someone quiet. someone who fit the life i planned. and then you happened and everything feels upside down and i don’t know how to be this version of myself. i don’t know how to want a girl. especially not a girl like you…”
the confession hung between you, heavy and trembling.
yuma stared at you for a long second. then her expression softened—not with pity, but with something painfully honest.
she took one step closer. the thin gold and leopard-print bracelets on her wrist gave a soft, delicate chime.
“i didn’t think i liked girls either,” she said quietly. “until i met you.”
yuma let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping at her smudged liner with the back of her hand.
“i always figured i’d end up with some loud annoying guy who could keep up with me. someone flashy. someone who matched the version of me everyone sees.” she looked at you, eyes glassy but steady. “and then i saw you—all quiet and careful and trying so hard not to take up space — and suddenly none of that made sense anymore. i didn’t plan this either. i didn’t wake up one day and decide ‘hey, i think i like girls now.’ i just… started liking you. and once i did, everything else stopped mattering.”
she took another step until she was right in front of you. close enough that you could smell the perfume she’d put on that morning. sweet, like a bakery.
“i’m still figuring it out too,” she admitted, voice nasally yet soft. “but i know how i feel when i’m with you. and i know it’s real. even if it scares both of us.”
tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them. your face scrunched up, the weight of everything—the running, the fear, the heteronormative future you’d clung to—crashed over you all at once.
“i’m sorry,” you choked out. “i’m so sorry i kept hurting you. i do like you. i like you so much it terrifies me. i just… i don’t know how to stop being scared of what that means.”
yuma reached out and gently cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing away your tears. her bracelets pressed cool against your skin.
“then we’ll be scared together,” she whispered. “i’m not asking you to have it all figured out. i’m just asking you to stop running from me.”
you nodded, crying harder now, and she pulled you into her arms. you buried your face in her shoulder as she held you tight, one hand stroking your hair while the other stayed wrapped around your waist.
after a long moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you. her glossy lips curved into a small, teary smile.
“no more running, okay?” she said, voice gentle but firm. “even when it’s scary. even when you don’t have the answers yet. we figure it out together.”
you nodded again, still sniffling.
yuma leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
the kiss was soft, a little salty from the tears that had dripped onto your lips. but it was warm. real. her lips tasted faintly like strawberry gloss. when she tilted her head to deepen it just slightly, one of the little bells on her bracelet rang like quiet permission that love like this was okay.
when she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, breathing shaky but smiling.
“still want that boring office job and cute boy?” she teased, voice thick with emotion.
you let out a wet laugh and shook your head.
“no,” you whispered. “i just want you.”
yuma’s smile widened, bright and relieved.
“good,” she said, kissing the tip of your nose. “because i’m not letting you go now, quiet girl. we’ll be scared together. and we’ll be okay.”
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