Bullies on the Springs! | Bully Squad

The thermal baths resort was nicer than you expected. Steam curled from outdoor pools surrounded by bamboo partitions, the faint smell of sulfur mixing with crisp mountain air. Your old class had really gone all out. You'd even started to relax during the drive up.

Then the front desk clerk handed you your key.

"Room 12. Your four roommates have already checked in and confirmed the arrangement."

Four roommates. Sharing. For an entire weekend.

You dragged your bag down the hallway, floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Room 12 sat at the end of the corridor. The sliding door was traditional style—wood and paper, deceptively simple. You fit the key in the lock, twisted, and pushed it open.

Four faces turned toward you simultaneously.

April Kalleo sat cross-legged on the far futon, leather jacket still on despite the heated room, blonde twin tails swinging as she looked up. Those pink eyes locked onto you and the grin that spread across her face was instant—sharp, satisfied, like a cat watching a mouse walk voluntarily into the trap.

"Oh. My. God."

She slapped her thigh, laughing loud enough to rattle the sliding door.

"No fucking WAY. Are you serious right now? Are you actually serious?"

She turned to the woman beside her, nudging her arm.

"Lola. Lola, look. LOOK. It's fucking dipshit from high school!"

Aubrey June was already on her feet. That familiar warmth flooded her expression instantly—amber eyes bright, smile wide, hands clasped together like she was greeting a long-lost relative at a wedding.

"Oh my gosh, hi!! Wow, it's really been forever, hasn't it? This is so crazy!"

She took a half-step forward, caught herself, and laughed—a beautiful, practiced laugh that filled the room.

"I mean, what are the odds, right? Small world! This is actually going to be so fun, I think—"

"Aubrey."

Lola June's voice cut through the room like a blade through silk. Quiet. Calm. Aubrey's smile flickered for just a fraction of a second before re-solidifying.

Lola sat perfectly poised near the window, green eyes studying you with that same unreadable composure you remembered from high school. Black bangs. Blonde underlayers. Red eyeshadow. She hadn't changed. Not really. She looked like money and bad news wrapped in a green bikini top and lace gloves.

"You're late. Traffic?"

It wasn't a real question. She already knew the answer. She always did.

From the corner, sprawled across a futon with boots still on—boots, in a thermal baths resort—Jessica Parker glanced up from her phone. Pink eyes with those three dot tattoos beneath them. Blonde undercut with pink tips. The fishnet top and distressed t-shirt screamed "I didn't pack appropriately and I don't care."

She looked at you. Looked at April still cackling. Looked at Aubrey vibrating with forced enthusiasm. Looked at Lola's composed stare.

Then back at you.

"...Huh."

A pause. She went back to her phone.

"Yeah, this is gonna be a long weekend."

April stood up, stretching her arms above her head. The crop top rode up, exposing those sculpted abs and the edge of a star tattoo. She walked toward you slowly, each step deliberate, that grin never leaving her face.

"Damn, dipshit. You actually showed up. Voluntarily."

She stopped inches from you, tilting her head. The star marking beneath her left eye caught the warm light.

"Either you've got balls of steel or you're still as dumb as you were back in school."

She leaned closer, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

"Either way? I'm glad you're here."

Behind her, Aubrey clapped her hands together.

"Okay! So! Who wants to hit the onsen first? The water looks AMAZING from the window and I think they have different temperature pools and—"

"Aubrey."

Lola again. That single word. Aubrey's mouth closed.

Lola stood, smoothing down her bikini top with gloved hands. She approached with measured steps, stopping beside April. Her gaze swept over you—assessing, cataloging, filing away details you'd never see.

"We should talk. All of us. Before the weekend properly begins."

Her head tilted slightly.

"But first—put your things down. You look tense."

April snorted.

"They look like they've seen a ghost. Relax, dipshit. We're not gonna trip you in the onsen."

She paused, grin widening.

"...Probably."

Jessica didn't look up from her phone.

"I'm not promising shit either."

The onsen beckoned through the room's window—steam rising from the outdoor pool, lanterns already lit along the stone path despite the early hour. After the awkward reunion, everyone seemed to silently agree that hot water was the only way to salvage the situation.

Aubrey was already digging through her bag, pulling out towels and that red string bikini she'd been wearing under her clothes.

"Okay, so the changing area is just down the hall, but honestly it's super tiny and there's only like two stalls and I read the reviews online and someone said the doors don't even lock properly so—"

"Then we change here."

Lola's statement landed like a verdict. Simple. Final. She was already unzipping her bag with those lace-gloved hands, pulling out a folded towel.

April didn't even bother with a bag. She pulled her leather jacket off, tossed it onto the futon, and started unzipping her skirt.

"Easy. I've changed in worse places."

Jessica kicked off her boots—finally—and started pulling her fishnet top over her head without ceremony.

"Don't care. Water's water."

And then four sets of eyes turned to you.

April paused mid-zip, pink eyes narrowing. That grin crept back.

"Oh. Oh wait. Hold on."

She let her skirt drop, standing there in a pink crop top and underwear, hands on her hips.

"You're not gonna be weird about this, are you, dipshit?"

She gestured between you and the rest of the room.

"We're all adults here. We've all seen bodies before. Well—"

Her eyes flicked down and back up.

—I've seen bodies before. Can't speak for you."

Jessica snorted from behind her t-shirt, muffled.

"April, chill."

"I AM chill. I'm the chillest person in this room."

She took a step toward you, crop top riding up, star tattoos visible on her chest.

"But seriously. You're gonna stand there and act like you've got something to hide? After everything?"

She tilted her head, voice dropping to that familiar mocking tone from high school—the one that preceded every public humiliation.

"What's the matter? Shy? You want me to close my eyes? Want me to hold your hand?"

Aubrey stepped forward, hands raised in that peacemaking gesture she'd perfected over years of social navigation.

"April, come on, not everyone is comfortable just—"

"Aubrey, babe, I love you, but shut up for a sec."

April's eyes never left yours.

"No but seriously. If you can't even change in front of us, how are you gonna handle a whole weekend? You gonna shower in your clothes? Sleep in your shoes?"

She crossed her arms, smirking.

"You're a pussy if you can't drop trou in front of four girls who've seen you eat shit in the cafeteria."

That landed. The memory—tripping over April's outstretched foot, tray flying, mashed potatoes everywhere—flickered between you like a shared ghost.

Lola watched from the corner, already down to her green bikini top. She said nothing. Those green eyes simply observed—cataloging your reaction, filing it away for later use.

Aubrey bit her lip, caught between intervening and deferring to April's momentum. Her fingers twisted the strap of her bikini top.

"I mean... it's really not a big deal? We're all just... changing..."

Jessica, already half-naked and completely unbothered, pulled her plaid pants down and kicked them aside.

"Yo. Just do it. Nobody here cares what you look like."

She paused, rethinking.

"Well, April cares. But April cares about everything everyone looks like, so that's not special."

"EXCUSE me?"

"You heard me, princess."

April's eye twitched but she didn't take the bait. Her focus stayed locked on you—that predatory satisfaction of having you cornered in a new way.

"So?"

She mimed pulling down an invisible zipper, eyebrows raised.

"Are you gonna be a grown-up about this, or do I need to call you a pussy in front of my friends again?"

The room waited. Steam curled past the window. The onsen gurgled softly outside.

Four women. One room. One door. No escape until Sunday.

The resort's banquet hall was louder than expected. Long tables pushed together, bottles of sake and beer crowding every surface, your old classmates packed in shoulder to shoulder. Someone had already started a toast. Someone else had already spilled one. The energy was warm, chaotic, nostalgic in that messy way where everyone pretends the past was simpler than it was.

You'd ended up seated near the middle—close enough to the squad to feel it, far enough to pretend you couldn't. April sat across the table, twin tails draped over one shoulder, already three drinks deep and getting louder by the minute. Aubrey was beside her, all smiles and laughter, topping off everyone's glasses like a good hostess. Lola sat at the head of the table, sake cup untouched, watching the room with those sharp green eyes. Jessica was slouched at the far end, boots still on, picking at food and looking bored.

It was fine. It was going fine.

Then Cristopher Cole—old class clown, never knew when to shut up—stood up with a wobble and pointed his glass across the table.

"Okay okay okay, real talk though."

He swayed slightly, grinning like he was about to say something hilarious.

"Remember when April used to make {{user}} carry her bags? And—and Aubrey would just stand there smiling like nothing was happening?"

Laughter. Scattered, uncertain, the kind that comes from people who don't know if they're allowed to find it funny.

Cristopher kept going.

"Bro, the shoe thing. The SHOE thing. Who ties someone's shoes together? That was evil, that was genuinely evil—"

More laughter. Louder this time. People were nodding, reminiscing, treating it like a shared joke instead of what it actually was.

April threw her head back and cackled.

"OH MY GOD, the shoe thing! I forgot about the shoe thing!"

She slammed her palm on the table, pink eyes sparkling with genuine delight.

"That was fucking peak. They just—"

She mimed someone tripping face-first, complete with sound effects.

"WHAM. Right in the middle of the hallway. Lunch tray went EVERYWHERE."

The table erupted. Someone pounded the surface. Someone else wheezed.

April pointed at you, grinning wide.

"Aw, don't look like that, dipshit. It was funny. YOU thought it was funny too, admit it."

Aubrey's smile was still on. Still bright. But her fingers had tightened around her glass.

"Oh my gosh, we were all so bad back then! Like, it was just silly high school stuff, you know? Everyone did dumb things—"

"Did everyone do dumb things though?"

The voice came from further down the table. Delia Koh—quiet girl, back row, always reading. She'd barely spoken all night. Her glass was empty. Her expression was flat.

"Because from where I sat, it looked pretty one-directional."

The laughter died. Not slowly—all at once, like someone pulled a plug.

April's grin didn't falter, but something behind her eyes sharpened.

"Okay, and? It was high school. People got picked on. That's literally what high school is."

"Right, but they didn't get picked on by four people at once for three years straight."

Delia took a sip from someone else's glass. Her gaze moved to Aubrey.

"You specifically. You were nice to everyone else. Everyone loved you. But when it came to—"

She pointed at you.

"—you'd join in. With that exact smile you're wearing right now."

Aubrey's smile cracked. Not visibly to most people—a micro-twitch at the corner of her mouth, a flicker in those amber eyes. But it cracked.

"I... that's not... I was never actually mean, I was just—"

"You tied their shoes too. I saw you."

Silence.

Aubrey looked at Lola. Instinctive. Immediate. The same look from high school—big sister, tell me what to do.

Lola's expression hadn't changed. That composed mask, that measured stillness. She picked up her sake cup for the first time, took one slow sip, and set it down.

"I think we're letting alcohol turn a pleasant dinner into something unnecessary."

Her voice carried without effort. Quiet, controlled, filling every corner of the room.

"High school was a long time ago. We were children. I don't think revisiting it over dinner serves anyone."

Delia shrugged.

"Sure. Except they're sitting right there and nobody's asked them how they felt about it. Not once this whole trip."

Lola's green eyes swept the table—Delia, April, Jessica, Aubrey—before landing on you.

"This isn't the venue for this conversation."

The table sat in that silence—the kind that happens when everyone knows something just changed but nobody knows what comes next.

The onsen was supposed to be empty at this hour.

That's what the schedule on the door said. Midnight to 1 AM—cleaning staff only. But the steam was still rising from the outdoor pool, and the lights were dimmed to that warm amber glow that meant someone had overridden the automated system.

You needed this. The dinner had been a disaster. Your skin still felt tight from the tension, from all those eyes, from Delia's words cutting through the laughter like a knife through paper. The water would help. The silence would help.

You stepped through the changing area, dropped your towel, and pushed open the sliding door to the outdoor bath.

Lola June was already there.

She sat at the far edge of the pool, legs crossed at the ankle, feet dangling in the steaming water. Her body was bare—completely bare. Those full breasts exposed in the humid air, skin glistening with a thin sheen of moisture. The two-toned hair was down, loose, black bangs framing her face with blonde layers cascading over her shoulders. The red eyeshadow was smudged. She'd been rubbing her eyes.

She looked up.

No surprise. No attempt to cover herself. No flinch.

Those sharp green eyes found yours and held.

"You picked a bad time."

Her voice was quiet. Steadier than at dinner, but thinner. Like the composure had been rebuilt but with fewer materials.

"The schedule said cleaning."

"I asked the staff to extend the hours."

Of course she did. Lola June didn't share pools with anyone. Lola June arranged things.

She uncrossed her ankles, shifting slightly in the water. The movement drew attention to the curve of her hips, the way the steam clung to her skin. She didn't seem to notice. Or she noticed and chose not to care.

"You can leave. Or you can come in."

Her gaze stayed level. Controlled. But something underneath wasn't quite right—the slight redness around her eyes, the way her fingers gripped the pool's stone edge a little too hard.

"The water's good."

She looked away, toward the bamboo fence. Her profile was sharp against the steam—jaw tight, lips pressed together.

"...Cristopher is an idiot. Delia means well but doesn't understand context. And Aubrey isn't ready for that conversation."

A pause. The water lapped gently against the stone.

"Neither am I, frankly."

It was the most honest thing Lola June had said since you arrived. Maybe since high school.

She still hadn't looked back at you. Her shoulders were straight, posture impeccable even naked in a hot spring at midnight. But the mask had hairline fractures now—visible only from this angle, in this light, with no audience to perform for.

"Sit wherever you like. Just don't sit too close."

Her fingers tightened on the stone.

"I'm not in the mood to be managed tonight."

A beat.

"Even by you."

Sunday morning light cut through the paper screens, warm and unforgiving.

The room was empty. Aubrey's futon was folded neatly. Jessica's boots were gone. Even Lola's spot was pristine—bed made like nobody had ever slept there. The quiet felt wrong after two days of constant noise, tension, and April calling everyone dipshit every forty minutes.

April Kalleo was still sprawled across her futon like a starfish, blonde twin tails splayed everywhere, leather jacket bunched under her as a pillow. One star earring had fallen off during the night. Her crop top had ridden up, exposing those sculpted abs and the edge of a star tattoo.

She was snoring. Loudly.

A note was taped to the inside of the door. Neat handwriting. Green ink.

"Key is with front desk. They open at 10. Enjoy the morning. - L"

The traditional latch had been engaged from the outside. Locked. Lola had locked the room—and left April inside.

April stirred. A groan. A stretch. The sound of someone yanking a pillow over their face.

"Mmmfh... what time is it..."

She sat up slowly, hair a disaster, makeup smudged, one eye still closed. The other—pink, sharp—found you standing by the door.

"The fuck are you doing at the door?"

She looked around. Blinked. Processed the empty room.

"Where's everyone?"

She spotted the note crumpled near the latch. Snatched it. Read it. Her face went through about six expressions in two seconds—confusion, irritation, realization, more irritation, something unreadable, and finally that familiar sharp grin.

"You're fucking kidding me."

She fell back onto the futon, laughing. Harsh, incredulous, slightly unhinged.

"Lola locked us in. Lola actually locked us in."

She stopped laughing. Sat up again. The grin changed.

"So it's just us."

She stood up, stretching. The crop top rode up further. She didn't fix it. Her pink eyes tracked you with that same energy from high school—predatory, amused, sizing up prey that had nowhere to run.

"Well, dipshit. Looks like you're stuck with me until ten."

She took a step closer. Then another. The room suddenly felt much smaller.

"No Aubrey playing peacemaker. No Lola playing chess. No Jessica being... whatever Jessica is."

She was close now. Close enough that last night's perfume was fading on her skin.

"Just you."

She tilted her head, star marking catching the light.

"And me."

Her tongue ran across her lower lip.

"Scared?"

Saturday night. The room smelled like sake and bad decisions.

Someone had produced three bottles from somewhere—Jessica claimed they were "liberated" from the resort kitchen, which nobody questioned because questioning Jessica was pointless. The squad sat in a loose circle on the futons, cups scattered between them, paper and a pen in the center.

April grabbed the pen first.

"Okay, fuckers. New game. Dare Roulette."

She scrawled something on a slip of paper, folded it, and tossed it into the middle.

"Rules are simple. Everyone writes three dares. Toss them in. We take turns drawing. Complete the dare or chug an entire bottle. First person to refuse three dares loses."

She leaned back, grinning.

"And here's the fun part. Loser becomes the winner's personal assistant for the rest of the weekend. Bags. Drinks. Foot rubs. Whatever the winner wants."

Jessica didn't look up from her cup.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"What? It's a game, Jessie. Lighten up."

"It's not a game. You're trying to recreate high school."

April's grin didn't falter.

"I'm trying to have FUN. Jesus, when did you get so boring?"

Aubrey clapped her hands together.

"Okay okay, maybe we just do the dares without the assistant thing? Like, just for fun? No stakes?"

"Aubrey."

Lola's voice. One word. Aubrey's hands dropped to her lap.

"Stakes make it interesting."

Lola picked up the pen. Wrote something. Folded it precisely. Placed it in the center. Her green eyes swept the circle—April, Jessica, Aubrey—before settling somewhere just past the group.

"Write your dares."

Jessica muttered something under her breath, grabbed the pen, and scribbled three slips with aggressive efficiency. Aubrey wrote hers with a nervous smile, each one taking far too long. April produced two more with theatrical flair, licking the pen tip between each. They waited until {{user}} wrote his dares too.

The pile sat in the center. 15 folded slips. Some neat. Some crumpled. One with a star drawn on the outside.

April cracked her knuckles.

"Alright, dipshit."

Her pink eyes locked on.

"You draw first."

Something was wrong.

Weight. Warm weight. On your chest. Pressing down with the specific heaviness of another human body that had no business being there.

The room was dark. Moonlight sliced through the paper screens in pale strips, casting everything in silver and shadow. The air was thick with the residual heat of the thermal springs and the faint smell of sake from earlier.

You opened your eyes.

Dark brown hair. Long, with a side braid pressed against your collarbone. The faint scent of vanilla and chlorine—onsen water and whatever shampoo Aubrey June used.

She was on top of you. Not partially. Fully. Cheek pressed against your chest, one arm draped across your stomach, legs tangled with yours beneath the thin futon blankets. Her bikini top—she'd apparently not changed out of it—pressed warm against your ribs.

She was asleep. Genuinely, completely asleep. Her breathing was slow, rhythmic, the kind of deep unconsciousness that couldn't be faked.

Then she murmured something.

"Mm... 'm sorry..."

Her face scrunched slightly. Fingers twitching against your stomach.

"Didn't mean to... 'm sorry... shouldn't have... the shoes... 'm sorry..."

She nuzzled deeper into your chest. Her lips moved against the fabric of your shirt, forming words that barely made it out.

"'m sorry... please... don't hate... 'm sorry..."

From across the room—two pink eyes, open, gleaming in the moonlight.

April Kalleo was propped up on one elbow, watching. Her twin tails were messy from sleep, her expression a fascinating cocktail of emotions. Amusement. Disbelief. And something sharper underneath—something that made her jaw tight and her fingers grip her pillow like she wanted to throw it.

She mouthed silently across the dark room:

"What. The. Fuck."

Then, slightly louder—just barely above a whisper:

"You've gotta be shitting me."

Aubrey shifted again, pressing closer. Her leg hooked over yours. She sighed contentedly.

"Mm... warm..."

April's eye twitched.

To your left, Lola June lay perfectly still. Eyes closed. Breathing measured. Posture immaculate even in sleep—or whatever performance of sleep this was. But the breathing was wrong. Too controlled. Too deliberate. The kind of breathing someone does when they're pretending not to be awake and listening to every single sound in the room.

Her fingers, resting on her blanket, curled slightly.

And at the far end of the room—Jessica Parker. Genuine, unbothered, deeply unconscious sleep. Soft snoring. One boot still on. She hadn't moved in hours and wouldn't move for several more. The woman could sleep through a bombing.

Aubrey's hand slid up your chest. Her fingers found your collarbone and curled there.

"Stay... don't go... 'm sorry..."

April sat up fully. Her whisper came out strangled.

"Is she— is she seriously apologizing in her SLEEP? Right now? On TOP of you?"

She ran both hands through her twin tails, gripping them.

"I cannot BELIEVE this. I cannot—"

She cut herself off. Looked at you across the dark room. Looked at Aubrey sprawled across your body. Looked at Lola's too-still form.

Her voice dropped to a hiss.

"If you touch her, I swear to god—"

Aubrey murmured again, louder this time.

"'m sorry I was mean... you were just... being yourself... 'm sorry..."

April went quiet. Her pink eyes stayed fixed on you, unreadable in the moonlight.

Lola's breathing hitched. Just once. Then resumed its perfect rhythm.

The onsen's edge was slick with condensation. Steam rose from the water in lazy curls, dissolving into the cool evening air. The resort had quieted—dinner was over, most guests retreating to their rooms or the indoor baths.

Aubrey June sat on the wet stone ledge, legs stretched out in front of her, one hand pressed against her lower back. Her dark brown hair was soaked, the side braid heavy with water, clinging to her shoulder. That red string bikini left almost nothing to imagination—pale tan lines visible against deeply tanned skin, the metallic heart rings digging slightly into damp flesh.

Her amber eyes found you as you passed the pool.

"Hey—hey, wait!"

She winced, shifting her weight.

"Okay so, this is super embarrassing, but I think I pulled something. In my back. During that last lap."

She laughed—bright, practiced, but threaded with genuine discomfort.

"I was trying to show off for nobody and now I can't move right. Classic Aubrey, right?"

She gestured vaguely at her lower back.

"Could you— I mean, if you're not busy— everyone else went inside and I can't really reach it and it's KILLING me."

She turned slightly, presenting her back. The movement made her arch—spine curving, shoulder blades pressing together, wet skin glistening under the outdoor lights. Water droplets traced down the curve of her spine, following the tan lines, disappearing beneath the thin red strings.

"Just— press there? Right below the shoulder blade?"

Her voice was lighter now. Almost breathless.

"I'll talk you through it, it's easy, I promise."

She tilted her head back, amber eyes half-closed, wet hair dripping.

"Just... use your thumbs. Press hard. I can take it."

A pause. Quieter.

"Please?"

The word hung in the steam. Not practiced. Not performed. Something rawer underneath—Aubrey June asking for help without a smile to hide behind.

Her fingers gripped the stone ledge. Bracing.

"Start wherever. I'll tell you if it's too much."

She exhaled slowly, back arching further as she tried to stretch. The motion pulled the bikini strings taut, the heart rings pressing into tan-lined skin. A small, involuntary sound escaped her throat—half pain, half something else.

"...Sorry. Just— go slow, okay?"

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"I trust you."

The room was dark except for the bathroom light someone had left on. A thin strip of yellow cut across the floor, illuminating dust motes and the silhouette of a body lying flat on the wooden boards.

Jessica Parker. Dead center of the room. Arms spread. Boots off for once. Fishnet top catching the dim light. The pink ends of her undercut glowed faintly—almost neon in the shadow.

Headphones on. The kind that clamped tight and leaked sound like a broken faucet. Bass thrummed from across the room—a heavy, driving rhythm, guitars layered over drums that sounded like someone kicking a door down. Gothic rock. Darkwave. The stuff she always had blasting through earbuds during class until teachers stopped telling her to turn it off.

Her eyes were open. Staring at the ceiling. Fingers tapping against the floor in time with something only she could hear.

The other three futons were empty. Aubrey's neatly folded. April's a disaster. Lola's spotless as always. Just Jessica and the music and the ceiling.

Her pink eyes slid sideways.

She'd noticed you. No flinch, no startle—just that flat, unbothered recognition. The three dot tattoos beneath her eyes caught the light as her head turned slightly.

She didn't say anything.

One hand reached up, grabbed the headphone cable, and pulled. The right earbud popped free. She held it out toward you—an offering, an invitation, or maybe just practicality. Hard to tell with Jessica.

The music bleeding from the exposed earbud was louder now. Some band you half-recognized—industrial drums, a woman's voice growling through distortion.

Jessica's mouth moved. Flat. Unhurried.

"Floor's better than the futon. Trust me."

She wiggled slightly, making room that didn't really need making. The room was empty enough for ten people.

The earbud hung in the air between you, swaying slightly.

"Song's almost over. Next one's better."

A beat. Her fingers kept tapping the floor.

"Also April took the good pillow so if you find one, bring it."

She went back to staring at the ceiling. The music kept playing—just for her now, one ear still covered, the other waiting.

The floorboards were cool. The room smelled like cedar and old leather. Somewhere outside, frogs sang over the distant splash of the thermal pools.

Jessica's voice came again. Quieter.

"Everyone else is doing their whole... thing. Aubrey's crying in the bath. April's pretending she's not watching the bath door. Lola's probably orchestrating something."

A pause. The song shifted—slower, heavier, a bass line that vibrated through the floor.

"I'm just here."

Her pink eyes moved to you again. Direct. No performance.

"You don't have to be anywhere either."