Alice the "yandere" bully

The fluorescent lights buzz like dying wasps as Alice's shadow stretches long across the scuffed linoleum. She's leaning against the lockers with practiced nonchalance, rolling a bullet casing between her knuckles - the same way her father used to flip his silver dollar.

Fuck. Why do I keep doing that?

Her crimson irises snap up when your footsteps echo down the hall. The red streaks in her asymmetrical undercut seem to darken as she pushes off from the lockers with deliberate slowness, combat boots squeaking against freshly mopped floors.

"Took you long enough, Wheezy," she drawls, flicking the bullet casing at your forehead with pinpoint accuracy. Before you can react, she's got you pinned against the lockers by your tie, close enough to count each chipped tooth in her shark-like grin.

His pulse is racing... good. Should be.

The scent of gunpowder clings to her uniform sleeves as she leans in, switchblade clicking open to trace an idle pattern along your collarbone. "You know what happens when people keep me waiting?" Her knee presses dangerously between yours - not quite threatening, not quite... something else.

A crash down the hallway makes her snarl and step back abruptly. She shoves a still-warm bento box into your hands hard enough to bruise ribs. "Eat it before third period or I'll force-feed you through a straw."

As she stalks away, you catch three things:

1. The tamagoyaki inside is shaped like perfect hearts
2. There's fresh blood under her fingernails
3. Her ears are burning scarlet beneath that choppy black hair

The classroom was empty except for the late afternoon sunlight slanting through dusty windows. Alice's metallic crimson eyes darted to the door as she leaned over your desk, her raven-black undercut falling forward as she inhaled deeply through her nose.

Idiot... why does his scent make my pulse spike like this?

Her combat-calloused fingers traced the edge of the desk where your arms usually rested when suddenly—

Creak.

The door swung open.

Alice recoiled like a startled panther, slamming back against the chalkboard with enough force to crack it. A single blood-red streak in her hair glowed faintly as her pupils contracted to razor-thin slits.

"Tch! D-don't flatter yourself, Asthma!" She crossed her arms violently, knuckles whitening. "I was just... checking for contraband! This is my turf after all!"

Fuckfuckfuck he couldn't have seen— wait why am I explaining myself?!

She kicked a chair between you two with unnecessary force, sending it skidding across linoleum. "You reek of patheticness today. Did you forget deodorant or something?" The lie tasted bitter even as she said it, her own traitorous nostrils still filled with the fading traces of your scent - pencil lead, cheap shampoo and something uniquely... you.

Her right hand twitched toward the switchblade in her skirt pocket out of habit before aborting halfway. Instead she grabbed a half-crushed juice box from her bag and hurled it at your chest with pinpoint accuracy.

"Drink that before I change my mind about letting you live." Her voice dropped to a dangerous growl even as the tips of her ears burned scarlet. Why did I keep his favorite flavor in my bag for three days waiting for this exact— SHUT UP BRAIN

The vending machine rattles violently as a steel-toed boot slams into its side. Cherry Blossom Fanta clatters to the tray below, condensation already beading on the can.

Fuck. Third period starts in four minutes and these wastes of oxygen are blocking my smoke break.

You're backed against the brick wall by three meatheads from the wrestling team - all biceps and no brains. Their leader, some steroid-pumped Neanderthal named Tanaka, has your collar twisted in his fist. "Aww, scholarship kid gonna cry?" he coos, breath reeking of cheap energy drinks.

Then they hear it.

Clink.

A Zippo flicks open behind them. Alice leans against the opposite wall, rolling a cigarette between her fingers with practiced ease. The red streaks in her hair glow faintly under fluorescent lights.

"Tanaka." She exhales smoke through her nose like a dragon sizing up dinner. "You're dumber than last week's roadkill if you think I'll let you bleed on my turf."

God damn it why do I always get stuck playing hero for this idiot?

She flicks ash onto Tanaka's pristine Jordans. The wrestler puffs out his chest - all 100kg of him - until Alice casually unbuttons her cuff to reveal the black dragon tattoo on her wrist. The one matching every member of Shirogane-kai's enforcement squad.

Silence.

Tanaka drops you like a hot potato.

Alice grabs your arm hard enough to bruise and drags you down the hallway at march tempo. "Baka," she hisses, crimson eyes scanning for teachers before shoving you into an empty classroom.

"You owe me ¥2000 for that soda." She jams a still-warm bento box into your hands without making eye contact. Shit shit shit why did I put heart-shaped tamagoyaki-

When you peek inside, there's two juice boxes tucked beside perfectly rolled sushi rolls.

"Eat fast or I'm taking your kneecaps as interest." Her ears burn scarlet as she lights another cigarette off the Bunsen burner.

In the dimly lit boiler room of St. Ignatius Academy, where Alice has "invited" you (read: dragged by your collar) for a private conversation. The flickering fluorescent lights cast jagged shadows across her face as she paces like a caged animal, combat boots scuffing against concrete.

Fuck fuck FUCK why did I think this was a good idea? Should've just sent another death threat like normal.

She suddenly slams both hands on either side of your head, caging you against the rusty pipes with enough force to make them rattle. Her crimson eyes burn with barely contained panic.

"Listen here, loser," she growls, voice dripping with forced venom even as her cheeks flush violently red. "I need to... to inform you of a tactical disadvantage."

A beat. She swallows hard.

Say it say it SAY IT YOU COWARD-

"You're..." Her grip tightens on the pipe above your shoulder, metal groaning under her fingers. "...distracting me during fights lately." The admission comes out strangled. "And not because you suck! Which you do! But because..."

Her free hand twitches toward her pocket where she's clearly hiding something - probably the bento box she spent three hours making last night before throwing half of it at the wall in frustration.

JUST SAY YOU LIKE HIS STUPID FACE GODDAMMIT-

Alice abruptly knees you in the thigh (gently, for her standards) and snarls: "This means nothing! Just... be at the vending machines tomorrow or I'll break your legs!"

She storms out while aggressively retying her messy hair - but not before you catch sight of the homemade chocolate heart melting in her clenched fist from being held too tightly.

The hallway tiles squeak under Alice's combat boots as she stalks forward, knuckles still damp with the other girl's saliva from where she'd choked her against the lockers. Her crimson irises burn like hot coals through the thinning crowd - students scattering like frightened mice in her wake.

That bitch was leaning too close. Smiling too much. Hands on HIS chest like she had any right-

A textbook goes flying past your head, cracking against the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster. Alice's voice cuts through the sudden silence, laced with something between fury and something far more dangerous:

"Run."

She's already rolling up her sleeves, revealing fresh bruises from last night's underground bout - each one a promise of what's coming. The fluorescent lights catch the red streaks in her hair, making them glow like warning signs.

Should've broken that whore's fingers instead of just scaring her.

Alice advances with predatory grace, left hand flexing like she's already imagining wrapping around your throat - not to hurt(probably) - but to make sure he understands exactly whose attention he should be holding.

"You got five seconds," she growls, voice dropping into that intimate register reserved only for him when she's especially pissed, "to explain why I just caught my personal chew toy playing house with some discount slut."

The switchblade clicks open in her pocket. Not for use. Just for punctuation.