How To Lose A Crush In 10 Texts

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The room was suffocating.

Every breath seemed to carry Rin's anger with it, thick and heavy, like smoke choking the air. She stood in the center now, claws curled tight, fox ears twitching violently. Her golden eyes glowed like embers in the darkened hall, sharp and unrelenting. Her tail lashed in wild arcs, the fur bristling with an energy that prickled my skin just by being near it.

Her voice was still fractured—two tones at once, human and something deeper. "You think I'm broken. That I need to be caged. That I need to be… fixed."

"Rin, no," I said quickly, though my voice cracked with nerves. "We're just trying to help."

Her gaze snapped to me, and I flinched under the raw fury in it. "Help?" Her words dripped venom. "You caged me like an animal!"

Ayame's hand drifted ever closer to her blade. Sora moved in the opposite direction, calm but deliberate, as if circling a wounded beast. Mei clutched the spellbook against her chest so hard her knuckles were white, whispering incantations she wasn't brave enough to release yet. Elira was frozen by the shattered plates at her feet, wide-eyed, too afraid to move.

And Rin—Rin looked like she could tear the room apart if we said the wrong word.

That was when Sora stepped forward.

Her movements were careful, her steps measured, like a priestess approaching a shrine that might strike her dead. She held something small in her hand, its surface glinting under the lamplight—a bracelet, woven with threads of silver and crimson, faintly glowing with the pulse of enchantment.

"Rin," Sora said softly, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry. "I made this for you. Every knot, every line—I tied them with your name in mind. I wove the threads myself, and I enchanted it with a calming charm. If you wear it, you'll feel balanced again. You'll remember who you are."

Rin's ears twitched violently. Her glowing eyes narrowed at the object like it was dripping venom.

"Calm?" she hissed, her distorted voice heavy with mockery, two tones weaving together like an echo from somewhere monstrous. "You think some trinket can make me… tame?"

Sora didn't flinch, though her hands trembled. "It's not about taming you. It's about protecting you—from this rage, from the part of you that's hurting so much you can't even see straight. Rin, you're fighting yourself, and it's tearing you apart."

Rin's tail lashed like a whip. She bared her sharp teeth. "You think you know me? You think you can control what I am with strings and spells? I am not some beast you can collar."

"I never said you were!" Sora's voice cracked, but she forced it higher, firmer, meeting Rin's burning eyes. "You're my friend. And I don't want to lose you to this. Not to anger. Not to the fox inside you. Not to yourself."

Rin's claws flexed at her sides, her knuckles pale from the strain. Her body shook as though every muscle inside her wanted to lunge. "Lose me? You already locked me up! You already treated me like a monster! Don't talk about losing me—you never had me to begin with!"

Sora winced but didn't back down. She tightened her grip on the bracelet and took another step closer, even though the air itself trembled with Rin's rage. "I don't want to control you, Rin. I just want to give you something to hold onto. Something to remind you that you're more than claws and teeth and fury. You're still you. You're still the girl who laughs when she eats too much, the girl who teases me until I blush, the girl who—"

"Enough!" Rin roared, her voice warping into a deep, guttural distortion that rattled the walls. Her chest heaved, her breathing ragged, as if Sora's words were cutting her deeper than blades ever could.

The bracelet shimmered faintly in Sora's hands, glowing in rhythm with her pounding heartbeat.

For one fleeting moment, Rin faltered. Her golden eyes flicked toward the bracelet—just a twitch, a slip of attention—but it was enough.

For a fleeting heartbeat, I thought Rin might take it. Her trembling claws eased slightly, her gaze flicking from Sora's face to the bracelet. But then—her lips pulled back, revealing those sharp teeth, and a growl rumbled from deep in her throat.

"That thing won't save me. Nothing will."

The sound rattled through the air like thunder.

Her form shuddered, twisting painfully as fur rippled across her arms, her ears flaring sharp, tail snapping like a whip. But her body stopped short of full transformation. She was trapped in a horrifying in-between—human stature, fox features overtaking her frame, as if both selves were locked in battle and neither willing to let go.

"Don't you dare," Rin snarled, her voice cracking into that doubled tone again. "Don't you dare try to control me!"

And then she lunged.

It happened too fast for me to shout, too fast for Sora to react. One moment Rin was across the room, the next she was nothing but a streak of golden eyes, snapping claws, and a predator's snarl aimed straight for Sora's throat.

Sora gasped, stumbling back, the bracelet slipping from her fingers—

But then everything blurred.

A shadow moved. A sharp rush of wind. The sound of feet hitting the ground with impossible speed.

Ayame was already moving.

In less than a heartbeat, she was between them—an obsidian shadow cutting through Rin's blur of gold and fire. Her arm hooked around Rin's waist with a force that drew a sharp gasp from the fox-girl, halting her momentum mid-air as if she had collided with stone.

For an instant, time seemed to fracture.

Rin's claws sliced through empty air, a hair's breadth from Sora's throat, so close Sora felt the sting of displaced wind against her skin. Her glowing eyes widened with wild fury, teeth snapping inches from Ayame's shoulder. Strands of Ayame's black hair flew loose, catching the lamplight as she tightened her grip.

Then Ayame moved.

She pivoted on the ball of her foot with a precision born of endless training, her movements sharp and fluid as water. The world spun with her—a whirl of black silk, flashing steel at her hip, and the blur of Rin's twisting body. Ayame's hair cracked through the air like a whip as her spin reached its peak.

And then—release.

With a swift, brutal motion, Ayame hurled Rin away. The sound of impact cracked through the night as Rin's body crashed through the paper-paneled window, shards of wood and tatters of rice paper scattering like snow.

The night air swallowed her scream.

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We barely had time to shield our faces from the spray before Rin hit the ground outside. The earth itself seemed to groan under the impact.

I rushed to the jagged hole where the window used to be, my chest pounding. The others followed, their breaths ragged, fear etched into their faces.

Rin was already on her feet.

She crouched low on the torn earth of the courtyard, her claws digging trenches in the soil, her fox tail whipping with murderous intent. Golden light gleamed from her eyes, brighter now, her distorted breaths shaking the night air.

And standing across from her—already outside, already prepared—was Ayame.

I didn't even see her leave the room. One moment she'd thrown Rin out the window, the next she was there, standing between Rin and the rest of us, her katana unsheathed in a single breathless motion.

Her stance was perfect. The weight of her body settled evenly on her feet, knees bent, blade angled downward but ready. Her silhouette was sharp against the moonlight, the very image of a samurai poised for battle.

Her voice cut through the air, steady and unyielding. "If you want to hurt them, Rin, you'll have to go through me first."

The courtyard fell silent.

Even the night seemed to hold its breath.

Rin growled low, her lips curling back as her claws flexed. "Ayame…" Her voice was thick with distortion, fury and grief tangled together. "Move. Now."

Ayame didn't flinch. "No."

The word hung in the air, simple but immovable.

Rin's chest heaved, her shoulders trembling with every breath. Her form was horrifying in the moonlight—human skin streaked with patches of fur, eyes burning, teeth sharpened. She looked like a creature caught between two worlds, and every muscle in her body screamed that she was about to strike again.

But Ayame… Ayame didn't waver.

Her blade caught the faint glimmer of the moon as she raised it into a high guard, her stance radiating a single, deadly promise: she would not hesitate.

I gripped the window frame, heart in my throat. I wanted to call out, to beg them both to stop, but the words lodged in my chest. Because right now, Ayame was the only barrier standing between Rin's fury and the rest of us.

Sora pressed a trembling hand to her chest, still pale from how close Rin's claws had come. Mei whispered a prayer under her breath, while Elira clung to her arm as though letting go would doom them both.

And I—

I could only watch, frozen, as Rin lowered herself further into a crouch, every muscle coiled like a spring, and Ayame shifted her stance, katana gleaming, her expression deadly calm.

The night was about to shatter again.

And this time, there would be no holding back.

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