Wholesome Doki Greentexts

Table of Contents
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Natsuki Greentext: "Snacks" (ctrl+f "0001")
Natsuki Greentext: "Excursion" (ctrl+f "0002")
Natsuki Greentext: "Frights" (ctrl+f "0003")


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Natsuki Greentext #0001: "Snacks"
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>the last bell rings.
>most of your peers make a left at the door, heading toward either the exit or toward the debate club.
>not you.
>you haven't seen the afternoon sun for weeks now, except through the windows of the other classroom.
>it will be dark when you walk home today; the frosts of winter have stolen the warmth from the sky, as they do every year.
>but that's okay.
>you don't walk alone anymore.
>pressing your side against hers, huddling your shoulders under the same pink checkered blanket, you know the secret to withstanding any blizzard, no matter how fierce its snow, its winds lashing you like many barbed tongues.
>so you step through the doorway, and make a right.

>of course she's there before you.
>she always is.
>you know how much the club means to her.
>when she sees you, her eyes brighten. they're round and eager.
>already she's closing the distance between you, her skirt fluttering against her thighs.
>you haven't even set your bag down yet, and already she has seized the zipper in her girlish grasp, tearing it open.
>she peers inside, seeing what you have brought for her today.
>"ugh. you know i don't like these! do you even listen to me when i'm speaking, baka?"
>you apologize.
>but despite herself, her little claws still snatch at the wrappers.
>she doesn't leave you many. she never does.
>silver plastic flashes in your vision. already she has opened one and devoured it.
>she swallows in a single bite, the way a snake eats a finch egg.
>did she even chew it? you wonder.
>you've had to give her the heimlich before, too...not that she'd ever want you to remind her.
>really, why can't she just slow down and savor them a little?

>she doesn't thank you until you're by the supply shelves----where you keep the manga.
>(it's not "her" manga anymore. it belongs to both of you.)
>she looks over her shoulder first, wanting no one but you to hear her gratitude.
>she's got a reputation to uphold, after all.
>"thanks." the word is sharp and frantic, quick to scurry out of sight.
>and then, before you can reply, she's off again, books in hand, toward your spot.
>most of the wall is quite dirty.
>but where you sit together, there are two bright patches.
>where the grime is not so dark; where the fabric from two school blazers has rubbed it away.
>one spot is smaller than the other, skinnier.
>like a river carving through a mountain, your love for each other has engraved itself into the classroom wall.
>"you know," you say as you sit against the wall, fitting yourself into your patch, "you could always just tell me what you want to eat. i'll let you choose."
>"what?" she hisses. "then you'll want me to let you choose what we read!"
>"no! i mean, that'd be fair, but---would that really be so bad, though?"
>"ugh. i've seen your collection. you like that dark, gritty stuff, don't you? you've really got horrible taste."
>you contemplate her accusation. does she think you're not enjoying your time with her recently? that wouldn't do.
>sure, these cutesy "magical girl" stories aren't really your thing...but the manga was never the point, was it?
>you haven't replied in a few seconds now. she's staring at you.
>no. she's staring *into* you. you sense the gravity of her patience, and search carefully for the right words.
>her shell is hard, but that makes it brittle, too. she'll be sad all week if she feels like she's letting you down.
>it's not your fault, of course. you know you said nothing wrong. she's just responsible like that; she tries so hard to be strong enough for both of you.

>"it's true i never would have read this stuff on my own," you say. "but that's why i'm enjoying it so much! really! it--"
>she furrows her eyebrows. they're thin and reedy. her nose develops those vicious little wrinkles which you adore.
>she's too much.
>"'it' what?" she demands.
>"well, it, it makes me think of you, i guess." you turn your gaze away, feigning interest in the others slowly filing in from the hallway. yuri, upon sitting in the far corner, pushes her nose into her latest book. it's got a dark cover, like all the others, though from this distance you can't make out the artwork on the sleeves.
>"i like it because it's yours. because it means spending time with you. you know? look, i didn't even say i dislike it. why are you--"
>suddenly, she breaks down. her posture slumps over; her facade of annoyance, of grudgingly tolerating your many flaws and quirks, breaks down.
>she's giggling now.
>"you're so easy," she says, burying her face in her knees, which she has pulled close to her chest. she tries to suppress her laughter.
>but you hear it. it hisses between her teeth. her shoulders heave with it, too.
>"fine," she says. as she raises her gaze to meet yours, you see how red her face has turned. she breathes long and deep, struggling for air. "tomorrow we'll read one of yours. and you'll bring me some anpan, okay?"


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Natsuki Greentext #0002: "Excursion"
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>you've been driving for about an hour now.
>of course she insisted on a radio channel filled with cheery pop music.
>the squeaky-clean vocals had cooed into your ears, about young love and sunshine and parties and cafes, for the better part of the hour, punctuated only with commercials for new pop beverages and health insurance.
>you hate it, but you endure it for her. because it makes her happy.
>she deserves to be happy.
>thankfully you left the channel's range about twenty miles ago. once it was nothing but static, she allowed you to turn it off. the radio is quiet now.
>instead you hear only the droning of the highway as it passes underneath the metal guts of the vehicle; the clackering of empty cans as they rattle in the backseat...
>...and her. she's panicking again.
>"how much farther?" she keeps bringing her hands up to the blindfold.
>you can see, even in your peripherals, how tempted she is to tear it off, to free herself from this "punishment."
>she's been slow to trust you, of course.
>you had told her to keep it on until you get there.
>it's not coming easily to her, but she's trying her best to believe in you.
>although you train your eyes on the road, you can spare her a hand; easing your foot's pressure on the accelerator pedal, you reach over, across the cupholders, and push it against her shoulder.
>like she's afraid of the dark and your hand is her guardian teddybear, she clings to it and pushes it against her body. you feel it going white from the pressure of her squeeze.
>perhaps the lurching of the car is making her queasy? you know it's not the latest, cleanest model or anything...
>"anon? how much farther?" she repeats, more urgently this time.
>"not much," you say. "we're almost there."
>although it seems to bring her little comfort, she says nothing to question this news. you see her gnawing at her bottom lip with her front teeth. her hands, against yours, feel damp.
>maybe she's never been outside of the city before?

>finally the car begins to slow.
>it rolls over large gravel and uneven stretches of packed dirt.
>the seats aren't vibrating with highway speed anymore.
>she feels this change. you feel it too. she's tensing up against the touch of your hand, which she had held to herself all the rest of the way.
>turning the wheel with only one hand is tricky, but letting her hold the other seemed to have calmed her down a lot.
>she's worth it.
>"anon?" she whimpers, careful not to let you raise her hopes too high.
>"yep! we're here!"
>she's ripped the blindfold off before you can tell her not to. you'd wanted to at least get the basket from the trunk first, but...
>she looks around. "where are we?"
>trees surround your car from three sides. small insects scuttle across the windshield, seeking prey.
>it's a short walk until you've reached your *real* destination, though. even from the driver's seat you can see the dirt path which narrows through the woods.
>you tell her this as you shift the car into Park, and kill the wheezing engine.
>throwing your hand away from her, she furrows angrily. "grr! you tricked me, idiot!"
>"no i didn't. come on."
>she tries to stay mad, but once you pop the trunk, and she sees the basket, it doesn't last long.
>she struggles to even lift it, which she takes to mean that it's absolutely stuffed to the brim with her favorite foods.
>she's too excited now. you only barely manage to keep her from unhooking the latch and taking a peek inside.
>"not until we get there," you say.
>suddenly walking doesn't seem like such a hassle. in fact, as far as her stamina allows, she has decided to run ahead.
>"hurry up!" she calls back to you. of course, she let you carry the basket, and you're no marathon runner yourself.
>it's not often that you get to see natsuki so chipper, so bursting with enthusiasm. usually she tries to maintain a certain poise in public.
>multiple times she catches you staring lovingly ahead as you walk together toward the lake.

>"so this is what the blindfold was for," she says, standing in the breeze which rolls over the cool waters.
>it rustles her thick pink sweater. it spurns the ribbons in her hair into a frenzied dance.
>she looks magnificent in the sunlight, in the crisp air of melting snow and budding blossoms.
>"yep," you say. it's all you can *think* to say.
>"and the blanket!"
>she brought the checkered pink-and-white one. the one you'd shared before the thaw, when you walked to class together through the snow.
>the one she huddled under when you took her to the tree-lighting on christmas eve.
>you hope it's as sentimental to her as it is to you.
>the large stone is already blanketed over with a thick, spongy moss, but you watch her unfurl the blanket across it, too, and then throw herself upon it.
>"come on, come on!" she exclaims, already nearly bursting from the seat she's taken on the gentle wool. "what did you bring for me?"
>you set the basket down beside her, and let her see for herself.
>unhooking the latches, she cannot contain herself, not even for decorum, as she glares at the contents.
>"i, uh, tried to cook something," you mutter. "so that miso soup might not be any good."
>"what? miso soup isn't even difficult, baka!"
>in spite of her words, she's grabbing a spoon first, leaving the chopsticks in their paper sleeves.
>"hey, it might be good!" you say, clinging to what pride you can. "just---don't be surprised if it isn't, ha ha."
>"you mean you don't even know?" she asks, scoffing. "you're supposed to taste everything while you cook. how else will you know whether you're doing it right?"
>"well, there's other stuff in there, and i didn't cook that. so something is sure to be good no matter what."
>but your words don't dissuade her. she cleans the spoon against her sleeve, and reaches for a bowl.
>she holds them out, waiting for you to pour.

>your little spot beside the lake has gone quiet.
>in theory you're both too busy eating to speak.
>but honestly, you've barely touched yours.
>you're just waiting for her to say something.
>you catch yourself staring.
>when she glowers at you and tells you to stop, you manage to turn yourself away.
>you pretend you're listening to songbirds or to the lapping of the little waves against the lake's shore, but you still watch her in your peripherals.
>you feel her judging you with every bite.
>finally you can't wait anymore. "how is it?" you ask.
>"it's--"
>"'fine,' right?" you say, smiling. "that's what you always say when it's bad, natsuki."
>"shut up, idiot! it's good!" she snaps. she places the bowl in her lap, and her shoulders seem to sag. "really good."
>but  you know better. something's wrong. your miso soup has brought her not joy, not even disgust, but sorrow.
>she keeps eating, probably hoping you didn't notice.
>but that glimpse was enough.
>"are you sure?" you ask. no use prying if she won't want to open up.
>the angles of her eyebrows tighten. are you annoying her now?
>"fine. it's way too salty," she says, "which means you used too much soy. i know it's your first time cooking and all, but really, you don't have to be afraid of the flavor not coming through. and it's kind of watery too, so maybe you didn't use enough cereal, so you probably added too much water to the paste and then tried to compensate. is that what happened, anon?"
>"wow," you say. but inside you're relieved. at least she's back to the natsuki you know and love.
>bottlings things up isn't like her.
>"the next one will be better," you say. "i'll use, uh, less miso. and more barley."
>"idiot," she mumbles.
>"huh?"
>"what an idiot you are, anon," she says. "it doesn't matter what it tastes like."
>"huh? but didn't you just say---"
>"i know what i said," she snaps. "but this is---"

>her words have caught in her throat, or she regrets wanting to say them.
>there's a long pause. you wait; she deliberates.
>decides.
>so you watch and wait some more. is she going to cry?
>no, she seems more embarrassed than anything.
>"this is the first time someone has cooked for me," she says. "in---almost forever. are you happy now, baka anon?! look what you made me say!"
>normally she doesn't want to compliment people because it will "go to their heads."
>but she made up a compliment for your bad cooking, just to make you happy.
>"i'll try harder next time," you say. "i'll make it taste good, so you can enjoy it the right way."
>"'right way'? no," she says. "you cooked it for me, didn't you? just for me. that makes it the---the best miso soup in the whole world."
>she turns away from you, hiding her blushing cheeks.
>you think you've done something wrong, but you're not sure.
>time to pull out the big guns.
>"H-hey," you say.
>she doesn't look at you.
>meanwhile, you're reaching into the basket.
>she hadn't noticed the bottle underneath the napkins and the extra tablecloth.
>"i don't know much about wine," you say. "but this was in my parents' cabinet. it's got to be all right. you wanna try some??"
>this, at last, catches her attention. you can almost see her ears perk up, like in one of those bad animes.
>when she turns, you see that she has shed tears. her eyelids are puffy and her cheeks have started going raw.
>"natsuki---"
>she shakes her head. "they're happy tears, anon," she says. "i promise."
>you struggle with the corkscrew for a while, but after you've gotten the bottle open, you and she take turns swigging from it.
>you drink less, since you'll be driving her home.
>"i'm so lucky," she says.

>later, as usual, you've dropped her off one block away from her house.
>she has always gotten nervous, for some reason, about you wanting to drop her off at her front gate.
>this time's no different, but even the wine hasn't taken the edge off.
>she looks visibly anxious.
>"what's wrong?" you ask. sure, you're feeling a bit warm and foggy, too, but...
>"my dad," she says, cackling. "if he learns i got drunk, he'll kill me for sure!"
>"all right," you say. Pushing the stick back into first, you begin to round the corner.
>"let's go ride around a while," you say. "sober you up."
>"you really are the best, anon," she murmurs. "i'm so lucky."
>she's been saying that all afternoon, though.
>not long after, she's fallen back asleep.
>she was asleep during the ride back, too.

>another hour has passed. you kiss as she detaches her seatbelt, and stumbles out of the car.
>she circles around to your side.
>through the window you hand her some of the leftovers from the picnic, all wrapped up in a square from the spare tablecloth.
>you reach to grab her blanket from the backseat, too.
>"keep it," she says. either she's blushing or the wine isn't all out of her yet.
>she'd shed her sweater, too, when the alcohol made her feel hot.
>she was wearing a long-sleeved tee underneath.
>"uh, i mean, i'll grab it from you after school later," she says.
>you kiss again.
>her lips are soft and taste of cherry chapstick.
>"thanks a lot."
>"see ya," you say.
>the farther she is from the car, the more her smile fades. but she always looks back, watching to see whether you've left yet.
>even now, she's started eating the leftovers you gave her.
>how does that girl eat so much?


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Natsuki Greentext #0003: "Frights"
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>"that one."
>she points, her nail polish glittering with the light from the tacky ceiling fixtures.
>the guy working the concessions stand knows the routine by now: she points. you nod. he grabs it from inside the glass and places it on top.
>"ooh, that one looks good too!"
>the worker looks at you.
>his brow is furrowed with concern and, perhaps, a twinge of sadistic glee.
>you stop yourself from sighing.
>you nod again.

>you walk together through the lobby toward the theater.
>she looks up at the numbers painted on the walls as you pass them.
>when you're sure she won't notice, you slip your hand into your pocket, grabbing your wallet.
>you weigh it to yourself.
>that girl cost you nearly four thousand yen in snacks!
>her pockets bulge with them, and what she couldn't fit there, she carries in a bundle in her skinny arms.

>soon you stand in the aisles, debating which seats to take.
>you want to be in the middle, where you'll command the best view of the screen.
>she wants to be near the exit, so you can make a quick getaway when it's over.
>you let her have her way, and shed your jacket into the folds of your seat.
>the red neon of the exit sign glows against her hair.
>as soon as she sits, she's already started eating.
>"so what are we watching?" she asks through a mouthful of churro.
>you tell her the title. "it was popular in america a few months back," you say, "and we've finally gotten a translated version."
>she looks up at the ceiling, pressing a finger to her chin, which still squirms from the chewing.
>her brain churns, trying to remember all the titles she'd seen on the billboards outside.
>"wait a minute. this isn't one of those scary gorefests, is it?"
>"uhh---!"
>you'd hoped it would be a fun surprise.
>you can't lie to her, either.
>"unbelievable, anon! yuri put you up to this, didn't she?"
>"no, of course not!"
>she looks around. no one is staring, thankfully, but she tempers her volume anyway.
>"hmmph."

>conversation is scarce during the commercials and credits.
>nothing you could say would persuade her to look forward to your choice in film.
>besides, she's still eating.
>looking over, you see the slightest hint of a bulge developing in her midsection.
>she looks at you too, but then away again.
>she's trying to look unimpressed.
>you think she looks pouty instead.

>finally, the lights dim away.
>whereas her pockets have shrunken, the pile of trash packed into her cupholder threatens to spill over onto the carpet.
>she has stopped eating, turning the brunt of her attention toward the screen.
>even she must grow full eventually, you suppose.
>as the room grows dark and quiet, and the film begins, you reach past her little landfill, placing your hand on hers.
>you smile.
>she still wears that indignant look in her face.
>still, she doesn't swat you away.
>you feel the muscles of her hand laxing, as if your touch thaws hers.

>as the film moves forward, periodically you glance over at her to gauge her investment in the story.
>she's not reacting much.
>at least she doesn't seem to hate it.
>could be worse, right?

>soon the characters have been established, the scene set.
>you notice there's some distance now between her shoulders and the back of her chair.
>"don't do it, you idiot," she's whispering, seemingly to the character on screen.
>"no! don't play hero!" she says not long after.
>you feel her hand going taut again.
>despite herself, the tension in her muscles doesn't slacken until the tension in the scene has dissipated first.
>you turn to face her again, grinning mischievously.
>"i hate you so much," she murmurs.
>yet as she says this, she scoots as close to you as the armrests allow.
>at first this is her excuse to pilfer a pinch or two of your popcorn.
>but later on, when the threat has revealed itself again to the characters on the screen, you feel her arms snaking around yours.
>her grip tightens anytime something scary happens in the movie.
>she even jumps once!

>they're a quick two hours.
>before you know it the after-credits are rolling.
>you see the director's name and then the lead actors'.
>light returns to the room.
>trying to stand, you find that natsuki's arms tether you to the chair.
>she gasps, having not realized it herself.
>she quickly lets you go, and you see her face flush a warm pink.
>you grab your coats and scarves, and make it to the exit before most of the crowd.
>you discard your trash on your way out.
>the adrenaline drains from your bodies.
>you feel alert and energized. she laughs in relief.

>"how was it?" you ask.
>you stand underneath the bus stop. she's taken the bench.
>"never put me through that again!" she cries.
>"oh?" you reached toward one of her coat pockets.
>she flinches away at first, but realizing her error, lets you awkwardly grab one of the small snack boxes.
>opening it, you pour a handful for yourself, and then hand it back to her.
>"what about next week, then?"
>she blinks, but you see the smile she's attempting to suppress.
>she nods.
>by the time the bus arrives, you and she are halfway through the second box.