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She’s his poison, but he hopes to develop immunity—to develop something—because he knows he can’t go on like this for much longer.
He’s sitting there with her, foot tapping slightly, reading and concentrating and trying to ignore the unwelcome presence who has gone from rambling to mostly herself to abruptly sliding into his lap, all flashing canines and low chuckles.
She’s holding his face now, smiling at him in a way that paints her eyes a strange color. He can’t tell if the girl he’s known since childhood—all bright energy and playful wit—is even there anymore, if she ever was, but he can tell when she’s in one of her moods.
I’m bored. Entertain me.
He knows that’s what she’s thinking before she even speaks, and there’s a danger to her words, a dreadful danger attached to Junko Enoshima and the threat of idleness. Her nails are pricking his skin and Matsuda…Matsuda just sighs and wraps arms strong enough to pin, to strangle, to choke the life out of her around her neck and pulls her on top of him.
There’s a manga, reluctantly forgotten now, fallen on the floor. It’s been turned to a random page due to its tumble and it's depicting a life happier than either of the two have ever known.
Junko’s laughing and kissing and she’s layering rough, sucking bites along his collarbone just because she can. He can see the darkness in her eyes and he wonders why he hasn’t run away yet.
(She knows why, he knows too, in the end, but he has denied it for a long, long time.)
Let me pick your brain, Matsuda-kun. Like you’ve picked so many others!
And he curls his lip, taunting her, twisting fingers through her hair until her ponytails come loose and she’s shivering against him, dramatically panting his name and he hates the fact that he never gets tired of this, of her, because she’s so mad she’s scarcely human and he’s simply along for the ride.
He can’t escape her, not now, though he has contemplated it many times. The door is there, he could leave, he could throw her off of him, but in the end he can’t bite back the groan that rises in his mouth because she’s hellbent on making him growl Junko.
He’s moved to shove her down now, hands on her shoulders, he’s looming over her and he thinks that he knows how deep she has fallen. Her head’s thrown back and she’s red in the face and he can see the way she’s laughing so hard that it shakes the inside of her throat and he wants to kill her. He wants to kill her and spare the world from her and her ambitions and her plans but in the end he can’t do it, he can’t.
Instead he exhales, slow and tired, against the curve of her neck and shoulder and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss because he has never loved anything or anyone like he does her--enough to forego his precious logic, and reasoning, and he wonders if she really cares at all.