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Junko was merciful, she was. Even though her sister had run off to play soldier in some godforsaken wasteland for three years, leaving her to survive homelessness, leaving her to compromise with sleazy managers and claw her way up the career ladder and handle the vapid bleating of her fellow models and bear the weight of the world’s despair completely alone, she could put that behind her, of course, she was still here to greet her in their old house, their old room, even, and who was she to wait on some dirty stupid soldier who probably hadn’t even cared enough to keep up with her magazines? But she did, she did wait, because she was so kind and merciful and generous, she was the best sister in the world, who else would put up with someone as frustrating as Mukuro? Her dear sister tried her patience so. It had been horrible enough that Mukuro had run off to god knows where in the first place (who did she think she was? )--
But when she finally dragged herself home to Junko, she had the nerve to have a tattoo.
She noticed it immediately, giving her sister a sharp-edged smile, drawing one hand to her mouth in mock-shock, cooing oh, my, what is this, did my sweet stupid sister finally grow a spine? How daring!
And Mukuro's steel eyes dropped to the floor, her marked hand drifted behind her back, and she mumbled some dull apology, and Junko sighed, poor boring Muku-nee, can't even rebel correctly, who the hell apologizes for getting a tattoo when you've killed people? You have some weird priorities, silly sister, and she held out her own hand, palm up, eyes wide and excited, show me, show me!
And Mukuro, hesitantly, slowly, laid her hand in Junko's-- and it snapped shut like a bear trap, red-painted talons digging into her skin, but of course stupid stoic Muku-nee didn't even flinch or pull away or cry, just looked at her with those maddeningly calm grey eyes as Junko leaned over to stare.
A wolf.
A fanged wolf's head, scrawled across the back of her hand in black ink, as dark and vicious and tediously two-dimensional as her sister herself. It suited Mukuro perfectly and she hated it.
But she laughed, glancing up with her innocent baby blues, Muku-nee, a wolf, really? So cliché! So boring! So awfully, despairingly terrible! Why a wolf?
And Mukuro answered, quietly, warily, “It's the symbol of Fenrir. The mercenary group I worked with. Everyone got one.”
And it took everything not to scream, or claw it right off, who the hell did she think she was, marking herself with some stupid group mascot, like she belonged, like she belonged to them, like some paid killers meant more than Junko did? And her grip got tighter and tighter and tighter and at least Mukuro had finally winced when her claws drew blood, but even then she didn't have the decency to be frightened or beg for mercy. She just looked sad. That quiet, wounded, worried look that Junko hated so much. Even more infuriating. She hadn't even done it on purpose. She hadn't even been trying to spite her or hurt her. She was just doing this stupid, ugly thing, all on her own, without a thought to her dear sister at all.
But of course she managed a bright bubbly laugh, pulling the unresistant Mukuro closer, words dripping like venom from her lips, ohhh, a dull disappointing dog only good for taking orders, that suits you perfectly, Muku-nee!
And even that didn't make her feel better; that delicious moment where Mukuro sagged just the tiniest bit, where her eyes deadened and dropped to the ground in defeat, where Junko could practically hear her heart breaking, because she still looked more sad for Junko than for herself and it was sickening. Stupid, awful, disappointing sister, how could she be so completely inadequate, how could she leave her and then come home marked and not have her in mind at all how could she do this to her--
She was crying, she didn’t even notice at first, she didn’t realize it was happening until her breath caught in her throat and her shoulders started shaking and her own nerveless hand dropped Mukuro’s bloody one and her knees wobbled and nearly gave out and then she was clinging to Mukuro and Mukuro was holding her, helping them both sink onto the bed, letting her sob into her shirt while little drops of Mukuro’s blood soaked into her clothes, and she tried to speak but it came out shrill and strangled and incomprehensible, you were gone for so long, and Mukuro just murmured back I’m sorry
And that just made her sob harder, clutch at her tighter, she felt like she was drowning, she could barely breathe as she choked out you can’t leave again, you can’t even though she hadn’t been able to stop her the first time but Mukuro just said I won’t and held her closer, and Junko cried into the crook of her neck, skinny arms wrapped around her strong big sister, trembling and hiccupping just like she had when they were children and she’d hurt herself and Mukuro came to save her, she always came to save her, except when she left there was no one to save her but herself and Junko had never cared enough to save herself
I’m sorry, Mukuro said again, her voice as soft and gentle as her hands as she stroked Junko’s hair just like she always had, like it hadn’t been three years at all, and all Junko could do was sob, she was drowning, she was sure of it, but she clung to Mukuro’s steady heartbeat, limp and trembling in her arms for what was surely hours, days, eons, until the storm finally passed and she was left exhausted and empty, because that’s how it always was, only despair made her feel, it was so hard for her to feel anything afterward
Then Mukuro gave her a handkerchief, and Junko looked down and barked out a tearful laugh, Muku-nee, you might as well just give me your shirt, and even stony-faced Mukuro finally managed a smile, that little tentative half-smile she always had, like she was afraid if she gave a real one it would break her, or break Junko, or break this tiny moment they almost never had.
But soon enough Junko put on her jagged smirking grin, even with her eyes still red-ringed and her skin feeling raw, and Mukuro settled back into her normal attentive but wary mask, and oh that helped so much, made it so much easier to finally whisper, oh, Muku-nee, you’re so cruel, you really do know how to hurt me, that was some truly delicious despair, the very worst, I didn’t think you could ever wound your dear sister so. And this time she finally reacted well, Mukuro flinched like she’d been slapped, her arms around Junko stiffened, and the flicker of anguish in those mirrorglass eyes was so beautiful that Junko couldn’t help but lean close and kiss her, drinking in her pain like she was starving, and maybe she was, maybe she always had been.
As soon as she pulled back Mukuro tried to apologize again, her voice trembling and choked with her own tears, but Junko laid one blood-red talon across her lips, shut up, Muku-nee, but it was sugar-sweet, as gentle as her razor smile could be, don’t ruin it, for once you weren’t disappointing at all.