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Mikan and Junko had been together for years now but every once in awhile Mikan still flinched at Junko’s touch.
Not because of anything Junko did, but because abuse at the hands of others didn’t simply go away. It lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your memory and jumps out like a sadistic, mangled creature—a nightmarish version of your own psyche—when you least expect it and often at the worst times.
The first of Mikan’s panic attacks really scared Junko because she had no idea what to do about them and because they reminded Junko of the way she used to treat people, including the pitiful states she reduced them to. She... she was horrible to her first partner, Junko knew that. She had been a bully, cruel and insensitive and narcissistic, and she didn’t want to be that way with Mikan. She wanted to be better for Mikan.
And yet, the flinches continued tallying up.
She hated that she still scared Mikan. She hated that she couldn’t take Mikan’s pain away. She hated that Mikan wouldn’t tell her the names of the ones who hurt her because Junko would love nothing more than to track them down, rake her claws across their throats and wear their esophagi as meaty bracelets.
Mikan opened up to her slowly over the years about what she had been through. What girls had done to her during class. What boys had done to her after school. What her parents, unfortunately already deceased by their own addictions, had done to her at home.
Junko wanted to kill all who remained. And she didn’t mean that in the facetious way others did when they spat that threat in anger. Junko genuinely wanted to slaughter every single person that purposely caused Mikan harm. She would feel no remorse.
Such a thing wasn’t normal, was it? Certainly it wasn’t a sign of a good, stable person.
Junko knew something was wrong with her the moment she was born. She didn’t feel things the way other people did. Many emotions were boring to her and thus she wasn’t accustomed to how many of them felt. She only allowed herself to feel the ones that were uncontrollable and overwhelming; the ones that made her feel like she was riding a roller coaster with no safety harness.
Like despair. Junko loved despair. She loved seeing others in despair. She loved feeling despair herself. For the longest time, before she met Mikan, despair was the only thing that made her feel alive.
But what Mikan was suffering through wasn’t despair, and what Junko felt as a result of witnessing her suffering and being unable to help—sometimes even being the jolt that caused her to cry—wasn’t despair either.
She wasn’t sure what it was. But it hurt. And she didn’t want to feel it anymore.
Something Junko loved other than despair was giving surprise hugs from behind. She loved the gasp torn from their throat, their primary struggle against her control, and then how they would relax and lean back into her touch. She loved the wide range of emotions she could make someone feel in such a short time from such a simple gesture, and how by the end of it they would either trust her or forgive her regardless of their initial reaction.
Because she loved giving them so much she often forgot Mikan didn’t handle them well without a warning—but a warning would ruin the whole surprise aspect of the hug, thus ruining Junko’s fun, so providing a warning was always the last thing on Junko’s mind.
Mikan not handling them well was an understatement.
Mikan screamed as if Junko had burned her, limbs flailing as she collapsed to the ground. She stared at Junko in wide-eyed horror—seeing someone else rather than her, Junko knew that, some faceless, unnamed monster with dirty hands—before burying her face in her knees and violently sobbing.
Junko had startled her again. Had reminded Mikan of someone who hurt her again. She didn’t mean to. She just wanted to hug her.
Junko had a face. Junko had a name. She was the monster again today; the only one that hurt Mikan that she currently had access to, and the one that always seemed to hurt Mikan the most. If she were staring in a mirror she would have dirtied her hands with a punch to her reflection.
She needed to be better than this. But she was still the horrible girlfriend she was years ago, wasn’t she? She was so selfish. Just because she wanted something didn’t mean Mikan wanted it, too. She should know this by now.
Why didn’t she know this by now?
Her last partner left her because she was an inconsiderate and self-absorbed asshole. At this rate Mikan would leave her, too. It was a miracle she hadn’t already with how much Junko made her suffer, even if it was never on purpose.
But she could beat herself up over this later. Making sure Mikan stopped crying was the number one priority right now.
Junko had realized over her many mistakes that patience was key. Most people probably thought she rushed headfirst without thinking into everything she did, but very few people knew she had the extraordinary patience of a fasting monk.
She had, and would, give Mikan space and let Mikan come to her. Let Mikan initiate every touch after this. Be verbal about every time she wanted to touch Mikan and back off entirely if Mikan didn’t want to be near her for the rest of the night.
Junko considered sitting on the couch for the sake of comfort but decided against it just as quickly. Don’t sit above her, Junko thought. Don’t make it look like you’re looking down on her. So instead she sat on the floor with her back against the couch, giving Mikan plenty of space but also staying in her sight and on her level so she wouldn’t accidentally startle Mikan again nor appear intimidating in any way.
It took several minutes for Mikan’s sobs to calm to silent crying and it took many more for Mikan to finally look up at her. Mikan’s face was a red, tearstained mess, those sweet violet eyes wet and puffy. This was Junko’s fault. She did this to the girl she loved. She did this to the girl who loved her, who still had so much love to give, even after everything she had been through.
Junko’s heart throbbed, or it felt like it did, but how did that make sense when she was such a heartless bitch?
Eventually, Mikan started crawling towards her. Guilt and nervousness swirled in Junko’s gut. She hated those feelings. She never felt them until Mikan came into her life. Anything that wasn’t raw despair was something Junko still had difficulty accepting and handling.
But being a better person meant feeling emotions she didn’t want to feel, didn’t it? Owning up to her mistakes and apologizing was part of that package, too.
Trying to be a decent person fucking sucked sometimes. Everything was so much easier when all that mattered was herself.
Mikan mattered now.
Mikan stopped right in front of her, their knees almost touching. The room stayed stiflingly quiet for a moment more and Junko pretended she couldn’t hear her heart, or whatever that heavy lump in her chest was, thundering in her ears.
“I-I’m sorry,” Mikan said. Her voice was small and thin, a mere wisp hovering low to the ground.
Junko’s head snapped up like a whip. “What? Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Junko winced. “I made you cry again.”
Mikan sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “It’s n-not your f-fault.”
“Yes it is. I’m not considerate enough. I’m still such a shitty person, I know I am. I’m trying.” Junko swallowed, acrylic nails bending as she crumpled her shirt in her fists. Any previous strength in her voice waned in her throat. “I swear I’m trying...”
Mikan laid a shaky hand over Junko’s fist. Junko let her, refusing to move even though every part of her wanted to entwine their fingers. “J-Junko, you’re w-wonderful,” Mikan assured, no doubt in her tone despite the stammers. “I-I’m the p-pathetic one who’s not t-trying hard enough. I know all y-you wanted to do was h-hug me. I-I know that, I know y-you weren’t trying to h-hurt me, and yet my brain still... f-flashes back to w-when I was hurt.”
Junko shook her head, fighting off a frown that could be misinterpreted. “You can’t control that. I’ve never blamed you for that so don’t blame yourself. You’ve been through horrible things.”
“I-I know. But we’ve been t-together a long time. I-I should be s-strong enough by now to not be r-reminded of these things when you t-touch me.”
Maybe it was the way Mikan worded that, the open verbal acknowledgement that Mikan got flashbacks when Junko touched her, but suddenly Junko had a horrifying thought and it spilled past her lips before she fully registered what she was thinking.
“Ten years from now someone will give you a surprise hug from behind, and... you’ll think of me, won’t you? You’ll panic and think of me ‘cause I hurt you so much.”
Mikan suddenly looked really scared again and Junko hated herself. “Y-you say that like you don’t p-plan on being with me in t-ten years.”
Junko winced, her chest tight like a vice was squeezing her flat. She upset her again. Said all the wrong things again. She made it seem like she didn’t love her. “I’m always making you cry,” Junko said, the words heavy in her mouth, like she had no right to say anything more after how much she fucked up already. “Why would you want to stay with me?”
The fear that had emerged on Mikan’s face vanished just as swiftly, replaced with some form of sad realization. “Junko...”
That tone made it seem like Mikan figured something out, that she saw a crack in Junko’s carefully constructed mask that gave way to the struggle underneath, and that gave birth to more feelings Junko didn’t know how to handle, so she looked away from the source of all of these emotions.
“J-Junko,” Mikan pleaded, sounding so very concerned, “l-look at me. Please?”
Junko bit her lip, unable to prevent her frown this time. She felt so dizzy. Her insides felt like they were going to burst. It was too much at once, too much of all these feelings she didn’t understand. She didn’t want this. She wasn’t ready for something like this tonight.
She was still too terrible of a person to mend this. She had no chance of truly helping Mikan when she couldn’t even help herself.
But Junko was a lost cause, wasn’t she? Why did she even bother?
A stabilizing hand rested on Junko’s cheek, applying just enough pressure to turn Junko’s head forward again to peer into worried violet eyes; eyes that cared way more than Junko deserved.
“My beloved, I’ve n-never seen you so d-distraught.” Mikan’s thumb was soft and loving on her cheek, as if caressing away tears Junko never shed; as if those were more important than the salty trails drying against her own cheeks. “What b-brought this on?”
Junko’s canines sunk further into her flesh until she tasted blood.
“I hate this. It hurts,” Junko forced out between clenched teeth. Her throat felt dry and constricted, like she had gone days without nourishment, and found she could only manage short, harsh sentences right now or her voice would break. “I don’t want you to cry anymore. I used to hurt everyone around me. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. But that’s all I keep doing.” Her eyes stung for some reason, like every time she accidentally poked herself with her eyeliner. She winced, trying to force the unpleasant sensation to fade. “Even now I’m making this all about me. I should be comforting you. I’m such a bitch.”
Mikan shook her head, displaying a soft smile before wrapping her arms around Junko’s neck. Junko stiffened at the display of affection, not expecting to feel Mikan’s warm body flush against hers so soon, or ever again. “I-I love taking c-care of people,” Mikan said. “I l-love taking care of you. A-and I love that y-you’ve become so honest w-with me about how you f-feel.” Mikan rested her head on Junko’s shoulder. “You n-never did that at the b-beginning.”
Junko sighed, messy purple hair fluttering under her breath. “I should be the one taking care of you when you’re hurting.”
“You’re h-hurting, too,” Mikan said firmly, as if to ensure that Junko understood that her pain mattered just as much—even if Junko didn’t believe that yet. “We can take c-care of each other.”
“How?”
Mikan’s smile was small but sure. “W-we just keep trying.”
Normally Junko always had something to say. But she didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know how Mikan could be so optimistic after everything she went through. How she was willing to bare her entire soul to Junko despite how many times Junko fucked up.
“Thank y-you for being so patient and u-understanding with me,” Mikan said. “It h-helps more than you know. You’re the b-best girlfriend I could e-ever ask for, Junko.” Mikan kissed Junko’s pulse. “I-I love you.”
Those sweet words nestled deep in Junko’s bones. She... she wasn’t a bad girlfriend? She wasn’t a horrible person? Mikan still loved her?
Maybe Junko did have a heart after all, because what else could have slammed against her ribs so strongly?
“I... love you, too,” Junko murmured, feeling Mikan’s lips curve into a smile against her skin. Saying those words aloud was still hard even after all these years. Admitting it the first time was the hardest, both to herself and to Mikan, and every time after it was as if she had to convince herself that she deserved to be in love even after all the terrible things she had done. But every time she said them the multitude of harsh voices in her brain got a little quieter and Mikan’s beautiful smile got a little bigger.
Junko loved her. She would keep on loving her. She would learn how to love her better.
Junko released a shallow breath, looking deep into Mikan’s eyes that still shimmered. Guilt gnawed at her stomach again. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Mikan gave a faint grunt of disapproval. “It’s not y-your fault. I-I told you that.”
“Still. I’m sorry. I’ll do better for you.”
Mikan was quiet for a moment, perhaps considering what giving this apology meant to Junko. “O-okay. I forgive you.”
Junko swallowed down the strange lump in her throat, fingers twitching at her sides. “Can I,” Junko paused, voice lowering to a timid whisper, “can I hold you?”
Junko needed the hug more than Mikan. She didn’t want to get her hopes up—she hated that word, hated that feeling—but even though she was trying to be better, she was still selfish, and she craved the familiar comfort holding Mikan would bring.
Mikan must have realized how much Junko needed this because she nodded into her shoulder, arms tightening around her.
“P-please don’t let go.”
Junko didn’t, holding Mikan to her chest for the rest of the night.
And ten years from then, Junko gave Mikan a surprise hug from behind, and Mikan smiled.