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Even after Mukuro leaves Fenrir, even after she graduates from being the Ultimate Soldier and enters college and leaves her old life—and most importantly Junko—behind, sometimes it still feels as though she never left the battlefield.
It gets easier to manage as the months pass; fireworks on holidays still make her hair stand up on end, but loud music and crowded rooms no longer activate her fight or flight instincts. Mukuro becomes better at self-soothing, at grounding herself using exercises she learned in therapy, and in the moments when she can’t, Sayaka is there, always so gentle and calming, her sweet melodic voice just barely raised above a whisper as she brings Mukuro out of her past.
Still, Mukuro finds it hard to live a normal life. Not that she could anyway, with one of the world’s most famous pop stars as a secret partner, but even then, settling into civilian life and trying to go about her business as if her past doesn’t matter… none of those things come easy to her. She gets her associate’s degree from community college and transfers to a university, juggling a job at a local coffee shop at the same time so she isn’t relying on Sayaka’s hefty salary to keep her afloat. (As much as Sayaka offers, Mukuro doesn’t want to be reliant, and Sayaka seems to understand, so they don’t get into it much.) The routine keeps her mind occupied for the most part, because there’s work to do even when she isn’t in a lecture or working a shift, but that doesn’t mean she’s always busy.
It’s when she’s least busy, when she has nothing else to be doing and nobody else to distract her, that her mind wanders the worst. Oftentimes, her thoughts centre around Junko—what is she doing now, is she alright without Mukuro, does she think about her, does she miss her—but her full back pocket is filled with all kinds of troubling memories to come creeping out when she’s really feeling stressed.
To avoid this, because Mukuro’s thoughts generally creep towards her past the most whenever she has nothing else to be doing, she takes up hobbies. Reading, cooking. She’s pretty bad at the latter, but Sayaka never says a bad word about her culinary skills, which is appreciated. Junko would probably call her useless—she kind of is useless, but Sayaka really doesn’t seem to think so. Perks of having a great actress as a girlfriend apparently include not catching any shit for pasta that you know is oversalted; Sayaka is able to take a big bite of bad food and smile right into Mukuro’s face as she compliments it. She really is too good for Mukuro.
Even with the hobbies, though, even with a busy life and a loving girlfriend and the freedom to do whatever she wants in the moments in between, there’s nothing that can stop Mukuro from dreaming. Even if she doesn’t sleep, Mukuro still dozes, and then she dreams regardless, so she finds it better to just rip the band aid off and get rest whenever her body tells her to. She’s no longer living a life where she has to deny what her body needs, after all.
From her time as a mercenary, Mukuro’s body is still trained to fall asleep and wake up on a pretty strict six-hour schedule, for the most part. But because her activity level has decreased from her time in combat, there’s a bigger grey area. Thus, tonight, when Mukuro’s eyelids start to feel heavy, it’s around half an hour earlier than she and Sayaka would usually go to bed. Not a big deal; Sayaka will probably stay up a bit later working on her next album, but Mukuro just carefully pulls herself off of the couch, leaning down to drop a kiss on her girlfriend’s temple before she pads down the hall to their shared bedroom.
The sheets still smell faintly of Sayaka’s blueberry-scented body wash, a soothing, familiar smell that Mukuro allows to wash over her as she pulls the covers over her body, closing her eyes and exhaling into the empty room. It’s not long until she’s fast asleep, for a while blissfully dreamless, wrapped in the warmth of their duvet.
But as ever, Mukuro’s dreams begin to creep in before long. They aren’t always bad—more and more often nowadays, Mukuro’s dreams are nonsensical or mundane, or sometimes even good— but tonight, like many nights, they’re almost suffocating. Mukuro ‘opens her eyes again’ and breathes in the sharp scent of blood. She can feel the familiar weight of a gun in her hand. All around her are bodies, all dead or bleeding out, all staring dully in her direction. Even though she knows they’re gone, Mukuro can feel the piercing judgement of their stares, the reminder that they’d all had lives to live before she gunned them down.
And Mukuro, in her dream, feels nothing. One last victim crawls away from her, bleeding from the leg, tears and sweat mingling in the blood staining the side of his face. His, someone else’s, Mukuro isn’t sure. That he’s even still conscious is a mistake on her part, and Mukuro wastes no time in amending the situation, marching forward, not bothering to step over the other bodies as she follows him into the corner. Their bones crunch beneath her boots. She hefts her weapon.
His lips form the word please. Mukuro sneers; Junko would welcome her death with open arms. Everyone in this room is pathetic compared to her, Mukuro included. Everything Mukuro does is for her. This is for her too.
Mukuro lifts her gun and raises the trigger. Then she wakes up, chest heaving, and shoots upright in bed.
The sheets that had been comforting as she drifted to sleep now tangle around her, restricting her movement as she thrashes. Sayaka hasn’t come to bed yet, this much she can tell by the cold, empty mattress on either side of her, but Mukuro isn’t coherent enough to think much of it. Strangled cries raise in her throat and she swallows them down, choking on her own spit and wheezing as she slams balled fists against the mattress. It’s plush, the only texture Sayaka can sleep on, so Mukuro’s fists just sink right into it. It feels like she’s being swallowed up.
Struggling with a renewed panic, Mukuro only begins to realise herself when she hears the thudding of approaching footsteps, the door slamming open, at which point she curls her shoulders in and screws her eyes shut in anticipation of admonishment. She’s making problems, she’s causing trouble—she should be stronger, better at keeping it together—Junko shouldn’t have to deal with her being anything other than a tool—Mukuro needs to apologise, but she doesn’t dare to speak, not wanting to interrupt and risk making Junko any angrier.
Instead of harsh words or laughter, though, Mukuro is greeted by the mattress dipping beside her, and delicate fingers reaching out to start untangling the comforter from around her. It’s only when those soft fingers brush up against her bare arms that Mukuro starts to relax, even as goosebumps raise everywhere she’s touched. It seems they’re trying not to touch her, and for a moment Mukuro is a little scared of that, but when she opens her eyes and tries to peer out through her tears, she can see a blue blur. Sayaka. Not Junko. Mukuro hasn’t seen or spoken to Junko for over a year by this point.
“—hold on,” Sayaka is saying, and Mukuro realises she has probably been speaking, just too faintly to be heard over the ringing in Mukuro’s ears. “I’ve almost gotten you… these blankets are almost a little dangerous, aren’t they?”
Are they? Mukuro looks down at the duvet, blinking more tears from her eyes. It’s hard to make anything out but the grey smudge that is presumably their blanket, but seeing Sayaka’s hands smoothing out the wrinkles and drawing back the covers helps ground her. Sayaka still doesn’t reach out and touch. Mukuro appreciates it on some level, she thinks; at times, when she wakes up from a dream, afterwards she won’t be able to distinguish between what’s real and remembered, between Sayaka and some invisible past foe from a dream. She wouldn’t want to hurt her on instinct.
But Sayaka and their bedroom are very much real, and Mukuro’s skin is starting to ache. The slight brushes of Sayaka’s fingers against her aren’t enough, Mukuro needs the touch, needs to be held. A thick lump rises in her throat when she thinks about even trying to ask, so instead she just lifts her hands, and they shake, but she manages to reach out towards her girlfriend, lower lip trembling dangerously as she struggles to keep more tears at bay.
Sayaka’s gaze darts in her direction, and she releases the duvet, smoothing it out one last time before ducking in close to Mukuro, one knee planted on the mattress beside her as her arms curl around Mukuro’s shoulders. She’s soft and warm and sweet-smelling, and her hair tickles as it dangles against Mukuro’s cheek. A shudder runs through Mukuro at the touch, but she needs it, needs Sayaka close. Only her last remaining shreds of self-restraint keep her from latching onto her girlfriend like a child, and her body shakes with the effort it takes to keep from doing so.
As though sensing her inner turmoil, Sayaka murmurs, “It’s okay, you can touch me. You can hug me. It’s okay, Mukuro. You’re alright.”
That’s all it takes for Mukuro to break, her arms curling around Sayaka’s waist as trembles wrack her body. She’s never been a noisy crier—she doesn’t want to punish the world with her awful, ugly sobs—but the tears that drip down her face are cathartic nonetheless. She buries her head in Sayaka’s shoulder, and Sayaka hushes her despite the quiet, one steady hand rubbing up and down her back, the other threading through her hair.
It’s remarkable, really, that someone so perfect and delicate and graceful as Sayaka can love someone like Mukuro, who has always felt too loud, too rough, too selfish. Sometimes it feels as though all she knows how to do is take, or if not take then hurt. Even now, she can still hear her sister’s voice echoing in the back of her skull, reminding her that any grace is given out of pity, that any kindness is undeserved and Mukuro only exists to be useful.
Sayaka has never thought so, though, and she’s been quite vocal that she believes the opposite. Mukuro doesn’t believe it all the time, but she’s always trusted Sayaka, even when Junko whispered in her ear that Sayaka—and everyone else—would only ever abandon her once they saw who she is.
But Junko is gone now, and Sayaka remains. Sayaka has seen every part of Mukuro, and she stays. She stays right now, holding Mukuro close like she’s worthy, like she isn’t taking too much just by being here.
“You’re not taking too much,” Sayaka murmurs. Mukuro lets out a choked laugh.
“Damn intuition.”
“Psychic powers is my preferred term, but you can call it whatever you’d like,” Sayaka tuts. Mukuro laughs again, but it’s less strangled this time. She turns her face out of Sayaka’s shirt so she can look up at meet her gaze. Sayaka is smiling at her, fonder than her last response would imply, her eyes crinkled at the edges with genuine warmth. When Sayaka sees Mukuro looking, she ducks her head and plants a kiss on her forehead. “You’re really beautiful, you know. Even when you’re crying.”
Oh. Mukuro feels her ears flush, and she lets out a quiet huff, turning back into Sayaka’s shirt. “Think so…?” It always gets to her when Sayaka says things like that… maybe more than it should. But Mukuro has never been beautiful—rarely felt beautiful, though she’s starting to feel that way more and more the more time she spends away from her sister. Sayaka says it all the time, as if it’s nothing but the truth, as if Sayaka herself isn’t the most beautiful person there is. “I kind of hear I’m an ugly crier…”
“Whoever told you that was lying,” Sayaka huffs. “Because I think you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. Even right now. Especially right now.”
“Okay, don’t make it weird,” Mukuro snorts. “I don’t want to hear you think I’m even prettier when I’m crying…”
“Hmmmm… okay. But only if you’re okay with me lying…”
“Sayaka!” Mukuro finds herself laughing once more. Sayaka is teasing her, she knows it. There’s no way she’d actually think something like that. But… well, what’s probably more embarrassing than the words themselves is the fact that it’s having the intended effect. Mukuro can feel the tremors easing, her breath slowly relaxing into a more steady in and out. The tension leaves her completely now, and she slumps into Sayaka, who pulls her in even closer against her chest.
Both of Sayaka’s hands sweep through Mukuro’s hair, meeting in the middle so they’re cupping the back of her skull. Then she tilts Mukuro’s head so they’re face to face again, a soft, affectionate smile on her face. It’s such a good mask, Mukuro only barely manages to catch the concern that still hides in her eyes.
To apologise for it, Mukuro leans in and pecks Sayaka on the lips, before she can initiate the kiss. Sayaka blinks, then offers a big, giddy smile.
“Look who has the good intuition now,” Sayaka teases. One of her hand moves to cup Mukuro’s jaw, and Mukuro straightens to the best of her ability, moving her own hands to hold Sayaka’s waist.
“Still you,” Mukuro insists, with a slight shake of her head. “I… I love you, Saya. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
Sayaka exhales, leaning their foreheads together and closing her eyes. “You’re never trouble for me, Mukuro. It’s not like I expect your past to vanish in a day… just like you didn’t expect that of mine.” Her thumb sweeps under Mukuro’s eye, catching a few lingering tears. “I want to be here for you, because you’re here for me, and because I love you too. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
She always makes it sound so simple. Junko had had a way of doing that too… but it always left Mukuro feeling stupid after Junko went on one of her spiels. Sayaka… never makes her feel stupid. Just loved. It’s a little more than Mukuro deserves, or a lot more, but she still can’t help but lean into that feeling, into Sayaka.
“Okay,” Mukuro whispers. She closes her eyes too, even though a part of her wants to keep looking. Sayaka is beautiful, after all. But she’ll still be here when Mukuro opens her eyes. “Thank you.”
They’re so close, Mukuro can feel Sayaka’s smile up against her lips. “That’s better.”
This time, when they kiss, it’s more than a peck. Sayaka rarely initiates deeper or longer kisses, and Mukuro accepts it; she knows Sayaka’s reasons, and even if she didn’t, she would never want to push too hard or force something. Still, whenever it happens, Mukuro can feel her heart drop to the bottom of her ribcage and beat wildly out of rhythm, all the blood entering her face, making her feel almost lightheaded.
The good kind of lightheaded, though. Mukuro leans in even closer, letting Sayaka steal the breath right from her lips, letting the sounds of her nightmare fade into the background, until all that remains is the present, and Mukuro feels somewhere near okay again.