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“Miki, your clothes are atrocious.”
It’s the opposite of a normal Saturday evening for one Mikan Tsumiki. A normal Saturday evening would likely be spent holed up in the Nurses’ Office, going through the various medications and medicines, organizing in a variety of different ways until she found the one she liked best, intentionally avoiding a certain member of the student body who is technically considered one of her friends but who often has a lot of not nice things to say to and about her. (To be fair, Mikan hasn’t told her to stop, and she vastly prefers that to being ignored, but the Nurses’ Office is more than a bit of a safe space for her to hide out, and after a week of having to be around people and feel their disdain for her, staying there – even alone – is calming. She really shouldn’t be there over the weekend, but it helps prepare her for the rest of the week. Besides, it’s important to be ready for anything that might happen, so making sure she’s well stocked is important. That’s what she tells herself, anyway.)
But Junko Enoshima—
That’s a whole sentence in and of itself, Mikan is quickly learning. She doesn’t even have to finish it. When one of the teachers asked her why she was late to the Nurses’ Office this week, she only had to mention Junko, and they understood. She could use it with her classmates, too; it was like a spell – mention Junko, and suddenly everything is not only fine, it is forgiven.
Junko’s never really spent time with Mikan over the weekend before. Not because she doesn’t love her, or anything; it’s just that most of Junko’s interviews happen over the weekend, so she’s often gone. They don’t get a lot of time together during the week either, but that’s because of classes and…and other things.
(Mikan does not know about the other girl. She suspects that Junko is with someone else, someone from her class, but she’ll never ask. She would rather not know. She’s afraid of what that would say about Junko; she’s afraid of how Junko will react if she asks. It’s better not to say anything; it’s better not to ask; it’s better not to know. She can’t afford to lose her.
She won’t.)
Junko has a free weekend. No magazines, no photo shoots, no interviews. (No other girl taking up her time.) So she’s here, with Mikan, in Mikan’s room.
Which isn’t weird, exactly, but Mikan knows Junko would rather spend time with a movie or something on in the background, and she doesn’t have a television – at least, she doesn’t have a fancy one like she knows Junko would prefer – but Junko’s….
Junko’s still here.
With her.
In her room.
And not anywhere else.
Mikan blushes at the thought.
…even if Junko is tearing her wardrobe to shreds.
Literally.
“J-J-Junko-chan, those are my…my c-c-clothes—”
Junko pauses, holds out a shirt that Mikan doesn’t even like, and then reads the clothes tag. She scowls. “This says extra extra small, Miki. You’re not an extra extra small. You’re not even an extra small. Why do you have this? Does it even fit?”
“N-n-no.” Mikan’s gaze shifts away from the shirt in question, which Junko tosses into a pile with most of Mikan’s other clothes. “But it doesn’t…it doesn’t not fit?”
“Oh, yeah?” Junko tugs the shirt back out of the pile and throws it to her. “Put it on, then.”
“?????” Mikan stares at the shirt. “Y-y-you w-w-want me t-t-t-to—” She flushes a bright, bright red. “I-I-I’d have to…have to—”
Junko sighs. She steps forward and sets the too small shirt on Mikan’s bed. “I’ll close my eyes,” she murmurs. Then she reaches over, runs her fingers up Mikan’s arm, and suppresses a grin. “Unless you want me to look.”
Thirty Minutes Later.
“What do you mean ‘it doesn’t not fit?’ Miki, that thing is as good as a bra! I can see your whole stomach!” Junko runs her fingers along Mikan’s sides, tracing the edges of the scars she finds there. She doesn’t flinch away from them – doesn’t flinch away from her – although her gaze clearly softens when she sees them.
(This is why it took so long – not because Mikan didn’t mind Junko seeing, but because she was afraid what the scars all along her back would say. Of what Junko would do, seeing them.)
Mikan’s gaze drifts. “Small is…is better than…than big,” she mutters.
Junko just shakes her head. “If this was bigger, I could make it fit you. I can’t fix small.”
Mikan still doesn’t look up. “Big is too much like…like….” She hesitates. Takes a deep breath. “B-b-boys like it when…when you’re in their clothes. They…th-th-they th-th-think it’s…it’s sexy. B-b-but their clothes are always…are always so b-b-big.” She brushes her fingers through her hair, tucks it back and away, tries not to think about how uneven it is. “When I wear clothes that are…that are too big, then I feel like…I feel like—”
“You don’t have to say it.”
Junko takes Mikan’s hands and tugs her towards her. When Mikan stumbles forward, she neatly catches her. “Look, do you….” She makes a tsking noise and glances over to the pile of clothes she’s discarded on the floor. “Do you even like any of these?”
Mikan doesn’t even look at the clothes. She looks at Junko’s hands in hers. “Is this…is this really how y-y-you wanted to…to s-s-spend the weekend?”
There’s no hesitation when Junko answers, “No,” and equally no hesitation when she says, “But your wardrobe really is atrocious, Miki. I’m your girlfriend, and I’m the Ultimate Fashionista—”
“Y-y-you’re….” Mikan’s eyes widen in shock, and she looks up. “Y-y-you’re what?”
Junko stares at her. Blinks. “The Ultimate Fashionista.”
Mikan shakes her head. “N-n-no. B-b-before that. You…you said something before that.”
“About your wardrobe being absolute shit?”
Mikan’s gaze drops. “N-n-no.” She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and doesn’t try again. She must have…she must have just misheard.
But Junko leans forward, but Junko brushes her lips against Mikan’s cheek. “I’m your girlfriend,” she repeats, soft, and when Mikan looks up and meets her eyes, she continues, “and you ought to take advantage of that.”
Mikan flushes a bright red.
“So,” Junko says with a sigh, “we’re getting you new clothes, and I’m fixing them for you.” She pushes Mikan gently so that Mikan stumbles again, so that she falls back on her bed. “Now take your clothes off. I need to get your measurements.”
Mikan just swallows, nods, and obeys.