Archive of Our Own ^beta

A soldier knows not to sensationalise humanity as having more worth than a lump of meat. For Mukuro Ikusaba, the Super High School Level Soldier, this posed no threat upon her psyche - she had no attachment to the world, no attachment to her peers, and no concern for meager concepts like ‘hope’ or ‘despair’. They were concepts she had been destined to be haunted by; her twin could deduce that with her analytical prowess anyday.

Yet, she did not care.

She did not care for anything.

Mukuro Ikusaba could not bring herself to care for anything, anywhere, anyone…

So why had she dashed to catch a fainting Makoto Naegi on the other end of the hall?

The whole exchange blurred in her mind - perhaps influenced by the weight of the boy upon her back, whose erratic breaths and whines of pain tingled against her nape in increasing warmths - and yet she tried, so desperately, to piece together the scene. It was not the first time she had found herself protecting him. Like a damsel, he always seemed to attract danger and be wholly unable to get himself out of it. 

For example, closer to the origins of the ‘Parade’ outside which so jarringly pleaded a case of materialised equality every day, he found himself in the same environment as a Madarai brother. Ryoko—or, perhaps a more adept mind would dub her an amnesiac Junko—had encountered him by chance, by luck, and it just so happened that he ended up a part of Misshiki’s threat against her. Though technically the Madarai brothers were the Super High School Level Multiple Birth Siblings, their bodyguard status held an immense threat against a smaller girl like Mukuro, let alone a meek rabbit like Makoto. 

But she relied on people undermining her physique. Nobody believed a quiet, toned yet underweight and short teenage girl could massacre grown adults with the swipe of a hand. If asked on a good day, she’d appear quite cocky about her strength.

This, however, was not a good day. Perhaps the one day she’d been sent on her own mission, to simply blend in and obey academic protocol and try to get along with the classmates that quivered when she entered the room, and it so happened to be a day she got caught up in chaos. 

She had been walking through the hall to go to the bathroom, and outside the singular gender neutral bathroom on the floor, she noticed Makoto. A boy she knew to have tanned and smooth skin, paled like Celestia’s vampiric fantasies with the wide eyes of a fawn… her heart beckoned her to hide out of sight, to use those skills she so nurtured on the battlefield to keep an eye out. Briefly, she saw him clutching his ribs, just underneath his chest, trying to steady his breathing.

And then he collapsed.

She launched herself with a slide across the floor and narrowly clasped him in her lap before his head hit the ground. Shallow breaths indicated it was related to his lungs, and this had been supported by him clutching his ribs - Mukuro certainly was not a Super High School Level Nurse, but even she could deduce that. Being on the battlefield makes you a little more perceptive than the average search engine medic.

As she reached the infirmary door, she found herself stumped. A degree of haste motivated this trip, and considering his whines and groans of pain behind him, she’d feel as if she abandoned a dog on the street if she lowered him to the ground. 

Though, staring at a door handle didn’t open it either. With both of her hands clasping his thighs to keep his back as straight as one could manage, she shifted her weight between her legs and scrunched up her face. 

How was she meant to open the door without causing an already pained man disturbance? The answer emerged through the blessing of his talent - luck appeared to be on their side. With a click of the door handle, a student bowed their head. “Thank you for the-” Mukuro wasn’t sure if they had caught her eye first or if it were the other way around, but either way, she had not had enough time to swipe the scowl off of her face. “Wh… who…”

“I need to enter the infirmary,” she said, her cool composure wavering with every twinge of pain from Makoto’s lips. Of course, she knew how it looked - the soldier with the Fenrir tattoo and brooding face with one of the Super High School Level Luck students ragdolled upon her back would alarm anyone. However, she had presumed her presence in a place of aid would at least give her honour, if not reliability. 

Yet, the other student’s horror contorted their face into something that resembled an outstretched theatre mask. Though Mukuro had never been to the theatre, despite how she found herself at least intrigued by the crash-bang-wallop she always heard when passing rehearsals, she could at least presume that something so exaggerated and cartoonish had no place in a normal world. Especially as they replied with a hasty, “You… you killed him, didn’t you?”

“If Makoto was dead, you would never have seen him again,” she warned, her eyes overcast with a rehearsed taunt of despair, “now move.”

They moved. Specifically, they moved with a large side step and a dramatic squeal, like a door hinge. The actual door hinge blocked out their dramatics quite quickly.

She had never seen that student in her life, and she prayed that such an immature upperclassman would never appear again.

Approaching the bed closest to the window, she wove around lines of curtains and stray cables crawling across the floor. In their rows, the curtains resembled soldiers in their armies, preparing for battles with a salute and a resigned care for all else, even their own mortality. 

Familiarity made navigating Hope’s Peak’s uncertainty a little easier. She had never been attached to anything before, and she couldn’t let its warm hues and colourful characters compel her now.

With her affirmation already proven false by her actions, she reversed towards the bed in the corner of the room. Beside it lay a window that welcomed the dwindling morning sun, causing a kaleidoscope of white revealing a sun’s rays of iridescence against Makoto’s bed. No nurse had given her permission, but she had walked in the infirmary to get minor medications before and seen people checking themselves in, so she presumed it to be okay. By lowering Makoto’s backside onto the bed, she was able to rotate him gently atop its duvet. Consciousness waned upon his sheet-white skin, beyond his slightly ajar eyes.

They looked straight at her. Gentle, soothing eyes with every hue of the rainbow reflected in them, leaving space for Mukuro’s own reflection.

She shook her head and rushed for the book at the front of the room. Near the door lay a check-in system for those who disregarded social interaction, in which you could label a bed with a student and the time of entry/departure. Mukuro twirled the pen in her hands and wrote in clear writing:

Makoto Naegi, 78th Class | Bed 12 | 10:56am

Another student with eccentricity threaded into their attire and aesthetic approached her, their hand outstretched to request the pen, and Mukuro abided. She turned on her heel to return to Makoto’s side.

Had Junko overseen this, she would have berated her for not immediately leaving him for dead. He had already been considered a threat to their plans, what with his unpredictability and his unwavering optimism; perhaps she would forgive her swooping in to help, but only because of the despair he would have felt being abandoned with his pain as his only friend. Yet, something in her heart tugged her towards him - she repeated a mantra to herself that it was simply his weakness, that by getting close to him in such a vulnerable state she could dissect his psyche, she could finally satiate Junko’s need for her by providing information.

So, she swiped at his curtain, and tugged both shut. Closed in a small rectangular space were the Soldier and the Lucky Student - only the sun could serve as a witness of her racing heart, and she would put out its flame if it snitched. His breathing continued to scratch at his throat in short inhales and even shorter exhales, though he seemed to have the strength to open his eyes. “Mukuro…?”

Perched at the end of his bed, she bit back her smile and waved. Though she continued to tell herself otherwise, especially in the mirror at night, she had a small blossom of a crush on Makoto. It nagged at the corners of her lips like a tickling sensation and made her cautious about their physical closeness, as if she were just a normal teenage girl for the hour.

Makoto asked, “Where… am I?”

“You collapsed outside of the bathroom. I spotted you and brought you here because I was worried.”

“Ah…” his eyes seemed to tremble on behalf of his body, of which he struggled to even raise a hand to hide his face. Small, shrunken irises hosted a myriad of thoughts which Mukuro couldn’t even discern. “I’m so unlucky…” with a small chuckle, he looked away from Mukuro.

She did not take the hint of silence. “You were clutching your ribs before you collapsed. Have you injured yourself at all? I have a bit of medical knowledge, enough to check what’s wrong.” Her hands outstretched themselves, and as if she remembered herself, she retracted them back. Blush bloomed across her cheeks and she hid her face, mumbling, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course, because I’d need to sort out medical dressing and-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he smiled at her. That damned smile had caused all of this, it had caused her to have a weakness for the one classmate she’d been sworn away from, it made her risk disappointing Junko… and yet, she lapped it up as if she hadn’t seen the light in years, for his smile embraced her unthawing heart so kindly. “I’m just… worried…”

“Worried?” She tilted her head like a dog. “If you’re worried about me hurting you or having ulterior motives because of my talent, I promise you I won’t lay an ill-intended hand on you. You’re… my classmate,” the word tasted wrong in her mouth, a hint of mustiness amongst the saccharine nectar of ‘you’, “I should look out for you as I know you would for me.”

“No, no, of course I… I…” he clasped his chest and took a shakily deep breath, visibly tensing. Gritted teeth released broken oxygen, and he slurped up short breaths as if they were medication. “I… I know what this is, I’m just… I…”

“Would you like me to start taking off a layer or two? It might relieve the pressure on your body,” a thumb acknowledged a pile of spare button-up shirts or baggy robes for patients to wear. One could presume buttoned shirts were for patients with additional medical devices or mobility constraints due to injuries, and thus it suited the region of Makoto’s injury. Sheepishly, Makoto nodded. He waited for Mukuro to close the gap between them, wincing at the hand she positioned on his back with the weight of a feather to prepare for the strain of sitting up. Behind him, she perched with her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, her fingertips gingerly lining the edge of his blazer.

As she pulled it off of one arm, Makoto mumbled, “You can keep secrets, right?”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“I didn’t take you as the type to joke…”

She pulled the other arm off of him and folded it into a neat square to lay at the end of his bed, flipping to face him. “I’m not joking. It seems suspicious for you to ask me to keep a secret while I’m undressing you.”

“I-” the words formed in his head once more, and a sea of red flooded his face. “Oh man, I didn’t mean that !”

To that, Mukuro smirked. “I didn’t really think you did. You’re a good hearted man, but I have to be careful.” Her words floated light in the air, like dandelion seeds, and she wondered if Makoto’s breathing had become measured and careful to guarantee a wish. A hand reached forward to grab his zipper, and another shot forward to slap it away.

“Um… I can do this bit, can you… go back behind me…?”

“I mean, sure, but-”

“It’s related to the thing you can’t tell anyone. I…” wary eyes watched Mukuro return to sit behind Makoto. “I plan on telling everyone at my own pace, but Hope’s Peak’s been good at… helping me with it all… so I wanted to tell our class because I want to, not because… not because Hope’s Peak made me…”

As her ears twitched at the buzzing of a zipper, Mukuro’s head tilted once more. “What are you talking about?”

“Can you promise you won’t hate me or anything?”

“Makoto, you’re worrying me,” ultimately, the two were strangers. Yet he spoke with a strained vulnerability - a fear , as if this secret terrified him. The way he worded it, it risked everyone’s view of him permanently changing, and he had yet to discover the strength to reveal it. It seemed uncharacteristic. Makoto Naegi was trusting. An open book who held nothing but happiness in his heart. Most classmates would call him simple-minded or too honest for his own good, but Mukuro had always been fascinated by his genuine character, partially because Junko despised it so much. 

For his breath to quiver so greatly as he turned to a classmate who had always held others at arm’s length… it made Mukuro’s heart ache, as if an immense weight had fallen upon it. Not hope nor despair, but love and anguish; Junko would be disappointed in her, and yet a part of her wanted to know his secret and protect it solely for her despair. “I just… I have to be… to be wary, you know?”

“Makoto, whatever it is, I won’t judge you.”

“Thank you…” he lowered his hoodie with another whine. Beneath the shell he always wrapped himself within laid two more layers - a white and baggy shirt atop what looked like a black tank top. With his head lowered, he tried to raise his hands behind his head to tug his shirt off that way; elbows barely raised from his side before he hissed and had to admit defeat.

Noticing how his body trembled, Mukuro gently traced her bare hands against the back of his shirt. Unlike Kyoko Kirigiri, she held no obligation to cover her hands, and yet the stares that the tattoo (which literally had her enrolled) on her right hand received made her cover them anyway. Her hand traced down and she grabbed the base of his shirt, mumbling, “I’m taking it off now to check the injury, is that okay?” Receiving a small nod, she raised it above his head.

There lay Makoto’s secret, and the puzzle pieces connected in Mukuro’s mind within seconds; a binder enveloped around raw red marks on his shoulders and ribs. Trans people in militant positions, although advised against, were not unheard of - for trans women, it was often utilised as a last resort for enforced masculinity, and for trans men it would either be a choice of affirmation or desperation for medical protection. To physically transition meant laying up thousands of yen to private doctors specialising in the field, and at least in Japan, there were few if none at all. Thailand promised growth, and while Mukuro served in Southeast Asia, she would often sit and eat with peers who cheered for Thailand’s increased progression for it promised them a chance to finally live their truth.

However, socially transitioning was different, especially if you lacked the means of surgery or hormone replacement therapy. If you could pass well enough - cut or grow your hair, change your attire, do some voice training on the side - then you would be forced to hold a truth that could be so cruelly weaponised to your heart out of fear of another’s response. Mukuro had an affection for mystery stories, and even she knew it was no mystery that anybody identifying as trans navigated every environment with a sense of danger and fear of discovery and therefore violence .

Instinctively, she hooked her hands so her knuckles grazed Makoto’s back, and he shivered. “Your hands are cold,” with a laugh, he tried to turn and face her. Shame tickled at his ears dipped in the same shade of his heart, and he kept facing his lap. “I mean… cold hands, warm heart, hey?”

“Then are your hands cold too?” Half of the binder had been folded over, revealing a thick indent upon the skin where it had lay. The spots and moles upon his soft back seemed to flee from the raw redness of the mark; to respect whichever angel had so gently placed those beauty marks upon him, she shook her head to rid it of any thoughts of kisses or touches. She pushed her palm against his back to beckon his attention. “By the way, I know it’s going to hurt, but you’re going to have to raise your arms for two seconds for me.”

“Since you wanted… you wanted to test if my hands were cold… why don’t you raise them for me?” Considering the intonation of his bouncing voice, it became clear to Mukuro that the attempted flirting had flown over his head like a wrench which he could slip and fall to dodge. A small sigh rattled against her chest as she grabbed both of them - they were warm, so perhaps the saying had its exceptions. “Don’t tug on m-” Her heart racing with the vigour of a thousand stampedes, Mukuro didn’t hear his words but still abided by his wishes. She raised his hands quickly enough to lower her own and tug the binder over his head - though his teeth audibly grinded and his fists clenched due to the self-inflicted pain, it flew over his head and freed his lungs from its constraints. 

For the first time that day, Makoto heaved a deep breath which did not seem to pain him so much, and Mukuro’s lips curled up towards her eyes. “You already seem to be breathing a little better.”

“Well, my chest not being strangled does me a favour…” he held a firm hand over his chest. “Can you, um… move back to the end of the bed, but maybe while not looking?”

“No worries.”

To face him again was to see the boy that had once been a classmate she only admired from afar become a friend. He whipped the duvet over himself and laid down in his little cocoon as every muscle in his face softened. To stop herself from staring, Mukuro reached over to fold the rest of his clothes; being the sister of the claimed ‘Super High School Level Fashionista’ made her somewhat aware of cosmetics, but only in the same vein as her continuously fluctuating interests. Mukuro would often be left to organise Junko’s space or to clean, for she was so ‘smelly’ and ‘dirty’ that it wouldn’t phase her the way it would a fashionista, and thus she believed herself to be quite skilled in the art of folding clothes. 

A small tune hummed itself at the back of her throat, and as Makoto folded his arms over the duvet, he chuckled. “That’s Sayaka’s song, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Warmth prickled at her cheeks. “N… no, I just…”

“We’re in the same class as the Super High School Level Idol, it’s nothing to be embarrassed of if her songs get stuck in your head!” His eyes, although droopy from the exhausting nature of pain, remained kind and welcoming. “I just thought it was sweet, because I didn’t take you as the kind of person to pay attention to those things.”

“Those things…?” So many things popped into Mukuro's mind. He could have been inferring traditional femininity, traditional life as a student, generally just being human and not a sack of heaping, stinking, breathing meat…

“Cute things!” His laugh was hoarse but honest; it made the rest of Mukuro’s body prickle with rising heat. In her hands lay his shirt, and as her throat clamped up and her chest lowered its cages, she raised the shirt over her face so he couldn’t see how red it was anymore. To that, he laughed a little more, only for it to turn into coughing and moaning with hands rushing for his ribs.

Right, he had injured himself. Still behind his shirt, Mukuro asked, “Would you like me to check your injury?”

“No!” His reply escaped his dry lips a little too soon. Hoarse throat cleared once again, he mumbled, “I… at least wanna put on one of those shirts before you do anything, it’s embarrassing…”

“Ah…” though Mukuro held no hesitations about supporting Makoto regardless of anatomy, she had forgotten in her own calm state how immense of a bombshell this was for her peer. To her, she had no wish to question him - if Makoto said he was a man, he was a man, and his anatomy, appearance or genetics did not change his reality. To him, this was a reality of which he worried immensely, and he likely only yielded to Mukuro’s request due to his state hinging upon permanent damage. So, she sought an opening in the form of an infirmary clock. It chimed for lunch, and she tried her best to give him a sweet smile (though it stretched upon her confused face in a grimace). “Shall I go get us lunch? You need to regain your energy, especially as you fainted.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea!” Hands clasped together, he tilted his head to show his teeth-baring smile from the pillow. “I think our upperclassman, the Super High School Level Cook, is handling lunch today, and I wanted to try one of his curries… could I maybe get that?”

“I suppose I can’t say no to a sick man,” she got up from the edge of the bed, placing the binder beneath the clothing pile in a silent solidarity. “Don’t move too much, and ring the bell there so the nurse can dress you. You said Hope’s Peak is aware of your circumstance, so I’m sure there’ll be no prejudice… but if there is,” a pocket knife clicked ahead of her shadowed face, reflecting the flame of the sky in its wake, “I will handle it.”

“I promise I’ll be okay!” Makoto practically cried, only avoiding a salute due to his state.

As the curtain shut behind Mukuro, she took a moment to clasp her hands over her mouth and steady herself. Breathing erratic and warm, heart fluttering and thawed, legs weak and mind even weaker… when her feelings for Makoto had been but a hallway crush, she could ignore it. Entertaining traditional ‘schoolgirl fantasies’—as Toko Fukawa almost always got ridiculed for—had been something she forbade herself from, for attachment would prohibit the effectiveness of despair’s plan. A reminder lay in conflict against a heart rustling with newfound hope that if Junko ordered it, Mukuro would have to slit Makoto’s neck or impale him with a thousand spheres - yet, a ‘what if’ concept nagged at her brain, where she could either defy Junko to protect her peers or beg her to protect Makoto and spare his life.

Neither would be accepted, of course: Junko’s form of love was agonising despair. She had stabbed Yasuke Matsuda for that very reason, and so Mukuro could only rely on her feelings of weakness being exploited so she could give Junko the despair which she so craved.

Lingering on this, that and the other wouldn’t make navigating this situation any easier. She just had to leave the infirmary and head towards the cafeteria.

And, yeah, she could do that.

As the infirmary door clicked behind her, she looked up to scan the hallway. Every so often, her skin would prickle with a fear that Junko was watching. Waiting. Hunting her down to kill her for disobedience. Normally, such a fear would make her feverish, but today seemed different. It genuinely pricked at her heart like a needle, and she shivered at the thought. 

However, she could still sense eyes on her. Eyes that bore into the soul, a pair with a layer of ice over their already lightless depths. She knew these eyes well; they often popped up when she least wanted them to. Measured and calm, she clenched her fist to avoid spitting venom as she stated, “Kyoko Kirigiri, I know you’re watching me.”

“Hello, Mukuro,” the Super High School Level Detective approached her with a gloved hand over her mouth and what looked like a stifled smile. “I promise I’m not here with my usual investigative lens, so you needn’t tense up so much.”

“What are you investigating, then?” Spit threw from her mouth with a gunk of anger attached. Kyoko always got Mukuro’s nerves on edge due to her perceptiveness - if she could read Mukuro’s slip ups as the ‘stupid’ twin, Junko’s plan would collapse. Although that would make Junko despair and thus satisfy her, they—no, wait, she, for Mukuro had simply agreed to tag along to an existing concept—had spent so long setting everything up. Above anything else, Mukuro had never been a fan of wasting time or effort. For a soldier, every moment counts. All it would take is one second of weakness and a bullet could ricochet against every edge of your skull.

“Have you seen Makoto?” Mukuro flinched at the mention of his name. “Sayaka asked me to help her look, and an upperclassman mentioned she saw a ‘scary woman’ holding an ‘unconscious boy’. My intuition leads me to believe that it was you and him, because you’re the only two to have not attended class.” Had Junko shown up today instead? Had Mukuro been caught as a skiver? Would she be beaten and yelled at for not sticking to their agreement? “Well, apart from your sister, but she comes and goes when she pleases.” 

Mukuro visibly released a tensed breath from her lungs, and her shoulders lowered themselves slightly. “He’s in the infirmary.”

“Can we see him? Sayaka’s genuinely worried, and I must admit, hearing that he was unconscious made me a little concerned as well.”

“I…” Mukuro reflected on the circumstances. Makoto’s secret—the one which she had already promised herself to never reveal, even if Junko held a gun to her head—was something which he didn’t feel ready to reveal to the class. Though Mukuro had not assessed the injury, it seemed to be compressed ribs causing lung strain due to his binder being a size too small. Treatable, and yet it would make the injury more visible due to a nurse likely advising him against chest binding for at least a month if not on a larger or permanent scale… he probably would not want Mukuro inviting all of the 78th Class to come visit him, because at least one person would run their mouth. “I don’t think he’s open to guests. I’m only with him because I discovered him.”

“Have you asked him if he would want guests?” Kyoko tilted her head, her raised brow striking Mukuro as peculiar. Naturally, Kyoko had probably already guessed Makoto’s truth - she knew too much about everyone, and no one knew anything about her. But, she also had the visible sense to not run her mouth or tell him she knew, because that autonomy within the reveal was important to him or any other trans person.

“Well, I haven’t, but…” she sighed. “I was going to get him and I some lunch, because he needs to get his energy up. Shall we see if we run into Sayaka on the way?”

“Oh?” Kyoko reached Mukuro’s side, ushering her forward. “It’s rare for you to invite other students with you or request their presence.”

“Is that a dig or an observation?”

“I’m just observing.”

“Well, I thought… Everyone likes Makoto, and everyone worries about him, so it’s natural his closest friends would want to see him… so I’ll bring you both to the infirmary and I’ll ask him directly if he’s alright with seeing you both.” Courtesy stuck to the edges of her mouth with its unfamiliar texture, and yet she swallowed it down with no falsity; she genuinely wanted to do this, for Makoto’s sake, even if it felt as if friendship could make her break out in hives. To walk side by side with a peer like Kyoko wasn’t too bad, though. From afar, Mukuro had always observed her class, and she kept distance out of her own choice; she knew it would make obeying Junko harder, despite her loyalty remaining undying. 

Well, if one were to ask the detective in the room to observe Mukuro’s loyalty, she may have cited this very encounter with Makoto as the beginning of the concept of it being ‘undying’ wavering and dwindling. Yet, that was not the concern of Mukuro’s peer, and for her own sake she prayed it never became as such. “Does everyone include you?”

“You ask leading questions that I’m sure you can already answer, detective,” at the sight of a blue blur, Mukuro sped ahead. She knew that tone too well - it was hard to not know it when you were in the same class as a major celebrity.

“Um, excuse me, have any of you seen Makoto Naegi…? He’s about this tall, brown hair, he always wears a green hoodie… he’s not missing, I’m just worried, and-” promoting her classmate like he was on a missing poster made Sayaka oblivious to Mukuro perched right behind her. She raised her hand to tap the idol’s shoulder but nearly whacked her in the face; a fitting payback for having most of Sayaka’s hair graze her eyes. “Eek!”

“Hello.”

“M… Mukuro? Where have you been?”

“Infirmary,” Mukuro pointed her thumb behind her, towards Kyoko. “She found me, and I’ve been told you’re looking for Makoto.”

“I have! I was meant to help him with something after classes, but…” as she retraced the promise, she slapped her hands to her mouth as if her mind had only just processed the previous words. “Wait, the infirmary ?! Is he okay?”

“It’s… a long story, but I’m on the way to get his lunch right now,” with a small smile twinging at the corner of her lips, Mukuro tried so hard to mirror that award-winning smile facing her. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes! I’m gonna get him a tiny hamper of sweets so he can recover quickly!”

All Mukuro could think as she walked was how nothing had gone to plan that day. Behind her lay the idle chit-chat of an idol and detective, so different and yet so close. Following Junko’s orders, Mukuro had tried her best to discern the relationships of the 78th Class in order to have weapons to utilise even in the case of memory loss - Junko feared that despite memory loss, the same characters would gravitate together and thus risk endangering her desired despair with their mutual hope. There were little groups, like Mondo, Chihiro and Kiyotaka. Initially Sayaka and Makoto gravitated together due to shared history, but upon continued pestering, Kyoko joined their little ragtag gang of friends. 

Once, Junko had made an off comment that Makoto was a disgusting, conniving ‘ladies man’ who only cared for women so he could develop a twisted harem, and even in the past Mukuro had defended him by saying he was honest and genuine enough that he could make even the ice-cold Kyoko soften. That day Mukuro had been slapped so hard she believed her wisdom teeth popped out early.

Then there were odd duos, like Hifumi and Taeko—or Celestia, if you valued your head upon your torso—and more concerning connections like Toko or Syo both desiring the aloof Byakuya. Aoi and Sakura were dating in a way which they had told nobody and yet everyone had just figured it out, and nobody had any issues with it. Thus left Leon and Yasuhiro, who seemed to either float around other friendship ‘groups’ or hang out with each other.

Junko and Mukuro had each other, and that was enough. That had always been enough. That had… always…

“Hey, Mukuro, what are you thinking of getting for your lunch?” It was a simple question, and yet it seemed that Sayaka’s jests of psychic intuition served her well - Mukuro had wanted to bridge the gap and at least try this whole friendship thing. “I’ve heard Teruteru Hanamura serves some really nice food…”

“He also serves some terrible innuendoes,” Kyoko warned, “Mukuro and I can handle him when we get to being served.”

“Ah, right, I’d heard rumours about him being a massive pervert…”

“Rumours?” Mukuro raised her brow. “I’ve seen him carrying around one of your magazines, we need to keep you away .”

“Aww, you guys are protecting me…” she faked the act of fanning herself, and then held up two slightly toned arms, “but I can protect myself, and I wanna look out for my friend!”

“Makoto wanted curry, so I was going to get him curry,” the mention of Makoto reminded her of the original question being asked, and so she spun the point back. “I’ll likely get the same.”

With a laugh, Sayaka said, “Sounds like him alright!” Large steps helped her reach Mukuro’s side, and as they breezed into the cafeteria, she asked the damning question. “So, why’s he in the infirmary? What’s he done this time?”

“...you can ask him yourself, but I’m not sure if he’ll answer.” 

To that, Sayaka chuckled. “Ahhh, okay, I think I’ve got an idea now…” as she took a side step towards the confectionary section, of which there were little trays of sweets and chocolates to purchase in a deal of two-for-one, she held her hand near her mouth and whispered, “you forget I’ve known that boy for years, I know exactly what he’s like.” Mukuro raised a hand to protest, but Sayaka winked and twirled on her heel to rush away. 

“What was that?”

“I… don’t know,” Mukuro lied. She could have pursued Sayaka and grabbed her by the collar to question what she knew, but… the overwhelming sensation of sugar creeping along her every sense made the lining of her throat salivate to deter bile, and she didn’t wish to gamble with the art of sickness. “If I get two takeaway meals, can I ask you to carry one? I’m wary I might drop something.”

“Of course.”

As everybody paid and collected their food, they retraced their steps. Mukuro felt lighter as she listened to Kyoko and Sayaka bicker about this and that. It began as Kyoko mentioned that Sayaka was eating one of the chocolates, and then it snowballed into a fierce debate about the ethics of the idol industry, yet somehow it remained lighthearted. Despite their clashing personalities, the girls worked well together for that very reason: they could discuss anything and remain calm and happy.

For a moment, Mukuro wanted to compare it to her and Junko. Even a fool would know that would just be a misunderstanding. Their relationship, founded upon abuse and dependence and despair , would never have a moment like this in which they just bantered and discussed whatever came to mind. 

Maybe that was more tolerable. Mukuro wouldn’t know what to do if Junko loved her like a normal sister - if she had genuinity to her tone, she’d know that was it. She would be getting cut off with nothing to do but stare into her sister’s face and watch it vanish.

As they arrived outside of the infirmary door once more, heaviness overcame Mukuro’s being. Glued to the floor, she could do nothing but stare at the ground and pray a grave would open to throw her heart into. She had pondered too much ever since letting her guard down enough to protect Makoto, and now doubt nibbled at the corner of her brain like worms.

Fortunately, Sayaka did not notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. Either way, the door flung itself open, and she welcomed herself and Kyoko in with bowed heads. Mukuro squeezed her takeaway box and followed their lead, thanking Sayaka for holding the door open.

Kyoko’s eyes flashed towards the check-in book, and she mumbled, “Bed 12.”

“Oh, that’s right near the window!”

“I thought he would like the view.”

The three girls all weaved around the infirmary. Busier due to the lunch rush, Mukuro’s ears seemed to ring in tune with the beeping machines, though they also seemed to blur out the background chatter which hovered like white noise. So many people glanced over at her with wary eyes. Visions of blacked out eyes with censor bars and scribbles clouded her shaking vision - any distinctive features of those around her were the last of her worries, for she wished to just ignore everyone’s glances and pursue her classmates. Her friends. 

They were probably gathering everyone’s attention, not her. 

Not her and her tattoo and her secrets and her more beautiful and sociable sister. 

Definitely not.

“Makoto, are you alright with a few extra visitors?” Sayaka cooed, “I brought some sweet bits!”

“Yes, of course! Is Mukuro with you?” Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name from his soft lips. Not that she’d paid enough attention to his lips to make a note of how soft they looked. She simply guessed from how clear his voice sounded compared to before (albeit still hoarse, which she presumed was due to being treated and given medication), totally. 

“Yep, she’s got your lunch!” On cue, Mukuro peeked through the curtain; Makoto’s face lit up with a thousand stars and she had to hold her fluttering heart back from making her sprint away. “I’m coming through as well!” The other girls stepped in, hovering over Makoto’s bed as Mukuro perched herself on the end once more. 

“Hello, Sayaka! Kyoko too, I see!” He had sat up and changed his dressing to one of the button up shirts - notably, it was a size up from what he would typically wear, and Mukuro could see slight bandaging running beneath his bare chest through the gaps of the shirt. He hadn’t put his binder back on out of rebellion, and in response to that, Mukuro sighed in relief. As she handed him his lunch, he beamed at her. The sun must have been shining through the window to watch him in envy. 

“You didn’t show up to class, and I thought that was really weird… I mean, ever since middle school, you were always one of the top students for attendance - I don’t think you ever missed anything!” Animated as ever, her hands flew across the room with vigour that didn’t seem rehearsed. This Sayaka was genuine, as Makoto and Kyoko’s friend, rather than the Super High School Level Idol.

“Well, apart from one week I had a really bad flu, because Komaru caught it off of her classmate and gave it to me…” he scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. It seemed he still couldn’t raise his arms much, but that was to be expected given the location of his strain. “How are you both doing though? It’s kind of you to worry about me…”

“We’re well,” Kyoko handed Mukuro her lunch and crossed her arms. “How long will you be recovering, do you know?” Punctual as ever with her points and her stern tone; strangely, however, she seemed sterner with Makoto. Concern and affection, perhaps?

“The nurse said I need to be in here for at least a few more days… It’s just a minor injury. Thankfully, she said I was lucky as most people who do what I did would have permanent damage…” that made Mukuro shoot him a glare, though it emerged more the glance of a scorned puppy. He waved over to her and softened his tone, “I won’t do it again though! I’m not trying my luck twice…”

“Good.”

“Thank goodness…!” With her hand upon her heart, Sayaka lowered her head enough to remember her other aim. “Oh, I have a gift! I forgot to give it to you the moment I came in, but this is mine and the rest of the class’ get well soon gift!”

Sure enough, she had stuck to her word, perhaps with some bribery involved - the small wooden basket contained a thin layer of tissue paper that cushioned a myriad of sugary concoctions, whether chocolate or sweets or pastries. Sayaka seemed to have considered what the other members of the class would have offered: donuts, a little box of milk tea mixes, even buttery pastries… though the 78th class didn’t have a representative like, say, 77-B infamously did, Sayaka made it work.

His eyes contained every possible constellation and his cheeks rosied like a floral bush, and Mukuro found herself gawking. She couldn’t help it; hope flowed through his body in the form of gratitude and joy, and it was a compelling sight even for a Super High School Level Despair to behold. After all, she had never been captivated by the concepts, only the people. Could it really surprise anyone that she fell for Junko’s foil? “Thank you, Sayaka…! Tell everyone I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Of course! In the meantime though…” she pointed a finger towards Mukuro, who remained oblivious. “Mukuro!” A dog’s yelp escaped her lips. “Are you going to be staying with Makoto? I’m worried if he has no one to keep an eye on him, he might overexert himself and have to stay for even longer…”

“Sayaka, I’m not that bad…”

“Makoto, I feel like everyday I see you walk in with a new injury or worry because you overdid it with your helpfulness or kindness,” Kyoko interjected. “I think it’s best if Mukuro at least pops in once a day to keep an eye on you and keep you fed and watered.”

“What, like he’s a plant?”

“No, Sayaka, it’s a figure of speech.”

“Whoops…” she laughed to herself and then hooked her arm around Kyoko’s. The other girl did not stir beyond a slight twitch of the corner of her lips - unfortunately, Mukuro had spotted it. “Anyways, we’ll leave you two to eat! Enjoy!”

“Bye bye!”

“Bye.”

Silence befell the infirmary as the lunch rush dissipated, and Mukuro and Makoto sat to eat their curries in its embrace. As they ate, Mukuro kept shooting sheepish glances in Makoto’s direction; he looked comfortable, content, and yet she couldn’t help but have so many questions upon the tip of her tongue.

The first fell out: “What was your injury?”

Makoto lowered his utensils and placed a shaking hand just beneath one side of his chest. “Compression injury against the ribs, namely here. It made it hard to breathe, because, well… ribs are near lungs, I guess…?”

“We should call you the Super High School Level Biologist.”

“Hah, I didn’t think you were capable of sarcasm either!” As he picked up his utensils to eat again, a chunk of food dropped down his shirt. He and Mukuro chuckled at the unfortunate timing, their trigger happy hearts meeting a mutually affirmed rhythm.

As he reached to pick it out and put it in the bin, Mukuro asked her second question. They had formed a queue at the front of her mind and she could not rest until she had them answered, even if she seemed interrogatory. “Are you allowed to bind or are you forbidden for a while?”

“I’m… the nurse said to not do it for at least a month, but…” cautious, shaking eyes darted between the door beyond the curtain and the girl in front of him. “No matter how much I layer up, I’m worried someone would say something and then I’d have the chance to say it myself taken away from me. It’s happened to me before, so I don’t want to risk it again… especially because I kind of already am the different one-”

“Don’t say that,” Mukuro clenched her fists, “you are… the heart of our class, not one of us think of you as different in a bad way.” Though heat raised itself up her body like a warning sign, she continued, “Sayaka, Kyoko, all of us really care about you. Take your time with telling everyone else, but I know they’d be accepting.”

To that, Makoto’s face softened. “You’re very kind, Mukuro.”

“Kind?”

“You have a good heart, I think,” he placed his empty takeaway tray to the side and unravelled a packet of chocolate buttons, offering the first handful to Mukuro. She took one and placed it upon her tongue like a pill, frowning slightly at the sugar before clenching her eyes shut and gulping it down. Makoto shoved the rest in his mouth and covered it as he swallowed, “I mean, you’re always thinking of your twin, right?”

“Well… I have to,” her eyes grew overcast and heavy, a familiar static creeping through her head like an omen. She would be punished if she said too much. Overfamiliarity would be her grave; she had been warned by herself and by Junko. Yet, Makoto offered a serenity to her life which she so desperately wanted to reach forth and indulge, risking danger if it meant the satisfaction of the end of a rainbow. “It was always just me and her, and she’s… way more than I could ever be.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t mean it badly, I just mean… she…” her face began to prickle with the beginnings of a fever, and for once, it made her heart sink. “She’s a louder, more confident, brighter personality than I could ever be. She attracts people like moths to a flame, and as the older twin, I kind of have to lurk in the shadows to protect her, right…?”

“Hmm…” with an offering of more chocolate, Makoto placed his hand on his chin. “I think… I don’t know if I get you. I mean, I’m in a similar position, because of my younger sister. I was accepted to Hope’s Peak by chance, and everyone worried that she’d never be her own person, just… ‘ the younger sister of Makoto Naegi, who went to Hope’s Peak ’, you know?” Mukuro nodded; she had always been the older twin of Junko Enoshima, the harbinger of despair. Her lackey, her victim, her weapon. For the longest time, she had convinced herself that being just Junko’s tool - her plot device to fulfill a despairful twist if so needed - was the only fate she needed. 

Being with Makoto messed with her brain, it made her wonder if she could be something more. “Your sister is the Komaru you mentioned, right?”

“Yes!” Upon the table went the hamper as he reached a hand forward. Palm outstretched, he beckoned Mukuro’s hand towards his, and though it made her whole arm tingle she obliged with her fingertips upon his palm. “She’s… she makes me really proud, and I think going to Hope’s Peak and carrying the pride of my family just makes me want to see them achieve their dreams even more. I want them to achieve not despite but because of my presence here, and I wouldn’t want any of them to feel… dimmed or cast to the shadows to make me shine brighter, you know?”

“What is Komaru’s dream?” The tip of her tongue held a follow up question: what is my own dream ?

“She’s very tightlipped about it, but… between you and me, I know she loves shoujo manga, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she pursued that!”

“I’m sure you could get Toko or even Hifumi to help her with that - networking, I guess?”

“Toko, yes, Hifumi… maybe not so much…” a small laugh laced in caution and hesitation left his lips, and Mukuro joined in with his wincing. Hifumi spoke too much of… questionable tropes… and though he possessed firmness in every statement that he only cared for 2D, he had also called the Super High School Level Traditional Dancer from 78-B a ‘legal lolita’ and chased her with questions about that status. She could understand every hesitancy in an older brother entrusting him with his younger sister. “Though, that does make me think… What's your dream?”

“Huh?” For a class with clairvoyants, psychic idols, an analytical prowess and a highly perceptive detective from an honoured lineage, it seemed the Lucky Student had the greatest ability to read Mukuro’s mind.

In a sense, she had no dream - it was simply to serve Junko. If Junko were happy, she would be as well, vicariously succeeding through the despair and agony that Junko reaped across Japan and the wider world. She had lost her family for years and returned to an embrace of abuse, harassment and mistreatment, and yet its scalding heat was the only warmth she wished for her future.

Until Makoto had asked her otherwise. This was why she had been warned about him - she knew that, she had repeated that to herself time and time again, and yet she still saved him. She still protected him. She still undressed him when injured with nothing but concern motivating her hands. She still protected his secret. She still…

She… still…

She just wanted to answer him. Give him something in return for the way he had so opened her eyes to a possibility for change, for companionship and growth.

“Ah, I’m sorry if that was a heavy question!” Makoto waved his hands and tried to laugh it off. “I just… I was thinking that I only know you as the Super High School Level Soldier, or as Junko Enoshima’s twin sister… but I don’t really know ‘Mukuro Ikusaba’, if you get me?”

Franticity pleaded against the clouds of hopeful clarity reaching Mukuro’s vision. “But we’re friends, aren’t we?” To prove Makoto wrong was less about downtreading upon him but instead to not be entertained by his words - she simply could not run the risk of him weakening her despairful resolve.

With a smile, his bombardment of hope and kindness upon her easily swayed psyche happened again. “Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’d like to know you better!”

“But… I don’t… I don’t think I have a dream, you know…”

“That’s okay! I’m not sure what I want to do with my life either, you know,” he reached for her fingertips and squeezed them one by one. That tugged at her heartstrings greater than his words ever could; not only was he tender, careful, loving with every embrace, but he actually recalled the physical boundaries she put in place and would stick to them to offer greater affection. “Buuut, I do want to at least know more about you… so maybe think about it and give me something small before I’m out of the infirmary, okay? That’s my assignment for you!”

“You’re like a teacher…” Though her brow scrunched itself up, the corners of her eyes wrinkled as if a smile were her permanent state. Perhaps it was around Makoto.

“I did used to get told I’d be a good teacher…” he raised his hand to his chin and chuckled, stroking it dramatically. “But! I’m serious, I wanna know more about Mukuro . Not you as a soldier or a twin. Just you, as Muku-”

The curtain squealed in shock. Both Mukuro and Makoto whipped their heads around to follow the sound, and there stood their upperclassman - the Super High School Level Nurse, Mikan Tsumiki.

“U… um…” tears already stung at the corner of her eyes, and before her quivering lips could finish her sentence, she began to babble like a baby. “I’m soooorrryyyy! I… I didn’t mean to interrupt… I…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay-”

“Forgive meeee!” As soon as the curtain had been drawn, it concealed the two from the rest of the world again, leaving nothing but the pitter-patter of wary soles against the floor. 

And a crash.

And a high pitched whine.

And at least two deep voices cheering as if they’d been to a sport’s game.

“I… think that was her best attempt at telling me visiting time is over…”

“Yeah… Do you think she’ll be okay?” Makoto winced at every follow up crash and bang that the curtain so thankfully protected them from. 

With the night finding itself in her eyes, Mukuro reassured him: “I’ll check on her.”

“Okay…!” She sat up from the bed and reached for the curtain to hide it away. As her hand hovered upon its wrinkled edge, Makoto called, “You’ll visit tomorrow too, right?”

“Of course,” Mukuro replied, her tone floating from her lips in a higher intonation than usual, “I have an assignment to fulfill for Mr Naegi, don’t I?”

Though Mukuro had often been scolded for her social ineptness and inability to make people laugh, Makoto’s laugh whistled against her ears like a siren’s song.

The next day, Mukuro attended homeroom. Everybody in the 78th Class held the same sentiment - bafflement and hushed whispers.

After all, though Mukuro would attend class events, she had never shown an interest in attending homeroom. 

She lowered her bag on Makoto’s desk and sighed, sifting through it to find nothing in particular. The first student to approach her was Kiyotaka, his diligence as fierce as his booming voice, and he pointed his arm as straight as a ruler towards her. “That is Makoto Naegi’s desk, not yours!”

“Yes, I know,” she pulled the chair out and sat down, continuing to hunt through nothingness.

“He is not here! Does he know you’ve stolen his designated seat, especially when you have never attended homeroom before now?!” Something about Kiyotaka was that as he spoke, his thick and bushy brows would furrow in tune with every sudden jump of volume in his tone - eventually, he’d end up as red as a beetroot, his eyes eager to match.

“He’s in the infirmary-”

“WHAT?!” At least three other students formed a chorus with him, but naturally, his voice was the loudest. Mukuro couldn’t even spare him a brief glance as she fished out her little notebook, adorned with a bunny rabbit upon its front. She had initially bought it as it reminded her of Junko’s hair tie, but she grabbed it this morning thinking of meek little Makoto. “Is he sick?! Is he okay?”

“He had issues breathing due to a rib injury, but he’s apparently dodged any permanent damage, so he’ll be back within a few days.” To her, that information seemed succinct enough to satisfy all the twitching ears of the room. It did not reveal the nature of his injury, of which she would never say without permission, but it aimed to relieve everyone’s concern without them feeling obligated to rush to his side and nurse him. Above anything else, he’d asked her to come back, and that made the fizzing fireworks in her chest cheer cockily. “I said I would attend classes and take any notes he needed on his behalf since I found it.” 

“A rib injury…?” Sakura tilted her head on the other end of the room. Some may have said that her name deceived people, but beyond her physique lay a dainty and gentle young girl who simply knew how to hold her own. Mukuro had discovered during a sparring session or two how much of an angel she truly was, and in a way, she sympathised. For her, her physique served as deceit to better defeat foes, but for Sakura, it served as authority regarding her position in the world of martial arts. Nobody would question somebody as muscular as her if they valued having the same amount of bones they entered the room with. “I’ve never heard of somebody spontaneously getting one of those. Is he alright?”

“You know, Sakura, this is the same boy that could break his wrist when walking into a lamppost but fall down six flights of stairs unscathed…” Aoi’s shrugged remark of affectionate scorn protected Mukuro’s tongue from having to conjure up an on-the-spot lie. Sakura knew enough about anatomy to deduce if she were lying - Mukuro only knew how to mend or cause injuries, depending on request. “I’m sure he’ll be fine! Besides, he’s got Mukuro looking out for him, and I think her evil glare alone could scare him into getting better!”

“Hey…” as if on cue, Mukuro scrunched up her nose and glared at Aoi. The other girl simply laughed at being proven right and turned her back.

Ah well, she didn’t have time to ponder on the class banter or perceptions of her. She could fix that at a time when she actually knew who she was - for now, she’d promised Makoto she’d consider a more short-term dream for herself.

It just seemed to be way harder than expected. A girl who never existed as herself suddenly trying to find things to want and be… what did he expect from her, truly? She had always lived in her little sister’s shadow, and even her escape just gave her another means of being of use to Junko. 

Yet, she knew he wouldn’t have asked if he benefited from it. No, he was simply the first domino, and he seemed to acknowledge how she softened around him. This was for her, only for her, and she had every right to consider it.

In her notebook, she scribbled down a list:

• Cosmetic stuff: I have to be a fashionista like Junko, but what sort of fashion do I like? 

• What my talent can do: I’m a soldier, but can I use that strength to do other things instead of just mindlessly killing? (clearly, because I looked after Makoto. I’m sure I could do a blood transfusion if it had gotten that bad >_<)

• Hobbies: mystery novels, first person shooter games, ??

Cosmetics stood out to her, and she tapped the pen against her lips. Being a fashionista served as a cover for Junko’s true talent, though it was something both she and Mukuro needed to be well versed in due to the acts they had planned to create despair. Junko had always understood makeup better than her, since she was the ‘ugly’ twin with stupid freckles and a grease-ridden black bob.

Well, that’s what Junko would insist. Though Mukuro did sometimes look in the mirror and question what she saw, as any teenage girl would, that morning she had taken an extra glance at herself. The thought of seeing Makoto in a rough state scared her. It had been so drummed into her that her appearance could make anyone’s eyes bleed, and so she had brushed through her soft, freshly washed hair and traced her fingers against her freckles as if they were constellations.

That extra glance had not been to reassure herself she was the ugly twin. No, she looked because she remembered Makoto’s character - he would never see anybody as ugly or undeserving of love because of their appearance. So why should she judge herself so much? 

In fact, she felt… nice, for a change. Perhaps not beautiful, but she had to take baby steps, right?

As the butterflies swirled in her stomach, conducting a ritual of awakening, she scribbled down an extra point beneath ‘cosmetics’.

Hairdressing. I like doing hair.

With the lunchtime bell as her escape clause, she chuffed to herself and slammed the notebook shut. Her legs glided along the corridor, weaving around other students as if they were simple obstacles. Notebook clasped to her chest, she opened the infirmary door and watched the handle click shut behind her. 

A familiar scent crawled through the lining of her nose—chemicals amalgamated into a faint perfume intended to conceal the iron of blood and tanginess of human sweat—and she heaved a sigh from her lungs. She simply had to weave around the lunchtime rush once more and reach the back of the room; her own fault for carrying him there, she supposed. As she reached the curtain, Mukuro had the idea to do something wholly characteristic. 

His laugh, like a drug, had possessed his brain. Though she experienced typical tells of love like butterflies or blushing, Junko gave her those same sentiments, and thus she didn’t wish to rely on that solely as a determiner of romantic affection. In truth, she didn’t believe herself to be a ‘romantic’ in that sense anyway - she wanted Makoto to laugh and to smile, and if that were traditionally dubbed a crush, she wouldn’t necessarily protest. The idea of teetering an in-between of friendship and romance felt more enticing, and what enticed her most was his laugh. It had threaded itself around her brain like a ribbon tied in a tight knot.

Once more, she wanted to hear it.

So, peeking her head through the curtain, she stuck her tongue out. “Afternoon.”

“Ack!” Half of a chocolate bar went flying, and before it could even latch its sight onto the floor, Mukuro swooped in and grabbed it midair. “Warn me next time you plan on poking your head through my curtain, I could’ve been changing my dressing!” Though his tone had an edge of scolding to it, it didn’t have the same knife’s edge as Junko’s often did. It floated similar to cherry blossom petals in the spring, airily dancing along the innards of his throat until what became of it was a small laugh at the end.

“I’m sure I would have been able to tell, don’t worry,” handing him his chocolate, Mukuro perched at the edge of his bed once more. “Are you feeling better?”

“Honestly, I’m almost right as rain… it’s funny, I’ve been knocked out worse by the common cold!”

“It’s that weird unpredictable luck of yours, you know,” he handed her a square of chocolate and she slipped it straight into her mouth.

He mirrored her; Mukuro could have sworn his eyes lingered upon her lips as he did so, though she shook her head at the thought. She had never been known for perfect vision. “Sooo, you’ve come back to me… any updates on your assignment?”

“Well, Mr Naegi,” soft banter felt alien to her tongue and yet the only fit for an environment such as this, “I’ve had… a few ideas…”

“Oh? Tell me, tell me!”

Bluntly, Mukuro stated: “Hairdressing.”

As if he had to test her statement, Makoto raised his hand to his head and ruffled his hair. The little sticky-uppy bit (Junko called it an ‘ahoge’) seemed to wag like a dog’s tail. Mental images of Makoto as a little retriever flooded Mukuro’s mind - she wouldn’t mind being his loyal neighbour, the Dobermann. “That’s so cool! I cut my own hair for the first time and it was so bad… my mother was convinced I’d been dragged through a hedge by bullies at school…”

“You should have asked me to do it,” she flicked the ends of her bob, “I actually… cut my own hair and maintain it.”

“Oh?” Both of his hands wrapped around his ribs as he seemed to rotate a thought in his mind. Deciding against it, he leaned back and beckoned her with a wiggle of every finger, “Can you come here? I wanna see for myself.”

He certainly did not mean it to be an advance. But, for Makoto to ask to run his fingers through her hair… even if she had taken aspirin to thin her blood to not even exist at all, it still would not have concealed the flood of red that ambushed every inch of her face. Still, she obliged, shuffling along the rustled bed sheets until she was at his side. Her eyes clamped shut as he raised his hand, shoulders up to her ears and brow furrowed in anticipation. Instead, his hand met with shoulders of stone, and he gently stroked his thumb against her collarbone. It tickled even through her shirt.

Obediently, she released every breath in her lungs and lowered her shoulders. Then, his hand raised itself, and jolts of electricity flooded her scalp. It tingled and tickled as his soft, tender fingers threaded themselves through the thin strands, occasionally twirling an edge or two around his fingers just to test the dexterity of her haircuts. She could pat herself on the back for washing her hair and checking for split ends the night before, for her whole head seemed to be igniting fireworks of change and of affection. 

“It’s really soft,” Makoto broke the silence. “Though you always look so nice and put together, I’m not surprised…”

“Nice…?” Eyes remained shut as her lips parted on their behalf. She let her jaw hang open for a moment too long as the words rotated around her brain with the same rhythm as the laugh that so haunted her.

“Yeah!” His hand caressed the side of her arm until he found her gloved hands, and he unfolded the tense fingertips from her palm. Makoto squeezed each fingertip as he joked, “You know, I’m kind of glad I fainted. It meant we got to know each other much better!”

“Is that going to be your way of making friends now?” Warily, one eye unpeeled itself from her eyelids. As always, the rainbow reflected in the lush greenery of his iris made Mukuro feel as if every wish she had could come true. Her body relaxed and she smiled, “I’ll always rush to catch you and help you, no matter what danger you’re in.”

“Well, I don’t plan on endangering myself that much…”

“You wanted to know me better, right?” She tilted her head and grinned at him, baring teeth as if it were a white flag. “I’ll show you the real me, the Mukuro who’s still figuring out who she is and the Mukuro who protects those she cares about. Let’s get along, okay?”

Though she knew his fate to be sealed, she also wanted this moment of selfishness. A moment to be attached, to be sentimental.

Love this genuine would never appear twice in her life, after all.