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Night or day, it doesn’t change the current onslaught of trouble being brought on just outside the building. Mukuro watches just beyond an untouched window on the second floor, having just finished her shift yet unable to rest. Though Ishimaru had reminded her to get some rest in, she still felt restless. Given that she hasn’t slept in days, she knows she's bound to pass out, but for now, she sits awake with the stars.
The burning fires in the distance cast a glowing light in the otherwise dark room. She'd given her lantern to her classmates who couldn’t handle the dark—namely Asahina, Hagakure, and Fujisaki, among others—so she could only rely on the window for any source of light. Not that she particularly minded; the dark isn’t so scary now that she’s used to it.
Mukuro tugs at the shirt she wears, uncomfortable at its tightness. Junko prefers clothes that show her form, whereas she's always preferred practicality and comfort—but of course, to play the part of her dear sister, she had to put aside her own feelings.
But now that she sits here alone, well, she's not quite sure how to feel about it. There’s no one to reprimand her for disobeying, for letting her guard down. No one to tell her to suck it up, that this is the way things need to be.
No one besides herself, of course.
So maybe that's why, despite revealing her identity to her classmates, that she was Mukuro Ikusaba, the Ultimate Soldier, and nowhere near as beloved as Junko, she still wore the wig atop her head, tucking in the strands of baby hairs that slipped out during the day amidst her running around. Even now, her hands absentmindedly play with the strands of fake hair as if they're her own, as if she could truly ever be Junko Enoshima. How pitiful.
The light rap on the door is what breaks Mukuro's thought, however. She immediately opts for the knife on the side table, even when the rational part of her brain insists that it can’t be anyone dangerous at this time of night.
Better safe than sorry. She didn’t sacrifice all she did to let her guard down now.
“Ikusaba-san?” rings a voice from outside. All at once, Mukuro relaxes, her shoulders untensing. Regardless, her hand remains clasped around the handle of the knife, just in case. That boy is prone to attracting trouble, unfortunately.
She opens the door—cracks it at first, checking to make sure that the Ultimate Lucky Student is alone, and then wider—and she finds she doesn’t know how to greet him, what expression to wear.
So, she settles on something simple.
“Naegi-kun.”
Naegi smiles the way he always does, though even she can tell in the dimness of the moonlight that he's both sleepy and mildly uncomfortable. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“It's fine.” Mukuro offers, then pauses. “I just got off my shift.”
Naegi glances at the clock on the wall beside Mukuro's room, which she had taken to avoid being trouble for anyone else as they rested. His eyebrows furrow, squinting as if he couldn’t see right. “Only just now? I thought shifts were only three hours. You've been on guard since before dinner.”
“Hagakure asked me to cover his shift since he was out all day,” states Mukuro matter-of-factly. Though she’s not a fan of Hagakure’s inability to be depended upon, she can’t blame him for retiring early.
“Okay, typical,” Naegi comments, lightheartedly rolling his eyes at their classmate's antics, “but what about Asahina-san? She was going on about being up all night, wasn’t she?”
“She showed up,” confirms Mukuro with a nod, “and then she fell asleep within twenty minutes of sitting down. I checked in on her, found her asleep, and walked her to her room.”
“While she was asleep?”
The memory of it blooms a small ounce of fondness in Mukuro's chest, much unlike the annoyance one would have at her for falling asleep, should she ever do so.
“Affirmative.”
…The word causes Naegi's smile to disappear. Though she dons Junko's wig, wears her clothes in as much of a similar fashion as she can, she does not contain the same charm or analytical prowess as she. Mukuro cannot read Naegi's thoughts, predict what he may say next.
Her guard goes up again. These days, it feels like anything is enough to trigger these reflexes of hers, even without the signs of violence calling out to her.
The words seem to be on the tip of his tongue when Mukuro decides to change the topic.
“And you're awake because…?”
“Oh!” Naegi’s demeanor turns sheepish. “I got up to use the bathroom—i-if we can even call it that—and when I got back, Kuwata-kun took up my spot on the floor. So, um, I was going to just see if I could take over shift, but Ishimaru-kun is being pretty adamant about fulfilling his three hours…”
Mukuro raises an eyebrow. She’s not exactly good at reading cues from anyone—her time with Fenrir had surely stunted any social skill she was meant to develop during those years of her life—but in some cases, she can catch a hint. Her time around Junko has brought on many suitors with intentions of making a move on her.
And yet, Naegi isn’t that type of person—which makes this all the more confusing for Mukuro. What is she meant to do?
Despite her inner turmoil, she manages a softer expression. Naegi is like a puppy; she can’t imagine he means any true harm. “So you need a place to sleep?”
“N-No, it’s okay,” he assures, rubbing his neck and shaking his head. The rapid action earns a slight hiss from the boy, his hand flying up to massage his forehead. Even now, despite regaining his memories, Mukuro can see he’s still reeling from the side effects. The headaches, the weakness; Naegi has been through a lot these past few days.
Mukuro feels… painfully responsible for it.
As if right on cue, she swears she can hear the distant, disappointed tutting of Junko Enoshima. If she were here, Mukuro could imagine her leaning over Naegi, propping an arm on his shoulder regardless of his protests, and staring Mukuro dead in the eyes.
“And just what do you think you're doing? Do you have any shame at all?” Her shrill laugh echoes in Mukuro's ears. “It's like you've forgotten what you've done already.”
If anyone knows that not to be true, it's Mukuro. She's the only one who has the privilege to remember—or maybe the burden of such. The process of carrying out the Tragedy, of erasing her classmates’ memories, of aiding in what is the end of the world. She doesn’t get to forget. The fact Junko would ever imply something like that is—
No. No, Junko would have her reasons for thinking like that. It's Mukuro who is being stupid.
“Ikusaba-san…?” Naegi's voice, like a dim beacon, shines through the dark clouds of her conscious. She blinks once, then twice. Junko is nowhere to be seen. Was she staring at him? “Are you alright?”
Wordlessly, she makes a quick call. Junko is… wrong. (Even though Mukuro knows that can't be possible. Her sister has always been right about things.)
Mukuro has shame. Maybe too much shame. Isn't that why she's still hiding? A coward like her has all the shame in the world. She knows what she's done, knows it all too well.
The door swings open a little wider, and she moves out of the way. She doesn’t look Naegi in the eyes, opts for glancing behind her at her equally poor sleeping setup. “You need to get rest,” she says, half as an order, half with this uncharacteristic gentleness that makes her writhe in her own skin. “So… come in.”
Naegi is quiet for a few moments, as if he’s going to protest, but a soft sigh leaves him. Naive as he may be, he does know his own limits. “Okay.”
As he passes by Mukuro, he hangs his head low, moving one hand to gently apply pressure to his side. She knows he’s going to need his bandages changed in the morning, though she’s not sure if she should be the one to offer. Asking that boy to make himself vulnerable in front of her again felt something beyond her.
With Naegi’s attention diverted, she glances around the ruined corridor outside her room. She’s not sure what she’s expecting. It looks about the same. The same scents hang in the air; ash and debris, and only because Mukuro’s senses are highly trained, she can also smell the remnants of dried blood. She listens carefully. Her sister’s shrill laugh is not present.
She shuts the door quickly. When she turns around, she spots Naegi standing in the center of the small room, staring right back at her.
“Is this… a storage closet?” he asks, vaguely stunned.
Mukuro’s not sure why he cares. “There’s a window, so maybe not. Hard to tell with everything ransacked,” she replies flatly, moving towards one of the fallen shelves that she simply shifted to the corner of the room. “But it’s enough for one person to rest in, regardless. It’s not any less comfortable than the floors in the other rooms.”
Naegi nods slowly, and for the first time, Mukuro realizes that he’s thinking really hard about the current predicament. His eyebrows are furrowed, sage green eyes staring at the shelves as if they have some answer he’s looking for. “Why are you resting on your own?”
It’s a question she doesn’t want to answer. She allows her silence to fill the air instead.
Surprisingly, Naegi gets the hint. “N-Never mind,” he mumbles, nervously wiping his palms on his pants. “You said one person, though. Are you…?”
“I have a chair.” Mukuro tilts her head towards the seat set up by the window.
“That’s a stool,” Naegi points out, almost disappointed.
“I can lean against the wall.”
“Ikusaba-san.” His voice sounds like a gentle chide. “You should be laying down. You’ve been watching almost all night.”
Mukuro narrows her eyes at him. “I’m not tired.” Primarily because she’s been running on nothing but adrenaline for the past forty-eight hours. Not that it’s the longest she’s stayed awake, anyway. Her record is somewhere around a week without sleep. “If anything, you should be getting more sleep. You’re still wounded.”
“But I don’t—”
“That’s enough.” For a brief moment, Mukuro imagines she’s not here, and instead on the grounds of Fenrir. It’s not difficult, given the gunpowder in the air. Her colleagues often listened to her word, even though she wasn’t officially in command. If their commanding officer wasn’t around, responsibility was usually delegated to her. “Take my spot on the ground. I don’t mind.”
Naegi hesitates, eyes cast to the ground and a small frown that’s reminiscent of a dog. It’s at that moment she remembers that Naegi is not one of her colleagues. He’s just a normal teenage boy. That guilt claws at her insides yet again.
“…Fine,” he says defeatedly, shuffling to the side of the room furthest from the window. Mukuro watches as he sits down on the ground, then shifts uncomfortably for a while.
At some point, she looks away—her stare probably isn’t helping. Silently, she returns to her post by the window, running her hands through the imitation of Junko’s hair again. The ends have started to feel almost greasy, probably from running around all day.
Silence settles between the two of them again. Mukuro forces herself to be hyper-aware of Naegi’s presence; it turns out, she’s still on watch duty after all.
Mukuro is following behind Junko again.
Her words don’t register in her head. She knows she’s talking. She can see her hands moving as she speaks, her twintails swaying side-to-side. If Mukuro focuses hard enough, she can also smell her sickeningly flowery perfume, suffocatingly thick. Naturally, she opts to hold her breath, trying to listen for something coherent.
But there’s nothing of substance for Mukuro to respond to.
Despite how casually she walks, and despite the soldier’s near-robotic gait, the distance between them grows. The muffled sound of her voice becomes more and more far away. It’s not long before Mukuro breaks into a jog, and then a sprint to try and keep up.
Junko keeps walking.
Junko keeps walking away.
She sputters out, “Junko—”
“Whaaat?” The fashionista turns on her heels sharply, a look of annoyance crossing her features. “Mukuro, you ugly slob, hurry up! I don’t have all day!”
Her demeaning comment doesn’t faze her. The only thing she’s focused on is running towards her, faster and faster. The longer she runs, the more she feels aware of her restrictive clothes—the too-tight shirt Junko’s always wearing, the heels that significantly stunt her pace in an effort not to fall. The whole time, she finds herself clutching the wig placed on her head, as if fearful it’d fly away in the wind.
“I’m sorry, Junko,” she calls out, “Just… give me a second!”
Junko groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “You know what? Don’t even bother!”
Mukuro’s heart thumps faster. “What?”
“I said don’t bother!”
With the words, almost as if timed perfectly, Mukuro feels a sharp pain in her foot. She only manages to register that she’s lost her balance the same second she makes contact with the ground—a dirty path, covered in debris and mud. Half of her face is coated in the thick dirt, and she hurriedly wipes her lip with her less dirty arm to look up.
Miraculously, Junko is right in front of her. She looks down at her, soft blue eyes as sharp as one of Mukuro’s blades.
“I love you, sis. Bye bye.”
And then, on cue, she begins to fade. Panicked, Mukuro reaches out, trying to grasp at her foot to stop her.
“Junko, wait, I’m sorry,” she begs, practically grovelling. “Junko! Junko—!”
Her hands are dirtying her beloved sister’s stockings, but Mukuro hardly pays mind to it. She’s disappearing. Junko’s leaving her behind.
She’s—
“Ikusaba-san?”
Mukuro gasps for air, yanking her arm away and standing up quickly. Her hand reaches for the blade on the windowsill, her reflexes sharp—and she doesn’t register what’s going on until she’s pointing the knife at Naegi, less than a centimeter from his nose.
“Um.” Naegi laughs nervously, a panicked expression crossing his features. He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, taking a step back. “Sorry. I was just… checking on you, because you…”
He trails off, eyes watching the knife.
Mukuro’s senses finally come back to her. She closes her switch blade, setting it on the windowsill again. “No, that’s my fault.” She shakes her head, releasing herself from the battle stance she had immediately jumped to. “I should have figured it was just you. I… dozed off.”
“I-I noticed. You were thrashing around.” Naegi relaxes slowly, though he’s still deliberately cautious with how he replies—as if Mukuro would pull the knife on him again. (All she can really think about is how he must think that she’s something dangerous now. That she can’t be trusted.) “Are you okay?”
(And yet he’s concerned about her well-being anyway. Confusing, this boy is.)
“I’m fine,” is all she quickly supplies.
Her classmate hums, the sound drawn out in a way that she knows means he doesn’t believe her. “Was it a nightmare?”
She stiffens. She’s not sure she wants to call it that. “Why do you care?”
“I mean,” he starts, leaning against the wall, “I know it helps to talk about it. If you want, that is. I don’t mind hearing you out.”
Mukuro’s guard refuses to waver. “It’s not your business.”
With that simple statement, Naegi doesn’t pry any more. Thankfully.
…But he’s standing again. Mukuro nudges the stool towards him with her foot. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself,” she reminds him. “Are you in pain?”
This time, Naegi doesn’t have any arguments. He pulls the seat closer towards him, then takes a seat. “I’m…” He pauses, then shakes his head. “A little bit. It’s more discomfort than anything.” As he speaks, he tucks his hands under the seat, keeping himself from his usual forms of fidgeting. “I liked sleeping in the group, but Kuwata-kun’s arm kept hitting my side.”
Mukuro tries to picture the sleeping arrangement. “You should have woken him up.”
“I tried,” he says with a laugh. “He doesn’t budge. I should’ve figured he was a heavy sleeper.”
“I see.” She taps her knuckle on the windowsill. “Is it better in here?”
Naegi pauses again to think about his answer. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Kind of. It’s cold in here.”
That would likely be because of the window. Mukuro glances towards it, the window slightly cracked ajar.
But Naegi speaks again—“Wait, don’t close it!” he says quickly, and unlike the distant dream she’d found herself in earlier, his request to wait doesn’t go unheard. She looks at him quizzically before he continues. “It’ll get stuffy in here really fast. We opened the windows a bit in our room too, but we had the blankets to balance it out. Kind of, anyway.”
“Kind of?” she parrots.
“…Hagakure-kun took mine.”
It’s… unfortunately a little embarrassing how easily Naegi gets beaten by two sleeping boys. “Well, I don’t have a blanket,” she points out.
Naegi falters, his expression pensive again. “Right.” His leg hops up and down rapidly, like some kind of rabbit stomping its foot. “I… guess we can close the window.”
Wordlessly, Mukuro complies, pushing the window shut. The air stops billowing in, and so does the sound of trouble and war outside the building. She didn’t realize how quiet it could be without the battlefield that’s become their world.
Her gaze flicks back to him. “Better?”
“Better,” Naegi confirms. He rests one arm on the windowsill.
…The silence settles again. With Mukuro standing up now, she opts to lean against the wall, picking up the switchblade with one hand and messing with it. She’s currently wearing her fingerless gloves, the ones that cover her Fenrir tattoo, making it easy for her to toy with it. She switches the blade in and out, and something about the clicks filling the silence makes it a little more vulnerable.
She should be telling Naegi to go back to sleep, but she finds herself struggling to form the words. If she says it again, she might sound a bit too much like a nagging parent. That’s not the kind of role Mukuro gets to assume, after all she’s done. Naegi seems to knows his limits, anyway.
After a few moments, Naegi says into the silence: “You were wrong, by the way.”
Taken back, Mukuro raises an eyebrow at him—deliberately making sure the blade isn’t out when she does. “Excuse me?”
“You are tired.” Naegi doesn’t look at her, instead staring out the window. She vaguely wonders what his thoughts on all the fire are like. He’s not used to the scene of war like she is. “And you should have been lying down. You’re already off shift. Why weren’t you sleeping?”
Mukuro considers what to say next. “I was. You woke me up.”
“Well… No.” He shakes his head. “That’s wrong.”
Naegi sounds so sure of himself. Mukuro tries not to let it be obvious when she challenges him. “How do you know that?”
After a brief pause or two, he finally looks at her again. There’s a striking intensity in his eyes that she’s never seen him have before, at least not when he’s looking at her. Perhaps she’s seen it when he finally answered back Togami that one time, but it feels so far away that she can’t pinpoint if it’s the same scenario. Is he irritated with her for lying?
“You’re wearing Enoshima-san’s wig,” Naegi explains, pointing up to Mukuro’s head. “Most people don’t sleep with one. Plus, you answered the door so fast that you probably wouldn’t have had time to put it back on beforehand.” As he rambles, he begins to sound a little unsure. “…I think, anyway.”
She remembers when Junko once commented on the potential Naegi Makoto would have had in the Mutual Killing Game. Particularly, she remarked that he would have made things really interesting. A dog that one wouldn’t immediately assume could actually bite.
Caught in her lie, Mukuro surrenders. “You noticed that?”
“I-It took me a second to put it together… but it’s also common sense. If we had dinner around six, and then you covered two other shifts after yours”—he counts out the hours on his fingers for show, although Mukuro has the feeling that he’s already thought about it—“then you haven’t slept at all tonight.”
She’s not sure what to say to that. Her silence confirms he’s right.
So he follows up with, “Why?”
“…Someone has to keep their guard up.” The answer comes easily to her, but the real struggle is trying to get Naegi to understand. “The shifts are a good start, but people are bound to pass out. If something happens, I need to step in.”
Naegi mulls over her answer again. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
What a weird assumption. “Naegi-kun, you should go back to sleep.”
“I’m just saying… I know you haven’t slept any of the past nights either.” Mukuro realizes he probably figured that out since he’s been in the infirmary for a few days. Unlike the dorms, that room is not soundproof. She should have taken more care during her walks surveilling the school. “Surely, even a soldier needs a break, right?”
“You underestimate me. I can go far longer than I already have.” She says this with almost an ounce of pride; the small relief in the fact that she’s capable after all. Still, she tilts her head away from the moonlight to hide her ugly smile.
Although, Naegi doesn’t appear particularly amused. “Well, you can’t protect anyone if you’re sleep deprived.”
It’s this strange bluntness that surprises Mukuro. She remembers Naegi being more of a pushover. Even in the days where she posed as Junko, their interactions mostly consisted of Mukuro making a teasing remark and Naegi scrambling to bounce back from it. She’s not used to these sharper remarks—but she supposes it’s also what she deserves.
“Maybe not.” Mukuro stares at the wall opposite the window, where Naegi was resting before. “But I think if anyone should be getting rest, it’s not me.”
That sentiment seems to strike a chord in Naegi. “Huh?”
And all at once does she realize she’s misspoken. She stiffens again, clenching the closed switchblade in her hand. “Between the two of us, that is. You deserve the rest more than me.”
Immediately, Naegi repeats—“Deserve?”
Her poor attempt at salvaging what she’s said wounds up digging a deeper hole for herself. She doesn’t say anything more. Perhaps the silence will get him to lay off.
Naegi props an arm on the windowsill, and out of the corner of Mukuro’s eye, she can see him trying to get a better look at her face. She doesn’t want to give him that opportunity, to look her in the eye as she tries to find a way out of this well-meaning interaction. Not that she wouldn’t be able to if he was looking at her, she absolutely could, but she’s had enough of this guilt eating at her for one night.
“I think you deserve rest just as much as I do,” Naegi insists. “Doesn’t matter that I’m hurt. Neither of us will be able to do our best if we’re tired.”
Mukuro feels her own words lodged in the back of her throat. Carefully, she croaks out—“How can you say that?” She repeats his words in her head. Doesn’t matter. Her next few words are a little harsher, finding herself dumbfounded by the very notion. “If it didn’t matter that you were hurt, we would have made you travel while you were bleeding out. No one would have cared if you died.”
Naegi is, more or less, beloved to his classmates. Maybe things started off shaky to begin with. Over half of them thought he was secretly a traitor, but that wasn’t his fault—that was Mukuro’s, as most things are. But the others care for him deeply now, she’s sure. Mukuro’s not sure what she’d do with herself if she truly allowed Naegi to die.
“It’s… a stupid notion to imply,” Mukuro adds, trying to ease the anger that had momentarily overcome her. “Because we aren’t the same. Monokuma…” No. “She was trying to kill me. You weren’t meant to get hurt. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”
“And you do,” Naegi says quietly, as if he suddenly understands.
As if it weren’t the most obvious thing in the world.
“Of course I do.” In her mind, she sees flashes of every horrible action she’s carried out within the past two years. Ever since she’d gotten her letter from Hope’s Peak Academy, as well as Junko’s personal letter that somehow, miraculously, found its way to her. Everything she’s done feels like it’s culminated into this very situation, and the regret that’s wormed its way into her heart.
How strange it is. The Ultimate Soldier has lay witness to countless upon countless deaths; she’s killed people in horrible ways. There is not a single person she wouldn’t stop herself from killing if she had to. An elder, a child—it didn’t matter. It never mattered.
And she thought it wasn’t going to matter when the students she spent the last two years with were going to die, too. She had all that time to prepare. Every time she’s spoken to her classmates—while few and far between—were accompanied by a floating timer above their heads. A countdown for when it would all end for these people that she did not care for.
And yet, Mukuro found her heart stopping when she saw Naegi almost die in front of her. She wonders what would have happened if she watched anyone else die. If she would have cared, if she would have reacted so viscerally. She wonders if Monokuma—Junko—would have turned on her all the same.
(She knows the answer to that. Yes, she would have.)
(She won’t admit it to herself, though.)
“I’m never going to be able to repay my debt.” Mukuro’s words come out quietly, strained, as if she’s worried someone will hear. Ironic, because she knows that Naegi is listening ever so intently, head slightly tilted to the side. “I’ve betrayed everyone I know.” Everyone I’ve ever loved. But she doesn’t say that part. (Too intense. She’s not burdening Naegi with the weight of that, and she’s not ready to say that she truly cared for her classmates. That she still cares.)
It’s embarrassing that she’s admitting this. She’s a disappointment, she knows, because it sounds like she’s complaining. That’s no way to handle a duty assigned to her.
Naegi is quiet for longer this time. In fact, he’s quiet for even longer than before. Mukuro notices she’s been clutching the blade so tightly that the ridges have left an imprint on her finger tips.
Finally, “You can’t repay any debt if you don’t sleep.” Naegi responds with an ounce of certainty, as if he’s come to an unshakeable conclusion. “You deserve that much, Ikusaba-san.”
But it doesn’t feel like something Mukuro can really believe. “I’ll rest at some point.”
And that doesn’t convince Naegi much either. He shifts in his seat a bit, before settling on an answer. “I’m not going back to sleep unless you do.”
Which is surprising. She didn’t take him to leverage his own health like that—and she’s almost slightly annoyed. Almost. Maybe it’s still her own penance. Naegi wouldn’t have anything to hold against her if he didn’t get hurt. And it’s still her fault he’s hurt. (She didn’t forget that.)
She finally manages to look back over at her classmate, running a finger over the closed blade. For a few moments, she stands there, considering Naegi’s words. “There’s barely enough space,” she points out.
“I can sleep on my side?” Naegi offers, then clarifies, “My good side.”
If they sleep back-to-back, then Mukuro supposes that’s fine, but… “You’re not moving on this, are you?”
Naegi shakes his head. “You need to sleep. I’m not…” He trails off, trying to find his words. “I know you want to make it up to everyone. A-And you will. But not by martyring yourself in a careless way. I know you’re the Ultimate Soldier, but… you’re still a person. Right?”
(Mukuro still feels like a machine.)
But she opts to agree, because it’s becoming increasingly clear that the only battle Naegi can win against her is a debate. “I guess.”
…Satisfied, Naegi finally stands from the seat, staggering a little to balance out his pain. She watches like a statue initially, allowing him to pick which spot on the ground he wants. He chooses to be closer to the window, despite his claims of being cold. She supposes it doesn’t matter now, given it’s closed.
Naegi practically presses the front of his body against the wall, leaving a notable gap for Mukuro. She hopes she doesn’t take up too much space. Vaguely, she can hear the voice of her sister calling her fat and a waste of space, but she desperately tries not to pay any mind to it.
With the boy no longer looking at her, Mukuro finally figures it’s time to take off her wig for the night. She lifts it off her head, carefully setting it to the side. The wig cap follows, even though it wasn’t fully necessary for her to wear it to begin with, given her short hair.
She runs a hand through her real hair, hyper-aware of the sweat clinging to it and the gross feel it has. Not that she’s ever been one to care for the particulars of her appearance, but Junko’s comments stick to her. Just like the sweat.
When she turns, she notices Naegi not-so-subtly looking away. They already had a conversation about why Mukuro wears Junko’s wig. She wouldn’t want to repeat herself, anyway.
Cautiously, she takes her switchblade off the windowsill and crawls into the empty spot beside Naegi. She deliberately tucks the weapon into the corner, and lies down in a manner that she can quickly spring up if she needs to. The way she always does.
And similar to Naegi, she presses herself against the wall—takes up as little space as she needs to. She waits until she feels her temporary roommate relax behind her, his back pressing up against hers, before she asks: “Are you comfortable?”
She feels him nod, the back of his head lightly bumping against her. He winces, a quiet ow leaving him before he answers, “Yeah,” then adds, “Are you?”
If she’s being honest, she doesn’t know what it means to sleep comfortably. Everyone else seems to know and understand, but it doesn’t come as easy to her. She settles on the same answer everyone gives. “Yes.”
“That’s good,” Naegi replies, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Goodnight, Ikusaba-san. If you have a nightmare again, you can wake me up.”
It’s a nice offer, but she won’t be doing that. “If you’re in pain at all during the night, do the same for me.”
“A-Alright…”
There’s a small voice inside her that hopes Naegi isn’t just saying that to satisfy her. What a hypocrite she happens to be.