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Even as a child, Junko would run towards the camera. More often than not she’d end up pulling you along, and you went with her- even though every instinct was screaming for you to run and hide, you almost always allowed yourself to be dragged towards the lens.
Family photos featured her in center and you, dark and sullen, at the edge of the frame. They’d tell you to smile and you would, but she’d dig her nails into your arm right before the flash and the final result had your face in a grimace, hers in a winning grin. She’d stare at you afterwards, her eyes a searchlight looking for any sort of discomfort, and when she found it (she always did, because you were uncomfortable) she’d smile.
“Thanks, Mukuro-chan!” Junko would chirp, and she’d laugh unnaturally, a high-pitched sound (everyone else said it was cute, a pleasure to hear, but it made you nervous for some reason) and you looked at her, confused- “for what?” you’d say, and her smile would dissolve and she met your gaze with steel. You kept eye contact, you never looked away, and she didn’t either because she didn’t want to lose.
Junko hated losing.
*
Nine years old and she watched the news with your parents. She’d hiss whenever they tried to change the channel and even when they eventually rose from the couch or the side chair and drifted away, she was still focused on the TV screen as it reflected in her eyes. Floods and harsh storms in far-off countries, robbery and crime, war- so much war- she took it all in, and then she’d tell you about it later in the room you two shared. She’d exaggerate the report and twist it to her liking, and before long it became your bedtime story. Often it would make you cry and when it did, she’d run from her bed and climb into yours, but there was no comfort or solace in her presence. She’d simply lie close next to you and listen to the sound of your sobs.
Sometimes she cried too, and you could never understand why. One time after her tears soaked your pillow she fell asleep before you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw a smile on her slumbering face.
It was unnerving. Sleep was out of the question for that night, of course, and for many nights afterward.
*
At fourteen she gave up charisma, abandoned the friends that seemed to perpetually hover by her side. At fourteen, she started to treat you more like a person and less like a toy (you weren’t sure which one scared you most).
She caught up to you on the way home from school-(you walked without her because you were always without, you walked in solitude) grabbed your shoulder, and you didn’t even wince when her nails dug into your skin. You were used to it. Of course she noticed your lack of reaction; she noticed everything, those eyes clouded with a colored contact lens-
“You don’t feel…?” her voice, an awed whisper, and when you forced yourself to stare at her face she was practically glowing. “My hypothesis- it’s right, isn’t it, Mukuro-chan? You’re above it, aren’t you?”
You said nothing and she kneed you hard in the shin. You flinched but didn't double over and she laughed again, a short, sharp laugh.
“You’re so insolent, you know? Do you even care about anything?”
“Yes,” you said and she closed her mouth suddenly, but opened it again.
“Whatever. This is just the beginning for us. Because you can’t feel despair and I-“ she took a shaky breath and grabbed your chin with her fingers, forcing you to look at her- “I need it. It’s all I have,” her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild and all you could think of was the error in her flustered speech.
You did feel, you couldn't help but feel-and right then you felt a mistake had been made.