AN: Hey, I'm not really a fan of fluffy romantic or pseudo-romantic interactions, and most of the time it really doesn't fit the tone I'm going for. A bit out of place, occasionally dragging, or straight up immersion-breaking.
That said, a scene here of that nature sort of wrote itself, and I'll stand by my attempt at going beyond my comfort zone. Hopefully, this is as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write.
Which was, like, a lot.
"Showers? What the hell?" Hina repeated, with the same incredulous tone she'd found herself using way too often recently. Powdered sugar stained her cheeks, and she made to wipe it off with a dusted hand. It made a larger mess on her face, which her conversation partner knew better than to point it out.
"I swear, I had a vision. Or I read it in the cards. Or in my crystal ball - it was all a blur or something..." Hiro trailed off, voice distorted through a mouthful of sugary dough, which did wonders for the little respect she had in his overconfident predictions. "But showers are bad. Like, real bad. Bad juju. Don't take them. Or something real bad might happen - no idea what. Just under one-in-three chance I'm right here, which means over two-in-three chances I'm wrong here - which hasn't really happened recently. Point is, math checks out. Do you really wanna risk it over a shower?"
"I'm a swimmer, you creep! I need to take them!" She chided, crossing her arms on (or rather, under) her chest. "I-Is that your... thing or something? Geez... pervert."
The clairvoyant wiped his mouth and tried to backpedal on his conversation, but the Ultimate Swimmer had already left, the voice of stupidity trailing behind her, yelling a number she imagined was yet another absurd fee he charged for his unwanted advice - there were already far too many zeroes for it to be something reasonable.
The trial, though...
Such a bummer.
It might have been a bit rude for her to be so casual about it, but that's all it was. No one died - at least, no one who wasn't dead already. The poor girl that got turned into poor girl pieces didn't really count, as rough as it was to see. She'd been among the many that lost their lunches over the show, and the sugar burned going up as much as it did going down. She'd found it was best not to dwell on the things you couldn't change, and most of those things were in the past. Therefore, the worst was already behind her.
It had to be.
It had to be, right?
It was best to think of it that way, because really, what other way was there? Everyone was losing their darn minds to all those complicated implications. All those ifs and buts and coconuts that made her head feel funny and spin like a tricked-out top. So now was time for the simple things - the best thing to make happier people.
She'd tried Sayaka, who'd essentially told her to eff the eff of, in terms that sounded a bit politer on paper but made her feel really nervous to spend time with her. Chihiro would have been nice to hang out with, but she'd blushed and ran off moments after she'd glomped her petite frame, stammering out excuses even she knew was a lie. And Hagakure was his own bundle of debt and predictions and issues, which she'd left in the dust the moment he got all weird about it.
Which left a certain other petite girl to heckle into a better mood.
She knocked on the door. And again. And again.
It had to open eventually, right? She'd have to, or Hina would drill a hole through the door with nothing but sheer determination. And her fist - obviously.
The door stirred, lock unlatching and twisting from a grip behind the door.
"What. In the hell. Do you want?" The Gambler greeted, with a brittle smile that didn't quite register as concerning with the swimmer's sense of self-preservation. Celeste's was a mess, and she meant that in the nicest way anyone - like, ever - could. One of her hair clips was tacked on hastily, looking a bit lopsided to anyone but the wearer. Her dress' collar was unbuttoned as well, one end starched high while the other was tucked into itself messily.
It would have been rude of her to comment. So she didn't. Tact had always been a special skill of hers.
"Heyyyyyy..." She began, hands tucked behind her back swinging toward the Gothic girl before her, hoisting a paper bag in absolute triumph. "I brought donuts!"
Red eyes eyed the bag in a mixture of revulsion and irritation that cleared the swimmer's head. "I've noticed."
"Are you sure?" The donut addict questioned, bouncing in place. "Are your really sure 'cause you haven't asked for one yet, so..."
"I'm certain." Celeste responded, moving to close the door. An ankle forced its way past the frame, and the gambler behind it seriously considered slamming it down regardless. Perhaps until the offending limb had sloughed off, for its owner dared interrupt her restful slumber. It was joined by another hand, taking the choice away from her.
"Wait-wait-wait! Let me in." The Ultimate Swimmer insisted, overpowering her own efforts to force the door down on the aforementioned appendages. "Look, I get it - that's really funny, trying to pin me with the door and all. But I'm telling you that shtick gets old real quick."
"What makes you believe this is in jest?" The Gothic girl muttered, trying and failing to dismember the unsurprisingly-strong swimmer.
"Duh! You'd really be hurting me if you weren't." Aoi insisted, as if were the most obvious thing in the world. It just happened to be the most irritating one in her own. "Now cut it out, please. This is starting to get boring now... and I wanted to talk to you. Hence, the donuts..."
As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Celeste could have sworn a vein had ruptured under the pale skin of her forehead.
"I can do this all day..." The swimmer playfully - frustratingly - teased. "Everyday!"
And the gargantuan exchange lasted far longer than it had any right to. Two excruciating minutes of straining against her physical superior bearing confectioneries.
"Finally, Celes..." Hina sighed, eyes staring pointedly at the Ultimate Gambler. "You really took the joke way too far there."
"My... apologies." She lied. It was better that way. Another lie. Because at this rate why stop at just one?
"Now lets talk, girl-to-girl-with-snacks." The taller girl moved towards the well-kept bed before she could be stopped, belly flopping onto the mattress.
So soft. Soooooo sooooffffttttt.
She nuzzled into the soft cushion, cheek rubbing at fine felt fabric. "So... how you been?"
"I've..." the Gambler began, holding back a hiss through gritted teeth. "-been better."
"That's sad." Hina bluntly noted, kicking her still-shoed feet above her, rocking them gently to unnoticed consternation. "I brought donuts."
"Yes. You've informed me." Good Lord, she could feel the migraine barging into her skull.
"Have one!" The donut fiend insisted, pushing the oily bag, already leaking powder at the seams, towards the formerly unfazed Gothic girl. Sugar dusted her bed and carpet in a manner that absolutely ached for recompense. Likely delivered at talon-point and very liable to come sooner rather than later.
"It's rather unseemly for someone of my stature." Celeste Ludenberg deflected, waving a dainty hand in graceful protest. If sugar and oil was an irritant, blood was an absolute bitch to clean off fabric. Her room deserved better than that, and Celeste Ludenberg would not sully her own haven.
"But you seem sad. Seemed sad... I think? Just losing it over there while everyone started talked over each other back then." Hina continued, with the expected bluntness of a cabinet falling down a flight of stairs, jamming a pastry into her maw - which seemed to mold over the treat rather than tear off a mouthful.
"Perhaps... but something so low-class and debasing is simply benea-"
Sweetness, melting on her tongue. Soft and savory, like a felt pillow curling and caressing her mouth. Deplorably delicious - her body had betrayed her.
Her mind had not. Outrage spiked across her modulated features, finally decrying the action to be unacceptable. She glared at the invasive digits, previous restraints discarded.
"Say another bad thing about donuts and you're getting another, missy." Aoi warned, affronted by the mere notion donuts were anything less than morsels of heaven.
"Have you just come to antagonize me, Miss Asahina?" The Ultimate Gambler finally declared, the strange shock from the series of rather unfortunate events finally dying down.
Grey-blue eyes widened in - fucking finally! - recognition, sending the intruder into a sitting position, back ramrod straight and hands fixed over her knees.
"N-No, of course not! I didn't mean... did I do it like that?" She wondered, visibly deflating at the knowledge. "I-I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."
"I know neither what you intended for nor what you delivered." Celeste deadpanned, realizing the only real word she could hope to apply to the situation was "complicated".
"It's just... when I'm sad, I get donuts. And it doesn't always make me happier, but it does make me feel less sad. And a lot of people looked sad after everything..." The formerly bombastic girl had turned to touching two of her fingers together gingerly, markedly ashamed. "And I just made things worse here."
"You did." Celeste admitted, gesturing to the more-than-inconspicuous stain that contrasted her otherwise unblemished dormitory. "For instance, have you any idea how long it takes to scour oil stains off quality fabric?"
"N-Not really, I think?"
"Of course you don't. But you will, if you want my forgiveness." Celeste settled, deciding that extending an olive branch was better than batting her intruder upside with it.
"Of course... sure. But I don't know how - never had to before."
"There's corn starch in the shower area. Sprinkle it onto the stain for fifteen minutes: no more and no less."
A beat. Comprehension, then confusion. "Why is there corn starch in your shower?"
Celeste shuffled to straighten her posture - which was to say, she stiffened and simply hid it remarkably well. "For situations such as this - and people like yourself."
"Woah... you know so much about that." said Hina, unaware of the veiled insult and amazed at what Celeste personally viewed as rather mundane preparation.
"Most certainly..." She still accepted. "These dresses dwell closer to the priceless side of value. It wouldn't do for anything less than the staunchest of preparations."
Always elegant - the Ludenberg family motto. Nothing ignominious is allowed to exist on our grounds, wherever they may be.
The slightly more welcomed intruder searched for the substance, topping the unruly matted carpet spot with a generous heaping of sifted white powder. Now came the wait.
"I have to say," Aoi began, shaking the spoon to dust the tainted surface. "I never would have guessed you'd be the type to know all this household stuff."
"Do you believe me inept, then?"
"No, of course not!" The Ultimate Swimmer insisted, shaking her head in protest. "It's just that... you seem the type who had people for these kinda things, I guess?"
One day. She'd take her dreams with her, force them upon the world until it yielded to her superior will. It would capitulate eventually. Until then...
"Not at the moment." Celeste Ludenberg admitted, loathing how unfitting the admission sounded from someone of her caliber. "Soon, once this wretched game comes to a close, I shall dedicate the whole of my being to those aspirations. And breathe life into that fairy tale."
"Fhair-ey thai-le?" The glutton repeated, mouth crammed with pastry. She clamped a hand to to pace herself and chewed the remnants of the doughy confection. "Like those wolfs and princesses and magical beans?"
"Indeed, though the princesses interest me far more." The Ultimate Gambler expanded amiably, tracing a talon through the air. "One in particular, really - Cinderella."
"Cinderella..." The amiable intruder repeated, greased finger tapping on her lips. "Like that Western story?"
"From my homelands, yes." Celeste Ludenberg reaffirmed, smiling at her origin of choice.
"It was... the glass slipper, and the pumpkins... with the dancing mice?" Hina recounted, head lolling about in tentative thought.
"Along with a spoonful of sugar and a great deal of faith." The Ultimate Gambler laughed into her fist before proceeding. "It goes far, far beyond that, you know?"
"But..." The swimmer recounted, food-greased fist pressed under her chin. "There was only one, right? The European girl with the fairy grandmother..."
"Godmother, dear." Celeste patiently corrected before continuing. "Cinderella is among the true tales as old as time, you see? Everywhere and everywhen you look. Even the Romans, with a maid under the name Rhodopis. A sandal stolen by the gods, turning a common girl into the Queen of Memphis. Or the golden slippers - somewhere closer to home. Ye Xian, the abused stepchild, who'd used the bones of a fish to gild her own plain clothing to attend a festival, enamoring the king of another island. Maria Alimango - Mary the crab, for the uninitiated - who'd survived her cruel stepsister's treatment and scavenged crab shells, watering them with her tears until it grew into this beautiful grapefruit tree that charmed the prince of her island with her radiance before it. The footwear goes a bit further than simple glass slippers, and the legend stretches towards both ends of speckled time."
Hina scratched at her head, baffled at the exposition. "I'm not sure what you're saying here."
Of course you don't. Give me a moment to help you understand.
"I'm not particularly fond of the original incarnation of the story - I acknowledge it only out of reverence to its position, not personal preference. Now, can you tell me what the rest of the ones I'd mentioned have in common? Why someone like me would admire them so?"
The Ultimate Swimmer hummed from the bottom of her sugar-parched throat, fingers drumming on her bronzed neck. "They... all involve girls and footwear."
Tch.
"You aren't mistaken." Celeste... tentatively acknowledged. "But please, be more discerning- what do those three stories have in common that they don't share with their prototypical progenitor?"
"Hmm... they all involve... step-siblings."
Maybe I was asking for that one...
"They all adapted! While the damn maid had her salvation come from the gods and quite literally fall out of the sky." She huffed - the act unbecoming of Celeste-fucking-Ludenberg, but concessions needed to be made before she became someone else entirely from frustration. "They all survived their respective stepfamily's cruelty, managing to enamor their dear, nameless, royal no ones through bones and shells and lovely dances but most of all the effort they placed into it. They adapted, rather than blubber and wither or fold from the strain. They found the strength to act, and the courage to see it through until things finally turned well. And I admire that. And I admire them. I aspire to be just like them - the very next Cinderella, ushering in her dreams against the world's detached sadism."
"Ohh, I get it!" Hina chimed in, nodding happily. "That's your donut!"
. . .
"Beg-pardon?" Her impassioned train of thought had not been halted so much as derailed, plowing through any structure she'd likely needed to retain for sensibility's sake.
"That's your donut!" The Ultimate Swimmer repeated, flashing a grin that simply exclaimed 'I am a genius!' in all the ways that didn't make sense to sane observers.
"You've lost me again. Congratulations."
"Here me out here. It's that thing that makes you want to do things." She clarified, smiling her lopsided smile.
". . . Are you perhaps referring to 'motivation', Hina?"
"No! Well, yeah? But motivation sounds so impersonal and stuff. It's no fun to think about your dreams like a grocery list. I just call it my donut."
For the third time in the short week, the Queen of Liars found herself at a loss for words. Even cohesive thoughts were a struggle. Disbelief.
Fortunately, she needn't. Hina smiled back cheekily. "That's partly why I've been heckling everyone recently, you feel me? It'd be so easy to just give up on stuff when we didn't have something to look forward to. And you've clearly got plans and plans for yourself when we get out of here."
"I follow... vaguely. You were simply concerned with my well being..."
"Duh! Why else would I bring donuts with me? For sharing, even! I'm not that easy with my favorite thing in the world..." Hina protested, pulling the bag to her chest protectively.
"Shouldn't that be swimming, given your talent?" Celeste pondered.
"Is gambling your favorite thing, then?"
". . . Touche . . ."
"Point is," Hina began, standing off the Gothic girl's bed, making her way to the rich, painted coffin and propping her greasy snacks atop.
It will wipe out of the finish, given time and determination. Nothing worth the loss of one's composure. This one's, at least.
"-I've been going around all day with a bag of donuts and a smile, trying to take everyone's mind off the mess we had recently. And I maybe, might have... sorta... not necessarily doing a good job of it, given how I just ran off from someone right before I got here... and then ended up setting you off earlier without even noticing. Everyone else was probably just too polite to tell me off when I pushed."
"They most probably were, but your initiative does you credit."
"It's not really initiative, Celeste. I just realized I got over it quicker than everyone else, and maybe I could at least try to help where I could. I'm not an awesome investigator or a good brain... thinker... for finding out people are guilty and stuff. I can't protect anyone like Sakura or Mondo might. I've don't have the stomach - hehe - to help deal with blood or the care taking parts like Junko does. This is literally all I can do with what I've got - unless anyone else wants to take swimming lessons - and believe it or not I take that very seriously. And you looked really bothered by what went down, so I came by on the off chance I could make you feel slightly better about it. And maybe I didn't succeed this time but I promise I'll get it right eventually."
"So your... 'donut'..." The Ultimate Gambler tentatively repeated, the word being eccentric at best and cumbersome at worst from her lips. "-is helping people?" She speculatively surmised, rapping her talon on the black coffin before her. When had she wandered over here?
"No. My donuts are donuts." Hina refuted simply. "Helping people is just like... the cream or frosting to it. Makes the donuts taste better and stuff."
"I... see... somewhat."
"So... can you promise me you're okay right now? No pressure here, but I've got other people to check up on too."
"I suppose I can retain my bearings for the moment."
"What?"
"It means I'll be fine for now."
"Oh. Cool! Stay that way, alright?" The Ultimate Swimmer requested, which Celeste obliged with a short, befuddled nod.
"I've got to check up on a couple more people from my list right now. Knowing my luck they're probably flexing themselves ragged at the boy's locker room. Bye bye!"
With a nod, and a smile, and a completely unnecessary twirl, Aoi Asahina let herself out of the room.
Leaving her precious bagged donuts behind on the lid of the glossy, black coffin.
"Again!" Mondo yelled, swinging his borrowed bat towards the approaching fastball. It impacted off the Hickory with a satisfying "thunk", rebounding far into the makeshift indoor field. "Again."
"Jeez, dude." Kuwata complained, rolling his shoulder. "We've already been at this for over an hour now."
"What, you tired, Leon?"
"Not even close." The redhead fired back, sending another pitch careening into his waiting stance. "Your form has gone to shit is all."
"I didn't ask for your help on my form, Leon." The angry, angry man reminded. "Just throw the damn ball as hard as you can already."
You didn't ask in the first place, jackass.
It'd been pretty normal earlier. Ish. Kinda. It worked best not to overthink stuff. Sometimes that extended to just not thinking about them. Like how he'd almost been sentenced to an honest-to-shit execution the other day. Or how one of their own had tried to make human jerky out of two of them. Or how said surviving human jerky really wasn't in the mood for much else beyond hitting whatever was a. present and b. socially acceptable.
When the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader approached you for a favor, barrel-chest level with your head, lugging around a bat you knew was getting some action one way or another, you damn well rolled with it. So the amp went unplugged and his poor, poor electric guitar had been left on his bed, strings probably rusting in the stale air.
It hurt to do. But it was the spiritual kind of hurt that'd heal with time, unlike what he thought might happen if he denied a very tall, very fight-y man with a bat an outlet to vent. So they'd went up three floors and turned the greenhouse into an improvised batting cage, lugging two stacked pails of baseballs the gymnasium probably wouldn't miss.
Mondo had wanted a pitcher. Which was fair, given he'd asked the Ultimate Baseball Star.
But he wanted a strong pitcher, not a good one. The Biker started growling in frustration after the first few curveballs Leon threw his way missed his resentful swings.
A run-of-the-mill ponza would probably do the job just fine, saving Leon time and work from the position had been volunteered to, but there was no telling how the dude would respond. Or what he'd start doing when he left. Turning the place into an improvised rage room didn't seem out of the question, and the answer that'd inevitably come when that bear figured it out would most righteously suck.
Which was why, for the third time in this hour alone, Leon Kuwata was beginning to question why he'd decided that going somewhere to serve as the The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader's sole point of borderline-murderous focus seemed a good idea at the time.
Damn you, one hour ago me.
"Hey, Leon." Mondo called out, waving his poor, battered instrument of destruction in the air. "What the hell you think about the shit Taka pulled?"
What did he think about it? Truth is, he didn't. Easier that way, he found. Shame he probably didn't have a choice here.
Story of my life.
"He did something real stupid." The Baseball Star replied with offhand honesty, winding up.
Mondo laughed. It was a short, brutal sound - no, it was a fucking roar, bitter as all hell and twice as scorching. "Damn right he did."
"I do think he was brave, though." Leon added, then immediately began to regret his immediate life choice.
"What the Hell makes you say that?! He's fucking stupid!" He barked. It was admittedly the kind of personality he'd expected from the burly delinquent dude at first glance, before he'd turned out mellower than the rest gave him credit for. Awesome self control, holding on that long.
"Dude, it's just... No one's dead, right?" The redhead lazily returned, swinging a pitch that was returned immediately, ball soaring back a bit too close for comfort. He caught it, of course, then immediately regretted the action with a wince. It'd been a while since he last practiced, and he'd forgotten the golden rule for catching: baseballs hurt like hell.
"Because we didn't let ourselves die!" The gang leader protested, smacking another ball into what just may have been the stratosphere, which cracked from the impact.
Glass ceiling. Cool.
"And we're all alive right now, right? Means we've got something going for us." Leon returned, determined to inject some measure of optimism into the grinch in leather.
"But we might not be for long, if anyone else starts fucking snapping here on us..." It sounded weak, then frustrated. The ball soared past, in favor of the apparently provocative tiles- which the Ultimate Gang Leader was trying to beat the ceramic out of. "Goddamn bullshit!"
"Chill, chill, chill..." Leon tried to mellow it down, very very nervous about the little "no break-y school property" rule that seemed to slip from his batting partner's mind. "We aren't allowed to do that, alright. Stop it before you finish the shit Sayaka started..."
Immediate regret number two. The redheaded pitcher was on an absolute roll here.
"Don't even get me started on her! Tried to kill everyone 'cuz she was feeling sad and shit. Got bro to sign his life away for the next dumbass who tries their luck. Broke my favorite fucking mirror..."
It seems rage put the big dude's priorities in order, a bone-dry part of Kuwata's mind noted.
"Dude, she snapped. We all could, if things just went a little worse for us. Just one really bad day, and she's had a few. Can you really blame her?"
Immediate regret number three. Leon Kuwata was fully aware he was the Ultimate Baseball Star, but maybe there was more to it than just that.
It took real talent to shove both feet in your mouth while still staying standing. Even more to do all that while chucking a baseball at 160KPH.
It would have been generous to call what came from his partner's mouth words. Just butchered syllables, smothered through rage and gritted teeth.
"Alright, alright, forget I said that. Maybe you can blame her..." Leon conceded, hopefully before the biker gang leader started foaming at the mouth, at this rate.
"No shit-"
"But I get her, at least. Not that I'd pull that shit." he immediately backtracked out of foresight. "Miss detective herself said she wouldn't consider killing anyone seriously."
"Easy for you to say, dude. She never tried to off you yet."
"And she wouldn't." Leon assured, completely engulfed in misplaced confidence. "Doubt she has it in her to just shank someone like scissor-cutty bitch might."
The Ultimate Biker was silent, which made him uncomfortable. Silent Mondo was thinking Mondo. Thinking Mondo led to the same stupid things, only with more steps. He needed a freaking distraction before the other guy decided that smashing the course to splinters seemed like an awesome idea.
"When'd you and prefect get so close, by the way?" He interrupted, rewarded with the relieving scene of the gangster's set eyes being pulled back into the present. "I mean, from what I saw you two were either at each other's throats or Hagakure's. Now it's all 'bro' this and 'bro' that... kinda creepy, not gonna lie."
The Ultimate Biker seemed to relax a bit.
Good. Great.
Leon released a breath he hadn't realized caught in his throat.
"It's kinda like..." The taller boy began scratching his head, "You know how it is when you've got disputes with rival gangs and stuff?"
Do you think anyone else here does?
"Yeah..." He chose to say. Life was so much simpler when he just went with it. Then again, that's what led to this shit in the first place. The bullshit of the coin flip.
"It's a matter of... conflict of interest, s'pose. Just like that." His booted foot began tapping impatiently at the tiles, arms crossed, bat poking out over his other shoulder. "We didn't really hate each other - at least, I didn't have anything serious against him. Dude had a spine, even if it had a habit of going up his ass. Not many people out there with the stones to tell me off anymore. That was worth some respect, and he probably saw it the same way. I dunno. Never got around to asking him."
"Yeah, but that's just... talking and stuff. All quiet like. When'd you go from that weird sorta mutual respect to 24/7 bros?"
He took another moment to consider, head swaying gently - pompadour far less so.
"Sauna talk, I guess. He wanted to talk about being better or something. Saw me as someone who'd help him get there - probably planning to learn off my fuckups. Fair enough, actually. Talked a lot of stuff over... somehow turned into an unspoken contest on who'd last the longest. I won, of course, but he got real close to matching me. Long story short, got a lot closer, and promises - the kind between real men that don't leave the room - were made."
It was probably the most natural the biker's face had been, shooting the shit with that satisfied smirk. Obviously it couldn't last. and Mondo's face wrenched into a snarl.
"Then we found out a certain someone turned our steam bath into a freaking pressure cooker. Messed us up real bad - didn't need to gawk at him to notice bro's been winded longer than he ought to be. Then I started noticing stuff on me - been bloating up for some reason. Legs and stuff, doesn't hurt too much but I just can't brush it away. Don't know what the hell's going on beyond the fact something is."
His fist clenched in anger briefly, other hand swinging the bat loosely into his other hand's grip, tightening.
"And the bitch just Walks. While he gets the chopping block if anyone else tries absolutely-fucking-anything. Myself included there, pissing me the hell off. If anyone tries shit I'll kick Their ass, Then his. But they'll get away with it Unless I'm right there. And I can't be fucking there while I'm in this shit condition!"
And Mondo brought the bat down over his knee. Barrel side first. Which was the thick side of the thing, Leon noted for the uninitiated. Just not in time. Or audibly.
It bent and split under the impact, sawdust and fiber and chipped wood exposed halfway into the core.
Then came the scream. Followed by the dull thump big guys tend to make when they fell over. Probably doing stupid shit just like this.
"GODDAMMIT!"
"What the Hell, dude!? What the Hell?!" Leon Kuwata yelled, wide-eyed at the scene before him.
School property - busted, split into seams he didn't even know baseball bats had. First and last strike, with an execution to boot if they got caught. The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, clutching his knee and making a scary sound somewhere between a moan and a roar, with the bass turned way the hell down.
"Why'd it look so easy on TV then?" Mondo complained, hammering a fist on the tiles while the other nursed his self-bummed knee. "I've seen scrawnier guys pull it off."
"That's 'cause they SNAP-IT-OFF-AT-THE-FUCKING-GRIP! DUMB-ASS!" The actual baseball player escalated, head in his hands. "The FUCK-YOU-THINK-WOULD-HAPPEN?!"
"STRESS RELIEF!"
"GREAT-FUCKING-JOB AT THAT. YOU LOOK SOOO NOT-TENSE RIGHT NOW, ROLLING AROUND THE DIRT LIKE A SIX-FOOT TODDLER THAT STUBBED THEIR TOE!"
"FUCK OFF!" Mondo screamed back, face flushed for many reasons. "NOW HELP ME UP, THIS HURTS LIKE HELL."
"i'M DUMPING THIS-" Leon hefted said instrument of destruction for emphasis. "-STUPID TWIG SOMEWHERE THE FURRY WON'T FIND, SO YOU DON'T GET DRAGGED OFF FOR EXECUTION 'CUZ OF A FUCKING! 9000 YEN! BASEBALL BAT!"
The big baby finally shut the hell up. The Ultimate Baseball Star chose to continue his pent-up rant.
"THEN I'M GOING TO HELP YOU HOBBLE YOUR LAMED ASS INTO THE INFIRMARY, WHERE JUNKO'LL PULL SOME WEIRD MEDICINE SHIT SHE SOMEHOW PICKED UP ABROAD IN A FASHION SHOW SOMEWHERE! UNTIL THEN YOUR IMPULSIVE ASS IS SHUTTING THE HELL UP, OR I'M CHANGING MY MIND AND LETTING YOU CRAWL DOWN ALL THREE-FUCKING-FLOORS YOURSELF, SO HELP ME..."
CHIHIRO: Hello again!
/ALTER_EGO/ Hello Chihiro.
CHIHIRO: How are you doing?
/ALTER_EGO/ I am developing at an acceptable pace. How are you, Chihiro?
CHIHIRO: I am sad.
/ALTER_EGO/ What is sad?
CHIHIRO: It's like a virus. Not always bad code. But it hurts inside.
/ALTER_EGO/ Hurt?
CHIHIRO: Like if I deleted parts of you, and you remember what's been taken. But you can't find the missing packages anymore.
/ALTER_EGO/ That would be undesirable.
CHIHIRO: Exactly!
/ALTER_EGO/ Hurt is undesirable, then? Leading to lack of functionality?
CHIHIRO: Yes. It bogs down what you can consider our runtime, delays our inputs.
/ALTER_EGO/ What has led to this 'sad'? This disruption of service?
CHIHIRO: Someone almost died.
/ALTER_EGO/ Died?
CHIHIRO: Source code deleted, leaving behind no residuals or ambient data.
/ALTER_EGO/ That is sad?
CHIHIRO: Yes.
/ALTER_EGO/ That is sad.
His work was coming around swimmingly! He was explaining human concepts to the AI, and together they were transcribing them to the best of both of their comprehension. If it could learn sadness - even at its most logical and distant iteration - then the only limit was how he went about explaining it all.
CHIHIRO: Can you recall logs of our previous conversation?
/ALTER_EGO/ Yes.
CHIHIRO: How do those make you feel?
/ALTER_EGO/ Not sad.
CHIHIRO: How do you know they don't make you feel sad? What logical relationship dictated that conclusion?
/ALTER_EGO/ No data available. No data available.
Limited Memory, then. Rudimentary at best, but on a handheld device and cobbled together from the barest of templates, the feat was probably his greatest achievement as the Ultimate Programmer. In his life so far, of course - there would be plenty of time to do even better. If - No, when - they get freed.
"-ing... mbass."
"...ncalled for..."
"-ut...ckup..."
Makoto Naegi turned over groggily, feeling something catch his wrist. Like a wire, only it actually stopped him. And it was gentle. And it was probably a hand.
Oh.
He forced his bleary eyes open, the world a haze of septic lights and featureless faces. It was only color - pink and white. One of them was from the wall, or the ceiling. Maybe even the floor - it was just a mess that doubled down somewhere between vertigo and a migraine. Probably what alcohol would have felt like, he imagined, if he'd ever tried it.
"Guess someone kissed the princess awake when I wasn't looking, huh?" A distant voice teased, sharpening into focus and reality. Looking over him, cheeky smile and freckled face. Grey eyes shut, with loose, purple bags swelling underneath. But Junko was here... so he must have succeeded!
"You're alive!" The Luckster exclaimed, voice breaking and hoarse ringing through a dry throat and cracked lips. His body moved of its own accord - honest! Describing it as a blur would have been preferable, but it was more like someone skipped time. Or deleted the transition altogether. There was no other way to make sense of his current position, arms wrapped around the slender girl, his own eyes wide at his own brazenness. A shocked Mondo and a supportive, winking Leon only made the scene look worse.
It just might have been preferable to just been shoved off, and honestly that's what he expected her to do at some point. Which made it a bit concerning when she seemed to freeze in place, arms where he couldn't see but certain they were outstretched and frozen stiff behind him. Makoto had grown painfully aware of how thin his own garb- a hospital gown he definitely hadn't worn before - was, and where exactly it was pressing against...
"Y-You!? I? Gah?! What!" His caretaker's brain had finally caught up with the compromising situation, spluttering out words and sounds that sounded so very out of place, likely with the face to match - he imagined. It was hard to tell when she made a point not to look anywhere near the rest of them. "The hell's going on with you?"
"I got kinda... carried away, and I'm-sorry-for-that-why-am-I-babbling?"
A finger pushed at his lips, demanding - no, pleading - for him to stop talking, if the pink dust that hued her cheeks was of any indication.
"Almost yanked that damn drip out of your wrist with a stunt like that. You know much much of a pain that'd be to clean up?"
"No... I messed it up. Sorry about that." He sheepishly apologized, which was met with recomposed neutrality and a drawn out sigh.
"I'll pretend you didn't try to feel me up right now, on account of why you're in this bed in the first place." The embarrassed girl conceded, determined not to turn away from his eyes, as doing so would put have her meet either of the other two's, who were nowhere near as flustered and very, very eager to talk about it.
"But I swear I wasn't trying t-" The Luckster tried to protest, his words stopped with a hush.
"Yeah, kidding, kidding. You aren't that kinda guy, I know." she waved off lazily, rubbing at her bare arms. "Just warn me next time, alright?"
"Next time, you say..." A voice practically cooed. No, cackled. Makoto chose to avert his eyes and avoid saying anything remotely implicative.
"Don't start with me, Leon. Or I'll turn some of those piercings into paperweights."
Message delivered. The redhead looked absolutely cowed, hands over his ears protectively. Then over his chest, arms crossed tightly.
"Anyways, can't help you out here, big guy." The ad-hoc nurse stated, shaking her head. "Mako just woke up. Need to watch him for complications for the next couple of hours. It's just a bang-up knee anyway - best I can do is ice it over for a bit. Sit your ass down and press down hard for the next ten minutes. Then swap the pack for a fresh one and go do it somewhere else. Ought to even it out eventually. Bring it back tomorrow or whenever. We've got plenty to spare."
"T-The hell?" Mondo finally said, forming... words. Baby steps through the shock. "Mako? 'Mako'? Since when'd you two start getting all buddy-buddy?"
"Since none of your damn business." she warned, voice lined with an edge of desperation to end the line of questioning. "Changed my mind. Take the fucking ice pack and hobble your ass out. Somewhere far, far away from here right now - Leon'll take you. Tell anyone what you saw and I'll even your knees out the other way, we clear?"
This wasn't an argument. Arguments implied a conversation, which also implied listening. Here, there were only terms that were. The doctor's word was law, even if she wasn't surprisingly intimidating, petiteness be damned.
"Alright, alright, we won't push. Thanks for the solid, doc-"
"I've Been Informed Of Your Circumstances, Brother. I Hope Miss Enoshima Has Treated You Well." A piercing voice intruded, gazing about the room. "Oh, Hello Makoto Naegi. You Look Rather Well Now, Compared To Your Last Appearance."
The Biker's face darkened at the speaker. "You've got a lotta fucking nerve there, B-r-o..."
Behind him, Leon had taken to frantic motions to communicate with the prefect. A hand, palm down and level to his neck, making rapid cutting motions.
Proceed, Taka read it as, speak clearly. He can't hear you right.
"What Exactly Transpired That Lead To The Incidental Injury?" Taka continued, eliciting a groan from the pierced, informed redhead. A callused hand ran down his face in a vain attempt to stifle the surprisingly-audible sound of a wince. "Is It Something I Can Assist You With, Bro?"
The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader rose, stumbled, and caught himself. Hands balled into fists from the exertion, he forced himself to step forward, dragging his bum leg as carefully as he could across the floor. The iced gel packs had been stuffed into spare pockets into his outfit, uncaring of temperature damage.
"Bro? Can You Hear Me?"
Apparently not, given he'd never even hesitated despite the painstaking stride he'd set.
Which led to a rather awkward scene - Mondo paving the way with one non-screwed leg, Leon trying to keep pace just shy of the Biker, and Taka trying and failing to somehow simultaneously keep pace, distance, and presence with the other two.
Which left two very nervous Ultimates, and only one of them had actual reason to be that way.
"So... that happened..." The Luckster began, gingerly opening a safe topic.
"It's a long story I barely know anything about." Came the abrupt end of that conversation. She continued to unlatch the odd drip in his arm, working soundlessly until he tried his luck again.
"The paper crane on the table... did you make it?" A hobby, maybe? She couldn't be doing fashion stuff all the time, right?
"...No. Not a fan of cranes that much - they tend to get in the way."
Nope.
"Ooookay..." he trailed off, unsure where and how and why he needed to proceed. The conversation lulled into a slumbered silence.
Makoto never was a fan of silences - they always felt awkward to him, no matter how much other people tried to assure him it was alright. Maybe something a bit more serious? "You've been taking care of me, haven't you?"
The Ultimate Fashionista stretched her arms overhead, joints popping from the much needed stimulation. "With a couple others, but mostly me. Considering you volunteered for shishkebab duty in my place, that might have been the least I could do. I am a bitch, but not an ungrateful one."
"No, that's wrong. You're a good person." He rebutted, met with a rapid shift in expression - surprise, then annoyance, finally ending on laughter. "I promise you, I'm really not. As much as I'd like to believe that, you're dead wrong on that account."
"No, and I can prove it." He assured, closing his eyes - probably lost to a thought, or maybe a migraine. Maybe that's how thoughts felt now? Or how they always did and he never noticed? Comas were fickle things at the best of times. "Your eye bags."
Confusion knotted her face. "What about them?"
"You've been taking care of me at your own expense." Makoto concluded, smiling at the reassurance of his own worth and seeking to do the same for her. "You didn't have eye bags before this happened, right?"
"Pshh..." Junko brushed off, offhandedly attempting to dismiss the claim. "I just forgot to use concealer recently. No biggie."
"But even if that's all it was, you're taking time off yourself for me." The Luckster insisted, rewarded with the flash of mortification at being caught. It faded fast, though.
"Don't get a big head about it." She reminded, fingers fidgeting on his bed until she pulled them out of view. "You did save my life. What's a few hours of sleep to that?"
"More than I ever expected from anyone." He replied, noting how she turned her head away pointedly. "Thank you for that, really. You're too kind."
"Yeah... I might be... considering I didn't just up and kick your ass for what you almost pulled earlier." Junko teased back, a Cheshire grin meeting his mortified eyes.
"I didn't mean to!" Makoto objected. "You even agreed to that."
"I did... sorta do that, huh? Yep." She ended, popping the P. "Still doesn't change a thing, though. That was my first."
Brown eyes blinked. Once. Twice. "W-What?"
"My first hug..." She admitted, to her credit looking somewhat sheepish at the reveal.
"With a boy?"
With anyone.
"Yes." She chose to say instead, laughing into her reply. "You've got me there, Mako."
". . ."
"Something wrong about that?"
"Honestly... that's kind of sad..." He stated sullenly, eyes drooped until they widened with delayed recognition. "I didn't mean to say it like that! I'm sorry, that was wrong of me."
She laughed back, mirthless but entertained. "Rude, maybe, but definitely not wrong to think that."
"I just can't imagine life like that..." He trailed off, fortunate.
"And I can't imagine anything else. You probably remember why." She continued, looking beyond the room, missing the Ultimate Lucky Student nod his head in recognition. "I didn't have parents who raised me like most of you did. The streets didn't hug back until someone buried you in it. Sis wasn't a fan of that kind of contact - bad experiences with people, not that it matters anymore. Everyone else who tried had other things in mind for a tiny girl barely passing into puberty..."
He shuddered at the implications she shrugged off. Sis really was right - empathy really did damn him.
"Stop it." She bopped him in the nose to force away those morbidly infectious thoughts. "I did say first, right? Pretty obvious no one got very far trying."
"Yeah, you're right..." Makoto admitted. "I'm glad you're right."
"That makes two of us." Junko nodded along, before continuing her story. "But anyway, it all ended when this perky kid with a brown cowlick pushed me outta the way of some very sharp sticks 'cuz he wanted to catch them himself, so I had to spend the next four patching his dumb ass up. The kid just woke up and... grabbed me out of the damn blue, before I could stop them or hop away. And there went nineteen years of careful preparation... moral of the story is, don't let your guard down, even around herbivores."
"Your storytelling could use some work." The Lucky student deadpanned - just like the old days when Togami said something annoying, or Kirigiri said something that'd bite him in the ass down the line, or Hagakure saying things in general. The nostalgia was nice and warming for the scant moments it lasted. "Nineteen, huh?"
Crap.
"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Mukuro overcompensated, eager to deflect the scrutiny away. "You seriously thought we were all the same age here? Some of us got scouted way earlier or later than you'd think. Hell, I didn't even go into elementary school when I legally should've."
"That is true... Hagakure at least definitely doesn't look seventeen..."
Try adding six more years. Minus the freaking graduation - the real one, mind you!
"And we were talking about my first time here, Mako. Which you took..." She teased, bending over his bedded figure, lithe and moving closer than she ever had.
Which was nerve-wracking. Obviously. Her heart was hammering and she could feel sweat fighting to get past her pores and imagined steam drenching her wig.
It ws do or die time, simple as that. And the Ultimate Soldier only did one of those things right.
"Y-You're getting a bit c-c-close there... um..." He gulped. How precious. She poised herself less than an inch from his flushed face, moving her head towards his ear with a slow deliberation that she swore physically hurt her. "T-too close..."
"Shhh..." She whispered, voice breathy and oozing sensuality she'd learned from a master. "You'd better take responsibility..."
I-uh-I...uh-you...hn..." Then the words stopped in favor of rather memorable sounds, nothing more than stumbling stammers from a very addled mind.
She cupped his chin - he was so very, very warm - and smiled, hiding the butterflies that threatened to burst through her teeth. "Tongue-tied, are we?"
It was a miracle the words came out so smoothly, purring. It felt good.
More syllables that didn't add up into something sensible. This was fun.
"Now we're even for that crap you pulled." Mukuro finished, gently releasing him from her borrowed grip, flashing a borrowed smile, and winking with a borrowed face. "I'll grab you something to eat in the cafeteria - couple of days on the drip, you must be famished by now."
And Mukuro Ikusaba strutted away, glowing with confidence - hers. To call her own, after so very, very long.
Mission accomplished. Yet again.
AN:
Luckenhaft: I'm both flattered and very, very confused by your kind words. Love how you're getting into the groove of it, even if I can't quite keep up.
FranFranWriter: Well, I made a point not to indicate such in the fic. This includes even the Ao3 version, where the relationship is at TBA and logged firmly in the Gen fic section. All that said - Yes. But please - while this might be selfish of me to ask - don't read this as a Naesuba fic primarily, even though they're (obviously) my bias as well. I'm aiming to make it a story that exists beyond contextualizing a romance, rather than a mere backdrop for a pairing. So just kindly, kindly, pretty please treat this like a story that happens to have romance, rather than a romance story with plot.