Mugen wakes slowly, consciousness flowing into her like granules of sand to the bottom of an hourglass. Unfamiliar white walls greet her and she winces at the brightness. Groaning, she sits up. The thin sheets draped over her shoulders fall instead into her lap. She's in the infirmary, but she doesn't quite remember how she ended up here until she looks to her side and sees Moka in another bed.
The vampire sleeps soundly. Judging by Moka's unconsciousness, someone else must have found them out in the woods and brought them here. Mugen turns her head, swiveling it around to observe her surrounding better. The windows reveal the pitch of night between the curtains. The clock ticking on the wall tells Mugen that it's easily past midnight.
Late, late, late, late. . .
The unwanted reminder makes Mugen purse her lips.
There's no one in the room with them. There's an adjoining door, separate from the hallway, that might be the school nurse's quarters, or just a closet. Saizou, notably, isn't here, though considering Moka bludgeoned his head he might need more urgent care if he truly survived. Mugen notes the lack of restraints on both her and Moka with a smidgen of surprise, because Saizou must have been found with them in far worse condition than either of them. Then again, maybe a school full of monsters truly didn't care to take human measures with such brutality. Mugen isn't sure simple restraints would stop a monster such as Moka anyways.
Moka. . . Mugen turns her head towards the only other occupied bed in the infirmary. Moka's slumbering face is peaceful and the rosary lays against her chest. Testament to her resealing, her silky hair has returned to its vibrant shade of pink.
Why. . .?
It still doesn't make sense to Mugen why Moka would bother with her. Why she would want to be her friend. Hadn't Moka spoken against humanity, having suffered at the hands of people, and bullied by kids like Mugen, enough to know that the rot within humankind ran deep even at what should be their most innocent point? The innermost part of Moka seems to know that Mugen isn't worth their time.
How long would it take for the rest of Moka to come to that obvious realization?
Mugen runs a hand through her hair, undone from its braid. She always feels adrift, drowning in a sea of questions devoid of lifeboats to answer them. She had a chance today, or really yesterday, to have some of them answered—her most pressing problems potentially solved, even—but Moka had come along and spawned more. Distracted her. Became so radiant that Mugen thought to become her shadow, and protect her without thinking. And so Saizou was struck in Moka's defense, and Saizou only struck back when Mugen showed herself vulnerable.
Mugen used to pride herself on her ability to detach from people. To avoid clinging to them. As a child, she witnessed how such bonds could dissolve into unrelenting heartache and misery, and experienced the agony firsthand on a total of three accounts. After that, she thought herself above it. But day one at Youkai Academy showed her the futility of denying the natural urge for companionship, and she sunk too deep without realizing she didn't have enough in her to come back up for air. It was no surprise she was punished for it.
Why hasn't she learned her lesson already?
You're pathetic. You don't deserve it but that doesn't stop you from being so greedy as to reach for it. You'r c. When will you learn?
Mugen presses her palms against her eyes, digging the heels of them into her sockets. She needs to leave Moka behind. For both of their sakes. She knows that. She does.
But . . . she'll admit it: she's selfish. Some part of her still clings to that dream of peace, one without the chill that was just there enough to make her uncomfortable, never chased away by any blanket or fire. Moka exudes a warmth so great that Mugen had unknowingly strayed into her fire, and like a phoenix made a nest there, weary from a rain-drenched world that's been devoid of the sun for too long.
You've only known her for a day, and you're waxing poetics. How lonely are you, to be so starstruck over the first person you meet who doesn't see you for the garbage you are?
Mugen's jaw tightens and she drags her nails down her face; red welts are left in the wake of her self-loathing.
She needs air. Space. She can't sit here, this small room that echoes with shadows. She throws the covers off and swings her legs over the edge. Air. Space. And then she can think, louder than the others, about what she needs to do.
Her feet are bare as she enters the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her. As expected, there's no one out this late at night. Mugen wonders if there's even security guards but figures otherwise. She finds her way outside, unheeded by the darkness that creeps into every corner and seeps out in the empty spaces between stars. The moon is a thin smile, dabbed at by the passing cloud.
She finds a bench and sits. The academy is set faintly aglow by the moon's flickering smile out here, and there's no one to disrupt her Mugen she struggles to empty out her mind. When the dark is all there is, it's easier, somehow. Like the voices are spread out, growing more distant the more Mugen settles into that which she during the day rejects. It's hard for them to reach her at night.
Funnily enough, Mugen hates the dark. She only adores the stars enough to endure it. Nights like this, when the sky is a glittering arrangement set in the negative of space, with no care for the horrors that occur beneath it, Mugen is as close as content as she can be. The world could end but the night sky would remain the same.
Mugen exhales. The chirps of crickets fill the void left by the voices. She rubs her wrists, feeling the flesh pebble up from the cold.
The first thing she thinks of is the missed meeting with the headmaster. The promise of a task should she return to him with the same demand. Considering the nature of the headmaster and his school, she ruefully acknowledges that it might be something nearly impossible for her as a human to complete—but that would not stop her from doing it. But in hindsight she now regrets the aggression and confidence she must have given off during her talk with the Exorcist—missing the meeting after all of that surely made the headmaster think her a posturing idiot.
Probably why he added the threat of a task at all. If I had kept my mouth shut. . .
Then, there's Moka. Mugen wishes she could understand her, and understand her own feelings on the matter. She feels like she's balancing on the top of a very tall fence with only her toes: does Mugen cut off her ties with Moka now before they grow any closer, like she knows she should, or embrace her new friend even knowing the inevitable pain that it will cause them both?
Mugen feels like shit even considering the first option, but the guilt of the second nearly eclipses it, because—
Moka risked her life for Mugen, knowingly or not, chasing after her yesterday. All to apologize and retain the budding friendship they'd only just developed. It could easily be seen as Moka clinging to the idea of her first and only friend, rather than Mugen herself, but maybe. . .
Idiot. Do you think she actually gives a shit about you? How lonely are you to start fantasizing about impossible things?
The bad thing about being in the dark, though, is that when the voices do manage to speak to her, it's with such clarity and sentience that Mugen can't even feign to ignore them. She hates these the most. The voices that make sense, that use reason and logic but never give her solutions, the ones that only mix up her mind further—they can torment her endlessly by driving her thoughts in circles.
You don't make any sense. Do you ever make up your mind? How many times have you made a choice of your own rather than sitting on your hands and waiting for it to be made for you? You'll hurt her either way—why bother being indecisive about it? You won't know what she would prefer without telling her, but then, you don't know how she'll react to your plans. Really, what would she think, having risked herself to save someone as doomed as you? Hehehe. . .
Mugen drops her head down between her knees, breathing harshly. She grips at her knees and tries to will the belligerent phantoms away, but reason is hard to ignore.
We all know you won't tell her. Choose. Will you let your selfish loneliness overcome your guilt? Or will you let her walk away after all the effort she put into keeping this tenuous bond between the two of you? You are false either way. You will never be truthful to her. Do you even know what honesty is?
"Why," Mugen starts, heaving with nausea when presented with her options, "can't you ever just leave me alone?"
The voice laughs.
You are alone. Mad, alone, and cursed. If I were to leave, you would be worse than that. You would be nothing without me. You are only here because I allow you to be.
"I don't need you to remind me."
Ah, ah, ah, but we think you do. Look at you, talking to yourself. I thought you said you were past this? But ah, shush now. Someone's coming. What will they think if they hear you?
Mugen rears back, paying attention this time to the warning when it's given.
A boy garbed in a black uniform approaches her from the side. Luminous spectacles reflect the moon and dark locks hang like seaweed over a pallid face. There's an armband on his bicep and Mugen squints to read the kanji inscribed on it. Plainly, it denotes this stranger as a member of the Public Safety Commission.
So there is some form of security around here, huh? Mugen muses as the boy comes to a stop before her. His posture is not immediately threatening, so Mugen doesn't choose to react until he speaks.
"Students aren't allowed to be outside their dorms after curfew. I have to ask, what are you doing out here?"
Mugen's side-eyes him, not eager to get in another fight so soon after waking up. Not to mention, Moka, either side of her, would probably be upset. Knowing this, Mugen stands and affects an appropriately apologetic facade. She smiles sheepishly and rubs her arm. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm just getting air—I woke up in the infirmary just a bit ago. Yesterday was my first day here and I didn't get the chance to learn all the rules yet."
The boy levels her with a suspicious frown. "You know, hearing that you just came from the infirmary doesn't exactly sound like you're of good character."
"Does the name Komiya Saizou ring any bells?" Mugen asks slowly. If this guy has heard of Saizou, or even seen him, then he could possibly get the idea of why Mugen was on bed rest. There's almost no way, at least using human logic, that someone would see Saizou, then Mugen, and think Mugen's the violent one by glance alone.
The student enforcer's face alights with recognition, but instead of relaxing he goes tense. "That delinquent? Heard he almost got carted away in a casket. That was you?"
Mugen pauses, not really surprised by the severity of Saizou's state but more in awe of Moka's singular ability to down, and nearly kill, another person with a single kick. Put that up against a human like Mugen? She would have been mush. Mugen rids herself of that thought with a shake of her head. "No, my friend. He tried jumping me and got beat down for it."
"Oh, well," The enforcer's shoulders relax infinitesimally as he shifts. "That's understandable. But either way, students aren't allowed to be roaming around after hours. You're lucky it's me, otherwise. . . Well. I'll escort you back to the infirmary."
Mugen raises a brow at how he'd trailed off but decides not to ask. Perhaps his cohorts were even more strict. "Okay," she says instead, following obediently when the student officer inclines his head for her to start walking. The trip back is devoid of conversation, but the student officer does warn her before she reenters the infirmary to stay inside her dorms after hours once she's allowed to leave.
Opening the door to the infirmary, Mugen sighs, but it turns into a yelp as she's abruptly yanked into another body from behind. She cranes her head to see Moka's tearful face burying into her neck.
"Mugen-chan! I thought—I thought you left, or—or maybe Saizou tried to hurt you again, and—where were you?"
Caught as thoroughly off-guard as she is, Mugen has to process the fact that she's being hugged tight before she can register the question Moka puts forth like a demand. "S-sorry, I woke up and just needed air," she fumbles to explain when faced with Moka's wet glare. "I—I didn't mean to scare you?"
Moka's forehead is knitted with consternation as she lets Mugen turn around in her arms. "You should have woken me up. What if Saizou tried to attack you again?"
"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," Mugen grins, faced with Moka's now unnecessary concern. "From what I hear, he's got a long recovery ahead of him."
Moka's distress smooths over into relief. "Good, then. He deserves what he got and worse."
Mugen's brows raise as Moka's eyes flash with dark satisfaction. Did this side of Moka carry a sadistic streak? "I mean, I don't disagree, but I'm kind of surprised to hear you say that. I kind of figured you'd feel bad."
"Did you want me to?" Moka asks with an inscrutable tone, leaning back.
Mugen's mouth goes dry as she becomes intensely aware of how little distance is between them, an uncomfortable tingle prickling beneath her skin. Moka's too close, Mugen thinks, having been starved of touch since she can remember, and now realizing that for a second there Moka had been even closer. The proximity is too much after all the overstimulation Mugen's already dealing with from the past twenty-four hours.
"N-no," Mugen says, fidgeting as best she can with Moka's arms still around her. The vampire either doesn't get the hint or ignores it. "He did deserve it. I was just worried you'd feel bad."
"I might have," Moka confesses, going soft when it becomes apparent that Mugen isn't judging her. "But he hurt you, and the things he said. . ."
And then Moka leans down so her forehead rests on Mugen's. Mugen nearly combusts. She feels so heated that she's sure she's been set alight, burning bright enough that her shadow flees. She swallows thickly as Moka's eyes find hers when Mugen has no other place to divert her gaze.
"You were hurt," Moka says, brow furrowing in a way that Mugen can feel as she glances down at Mugen, then up to her forehead where there had once been a wound overflowing with blood. "It was bad enough that it might have killed a normal human. But you're fine now. How?"
". . . M-my curse has some benefits, you could say." Mugen has to remember how to work her tongue, its weight heavy and cotton-feeling in her mouth. "Healing me is one of them," she admits, hesitantly.
Pale hands tighten around Mugen as Moka moves to rest her chin in Mugen's neck. "Is that why you didn't fight back? You knew you'd be okay?"
Mugen doesn't know how to answer. Moka senses her hesitation.
"Or is it like what Ura said. You. . ."
Ura?
Oh. Inner Moka.
Right. Despite the difference, Inner Moka had been aware of what Outer Moka had seen. It's reasonably to assume the connection goes both ways and that Outer Moka knows what Inner Moka does.
Look at that. You might not even have to tell her. She's smart enough to figure it out herself. What are you going to do now?
Mugen licks her lips and chooses to stay silent.
Moka shakes her head in Mugen's neck, disappointed; the movement rubs her nose into the slope of it. Mugen shivers. "You can't," Moka says, muffled.
Mugen tries to lean back, makes it obvious even, but Moka clings tighter. The resistance discourages Mugen, so she stops and tries a different avenue, "Moka?"
"I just found you. You can't . . . just make me care about you, then up and leave!"
Mugen blinks. The laughter in her head isn't hers. "Moka, I didn't mean for this. To do this to you. I didn't expect or even want to make friends when I came here, but it was just so easy with you—but still, my curse, it's—"
Moka pulls back, putting her hands on Mugen's shoulders. Despite Moka's full powers being sealed, there still remains an inhuman strength beyond Mugen's abilities to challenge keeping her in place. "I'll help you," the vampire swears. "If that's what it takes, I'll help you with your curse. Every curse can be lifted, surely. You don't have to resort to that, I promise."
". . . That's a big thing to promise," Mugen points out, stunned. "You don't even know exactly what my curse is or what it could take. And you hardly know me, so why would you offer this?"
Moka shakes her head, smiling faintly now. Her hair tickles Mugen's cheek. "You're my friend," she reminds Mugen, though there's still a touch of disbelief to her tone, as though she can't believe it herself.
"But I'm basically a stranger."
"Are you trying to convince me to just let you?" Moka frowns. Mugen must admit, the anger on her face in this form is far less intimidating than her more frigid half—if they were in any other circumstance Mugen might have even poked at Moka and compared her to an angry puppy. "It doesn't matter how long we've been friends, because I plan on being friends with you for a lot longer if I have any say in it."
Moka stares her down as she makes that declaration and Mugen finds herself without words. Speechless, really. What does someone say to that? Mugen doesn't exactly have a guidebook for social interactions and what little experience she's had with people doesn't cover this. No one's made an effort like this before to stay with her rather than leave her.
Look at her. So sweet, so protective. But she doesn't know what you've done. What goes on in your head. She'd look at you differently if she knew. Will you tell her?
This voice pauses, as though giving Mugen a moment to answer, but she hardly ever does. No, it eventually answers for her. You never will. Because you're afraid. You'll just try to push her away while reeling her back in, all while keeping your mouth shut.
The voice cackles mockingly.
What a greedy soul you are.
Mugen's face falls, affected by the phantom though she makes no mention of it. "But what if you get to know me and then decide you don't want to be friends? Don't say something you might regret."
"I won't regret it." Moka promises.
"But—"
"No," a finger presses against Mugen's lips as Moka stops her. "I'm telling you I won't regret it. This . . . I have a feeling," she says, and steps back slightly to press her free hand to her chest, over her rosary. "That I need to do this. I don't know why, but I know that you're important enough to me already that I don't care about that. If I can get over the fact that you're human, then I can get over whatever else comes if that's what it takes to be your friend."
"You're crazy," Mugen laughs breathlessly. That small, dreaming part of her is delighted, but the shadows still try to hide it.
Moka smiles again and outstretches her hand. "Maybe. But do you believe me, Mugen-chan? Do you trust me?"
Mugen stares at the proffered hand. She looks back up at Moka.
Does she? Will she?
Do you want to? Mugen tilts her head, listening. This speaker's different than the others, rarely heard, and far less antagonistic. It only ever questions Mugen with all the curiosity of a child who wants to know what happens next. This goes against everything you planned for. Are you really willing to try?
. . . Yeah, she is.
"I want to. Is that enough?"
Moka considers it, not knowing that Mugen wasn't exactly talking to her. "I think so."
Mugen refocuses then, nodding slightly. She takes Moka's hand. "Okay, then."
After her hand is in Moka's, Moka reels her in for an even tighter hug. Mugen takes the embrace only a little bit better this time, and can feel Moka inhale against her neck. She thinks to offer, but she's tired and not thinking straight anymore, so she decides against it. Maybe in the morning.
Moka yawns as though to agree.
After the emotional whirlwind of the first day of school, the two find it mutually acceptable to return to their beds, and sleep until the nurse attempts to wake them in the morning.
They're cleared to go back to school, though they're allowed to miss that day due to the circumstances—a notice passed down to the nurse from the headmaster himself. Mugen has a feeling he's aware of what transpired the day before.
With a whole day to themselves to recover mentally and emotionally from the first day's upheaval, they decide to spend that time in Moka's dorm, as Mugen's is bare save for a single suitcase that she's yet to unpack, shipped by the school beforehand. Moka insists on cooking, a fantasy of hers, Moka says. Mugen, of course, replies by saying she doesn't have to, but concedes when Moka pouts.
Now, Mugen sits on the counter, forgoing the chair, and stares curiously as Moka goes about preparing the meal. When Moka turns on the faucet to wash her hands, Mugen is alarmed to notice its an odd green color, as though a grass-colored bath bomb had been thrown into Moka's plumbing, and asks after it when Moka doesn't react.
"Oh, my plumbing is separate from the other students. An herbal mixture has been added in, that's why my water looks like that." Moka says.
Mugen tilts her head. Sniffing, the herb-steeped water has a different smell to it, but it's not repugnant. Mugen imagines the taste to not be much different. "Why is that?"
"Vampires are weak to water, holy or otherwise," Moka explains simply as she fills a pot with the green water, but she does it without making it sound as if Mugen should have already known that. Moka tears open a bag of rice, pours half in the boiler, and reseals it. "It saps our powers, and even the slightest bit getting on our skin can be painful. The herbs that have been added into the water dilute it to the point it doesn't affect us."
"Oh. So what do you do when it rains?"
"Stay inside, mostly. But I've read that the barrier Youkai Academy is guarded by keeps a pretty moderate weather for the most part, so I thankfully don't have to worry much about that. Barring that, there's special accommodations made for some students with weaknesses like mine."
"That's good," Mugen mutters, imagining that if they hadn't Moka would have had to go through the extra trouble of treating the water beforehand. Washing her hands would have been annoying, showers impossible, and even flushing the toilet an uncomfortable risk. "I'm glad they think to do that for you."
Moka hums, moving over to the pressure cooker that contained the simmering chicken curry. Mugen's mouth watered when Moka lifted the lid and the scent wafted out to her. It'd been too long since she had homemade food, but she wouldn't tell Moka that—besides being embarrassing, Mugen wasn't sure she'd be able to keep the drool pooling in her mouth from spilling out. "Yes, I'm really grateful to the school," Moka says, stirring the curry thoughtfully before looking back at Mugen.
There's something to Moka's expression that makes Mugen flustered, but thankfully Moka doesn't go on to say whatever sappy thing Mugen feels is on her mind. They haven't known each other long but Moka's already learning of Mugen's difficulty with open affection. Moka smiles a small secretive smile either way and turns back to finishing up the food, swaying happily in place. When the rice has softened up enough, Moka pulls out two plates for them to make. After doing so, the two of them sit at the small table in Moka's room, sitting on the tatami mats there.
They clap their hands together in a prayer-like manner. "Itadakimasu."
And then they break apart their chop sticks and dig in. The first bite is a surprise, and each and every bite after that is near-bliss in the form of sustenance. Mugen closes her eyes at the taste, so different from the junk food and take-out she's subjected herself to since. . . well. She cheerfully chews, swallows, and opens her eyes to get another bite, only to see Moka peering at her nervously from across the table.
"Is something wrong?" Mugen asks, tilting her head.
Moka shakes her head but still looks troubled. "I was wondering . . . is it good?"
Mugen cocks a brow. Moka's chopsticks are still clasped and unstained between pale fingers. "You haven't tried it yet?"
Moka pouts. "No. I wanted to know what you thought of it first."
"Were you worried it was going to taste bad?" Mugen asks, mock-offense plastered on her face. "Was I just some guinea pig for you to test your recipes on?"
"Mugen-chan," Moka whines out, brows pinching in annoyance at the assumption. "That's not it. I just haven't ever cooked for anyone else before."
"Really? I find that hard to believe," Mugen leans forward to take another bite, swallowing before looking Moka square in the eye. "Because this is too delicious for me to be the only person you've experimented on."
Now Moka looks red, the tips of her ears blending in with her hair, though the compliment makes it hard to hide her delight. She toys with the chopsticks and averts her gaze. "Are you teasing me again?"
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you're smirking." Moka points out with a huff, but her smile is hard to hide.
Mugen tries to diminish the upward tug of her lips, but it proves to be an insurmountable task. "I can't help what my face does," Mugen protests. "And I'm honestly not teasing you—or, well, completely, at least. I do really like it. The last time I had something this good was before middle school."
Before, before, before, before. . . before the end began.
"Really?" Now it's Moka's turn to question. "Why?"
Mugen shrugs. "My parents became really busy, so my mom didn't cook much after I entered middle school. I was fine eating junk food and the like so I didn't have to bother them."
Moka's mouth twists. "That's sad, Mugen-chan. So you're saying you haven't had a proper meal until now?"
"It's not that sad, a lot of people eat take-out every day," Mugen says, as though there wasn't anything depressing about that. "But yeah."
Moka sets her chopsticks down with a shake of her head. Mugen watches her curiously as a sternness comes over Moka's features. Moka fixes Mugen with a near-maternal look that has Mugen feeling like she just disappointed her mother. "That won't do."
"What do you mean?"
"Eating like that isn't healthy. You're going to let me cook for you from now on," Moka says. "And you're going to learn how to cook if you don't know already. I'll teach you."
"Oh, you don't want that," Mugen snorts in reply. She's grateful for Moka's concern, but Moka would learn Mugen's a lost cause soon enough, in more ways than one. "I'm better off washing dishes after the fact than messing with anything that remotely requires heat—I have a tendency to set things on fire. Ever burn a grill cheese? Those things can turn into bonfires if you're not paying attention."
Moka picks up her chopsticks, daintily tucking into the curry. "You're not getting out of this, Mugen-chan. I can't, in good conscious, let you continue when your health is on the line."
"But—" Mugen starts.
"Nope," Moka interjects, lips popping on the 'p'. "As your friend, you'll let me teach you, won't you?"
Mugen blanches at the earnest pleading sparkling on Moka's face, unable to deny it. The vampire's holding nothing back when it comes to charming Mugen into doing what she wants. Realizing this, Mugen sighs and submits. ". . . Ah, I guess. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"Yay! That was easier than I thought it'd be." Moka comments, grinning. "I thought it was going to take more to convince you."
"Whatever," Mugen rolls her eyes.