A/N: Mukuro is FUTCH
Chapter 1.2: Can We Go Gift Shopping
"So tell me about yourself!" Junko prompted me over breakfast.
We were sitting together in the cafeteria with our would-be classmates. The 16 of us occupied the one long table, and we all were trying our best to make awkward idle chatter.
It was all Makoto's idea. The boy had woken up early just to go to each individual's dorm, wake them, greet them good morning, and invite them to breakfast. Personally, Makoto Naegi—or, well, anyone—seeing me in my early morning state was not exactly my idea of a good morning; however, he was insistent that I come down to breakfast with everyone else ("Surely you must, Mukuro!").
Despite my futile attempts at refusal, I could hardly say no to the kid. Just that smile could be enough to win me over.
Junko's voice woke me from my reverie and drowsiness. I wasn't particularly a morning person. Upon finally registering her question, I shrugged nonchalantly. "What's to tell? I'm sure compared to you, my life isn't nearly as exciting."
I was feeling a little strange this morning, even from the beginning. Examining myself in the mirror after waking up, I was sure that something was different, even in my state of grogginess (or maybe I was just getting uglier).
"Don't be ridiculous! You're a detective, how is that not exciting? Besides..." She waved her hand carelessly. "My life is already splashed across the tabloids."
I said nothing, keeping my eyes down, fixed on my plate.
"Come on!" she whined, hopping up and down in her chair excitedly. "What've you been up to for the past who-knows-how-many years? Dad almost never talks about you. Or Mom." Her voice was suddenly much quieter, "When she ran off to solve mysteries, taking my only sister with her, I thought I'd never see you again, ya know?"
Maybe she had lost track, but I knew that "who-knows-how-many-years" was equivalent to almost 12 years. Not that I had kept track for any particular reason. Mom never liked to talk about Dad. Or about my sister, who I vaguely knew existed but new next to nothing about, save for the fainter than faint memories. They were like phantoms; their only proof of existence were a couple of old crappy photos.
So I stopped asking. It was like that elephant in the room. That thing that you pretend isn't there even though you know that obviously it is.
"To be fair," I said to her, "I didn't think my baby sister would grow up to be so famous."
She was so different from the child in the photos, the ever present companion at my side who I knew nothing about. She had this whole exciting, glamorous life, separate from mine.
12 years is a long time.
I smiled, deciding at last to to oblige her with answers. Despite the fact that they were hardly answers at all. "If you really want to know, my last case was in Europe. Actually," I said, the memories—for some reason much cloudier than they probably should be—flooding back to me. "Mom wasn't with me that time. I was in... oh, what was it? It was this really small country... Novoselic?"
Despite my non-answers, she hung onto every word.
"And Mom? What's she like?" she asked eagerly, eyes wide with interest.
I thought about it for a moment. "Quiet," I finally decided. "Really quiet."
She laughed. I joined in as well, her laughter infectious. It was a strange feeling.
"Fair enough," she said, still laughing. Finally she was able to compose herself. "Dad's the opposite. He's loud, and he talks way too much. He was the one who really pushed me to come here." For a moment, she looked sad. Then the moment passed, and she was back to her usual self. "Well, I suppose he had to do something with his life since the 'family business' didn't appeal to him."
By that, she meant detective work. I didn't know the details. Just that detective work was a family tradition.
I nodded, not taking my eyes off my half-eaten piece of toast. She continued, "The stage name was his idea, too." She paused. "You know... as much as it royally sucks that we're stuck here like this, I'm really glad I got to see you again."
I looked back up at her, surprised at how sincere she seemed. "So am I."
"Let's get out of this place together. You and I. We're gonna get out of that awful place." Her eyes were bright and full of hope.
I nodded. Trying to lighten up from the somber turn the conversation had taken, I said, "The company could take some getting used to, but they're not all that bad." When she didn't answer, I added, "This is some pretty heavy stuff, and I'm not talking about the breakfast."
She snorted.
I yawned, trying not to think about the fact that I would probably still be asleep under normal circumstances. How I missed my usual bed, the one at home, despite the fact that the mattress creaked and the pillows were much too soft. But it was a bed, and it was mine, not the strange bed I'd been forced to occupy.
"Are you alright, Mukuro?" asked Sayaka. Sho sat across from me, right beside Junko.
"Oh, I'm fine, just tired is all," I tried to reassure her.
"I'm a little tired myself," she said. If she was, she didn't look it. There was no indication that she was anything but picture perfect, in contrast to my own hooded eyelids and purplish shadows underneath my eyes.
I wished I was a morning person. It'd certainly make my job easier. Black coffee was dubbed in our household as "jet fuel," due to its hideous color and necessity just to get through working early morning cases. Which, admittedly, weren't often. Being a detective wasn't exactly a 9-to-5 thing. It was just something I did because my mother was doing it, and I always followed my mother. She always voiced her hopes of taking over the family business, and I always just figured that I would since I had no other choice really do entertain. These were my only skills. I never really thought about it. I guess I just assumed it was a given.
Although black coffee was probably something I could stand to live without.
"Did you often have early morning cases?" asked Sayaka curiously, interrupting my mood swings.
"Every once in a while, which is still more often than I would like." I was intrigued. "But how did you-–"
"Know? I can read minds," she said, with what appeared to be complete seriousness.
I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
She giggled. "Kidding! I just have really good intuition."
Now I wasn't a people person by any means, but I considered myself to be a person with good intuitions. It just came with my area of expertise—more from experience than anything else. In terms of social interaction, the reading people part was the easy part. The talking to them was where it tripped me up. I just wasn't built for social graces.
But this.. this was a whole new level of "good intuitions." Undoubtably, there was more to Sayaka Maizono than I had initially presumed, and it was absolutely fascinating.
She was wearing a yellow bow in her hair, as opposed to the pink one she had been wearing the previous day. Once again, she was impeccably dressed and absolutely pristine. To be honest, she was even prettier in person than she was in the magazines.
However, I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about her seemed different.
Sayak shot me a look. "Mukuro, why are you staring? I know I don't quite live up to the cover shots, but those things are photoshopped," she said, once again as if she were in tune to my thoughts.
I flushed red with embarrassment, looking away from her and back down at my breakfast plate. I didn't speak for the rest of the meal.
"'Kuro, I'm bored," Junko complained.
The two of us were killing time in her room. With no school (and the imminent possibility of murder), there wasn't much regarding ways to occupy ourselves. When we'd got back from breakfast, she immediately had flopped onto her bed and hadn't moved since. Meanwhile I was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, in sheer awe at the amount off cosmetics she had lined across her bathroom counter. She probably had enough to run a beauty parlor.
"'Kuro'?" I asked, unsure of what to make of the word. I turned to look at her to see that she was sprawled comically across her unmade bed, her head and her arms dangling over the side, her pigtails so long that they touched the floor.
She slid herself down to the floor. "Yeah, 'Kuro. It's ok if I call you 'Kuro, right?"
I answered automatically. "Yeah, that's..." I let my sentence trail as I turned to look away from her and back at my own reflection. "That's fine."
I'd never had a nickname before. The idea made me feel oddly happy. I smiled to myself.
From her spot on the floor, I heard Junko call out, "I have a beyond brilliant idea!" In my surprise, I turned to look at her to see that I was mistaken. Rather than laying on the floor, she had popped up off the ground like a daisy. "Ok, hear me out. I think, you are in need of a makeover!"
"What?" I asked, not quite sure exactly what I was hearing. I tried to refuse. "No, no... You don't have to..."
She ignored my protested.
Not that I hated makeup, but in my mind it was always a little bit like wizardry. It was ritualistic, you can transform into someone totally different, it was impossible to learn. There was something just mysterious about it. I'd given up on the idea long ago. There was no fixing these dark circles.
"Yeah!" She was beside me in an instant, holding my hands in hers. "Please, please, please, 'Kuro!"
How could I possibly say no?
"Stop fidgeting. You're messing me up."
"I'm sorry, I've never really done this before."
"You're kidding right?" asked Junko.
I shrugged. "I've always dedicated my time to my cases."
"You're moving," she complained. "Close your eyes." I shut my eyes. "No, not like that. Relax." I relaxed, only just realizing that I had been so tense that they were jammed shut.
I felt something swipe across my eyelids. As the process went on, I resisted the urge to pull away from the pencils and brushes that were poking at my face. Every once in a while, Junko would swear quietly under her breath. It made me a little nervous.
"Can I open my eyes?"
My nose was beginning to itch.
"No," said Junko firmly. "The liner still has to dry. Now don't move. I don't want to mess up your eyebrows."
"Mess up my wha—Ow!" I felt a tug and a sharp pain as a hair at the bottom of my eyebrow was removed.
"Shhhhh, don't talk, or they'll end up crooked," she said, continuing to tweeze away at my eyebrows.
I tried my best to hold still, but every now and then I would wince from the pain. At last, she stopped.
"Can I open my eyes now?" I asked.
"Yeah, go ahead."
I opened my eyes to see Junko standing before me, brandishing a small metal tool in her hand.
I jumped back in fright.
She rolled her eyes. "Calm down. It's just an eyelash curler."
"A what?"
"An eyelash curler," she said matter-of-factly. "Now hold still."
I shied away from her hand. "You're lying, there is no way that that thing is not some sort of weapon."
She laughed. "You're a riot, 'Kuro, really." Stern once again, she added, "Now seriously, don't move."
I protested weakly as I felt the little metal curler on my eyelashes. "What does this even do?"
"It's called an eyelash curler. What do you think it does? Other eye now."
I sat patiently until Enoshima had finished with the eyelash curler and applied mascara, the stickiness making it awful tempting to blink or wipe the mess away, but I resisted.
"You actually have nice eyelashes," she said.
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Mhm." She then applied something rosy my cheeks. It might've been blush?
"That tickles." I wrinkled my nose.
"I'm nearly finished." She took a step back, looking me up and down. "Alright... Well, there's not much we can do about your hair." She seemed to be talking more to herself than to me. "Maybe if I had a wig I could, but..."
"Wig?" I asked, perplexed. She had wigs in her room, too?
She shook her head. "Never mind, forget I said anything." She brushed my hair behind my ears with her finger, using a clip to keep it in place.
She took out the plain earrings I was wearing. "Thank god you have pierced ears because that could have gone horribly wrong," she said, substituting them with another pair.
"You've pierced ears before?" I asked dubiously, secretly grateful as well at having avoided that prospect.
"Nope!" she said, sounding oddly chipper about it. "Which is why I said it's a good thing yours are already pierced."
From what I could tell, she was implying that she would have pierced them herself. Not that I would ever let an inexperienced teen who I had just met yesterday come anywhere close to my ears with a sharp object, but I said nothing.
"Can I see now?" I asked.
"Alright," she trilled gleefully, smiling wide for me. "Turn around."
I turned to look at myself in the mirror and was completely taken aback by my own appearance.
Admittedly, she had done quite a good job, but it was just strange. Flaws that I didn't really even register that I had were now played down. Just my eyes looked a little brighter, my cheeks a little rosier, my hair framed my face a little better. It wasn't dramatic. Except maybe the eye makeup. I was pretty sure it was what could be called a "smokey eye". But I wasn't transformed.
It didn't feel fake, not exactly. It was still unmistakably me, just... a little more polished, maybe? Mixed emotions I didn't even know could go together were bubbling to the surface.
"I tried to bring out your eyes. You have such nice eyes." I could see her watching me apprehensively for a reaction or response.
"My freckles..." I didn't look at her. I was transfixed by my own appearance, something that had never happened before in my life.
"I didn't want to cover them up. You should show them off!"
I nodded, still not looking at her.
"Oh... You don't like it," she said, sounding disheartened.
I shook my head.
"So you do like it?"
I nodded.
"Really?"
At last, I turned to look at her. She was grinning ear to ear. "Yes, er... Junko. You did a really good job, thank you," I told her with full sincerity.
There was an ecstatic squeal, and before I knew it, her arms were around me. Although this time, she let go almost immediately.
"Sorry, I'm a hugger." She grinned apologetically. "And enough with this overly formal crap. You're my sister, act like it! Call me sis. Or like... just give me a kickass nickname or something."
I gave a small chuckle before turning to look at myself in the mirror again. Call it shallow, but opportunities to allow myself a little vanity were few and far between.
"Hon, you've never looked better." She looked up and down approvingly, as if admiring her own work. "Eyebrow game so strong they can bench press more than Mondo Owada."
I suppressed the urge the laugh.
Something in the mirror caught my eye. I leaned in loser to my reflection, aiming to get a better look at my ears. Upon closer inspection, I was able to discern the shapes of my earrings.
"They're rabbits," I said, surprised.
"Yeah. Cute, huh?" said Junko. "Just think of them as a gift from me to you."
"You don't have to—"
"Don't be ridiculous," she cut me off. "It's nothing really."
"Alright, alright, sis. Thank you." I figured this was probably not an argument I would have won anyways.
She was elated. At that very moment, I was sure that nothing would have been able to crush her spirits. She gasped. "We have to show everyone!"
Oh, God.
I shook my head fervently, eyes wide.
"Come on," she begged. "My masterpiece simply can't go to waste!"
I sat down on the edge of her bed. "I just like staying here with you," I said, trying to pacify her.
Truthfully, I really didn't care if anyone else saw me. I felt good, and Junko was happy, and really that was what mattered, right? I'd never been one for attention or praise.
She pouted. "But I want everyone to see how great my big sister looks."
I sighed.
"You'll knock 'em dead for sure," she said. "Who knows, maybe even literally. Although when Monokuma said 'School of Mutual Killing', I don't think that's really what he had in mind."
"Jun—Uh, sis, do you really think that's an appropriate joke?" I asked, trying my best to conceal my exasperation.
She ignored the question, but instead took me by the hand and lead me out the door. "You know, I have a funny feeling I'm going to be getting that tone a lot from you."
"You look so pretty! You could be a model!"
"Thank you, Sayaka."
"Isn't she though? My biggest success to date."
"Junko, please, I'm right here."
"Mukuro is looking so good, yeah?"
"Seriously guys, I'm standing right here."
"Classic case of 'Beautiful All Along.' If you were fictional you'd be quite something, Miss Mukuro Ikusaba."
"..."
It was perhaps the most awkward situation I'd ever been in. And in all the years of my life I'd encountered some pretty awkward scenarios. I pertain it to the fact that I was probably just not used to fourteen nearly complete strangers giving me compliments. Ok, so all fourteen weren't present in the cafeteria, where Junko decided to go to show of her little "project." That was how she had referred to me. Her "project".
She was shameless in her attempts to show me off. I tried my best to be as gracious as possible to everyone who complimented me, despite being rather uncomfortable.
For just a brief point, I caught Kyoko staring at me. I thought she too was going to say something to me, but she stayed silent. She diverted her gaze as soon as our eyes met, and she turned away from me.
"You look really nice, Mukuro."
"Thank you, Makoto."
"I mean, not that you don't always look nice!" he corrected himself. "Because you do! You just look pretty all fixed up. Not that you need fixing by any means. I mean..."
You'd think the leader of the morals committee would be a little better at articulating what they wanted to say, rather than be a stammering mess. But that was awfully sweet.
I laughed, doing my best to conceal it behind my hand, as if that would do any good. Perhaps I was hoping it would spare him a least a little from embarrassment. My cheeks burned slightly, and I was hoping it would be disguised by the all blush Junko had applied. I was praying that nobody would notice. However, Junko must have because was soon as Makoto had left she was immediately beside me.
"I saw that," she said quietly so that only I could here, with a smirk on her face that was making me uncomfortable.
"Saw what?" I asked.
"You know, that."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about Makoto," she said in a voice that implied that it should be completely obvious. "I'm totally calling this one. I'm doing it early. Otherwise, I won't get to say 'I told you so', and where's the fun in that?"
I didn't answer. I didn't know how. What even was the proper response to that sort of thing?
It wasn't quite as bad waking up early the next day.
Still bad, but not quite as bad as before. I probably should have expected something like this would happen. Makoto had even said the previous morning that he wanted to turn breakfast with the group into an every day thing, but it didn't make me any less tired. I supposed it was just something I'd have to get used to.
That is, if I was correct in assuming Monokuma's "good morning" announcement on the monitors would be something we would have the pleasure of waking up to every single morning. I was a light sleeper, the kind that woke easily.
I had looked pretty ghastly waking up that morning, even more so than usual. I caught myself daydreaming of thoughts of concealer, but that was a joke. Even if I could get some (maybe from Junko), I had no idea how applying it actually worked. I never really thought there would be a day I'd actually wish for makeup, but perhaps it was my sister's influence. Still, most of it still made me feel way out of my depths. Eyeshadow, bronzer, fake eyelashes? Forget about it. And I was not making the mistake of letting an "eyelash curler" near my face again. But concealer? That was more my speed.
All the same, it was a false hope at best. I had no idea how people managed to do the whole "makeup" thing every day. It was actually kind of impressive. I had neither the patience nor the skill for such a task.
While I was glad to make her happy, the whole experience had opened up a new floodgate of weird nitpicky qualms I had with my own appearance that had never really bothered me before.
Still, wanting to at least maintain a kept appearance, I brushed my hair, pinning it back under my bangs as usual. Looking myself in the mirror, I frowned. I was so pale. Maybe it was silly, but I pinched my cheeks, hoping that would give them some color.
And I made sure to wear my new earrings, of course.
At breakfast, some of the others had inquired as to why I wasn't all made up like yesterday, most with this tone of innocent curiosity that wasn't really convincing. It didn't really bother me. They meant well enough.
I was sitting at a table with Leon, Sayaka, and Junko. Junko was preoccupied with conversation with Sayaka, so Leon probably took this as a sign to at least attempt at casual conversation with me. I assumed his motives were simply for the purpose of politeness since the other two girls were distracted, and I was silent as I ate my breakfast.
"So what's your deal?" he asked me.
I nearly choked on my breakfast. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, are you like one of silent types who keeps to themselves most of the time? You're all mysterious and crap because you like to keep people guessing?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a yes?"
He withered under the look I gave him.
"Alright, alright, never mind," he said. "That was a bad question. Let me try again... What sort of music do you like?"
I was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "What? I... Uh... I'm... not sure really. I don't really have a specific preference. I don't listen to music much."
"What?" He was incredulous. "You're kidding."
I shook my head, poking halfheartedly through my unfinished breakfast with a fork and continuing to eat even though I was no longer hungry.
I didn't get why he was so shocked, but he was looking at me like I'd said something awful.
"You're messing with me," said Leon, trying for a half-hearted laugh. "Come on, what person doesn't listen to music?"
"Too busy, I guess." I shrugged.
"Not liking music is like... not liking kittens."
It was if my apathy towards music was a personal offense against him. It was a little amusing.
"I never said that. Also, I'm a dog person."
He ignored me. "We're going to have to fix that," he mused.
"Cats are fine, but they make me sneeze." It wasn't a lie. Mother and I used to own a kitten when I was much younger, but we had to get rid of it for that very reason. The treachery of allergies.
"No! Not that," he said, dismissing my cat comment with irritation. "You are in serious need of a proper musical education."
"With no phones, mp3s, or even Internet connection," I reminded him. "Although you can still give it a try. My sister is a pop sensation after all, so I'd say it's not... completely out of the question."
"Well, yeah," he said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.
"I heard the phrase 'my sister'," said Junko, surprising us both by interrupting as she turned to look at us. "What is it? Are you in need of my presence? Or perhaps my angelic singing voice?" She sung the last part.
I couldn't even tell if she was serious or not. I suppressed a laugh. "Sorry sis, but actually... maybe. Leon was just chastising me on my lack of interest in music. Apparently, I'm in... serious need of a musical education, was how it was put?"
"Oh! Maybe I can be of asisstence?" she asked, the prospect seeming to catch her interest.
"Unless you can cover a wide variety of genres and time periods, I don't think so," I said. "Although I'm not doubting your range," I added. "I'm sure it's very impressive."
Sayaka, who I hadn't even realized had been listening in on our conversation, laughed out loud.
At that moment, I heard a loud crash and several of us turned our head to the noise.
Celeste sighed, and across the room lay a shattered cup of former milk tea.
Holy shit.
"What the fuck?" cried Mondo, eyes going wide in shock.
"Celeste, that, like, came out of nowhere!" said Hina.
Celeste did not address either of them.
Hifumi wailed, his face going pale as he began to sweat. "Dear me! What are you doing, my little white rabbit?" he cried.
"I loathe milk tea such as this!" said Celeste, her voice disgusted despite her expression of apathy.
"Wha—? After all that time I put into making it for you!" said Hifumi, indignant with his hand on his hips.
"The milk absolutely has to be a part of the brewing process. I will not accept anything less."
"Wait, for real? That's what this is about?" asked Hifumi.
"I realize it can be a bit of a hassle," said Celeste. "Even in cafes that offer proper milk tea, it is always more expensive than simple tea with milk. It takes more time to prepare, surely but…" She giggled at him with a smile that was equally as eerie as it was delicate. "Why even bother creating a menu if you are not going to offer the highest level of quality, yes?"
Hifumi frowned. "Yes, but, this isn't a restaurant…"
Celeste rose to her feet, threatening him with the sharp armor-like ring on her index finger, the point dangerously close to his face. There was a furious glint in her red eyes. "What did I just say!" she snapped. "Get on with it, freak! Hurry up and bring me what I asked for, swine!"
Her accent was gone, in it's place was a fury from her I'd never seen.
Hifumi squealed, running off into the kitchen. "O-Okay! Your little piggy will bring it out right now!"
Once he was gone, Celeste regained her composure almost instantaneously. She giggled once more. "Hehe. I do so love coercion."
Mondo stared. "What. the. fuck," he said again, this time low and under his breath.
"The hell was that about?" asked Hiro, scratching his head.
Junko was grinning ear to ear, eyeing Celeste curiously. "Now that's what I'm talking about."
I looked around, and when no one said anything I spoke up. "I'm gonna… go to the kitchen," I said, hurrying over.
Once instead, Hifumi was by the stove, preparing another batch of milk tea.
I moved so that I stood beside him, reaching for the coffee maker and grabbing what I would need to make a fresh cup. It wasn't really my goal, but I needed something to occupy my hands.
"You know, you don't have to do it just because she tells you to," I murmured quietly.
"Ah!" He squeaked, jumping back in fright. "Miss Ikusaba!"
"Sorry, I startled you?"
"Yes! I'm afraid I didn't see you there." He was red in the face. "Miss Ikusaba, whatever do you mean?" he asked.
I shrugged. "That was pretty harsh back there. I, uh…"
I didn't really know what else to say. I didn't have any advice, or guiding words, or anything useful really. Perhaps I was just being nosy as always.
I was beginning to doubt myself. "You know what? Just… forget I said anything."
He was indignant. "Thank you for your concern, Miss Mukuro Ikusaba, but I am perfectly capable of caring for myself!"
"Ok." I dropped it as soon as it was brought up. Not that I didn't have any more feelings on the matter, but it was clearly none of my business. I turned away, over the fridge and opening it up so that I could peer inside. "Want anything?" I asked, turning over to glance back at him.
"Uh… Diet Coke?" He perked up, apprehensive and almost hopeful.
I scanned the shelves. "Sorry, not seeing it."
"Damn it all!" His hands clenched up into little fists. When he was angry, his nose would scrunch up. "What am I going to do without my precious Diet Coke? I am going to suffer withdrawals! Kyaaaaahhh! Away, vile spirits!" His voice was booming. He panted, his whole body drooping as his expression fell. "Here come the auditory hallucinations."
"Hifumi, please, relax," I said.
"What?" he gasped. "That voice! Who—"
"Kid, it's me, snap out of it."
"An angel is telling me to snap out of it! Is it the Love Interest?"
I didn't like the way he was looking at me, so I grabbed his shoulders and gave him a rough shake. "Hifumi! You can't let Diet Coke beat you!"
That seemed to do the trick. "Miss Ikusaba! You're right, I can't lose to the Diet Coke!" He sniffed. "I need to get out of here."
I didn't talk to Hifumi all that much, so, boy, could he flip moods on a dime.
"You will," I said. "Now make sure your tea doesn't boil over."
"Huh? Oh, that's right! Thank you for reminding me!" He rushed to the kettle. "Sincerest apologies, Miss Mukuro Ikusaba, for referring to you as the Love Interest."
"Hm?" I asked. I waved my hand. "Oh, it's… it's fine."
"I didn't want to get your hopes up," said Hifumi. "I've never broken a heart, I can only imagine the tragedy! I just felt I should give you fair warning since you are absolutely not my type!"
I smiled wryly. "It's okay," I said. "I'll live."
"My type, of course, since you would want to know," he continued, "being fictional. Specifically the women in my novels."
"I see," I said, even if I didn't really see.
"Yes! They are my source of comfort. Not to divulge too much of my Tragic Backstory, but, you know, I was quite friendless growing up."
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Oh! Except for my sister of course."
"You must've been very close."
"Yes, well." He paused. "She was my biggest supporter, all these years. I don't know what I would do without her."
I didn't say anything. Instead I just listened, and let him have his moment.
Probably realizing that he was getting way too sentimental, he coughed, clearing his throat. "Yes, yes! Well. It's all very typical of a Protagonist, I should say. You know, the bullies, the tragedy, the rough childhood. If my life were a story, it would be so trite! Such a cliche! Writing kept me sane. But I swore, never again! Well, now I'm a renowned author, I sure showed them!"
I frowned. "Right. And so letting Celeste boss your around is different from that… how?" I asked.
He glared at me from behind his spectacles. "That is entirely different!" cried Hifumi, pointing an accusatory finger at me. He grumbled something indiscernible, in the process of pouring tea and loading a tray. "Forget it, there's no way to think about this in a common sense kind of way!" He scurried off with the tray, leaving me standing there by myself.
"Leon, can I ask you something?"
Somehow, the two of us had ended up in the gift shop together. The fact that it was open at all surprised me, so of course I had to investigate. And by that I meant snatch anything that took my fancy or could hold my interest for a period of time longer than a few seconds. For the most part I was just relieved there was another possible way to occupy my time other than staring at the walls in my dorm or playing guinea pig to Junko's makeovers. Playing beauty parlor was something I had appreciated as a one time thing, but I didn't think I could handle more than just on occasion. Too much poking and prodding and sticky application. While makeup was an impressive feat of artistry, I didn't know if it was really for me.
When I had entered the shop, it had been empty of any other personnel, but at some point Leon must have wandered in without me realizing. We were at opposite ends of the room. I was near to the counter on the right, by the plush Monokumas of all sizes that lined the shelves. I hadn't really planned on saying anything to him. Other than saying hello when I noticed that he, too, was in the room, I was perfectly content with spending the time in silence; however, a question did occur to me that I was rather curious to know the answer to.
At hearing me address him, he turned away from the shelves of miscellaneous products to look at me.
"Huh?" He blinked, seemingly still trying to register the question. "Oh. Yeah, shoot."
"I'm just curious... why would you want to quit swimming?"
Leon shrugged. "It's boring and stupid, and I just don't like it." He scowled, his answer making him seem a bit like a stubborn child. Upon realizing that he'd probably have to give me a bit more than that, he softened, adding, "You know how when you start out doing something, and it's great because it's so much fun, but then you do it all the time, and it starts to feel like work?"
I nodded, but I couldn't truthfully say I really understood how that felt. I'd been leaning against one of the shop's glass display counters as I talk to him, and as I listened intently I hoisted myself up slightly so that I was instead sitting on the counter.
"I guess I can see that," I said, even though I was bluffing. I thought back to our conversation the other day, "Well, if you hate swimming... during our introductions, you were saying something about a singing career. You know, before Sayaka interrupted."
"Wha—You actually remembered that? Heh, sweet." His smile was so broad. He seemed genuinely pleased which was... nice. I didn't think much of it. Remembering things was part of the job.
"Yeah, but I mean like..." I reached over and pulled a stuffed Monokuma toy off the shelf that was practically life-sized, and examined it absentmindedly. It bore too much of a resemblance to the real thing, so I set it aside. Instead, I pulled a similar looking rabbit off the shelf and held it close, hugging it to my chest. I eyed the Monokuma doll with distrust. In any other circumstance, it would have been cute. I would have been tempted to keep the thing for myself if it wasn't so damn unnerving. But, getting back to the conversation, I continued, "You're this guy who's won a billion swimming tournaments, and you plan on leaving that all behind?"
He sulked. "Well, anything sounds dumb when you put it like that," he said. "But... I got this in the bag. Trust me, I have the vocals for it and everything!"
"But aren't you going to compete in the Olympics? That's a pretty huge deal, isn't it?" All that stuff was supposed to be hush-hush until it was confirmed, I couldn't help but ask. Sometimes rumors just weren't enough. Hell, in my line of business, you can't just accept rumors at face value. I wanted the truth, and who better to ask than the prodigy himself?
Leon crossed his arms, his expression disgruntled. "Yeah, yeah, I know... You don't think I know that? I've heard it all before..." When I didn't answer he simply kept going. "I mean, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I actually enjoyed myself. But I just... Don't."
He frowned, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he actually sounded... disappointed. Like this was something he'd thought about a lot.
"Like. I know I shouldn't be saying this, but it sucks!" said Leon. "The shaving ain't so bad, but the swim caps are so not cool, and they don't even let me do anything with my hair because the pool will turn it green. Why does it matter! You won't even see it under the cap! And they don't like piercings or tattoos because they want the team to look 'professional' like, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. It's oppressive as hell. And don't get me started on swimmers. You ever been on a sports team?" he asked me.
I shook my head.
"Don't do it," he said. "Look, if anyone says that band kids are worse than jocks, they're either lying or have never actually met a jock."
"Do swimmers count as student athletes?" I asked.
"Do they-!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Be glad none of my teammates heard you say that."
"But don't you enjoy the feeling of camaraderie between your teammates?"
He let out a short laugh. "Are you kidding? I can't talk to them. They're all too busy trying to one-up each other."
Whatever the problem was, it was clear he felt no sense of support from his teammates, whether the feeling was real or imagined.
He shook is head as if to clear his thoughts. "Whatever, whatever. Anyway, all the crap aside, being a musician sounds so much cooler, right? And even better, girls dig musicians."
I said nothing, but allowed myself a small, amused grin.
He continued. "You see, there was this girl that I met once at the salon. She was really cute, and she was really into musicians." He just kept talking. The words kept tumbling out, and I didn't have plans to stop him anytime soon. Sometimes I even surprised myself with how far being a listening ear could go. "And like, maybe it is dumb that I'm giving up swimming, maybe it's not, but I should at least give it a shot. I think this is the right decision I'm making. I can feel it!" He seemed so optimistic and self-assured. I wasn't sure whether to just brush this off. Either it was as a gimmick to receive attention and he was just fickle and girl crazy or... he was actually serious in his endeavors—if perhaps a little in over his head.
"Well hopefully, once we get out of this place, you can pursue your goal."
"Hehe, thanks." He grinned. "Y'know, you're a really good listener, Mukuro."
I uttered a quiet thank you. Not that I was going to say anything, but it was actually a tactic I used sometimes to gather testimonials. The things people are willing to say when there is a nonjudgemental party who will listen. People in general just like to talk. Most of them, anyways. There were always exceptions, of course.
"Ya know, I've never really had friends who were girls."
I've never really had any friends, period, I thought.
My best friend was probably my mom. Although that may just have been because we never settled down in one place for a long enough time for me to make any lasting friends my age.
"I mean," he continued. "I've actually talked to a lot of girls. A lot of girls. Just never had many long terms friends. But I kinda like the company. They're honestly, like, so much better than dudes!" he said. "They have actually, like, standards for living. You ever been in a locker room full a' dudes?"
I shook my head.
"It. Sucks," he said. "At least the swim team is like. Not quite so hellish."
I shrugged. "I don't really see how there's much of a difference between being friends with girls or guys."
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. It stood on end, making it look even more wild than it already was. "Oh, there's a difference. I actually used to think guys couldn't be friends with girls. Pretty fucked up, right?" He laughed. "I don't know how to explain... It's like... Haven't you ever tried to impress a guy?"
"Not really."
There was this one boy, back when I was six, but we didn't talk about that. Needless to say, I discovered the hard way that investigating dead baby birds for "evidence" was not something that was considered impressive. It was a rather painful experience for myself and everyone involved, even if I ended up choosing the baby bird over him anyways.
But beyond that, I'd never felt the compulsion.
My answer surprised him. He raised his eyebrows. "What, really?"
I nodded.
"I figured that was just, like, a thing for everyone," said Leon. All girls, I mean! Heh. Hell, I think guys to do it, too. Then maybe they wouldn't care so much about out-grossing each other. And constantly try to prove who is the strongest."
He scrutinized me for a moment. "You're a lesbian, aren't you?"
"I–-wait, w-what?" I stuttered, his question catching me completely by surprise.
"Because I kind of had a feeling you were, which is probably why I'm able to talk to you without worrying about trying to impress you." He was sort of rambling. "Because like, you're a girl, but just the way you act an' all, you're a girl, but you're not a girl girl."
I ignored that last part, under the pretense that I knew he didn't mean it in an offensive way. "For future reference, I would recommend avoiding asking any other female friends such personal questions. But, Leon, if you must know," I said patiently. "I am actually a robot, which means I have no sexual orientation."
He gave me a weird look.
"Joking. I was joking. I do that every once in a while."
He didn't laugh.
I sighed. "Right." I swung my legs back and forth, staring down at my feet to avoid eye contact. "I'm just..." I pondered for the right way to phrase it. "Not into labels," I finished, trying my very best to sound nonchalant.
Not into labels.
In other words, running around solving cases never really gave me much time to form attachments with anyone. It was a subject I'd put off in my own mind. Leon bringing it up again had made the question feel raw again. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been involved in a conversation anything like this.
Feelings were... complicated. Surprisingly complicated for someone who had no love life.
And anyways, it was none of his business.
I looked back up at him again. "Anyways, if you get to ask me invasive questions, then that gives me a freebie."
He rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine."
This was going surprisingly well. I was having more proper conversations with kids my age in the past two days than I probably had in the previous 5 years of my life combined.
"Hm..." I studied him for a moment, wondering whether I should just come forth and ask. I decided to go for it; the more mischievous impulse in my brain just wanted his reaction. "Tell me, what is your natural hair color?"
"My-–how did you know that?"
"Your roots," I said pointedly. That plus the previous salon comment, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.
"They're showing?"
I nodded. "Don't worry about it. Detective, here," I said, pointing to myself. "I'm trained to pick up those trivial details."
He didn't seem reassured.
First friend here, and I'd already managed to weird him out. Well, first friend besides Junko, but she was my sister, she didn't count.
"Hey listen," I said, hastily changing the subject to something more favorable. "While I was rummaging through here, I saw this Yasu Shishido t-shirt. Aaaand... you said you liked rock music, so I figured that maybe you'd like it?"
"Really?" His face lit up. "Sweet!"
"Here I'll get it." I hopped off the counter, walking over to where the shirt hung, below the bottom left shelf, in the very back. I took it off the rack and held it out to him. It was my peace offering, at least in my mind.
Leon took it from me, eyeing it over. "For me?"
"Sure."
He glanced up at me. "For serious? You're not, like, screwing with me or anything?"
"Scout's honor," I said, holding up a hand.
His face lit up. "Are you shitting me? This? This is cool. Super cool!"
He seemed to really like it. With a reaction like that, I was feeling a bit of joy.
He chuckled. "I feel like... maybe I don't even hafta get outta here anymore." His eye twitched. He was still smiling, but now there was something definitely artificial about it. "Hah! Yeah, right! I still totally hafta get outta here."
Even in a moment of levity, there was still the reminder of our situation.
"Right," I said, my laugh half-hearted. "I know it won't solve our problems, but I..." I shook my head. "I don't know what I was thinking." I felt stupid.
"...That it would make me feel better?" he asked.
"Something like that."
He nodded. "Ah, the band-aid solution. Gotcha."
"Yep," I said, popping the "p" and bobbing my head awkwardly in a sort-of nod. "Band-aid solution."
The words hung in the empty air.
"Hey, look," he said. "It's cool and all. I appreciate you pointing this out to me. It's still totally sick, fucked-up hell-school aside. And you're awesome."
"Thanks?"
"For real! I mean it, yo." He started, as if hitting a moment of realization. "You want my autograph in exchange? 'Cause I gotcha covered—"
"Leon."
"Huh? Heh, oh, I'm doing a thing, aren't I? Sorry, it's a reflex, what can I say?" He rubbed the back of his head, smile apologetic.
"Hey, forget it. We're... we're cool," I said. "Just... think of it as... a souvenir."
"A what now?"
"Souvenir? You know, like a 'I survived the School of Mutual Killing and all I got was this t-shirt' shirt."
When he gave me another weird look, I decided it was probably best to drop the jokes.
"Uh, yeah. Sure," he said.
He glanced at the stuffed rabbit I was still holding, then to the Monokuma still sitting on the glass case, then at me with a questioning look. "You're not actually gonna keep that thing are you?"
"Maybe," I said, giving the rabbit a squeeze. I was growing rather fond of her. That gremlin sitting on the counter on the other hand... "Not the other one though. It gives off to many 'I have too much free time so I force kids to murder each other for my enjoyment' vibes, ya know? Kind of defeats the purpose of a cute stuffed toy."
I didn't really know what to do with it, so I grabbed the thing off the case and held it up, and we looked at it together. It smiled at us. We didn't smile back.
"Maybe if you cover up the right side..." His sentence trailed off before he finished it. He knew exactly how ridiculous that suggestion sounded.
"Hm... I think it squeaks if you press its stomach."
"Try it."
I did, and just as I thought it would, it emitted loud squeak.
I held it out to him. "Want it?"
"Hell no," he said adamantly. He shook his head, pushing it away. "That thing's creepy as hell."
Deciding I'd had enough of the squeaking facsimile of our tiny monochromatic captor, I put it back on the shelf where it belonged. It made another squeaking noise as it was set down.
When I turned back around, Leon was watching me.
"Mukuro, we're friends now, right?"
"Sure." The answer was reflexive. We were at the point of "sure". He'd earned that much.
"Can you do something for me?"
I paused. "... Sure."
Ok, it was less reflexive. I could agree we were friends. I was less keen on agreeing to favors before I knew what they were.
"Junko is your sister, right?"
I could already see in what direction this was going.
"What can you tell me about her?" he asked.
I shut down. "Leon, I only met her yesterday, just like you. Hardly know a thing about her."
"Nothing?" he asked, expression falling in disappointment. "At all? She just seems so cool! I love her style! And her confidence! Seriously, nothing? Like... What kind of music does she like?"
"Ask her yourself." I was slipping back into my usual reserved self. "Although sis can sometimes be... strong-minded. Don't tell her I said that," I added, "I care about her very much, and she's never been outright mean. At least. Not to me. But you've seen how she can be."
Leon was nice, but I didn't like the idea of him hanging around Junko. She was my little sister, after all.
"Gotcha..." He looked to be in thought before shrugging and grinning.
He didn't seem to be discouraged. I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't think he'd be the kind of guy to pursue if it was too much work. And Junko, bless her soul, would definitely have been work. I was mystified.
"Anyways, I'm beat. I'm gonna head out of here. See ya, Mukuro!" And with a smile and a wave, he was gone.
I stood there alone in the school's gift shop.
Well, at the very least, it looked to me like he had a really good time.
A/N: Also chapters will be divided into parts, most likely parts of 5.
Part 1 will be introduction to setting or new environments, etc. Part 2 is a free time chapter, but since I've already started this one for chapter 1, you guys can suggest for next chapter instead, sorry. Part 3 is when the motive is given & the drama rises, part 4 is the murder and investigation, and part 5 is the trial.
Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!
Edit:
2013 me, gay but doesn't know it: won't this joke be funny of Leon mistaking Mukuro for a lesbian?
2017 me, gayer: Leon and Mukuro is mlm/wlw solidarity
