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It hurt her to hear the venomous words spurting from his mouth. Selfish as that seemed; she wanted him to stop. He had every right to vent and say what he wanted — hell, she was very well acquainted with self-loathing, but when it came to Naegi-— It wasn’t right. Mukuro assumed that it was something to do with her view on Naegi. He was fragile, and he knew it. That’s what bugged her. She knew he was weak to an extent. She was, too. They were both strong as hell when it came to some things, but she saw the weakness and the loathing that came along with it.

Admiration was also on the cards — Mukuro wasn’t exactly sure on the details of what Naegi had been through, but it sounded shitty. —In fact, that was it, really. Naegi had been dealt a shit hand in life, overall. He was most of the things he said, although Mukuro knew them without the negative connotation. God, she wanted to protect him. To make sure he was safe and sound. But how could she do that when she could barely look after herself?

Mukuro was pretty fucked up. Naegi was pretty fucked up. They were both relatively fucked up— or had been fucked over, if you will. She felt so comfortable with him. He had no expectations of her, and vice versa. It was natural. Everything was natural around them. So why was she in this predicament, now?

His words echoed through her mind as she reiterated them over and over subconsciously. Why was she here? Well.. Because.. Because Naegi was her friend. Because Naegi was one of the only people she’d ever really considered to be somebody to rely on. Somebody she could trust; could appreciate and love. And he returned that affection. She knew he did. Just.. Seemingly a little more than she did. —No, that was false. It wasn’t any more than her. Mukuro didn’t know her own feelings or what they entailed, but she knew damn well she couldn’t bare losing Makoto.

“..Me? I’m here for you, of course. Pity isn’t my thing. I’m here.. Because you mean— Fuck-— You mean a lot to me. An— And. I don’t know.. What that means. I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to comprehend this which is why I’m so calm, maybe. I don’t know. I— I care about you. I dragged myself out into the shitty weather and jumped onto a grimy bus to come and see you and to help as best I could. I— I mean. Who knows, right? Who knows how I feel, because I sure as hell don’t. I’m not sure about much. But— But I’m sure that I like you— In what way? Who knows, yet again. ..I like Hajime, too. Again— Not too sure how or what that entails, but.

It’s not your fault for having feelings, Naegi. It’s totally your fault for being interested in a twat such as myself, but there you go. It’s weird, really. I— I kind of do the same thing. People I’m comfortable with become the people I love. That’s how it is. You shouldn’t punish yourself just because you felt comfortable with me and fell in too deep. It happens.. ..It happens.

Makoto bit his lip as his gaze dropped from hers, and he clutched his fists and breathed out a heavy, labored breath from his nose, leaning back against the wall and propping up his foot back against the wall as well. His shitty posture was a source of comfort to him as his heart throbbed horribly and made his chest feel tight, as if the contact with the wall wicked off some of the pressure.

But what is she even suggesting?

The floral patterns on his parents' carpet became immensely interesting as his cheeks filled with red, out of frustration, out of the aching feeling of hoping that she meant that she might still give him a thumb of affection out of her hand, but how selfish and disgusting, rather pathetic, that was, and he killed the thought quickly. That wouldn't happen. No one thought of him that way that others wouldn't be several times better for.

But being alone was how he always dealt with it. He would have been okay with it. It would have been a steady detox-- but he would have cut himself off from her. And that was something he realized he would not have done, because it was too...important. Too warm, too comfortable to leave behind, like the blanket on the bed on a winter morning. He'd freeze to death.

Losing a friend, a real, actual friend to something like this would be the most shameful experience of his life. And he was fed up with being ashamed of himself.

"...Thank you, Mukuro."

The words came out with remarkable ease. No. He wasn't about to blame her for that. For this. For being...more wonderful than she sold herself. And he was grateful that she was that way. Because he would have let himself be hurt by his mistakes and dealt with it otherwise. 

"It doesn't...matter, really. How you express it. Not to me. I just don't want to lose it. That's all. I'll be happy if you're here at all."

Lips parted as her tongue darted out to graze along them, before she swallowed quickly and kept her focus solely on him. Saying things that people wanted to hear wasn’t Mukuro’s forte. It was more: you fucked up and you should hear the truth, or, I fucked up and you should hear the truth, — or whatever the circumstances entailed.

“Yeah. I guess you shouldn’t have— If we’re talking about the Hinata thing. It was— It’s not. I don’t know what to tell you.”

The urge to relax herself and look away tug at her thoughts insistently. She didn’t have the willpower to keep the gaze whilst she didn’t speak. Not to Naegi, anyway. The interest he apparently had in Mukuro was.. Confusing, to say the least. Mukuro was confused. Why was she the one he liked? Surely it should have been Junko; it always w—

Liked. Like.

It hit her like a pile of bricks. Did Naegi like her? It seemed that way. Mukuro allowed the feeling to glaze over herself. Her body came to a halt; no visible movement, quiet, discreet breaths. The hairs stood up all along her body — the eerie sensation and discomfort sent an awkward-looking jolt through her body. Shrouded eyes flicked from the ground to his body. A short, audible exhale— Mukuro’s fringe moved from her view once she looked up again, her glassy eyes meeting his. Seeing his gesture, she simply shook her head and swallowed, before opening her mouth to speak.

“Please don’t. Don’t– Don’t say that. I— I don’t really get why you’d be angry over me, but I understand. Um. The other parts. I think— I get why you don’t put the effort in. Maybe? I don’t know— I mean, you’re similar to me, so. I’m going off of that.

You’re tired. You’re scared. You hate actually forming relationships with people because— Because what could come of it, right? Other than the obvious backstabbing. And now that— Now that you’ve actually done that, and I.. I fucked you over on it–.. ..All you want to do is run away. You excuse my actions. You excuse everything you think is wrong. You— You don’t say what you’re really thinking because you’re terrified and you want me to leave as soon as possible so you can break off contact so it gets easier.

..But you know that’s not how it goes. Deep down, you know you want to scream and shout and cry about how shitty and unfair this is. You want to tell somebody anything, just so you know you have some trust, there. You want to have somebody consistent who’s there for you and makes you happy!..— I know!.. I know..

..But you’re so scared. You don’t want to open yourself up. You— You think your feelings aren’t justified because you don’t open up. You think I don’t understand that?.. Feel free to call me out on what I missed or what’s wrong.-—

His eyes felt a great deal colder than they usually were. Meeting his gaze would have been impossible, the way he stared so intently at her feet. Arms crossed behind his back, his fingers lace with each other as he leans on them against the wall and against the small of his back. It was a withering feeling. He felt pathetic, and ridiculous, and small, and embarrassed that this would even be a suggestion, this idea of thinking he was anything next to...

She had the idea by now, the way it felt, as she recited-- terribly, ironically, so wonderfully-- his reactions to what he was feeling, the way he knew she could, because she understood him on a base level in many ways, as they might understand each other. That made it hard. That made him want to push back harder. Like being dangled something he yearned for in front of his face that everyone involved knew he couldn't and wouldn't take. It was almost like an insult.

But he wasn't a liar. He was just careful, hesitant. And he had very few real friends, at the end of the day. People he could lean on, people who could understand. But he never really had a chance to stress test anyone with hardship between them outside of his family. And if he was so afraid of losing someone who understood him, running away when things weren't as easy or comfortable showed he didn't value it after all, and thus, didn't deserve it in the first place.

He licked his lips.

"I'm a small fry. That's what I've been, for a while now. I'm pathetic and gullible and overly naive and delusionally hopeful when anyone so much as smiles at me, or pays attention to me and talks to me for longer than it takes to disengage the situation. I think, yeah, this person's different. This person is special. This person likes me, probably.

"But I have no idea what any of those things entail, the line between friendliness and being, like. Fuck, whatever. Attracted to someone. Yeah, I can't read people so well. So I don't like talking about this stuff unless I have to.

"Maybe I have to get it through my head that just because someone connects with me really well, just because I feel comfortable with them to the point where I can fall asleep next to them, just because someone feels a little brighter because I'm around doesn't imply anything about whether or not they'd, like. Fill my need for...whatever it is I think I need. Affection, maybe. Sex, I wouldn't even know. That's so far off and alien and by all means impossible to me that I don't even think about it.

"I don't know if you feel that same comfort around me, because right now it's not the time or place. And you know what, I do value the fact that I've got that from you, Mukuro, someone who understands me and can talk to me about pretty much anything I want to talk about, and I should be happy with it.

Bar from the tears. No, she didn’t see those yet. She kind of had a feeling they were there, though. Because her own were welling up. Nervously, Mukuro’s teeth grazed her lips. She felt terrible, either way; if he was crying or not. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. It was soothing to feel his body heat against hers, but she’d never felt more emotionally distant.

Pulling away, Mukuro’s panda eyes had been dampened by idle tears, before she pulled on a perfected, plastic grin. She hadn’t realised her two fingers had latched onto his pinky, but they had.

“Hey.. We all know I’m the a-asshole. H—Hahah.. Plus— I guess it’s both of our faults. For— For getting attached.”

She slipped past him; wiping her eyes and the grin from her face. She felt parched, almost, although she knew it was just.. Anxiety setting in. Her gait was small and slim, much like herself. She didn’t feel confident. She felt small. Quiet. Unimportant. But all of this; his tears staining her shoulder only proved her point wrong.

He had no particularly incredible abilities-- sure, his response time was fast, and he could be an excellent strategist and thought best under pressure-- but none of them could help him here, nothing worked, because his mind begged not to be invested. He gave her a melancholy smile back, which faltered quickly, and looked down.

He'd never been remarkable in appearance, either. No one made a big deal out of the way he looked, because he didn't, either. dark circles like someone had drawn them in with a makeup pencil laid extant on his face in the yellowish light of the hallway of his parents' place on the weekend he'd had to spend here alone. He was slim and even smaller that she was in most respects, a no-one with messy hair and a sameface for every picture. He didn't really like having the spotlight on him as a person in the first place. Strange, as he wanted to be important somehow, but shied away from actually having his wish granted.

Especially when it was like this. You wanted to spend time with Mukuro today. Congratulations. It's happening.

"I shouldn't have brought that up." She knows what I'm talking about. Right? I can't be that hard to read. "It wasn't fair to you. Th-this wouldn't have happened if I wasn't such a damn kid." He shuffled over toward the archway that led into the living room, looking into the darkened room where the TV was the only light with a wobbling eye, before he leaned on the edge of the arch, and turned to her again, glancing briefly at the arch in the kitchen, as if suggesting she might want to go there, before speaking again.

However, her mind still went to the events that may or may not fold out in a few minutes time. A sickly feeling set into her stomach. Feelings weren’t one of Mukuro’s strong points, if that wasn’t obvious enough. Pluck. Another string gone.

She was nervous. Confused; terrified, probably. Anxiety prickled her skin, casting paranoia and eliciting various erratic and suspicious-looking turns of her head to stare at other people who occupied the bus. A cold flush that opposed her feverish temperature washed through her, making Mukuro look pale. —Er. Paler than usual.

She rocked up to his door soon after. Wiping her clammy hands along her leggings; a nervous tick, she whipped out her phone and texted him. Standing there; leg shaking nervously, Mukuro looked down at her scuffed boots. Sheesh, she should really get them cleaned soon.

“-—Oh. That was quick. H-Hi.”

Awkward skittering glances from Ikusaba; fidgeting fingers tugging at the hem of her baggy jumper as her legs shake again. Wow. All nervous ticks all at once. Then, she quickly grabs a hold of his shoulders, before bringing him in roughly with some sort of embrace. It was instinctive, and it felt awkward as hell. But kind of nice. Weird.

And that only barely.

He wasn't sure of a very large amount of things, in his hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, not at all prepared to be seen outside the walls of his own home. Fingers clammy as well from the grip on his controller, the grip on his phone, the grip on his own palms. The woolen coat of regrets weighed heavily on his shoulders, but at the very least she was here and not somewhere else, and for whatever reason that felt comforting, But the solution wasn't appeasement of his own feelings, really.

But he hugged back, as he could, mumbling a gentle sorry into her shoulder, as he drew breath through his nose and shuddered back out. His tears came quietly, wondering why he was even tearing up. It wasn't him who was hurting, he told himself. He was the aggressor. He wouldn't feel right any other way.

"Kinda surprised to see ya here, though. Wasn’t sure you knew how to get to this part of the school by yourself." Leon chuckled. It really was strange to see Naegi there, though. They’d never run into each other at the gym before, and the kid wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder. Not that Kuwata was all that interested in this, either, but he’d figured the shorter boy would just bullshit his way through the the activity log. It was what he would’ve done.

"Believe me, Kuwata-kun, if I didn’t have a map of the school on the ID, I probably wouldn’t." The boy scratched his head and stretched his arms a bit, shrugging off his hoodie and blazer. And like any practical thinking kid, Naegi had worn his gym shorts under his jeans, and began unbuckling his pants on the spot as he continued to speak.

There were tears welling as she read the message that popped up on the screen. Suddenly, she wasn’t confused anymore. She wasn’t angry, or concerned. All of those emotions melded into one. She was so sorry.

Sure, he didn’t tell her everything, but Mukuro wasn’t stupid. He did exactly what she did. What’s the point in telling people everything when they’re only asking for the bare minimum? Vision blurred from the tears, Mukuro simply sat there feeling pretty deflated. What should she say? This was so difficult. She felt terrible. He.. He was unlucky. Unlucky enough that he’d become attached to Mukuro.

Minutes passed and nothing had been sent, before a message sent through her tear-stained phone.

He threw back his head against the couch and laid there, for several minutes, without another response, face dry and expression empty as the jaded response to his own stupidity came into full swell, and he could naught but stare up at the ceiling in awe of just how much of a fuckup he was, upsetting her like that for no good reason, taking it further than he needed to. But he'd have to fix this one way or another. And he'd have to fix it himself.

Sooner, rather than later.

He received her text as she reached the door, and without a ring of the bell he was there to meet her. Attached, was the word, though he was loath to admit it. Attached had a negative connotation, one that sounded like obsession, something bordering on obsequious, and his mind tried to push it away. He liked her. That's all. He liked her.