They practically frog-march Mukuro to what seems to be a living room, where they join the rest of the class.

“Alright,” says Kiyotaka, standing in front of the group. He holds an electric torch, aiming it upward, which makes the shadows on his face flit about whenever its angle changes even slightly. “I suppose we should try to get some sleep. If we sleep in pairs or small groups and use the blankets we found earlier, we can trap in body heat and keep warm.”

Touko recoils with a sneer. “I… I’m not sleeping with any of you!”

“I concur,” says Byakuya, adjusting his glasses with pursed lips.

“So what? You would rather freeze to death?” Aoi asks, gritting her teeth.

Leon ruffles the back of his head. “Eh, it depends who I get to sleep with.”

The atmosphere prickles. Kiyotaka’s eyes waver, and he opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, someone else pipes up.

“Actually, before thinking about all that, you need to check for any drafts first,” says Mukuro.

Everyone turns to her. She stands between Mondo and Sakura, her face a blank mask. However, the voice had undeniably been hers.

“Pardon?” says Kiyotaka, his elevated finger wilting.

“If we’re staying here, we need to try to close off as many places cold air can come in as possible,” explains Mukuro in monotone. When she masqueraded as Junko, she drawled and squawked and giggled, but her demeanour now is cool and stiff, and she speaks surprisingly softly. “Towels… newspapers… spare blankets… whatever’s available needs to cover any gaps or holes. And all the doors need to be shut, and all the windows have gotta be shut and covered too. Focus on that, then worry about sleeping arrangements.”

Everyone else exchanges thoughtful looks. As for Celes, she cups her chin and continues to survey Mukuro, who resumes standing silently, looking like she has nothing to do with everyone here.

Half an hour later, roughly two thirds of the class are lying on broken furniture, several brought in from other rooms, while Kiyotaka, Mondo and Hifumi sleep on the cold floor, having volunteered to. That had been another nugget of wisdom from Mukuro - the floor absorbs body heat and does not give it back. They all sleep on their coats, not wearing them, bundled in blankets found during their scavenging. On a couch, Celes listens to the patchwork of snores and breathing surrounding her as everyone drifts off to sleep.

Well. Most of everyone.

Someone has to be awake at all times. Right now, it’s Aoi and Leon, leaning against the wall either side of the door. Flames crackle in an old fireplace, and as Celes turns her head toward it, she sees Mukuro is still awake. Not just awake, but sitting upright, facing the fireplace with her back toward everybody else.

Slowly, Celes sits up. Her detachable twin tails sit in a corner of the room on some towels. She shares the couch with Sayaka, their feet by the other’s head, but Sayaka doesn’t stir, not even as Celes picks up her cushion and climbs delicately off the couch. In the corner of her vision, Aoi and Leon quiver, watching her, but Celes ignores them, striding over to Mukuro and sitting down on her cushion beside her.

Mukuro doesn’t turn her head, continuing to study the licks of fire contorting in front of her. While Celes detached her twin tails, Mukuro still boasts that blond wig of hers, which makes some sense. With her hands bound, it’s not like Mukuro can easily remove it.

“It’s a shame we didn’t find any marshmallows,” says Celes in a light tone, cross-legged. “I would have had Kuwata-kun feed us some over the flames. He’d make a subpar butler, but I can’t be picky with what I have… perhaps as a host…?”

She trails off, and Mukuro doesn’t fill in the next part of the conversation. Instead, she continues to blank Celes, who notices and tilts her head to one side.

“I don’t believe it’s your turn on the rota for guard duty,” Celes comments, touching a finger to her chin.

“Neither is it yours,” comes the blunt reply. Rather than snap back at her, Celes perks up, her lips twisting into a simper.

“You got me there, Ikusaba-san,” she replies quietly with a twinkle in her eyes. She hugs herself.  “I’m not used to dwelling in such depraved conditions, you see. I’m accustomed to living in comfortable, four poster beds in lavish locations.”

Mukuro doesn’t answer, nor does she spare a glance. Celes tightens her smile.

“As a soldier, I’m sure you are used to this sort of environment,” says Celes.

“I am, but not for the reason you’re thinking,” states Mukuro, and Celes raises her eyebrows. 

“Oh?” coaxes Celes. The fire crackles.

“I was homeless for a long time.” Mukuro doesn’t take her eyes off the fireplace at any point, still. “So was Junko-chan. We never stayed long with foster families. Junko-chan didn’t like to.”

Spoken so matter-of-factly. Celes grimaces. This girl is either incredibly selfless or incredibly stupid, or both. Which, Celes supposes, is ideal for a henchperson, and is why Junko played one role and Mukuro played the one she did.

“You’re not going to win yourself any favours by referring to her as that,” Celes points out. “That ‘-chan’… is rather affectionate, isn’t it?”

Mukuro shrugs.

“She’s the only person I’ve ever had. I hate her, but I love her,” Mukuro replies. “But don’t worry about me betraying you guys. When the time is right, I’m going to unleash all my despair onto her and take us both down into the pits of hell.”

In her first display of emotion this night, Mukuro cracks a grin, but one so obviously fake. She stares at the fire, and as Celes follows her gaze, she imagines the flames wrapping around Mukuro’s limbs and pulling her into their ashen core. 

Most would have been alarmed by how casually Mukuro spoke. Celes takes it in her stride, though she does pull a face. 

“Talk like that is why you’re still tied up,” Celes informs her, and she sighs, pressing her index fingers together, hovering the tips over her lips. “Ikusaba-san, if I may be forthright with you, hinging your existence on such an individual sounds rather… troubling. Wouldn’t you rather live your life for yourself?”

“… No.”

Hesitation, right there. Yet, Mukuro looks so serious. So determined. So stoic. So different to how she acted when pretending to be her sister. Celes wonders if this is the real Mukuro, or if this is just another costume.

“Ikusaba-san, your loyalty is attractive, but dare I say it is to a fault,” remarks Celes, and she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “Surely you are more than just a shadow of your sister? More than just a plot device?”

Mukuro’s lips deform. She’s thinking. But she doesn’t say anything.

“Like… what are your hobbies?” prompts Celes, and Mukuro inhales. 

Celes quickly puts a finger over Mukuro’s lips.

“… not involving your sister,” Celes finishes sternly.

Then Celes removes her hand. Mukuro doesn’t answer immediately. Her brow creases.

“I like… darts?” Mukuro says. “And… um…”

Nothing.

“Any books? Comics? Games?” Celes persists.

“Ah!” Mukuro jerks her head up. “F.P.S.!”

First Person Shooters. Of course she does. Celes rests her cheek in her hand, pouting. For a few moments, they sit as still as those sleeping around them, but then Mukuro turns her head toward her.

“Why are you so interested?” asks Mukuro slowly, and Celes doesn’t move.

“Hm?” goes Celes. That frosted look that glazed Mukuro’s face thaws, her face warping as she bares her teeth.

“In me,” clarifies Mukuro. She twitches her head, unable to gesture to herself with her hands. “Why are you interested in me? What is it, huh? Do you want something from me?”

Her voice hikes above a murmur, but the rest of the room remains dormant. A rush of excitement throws up a grin onto Celes’s face.

“Me? I just want your friendship,” says Celes, and she rests a hand on Mukuro’s shoulder, which quells Mukuro’s simmering anger if only by making her hesitate.

“But why?” blurts Mukuro, wide-eyed. Celes’s shoulders shake with amusement.

“I think you would be useful,” says Celes, in a language that Mukuro can understand. Mukuro’s expression hardens with understanding. “You know how to survive out here, and fight. But… you’re also kind of intriguing, you know? You’re a mystery… and I hate it when other people have mysteries.”

Mukuro blinks and mouths the word ‘intriguing’, wrinkling her brow, like she has never heard it used in that context before. Celes leans closer and cups Mukuro’s cheek, and they stare at each other, one in confusion, one calmly. Then Celes’s hand drifts up and she takes off Mukuro’s wig, dropping it to the floor.

Underneath, Mukuro has cropped black hair. At a distance, she could be mistaken for Celes, but up close, Celes can see Mukuro’s freckles, her washed out blue eyes and the clumps in her mascara. The gentle blush on Mukuro’s face.

She strokes Mukuro’s cheek.

“I’m interested to see what the real you is like, Ikusaba-san,” whispers Celes.

And then,

“Likewise, Taeko-chan,” replies Mukuro, just as quietly. Celes tenses. 

Mukuro smirks. It could be called a smile. Whatever it is, it makes Celes’s heart skip for the first time in ages.

“How…?” Celes’s face threatens to crumble, and she swallows hard. Feels the vibrations through her body. Mukuro oozes smugness, jutting her chin, but not breaking away from Celes’s hand.

“You told me,” says Mukuro. “Though you won’t remember that.”

Celes’s heart races, but locked up in her chest, it can’t give her true feelings away to anyone else. And if Celes directs her attention away from it, her heart can’t betray her true feelings to even herself. In this case, she focuses on the face she cradles in one hand. Mukuro’s.

Only, doing that makes Celes’s face heat up.

No. That must be because of the fireplace. She tells herself that.

“Well…” Celes stretches out her smile as much as it can go. “… I look forward to getting to know you again. I want to know what sort of person you really are.”

The sort of person she would confide her real name to.