Chapter Text
She didn't know how long she'd been hiding in the cabinet. The yelling and dashing about had long died away, and the thin strip of light that came between the cabinet doors had gone dark, but she still hadn't dared move. Nervously, she began fiddling in her hair, wincing in pain whenever she pulled a place where the mess had dried in it. Had enough time passed? Had her plan worked? Was-
"Mikan-chan."
She stiffened, then breathed out a sigh of relief. Only two people called her that, Enoshima-sama was currently angry with her, and the voice was too low, so it had to be Komaeda-kun. Even so, she was very cautious as she poked her head out of her hiding spot, relaxing only when she spotted the boy peering into a dark space under a table in search of her. "O-over here."
He raised his head and smiled, but the swelling and bloody scratches on his face and neck were obvious even in the dim moonlight. Evidently Enoshima-sama was angry with him as well this time. Mikan bit her lip as she crawled out of the cabinet. Before she could say anything, he reached out and patted her head, then wrinkled his nose as he drew his hand back with a sticky noise. "Mikan-chan, your hair-"
Her face heated in shame. "I- it... it was... surgical glue... and... a-and cast plaster..." she mumbled, staring at the floor as she fumbled with the hem of her skirt.
She didn't see if his expression changed, but he pulled away and went back to the table. "Your handiwork, then?"
She hesitantly followed him and looked over to find the two nursing assistants who'd been tormenting her earlier sprawled on the floor, one clutching her stomach, and the other clutching her phone in a failed attempt to call for help. The coffee they'd made her go get had done its job, then. "Y-yes."
When she made herself raise her head, he was smiling again, and he gave her an encouraging squeeze around the shoulders. "Well, then," he said brightly. "How about I take care of this little mess, and then we go get cleaned up, hm?"
"Ah- S-shouldn't I deal with it?" she asked, surprised. "I-I mean, I was- was the one who-"
"You've already done the hard part. Getting rid of them will be a snap."
She should have helped him, what with his terrible sickness and all, or at least fussed at him about handling dead bodies with open wounds on his face, but even with the months they'd known each other, he still moved a lot faster than she expected. In half a second, he'd left her alone to go get something to shift the dead bodies. She glanced over the table at them, then swallowed and decided to at least make herself useful, going to the supply room to put together a kit to treat his injuries.
When she came back, the bodies were already gone, and Komaeda-kun was waiting on her. "Ready to go?"
She nodded, holding up the kit she'd made, then locked the laboratory behind them as they left.
They ended up going to his hiding place, since it was closer. Shuffling some schematics and supply lists aside, she indicated for him to sit, and he obeyed.
She couldn't really explain it, but even before Enoshima-sama had begun encouraging them to be friends, treating Komaeda-kun had always been... comforting. He never gave her any trouble at all. Never whined, nor threatened, nor squirmed, nor lashed out... Just sat very quietly and sometimes leaned into her hands a little and oh, it was really nice.
But her mind was wandering. She snapped back to herself with a little shake of her head, and was glad his eyes weren't open to see her blush. Quickly, she finished up bandaging his wounds, then stepped back. "A-all done."
"Masterful hands as always, Mikan-chan," Komaeda-kun said with a bright smile before getting up and indicating the spot he'd been sitting. "Now it's your turn."
Fear washed through her before she could stop it at the thought of anyone getting near her hair with scissors. The last time someone had offered to do her hair-
She could still remember the smell of her hair burning-
No.
This was Komaeda-kun. He would never do anything like that to her.
"Mikan-chan?"
He'd stopped smiling at her, and was now looking at her with concern and some apprehension that she recognized as a prelude to an apology and a revocation of the offer. She managed to quickly pull herself back together and stood straight. "I'm ready."
He fetched a brush and some scissors from somewhere in the tiny apartment, and she sat down on the couch, facing away from him. "U-um."
"Hm?"
"Could- C-could you maybe leave as much as possible?"
"I'll try," he promised, and set to work.
Fingers and brush bristles carefully combed through her hair, picking and peeling to try and save areas. Even though it hurt whenever he pulled at a dried-over sticky snare, she found herself relaxing into the treatment and the sound of the scissors clipping away at what he couldn't work free. She wondered if he got the same kind of comfort out of this as she did from patching his face.
Finally, though, he sighed. "Are... you sure you don't want it short?"
That gave her a little chill of dread down her back. "How-... how b-bad is it?"
He handed her a mirror, and when she looked at her reflection, she had to gulp back the sudden desire to burst into tears. All the efforts she'd put into growing her hair back after the times she'd cut it for others' amusement had been ruined by the mess she'd been stuck with; her hair stuck out and hung in even more raggedy patches than before despite Komaeda's attempts to even up the areas that had needed the worst cutting.
She bit her lip near to bleeding as she struggled to fight down tears, then hands settled on her shoulders.
"I can fix it, but it'll be more like a pixie cut. Do you want me to?"
She shook her head. She didn't even know why it was so damn important to keep her long hair, but it just... was, and the thought of losing it was like a slap in the face.
The hands on her shoulders squeezed. "Let me try something else, then. I'll be right back, okay?"
There were little nail-bruises in her palms by the time he came back, and she stayed rigidly still as he worked on her hair again. There were more snipping sounds. Small somethings slid though her hair and closed with little clicking noises, and then he gathered her hair up and she felt him winding it into a braid down her back. "There we go. Better?"
She didn't realize she'd squeezed her eyes shut until she had to open them to look in the mirror.
Mikan made a tiny gasp when she saw the results of his efforts. The little somethings had been several hair clips in the shapes of winding vines, carefully arranged like a headband to hold back some of the messiest cuts.
"I found these in one of the abandoned buildings Enoshima-san asked me to raze last week and I thought they were pretty. They're not exactly my style, though, so you're welcome to keep them if you like them."
Keep them. He was actually asking her if she wanted to keep them, those little vine clips that actually managed to make her ugly, horrible hair look... nice. She itched to say yes, but she knew better. Saionji especially would break them if she caught her wearing them.
She hesitated, then had started to reach up to take them out when both their phones began beeping urgently. She dug hers out of the pocket of her apron and flipped it open to find that it was a text message to meet Ikusaba-san three districts over. Looking over her shoulder, she found Komaeda frowning slightly at the same message, then he relaxed and smiled. "Looks like Enoshima-san isn't angry enough to separate us this time. Lucky, isn't it?"
Mikan smiled back, unconsciously touching the hair clips. "Yep!"
He dug out a duffel bag of protective gear and handed it to her to carry, then put together a pack of his incendiary devices and a pack of fuel supplies.
As they left his apartment, she squeezed his hand. She wasn't sure why. Maybe for luck. Maybe as thanks for the hair clips. But either way, when he squeezed back, she felt light and reassured about the mission ahead.
They'd be fine as long as they had each other to clean up afterwards, she was sure of it.
It was wrong. It was wrong. Why wasn't he-
Her nails bit little purple marks into her palms as she clenched shaking hands tighter and pressed them harder against her thighs in an old, familiar gesture every time he opened his damn mouth.
It wasn't fair. He'd always, always forgiven her before... They were supposed to be- They were supposed to be-
He didn't remember. That was the excuse. But it wasn't good enough. After all, he'd been the one to get angry at Enoshima-sama and leave them all first, hadn't he?
And for what?
For what?
'You know what,' a little voice that sounded like her own said in her head, but she stomped it flat and kicked it aside as unimportant. No. No, no, no, that betrayal was what swam in her head with every word he spoke, and she tried in her rage to make him understand. But the words weren't coming out right.
He wasn't getting it.
He wasn't getting it.
She bit her tongue against the bitter sour swirl rising up in her stomach and her throat as the little voice tried to make itself heard again over her own desire to make Enoshima-sama happy and the angry words the others were saying to her. Helplessly, she started giggling, trying to shut it all out.
"-Super High School Level Despair-"
The taste of bile in her mouth grew sharper as she was suddenly stabbed with a desire to both hurt him and cling to him.
Hurting won.
He didn't remember? He didn't care?
Then- then, fine.
He didn't count anymore. Only Enoshima-sama counted, as she should have all along.
"Only that person…it was only that person…that’s right, only that person…didn’t hate me," she cooed, savoring the play of confusion across his face as he tried to follow her explanation. And when he gave her the opening, she struck as precisely as she would have had she held a syringe in her hand.
"-Is it because you've never been forgiven by anyone at all?" she asked with as much sweet poison dripping from her voice as possible. "You poor thing. I feel so sorry for you."
His stricken expression, the way he silently took a step back as if she'd stabbed him, they should have been satisfying.
Should have been.
Then why, as she lay on the bed waiting for whatever Monokuma's chosen punishment was, did it feel like her chest was on fire? Why couldn't she breathe?
Maybe-
Maybe-
One of her hands clenched at her side again involuntarily, as if holding on to another's.
But it was too late, and Monokuma was coming.