What Rules Cannot Hold (A Naekusaba story)

Summer Camp IV

It was evening. Waiting had exhausted Mukuro, but she'd not relent, even when her eyes left their outpost and sauntered to the armchairs with old upholstery or other, wearied lobby-goers: those sometimes demanding a replacement key for their lodging or asking for the toilet. She hasn't seen Makoto since yesterday - and that was unusual. They didn't speak much at Hope's Peak, but she at least had had a chance to see him each day, briefly or not, and it wouldn't be fitting for this to change when she felt closer to him; being with him was no more a play of uncertainties, and coquettish impertinence even marked her mannerisms in places, as far as brusque hand-holding and pulling her lover in making through a forest at night could be considered such.

"Hey!"

"Hello?" Mukuro shook her head and saw Mahiru's ever-pleased smile. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Not at all," she wiped her camera lens. "You just seem awfully down. . . Don't tell me - is it because of that boy? What's his name. . ."

"I-I'm not down," Mukuro pointed at the weapon case propped against her seat. "I'm tired after training for so long."

"Oh, yeah, I understand," Mahiru's expression dropped apologetically. "I suppose that people like yourself have it really tough."

"They did tell us to practice what we've already learnt, so it isn't that bad."

"I get that, but being stuck behind a camera lens for multiple hours sees even me calling for a break. Don't you also feel that sometimes when training?"

"Sometimes," Mukuro glimpsed at the clock that was closing onto midday, and Makoto still wasn't to be seen. Someone was arguing outside, as usual, and some were impatiently standing before the cordoned restaurant entrance, guessing what would be served in the evening - Akane excelling as a radar in this instance.

"Hey, Mukuro, could you see something?" Mahiru grew concerned and approached the window. "Is that your sister?"

Swift-footed Mukuro jumped towards the window to see, spotting her sister's gaudy pigtails at once; she was arguing with Fuyuhiko, whose temperamental fist-wagging was restrained by a struggling Peko, who failed to similarly keep his profanities at bay, which fired the argument and had it continue before everyone watching.

"Yes. . . That's my sister," Mukuro responded, rushing with her weapon case outside.

Meanwhile, Fuyuhiko grew redder and Junko's insulting turned into an incessant cannonading of mockery: snarky remarks about his own appearance were, however, received with greater concession than those relating to Peko.

"Junko!" Mukuro called before, with a frenzied step, running out of the lobby. Mahiru chased on: slowly.

"Excuses, excuses. . . Just tell your stupid slave to teach you some manners, if that's so difficult for you!" Junko yelled, sighing while Fuyuhiko's fury exceeded the bounds of vehemence: he almost loosened Peko's grip and was dangerously close to strangling Junko with his clawing, outstretched hands - a justified reaction, though inappropriate. Mukuro was impressed by Peko's strength.