What Rules Cannot Hold (A Naekusaba story)

Summer Camp VI (Part 2)

Mukuro yelped quietly, and opened her eyes. She was on a bus; where it was heading wasn't clear, even when inspecting the blurry scenery outside, though the passengers were students - so back to the airport? But that wasn't what she remembered doing; she attempted to knock away the barrel pointed at her, and was very close to doing so.

Makoto was sitting next to her, looking sleepily out of the window, before facing her. There was much gloom to his appearance and the momentarily overcast sky pushed the general gloom into mournfulness.

''What's happening?'' Mukuro asked; desperate for the sun to come out, and feeling the warmth of Makoto's arm, the shame almost drew her away from him, but his arm wrapped around her - he didn't mind?

''Huh? What do you mean?'' He looked at her: the shame again. . . until he smiled. ''Did you have a bad dream?''

''I don't know,'' she turned to her right, seeing Kazuichi on the other side of the bus aisle; he immediately turned as well, waving to her lightly before returning to the magazine he was reading. Gonta was sleeping against the window next to him. ''Maybe I did - I don't know - I never felt like this.''

''Well, something's definitely off since you can't remember,'' he placed his hand on her forehead. She felt pleasantly warm; perhaps he really meant it. ''You don't seem to be sick. Either way, we're heading to the resort''

''B-But we're already there,'' she slowly let herself lean against him. ''He helped us. . . Haiji, I mean''

''So. . . was that the nightmare? I really don't know what you're talking about. Did you remember something you haven't told me about?''

''I saw Junko. She was trying to hurt me,'' for the first time, she felt quite distant from him and drooped her head, recalling the closeness to death within which now the impression of her sister laid embedded. And then she caught herself: was Junko somewhere in the bus? She darted upwards, peeking overhead and through the crevices between the seats, hardly mindful of Makoto for the first moment of that frenzy.

''She can't hear us,'' he took her hand, ''I saw her sit somewhere at the back. Unless we're very loud, there's little chance she will catch anything''

Admittedly, you could overhear snippets of many other muffled conversations, so he was probably right, but it did take a while for her to regain composure.

Again, Makoto's expression matched the outside gloom. He continued to look at her with anticipation before turning to the window.

''I'm sorry''

''Huh? Why?'' He faced her again.

''I don't know, but I am,'' and she felt like disclosing the deepest secret of hers: without understanding the said feeling, nor the prior one that led to it. Wanting to say the truth, she only grew aware of the distance that separated her from it. ''She was trying to hurt me''

''Maybe it really was just a bad dream... unless you are convinced that she will do it?''

The shame was back: scolding her for even considering verbally betraying her sister like that.

''Mukuro?''

''I regret it, I shouldn't - but I do''

''Whatever's the case, I will be here.'' Although cheerfully taking hold of her hand, he appeared much more solemn; gaze wandering away from her and towards the brightening outside. The bus fell into a greater silence.

''Should I. . . Should I leave Junko?'' Fear rushed through her like a single destructive tremor.

''The decision is yours. What's best to do is up to you. I'm sure you do know the answer, it's just. . . the truth might be difficult to accept, right? It hurts, but sometimes to move forward we have to sacrifice something. I'm sure you understand that, too,'' their eyes finally met and they enjoyed some time, supposedly gazing into each other's souls, before returning to the way everything started.

Mukuro frenzied between sleep and wakefulness, often staring at Makoto's hand for long minutes and closing her eyes; opening them whenever the fear of his disappearance - the disappearance of this time spent with him - would chase away her patience. And what if this was a dream?

Maybe he would say something uplifting: which she awaited - and expected, but he didn't come to utter anything else and the pressing silence lulled Mukuro to sleep. As far as she sensed, the journey's end remained remote; yet, regardless of its length, she was assured that he would be there: he, an ordinary boy, for her, an extraordinary girl - or maybe she wasn't so extraordinary after all?