Disclaimer: I doth not owneth Dangan Ronpa. If I did, all my ships would be canon. All 934584903850439851 of them.

This is basically a character study. Goes right along with canon, including some of the dialogue; I might suggest watching Ikusaba's death scene and free time events (game or animation, doesn't matter) just as a refresher before reading.

I hope you enjoy it~

Enoshima Junko readies the strings.

She crafts him in steel veins and soft fabric. He'll see with one bright and one button eye, speak with a jagged mouth in a long sweep that skews the face just right. He's a happy little bear who smiles patiently as the Mastermind applies her finishing touches - the soft distending belly, the half-moon tail, the tick-tick-ticking heart.

(and she said fine, fine, you're so fine)

The Mastermind looks to her partner and says, "This is the most important part, Mukuro. Where his heart is will determine what sort of despair he can bring." Mukuro blinks, but points her suggestions: hidden behind the head no, smuggled into the chest no, tucked into the soft foot no, no, no.

When she finally settles on the space behind the creature's left eye, Mukuro eyes the Mastermind with soldier's doubt — asserting, wordlessly, that one's heart must be guarded, sheltered, a delicate thing. No, the Mastermind says, and the bear seems to laugh. I gave him this heart, this weapon of despair. I won't hide it.

She brings out many metals, gun-gray blocks and thin wires that circulate electricity in place of blood. The detonator lights bright red, a very fine little heart indeed.

(she said fine, fine, you're so fine)

When she builds brothers for the bear and sends them out into a world of black and white faces and atomic bombs, Mukuro keeps the records hidden in her locker. And when at last the Mastermind announces the Plan, Mukuro paints her own face because she loves her sister, because war hurts too, because one girl's despair is enough for her to hope for.

Mukuro's sister sets her out into the world where there are so many others like herself and yet not. She meets sportsmen and songstresses, novelists and noblemen, lawmakers and breakers and even others like herself, who must hide their real faces. She meets extraordinary liars. She meets truth, too.

They reach for her, saying fine, fine, Enoshima, you're so fine; let us have your heart.

The real Enoshima, though, comes to kiss her in the night, her arms stuffed with the bear that has become her heart. Enoshima comes when Mukuro's fists make dark and painful tangles of her hair, fingers that slip down her spine as the tears begin to fall. "Oh, sister," she smiles, "you're so fine." (Mukuro still slashes demons in the dark.)

Mukuro remembers her friends in the mornings. The Mastermind smiles in her box and warns her not to be kind. She moves her creation with spindly fingers, tap-tap-tapping of little red yellow green buttons, and they all crowd over the bear and threaten his heart; but violence is a wonderfully despairing thing, so she allows it.

(fine, fine, you're so fine)

Mukuro remembers her friends. Truth is something small and understated, a boy who speaks softly but with conviction. She's all this time wondered where his heart is, even now, even meeting as strangers. Mukuro remembers his smile most of all, and works hard to seem bored; but hair and lipsticks are hard to talk about, after all, and it's just so much more natural to pretend that they both remember. "God, Makoto-chan, it's so awful here," she tries, and he smiles too easily, like the end of the world never came. It isn't like that, she wants to tell him. It isn't the world I wanted to see, to wander, anymore; and even you, Makoto, you've fallen with it. You, who looked at me and smiled.

(I was named for a corpse, but I can save you still.)

So when Makoto shyly hands her a barrette in the shape of a kitten, she nearly forgets herself. He barely looks at her, but she's speaking so easily about dirt and trees and being without a home — informally yes, airily yes, but the gift imprints whiskers into her palm and Mukuro's sister has always hated cats — I like them also, Ikusaba-chan —

"Enemies and beasts, y'know? There's lots of 'em in this world. So that's why you've got to protect yourself, Naegi!" (Even if you've forgotten Madarai, even if you've forgotten the Most Tragic Event; even so, it's still...)

It hurts her when he smiles.

Her heart has come partway-undone; she can see her sister's bra above the distressed collar. She pushes it down, hides it as best she can, why —?

(No, I don't think you're predatory like that. You don't seem like that sort of guy.)

She rushes to the Mastermind, tells her that truth has come to stop her heart. That a boy has torn through the fabric and the foundation on her skin and it hurts.

"Oh, Muku-chan," sighs the Mastermind, "I thought this might happen."

(Can't you fix —?)

"Don't worry, dear Mukuro. Your sister will patch you right up."

The Mastermind pulls her in a little harder, a little closer to despair. Token resistance, fingers rubbing gloss and concealer away from skin. There're the pinpricks dotting her cheeks, there's the ink staining her wrist, and Mukuro can't remember when she truly became herself.

"I'll patch you up, Muku-chan," says the Mastermind, lightly. "You can remember what I'm telling you. A heart will only hurt you." She pulls away the collar, the thin tie, yanks down the lace bra. She scratches at the lines, little kisses at the neck that bleed into skin. It's all right, though, it's all right; those can be hidden, as well.

Kissing Enoshima Junko is like kissing powdered glass, sharp tongue and needle-teeth and tiny, perfect lips (Mukuro remembers, suddenly, that her own are chapped behind the rouge). Enoshima kisses her, and though usually Mukuro relaxes her hands and thinks of battles and despair and the dark, it's different this time. This time, she thinks of Naegi Makoto.

The Mastermind powders and fluffs her sister in the morning; Mukuro's blotched a little red, but not enough that any of them will notice the difference. She just feels a little airy, a little stung. "It's only a bit of hope, dear sister. Very soon, it'll be all gone. I'll make it go away." The Mastermind goes to her box, wakes up her toy, and sets about bringing despair.

Hope is there when she goes down to the gym. It's something small and understated, days and seasons passing, a boy who talks to her and smiles and considers her heart with quiet truth. Hope is there, but the bear is there too. Kill or be killed; I don't want any part in it. I don't want any part in it, anymore. (Is this what it is... to be happy?)

So she asks, the Mastermind's heart and hers. She asks. (Are you happy, now?!)

"Are you?"

She sees the bear's face under her boot, her sister's heart. Fire — riots, grenades, Mukuro knows the sounds — but this isn't a battle, and she's not dying like she imagined in her dreams. There isn't a spark, or the butt of a gun, or an ash with open arms; the holes in her leak blood, not stuffing (I thought you'd fixed me, Junko, didn't you fix—?). "Muku-chan", the Mastermind whispers, but she doesn't hear it. "I've patched your fine heart, now."

"I don't — understand — why am I —?"

(Where is my despair?)

(Where is—?)

The Mastermind watches from inside her box. Her dear sister's shape is just a little ruined now, like a honeycomb: pink-bleeding holes all over the body, and one of the red nails has chipped. If she looks, Enoshima can see a little of Mukuro's old heart peeking through. It's a beautiful, awful, despairing thing.

Hope is there. It's something small and understated, a lifetime passing, and a boy who says nothing, considers her heart with quiet shock — despair in his face, but hope in her heart.

"You were so fine, Muku-chan," the Mastermind grins, and readies the strings once more.