the witching hour
(she's a bitch in sheep's clothing.)
see, there’s something that makes him mad about her. she’s got lips like sugar, bubblegum pink. she talks like a sieve, word dribble out of her mouth like molasses, and men and women cling to her words hungrily, desperately. everything she says is volcanic ash and stardust, but he knows she tastes like sewage and diamond dust. she’s a sewer rat in designer rags.
a model for the divine and devout, a queen for the wretched. junko enoshima walked onto the baseball diamond in patent leather heels. without regard for the other players. she’s got her pale blue gaze on a redhead with a flashy sneer, his arms tan and legs lean, always in mid-stride, ready to sprint.
cocky, arrogant, junko thought he was absolutely fascinating. he was pretty, pretty, pretty.
(pretty breakable. you thought she was serious?)
“oi, dumbass!” her high pitched lilt reverberated in the summer air, the male’s teammates tittered and guffawed, and leon could only growl in response.
this bitch, in her fakeass weave and ridiculously short skirt, jesus fuck, not today. the star pitcher for hope peak academy’s baseball team rolled up his sleeves and sauntered over to the girl leaning against the broken chain link fence.
“what the fuck are you doing here, junko?” he snarls, grasping the metal behind her, looming over her slender frame. junko smiles like it’s christmas and easter and every other goddamn western holiday rolled into one shit storm mess, her fingers brush against the stubble on his chin, and leon flinches.
“i’m here to see my favorite star athlete, what’s so horrible about that?”
“everything. get the fuck out of my sight.”
he can’t help but notice the way she hikes up her skirt, the piece of shit is already short enough, but when her fingertips skim the edges of her (black) panties, he grits his teeth and scowls.
she rolls her eyes, and flicks her blonde bangs back.
“fine, fine,” junko sings, but not before stealing a kiss.
he doesn’t see her again after that.
he wakes up in a room with a dozen (give or take) more kids, they’re all shouting and fighting and scratching at walls, and leon groans at the mutiny unfolding. he runs a hand through his red hair, twists at the little tied strand near his temple, and scans the area. he doesn’t know anyone.
a girl’s laughter captivates his attention, he looks up from his dirty desk. her blonde hair is done in pigtails, her plaid skirt is shorter, shorter than he remembers, her lips are black.
she blows him a kiss. there is murder in her grin.
he chokes back a scream.
he can’t say he isn’t a little bit relieved when junko dies, when her body stays still on the gym floor, dark red blood pooling in the white of her shirt. he crouches down next to her, and blinks hard.
there are freckles on her skin. they dust her nose, her cheeks, and he finds it odd—
leon does’t remember freckles. junko enoshima never had freckles.
he doesn’t know how he knows this.
leon swears he hears her voice. it echoes in the empty of his room, it follows him in the hallways of the school, and it doesn’t leave him alone. he sees flashes of her porcelain skin in the dead of night.
he must be going crazy. naegi-kun gives him an apologetic smile when leon talks to him about it, and tells him he needs more sleep.
leon hasn’t slept in days.
(and he won’t sleep anymore. junko smiles when his pathetic body is dragged out of the school courtroom, and tied up to a post. she made sure the baseball diamond was open for all to see.
after all, her star athlete was the main attraction. he didn’t deserve anything less than the glaring fluorescent beams, and the hush of an awestruck crowd.)
when leon sees monobear set up the pitching machine, he prays. he prays and screams and begs for forgiveness. he begs, and screams, and prays, and then it’s silent. he sees sayaka maizono in the afterlife. she pardons him. but he travels on, further into the outskirts of the abyss, the inky dark only getting darker with every step.
then he sees junko. she’s smiling at him, smiling her devil may care grin, and he smirks.
i didn’t realize i got sent to hell.
she laughs, and laughs, because she’s still the queen of despair, the answered for the wretched, and leon still thinks she’s the goddamn incarnation of poisoned bubblegum.
there’s some sort of unsaid agreement, and they part ways.
(but not before she kisses his lips, and leaves him writhing.)