Work Text:
She thinks about him, sometimes.
Especially when it was dark and quiet - like that night.
They wouldn't kill; unfortunately not as quickly as she'd wish, not for quite a while if Junko's predictions were correct (and they never were wrong, were they?). Her hands flipped through the pages of a small notebook - one that looked like the one she had when he made her forget - until she reached a page that was blank, staring at the empty white as her thoughts drifted to him.
Junko sighed as she began to sketch Yasuke. His thing lips, his silky, black, messy hair, his long, feminine eyelashes - all of it came together, and soon, it formed his image.
Once she had finished, Junko smiled at herself, giddy as she gazed upon the drawing of the boy she had once loved, and the boy she once killed and mutilated until he was unrecognisable - until he looked like lasagna with teeth.
A moment passed before she paused, bitting at the acrylic nail on her thumb. Narrowing her eyes, she inspected the drawing even closer, beginning to nitpick it. No, that wasn't right, that wasn't what he looked like, wasn't it? His face had a slightly different jawline, his lips were much thinner, his hair was longer than that - it wasn't accurate to what he looked like at all. She needed to perfect it, to make herself despair more at how beautiful he once was before he became a pile of meat.
Junko frowned as she got back to work, erasing small lines and fixing them, chiselling away at the drawing as if she was a sculptor and this drawing recreating Yasuke would be her masterpiece. Or maybe that'd it even bring him back (but she knew something like that was impossible).
Once again, she was satisfied with her work. But as she looked at the eyes she had drawn, she kept seeing more and more flaws. No, it was completely wrong, wasn't it? The facial features... they were much more soft and child-like than Yasuke's were when he died. If anything, those features looked more like Chihiro's or Makoto's. No, no, that wasn't right. She needed to keep working on it. She needed him to look exactly like he had back when he was alive.
Junko began sketching, faster and faster, erasing more and more and drawing new lines, trying to perfect it - trying to perfect him. Her sketching turned to scribbling as she slowly became frustrated. She was the Ultimate Analyst, god damn it! Why on earth could she not just draw him right?
Slowly, slowly, Junko kept trying to draw his features accurately, but they seemed to just be getting worse. Junko suddenly groaned on frustration, before pausing, closing her eyes to picture him. He was standing in her mind's eye, tall, beautiful and wearing that damn dirty white shirt she never seemed to be able to get him to switch out of his wardrobe, though it never bothered her much. That wasn't the part she needed - she needed to know what his face looked like.
But she just... couldn't. All she could imagine was a blurry, swirling mess in place of his face, a distorted empty hole where there should've been his grumpy expression.
No, she didn't forget him. She wouldn't have forgotten him that easily, she forced herself to take in every small detail as she crushed him into an unrecognisable bloody pulp. She wouldn't just-
Junko screamed as she tossed the book on the floor, falling to her knees before she glanced at the shitty drawing and tearing the page out of the book, ripping the page to shreds. Tears dripped from her eyes as she cupped the paper in her hands, as if Yasuke himself was that paper, as if she held his life in her hands once more.
You killed him. You loved him and yet you killed him.
For a moment, she seemed almost like a normal girl, who lost someone she dearly loved, a girl not consumed by boredom and despair.
But only for a moment. Junko's sobs began to shift into giggling, which quickly melted into cackling. She let the paper fall from her hands as she picked up the notebook, rubbing the tears from her eyes as her mind vomited her worst characteristics back at her.
You disgusting monster. You're not human if you can find joy in other's despair, especially someone you loved. He should've succeeded in killing you.
Junko sniffled as she slowly took a shaky step up, and another, before clambering onto the chair in front of all the monitors displaying different camera feeds of the students.
You horrible, horrible girl. You deserve this.
Junko looked down at the paper she had dropped. Maybe she'd tidy it up during a trial, or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe it'd just stay there until the game was over, or even long after she died, but that was unlikely, her plans were unlikely to fail. She took a deep, shaky breath in as she grinned, tears in her eyes.
God, she really did miss him sometimes.