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1.
When Kyouka first enrolled into U.A. High, she never expected to be graced with the presence of the most elegant high school student in existence on her first day.
She had been minding her business for the most part, just barely scraping by after it was revealed that she scored 17th overall on the Quirk Apprehension Test. Not that it was surprising to her or anything—the classmates with emitter quirks were generally better suited for the exam’s demands. A less versatile mutant quirk like Kyouka’s was just an unfortunate match. Her poor performance was exactly why she was so shocked to find herself standing face-to-face with the girl who ranked 1st place in Class 1-A. The same girl who was presumably accepted to the hero course on recommendation was now looking right at Kyouka, exclaiming, “Hello, my name is Yaoyorozu Momo! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
If anyone could possess two distinct quirks simultaneously, Kyouka was convinced it was Momo; with the way she radiated light from her very being, she might as well be the reincarnation of the luminescent baby from their history books. It must be her second ability on top of her preexisting Creation quirk. Surely there was no other logical explanation as to why Momo was currently stretching her arm out to Kyouka (17th place, of all people), seeking a firm handshake.
So she takes Momo’s hand, ridiculously conscious of the perspiration in her own palm, and shakes it. She adds, “I’m Jirou. Nice to meet ya’, Yaoyorozu.”
And damn was it nice to meet Momo, because she visibly beams at the sound of Kyouka’s introduction. Momo seemed like the type to be overly friendly with people, but eliciting this kind of reaction out of her with just a few words had to have been an achievement. She clasps her other hand onto Kyouka’s, keeping their grip locked onto one another. “Please, do refer to me as Momo. I’m comfortable with Yaomomo as well, if you must.”
“Okay then, Yaomomo…” Kyouka hesitates, the foreignity of Momo’s given name on her tongue causing her brain to undergo a factory reset. “What brings you here?” Great start, dumbass.
“Well,” the taller girl releases their hands so she can fiddle with her thumbs, “I’m looking to acquaint myself with all of 1-A eventually, and you happened to catch my eye first.”
She’s just a box on Momo’s list to check off, or at least that’s what Kyouka persuades herself. “So you decided to introduce yourself? Just like that?” Momo nods. “That’s pretty rockin’ if you ask me.”
“Save your praises, Jirou-san. You really did pique my interest at first glance—is your hair naturally that purple? And how far do the wires on your quirk extend?” Kyouka swears there’s a tinge of red in Momo’s cheeks, but maybe it’s just the aftermath of all the exercise they just completed. There’s definitely no mistaking the sparkles in her eyes, though.
The smaller girl stifles a laugh. “Thanks, and yeah, it is natural. These, if you’re so curious,” she nudges an earphone jack forward, almost like it gained sentience, “stretch to a length of about six meters.”
She doesn’t even have to say a word for Kyouka to know that the gears are turning in her head. “Fascinating! It’s a shame Aizawa’s assessments weren’t entirely catered to quirks of your nature, because I would have loved to see it in action.”
This time, it was Kyouka’s turn to blush (if Momo had even blushed at her to begin with). “Your quirk is amazing, too. Can you create anything you think of? How does it work?”
“Yes and no; assuming there are enough lipids in my body to absorb, I can create any non-living object so long as I know its basic chemical composition.”
“Wait, so like,” Kyouka’s eyes blow wide open, “you have to memorize all of that? Like, that’s all just in your head?”
Momo scratches behind her ear. “Precisely.”
“That’s… wow.” This girl wasn’t accepted on recommendation for nothing. “I’m impressed.”
For a moment, they both just stand together. She twirls an earphone jack around her finger, while Momo neatly folds her hands in front of herself. The lack of conversation isn’t exactly awkward, but it’s present enough for Kyouka to begin sifting potential dialogue options through her head. How does one even respond to someone who’s of an entirely separate background and upbringing? Kyouka soundly believes they’re leagues apart.
Momo eventually does the job for them both, although the topic change was unprecedented:
“Would you like to accompany me to breakfast sometime? I know a place that serves excellent tea and pastries.”
Kyouka immediately corrects her posture, her back straightening up in alarm. “Like—like you mean us?” With her free hand, she points at herself in disbelief, and then likewise towards Momo. “Together?”
“U-Unless I’m overstepping your boundaries! I completely understand if you’re not interested. After all, we’ve just met.”
Oh, good going, Kyouka. She lets go of her earphone jack to pinch the bridge of her nose. “No, no, that’s not it, you just caught me by surprise. I’m down. How does this Saturday sound?”
Momo lightly breathes out. “I’d enjoy that.”
“Here, let me just…” Kyouka digs in her pocket for her phone and hands it to Momo after inputting the passcode, “We can discuss the details over text.”
It prompts Momo to pull out her own phone. It’s sleek, and more plain than one might expect from someone of Momo’s financial standing, but she exchanges it with Kyouka nonetheless. They quietly punch in their phone numbers before Momo comments abruptly, “Huh. It matches your hair.”
Kyouka observes the manner in which Momo’s brow scrunches, closely inspecting the back of the phone’s hue. She’s kinda’ cute like that.
She tucks the thought away for later. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
2.
Outside of their usual school and hero attire, Momo is just stunning.
Kyouka means every word, too—the pink dress, the light makeup masking subtle blemishes in her skin (it’s up for debate that she doesn’t even need to cover it up), and the silky post-shower hair all make her glow to an excessive degree. It’s a complete and total pivot away from Kyouka’s own style: simplistic and darker-toned. Suddenly the choker around her neck feels just a tad bit more restricting than normal.
So when Kyouka is asked to look around for camping essentials with Momo (alone, just them, even though they collectively arrived at the mall with almost all of 1-A), of course she agrees. Of course she graciously accepts the soft hand that Momo lends to her, allowing herself to get dragged off into the bustling crowd of shoppers. And of course she panics a bit, the thought of Momo’s outfit being solely for Kyouka’s view swarming furiously in her brain like angry bees.
She stays close behind Momo to admire the loose strands of hair by the nape of her neck. The grasp on her hand is inviting, all kinds of comforting, and it doesn’t allow for her to stray any further away from Momo’s side.
“Did you have any stores in mind?” she asks without turning back to look at Kyouka. “I’m not familiar with the layout of this mall—Mother and Father don’t typically allow me to browse common areas like this.”
And maybe it’s better that she’s not facing her right now, because Kyouka wouldn’t want Momo to see her heart pound out of her chest. “Actually, yeah. If we turn left after that jewelry store at the corner, there’s a place with some duffel bags I wanna’ look at.”
“We’ll get your needs situated first, then?”
“That’s fine with me. Thanks, Yaomomo.”
As a side effect of Kyouka’s quirk, she’s a little distracted by all the noises surrounding the two of them. Each one is a distinct frequency, and when mixed together it can become borderline overwhelming for the hearing hero to filter out properly. It’s a lot to handle: there’s conversing adults, and wailing babies, and barking dogs, and flickering neon signs, and the pattering of footsteps. No matter how much training she endures, she doesn’t think she’ll get used to living with this much sound in her life.
It’s during this moment of realization that Kyouka squeezes Momo’s hand tighter. Momo squeezes back all the same.
Their fingers slot together like puzzle pieces. Momo’s hand is slightly larger, but it’s softer, and nothing like Kyouka’s own. Hers are littered with callouses and scars—badges of her childhood in years past. Despite that, they complete each other. Call it early, or forward, or self-indulgent, but by that metric Kyouka could argue that they are like puzzle pieces as well. Oftentimes they’re referred to as opposites, and while they may be cut into different shapes or harbor different colors on the surface, they’re still two parts of the same whole.
She relishes in the stability that Momo’s hand provides.
That is, until a group of teenagers accidentally ram straight into Momo’s shoulder, sending her balance staggering backwards. Kyouka helps hoist her upright in time, but by that point they had let go of each other’s hands. After a reasonably genuine exchange of apologies from both parties, the two girls laugh it off and continue heading towards their destination.
Kyouka’s walking alongside Momo now, searching for an opportunity to have their pinky fingers “naturally” brush against each other. But the latter is now engrossed in a rant about ideal tea temperatures, so she doubts that’ll happen.
“…it’s just not right! Todoroki-san treats his tea the way he likes his soba. I can respect most people’s opinions, but I simply can’t stand for his! Tea needs to be warm to bring out the true essence of its leaves!”
Kyouka giggles timidly, fleetingly, something only Momo is able to evoke in her. “Can you taste the difference in flavor?”
“Who do you take me for, Jirou-san? Of course I can! Todoroki-san needs to take notes from me,” she jokes lightheartedly, “because I’m firm on my stance that the half-cold part of him mustn’t apply to tea.”
“Yeah, yeah, I trust your word,” she defends herself. An earphone jack straightens out to graze Momo’s cheek playfully. “The tea you made for us when we studied at your place was really good—and I’m not even much of a tea person myself.”
Momo raises her hand up to pinch the end of Kyouka’s earphone jack between her thumb and index finger. “I’m glad you think so! It took me all morning to decide which brand would be best suited for our friends. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe Mother purchased it when we visited…” And off she rambles again; she fidgets leisurely with the appendage in the meanwhile.
Shit, shit, shit, Kyouka’s face burns. Her palms clam up and she’s muttering to herself under her breath. It’s quiet enough that it doesn’t disturb Momo’s peace at all, but Kyouka thinks it’s loud. If she’s going to continue the analogy, she’s currently mimicking the half-hot part of Todoroki. She supposes she’s never explicitly established that boundary—her earphone jacks (which have currently gone slack) are sensitive to the touch and she generally doesn’t enjoy the sensory overload. Even after they reached the store Kyouka had initially mentioned, Momo continued to toy with her quirk. She knows she should bring it up, especially since the creation hero would realistically be considerate and understand her needs, but some hidden side of her doesn’t even mind that she’s in this situation.
She doesn’t mind because it’s Momo making her feel this way.
3.
Kyouka expects a visitor at her door in about six minutes.
Hours prior, she was exchanging texts with Momo to schedule a good time for her to drop by and ask some questions about the song they’re writing for the school festival. They settled on half-past nine, which both works around their nightly routines, and gives them some semblance of privacy when some 1-A classmates are otherwise winding down for bed.
Half-past nine is, if Kyouka quickly glances at the alarm clock on her desk, now in a little over five minutes.
She nearly feels pathetic for timekeeping this closely; she’s known Momo for months, yet she still acts like she’s meeting her favorite band for the first time whenever the girl enters her peripheral. Speaking of which, one of Deep Dope’s newer songs is bleeding through her speaker. It’s one that she actually introduced to Momo back when they first decided to exchange music recommendations. Her go-to playlist is all over the place now: heavy metal merged with pure classical. Kyouka loses herself for a bit, engrossed by her music as she sighs and lays horizontally on her bed.
She gets so caught up in her jam session that she forgot she even left the door unlocked, because after a polite knock there comes a click and Momo’s successfully entered. And it takes abnormally long for Kyouka to open her eyes randomly; she’s met with Momo hovering over her, but she doesn’t even recall how long she’s been standing there for. Kyouka yelps, halts whatever sonorous humming she was previously partaking in, and jolts herself upright. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, legs spread wide and Momo situated between them like that’s where she was meant to be her whole life.
When Kyouka cranes her neck up, both their eyes—shining onyx and deep amethyst—meet. “I didn’t intend on scaring you,” Momo says, “but you seemed so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”
Kyouka draws out both her earphone jacks, manipulating them to carefully readjust the collar of Momo’s turtleneck. “It’s my bad, really. How long did I zone out for?”
“A few minutes at most,” she replies slowly, though the sudden change in music to one of Momo’s favorite songs totally shifts her tone up a few octaves. “Isn’t this piece just splendid? I think its intended emotions are conveyed quite masterfully.”
“Glad we can agree on that.” She’s saying this from more of a technical standpoint, but Momo’s also right; the overall composition is breathtaking. It’s an instrumental version of a rather languid love song.
They briefly maintain eye contact (mostly to absorb the song but partially to indulge in each other’s comfort) before Momo outstretches her hand and proposes, “Might you join me for a dance?”
“H-Here?” she asks incredulously, albeit she’s already taken her hand and lets Momo take the lead. What kind of hero would she be if she refused?
The dance is far from graceful, but it’s methodical, fluid, even intimate if they’d dare to label it as such. It’s oddly reminiscent of the first dance they shared when they helped each other change into formal wear for the I-Expo. That wasn’t necessarily long ago, either, but the two girls would gladly take any chance they could get at close proximity. As the song progresses, Kyouka notices her footwork could use a bit of additional practice because she trips over herself a few times. But Momo is a forgiving teacher nonetheless.
Momo leans in. “How was the tea I prepared for you earlier this evening? Did it help with nursing your throat back to health?” she whispers into the crook of Kyouka’s neck. It sends a shiver down her spine, and when she hums a hushed approval Momo then continues, “That’s good to hear, Jirou-san.”
“O-Oh, right—” Kyouka stutters hoarsely, attempting to change the subject. What the fuck, she’s so close, did she put perfume on or something? “—weren’t we, uh, meant to review your sheet music tonight?”
Momo doesn’t respond immediately, opting to hum to the tune of the song instead. It’s beginning to wind down, but Kyouka indulges in her melody anyway. “We have time to spare.”
Snickering fills the room as the younger of the two guides Kyouka’s movements into a low dip. Kyouka clicks her tongue, “I’d love it if that were the case, but we actually don’t. The festival is in two days.”
“No,” Momo whines, a hint of dejection seeping through her voice. It reminds the guitarist of childhood memories, of nostalgia, of selfish youth, “I meant you. I still have time with you.”
“Me?”
“For as long as you’ll accept my companionship?”
Kyouka feels along the small of Momo’s back, lost in the music, and then the words hit her. Not a sudden crash, nor a fall, but rather an all-encompassing tightness swells in her lungs. Her breathing grows labored. The weight of Momo’s wish is almost too much to handle, and she comes to realize she may be a little too inexperienced to handle it with proper fragility. They’d never put it into tangible, coherent sentences before but it suddenly made sense.
That’s what this feeling is.
“You’re gonna’ have to stick around for a long while, then.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
4.
“Stay with me, Yaomomo?” Kyouka requests, her voice trembling. She needs to fall back on the promise they once made in her dorm room, needs to feel Momo’s warmth by her side.
“Kyouka-san,” Momo obliges, kneeling down and placing a hand on her shoulder, “What are you hearing?”
She ejects her earphone jacks from the ground, coiling them close to her lips so she can blow the excess dirt off. “Nothing, everything is going according to plan so far, it’s just—I hope Kaminari is holding up.”
With what little information Kyouka gathered from her scan, she figures that the first wave of Villa raiders have successfully traversed a few dozen meters away from the starting point. The people who stayed behind as backup, like herself, Momo, and most of the other 1-A and 1-B students, have returned to idle conversation to pass the time. She knows Kaminari consented to leading the charge. She knows it. But at the same time, she also knows the guy’s probably rattling his bones at the thought of fighting all those villains head-on. He has Tokoyami and the other pros to support him, but even that may not be enough to ease his nerves.
For the first time in ages, the most accurate name for the feeling that’s encircling her is fear. It’s the fear of change, of losing her hold on the constants in her life. Kaminari, and Momo, and everyone else that she’s grown close to have distracted her from the grayed reality of heroism. But now that their safety is no longer guaranteed, threats looming over them day-by-day, Kyouka doesn’t know how to cope with it.
“Kaminari-san is strong,” Momo reassures her with a slight frown, “I’m sure we don’t need to worry on his behalf.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right…” That fact had already been strongly cemented in Kyouka’s mind, long before the plans for the Villa raid were even set in motion. Ever since they all fought side by side during the USJ incident, the trio have been inseparable. The battle connected them on a deeper level, one that likely wouldn’t have been achieved if they weren’t part of the hero course. From weekend hangouts to sparring sessions, it was safe to say that they were all stuck to each others’ sides like glue. Naturally, Kaminari had gradually proved what he’s worth (whether it be in terms of power, courage, or even just charisma and character) to Kyouka. She wonders why, after everything that’s passed, she’s just now growing doubtful.
Maybe it’s the fact that this day’s outcome feels undeniably like life-or-death, but Kyouka’s heart is bubbling up to her throat. It’s ironic because she’s not even the one risking her life in the heart of the battlefield. Sure, she still has her role to play by being the main scout of the group, but it’s proving to be a rather tame job at the moment. All she’s been asked to do at the moment is just sit there and listen to the fight take place. That doesn’t negate its importance, though; this is a task only she (and maybe Shouji) are capable of executing. For that exact reason, it also puts all the more pressure on her for something that shouldn’t even be too difficult for her in the first place.
Momo must have sensed the rigidness of her stature, because she lifts her hand off of Kyouka’s shoulder in order to provide a thorough massage to the shell of her ears. It takes an awful lot of willpower to not let out a deep groan right in front of her.
Kyouka opens her mouth, nearly arguing about how she shouldn’t be slacking off, but Momo cuts her off before she can speak. “Relax. Save your strength for when we need you most.”
She opts to melt under Momo’s touch instead. For a moment she thinks about the peering eyes of her classmates, searing into their backs with curiosity as Momo kneads circles into her earlobes. What do they think of this? How obvious is it that whatever relationship the two girls have is straying away from just being friends and bordering on some secret third thing? Unless it’s normal for friends to study together and bleed together and be in the same band together and dance together and give each other massages in the midst of war together? Kyouka physically shakes her head to snap out of her trance.
In any case, as much as she would love to pause time and soak in this moment forever, they’re interrupted by a strong tremor in the ground. Kyouka shoots Momo a knowing glance, ejecting her earphone jacks and plugging them into the earth below them. The latter gets off her knees and rises into an idle battle stance like it’s muscle memory.
All Kyouka has to say is a quick “I think that’s our cue to start moving,” and the students alongside them are already leaping through the trees and into action. Momo isn’t among them, though, because Kyouka turns around and is faced with her outstretched hand.
“Let’s help you up.”
Kyouka takes her hand and mentally prepares herself for the grueling hours of combat that have yet to come. “Thanks.”
5.
Before she’s even conscious of what exactly she’s doing, Kyouka finds herself standing in front of Momo’s doorstep at half-past midnight. Her phone screen illuminates the dimmed hallway that emptied out noticeably faster tonight. It seemed like everyone in Class 1-A was some kind of nervous, or on edge, but no one was in the mood to speak out about their unease. After a moment to collect her own thoughts, Kyouka knocks hesitantly and waits patiently.
She takes this time to reflect on the events that had very recently transpired. Just as the musician was about to set her instruments aside and climb into bed, she had received a cryptic notification from Momo. Her eyes were half-lidded and her shoulders sunk low to the ground, but she opened the text regardless:
[12:20 AM] Momo: Are you awake Kyouka-san?
[12:21 AM] Kyouka: yea whats up
[12:21 AM] Momo: I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you were busy first
[12:22 AM] Kyouka: nah its ok, i was just gonna sleep in a sec
[12:22 AM] Kyouka: u need smth?
[12:22 AM] Momo: I don’t wish to disturb your sleep, but if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind coming over to my room for a while?
[12:23 AM] Kyouka: fs yaomomo!! let me put away my guitar and all that first and ill be right over
[12:23 AM] Momo: Thank you, I appreciate it.
Kyouka had furrowed her brow; numerous hypothetical scenarios raced through her mind as to why Momo wanted to see her so suddenly. It wasn’t totally unusual for the two to be seen together in the late of the night, but this time around she had an odd feeling about it. Momo wasn’t the type of person to be overly apologetic about simply wanting to see Kyouka for a moment. There had to be some hidden explanation for the apprehensive nature of those texts—she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
In present time, the girl on the other side of the door mumbles a groggy “come in,” and Kyouka follows her request, yawning during the process.
“You said you needed me?” Kyouka asks wearily.
Within the veil of darkness, a familiar face is buried under the covers, her back facing the door. Light sniffles break up the air. The oversized blankets engulf her entire body, though Kyouka can vaguely make out the silhouette of Momo’s figure curled up in a timid ball. The sight is devastating to Kyouka—she wants nothing more but to wipe her tears, to cup Momo’s wounded heart in her hands and mend it inch by inch, to envelop her unnamed sorrows in fuzzy heat and shield her from storms.
“Oh, Yaomomo,” she whispers, tip-toeing over to her bed and setting her phone on the nightstand before joining her under the covers, “I’ve got you now.”
The taller girl takes staggered breaths, flipping herself around to face Kyouka. She’s in terrible shape: her eyes are glossy, her hair (which is currently down from its usual ponytail) is messy and knotted, her nose is stuffy—the list goes on. She lazily paws at Kyouka’s chest in search of her hand. Refusing to make eye contact, her gaze falls low to the hem of Kyouka’s tank top.
Strings of panicked profanities dart along the tip of Kyouka’s tongue while Momo seizes her hand at last. Her grip is tight, and shaky, and desperate, as if Kyouka would vanish into thin air if she didn’t hold on. Of Kyouka’s possible catalog of responses, the one that is ultimately verbalized is a stunned “what the fuck?”
In a bout of misinterpretation, Momo pulls her hand away hesitantly and visibly shrinks, shoulders hunched close to her ears and head tucked towards Kyouka’s chest. Her body tenses up in an act of self-defense, of nonverbal apologies and self-reproach and vulnerability. And the sniffles, they start again.
Kyouka finds herself chasing after Momo, reaching over to pull the girl back into a solacing embrace. “Yaomomo, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear it—I’m just worried, is all.” She lets her weep into her anyways, paying no mind to the slightly uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric clinging onto her skin. “You wanna’, um, talk or something when you’re ready?”
She can feel the shaky vibrations of Momo’s voice as she loses her composure. “…can’t fall back asleep…”
Most likely a bad dream, then. Kyouka gently rubs Momo’s back, signaling her presence. “Are you nervous?”
It’s a redundant question, really—the final war, the fated clash between heroes and villains, was set to take place in the upcoming dawn. Calling the past few days “rough” was a harsh understatement for the members of 1-A. Recent events have probably taken the biggest toll on Midoriya and Aoyama, but that doesn’t deter from the growing stresses of the other classmates.
For one, easily the most intrusive stressor at the forefront of Momo’s mind, is this:
“I… I dunno’,” she slurs, dropping her usual refined way of speech, “I don’t mind being assigned to support, but… but you, y-you’re gonna’ be all the way up front and I just… it’s…”
Kyouka keeps her mouth shut, awaiting further elaboration. One of her earphone jacks snakes over to affectionately tuck some stray hairs over Momo’s ear.
Any embarrassment or shame that Momo may have felt was disregarded completely. “I-I know you’ll be careful out there, I trust you, but Kyouka-san… I saw you, in my dream, I saw—gosh I can’t even—please don’t go please don’t please Kyouka-san I need you please I-can’t-do-this-without-you.”
“Whoa—easy there,” she consoles her, shifting to tuck her chin just over the crown of Momo’s head, “I’m right here, yeah?” Lacking the proper words, she adds another I’m here for good measure.
Momo sobs weakly under her touch. They’ve always been gentle with each other; their companionship has no shortage of warm hugs and soft eye contact and interlocked hands. But this particular gesture has an extra layer of delicacy draped onto it. Perhaps it is a confirmation of thoughts left unsaid, undeniable evidence of their bond unlike any other, a search for reassurance in a career field that’s laughably far from forgiving.
Whatever it is, it’s painful, and Kyouka yearns to alleviate even a fraction of that for Momo.
Her breathing starts to slow down, exhaustion seeping through her body. “K-Kyouka-san?”
“Yes?”
“Could…” she asks between whimpers, “...could you, um, stay for the night?”
I’d do anything for you if you asked me to. “Of course.”
+1.
When Kyouka blinks open her eyes at last, she’s met with darkness.
Judging by the steady beeping noises, the chit-chat beyond the thin walls of the room she’s in, and the cold, scratchy fabric beneath her back, she figures she’s lying down in a hospital bed. It’s not her favorite place in the world, and she certainly doesn’t want to worry her parents any more than she already has in the past, but it’s probably better to be here than somewhere far off in the afterlife. Without moving much, she reaches blindly for her left earphone jack before she realizes. She realizes that wait, there is no earphone jack to reach for, because she’s just woken up from a nightmare that wasn’t actually a nightmare because it was real and the consequences of her actions were even more real. Where there used to be an ear (and half of her quirk) is now just a bloodied bandage wrapped on the side of her skull. Beads of sweat drip down her forehead but she can’t bring herself to wipe it off because her body absolutely aches and refuses to move.
The details are muddy, so she doesn’t know exactly when she lost consciousness after All for One blew her ear clean off. Bless Tokoyami for being her wings, because she also doesn’t know how she would’ve made it out alive if it weren’t for him. Her head is pounding and her ears—her ear is ringing and honestly, it’s no use thinking about any of this when all she really wants is something for her hands to fiddle with.
She gathers enough willpower to sit herself up with a small grunt. The new position grants her more visibility of her surroundings and, more notably, a head of jet-black hair sprawled over the side of Kyouka’s leg. The girl is seated beside her on a stool, hunched over her bed, arms crossed under her head and snoring lightly. She’s so fucking cute.
Kyouka blushes from ear-to-ear. If it means seeing her in such a vulnerable state, maybe Kyouka wouldn’t mind getting injured more often. They both get injured pretty often, and visiting each other is a common occurrence, but something about it being in an actual hospital and not just Recovery Girl’s office makes her gush like a crushing primary schooler again. She can’t stop herself from running her fingers through Momo’s hair, trailing her supple skin down her neck and across her broad shoulders and freckled arms. Everything about this girl is plain mesmerizing to Kyouka. She commits the view to memory, sealing it away in a deep pocket of her brain.
And her hands, gods, her hands are just something else. The one closer to Kyouka is laid face-down on the bedsheets, twitching minutely as Momo continues her slumber. No matter how well Kyoka acquaints herself with them, she’ll never truly get over their beauty. She wishes she could map out each and every vein, crease, and fold in them, just to gain even a sliver of an understanding into Momo’s composition.
The injured hero really can’t keep her hands to herself anymore. She releases the luscious hair from her hold and lays her palm atop the back of Momo’s hand, slowly sweeping the surface with her thumb. Momo stirs in her sleep and Kyouka wonders if she can frame this image in a museum.
A nearby analog clock displayed that it was about a quarter past three in the morning. Kyouka was too physically drained to move (and inversely too antsy to sleep), so she stares at the ticking of the clock’s hands as it slowly revolves around. There’s nothing better to do anyways. She watches as the minute hand clicks past the four, then the five, then the six and seven.
By the time she gets bored of it, it turns out that it’s nearly four o’clock. This is also around the same time that Momo makes her first noise—her first real movement ever since Kyouka initially woke up. A mewl so soft and reserved that you’d miss it if you weren’t listening intently enough, and a subconscious shift of her hand to absorb more of Kyouka’s body heat. Kyouka giggles through pursed lips.
Maybe that’s what pulls Momo back to the land of the wakeful, because out of nowhere she pierces the silence by shouting, “Kyouka!” and leaps onto her in urgency.
She doesn’t know what’s most appropriate to freak out about first: Momo using her given name for the first time, or the way that their sheer size difference is making itself apparent when Momo engulfs her in a tight hug, or that her ribs are currently being crushed. It’s all too much information to take in at once after having settled down for the past forty minutes or so.
In the end she opts for that last option. “Hey, I’m happy to see you too, but it’s a little hard to breathe right now.”
Momo gasps a little, apologizing and leaning back to provide Kyouka more space but still straddling her hips. “How long have you been awake for?”
“Not long, don’t worry,” she says, allowing the white lie to slip for the time being. “How long have I been asleep for?”
Their hands instinctively sought one another again. “This is my third night visiting, but you’ve been stuck here for four. I’ve mainly been spectating while the doctors take your vitals and some other measurements for your prosthetic ear.”
“I see. Did someone miss me?” Kyouka jokes.
“Too much,” Momo replies, with an immense amount of sincerity and honesty in her voice. “Please don’t make me worry again.”
She’s not sure why it felt so right to do so, but she lets go of their hands and places one along Momo’s cheek. The latter’s eyes widen but she doesn’t follow up with anything, waiting patiently for Kyouka to make another move. They lock eyes, and with an unwavering conviction, she asks, “can I?”
Momo closes the distance between them—it’s as much of an affirmation as she could possibly provide. Momo’s lips are unsurprisingly soft, contrasted by Kyouka’s roughly chapped ones. It’s just a shy peck at first, Kyouka nervously leaning back into the headboard afterwards, but Momo pulls them back for more. She vaguely tastes of flowers and cherries; Kyouka could get addicted to this if she’s not careful. Their hands wander as they deepen their second kiss, traveling the expanses of face and neck and back and hips.
Time slows down to make space for the two heroes. Kyouka is frantically tapping on Momo’s side to signal for air, half-choking when she’s finally granted it. And then they smile at each other, and suddenly all is right in the world once again.
And then, they start laughing. A mere snicker at first, but it gradually evolves into full-blown howling that makes Kyouka feel like her lungs are going to collapse. If someone were to walk in and ask what was so funny, neither of them could actually put it into words. It’s an indescribable mix of anxiety and yearning and pure want.
Their laughter dies down, to which Momo takes the opportunity to ride her shirt up. Kyouka darts her eyes away, squeezing them shut; Momo’s used her quirk in front of her numerous times, but she still feels like a prowling villain whenever she’s faced with the unexpected skin exposure. She listens as a certain something is being manifested into the world, emitting a splash of pink and blue sparkles.
When Momo taps her on the nose playfully, Kyouka opens her eyes. It’s still the same Momo that she’s always known, but this time she’s holding a small bouquet of purple lilacs.
“I forgot to bring you a get-well-soon gift, so I hope this makes up for it?”
Kyouka grins wildly, hinting at the subtext between Momo’s offering. “You sure that’s all it is? A get-well-soon gift?”
She blushes innocently, her heartbeat speeding up after being caught in the act. Then she responds, “I-I suppose that’s not the case. I was wondering if, um, you’d… if you’d be willing to be my girlfriend? Unless I’m overstepping or anything?”
Never thought this day would come.
“Y’know, Momo? I’d love nothing more.”