Chapter Text
The wine tonight is red, just like the socks Kyouka’s wearing when she takes her boots off at Yaoyorozu’s entrance.
“Did you order already?” Jirou asks.
Momo watches as her best friend makes herself comfortable in her place: first it is her hat, then the heavy coat. Lastly, it is the silk scarf Momo gave her as a Christmas present when they were sixteen and living in UA.
“Italian, this time. It should arrive in 20 minutes.”
Kyouka groans in satisfaction and stretches, her hands and earjacks reaching up high. “You’re a goddess.”
Momo laughs softly and brings her wine glass to her mouth. If only that were true, she wouldn’t be in the situation she was in.
There is nothing unusual to the scene: Momo, Kyouka, some chosen alcohol for the night and food. There should be talking, ambient music and maybe a movie. Sometimes they cook. Sometimes, like tonight, they want to try a new takeout place or are just too damn tired to consider the joys of cooking together. Sometimes it is at Momo’s penthouse, sometimes it is at Kyouka’s stylish studio. But always, it is just the two of them unwinding from the week in the most comfortable way they can: with each other.
Momo wouldn’t trade it for the world.
She sighs, happy to at least have that one constant in her life, that one reassurance when everything else feels like it is going to shit.
“Uh-oh. I don’t like that sigh. What does it mean?” Kyouka sits down on the sofa, bottle in one hand and empty glass on the other. She doesn’t seem to care about the skirt she’s wearing, her legs lifted up and bent at the knees while she snuggles against the back of the sofa and fills her glass slowly, with the utmost care in the world. Momo knows she’s listening, despite the attention on the red wine. Her jacks wiggle a little, pointing at Momo demanding an answer from her. It may not look like it, but Kyouka is the most impatient person Momo’s ever met. It’s adorable, even if sometimes exasperating, like only her best friend can be.
“It means I’m tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And the week was super busy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And…”
“...And?”
“And,” Momo sighs again. “I called Itsuka.”
Kyouka lifts the bottle, satisfied with how much she’s poured on her glass. She sniffs the wine, all pretense of coolness, until she turns to Momo with a lifted eyebrow and the most patronizing look Momo’s ever seen her give towards her. “Why the fuck did you do that for?”
Momo winces. She has no idea what to tell her.
“I know, it was stupid.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Momo watches Kyouka sip on the wine for a bit, thinking about it. Why did she do it? Why did she even bring it up now?
She shrugs. Then smiles a little. “Can we change the subject for now? Let’s start with something smarter, perhaps?”
Kyouka smiles back at her and nods. “Of course. We can keep our dignity for a little while longer, let’s wait for the food and the alcohol to kick in.”
They laugh and the mood lightens immediately.
Kyouka takes her phone from her pocket and it doesn’t take long for music to start streaming from Momo’s walls. She always liked to listen to music around the house, but half a year into their weekly ritual she thought it best to install a sound system into the house so they can listen to music while they go from the kitchen to the living room with no trouble. Of course, Kyouka has had the bluetooth access since day one, way too excited to use it whenever she comes over.
“What’s this one called? I like it.” Momo hums with eyes closed, enjoying the slow rhythm of the song and the beginnings of a wine buzz.
“It’s an indie singer from the US. It was Todoroki-kun, of all people, who introduced me to her music. I’m kind of addicted now.” Kyouka laughs softly.
Momo smiles, glad to know Shouto is reaching out to people that aren’t Midoriya. It took her way too many attempts to get him out of his shell and stay out of it, so she appreciates when he takes her effort seriously and reaches out to people on his own, however small it can be. She mentally reminds herself to call him and ask how he’s doing and if he and Midoriya are already familiarized with the Californian lifestyle.
“She sounds like you a bit,” Momo murmurs, careful not to break the easy atmosphere they have.
“That’s what Todoroki-kun said as well, but I honestly can’t hear it.”
Momo opens her eyes and looks at her as the song fades away and another one starts. “You do know you sound different to other people than you do to yourself, right?”
Kyouka pouts, “I also know I have better auditory range and pitch detection than you two combined.”
Momo laughs against the back of her hand, all too familiar with Kyouka’s stubbornness. “It’s a compliment, I promise. But I guess I have to agree, you definitely sound better than her.”
There’s a shine in Kyouka’s eyes as she stares at Momo, a tease to match Momo’s own. “Damn right I do.”
They grin at each other and lay down more comfortably on the couch, curved towards each other as they listen to the music and drink their wine. There’s a big bruise on Momo’s left knee and she pokes at it softly, wondering where she could have gotten it. Was it the villain attack she had to deal with earlier that week? She remembers falling on her side and a bit of bruising, but she was quite sure it was on her right side. She turns to look at her right leg and sure enough, when she lifts the hem of her dress, there are scratches on the side of her thighs. She frowns, then notices a hand reaching out to touch the skin around the scratches softly.
“Does it hurt?”
Momo looks at Kyouka and shakes her head no. “It’s the downside of depending on a skin quirk. I’m always vulnerable.”
Kyouka moves her hand away and towards the bruising on her knee. She pokes it softly and Momo moves her leg away. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” Kyouka squeezes Momo’s leg softly in apology and takes her hand away. “Where did you get that one? It wasn’t there last week.”
“I was wondering about it myself, but I cannot recall.”
“Maybe you grazed your bed or something?”
“Perhaps.” Momo caresses her knee softly, bummed at her lack of memory. Her next comment comes absent minded, fueled by an empty stomach and wine. “I miss the times where I knew exactly where my bruises came from.”
“Momo! No talking about exes until the food arrives!”
“What?” Momo turns to see Kyouka’s sullen frown and it takes her a moment to understand where it is coming from. “No. No! I didn’t mean it like that!”
“Right.”
“I swear!” Momo blushes and looks away, “I mean, it is true, but, uh.” She pushes her hair behind her ear and hopes Kyouka can’t tell just what kind of memories fill her head now. “I meant that nowadays I've had so much work I cannot even tell if my bruises are work related or not.”
“All I hear is that you’re getting the wrong kind of action.”
“Kyouka!” Momo turns back, flaming cheeks and wide opened eyes, to chastise Kyouka as she laughs at Momo.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s too easy to tease you, Yao-chan.” She smiles wistfully and reaches out to hold Momo’s hand in hers. “Besides, I do think laughing about it would help you get over your break-up. Sorry if I misstepped here.”
Momo takes a deep breath to calm down her nerves and shyness. When her cheeks don’t feel hot anymore, she smiles at Kyouka and squeezes her hand. “Thank you.”
“You know that’s what I’m here for.”
“Thank you,” Kyouka squeezes her hand back and Momo smiles. “Don’t worry, I think you’re right. I already cried too much about it, now it’s the easy part of moving on.”
“You sure?” Kyouka looks at her with concern written all over her face, obviously still scared she made light of the situation when she shouldn’t. “It’s only been, what? A couple of months? It’s quite recent.”
“Yeah. It’s okay, really.” This is far from the first hardship they've been through together, or even the first break-up. Momo is always always thankful for Kyouka and the support she gives her. She doesn't say out loud - she can't express just how much she cherishes having Kyouka stand by her and in her life - but she thinks that Kyouka understands regardless.
“Ok, good.” Kyouka smiles, the one she saves just for Momo, then it turns cheeky and easy again. “Hey, we match.” She points at Momo’s red dress and then at her own red stockings.
“Yeah, we do.” Momo laughs and takes a sip of her wine. “Just me, you, and our wine. Girls in red.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Kyouka twirls her glass and takes a sip, an easy smile still in place. “So, bruises aside, how was the week?”
The music goes unnoticed as they chat about the week. Even though they keep in close contact through messages whenever their busy schedules allow, they still like to share most things in person, where they can see the other’s reaction; how they gesticulate or express in depth what they want to convey to the other. That’s how Momo learns about the ridiculous proposition Kyouka received from JNN, a local TV station, asking her to be a judge for pop groups in a reality show because of her “higher sense of hearing”, nevermind that she worked as a Hero and not a musician. That’s also how she got to share the tense fight she had to endure against a villain with a duplicating quirk.
Their food arrives at the beginning of their talk, and by the end of it their plates are empty and the panna cotta Momo ordered for them is halfway through. Both girls are sitting on the fluffy carpet in front of the sofa, the glass coffee table used to accommodate their food - a mixture of the western design her family always fancied and the kotatsu culture she’s always been fond of, but never truly allowed to partake in. Momo notices there’s a bit of pasta sauce on the glass nearby her plate and she cleans it absent minded, listening to Kyouka talk about the paperwork she’s had to fill the whole day.
“I mean, I’m grateful for Gang Orca, you know I am, but I swear if he makes me redo my work I’ll quit. I’ll just quit.”
Momo turns to look at her and nods in sympathy when she sees how livid her friend is.
“Do you know why he’s making you do that?”
Kyouka sighs. “He… may have been pissed I broke the ground near where he was standing.”
“Kyouka!”
“I had a plan!”
Momo huffs and cleans the corner of Kyouka’s mouth, where there’s a bit of food. “I’m sure you did, but you should be more careful. You know Gang Orca trusts you, but you cannot overestimate that trust.”
“But it wasn’t a reckless move! I had a plan and it worked . Shouldn't he trust me enough to let me try my tactics by now? I’ve only been his sidekick for what, five years now?” She tsks and grabs a spoonful of panna cotta and shoves it in her mouth in rage.
Momo opens her mouth to reply, but Kyouka swallows quickly and continues, just as enraged as before. “Besides. Besides! I saved his ass, ok? Just the day before he was praising me and how much I’ve grown, how he could see me breaking the Top 30 soon, and now when I save him from a blast to the back, he has me filing all the paperwork we usually have the interns do. As if I care about the Top 30! All I want to do is do a good job and do Hero work.”
Momo hums and waits to see if Kyouka has anything else to add. When she only stares at her spoon forlornly, Momo hums again and dips her spoon in another bit of dessert. She stares at it and lays back against the sofa, stomach full of food and head full of thoughts.
“I think he is punishing you.”
“Come again?”
“Think about it: Gang Orca is a proud man. He has great respect for you, of course he does. However, he didn’t get this far on his kindness alone. I don’t think he sees you as a threat to his position or his status, but he’s quite fond of calling people out on their mistakes.” She looks sideways at Kyouka and smiles softly when she sees she has her attention. “That personality trait doesn’t come without a lot of pride, does it? Perhaps he was scared of losing control of the situation, or perhaps he’s just not fond of calling himself out on his own mistakes. Nevertheless, the bottomline is that he’s possibly lashing out a little bit.”
Kyouka thinks about it and then questions Momo with a soft voice. “Do you really think so?”
“I do. We both know that Heroes are, at the very essence of it, just people. And people make mistakes, no matter how noble we all aspire to be.”
Momo puts the spoon on her mouth and tastes the sweetness of the dessert slowly, allowing Kyouka her own time to think about what she just said. She savors the taste, but knows it is far from the real thing. It’s been years since she’s been to Italy, but she still remembers how a true Italian panna cotta tastes like. For a replacement, however, it doesn’t taste half bad.
“I guess I can see what you’re saying. It seems unfair, though.”
“Hey,” Momo pulls on Kyouka’s shirt until she moves from her sitting position on the floor, legs under her and arms resting on the glass table, and lays down beside Momo. Once Kyouka’s made herself comfortable, with her back supported against the red couch and her head on the cushion just like Momo is, she continues. “You’re totally entitled to be feeling like that. He is schooling you as if you’re still an intern, after all.”
Kyouka looks away, her jacks restless. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” Momo lets go of Kyouka’s shirt and moves her hand slowly through Kyouka’s bangs. She knows the caress works when the jacks move down slowly, until they’re resting softly against Kyouka’s shoulders. She pulls the bangs back a bit and smiles when Kyouka finally closes her eyes and lets her body sag more relaxed against the sofa.
“Your hair is getting longer.”
Kyouka smiles softly. “Maybe this time around I’ll let it grow.”
Momo chuckles softly. “I’d love to see you do it.”
Kyouka’s smile grows. “I thought about it once or twice, to be honest.”
Momo’s hand stops as she stares at it, mesmerized. It doesn’t take long until one of the jacks comes up and pokes at her hand to continue the caress. She obliges just in time for Kyouka to continue, ignoring her little slip up.
“Really?”
“Yeah. But short hair is so much more practical, I could never give it up.”
Momo hums and tugs at the bangs softly. “Maybe I should give it a try, then.”
Kyouka opens her eyes just to glare at Momo. “I know it’s your choice, but don’t you dare. Your hair is gorgeous. You look beautiful with it as long as it is. I mean, you’re gorgeous and would probably look great either way, but the long hair suits you.”
Momo blushes and tucks some strands behind her ears. “Thank you.”
She honestly has no memory of not having long hair, so she doesn’t know if what Kyouka says it’s true. It isn’t hard to take the comment in stride and hold it close to her heart, another carefree affection she has with her best friend. It’s effortless to talk to her and to feel good being around her. She can be herself, and when Kyouka compliments her, she can believe it. No one knows her like Kyouka does, so every compliment is as truthful to Momo as Kyouka makes it sound. So if Kyouka says Momo is beautiful, she believes her.
“You know,” Momo smiles wistfully, eyes staring down at her own hands as they fold on top of her knees. She’s no longer laid comfortably against the sofa, she realizes. Somehow, she’s sitting on top of her feet, knees tucked close to each other and hands on top of her thighs. It’s a classical pose and one she subconsciously does whenever she’s bracing herself for something. This time, it’s her own words. “I don’t remember the last time I was complimented like that and believed it.”
Kyouka watches her for a moment, waiting for her to continue. She takes her time, biding her memories and her words, then continues softly.
“I don’t… blame Itsuka. She tried. We tried, I mean. She didn’t mistreat me, nor did I find her lacking. We just… fizzled out.” Momo grimaces, hit by the certainty of the situation. “It feels terrible to say it, but it’s what happened. One day, I’m sure Itsuka is the person I want to talk to for the rest of my life. The following one, I find her challenges… repetitive. Routine gripped us hard and truly suffocated what we had. Her compliments felt mechanical and we just weren’t… interesting anymore.”
Silence falls in between them and Momo loses herself in the bitterness that bridges her confession to the memories of past moments and how well she and Kendou had felt once.
“I’m sorry,” Kyouka calls out softly, her hand finding Momo’s and squeezing it once. There are calluses on the tips of Kyouka’s fingertips and Momo smiles softly at how familiar they feel against her skin.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m still sorry you’re hurting,” she squeezes again. “I’m glad it was an amicable break-up, but I still hate seeing you down.” She smiles tentatively and pulls on Momo’s fingers teasingly. “Nobody this beautiful should ever feel this sad. That’s not how it’s meant to be.”
Momo laughs softly and pulls on Kyouka’s fingers too. “Thank you. I wish that were true, but…”
“Hey!” Kyouka sits up and cradles Momo’s face in her hands. “What do you mean you wish it were true? It sure is! You’re the most beautiful girl, a goddess among humans.”
“Kyouka…” Momo blushes and looks away.
“Don’t ‘Kyouka’ me. What the hell! I was fine with Kendou, but if this break-up was a hit on your self-esteem I will have to talk to her myself.” She moves herself into Momo’s line of vision and isn’t satisfied until Momo is looking back at her, no matter how shy she still feels. “You weren’t meant to be? Fine. It happens. Hell, it’s happened to me as well! I know how you feel, but don’t you dare take it personally or let it dig into your self-worth. You’re amazing.”
Momo blushes harder and tugs at Kyouka’s hands softly. When she doesn’t budge, she whispers softly, “Thank you, but I meant about the sad part.”
“Oh.” It’s Kyouka’s turn to blush and look away, but she whispers just as fiercely. “I said what I said though.”
Momo laughs a sweet, zealous little thing of a laugh. “I can see it. Thank you. It means a lot, coming from someone as pretty as you.”
Momo smiles and watches as Kyouka turns to stare back at her. She’s still slightly pink and Momo relishes on how cute she looks right then.
“It’s her loss and my gain.”
It takes her by surprise, and Momo’s not proud of how long it takes for her to process what Kyouka just said.
“What?”
“I mean,” Kyouka clears her throat. “Sorry, it sounded wrong. I meant that it’s Kendou’s loss, letting go of someone as wonderful as you. Meanwhile, it’s my gain since you’re here… and… so am I.” She finishes her sentence like more of a question than an affirmation, her hands falling slowly back to her side as Momo watches her attentively.
“Uh.”
“You know,” Kyouka clears her throat. “As friends.”
Momo nods, even if her stomach clenches a bit. “Of course.”
“I mean,” she laughs humorlessly, “what else could it be, right?”
“Right.”
“Sorry for making it weird.”
“It’s okay,” Momo clears her throat too. “You didn’t. I understood what you meant.”
Momo lays back down on the position she was in before, back to the couch and head resting against the cushion. It doesn’t take long for the noise of the fabric to announce Kyouka is moving back to the same position, each a mirror of the other as they stare to the ceiling and listen to the music playing.
Truth be told, Momo did understand what Kyouka said. There wasn’t anything inherently weird about it, not when it was clear what she meant by it. Sure, out of context it may have sounded weird, but Momo knew first hand that there was nothing to it. She had already been discouraged about her teenage crush a long time ago.
She knows it isn’t unusual to have crushes on friends. Hell, it’s almost a gay rite of passage. Her talks with Shouto were full of “oh, remember how cute they were back in the day? I totally had a crush” that no one but them would believe was a common subject talk among their talks. More often than not, Shouto would mention Midoriya and more often than not Momo would talk about Jirou. It was their thing, and no one was none the wiser to it.
Now it’s a future where Shouto is dating Midoriya, Momo’s single and still refrainining from thinking about how hard she fell for Jirou when they met, and how complicated it was to give up on the feeling and settle for friendship instead. It took some time, but she managed.
It doesn’t mean that sometimes, when comments like the one before happen, her hopeful mind won’t allow itself to wonder.
Three songs pass while they sit in silence, and when the chords of the fourth one start, Kyouka breaks their silence with the question Momo was dreading to reply.
“Why did you call her?”
Momo sighs. “Do you really want to know?”
“You know I do. Stop deflecting.”
Momo taps her fingertips on her knees softly in a rhythm. It doesn’t take long for her to realize she’s idly playing a Villa-Lobos Bachianas Brasileiras on her own skin. She stops the fidgeting, aware of her ways of stalling against questions she doesn’t know how to answer. She’s sure Jirou noticed as well, but she kept quiet, waiting.
“I’ve been mourning our ending for quite some time now.” Her voice is soft, barely a whisper above the ambience music. She has no doubt Jirou will listen anyway. “Even when we were still together, we were aware it was ending. For the last four or five months of our relationship, we were more hero partners and friends than proper girlfriends.” Momo feels her face blush a little. “That doesn’t mean we didn’t do it… but it also wasn’t the same as before? Oh, what am I saying.” She hides her face in her hands, suddenly ashamed. “Sorry, I don’t think that was very decorous of me.”
“Hey,” Momo feels something tap her leg and when she looks down she sees the tip of a finger, nails well made and short. "Nonsense. We don’t need a filter between us, ok? You can say whatever pops into your mind.”
“Thank you, Kyouka.” Momo whispers and turns to smile towards her. Jirou is watching her attentively, and Momo lets her guard down. There aren’t many times in her life when she’s allowed to: not when she’s a pro-hero, not when she’s so self-aware. Right then, being vulnerable with Jirou and no one else around to see it, she knows she’s safe.
“It’s what I said, we fizzled out. I mourned us and I loved us. I love Itsuka, I do. But now, I love her as a memory too. Or more? I don’t know. The time I had to mourn was the time I learned to let go of romantic feelings… and I think she did the same. I hope she did.” Momo looks down and bites her lower lip. What she’s about to say is the most difficult part to confess to. “I’m kind of glad we’re over. It was easy to let go of the romance, but it’s a little difficult to deal with yet another break-up.” She looks at Jirou again and she can feel her face betray how she truly feels: contrite and so relieved. Jirou shows no emotion, although she reaches out to hold Momo’s hand. “So why did I call her? I don’t know. I guess I miss her as a friend. I think I want to check on her, see if she’s still hurting? Kind of hoping that she is.” There’s a grimace on her face now, she’s sure. “Sorry, that was mean.”
“Yeah, but it was true. Go on.”
“I guess… I guess it hurt the most to see how easy it would be to continue as friends with no hard feelings. Another failed relationship, yay.” She lets go of Jirou’s hand and hides herself away again. “What’s wrong with me? Why do I always go after relationships doomed to fail?”
“Oy, what’s with the pity party?”
“You know it’s true. Remember when we were in High School? I was always going after Mina, even when she made it very clear she just wanted to have some fun.”
“Ok, I never understood the Mina thing,” Kyouka pulls at Momo’s hand, but she hides herself further into them, “but you had no idea if your thing with Kendou was going to work out or not. All things considered, you had a great chance with her. And you did! For a long time, even!” When the jacks roll down Momo’s arms and help to tug her hands away from her face, Momo finally lets them fall away and sees Jirou kneeling in front of her. She looks beautiful as always, and compassionate. Her eyes are attentively seeking out Momo’s, and her face shows nothing but comprehension and kindness. Momo feels herself relax under Jirou’s gaze, even if there’s still an unsteady wave of emotions rolling inside of her. She accepts Momo as she is, but also doesn’t let herself get too lost in her own head: the steady presence since her early Hero days, an anchor for Momo to steady herself on.
Looking at Jirou at that moment, softly paying attention to Momo, she can’t fathom anyone else she could trust that much. It’s inconceivable to her that Jirou would ever let her down or think badly of Momo, no matter how insecure Momo feels about herself. Kyouka can see her for who she is, and everytime she chooses to stay by her side and lift her up.
It’s kind of easy to remember why she fell for Jirou all those years ago. It’s even easier to understand why she sacrificed that feeling to keep Jirou by her side.
“Thank you, Kyouka. That does soothe me a bit.” She smiles softly, focusing on the happiness of having Jirou by her side instead of the void left behind by another romantic failure: from both the relationships that happened and the ones that didn't.
“Why do you still look so sad though?”
Momo sighs. The only downside of being so close to someone is also the fact that they get to know you so well. She takes a deep breath and tries to put to words the turmoil that’s gnawing at her stomach.
“I know it was a mutual breakup, and that everything you have said is true, logically. However,” she sighs and watches, waiting for Jirou’s reaction, “I can’t stop myself from asking what could be wrong with me, that I’m always in this sort of situation?”
Jirou blows a raspberry at her. “Shut up.”
She laughs self-deprecatingly. “I mean it!”
“No, you don’t.” One of the earjacks lift from Momo’s arm to tap its tip against her cheek. “You know damn well you’re gorgeous. You’re smart as hell. You’re a Hero, and a top 10! What the hell could be wrong with you?”
Momo opens her mouth, but Jirou shushes her before she could even say anything.
“You know I asked myself the same thing, right?”
“What?” Her stomach plummets, wondering if Jirou could also see all the cracks in her foundation, the reasons for her insecurity.
“When Denki and I broke up.” Jirou turns her gaze away from Momo and she can see the tiniest bit of a frown on her face. “It was also mutual back then, but we had been together for so long, right? So how could we have broken up so… amicably, after so long?” She sits down on top of her feet and takes Momo’s hands in hers, playing with them with her fingers and the jacks. “I felt bitter in the beginning. And then heartless, for seeing Denki so sad while I was kind of happy we were just friends again.”
There’s sadness in Jirou’s voice and nothing she’s saying is news to Momo, but she listens to her anyway. She remembers how confused Jirou was last year when she announced she was going to break up with Denki. During the whole time Kaminari and Jirou had been talking about breaking up, Momo had been aware of it and supported Jirou on whatever decision she took. After they did break up, Jirou had isolated herself for two whole weeks, missing their weekly get togethers and overall avoiding any social interactions that weren’t work-related. After the initial weeks, she showed up at Momo’s and stayed there non-stop for a whole week. She hadn’t been miserable, or crying, but it was clear to Momo that even though Jirou was calm, something in her was still adjusting to a new reality of her own making. There was sadness, of course, but most of all Jirou had seemed off center. To Momo, it was disheartening to see her best friend in a place she couldn’t reach, but she also had a memory from back then that she secretly held on to dearly.
It had been a morning during the time Jirou had stayed at hers. They had work later in the day, so they were silently getting ready at their own pace. Momo already had her uniform on, and was picking up some personal belongings from the living room to put in her bag. Her tea was cooling on top of the kitchen balcony, so the morning smelled like her favorite green tea and her penthouse was full of sunshine streaming in from the open windows. The house was silent, but it felt full music all around her. Quiet, silent, but shared with one of her favorite people in the world. It wasn’t quite happy, but it felt known, and to Momo it came from deep within her soul, like only good music could.
When Jirou opened her mouth, it was to unknowingly give words to the melody they were living in.
“I don’t think I ever thanked you for letting me stay here.”
She was sitting in front of the living room window, already donned in her full uniform - sans boots. She had a cup of tea in her hands, but her gaze was far away even when Tokyo was still waking up, bright and vast in the horizon.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, Kyouka.” Momo smiled softly, her appointment book held firmly in her hand. “You’re always more than welcome here.”
Jirou turned with a smile of her own. There wasn’t anything sardonic in it, just a soft twist of her lips and an open, vulnerable gaze. “I know. That’s what I’m thanking you for. Things are… different, in a way. But not here. Right now your house feels more like a home than my own.”
Truth be told, Momo doesn’t remember what she replied to Jirou, but she remembers how touched she had felt by that idle comment. She still feels touched by it, everytime she remembers it. Many people say they can trust someone, and many people offer trust and comfort, but Momo has learned it is a rare occurrence when actions match the words. That day had been a confirmation that Momo had successfully become a safe space for Jirou, and that’s not only a dear memory of hers, but also something she’s proud of.
“I remember how it was like, Kyouka, but I also do think you felt more than you let out.” Momo replies slowly, seeing Jirou is still lost in memories.
“I’m not going to lie, it hurt like fuck.” She laughs slowly. “It was also a huge relief.” She looks back at Momo here, and there’s a hardness around her eyes that takes Momo by surprise. “Do you know what truly fucked me up though? It wasn’t the breakup, or getting over us. No, it was seeing Denki get with Shinsou. I love them, I do, but I sometimes can’t help but ask myself what does the male version of me have that I don’t. What made them work, when Denki and I didn’t?”
“Kyouka!” Momo chastises her quickly, but Jirou continues without minding her tone.
“I mean it. You’re doubting yourself, aren’t you? Well, I also doubt myself a lot. Do you know Denki was my only relationship to this day?” She shakes her head with a huff. “Of course you do, stupid question. What I mean is that of course I’ve had… flings with men and women. Do you remember that civilian nurse? I kind of adored her, and we never got past a couple of months of dating and fucking around.” Here she holds Momo’s hand closer until they’re pressing against her chest. “So, if you’re wondering what is wrong with you, do me a favor and also tell me what’s wrong with me. You know there aren't many things I trust more than that big brain of yours.”
“Kyouka…”
“What? You’re going to tell me there’s nothing wrong with me?”
“Of course. You said it yourself, you and Denki were better off as friends. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
Jirou lowers her head until her face is inches apart from Momo’s, a little smirk on the corner of her mouth and a lingering hardness against her eyes. “Then why would there be anything wrong with you?”
“It’s different, you know it is.”
"Nonsense. You think Denki and I were still fucking by the end of our relationship? I think one of the reasons we even listed on our whole break-up discussion was because it had been a whole month since we last fucked, and by then I wasn’t in the mood to do anything much other than peg him.”
A flurry of half-formed thoughts gusts inside Momo’s head and she turns her face away, lest she gives herself away. Funnily enough, she is so focused on hiding the blush in her face, she doesn’t stop the involuntary clenching of her legs. Anyone who paid attention to her at the moment would notice the thought of Jirou using a strap-on on anyone was a turn-on to Momo.
At that moment, Jirou is definitely someone paying attention.
Jirou lets go of Momo and when Momo looks at her, she has a pensive expression. It doesn’t take long for her to look away with a shake of her head, but one of her jacks moves slowly and wraps itself around Momo’s wrist. She doesn’t know what to think, but the touch isn’t unwelcome either. Instead, she uses the tip of her pointer finger to caress the jack slowly, finding the shivers that run through Jirou sometimes slightly funny.
After their impromptu pause, Momo continues softly: “I’m sorry it was like that for you, Kyouka. You know I like Denki a lot, and also Shinsou. And I know you enough to know that you do, too.” She stops the caress for a moment and thinks carefully on how to proceed. “It’s hard, being friends with your ex. But it’s also very hard not being friends with someone you loved, and still do, albeit differently. You shouldn’t blame yourself for having complicated feelings, when the whole situation is so very complicated. There’s no easy answer on how to end things…” she trails off, then smiles sadly and finishes with a softer voice, “or even how to begin them. You cannot control how you feel towards people, whether you no longer want them… or if you do.”
The last part comes out as a reminder for herself, but she hopes it soothes Jirou just the same. Instead, something flickers behind her eyes and Momo watches transfixed as Jirou watches her back, attentively.
“Sorry, I think I’m talking too much again.”
“It’s okay, you know I love to hear you talk.”
Heavy silence falls between them as they gaze at each other. The jack is still wrapped around Momo’s wrist, and she absentmindedly caresses the tip again, just to see Jirou shiver. When she does, Momo bites her lip, afraid she’s reading too much in the situation, hopeful that she isn’t.
Insecurity calls her back to reality though, and she remembers why she never allowed herself to go that route. She smiles slowly and flits her eyes away, letting them fall anywhere but at her friend’s inviting face.
Her focus falls on the picture board she has on the side wall to where they’re sitting. In it, she can see some pictures of her favorite moments with her favorite people. It had actually been a gift from Jirou when Momo first moved into her own place out of UA. She remembers picking the pictures up with Jirou’s help, both of them laughing out loud while reminiscing the moments together. The afternoon was filled with sunlight and laughter, her apartment smelling of brand new furniture, green tea and Jirou’s perfume.
Momo contemplates the pictures, the ghost of past happiness flitting through her memory. Amidst them all, she can hear Jirou’s laughter from that afternoon and her innocent question of “don’t you think that’s enough of my face? Why don’t you pick some others where I’m not there?” while pointing out Momo only chose pictures where both of them were present. The same guilt that had filled her stomach back at that day haunts her now, with the added danger of Jirou being currently single.
Instead she focuses on the present again, on what they were talking about before whatever tension entered their conversation. The songs they’re listening to. The wine they’re drinking. The pictures she’s staring at. The feelings they’re allowing themselves to talk about, not the ones she isn’t.
“Do you resent Shinsou?” Momo finds herself asking, while staring at the grinning Kaminari on their band’s picture.
“No,” Jirou sighs, then moves away slowly. “How could I? He and I didn’t have anything but honest, purple haired friendship.”
Momo laughs softly and looks back at Jirou, silently egging her on.
It works.
“I do resent Kaminari though.”
“Why?”
“He…” she blows raspberries and looks away with a grimace. “He got a boy in the end, and everything he wanted. They’re living together, you know? We never managed to make it work, and now they do it effortlessly. I don’t hate him for it, but it pisses me off. I love that boy to pieces, but why is he so much better off than I am?”
“You don’t know the sort of struggles people have behind closed doors, Kyouka.” Momo reminds her with a calming hand to her thigh. Jirou immediately grasps it and looks at Momo with intensity.
“I know that! And I’m always glad to hear him talk, don’t get me wrong! He’s a boastful idiot, but I’ve always loved him for it. He and Shinsou work so well together, and it’s ridiculous but they do. And I’m glad for it, I am, but when do I get mine?”
“What would it be, then?”
“What?”
“The thing that you want.”
Jirou opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, her hand tightening its grip on Momo’s own hand. She can feel the strength on Jirou’s muscles, the softness of her skin and the fabric of the stockings covering her thighs. If she were braver, she would move her hand upwards and touch the fabric of her skirt as well. Or maybe sideways, towards her inner thigh and the sensitive skin there.
“Wine.”
“What?”
“I want more wine.”
Momo laughs and takes her hand away, self conscious of where her thoughts were going.
“Do you think that’s wise? I don’t know about you, but I already feel the alcohol going to my head.”
It’s a lie, of course. A quick, easy excuse. She doesn’t know if Jirou will buy it, but there’s nothing wrong in trying anyway.
“And what’s wrong about it? It’s nice to let go, sometimes.”
It gives Momo pause and she stares at Jirou curiously.
“If anything, it’ll at least help us open up more about our relationship frustrations.” Jirou laughs, and Momo goes along with it. She gets up slowly, hands caressing her body to put the dress down further from where it had ridden up.
She walks quietly towards the kitchen, her insecurities following her with every step. Why would she ask such a question? Was she hoping for something to happen? Was she reading too much into what they were doing? It wasn’t much different from all the other nights, but it also felt heavier. Was she still thinking about Jirou’s earlier comment? Worse yet, was it just in Momo’s head? Or could Jirou feel it too?
“I’ve got a nice Port wine. Also I just got a Merlot from my parents' latest trip to France. Which one do you prefer?” Momo calls out while looking at her wine wall in the kitchen. Sadly she didn’t have much space for a cellar, so she had to make do with a wall full of holes for her to keep her wine properly stored.
“Which one’s sweeter?”
“The Port one.”
“Then that one.” There’s a little pause, then Jirou’s voice cuts in a made up song of: “Let’s have wine for dessert.”
Momo lets out a little laugh at her enthusiasm and decides to make a proper dessert out of it. When she goes back to the living room she sees Jirou waiting with their glasses already in her hands. She smiles giddily, raising the glasses in a little dance and it's enough to send Momo laughing again.
At the end of the day, it’s just the two of them. At the end of the day, they’ll always be alright, no matter what.
“I brought chocolates as well,” she says as she sits down on the sofa and nods for Jirou to join her. “Let’s do a proper tasting.”
Momo concentrates a bit and it doesn’t take long for her to activate her quirk, even with the alcohol on her system. Out of the tip of her finger comes out the screw of a wine opening, made of pure silver. She makes quick work of opening the bottle, always aware of Jirou’s watchful gaze. The bottle opens up with a small pop and Momo hums as she unscrews the cork away and reabsorbs the molecules from the silver back to her body.
She raises her eyes to meet Jirou’s. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s done her new trick in front of Jirou, she still looks amazed.
“For our collection,” Momo smiles and gives the cork to Jirou. She laughs herself out of her momentary daze, her jacks coming forward to hold the cork while she pushes the glasses towards Momo. She pours the wine for them, her smile never wavering. There’s a waft of smell coming from the bottle, sweet and alcoholic - tempting. Momo looks up quickly between filling glasses, fast enough just to register Jirou’s small smile. It grows when their eyes meet and she winks at Momo, immediately starting on a happy little tune. Momo looks down and bites her lips, attention back to the task at hand.
“I didn’t know you liked wine that much,” Momo jokes as she straightens the bottle back and puts it on the glass table. She brings up the wine stopper her mom bought for her as a gift and closes the bottle. She gives the round tip a little caress. It is made of a beautiful sterling silver, its shine a distraction from the tension Momo still feels coiling in her stomach. “If I remember correctly, you would make the funniest faces whenever we had wine tasting nights.”
“That was like, at least three years ago.”
“I know, but I still remember.”
Momo sits back and looks at Jirou just in time to see her pull one of her funny, disgusted faces. It rips a laugh out of her and she looks away to hide it.
“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Despite her words, she can’t help laughing again at Jirou’s disgruntled face.
“I love your laugh, so you’re forgiven.” Jirou fake pouts while she looks at the color of the wine and twirls it inside the glass, just like Momo taught her. “But don’t laugh at my face, that’s a blow to my insecurities.”
Momo immediately reaches out to her, fingers pulling the seam of her skirt. The act itself is a tease to her libido, considering how little space there is to wiggle around between the fabric and Jirou’s thighs. “You know I’d never do that.” Pull, pull, pull. “It was just very cute.”
“Do a face just like mine and I’ll say if I believe you or not.”
Momo frowns, but plays along just the same. She pinches her mouth and nose in a disgusted expression, trying her best to mimic Jirou’s from memory. It’s good enough to make Jirou laugh, so she pulls it even harder, enamored with the sound of her laugh.
“You’re right, you’re pretty damn cute.” Jirou laughs.
Momo smiles and laughs along, “it’s just like a bunny isn’t it? It’s a very cute expression.”
“Yeah, that too.”
There’s a self-satisfied smirk at the corner of Jirou’s lips just before she sips the wine. Momo watches it disappear at the corner of the glass, and instead of fixating on it she saves it on her little mental box of reasons she sometimes gets herself wondering about possibilities. She takes a deep breath then offers a chocolate.
“This one’s dark chocolate with raspberries.”
“Your favorite.”
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you buy it?”
“My father brought it along with the wine. Why?”
Jirou takes a bite and then sips on the wine again, taking some time until swallowing to properly taste the flavors. “If it was around here I’d ask where. It’s always a good recommendation for your birthday gifts. Little safeguard.”
Momo huffs, “What do you mean? You always get me the perfect thing for my birthdays.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. I always try very hard, you know.” Her jack pokes at Momo’s thigh and Momo pokes it back just as playfully. “But I dunno, what if some day I don’t know what to give you?”
“You can give me-” a kiss “-anything at all, you know I don’t care about it.”
“But I do.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
They simultaneously take a sip of wine and Momo realizes she forgot to properly try the wine. She pulls the glass back and watches its color, amazed by the clear edge and the red tint. She twirls, sniffs, then drinks again to savor the taste. There’s sweetness and it’s a bit fruity. Swallowing it feels heavenly, like a good dessert.
Turning towards Jirou and seeing her intent gaze takes Momo back for a bit, and she forgets what she was about to say.
“Did you like it?” Jirou asks.
“What?”
“The taste.”
“Ah.” Momo takes another sip, smaller this time. “Yes.”
Jirou’s gaze is still heavy on her. “Try the chocolate, it’s quite good.”
Her nose twitches by its own accord, just a little upturn that gives her away.
“What?”
Momo sighs and confesses, “I don’t like mixing the alcohol with the chocolate much.”
“Really? Why?”
“It takes the sweetness of the wine away,” Momo fixes her hair behind her ear. “You know how the taste sometimes cancels each other out? That’s why I don’t like it.”
“Oh.” Jirou looks down at the glass, then back at Momo with the same attention as before. “But you always do it.”
“I always do it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Momo lays back on the couch, her shoulders curved in and her legs comfortably spread out. “Because that’s how it is? It sounds dumb, but it’s how I was taught. I’ve gotten used to it.” She looks at Jirou playfully. “Just like I guess you got used to drinking wine.”
Jirou pouts again, “It was an acquired taste.”
Momo laughs softly and drinks more. She’s glad to see Jirou eat her chocolates with no restrictions. She loves seeing her be so free and at home.
“Was Kaminari also an acquired taste?” Momo tenses up when she realizes she asked it out loud. Maybe she really is drunker than she thought. They should have stopped at the first bottle, like they usually do.
Jirou laughs and her tension sips away with the merry tune.
“Definitely.” She bites into another chocolate. “You remember how he used to pester me all the time back in UA. Now he’s wormed his way deep into my heart.”
“Even if the situation can be a little frustrating sometimes?”
Jirou shrugs, “Hate the sin, love the sinner.”
Momo smiles down at her glass. “You’ll have it all someday, you know.”
“What?”
“Whatever you want.” Momo looks at Jirou. “I believe in you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “I believe you can do whatever you set your mind to do. You deserve the world. It is yours for the taking.”
Jirou watches Momo carefully and Momo lets her. She means every word, every sound that forms the meaning of her feelings. Truth be told, there’s no one she believes in more than Jirou. Momo’s also observant enough to know just how dedicated and persistent her best friend is. It’s one of the many reasons she’s fallen all those years ago, and why the feelings keep coming back at the most inconvenient of times.
Like right now, as Jirou looks at Momo’s toes playfully curling on the carpet on the floor and up her body slowly. It brings goosebumps up Momo’s skin and she hopes her little shiver is imperceptible enough. She hides it behind a smile to Jirou, wishing her openness about believing in Jirou is enough to distract from her deception. She hasn’t given herself away after so long, she doesn’t want to start now.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Jirou hums. “That’s good to know.”
“What else do you want besides wine?” Momo teases with a little smile. She’s already imagining the list of rare vinyl Jirou’s going to say. Perhaps she could take a page out of Jirou’s book and also keep a safeguard for a future birthday.
“I’ll let you know when I get it.”
“Please do,” Momo smiles.
Silence falls between them and Momo notices the music that’s on has already been played before. She taps her nail to the edge of the glass, mimicking its rhythm.
It’s calming and she feels like nothing in the world exists but them in that moment. When Jirou moves closer to play with her hair, she reaches a peak of happiness she didn’t think she could achieve, not after such a long week.
“That feels so good.” She whispers slowly.
“I knew you’d like it.” Jirou whispers back.
Her eyes close at their own volition and her back curves a little, seeking more contact with Jirou’s hand. The massage feels heavenly, and the wine thrumming in her veins makes her feel like liquid gold. For once, she believes Jirou when she says Momo’s a goddess.
“How are you so good at this?” Momo asks, voice almost whiny.
“My sort-of-ex taught me.”
“The nurse?”
“Yeah. It’s not an acquired taste, but an acquired skill. I quite like it, actually.”
Momo refrains from commenting on it, instead moving her head to the other way and giving more access to Jirou.
“Can’t believe you didn’t like wine, though.” Momo mutters, but her tone’s too blissful to show her indignation.
“Can’t believe you’d force yourself to eat the chocolate just because that’s what you’re supposed to do.” Jirou replies.
“It is the proper thing to do.”
“No, it’s not,” Jirou pulls her hair a little bit.
“Well, tell me how many acquired tastes you have then.”
“Wine, for sure.” Jirou starts to count, fingers never stopping their ministrations on Momo’s hair and scalp.
“Hm.” It’s rare for her to get monosyllabic, but not when she’s with Jirou. She can always be all versions of herself with Jirou.
“Denki.” Comes her voice again, the joke falling a little flat with the tone it comes out with.
Momo huffs, “So you’ve said.” There’s a bit of a wistful tone that tugs at Momo’s conscience. She opens her eyes and stares at Jirou hovering above her with a little smile, hands soft in Momo’s hair.
They changed the topic from before too fast, and she feels there’s still a little something to be said. “Do you still feel like you have something to get over from him?”
Jirou blows a raspberry and makes a cute, little wine-disgusted face again. “Definitely not. We are definitely past, and I’m glad we’re finally back on the platonic track.” There’s a pause, and she continues with averted eyes, “it was difficult, sure. It took a toll on my insecurities, and I have a bunch of song lyrics that can attest to it, but in the end I definitely got over him. Trust me, I know what it’s like having not gotten over someone, and it’s definitely not the case.”
That gives Momo a conflicted pause, her breath halfway stuck through her throat, “Do you mean the nurse?”
Jirou looks back at her and smiles a contrived smile instead of answering. “What about you?”
“What?”
“Your acquired taste, obviously.”
“Oh,” Momo frowns, taken aback by the turn of subjects. “Hm.”
Laughter invades her ears and she focuses back on Jirou to see her snickering, hiding behind her free hand and looking at Momo with glee. “I obviously meant your ex!”
It kind of drives her mad whenever Jirou plays her like that. Madly, deeply closer to the in love category she so desperately tries to avoid being. She looks on at Jirou’s amusement and finds herself saying “I kind of get what you mean.”
“What?”
“Knowing what it’s like to get over someone and not getting over someone else.” She whispers and watches how the words slowly weigh on Jirou’s face. First her snickers die down in a single “Oh”, then she bites her lower lip. Her jacks come up to tap tip to tip, and her mouth moves side to side before she finally gathers her courage to ask what’s on her mind.
“Is it Kendou-san?” She asks in a whisper.
“No.” Momo whispers back.
“Mina?”
“No.”
“Is it…” her whisper dies down and she keeps watching Momo.
A minute passes as they wait in a heavy silence for the other to fill in the blank. Instead of giving herself away, Momo puts her hand slowly on Jirou’s leg and squeezes just once.
“I’m over Itsuka, but I’m not over my massage.” If her Todoroki-based exposure to Midoriya has taught her anything, it was that sometimes a joke was the best way to get things back on track. She puts on a smile and nudges her head onto Jirou’s hand. “Why did you stop?”
Jirou licks her lips and smiles slowly, “And nobody never believes me when I say you’re spoiled.”
Momo grins relieved. “It’s because nobody knows me like you do.”
Jirou looks up to the ceiling and clears her throat. Momo waits for whatever she has to say, but soon enough she closes her eyes again at the feeling of Jirou's fingers returning to her hair.
It doesn’t take long and Jirou continues their earlier discussion: “KPOP.”
Momo laughs softly, still basking on the touches like a cat. “Knew it!”
“Coffee.”
“I can understand that one.” She squeezes Jirou’s thigh again, only half aware her hand still rests on it. “Tea stands superior.”
“Cheese!”
“Any cheese?” She’s a little indignant with that one, but she won’t tell. Instead, she silently replans the summer trip to France she intended to drag Jirou to.
“It doesn’t agree with me!”
It feels like it’s been too long since Momo laughed so hard and carefree. She’s not magically healed from what’s been weighing her lately, her break-up, her insecurities, but being able to talk to Jirou about it and be reminded that she’s just human, talking with her favorite person whose own insecurities and imperfections weigh her down just the same and still being able to go from deep talks to stupid, inane ones… It’s stupid, this back and forth they’re having, but Momo wouldn’t trade it for the world. At the end of the day, no one makes her feel so light and good in her own skin like Jirou does.
That’s why Jirou’s next example takes her so out of loop.
“Your body.”
That stops Momo’s laugh and she opens her eyes to see Jirou hovering over her, eyes drinking her in. She knows she’s blushing, this time not only because of the wine. “What?”
“You know I’ve always been a bit shy.”
Momo nods slowly, still a little breathless, “yes, that’s true.”
“And your costume can be quite… distracting.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t know what to say. Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Staring back at Jirou doesn’t help, so she clears her throat and tries for politeness instead. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her hand stills for a moment and Momo can feel her fingers moving slowly down a lock of her hair as she talks, “it’s awesome how you go out there with your courage and your amazing quirk, unabashedly open for the world to see how incredible you are,” her fingers moves down past her ear, her jawline and neck, “it’s breathtaking,” her collarbones and finally stop at the cut of her dress. It’s just at the top of her shoulder, but Momo can feel the soft touch ghosting its way down to where she wants Jirou to touch the most. Her mind is filled with nothing but the imaginary sensation of how it would be to have the touch following the path of the dress cut, passing through her tits and lighting her up from the inside. If she were to touch below the fabric, she could even touch Momo’s nipp- “it’s distracting.”
“What?” Momo focuses back on Jirou, a little breathless.
“Your body. That’s why I had to get used to it.”
“Oh.” Momo gulps. “I see.”
“Just like girl panties.” She continues, fingers still distractingly caressing Momo’s skin. "Don't you think they're just too much? I used to think so. All the colors, fabrics, prints. I would only buy plain white ones, but now I even go out of my way to match my bra to my panties. Black ones, red ones, purple. Sometimes lace."
There weren't many times in her life where she felt like her mind was a curse, but that is definitely one of these. She can't help but think of how her best friend would look like wearing lingerie just as she describes them.
"And was it difficult to get used to these?" Her voice is a little rough, and she brings her wine glass up as an excuse to how she sounds. Unfortunately, the alcohol hits at the same time as Jirou's next words.
"A little bit. That's why I wore boy's underwear for so long. Still do most of the time. It's more comfortable."
Wine has always made her a little hot under her skin, and that day's no exception. However, the images on her head makes her tip over the edge and she feels feverish in unspoken desire, trying to reign herself in and hold on to the remaining self control that hasn't been destroyed by the alcohol and her best friend's words. She doesn’t care how red she may look, it’s nothing compared to the burn in her veins.
"I see." Momo buys herself some time while she downs the rest of her wine, then asks in a lighthearted tone, "and what else is on that list?"
“Eating pussy.”
There's no other way around it. With one hand dangling over the sofa arm to lay the glass on the side table and the other one resting on top of Jirou's leg, her eyes focused on her friend's challenging expression and her body spread over her couch:
Momo's wet. Uncomfortably so.