Chapter Text
The main menu of a slasher film flashes on the TV. From the speakers, a shrill scream rings out as droplets of blood splatter decorate the screen.
Momo drums her fingers on her lap, giddy as she waits for the popcorn.
Kaminari was right. The sequel was better. Incredible, even, that directly after watching it, Momo spent all night scouring every secondhand selling platform she knew looking for the next one.
The sequel ended in a cliffhanger and she just had to know if the final girl survived once it turned out that the killer mysteriously survived.
A screech comes from the TV, the door bangs loudly and Momo leaps thinking that her turn is next when Bakugou enters, a large bowl of popcorn and snacks in hand.
He snickers at the frenzied sight of her, “Didn’t know you scare so easily, Ponytail.”
“I don’t.” She sniffs, rubbing at her arms to bring down her goosebumps. She sits back down. “Don’t make such a ruckus. People are sleeping at this hour.”
“No, they’re not, it’s the weekend.” He grunts, in the process of opening a chocolate bar.
Momo takes the popcorn bowl from him. “Is that chocolate? Oh, I’d like some!”
“Should’ve brought your own, then.” He says, plopping down in front of the TV.
She rolls her eyes and takes the remote to start the film.
They both lean on the wall, in silence as the opening credits flicker eerily.
She barely felt it when Bakugou pushed half of his chocolate towards her hand.
Momo had gotten her wish. And she regretted it. She only complained once. Once.
It wasn’t as if she grumbled Tokage and Majestic’s ear off every day–every hour they were together.
But a little sigh and a harmless remark of ‘things are always peaceful around here’ was enough to set off their tall mentor.
His grin was sneaky, his pointed hat wobbling sinisterly. “Oh? So Momo-chan is bored, eh? Let’s solve that.”
And that was how Majestic transported them to the hot zone of a massive fire two districts away.
It was a good thing too, he said, they were undermanned and needed help.
Later on, after four hours of doing the brunt of the work, the firefighters thanked them for coming all the way–even though there were tens of Pro Heroes within the radius of a thousand meters who could have beaten them to the scene.
When Tokage brought it up, Majestic only laughed. “Well, today’s a good experience for you two. You learned something.”
Momo did. She learned to keep quiet when she was bored. She could still smell the soot in her hair.
But now, she was quiet because she was tired. So fatigued that with each blink, she could feel her eyelids threatening to stay down. Focusing was near impossible as she tried thinking of what ingredients she had left and what she could make.
She only had raw ingredients in the fridge. Nothing she could eat this instant. She scratched her forehead in frustration and when it came back, there was soot under her fingernails.
She breathes out and grabs her half-full carton of milk. Maybe she could eat someone’s leftovers?
Now she had to figure out who in their class wouldn’t miss their leftovers.
Her crouched back bumps into someone and her apology is just at the tip of her tongue when she sees who it is.
The apology dies down. It’s the first time she’s seen him in weeks that she doesn’t know what to say.
Even though it wasn’t his fault, Kaminari looks more panicked than her. She could sense his agitation even as his lips pressed into a tight line.
“Oh, my bad.” He says, moving further in the kitchen. For a moment, he sniffs at something, makes a face then goes on.
It was probably her.
She mumbles a sorry in return (for bumping into him and smelling like ash) and closes the fridge before moving away.
Kaminari starts rifling around in the cabinets. She stands nearby with her milk, watching him from behind uselessly.
Not once did he glance at her. Not even as he turned in her direction to get utensils.
They were good at avoiding each other. All of them, but Jirou most of all. Momo could only glimpse the two of them during classes or training and once the bell rang, the pair would be gone in a flash.
She understands. She wouldn’t talk to her either after what she did. There is that prickling sensation that she can’t leave things as they are, but it is ignored as she walks away.
“Tch. No wonder you’re the way you are now.” Bakugou berates, fingers skilfully handling his game controller as his kart outraced hers on the screen.
Momo swishes her hair, miffed. “Pardon? My childhood was rather comfortable, if you must know.” Unlike him, she struggled to control her kart, leaving her at second last of the ranking.
Apparently, it was just so appalling for Bakugou that she’d never played his favorite game ever. But four rounds in and she still lost. Every single time.
Bakugou dodges a bomb in his path. “No kidding. I bet you always got served gold leaf ice cream on fancy-ass crystal.”
He continues, skillfully multitasking both talk and game. “What did you play with other children your age then?”
“I didn’t play with them much–”
As always, Bakugou takes this to mean that she absolutely didn’t play with other kids whatsoever. “Ha! How sad. Bet you were always off reading like a loser or playing by yourself.”
He is somewhat correct though. The handful of times she played with the neighborhood kids, they found her odd, saying that she wouldn’t shut up about random things she learned from encyclopedias.
Momo passes by the bomb Bakugou avoided…and crashes into it. She pulls the controller closer.
“Well, they did make me cry when they called me weird. But it’s alright, there were only a handful of them. Besides, playing with the house staff was more entertaining.”
Bakugou hums a thoughtful note. “Playing with your infinite number of butlers and servants doesn't count. Why do you need a shit-ton of them? There’s only three of you in that big ass mansion. You could fit the whole of Japan in the garden alone.”
“You already said why. The mansion is too big so we need a lot of manpower. Do you want to drop by sometime?”
Bakugou passes the finish line first and wins. He cheers. It takes three more minutes for Momo to finish, and by the time she passed the line, Bakugou was watching her.
“I don’t like this game.” She admits, setting the controller on the floor.
He chortles. “Spoken like a true has-been child prodigy. You just say that ‘cause I've been pummeling your ass since Round 1.”
“Maybe these kinds of games just aren’t for me.” She insists.
“Psh. Sore loser.” He holds the controller, flipping through different games. “Let’s find something. Whad'ya used to play as a kid?”
Memories of the innumerable sports and extra-curricular activities her parents roped her into glide through her mind like a flipbook. She never really played per se. Her life has always been one of endless learning, and that suited her fine. She’d pick up an activity, learn the rules, strategize, do it well enough, then move on to the next.
In the end, she chose the sport she stuck with the most. “I used to play polo but I stopped in the middle of junior high school.”
“The hell? You really went for the prissiest sport of all time.” He tosses it back. “Sorry, but there aren’t any video games about polo and there never will be.
“It’s alright.” She shrugs.
Bakugou uses his hand to get up. “Think of something better to do, then. I’m going to the shitter.”
Momo wrinkles her nose, although she was a bit relieved to know they won’t be playing video games anymore. “There was no need for me to know that.”
“Just in case you decide to break my stuff.”
Her mouth drops open, unable to fling back a response. How long was he going to hold it over her head? She crosses her arms together, resolving not to touch anything with a brow arched in chagrin.
The door shuts.
Momo gives the room a cursory glance. There is no need to explore it when she’s been here frequently enough that she isn’t counting anymore.
His room was always so orderly and spotless. He probably has a cleaning schedule in place. She should clean hers more. She only tidied up whenever people were coming over.
She taps her fingers on the floor. Funny, she doesn’t remember seeing the book collection on his desk.
Momo stands up. She won’t be touching anything, just looking.
She peers closer at the assortment of titles, her eyes drawn to the biggest of all. The title had already faded from the spine though, and she squinted, trying to guess what the letter could be.
She could pick it up, but only to check out the title.
The book was weighty and thick and looked well-cared for. She flipped through some of its pages and surveyed the back for a summary.
A book about science fiction. Interesting. She never pegged Bakugou as a sci-fi reader. She resolves to borrow the book from him sometime
The toilet flushes and water from a tap starts running. Momo hastens to return the object in her hand to its rightful place.
Bakugou won’t be mad that she touched his things. It’s just that he gets this insufferably smug look when he’s right. And she had no such desire to enable him today.
You’re such a nosy little shit, he said to her the other day when she only asked for more clarification about the story he was telling. If Bakugou was telling a story, then of course she’d want to know every single detail.
She just wanted more information about Bakugou’s middle school classmate who was arrested. How well Bakugou knew him at school and how were his middle school days.
In her rush, she bumps his desk, causing the rest of the books to incline towards the gap where the book in her hand was originally. She fixes them and returns the book, but she nudges his swivel chair with her thigh, pushing it away from its dock and sending Bakugou’s school bag to the floor.
His papers, pencils–everything in the bag spread out and scattered on the ground.
Momo mutters exasperatedly.
“Ponytail, what’s that crash?” Bakugou’s voice calls out from inside.
She doesn’t answer, rummaging for his things and shoving them in (as calmly as her panicky hands can).
Bakugou’s head pops out, the lock clicking shut. “What the…”
She is quick to defend herself. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear! I was just looking at your books but I bumped your school bag.”
“Sure, you fucking weren’t.” He says, his smugness thick and undisguised.
Momo picks up the last pen and puts it inside. As she places it, she hears the familiar crackling of foil and feels something she was well acquainted with.
She was just catching a better glimpse when her friend snatched his bag back. But it didn’t matter; she already saw it.
Three blister packs of pills, only one half-finished. The rest untouched.
Bakugou beats her to the punch. “Don’t ask.”
“What?” She says confused.
His shoulders are taut, like a live wire. “I’ll tell you sometime, but not now, alright?”
If Momo’s ears were any bad, she wouldn’t have heard the gentle ‘please’ that was whispered, somewhat like a prayer.
He will need them soon, prayers that is, if he keeps on doing this. And it becomes another chore for Momo to bury the distress away in her mind.
She rubs her arm, the one Bakugou yanked the bag from.
“Look, it’s–” The blond opposite her breathes out with the tiredness of someone decades past his age. “I wish I could just spit it out.”
She guides him to sit. “Can you try? I’ll do my best to understand.”
He hunches over, the bag at his side still clutched tightly. She couldn't meet his eyes with his face in his hand.
“How did you even do it, Ponytail? How was it so easy for you to just throw it away?”
“It wasn’t. I didn’t want to but I had to.” She feels far away, as if she was speaking of a distant memory.
He snorts. “It wasn’t as if I asked for these feelings. It took me an eternity to figure it out just enough to coexist with that jackass, and now I have to get rid of it or I’ll die? What a load of bullshit.”
Momo’s hand remains on his back, unmoving but constant. Bakugou keeps talking, his voice growing raspier with every word.
“He was so goddamn annoying as a snot-nosed brat–always meddling in my shit, and yet, still so fucking blind.”
“I was way out of his level, but he always ignored that, as if he wasn’t born Quirkless. No matter what I did, even if I taunted him or pushed him to the mud, he always bounced back.”
Bakugou angrily swipes at his face with both hands. He sniffles and his words come out clogged, like it was hard to spit them out.
“He even looked pathetic. He couldn’t do much because he didn’t have a Quirk but he never backed away from me. He was always calling me out on my crap like he’d physically implode if he didn’t do it.”
Now, he looks at her, his watery eyes the ugly kind of red; bloodshot and tired. “If I give up now, then what was the point of all those years of me putting up with it and hiding it? You don’t know the brainpower I spent studying even the stupidest things he liked or the hours I wasted thinking about the shit he was up to.”
She did. She went through the same thing. Asked the same questions herself. Wasted the same amount of (or more) time always wondering but never acting on it. The only difference between them is that Bakugou still loves, but she doesn’t. Not even if she wanted to.
“I tried so hard to be at peace with what I felt. Hell, I tried to make myself better just so for once, he’d look at me the same way he looks at him.”
His breathing was unsteady as he spoke. For lack of something to occupy with his hands, he began fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt, bunching the fabric around his fingers.
“He and that human thermometer are gonna be in my life ‘til I’m six feet under. And that’s a damn long time for me to keep at it with this shit. I was working it out myself. I was getting over it before but now, this goddamn pill wants to do it for me? It won’t help me forget it–won’t even wipe it from my mind.”
The tears only kept spilling, one after another. For the first time, Momo sees him as a teenager. Vulnerable, she finally pins the word down. He had always seemed so unshakeable and firm that seeing him like this tugged at a place hidden deep inside her.
She creates a handkerchief, silken to not tug at the already irritated skin, and scented for relaxation.
“Bakugou, don’t you think that you’ve suffered enough? I’m sorry I don’t have a clear answer for you but the fact is you love him so much it’s become a matter of life and death.”
She dabs lightly at his streaming face. “You know what made it easier? I knew my love was genuine. That was enough for me. It was time to choose myself.”
He glowers at her weakly. “So what if it’s genuine? I don’t need to prove it.” His voice cracks. “Can’t he just love me back?”
She puts down the handkerchief.
Slowly and giving him time to react, Momo wraps her arms around Bakugou. He lets her. He doesn’t push her away or struggle.
His head falls to the top of her shoulder, stray tears dampening her top. She strokes his hair soothingly. Seconds elapse with them pressed together, the only sound being Bakugou’s coughs and hiccups.
Her previous worry reappears but she stifles it.
When his fit quieted down, his voice was much steadier. “I’d love him the most if he let me.”
“Stupid flowers,” she felt him murmuring into her arm.
She gives him a sad smile. “I know. Midoriya-san would never be able to match it even if he tried.”
Years ago, Momo had a classmate in middle school. She doesn’t really remember well what that classmate looked like, only that she had a nasally voice.
No, what stuck to her the most was that this girl was utterly determined to show her up.
Every time Momo raised her hand to answer in class, this girl just had to raise hers afterwards to give a longer answer. When Momo volunteered to be part of a committee for school events, this girl was sure to be asking for a position higher and more important than hers.
In all honesty, it truly didn’t come to Momo’s attention what this girl was doing. It was only when she saw this girl crying and running off that she felt enough interest to ask about her.
Her friend who was looking at the student rankings beside her only said, “Didn’t you notice, Yaoyorozu-san? She was trying to beat you. You’re still Top 1.”
She thinks she can identify how that girl felt right now. For the first time in her life, Momo grasps how it is to be overthrown from the top.
The student rankings are out and she immediately hunts for the Top 3 but her name is gone.
Iida Tenya
Midoriya Izuku
Todoroki Shouto
Her name is relegated to the measly fourth spot. It stings her, digs into her skin, marking her a failure. However sick she might have been, she still should’ve found a way to compensate for her Practicals.
Underneath her name was Bakugou’s who also lost out on his usual spot. It was just another way the Hahanaki cast its grim cloud over them as it took its toll.
Iida waltzes up to her. For far too long he was denied the spot of being the top student, up until now. Did he come to gloat?
“Yaoyorozu-san, please accept my humble apologies! I didn’t cheat, I swear it on my bloodline! If you want, we can talk to Aizawa-sensei and have them recalculate the whole thing.”
Momo recoils a bit, astonished by him. Can’t he see that she fell so far down? It was only the fourth spot, but to have sunk down four places in a semester was disappointing.
“No, it’s no fault of yours, Iida-san! Look, I’m in fourth place–it really is meant to be like that. If anyone cheated, it would be Midoriya-san because he’s second.”
“But that’s impossible! I’m always in second place!”
“Then you should be celebrating!” She sighs disappointedly. “To think that I fell short this semester. In my final year, no less. I know it was because of my Practicals.”
She rubs her temples.
Their class president is quick to console her. “D-don’t worry! You’ll regain the top spot, I’m certain! This is just the preliminary ranking, and we still have the last semester!” His glasses glitter with optimism.
Momo is grateful for him but she won't get her hopes up. Midoriya and Todoroki’s future grades only need to be high enough to maintain their rankings while she would have to score above and beyond perfect in all exams to regain her old spot.
“Thank you for your kind words, Iida-san, but you should be proud of yourself. Congratulations!” She praises him, even though her disappointment in herself is immense.
Her classmate flushes, “Thank you!” And then, “I absolutely did try my best!”
With a nod, Iida marches off. Momo peruses the list some more. She encounters Jirou’s and Kaminari’s names below.
Jirou always scored well in the exams but this time she even rose two spots higher.
But on the other hand, Kaminari…he might need supplementary lessons soon. If he continued this way, it could really mess up his opportunities with Hero agencies.
She shakes her head and takes a picture of the rankings to send it.
The reply is instantaneous. That fucking bad huh? Lmao
Yes
Then she types: What is Lmao?
Her phone buzzes. Srsly r u fr rn tf
Is your phone alright?
His Adam’s apple bobs as water passes through it. Momo only watches.
When he notices her, he sticks his tongue out and makes a noise, not unlike a child. “I drank it. ‘Ya happy now?”
She only stares, her back leaning at the side of his bed.
“I finally shut you up, huh?”
“I was just thinking…”
His head inclines to her. “About what?”
His coughing fits. His growing absences during classes. The fact that he can’t go for his morning run anymore. The fact that he can’t sleep because he immediately replies to the random texts she sends him late at night.
Whatever she will bring up he already knows himself. She says none of them, only: “I’m hungry.”
He guffaws out loud, a sound Momo didn’t know she had been longing to hear. “You really love mooching off of me.” He opens his minifridge. “Whaddya want?”
“I don’t want to be a bother…” She begins.
A scoff. “Oh, please. Remind who stuffed her face with all my high-protein cookies the other day. And my ice cream. And my chocolate mousse.”
Momo becomes sheepish. “You have exquisite taste when it comes to snacks.”
His tone is flat, as if affirming something he has already known. “Obviously.” He tosses something on his bed.
“Besides, what kind of person would I be if I left my guest who came down all the way from the floor above just to make sure I drank my meds hungry?” he adds sarcastically.
Momo reaches for it. It is another container of those cookies she had. “Did you bake these? I didn’t know you could bake!”
He moves to join her side. “There’s lots you don’t know ‘bout me.”
Momo disagrees. Just a little bit, because she doesn’t know every single thing about him, but she knows plenty.
As someone who didn’t lie, Bakugou would either sulk in silence or hide things away. He forgets to do it with her now. And that’s good, because Momo doesn’t want him to go through things alone.
The corners of her eyes turn up. “No doubt. You are very mysterious and cool.” She says, biting into a cookie.
“No shit.” He slaps her hand lightly to move it away from the container, and takes a cookie of his own. “You good with Dunce Face and Ears Girl yet?”
“No.” Her heart aches. It’s been so long since she last talked to them. She wants to know how they’re doing but her apology doesn’t want to come out. And she could never find them.
She missed their humor and energy, the way they had no problem including her even though she had nothing much to say at times. “I’m thinking of apologizing soon.”
“You better. I’m tired of being your only friend. And you wallowing in self-pity.”
She chokes, cookie fragments getting lodged in her throat. “Wha– I have plenty of other friends!”
“Sure, you do.” He replies nonplussed. “And did you not hear the second thing I said?”
Both of them are true. At the base of it, she knows what he means. She does have other friends like Uraraka or even Shouto. But they are more casual. She can share some things with them or eat lunch together like she did with Kendo yesterday.
But she can’t go crying to them all of a sudden about a topic they never heard from her ever.
Her fingers play with the stray strands of her hair.
Yes, they would comfort her because they’re good people, but she still couldn’t. To reveal something so deeply personal made shame rise in her cheeks. Brought a churning to her stomach that reminded her of her own fragility.
Her hair tie comes loose and she reties it.
She couldn’t even breathe a word to Jirou and Kaminari. Her pride won’t allow it. As much as they differed, Bakugou and her were alike in this singular thing.
She peeps at him from under her bangs. “Are we best friends, then?”
“Yours, maybe. But not mine.” He says without missing a beat while texting on his phone.
“I’ll take it.”
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand. It wakes her up. Groggily, she stretches an arm to it and sees his name.
“What?” It wasn’t polite but he was never one for telephone etiquette anyway.
No answer.
She tries again. “Bakugou-san?”
There is nothing. She pushes the phone closer to her ear to listen for anything. Still nothing. She ends the call, now fully awake. Maybe he misdialed? In his sleep?
That sounded ridiculous even to her. She would check on him. Just in case.
She hears a clatter when she opens the door. That’s when the smell hits her. It is a strange medley of grass and acid that raises her hackles.
She already knows what’s coming before she steps foot. There is no time for her to breathe.
The floor is littered with white foliage. Of fluffy, fully-developed white flowers streaked with crimson. Bakugou is crouched and kneeling in their midst, his phone forgotten at the side.
It was a scene akin to a painting. But the air funereal.
Bakugou turns to her with pain in his eyes and lets go of another stream of white. He is choking and wheezing, his nails clawing at his throat.
She nearly flies to his back to give him the Heimlich maneuver. Her palms make contact with his abdomen, and she feels something slithering within, moving under his skin.
It is alive.
Her fists thrust inwards with ample force, expelling more flower heads and spittle from him. Everything is pouring out and it is endless.
Her phone speed dials the in-campus emergency contact. They have a conversation she hardly remembers, but she knows an ambulance is coming within 5 minutes.
It is still too long for her. A flash of green catches her attention, and the shock causes her to drop her phone.
Bakugou isn’t regurgitating petals anymore, but complete flowers with stems and leaves. They fall down with low, rattling noises. They are many–too many that it is a wonder how his body was able to contain them at all.
The only thing holding Bakugou against the floor are his arms, bulging with criss-crossed lines that Momo knows are not entirely his veins. His skin is mottled; dotted with shades of color best described in terms related to demise. Rivulets of blood spray down from his mouth from the force of purging.
It is crawling inside, making itself comfortable in his body, knowing that it will soon give out.
She slaps his back; a timid effort to help him. If only she could do more.
A gurgle exits him and his arms let go. He hits the ground with a limp thud.
She creates a wheelchair and hauls him to sit, fastening the belt to secure his body that had gone slack. She wheels him to the elevator without making any sound.
Her legs are shaking, but she tells herself it’s only because the elevator is too slow. When they make it inside, she shakes his shoulder and whispers his name all the while. He never answers backs.
But she checks and he is still breathing (raggedly) and has a pulse (weak) and that is all Momo can ask for at the moment.
He coughs feebly, sending a plume of petals. Blood is leaking from the corner of his mouth.
The freezing, night air is waiting for them outside as they arrive at the front of their dorm building. It is quiet–too quiet that it is unbearable. No car engines, emergency sirens, or campus robots around. Nothing.
She convinces herself that it’s a good thing; no one would discover what was happening on this cold and soundless night.
She is shivering, but it is impossible to determine why. Sweat breaks out on her forehead.
She could make him an oxygen tank. She could make him a defibrillator. But she couldn’t remove the flowers that are inside him.
Just then, a pair of transport robots roll to them. She helps them transfer Bakugou to the stretcher. They promise her they’d take care of everything at this point.
She runs after them anyway.
Bakugou is loaded into a white van, which speeds away all too quickly, blowing engine smoke in Momo's direction.
It is gone. It is over.
The silence drowns her again. She hugs herself. She couldn’t afford to cry earlier, but now, she can.