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The night of the Nightmare at Kamino, Momo finds herself back at the hospital. She’d told the boys she was with to go straight home, but there’s something—or someone, rather—keeping her from doing the same.
In her hospital bed, Jirou still lies still, comatose from poisonous gas. Momo hadn’t gotten to her or Hagakure fast enough to give them the gas masks they needed in time to stay conscious, and for that she scolds herself. Hagakure had woken up hours earlier with minimal lasting damage, but Jirou still rests in her deep sleep. Doctors had assured that Jirou would wake soon with similar injuries to Hagakure, but as for now…
Momo steps into Jirou’s hospital room, her heart still pounding from Kamino but also because of the tense atmosphere in Jirou’s room. No one else is present but Jirou, an IV hooked in her arm, and the only noise in the room is the steady heart rate monitor beeping in time with Jirou’s heart.
After she swallows thickly, Momo pulls a chair up to Jirou’s bedside. There’s a breathing mask strapped onto her face, and her purple hair splays against the white pillow behind her. Her eyelids are closed and eyelashes fan out against the very tops of her cheeks.
Momo lets out a sigh. Jirou looks beautiful, in a devastating way.
The last few days have been… rattling, to say the least. Momo and the people around her have been forced to make decisions they shouldn’t have to make, and Jirou’s been… well, wavering on the edge of life. She’s strong, though. Momo knows this, knows she’ll wake up with her unwavering spirit and throw Momo one of her soft, closed-mouth grins.
Carefully, Momo leans over and sets her elbows on Jirou’s bed. She sets her head in her hands, watching Jirou’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and she tries to match this rhythm with her own breathing.
The events of the day catch up with her quickly, and her prior adrenaline drains. Matching Jirou’s breathing like this has only served to make her more exhausted, so she lays down her arms and sets her head atop them, succumbing to sleep.
—
She wakes with a kink in her neck. She also wakes to a doctor and a nurse rushing into the room as Jirou pulls herself up to sit, her fingers having slotted into Momo’s hair.
Momo lifts her head, and Jirou’s hand slips from her hair and falls to the bed. Once Momo makes eye contact with Jirou, her jaw drops and her eyes grow wide. “You—You’re—!”
Jirou doesn’t actually get to say anything—she casts Momo a confused look—before the nurse shows Momo out of the room with the promise she’ll be let back in after “everything is taken care of.” Of course, Jirou is bound to be disoriented, and there are many things the medical staff will need to check. Momo doesn’t mind waiting out in the hall, because the chair out here is about as comfortable as the chair in Jirou’s room, and now… now, at least she knows Jirou’s awake. She’ll surely be okay.
After stretching her neck, Momo leans back into the chair, letting her head rest against the wall behind it. She splays her fingers against her knees, blinking away sleep.
A glance at the digital clock down the hall tells Momo that it’s four in the morning, and she hides a yawn behind her hand.
She had called her parents as she made her way to the hospital, to ensure them that she was safe and to inform them of her whereabouts. They aren’t home now, anyway; they’ve been abroad on a business trip for about a week, now. She wonders if they’ve even seen the news about All Might.
That’s something to worry about later, though. For now, Momo counts the passing seconds, waiting for Jirou’s door to open and for the nurse to invite her back in.
It does take awhile, and Momo takes a walk to the water dispenser at the end of the hall, drinking out of a small plastic cup before tossing it into the garbage. Just as she returns, the doctor and nurse emerge from the room, quietly informing Momo that she’s allowed back in.
Momo walks in, her feet sounding too loud against the ground in a room so quiet. But Jirou’s awake and free of a breathing mask, so Momo’s mouth pulls into a relieved, caring grin.
“Yaomomo,” Jirou greets, voice hoarse. She scoots over on the bed and pats the space beside her, urging Momo to sit beside her.
“It’s wonderful to see you awake,” Momo responds, carefully situating herself beside Jirou. Their shoulders, hips, and thighs all touch, though Jirou is beneath the blanket and Momo sits atop it.
“That’s all some crazy shit, isn’t it?” Jirou questions, forcing a chuckle. “I—I almost died. That’s what the doctor told me. Jesus. That’s… wow.”
Momo grimaces. “It’s been a strange succession of days,” she offers, not wanting to bring up Kamino or Bakugou, not now. Jirou can learn of them at sometime else, when it’s not four in the morning and Momo’s heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst.
“How long were you here?” Jirou inquires, letting her head fall back against her pillows. “Since you were here when I… when I woke up.”
“I came here after…” Momo trails off, and Jirou turns her head to look to her, curious. “After something I don’t have the energy to explain right now. It’s… I’m sure you will learn of it in the morning.”
Jirou blinks. “Okay,” she says. “You must’ve been tired.”
“Exhausted,” Momo admits. “I still am, actually.”
“Oh,” Jirou breathes. “Do you want to… come under the covers?”
Before Momo even has time to respond, Jirou is tugging at the blankets that Momo sits upon, and Momo gives in easily, pulling the blankets over herself. Both she and Jirou slide down to lie on their sides on the small bed, facing each other.
“I’m not sure the doctors will like this,” Momo comments, and Jirou shushes her by pressing the pads of her fingers to Momo’s lips.
“I don’t care,” she mumbles, and Momo lifts her hand to wrap her fingers around Jirou’s, pulling them away from her mouth and letting fall to sit between them on the bed. Jirou maneuvers her fingers until they’re entwined with Momo’s, and she gives Momo that smile she’d been waiting for—soft and close-mouthed.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Momo murmurs, eyes flickering between Jirou’s eyes and their hands. “I was worried about you.”
Jirou blushes. “I’m glad I’m okay, too,” she says, “so that I can see you again.”
Momo’s lips part in surprise, and she stares at Jirou with widened eyes as her cheeks heat up.
“You can get some sleep,” Jirou says, then, lifting a hand either to rub at her eye or, more likely, to hide her blush.
“And what will you do?” Momo inquires, voice smaller than intended. Her legs shift under the covers.
“Hm,” Jirou hums. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll go run laps,” she suggests, voice teasing.
“You will not,” Momo replies, biting her lips to contain a smile.
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t.” Jirou laughs softly, and Momo’s heart soars. “Just go to sleep, Yaomomo. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Promise.”
Reluctantly, Momo allows her eyelids to droop closed like they want to, and it’s hardly a few minutes of Jirou playing with her hair until she’s lulled off to sleep.
—
In the morning, it’s not like everything is magically fine, but knowing that Jirou’s okay at least makes things a little more bearable.