Chapter Text
This was it then, she supposed. The end of her youth, the end of her dreams and aspirations. Everything had come rushing to a sudden stop with but two simple words whispered so solemnly, with guiltily shifting eyes and a mumbled apology.
Well…maybe it wouldn’t be…that bad. It was a touch dramatic, going on as she was.
Momo let a sigh flutter loosely from her lips, eyes rising to peer into the brightly lit world lingering beyond her window. Just a fingertip away, she thought with a dour frown as she reached out to tap the glass restlessly. Her mind had long since strayed from studying the various texts her governess had left behind for her, and instead her thoughts bounded from one subject to another—or not. Not really, her musings strayed vaguely to one topic, then somehow found its way back to a particular concept.
It was one she was familiar with, well, familiar enough with.
Realizing that she had still been listlessly tapping against the windowpane, she sighed again and withdrew the offending limb, tucking it firmly beneath her other arm as she crossed them over her chest. Sulking over this in such a manner… How shameful. It had been expected of her and she had known that it was expected of her. This should have come as no surprise. None.
Yet somehow it still had. It seemed that some part of her had held on to that longing—that desire for independence, the desire to know the world, discover the way it had been molded together, the ardent fascination with the quickly budding sciences… Her parents had been lenient with her, allowing her to study and read as she pleased—something she knew few others were allowed to do—though their leniency had come with limits: so long as she kept up her appearance as a demure, proper young lady, what she studied past the arts of femininity were up to her. It was a good arrangement, one she had gladly kept through the years.
She could walk with her head held high, a dainty smile adorning her lips. Her fingers could dance across the pianoforte with an accomplished grace. She could dip into a sweeping curtsy with all the poise necessary of her station; she could sew, could dance, could hold her teacup just so… Yet, with all this, she could also list the elements that were day by day discovered, could recite the theories of the peculiar particles called atoms that seemingly wove the working world together with tightly knit bonds that could break and reform…
Ah, she had let her ruminations roam freely once more.
Biting her lip, Momo finally decided she was in no humor to study any longer, pushing aside her quill as she gathered her books, wondering what kind of man he would be. Her husband-to-be. She knew little, had been told little. Frankly, she had been told, well, nothing of the man that had so graciously sent a formal request for her hand in matrimony. Her mother had assured her that he was a good man, that he came from a good house—which likely meant wealthy and influential—and that he would most certainly treat her well. She had of course said this after accepting the offer on Momo’s behalf.
She supposed that she could not fault her mother, nor judge her too harshly. A widow as she had been for the past few years, the lady of the house had grown increasingly worried about finding a suitable match for her only daughter—and it seemed that the time had at last come.
With a short intake of air, Momo curled her hands into fists, raising her head. She forced the doubt from her mind and nodded curtly to herself. No matter who this man was, what nature he had—she would remain grounded firmly upon herself. She had been dramatic earlier. A marriage such as this was not uncommon by any means—and it was truly not the end of anything. At best, she might find common ground with this man and perhaps even come to love him. At worst, she detested him and kept to herself—seeing him only when necessary.
She was Momo Yaoyorozu; she had no cause to fear. Especially not a marriage of all things. So whoever this man was, she would greet him with a smile and a curtsey and she would most certainly not be frightened.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
His eyes followed the flowing script, carefully inked onto the page, each word careful, gracious and almost absurdly reverent. How many times now had he read this letter, had he surveyed each simpering platitude, dripping with a sickeningly saccharine tone. Whoever had written this was cautious to the point of comicality in their best effort to avoid offense to the reader.
He eyed the words once again, resisting the urge to tear the parchment in two as they rang out in his mind.
It is our humble pleasure to accept this most benevolent offer.
Yes, ‘his’ offer. The letter he had penned while his father stood at his shoulder, cold eyes glowering down menacingly lest the notion of disobedience crossed his mind. It had, of course. He had almost given in to his desire to smash the inkwell against the perfectly scripted proposal and declare that he had no interest in bowing to the man’s every wish and whim.
Perhaps it was better that he had not followed through with those childish ideas. At the very least, he was still whole and without bruising. Not to mention, now also engaged to a woman he had not once seen, spoken to, or even heard of.
With an irritable sigh, he tossed the letter aside, raising his legs to cross them over his desk, leaning his head back against the wooden chair and staring upward at the ceiling. His father had only brought him this response but an hour hence. The man had marched in, a smirk dancing over his hard face as he dropped the parchment over his desk with only a few words to spare.
“It is done.”
He had said, a puff of air leaving his nose in smug satisfaction. And then the man had gone, the door heaving shut behind him.
Why? The word that had crossed his mind so often of late. Why? Why was he to marry a woman he had but heard nary a word of? Why was his father hell-bent of molding him to be his perfect successor—him, the youngest son when there were two before him. Why was the man so intent on controlling his life, dare he say ruining it. He had never wanted this responsibility. He certainly had never wanted to turn out anything like the man that had sired him.
Humming tunelessly, he raked a hand through his hair, pushing aside the strands of crimson that were scattered haphazardly across his brows. Subconsciously, his fingers fell lower, tracing the edges of the scar he knew marred the left side of his face.
Would he too be like the man that raised him? Would he be a husband as cold and cruel to his wife as his father was to his mother? Would he rule his children with a fist of iron and steel, and a rod clenched in the other? Would he too drive his wife to the point of mania?
His stomach churned and a heaviness began to weigh his heart, dragging it down like an anchor at sea. He had no wish to burden a woman with the weight that clung to his shoulders. He had no desire to sire children of his own, watch as they turned their faces away from him as he so often did to his own father. Would his wife despise the faces of her children when they were born with the features that he himself bore?
Shouto squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his hand over them as he took a breath. It took him a moment to regain the composure that he been so steadily losing. His heart was pounding heavily against his ribs, threatening to tear free and leap out.
There were of course dilemmas in greater a number than he could count, and this was with the exclusion of the burdens of his family. For one, he had never fancied, nor so much looked at a woman with any sort of romantic interest. He certainly did not know how to court one, much less so bloody marry one. There had never been an example set in this house—rather an example of what not to do. And even disregarding the matter of romantic endeavors, he was not much one for any sort of social engagements at all. He could without a doubt say that he was…socially…inept. Or so his sister had told him often enough that he come to believe it as fact and had stopped trying to argue the point.
A thought struck his mind and the blood drained from his face. What if this woman was one of those that liked to talk. Endlessly. He had seen those kinds of people before and they never failed to grate on his nerves. What if she expected him to be the talkative one?
He slowly dragged his hand from his face and heaved a sigh, lifting his legs from the table and setting them back on solid ground. This was doing him no good. None at all. Fretting like this…wasn’t like him. Whatever was in store, he could plan accordingly for. Whatever situation he found himself in, he could pull himself out. It was not the end.
Without another errant thought, he quickly stood up, pausing to shrug on the coat he had left draped over his chair earlier before striding to the door of his office and swiftly exiting. A ride. He needed to take a ride.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She tried her utmost to remain still as her dutiful handmaiden tugged at and tied long, raven-dark hair into some sort of elaborate style. Momo clenched the silken skirt of her scarlet gown nervously, knowing that if she were to unfurl her fingers, she might be tempted to tug anxiously at the lock that her handmaid had left hanging by the side of her face.
“He’s here already, isn’t he, miss?” The girl asked curiously, peeking over Momo’s head to glance at her face.
She jerked her head in a terse nod as a response. Yes. He was. And this knowledge was the cause for the bolts of lightning that seemed to spark through her system. It was impossible to deny that she was incredibly nervous—even though she knew there was no conceivable reason to be so terribly agitated. It was simply an informal meeting. Informal. She had put on her best gown for this, an informal, relaxed first-meeting.
Momo bit her lip and tightened her fists, resisting the urge to clamp her hands over her face. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to count her breaths. Or even better, list the most recently discovered elements. Surely that would settle her heart and even her pulse. Name their properties. She began to recount the things she had read with such ardent fascination, slowly regaining some semblance of a calm demeanor.
“Alright, miss, you’re ready.” The girl stepped away, and Momo slowly stood, smoothing her palms over her dress. The corset beneath her bodice strained as she took a breath, constricting her lungs and sending a bout of lightness to her head.
“Thank you, Mina.” She managed a smile, tilting her head at the normally rather energetic, pink-haired girl. It seemed that her nervousness was contagious, as even her friend had gone quiet. Well then…it was time. She picked up her skirt, carefully maneuvering past the obstacles of her bedroom as she made her way out. It was time to meet him.
She could hear voices, low, murmured, as she descended the stairs of the old, creaking manse. One was that of her mother’s: cautious, overtly respectful. She was the type that meant to please any and all, generous with her praise but silent when it came to critique. That trait had only worsened when her husband passed—he had been the foil to her character.
Momo heard another voice, one she was not at all familiar with. A man’s voice, loud and booming—echoing through the cavernous halls. The voice was filled with an underlying superiority—pride and arrogance. Her steps fell a little harder against the dark wood of the stairs as she pondered upon whether that voice belonged to her newly betrothed. It was the voice of a man well past his prime—and the idea crossed her mind that her mother had arranged for her to marry…an old man.
Her heart quickened its pace as frantic thoughts began to fill her mind. She had barely become a woman—and though such marriage too were not unheard of, she had not wanted such a one for herself!
Momo quietly slipped into the drawing room—
And her heart slammed painfully against her ribs at the sight of a gigantic man dwarfing the small sofa that was positioned across from her mother. Surely…not… She stood silently, pressed against the door as the color drained from her face. Was this her suitor? He looked to be near twice or more her age!
So much for not being frightened, some part of her thought wryly. That thought was quickly silenced as she marveled at the unknown guest speaking so animatedly with her mother. His hair was red as flame, and more of the same jutted out slightly on the tip of his chin. He was a giant—or so he seemed in comparison to her own relatively small frame. And she had once thought herself to be of a fair height…
Swallowing thickly, Momo briefly closed her eyes and took a quick breath of air, steeling herself to interrupt the rather one-sided conversation.
“Ah—p-pardon my intrusion…” Her voice seemed like a clap of thunder, so effective was it in silencing his voice. Yet, as soon as she had spoken, those eerie azure eyes had darted to her and had pinned her in place. They were not the eyes of a kind man. It was all she could do to force a smile to her lips and glide gracefully towards her guest as both he and her mother stood to greet her.
“Momo!” Her mother’s smile was strained—and it was evident that the woman was rather uncomfortable herself. “Come, bid our guests a fair morning.” The woman extended a hand as Momo approached, quickly pulling her daughter to her side.
Guest…s?
There was another? Her heart sputtered in her chest as she swept her skirts in a curtsy, her eyes fixed to the ground. “Allow me to apologize for my tardiness, and to bid you a good morni…” The smile she had plastered to her face faltered and the words froze on the tip of her tongue as she straightened, her eyes finally catching sight of the other. She had not seen him, hidden as he was behind the enormous man. “Morning.” She finished lamely, her throat suddenly a little dry.
A strange heat rose to her cheeks as she stared at him, and he at her. Momo had not known herself to be the type of woman to fly into a flusterment at the mere sight of a good-looking man. Certainly she could appreciate the sight, but her appreciation had never really surfaced as a physical manifestation as it seemed to now.
Perhaps it was because this young man, and indeed he looked to be of an age similar to her own, could be ascribed with words beyond those of simply ‘good-looking’. No, he was…
Striking.
“Yes, yes.” The giant beside the young man waved his hand impatiently, cutting short her wonder-filled admiration and alerting her to the reality once more. “Sit down, young lady.” Commanding was evidently something the man was accustomed to doing, so fluidly had the order dripped from his tongue. As though there was no doubt in his mind of being obeyed without question. Momo bit back her irritation and stifled a frown at his rude manner, picking up her skirts to settle herself beside her mother.
And as though she had not intruded upon his discourse, the strange man simply proceeded with whatever it was he had been saying prior to her arrival. She listened halfheartedly, realizing that it was nothing but the technicalities of this engagement. As such, she sat straight and schooled her expression into one of polite attentiveness, folding her hands over her lap.
Her eyes though, they darted back and forth—from the giant of a man, whom she could infer was the father, to the young, lean and decidedly impassive son beside him. As she listened, rather distractedly, to the elder, it became clearer and clearer to her that this offer had in fact not come from the young man. No, not at all.
Momo sighed through her nose and allowed her inquisitiveness to win her over, choosing at last to survey the young man thoroughly. As she had decided earlier, the word striking could describe him well. His hair was of great interest to her, in more ways than one. Split perfectly down the middle—half of it was the same fiery crimson as that of his sire—the other half was a white as pure as winter’s snow. Yet it was not just his hair—his eyes too. Heterochromia. Seemingly fixed upon some distant point, his eyes, one the color of slate and the other of a bright icy hue, were glazed over with indifference. And there, on the left side of his face—a dark red scar, as though from a burn.
She could gather nothing from his face—except perhaps that the young man had absolutely no desire to be here. His expression was completely impassive—a stoic mask of stone.
If absolutely nothing else, Momo could admit that this man was a genetic fascination. A surge of excitement swelled in her chest at the prospect of exploring the subject, but she quickly stifled it. What she could not stifle, however, was the furious blush that crept up her neck and over her nose as those two-toned eyes were suddenly gazing steadily into her own.
The only response to her suddenly colored cheeks was a slow blink of his eyes.
Complete and utter disinterest.
Or, so it seemed so far as she could tell. How infuriating!
Momo felt her brows draw together slightly as she returned his stare, the irritation she had been trying to push away rising again to the surface. What a pair these two made! One that could not close his mouth and the other that could not open it.
“—is fertile, I assume.”
Momo had barely caught the final words of his sentence but they still sent a flush of mortification and indignance coursing over her skin. Her eyes snapped to the side and her lips fell open in a slight gape as she peered at the man. He seemed unperturbed, as though asking a young woman whether her womb was fit for birthing was a common inquiry, asked day to day.
“Yes! Yes, my daughter is in perfect health, I assure you.” Her mother quickly answered, nodding vigorously. Pressing her lips together in displeasure, Momo turned her eyes away in a silent indignation. For all these questions asked of her, she still did not know either of their visitor’s names. “Ah, Momo, dear, perhaps you might ring for the staff—our guests might like some tea?”
“No need.” Came the booming voice, silencing the meek woman before Momo could even begin to rise. “Though, I would speak to you alone. Shouto, go, take the girl.” He narrowed his eyes as he turned his gaze to his son, a barely perceptible shift in tone—yet she caught it all the same. It was laced with ice, cold and hard. How…odd.
Still, the young man, whose name she understood to be Shouto, rose without a word, his multicolored hair falling over his eyes briefly. She saw the slightest downturn of his lips even so.
The son bowed his head to her mother and swiftly passed by the two of them—striding past her as though she did not exist. Momo heard an angry huff from across her and glanced at the elder, startled at the pure venom that pooled in his blue eyes as he stared after the departing youth.
Mumbling a hurried apology, Momo rose and dipped into a quick curtsey, rushing to follow the young man out of the drawing room and leave their sires to speak in private.
Shutting the door with a sigh, she leaned against it, allowing her head to fall back with a light sound and her eyes to fall closed. Nothing had gone as she had expected it to go. This father-son pair was undoubtedly the last thing she could have expected to find. None of this fit the image that been in her mind—of what a normal marriage meeting was supposed to be like.
Biting her lip, she opened her eyes and glanced around. No one. The man called Shouto had seemingly vanished. Well, in that case…
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the curtain of black silk to unfurl and cascade over her shoulders, fluttering gently in the quiet breeze. Her eyes were kept pinned to the ground as she slipped her feet from the red heels that Mina had prepared for her earlier, sighing in content as her pinched toes were granted their freedom. The grass was soft and cool beneath her, so vividly verdant in the brightness of the day.
Momo bent to pick up the discarded shoes, letting them hang loosely off her fingers as she began her trek through the gardens—an asylum for her since her youth. Well, this and the library. Both were sanctuaries she had frequented throughout her years. A breath of air was always welcome—and especially now since it seemed that the air in that room had been stale, thin and…full of vaguely unwelcome feelings.
Now was as good a time as any to ruminate upon the absolute farce of an engagement she had been roped into accepting. She and her betrothed, it seemed.
Her lips fell into a discerning frown as she thought of the young man whose face was perhaps the most beautiful and perhaps the most decidedly unfriendly face she had ever gazed upon. No, nothing about his manner presented him as an amiable man. He had sat straight as an arrow, his eyes cold and unfeeling, his expression void of emotion. She had read the letter that her suitor had supposedly written. Now that she had matched the words to a face…she wondered if it truly had been him. It would not come as a surprise to learn that a butler or some servant of their house had penned it in his stead.
No man with so taciturn a manner could compose such words of feeling and eloquence. Surely not!
There was more passion in that letter than she believed the man possessed in a drop of his blood!
Shouto.
Her brows drew together once more as she pondered his name. Shouto, his father had called him. She had read the letter not long ago—having asked her mother of it since learning that the offer had been accepted, but she could not recall reading a name. Perhaps she had simply skimmed over it and thus it had not been imprinted into her memory.
“Ah, blast it all!”
The words escaped her lips unwittingly and she collapsed in a heap, her scarlet dress spreading around her like a pool of blood. Her frustration had been slowly, steadily mounting since first laying eyes upon her future father-in-law and her betrothed. An irritable sigh fluttered past her throat and into the air as she leaned back on her hands, staring upwards at the clear sky above her, her lips curled into a frown, her brows drawn together in displeasure.
She hadn’t even been given the chance to act out the pretense. No charming smile, nor gentle, timid glances, nor demure giggles—like all the other ladies of proper upbringing! Though…had she…wanted to?
A somewhat unintentional laugh broke her irritation. Ah, how juvenile she was acting now—first she couldn’t stand the thought of the façade, now she was upset that she hadn’t been able to go through with it? Goodness, how inconsistent.
“Pull yourself together, Momo.” She chided herself, leaning forward and lightly slapping at her cheeks. “Think. You can salvage this…” With a curt nod, she released a slow breath, blinking and finally deciding to survey the area around herself, wondering if there had been someone to see her strange outburst.
Ah…
There…had.
It seemed that everything within her had suddenly turned to ice, and yet somehow simultaneously burst into flame. A pair of dual-colored orbs were peering directly into her own dark eyes.
He…
Her eyes widened suddenly as she realized what a ludicrous image of her the man must surely have now. A fierce burst of heat enveloped her face as she clumsily rose to her feet. She should have checked whether or not she was alone first! How utterly foolish of her!
The man said nothing as she swiftly smoothed her palms over her skirt, swiping away any blades of grass that might have stuck to the voluminous fabric. He had still said nothing to her, no, merely watched her struggle pointlessly, blinking without a word. As though he were made of clockwork. Heh—though, that was an interesting idea—that humans ran like clockwork, and it could be argued that the brain was like one big gear, turning and guiding the rest of the body’s functi—
Momo squeezed her eyes shut and sighed through her nose, pulling her thoughts back together.
Right. To salvage what remained of this wreckage. She was a proper lady. She could greet someone—merely bid him a good day. After all, she had directed her earlier greeting towards the elder man, and had not in fact spoken to this one yet.
“Good mor—”
“This wasn’t my choice.”
His voice was smooth. Low. It reminded her, in some strange way or another, of a rainy day—where water pattered against the glass of a window, at also of the smoke rising from smoldering embers.
Momo blinked, completely caught off guard. Quickly shaking off the surprise, she cleared her throat, clasping her hands together, eyeing the relaxed way the young man was sitting on the garden bench. “Ah, no, I didn’t think it was.” She admitted, lowering her gaze. “It wasn’t mine either.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Oh?
He leaned forward, running a hand through the right side of his hair, stifling a sigh. If that was the case, then he supposed there was no risk of disappointing her, nor living up to whatever expectations a woman might have of a suitor.
“Might I at least have your name?”
Her voice was pleasant, at least. Well, so was the rest of her—to look at, at any rate. He didn’t make it a point to assess a person, be it woman or man, by their physical appearance. Still, something about the way her lips had tilted into the slightest frown, or the way her brows had drawn together in faint indignance tugged at his heart—just the barest hint. He had also noticed the way she had reacted to his father’s blunt inquiries—the flash of irritation that had crossed her face. As they say, an enemy of your enemy was a friend…or something of the sort.
“Shouto. Todoroki.” He added after a brief pause. A light gasp drew his eyes to her again. The young woman’s eyes had widened, her lips parting in surprise. No doubt she knew the name—the surname.
“Todoroki…the family that owns the Endeavour breweries.”
He resisted the urge to drag his hand along his face. Too often had he heard that; too often did people judge him by the merit of the family business.
“I’m Momo Yaoyorozu.” Suddenly, her voice was much closer, and suddenly, there was a hand in his line of sight. He blinked, pulling back to look up. There was no sign of the usual excitement, nor admiration in her eyes as she held her palm outstretched for him to take. “Or do you disdain physical contact as much as I think you detest verbal communication?” A teasing glimmer shone in her onyx eyes.
He frowned faintly, slowly raising his hand to fold it around the offered limb. His hand engulfed hers—and he was almost astonished by how soft, how small and delicate it was in comparison to his own. “I do.” He answered once he had released her hand, letting his own fall back to his lap.
“Hm.” The girl, Yaoyorozu, made a quiet sound as she drew away, folding her arms across her chest—and his eyes could not but linger at the ample—
He averted his gaze, swallowing thickly. Irrelevant.
“Unfortunate.” She sighed drearily and lifted her head to look at the sky—as she had done before. As though there was some answer written amongst the clouds to an unspoken question. Shouto ran his gaze up her form again, recalling the startling outburst from not too long ago. Well, he hadn’t known what to expect of the bride his father had chosen for him—but certainly he hadn’t expected this…whatever ‘this’ was. She was strange, well, from what he so far seen—very little. Amusing, perhaps.
What was surprising though: the girl had mentioned his family name once and only once. She had not brought the matter up a second time, well, so far. It was as though it was an offhand remark, so little significance had she ascribed to it.
“Well, alright.” His eyes flicked to the source of the sound instinctively. He watched as she tugged, probably out of habit, at the long lock of dark hair framing the side of her face. “I suppose if I had to choose between a man that says everything, yet has nothing to say and one that does not speak at all, I would choose the latter.” She determined with a small nod. Well…alright then.
“The task then befalls upon me to speak enough for the two of us.” The girl chirped with a bright grin, but it was as though an anchor dropped in his chest. Not moments later, a gentle laugh carried through the garden. Shouto looked up yet again, his lips pressing together. “Heh,” She raised her hand over her mouth, her eyes bright as she peered down at him. “I think that was the most emotion I’ve yet seen from you—truly, the dread that crossed your eyes!”
To his astonishment, the girl moved to his side and settled beside him, her infernal gown taking up what space had been left.
“Don’t worry, sir.” She cleared her throat quietly, her fingers fiddling together over the scarlet of her skirt. “I was just teasing.”
“Shouto.” He corrected, as though guided by impulse. Her dark eyes met his own heterochromatic orbs once again and he blinked, surprised by his own outburst. “There’s no need for such formality.” He added somewhat uncomfortably.
“Alright, then whenever the time comes that you address me, you may call me Momo.” She raised a brow, tilting her head to the side slightly. He could see that her eyes had darted upward, could probably guess where her gaze had landed.
Well, he had thought he could.
“Your hair…such unique coloration…” Her voice quieted as though she had been struck by awe. He found his brows rising in surprise when her fingers were suddenly reaching out, jolting when she gently brushed the multicolored strands from his eyes. He sat remarkably still, frozen and tense as she leaned closer, her eyes narrowed in concentration. What…what was she doing? Should he push the offending limb away? “I couldn’t even begin to imagine the genetic code behind such striking characteristics!”
W…what?
Shouto blinked, once again taken completely by surprise.
The woman drew away, still staring at his hair, amazement evident in her wide eyes. “Heterochromatic and two-toned hair split evenly—a genetic masterpiece if ever I have seen such a thing.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Momo realized then that she might have invaded the young man’s personal space and had taken her fascination with his features a tad too far—if the wide eyed, stunned expression plastered over his countenance was any indication
She hurriedly drew her hand back, turning her face away and tugging on the lock of hair nervously. “…Pardon me.”
“You…enjoy the sciences, I take it.”
Came the quiet response. Not daring to raise her eyes, nor turn to look at the man she had probably grievously offended, she nodded demurely. What if he scorned her for that?
“Surprising.”
His voice was gentle—she liked the sound of it. He was a soft-spoken man then? She couldn’t very well read his character—he didn’t hold himself like an open book, not like so many others she had encountered.
“Why should it be?” Momo retorted, a bit more aggressively than she had meant to. She knew the answer to her own question—had often heard it repeated to her.
“C-considering that the field is reserved for…”
“Men.” She finished lamely, biting back a sigh. He had stammered, just a little—it was, dare she say…endearing? Perhaps he was the timid sort? No—no, that didn’t seem entirely correct. “Yes, I know, but my passions for the subject cannot be so easily quelled. I simply find it too fascinating to ignore.” Momo shrugged lightly, resting her chin on her palm as she leaned forward.
“I understand.”
Amazement shook her to the core and she suddenly straightened, looking at him. “You do?”
“The pressure to conform to another’s expectations? Yes, I do.” Shouto wasn’t looking at her, but his eyes betrayed a deep-rooted bitterness that she knew stemmed from reasons far more personal than her own insignificant slights. After all, no one had strictly prohibited her from studying what she wished to study.
Momo eyed him, a coil of sympathy unfurling in her chest. His eyes…were so very sad. Perhaps he didn’t even realize it himself, just how utterly broken he looked in this moment. She almost wanted to embrace him, to tell him that he needn’t stifle himself—yet, it would undoubtedly be unwise to do so. She had barely just met the man, she did not know his pains, but understood enough of him to know that he would balk at sudden intimacy. So, she remained silent, watching as the young man schooled his expression back into that carefully crafted stoic mask.
Recalling the barely familial way the father-son pair had interacted earlier, she could safely assume though that whatever this young man’s suffering was…it was in some part related to his father.
“Well,” Momo stood, forcing the thoughts of despair and human fragility to the side for the moment. “I am glad to know that you are capable of speech.” Without looking back at him, she took a breath of air, savoring the coolness of spring and the faint taste of rain that seemed to linger. “Perhaps I’ve bored you already, but I might say in all earnest that I am curious as to the kind of man that you are, Shouto Todoroki. I look forward to…whatever it is that comes next.” It felt strange to say.
“…Bored me?”
He was beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, his face upturned, eyes staring at the expanse of blue overhead, just as she had done. His expression grew strained for a moment and it seemed as though he was struggling with something. “If anything…you may have changed my mind.” Shouto murmured with a small measure of discomfort.
“I don’t like my father.”
Momo hummed quietly, picking lightly at the seams of her sleeve. “No, I didn’t think you did.” Their strained relationship had been fairly evident to her—even from the minimal interactions she had seen between them. There was nothing harder to hide than true aversion, in her opinion. She glanced at him, slowly running her gaze down his countenance. It had grown strangely determined—there seemed to be resolve gleaming in his eyes. Resolve for what, she couldn’t guess.
“You can refuse, you know.”
“I can’t. Not really.” She answered with a quiet sigh. It was, after all was said and done, her mother’s final decision. “Besides, there are worse men than those that prefer quiet and contemplation.” Momo shrugged, feeling vaguely peaceful despite the odd situation she had found herself in.
“I can’t promise you’ll be happy.” He said slowly, carefully. And his eyes met her own once more. They were beautiful, really. Momo couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across her lips.
“That isn’t a promise you should be making anyway, Shouto.” At the slight confusion that crossed his eyes, she laughed quietly and shook her head. “Why should my happiness be dependent upon another? I’ll make my own, just as I have to this day. If I let every misfortune that crosses my path weigh my shoulders down as though they were boulders, then life would be a constant river of misery. No, I choose to look at the little fortunes and treat them like mountains. For one, if it rains: think not of the misery of slogging through mud but instead of the life growing beneath the dirt and the blooms that the water might give rise to.”
He was staring at her still and despite her best efforts, a heat began to creep up her neck. “Anyway, don’t worry about me, in other words.” She added hurriedly, somewhat embarrassed by her tendency to allow her thoughts to flow freely from her tongue.
“You’re a strange woman, Momo Yaoyorozu.” He said quietly, and it seemed to her that the barest hint of amusement colored his otherwise monotone voice. Shouto hummed tunelessly and, subconsciously, she presumed, ran his fingers through his hair.
“Perhaps.” It wasn’t really an insult, neither was it a compliment. He was an odd man himself, in a way. “You seem strange to me too, so I suppose we’ve found some common ground after all.”
Momo smiled gently at him, watching as a flicker of some undiscernible feeling flew over his countenance. “Yes…” He agreed with a faint nod, his head cocking to the side slightly as he scoured her face. “It seems we have.”