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They first meet when Emi falls from the sky.
“Up top!”
There's barely enough time for Nemuri to extend her arms and catch the plummeting mass of green and orange. The girl raises her head, beaming, unfazed at being flung from wherever she had been before.
Later, Emi will say they were so taken with each other that they forgot they were supposed to be fighting. Nemuri thinks it was the concussion she was diagnosed with after the License Exam that slowed her reaction.
“Down low!” the girl says, hand flat and palm open near Nemuri’s waist.
Nemuri tentatively shifts her weight to one arm, quietly reveling in the way the girl freezes, and uses her free hand to complete the high-five.
The girl blinks, startled, and starts laughing. “I forgot to say too slow!”
Nemuri stills, just for a moment, the way she does when she’s walking home at night and a trick of the light makes her wonder if she’s looking at another jet flying overhead or a falling star. Another deep breath, and she eyes the building above them. “Did you just--”
“There was someone with a vibration quirk up there, so I figured, evacuate while I still can,” she explains.
“By going out the window,” Nemuri says flatly to hide how impressed she is, finally setting her on her feet. “Which floor were you on?”
The girl squints at the trembling building and scratches her head. “You know, math was never my strong suit. That's why I'm in a hero course, ha!” She extends a gloved hand, beaming at Nemuri so brightly that her cheeks puff up. “My name’s Fukukado Emi, Ketsubutsu Academy, Hero Department Class 2-B! Thanks for having good reflexes!”
“Kayama Nemuri, UA High, Class 2-A,” Nemuri recites. “And you're welcome. I worked very hard on them.”
Fukukado seems about to burst into laughter again until she leaps five feet back and pulls up her gas mask. “UA? I have to crush you!”
Or you could crush on me, says the part of Nemuri’s brain that designed a costume that she needs to rip to shreds to use.
“Okay,” Nemuri says out loud, and drops into a stance that feels more comfortable than walking at this point. She doesn’t have a quirk that shakes the ground like Yamada’s (she can hear him yelling his head off from the other end of the arena and grimaces in sympathy for anyone in his path), but she likes to think that she’s stronger for it. She had spent her entire first year training with Aizawa, the only other student in the General Studies Course who could match her drive to make it into 2-A. The day they found out about their transfer was the first and only day they took off from hand-to-hand combat practice.
Nemuri draws her bo staff and gives it a twirl. For the cameras, and for the pretty girl too. Maybe after she wins -- because she got this far and, pretty girl or no, she’s not leaving the building without her goddamn license -- she’ll ask for her number.
“Oh, wow, you’re really serious-- is that a staff in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?” Fukukado jokes, hands up as if in surrender, but her outline is shimmering, like the horizon on a bright day, or like--
Gas, Nemuri realizes, and leaps back appropriately.
“Whoever smelt it, dealt it!” Fukukado calls out, then grimaces. “Hey, can I get your feedback on that one after all this? It feels very junior high to me, I don’t think it’ll work as my catchphrase.”
Nemuri assesses the situation calmly, head tilted as she watches the progression of the gas across the arena floor. Fukukado’s in a gas mask, which means she doesn’t have immunity to her own quirk like Nemuri does, but even if she could get the mask off, the fight will likely be won by the heroine with the bigger lungs. They could spend all day running across the arena, yet they only have another twenty minutes at most. And although Nemuri is plenty confident in her abilities--
“First one hundred people pass,” she mutters to herself, and puts her staff away. Fukukado watches her carefully, eyes still crinkled in a smile but not leaving her own for a second. “Let’s team up.”
“Like, right now? Or in the future? I can schedule you in as my sidekick in, let’s see, two years,” Fukukado says.
“Fighting you will take me too long. It’s a compliment, you’re welcome,” Nemuri says. “Let’s help each other get to the finish line. With your gas mask, you won’t be affected by my quirk and we can watch each other’s backs. And besides,” she finishes, putting on her most effective grin. “You owe me, Green.”
Before Fukukado can agree, the speakers in the stadium blare to life. “58 students have made it so far! 42 spots remain and the battle is fierce. In the City Sector, Midnight stares down Ms. Joke! Will these long-range fighters be able to close the distance in time?”
“Ms. Joke?” Nemuri asks thoughtfully. “So it’s laughing gas.”
Fukukado smacks a hand against her forehead. “Aw man, did I forget to use my hero name when I introduced myself again?”
Nemuri bursts out laughing and Fukukado blinks in surprise.
“Oops, is my quirk working?” she asks. “I thought I stopped it, sorry.”
“Huh?” Nemuri says, wiping at her eyes. “I don't feel any different.”
Fukukado straightens up instantly, cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh! You just-- you're laughing because of my joke?”
“Well, yeah,” Nemuri says. “It was funny.”
“You think I'm funny?” Fukukado squeaks, several decibels higher and several shades redder.
“Midnight and Ms. Joke are trading insults on the field!” the announcer interrupts. “Ms. Joke looks enraged! Will she let that stand?”
Nemuri squints at the announcer’s box as menacingly as she can. “Is this a License Exam or a wrestling match?” She turns back to Fukukado, sighing. “So what do you say?”
Fukukado sticks her hand out again and pulls her gas mask down to reveal a broad smile. “Let’s kick some ass.”
Nemuri holds on for longer than necessary, offering a smile of her own. Less than twenty minutes left now, but everything feels slower when Fukukado’s looking at her like that. Nemuri takes a moment to look back, eyes roving over hair that glows like the trail of a comet under the lights of the arena.
“Midnight has Ms. Joke in a death grip! Is this the end?”
“Are you kidding me--”
“Take it out on our fellow students. Make them cry,” Fukukado says solemnly, clapping a hand on her shoulder, and oh, Nemuri does. She makes it out with her Provisional License, instructions to see Recovery Girl immediately, and, hopefully, a new ally.
“It’s so cool how our powers are similar,” Fukukado says as they head to their respective buses, held up by Nemuri’s arm around her waist. She had twisted her ankle after slipping in the remains of someone’s Melting Quirk and Nemuri, while sympathetic, also knows a good opportunity when she sees one. “We’re like soulmates! You have to marry me now.”
“Sure thing, babe.” Nemuri smirks. “Sounds like a plan.”
Fukukado stumbles slightly (but Nemuri won’t let her fall) and immediately blames it on the License Exam, the hero industry at large, and gravity, in that order. Nemuri doesn’t interrupt, cataloging the different notes Fukukado’s voice hits, listening for that spark she gets when she’s really excited about something. By the time Ketsubutsu’s bus drives away, Nemuri has her phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the new contact name.
---
Their first date is something Emi will never forget. Mostly because it was photographed from several different angles and then broadcast on the news the entire day after. But also for sentimental reasons, of course.
Apparently, Kayama has been flirting with Emi for ages -- “The entire two years I’ve known you. Literally, since day one,” she had said when Emi asked, looking slightly numb -- and receiving nothing but jokes back. In her defense, Emi had thought it was just heroic banter.
(“I introduced you to my parents as my girlfriend,” Kayama had said.
“I thought you meant a friend who was a girl,” Emi had replied, understandably.)
Besides, it wasn’t like the flirting didn’t work. Emi had started crushing on Kayama the minute she heard her laugh -- it was warm and unabashed and unafraid. It took up space. And she had laughed at a joke Emi made, no less. But she had assumed that a girl like Kayama Nemuri, who had a laugh that dared people to join in, would go for someone a little bit smarter, a little more poised than Emi.
So when Emi asked Kayama out, it was mostly an accident. Kayama had Emi pinned to the mat during their weekly spar and she was running out of oxygen -- for multiple reasons -- so the events of the afternoon are a little hazy. But according to Kayama, Emi had compared her to the soft glow of moonlight on the surface of the ocean and asked for her hand in marriage, or at least to hold her own hand for a while.
Which is how they end up in a coffee shop in their civilian clothes during their lunch break, completely silent, glancing away from each other every time their eyes meet.
Emi clears her throat. “Nice weather we’re having.”
“Oh my god,” Kayama mutters, and they both burst out laughing. Emi decides to go for that hand-holding she had requested earlier and presses close to Kayama, enough to feel her shoulders rise with every breath she takes. It’s familiar and safe, something Emi relies on when they fight side-by-side -- inhale, Kayama’s here, exhale, everything’s alright.
“What can I get you two?” the barista asks, smiling at their clasped hands.
“Cinnamon roll,” they answer at the same time. Emi says it with more reverence in her tone, however, because cinnamon rolls are her one weakness -- it’s actually listed on her hero profile and she’s legally obligated to disclose it to employers -- and glance at each other in amusement.
“Wow, same pastry order! Let’s get married!” Emi says cheerfully, then pales. Maybe that’s why Kayama was confused...
She only smiles softly in response. “Second date first, yeah?”
Emi blushes and giggles and makes a general embarrassment of herself, and that’s the picture that ends up in the newspapers -- Emi, red-faced, with her shoulders up to her ears and Kayama standing away from her with her arms crossed, nose turned up but only because she had been reading the menu. The headline says “Venting Over a Venti: Rivals Midnight and Ms. Joke Cross Paths at Local Coffee Shop.”
Kayama is annoyed. It’s a lie, she says, they’re making money off of our time together, but Emi decides it’s funny, how hundreds of people can look at the same picture and think something different about it, and clips it out and hangs it up on her fridge.
---
Nemuri loves Emi, and she plans on telling her that every day for the rest of her life, but sometimes, she wonders how, exactly, anyone could think Emi is her rival.
“What are you doing,” Nemuri says flatly.
Emi looks up at her-- or, tilts her head so she’s looking up, because she’s upside-down, tangled in what looks to be Aizawa’s scarves and dangling from a streetlight suspiciously close to his apartment.
“I had a plan,” Emi says.
“I know you did.”
“It was a good plan. Aizawa was gonna be so scared.”
“Of course he was.”
“But now-”
“You’re stuck,” Nemuri guesses.
“Intentionally stuck!” Emi corrects.
Nemuri sighs, but it’s mostly relief. The frantic text for help she received had sent her heartbeat racing. “I can’t believe the world thinks this is my rival. Doesn’t rivalry imply that we’re equals in some way?”
“Hey!” Emi laughs. “Leave society alone. She can hear you.”
Nemuri frowns at the knot of scarves behind Emi’s back. “How did you get yourself into this, exactly?”
“It’s all a blur,” Emi says seriously, face steadily turning red as blood flows to her cheeks.
“Do you want to get down?” Nemuri asks, a little amused at the way Emi sways with the breeze.
“No, wait, there’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” Emi giggles. “Oh, hold on, coming back around--”
She rotates slowly until the back of her head is facing Nemuri, who does nothing to stop it because Emi is laughing in that way she always does, like anything and everything that happens to her is the funniest thing ever. She looks ethereal like this, all the light in the street drawn to her and reflected back.
When she finally spins back around, it’s to Nemuri’s smile, warm and open. Emi’s laugh has a way of doing that to her.
“Okay, I’m ready. Kiss please?” Emi says, puckering her lips exaggeratedly.
“Upside-down kiss? We could do this at home,” Nemuri laughs.
“We could also do it right now,” Emi suggests, making increasingly ridiculous faces. “And then at home later. Quickly, before I spin around again!”
Nemuri sighs again, but just for show. This isn’t something that she’ll ever stop wanting. She cups Emi’s face gently, laughing a little at how she has to hold her still, and presses their lips together. The angle’s a bit different, but she’s quick on her feet.
“I’m swooning,” Emi sighs when they pull apart.
“Part of my quirk,” Nemuri grins against her lips.
Emi clears her throat and leans away slightly. “Really, though, I’m about to pass out, babe, so can you get me down-- wait not yet I’m not ready--”
Nemuri snaps the last of the scarves holding Emi up and swoops her into her arms. It’s all very heroic, the terrified squawking included.
---
Nemuri learned early on that the media was one of the most important weapons in a heroine’s arsenal. She would watch the news on the weekends with her parents, criss-cross on the living room carpet waiting for Nana and her smile to make an appearance. For a while, she was naive enough to believe that Nana was just so happy she could beam through a dislocated shoulder, a broken leg, cuts across her skin. But Nemuri grew up in a world plagued by villains, and she’s a fast learner. So by the time she decided she wanted to be a hero like Nana, she had also outlined the media strategy to match the cape. She spent hours scouring the web for interviews, analyzing every answer Nana gave, noting which questions she wriggled out of by sending a wink the interviewer’s way.
Nana also might have been her first crush, but that just made studying easier.
But Emi’s different. Less smoldering flame, more firecracker. Like Nemuri, she had planned to be a hero her whole life, but unlike Nemuri, her plan only had two steps. Get into hero courses, then get out on the streets. Her charm is effortless where Nemuri puts in work, never letting her guard down around a camera. Ms. Joke is known for her ability to get laughs, especially at the expense of villains.
This is probably why, Nemuri thinks wryly as she cranks up the volume on her TV, her interviews go viral so often.
“I love kids,” Emi is gushing to the interviewer, one of the most sought-after in the country. Emi was invited onto the show to talk about her spike in popularity and her new role as a teacher, which is probably why she has the most obnoxious pair of glasses on. She likes to wear something increasingly ridiculous to every appearance, daring the interviewer to react or break character. In terms of strategy, Nemuri wishes she had thought of it herself.
“I bet kids love you back,” the interviewer says, managing to maintain eye contact even as Emi squints at him and hefts her glasses -- more like binoculars, if she’s being honest -- up the bridge of her nose. He’s a professional, Nemuri admits grudgingly.
“Like they love a good clown,” Emi says smoothly. The interviewer glances at his notes to hide his laugh, and Nemuri couldn’t be more proud.
“Now, there’s something I can’t not ask you,” the interviewer continues, and Nemuri pauses in texting Aizawa to glance at the TV. He leans towards Emi conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “What are your thoughts on pro-hero Midnight?” Nemuri’s grip tightens around the remote until it creaks.
“Midnight is great!” Emi enthuses. “She’s an amazing hero.”
“I’ve heard that you two don’t get along,” the interviewer says slyly. “You’re both so close in the ranks, there’s bound to be some competition.”
Emi blinks, the camera focusing on her reaction. At this point, Nemuri would have changed the subject, maybe sent a coy glance to the audience at home, but Emi likes to answer questions head-on. “Well, we both keep moving up...”
“Wasn’t your first encounter a fight?” the interviewer presses.
“I guess it was a structured fight. But then we teamed up!”
“And there’s the issue of her stealing your credit--”
“Stealing’s a harsh word,” Emi interrupts, frowning now, something she does so rarely. “Rankings are decided by a third party. I’m sure they’ll recognize that we should split our credit when we team up.” They won’t. But Nemuri’s been told she’s a little more cynical than her girlfriend.
“So there’s nothing you have to say about Midnight? No message you’d like to send? Now’s the time,” the interviewer finishes.
“She’s my best friend,” Emi says, slightly confused at the turn the interview’s taken. “My partner. That’s all.” It sounds so honest Nemuri thinks no one can misinterpret that. And it’s true, but they’re so much more than friends now, close on a level where Nemuri knows what Emi’s next move in a fight will be before she makes it.
The interviewer sends a knowing smile to the camera. “Sure, sure. I know a touchy subject when I hear it, so moving on-”
Nemuri misses the rest of the question because she leaves her apartment to avoid putting a hole in the TV.
She’s pissed. By the time she’s made it to a park, she has her phone in her hand, Twitter open and just waiting for her to send her thoughts directly to that interviewer, concerned messages from Aizawa and Yamada unread. She and Emi had agreed not to share their relationship status yet, and Emi was cornered for it.
But Midnight can’t be angry. She’s proud, doesn’t take an insult lying down, but she doesn’t snap. Midnight keeps her cool, even when Nemuri is close to breaking something. Nemuri had seen it in Nana’s eyes, sometimes, a slight annoyance that she has to answer a question about balancing fashion and functionality when there were probably people who needed her help just blocks away. But the smile came first.
So Nemuri grits her teeth for the cameras the next day and ignores the headlines lining her path to Emi’s agency.
---
Emi feels a bit like an alien sometimes. For fun, she used to imagine how others must have seen her arrival onto the hero scene -- floating down on a spaceship, all flashing lights and loud noises and no care for where she lands. It’s not a very heroic image, and dating Nemuri has helped Emi realize that being a pro-heroine is all about that.
Top 50 hero Midnight is different from the Nemuri that comes home to her every night, in the way that she speaks, smiles, walks down the sidewalk. Midnight is confident and sexy and powerful; Nemuri wears mismatched slippers when she’s home because she thinks one of her feet gets colder than the other.
Emi has always been Emi. She tells people her life story while she’s rescuing them to get them to laugh. Her image is just herself.
She’s starting to think, maybe, she’s been taken advantage of because of it.
Nemuri finds her pacing in their living room after school lets out. They decorated their apartment together, which is why the couch has a multi-colored patchwork pattern and the coffee table is cold, angular steel. Emi can’t see herself calling anywhere else home.
“What’s wrong?” Nemuri asks immediately. “You’re doing the walk. Something happened.”
The walk refers to Emi stomping to one end of their living room rug, throwing her hands up wordlessly at the wall, and then repeating it on the other side.
“You know how we joke about starting our own agency together?” Emi says finally, collapsing onto their couch.
“You joke. I’m flirting when I say it. But go on,” Nemuri says.
“I think we should do it,” Emi says in a rush. “For my students. The girls, I didn’t know they thought this, but they’ve been competing only with each other because they aren’t expected to do anything else. They don’t challenge the boys if they don’t have to, just the other girls! One of my students came to my office hours asking how to make it to the top three of the class, and I asked why not number one, and she was surprised. She didn’t think there was space for her at the top.”
Emi sags a little at the end of her hurried explanation, hands twisting in her lap. Nemuri takes one and settles on the couch next to her.
“I’ve noticed it too,” Nemuri says softly, pushing a hand through her hair. “It’s not just the girls competing with each other, it’s teachers partnering them up like that.”
“I think...I contributed to that,” Emi says, frowning. “By not caring when people said we were rivals.”
“It’s not us,” Nemuri says sharply. “We’ve always denied it. People believe what they want to believe.” Her voice softens at Emi’s wide-eyed expression. “But we can change the story, now.”
Emi grins at her in relief and promptly pulls her laptop out.
“I took the liberty of compiling a list of available office spaces, ranked by their proximity to Aizawa,” she says seriously.
“Well, that’s easy then,” Nemuri says. “Let’s check out the first one tomorrow.”
Emi surges up to hug Nemuri and Nemuri wraps an arm around her waist, holding tight.
“I know a couple of students who could use an internship,” Nemuri says into her hair. “Yaoyorozu and Kendou were-- displeased with their first one.”
“Yay! Unpaid labor,” Emi cheers, then wipes her brow dramatically. “Jeez! That felt like a marriage proposal.” Nemuri laughs, but it’s more muted than usual. (Emi can tell the exact difference in every single one of her laughs. This one is definitely new, but she loves it already.) “Everything good, babe?”
“Yeah, just thinking,” Nemuri says softly, brushing a strand of Emi’s hair behind her ear. “Whose name should go first on the sign?”
Emi launches into a speech about branding and the benefits of things being in alphabetical order and completely misses the way Nemuri can’t take her eyes off her.
---
“Did it hurt?” Nemuri asks.
“Did what hurt?” Emi responds brightly, marking her spot in her book and twisting around on Nemuri’s stomach so she can make eye contact with her.
“When you fell from heaven,” Nemuri finishes, grinning as she hangs her head over Emi’s.
Emi blinks, thinks about her answer for a moment. “No, you caught me, remember?”
Nemuri stops a few centimeters above her, letting out a quiet “oh,” so Emi pushes up the rest of the way.
---
Emi spent the weeks after deciding to open a joint agency (she’s hoping to call it the Comedy Club, and keeps dropping hints during dinner) doing nothing but shopping. For a building, and for a ring. Nemuri had found the building easily enough -- her taste is impeccable, it’s like a secondary quirk -- and Emi found a silver band with a black stone nestled inside whose shine reminds her of Nemuri’s hair. After that, there’s nothing left but to wait for the most sappy, romantic opportunity possible, because Nemuri expects and deserves nothing less.
It happens at their respective classes’ License Exam, and Aizawa is there to witness the whole thing. Emi’s wildest dreams couldn’t match this.
They’re watching from the stands as their students pummel each other. Emi’s idea to place bets has been shot down twice already, but she has another plan to liven things up.
“You are such a good teacher, babe,” Emi starts.
“Not while I’m here,” Aizawa says immediately, sufficiently distracting her.
Emi peers around Nemuri’s shoulder. “How do you know I wasn’t talking to you?”
“My answer is the same.”
“Aizawa, shush. Keep complimenting me, sweetie,” Nemuri says.
Emi waits a moment before speaking again, taking in the way Nemuri’s hair shines like...skyscrapers and the night sky and the finest silk -- the same way her voice sounds! It’s amazing, how perfect one person can be.
“Okay,” she says easily, reaching into her back pocket, and something in her tone has Nemuri stiffening and Aizawa subtly pulling his phone out. “You are the bravest, strongest woman I know. You’re brilliant, kind, talented, really tall, so pretty, you laugh at my jokes, you have nice-smelling hair--”
“Oh my god, you can’t do this, I was going to propose!” Nemuri hisses, rising from her seat. “Put-- put that away!”
“--like the soft glow of moonlight on the surface of the ocean,” Emi continues, raising her voice. “It was true then, and it’s true now.”
Nemuri bursts into watery tears. Emi is the luckiest woman in the world.
“Wow. I just really, really love you,” Emi sighs dreamily, and offers her the ring with a flourish. “Let’s get married!”
“I love you too, dammit,” Nemuri whispers, tugging her glasses off and wiping them with shaking hands. Emi stills both of them.
“I figured it was time for me to get serious,” she says quietly. Nemuri looks like she can't take a deep enough breath to respond, but Emi is patient.
“Yes,” she says, finally, and is promptly tackled into a hug.
“Please don’t invite me to the wedding,” Aizawa says, eyeing them disdainfully. “I’ll feel bad saying no.”
“But the best man has to be there!” Emi says, and maneuvers her phone out of her pocket to capture Aizawa’s stunned expression.
“We’ll make him wear a suit. And shave,” Nemuri says tearfully.
“What kind of flowers should we have? Can we-- can we invite our students? Can I wear a suit, too?” Emi asks excitedly, clutching Nemuri’s hands. They’re still crumpled on the ground but her legs aren’t responding, so that’s where they’re going to have this conversation.
“Anything you want,” Nemuri promises.
Emi throws herself into her arms again, and Nemuri catches her, laughing and crying all at once. It’s a new sound to Emi, and she gets to have that for the rest of her life -- a thousand laughs shared between them, each one different from the last.
Nemuri’s shoulders shift under her forehead and Emi smiles. Inhale, Kayama’s here. Exhale, everything’s alright.