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It was quite the task, a terrifyingly gargantuan responsibility. It was almost agonizing really, and Momo found herself nearly shutting her eyes out of anticipation.
From her perch on top of the armrest of the couch, Momo rested with her chin against her stiffened fingers, eyeing the boy that sat a mere few feet away. In Todoroki’s steady grasp was a cannister suffocating in oranges and reds that rivaled the burst of anger that often emerged from Bakugou’s explosive hands. There was something deep-voiced about it, something that produced the very adrenaline she would feel while tunneling her fists into swollen punching bags, and yet Momo couldn’t help but question its power.
“Yaoyorozu.” Todoroki had spoken, but his gaze was still drilling ample amounts of determination into the object in his hand, hardly leaving any space for his focus to quietly pack up and disappear. The next few seconds passed in heavy silence, the kind that seemed to drape the world in dread prior to a particularly aggressive thunderstorm. Momo waited despite it all, risking a single glance at the ghostly side of his profile. His mouth was open just a bit, enough for the girl to notice the blushing pink flesh of his tongue. “Do you think,” he started again, somehow forgetting to blink the entire time, “this will work?”
At this point, Momo readjusted herself, rising with the release of her breath. Of course, her shoulder had to brush up against his own broad one, but she managed to stuff her anxious sentiments into her clenched fists. “Um,” she said, guiding her loose hair behind her ear. “Did Midoriya give you instructions?”
At this, the spell that was trapping Todoroki had been broken. He shifted his head, sharp heterochromatic eyes widening in a mixture of alarm and exasperation. “No, he didn’t.” Momo could almost envision the gongs bouncing off the walls in his head, webs of fissures sinking into his skull.
“Oh.”
There was a method in which Momo usually approached situations she had no initial solution to. Often, it would begin with some deliberation on whether immediate action was required or not, and from there, she would attempt to devise an acceptable plan. Time didn’t seem to be an issue in the moment, so Momo opted to take the next best course of action. “Todoroki-san, perhaps we should examine the container?”
Todoroki hardly flinched when Momo moved her face toward the cannister, although the girl could feel multiple crimson fires snapping to life across her cheeks when he brought it closer to her face. He was still painfully unaware when Momo bowed her head profusely at touching his fingers unintentionally upon grabbing it from him.
Why am I like this? Why, indeed, had she been reacting to her fellow recommended student as if he had been ceaselessly encasing her in a field of tickle-inducing roses? It wasn’t an unpleasant situation, of course, but it was most unwelcome, especially when Todoroki was in such a dire state.
“Yaoyorozu?” When had his lips gotten so close to her ears? She figured it had been exactly when Momo had neglected to form a respectful distance between them, and somewhere within the churning sands in her mind, a smaller version of herself shook her head. You idiot! Now you’re stuck like this!
It would be undeniably rude to move now. So, there Momo remained, scrutinizing the fine print of the cannister with eyes that seemed to forget their function, while her left ear bristled in strange comfort at the soft breeze from Todoroki’s steady breaths.
“Yaoyorozu, is it safe?” Todoroki was looking at her, she was aware. His eyes weren’t fixated on the mysterious object in her hands, but her.
She simply could not handle this.
“O-of course, Todoroki-san!” Momo said, wincing as if she had been mercilessly stabbed at the chopped output of her words. “I haven’t been killed, have I?” At the slight formation of a frown on Todoroki’s face, Momo bit her lip, feigning another skim of the information written on the labels. “I guess that doesn’t account for the danger of whatever’s inside it. Perhaps we should open it, then.”
“Uh, are you sure?” Todoroki asked, eyebrows knitting together much like the darker and lighter components of his hair. “Midoriya said too much of whatever’s inside could actually kill.”
“Well, I assume he meant if we ingest it,” Momo offered, before beginning to twist the cap.
Never had Momo imagined Todoroki placing his own hand over hers, let alone in the Heights Alliance common area of all places. Stunned into a state of verbal incapacity, Momo blinked rapidly at the boy’s hardened expression. Somehow, in the rapid-fire frenzy of her heart, she imagined vicious ropes of steam to coil out from his parted mouth. “I don’t think we should open it.”
“Then, sh-should we call Midoriya?”
“No.” He leaned back slightly, fingers curling against her skin. “It’s my responsibility to him. I don’t want to pester him.”
“Todoroki-san, we have to carry through with something,” Momo spoke. Through the hectic quarreling between her heart and her thoughts, the girl was beginning to unravel at the fact they had been wrestling with this predicament for nearly half an hour now. With a deep breath, she resumed twisting the cap. “I’m going to open it.”
“Don’t,” Todoroki said, voice filing into a worrisome point. He squeezed her fingers just enough to prevent her from moving without causing her harm. “What if it happens?”
“What if what happens?”
“What if you ingest it?”
Imaginary fingers dug into her stomach, unleashing restless sparks that bounced with endless energy. “I won’t, Todoroki-san. I’ll be very careful.” She paused, pursing her lips briefly before tugging at an object that emerged from the prickled flesh of her arm. Carefully fitting the mask to her face, Momo gave Todoroki a curt nod. “See? I can make you one, too, if you’d like.”
“No,” Todoroki said, covering the emerging sparks on her arm with his free hand. “We aren’t opening it.” Immediately after, he pulled on the cannister, aiming to move it away from her.
Beneath the mask, Momo pressed her lips together once more, pulling it back. “Todoroki-san, please.”
Todoroki pulled. “Yaoyorozu, it’s too dangerous.”
Momo pulled back. “How dangerous could it be if Midoriya does it often?’
Todoroki let out a laugh, much to Momo’s surprise. “He breaks his bones like how other people get the flu.”
The sound was so soft, a whispered burst of ice that erupted into mist against Momo’s ears. It was enough to cause her to contemplate relinquishing the cannister, until she inhaled as much as she could and yanked on the cannister, Todoroki’s fingers still holding hers in place.
At that very moment, Bakugou emerged from an opening near the kitchen, and the shock upon seeing his permanently disgruntled face caused both Momo and Todoroki to let go of the cannister.
And, of course, it was open.
“The hell?” Bakugou called out, as hundreds of microscopic flakes fluttered like snow against the recommended students and the couch they had been strategizing on. Enough of it had burst against Momo’s face, forcing her to shut her eyes out of fear for her eyes remaining clear. Footsteps burdened with agitation neared them, and Momo jumped in blind panic upon Bakugou’s sharp cackle. “You haven’t even done it, yet?”
“We were getting there,” Todoroki said, lighthearted tone disappearing instantly. Momo wondered at the extent to which his body had been covered with the flakes.
“You can't even do something so mundane?” More cackling, and Momo could feel the way Todoroki’s muscles tensed beside her.
“I’ve never had a pet before,” Momo offered quietly.
“Neither have I,” the boy beside her added in his stony voice.
“It’s a fish.” He had completely transitioned into full-fledged laughter in its most raw form.
Todoroki didn’t seem to pay him any mind, instead opting to send Momo’s heart back into its marathon run by resting his palms against her face. “Are you okay?” he asked her, hushed to avoid further provoking from the explosive boy a few paces beyond them.
Momo could only dip her head a few times before he stopped her, his thumbs gliding over her covered eyes to remove the mess.
Oh, how thankful was she for the mask she had made, for how well it concealed the flushed garden that had burst from her cheeks.