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1. Iida
It wasn’t terribly difficult to guess where Iida would be. He probably thought he was being reasonably subtle with his regular escapades to the woods across campus, but it was an open secret among Class 1A. Usually, Iida used the running tracks to train, but sometimes, he ventured into the forest. Momo assumed it was to train himself to be more adaptable, and figure out how to run on rough terrain. She also assumed that a more difficult run was exactly what he wanted right now.
She was right. Minutes after arriving, she found his blazer haphazardly thrown across a tree trunk. So she sat and waited.
Only ten minutes later, Iida came into view, dripping with sweat and flexing his hands, steam rising from his engines. He didn’t react when he saw her, but neither did he grab his blazer and leave. Instead, he sat next to her, breathing heavily.
“I do apologize for my outburst,” he said at long last, looking straight at his knees. “It was exceedingly immature of me. I will apologize to Tsuyu as soon as the opportunity arises.”
One of his fingers was digging into the ground. Momo’s own fingers were tapping onto her legs. She’d never liked the texture of dirt much, but could see how it might appeal to someone else.
“I didn’t come to ask for an apology,” she said. “I was just wondering what the issue was. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that Tsuyu was just teasing.”
Iida let out a deep sigh. “Of course I’m aware of that,” he said. “I know she meant no harm by it. Nobody ever does. But that doesn’t stop -”
He paused, digging a root out of the ground. “People compare me to robots and computers. Often. It leads them to disregard my feelings and emotions, assuming I think in binary code and rules more than anything else. Even Tensei -” his whole hand dug into the earth. “Even Tensei and my parents have a tendency to do it, albeit unintentionally. It’s always unintentionally. Nobody genuinely thinks I’m a piece of technology, obviously. But that doesn’t stop them from treating me as such, at times. Being surprised that I have an emotional reaction to events that would draw such a reaction from anyone else, or criticizing me when I don’t have an ‘appropriate’ response to the situation at hand. Just because I may not act or react like you expect me to does not mean that I’m an emotionless machine, and people acting otherwise is tiresome, and insulting, and -”
He tore a piece of bark from the tree. “Awful. I do not like being called a robot, or compared to one.”
“Oh.” Momo rubbed her arms. She had never been too good with emotions, but she owed it to Iida to try. “That is completely understandable. You have a right to be angry. But I do feel like you should have just told us this earlier, so that an outburst could have been avoided.”
He looked away. “I did not want to cause a scene.”
“You caused one now,” she pointed out. His jaw clenched. Quickly, she clarified: “I’m not mad, and I don’t think Aizawa will be either. But please, in the future, just tell us when we’re making you uncomfortable. Both to avoid a similar incident, and, well -” She tugged at her hair. “Sorry if this is too presumptuous of me, but I believe we’re friends. At least, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Ah,” Iida said. He dragged his hand out of the earth, picking the dirt out from under his nails. “I do believe we’re friends, as well. You’re right, of course. In the future, I will attempt to make my boundaries clearer.”
“Good.” She hesitated. “Do we hug, now?”
Iida paused his movements. “I would prefer not to, if you don’t mind. No offense intended, but I’m not so close to you that I would feel comfortable having you touch me.”
Momo let out a sigh of relief. “No offense taken. I don’t like being touched at all. I was just thinking about what I’ve seen Tsuyu and Uraraka do.”
“They do hug quite a lot, don’t they?”
“They do,” Momo confirmed. She smiled. “Tsuyu will be sorry too. She didn’t mean to hurt you. Let her apologize to you soon.”
Iida nodded. “I will. I wish to resolve this incident as quickly as possible.”
“Good.” There was a pause. “Do you want to stay here for a while? We still have a little time before the next class starts.”
Iida leaned back against the tree and smiled. “I’d like that, yes.”
2. Uraraka
When Momo had left five minutes ago, Uraraka had been staring at her books. Now, she was lying on top of them, puffing up her cheeks and making a plop sound with her mouth in tandem with her popping her water bottle cap.
“Uhm, Uraraka?”
Uraraka shot up, frantically straightening out her books. “Yaomomo, hey, hi, glad to see you! Again! Since I saw you five seconds ago!”
There was a bit of drool clinging to the side of her mouth, but Momo decided not to mention that. Instead, she pulled out a chair across from her. “Can’t concentrate?”
Uraraka slammed her head down on her books again, earning her an annoyed glance from one of the other students in the far corner. “It’s useless,” she moaned. “It’s been so long since I haven’t had my meds. I’m dying. Lay my corpse to rest.”
Momo blinked. “Meds?”
“I’ve got ADHD,” Uraraka said. Her hands drifted towards the bottle cap again. “Usually I take medication, but -”
Abruptly, she cut off, her face growing red. “Anyway,” she continued, much louder now. “I’m having some trouble concentrating, is what I’m getting at.”
That would make sense. Trouble focusing was, after all, one of the defining characteristics of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Momo didn’t know too much about it - knew more about the medication, in all honesty, even if she wasn’t officially allowed to create it - but what little knowledge she had immediately surfaced. Symptoms included impulsivity, trouble concentrating, an of course, hyperactivity.
“Is that why you’re playing with that?” she asked, pointing to Uraraka’s hand. Uraraka looked down on the bottle, popping the cap back on. “To get your excess energy out?”
Uraraka blinked. “Excess energy? What do you - oh!” she shook her head. “No, no, I have inattentive type, the H isn’t really a thing for me. I’m stimming.”
“Stimming?”
“Yeah! It’s like,” she waved the bottle. “I’m understimulated, which means that my brain isn’t having enough stuff to do, basically. So it’s searching for stuff to do, while also not really wanting to put in effort. So, bottle cap popping. It gets a nice pop which my brain finds satisfying, and gives my hands something to do. It makes me less bored, which makes it a little easier to concentrate.” Uraraka glared at the books in front of her. “Or it does, usually.”
All of this was new information to her. She ought to do research on ADHD. “I see. Thank you for telling me.”
“No problem!” Uraraka flashed her a quick smile, before grimacing again. “Let’s just try to get through the homework.”
Momo couldn’t be sure, but she had the distinct impression that Uraraka didn’t absolve a single word of text for the rest of the afternoon.
Later that week, an anonymous donor hid a box with stim toys in Uraraka’s room. Research had indicated that providing a variety of items to stim with would be best (the advice had been intended for parents, but, well, she’d had to make do with what she got), so Momo had bought everything from chewelry to tangles and marble mazes, and hoped something could help her.
Uraraka tried to give the box back the very next day.
“I appreciate the gesture,” she said, feet shuffling. “But I really can’t accept this.”
Momo let her eyes grow wide. “What do you mean?” she asked, putting a hand to her cheek. “Those aren’t mine.”
Lying wasn’t something Momo liked to it, and she wasn’t very good at it, either. Even now, she didn’t know whether her tone of voice was ‘acceptably’ surprised - what even was acceptably surprised, anyway? or acceptably anything? she’d never managed to figure that out - and judging from Uraraka’s risen eyebrow, she’d gotten it wrong. She steeled herself to double down on the lie, but before she could say anything, Uraraka sighed deeply.
“You’re not going to admit to it, are you?”
“Admit to what?” Momo said, cocking her head for good measure.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Uraraka’s gaze lingered on the box for a good few seconds, before she looked up again at Momo. Her hands clasped it tightly, almost tight enough that her knuckles were white.
“You didn’t need to do this,” she said. “But thanks. And I’ll repay you when I can.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re welcome. And don’t worry about it.”
It hadn’t been a chore. In fact, the research had been quite fascinating, and strangely... illuminating? It was difficult to define. ADHD didn’t quite click with her, she couldn’t fully understand it - but.
But there had been paragraphs, experiences, that seemed to have been taken straight out of her as of yet unwritten autobiography.
Further research may be required.
3. Hagakure
There was a knock far past curfew.
Momo, just putting on her pajamas, paused.
Another knock.
Another.
“Momo?” Hagakure’s voice called softly through the door. “Can I come in? I know it’s late, but it’s important.”
Quickly, Momo pulled her shirt over her head, and hurried to the door.
And, yes, of course Hagakure was standing there, her pajamas a fluffy, pink fleece, with cute white bows printed all over it. Momo was bad at reading people on the best of days, and usually, Hagakure was actually easier to understand than most. Loud body language - no doubt compensating for her invisibility - made her emotions clear and obvious, something that Momo really, deeply appreciated, no matter how tiring it could sometimes become.
But there was something... off, now. It took a few seconds of staring before she figured out what it was.
There were no gestures. Hagakure stood in the doorway, holding her arms stiffly to her side, her back ramrod straight. The only thing that betrayed motion was ruffling fabric of the pajama pants, likely being manipulated by her fingers.
“Can I come in?” she asked, and her voice sounded - not normal. Something. Momo couldn’t quite identify it. “I don’t - I can’t really explain it, I just -” the fabric stilled along with her voice. “Momo,” she said, and now her voice was definitely shaking. “Is there someone behind you?”
Momo turned on her heels, shifting into a fighting stance, already rolling up her sleeves, but there was nobody. Not even a shadow hid in the corners.
“Are you sure you saw somebody?” she asked, not yet turning back to Hagakure.
“There’s nobody?”
“Not as far as I can see,” Momo confirmed.
Hagakure’s breath hitched. “That’s - good, good, that’s very good.”
Finally, Momo turned back. Hagakure hadn’t moved.
“Can I come in?” she asked again. “I just can’t - don’t want to be alone right now.”
There was a brief moment where Momo went over the rules, specifically the ones that forbade sleeping in each other’s rooms, and then she stepped aside. “Of course,” she said, her smile as reassuring as she could manage. “Stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” Hagakure rushed out, quickly darting inside, then stilled in the middle of the room.
“Do you need anything?” Momo asked, rubbing the hem of her shirt. “I have documentaries we can watch. That’s what I like to do when I’m anxious.”
“Documentaries - yeah, that’s good, thank you.” Hagakure was still talking in that stilted way, but her shoulders slumped a bit. “And - and I know this is going to sound weird, I’m sorry - can I like. Touch you?”
Momo blinked, grabbing her shirt tighter. “What?”
“Not in a creepy way!” Hagakure rushed to clarify. “Just - holding your hand, or leaning against you a bit. Something grounding.”
Grounding. Right. Yes, that would be a good idea. Momo didn’t quite understand what was going on, but it was fairly clear Hagakure might be experiencing hallucinations right now. She knew little to nothing on how to handle those, but having a tether to reality seemed like it would be helpful.
Unfortunately, the thought of having anyone touch her made her skin crawl. Still, she could bear it. She bore her parents’ hugs as well, after all, even if they made her want to claw out of her skin.
But, well. She’d been trying to respect her own boundaries more, especially after her recent research. If she was truly autistic - and she was beginning to be more and more certain that was the case - than it would be good to learn her limits, and not push beyond them. It might alleviate her chronic exhaustion.
“You don’t have to!” Hagakure exclaimed, finally moving her arms again, having them frantically. “I can manage!”
“No it’s just -” she took a deep breath. “I don’t like being touched. Is it okay if I put some gloves on first, or something?”
Hagakure was quiet for a second, perhaps just staring at her. “Gloves should be fine,” she finally said. Then, after another short pause: “Thank you.”
At this, Momo smiled softly. “You’re more than welcome. I’m glad you trusted me enough to help.”
Then, she gestured at the bed. “Get in, I’ll put on the documentary. I have more blankets in the closet, if you want.”
Hagakure didn’t speak much for the remainder of the night, clinging to Momo’s hand like a lifeline, occasionally turning up the volume. But eventually, she drifted off, and in the morning, she slept straight through the alarm.
Momo called them both in sick. Pushing themselves would do no good, not for today, at least.
4. Mina
There was a rotating chore schedule in the dorms, to ensure nobody took on more work than the others. After it had become clear how little practical experience Momo had in, well, any chores, she’d gotten paired up with the people most experienced and best suited to teaching her. Today was Tuesday, so she was cooking with Mina and Uraraka.
Or, she was supposed to be, anyway.
Barely ten minutes into meal preparation, Mina abruptly put her knife down. “I can’t do this today,” she announced. “I’m going to my room.”
And without waiting for a reply, she did exactly that, turning on her heel and marching out of the kitchen. Momo made to follow her, only to be blocked by Uraraka.
“Just let her,” she said, watching the doorway Mina had rushed out off with a frown. “I think something’s very wrong with her.”
As far as Momo had been able to tell, there hadn’t been anything off about Mina. She’d been in a bit of a bad mood, maybe, but then again, she didn’t like doing chores.
But Uraraka was right, this was definitely strange. If Mina wanted to weasel out of her chores, she’d simply try hiding, or trading days with the others. And Uraraka wasn’t the type to let people slack off, anyway, not if she was the one picking up their work. She was much more emotionally intelligent than Momo, too.
Momo turned her attention back to the counter and picked up the knife Mina had abandoned. “I hope she’s okay,” she muttered, as she started cutting up the carrots. Uraraka nodded, chewing her lip.
Mina didn’t come back when dinner was served either. Kirishima asked after her, and Momo let Uraraka explain the situation to him. He seemed worried, but was quickly distracted by some of Kaminari’s antics.
The food was good and the dinner cozy, as usual, but still, Mina’s absence was like an elephant in the room everyone seemed to be ignoring. When they finally finished, she handed the dishes to Jirou, and took a clean one out of the cupboard, cleaning out the pans for one last meal.
“For Mina,” she explained, once she noticed Jirou was confused.
Whens he first knocked on Mina’s door, nobody answered. After a few seconds, she knocked again. It wasn’t until the third knock that she heard a loud “Come in!”
Mina’s room was entirely dark, the blinds pulled closed as tightly as possible, and Momo had to be careful not to trip as she stepped into the room. Mina herself was curled up on the bed, her head barely peaking out of an expertly wrapped blanket burrito.
“What is it?” Mina asked. The smile on her face was so painfully forced Momo had to suppress a wince.
Momo set the plate onto her bed. “I brought you dinner.”
Mina peeked up a bit. Quickly, she unearthed her arms from out of the blankets, and greedily began eating. “Thanks, Yaomomo,” she said through bites. “I was starving.”
“Why didn’t you come to dinner?” she asked. Then her brain caught up to her, and she hurried to clarify “You don’t have to say, of course! I’m just hoping you’re okay.”
“I’m not, really,” Mina said cheerfully. “The intrusive thoughts are really bad tonight. Sorry for ducking out of the chores. Didn’t seem like a good idea to be handling knives.”
Intrusive thoughts: uncontrollable disturbing thoughts, often of a violent and/or sexual nature. Momo recalled some examples she’d read through (stabbing yourself, killing others, raping others) and, yes, working with knives while those were swirling through your head would be extremely unpleasant, at best.
“You did good,” Momo said. “Don’t worry about it, and let us know if it happens again.”
Mina blinked. “You know what intrusive thoughts are?”
“I’ve been doing some research on mental health issues lately,” Momo explained. Mina’s shoulders relaxed, her smile slipping from her face.
“Glad I don’t have to explain it.” This time, her voice sounded less strained than when she’d been trying to fake cheer. “And I will.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“I’d prefer not to be around people right now,” Mina answered, setting down her chopsticks. Somehow, she’d inhaled her whole plate in barely five minutes. “Thanks for asking, though.”
Momo picked up the plate. “Anytime. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
Mina gave her a little wave, then quickly put her arms back into the blanket burrito. Momo gave a little wave back as she stepped out of the room.
5. Todoroki
It wasn’t until Todoroki buried his face in his knees that Momo realized he was having a panic attack.
In hindsight, she should’ve probably realized this earlier. They were the last people in the common room, leaning on their suitcases as they waited for their parents to come pick me up, and Todoroki had been more quiet than usual. Stiff, too, sitting ramrod straight, staring at a singular blank spot on the wall.
Now, he was bent over, his hands pressed against his mouth as he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating, and Momo had absolutely no idea what to do. She’d read guides on how to help people through a panic attack, but the theory was always easier than the practical implementation. Still, she had to try.
“Todoroki?” she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. “Breathe with me, alright?”
“Shut up,” Todoroki snapped. His voice came out breathless, muffled through his hands. “Just - be quiet.”
Immediately, she shut up. She hovered around Todoroki nervously, careful not to disturb him as he fought to keep his breathing under control. Her hands rubbed over the fabric of the couch, and she focused on the feeling, trying not to panic herself. She needed to do something, needed to help somehow, but she didn’t know what and didn’t want to hurt Todoroki even more, so she just sat there as he spiraled.
Slowly, Todoroki’s breath evened out, until he managed to press his fingertips together, one by one, in a rhythmic fashion. Finally, he took a deep breath and straightened out.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, not stopping the motion of his hands. “I don’t like it when people talk to me while I’m panicking.”
“It’s alright,” Momo said, awkwardly. “I get it. Do you need something? Water?”
Todoroki bit his lip, hard, then forced out a breath. “Water would be nice. Thanks.”
The sound of the faucet was deafening in the room, and Momo finished filling the glass as quickly as possible. Todorki’s hands shook when he took it, and he held it with two hands as he sipped, careful not to spill it.
“Do you - do you know what triggered it?” Momo asked, gingerly sitting back onto the couch.
Todoroki stared into the glass. His face wasn’t inexpressive, per se, but he was definitely not as loud as some of their classmates, and Momo was - well, autistic. So while she could see that Todoroki was having some kind of emotional response to her question, it was difficult for her to figure out what it was. Maybe it was difficult for him, too.
“I don’t want to go home,” he finally said, his hands tensing around the glass.
Momo processed those words, carefully turning them over, searching for their implications. Endeavor had a fire quirk. There was a giant burn scar on Todoroki’s face.
She pulled a button from the couch and barely even noticed it. Todoroki refused to look at her, throwing back the last of the water. His hands were still shaking. The image didn’t feel real, suddenly, and when she spoke again, it was almost like her lips were moving on their own.
“We’re going to my room,” she said. She stood up and resolutely grabbed Todorki’s luggage before reaching for her own. Todoroki blinked.
“Our parents will be here soon,” he said, as if in protest, but he followed stood up as well.
“Your father’s not taking you anywhere.” Her knuckles were white around the straps of Todoroki’s bag. She walked out of the room so fast that Todoroki had to sprint to catch up with her.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“What kind of hero would I be if I let him?”
She opened the door of her room and threw her luggage on the bed, gesturing at it. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be making some phone calls.”
Todoroki stared at the bed, lost, his shoulders stiff. “He’s the No. 1 hero.”
“And my family controls the support business. No matter how high you are on the rankings, if nobody fixes your costume and sidekicks don’t want to work for you, you’re screwed.”
Well, All Might could have done it alone. But Endeavor was no All Might, and she guessed that he was probably even more bitter about that than he’d seemed.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was screaming that this was a horrible idea. She’d have, what, an hour before Endeavor got here? If this went wrong, she wouldn’t be the one to pay for it. Didn’t Todoroki have siblings? What about his mother? Was she safe? Was she complicit? She needed more information, a plan, needed to not rush in without thinking -
But Todoroki’s shoulders relaxed and a smile spread over his face, relief so obvious that even she could read it, and she decided she didn’t care.
+1. Momo
Her hands shook as she lowered the phone. Deep breaths. Just take a deep breath.
She smashed her phone against the floor and cursed.
“Momo?”
Todoroki’s voice came from the other end of the hallway, and Momo froze.
“Todoroki?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice steady. Her hands were still shaking, and her limbs didn’t feel like her own. There was cotton in her head, a fog clouding her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Do you need something? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
A few minutes. She just needed a few minutes to calm down, that’s all.
Todoroki came closer and eyed the broken phone. Quickly, Momo attempted to shuffle the broken shards of plastic behind her. She felt her face flush.
“It’s fine,” she said, awkwardly. “I can just make a new one.”
Todoroki shrugged. “I wasn’t judging.” He studied her face. “Are you alright?”
She opened her mouth to say ‘yes, I’m fine’, then closed it again, because it was an obvious lie. So she just let the silence lie between them, growing more and more uncomfortable with every passing second.
Todoroki was the one to finally break it. “You want to come to the common room?”
Momo blinked. “What?”
“The common room. Mina and Hagakure are baking cookies.”
Was he uncomfortable too? Was he trying to change the subject? Give her an out?
She took it. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
Her limbs still felt a bit detached, but it was getting better, the fog slowly lifting from her brain. By the time they reached the common room, she felt real again. The weakness hit her like lightning, making her collapse onto the couch. Suddenly, she could barely keep herself from crying. She pressed her hands against her eyes.
“Momo?” She hadn’t even noticed Iida and Uraraka. They looked up from their card game, Uraraka roaming her eyes over her. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m -” her voice came out choked. “Not fine. But it’s nothing; my parents are just being... difficult.”
“How so?” Iida asked, now laying his cards down entirely.
From the kitchen, Mina and Hagakure half turned to face her. “What’d they do?” Mina asked, though she didn’t pause her whisking.
“It’s just,” she paused and groaned instead. Wordlessly, Todoroki handed her a pillow. It was nice and fluffy, and she ran her hands over it, letting it ground her. “I’m trying to convince them to let me get diagnosed, but they absolutely refuse to believe I’m autistic. Keep insisting it’s just the anxiety, that there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with me. It’s -” she pulled at the hairs of the pillows, “Really getting on my nerves.”
“Oof,” Mina said with a sympathetic wince. “Sounds like they’re being real bitches.”
“They’re not -”
“No, they are,” Uraraka said. She stood up. “Just a sec, I’ll be right back.”
Momo didn’t have time to figure out why she suddenly needed to leave the room, as Iida took over the conversation.
“It’s preposterous!” he announced, with large chopping motions. “They cannot withold a diagnosis from you just because of their own misgivings and prejudice!”
“They can,” Todoroki pointed out. “You need parental cooperation to get diagnosed.”
“Do you still need it if they’re dead?” Hagakure asked nonchalantly. “Because I’m not saying I’d totally kill them, I’m just saying it’d be a shame if they got in a terrible accident.”
“Absolutely no murder!” Iida said, pointing to Hagakure. “Momo would have even more trouble getting a diagnosis if she was in foster care!”
“I’m sure we could get UA to adopt her,” Mina offered. “They adopted Eri, after all.”
“That only worked because Eri’s quirk was too dangerous,” Todoroki pointed out.
“Momo’s quirk is dangerous!” Hagakure protested. “If we pretended it went haywire from grief or something -”
“Guys!” Momo interrupted. “I appreciate the support, but I’d prefer not to murder my parents.”
“Not even a little bit?” Hagakure asked.
“Tiny bit?” Mina added, finishing off the last of the dough.
“They’re good parents! They’re just.” She sighed deeply. Iida gave a solemn nod in response.
The door swung open, and Uraraka came walking through, carrying her weighted lap pad and a large, soft blanket.
“Emergency comfort items,” she announced, holding them out to Momo. “And you’re eating at least half of Hagakure and Mina’s cookies.”
“Hey!” Mina yelled. “Leave some for us!”
“You have the other half!” Uraraka yelled back.
“I’ll steal your cookies,” Hagakure threatened, to which Uraraka snorted.
“Try it, see what happens.”
“If you kill each other, I’m eating both of your cookies,” Todoroki said, in a deadpan tone.
“Nobody is killing anyone! We will all share the cookies equally! Except Momo, who can indeed have more, for the purposes of cheering her up!” Iida announced. Mina and Hagakure loudly groaned in protest, and before long, a debate on who deserved the cookies the most started up.
Momo let it all wash over her, a pleasant weight on her lap, a blanket around her shoulder, and a pillow in her arms. She smiled, and let the last of the tension fall from her shoulders.
Even if she couldn’t count on her parents, she could always count on her friends.