Archive of Our Own

“Can You Make a Cliché Bearable?” Challenge: The Coffee Shop Au

Momo’s perfecting a recipe for a new lemon-blackberry soufflé in her bakery’s lavish kitchen when the news reaches her. 

“Hey guys, guess who’s in town!” Mina bursts through the glass doors of the Plus Ultra Café , still decked out in her hero costume. She whips off her goggles with a flick of her wrist, sending small chunks of snow flying to the ground. Her golden gaze narrows in on a disgruntled Momo. “Night–93! Apparently they flew in last night!”

“Seriously?” Sato pops his head out from behind the fridge with a giant slab of cookie dough in his hand. “I never thought they’d be back, really–they’re huge now! Is it for hero work?”

“Hey Yaomomo, ya hear that? Night–93’s gonna be visiting town~kero~.” Asui turns toward Momo. “You know, Kaminari and Jiro . Aren’t you excited~ribbit~?”

“Yeah Yaomomo, aren’t you?” Mina wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

Her co-workers all dissolve into fits of laughter, and Momo tries to refocus on willing her soufflé into existence. Ever since Mina figured out Momo had fallen for Jiro since their second year of UA, she had teased her relentlessly–and somehow, even after five years after their graduation, she was still set on doing so. Not that she was wrong, no, Momo still liked the punk-rock singer. It’s just that the word had managed to spread to almost everyone who was in Class 1-A, with the exception of Kaminari, Jiro, and Sero. Oh, and everyone who knew also joined in on the teasing, too.

“About as much as you all, it has been almost a year since we saw them and the rest of Night–93,” Momo keeps her voice light as she pretends to check over the soufflé’s ingredient list another time, “And Mina, please, brush yourself outside before entering the café. I know snow is inevitable, it’s the middle of winter, but I would prefer if the cold was left outside.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Well I bet Jiro still loves a sweet treat or two. Or three.” Mina grins wickedly at Momo and struts over to a nearby table where Hagakure sits.

“Then I’ll have her sample this soufflé I’m trying out,” Momo says as normally as possible. Her heart flutters uncomfortably. She liked control, and anyone would say she was damn good at taking it and maintaining it. But when it came to the purple-haired girl, a sense of overwhelming unpredictability consumed her. 

Everything was so different now.

Everyone who graduated from Class 1-A became successful pro-heroes for the most part, with the most fortunate exception of Minoru Mineta who was dropped from his hero agency and denied any other positions after he was caught on camera making sexual advances on a young intern. After a year or two, they began to go their separate ways, but wherever they were, they always kept hero-work as a part-time job whether they were saving entire countries like they did when they defeated All For One and the League of Villains, or stopping petty crimes and helping keeping civilians safe. To keep in touch, the students pitched in (mainly Todoroki and Momo) to build the Plus Ultra Café , a place they could all meet up and share a drink; they decided to build it in Sapporo because an expansive criminal organization’s headquarters was suspected to be based in the Hokkaido Prefecture. It was actually a pretty popular place thanks to Sato’s creative culinary experiments and Bakugou’s and Kirishima’s interior designing. 

Meanwhile, Aoyama had left Japan to start his own fashion company in France; Uraraka and Midoriya, the latter of which was the new number one hero, started a huge charity and movement to help those struggling with poverty and the slew of issues that came along with poverty (Momo herself was a main financial benefactor); Shoji started a charity devoted to stopping discrimmination against those with mutation quirks (Momo was again a main financial benefactor of this charity); Koda started his now-world-renowned animal shelter and research company (yes, Momo donated loads to this one as well); and of course: Night–93.

Night–93, a versatile punk-rock band with two hit albums: their debut album released four years ago, Paparazzi , certified platinum, and their newest album released the previous year, Eyeliner & Cigarettes , certified multi-platinum. They also had almost 20 million subscribers on Youtube since they also posted covers and “unofficial” songs that weren’t released in their albums. The band had originally come together to raise money for the various charities the Class-1A alumni started, but became an unexpected hit. 

They were made up of the exact Class-1A students Momo would have expected to form a punk-rock band: Kaminari, guitarist, bassist, and occasional singer (he only did it when he wanted to); Tokoyami, guitarist and background singer; Sero, keyboardist and background singer; Souichi Ryuzaki, one of Sero’s old acquaintances who Momo hadn’t met yet and the band’s drummer; and of course, the unforgettable lead singer and guitarist: Kyoka Jiro, with her lyric-bordering-dramatic mezzo soprano easily switching between her fierce roars and loving ballads, although she could slip into a smooth contralto at times.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Kirishima hops up from his chair, eliciting an unhappy grunt from his boyfriend, Bakugou. He nods towards the door. Everyone in Class-1A with the exception of Aoyama and Mineta came to help out with the criminal organization mission, and it looked like one of the Night-93 members was here.

Speak of the devil–or angel, I guess, Momo thinks. She can feel her heart leap into her throat.

 Jiro walks in the room with her air of clumsy confidence, still looking as beautiful as when Momo last saw her, if not more. She’s still boasting her signature haircut, short, soft purple locks with a hint of blue shining in the bright light of the café. Lavender-colored eyeshadow with a chrome-like streak, clearly the result of some careful foiling, fades into a dark purple that matches her hair, and then merges with her sharp, black eyeliner that extends into a skillfully-drawn cat eye. The makeup compliments her jet black irises that flick around the room as she greets her former classmates, her fellow pro-heroes, and now her fans. Several highlights adorn her naturally-pale skin, invisible and yet making her face glow in the most lovely way. And Her lipstick, a blend of a rich ruby and deep purple like the depths of red wine, accents the gentle curve of her lips against that pale skin, lips that quirk upwards to the right in the form of happy greetings and quick laughs.

Momo watches Jiro sweep across the room from her place back in the kitchen, hand gripping tighter on the forgotten soufflé’s ingredient list. 

A plain black choker with a little silver heart charm that wraps around Jiro’s neck, similar to the one she used to wear in highschool. Momo’s eyes continue downwards and her heart skips a beat or two when she realizes Jiro is wearing her black leather jacket, an old birthday present from her. Now it’s covered in various pins she collected over the years, from her friends to all her trips to her recent global band tours. It hugs her body and an old Nirvana shirt peaks out from behind it. Faded-black or gray jeans also hug her lean legs, with several fashionable rips exposing more of her pale skin. Momo counts the rows of tied laces of Jiro’s black combat boots, one, two, three ... There are a lot , Momo mindlessly comments to herself. Four, five–

“Hey,” Jiro’s husky voice finds its way into Momo’s ears, “I heard this café sells the best treats ‘round town.”

Momo nearly yelps as she jerks her eyes up to meet Jiro’s amused ones, although their extreme height difference still made her look down. Somehow Jiro had made her way over and into the kitchen without her noticing. There she stands, in person, right across the counter. Years of practiced poise and masking her emotions allows Momo to quickly recover from her shock, and she smiles nervously. “Hmm, while I would love to agree with that sentiment, I must admit my opinion would be rather biased. After all, we are fortunate enough to benefit from our expert confectionist Sato-san’s assistance.” 

“You and your fancy language,” Jiro softly giggles, shaking her head. Momo spots two small, silver, heart-shaped earrings dangling from her ears that match with the one on her choker. And above those on the top of her ears, there are two new piercings on each side: a metallic blue ring and a crimson ring. 

It was hot.

“Hey,” Momo pulls a cross eye as she tries to look down at the finger Jiro had placed on her nose, “Boop. Earth to Momo?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s just been so long since I last saw you. Or talked to you in person.” Momo, flustered, stiffly backing away.

“I know, touring took up a lot of my time,” Jiro’s eyes shine guiltily while her ear jacks sway slowly from side to side, “But we’re finished with the Eyeliner & Cigarettes tour and we’re going to stay here for a while before touring again. Get back to hero work, help out with the new criminal organization.”

“That’s wonderful! We could definitely use your help.” Momo can’t restrain the wide grin on her face or the fierce blush that was growing on her cheeks– “a while” could mean at least a few good months if Jiro was set on helping out with hero work. She decides to ignore the giggles and looks from the eating area, hopeful that Jiro will continue being blind to what was going on behind her back. 

Jiro’s studded bracelet bumps into Momo’s arm as she reaches over to point at the paper in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just a new soufflé I was making. I’m trying to make it using my quirk.” Momo gladly accepted the topic change. “I’m just perfecting the baking part of it. I know the ingredients but their molecular structures change once put in the oven, and for me to make a completed soufflé with my quirk I need to know the ingredients’ structures after they’ve been baked.” 

“Can I try it?” Jiro’s head tilts adorably to the side. 

“Really? But I’m not finished yet. And it’s probably going to taste atrocious compared to something else you can get from the café.” Momo shuffles hesitantly.

“Hmm, I don’t think anything you make could be that bad Momo, you’re you.” looking at Jiro is like staring directly at the sun. Momo has to look away before she’s blinded. 

“Alright,” Momo closes her eyes and concentrates on each atom, each molecule in the lemon-blackberry soufflé, down to the desired texture and its toasted top. 

Her creation appeared in a small, baby blue ceramic cup. “Here,” Momo tries to ignore how her hands are slightly shaking as she passes the cup over the counter and to Jiro, “Oh, and here’s a spoon.”

Jiro’s eyes light up as she takes a bite. “It’s...amazing. Like, it’s soooo good,” she practically moans. 

Momo is sure her face is completely red, but thankfully Jiro is occupied with devouring the rest of the treat. “Are you sure?” she asks quietly. Jiro looks up with sparkling eyes.

“Yeah! Could you make me another? Or like...three more?” Jiro pipes up. Then she feigns an affronted look at Momo. “But you must fix one atrocity–there is a severe lack of sugar. How could you let this even come close to my mouth?” she jokes.

Momo blinks at her dumbly, still caught on Jiro’s interesting reaction to her imperfect soufflé. Eventually realizing Jiro is serious, she nods her head and makes another three soufflés and places them on the counter. “Uh, here you go.”

“Thanks, give me a moment,” Jiro smiles and promptly grabs the one nearest to her. She leans one of her elbows down on the counter and pulls out her phone. With a spoon in one hand and her phone in the other, Momo can’t help but stare at her cute face that is unfortunately captivated on the screen. Strands of purple hair fall across her forehead and brush across Jiro’s scrunched eyebrows.

Momo looks up. Behind Jiro, all of the former Class-1A students are ogling the pair’s situation like hawks, and not discreetly. Mina, Hagakure, and Ojiro sat with their snacks while giggling and very obviously glancing over at them while Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida and Todoroki sat on the other side of the room doing the same. The only two that seemed to be minding their own business were Kirishima and Bakugou, who were sipping boba and probably scrolling through Instagram. 

Mina catches her attention and slowly drags her hand up in front of her mouth. Momo looks on confusedly. Then Mina grins, spreads her index and middle fingers into the shape of a “V,” and sticks her tongue through it while she points between Momo and Jiro. Blushing furiously, Momo stumbles backwards. 

“Hey, you good?” Jiro looks up from her second soufflé. Momo’s eyes flick between her and the pink-haired devil doubling over with laughter in the background. Jiro glances over her shoulder at the sound of Mina’s laughter, “Mina being Mina?”

“Ye-yeah,” Momo readjusts herself and stands taller. “It’s getting late; this is our business and since you have all been absent for so long, I need you to start working. Mina, you’re on trash duty.”

“Ugh you monster,” Mina whips on a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses on and struts towards the back, “Hagakure, you owe me so get your invisible ass over here.”

“So you’re the boss around here now, huh?” Jiro drawls, putting an uncomfortably flirty emphasis on “boss.” Or am I just interpreting it that way? Momo grabs Jiro’s silverware and the ceramic containers before turning around to avoid embarrassing herself.

“Hmm, if you are referring to the financial matters, then you’re very much correct, but I’m also starting to help run this place a lot more since I’ve gotten a few business partners to help deal with my own family’s companies.” Momo replies as she washes the containers in the sink.

She can feel Jiro’s soft gaze scorching the back of her neck. “Well I think I have to go, it’s getting a bit late. I’d definitely love to bring Kaminari and the band over for some time though. You haven’t met Riyuzaki-san yet, right?”

Momo knew Jiro long enough to realize that she sounded almost...disappointed. She brushes it off, it must be nothing . “Of course! It’s been so long, and I’d love to meet Riyuzaki-san, too. I’ve got to clean this place up and you must be tired from yesterday’s flight, it’s getting quite late. You might want to head out soon.”

Despite her worries about sounding dismissive or rude, she doesn’t bother turning around–it’s not worth having to put herself through the torture of keeping poised. Soap suds sizzle on her wrists and the containers clank against the stainless steel counter. Momo hears Jiro approaching through the loud pounding of her own heart in her ears, but chooses to ignore her as she reaches for the last container. A gentle hand on her shoulder nearly causes her to faint. “Hey, I know it’s been a while. I...I missed you.”

Jiro’s cool hand freezes through Momo’s shirt, and her words send a pang of longing through her body. She can’t stand it. “I missed you, too. Hero work has been quite stressful,” she responds quietly, her hand clutching the item in her hand as if her life depended on it. At this point it might as well have, and she tries to force herself to relax to no avail. “Come by soon?”

“Of course, and I’ll be here for who-knows-how-long so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up with each other.” Jiro gives her a brief hug from behind and exits the kitchen. And finally deciding to face Jiro, Momo raises a hand in a reluctant wave goodbye. 

She watches as Jiro says goodbye to the rest of the other pro-heroes who hug her and wave her goodbye like she did, and after a few minutes, the door swings shut with a loud click. Momo can almost feel the cold winter air covering her from head to toe.

“Just as pretty as before, right?” Mina’s voice jabs through her silence. 

“Please focus on your task,” Momo says firmly, but everyone knows there’s no real bite behind her words, “You’re supposed to be taking out the trash.”

Mina simply grins like the devil she is and dramatically twirls to the back exit. There we go . Momo takes a nearby kitchen towel and starts drying the cups, falling into a familiar rhythm as the material starts to squeak against the smooth surface.

A tiny voice in the back of her head insists that she never wanted to see Jiro walk through that door again, that she doesn’t want to even text or talk to her unless it’s necessary. Insists that she wished Jiro never returned to help out with hero work and that she and the rest of Night-93 continued to tour around, maybe find a place to settle down, and pursue music and hero work there. Far, far away from Japan. It hurt her. Everything about her now reminded Momo of their time together in highschool where they spent everyday together, literally living in the same dorms; it brought back memories of everything from her sleek, purple hair and impeccable makeup to her punk-rock clothing and blocky combat boots, from her introverted personality and charming smile to her fierce determination and ruthlessness in battle. How Momo had learned about Jiro’s extensive knowledge across all sorts of genres of music during their first sleepover, and how that night they fell asleep to Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black , and how she couldn’t get the mild, coconut-y scent of Jiro’s perfume out of her mind for the next two weeks. 

Jiro had always been there for her, helped her regain her confidence and start believing in herself and the power of her quirk again. She was there to reassure her after every failed test, allowed her to learn that 98% was actually a great score, taught her to relax and adjust from the sheltered, controlled life that her parents had implemented upon her as a child. She was there to introduce her into new social settings despite being an introvert herself, and Momo still remembers the excitement in Jiro’s eyes when she first brought her to a rock concert. And when the media tore her apart by criticizing her for wearing too revealing of a hero costume or valuing her by her body, Jiro was there like every time before, standing up for her and letting her cry on her favorite Metallica shirt. 

And what did Momo do for her? Everything she could think of. At first she only showed her affection by buying her the best gifts that money could buy, like high-quality instruments and new combat boots, but after a while, Momo eventually realized the importance of her presence in the singer’s life–she didn’t always believe in it, she still doubted it at times, but she liked to assume Jiro cared (which she did, Momo was just a little too insecure to fully accept the fact). She would always be there when her punk-rock confidence failed to mask her insecurities about things like her body and her weaker quirk; she introduced her to her own expansive knowledge of tea and tea making, even when Jiro proved herself useless at the art; she would do everything Jiro would do for her. Jiro was her best friend. Somewhere along the way, she developed feelings for her. And that’s what was killing her. 

Momo simply lacked the confidence to ever acknowledge those feelings, she never even thought the possibility that Jiro would reciprocate those feelings back could exist. So she tried to accept the way things were, as best friends, cheering her on from the sidelines as she watched her defeat villain after villain and sing song after song. She couldn’t risk losing Jiro, so she had to play it safe; she didn’t want anything to change. 

Sighing, Momo pulls herself out of her self-pity and continues to dry off the cups. She has been for the last 15 minutes.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It turns out the criminal organization the Class-1A alumni squad were investigating were suspected of having major influences in the political and business worlds; it just so happened that discreet ties were found between a famous music producer named Kai Elston and several board members of the Saeki Corporation, a major name in the tech industry. It appeared that the Elston family were related to those board members in the Saeki Corporation via the Corporation’s expansive network of subsidiary companies and an enormous stock portfolio filled with blue-chip names–including Elstan’s company. However, besides the typical tax fraud and embezzlements, they were suspected of being in high positions within a human trafficking ring and developing malware intended to rig business and political rivals’ devices. 

And that’s where the problem was. 

Jiro was signed under another record label that was the rival of Elstan’s, and it was no secret that almost all of Night-93 were some of Japan’s most famous pro-heroes. On the other hand, Momo’s parent’s company was the Saeki Corporation’s biggest rival; despite there being no relation between the two companies when looking at the surface level, the Yaoyorozu family’s numerous businesses and even larger and impressive stock portfolios easily dwarfed the Saeki Corporation’s. For every subsidiary company Saeki Corporation had, the Yayorozus had more, and more powerful ones at that, and for as much stock-influenced power that the Saeki Corporation held in different companies, the Yaoyorozus had more. The Saeki Corporation may have been big, but the Yaoyorozus dominated them, so of course, the family was one of their target rivals. It was considered too dangerous and too much of a giveaway for either of them to be involved in the investigation. They were essentially the only two people in the Class-1A  squad who were free and sort of hanging around in case of an emergency, only going on the occasional city patrol. 

Momo decides to tend to the café during the daytime almost as a full-time job in Sato’s absence since she knows all of the most popular recipes, although Sato still prepares the daily baked goods and confections every morning. Oh, and Jiro returns to the Plus Ultra Café . Every. Single. Day.  

It’s been almost a month since Momo had reunited with Jiro, and she’s desperately trying to cover her feelings. She thought it had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done, masking her emotions, but seeing Jiro in person after such a long period of time filled with brief texts and late-night Facetimes, she isn’t sure she can handle it anymore. In fact, the one time she agreed to spend a day shopping with Jiro she nearly up and left. 

She’s just too scared to lose another person in her life. 

Whenever Jiro suggests bringing the band around to meet her or asks if Momo would like to hang out again, she comes up with excuses she knows Jiro will eventually have to call her out on. There’s only so long the “ Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well today”s or the “Sorry, family business calls today” s or the “ I have to go do some photoshoots for Midoriya-kun’s charity”s can last. At least a few of her friends are willing to cover for her. 

This time it’s around the early afternoon when Jiro bursts through the café’s doors and practically drags herself to the seats near the countertop that Momo stands behind.

“Long day, huh?” Momo inquires, and Jiro, in her hero costume, just faceplants down on the counter and buries her face into her arms. 

“No kidding, I had to go patrol the far side of the city and some dumbass group of robbers tried to rob a bank. In broad daylight.” Jiro laments. “The leader had some weird-ass quirk that allowed him to screech like a banshee–nearly killed my ears.”

“You okay?” Momo asks, already handing Jiro a lemon-blackberry soufflé before she can even ask. It had become a sort of routine for them; Jiro would walk in and Momo would already know her order: the same soufflè, a medium lattè with extra milk, and a non-dessert item of Momo’s choice to make sure Jiro actually got some other sustenance besides caffeine and sugar. 

“With this,” Jiro holds up the soufflé with one hand, “Hell yes. I swear, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I am a pro-hero, it’s my job to be that.” Momo smiles at the exhausted girl, all too aware that her gaze is way too soft and lingering for way too long to be considered normal. 

“No seriously, you really are,” Jiro insists, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m going to have to order an espresso or five if I’m going to make it to my patrol with Tokage-san.”

Momo winces, she had been on a few patrols with the former Class-1B student. The green-haired girl was one of the few students in that class that didn’t appear to harbor any resentments against Class-1A, but she had a similar personality to Mina. In fact, the two were now some of the gossip queens of the pro-hero world. A little bit overwhelming at times for someone like Momo. She guessed it fit her quirk, which allowed her body to split itself into up to 50 pieces that could move autonomously on their own and regenerate themselves if destroyed–and she usually used it for spying missions and swarming her enemy. 

“I’m sure she would understand if you stayed back this time, and I honestly think you should after a day like today.” Momo points out, pouring the milk onto the top of Jiro’s latte. 

“Only if you go and tell me all the tea,” Jiro shoots her a weak pair of finger guns in her direction.

“But we’re not that good of friends,” cross that, we’re acquaintances , Momo thinks, “and you could always catch up with her tomorrow or something.”

“But it’d be my first patrol with her since I got back and I need to hear about the Kiribaku disasters. I can’t miss it just because of a sorta kinda bad shift! Plus, she likes patrolling with another person!” Jiro whines, taking the finished drink. Momo has to admit it’s sort of a valid reason–the pair could cause the most hilarious, most manly disasters at times. And it’s rather rude to cancel on someone so late.

Jiro’s face starts forming into her signature pout and Momo already knows what she’s going to ask. I love this child too much . She slouches down wearily, already knowing her response. 

“Fine, I’ll patrol with Tokage-san,” Momo relents. 

“YES! Thank you so so much Momo!” Jiro flings herself across the counter to wrap her arms around Momo in an inescapable hug, nearly knocking over her drink. Momo slowly brings her arms around Jiro and lets out a small squeak when Jiro all but shoves her face into the crook of her neck. Jiro lets out a breathy giggle at her reaction, causing Momo’s skin to erupt in goosebumps and her heart to beat impossibly fast. She ignores the fact that Jiro’s quirk definitely allows her to hear her heartbeat. 

The sound of a customer opening the door sends Momo quickly pushing herself off of Jiro. The smaller girl stumbles back into her seat and she clears her throat, hoping her blush isn’t too apparent.

“You should probably rest up and let your ears take a break, you know, with your quirk’s sensitivity and all,” Momo rambles, looking down at her clenched hands on the counter, oblivious to the way Jiro’s face falls at her tone, “I’ll tell you all of the gossip. Night patrol starts in two hours, right? 9?” She attempts a friendly smile. 

“Yeah I’ll see you later,” Jiro smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Momo doesn’t notice, she’s already moving over to the customer to take their order. But Jiro still waves goodbye, and like always, Momo waves back.

Momo’s in far too deep than she’d prefer to be. She’d usually avoid going on patrols with gossip-y people like Tokage-san, also because of how the talkative girl often fiercely fought for total leadership during actual fighting, and here she was, totally willing to go on a night patrol just because Jiro wanted to catch up on pro-hero gossip . She was whipped. She knows it, everyone in Class-1A knows it, even Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic know it. At this point, she wouldn’t even be surprised if the Plus Ultra Café’s more consistent customers know it. The idea of it makes Momo want to hide away in a dark cave for the rest of her life, curled up and binge-eating ice cream.

If there’s one thing Momo hated, it was being the pro-hero world’s prime gossip, and she promised herself she would never let herself become that again after she made a joke about almost losing to a slime monster villain once. The rumors went wild. 

Momo swears that she’ll just deal with having to forget about the way even talking to Jiro makes her insides simultaneously feel warm and nervous and the way she can’t resist doing anything she can to make the other girl happy. Or the way seeing Jiro is always the highlight of her day, or how she loves listening to Jiro ramble on and on about classic rock musicians and her favorite songs. How she wants to spend time with Jiro more than anything. Her dreams about waking up to Jiro next to her in bed and her husky voice being the last thing she hears falling asleep at night. 

Momo sighs dejectedly as she prepares the customer’s cappuccino. 

She’s going to move past this crush. 

After she goes on that patrol with Tokage-san and tells Jiro all of the gossip, that is. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Jiro crashes into Momo’s life in the early afternoon, one of the café’s more busy hours. Momo is in the back of the kitchen actually taking a sheet of snickerdoodle cookies out of the oven and she almost drops the burning hot tray when she catches sight of the punk-rock girl looking over at her from the other side of the front counter. She quickly puts down the treats and heads over to where she sat waiting. 

“Hi,” Jiro says. The one word almost sends Momo crashing into a stack of drying dishes.

Jiro’s eyes sparkle amusedly at the normally-poised girl stumbling forwards, ponytail not even close to the neat position it was made in. When Momo catches sight of the other girl through some stray, silky strands of her ebony hair, her breath hitches. It’s still cold outside, and the bottom half of Jiro’s face is mostly tucked in an oddly familiar looking scarf. Something about the unique blue-purple color and worn appearance; maybe it was an old one she didn’t wear often anymore. Her cheeks are flushed and her Blink-182 beanie still has some small chunks of snow clinging onto it. Momo has to resist the urge to wrap her in a hug until she warms up, and she briefly wonders what color lipstick Jiro is wearing. I wonder if her lipstick tastes like coconut , she thinks as she catches the familiar scent through the mixture of baked goods. No, stop. Momo Yaoyorozu, focus.

“Hello,” Momo finally makes it to the counter, already producing another lemon-blackberry soufflé. She shoves a small spoon in the fluffy confection and begins to prepare Jiro’s latte. It’s definitely a subconscious habit  now.  

Jiro happily scarfs down the treat and gives her a dazzling smile when she hands her the warm cup of coffee.

“Trying your soufflé was easily the best decision I’ve ever made in my life,” Jiro lets out a sinful groan, looking like an adorable bundle of sorta-punk-styled winter clothing. Momo allows herself a genuine smile; she may never truly believe Jiro’s claims that it tasted that good, but she liked to indulge her small ego now and then.

“Well then, would you like any actual food today?” Momo asks. It’s part of the routine. Jiro always says yes and gives a vague idea of what she wants and Momo always ends up choosing something for her. 

“This is actual food, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jiro feigns offense, “but I’ll take a sandwich out of any leftover ingredients you have stored away in the kitchen. That’s it.”

The taller girl simply raises an eyebrow questioningly. She knew Jiro usually chose one other confection from the display near the register on days she was hungry.

“...And a slice of the lemon cake too, please. The one with the vanilla glaze and the strawberries and blueberries on top with coconut flakes.” Jiro finishes.

Momo shakes her head affectionately, then shouts the order over to one of the part-time staff members in the kitchen. She reaches into the display on the front desk filled with an assortment of baked goods and small snacks that customers often bought to accompany their coffees or teas and pulls out the largest slice there was of Jiro’s order. Putting it on a small plate she slides it across the counter. 

Jiro has already finished her usual treat and starts digging into the cake, releasing another moan that makes Momo want to take her 15-minute work break and drag her into the nearest secluded area and–the black haired girl suppresses the feelings and stands by, observing. 

“You know, Momo,” Jiro calls after her in between bites of the cake, “I seriously don’t think I can live without you making these every day and me getting to eat them.” She waves her ear jacks at her food. “Like seriously, will you marry me?”

YES, of course I would . Momo, frozen in place, nearly blurts out her thoughts. Her heart skips about 10 beats before racing up to levels that Momo is sure has to be unhealthy. She knows Jiro is only joking with her, but not even Shinso’s mind control thing would be able to stop her from saying yes if Jiro ever did ask. Instead she chokes out a laugh and jokes, “At least take a girl out to dinner first, hmm?”

She immediately flees into the kitchen, hoping that Jiro will assume she’s going to go retrieve her food. It’s not like she has cried herself to sleep over wishing the purple-haired girl was her lo–. 

“Uh, here you go Yaoyorozu-san,” the young staff member handed her a plate with a delicious-smelling sandwich sitting on top of it. Small scraps of lettuce poked out from the sides and glistened under the kitchen’s lights. His green eyes stare at her concernedly out of his mop of brown hair. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about it Takada-kun,” Momo assures him. The quirkless teenager was training at a nearby university to help develop new hero gear, and he was quite endearing. “It’s nothing.”

“...” Takada looks back and forth between Momo and Jiro, who was now fiercely typing at her phone. He opens his mouth hesitantly, “Is it your friend over there? And you don’t have to answer that.”

“Yes, just friendship issues. It happens to everyone.” Momo answers tersely, not wanting the conversation to continue. She didn’t want to seem suspicious, and she didn’t see Takada as more than an acquaintance. 

“Alright,” Takada concedes, “But don’t worry.” He hesitates for a moment longer. “From what I see, your friend is more fond of you than you may realize, and I don’t think any of these “friendship issues” will harm you guys’ relationship. I’m sure she’d be open to talking about whatever is bothering you.”

“...Thank you.” Momo means it, too. 

Takada merely smiles, hands her the food, and lightly pushes her in Jiro’s direction. When Momo gets back Jiro doesn’t look up from her phone, even when she slides the plate in front of her. There’s a fierce scowl on her face. Momo stands there awkwardly for a moment and Jiro mumbles a quick thank you. She promptly goes back to fiercely typing on her phone. 

Momo digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from sulking, but she still looks like a kicked puppy. She returns to the register to greet another customer. There are enough people to keep her busy taking orders and serving them. 

She keeps an eye on Jiro, whose attention is still stuck on her device. After about 15 minutes of being hunched over in her seat she sighs and waves her over. “Can we catch up on the tea later?” Jiro’s eyes flick away from her phone momentarily for confirmation. 

 “Of course,” Momo worriedly responds, walking over to the other side of the counter where she sits, “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“No, it’s just some band drama and a dumb Kaminari,” Jiro smiles at her tiredly, a stark contrast from how she entered the establishment. She takes a final bite of her sandwich and abruptly stands up. Readjusting her beanie, a pair of gold star-shaped earrings jingle around as she gets ready to leave. For a moment Momo thinks Jiro is leaning over to give her a parting hug but Jiro just turns around with a flip of her familiar-looking scarf and a tense smile. “Bye, sorry I have to leave so early.”

“It’s...all r i g h t. ” Momo trails away as Jiro rushes away, only leaving her empty dishes and a faint smell of coconut. 

And just like that, she’s put into a stormy mood for the rest of her workday. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Jiro doesn’t return. Momo prowls around the place like an angry wolf and probably scares the crap out of the customers, but every time another person walks in, it’s never Jiro. She tries to tell herself that she doesn't care and that Jiro must have better things to do than talk to a person like her. 

Takade and the rest of her employees have already been sent home and she’s almost done tidying up the kitchen when she hears a loud crash out in the eating area. Rushing out to see what was causing the commotion, she was met with a sheepish looking Jiro underneath a fallen table and two chairs. 

Never has she been more jealous of literal furniture . 

“Sorry, I tripped on my shoelace, it’s sorta dark in here with half the lights off.” Jiro lets out an embarrassed chuckle. Momo just stares at the absurd sight. 

“Hey, I just happened to trip onto a table...that had chairs on it.” Jiro pouts indignantly, ear jacks waving in front of her face. She pulls herself out of the wreckage and dusts herself off, shoving her fallen beanie into her jacket pocket. 

“Yes ma’am,” Jiro salutes at her using her ear jacks, and Momo can’t help but trace the movement of the silver ends as they reflect the dim light of the café. She realizes she must look strange standing there saying nothing, and notices Jiro has caught her staring. Jiro simply winks at her with a goofy grin plastered on her face. Momo pretends like she isn’t blushing and hopes the reduced light in the room hides her face.  

After setting the table and the chairs back up, Jiro skips over to the seats by the counter and leans her elbows on the cold surface. Her purple eyes sparkle happily as she swipes her now-ruffled hair from her face. “So sorry I’m late, but I’m glad I got here just in time!”

Momo can feel her face burning hotter and rushes into the kitchen. She grasps a mug and begins to prepare a latte for Jiro out of habit, despite the late time. “Oh, it’s a little late for coffee now, Momo,” Jiro interjects, “How about some of your tea?”

“Of course,” Momo is positively beaming, “Any preferences?”

“I’ll have what you’re having,” Jiro rests her chin on her hand. The scarf still lays wrapped around her neck. 

Momo busies herself with boiling some water and grabbing some of the café chamomile-mint tea; definitely not the high-quality teas she was used to, but as long as Jiro was there with her, she doubts she wouldn’t even have a problem with drinking flat soda.  

“So,” Jiro begins eagerly, leaning back in her chair and spreading her arms expectantly, “What’d I miss?”

Momo leaps at the chance to start a conversation so that she can attempt to ignore her raging crush, and recalls all of the things Tokage-san had told her. Once she heard the gossip, she realized that she actually knows most of the gossip herself, but she wants to play along with what Jiro wants; after all, she likes seeing the other girl happy. 

So she takes a deep breath, slips the tea bags into the steaming cups of water, and painfully swallows her feelings. “Well, you never did get to see those pictures of Bakugou-kun in drag did you?” she begins, this time taking a seat besides Jiro.

 She rambles on about a quick visit from Aoyama that happened a few months ago and how he and Kirishima convinced Bakugou to do drag, how Hagakure finally womaned up and made a move on Ojiro, how Todoroki and Deku “allegedly” made out in their hero agency’s board meeting room, and much more. Especially Mina’s prank on Bakugou and how she and Kirishima had pretended to be interested in each other for a week before approaching him at a local diner and asking if they could have a one-night-stand with her included. Jiro chokes and nearly spits out her tea in Momo’s face when she hears about how Bakugou reacted by freezing up and literally exploding himself up and through the roof out of shock; it took a lot of money and damage control to fix that one up, although the owner of the shop appeared to have been happy that Japan’s top pro-heroes had even stepped onto his property in the first place. 

“Damn it! How could I have missed out on that !” Jiro roars with laughter, and Momo can’t help but laugh along. She admits that talking to Tokage-san had its benefits, and that patrolling with her wasn’t too bad if she only went for the sake of Jiro or her own amusement. 

“Maybe I should only play in Japan or Hokkaido so I can see this all go down in person,” Jiro muses into her cup, half-serious. 

“It’s not worth that much, I know you love touring,” Momo argues, “And I love watching you play on the TV or watching your videos when they get posted on Youtube or Niconico.”

“You actually watch my performances?” Jiro pauses and looks up at her, ear jacks twirling nervously.  

“Um, yeah, I do,” Momo mumbles, knowing that Jiro was usually the one who brought up her performances during the times they called while she was touring, “I prefer hearing your songs live. They’re better than the studio versions.”

“Oh.” Jiro looks away. 

Oh no. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t think it’s creepy, right? Momo shifts the cup in her hand, pointedly ignoring how uncomfortably hot it is against her palm.

An awkward silence falls over the pair. Momo hides her face in her cup of tea, unsure of what to say. Luckily for her, Jiro breaks it. 

“Well I’m happy I returned to Japan. If...if you really mean that, I’ll play some of my new song ideas for you when we hang out,” Jiro ventures, fidgeting slightly, “I’d love it if you were the first to hear them.”

Momo’s heart can’t decide whether to stop beating or to switch into overdrive. Even back in high school Jiro had always refused to let Momo hear any of her work-in-progress songs, never mind anyone else, and would only be willing to sing a few “perfected” ones. Momo knows that Jiro writes way more songs than just the ones in Night-93’s two albums; she also knows that the shorter girl is too insecure about how people will receive the “less than perfect” songs. For Jiro to willingly open up about that–to offer that to her...Momo can’t form words. She’s speechless. 

There’s an unspoken agreement. 

‘ Are you sure? You’ve never let anyone listen to those songs.’ Momo searches Jiro’s eyes for any hesitation or doubt.

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Jiro’s gaze promises. Momo knows she must be nervous–her ear jacks are twisting around themselves and knocking into her gold earrings–and yet she still appears confident. Jiro trusts her.

It’s probably just because I’m her...best friend. Momo knows she shouldn’t take the display of trust in that way.

“I’d love that,” Momo finally responds, “I know you’re usually not as comfortable sharing your unfinished songs.”

Jiro hums gratefully, and after a brief moment, Momo speaks up. “You know, I really like living here too. It’s very different from how–how my parents raised me. Being able to wake up when I want, talk to the people I want to talk to, you know…being able to have some freedom. I still manage my family’s companies, but it still feels strange at times. ”

Jiro folds her arms down on the counter and rests her head against them, a scrutinizing look on her face. “I can only imagine. I remember when I first met you at UA. I thought you were one of those stuck-up rich kids.” her tone turns regretful. 

“I don’t blame you,” Momo huffs dryly, “I didn’t own any clothing or accessories cheaper than ¥200,000. Hermès, Sacai, Valentino, Comme de Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Versace. You know I had them all. And you’re right; you know how my moving into the dorms went. I could barely comprehend the idea of a smaller bed, and I didn’t know how much a box of Pocky cost.”

Jiro chuckles wistfully and Momo notes how her eyes are starting to glaze over with fatigue–it is in the AMs now, but her eyes look less guarded now–not that they ever were around her. They were just missing that natural sharpness that people’s eyes had when they were awake, just taking in their surroundings. Momo is just too tired to realize how it’s not just because she’s tired; Jiro’s hooked on her every word, her world blurred out with the exception of the taller girl and herself. But on second thought, Momo does notice Jiro’s gaze is...softer than usual. She feels herself getting distracted, wanting to know what Jiro is thinking, but she lets the thought drift off into the night. 

“Being here with all of our friends, being at this café, being with you , it makes me feel more like me . Like myself. I’ve never felt more, well, like me. No dressing up, no insincere greetings, no fake smiles.” Momo whispers. The average person would not have been able to hear her, but she knew Jiro could. 

Jiro sits still for a short while before she tilts her head up and takes off the scarf. She puts it back down on her arms, using it as a pillow, and smiles back. 

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, Momo. Out of all people, you deserve it,” Jiro stares into her onyx orbs. Momo meets her gaze this time, her uncertainty fading away the longer she falls into the dark irises across from her. It feels as if there was a sort of gravity surrounding Jiro, pulling her in until the only thing she can concentrate on is the thought of what it would be like to just lean in and kiss the purple-haired girl. Her best friend . The spell is broken, and Momo forces away the urge. 

“You know…” Jiro continues, “You know, at least from my experience, I know what you mean. Being able to pursue music and hero work at the same time and become famous in both fields? It’s my dream come true, being recognized for my work, having the privilege to control my public image and my life. But...sometimes, I still feel like something’s missing. As if there’s something I still can’t understand about myself even though I want to. I think about it when I go to bed sometimes.” Jiro fidgets with the frayed end of the scarf. “I...I really don’t know. I should feel content with what I have, I really am. But I don’t think it’s my jobs that are going to make me feel...you know, like you said, like me. Maybe it’s a person, you know? Just someone who can allow me to feel free, like I can be me, be okay with how I feel, to be there for me.”

Momo looks down at the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup, stray particles that managed to slip their way through the teabag. She can tell that Jiro’s eyes are locked on her, she feels as if Jiro’s expecting something, but she doesn’t know how to identify the feeling. 

“You deserve that feeling, too. I hope you find that thing, whatever it is..that person.” Momo decides to say, on the verge of crying about how much she wishes she could be that person for Jiro. It’s getting late, and she tugs her hair tie out, allowing her long, ebony hair to run down the sides of her face and cascade down her sculpted shoulders. She runs her fingers through it, pushing through a few tangled knots and feeling the silken cold cover her hand.

“I think I have,” Jiro states. They lapse into another period of tense silence. When Momo finds the confidence to look into the other girl’s eyes again, Jiro’s eyes are dark and intense. She feels that pull again, that strong gravity pulling her in, taking over her mind like an inevitable force, and hell, she doesn’t know if she has the strength to resist it this time.

A loud chime from the kitchen sends Momo yanking herself from Jiro, heart racing. 

“What the hell’s that?” Jiro grunts, sounding way more annoyed than she should for reasons Momo is too startled to wonder about. 

“I think it’s the dishwasher. I set it a few...hours ago.” Momo looks at the clock on the wall behind the register; it’s 2:54am.

“I see,” Jiro breaths out, and she sounds very disappointed, or weary. 

“We’d best get going, we’re both going to be exhausted tomorrow. You head out first, I’ll just put our cups in the sink to clean later today.” Momo sighs.

 Jiro reaches into her jean pockets and pulls out some money, but Momo gently guides her hand back to her side. 

“You helped found this place. Plus, you’re my friend. You don’t have to pay, ever. Have you been doing that?” Momo asks. 

The only thing she gets in response is the soft ruffle of the paper bills as they fall onto the countertop. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Jiro says resignedly, and she stands up, putting the scarf back on. Just like earlier in the day, Momo sees Jiro hesitate and thinks she might be debating on whether to hug her or not. Please do. But she just turns around and walks out the door, leaving a faint whiff of coconut in her wake like she always does. 

Momo hears the door click shut again, and watches a few stray snowflakes enter and fall to the café’s floor, only to melt into tiny puddles. Puddles that would evaporate soon enough, leaving no trace behind.

She wishes she never set the damn dishwasher.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 After that night–or morning, really–Jiro has acted differently. Momo can’t understand why; Jiro still visits her at the café, smiles bright enough to light up the whole world, but something just feels off. Jiro had always been more shy, similar to how she was, actually, but she had never acted so...reserved around her. Like she was afraid, like she was holding something back.

Almost two and a half weeks pass without the pair addressing the growing tension between them, and Mina, Hagakure, and Tokage are helping Momo clean up the café. It’s late, and for some reason, Jiro didn’t come that day, claiming that she was unable to. Sato has already left, and there’s some dough rising in the fridge for the next morning’s confections. Momo’s stuck cleaning some of the baking machinery, the soap doesn’t seem to be cutting through the buttery greasiness that coated the mixers. 

“–I know right!” Mina’s voice carries into the kitchen from where she and the other girls are wiping down tables, “Honestly, I can’t understand her decision.”

“I know, he’s always been the most boring out of the group,” Hagakure agrees.

“Ryuzaki-kun doesn’t even appear in person for any of the Night-93 interviews I’ve seen,” Tokage adds on, “I wonder why. No one ever really talks about it.” 

Back in the kitchen, Momo cringes. Jiro had brought over Ryuzaki to the café once last week to meet Momo after it closed, just the three of them enjoying some snacks at a table. He’s the most nauseating person that she’s ever met besides the creepy old men at business galas and Minoru Mineta. It’s not too large of a stretch, and Momo’s seriously considering putting a tracking device on him or something to keep her eye on him. It wasn’t that he had looked inherently “bad” or anything, in fact, he and Sero looked the most “normal” out of the band; just a medium-weight, medium-height guy around their age with short, spiky brown hair and a round-ish face. Long, tan arms poked through an old jean jacket that covered a vintage Eagles shirt down to where his hands were stabbed into his khaki pants, and his skinny legs ended at a weathered pair of Tokyo Ghoul-customized Converses. No bracelets, no makeup, not even a single accessory besides a plain silver watch.

Oh, but his wide, green eyes almost reminiscent of Midoriya’s? Fixed straight on her chest. 

It was no secret that Kaminari and Sero, particularly Kaminari, had indulged in some of Mineta’s perverted activities during their time in UA, and actually had tolerated him. So, unfortunately, Momo wasn’t exactly surprised when Ryuzaki, Sero’s friend unabashedly checked her out the whole time; she was aware of her body and she knows exactly how the public generally treats it. But at least Kaminari and Sero and anyone else who checked her out had a general sense of boundaries; the two boys were big flirts–and horrible ones at that–but after a bit of persistence, they backed off to playful teasing. Especially after Jiro had a nice “conversation” with them about how Momo had been treated at her family’s company galas every year. They had practically tripped over themselves trying to apologize to her. 

But Ryuzaki?

He hadn’t come off as extroverted as he lounged back on his seat or leaned his elbows on the tabletop. He didn’t crack bad jokes, laugh loudly, or have as much energy as a pomeranian on crack. He had seemed like a decent guy with his reserved chuckles, relaxed personality, and easygoing smile; to any other person he would have seemed to be lightheartedly joking when he continued to (actually) smoothly flirt with her despite her insinuated rejections–if you had ignored the all of the sidelong glances, the not-so-subtle leering, and the weird twitching of his fingers as if he was fantasizing about doing less-than-consensual actions with the taller girl when Jiro wasn’t looking. 

He’s one of the types of guys that Momo hates the most. He’s like her first girlfriend who had treated her like a goddess for the first few months and before trying to pressure her into having sex, only to promptly dump her after she firmly refused. He’s like the boss at her first hero agency who had acted like he truly admired her skills and impressive resume and made her feel like she was a worthy hero, only to try to coerce her into wearing increasingly revealing costumes.

 He’s like every person in her life who had acted nice to gain her trust, only to leave her behind when she didn’t give them what they wanted–particularly her body.

At first she had thought she was just being paranoid because it happened to her so often, and just because people do check her out doesn’t mean they will be, to put it crudely, shallow fuckboys. She’s well aware that even people like Uraraka have checked her out at least once. But Momo had always considered herself a naturally observant person, and she definitely was (despite her absolute lack of that skill when it came to Jiro). It definitely didn’t hurt that she spent years standing by the sidelines of her family’s business learning to read the board members’ smallest, most unnoticeable reactions, and using that to link them to possible motives and intentions. 

She thinks the final straw was when she had been saying goodbye to him and Jiro and he came in for a side-hug. When he noticed that Jiro wasn’t really paying attention to them he had winked at her and tried to slip his number into her back pocket, even daring to keep his hand in there before he was warded off by her murderous glare. But the minute Jiro had turned her full attention to them, he had switched back to his laid-back persona. She had a feeling that he did this to every girl he found mildly attractive (and she was right).

Ryuzaki wasn’t hesitant about being the true asshole that he was when he chose to do so, and Momo hadn’t appreciated how easily he could hide it when he wanted to. 

She had felt like throwing up.

And that’s why Momo had nearly cried with relief when Jiro had later explained that while Ryuzaki was their drummer, he didn’t tour with them and usually only helped out with the studio recording and songwriting because he lived all the way over in Tokyo. He was just visiting the area temporarily to meet up with the rest of Night-93, and his arrival was the reason why Jiro had to leave so suddenly all a few weeks ago; Kaminari had forgotten to go pick him up from the airport and had begged Jiro to do it instead. He would probably stay for a few months, but at least it wasn’t permanent. 

Thinking about it now, she doesn’t understand how Jiro can act so unaware of it. She hopes Jiro is just a very good actress and not completely blind to Ryuzaki’s behavior.

“...Ryuzaki...Jiro” Hagakure’s mention of Jiro’s name yanks Momo out of her thoughts. 

Momo starts to harshly dry off the machinery, staring at her blurred reflection against the stainless steel.

“Seriously? I guess he can’t be too much of a wimp then.” Tokage’s voice rings out.

“Woah! Why didn’t you tell me? He asked her out just today?” Hagakure gasps.

Ryuzaki-kun asked Jiro out today? 

Momo stops and squeezes her eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to force down her panicking. Jiro would never agree to date a guy like Ryuzaki-kun. An overconfident womanizer; the complete opposite of Jiro.

Setting aside the dried cooking ware, Momo reaches over for a stack of clean plates to put away first. 

“Did she say yes?” Hagakure squeals.

“Yeah, she did!” Mina exclaims.

Momo doesn’t register the sound of shattering ceramics until she feels herself accidentally slip onto a few broken shards that send her stumbling back into another stack of mugs and a few containers of clean silverware. She just watches as they tumble towards the hard floor and shatter and clank all over the floor, and the glint of the silverware hurts her eyes. Her hands feel numb. 

Her whole body feels numb.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Mina’s golden eyes comfort her, “Are you okay?”

Momo finds herself nodding out of instinct and is already in the process of recomposing herself. She looks around to see if anyone else saw her accident, and Mina seems to read her mind.

“Don’t worry, I told Hagakure and Tokage-san to hang back,” Mina assures her, “How about you go home now? Us three will clean up tonight. You’ll be okay getting back, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Momo mutters, quickly gathering her things and heading back to her luxurious apartment nearby. She should have known Jiro would eventually find that person, or just that someone, and she knows she should have braced herself for the inevitable day when that did happen. After all, Jiro had told her that night in the café that she thought she found that person.

Momo’s gut twists as she thinks of Ryuzaki. Jealousy . It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and it’s not welcome either. She can’t possibly grasp the notion that an asshole like Ryuzaki could ever treat Jiro better than she could, and she can’t believe that Jiro would ever fall for an obvious playboy like Ryuzaki. 

She doesn’t want Jiro to get hurt, but she’s too afraid to step into her relationship with the drummer, afraid that her jealousy will show and she’ll accidentally push the other girl farther away.

 Momo doesn’t get up from her couch that day with the exception of trudging over to her kitchen and reaching into her liquor cabinet to grab a bottle of whiskey that probably costs more than three-fourths the population’s monthly rent. She returns to her couch and sits down, staring at the bottle in her hand.

She hesitates for a moment. 

She’s never drank whiskey neat before. 

She’s never drank more than a few glasses of expensive wine during required dinners and banquets.

But she wants to dull the pain, so she pops the top off and presses her soft lips to the cold, unforgiving bottle. The amber liquid only burns a trail down from her throat to her stomach and fuels the jealousy and shocked disbelief coiled in her gut. Soon enough her head blurs and she can’t manage to sit up straight, and she feels her cheeks flush with heat and her body collapse into the soft cushion. 

She can’t remember when the half-empty bottle slipped from her hand and thunked softly on the carpet below, or when her surroundings began to all blur into one, intelligible blob. She can’t remember the moment at which she finally realized that she could barely shift her head around, let alone move her body. And she can’t remember how she passed out in her work clothes, her ponytail undone and her long, black hair spread across the pillows. 

But she does remember falling in and out of consciousness, her heart pounding in her head, and the feel of warm, slow tears trailing down her face. Several times she could have sworn she smelled Jiro’s coconut scent and a gentle brush of her lips against her forehead while a comforting hand held her and led her to sleep, but she blames it on alcohol-induced hallucinations. Who was she to determine what had been real and what wasn’t?

Momo couldn’t even hear her own desperate sobs as she silently cried herself to sleep.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Jiro remembers. 

Mina had texted her, saying that she was honestly worried about Momo and that she should go check up on her. She was supposed to be in her apartment, taking a break from work. She clearly expressed that she knew her choosing to date Ryuzaki had something to do with it. Damn it, why did Momo have to have found out through MINA out of all people?

She remembers rushing out of Kaminari’s house where they had been hanging out and racing through the streets, the worst possibilities running through her head because of the fact that she had read Mina’s message an hour after it had been sent. Momo had given her the code to her apartment once in case of emergencies, so when nobody had answered the door after she knocked, she quickly saw herself in. 

It didn’t take too long before Jiro had walked in on the horrific, saddening sight of Momo collapsed on her couch in a drunken stupor. It had felt like an unreal nightmare. Her eyes had drifted from the limp hand with a half-empty whiskey bottle cradled inside of it to the sluggish, yet still elegant arm hanging off the edge of the couch, to the rest of Momo’s feverish body sprawled out against the couch. Her disheveled hair still managed to look beautiful to her in the afternoon sunlight.

Jiro remembers standing there, about 15 feet away, unable to accept what she was seeing. She had recalled all the “first times” she’d seen Momo, like when they’d first met, the first time she’d seen her in action, the first time she’d seen her in casual civilian clothing; she always held an air of control. She was logical, reasonable, smart. Momo was elegant, she always carried herself like the goddess she was. Her makeup was always immaculate, her words carefully planned, her ponytail in a perfect position. 

So when things shattered that image, it never failed to shock Jiro–mainly because she didn’t know how Momo could mask it so well. Like the first time Jiro had learned of Momo’s body insecurities she was shocked. Momo didn’t hide them too well, but Jiro hadn’t expected the extent to which it went, the way she always second-guessed her worth and constantly worried about if someone only valued her for her body; the way people had dared to treat her like an object. And the first time Momo genuinely cried in front of her, Jiro had to step back and ask herself if it was real. But even then, as they sat on the edge of Jiro’s bed in the UA dorms, she was able to compose herself to the point of being able to pass off as okay. 

But looking at her then, drunk on that couch...it had been terrifying. Everything about the scene had disturbed Jiro to her core. 

Jiro remembers walking over to the couch and standing over Momo for a moment in a sort of daze, trying to take in the sight of Momo’s unusually flushed face and neck, tears still slowly running down her face as her chest shook with the occasional rough sob. She still hadn’t registered Jiro’s presence. 

“Momo…” Jiro had sighed, picking up the whiskey bottle and placing it on the nearby coffee table. 

“J-Jiwo?” Momo’s eyes had blearily flickered open and darted around to find the source of the voice, and Jiro had almost felt flattered that Momo had still been able to recognize her voice in her intoxicated state. She had tried to move her head to face her, but only ended up shifting around in one place. “Wha–whassa ya doin’ ‘ere? Fwought  y–you left.” The tears seem to fall faster.

The purple-haired girl was only able to silently stare back. The clouded, tear-filled onyx eyes weren’t Momo’s. They looked incredibly...confused. 

Conflicted.

Scared. 

Fractured.

Destroyed.

Broken.

So many emotions had been packed into her gaze.

“It’s all right, Momo. I’m right here,” Jiro had gently repositioned Momo so that she could sit next to her. Momo’s head was nearly in her lap, and the drunken girl tried to crane her neck upwards so that she could see Jiro, but to no avail. “Shh, don’t move. I’m right here, see?” Jiro had reached over and held onto one of Momo’s hands. It had been clammy with sweat, but it still hadn’t prevented Jiro’s heart from beating faster.

Jiro remembers briefly wondering why Momo hadn’t already passed out from how much she drank. Or thrown up. She figures that Momo must have drank too much to ever become sober before crashing, but not enough so that she blacked out.

They had stayed there for a bit, but then Jiro had noticed an unopened water bottle left on the coffee table. She remembers how she opened it and gently propped Momo up, eventually persuading her to drink a decent amount. “Hey, just go to sleep, alright? I know it’s been a hard day.” Jiro hoped that Momo understood her. “Try to go to sleep.”

She apparently did. Momo had desperately grasped her hand and curled into something like a fetal position, head pressed up against Jiro's thigh. They stayed in that position for over two hours, Jiro just running her hand through Momo’s hair and occasionally rubbing gentle circles into her back. Momo had broken out in tears several times, releasing fearful whimpers and nearly-incoherent and completely nonsensical slurring as she faded in and out of consciousness, and Jiro sat by her, heart breaking with every passing moment.

Jiro remembers slipping into a stupor of her own, shocked by what she was seeing and what she was doing, mind racing.

She remembers eventually breaking down in tears alongside Momo, and finally watching the taller girl fall into a deep sleep by the early evening. She had waited for a little while to make sure Momo was truly asleep before getting up and, unable to resist the urge, leaned down and softly pressed her lips against her forehead. Jiro had taken one last look at her sleeping figure before setting out some waters and Advil and rearranging her clothing to make it easier for her to dress for tomorrow if she decided to go out. 

She knew Momo would have hated to know she was there to see her in that state, and had left hoping the alcohol would allow her visit to be forgotten. 

She remembers leaving and the sound of Momo’s apartment door clicking shut echoing in her ears. Calling Kaminari to pick her up and refusing to talk. Crashing on her bed after taking a shower and going to bed early for once. 

She had been exhausted.

Now as she sits on the edge of her own bed turning over Mina’s words, she finally began to wonder if Momo cared about her in the way she cared about the taller girl. 

She decides she has to do something.

 ____________________________________________________________________________________

 Momo sleeps through her daily alarm and wakes up with an overwhelming hangover. She can barely drag herself over to the sink and stands there intermittently throwing up for the next half hour, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of dried sweat on her body and old tears on her face. 

Two large bottles of water and more than a few Advils later, Momo stumbles into the shower. She doesn’t notice how they’re already laid out for her. A few near-hurls and more stumbling around her apartment, Momo is up and dressed by early afternoon. She again doesn’t notice how her clothes are inconspicuously laid out for her. A short walk in the cold weather later, she crashes into work. She does know she looks like a wreck, she didn’t need Mina’s pitiful look to confirm it. Mina sighs, wiping her hands off, and she turns to tell another worker to take over the register for a while.  

“You look awful,” and there’s no teasing tone behind Mina’s words as she instantly pulls Momo out back. 

“Better take a photo then, huh? It’ll be one of the only times you’ll see me like this,” Momo tries to joke when they get outside, refusing to look up at the other girl.

Mina sighs, crossing her arms. Her fluffy pink hair shakes in the cold winter breeze. 

“I was talking to Jiro the other night,” Mina purses her lip, “We were getting boba down the street. She was nervous, talking about some of her work-in-progress songs.”

Momo hates that she finally looks up, Mina knows how private Jiro is with her music and knows how it’ll catch her attention.

“What about it?” Momo knows what she wants Mina to say, and that want suddenly outweighs her fears.

“She told me that she was speechless when you said you loved hearing her sing live. She was rambling on about how shocked she was when you said you’d like to hear her unfinished songs and stuff and was very insistent that you must have said so out of courtesy. You know how Jiro can be, we both do; her self esteem is too low for her own good,” Mina smiles sadly as Momo nods in agreement, “She cried, you know. Said your very presence just allowed her to open up like that, called you the most beautiful person she’s met, inside and out.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Momo asks. She wants a verbal confirmation. She needs to hear it. 

“You’re just like her,” Mina gently chides her, “You may not ever believe it, but you’re worth more than you think.”

“–But I,” Momo starts to protest. 

“Nope,” Mina stares her down fiercely, yellow eyes blazing against the black, “I’m just saying, and you know how good I am with reading people and their intentions in the romance department, that you’re not the only one who’s noticed that piece of shit Ryuzaki-kun’s behavior.”

Momo swallows. She didn’t know that Mina had met him as well.

 “And I think she’d rather be dating you, I honestly think she has been for almost as long as you.” Mina drops the bomb, seemingly tired of beating around the bush. “Our other friends convinced me not to play matchmaker with you two so far, but it’s gone way too far now.”

She can’t stop the nagging doubts in her head, but a small spark of hope emerges.  

 “So woman up and get together already! You two would be perfect for each other, I know it!” Mina shifts back to her usual cheery demeanor and pats her on the shoulder. “And go fix yourself up in the bathroom; there’s no more drinking for you. I can’t believe Jiro let you come to work today.”

“Huh? Jiro?”

“Oh, I just assumed you would have gone to see Jiro since she was your best friend and I assumed that’s why you left, you know?” Mina quickly tries to cover up her mistake. What? Did Jiro not even go over to see Momo?

“Oh, alright then.” Momo doesn’t look too convinced, but she seems to accept the pink-haired girl’s answer. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Mina hurries away from Momo once they are back inside and sends Jiro a text. Did u go over to Momo’s yesterday? 

A reply comes almost immediately.

I did. She’s at work isn’t she fucking damn it she’s probs being her workaholic self. I thought she would have enough sense to stay home.

Mina frowns down at her screen. I don’t think she remembers u coming over.

Really? R u sure? , comes Jiro’s answer. 

Yes. Also she definitely likes u. U two are waaaay too oblivious. 

Come on, I’m still not sure. She was wasted.

Mina sighs exasperatedly, wondering how two people so smart could be the most useless gays she’s ever met. She isn’t paid enough to deal with this shit. Ur quirk is literally super-hearing. Can u not hear her heartbeat going 500x faster when you’re in sight? Have u ever considered trying that? Heartbeats don’t lie. Blushing like idiots also doesn’t help ur case.

Jiro doesn’t reply. Mina sends a final text. 

She’s clearly got a horrible hangover. You’re the one that saw her yesterday, and we both know she was feeling like shit. U can’t keep this going, you’ve seen how it can hurt u both.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, perhaps if her hangover wasn’t still killing her, Momo would have actually been able to reflect on her relationship with Jiro and fully accepted the possibility that Mina had suggested. She also might have felt a little less conflicted when Jiro skipped in about an hour later. 

“Hey Momo!” Jiro holds up a clumsy pair of finger guns as she slides into her usual seat at the counter, cheeks still pink from the cold weather. She’s wearing similar clothing, but this time her scarf is just hanging around her neck instead of being wrapped around it, and she’s wearing a pair of black fingerless gloves.

Momo tries to smile back, but she’s far too tired and affected by last night’s...accident. Her smile looks more like a grimace. She watches as Jiro’s own smile trembles.

“Hey, you okay?” Jiro inquires, her manicured brows furrow together and her dark eyes implore her to tell the truth. 

Momo feels her “business side” taking over her.

“I’m fine.”

The sharp, harsh words sound unfamiliar in her mouth. It’s her saying them, but she doesn’t feel in control. Her ears don’t recognize her cold, distant tone that’s borderline condescending. 

No, please. I didn’t mean it. She watches Jiro shrink into herself. She fiddles with the same scarf she’s been wearing the past month, and even her ear jacks seem to twirl into themselves.

“Can I take my usual to go?” In a way it comforts Momo that Jiro still sticks with her usual, that she still wants something that she made. But she desperately lies to herself, repeating that Jiro had come intending to just pick up a snack and leave; if she’s going to lose her to Ryuzaki, the least she could do is not push her further away.

Her body contradicts her protesting mind, and Momo allows herself to fall into the all-too-familiar rhythm. Pour the coffee, add the milk, a few spoonfuls of sugar. The pair stand less than six feet away from each other, but neither can work up the courage to say anything;

After what seems like centuries Momo slides Jiro’s order across the counter to her in a paper bag. The Plus Ultra Café’s silver logo shimmers up at both of them. 

“See you later,” Momo says in the robotic voice that was simultaneously hers and not hers. She starts to move back into the kitchen towards the bathrooms where she can cry her eyes out, but she feels a gentle hand reach out and grip her wrist. 

She stops in her tracks but doesn’t turn around yet. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep herself together if she looks into Jiro’s dejected eyes again, but unfortunately for her, she feels Jiro move closer to her. Too close for being surrounded by strangers and potential reporters. Not nearly close enough if they were alone together. 

“I don’t want to–” Momo begins roughly.

“Kaminari and I are gonna hang out tonight,” Jiro interrupts her, “But I’ll be free for a while beforehand. I...I’d really like it if you could come over to my apartment and...help me write. You know, um, a song or something. I’ve been having some writer’s block for my songwriting.” Her ear jacks are still twirling nervously. “If you’re feeling better, that is.”

This is another thing that made Momo fall so hard for Jiro. She doesn’t know if Jiro has any idea about what’s making her act like this, she hopes not, but Jiro just knows the boundary between Momo’s “I’m too stubborn to talk about this and you need to convince me to open up” and her “I really don’t want to talk about this.” Jiro won’t push her to talk about what’s making her upset until she’s ready, but she’ll refuse to leave her side and do anything to make her happier. Momo also knows Jiro is definitely a solo-songwriter, barely ever co-writing a song with anyone–with her skill level, she can definitely pull it off fine. The only time she’d ever let someone interfere with her writing and her song-making process was at the very end for a few minor mistakes or changes, and even those people must be close to her, like Kaminari. 

While Jiro had taught her to play the electric guitar and a fair bit about songwriting, her willingness to possibly collaborate with someone so inexperienced greatly surprises Momo. In fact, Jiro’s suggestion is so out of place that Momo briefly wonders if her “hallucinations” last night were in fact reality, but she pushes the thought out of her mind. Jiro wouldn't even have known she left work early.

“Y–yes. I want to go,” Momo finds herself responding, and her cloud of negativity is blown away by Jiro’s blinding grin. Her persistent hangover even fades to a faint ache for a moment.

“Meet me at my apartment at 5, okay? I’ll get takeout for us,” Jiro says, and Momo nods dumbly, “And if you want, you can brainstorm before and bring some ideas along with you to go off of.” 

The shorter girl darts forward and hugs her, and before Momo’s mind can register what happened, Jiro has already waved goodbye to her and walked out the door. 

Momo’s fucked, and she knows it.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Jiro rushes out of the café, a blush spreading across her face, and the cold weather has nothing to do with it. She realizes that Mina was right. Momo’s heart had been racing so fast that she either liked Jiro or Mina was wrong about her forgetting and she remembered last night. Hopefully the former was correct. Her doubts still haunted her; how could a literal goddess like Momo ever like her? 

But the realization sparks a fire inside of her, and she’s not going to let it die. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Momo had returned back to her apartment without even telling Mina she was leaving, but she doubts her friend cares much anyways. Her nerves felt like they were on fire–they still do–and she had been pacing around the rooms for a good while before settling down. The tapping of her pencil against the gray marble of her kitchen island echoes around the luxurious apartment. 

She knows that Jiro hadn’t meant to put pressure on her when she asked for some song ideas, but she felt obligated to at least think of something . Yeah sure Jiro was her best friend, but she was also part of a world-famous band, so it’s still nerve-racking for that reason. Not to mention that she’s not confident in her writing abilities; she’s technically only been taught about songwriting by Jiro, she’s never fully attempted it. Jiro literally wrote billboard toppers. And while she definitely wasn’t a beginner, Momo also wasn’t an expert when it came to her knowledge of instruments; she’s good at the acoustic and electric guitars and piano, but other than that she didn’t have much of a clue. Jiro was one of the best guitarists in the industry and had practically mastered all of the other instruments needed in a rock band.

She just ignores the fact that the main reason she’s having trouble writing is because she has a giant crush on the singer and she’s scared that she’ll humiliate herself and Jiro will inevitably leave her and go fuck with Ryuzaki or something, but that’s fine. 

Momo moves to her bedroom where she sits in the middle of her king-sized bed. The electric guitar that Jiro gave her sits in the corner, taunting her. 

The clock slowly ticks on the wall. It’s 3:46.

Her hangover is still causing a dull pounding to torment her head.

Momo doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she’s too exhausted to do either. 

Forget it . 

Pushing herself off her bed she walks over to her guitar and plays a few experimental chords on it. I’ll just stick to a simple chord progression and some power chords to make my life easier. Momo decides to sit on the floor and sets aside her notepad and pencil, trying to come up with some sort of catchy riff or tune. 

Since it’s for Jiro, she wants to go for a full-on punk rock or rock song, but she ends up settling for a pop-punk style. The thing is, Momo’s voice was definitely a strong point for her; her parents had enrolled her in singing lessons when she was younger, so her range was honestly larger than Jiro’s. But while Momo had a wider range and more agility as a coloratura mezzo soprano, Jiro could definitely project her deeper voice much more than her, and it contained more of a husky, raspy tone that Momo’s natural voice didn’t have–it made sense considering what type of music Jiro mainly sang. So since her melodic, lighter voice couldn’t capture the aggressive, forward tone that Jiro often took on when singing full-on punk rock or rock songs, pop-punk was the best option to easily include Jiro's style of music with her vocal type. 

20 minutes pass by, and she still hasn’t come up with anything. 

It’s already 4:06, and she has to leave by 4:45 at the latest. 

So she picks up her pencil and begins scribbling down possible lyrics, starting with the chorus. Momo plans out a simple song structure: she’ll use the chorus or part of the chorus as an intro; that’ll lead to a general Verse 1–Chorus–Verse 2–Chorus; maybe a slower beat for the bridge; and then it’ll end with the chorus again. She already knows it’ll be a shorter song and hopes it won’t end up being too repetitive. 

She realizes that it’s much easier to think of a tune after she comes up with a rough idea for a chorus–she had plenty of things to write about–and by 4:32 she’s landed herself with a melody for the song. It’s a simple one in the key of C. 

And from there she was on a roll–it hadn’t been hard for her to write the first and second verses, although she’s still considering changing some of the lyrics as she pulls on her favorite Hermès coat and walks out the door at 4:45. Momo’s feeling a bit better as she makes her way over to Jiro’s apartment, and she’s even pretty content with what she’s come up with. They’d probably finish the bridge together–if Jiro liked the song of course. 

By 5:01 Momo is standing in front of Jiro’s apartment door and she stares down at the piece of paper clutched in her hand. The longer she looks at it the more her confidence dwindles away. She bites her lip nervously as she debates on whether she should knock on the door or not, but her argument is ended when the door swings open by itself. She’s greeted by the sight of Jiro in her signature black t-shirt with the words “Deep Dope” plastered on the front in white and a pair of Adidas track pants. Jiro doesn’t have any makeup or lipstick on. No bracelets, just a plain pair of silver earrings. Not even her usual choker.

It’s refreshingly casual.

“Hey!” Momo notes how Jiro actually sounds rather nervous herself, and she winces. She hopes she hadn’t come off too harsh earlier, and she shoots her a relaxed smile. Jiro noticeably reacts, her ear jacks ceasing to twist around in the air; it seemed the girl was never really aware that her ear jacks often put her emotions on full display. 

“Hi,” Momo responds, catching a whiff of pizza from the kitchen, “Is that pizza?” 

“Yup, and is that Prada or something?” Jiro gestures towards Momo’s coat as she shuts the door behind them.

“No, Hermès,” Momo frowns when Jiro shakes her head amusedly, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jiro says, “It’s just that you’re the only person I know who would wear an old pair of jeans and a trash shirt with a fuckin’ Hermès coat. And pull the look off.”

  Momo feels her heart stutter for a moment as she puts her coat on the coat rack near Jiro’s door. “Hey, this is your band on the front,” she gestures at the limited edition Night-93 t-shirt she’s wearing, “So how is this shirt a trash shirt?”

“I mean, compared to the fancy shit you usually wear it is,” Jiro reasons lightheartedly. Momo’s wealth had become a joke between the pair at this point; it had quite early in their friendship. It had all started when Momo confessed that she’d never owned anything other than designer clothes and, much to Sero and Kaminari’s horror, she’d never even eaten at Yoshinoya in her life. At that moment, Jiro and her friends had made it her life mission to introduce Momo to all of the joys of a normal human being.

“Hmm, it’s your band so I think it’d be special to me even if it looked bad,” Momo cringes internally as she lets her thoughts slip out, and she rushes over to the kitchen. She completely misses the rampant blush that flooded across Jiro’s face. 

Jiro’s apartment looks exactly like it had the last time Momo visited her; it’s pretty big–she’s an international superstar–but it’s still smaller than hers, and the interior is a lot darker. 

 (The living room looks similar to this except the TV is mounted on the wall, the coffee table is glass, and there’s a few rock band posters along the wall)

Behind the couch (so behind the couch on the left in the image) is the kitchen, where the box of pizza lays open on the table. 

(Jiro’s kitchen looks like this except the wine fridge is switched out for a giant fridge half-full of random sodas and drinks for when the rest of her band visits and the seats at the table are light grey seats/stools with a low back)

The two friends sit at the table and make pointless small talk as they eat the pizza, and Momo has to admit, the food’s pretty good for cheap, down-the-street pizza. Their orders are always the same: Momo’s pizza has little pieces of sweet, roasted bell peppers and small mushrooms while Jiro’s has pepperonis and sausage. Both always order thin-crusted. Momo finds her anxiousness fade away as they reminisce about old times and speculate about the criminal organization whose investigation they are banned from joining in on. Even her hangover disappears into a horrible memory. Finally, when they’re finished eating, Jiro asks the half-dreaded question Momo’s been anticipating this whole time. Swiping her purple bangs out of her face she rubs her neck shyly. “So, you wanna try writing something today?”

“Oh! Umm…y-you know actually,” Momo curses at herself, her parents had always scolded her stuttering, “I actually tried starting one on my own, and it’s almost done. I’m just missing the bridge and of course there’s going to be some mistakes so we’re going to have to fix those. But that’s only if you like it you know, I–” she breaks off as she realizes that she’s rambling. 

“Woah, that’s great! I’d love to hear what you wrote so far.” Jiro practically sprints back to her room, only pausing to ask if Momo needed any instruments. The taller girl was barely able to stutter out her response, “Yeah, just an electric guitar.”

Standing at the doorway of her room, Momo can’t help thinking that this whole situation reminds her of their time together in UA. Her room still resembles her dorm room; her bed is surrounded by various instruments. Electric, acoustic, and bass guitars hang from the wall, a keyboard stands nearby a desk cluttered with what are presumably half-written songs, a full-on drum set sits in the corner, and for some reason there’s also a cello next to that. Momo questions it for a moment before the various posters and framed photos on the wall catch her attention. A few of them are signed, like the One OK Rock poster, the All Time Low one, and the L'Arc ~ en ~ Ciel one (Night-93 had collaborated with all of them), but most aren’t. There’s Joan Jett, TWICE, Incubus, Yungblud, The Neighbourhood, Amy Winehouse, a few pictures of the band together and...a few pictures of her and Momo during the Pro-Hero Awards Gala. Her heart skips a beat. Those are a new addition–not that she’s complaining, of course. 

While Momo had been admiring the room, Jiro had been hooking up one of her electric guitars into an amp, tuning it, and adjusting the settings. When she’s finished she presses the guitar into Momo’s hands and sits back on the bed expectantly. Momo pulls the piece of paper out in front of her and grips the guitar tightly. Her hands are shaking slightly. Everything had been going better than expected for her, and she didn’t want to ruin it now.

“Hey, no pressure,” Jiro looks at her softly, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I won’t judge you. You know, I think you could sing a love song about Todoroki and his cold soba and I would still think it was perfection.”

Momo can’t help but let out a small laugh at the thought of it; the peppermint-haired boy probably almost loved his soba as much as he loved Midoriya. That gravity was there again, inevitably drawing her towards the singer, just making her want to curl up next to the shorter girl and pull her into a giant hug. She knows she’ll lose herself if she keeps looking at the other girl, so she focuses on adjusting her fingers on the neck of the guitar. The tension in her shoulders leaves as she takes a deep breath. 

~ Insert All Time Low’s “Monsters” ft. blackbear and Demi Lovato , but imagine if the only instrument playing is an electric guitar and it’s not sung as aggressively. (So I guess the tone would be closer to if Demi sang the entire song?) Also, Momo will be slap strumming for the first verse and second verses and using fingerstyle for the bridge after the second verse. If you don’t know what those two techniques are, just look it up and I’m sure you’ll recognize them. It’s just a bit hard for me to explain easily. And you know what? Just imagine what variation sounds best.

Link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlnwXIigAAs

Also, just to make my life easier, assume that Kaminari sometimes sings like blackbear ~

Why, do all the monsters come out at night?

Why do we sleep where we want to hide?

Why do I run back to you like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

Momo adds a bit of a growl when she sings “fuck up my life,” hoping she can express her frustration and anger, even if Jiro doesn’t know it’s about her. She hopes she can express the pain of countless, sleepless nights where she had torn herself apart over her feelings for her, and the pain of always craving more despite knowing that she would only get hurt because Jiro will only see her as her friend. 

She transitions into slap strumming. 

Another day another headache, in this hangover hotel

Yesterday may have been the first time she had gotten drunk–wasted–over the matter, but the amount of mental gymnastics that Momo had been forced to endure had caused her plenty of headaches.

Getting used to the rhythm, yeah I know this beat too well

She was Jiro’s best friend. She had been for the last seven years. 

Tunnel vision’s, got me feeling, like you’re the only one I see

But I know what’s missing, when I’m swimming, in my lonely luxury

Momo’s spent so many days alone in her high-rise apartment, wishing she could have the privilege of waking up next to Jiro in the morning and sleeping beside her at night, wishing for her to erase the empty feeling that haunted the place. And she knows that Jiro is the only person who can do that for her; she’s already tried to fill that void with others, but the relationships always fell apart because her heart hadn’t been fully committed to them–it had always belonged to Jiro. 

She breaks into the chorus.

I’m wondering why, do all of the monsters come out at night?

Why do we sleep where we want to hide?

Why do I run back to you like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

Why, am I a sucker for all your lies?

This line was more directed towards herself, with “your” applying to anyone who gave her hope for the impossible that being the reality in which Jiro reciprocated her feelings. She’d tried to convince herself that her feelings would never be returned, and she hated that she wanted to believe Mina’s suggestion that Jiro would be willing to date her. She hated that she was still so hopeful for the punk-rock girl’s love.

Strung out like laundry on every line,

Why do I come back to you like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

She switches into her own melodic version of Kaminari’s quicker, yet laid-back flow, blurring the sentences together.

I’m addicted to the way you hurt the way you contradict me,

I swear everything looks worse at night I think I’m overthinking,

I don’t care who I might hurt along the way I’m fucking sinking,

Into every word I don’t care if you’re lying when I’m drinking–So

She softens her voice to a resigned, almost pleading tone.

Tell me pretty lies, look me in my face, 

Tell me that you love, even if it’s fake.

And you can lead me on and leave these questions in my sheets

She internally laughs at herself. It’s pathetic how addicted she is to Jiro’s affection, how dependent she is on it. 

I’m under it, I made my bed and I’m still wondering,

She passionately strikes a power chord and begins strumming again. 

I’m wondering why, do all the monsters come out at night?

She thinks ahead; technically she hasn’t created a bridge yet, but she knows the beat and the melody. She only has to fill in 8 measure’s worth of lyrics, and she supposes she can just repeat something simple. 

Why do we sleep where we want to hide?

She can’t can finish this. 

Why do I run back to you like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

Let’s not do this . She switches over to light fingerstyling and quiets her voice. 

Thinkin' about you, you're in my head,

Her finger nearly slips as she quickly comes up with the next line. 

Even without you, I still feel dead,

This time, even though her hands are trembling and her heart is racing, she knows she can do it. 

Why do I run back to you,

She just has to finish one more line.

Like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

Momo’s heart lifts. I...I can do this.

Dead, thinking about you, you’re in my head,

 She finally dares to steal a glance at Jiro, and locks eyes with her. The purple-haired girl stares intensely into her own onyx eyes, and Momo can’t help but lose herself into the beautiful, dark depths.

Even without you, I still feel dead,

There are too many emotions in Jiro’s eyes for even someone as perceptive as Momo to decipher, but she can try. Please tell me you know how I feel. She begins playing louder, plucking at the strings more aggressively.

Why do I run back to you,

Momo sees a glimpse of sorrow flash across Jiro’s face. Then a wave of pained understanding, and...guilt? Just a short moment where her eyes shift away from Momo’s and her mouth twitches downwards as she softly bites on her bottom lip. She raises her voice a bit louder.

Like I don’t mind if you fuck up my life?

It’s definitely guilt.

Like always, it’s her ear jacks that give her away. She’s subconsciously moving her ear jacks behind her neck; since she was aware her ear jacks often put her emotions out for everyone to see, she had made a habit of hiding them behind her neck or her back when she felt guilty. It wasn’t hard for Momo to figure out. 

But what was she hiding? Had she been there yesterday night? Was Mina right?

Would she really want to date me?

Momo abruptly transitions out of the nimble fingerstyling she had been doing and slams down on her guitar’s strings three times, playing another three strong power chords that seem to shake the room.

I’m wondering why, do all of the monsters come out at night?

I know you probably see me as your best friend.

Why do we sleep where we want to hide?

And I’m a pathetic coward at times, with so many faults I can’t even list half of them.

Why do I run back to you,

But I’d do anything within my power for you.

Like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

And I’ll always run back to you.

Why am I a sucker for all your lies?

You deserve better than a womanizer like Ryuzaki-kun.

Strung out like laundry on every line

You deserve the world.

Why do I come back to you

And maybe I can’t give all of it to you.

Like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

But you know, I’ll always stand by your side. 

Like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

Because I love you way too much for my own good, Jiro. Please tell me Mina was right. 

Momo ends the song with one last strum of her guitar, and it echoes throughout the room. The two girls stare at each other, silent. 

“I thought you didn’t finish the bridge,” Jiro says. It’s all she can manage to say. 

“Well, uh, surprise?” Momo’s heart is still racing, “I guess I did a little improv. What...what did you think?”

She waits for the inevitable rejection, the pointing out of unfixable flaws and mistakes. Instead, Jiro bites her lip again and looks away. “What’s it about?” she whispers.

“Huh?” Momo sets down the guitar on Jiro’s bed and stands back.

“That song clearly means a lot to you,” Jiro’s ear jacks are twisting around each other now, “If you don’t mind sharing, what did you write it about?” She sounds rather urgent.

“Uh…” Momo scolds herself, she should have expected Jiro to ask. She tries to avoid the obvious tension in the room. Running like always, huh? Where’d all my confidence go? “I’ve just been watching Supergirl and thought of Kara and Lena. And then turned their relationship into a pop-punk song–or at least tried to. I even tried putting in Kaminari’s style of singing, what did you think of that?” 

Momo knows she’s lying horribly. Jiro knows she’s lying horribly. Momo knows Jiro knows she’s lying horribly.

She starts fidgeting with the edges of her t-shirt.

“I know you’re aware that I feel guilty about something,” Jiro confesses, “I’m not always oblivious to what my ear jacks are doing.”

Momo waits in terrified anticipation. She nearly faints when she hears the next words out of Jiro’s mouth.

“I saw you yesterday night–well afternoon too.” Jiro blurts out. WHAT?

The room starts spinning as she stumbles backwards, and she vaguely notices how she can’t seem to force air down her throat. That was real? No, nO, No, NO, NO NO NONONONO

Suddenly she’s pulled down into a sitting position on the bed, and it’s Jiro who’s off the bed, except  Jiro’s kneeling in front of her. 

“Why? Why are you still here? How–” Momo begins to croak out. She stares down at the white stripes on Jiro’s Adidas pants.

“Hey, Momo, look at me.” Jiro’s voice is calm but as strong as steel.

She shakes her head furiously, tears beginning to form in her panicked eyes. The room starts spinning faster, and she can’t make out her surroundings. Iron claws clench around her body, crushing her ribcage while a wave of nausea floods over her. Out of the chaos, she feels Jiro’s firm hand grip her shoulder and steady her while her other one carefully brushes away her signature lock of ebony hair on the right side (Jiro’s left) of her face, revealing her furrowed brows, watery eyes, and gasping lips. 

She feels Jiro’s soft, yet calloused fingertips on her face ghost down her jawline and position themselves around her chin. Her hand gently guides Momo’s face upwards so that Momo can face her, fingers caressing the side of her face. Despite leaning into Jiro’s hand, the black-haired girl keeps her eyes trained downwards.

“Just try to breathe,” Jiro says. Why are you still here?

“Breath in and out with me,” she orders, and Momo tries her best until her heart rate slowly decreases until it’s only at a “panic” level and not a “whatthefuckisgoingonHELPME” level.  

“Were–were you actually there? I th–thought I was imagining it.” Momo eventually chokes out. 

Jiro lets out a tired sigh, letting the hand on Momo’s face fall to her other shoulder. Momo dares to look up at the other singer and that gravity hits her again, making her crave more other girl’s comforting warmth. She seems to take notice of this, and spreads her arms invitingly. Momo rockets herself into Jiro’s arms and wraps her arms around her back, even reaching up to clench onto her shoulders. Her tears break loose, and she buries her face into her neck, too distressed to care about messing up Jiro’s Deep Dope shirt. 

“Shh, it’s all right, I’m right here, okay?” Jiro repositions them so that they are both sitting on the bed and rubs Momo’s back in a circular motion with one hand. “Let it all out.”

Momo strengthens her grip on the other girl frantically, too scared that she’ll leave her if she lets go. Jiro rests her chin against Momo’s shoulder and also tightens her hug, trying to reassure the tearful girl. 

~ Sort of switches to Jiro’s POV here ~

“Mina texted me yesterday,” she begins softly, and feels Momo tense up and hears her heartbeat speed up even faster. She carefully plans out her next words. “She told me she was worried about you and that you had rushed out of work early to go home without an explanation, which you never do.”

She purposely decides to omit that Mina had told her exactly why she thought Momo had left, knowing that she was already too overwhelmed to deal with that information. “I received the text almost an hour late,” she swallows guiltily, “and I rushed over to your place. I...I found you on the couch.” Now it’s getting hard for Jiro to talk, the haunting memories running through her head. Momo’s fingers dig uncomfortably into her shoulders, but she doesn’t care.

“You–you were just lying there, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in your hand. It scared me so, so much,” Jiro sobs, trying to stop herself from crying. Momo lets out a shaky whimper and tries to pull away, but Jiro keeps her in place, continuing to rub circles against her back. “You were sl–slurring your words, you kept saying you were scared that I would leave. I got you to drink some water and I stayed with you until I was sure you fell asleep.”

“B–but why didn’t y–you stay?” Momo says, her tone a bit accusatory. 

“I was scared you would push yourself farther away from me if you knew I had seen you in that state,” Jiro admits. Momo knows she would have. 

“And I’m so, so sorry for that, Momo,” Jiro presses on, “I hated seeing you like that because you were afraid of me leaving, and I ended up leaving. If–if it’s about Ryuzaki-kun, I want to let you know that I still care about you more, you’ve been there for me for years. I’ve done everything besides you, even nearly died beside you.” She feels Momo’s breath hitch. 

“And I hope with all of my heart that you believe me when I say this: I will never willingly leave you, especially like that. I...I love you too much to let that happen dumbass,” Jiro confesses, surprised that she let it slip. Momo’s breath stops completely. 

Jiro knows Momo is dying to ask what she means by “love,” romantic or platonic, but both of them are too scared to bring it up. Momo, because she’s too scared of rejection, and Jiro because she doesn’t want to overwhelm the other girl–and also because there’s just that tiny voice in the back of her head that keeps insisting Momo will never like her back. Before they can fall into another long lapse of silence, Jiro, feeling like there was nothing else to lose by now, takes on another approach. A wave of sudden, reckless boldness comes over her. It must be the adrenaline; she’s sure her heart is beating so loud that Momo can hear it racing. “I’m sorry I just told you now, and I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you so fast...I just want to ask one more thing.”

Momo hums into her neck, sending shivers down her neck. She takes it as a hesitant “yes.”

“Your song. It,” she knows she shouldn’t say it, but her, “It’s about me isn’t it?”

Momo releases a sort of strangled cry and freezes in place. 

Jiro knows she has just gotten her response. 

“It’s all right if it is–” Jiro rushes to calm down Momo, cursing at herself for pushing too far, but it’s too late. This time Jiro’s hug can’t contain the anguished girl, and Momo pushes herself away from Jiro and stands up.

“Look, I can’t do this right now,” Momo sniffles, “I need to go.”

Jiro opens her mouth, wanting to beg her to stay, wanting to go hug her again and keep her wrapped up in her arms until she feels safe and loved. But she also knows she overstepped her boundaries by a landslide and doesn’t want to push Momo further. So she chooses to let her go, having faith that she’ll come back to her when she’s ready, and hopes she isn’t making the wrong choice.

“Let me use your restroom before I leave, please.” Momo’s voice turns cold, but Jiro knows she’s barely holding herself together. 

“Take as much time as you want. But Kaminari’s coming in,” Jiro checks the digital watch on her bedside and her eyes widen in surprise, “About 5 to 10 minutes, just to let you know. Sorry that time slipped past. In case you don’t want him being nosy.”

“Thank you,” Momo’s voice turns distant and calculated, her “business” voice. She promptly leaves the room, leaving Jiro to regretfully run the events that had just unfolded over and over through her head, wondering what she should have said to convince her to stay. 

~ Back to Momo’s POV ~

Momo has been standing in front of Jiro’s large bathroom mirror for a while now. 

Taking a deep breath, she splashes some cold water in her face and laughs sadly when she stands up. At least she didn’t say she hated the song.

She’s pretty sure she’s in shock, learning about how Jiro had seen her drunk off her ass and probably knows about her crush. Why does this have to happen to me? 

But one thing that Jiro said shoves all of her other concerns into the background for her: Does she really care about me more than Ryuzaki-kun? Well, I mean, I hope she does. And...does she love me like I love her?

Unholy Mother Monster, why did love have to be so complicated? 

Momo stands there for who-knows-how-long going through the mental gymnastics of her own doubts and insecurities versus what she had just experienced and her trust in Jiro. But the more she thought about it, the more she began to resent the punk-rock girl. Years and years of giving everything she had to the other girl, then watching her go off touring and barely talking to her for months and then have her crash back into her life like a rampant tycoon. She knows she’s being unreasonable–she hadn’t ever brought up her feelings, but she can’t let go of one thing: Jiro had just said she loved her and that Ryuzaki-kun didn’t matter, and she wants to believe her so badly. But, the voice in her head argues, If that was true then why did she choose to date Ryuzaki-kun?

Her fingertips whiten as she strangles the sides of the sink.

If she’s claiming that she doesn’t want to hurt me, then why didn’t she even talk to me about Ryuzaki-kun? Hell, I had to find that out from Mina. Momo wants to punch the glass mirror and watch her hand bleed for the shards of glass that would pierce through it. She’s half-surprised by her own anger; she really thought that she was okay standing by the sidelines over the years, but she supposes that it was all another convincing lie she told herself. And if she wanted to date me instead, why is she still with him?

She completely ignores the fact that she probably would have done the same–she literally has dated a few people to try to get over Jiro.

But it’s easier to be angry than to have to face her own hypocrisy. 

Why did you leave that day? Why didn’t you just ignore how I would feel and just stay?  Momo knows exactly why. She would’ve felt ten times more ashamed of losing her composure to that extent, especially in front of Jiro.

But it’s easier to just place all the blame on Jiro. 

So she does.

 Why did you bring this all up if you already called Kaminari over today? How long have you known? Momo allows the questions to swarm around head until she’s shaking with frustration and betrayal, all logic out the door. Why did I ever trust you? Why do I keep running back to you even though you just fuck up my emotions?

She grits her teeth. At this point, she’s not even crying anymore. She allows herself to be carried away in her furious thoughts.

Then the sound of Kaminari crashing through the front entrance startles her out of her rage.

She holds her breath as Kaminari walks straight past the closed bathroom door, down the hallway, and into Jiro’s room. The sound of Jiro’s muffled greeting reaches her ears. After staying in the bathroom for a bit longer and considering her options, Momo decides it’s best that she try to make her leave as soon as in case Kaminari decides to use the restroom and opens the door as quietly as she can to leave. However, the sound of Kaminari’s exasperated voice makes her stop in her tracks; she doesn’t even feel bad for eavesdropping at this point.

You’re saying Momo came here..song about you, and...tell her how...?” Kaminari’s voice screeches. 

“Shhh!” Jiro fiercely shushes him. “Not so loud, okay?”

“Why? ….not...here.” Kaminari answers confusedly. 

“It’s just...too loud, okay?” Jiro responds. 

She’s disappointed when she realizes she can only make out snippets of their conversation when they both lower their voices. And she’s well aware that Jiro’s quirk will prevent her from moving any closer to the closed door to eavesdrop. 

“..sorry...can’t keep doing this...hurting her...yourself.” Kaminari sounds uncharacteristically serious. “And...what...Ryuzaki-kun?”

Momo feels a spike of irritation at the mere mention of the bastard’s name.

“Just–” Jiro’s voice becomes unintelligible as she lowers her voice further. The pair appear to argue back and forth for a bit before Kaminari raises his voice enough so that Momo can hear him a bit better.

“You know you won’t be happy if you… him!” Kaminari’s voice rings out.

Momo doesn't even feel a hint of regret at Jiro’s apparent guilt, she’s too angry and hurt at the moment to care much.

“I...just let me go get some sodas for us both and we can work on the song we started last week.” Jiro’s voice effectively brings the discussion to an end. 

The black-haired girl rushes towards the front entrance when she realizes that Jiro will be heading in her direction. 

“Hey, Momo,” Jiro quietly calls out to her as stands at the threshold with her Hermès jacket on and her hand on the doorknob. The shorter girl looks incredibly conflicted, like there’s much more she wants to say. There is. But she appears to settle on something else. “The song you wrote was fucking amazing. Really. No matter what you wrote it about, I love it.”

Don’t expect me to be polite right now, Jiro. Don’t even try.  “I’m happy to hear that,” Momo feels her mouth open and feels the sounds come out of it, but the words only contain a harsh, distant tone. Just like earlier in the day, she slips into her “business” voice, but this time she feels no instant regret, no pang of guilt as she watches Jiro flinch away from her. 

“Momo–” Jiro begins, but Momo cuts her off as she turns to walk out the door and takes one last look at her. 

“You better not even show your face around the café for a good while, okay? Just go have fun with Kaminari or your boyfriend. ”

The poisonous words burn her throat and leave a disgusting taste in her mouth but she doesn’t let it show. Momo’s past her breaking point. Her icy glare freezes Jiro in place before she crosses the threshold and softly shuts the door behind her, so as to not catch Kaminari’s attention. 

Again, Momo knows she’s being a hypocrite. And a jealous, petty bitch. But her common sense isn’t exactly in control right away. 

She walks away into the cold evening feeling nothing except for simmering anger and hurt, but looking as immaculate and elegant as she did when she first arrived. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Jiro walks over to the kitchen to actually get some drinks for her and Kaminari, barely suppressing her sobs. She’s confused and hurt, but knows that Momo, someone who needed control and preferred careful, precise decisions, was probably lashing out because of the chaotic mess they had gotten themselves into. 

She opens the fridge, looking around at all of the options.

Momo was probably panicking. Dating Ryuzaki-kun had been a rather spontaneous decision, and Momo had found out from Mina out of all people. And she just found out that Jiro had seen her wasted on a couch which contradicted her whole “elegant, rich, graceful, perfect” air. Momo probably wanted her to stay with her for the night, but then would have felt ten times worse seeing Jiro there when she woke up. 

Jiro sighs, grabbing two original-flavored Ramuné and shuts the door. 

This was just a giant lose-lose situation. If Momo had liked her for that long, everything that had occurred probably made her feel as if she completely lost control of the whole situation–which it had. It was inevitable that she would be pushed past her breaking point with the way it had been going. 

She starts heading back to where Kaminari was still waiting for her. 

Jiro decides that tomorrow she’ll go to the café, and that she’ll risk an angry Momo to try to fix their relationship. And tell the truth. 

I’ll start by breaking things off with Ryuzaki-kun . She pulls out her phone and begins typing away.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“What are you doing here?”

It’s still about an hour before opening time, the café opens at 10am instead of 7am on Sundays, and Momo stares at the girl in front of her, unsure whether to create a cannon to blast her out of the entire country of Japan or to actually hear her out for a second. Jiro fidgets in front of her. She’s wearing the same beanie and scarf, a UA hoodie, black jeans, and Vans, and for some reason, Momo hasn't kicked her out yet. They’re facing each other in the café kitchen, and Momo vaguely wonders how she failed to notice the other girl’s entrance; after all, she keeps the doors locked until opening time. She assumes that Mina must have given Jiro her key to the café because she didn’t need it at the moment since the criminal organization investigation had picked up. Jiro looks scared to death. Even her silver skull earrings look terrified. 

Momo doesn’t show it, but she feels the same way. She hadn’t expected Jiro to actually show up the day after they had their biggest argument they’d ever had with each other, and she also hadn’t expected Jiro to look so...fearful. Well, she knows very well that she can be very intimidating when she wants to, but she expected Jiro to be angrier than well, whatever she was feeling right now. Apologetic? Willing to forgive her?

She shudders internally, recalling the petty words that had spilled out of her mouth. She hadn’t been able to sleep last night, having spent the sleepless hours reviewing her and Jiro’s relationship in excruciating detail, all the way from when they first met to the last time she saw her. She was finally able to understand why Jiro had done what she did, and that Jiro probably did like her. 

And of course, she inevitably found herself regretting her actions. Momo had potentially screwed their whole relationship over, romantic or not.

She wouldn’t have approached Jiro for at least a week so that she could meticulously plan out what she was going to say, but then again, Jiro was never one for copious amounts of planning. 

Well, since Jiro was clearly brave enough to face her, Momo supposes that she can stand her ground...for the next 10 minutes maximum if she doesn’t run away from shame. She can feel an embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks already. 

“Well, Momo–,” Jiro shifts her feet back and forth and crosses her arms, hugging herself tightly, which causes a mountain of guilt to collapse on top of the taller girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Momo blurts out, and this time, it’s her mouth opening, it’s her saying those words. Jiro can tell, too. “I...We both know I fucked up.” She’s honestly surprised that she’s apologizing already.

Jiro stops, surprised. She also hadn’t expected Momo to be ready to apologize so soon, but she still scoffs, letting out a pained chuckle. “No shit.” However, she still stands expectantly, waiting for Momo to speak; this was actually a pleasant surprise for her and doesn’t want to interrupt the other girl if she’s already worked up the courage to. 

Momo gulps, feeling her heart pound in her chest. Her eyes flick around the room, looking at anything but Jiro. “And…we both know I was acting like an immature, hypocritical imbecile yesterday. And most likely the days or weeks prior to then.” She flounders around for the right thing to say, I am not ready for this. Damn it I’ve had no time to prepare. “Um, I’m sorry. There–there’s no excuse for my behavior, I just felt I lost control over the situation and everything was too unpredictable...BUT that’s no excuse for what I did. And um...” 

She’s practically sweating at this point, and she looks up at Jiro, who looks suspiciously disinterested and unconvinced. Momo’s skin prickled under the uncomfortable gaze, and she’s forced to look away again.   

“Look! You know how I am, I haven’t had time to plan this out and this is all so sudden and I’m just sorry, okay?” Momo rushes out desperately, not caring that she was losing her composure, “I– I’m sorry for everything, for being unreasonably angry at you for trying to help me–especially when I was drunk, for being such a horrible friend, for never acknowledging your perspective, being a pathetic coward –! I– I”

Momo runs a distressed hand through her loose lock of hair and looks up again, unable to continue, her thoughts thoroughly jumbled and scattered in her head. Jiro doesn’t look mad or nervous, which is good, but she also looks...slightly amused? The tension in her shoulders is no longer there, and there’s a good-humored sparkle in her dark eyes.   

“I understand what you’re trying to say,” Jiro says, “I know you usually need time to think things out, it’s okay. Look, we’re both at fault here, so this apology goes both ways.”

“I know but I–” Momo protests. Things can’t be this easy, can it?

“No buts, Momo,” Jiro breaks in, “I know we both screwed up big time. But I’ve known you long enough to realize exactly why you acted like you did, and I think you’ve known me long enough to understand me too.”

Momo nods hesitantly, still unsure whether things could be forgiven so easily. 

“You’ve acknowledged what you did wrong, and I can tell you’re sorry for it. There’s nothing else you can do; you can’t change the past. But we can work forwards from here.” Jiro’s eyes shine lovingly. 

Oh damn it. Momo feels like she can melt into a puddle of gay goo when Jiro looks at her like that; someone could have told her that her family’s company had collapsed and she doubted she would have even noticed. Jiro looks so different from when they first met, she’s more mature, she’s a bit taller, and her purple hair has turned a shade darker; but she still has the same sharp, yet warm dark eyes, the same protectiveness over her friends, and the same, loving nature under her sarcastic, punk-rock personality. 

“And…” Jiro starts, “I’m sorry for being so ignorant all of these years, and I broke up with Ryu–”

Wait what? You broke up with him?  A grin begins to spread across Momo’s face before it falls. Again, speak of the devil–and definitely the devil, not an angel. 

“Hey, Kyo, I thought I’d find you here,” Ryuzaki’s smooth voice breaks in from where he stands near the entrance of the kitchen, “I need to talk to you. Hello, Yaoyorozu-san.”

The urge to blast someone out of the country comes back, except it’s directed towards the bastard in front of her. “How did you even get in here? The door’s locked until opening time.” Momo says sharply, not letting Ryuzaki’s use of Jiro’s first name without an honorific slip by her. She bristles at the implied closeness in the name and the dismissiveness in his tone. Oh and there goes his eyes . Her hands curl into fists at her sides as she watches his eyes slide to her chest.

“ Jiro , Ryuzaki-kun,” Jiro emphatically corrects, speaking up first, “And sorry Momo, I left the door open.” She looks over apologetically before glaring at Ryuzaki. “And were you just looking at my friend’s chest?”

Ryuzaki’s face morphs into one of fake, genuine denial. Liar. Momo can just tell the abhorrent idiot is lying. He probably thinks Jiro is jealous, but she knows it’s because of her protectiveness. She smiles inwardly as Jiro finally sees through his lies and calls out his bluff.

“You know, I thought you were just as pervy as Sero and Kaminari, but you pull this kind of shit constantly, don’t you?” Jiro accuses the brown-haired boy, her eyes flaring up with pure, aggressive anger. Ryuzaki starts spluttering out more sickening lies, except his act isn’t nearly as convincing anymore.

“It’s alright...Kyoka,” Momo says slowly before Ryuzaki can go on for too long and Jiro has the chance to send him to the hospital. Jiro turns to her and blanches for a moment as an uncontrollable blush spreads up her face. Cute. See that, Ryuzaki? She smirks confidently as she stares down at the boy from across the room; she’s still an inch or two taller than him. Ryuzaki looks furious for a moment, his facade completely breaking down, but he tries to regain his laid-back persona. 

“So, you both call each other by your first names?” He inquires through thinly-veiled contempt. 

“Yeah, after all, we’ve known each other since the beginning of high school,” Momo feels a sudden spike of confidence, and her heart’s racing. Jiro moves closer to her side, and this time a spike of loving warmth moves through her body. She feels her own blush increasing as Jiro slips her arm around her waist and leans against her. 

“Didn’t I say we were done and over yesterday?” Jiro raises her eyebrows in question. “I think we both knew why, and if you didn’t, I spelled it out to you in that text.”

“Yeah, but–” Ryuzaki starts, and Momo realizes that he probably doesn’t care about breaking up with Jiro–he cares about the fact that Jiro is breaking up with him . It’s probably always been the opposite way around for him, and Momo’s glad he’s finally been able to lose for once. 

“Don’t even try, Ryuzaki-kun. I know you’ll just find another girl soon enough,” Jiro says boldly. Wow that’s sorta hot .

 “I’ll–I’ll” Ryuzaki stutters, his pride and ego significantly wounded.

“What would you do? Don’t forget, we’re still some of Japan’s top heroes. Wouldn’t it be fun if we sent all of our friends after you? Or our internet fanbases?” Momo flashes him a predatory grin. She’s feeling great now and it’s quite hilarious, the way Ryuzaki’s face pales and he storms out of the café without another word.

Silence falls between the pair of them, and Momo turns to face Jiro but makes sure the shorter girl’s hand stays on her hip. “So you definitely broke up with him,” she deadpans. Jiro doesn’t say anything back, just stares up at her, her head tilted adorably to the side. 

Her irresistible, intoxicating gravity surrounds Momo once again, and Jiro is all she can think of. She thinks of every hardship they’ve experienced, all the pain and miscommunications they’ve persevered through; she thinks of the wonderful moments they’ve shared, all of the casual smiles, fierce battles, and comfortable silences they’ve shared; she thinks of how much she wants to pull her in and just kiss the other girl. How she’s going to . I love you so, so much.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?” Jiro whispers, and Momo smiles lightly, moving a bit closer.

“Well I guess you definitely know how I feel this time,” she responds breathlessly. Jiro’s other hand sets her nerves ablaze as it lands on her shoulder and slowly trails upwards, cupping her neck.

Jiro’s eyes flick downwards to her lips and back up again. This time, there’s no going back.

Momo brings her hands up to cup the sides of Jiro’s face while Jiro loosely grips onto the back of her neck as they both lean in close, their soft lips tentatively brushing against each other for the first time. They gaze into each other’s eyes, each asking each other for the permission they were happy to give. Jiro makes the first move and firmly presses her mouth against Momo’s, sending butterflies fluttering around in the taller girl’s stomach. She basks in the knowledge that Jiro’s lipstick, a deep shade of ruby like that of her expensive red wine, will stain her own lips for the rest of the day–she loves it, she finally feels like Jiro’s calling her hers. The subtle peach taste of her own lip gloss spreads across her tongue as she kisses back, her eyes closed in intoxicated, drunken love. The two girls give in to their feelings for each other, give in to the emotions that they had both bottled for too long. 

Momo feels the punk-rock girl’s lithe body slide against her own and her teeth gently nibble on her bottom lip, so she parts her mouth slightly, allowing her to slip her tongue inside. Jiro completely dominates the kiss and she eagerly complies, letting out small whimpers that only drive the other girl on. Her mind can barely comprehend the rush of emotions racing through her head; she’d dreamed about this for so long, regarding it as a hopeless fantasy, and here she was: making out with Jiro and losing herself to the blissful feeling of her gentle fingers running through her dark hair, undoing her perfectly-tied ponytail. She smiles affectionately into the kiss when she feels the cold tips of Jiro’s ear jacks on her hands as they weave in between her fingers.

Hell, what have I been missing out on?

They eventually break apart from each other for oxygen, breathing heavily–tasting the shared breath between them–feeling each other’s pounding heartbeats; Momo doesn’t even need super hearing to hear it clearly. Opening her eyes, Momo revels at the sight in front of her; Jiro’s beanie is on the ground and her purple hair is ruffled, her dark eyes are glossy but intensely looking at her, and her scarf has drapes loosely across her shoulders. She’s sure that she probably looks the same with her lust-blown pupils, tousled hair, and puffy, kiss-bitten lips. It’s beautiful. 

A surge of loving warmth blossoms in her chest, and she hazily smiles. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything for so long, Jiro, and I’m sorry I was such an incompetent coward,” Momo murmurs, leaning her forehead against Jiro’s, “So I hope I can make it up to you.”

“We both made mistakes, and we’ll probably do it again… but I think I know how you can make it up for now,” Jiro starts playfully, but something else catches Momo’s attention.

“Hey, isn’t this the scarf I lost back in UA? The Burberry one?” she frowns, but she’s not that upset, it’s more out of confusion; it hadn’t been that important of a clothing item.

“Uhh… yeah?”  

Oh! So that’s why it looked so familiar this whole time!

Jiro’s confidence melts away as she shyly averts her eyes away from Momo’s, “You left it at my place after a sleepover once and I guess–well I just, um...I just really loved it becauseitremindedmeof you.”

“Aww, really?” Momo teases, moving her hands down to Jiro’s thighs and lifting her up onto the counter, eliciting a squeak of surprise from her.

“You’re no fair,” Jiro pouts adorably from her newfound vantage point, now at about Momo’s eye level.

“Whoever said I had to play fair? I just think it’s so cute how you, the I’m-so-tough p–punk r–hngh” Momo’s knees nearly give out from underneath her as Jiro decides to cut her off by placing her lips on her neck. Damn you . The butterflies in her gut start to fly again and the shorter girl smirks into her neck, well aware of the effect she has on her. 

“Hmm, who’s the tough one now?” Jiro hums, and Momo can’t bring herself to answer in the barrage of light, open mouth kisses ghosting across her neck. More small mewls and light moans spill from her mouth as Jiro happens to brush over one spot that sends a rush of tingling heat right down to her core. The other girl seems to take notice and begins to suck lightly on it, causing her to let out a soft whimper as she bares her neck to her. By now Momo can’t even recognize her surroundings, eyes clenched shut and her jaw tense as she tries to contain her more sinful noises. It’s hard as Jiro’s breath brushes across her neck and her nose nuzzles into the soft skin; then Jiro pulls away. Confused and needy, Momo opens her eyes.

“As cute as you are trying to maintain your composure, and as tempting as it is to keep going with this” Momo lets out a protesting whine at Jiro’s words, and Jiro honestly can’t tell whether it’s because she’s pulled away or if she’s affected by her teasing. She supposes it’s a mix of both, “The café opens very soon, and I doubt your co-workers would appreciate us making out on the kitchen counter.”

They both know they would have ended up going far past making out, but they’re still a little too embarrassed to say it outright. 

“I, uh, uh-huh.” Momo manages to stutter out. Jiro looks at her lovingly. 

“You have lipstick all over your neck and your hair’s out of place. You might want to clean that up before work,” Jiro points out, sliding off the counter. “Come on,” she motions for Momo to follow her to the bathroom sink. 

“And when we’re done cleaning up, how about you make me my usual? One lemon-blackberry soufflé and a medium latte–”

“With extra milk,” Momo finishes, and Jiro positively beams back. I can’t believe I held myself back for so long. “I love you way too much for my own good, Kyoka.”

Jiro blushes, “Me too.”