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Kyouka scoops a generous amount of strawberry ice cream into a bowl and hands it to the kid on the other side of the window. The kid gives her a wide grin and eagerly takes a spoonful of it.
“What are you supposed to say?” The child’s mother lectures, and the kid, with a mouthful of ice cream, says something that sounds like it’s in the general family of thank you.
“You got it, kiddo.” Kyouka says. “Enjoy the nice weather for me, okay?”
The mother and child leave the window and Kyouka exhales, resting her elbows on the counter and staring at the rolling green hills in front of her. She enjoys working for Toshinori at his ice cream shop; Toshinori is a nice man, who runs a dairy farm, and all of the ice cream here is made by hand. Or, well, machines but they’re in the family business, so it’s still technically made by hand since it’s not processed like the cartons are. It’s a beautiful summer evening; it’s that time of day where the sun’s back below the horizon but the world is still bright. Kyouka frowns a little. She doesn’t think her favorite regular is coming in today. Usually she’s here by now.
Kyouka sits up and pulls her phone out of her pocket. Izuku, her boss’ son, is out in the back churning some of the ice cream. He does the same thing every day after school and Kyouka is frankly amazed at his determination. The guy is totally ripped, even though you wouldn’t necessarily think as much when he’s wearing his baggy tee shirts and shorts.
The sound of wheels on gravel gets Kyouka’s attention and she looks up and her breath catches in her throat. There she is -- Momo Yaoyorozu, with her beautiful dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She’s in her sky blue convertible car, the hood down, dark expensive sunglasses on her nose.
Kyouka sits up a little straighter, she tries to look like she’s hard at work instead of slacking off and texting on her phone.
“Hello again!” Momo says. Today she’s in a sundress that is positively criminal, a beautiful red shade that compliments Momo’s skin tone well. Glittering earrings dangle from her ears, rubies suspended in gold casing. Kyouka notices Momo’s nails are done red to match the dress, with golden glitter around them. Momo’s eyes are sparkling as she removes the sunglasses and props them on top of her head. “Which ice cream do you think suits me today?”
“Let’s see. Let me get a good look at the outfit!” Kyouka says, and Momo giggles, stepping back a few paces to show off the outfit. She does a little twirl that makes Kyouka’s heart flutter and Kyouka notices the shoes, beige sandals that expose toenails done the same red as her nails. Momo is so done up, every day, she comes in with a new style or a new color or a new wardrobe to show off. It makes Kyouka swoon every time.
“Normally the default would be cherry or strawberry, right? Because of all the red.” Kyouka reasons.
“Yes, that’s what I was thinking you’d suggest!” Momo says.
“But,” Kyouka says, wagging her finger in amusement. Momo hums at the gesture and leans forward a little bit, her dark eyes twinkling. As she shifts, the bodice of her dress exposes more cleavage than it was before and Kyouka has to fight the urge to flick her eyes down at the movement. “I think the cranberry crumble sundae could suit your outfit today, too. Unless -- unless you really were counting on cherry or strawberry! I can get those for you.”
“Oh no! Please!” Momo pleads, disregarding personal space and reaching through the window to touch Kyouka’s hands. Normally Kyouka would not allow this kind of infraction from a customer but Momo is sort-of her friend now and also when she’s looking at her with eyes that lit up, how on earth can Kyouka ask her to move away? “I want to hear your suggestions! Even if they’re outside of the box! Tell me about the cranberry.”
“Well it’s our new special. The uh -- the cranberry bumble -- crumble,” Kyouka mentally kicks herself, but tries to save face and keep talking. “It’s churned creamy vanilla ice cream, with some of the cranberries Mrs. Midoriya grows outback crushed inside and swirled with the ice cream and topped with whipped cream, with a sprinkle of crushed graham crackers to give it the -- you know, crumble. Bit. To the sundae.”
“Oh that sounds delightful!” Momo exclaims, brightly. She takes her hands away and lifts her very expensive-looking purse up to pull out a very heavy credit card. “Please, I’d like a dish of it!”
“S -- sure! You got it!” Kyouka rings her up. “7.50 for a small okay?”
It’s overpriced, by Kyouka’s standard anyway, but Momo doesn’t mind and instead offers the card up with no problem. She authorizes the card and as she goes to scoop the dish -- when Momo thinks Kyouka can’t see, Kyouka knows -- Momo slips a ten dollar bill into the tip jar.
Kyouka is flushing all the way to her ears and back as she has to bend over to scoop the ice cream into its dish. She’s conscious of Momo’s eyes on her as she moves. She overstuffs the ice cream as usual and then offers it to her friend across the counter.
“There you go!” She says, “See you next time.”
“Of course.” Momo says. There’s a loose strand of black hair in Momo’s face that Kyouka is very tempted to reach over and tuck behind her ear, but she knows she can’t do that. Instead she just meets Momo’s gaze as the other woman thanks her, and then walks towards her car, placing her purse in the passenger seat.
As Momo drives away, Kyouka sighs wistfully, her elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. Izuku Midoriya comes up from behind her and she can tell he’s there, because she can hear the sound of shifting boxes.
“Have you given her your number yet?” He asks, innocently, and Kyouka glares at him.
“That’s an infraction of -- no.” She says, sighing. “I couldn’t do that.”
Izuku looks at her, and Kyouka can’t make eye contact. The sun has officially sunken low enough beyond the hills that a chill has overtaken the area. She wonders if Momo’s rolled up her car’s top yet, or if she’s still cruising along the road, top down, moonlight reflecting in the lenses of those dark tinted sunglasses. Before she knows what she’s doing she’s sighing wistfully and Izuku is already grabbing the washcloth to go sanitize their picnic benches outside.
“If I ever serve her, I’m just going to give her your number.” He says.
“Izuku -- “
“Kidding! I’d never do that to you,” Izuku says, though as he bends over the first picnic table and Kyouka starts to close down the window, she hears him say, “without your permission. But I would do it for you, if you wanted.”
Kyouka just groans and pretends she didn’t hear him.
Momo has started to come in right before they close.
Kyouka honestly prefers that. When she comes in the middle of the rush, she can only make her selection based on Momo’s outfit. She can’t talk to Momo about it. Kyouka loves how interested Momo’s eyes get, whenever Kyouka goes into a tangent about how she thinks a certain accessory or color Momo’s selected for her outfit constitutes a certain topping on her ice cream.
This evening Momo pulls up as a gaggle of teenagers are leaving, and Kyouka can see it, in the way Momo hesitates in her car, that she’s nervous. Momo fiddles with her phone -- something Kyouka has never actually seen her do, her phone case is a beautiful glittery red and white -- and looks over at the teenagers who all sit by their cars and eat their ice cream while laughing.
Kyouka licks her lips, and waits. Eventually Momo does step out of her car and Kyouka has to fight to keep her expression neutral. She’s thankful she has the excuse of the ice-cream-inspired-outfit to check her out, though. Momo’s wearing a pair of jeans shorts that look perfectly fitted to her body, with woven gemstones along the hem. They’re in the design of flowers, with soft green and yellow stones. Her top is a peplum in a soft yellow that seems to bring out the last rays of sun as they reflect in Momo’s eyes. Her hair is down today, beautiful and reaching towards her thighs. There’s a small half-ponytail in the back of her head that seems to blend in with the rest of it, yellow circular pieces dangling down from the hairtie. There’s a very flattering cutaway right under Momo’s collarbone that pairs well with the sleeves that extend right to Momo’s elbow. Kyouka has never seen a top like that, she would never wear it, but it looks amazing on Momo.
The teenagers laugh; it’s a loud, obnoxious sound and they’re all turned towards each other. Kyouka sees how Momo winces at the noise and frowns, looking at Momo as she stands in the window and gives her a shy smile. Momo’s purse of choice today is a soft blue clutch that matches the shorts she’s wearing, even down to the embroidered floral designs on it.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” Kyouka asks, and Momo blinks, nodding.
“Yes! Yes, of course I -- “ She flinches again when there’s another loud noise from the teenagers and immediately Kyouka narrows her eyes at them.
“If those guys are making you uncomfortable I can kick them out.”
“No! Please don’t! It’s not their fault! I know they’re not laughing at me.”
Kyouka feels her heart break a little, as she thinks, why would Momo think they’re laughing at her? And then her mind gives her the answer, an answer she wishes wasn’t true because she thinks someone like Momo shouldn’t have had to go through something so awful.
“You look really nice today.” Kyouka says, changing the subject instead of offering empty words of assurance or pity. Kyouka was always something of a rebel herself in school, with her parents’ acceptance of her style choices and attitude, so she never felt embarrassed to stand up for herself. Sure, she had her insecurities -- she still has her insecurities -- but she didn’t let other people bring it up to her.
"Oh, thank you!” Momo says, brightening up. “It’s one of the ones I’m most proud of.”
“You should be proud of it!” Kyouka says, “I’ve never seen a top like that, ever I think. Where’d you get it?”
At that, Momo blinks, and then flushes, looking off to the side. “I actually -- I uhm, I made it. It’s my own design.”
Kyouka feels her jaw drop as she looks at Momo.
“No crap, really?” When Momo gives her a slightly confused look, Kyouka quickly backtracks. “That’s a good thing. That’s -- wow. You designed that top yourself?”
“And the shorts. And the dress I wore last week. I -- oh, this is embarrassing, I should have explained before I started asking you to give me feedback on my outfits but I…” Momo hides her face with her hand. “I’m a designer. Well, an aspiring one, anyway. I design all of the outfits I wear here and I like to see what you think of them or -- or well, I like to see what you think of them. It’s so embarrassing. I’ve just been taking advantage of your ignorance and you must think this is so rude of me not to mention.”
“No, no. Not embarrassing at all. I’m so impressed. Like, beyond impressed.” Kyouka says. “Every time you come here you look like a million bucks. I mean, you always look so polished and your clothes are perfectly fitted,” Kyouka flushes, trying not to focus on that little detail, “and you’re so put-together. Even your makeup matches everything. I thought you just styled your clothes and outfits, but -- wow. You make them all?”
Momo’s hand is still covering her mouth, and she lets out a small, relieved giggle, and Kyouka wishes she’d move her hand so she can see the gentle curve of her smile.
“I did.”
“That’s amazing. Are you selling your work?”
“Right now I’m trying to open one. Well -- that’s my dream.” Momo says, and she gets a wistful look in her eye. The sun has capped behind the horizon. The teenagers are getting in their cars, about to leave. “I want to open a boutique. With all my own creations. It’d be amazing to be a famous designer but I think I’d like to just make people happy when they come in, you know? Like, if a kid came in looking for the perfect dress for prom, or the perfect first date outfit, I think I’d be so happy to just work with them and create the perfect thing. Sorry if it’s a silly dream, I know, I should probably aspire for something more concrete or stable…”
“No, it’s a totally cool dream! You’d be so good at it, I think.” Kyouka says. “And if you wanted to try out any of those outfits you could always show me.”
“You don’t think it’s weird or -- “
“Not at all. In fact I’d love to see the first date outfit if you’d --” Kyouka realizes what she’s saying and flushes, stopping herself before she ruins Momo’s perfectly fine day with her awkward attempt at asking her out.
Momo is looking at her. The wind blows and Kyouka feels a chill. Momo looks so beautiful, when she looks at her like that. Kyouka takes a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”
“It wasn’t… rude.” Momo says. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Kyouka didn’t expect such a blunt callout. But, she’s faced with a choice. She can own up to it, and actually ask Momo out, and see where things can go. Or Momo will reject her, and she can move on. She’s been pining since the summer season started.
“If you’re interested.” Kyouka says. “You’re…” she has so many things she could say here. Momo is incredible. She’s talented. She’s ambitious. She’s sweet, beautiful, and kind. Kyouka could tell her about how she wants to get to know her, the real her that’s not behind the ice cream window. She could tell her about how she wants to learn what makes Momo tick, about what her favorite things to watch are, about where her favorite places to go are. But all of the words die in her throat, because her heart’s lodged itself there. She’s so nervous, her palms are sweaty.
Kyouka looks up into Momo’s eyes and sees the softest smile she’s ever seen on her face. Momo grabs a napkin from the side of the window and one of the pens for credit card slips and writes something down. She slides it across the counter and there, in beautiful penmanship, is Momo’s phone number.
“If the answer is yes, you can text me there.” Momo says. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable at work if -- if the answer wasn’t yes.”
Kyouka looks over at her. She wants to say the answer, she wants to shout it, but she can tell from the look on Momo’s face that she knows. She’s giving Kyouka an easy way to change the subject, to save the conversation about first dates for later. For next time, when there’s nothing but air between the two of them.
Kyouka takes the number and purposefully puts it in her pocket, folding it gently to prevent it from ripping. “I’ll text you later.” She promises.
Momo beams, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful!”
They’re supposed to close any minute now. The outside lights flicker on, and Momo looks up, blinking. “Oh! It’s getting so late, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time -- “
“Before you go, don’t you want an ice cream?” Kyouka asks.
Momo smiles, and steps back, so that Kyouka can see her full outfit. She does a little spin, and Kyouka notices the soft blue converse on her feet.
Kyouka thinks the entire outfit gives her an innocent, happy vibe. Like she’s looking at a girl who’s ready for a day spent at the park, something casual but sweet. She thinks the outfit itself is very summery; she smiles and nods. “I have just the idea.”
“Oh?” Momo asks.
Kyouka grabs the scoop and makes sure to get a generous amount of their blue moon ice cream; a sky blue colored ice cream that tastes, in Kyouka’s opinion, like a sweeter version of blue raspberry. She tops the ice cream with a little whipped cream and in lieu of a cherry, she sprinkles a few light yellow boba pieces on top. Only a few, and she keeps them directly on top of the whipped cream. She grabs the sundae and goes back to the window, grinning up at Momo when she slides it over. “This is a sundae I designed myself. It’s a little on the sweet side, but the lemon boba should help even the profile out. Sour-sweet. You know. Good combination.”
Momo accepts the ice cream and smiles. She hands over her credit card and Kyouka rings her up.
"I’ll see you next -- “ Kyouka starts, but then she pauses, and remembers the number in her pocket. “I’ll text you tonight, okay? After I’m done closing.”
Momo nods, taking a spoonful of the dish. “I’ll look forward to it.”
When Kyouka closes up, she wants to ignore Izuku’s enthusiastic grin, but she can’t. She just returns his high-five and can’t fight the wave of joy she feels thinking of the number in her pocket.