Work Text:
Momo has always admired women.
Women can be strong, like Nana Shimura, with her defined muscles and her confident grin. Women can be soft and kind, like her classmates, with their vanilla flavoured lip balms and floral perfumes.
Women can be beautiful, their breathtaking curves and their skirts swishing in the wind as they run. Women can also be handsome, wearing their hair short or rolling up the sleeves of their leather jackets.
Women are what come to Momo’s mind when she thinks of the word “perfect”.
And she has no idea why.
Of course, women are amazing. She’s always considered herself a feminist, someone who loves women fiercely and would fight for their freedom.
But does she love women so much that she finds herself blushing in the changing rooms? Or fighting the urge to stare at her classmate’s bodies? Or picturing her hands on Jirou Kyouka’s body?
God, what is she thinking?
This can’t be normal, right? Do other girls feel this way too? Are they also so fascinated by women that they crave another woman’s touch? Or is she imagining things? Does she love women a little too much? Is she broken?
She screws her eyes shut, rolling to her side on her unreasonably huge bed. She's indulging herself in these perverted thoughts.
‘Stop it,’ she scolds herself. She's a hero. How selfish it is of her to become lost in her thoughts.
She pulls the silk covers over her head, burying her body in her sheets and hoping to bury her feelings as well. She hates this.
‘But wouldn't it be nice,’ a voice in her head sighs, ‘to have Jirou-san’s arms wrapped around me?’
It would... It would.
Jirou Kyouka, with her wiry body, her subtly sweet lavender perfume, her defined muscles, her fierce inky black eyes and her unbudging strength.
She's so powerful, so kind. So straightforward and so considerate.
Momo loves women like Jirou. She loves them so much that her heart melts and breaks at the same time.
And she has no idea what this love means.
‘Think,’ she groans to herself, ‘is this an obsession? Is she driving herself insane over nothing?
She thinks of Jirou. She thinks of Jirou lying next to her in her bed. She's smiling softly, a few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. They are two inches apart, so Momo can smell Jirou’s favourite strawberry bubblegum.
Jirou is leaning closer, her body pressing against Momo’s. Strong arms are encircling her waist.
And Jirou leans in to kiss her.
Momo's eyes go wide open, her heart pounding as she clutches the sheets.
Oh.