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The chaos of the ballroom still seeped into the private art gallery of the mansion. She could hear the quartet, the laughing and heels stepping down on the floor in unison, glasses clinking together.
Momo grew up with the many lavish balls, dinners, and events her parents would throw. Aunties would come to talk to her mother and would tap Momo on the cheek, comment on how she was going to grow up into such a beautiful, young lady. Her mother’s friends were convinced that she was going to grow up into another one of the sparkling debutantes that graced the dance floor, all sparkles and feathers and glamour.
Momo entertained the idea, and it certainly seemed exciting. But despite the expectations of her mother and her friends, Momo grew up into quite the odd young lady. She never danced during balls, and was always seen with a book in hand. She hung out with the daughters of outcasts, daughters that were already looked down upon in the small competitive neighborhood. Momo was still undeniably gorgeous, and she often heard fleeting remarks that the other girls said behind her back. How she was wasting her beauty by not being interested in romance or boys.
She would much rather slip through the doors and into her parent’s private art gallery. No one bothered to come in here, even when there wasn’t an extravagant party afoot. On rare occasions, there were girls who had gotten lost in the many winding corridors of her house, but they never stayed for more than a minute or two.
It was fine. She liked observing art on her own anyways.
But today, there was someone else. No, there was another group, and they didn’t look lost. They looked like they were here to stay.
Momo — disregarding her mother’s instructions of never smiling too wide to prevent deeper smile lines from forming — beamed, picking up her dress from the floor and running towards them.
She hadn’t seen them in years. The girls. They had been school friends when they were children, but had slowly fallen apart and lost contact with each other. Many of them, Momo had heard from the disapproving parents, had gone to study abroad in things like psychology and sociology. She had heard some rumours that Ochako had started a boxing competition just for women in a nearby city, and knew that Kyouka was making her own music.
They were all gathered around a rather massive painting of the Yaoyorozu mansion. Tsuyu was wearing a rather striking emerald green dress, and it seemed to give her dark hair and eyes the slightest green tint. Mina and Ochako immediately brightened up when they saw Momo saunter in, and in a blur of pink, white, and yellow, rushed in to give her a suffocating hug. Kyouka lingered a few steps behind, fingers delicately touching the swaying metal of her earrings, but with a wide smile.
She remembered their little group being unstoppable in school. She still remembered the little things about the six of them. Kyouka trying to wear outrageous heels in an attempt to add to their nonexistent height. Mina making her own clothes and shocking the adults when she showed up to balls with bright purple and turquoise gowns. Ochako never giving up on her dreams of becoming an athlete even when adults told her she was too poor to fund her training — she had become one of the best without any training, and loved to shove it in the adults’ faces. Tsuyu making enough food to feed a small army and always bringing her little siblings over. Hagakure being as bright as she could be, always trying to be the centre of attention.
The chaos of the ballroom was forgotten, and the chaos of her childhood friends’ energy replaced it as soon as she greeted them.
“You’re wearing green,” Tsuyu said, nodding her head in Momo’s direction. Her parents said that green made her complexion look uneven. But Momo liked green. “It looks nice on you. We’re matching!”
Momo smiled, wide and bright.