Chapter Text
Feather light touches brush hair off of her forehead. They tickle her eyelashes and Kyoka twitches at the movement.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know you were awake,” Momo whispers in the early dark of her bedroom. Kyoka blinks the sleep out of her eyes, pulling her hands in towards her body and realizes with a start she must have been holding onto Momo in the night. The heat radiating off of the other girl underneath the blanket lingers on her palm in the cold air.
“You just looked so peaceful and I didnt want to startle you,” she adds with a smile. Kyoka hums noncommittally, rolling over to face away from the other girl. Her hair clings to her face just as Momo’s luxury perfume clings to her clothes. She strains her neck to see the time on Momo’s alarm clock on the bedside table. In the half asleep fog of the morning, the words they whispered to each other in the middle of the night play back in her head.
This was stupid. She has to stop doing this. She pushes Momo’s stupidly expensive sheets off and swings her feet over the edge of the bed.
It’s been weeks and she couldn’t get over this habit. Wake up in a cold sweat with her heartbeat slamming against her ears. Try, and fail to calm herself. Fight herself against sending that text, but like a moth to a flame:
Kyoka: Can I come over?
Sit. Wait anxiously for Momo to respond. She was probably groaning at her phone at Kyoka, invading her space again. Debate deleting her text. What was the worst she could say? No? Sorry Jirou, I’m not in the mood and quite frankly I’d like to sleep on my own for once without you taking up half the bed-
Momo: of course :)
Kyoka sighs, too exhausted to be angry at herself again. Momo’s room felt so much smaller at night, like it was just the two of them and their cups of tea Momo always had ready. The sounds of the taller girl shuffling around in bed still.
“Are you alright?” Momo reaches out, touching the center of her back. Sparks of electricity shoot up and down her spine at the contact. Kyoka flinches away instinctively. “Sorry,” the other girl quickly apologizes, “It's just… It’s Saturday. You could stay if you’d like.”
The knot in her stomach wants desperately to pull her back into that obnoxiously large bed, be close to Momo and not mentally apologize for every move. Kyoka twists around herself, not turning back to meet the other girl's eyes. It seems Momo constantly pushed her own feelings and needs away just so Kyoka would feel a little bit better. That feeling hurts, knowing Kyoka hardly ever gives her anything worthwhile back. So, she reads her face every chance she gets, searching for any signs of resentment or annoyance, scared she might one day find a resolute answer.
“I can't,” Kyoka responds quietly. If she spends another minute in this room she is going to scream. She stands from the edge of the bed, joints hurting and muscles aching. She doesn’t turn around and face the other girl, and doesn’t know if she could. “I’ll see you in class.”
Kyoka shuts the door quietly behind her without another word.
–
The rest of her day passes blissfully without interruptions reminding her of Momo. She goes about her Saturday studying, texting back and forth with Kaminari and Tokoyami, practicing a new song on guitar, and calling her dad.
When dinner rolls around she heads downstairs, and thanks to Iida’s very detailed and very organized chore schedule she would be helping with the dishes… Along with Momo.
It couldn’t be that bad. Except that the more time they spend together the more chances she has to screw up whatever they had. As if you aren't already, her mind helpfully supplies. She resigns that as a problem for future Kyoka and sits down with Tokoyami and Shouji.
“Jirou, you aren’t sitting with the girls?” Shouji asks. He still wears his mask around others, but seemed to be more comfortable at least taking it off to eat. She shrugs and casts a glance over to the girl’s table. They’re all eating and conversing as normal. She catches Momo’s eyes for a moment. An immaterial split second, and swears she sees something like confusion in them.
She shoots her eyes back down to her plate.
“No, just wanted to switch it up I guess.” she answers, trying to exude her usual chill attitude. Shouji seems satisfied with her answer but Tokoyami looks skeptical. He looks her over for a moment.
“A great darkness has bled into the light it seems,” The bird-faced boy mutters into the middle of their table. Kyoka stares at him in confusion while Shouji lets out a chuckle. Tokoyami is always weirdly perceptive. Whether or not it’s part of his whole fade into the darkness façade, she can’t really tell. But it could be helpful. Sometimes.
“Fumikage, what are you talking about?” Shouji deadpans. He’s equally as good at reading people. It probably comes from the extra senses he’s able to create with his quirk, but Kyoka knows he’s good with people regardless.
While the two bicker between themselves Kyoka chances another look at the girl’s table. Her usual seat, right across from Momo, is open. Momo, who was looking at her this time. Kyoka freezes. Something like sadness flits across the other girl's face. It lingers for a moment before her attention is caught by Ochako showing off something on her phone.
Kyoka turns back to her table mates, who look between each other. Shouji shrugs and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Nevermind, I see it.”
“Ugh, whatever.” She responds. She pushes around the food on her plate, taking bites sparingly.
“You can talk about it,” Shouji starts, “If you would like to. I don't think Fumikage or I would mind. Something is troubling you.”
Just the way she dances around Momo. Or the way Momo always has her favorite tea ready in the middle of the night like she expects Kyoka to come knocking. Or the way she wraps manicured hands around Kyoka’s arm in public. How Momo introduces her to people as her ‘dear friend Kyoka’ and it makes Kyoka want to melt inside and also tug her hair out.
“It’s nothing.”
She catches them looking at her with questioning looks, seeing if they can spot a crack in her attitude. Thankfully, the two accept her answer and change the conversation to something lighter.
Dinner ends and her classmates fizzle out to their respective places for the evening. She’d said her goodnights to Shouji and Tokoyami–”I'm on dish duty,” she shrugs, “See you guys tomorrow” – And stacked their leftover dishes up to be brought into the kitchen. She sighs, cursing Iida’s perfect schedule and its truly horrific alignment. She rolls her eyes at the chore list, missing the offset tile in the entrance to the kitchen. The stack of dishes in her arms goes down with a clatter.
“Shit.” Kyoka curses under her breath. She scrambles to pick up the dishes that hadn’t broken, unaware of the footsteps that approach quickly from behind.
“Kyoka! Are you alright?” Kyoka closes her eyes and sighs. Of course she had to mess this up right now. Momo kneels down beside her, gingerly reaching for the shattered pieces scattered across the kitchen tile. Kyoka pauses for a moment, worried Momo could cut herself open on the shards if she wasn't careful.
“At least get a broom or something.” She huffs. It comes out ruder than she had hoped for.
“Oh,” Momo starts in surprise, a flush filling her cheeks. “You’re right. Sorry.” Her forearm sparkles as she produces a small brush and dust pan, and begins sweeping up the shards.
Kyoka stands, picking up the plates and placing them in the sink. The other girl follows behind, throwing out the remains of the broken dishes.
The two stand in silence, not moving to accomplish anything. Muffled sounds of video games and evening chatter float in from the common area.
Kyoka averts her eyes anywhere but the taller girl. It’s strange to not have anything to say. She could tell someone the other girl's deepest secrets, Momo could tell them words Kyoka could only manage through tears.
Kyoka spares a glance at Momo, standing sheepishly in the center of the kitchen. She faces the sink, turning on the hot water.
As usual, the kitchen is a mess. Half eaten snacks, workout gear, mixing bowls, animal food strewn around. Of course, you can’t expect much else when you leave 20 teenagers living together unsupervised. Determined not to talk to Momo for as long as possible, she busies herself with cleaning up.
She wipes off the countertops, throws away wrappers and food, and puts left belongings in the hallway for their owners to retrieve. When she comes back into the kitchen, Momo is set to work rinsing the dishes under the faucet. Kyoka steps next to her and reaches for the dish soap.
The close heat of her body brings her mind back to Momo’s bed. The scalding heat of her hands splayed over her ribcage. The smell of luxury fragrances surrounding her. The feel of her thumb wiping away salty tears on her face.
“I’m sorry-” Momo whispers, her eyes not straying from the dishes. “-if I did something that made you…uncomfortable… I apologize.”
Kyoka doesn't really have an answer. Nothing that has happened in the past weeks could be anything to make her uncomfortable. The blame for this could only fall on her. She bothered her for homework, clung to her side, sobbed into her shoulder. Kyoka should be the one apologizing.
Staying silent, Kyoka focuses on soaping up the dish in front of her. Eventually, she sighs, her shoulders dropping. She turns to answer Momo.
Don't apologize for how I bother you.
You're the best person I know, you could never make me uncomfortable.
I don’t really wanna talk about it, because if I start I’ll never stop.
Except nothing comes out. She blinks idiotically at Momo, her expectant eyes searching Kyoka’s face.
Kyoka furrows her brows and picks up another dish from the sink.
The smell of dish soap and sound of running water permeates the static between them. Kyoka moves mindlessly scrubbing the dishes and setting them off to dry.
It's the mundanity of the chore that curdles her stomach. A couple weeks ago she would have loved this. To just be with Momo, making quiet conversation and laughing. She would enjoy the softness of the silence. Now, the quiet is suffocating.
She pushes the thoughts out of her mind and reaches into the sink. The soapy water obscures the bottom of the sink as Kyoka gropes around blindly for something to wash.
“Shit!” She exclaims, yanking her hand out of the soapy water. Someone must have left a knife in the bottom of the sink. Her palm comes up with a cut along its length, shallow but stinging.
Momo gasps beside her and rushes to staunch the bleeding.
“Yaomomo it’s fine really-“ Kyoka starts, her hand held hostage between the other girl’s.
“You need to make sure it stays clean.” Momo says, and Kyoka relents to letting her do what she needs to, even if it’s just another thing Momo does for her she can’t repay. Kyoka sits on the counter, while Momo rushes to get the first aid kit they had on hand for accidents. She stares at her palm, the cut bleeding sluggishly. Momo returns a few moments later, kit in hand.
“It was buried, sorry,” She laughs. “Our classmates have a terrible habit of leaving things around, huh?” Momo tries to lighten the mood as she flips open the kit, digging for the antiseptic and bandages. Kyoka has nothing to respond with, so she just stares at her hand. The tension between them is palpable. An invisible wall of Kyoka’s own construction. Momo gives up on trying to break the ice and reaches for her hand. Her hands are still damp from washing dishes and they feel like ice on Kyoka’s palm, a stark contrast from her usual warmth.
Every touch is a searing reminder of her feelings. Of why she feels so guilty when Momo smiles at her. It’s not fair to her best friend to act like everything is okay when it isn’t.
Momo soothes her hand against the bandages covering Kyoka’s palm. She half stops herself from yanking it out of her reach, but her hand still jerks backwards. When Momo gives her a concerned look she shrugs in response.
“It just hurts is all,” Kyoka says. She looks back towards the sink, the pile of dishes almost done.
“Don't worry about those, I’ll finish them up.” Momo interjects when she follows Kyokas gaze. She drops her hand and pauses. She casts a worried glance towards Kyoka, then back toward the dishes.
Kyoka pushes herself off the counter. She flexes and stretches her bandaged hand, feeling how the material pulls against her skin.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, good night, Yaomomo.” She says, lingering in the kitchen.
Kyoka hates how cold the hallway feels when she turns towards her room.
–
If she had to pinpoint the moment things changed, Kyoka would pick knocking on her door the first time. Momo was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, taking in Kyoka’s shaking form. Through her tears she could tell she looked gorgeous in the moonlight. Momo pulled her into her arms, a warm hand running down her back. She whispered reassurances into her hair, barely audible over Kyoka’s sobs. Momo held her close the whole night, and doted on her through the next day. Something had changed between them.
There were other moments, of course. The first time they fought together at the USJ, all Kyoka could think was Yaoyorozu is so punk rock. She blamed the flush in her cheeks on the adrenaline of battle. Momo seemed to trust her instincts in fights without question, and Kyoka did the same for her. They knew each other's every move, every strength and weakness. Fighting alongside Momo was a rush, and every victory felt like coming up for air.
Kyoka was awestruck every time they would go shopping together. She found herself gawking at the luxury stores Momo strode into with confidence. Or at the way Momo followed her into grungy music stores with all the same enthusiasm. Momo had memorized her favorite bands and instruments, surprising her when she chimed in to Kyoka’s conversations.
Sometimes, Kyoka asked Momo for help studying despite being 7th in the class. Kyoka would turn up at her dorm, folders and textbooks under her arms. Not that they got much done, study sessions devolving into gossip and laughter. Hours later she’d gather up her things. Her cheeks were always sore from smiling and her chest always hurt from laughing so hard. ‘Okay I promise we’ll actually study next time,’ she’d say, walking towards the door. Once, Momo tugged her backwards, enveloping her in a hug. Kyoka’s heart was alight, burning and shimmering with a feeling she couldn’t place.
She could put a name to the feeling now.
–
Kyoka paces her room, rock music playing softly from a record player in the corner. She combs through her hair, humming along to the music. Her mind runs through the evening. Momo’s kind words, her gentle touch. She was so forgiving and kind, sweet in a way that made Kyoka’s teeth ache.
She flexes her hand, twisting around the stiff bandages that wind between her fingers and around her wrist. Distantly, she thinks that this is going to be a bitch in training tomorrow. The record playing slows to a stop and she walks over to the shelf. The vinyl was a gift from Momo, and she was so excited for Kyoka to play it when it arrived. They sat in her room together on a hot Sunday afternoon, listening to the record together for the first time. The room filled with heat, rock music, and quiet conversation. The two chatted softly on Kyoka’s bed until their words fizzled out and they let the B-side lull them into a nap.
She smiles at the memory and pulls the needle off the track. Carefully, she puts the record back with her collection. This was her least favorite part of her nightly routine. It was like a switch flipped in her brain as soon as she was getting ready to sleep. The hairs on her arms stood upright, and her stomach filled with an unpleasant buzzing. It was like hundreds of eyes on her at once. She steels herself before turning her back to the record shelf. The low light of her room becomes menacing where it was once tranquil.
Still as she can, she scans the room checking for any obvious threats. Her breath gets louder, her chest rising and falling with an unwarranted intensity. This is childish, she scolds herself, there’s no monster underneath the bed, no beast in the closet. But she has to check. Every night without fail, Kyoka makes sure that the doors and windows are locked.
She steps onto the balcony, the nighttime breeze nipping at her cheeks.
Carefully she extends a jack, searching for any threats she might be able to hear. She directs her focus towards the trails behind the dorms. There’s a soft rustling sound fifteen– No, ten meters away. Her heartbeat slams against her ears, panic filling her chest. The noise is getting closer. Quickly, her eyes dart around her surroundings. No one else is out on their balcony. She would be the first target. She wouldn’t get a chance to warn anyone. She has to get back inside– Her back slams against the glass door, knocking the wind out of her. The brush at the edge of the trails rustles. Kyoka prepares for a fight. She’s not very strong but she could hold them off at least until someone else notices.
A black and white rabbit hops out of the brush.
Kyoka deflates, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. She needs to stop getting so wound up, it was really beginning to interfere with her nights. The dorms were safe, they were on UA campus with heroes in training and professional heroes all over the place. She re enters her dorm and slides the glass door shut carefully. She slips under her covers, covering herself in warmth. It’s nowhere near as warm as Momo’s embrace, but Kyoka drifts to sleep all the same.