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Momo is very, very pretty. Ken has known this for a very long time, but it feels like he realizes it again every time he sees her. She has a lovely face, with captivating reddish-brown eyes and a round nose and soft lips that— okay, that’s enough . Now absolutely wasn’t the time to let himself think about things like kissing, especially when he was sitting mere feet away from the subject of his desires.
He glances at her for a moment and startles when he finds her staring back. He gulps, shifting nervously. The two of them were eating lunch together behind the school, as they often did, but Ken was a little distracted today, focusing on the sketchbook hidden in his lap rather than Momo herself, and she’d clearly picked up on it. “What’s your deal?” She asks, glaring. “Nothing,” Ken says quickly.
She nods, her eyes narrowed with clear skepticism. “Suuure. I believe you.” She replies, drawing out the words in a way that makes Ken squirm. She looks away, taking a bite of her lunch in a casual and unconcerned manner. Her calmness lulls Ken into lowering his guard again as he looks back down at the sketchbook perched atop his knees, angled in such a way that Momo wouldn’t be able to see what he was drawing.
He picks up his pencil from his lap, glancing at her again. She doesn’t seem too upset. Perhaps she’d decided not to linger on it? Unlikely, but Ken wasn’t the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it came to matters involving Momo.
Another quick look up shows him that she’s entirely distracted now, fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater and staring up at the sky. It makes for the perfect opportunity. Ken flips to an empty page and begins to outline the shape of her face in quick, confident strokes of his pencil, hoping to manage a rough sketch of her before she moves again.
He’s trying to recreate the exact way her bangs are brushing across her forehead when she picks the topic up again. “Why are you staring at me?” Momo asks, reaching up to fix her already-perfect hair. “Is something wrong?” Shaking his head hard enough to make himself dizzy, Ken internally laments his inability to draw fast enough. “No, of course not, Ayase-san!” He assures her, feeling his face grow hot.
“Just. Um. Just…” He flounders for an excuse, feeling a little bit panicky as Momo grows visibly frustrated. “Your sweater! I think it’s a nice color.” He says frantically. His pencil nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palms, and he subtly shifts his sketchbook a little, to really make sure she can’t tell what he’s up to.
“I wear this sweater every day.” Momo deadpans, rising onto her knees to move closer. Ken’s heart can’t take this! She’s so pretty, and sort of mad, and she’s getting so close , almost like a lioness stalking her prey. He’s the prey here, of course, and he probably shouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it, but he certainly wouldn’t mind being mauled if it was to make Momo happy.
“You do,” He agrees breathlessly. “And it looks very good on you!” Momo blinks, stopping in her tracks, and then her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. She sits back, seemingly stunned into silence by his words. Ken feels stunned, too, a bit like he’s been punched in the face.
He peers down at his sketchbook again, too nervous to keep looking at her. Picking up his pencil with trembling fingers, he sketches out the rest of Momo’s hair, curling into himself a bit in hopes that it’ll discourage her from doing anything else to stress him, or both of them, out. Her voice cuts through the sudden silence, making him jump. “Y’really think so?” She asks quietly.
Ken raises his head slowly, almost afraid to meet her eyes. Her expression is unexpectedly shy, but it makes his heart race nonetheless. She really is beautiful. “Of course I do, Ayase-san, I wouldn’t lie to you!”
A few seconds of silence pass, with Ken growing more flustered and Momo seeming a little more frustrated. “Prove it,” She says abruptly, leaning in closer. Then she grins, her gaze flicking downwards. “Oh, hey, what’s that you’re drawing?” His sketchbook seems to have caught her attention, and Ken thinks rather desperately that he’ll die if she sees that he was drawing her. “Nothing!” He yelps, trying to shut it.
“Woah, what’s up with you? Oh, I bet you’re drawing something weird, you creep—“ Momo grabs at it, completely oblivious to how badly she was stressing him out. He bats at her hands, overwhelmed by how close she’d gotten. “No, I’m not, shut up!” Unable to squirm away and so anxious it’s making him lightheaded, Ken does the first thing he can think of in order to avoid letting Momo see the drawing.
He elbows her away, earning himself a handful of seconds to rip the page out and cram it down the collar of his shirt. Momo shouts and wrenches the sketchbook out of his hands, tumbling back onto the ground with a victorious cry. “You hid it! You were doing something totally weird, I knew it— what else is in here?”
Giggling like a madwoman, Momo flips through the notebook while Ken watches, panting hard and trying to keep himself from having an unnecessary panic attack. The wicked grin on her face fades a little, replaced by a look of pleasant surprise. The book is packed full of drawings of her, and he realizes now that hiding the one he was working on was utterly pointless. “Okarun, why am I in here?”
“No reason.” He groans, hiding his burning face behind his hands. He’s so embarrassed, he thinks he might die on the spot. The sound of pages flipping is the only thing he can hear for a while. It seemed like he finally found a way to shut Momo up, except it doesn’t matter, because he’s pretty sure he's going to die of sheer humiliation in the next five seconds.
He hears Momo inhale, the fabric of her sweater rustling softly. “These are really good.” She says quietly. Ken shakes his head. “No, they’re not. They’re weird, like you said.” He mumbles. He hears the sound of a pebble crunching beneath Momo’s shoes as she moves closer. “Stop being all sad and stuff.” She tells him, her shoulder bumping up against his. “I think they’re great, Okarun, seriously.”
“You drew my outfit perfectly in this one,” She comments, and he hears her tapping on the page, trying to catch his attention. “And my hair looks great.” For a while, she’s quiet, just leaning up against him. “I didn’t know you were so good at drawing.” She murmurs.
“I suck.” He whispers back, because he does. He’s creepy for spending so much time drawing her, and he isn’t even that skilled or anything. Nothing he’s drawn is worth the kind of praise she’s giving him.
Maybe she’s lying. She’s not the type of person to do something like that, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t to make him feel better. “I’m sorry, Ayase-san.” Mumbles Okarun, tipping his face down against his knees. He tugs at his own hair, stifling a whine at the sharp pain. “You probably think I’m a creep…”
She’s silent. Perhaps he’s right? “You don’t have to pretend to like it. I can handle the truth.” He whispers sullenly. Momo sighs. “If I thought it was shit, I’d say it to your face. This is great. Like, some of the best stuff I’ve ever seen.” She tells him, her voice insistent, but still quiet.
“For real.” She adds. Tentatively, her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, her touch unexpectedly gentle. Just being next to her like this has Ken feeling a little bit better already. “C’mon, at least look at me?” Whispers Momo.
Ken lifts his head with a sigh, meeting his eyes. She’s so much closer than he expected her to be, with so little space between them that their noses are nearly touching. Heat floods his face, his slightly teary eyes widening with surprise. A fond smile rises to Momo’s face, her hand shifting to cup his face. “There you are,” She whispers.
Lost for words, he forces himself to stay still, allowing her to keep her hand where it’s landed. She feels so warm. Ken swallows nervously, curling his sweaty palms into the fabric of his pants. His pulse is racing so quickly that he can feel the crumpled-up paper he stupidly shoved into his shirt moving with each beat.
He wants so, so badly to kiss her. He’s practically forgotten the whole drawing fiasco already, and why would he even bother thinking about that with Momo so close to him? Her thumb brushes against his cheek, and for a moment she looks nervous too, but the apparent anxiety fades quickly. “Okarun?” She whispers.
He nods, feeling a bit too nervous to form a proper sentence. “Um. Hypothetically, would you mind it if I kissed you?” She blurts out, her cheeks reddening. Okarun’s head goes completely blank. After a moment, he shakes it, leaning in ever-so-slightly in an almost unconscious movement. “Okay. Cool.” Momo breathes. She blinks hard, her lips parting.
“Don’t be mad,” She tells him, then closes the gap between the two. Her lips brush against his own, gentle enough that he could flinch away easily if he wanted to. Instead of that, though, he tilts his chin up, pressing their mouths together a bit more firmly.
Her lips are so soft against his. Okarun has imagined kissing her more times than he can count, yet no fantasy could ever compare to the real thing. He sets a trembling hand on her arm, trying to ground himself, and can’t help the startled little noise he produces when she grabs his wrist with her free hand, shifting his hand to lace their fingers together.
He’s not sure how long it’s been by the time they part, but he thinks it wasn’t long enough. A nervous giggle bubbles past his lips when Momo whispers a shaky “oh my God,” and for once, she doesn’t even glare at him for it. “Wow.” He breathes. Suddenly he feels too nervous to look at her, anxiety welling up again as he fixes his gaze down on his shoes.
Momo squeezes his hand. “Don’t get all shy on me again.” She says quietly. “I… damn it. I really like your drawings, and I like you, so stop getting sad over it.” She tells him, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m. Ugh, damn it, I’m— I’ll see you later— sorry!” Shouts Momo, pressing a rough kiss to his cheek, and then she’s off like a shot, snatching up her half-eaten lunch as she goes.
For a moment, all he can do is stare, absolutely dumbstruck by what she’d done.
She must be embarrassed
, Okarun thinks eventually, slipping his fingers down the collar of his shirt to retrieve the crumpled paper and carefully smooth it out. He sets it down on the ground, pressing his hands to his face to try and hide how much he’s blushing.
Cute…