Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lunch bell rang out across the high school grounds, and like clockwork, the usual group made their way to the open terrace behind the science wing, a shaded spot with a low wooden table surrounded by stone tiles and flat cushions. Cherry petals clung stubbornly to the corners, the remnants of a recent bloom.

Today’s gathering felt unusually complete, everyone present and accounted for: Kinta with his wide lunchbox and tech manual, Vamola trailing behind with her neatly wrapped bento, Jiji slouching with exaggerated exhaustion, and Aira adjusting her short pink hair like she was prepping for a photoshoot. Rin lingered awkwardly at the edge, her tray balanced carefully in both hands. Momo flopped onto a cushion beside Miko and Kei, letting out a long sigh as she stretched her legs.

“Old hag of a teacher gave us three pages of trig problems,” Momo grumbled.

“You didn’t even write it down,” Miko snorted.

“I’ll copy from Kei,” Momo shot back, snatching a rice ball from her friend’s bento and dodging a half-hearted slap.

Across the table, Kinta was already mid-rant. “I’m telling you; Starscream’s jet form is objectively superior to Optimus. Aerodynamics, baby!”

“Oh please,” Jiji scoffed, mouth full of karaage. “Optimus transforms into a giant truck and punches holes in the universe. Jet nerds stay losing.”

The Class Rep blinked. “Are they talking about real robots?”

“No,” Ken muttered, pushing his glasses up while picking at the plate of tamagoyaki Vamola had gently offered him. “They’re talking about Transformers again. It’s kind of a weekly thing.”

Vamola sat quietly beside him, smiling. “Opti...mus. Punch! Boom.”

“Exactly!” Jiji pointed at her, nearly spilling his iced tea. “She gets it!”

As chatter bloomed around the table, Momo leaned her cheek into her palm, scanning the scene with a practiced half-glare. “Why does it feel like I’m babysitting a daycare for delinquents and alien exchange students?”

Aira leaned in, flipping her hair with a smirk. “Says the girl who thinks fishnets are fashion.”

“Says the pink-haired knockoff Power Ranger.”

“ Smelly loser.”

“ Skank.”

Jiji rolled his eyes. “You two argue like an old married couple.”

Momo and Aira, in perfect unison: “Shut up, Jiji.”

The laughter that followed was easy and familiar. Even Rin cracked a small smile, her posture softening. She sat near Kinta and Vamola, mostly listening, occasionally nodding. She was still the newest addition to the group, and half the time she looked like she was absorbing data on how to be a teenager from a sitcom.

Ken, fidgeting, looked across the table at Momo. She was smiling, joking with her friends, looking like she hadn’t just spent the morning throttling a flying serpo that vomited acid. But something in her eyes was just a bit off. That twitchy little shift behind her lashes. He knew that look. The one she wore when she was pretending everything was fine.

“I’m gonna grab drinks from the café,” he said, standing. “Be right back.”

Momo looked up a second later. “I gotta pee,” she announced, tossing her chopsticks into the trash bag behind her. “Don’t let anyone touch my gyoza.”

She was gone before anyone responded. The moment Momo disappeared down the corridor, Kei narrowed her eyes.

“They’re definitely making out.”

Half the table froze.

Miko dropped her chopsticks. “What?”

“Come on. They always leave like that. Same time. Every time. I’m not saying they’re doing it in the supply closet but—”

“Absolutely not,” Aira cuts in, eyebrows drawn. “Takakura-sama wouldn’t waste his energy on that. Not unless she cursed him or something.”

“She probably did,” Kinta said, deadpan. “Witch stuff. Mind control.”

“Or the other way around,” Jiji muttered. “ Definitely no way she just… likes him.”

Vamola tilted her head. “Make out. Is kiss?”

“No way,” Jiji said again, louder this time. “There’s no way Okarun’s ahead of me.”

“You think you’re competing?” Aira asked incredulously.

“I mean he’s cool and all but I'm literally the whole package!”

“He’s got muscles now!” Miko added.

“He still talks like an anime side character,” Kinta said.

“Still way better than you,” Kei muttered, nudging Miko.

Rin had gone still.

The group’s chatter simmered like a hot pot just reaching boil. Miko folded her arms, chewing her lip.

“Honestly though. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been watching Momo lately. She blushes when he walks by.”

“She always looks mad,” Aira pointed out.

“Exactly. When he’s not around”

There was a pause. Then, as if the words had been weighing in her throat all week, Rin whispered, “They’re definitely making out.”

Five heads snapped to her.

“What?” Aira asked sharply.

“I—um.” Rin looked down at her lap, twisting her fingers. “I didn’t want to say anything. I wasn’t sure. But…”

“You better spill right now, Rep,” Kei said, leaning forward.

Rin took a breath. “Two weeks ago, I saw them arguing. In the east hallway near the art room. They didn’t see me. I thought it was a fight, I think Momo was upset. She kept saying, ‘How can you not know what’s wrong?’ and he just kept apologizing.”

Jiji blinked. “Okarun got into an argument with her?”

“I didn't know her well at the time. I thought he was being bullied,” Rin admitted. “So I followed them. Momo dragged him into a classroom.”

Aira’s eyes were wide now. “And?”

“They were making out.”

The table fell silent.

Dead silent.

Even Vamola put her spoon down, blinking slowly.

“No way,” Miko breathed. “She didn’t tell us?”

“I don’t believe it,” Kinta muttered. “Maybe it was me you saw, I forget a lot.”

“You forget your lunch sometimes, dude, not a makeout session,” Jiji groaned, hands running through his hair. “He’s really ahead of me…”

“I didn't think her demon hold of him got this bad!” Aira hissed.

“She calls him a loser all the time,” Miko said.

“Yeah, and she looks at him like he hung the moon,” Kei added. “You guys just don’t see it.”

Right then, steps were heard shuffling in their direction. Ken returned with a plastic bag in one hand, eight brightly colored Pampy fruit juices swaying gently in their bottles. Momo was a step behind him, wiping her hands on her skirt. Her eyes darted to the group, noticing the eerie hush that had settled.

“…Did someone die?” she asked flatly.

“No..,” Kei said slowly, lips curling.

Ken blinked, holding out the bag. “I got peach yogurt,” he said, setting it on the far left in front of Momo. “And… apple-mango for whoever wants it.” He began placing them out at random, but the table remained strangely quiet. Eyes flicked between them like ping-pong balls.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, brows furrowing.

Momo squinted. “Yeah. What’s up with you guys?” She directed it at Miko and Kei, who were currently making faces at her like they knew where she kept her diary.

“…Nothing,” Miko said, grinning. Kei elbowed her.

“We were just saying… you’ve been glowing lately.”

Momo narrowed her eyes. “If you say ‘from love,’ I’m throwing this gyoza at your face.” They burst into laughter again, the tension slowly melting into a low simmer. But eyes still lingered, suspicions half-confirmed and gossip halfway carved into stone.

Across the table, Aira watched Momo and Ken exchange a glance; brief, but telling. Then she looked at Rin, who had gone back to sipping her soup as if nothing happened.

“Interesting,” Aira murmured, looking at the pair through narrowed eyes.

Next chapter; do we confront them ? Or a do we want a chapter on what actually happened in that empty classroom...

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the cracked blinds of her bedroom, slicing light across the mess of clothes on the floor. Momo blinked herself awake to the sound of the kettle in the kitchen and Granny Seiko clacking around in her slippers. It was a school day. Hopefully a battle-free day too.

She pulled herself out of bed with a sigh. Another day stuck in the rhythm of group lunches, after-school training with the group, and barely enough time to look at Okarun, let alone talk to him like she used to.

Granny called from the kitchen, “Get a move on, kid, or I’m locking the fridge for good.”

“Yeah, yeah, old mop,” Momo muttered, tossing on her uniform. She added her favorite dangly earrings, a neon green pair that brushed her cheeks. Just because she felt off didn’t mean she couldn’t look good.

She heard Vamola humming the Alphabet song  in the living room. Or was it Twinkle Little Star? 

Granny Seiko stood in front of the stove in her usual peach-pink house robe, swirling the miso soup with a calm flick of her wrist. “Vamola, your bento’s on the counter. Momo’s too, if she doesn’t trip over her own shoes getting out the door.”

Turbo Granny, perched like a goblin on the kitchen counter in her tiny possessed cat doll body, snorted. “She’s already cranky. That’s what happens when you spend half the night staring at the ceiling thinkin’ about that lanky nerd.”

“I heard that!” Momo called from her room.

Seiko smirked, “Yeah, the crankiness comes with the teen hormones.”

Vamola popped her head into the kitchen, hair brushed and styled neatly with cute baby blue headband gifted to her by Momo. “Good morning, Granny Seiko! Good morning, Turbo Granny!”

“Mornin’, kid,” Turbo Granny said, waving a paw. “You still struggling with the alphabet?”

Vamola beamed. “ learned to ‘M’ today!”

“Only took you two weeks,” Turbo muttered smirking, but there was something proud in her tone.

Momo finally trudged in, uniform only slightly wrinkled and earrings swaying dramatically. 

“Here,” Seiko said, handing her a thermos. “Drink this. You need iron. Your aura’s all patchy.”

Momo took it with a grimace. “Tastes like grass water.”

“Then it’s working,” Seiko replied.

Vamola peered up at Momo, then at Seiko. “Do normal Earth teenagers always complain before school?”

“Every single one,” Seiko confirmed. “Now both of you, get going. The world’s not gonna wait for sleepy schoolgirls with spiritual obligations.”

Granny Seiko followed them to the door, arms crossed. “No spirit-summoning during class. No psychic explosions. And if your crush tries to give you another one of those Pampy juices, drink it. That boy’s been trying his best.”

Momo paused in the doorway, her expression caught between mortification and horror. “He’s not my—ugh, whatever. We’re leaving.”

-

Okarun was waiting for them at the school gate, hair slightly messy, glasses fogged slightly from the humid air, one shoulder hunched under his backpack strap. He was chatting with Jiji about some random sports topic. Who knew he had interests other than aliens? He smiled when he saw Momo and held up a bottle of a peach yogurt drink.

“Waz up, Mo-Mo” Jiji sing-songed. Way too hyper for a Tuesday morning. “What's good V-Dawg” he tried doing some silly handshake with Vamola, but she failed miserably despite him trying to teach her since last week.

“Morning, Miss Ayase. I, uh, got this since the vending machine by the library still had stock and—”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, taking it and walking ahead.

He blinked, then followed. “Miss Ayase?”

She hummed non committedly in response. Her steps were sharp, probably trying to walk away from this as quickly as possible. This was stupid. She knew it was stupid, but her chest felt tight, and she didn’t know where to put all of her frustration.

—

Momo sat in the middle row, second seat from the window, and stared blankly at the whiteboard. Ms. Kitagawa was explaining something about oxidation, her voice the usual light drone that floated somewhere between a lullaby and a mosquito. Momo's notebook was open, pen poised in her hand, but the page was still blank.

She couldn’t focus. Again.

Okarun had passed her a drink that morning.  And smiled like he always did, with that awkward sweetness like he didn't notice the way she was burning up inside.

How could he not notice?

She gnawed at the end of her pen, mind spinning uselessly. It wasn’t like she wanted to fight. She just wanted him to get it. That the group, the noise, the constant interruptions, it all chipped away at their little moments. And he just kept being perfect. Kept playing nice. Maybe he didn’t miss it the way she did. Maybe he didn’t need her the way—

“Girl,” someone whispered loudly next to her.

Momo blinked out of her haze and turned to see Kei leaning toward her, smirking.

“You look like you wanna boil Ms. Kitagawa alive,” Kei whispered. “That deep scowl? You okay?”

Miko leaned in from the row behind, resting her chin on Momo’s shoulder. “What did poor Kitagawa ever do to you? Unless it’s about those pants she keeps wearing. I mean... brown corduroy?”

Momo made a vague noise in her throat, trying to look back toward the board. Her cheeks were hot.

“She’s thinking about Okarun,” Miko said in a sing-song tone, loud enough to earn a few curious glances.

“Obviously,” Kei chimed in. “She’s probably plotting how to lunge across the lunch table and kiss him on the mouth.”

“Shut up,” Momo muttered under her breath, voice tight.

“Are you fighting?” Kei asked, eyes wide with mock seriousness. “Is this your angsty phase ?”

Momo groaned and dropped her forehead onto her desk with a soft thunk . The cold surface felt better than listening to them. She stayed there, hiding her red face in her crossed arms.

“Poor baby,” Kei whispered.

“She’ll get over it by lunch,” Miko said. “Or she’ll explode.”

“Place your bets.”

Momo made a dramatic, muffled noise against the desk. “I hate both of you.”

They just cackled.

The bell rang minutes later and Ms. Kitagawa gave them all a pointed look before leaving. Momo didn’t even move. Her face was still buried in her arms, eyes closed. Maybe if she stayed like this, the earth would swallow her whole and she wouldn’t have to face Okarun or anyone for the rest of the day.

One deep sigh escaped her lips. She was not ready for lunch.

-

By lunchtime, the itch behind her ribs had grown unbearable. The group was chattering around their usual table, everyone sitting cross-legged on cushions in a sunlit corner of the school café.

Jiji was making Aira laugh about some teacher’s wig slipping during gym class. Kinta was pestering Vamola about her “alien bloodline combat potential,” whatever that meant, and then there was Okarun, sitting across from her with his hands politely folded, glancing at her every few seconds with those anxious, dark eyes behind fogged lenses. He passed her a packet of umeboshi rice crackers without saying anything.

Momo tried her best to not even look at it.

Eventually she stood. “I’m gonna step out for a minute. Anyone want anything?”

“A watermelon soda for me,” Aira said, quickly returning to filling in Jiji on class gossip.

The others were too caught up in their own noise to notice anything strange. Except Okarun. He needed to have fixed whatever was bothering Momo like yesterday. 

Ken stood up after Momo left, muttering something about the restroom, and left through the side hall.

He wasn’t headed to the restroom. He followed the turn down an empty corridor and caught up with her as she rounded the bend near the west staircase.

He called out to her hesitantly. “M-Miss Ayase”

She paused and turned. If she was surprised he had followed her, she didn't show it.

“Can we talk?” he asked, nervously, “Please..”.

"Sure," She nodded, looking almost uncomfortable.

They stepped into a deserted classroom, the door clicking shut behind them. The air was still and warm.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” She retorted, a bit too quickly.

He tilted his head, prompting her to be truthful.

Her hands clenched and relaxed at her sides. “It's just weird when you call me that.”

He blinked. “Call you what?”

“‘Miss Ayase,’ like I’m just someone from your class. It’s weird. We’ve… you know.” Her voice trailed off, face hot, as a light blush creeped up her ears. “You'd think we were closer than that by now..”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, glasses slipping as he looked down. “I just thought… you preferred it. You always seemed like—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re the one being careful,” she snapped, whisper-shouting. “You act like none of this bothers you. Like it’s fine that we’re always with the group, that I can’t even sit next to you without someone teasing. You bring me snacks and say nice things and then that's all I get from you for the whole day.”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Momo took a shaky breath. “It’s like I’m the only one frustrated. Like I'm the only one who wants there to be more alone time with us,  rather than be with the whole group every damn day.”

“You’re not,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought if I complained, I’d seem selfish. Or clingy. Or pushy. I’d never mean to make you feel this way,”.

“I miss being with you,” she said, voice lower now. “Not just seeing you at lunch. I miss when it was just us . ”

Something shifted in his expression. He stepped closer.

“Momo,” he said. Just her name, soft and real, without the stiffness of his usual formality.

She stared at him, the tension in her chest tight and hot. The distance between them disappeared by the second but neither knew which of them was moving closer.

“I miss you too, ” he said, more quietly. The way he was looking at her was almost intense; Like he was bearing his heart in that very moment. “More than anything.”

It was slow at first, The air between grew still and the quietness of the room could make a pin drop seem deafening. Their breaths mingled as they breathed in each other waiting for a cue, a moment.. And then it was happening, his hand at her waist, hers grabbing his collar. The frustration, the want, the electricity between them all snapped loose.

His kiss was firmer than the first few times back at hers. More sure. Hungrier. Their mouths moved with urgency, lips pulling and catching. Momo curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, letting herself sink into the warmth of him, as he pressed her against the white board behind them. Momo's hand wandered to the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair while eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat. A sound she didn't even know Okarun was capable of making, but now was her mission to make him sound like that again.

It could have been somewhere between 30 seconds to 30 minutes they stayed like that. Pressed together, hands grasping at one another for close proximity. The little noises Momo made when he did simple things like graze her plump bottom lip with his teeth or squeezed her waist just to ground her closer to him, drove him crazy. He remembered vividly what she tasted like two weeks ago but right now he could not understand how he wasn't drunk off of her already. Actually, maybe he was— he couldn't care less.

She gasped when his lips dragged along her jaw, to the soft skin just beneath her ear. He didn’t speak, just pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, teeth grazing lightly before sucking a mark there.

“Okarun…” she moaned breathlessly.

Another kiss just below her collarbone.

A small laugh slipped out of her. “You’re much worse than me.”

“I havent kissed you in two weeks,” he muttered against her skin. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

She giggled, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

His forehead leaned against hers.

“If we tell them... We won't need to make up excuses to be alone.”

As much as that sounded great, the idea of her grandmother finding out ? Along with Miko and Kei ? Yeah... that sounded like a free ticket to Teaseville.

 “I’m not ready for them to know yet,” she admitted.

He nodded. “Okay.., we keep this between us. But I’m not holding back anymore. It's been driving me insane.”

A shiver ran through her, and she kissed him again, slower this time. More sure.

They stepped apart only when the bell rang.

She could feel the flush of heat in her cheeks, the thrum of her pulse where he’d left soft bruises on her neck. And for the first time in days, the ache in her chest had gone quiet.

Momo smoothed her skirt, and looked up at Okarun who was waiting intently on her for them to leave before a teacher walked in. He looked rather boyish with a slight glint in his eye; much less gloomy than he did during the past two weeks now that she thought about it. Suddenly she felt silly and apologetic for her outburst of frustration. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the classroom window, swollen lips, hair slightly mussed. And one faint red mark just under her jaw.

“Crap.”

Okarun chuckled, a crimson shade crawling up his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck. “Uh... You can say it was a mosquito bite?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Even Vamola wouldn't believe that.”

“Oh." 

Chapter Text

The overhead light in Momo's room was dimmed low, replaced by the soft glow of string lights that twinkled like a sky full of tiny stars. A faint citrus-scented candle flickered from her desk, mingling with the ever-present scent of nail polish, face masks, and faint shampoo. Pillows and blankets covered the floor like a nest, a half-empty bag of chips leaning against a stuffed animal with one ear half-chewed —evidence of Vamola’s brief misunderstanding that it was a snack.

Miko sprawled out on her stomach, flipping through a glossy magazine, her feet swaying in the air. “Okay, okay—did you hear what Takasugi said to Ayumi-chan after third period? I swear, it was, like, straight out of a drama. Right by the shoe lockers.”

Kei, perched cross-legged beside a small vanity mirror, carefully applied blush to one cheek and tilted her face to examine the effect. “Which part? The ‘You’re the only girl I see’ line, or the part where she just stared at him like he was a vending machine?”

Miko let out a scandalized gasp. “Both! Like—hello?! He poured his heart out and she just walked away like she was late for math cram.”

“Maybe she was,” Kei shrugged, switching to the other cheek. “Still, cold. I respect it.”

Miko grinned. “I would’ve at least blushed. Or giggled. Or something! Ayumi just blinked at him and left. That’s serial killer behavior.”

They burst into giggles, heads falling together as they flipped the page. Bright photos of boy bands and summer festival fits spilled across the glossy paper.

Meanwhile, Momo lay over the edge of her bed, hair swooped into a messy high ponytail, feet in the air, her thumbs moving rapidly across her phone screen. She was clearly smiling, but not at anything related to the drama recap. Her attention was locked somewhere else—eyes flicking between messages, the glow of the screen catching the soft curve of her smile.

Kei noticed first. “Momo, you’re missing the best part. Ayumi-chan gave him nothing. A full-on blank face.”

“Mm-hmm,” Momo replied absently, her voice light. The corners of her mouth tugged upward, soft and dreamy.

Miko narrowed her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. “Okay, who’s got you grinning like that?”

Momo blinked up from her phone, caught. “What? No one. I was just—it’s this dumb video. Silly cat stuff.”

“Liar,” Kei said flatly, putting down her brush and turning fully toward her. “You’re not even watching anything. You’re texting.”

“Let me guess…” Miko drawled, her eyes lighting up with mock suspense. “It’s not JiJi. It’s not Aira. Definitely not Kinta. So that leaves…”

“I’m not texting Okarun,” Momo blurted, too fast, too loud.

Kei gasped like she was in a soap opera. “Okarun?! We didn’t even say his name yet!” She jabbed a glittery nail toward her. “Busted!”

Momo turned crimson, clutching her phone to her chest like it was state evidence. “That’s not what I—ugh, shut up.”

“Gimme that!” Miko launched forward across the pillows like a shark attacking its prey in the water.

Momo yelped and twisted away, clutching the phone out of reach. “Hey! Privacy!”

Kei dove in next, both girls piling onto her in a tangle of limbs and laughter. “We just wanna see the emoji combos!” she cried. “We promise we won’t read the spicy parts!”

“There are no spicy parts!” Momo howled, laughing despite herself. “Get off, psychos!”

Miko caught one of her wrists. “C’mon, what’s his contact name now? Still ‘Ken’? Or did you upgrade to something cheesy, like ‘Pooh Bear ’?”

“Ew! No!” Momo was laughing so hard now her eyes were watering. “I swear, you guys are horrible.”

Kei leaned in, grinning wickedly. “Ooo, or ‘Mr. Love Bite’?”

Momo gasped. “Oh my god! STOP. That’s so gross! I’d never—!”

The girls collapsed off her in a heap, breathless with laughter. Momo sat up with her hair sticking out wildly on one side, still holding her phone like a lifeline. “You guys are the worst.”

“We’re the best,” Miko corrected, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “And we’re onto you.”

Momo huffed, dragging a pillow onto her lap and burying her face in it. “I hate you both.”

“You love us,” Kei said smugly. “Now get over here and tell me if this highlighter makes me look like I’ve slept in the last twenty-four hours.”

Momo peeked out from behind the pillow. “Is that the champagne one or the one called ‘Celestial Dewdrop’?”

“Celestial Dewdrop,” Kei said. “It was on sale. But it smells like glue.”

“It’s pretty,” Momo said, scooting off the bed to sit beside them. She squinted at Kei’s cheek. “But it’s a little patchy. You need to tap, not swipe. Use your finger.”

“Ooh, makeup expert mode,” Miko said, tossing her magazine aside. “Let’s do each other’s makeup like it’s a contest. Loser has to text their middle school crush.”

“No way,” Kei laughed, handing Momo her highlighter. “Mine goes to our school.”

“Even better,” Miko said with a wicked grin.

The mood shifted into a cozy rhythm. They set up a little beauty corner on the floor, brushes and palettes scattered between them like a painter’s kit. Momo did Kei’s liner—sharp wings that made her eyes pop—while Miko applied glitter gloss with reckless enthusiasm. There were snack breaks, laughter, a mini argument over which idol group was overrated, and Momo even joined in a dramatic reading of one of Miko’s favorite FanFic scenes of an Idol, putting on an overly breathy voice for the heroine.

Momo sat with her back against the bed, absently applying a sheer lilac shade to her pinky. Her phone buzzed beside her. She didn’t reach for it immediately this time.

Miko, catching the sound, raised a brow but said nothing. Kei noticed too. The way Momo smiled, soft and slow, without even needing to read the message—it said everything.

They didn’t need to tease her again. They’d gotten their answer.

Kei reached over to gently nudge Momo’s knee with her own. “You and your boo are cute and all, but don’t forget that we are literally your first love.”

Momo rolled her eyes at her, then sighed dramatically, suppressing a small smile. 

“He’s not my ‘boo’— and of course I won’t,” Momo promised, finishing her nails. “But you’re still not allowed to steal my phone.”

“Fair,” Kei said, holding out her fingers to blow them dry. “But if I see one cheesy emoji next to his name, I will judge you.”

Momo laughed and leaned back into the pillows, the string lights above them glinting in her eyes. “Noted.”

The rest of the night drifted by in soft laughter, sleepy chatter, and glitter-dusted fingers, the kind of easy peace that only best friends could make.

Chapter Text

It was a normal Thursday. The sun had just started its lazy descent when the group of teens began their walk home from school. It was just past three p.m., and the warmth of the afternoon clung to the air, mingling with the scent of sunbaked concrete and distant wisteria. The group meandered across the familiar bridge that served as a shortcut from school to the Ayase home, their bags slung over shoulders, laughter rising in fits and bursts.

Momo and JiJi were doubled over, stifling laughter as they hovered over her phone screen—some absurd cat meme that had them both wheezing like fools. Kinta trailed close behind Aira, nagging her relentlessly about attending her dance practice— a class she had recently joined, though no one could quite figure out why he wanted to attend so badly. Still, she ignored him with all the grace of a queen brushing off a fly. Ken, ambled beside them, chatting amicably to Vamola about the latest edition of his beloved mythical creatures magazine, explaining the new section about Tengu sightings with a kind of scholarly reverence, while she nodded in vague understanding.

Everything felt normal, light, almost lazy in its routine. And then, the sky went dark.

The next moment, they were surrounded by writhing portals opening midair, belching out Serpos—twisted, biomechanical monstrosities, long-limbed and spider-like, with glowing red optics and snapping mandibles.

"Guess we're doing this now," Kinta groaned, already activating the nanotech core embedded in his glove. Shimmering circuits spread across his arms, reshaping into sleek armor and a high-powered plasma cannon.

Momo had already leapt to the side,  glowing with psychic energy as she summoned a glowing telekinetic barrier to shield Vamola and JiJi from an attack by the serpos. Her focus was sharp, the air around her crackling. 

"Aira!" she shouted. Serpo-Aliens were surging towards them from every angle.

"Got it!" Aira snarled, already transforming. Her pink hair grew impossibly long, surging outward like tendrils, coiling and thrashing with deadly purpose. Her transformation was eerie and graceful all at once—and when the bone-white mask clicked into place over her face, she looked every bit the warrior demon she was known to be.

Evil Eye burst forth transforming from JiJi in a surge of energy, cracking his knuckles with a grin, his enormous muscles flexing under the moon-like glow of empty space.

"Let’s see how these freaks handle a beatdown," he growled.

Vamola slipped on her dinosaur helmet which transformed into her kaiju suit—an armored, dinosaur-shaped exoskeleton with glowing red eyes and energy cannons on the shoulders. She surged forward, immediately attacking the array of Serpos heading toward them.

Okarun’s transformation took seconds. His body elongated slightly, his skin bleaching pale as a flaming mane of white hair erupted, streaked with red. Red lines crossed his blood-red eyes, which glowed with quiet menace. His retractable jaw-mask hung just slightly open, teeth glinting.

"How depressing," he muttered, surveying the approaching swarm.

The Serpos struck first, bladed limbs slashing through the air. Aira’s hair wrapped around two of them and flung them into a nearby chunk of floating rock. Kinta fired blast after blast, his cannon glowing red-hot. Vamola stomped forward in her suit, tail smashing into a trio of attackers. Evil Eye met the charge head-on, fists smashing into metal with the force of a collapsing building.

Momo hovered above the fray using telekinetic force, flinging rocks and redirecting attacks, keeping everyone covered.

A shrieking Serpo dropped from above, its body rotating mid-air as multiple mechanical arms extended toward Evil Eye. He turned, caught two of the limbs, and flung the creature into the oncoming horde like a shot put.

"Try that again, punk," he barked.

Vamola's cannons fired in rhythmic bursts, knocking chunks of armor off the advancing enemy. One Serpo launched itself at her from behind, but her tail caught it mid-air and slammed it downward, where Aira’s hair instantly speared through its center and flung it into the void.

Okarun darted through the chaos like a streak of white lightning. He kicked off floating debris and slammed into a cluster of Serpos with his shoulder, scattering them like bowling pins. One reached for his neck—he caught its arm, twisted, and launched it over the edge of the bridge.

The Serpos hissed, their voices warbling in unison like broken radios:

"Your genetic structure is necessary for our evolution. We must upgrade."

Momo flung a spiraling shield of force against an advancing group, but one of the Serpos slipped through, lunging up at her from beneath. She gasped, twisting midair, but landed on her side. Hard.

White hot pain shot up her right leg and arm; she groaned, vision swimming. And then—

Clicking filled the air. Sharp and synchronized.

Around her stood three Serpos, their mechanical arms twitching, forming blades and needles. They loomed above her, heads rotating in jerky, unnatural motion.

"Psychic supernatural powers will be useful to our generation," they intoned early, speaking all at the same time. "You will be assimilated."

Their arms raised.

A blur of white and red streaked down from above.

Okarun hit the ground between them with such force it sent a shockwave across the stone. In one motion, he flung his arms outward—knocking all three Serpos flying into the dark like scraps tossed by a storm. 

He paused, looking back to where Momo sat, to ensure that she wasn't in immediate danger. Incase she needed him there.

"Kick their asses, Okarun!" Momo yelled, sitting up and cradling her wrist.

And that he did.

One crashed into a hanging steel beam. Another shattered through floating debris. The third simply vanished into over the edge of the bridge. He surged forward to the next swarm of Serpos approaching, fury radiating off him in waves. His eyes narrowed, and the jaw-mask extended with a hydraulic hiss. These aliens didn’t stand a chance. Okarun tore into them with brutal efficiency, parts flying in every direction. He wasted no time in arriving at Momo's side after he was done.

"You okay?" he asked, kneeling before her.

Momo sat up, still stunned. "Yeah... yeah. I’m okay."

More Serpos came, screeching, limbs spinning.

Okarun leapt again—grabbing two by the necks and slamming them together with a metallic clang . One tried to lunge from behind, but Aira’s hair caught it midair and yanked it aside.

"Don’t hog all the fun!" Aira called, eliminating two other serpos mid air. She almost seemed to be enjoying herself despite it being an inconvenience to the rest of them. 

Vamola barreled through a cluster, tail sweeping in an arc that cleared a path straight toward JiJi, who slammed his fists together and let out a roar of energy, sending more Serpos flying.

"How many of these things are there?" Momo shouted, rising to her feet.

"Too many," Kinta said grimly. "But not enough to stop us."

And together, they surged back into the fight.

—

By the time the last Serpo screeched and retreated through a collapsing portal, the group was battered, panting, and coated in dust. Empty Space peeled away like fog dispersing, and the orange shade of the setting sky shimmered back into view, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The town sparkled faintly in the distance, the scent of summer night air returning. 

"Everyone okay?" Momo asked, brushing herself off.

"Nothing broken," Aira muttered, helping JiJi to his feet as he reverted back, half-naked . Accustomed to the routine, he fished a T-shirt and sweats out of his backpack— which was abandoned on the bridge floor earlier. He had to be constantly prepared for when Evil Eye ripped his clothes to shreds.

"A good workout," Vamola said, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her suit folded back into her dino-helmet.

"Ugh," Kinta groaned. "My ankle! I tripped on one of those stupid floating rocks!"

Momo glanced at him, limping a little herself. "You gonna be okay?"

"No! I demand a ride! Someone carry me!" Kinta flailed his arms dramatically.

"Not it," Aira said, turning away.

"My back hurts too," JiJi added.

Vamola just smiled apologetically. "I am small."

Kinta's eyes fell on Okarun, who was already placing his lanky arms under Momo’s knees and back, picking her up bridal-style. She almost began to protest but the ache in her ankle pressed on— she did not feel like walking home on a possible sprain.

"Ken? Buddy? Please?"

Okarun stared at him, his hair still drifting like white smoke.

"What a drag," he said flatly.

He crouched, sighing, and Kinta gleefully hopped on, while the others retrieved their backpacks off the floor

"Yes! Piggyback! " he whooped.

The journey back to Seiko's felt oddly peaceful after the chaos. Familiar chatter of the group continued as if fighting aliens were the norm. Actually— yea it was. The breeze was warm, the night full of cicada hums. Momo rested her head against Okarun’s chest, breathing evenly. She flexed her ankle experimentally. She really hopes it's just a minor strain and not something to put her out of commission. 

Vamola, walking near Okarun, reached out holding her hand gently. "Hurts ?" she asked softly.

"A little. I'll be okay," Momo responded with a small smile. Vamola nodded satisfied with her answer.

As they reached the old gate of Seiko's house, Okarun gently set Momo down, ensuring that she stood comfortably without adding too much pressure on her injured foot. She whispered a quiet ‘thanks’ to show her gratitude. 

Then, without warning, he stood up to his full height, spine straightening with eerie sharpness.

"Wha—"

Kinta tumbled backward off his shoulders and landed on his butt with a yelp.

"Ow! Dude!"

Everyone turned.

Aira snorted, while Jiji and Vamola stifled their laughter.

"Hey! I deserve princess treatment too!" Kinta pouted, rubbing his backside.

"Bummer." He said, deadpan. His transformation back to his normal self occurred within seconds. He walked ahead to the warm glow of the Ayase home leaving a grumbling Kinta and the others laughing at his expense.  

As they filed inside, battle-worn and weary, but victorious, the scent of freshly cooked food wafted out from the kitchen— courtesy of Granny Seiko— made everyone forget their exhaustion. 

“You kids get smacked around again?” Turbo Granny cackled from her position on the tatami mat, clearly delighted by their bedraggled state. Her scratchy voice was already launching into full-blown teasing before anyone could even get their shoes off. She waved a chopstick like a baton, conducting chaos as the group groaned and collapsed onto cushions.

"Shut your mouths, and come eat your fill," Seiko ordered loudly from the kitchen.

They didn't have to be told twice.

Chapter Text

The early summer night shimmered with warmth and movement, the kind that hummed with the promise of something special. Crickets chirped faintly beneath the layered sounds of clinking dishes from open-air restaurants, chatter spilling from doorways, and the occasional strum of a street musician’s guitar . A cart selling candied yams hissed gently, its sugary scent mingling with the sharper bite of grilled shrimp and the rich aroma of soy-glazed rice balls.

Everything felt alive—gilded in gold and tangerine tones as the sun finally dipped beyond the skyline, handing the town over to dusk’s embrace. The kind of Saturday evening that painted the town in golden hour glow and made every corner feel like a scene from a movie. Lanterns swayed gently from old lamp posts, and the sidewalks gleamed with soft reflections from shop windows and food carts. The buzz of chatter and sizzling street food blended with laughter and the occasional ring of a bicycle bell.

Momo stood just outside the ticket booth of the Cineplex, adjusting the hem of her burgundy dress. The skirt flared just above her knees, catching the breeze, and her cream-colored mesh bolero shimmered faintly under the lights. Her silver earrings twinkled as she moved, and her claw clip held her hair up halfway, strands framing her cheeks that were already flushed from the heat—or maybe the company.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" Okarun asked, his brows furrowed as he scanned her outfit. He stood just a step away, holding both their tickets. He wore a black sweater under a navy blue jacket, simple dark jeans and his usual sneakers. His messy hair had been hastily brushed but still stuck out in every direction.

"Nope. I’m good," Momo replied with a cheeky grin. "I’m tougher than I look."

Okarun gave her a look, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That’s what you said during last week’s fight, then a minute later you were hiding behind a mailbox."

"It was a giant sludge ghost! You try not flinching when one of those things gurgles your name."

He chuckled, dry and warm. "Yeah, you're right. Pretty sure I saw it blink with its stomach."

She chuckled, still grinning.

"You look really nice." Ken said, looking away, cheeks flushing. 

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Just 'nice'? You told me I looked stunning when you picked me up at the front gate. Have I downgraded?"

Usually Ken would get all flustered and quickly try to clear up her feigned misunderstanding. But he knew better by now.

"I ran out of adjectives," he said deadpan. "I should've saved 'stunning' for now. You look gorgeous, Momo-chan."

She tilted her head, cheeks warming. "Thank you, Ken. You look very handsome yourself."

Momo was not sure if it was possible for Okarun's cheeks to get even redder than they were at that moment. 

When they arrived at the concession stand, they ordered popcorn, soda, and some gummy stars that came in a novelty cup shaped like a spaceship. They stepped aside for the next couple in line, finding a quiet spot to add straws to their drinks. 

They chatted amicably about the latest yokai they fought—an eerie, eyeless creature with a gaping mouth on its stomach that turned out to be a spirit once worshipped in old mountain villages.

"Granny said it was originally called a 'Noppera,' right?" Momo asked between sips of her drink.

Okarun nodded. "Yeah, and then Kinta renamed it 'Gastrobooger' in the middle of battle."

Momo laughed, nearly choking. The memory warmed them both as they ambled through the theatre hallway, the echo of their laughter mingling with the hum of vending machines and the distant boom of another screening room as they passed by.

Nearby, a teen in a full astronaut costume attempted to dance to some pop song blaring from a phone speaker. A younger kid shouted, "Go space dude!" and joined in with exaggerated moonwalks.

Momo elbowed Okarun gently. "That's totally your vibe. You dance like that."

"Rude," he replied, offended. "My moonwalking skills are way better than that."

She grinned, sipping from her straw. "I’m just saying, if you ever get cast in a musical about astronauts, you’ve got the moves down."

"I’m taking you off my backup crew for Mars," he said with mock seriousness. "You’ll be doing solo karaoke for the rovers."

She threw her head back in laughter. "No, you’d miss me too much."

"Shush." he said, rolling his eyes, with a small grin.

They found their seats near the center. The room dimmed gradually, not all at once, like a curtain lowering.

The opening credits of Beyond Space began—dusty earthscapes, a crackling radio, the echo of a daughter's voice calling out to her father from across time.

They fell quiet.

The film moved slowly, dreamlike. The story—of a father sent into deep space to find a new home for humanity while his daughter aged decades back on Earth—wrapped around the room like a hush. Okarun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen. His fingers occasionally tapped the rim of the popcorn bucket.

Momo tried to focus on the movie, but she kept watching him in the flickering light. How he reacted to each beat, how he stilled during the daughter’s video messages. She liked watching him indulge in whatever he showed interest in.

About halfway through, she sniffled. Quietly. The daughter’s lonely determination, her eyes full of stubborn hope—it made Momo blink rapidly.

Okarun noticed. He slid his hand over hers on the armrest.

No words. Just a quiet squeeze.

She turned slightly, pressing her fingers into his palm. They stayed like that until the final act, when the spaceship collapsed, and the film concluded.

Outside, the town had dimmed. Streetlights glowed softer now. The air had cooled further, brushing their skin like a reminder of time.

They walked in silence at first.

Then Momo said, "I liked the daughter. She never gave up. Even when she was angry. I liked that about her."

Okarun nodded. "I liked the spaceship details and all the science concepts relating time to space travel. The way the seconds mattered. They really put a lot of effort into it... ."

She nodded and hummed in agreement. Maybe next time they should watch a comedy instead of  a sad space movie for their theatre dates. Their mood remained rather melancholy for a short while.

They entered a nearby park, taking the long way home. Their steps slowed naturally along the gently winding path, where old stone lanterns dotted the trail and flowering trees arched overhead. Petals drifted down in lazy spirals, some clinging to the fabric of Momo’s dress or the edge of Okarun’s sleeve. The grass lining the path held the day's warmth, but the air had turned crisp, the scent of damp earth and blossoms rising with each step. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada chirped, stubbornly clinging to summer’s last hold.

Momo exhaled softly, arms folded across herself.

Okarun caught it instantly. "Are you cold now?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "A little."

He unzipped his jacket, pulled it off, and wrapped it around her shoulders before she could protest. He tugged it closed, then zipped it all the way up, the gesture so gentle it made her flush a pretty pink.

"Next time I’m reminding you to bring a coat," he murmured.

She looked up at him. Her face half-hidden in the collar, only her eyes visible—shining with adoration.

Okarun’s cheeks were red from the cold. His breath fogged lightly in the air. He was so close. He looked down to meet her gaze.

"What?" he asked softly, when he noticed her staring.

"You’re so cute," she said, grinning.

He blinked. "Huh?"

Okarun smiled gently, shaking his head. "You clearly don’t see yourself right now."

She brought her hands up through the sleeves of his jacket, cupping both sides of his face. His skin was warm under her palms. She leaned upward, and pressed her lips to his.

It was a soft, sure kiss—lingering and warm, her lips brushing his with a quiet certainty that made the world feel very far away. Her hands remained cupped at his face, thumbs gently tracing the line of his cheekbones as she tilted her head just slightly to deepen it. She smiled into the kiss, not pulling away, only breathing when she had to, her heart fluttering in rhythm with his.

Okarun’s hands hovered at her sides before gently settling at her waist.

When they broke apart, both flushed, he gave a small smile. "Strawberry this time?"

Momo let out a surprised laugh. "How do you guess correctly every time?"

He shrugged modestly. Was it weird that he paid attention to what flavor lip balm his girlfriend used?

She nestled into the jacket more, their bodies close as they stood by a nearby bench. The night unfolded around them.

"Thanks for coming with me," he said again, quieter.

"You're welcome," she replied, sighing in content. "Thanks for asking me."

They walked in a silence full of meaning, shared warmth, and something unspoken but understood.

If it was up to her she would have stayed out longer with Okarun, but He gave her grandmother his word that he would have her back before half nine. Did they think it was the 90s? 

The distant rustle of leaves overhead, the faint scent of grass and earth after the long summer day, and the soft hum of crickets filled the air around them. Their steps fell in quiet sync along the worn path. Unbeknownst to each other, they both hoped that dates like this would become more frequent in their hectic lives.

Chapter Text

The sun was merciless during fifth period PE, beating down on the school’s patchy grass field with the kind of heat that made everyone wish for typhoon season. The girls were split into teams for a half-hearted round of softball while the boys ran drills on the opposite side of the field. Momo had half-tucked her gym shirt into her shorts and was swatting lazily at mosquitoes more than she was paying attention to the game. Vamola, on her left, looked like the only person in their joined PE class actually trying (and failing) to participate in the sport activity.

Aira stood nearby, twirling a bat in one hand, clearly bored. “Why is it always softball?” she groaned, looking to Momo as if she personally curated the curriculum. “Can’t we play something fun for once? Like dodgeball. Or combat sports.”

“Because dodgeball turns into a bloodbath whenever you’re on the team,” Momo said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You nearly broke Kinta’s nose last time.”

“He ducked into it. That’s not on me.” Aira shrugged, tossing the bat up and catching it again with a grin.

“Mmhm. Sure,” Momo replied, letting the breeze lift her bangs a little. She looked bored, eyes a bit distant, like had something else entirely on her mind. Most definitely ready for PE to be over with. 

The PE teacher blew the whistle and barked something about switching innings, but Aira barely moved. Her eyes had drifted to Momo’s wrist, where a delicate bracelet caught the sunlight.

It didn’t look like something Momo normally wore. It wasn’t loud or neon or dripping with sparkle. It was simple, a silver chain with a few glassy charms. A small spaceship. A mini saturn. A dangling half-moon. Cute, quiet, weirdly thoughtful.

“Hey,” Aira said, stepping a little closer. “That bracelet’s kinda cute. Where’d you get it?”

Momo blinked like she’d just noticed she was wearing it. Her hand twitched at her side, but she didn’t try to hide it. “Oh. This?”

“No, the other one.” Aira rolled her eyes. “Yes, that one. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before.”

“It’s new,” Momo said simply, voice a little higher than usual. She twisted the chain around her wrist, avoiding eye contact.

Aira tilted her head. “Yeah? Where’d you buy it?”

Momo hesitated. Her cheeks flushed just slightly, but Aira caught it. “I didn’t. Someone… got it for me.”

“Someone?” Aira asked, narrowing her eyes, one hand on her hip. “Okay, and this mysterious ‘someone’ is…?”

Momo puffed out a breath. “It’s not a big deal.”

“See, you saying that automatically makes it a big deal.” Aira leaned in a little, smirking now. “Spill. Kei said you weren’t into accessories that didn’t look like they fell out of a UFO, so who convinced you otherwise?”

Momo’s lips twitched, and then she caved. “Okarun got it for me,” she said, low, almost inaudible under the shouting of the boys across the field.

Aira blinked. “Wait. What?”

“It was… kind of an early birthday gift.”

A beat passed.

“Momo,” Aira said slowly. “Your birthday isn’t for, like… four months.”

“I know..”

Aira stared at her, open-mouthed. Then her eyes narrowed again. “So… let me get this straight. Okarun– our weird, awkward, glasses wearing Okarun—gave you jewelry. Four months early. Just because?”

“I guess.”

Aira stared at her blankly.

Momo folded her arms, bracelet glinting. “What?”

“I mean… okay,” Aira said, tone indifferent. “Okay, yeah. Sure. That’s just something friends do, right? Totally normal.”

Momo groaned, half-turning away. “Can we not do this?”

Aira said, stepping in front of her. “You’ve been blushing since I brought it up. You can't even deny it.”

“I’m not blushing, it's just hot out,” Momo retorted, but it sounded weak, even to her.

“I mean, it’s fine. I’m not mad,” Aira said quickly, almost defensive. “Just… surprised. Your curse on him is really strong, I guess.” She said picking up a softball.

Before Momo could answer, the PE teacher barked again, demanding they get back in formation. Aira let it go with a shrug, and tried to distract herself by helping Vamola hold her bat like it's not a battle weapon, much to her own dismay.

Momo was thankful for the end of that confrontation. But Aira? She spent the rest of the period trying to ignore the faint, inexplicable feeling crawling up her spine.

Hii, this (not so mini) yap is not necessary for understanding the basis of the plot so you can skip it without feeling guilty, It's just things I've wanted to speak about recently. (minor manga spoilers)

Aira and Momo

I really adore this group although there are minor flaws like Jiji being a little jealous of Ken, and Aira having an unrequited crush on him as well. I love Aira and Momo’s relationship though; many creators’ works show them as enemies or rivals.. but I want this one to be slightly different where Aira isn't a complete asshole. She still likes Ken and is still jealous of Momo but perhaps she will have some character development despite her inner turmoil. 

Timeline

This story is a slightly different Alternate Universe than the original plot.  Most things are still canon up to the Danmara Arc, except Momo returned to normal size soon after Zuma did. There is a beautifully written fic by ThornQueen ( Bookmarks ) that I took inspo from; the second chapter is dated about two weeks after their confession. I know these aren't consecutive in the way one chapter is dated right after the next. It's more like a series of events during the development of their relationship. I’m not sure if this is a bother to anyone, really, but I apologize If you read expecting immediate continuations after each chapter.

Characters

I'm really glad everyone thinks my interpretations of these characters are somewhat accurate. I'm not too caught up with the manga but I am familiar with the newer characters. If there is anyone you’d like to see or maybe a specific interaction, please let me know. I'm currently working on a chapter featuring Zuma. Kouki is in this AU, I just haven't included her because this is set right before the Kozuka Knives Arc. If and when I introduce her, I will not change the plot of how they meet, and Momo will not stay a tiny person for very long.

Suggestions

Yes, I have been reading your comments and suggestions but most of my chapters have pre-written plots so if you realize your request may be taking a while it's because I'm taking a minute to incorporate it into the plotline, so look out for later chapters!!

Chapter Limit ?

There is no actual limit to this work. I just don't like seeing ‘X / ?’ next to chapters. I'm raising the total amount to the number of chapters that I have already proofread and are ready to post.

Feedback

Last but not least, I cannot stress this enough; your opinion is very valuable and I really hope you all are enjoying reading this fic as much as I am writing it. If you have any criticism or ideas that you’d like to share, comment and let me know <33

Thank you for reading this far, next chapter is a short Vamola feature!! :D

Chapter Text

The living room lights were dim, casting a warm amber glow over the tatami floor and scattered snack wrappers. The only other light came from the television, where the screen flickered with a scene from "Galaxy Lovers: Stardust Rebellion," one of Vamola’s favorite Friday night space dramas. She’d convinced Momo to stay up late and watch the two-hour special,though by now, Momo was clearly losing the battle.

Vamola sat cross-legged on the couch, a large pillow wedged between her and the armrest. Momo had started beside her, sitting upright with a bowl of buttered popcorn in her lap. But over the last forty minutes, she’d slouched, yawned, mumbled something about the room being too warm. And now she was fully asleep, curled against Vamola’s side, her soft snores barely audible over the emotional violin soundtrack playing on-screen.

Vamola didn’t mind. In fact, she looked down at Momo with a soft smile and adjusted the blanket draped over them both. Momo’s hair smelled like peaches and coconut shampoo. She had a small crease between her eyebrows even in sleep, as if she was bantering with someone in her sleep as she often did in real life.

The TV blared a dramatic confession scene, Captain Rei confessing to Lieutenant Minako under a meteor shower, the visuals awash in purple stardust. Vamola’s eyes sparkled, hands clasped under her chin.

“So romantic…” she whispered, truly captured by the essence of the old dramatic romance.

Suddenly, a quiet buzz broke the moment. Momo’s phone, half-buried in the couch cushion, lit up next to Vamola’s leg. She glanced at it, out of curiosity more than anything.

The message preview glowed softly on the lock screen:

Okaruun <3
Sleep well, Momo-chan. I love you.

Vamola blinked. Her mouth opened slightly. “Ohh…”

She recognized the name. Okaruun —Okarun—Ken, but not the Ken she knew. The one with dark messy hair and soft brown eyes. The quiet one who always seemed awkward or nervous to just exist sometimes. He was strange, even among their strange group. But now…

Vamola tilted her head and reread the message. Her Japanese wasn’t as good as she would like it to be, but… she could understand it. “Sleep well, Momo-chan. I love you.” There was no mistaking the meaning, seeing that the last three words are repeated often in her current favorite show.

She squeaked softly, her cheeks flushed with secondhand excitement.

She glanced at Momo again, who remained deeply asleep, lips parted slightly as she breathed against Vamola’s sleeve. The phone dimmed, the message disappearing back into darkness, but Vamola’s grin didn’t fade.

“Cute,” she whispered. “Very, very cute.”

The characters on-screen kissed under the collapsing starlight, and Vamola watched with new context—thinking of Momo, and Ken, and the way they always walked just a little too close together. How  they have a permanent blush when they are in each other's proximity. It made sense now. So much sense.

The room had grown quieter. Outside the window, the cicadas had slowed their summer song. The TV volume seemed lower somehow, or maybe Vamola was just getting sleepier. She yawned, long and low, and shifted just enough to get more comfortable.

Her head drooped a little, then bobbed up. She blinked. Momo shifted slightly, nuzzling closer.

Vamola finally leaned her head against Momo’s, her short blonde hair mingling with Momo’s longer brunette strands, the two of them cocooned in quiet warmth. The screen flickered, then faded out as the credits rolled.

Chapter Text

The school gate clattered open as students spilled out in waves, uniforms rumpled, bags slung low, voices rising in a messy blend of relief and leftover energy. The sun was still high but starting to mellow, casting longer shadows along the pavement. A few crows perched on the telephone wires overhead, watching the usual flood of sneakers and bikes scatter toward the train station, the convenience store, or nowhere in particular. JiJi stretched his arms overhead and let out a yawn.

"Man, that history quiz fried my brain," he groaned.

Vamola walked beside him, hugging her bag tightly to her chest. "You said same thing after math." Her response was more of an observation than a retort.

"Because it was true both times," JiJi explained dramatically. "I'm academically exhausted."

Kinta, nose in his phone, chimed in without looking up. "You wouldn’t be if you studied like a normal person."

"And miss out on living a life of dangerous spontaneity? Never."

Okarun trailed a bit behind them, his expression relaxed, though he kept glancing at the horizon like he was hoping to see someone.

"Where’s Momo?" Vamola asked suddenly, glancing around. "She usually walks with us."

"She got called into work today— short staffed," JiJi said with a shrug. " We were gonna tag along but she forbade us from going. Something about us being loud and annoying."

“She was definitely talking about you,” Kinta said pointedly.

Jiji gasped, clearly offended. “Like you weren’t actively trying to hook up with every member of staff last time.” 

“You were my wingman!” 

Their bickering dragged on, with JiJi slipping into a high-pitched mockery of Kinta’s voice. Kinta, increasingly annoyed, kept insisting that he absolutely did not sound like that.

“And Aira?” Vamola asked, easing her pace to walk next to Ken, who’d been lagging a step behind.

"Dance practice, I think," Okarun responded. "She had an extra rehearsal for an upcoming festival."

"So it’s just us losers today," JiJi grinned, draping his arms languidly over their shoulders. "Let’s go get something. I need sugar before I collapse."

They rounded the corner past the used bookstore when JiJi stopped suddenly.

"Well, this is new," JiJi said, eyeing the small café that had popped up next to the bookstore. Its exterior was freshly painted in mint green, with white trimmings and a little wooden sign that read "Sip & Smile."

"Must’ve opened recently," Okarun replied, adjusting his glasses. "Wasn’t here last week."

"Let’s try it!" Vamola clapped her hands, already leading the charge toward the entrance. Her blonde hair bounced with each step.

"I dunno," Kinta said, skeptical as he followed. "Places with names like this always charge extra just for putting foam art on your drink."

"I'm 100% sure if they served some sort of Robotic themed drink, you'd sell your soul, " JiJi snorted.

Inside, the café was cool and cozy, with mismatched furniture and soft jazz playing in the background. It didn't have many people, just an elderly couple, two college students and a middle aged barista. The menu was scrawled in colorful chalk on a hanging blackboard. Each flavor, more absurdly named than the last.

"I think...," Jiji trailed rubbing his chin intently looking at the menu. "I think I’ll get the Galactic Strawberry Burst," JiJi said, pointing at the board. "That one sounds like it slaps."

"Watermelon Spark Fizz for me!" Vamola chimed.

Kinta squinted. "Cool Cucumber sounds kinda good. I need something to refresh my physical state after that PE session."

"I’ll just try Monkey Fuel ?" Okarun said, referring to the banana smoothie, hands in his pockets reaching for his wallet. He's pretty sure these drink names were AI generated.

They placed their orders and sat by the window, the sunlight casting lazy patterns across their table. They began chatting randomly about the chances that they would encounter folklore creatures, like a Banshee or Bigfoot. Their drinks arrived quickly, vibrant and with high mounds of whipped cream, syrup, and sparkly sugar toppings that looked like something out of CandyLand. 

“Statistically, Banshees make more sense,” Kinta said, adjusting his glasses. “They’re tied to specific families and show up right before major events.”

“They say Banshees are omens of death,” Okarun said, tapping his straw against his cup. “But Bigfoot? Total cryptid—way more sightings.”

JiJi scoffed. “Bet Bigfoot’s just a hairy dude dodging taxes.”

Okarun laughed, the kind that escaped before he could stop it. For once, the weird alien stuff wasn’t just his thing—and it felt good.

JiJi sipped his drink. "Dude. This is amazing."

"Let me try," Vamola said, leaning over and taking a tiny sip. Her eyes lit up. "Woahh!"

"You have to try this one too," Kinta offered, pushing his drink toward JiJi. "The cucumber’s weirdly spicy."

As the drinks passed around, Everyone rated each other's drinks. They decided as a group that Kinta's cucumber drink was the worst of the four.

Okarun took a sip of JiJi’s strawberry one. He blinked, eyes going unfocused for a split second.

"It... kinda tastes like Momo’s lip balm." he mumbled to himself.

JiJi stopped, mid-sip of Vamola's Watermelon Spark Fizz. "Huh?"

Okarun’s face paled slightly. He blinked rapidly and turned his head. "N-nothing. I didn’t say anything."

"You definitely said something," JiJi leaned in, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Are you out here tasting her lip balm now?"

Okarun coughed, nearly choking on the drink. "I— No! I just had one like it too. It was just—it’s a common flavor, okay?"

"Right, right," Jiji teased, knowingly. "I bet next you’ll say you know her exact perfume scent because you had the same one."

Okarun grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face behind his cup. He did in fact know her exact scent— peach and coconut if anyone was wondering, but not for the reason Jiji had said.

He was grateful that Kinta was busy convincing Vamola to trade drinks. Double confrontation from both of them would have killed him.

The conversation veered off course as Kinta dove into a debate about alien sightings, animatedly comparing government cover-ups in the U.S. to ancient alien theories in Japan. He tossed around terms like "interdimensional bleed" and "gravitational anomalies" with the confidence of someone who’d watched every late-night documentary twice. 

It wasn’t exactly a structured argument—more of a chaotic brainstorm—Vamola listened intently, asking questions to aid her understanding. Ken sipped his drink silently, only chiming in to correct Kinta when his statistics were slightly off, but he was genuinely interested in someone else's opinion of a topic he was overly educated on.

JiJi sat back in his chair, his mood had noticeably shifted. He glanced at Okarun, who was still slightly flustered. For all his awkwardness, there was no denying what had just happened. The lip balm slip-up? That wasn’t just some coincidence. He hadn't even referred to Momo as 'Miss Ayase', like he usually did.

JiJi looked down at his own drink, the vibrant strawberry-pink now seeming a little duller.

"Hey," Kinta said, nudging JiJi with his elbow. "You spacing out now?"

"Yeah, yeah," JiJi replied, forcing a grin. "Just thinking. Strawberry’s dangerous, man."

The group lingered for a while longer, chatting about nothing in particular—the ugly decor, the taste of artificial watermelon, the music that sounded like a cat walking across piano keys. But JiJi wasn’t really in it anymore. His mind kept circling back to that moment. Okarun’s voice, soft, like he hadn’t even meant to say it aloud.

A weird sense of something bitter flickered in JiJi’s chest.

He smiled anyway and threw a napkin at Kinta when he made a dumb pun about how the ‘Cool Cucumber’ drink should’ve been named ‘Hot Cucumber’— because it was unreasonably spicy.

The walk home was quiet, save for the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and Vamola humming a melody from a show she’d watched. But JiJi didn’t miss how Okarun kept glancing at his phone every few steps, his thumb twitching like he wanted to text someone.

JiJi didn’t need to ask who.

And though he didn’t say a word, the realization settled quietly between his ribs like a stone.

So that’s how it was.

Chapter Text

They were supposed to be studying.

Momo had even packed her notes and her highlighters, tossed them into her bag with a performative sigh before making the trip to Ken’s apartment after lunch. Granny Seiko was out of town for the weekend; on some spirit medium job, Turbo Granny and Vamola tagging along for their own reasons. Momo claimed she had a stomach ache, and Seiko hadn’t pressed her—but Turbo Granny had cackled, "She probably just wants to suck face with that nerd."

Not that she’d denied it.

Ken’s apartment was tucked away in one of those aging but neat complexes just outside town—nothing spooky or haunted, just ordinary beige walls and hard wood floors. His parents, constantly away for work, kept the place tidy by default as he too spent a lot of his time at the Ayase house. 

His room was just as she remembered—fairly neat, desk by the window, books piled halfheartedly along the shelves. Posters of star charts and galaxies, a few movie prints from old sci-fi flicks, and a glowing moon lamp on his nightstand. There was even a model of the solar system dangling from the ceiling, half-painted. It smelled like laundry detergent and Ken—warm, slightly woodsy, comforting in a way she never would’ve admitted out loud.

They sat on his bed, textbooks open, trying to go over history questions. She made it through exactly five minutes before she glanced at him and caught him already looking.

And then… Well, they weren’t studying anymore.

She didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they both did.

His back hit the mounted pillows on the headboard of his bed as she climbed over him, straddling him with knees planted on either side of his lower half. His hands hesitated at her waist, then settled, fingers curling just a little into her shirt. Her breath caught contact, and then she leaned into kiss him—slow at first, lips brushing his like a question.

He answered by tilting his head, catching her mouth properly. His glasses nudged her cheek awkwardly, but she didn’t care. Heat curled under her skin like smoke. Her hands found the sides of his face, fingers brushing into his hair, and he made a quiet sound,  something shy of a whimper, that broke something loose in her.

Momo kissed him harder, pressing into him until there was no space between them. His hands slid up her sides, tentative and reverent, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch her the way he wanted to. She deepened the kiss in response, nipping his lower lip before pulling back just enough to see his eyes—blown wide and dazed behind his glasses.

"You okay?" she whispered, breathless.

He nodded quickly, his voice hoarse. "Y-Yeah. Are you?"

Instead of answering, she leaned in and kissed him again, coaxing his tongue with her own. He responded immediately, somewhat fighting for dominance, licking and biting her bottom lip— causing her to moan breathlessly into his mouth.  Their kisses became almost sloppy as her mouth trailed to his cheek, to his chin.. She nipped under his jaw, just below his ear, where his skin was warm and his pulse beat fast. He shivered. When she kissed lower, neck to collarbone, she felt his hands clutch her tighter, as though anchoring himself.

She rocked against him once, experimentally.

He whimpered. Like actually whimpered. 

Heat bloomed at Momo’s core.

"Momo." He warned.

That name, in that voice. Not his transformed one, not the battle-cracked monster version. Just him. Soft and overwhelmed and hers.

Her breath hitched as she repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, her hands on his chest for balance. The friction sparked something heady between them—too clothed to be dangerous, but just close enough to make her ache. He gripped her hips as though he couldn’t help himself anymore.

She kissed him again—desperate now, messy, teeth clashing, lips swollen. One of his hands tangled in her hair. She felt drunk on it—his taste, his touch, the way he whispered her name like it was sacred.

They didn’t say much. Just the occasional gasp, a muffled moan, a whispered plea.

"You're gonna kill me," he muttered at one point, his face buried at the crook of her neck, occasionally placing breathy kisses there.

She smiled against him. "You’re handling it."

Barely.

He made a helpless sound at her teasing, barely a laugh, mostly a groan. His grip on her hips tightened again, nails digging into her skin as he grounded himself like she was the only solid thing in the room.

Momo leaned in, lips brushing his again, but this time she didn’t stop. The kiss dragged long and open-mouthed, her tongue sliding softly against his. His breathing hitched. She felt it beneath her; solid and warm —his heartbeat kicked into high gear, chest rising as she continued her painstakingly slow ride on his lap. Her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

She was almost sure it was her imagination when she saw his eyes flash red under his slightly askew glasses.

She rocked against him again—deeper this time. He was rock hard beneath her.

His hands flinched, like he wasn’t sure if he should move or freeze or just unravel completely. "Momo, please—"

The way he said her name again, cracked and reverent, made something tighten low in her belly. She pressed her lips to his ear, whispering breathily. “You don’t have to be so careful,” she murmured.

"But if I’m not—" He stopped himself, breath catching as she shifted against him again, her hips slow and steady. He was losing control, and she could feel it. “—I might lose it.”

She kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands left her waist and slid down, circling around the curve of her ass through her skirt. She arched into him instinctively, and their bodies aligned in a way that made her gasp into his mouth. She felt the press of him through their clothes—solid, aching, matching her.

The movement grew more urgent, her hips grinding down as he pushed up to meet her. He wasn’t careful anymore. He was hungry.

She could barely breathe. She didn’t want to. All she could feel was heat, his hands on her, fingers gripping at the flesh of her behind, her thighs clenching around him as she rocked harder. Their clothes weren’t a barrier anymore—they were a friction point, amplifying everything. His shirt had ridden up slightly, and her hand slipped underneath, palm meeting toned abs. He shivered.

“You’re making it very hard to think,” he choked out, voice half-laugh, half-plea.

“Good.” 

She kissed along his jaw again, keeping the same rhythm they had going. She was on a mission. Then her mouth found that same spot below his ear and she sucked—not hard enough to mark, but enough to make his hips jerk up with a strangled noise.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wide and glassy, pupils blown, lips swollen red. She wanted to memorize the way he looked right now. Undone, completely hers.

His hands finally moved lower, sliding down her thighs, hesitant but reverent. When they curved under the edge of her shirt, rocking her harder onto him, she let out a soft, broken noise. Their bodies moved in tandem now, a desperate rhythm, friction building and blurring her edges.

They were both flushed, sweaty, breathing hard. Her thighs trembled where they straddled him, but she didn’t want to stop. His name was a whisper in her mouth, her breath ragged, and he answered every time by holding her tighter, moving with her, matching her.

His glasses had long since slipped crooked on his nose, but neither of them cared. Her hair was sticking to her face, her legs sore from the pressure—but none of it mattered.

The moment was overwhelming—hot and wild and stupidly tender.

And then he groaned again, like he couldn’t help himself: “Momo, I’m going to— Fuck — Momo please.”

She leaned closer, breathing fast. “Just a little longer.” She was losing her resolve.

Within a few seconds she trembled, a sharp gasp of his name escaping her lips as the pressure inside her finally broke, waves of sensation washing through her. She buried her face in his neck, muffling the sound, as she slowed her pace, riding out her orgasm.

His movements became more frantic, desperate to reach his own climax. He began to ramble— words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could think— how beautiful she is, how good she is to him, how he's been dreaming of this for so long.. 

He followed right after, his breath catching in a deep, helpless groan as he bit into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He came unbelievably hard— The most intense orgasm of his life and she hadn't even touched him. His arms tightened around her as if holding on was the only thing keeping him grounded, frantic movements slowing to a stop. 

Momo collapsed forward, resting her weight on his chest, cheek pressed to his shoulder, feeling slightly overstimulated. He exhaled shakily, kissing her cheek gently as they both came down from their high.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a minute, stroking the ends of her hair.

“Mhm,” she hummed in response. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, pulling her closer. He was pretty sure he would wake up from this dream in about two minutes.

No words passed between them for a long while. Just the sound of their breathing, and the soft thud of their hearts. 

Momo shifted slightly, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe we were supposed to be studying.”

Ken huffed out a laugh, the kind that shook more from nerves than humor. “Technically, we made it to the bed with the textbook. That counts, right?”

She grinned against his chest. “Barely.”

His hand paused its slow movement through her hair, gently resting at their side.

She lifted her head just enough to look at him. His glasses were askew, his cheeks still pink. There was something raw and honest in his expression—unfiltered.

“I hope you're not overthinking in there,” she said, tapping gently on his forehead. 

Ken nodded, swallowing. “I just don't…” he trailed. “I've never done… anything like this before. I just don't want to mess up”

The vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache. She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb just beneath his eye. “This is new for me too. You don't have to worry about messing up. Not with me.”

He didn’t answer right away, just leaned into her touch like he’d been waiting years for it. 

“Okay.”

They lay there a little longer, curled together in the stillness of his room. Posters of galaxies and moons stared down at them from the walls. Outside, the sky had deepened to a dusky blue, the first stars twinkling into view.

Momo’s voice broke the quiet again, soft and teasing. “So... what now?”

Ken smirked faintly. “After we... clean up, we should study. I did promise I’d help you review for that chemistry test.”

She groaned dramatically and dropped her head to his chest. “Ugh. Don’t ruin the mood.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “Okay, okay. Just five more minutes.”

“Five,” she agreed, curling into him like she had no plans of moving at all.

And they stayed like that—tangled, peaceful, and not quite ready to let the world back in.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the open clearing behind Granny Seiko’s house. The air was hot and heavy with the smell of summer grass, and sweat glistened on Ken’s forehead as he pushed through another set of push-ups, jaw clenched.

“Come on, four-eyes,” Turbo Granny barked from a perch on a rock, arms crossed over her tiny doll body. “You’re not gonna build any muscle by collapsing every five minutes!”

“I’m— huff —not collapsing,” Ken gritted out. “Just—pacing myself.”

From across the clearing, Momo stood with eyes narrowed, her hand extended as she slowly lifted a massive rock into the air using her psychic energy. Beads of sweat rolled down her temple, but she didn’t flinch.

Granny Seiko sat under the shade of a large tree, a cold drink in hand, observing both of them. “Good. Momo, keep your mind anchored. It’s not about strength—it’s about control. You get distracted, you drop it.”

Momo nodded, breath steady. The rock trembled, hovering a few meters above the ground, rotating slowly. With a flick of her fingers, she directed it to the left, then the right, faster each time.

“Ken, switch to sit-ups,” Seiko called. “Fifty. No cheating.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ken muttered, getting to his feet and starting on the exercise, core already burning.

Momo let the rock settle gently back to the ground, then raised both hands, lifting two smaller ones. Seiko gave her an approving nod.

After sit-ups came planks, then a brutal set of resistance band exercises Seiko insisted on supervising herself, pushing Ken to his limits with little mercy. He managed without complaining though, It kept his body in shape. His body was no longer the lanky frame it once was—weeks of training had carved lean muscle into his form, leaving him impressively toned and steadier on his feet.

“Transformation tears your body down every time,” she said, tapping her fan against her leg. “If you want to keep using that power, you need to condition your meat suit to survive it.”

Ken didn’t argue. He just nodded and kept going, though his breathing turned ragged. Momo threw him a bottle of water when they paused. “You’re doing good,” she said, her voice soft.

He gave a tired but grateful smile. “You too. That last lift was insane.”

Her cheeks flushed.

The sun was finally beginning its slow descent behind the trees when Seiko clapped her hands together and said, "Alright, that's enough for today. You two will pass out if I keep going."

Ken dropped onto the grass, sweat clinging to his shirt and dripping down his brow. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. " Feels like we're training for the military," he panted.

Momo flopped down beside him, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her forehead. "That was your training, Okarun. I was working on precision. You were the one sprinting laps."

"Not just sprinting laps," Turbo Granny piped from her perch on the porch rail, lazily spinning a parasol she’d somehow acquired. "He was wheezing like a dying rice cooker by lap four."

Ken groaned. "Thanks. Really helps."

Seiko stretched her arms overhead, still looking absurdly fresh. "If you want your body to withstand the energy output when you transform, you need endurance. Same for you, Momo. Psychic power ain’t everything, you know. You could be the strongest telekinetic in Japan, but if your body gives out, it’s over."

"Yes, Miss Seiko," Ken muttered automatically, swiping his sleeve across his forehead.

Seiko tilted her head at him, amused. "You look like a deflated futon. C’mon, both of you—wash up. Dinner’s almost ready."

They made their way back toward the house. Vamola was still asleep upstairs, having passed out sometime mid-morning after pulling an all-nighter binging American romance movies. Jiji had texted Momo pictures of his family dog, and Aira had sent a single thumbs-up emoji in response to the training message in the chat, followed by, "Rest day. Don’t @ me." Kinta hadn’t even known there was a training group chat.

The house was quiet except for the distant clatter of Seiko in the kitchen. Ken hesitated near the stairs, wiping at his glasses.

"Shower first," Momo said, brushing hair out of her face. "I’ll go after. And—don’t use up all the hot water. Again."

He lifted his hands in surrender. "Got it."

By the time he came back down, hair damp, clean clothes sticking slightly to his still-warm skin, the smell of miso, grilled mackerel, and stewed vegetables filled the house. Seiko stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot while Turbo Granny chomped noisily on a skewer of chicken, sauce smeared all over her face.

"Four-Eyes," Seiko said without looking.

Ken blinked. "Uh...yes, Miss Seiko?"

She pointed her spatula at him. "In the kitchen. Now."

Turbo Granny snickered but didn’t look up from her meal.

Ken obeyed, feet suddenly heavy. He stood by the counter like a schoolboy called into the principal’s office. "Yes, ma’am."

Seiko tasted the stew and hummed thoughtfully before turning to face him fully, spatula still in hand.

"You're a good boy, Ken," she started, eyes sharp but not unkind. "You're polite. You try hard. You're weird as hell, but who around here isn’t?"

"Uh. Thank you?"

She waved the spatula at him again. "But I'm gonna be real blunt with you. I know you're sweet on Momo. And I know she’s sweet on you, too."

His mouth opened, then closed. His face turned crimson. "I—I—uh—"

"Spare me the stuttering, four-eyes. I’m not accusing you of anything. Yet."

Turbo Granny snorted into her rice. " He probably thinks holding hands is second base."

Ken gave her a betrayed look. Seiko continued.

"I’m not her mom. But I raised her, and that means I get to have the talk with you."

"T-The talk?"

"Consent. Respect. Safety. Don’t do anything she doesn’t want. Don’t pressure her. If I ever catch wind of you hurting her, emotionally or otherwise, I’ll unleash every spirit I’ve ever sealed directly into your lower intestines."

Ken swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, Miss Seiko. I would never— I mean—I wouldn’t even—"

"Relax," she said, voice a bit gentler now. She turned back to stir the pot. "You haven’t done anything wrong. I just know how teenagers are. One moment you’re studying, next moment you’re testing the limits of friction."

He made a noise like he’d swallowed a fly.

Seiko grinned. "I’m not saying you can’t care about each other that way. Just do it right. Communicate. Be gentle. Keep your head screwed on straight, even if everything else feels like it’s spinning."

"Yes, Miss Seiko," he said again, face red.

She pointed her spatula again. "Also, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

Turbo Granny cackled with laughter. "Seiko’s got a very broad definition of ‘would do.’"

Seiko shrugged. "Fair. But you know what I mean."

Ken nodded quickly. His ears were still red, but his heart wasn't racing anymore. He understood that her concern came from a place of love for her granddaughter.

There was a beat of silence as Seiko tasted the soup again. Then:

"You're not just some cursed kid anymore, you know. You’ve got a place here. We all see it. Momo especially. So don't go thinking you're alone in this."

Something in his chest softened. He nodded again, more firmly this time. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me. Just act right."

Just then, footsteps padded softly down the stairs. Momo appeared, hair wet from the shower, wearing fresh clothes and rubbing at her damp bangs with a towel. She tilted her head at the three of them.

"What’re you guys talking about?"

Ken nearly jumped out of his skin. "N-Nothing! Just dinner stuff!"

Momo blinked. "You look like you got grilled harder than the fish."

Turbo Granny cackled into her rice bowl. "You have no idea."

Momo narrowed her eyes suspiciously but said nothing, instead drifting over to peer into the pot. "Ooh, you made nikujaga."

Ken turned to hide his face, muttering something about getting plates.

Seiko didn’t say another word. She just stirred the stew, satisfied with her impression of a stern parent. 

Okay so this is the end of 'Not Yet'. Officially the last chapter that I'm posting... For now. 

I was debating whether my next few chapters should be placed in this work and I decided on making an entirely new work, so that I am able to keep cute chapters separate from my angst arc. 

So yea.. there it is. I'm starting a new work called Shonai. It's in the same AU as this one, don't worry. The only difference is that it actually has a structured plot and more consecutive chapters in terms of time jumps. It focuses on Momo and Ken's relationship but the plot of fighting Yokai and aliens are equally important. 

Please go check it out!! I have the first chapter posted already. Let me know what you think :)