Chapter Text
It’s 9:15 pm.
Yaoyorozu Momo stops him before he can leave for the fourth time that month.
Todoroki Shouto always makes an extra effort to sneak out unnoticed. He plays his role in public so well that Momo can’t even see how trapped he feels – she does, however, always notice some discomfort on that pale face, the twitch of an eyelid, tight-lipped frowns, curt nods, short answers. He’s an intimidating presence and doesn’t have to deal with men (or women, in his case) trying to flirt it up either to get close to him, or to his family’s fortune. Sometimes it’s both. For Momo it’s usually the latter.
He sticks around like a true gentlemen, offers her his elbow like he’s supposed to whenever they go to public events such as these. They’re courtesies that make Momo feel a bit caged herself. It’s rather unsettling, and more often than not – overwhelming.
The rich folk tend to go all out at these stupid grand balls – a little bitterly Momo has to remind herself that she is one of them, too. The chandeliers’ crystals glitter a blinding emerald (Momo thinks that all that money could’ve been used for better things instead), the halls are decked in gold, the bite-sized food and expensive wine are overflowing. Today, they’re stuck at some authentic Italian opera.
Momo’s not really a fan of anything opera-variety. She usually finds herself nodding off ten minutes into some dramatic script involving two separated lovers – amore, she hears, and even if she doesn’t understand the booming Italian, it’s clear what they’re singing about. Most of the time, Todoroki is the one by her side, offering monotone-sounding summaries and brief translations, but today, once the show starts, he and Momo get separated. Some gentleman, who’s been subtly trying to court her the entire evening, is trying to take a hold of her hand while Momo somehow manages to avoid it by twisting the gold-adorned pamphlet in her fingers. She looks around.
Todoroki’s nowhere to be seen.
Their parents are six rows ahead in their balcony and if Todoroki’s not there and not, obviously, here, then that means -
Momo rudely interrupts the one-sided conversation and rises from her seat with an excuse of using the bathroom. The guy looks mildly offended but turns back to the singing – yodeling, Momo thinks, and wants to cover her ears – actress bathed in dimmed blue lights.
She hopes that her mother won’t suddenly turn around to check on her. She seems to be immersed in the play, so maybe this won’t be the case this time at least. Whenever Momo gets busted, punishment follows.
Momo is supposed to be a lady of class, refinement, worthy of the last name Yaoyorozu. She’s supposed to be elegant at all times, humble and cruel when necessary, soft-spoken and, and-
A lot of things that she does not wish to be.
However, this is her duty, one that she cannot shake off, being the only daughter of the company and all, so she needs to get herself together. Needs to go there and drag back Todoroki’s sorry ass before he can get them into more trouble than necessary.
Her blood-red heels clack against the marble floor that looks more like a mirror due to how reflective it is. She pulls away the cobalt-blue curtains, looks around. The spacious halls are completely vacated except for the lone figure that belongs to, unfortunately, Momo’s one and only friend.
“Stop right there," she says, hoping her voice doesn’t waver. Todoroki still unsettles her even after all these years they’ve spent together. He’s too calm, too expressionless. He’s the one who always commands her, instead of the other way around.
He visibly flinches, scowls, turns around. “Momo,” he regards, voice cold. She takes a small step back. “Go back to your seat.”
This isn’t a new scenario between them. Momo knows that at this point Todoroki has to be pissed off as hell, but she’s only looking out for him. For them. She gnaws on her lower lip, smears the lipstick, and curls her fists. “No.”
“What do you mean ‘no'.”
“It means - “ her voice is gaining some strength, that’s good, “It means that I won’t go back without you.”
Todoroki stares at her, even. He looks vaguely surprised. Mostly annoyed, though. “It’ll be fine,” Shouto’s voice is silk-smooth and Momo flushes from anger. He’s playing mind-games. Again. “Just go back to your seat and don’t cause any troubles for yourself. I’ll be back before this ridiculous thing is over. No one will notice, I promise.”
Promises. Same old promises whenever they do get caught, whenever Momo gets yelled at for losing her rebellious date, whenever she’s under house-arrest and retreats to the music room, plays the cello until her shoulder hurts. She’s always the one getting in trouble because of Shouto’s stupid whims and she’s had enough.
“I will repeat myself once more; I won’t move an inch without you.”
Shouto looks at her, exasperated, runs a hand through his white-red hair. There’s a bag on his shoulder, bulging. It’s enough of an evidence for Momo to know that he’s lying through his teeth. He wouldn’t come back even if they held a gun against the back of his head.
Shouto’s a free spirit that constantly defies his father and only occasionally listens to his older siblings. He always does the opposite of what’s expected of him, makes sure to purposefully embarrass, anger. Unlike with Momo’s parents, Todoroki father’s leash is loose no matter how much he tries to tighten it around his son's throat.
To Shouto, all of this is pretentious and meaningless - a façade that dulls the minds of people, or so he says. Pretentious are the meetings, the marble-filled domes, the singers, the men and ladies dressed in expensive outfits. Meaningless are the conversations and the courtesies.
Momo secretly agrees but doesn’t do anything to escape it.
“Then move that inch with me," he says and Momo freezes.
“What do you mean?”
“Leave with me,” Todoroki offers while Momo clutches at her chest. The mere thought of it is scandalous beyond belief. Her, a good girl, leaving in the middle of an opera? Preposterous.
Todoroki keeps poisoning her resolve even further as he closes the distance between them, looks into her eyes. They’re almost the same height now that she’s in those uncomfortable stilettos. “Have you never truly considered the idea of leaving? Seriously, Momo? Not even once? Just for one night?”
“I-“
Todoroki’s excited now, reminds her of the five year old kid that used to build mud castles with her and chase around the family dog. He’s alive, the shine in his eyes finally returns. Momo doesn’t remember the last time she’s seen it. Maybe before Shouto’s mother got hospitalized? “Think about it. Think about the city without anyone driving you around, the awful fast food, the night-life. You have no idea what it’s like, Momo. It’s amazing. There’s nothing like that in this god-awful place. Only pretentious yodeling.” Momo barely fights back the urge to smile. She’s supposed to be the serious one here, she’s supposed to take him back, but the shine of those mismatched eyes is overwhelming and the kid-like glee is infectious.
It’s like they’re children again, reading of mysterious islands and undiscovered treasures. Except this is way more bizarre – it’s simply a clash of social standing, and all of these wonders could be reached if only she took Shouto’s hand and stepped outside. It’s not something unnatainable.
Not something she’s never imagined.
Momo ran away once, got lost. It had been a horrible experience but she was too young at the time – barely eleven years old. The city was a big and scary place and she couldn’t find her way back home after what seemed only three steps into the concrete maze.
But then Todoroki started sneaking out and telling her of all the concerts he’s been to, telling her of cheap beer and god-awful language that the people who frequented the bars used. Told her all about it with barely-covered excitement permeating his voice.
Momo wanted this – wants this – the thrills, the drinks, the music, new and mysterious, and nothing like what she was used to. She remembers that Todoroki’s mother was a singer back in the day, a no one who climbed her way to the top, got noticed by Todoroki’s father, and then lost herself to the disastrous family life which drove her insane. Momo thinks that maybe this is what’s driving Shouto to go out - the urge to discover what drove his mother, the need to get a better feel of those filthy jazz bars, something to feel closer to her.
To fulfill her old dreams.
And when Todoroki mentions yet another shady place of which Momo has never heard before, mentions the live-music and the crowds, she feels her resolve breaking.
“No one needs to find out. Come with me.” He offers her a hand and Momo - with a heavy, hammering heart - grasps it.
She wants to discover these treasures herself. She wants to understand her only friend better. She wants to know why he keeps returning into the wild.
She wonders if one day she’ll do that, too.
Todoroki’s a god-awful influence on her, she concludes, as they rush down the rows of stairs, and the night chills her to the bone. He’s still holding onto her hand - a reassurance and a warning all at once. She knows that if she is to change her mind, Todoroki will never forgive her. His stride is fast and Momo stumbles after him, legs locking as though she’s a baby deer learning its first gallop. There’s a taxi already waiting for them and Todoroki rattles off the address to the cabby. Momo looks around the small car, curls her lip slightly at the pugent smell of alcohol-stained seats and the pine freshener.
“It’s going to be alright," Shouto tells her and rubs her shoulder, soothing.
“We’re going to get discovered, I can feel it," Momo expresses her concerns and shoots a look at the other when he huffs a breath. It’s a laugh, no doubt.
“You worry way too much. You’re going to get wrinkles before time,” then, Todoroki smooths a thumb between her creased eyebrows. Momo swats the offending digit away.
“Someone needs to have at least a lick of common sense because I don’t see you having any.” Todoroki doesn’t look threatened in the least, and she grumbles, tries to brush away the goosebumps surfacing on her skin, watches the blurry city lights.
Momo regrets leaving her coat, except she didn’t think that she’d be leaving anytime soon. Momo didn’t even consider it. “Well, I guess now that we’re both here, none of us have common sense.”
“And I’m telling you it’s fine.”
“Oh shut up.”
The cabby laughs at them.
It’s probably a far call from alright.
Her breath hangs icy cold in small puffs of white and it’s almost too dark to see. Shouto looks ready to start skipping in his excitement, and Momo tiptoes along through this deadly silence of, what seem to be, long since abandoned factories. This is definitely not how she imagined Todoroki’s wonderful ‘night life of Tokyo’. It’s not loud or filled with neons, and certainly not filled with music. Is this perhaps a test? To test her loyalty? To him? To her family? If it’s the latter - then she has miserably failed. She won’t get away with just house-arrest this time; they’ll take her cello, too. The mere idea sends more chills rolling down her spine and she flinches at the sound of something falling. Just a stray cat.
She pinches herself to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep in that god-awful opera and this is just another weirdly-realistic dream. Nothing happens - Shouto's still ahead, leading her through crooked openings in chain-link fences while eerie white lights flash in the distance.
Then, Momo hears it.
There’s a whole bunch of people gathered out there and she feels the dulled thrumming of something that has to be muffled music. The excitement is almost tangible in the air, buzzing, there are more people around them now. Instead of dragging Momo to what seems to be an infinite line, Shouto pulls her behind a corner, leads her up some fire-escape creaking stairs. They’re rusty, squeaky, and Momo has to dodge some holes.
Just what kinds of weird places Todoroki had been visiting?
He knocks on the door that looks like its barely holding itself together and the shuttle moves, making Momo gasp. A pair of eyes inspects them and the heavy door opens with a groaning creak. The sound of it is drowned out by the blast of some music of rock-variety, and Momo feels another shiver race up and down her spine, this one from giddiness.
“I thought that you were aiming for blending in. VIP entrances don’t exactly fit that category.” Momo tells him and looks around. They’re standing on the second floor of what seems to be the tech room. She looks over the ledge, sees the crowd from outside filling in the spacious premises.
Smoke hangs heavy in the air and Todoroki waves a hand through it. “Would you rather I let us stand outside and freeze?”
Momo can’t argue with that.
Todoroki bids farewell to the guard - a frightening man who’s towering over them. Momo’s unsettled by the mask that covers his face. Is this supposed to be the usual club get-up?
Speaking of get-ups.
Todoroki reads her expression before she can even figure out her own train of thoughts. He takes off the bag from his shoulder. “You’re absolutely right, though. We really do need to blend in.”
Momo gestures at her cocktail dress. “How’s that for blending in.”
He regards her with a flat stare, “Awful. People don’t go to clubs dressed like this.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“That was sarcasm,” he points out, deadpan.
“I know. I use it sometimes.”
“Before you get snappy with me, take this bag and go get changed. Just let me fetch some stuff.” He unzips it and quickly takes a smaller bag out, bundles it up and shoves his fancy blazer inside. Momo immediately takes it out and properly folds it before it can crumple, ignores the barely-noticeable eye roll she gets in return. If they want to get back safely, Todoroki needs his clothes prim and proper like he's spent his entire evening listening to the world’s saddest love story playing out instead of breaking into paid concerts.
A leather jacket catches Momo's eye and she glares at her friend. “You had this the entire time and you couldn’t tell me? I was dying from the cold.”
“Next time, tell me you’re cold.”
“It’s bloody October, what do you think?”
Todoroki scoffs and pushes her in the direction of the bathrooms. Some girls in heavy makeup and a whole lot of leather regard them with some surprise. Momo feels her cheeks warming at their scrutinizing gazes. She faces Todoroki, holding his bag to her chest as if trying to hide. “What about you? Don’t just leave me by myself.”
He pats her shoulder. “I’ll meet you here in ten minutes, okay? Don’t wander off.”
And with that he’s gone. Momo whispers a small ‘don’t wander off yourself' and quickly dives into the small bathroom.
She has no idea how she’s not supposed to stand out.
The cabin is a small thing that smells bad and its walls are covered in lipstick-scribbled numbers and curses. Momo eyes one that says ‘believe in yourself’ with a smiley face attached to the end of it, has absolutely no idea what it’s supposed to mean in a toilet cabin of all the places, and tries to, well, believe. It’s as good a reassurance as Todoroki’s half-assed ones.
She lets down her hair, ruffles it at the top. It stands poofy and very un-Momo like, but that’s good. It’s a small price to pay for blending in. She takes off her massive pearl necklace and earrings, slides off her rings, hopes they won’t get lost. She loves them too much for them to disappear.
With a critical look, she regards her short dress that clings to her body and makes her stand out so very much. The wine-red material glistens - an expensive silk - but Todoroki has nothing to offer, only that leather jacket of his. She puts it on, drowns in the long sleeves. Her fingertips barely peek through. It’s far too hot to zip it, but it’s fine like this. Looks better.
She shyly pokes her head out, looks around. The girls fix their makeup and pay her no mind when Momo goes to stand in front of the dirty mirror. She layers her lips a thicker red, nervously tries to observe the others’ fashion.
Without much thought she rips at her tights. The action turns some heads and Momo flushes a deep crimson when some girl with curly pink hair says something along the lines of ‘you go girl, you look so good’.
Todoroki is nowhere to be seen and the crowd has grown to massive proportions in the span of six minutes that she spent locked up in the cabin.
Some guy is eyeing her in a rather lewd way, but before he can approach, Todoroki joins her. Momo gapes at him. She knows that someone with Shouto’s looks could never actually blend in, but he doesn’t look like the Shouto she knows. His messy fringe is pushed back and messed up, the dress shirt that he had worn, is now unbuttoned, showing off some T-shirt that obviously wasn’t there before. He rolls up the sleeves. Bracelets hang from his thin wrist.
Momo gapes some more.
“Close your jaw before flies fly in, Momo," he says, and Momo snaps it shut. She tries not to seem too bothered by the sudden change of appearance. She fails.
Todoroki compliments her on doing a good job and Momo offers to carry the bag in his stead, knowing that Shouto won’t care much for it and it might get stolen.
The crowd swallows them. Momo barely keeps up with the other's long stride, experienced diving through the gaps. Someone steps on the tip of her heels and she stumbles, her shriek drowned out by the noise. She quickly brushes herself off, ignores the throb in her knees, declines any help from strangers, and holds onto the bag tighter.
Todoroki is nowhere in her sight.
Momo tries not to panic. She really does, but her throat tightens just a bit and she tries to tip-toe even further, catch a glimpse of that ridiculous hair, but the lights hinder her task. She calls out his name, bumps into strangers and tries to think rationally. She needs to go someplace higher to see better, elbows her way through the people dressed in black black black.
The masses thin out a bit closer to the stage, and if only Momo could take a few steps up those stairs, she’s bound to see better, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stops her mid-step.
“Where do you think you’re going, lady?”
The guy is a brick wall that makes her knees quiver and she frowns, “I lost my friend, I need to get up there to find – “
“Oh, I know all about those lost friends. It’s not going to work. VIPs only,” he taps on the board stuck near the stage. Momo wants to scream in exasperation.
“Please, I really need to-“
“No can do. Leave at once.”
“But – “
“Ma’am, now. Or I’ll have to forcefully remove you.”
Momo has half a mind to stomp the security guard’s foot and quickly run up the stairs to look around. She tries to reason with him, but his short fuse keeps shortening - until a girl with a bass thrown over her shoulder puts a calming hand on the tall guard.
“Chill, man. She’s not doing anything.”
Her voice is even and reminds Momo of Todoroki, sets her mind slightly more at ease. The woman steadily looks her up and down, and Momo wants to curl in on herself to make it stop. It’s oddly intense.
The guy says something about rule violations and the girl waves him off with a curt ‘she didn’t know any better’. Momo almost has some hopes that she’ll help her out, but then some band gets called on stage and the girl, with a curt nod, rushes up the small flight of stairs.
Momo’s eyes bulge.
She kind of forgets why she wanted to go up the stairs in the first place, as she gapes at the stage and the crowd around her goes wild. The guard forgets her in favor of controlling the others and Momo is grateful for that. The new guy doesn’t seem to care that she’s even there and languidly chews on a piece of gum.
The girl is amazing.
Momo feels herself shivering at the sound – the loudness of it almost blows her away – and while this may not be her favorite kind of music, the band is undeniably good. Her voice sounds different when she sings, clear and melodious, and Momo fans herself, a little flushed in Todoroki’s jacket. It must be due to the movement of multiple bodies around her.
That girl goes through a third song – fifth? Maybe even seventh? – and glances to the corner of the stage, right at Momo standing around like a fool, like she’s completely thunderstruck. She cannot move a muscle. It’s entrancing. A novel-worthy scene and a mess of feelings.
She has an overwhelming urge to get up there and - oh, if only she had her cello with her. She’d play with this amazing woman right away, they’d make a great duet, a great sound - create a wonderful harmony together. Momo doesn’t remember the last time she was so excited to play with someone.
She’d accompany that messy style, and they’d make it work somehow, merge the music styles into something beautiful.
The girl smiles ever so slightly.
Momo grips the bag tighter, red nails digging into it.
It’s like magic.
And for Momo, it’s over far too soon.
She doesn’t get to talk to the girl after the performance.
The guard shoos her away and she wants to voice out complains, but her voice is lost. Probably from all that cheering she did.
Fans push her around left and right, and Momo decides to barricade herself in the bathroom again. She knows that she will meet Todoroki outside. They think alike and he’s probably waiting for her there already. She’ll go to him once the crowd thins out.
Momo patiently waits for at least twenty minutes, takes out her lipstick and writes a small ‘thank you!’ below the cheerful message. It feels right.
Maybe tonight wasn’t too bad.
She yells Todoroki’s name over and over again, but the crowd outside is too thick. Frustrated, she decides to make her way to the back entrance. She has to check it just to make sure.
Momo then trips over a rock and falls flat on the concrete. The bag cushions her fall, but she cannot deny the fact that something about her left foot feels awfully wrong. She groans and lifts herself up with skinned palms, feels the throb of her ankle and injured knees.
Blood seeps out at some places and she touches her ankle, flinches away from the pain. It looks reddened.
At least her heel isn’t broken.
Momo holds her ankle carefully, miserable, and lifts her eyes when she hears the door creaking. Teary-eyed, she hopes that its Todoroki and balks at the sight of that girl from before.
They stare at each other for a moment and Momo tries to get up, apologize, scurry away, but falls back on her butt, whimpers.
The girl hops down half of the staircase to get to her, concern creasing her thin brows.
She sits back on her knees in front of Momo and her ring-adorned fingers hover over Momo's ankle. “May I?”
Momo can only nod and bite her lip when the girl probes at it with careful fingers. She wants to say something, compliment her on the performance maybe, but no words come out. It’s painfully awkward for her.
The girl is the one to make conversation. “I thought that you were an odd one. This outfit,” she regards Momo’s dress with pink-dusted cheeks and quickly looks down. “These shoes. No one goes to rock fests with their heels ten-centimeters away from the ground.”
Momo shivers when the girl slowly takes off the shoe and curls her fingers under the foot, twisting it to the side slightly. Momo yelps and the girl smiles. “That is, unless we’re talking about platforms.”
“I. I see.” Momo whines when the girl pats her leg.
“It’s not broken. It’s not even twisted, probably. Pulled a muscle, maybe,” she then kind of diagnoses. Her hand is still on Momo’s delicate ankle and her dark eyes glisten. “You have a name?”
Momo gets snapped out of her muddled thoughts. She’s been far too focused on the girl’s heavily lined eyes to think much else. To remember that she got separated from her only means to get a ride home, from which she ran away. Well, technically, her parents - but the idea is the same.
“It’s Momo,” she leaves the Yaoyorozu out. Gotta blend in, right.
The girl doesn’t recognize her from the television or the magazines, thank god for that. She smiles warmly and crosses her legs. Momo fixes her jacket nervously.
“Well, Momo, I gotta say that you’re obviously not from around here. Clock struck midnight and now you gotta run?” The basist ignores the sudden tenseness that filters into the injured girl’s body. Not from here. Momo doesn’t want to risk it.
“I got separated from my friend. He… dragged me outside in the middle of, “ she rakes her brain for an appropriate answer. “A wedding. Yes!”
“That’s an interesting way to celebrate. That boy’s your date? Sure is adventurous,” the girl asks, nonchalant, but Momo only waves her hands heatedly.
“No, nothing like that! We’re childhood friends, nothing more.”
“That’s alright, don’t flail,” the stranger snorts and flutters ridiculously long eyelashes. Momo wonders if they’re real. She does seem oddly… pleased with her abrupt freak-out. “Sorry for assuming.”
“That’s fine.”
Momo wants to say something more, but she sees a flash of light blue, white and red in the distance and hoists herself up on her feet, carefully. The girl offers her a shoulder to lean on, arm warm around Momo’s thin waist. Holds her up while Momo kicks off her other stiletto and bends down to collect them, give them to her. “Your carriage is here?”
“Yes," Momo offers awkwardly and yells Shouto’s name. It catches his attention after a few more tries and he slowly makes their way to them. Even at this distance, Momo knows that he’s confused and he’s letting her have some space. Todoroki’s probably shocked to find her making friends?
“You…” Momo then says and looks into the girl’s eyes. They involuntarily flicker to her lips. She feels odd. “You were amazing. I – What’s your name? I have to know.”
The girl lets go of her so suddenly that Momo almost falls back on her ass again. The punk then fixes her mistake by grabbing the injured girl’s wrists, steadying. “I’m sorry, I just. You really don’t know who I am?” The girl looks completely shocked - her already big eyes widen some more.
Momo shakes her head to the sides, confused. Shouldn’t she be asking the same thing? “No?”
The girl then laughs - at her naiveté, probably - but Momo isn’t mad. She isn’t sure what’s going on anymore. The other steadies her again and does a fake bow, so low that Momo’s certain her short, straight-trimmed hair is touching the ground below. “Let me introduce myself,“ her voice booms with exaggerated dignity. “I am Jirou Kyouka, my fair Cinderella from Unknown lands. The band that you just listened to is called U.A., I’m glad that you joined all these people to hear us play.”
Momo feels herself flushing with shame. Now isn’t this just rude? She went to a concert of some band she's never heard of and didn’t even know anything about. Didn’t know to whom she’s been listening to. It’s an insult to the artists and she begins apologizing, but then the girl – Jirou – cuts her off with a wave of her hands.
“It’s fine. Just confirms that you’re not from here.” Damn. “I have to go now, though. It was a pleasure meeting you. If you ever wish to see me again, my fair lady, don’t hesitate to drop by to the Pussycats' on 23rd. We’ll be performing there. This time our security won’t have to hold you back. Iida’s a good guy, I’ll tell him to expect you.”
Momo flushes when the girl curtsies her once more and shoves a card into her stiff fingers. Her skin is cool and the touch lingers. Momo turns the card over and Jirou winks at her. Todoroki’s almost standing behind her, looking very suspicious now. Jirou acknowledges him.
“The magic pumpkin carriage’s here. Anyway, gotta bail before someone sees me. Give me a call if you can’t make it, princess, I’m sure we can arrange something.” Jirou sticks out her pinky and thumb and makes a motion that Momo understands to be an indication for her to call in the near future. The basist then brushes by Todoroki, and runs back into the building.
Shouto stares at Momo’s starstruck face as she carefully holds the card between her palms like it'll disappear if she dares to tighten the hold. Momo sighs dreamily and Todoroki lets out a low whistle.
“You are in a lot of trouble.”
Somehow they manage to get back right after midnight and Momo makes quick work of ripping off her torn tights and rearranging her hair. Her mother is shocked by the abrasions on her skin, but buys her lame excuses about slipping on wet tiles in the bathroom.
Todoroki nods at her and she returns the gesture. They share a secret now.
Momo knows that she will surely return to the wild.