A Thousand Horizons: A BNHA WLW Zine

Optimism was the trait Momo Yaoyorozu prided herself on practicing, instilling, and wedging into her daily thoughts and habits. Early years at U.A. had taught her the hard truth that without this attitude and the confidence it provided her, she would be set on the path to failure. Self-destruction. She learned to let a sunny disposition bleed into her everyday life. It had become the only way to ensure she arose grateful for every morning that she was able to. Grateful for the pleasure of knowing she would get to spend another day doing what she loved—risking her life for the opportunity to serve and save. 

Even if that meant trekking to the next city over. Handling last-minute calls informing her that she was needed for logistics, planning only someone ranked in the top five could provide. 

Momo found herself thankful in those moments for the chance to see every sunrise despite it appearing as merely a blur on her train ride. Only a short time was spent soaking in its limited warmth on her walk to the towering building before it was hidden behind drawn shades, waiting for the winter clouds to roll in and take over the duty.

The invigoration it provided stayed clutched in Momo’s grasp as meetings droned on through the hours. Held tight when the pressure to provide concise solutions blanketed her shoulders and threatened to sink her to the bottom floor. Began to slip through her fingers with each incessant tick of the clock. It became hard to contribute during the intermittent chatter regarding holiday plans. Excited interns buzzing about the prospect of going shopping, on dates, home. Even with her souring mood, Momo had no bitter feelings to swallow. She had become accustomed to phone calls to her parents. Begrudgingly accepted letters and packages as replacements for welcoming arms. 

Apprehensive glances out the now open blinds continued to grow among her colleagues. Sighs and whispered worries filled the slowly emptying conference room. 

“Go on ahead you all. I can certainly finish up these last few notes myself,” Momo said to the few of those remaining at the table with her. She rose to her feet when pushback began, a reassuring smile sliding into place. Promptly ushered them out of the room with encouragement to return to their families and a wave of hands given with the promise that it wouldn’t take her much longer.

It did.

By the time Momo had worked through the last hitch in plans and filed the remaining documents away, the looming clouds had long begun to cover the sky. Winter sky morphed from grey to nearly black, covering the ground save for the glow of street lamps shining off the fresh snow. Her first step into the night greeted her with a brisk, biting wind. Squinted against the flurries, her eyes drifted across the street and traced the unfamiliar buildings while her mind wandered. A coffee shop, chairs flipped to the tops of the tables inside. The thought of a warm cup in her hands juxtaposed the frigid snow at her feet, a certain hindrance to her ability to catch the final train on time. A travel agency serving as a reminder of her jet-setting parents and the hotels that were booked solid this time of year. A sharp indication that she would be alone. 

Momo’s gaze snagged on the bright neon glow of a record store. 

Her fingers moved on their own as they reached for her phone.

She longed for home.

-----

Momo found herself standing before the door of an unassuming apartment. The color identical to every other on the floor. And yet, she feared that her knock had left a dent in the pristine wood. It was framed, sturdy, and the same height as all the ones that came before. And yet, it loomed. Towered over Momo in a way where she knew that, even at her height, she was at risk of being consumed whole. She shifted back, nothing more than a slight shuffle. Her hands tightened into fists as she tried to tamper down her nerves. A fleeting memory crossed her mind—of when she was younger, writing her fears onto her palm before swallowing them down. 

She cast a glance down the ever-expanding hallway and reached her nerve-shaking hands up. 

She drew the first line.

The monster in front of her abruptly swung open. 

Kyouka, mere steps away, beamed up at Momo. Her hair had grown out since the last time Momo had seen her, tied to each side in fraying buns. Flour wisps across her forehead matched the ones streaking across the black apron tied around her waist. 

“Yaomomo,” she said so softly it was more so a whisper of wonder, curiosity. Relief.

The familiarity of the nickname helped the chill settle in Momo’s bones. Turned her into nothing more than the icicles she had walked under on her way over. Frozen. Numb. Kyouka began to say something about Momo’s shaking hands, still held with her pointer finger pressed to her palm, but the words couldn’t seem to penetrate. Blocked by the onslaught on Momo’s mind trying to take everything in. Trying to memorize the feeling of Kyouka holding her wrist to bring her inside. 

Once inside with her jacket being gently pulled from behind, Momo took the opportunity to peek around the space. She managed to sneak a glimpse of the glow of a faux fireplace on the television and the soft lights adorning a small tree atop the coffee table before Kyouka appeared in front of her once again. Gentle eyes pulled her attention back. Just like they always had. Kyouka had always been good about getting what she wanted from Momo, even if she had never been aware of the fact. 

“Tea,” Kyouka said, “the black one with blueberry, right? It just finished.” She turned her back to Momo and made to move down the hall, but stopped in her tracks as she seemed to catch herself in the mirror. Eyes widening, she quickly swiped at the flour on her face and tried to rearrange her bangs back into place. A blush stained her cheeks and she turned back around. “I got a little overzealous and thought I could try bread,” she said as she attempted to clear the embarrassment from her throat. “Sorry I look so—”

“Lovely.”

If it hadn’t been for the soft music coming from around the corner, the silence would have been deafening.

Kyouka’s mouth quickly closed and Momo knew her cheeks now matched Kyouka’s. She scrambled to correct—to save herself: “The bread. I’m sure the bread is going to be… lovely.”

A sharp hum and a mumbled thank you were all Momo received before Kyouka was making a beeline back toward the kitchen. With a shaky breath, Momo allowed herself a moment to regain her composure. She tapped her cheeks, scolding herself for letting something as silly as that slip. This was something she should have been over. Something she thought she had under control. The unexpected domestic light she had seen Kyouka in had done damage to her thoughts, her heart, and her resolve.

The melody from the kitchen tapered out, beckoning Momo to follow the path she had seen Kyouka hastily take. Rounding the corner, she found herself drifting toward the teacup resting on the kitchen’s island. It steamed wispy of promises of warmth. Of heat to course through her with each sip. 

It wasn’t until half the cup was gone that Momo spoke. “Kyouka, this is simply perfect. You’ve always had a knack for this. It’s been so long since I’ve had tea from you. I’ve missed it.”

“It’s been so long since… well, anything really,” Kyouka replied as she sprinkled more flour onto the counter.

“Three years and five months.”

Momo inwardly cringed at the words she let escape without a second thought, but the lapse of awkwardness she braced herself for didn’t occur. Only Kyouka’s simple sigh resounded through the space. It was more thoughtful and contemplative than anything. She turned to Momo and leaned back against the counter as she lightly laughed. 

“Do you remember when we got snowed in at U.A. for that entire weekend?”

“How could I forget having to watch Tsu and Ochako cuddle for eons.”

A mischievous grin crossed Kyouka’s face as she leaned forward. “You know,” she said, “I saw Tsu standing outside the dorms in the cold until she was near hibernation before making her way straight to Ochako that first night.”

“No!” Momo gasped.

Something stirred in Momo’s chest as Kyouka’s laugh flooded her senses. The tingle in her fingers returned. Only this time, it was a pleasant feeling. Comforting. Familiar. The air between the two eased into a comfortable state as if they had never left off in the first place.

They began to talk of things old and new. Swapped stories of their new interns for the year. Lamented over the now-closed bakery they had gone to when they were teens. At some point, the curve of the handle in Momo’s grasp was swapped for a glass stem. Kyouka prattled on to Momo about the music she was experimenting with recently as she turned to put her risen dough in the oven.

Momo’s heart clenched at the solacing feeling it all provided. She hadn’t realized how much she had truly been missing since graduating. No longer having the comfort of knowing Kyouka was no more than a few floors away. 

Internships were reminisced on and updates on the classmates they each kept up with were given. Their laughter continued to flow and fill the kitchen, and when Kyouka’s head tipped back at a particular quip, her hand reached across the island to grab Momo’s arm. She let it slide down to her wrist as her giggles subsided, dragged calloused fingers across the palm before pulling back to wipe tears from her eyes.

By the time Kyouka had made a place for herself on the second stool, the red in Momo’s glass had already been emptied and refilled. They sat pressed shoulder to shoulder as Kyouka slid through photo after photo. Shots from overseas missions she had taken to ones from when her first album had been released—Kyouka posed in front of a music store with familiar neon lights illuminated behind her. 

Momo couldn’t help but move her attention up to watch as the remains of Kyouka’s exasperated sigh passed through her lips, the story of the latest camping trip her parents had insisted upon following suit.

The throat-tightening recollection of hours spent daydreaming about the flavor of Kyouka’s chapstick had Momo frozen in her seat. She had spent night after night regretting never learning. Never mustering up the courage to even ask. As a friend. Nothing more. Sitting there in the current moment, a breath away from knowing, filled her with a yearning stronger than she had ever felt before. One she had known years of distance could never—had never tamped down.

Her train of thought halted as Kyouka turned, looking Momo in the eye and forcing her to zone back into the rambling.

“—badgering me about being alone during the holidays,” she said, air quoting at the end, “always telling me that it’s a time for couples. It’s annoying, but… it’s fine. They mean well. I mean, having you here now is exactly how I imagined it feeling, so maybe they’re not so wrong.” Her eyes shone as she finished. Practically sparkled despite being nearly closed by her wide smile. 

The one that began to slowly dip as she seemed to realize what she had said. She sat back in her seat slightly.

Momo followed.

“I must’ve had too much. Sorry, don’t listen—”

Momo wasn’t sure if it was the confirmation that she had never been alone in her feelings, the warmth of Kyouka’s thigh pressed against her own, the rush. 

“I’ve pondered it. The notion of you and I,” Momo said.

The shrinking space between them became an echo chamber for shallow breaths.

And then suddenly Kyouka was standing.

The stool wobbled behind her, on the cusp of clattering to the floor. Her mumbled request for Momo to wait here was nearly drowned out by the blood roaring in Momo’s ears. Momo blinked into the empty space. Padded, retreating footsteps the soundtrack to her confusion. 

Her feet, now unsteadily holding her up, carried her to hover above the decorated tree she had spotted earlier. Glazed eyes blurred the lights together as she attempted to will away any worry that she had said something wrong. Ruined her chances.

It was almost a miracle that she was saved from her own rumination so quickly as Kyouka slid to a halt directly in front of her. Arms outstretched to present a small, flat case to Momo. 

Gently, Momo reached for it. Traced the silver circle. Turned it over in her hands and scanned the titles seemingly handwritten on the back.

All eleven.

“They’re for you. All of them. Only you. I couldn’t release these. They were too—they could only ever be for you,” Kyouka said, twirling one of her jacks nervously.

Momo felt her bottom lashes dampen. Incoherent syllables were stuttered as she tried to vocalize the flood of relief, longing, adoration that filled her with each thump in her chest. When she finally looked up in bewilderment, her proximity to Kyouka mimicked their earlier positions. Only left room for Momo to tilt her head lower and breathe out: “Thank you, Kyouka.”

It was nothing more than a press.

All consuming in its sweetness.

Over before it had really begun; the timer in the kitchen chiming and jolting the two apart.

“Bread,” Kyouka said.

“Bread,” Momo repeated.

An aborted laugh left Kyouka. She spared a glance up at Momo before pressing to her toes and leaving another soft peck on Momo’s cheek. She practically skipped out of the room, but paused in the doorway, “You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Doesn’t look like the snow is letting up anytime soon.” Then, she was humming to herself and back on course to the oven.

Fingers shaking, Momo reached up. The buzz still present on her lips as they turned upward.