#spritebite fics

I

Too early, Kyouka thought. Too early to use this much brain power on keeping her body upright. To keep her feet from sliding out from under her. Too early and too cold. She wasn’t quite sure why she agreed to get out of bed before her regular schedule, especially in this weather. The snow had come in stronger than predicted the previous night. Kyouka grumbled to herself as she buried her hands deeper in her pockets. She cursed the grogginess that crowded her brain as she was getting ready and caused her to forget her hat and gloves. At least her coat had a hood.

Each quiet wisp of wind caused her nose to scrunch. Why couldn’t she just have stayed in bed a little longer?

“Kyouka, make sure to watch your step! It seems to be slick in some spots.” Oh yeah, that's why. A glance at the figure at her side is stolen. Tall and face bright, too bright for the hour of the day. “You know. I just love this time of year,” Momo sighed as she looked up at the falling snow.

Finding it hard to disagree with her, Kyouka simply nodded. It is sort of nice I guess, she thought as they continued on their way. The path to school seemed as though it was still waking up with her; the street lights a soft glow helping illuminate what the muted sky couldn’t reach through its haziness.

As she continued to appreciate the soft morning, her eye caught on a small snowman that had been built on the edge of the sidewalk across the street. Her footsteps slowed to a stop as her head tilted to the side. A grin spread across her face at the mere sight of the ugly thing. Head too large for its body, and looked as though it was seconds away from sliding right off. “Hey Momo.” Her voice, scratchy at its first use of the morning, caught in her throat. She cleared her throat and started again, “Hey, Yaomomo, look at this!” She started walking towards Momo again, picking up speed in her excitement.

Momo turned to her with a quizzical expression, “Yes?”

“There’s a little, ugly snowman!” Kyouka exclaimed. “You have to-”

Swoosh.

Kyouka threw her hands out with a yelp. Scrambling to grab something before she made a fool of herself because, yes, she is falling. Quickly.

Then suddenly she’s not.

A gloved hand gripped her own.

“Oh dear!” It’s something close to a shout from Momo. By the look on her face, it seemed like she startled herself with the volume. Or maybe it was worry on her face. “Are you alright?” She tugged Kyouka upright. Firm hold on her hand still. Momo searched her face for an answer, but any attempts were blocked by Jirou’s bangs. They covered her features as she stared at their hands. A dream, Kyouka thought, definitely a dream. I didn’t just do that. This isn’t really happening.

As Momo followed her gaze she let out a quiet gasp. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have any gloves?” She released Kyouka’s hand with a quiet “Hold on”. Kyouka’s hand hovered in the space between them as she tried to not let her face show any signs of disappointment as Momo worked off her left glove. “Here!” she said with a smile. It takes Kyouka a moment to realize she was expected to respond—too distracted by the flush on Momo’s cheeks, the soft, visible breaths passing through her lips, the way her eyes softened as she reached forward once more.

Kyouka’s focus is brought back once fingers were wrapped around her wrist, so warm she nearly flinched away at the sudden heat difference. Her hand is brought a little higher, palm facing outward, and then the glove is carefully slid on. A shiver threatened to run down her spine at the immediate relief. Her fingertips soaking it in.

“But,” Jirou started, “what about-“ she cut herself off as she saw the other girl shake her head.

“I can make myself a new pair once we get to class. You know, once I am able to warm up some more.” A soft laugh followed. Nearly drowned out by the crunching of snow as someone shuffled past them.

Kyouka considered herself lucky at that moment. How lucky she was for having found this friend. Someone to share her time, her hopes, dreams, fears, her class notes with. A partner in all senses of the term... except for one. One Kyouka only allowed herself in private moments alone. Not here in front of the girl she’s coming to love. Not on the sidewalk where the footprints around them threatened to disappear as the snow continued to fall.

“Here, allow me to do the other now.” Momo had already removed her other glove and shifted closer. Kyouka slightly shook her head. A response to Momo. An attempt to clear her mind.

“Ah no, no! I can do it. Thank you, though.” She took the gloves more quickly than necessary. She ducked her head once more and silently hoped to herself that the cold could excuse the warm blush spreading across her face. With both hands now bundled, she chanced a glance back to Momo, “Really thank you. I owe you one. For the catch and these,” she held her hands up and waved them around a little.

“It’s no trouble at all!”

A comfortable silence surrounded them as they continued their walk. Momo made sure she was always a step or two ahead. Kyouka flexed her hands. The feeling stayed soaked into her skin as the gloves held the memory of Momo’s grasp close, warm.

II

There was smoke. Thick and heavy. Limiting sight. There was dust. So much. Filling lungs, suffocating with each ragged inhale. Screams drifted in and out from every direction. No, that's not right. They were more so war cries in their rage, in their declaration of strength. Explosions and earth crumbling close behind in volume.

It happened too fast. Too sudden for some to get their bearings.

Kyouka lied on the ground. Cheeks pressed into the hard, cracked ground. Eyes fluttered open and squeezed shut at the onslaught of light. Shame crept up as she understood her position. Defeated. Left to lie and sink back into the earth. She was supposed to know where everyone was at all times. It was her job to locate the threat, and she failed. The how seemed unimportant at the moment. It could--should have been avoided.

She needed to know if everyone was okay. If her failure didn’t cause harm to those relying on her.

There was someone coming towards her. Running. She heard--felt their feet pounding on the ground. It was excruciatingly loud. She let out a soft whimper as the pounding in her head got more intense. She flinched at the realization that a jack was still tuned into the ground. It’s quickly removed as she got shaking arms under herself, fingers gripping the earth, dirt caking her nails. She needed to get up. Prepare to fight… fight… who exactly? Maybe the villain who pelted the rocks at her? The bear-woman Ochako was chasing down?

They were in front of her now. Crouched and fuzzy. She blinked furiously. Heartbeat Surround, she tried to think, they’re close enough I can… Nothing moved. Her arms were immobile where they kept her on her hands and knees. A sob got caught and stuck in her throat. Too dry to yell at the villain to get back, to leave her friends alone.

Soft hands come into view. Kyouka blinked harder. A voice came through. “It’s alright. It’s me.” Her surroundings began to clear, and the ringing in her ears slowly dissipated. She looked up at Momo as tears began to dampen her lower lashes. Long, dark hair had fallen from the usually pristine ponytail. It looked singed at some of the ends. Dirt and what looked to be caked blood were streaked across her cheekbones. “Can you stand?” she asked with a hard tone. Kyouka knew her better than that, though. There was that underlying fear. The slight spike in her cadence.

With an unsteady breath, Kyouuka slowly began to drag her feet under her. She pushed off the ground as best she could, but Momo was there lifting most of her weight. Momo sighed, “There.” A hand came up to push Kyouka’s bangs back. “I will lead the way, okay?” The hand traveled down to her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before sliding down to lace fingers between Kyouka’s. “Whatever happens, do not let go. Promise?”

Kyouka gave her a bob of the head, almost not making it back to its original position. Then they were running. It took Kyouka a few wobbly steps before her mind caught up and allowed muscle memory to do the work for her.

It was only flashes of sounds and colors from thereon. A shout of “Go now!” from her left. Dust stinging her eyes. Green sparks became visible as some of it settled down ahead of them. She felt a squeeze and her eyes moved towards her outstretched arm. Momo’s hand a vice grip on hers. It was a comfort she allowed herself to bask in for the time being. To get her through this. To get her back home.

She squeezed back.

Eventually, she found herself covered with a thick, heavy blanket draped around her shoulders. A small light shone into her eyes. Question after question was asked. The current year, the villain’s quirk as best she could remember, did it hurt when they pressed here and prodded there, what was the last thing she remembered before the attack. She felt the squeeze of her hand once more as medics and teachers left to attend to other students.

Startled, she went to pull her hand away, but the hold stayed tight. Momo sat beside her with an easy smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She sounded as choked up as Kyouka felt.

“Yeah. Me too. Glad you’re okay. Right?”

Momo only nods in response.

The bodies around them continued to bustle around. They stayed pressed shoulder to shoulder. Hands giving the grounding feeling they were desperately needing. Safety.

III

Kyouka laid in bed on her back, hands clenched in fists resting on her stomach, staring into the blackness that stretched to every corner of her room save for the moonlight that crept through the red curtains. The sliver of light a small offer from the moon to ease her mind as if to say “There is still time for rest. You just have to take it.”

It was an unachievable task, though. Undeserved. Because why should she be allowed to indulge in the peace that sleep provided when she could look back on her failures. Take note of every second that could have been spent doing something different, something beneficial, something right. Pick through the shattered remains of her self-esteem until her fingers bled. How else was one supposed to learn to be better? She couldn’t make the same mistake again. She had to--needed to become a better hero.

For herself.

For her family.

For-

Flinging off the covers, she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She pushed her hands through her hair with a shuddered breath. A walk would help. Maybe some water. Slippers are shoved onto her feet as she shrugged on a jacket. Kyouka closed her door behind her with a thud that echoed through the halls. With a wince, she glances down to Toru’s door. Nothing. Kyouka thanked the fact that their rooms were fairly far apart.

A few hushed steps to the elevator later, she made her way downstairs and headed to the kitchen. A glow from the direction of the kitchen lit her way, seemingly left on by its last occupant. She made a mental note to bring this up at breakfast. She rounded the corner and suddenly jumped at the sight of a figure in the kitchen.

Simultaneous yelps fill the kitchen.

There stood Momo. Hair laying down her back, slender fingers covering her mouth. “Give me a moment.” She said. “I think my heart nearly came out of my chest.” Kyouka reached up to take hold of her jacks and began to lightly tap them together. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone and was hoping she’d find some solace in the night to clear her mind alone. She hadn’t wanted to burden anyone any more than she already had. After a few breaths, Momo fanned her face and continued, “Do you make it a habit of sneaking around in the dead of night?”

“I don’t know. Do you make it a habit of…” Kyouka paused as she looked behind Momo. Behind her, on the counter, sat a floral teacup resting on its saucer. Tilting her head to the side she finished, “Of making tea?”

“Ah, yes. I sometimes find myself unable to sleep, so I come down here to make myself a cup. It’s what my mother used to do for me when-” she glanced away as Kyouka’s gaze returned to her, twisting her fingers together. “Well just when I couldn’t sleep. You know, childish things like nightmares and such.”

Kyouka’s eyes widened “Did you ha-”

“Oh no, no.” Hands unclasped to wave rapidly. “Please don’t worry. I just simply couldn’t sleep, that's all.”

Kyouka began to respond but stopped short as Momo tucked a piece of her long hair behind her ear. A small cut, nearly healed, sat high on her cheekbone. A sickly feeling twisted in Kyouka’s gut. My fault, she thought. If she had better response time, hadn’t been worthless in a fight. Maybe there wouldn’t be a scar forming on someone so beautiful. The feeling crawled up her sternum. Squeezing her lungs. Maybe Mina wouldn’t have been taken down as hard as Kyouka was. It began to scratch at her throat. Maybe Momo wouldn’t be giving her such a pitiful look right now. Oh. Oh no. Kyouka wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or to herself. Momo took small steps towards her either way.

“Hey. Let’s take a seat, alright?” She wrapped an arm around Kyouka’s shoulders and began to lead her to a chair at one of the dining tables in the conjoined room. Once she had Kyouka seated, she asked, “Is lavender okay?” No response was given.

Kyouka only stared down at her hands with the vague realization that they were trembling. She thought of how she shouldn’t have left her room. She would have fallen asleep eventually, but now here she was, having Momo take care of her once again when she was the issue. The problem. The burden.

Momo placed her hands atop Kyouka’s, bringing them together. She was crouched down, but her height left her still practically eye to eye with Kyouka. Giving a light squeeze she said quietly, almost in a whisper, “You know…I haven’t had the chance to thank you yet.” At this Kyouka looked up. Her eyes met the ones that nearly reflected hers. No… no, they were different. Softer, holding so much kindness and care. Momo cleared her throat. “For your signal at that fight. Right before… well you know. Without that, I don’t think we all would have made it out of there.”

Kyouka had to think back. Her last call-out was simply an estimate. A slight suggestion of a timeframe. “It was wrong.” She said, “I-my calculations were wrong. They were so much closer than I thought. We weren’t ready we-”

“But we were. We knew they were on their way and that they would be there soon. You gave us the reassurance to put ourselves into place. Jirou,” another squeeze to her hands, firm and gentle all in one “you need to understand how grateful we--I. How grateful I am for the assurance you provide on the field. I do not think I could go into battle without you. I do not think I could do most things without you. So I want you to know that I am here for you if you ever would like to talk. We’re partners. Right?”

Eyes dampened with tears unshed, Kyouka swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” Her voice came out raspier than expected. Relief washed over her. It was hard to accept the praise as fact, but she couldn’t help but savor the honeyed words her mind was craving. Desperate for reassurance. “Of course we are.”

Momo moved one of her hands up to tuck a strand of Kyouka’s hair back. Kyouka’s face flushed. She blinked rapidly as Momo, with all the casualty in the world, sat back.

“It’s rather late. We should head back up. We still have class in a few hours.” Her smile eased Kyouka’s heart even more.

She stood as Momo walked back into the kitchen and placed her half-full cup into the sink. She frowned. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your tea.”

Momo gently smiled as she led them through the doorway. “Don’t worry. I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready for sleep.” She reached for the light switch and flicked it off as Kyouka started at her profile, glowing from the moonlight. The offer of sleep illuminated her soft features.

“Yeah. Me too.”

IV

The idea of a girls-only movie night was Mina’s suggestion. Well, it was more of a demand. “Come on you guys! Bonding time is super important, y’know?” she said as she slumped back in her seat, a slight pout on her face. She had been bringing it up at every possible chance since first period. Now, at lunch, she corralled all the girls to a singular table leaving them no place to run. “Plus, some of us need more fun, normal teenage experiences.” Her eyes cut to Momo.

“Hey! I experience-”

“Study groups don’t count as fun, Yaomomo.” Mina exasperated. A wicked smile had begun to spread across her face. One that made her look as though she finally found the final piece to complete some evil plan. “Jirou agrees! Dontcha?”

Startled by the sudden call out, Kyouka fumbled for a response as she sat down the bite she was about to take. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure that could be fun. Just, nothing too cheesy, yeah?”

Mina threw two thumbs up to Kyouka as Momo mumbled, “Well bonding time is important.”

As soon as Kyouka stepped out of the elevator the following evening, she could hear the cacophony of voices that came from the common room. Clutching the candy in her hand a little tighter, she braced herself as she made her way towards the group. Mina’s voice rose above everyone else’s as she began to yell, “No, no, no! Out! I don’t want you anywhere near here tonight, understood?”

Just then, Kaminari skirted around the corner. At the last second, he dodged out of Kyouka’s way with a short laugh. “Whoops! Sorry, Jirou!” Without a glance back, he kept his quick pace and ran towards the elevator.

With an eye roll, Kyouka made her way into the room. Mina stood near the door with her hands on her hips. “Oh good, you’re finally here!” Her scowl morphed into a smile. “Come on! Sit, sit, sit!” As Kyouka glanced around for a spot, she saw Ochako on the floor next to Tsuyu, pressed together as they looked over the spread of DVDs laid out before them. Snacks were spread out among them as well. Too many to count and suddenly Kyouka felt a little bad about her singular pack of sweets. Mina made her way back to her blanket on the floor next to what could only be assumed as Toru’s white and sickeningly pink floral comforter.

“Oh here, Kyouka!” Momo exclaimed. Kyouka had to take a moment to compose herself because there Momo sat, patting the empty seat next to her, in what looked to be the world’s softest sweater, and hair down like it had been that night in the kitchen. She’s so pretty, Kyouka thought and immediately scolded herself. It wasn’t the time. She gave a small wave to Momo as she made her way over.

As she settled herself, Momo began to speak again “Well I do hope you’re happy with the movie selection. Uraraka has decided a scary movie would be perfect. No chance of… how did you put it? Cheesy?”

Kyouka laughed, “Oh man. Yeah, that fits the bill alright.” Ochako hopped up at that moment stating she found the perfect movie and told everyone to shut up and prepare themselves. Mina scrambled as she got up to turn the lights off.

“If you’d like,” Momo said, turning to Kyouka. “You could share my blanket? I noticed you didn’t bring one. It can get quite cold out here.” Kyouka’s face burned. She ducked her head down in an attempt to hide behind her bangs.

“Yeah. Cool. That’d be cool. Thank you.” She grabbed the corner of the blanket and placed it over her own lap as everyone else settled and the movie began.

Halfway through, Kyouka had to admit Ochako picked a good one. Even Ochako herself seemed to be shaken up. She sat with her blanket wrapped around her, practically cocooning herself. Mina snickered as she leaned over. “Awe ‘Chako” she sang. “If you’re so scared you could always hold my hand!” She erupted into a fit of laughter as Ochako swatted at her, pink curls bouncing as she attempted to dodge the hits.

Kyouka heard an “Oh.” murmured next to her “That’s actually a very smart idea.”

Before Kyouka could ask what she meant, Momo had clasped their hands together under the blanket. Kyouka’s head whipped to the side, eyes widened, face surely a dark pink. As if realizing her actions, Momo turned to face Kyouka. Expression matching the one staring back at her. Why is she embarrassed?!

They continued to stare at each other. Kyouka’s eyes searched Momo’s face. Her lips were parted as if she was trying to think of something to say. Soft, was the best Kyouka’s mind could supply. She unconsciously held Momo’s hand a little tighter.

The action seemed to put Momo’s thoughts into coherency “I’m sorry-”

BAM.

Screams filled the room as a figure slammed into the back of the couch with a yell. Kyouka and Momo flung apart. Heart slamming in her chest, Kyouka spun around to find Kaminari and Sero rolling on the floor in fits of laughter. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Kaminari!” Mina screamed as she jumped up. “I told you I didn’t want to see you in here!” The boys fell over each other in their attempt to stand and flee from Mina’s wrath.

Kyouka turned her attention back to Momo who held her hand over her heart. The two stared for a single moment before cracking smiles at each other. “I’m, um, I’m sorry about that.” Momo said.

“No! It‘s, uh. It’s cool.” Kyouka shook her head. “Seriously. Don’t sweat it.” She groaned internally, What is wrong with me?

Momo gave a short nod and a timid smile as she settled back into her place. Momo pressed their shoulders together as Mina came back into the room cursing to herself and asking Ochako to rewind the movie.

Warmth spread throughout Kyouka’s chest as she relaxed into the couch and pressed back.

V

Kyouka peeked her eyes open as the last chord was strummed.

It had come to her in the middle of the night. Startling her out of a dream of brown eyes. Of a melodic laugh that had her stumbling out of bed and flicking the light on. She turned in small circles, eyes squinted against the harsh light now filling the room, as her sleep clouded mind attempted to steer her in the right direction. She let out a quiet “Hah!” as she reached past her bass and pulled her guitar towards her.

It was a struggle getting everything hooked up properly, but once she placed her headphones over her ears, she was wide awake. She felt wired, buzzing with excitement. She hadn’t been struck with inspiration like this in so long. Typically, she would spend weeks on songs. Her small bin filled to the brim with crumpled sheets of chord progressions and, on the rare occasion, lyrics. Most of the time she found it difficult to move her emotions into words but at that moment…

She hadn’t checked the time when she first sat on the floor, hunched over her guitar and a beat-up notebook, began to let her heart spill through her fingertips, through composition and each pick of the strings. She nearly jumped out of her own skin, though, when moments after finally taking her headphone off, a knock was rapped against her door.

“Jirou?” It was Toru on the other side. “Are you in there? I didn’t see you at breakfast and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Breakfast?! Kyouka sprung up. She patted around her bed until she found her phone. The small screen showing it was nearly half-past eight. She ran a hand down her face groaning, attempting to make peace with the fact that she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. Two more knocks in quick succession. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I must have overslept. I’ll be there in a second.” Kyouka called back.

She looked back down to the notebook sitting on the floor. Squaring her shoulders, she realized it had to be now or never.

Now, only a few hours later, she sat crossed-legged on her bed blinking down at the pick in her hand. She didn’t want to chance a glance up at Momo who sat opposite of her, knees pulled up to her chest. She knew this was different from anything she had played for her friends before, and she was too afraid to see the reaction. This was softer, full of hidden feelings. She hadn’t sung anything she had written that night out loud, only hummed along as she played, but she knew it had to have been obvious. There was no way someone as smart as Momo wouldn’t pick up on the meaning, the feeling.

She slowly moved the guitar off her lap and rested it on the floor next to the bed. She cleared her throat, the adrenaline that had been fueling her had dissipated. Only a nervous hum was left coursing through her. “Well,” she began.

Momo lunged forward and grabbed one of Kyouka’s hands between her own. Kyouka prayed she couldn’t feel how clammy she was. “Oh, Jirou!” Momo exclaimed. “That was so wonderful! It felt so new! Like a breath of fresh air. You are always a sight to behold when you perform, but this… ” A pause. Kyouka finally looked up to make eye contact and was greeted with a gentle smile.

“It’s such a pleasure to hear your work. I cannot wait for you to finish the lyrics.” Momo finished. Her hands never let go of Kyouka’s.

Kyouka fought the urge to peek over at the notebook discreetly tucked away on her desk. “Yeah,” she said, “for sure.” No way in hell.

“Really! I enjoyed it so much. It was such a pretty melody, and you seemed so inspired! I could see it in your expression as you played.”

Kyouka felt her hand being squeezed, but she couldn’t look away from the girl in front of her. She couldn’t imagine someone better to be her--

“Muse,” Kyouka said out loud. “I guess I just found the perfect muse.”

VI

A soft pink blanketed the morning sky, leaving a soft glow on the buildings, the trees, the two girls walking side by side. Only the slight rustling of the trees and the scuffing of their shoes on the pavement as they made their way towards school filled the comfortable silence around them. Kyouka had become a fan of these early mornings. She no longer felt sluggish, half awake. Now, she was able to enjoy these little moments of dawn. Let the rising sun sink into her skin and it’s…

So warm, Kyouka thought as she took a deep breath and tilted her head back.

A light laugh brought her attention up to the girl standing next to her. “Are you even listening to me?” Momo asked.

“Sorry, what'd you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to work on our internship applications after class today.”

“Yeah of course.” Kyouka nodded. “We can just head to my room as soon as we get back.”

Momo made a hum of agreement, but it felt as though she wanted to follow it up with something else. Kyouka faced forward and gave the other girl a moment to herself. They had quite a way to go still, so she saw no reason to rush her.

A bird let out a chirp as they passed under some trees.

In the past few months of their early morning walks, Kyouka felt as though she had grown closer to Momo. They took advantage of the opportunity to share their thoughts of dramas Momo was watching, new music Kyouka had discovered, gossip from the other classes Mina had managed to learn. They spoke of their home lives before moving to the dorms, the new pastry shop opening a few streets over.

Sometimes, though, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Walking side by side, shoulders occasionally bumping, was enough.

They were always in step. In sync.

Until the current moment, when Momo suddenly stopped walking, seemingly rooted in place.

Kyouka halted her steps and turned to face Momo who stood a few paces behind with an apprehensive look upon her face. Eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. She gave a sharp nod, seemingly to herself, before she said, “Right. I have something I would like to ask you.”

Kyouka tilted her head to the side. “Shoot.”

“I would like it if I- if we applied to the same agency. I would like to take the first step at becoming real partners.” The unsurety in her voice caused it to come out more like a question than a statement. “Of course, that is, if that is something you would like to do?”

The lack of confidence Momo seemed to have in herself at that moment wasn’t a surprise to Kyouka. No, she was used to the other girl’s self-doubt. Too humble and unaware of her own potential. She fought the frown making its way onto her face as she thought of how much Momo had helped her these past few months, pushing her to become stronger. She brought her comfort, eased her mind in tough times, slowly explained math problems that Kyouka struggled with. What have I given her? Kyouka thought. She looked at Momo who chewed on her own lip, anxiously awaiting a response. What can I give her?

Then it clicked. Kyouka wanted to shake herself at how easy it seemed now. How ignorant she had been for waiting so long. I can give her all she’s given me and more. I can be the partner she wants. The one she deserves.

Momo opened her mouth, but Kyouka spoke first. “Momo. Of course, I would want to. That’s really all I’ve ever wanted. You have always been there for me. On the field and off. That night, the one where you told me that you don’t think you could do it without me, I didn’t get to tell you that I know I can’t do it without you. I want you by my side. Always. I need you, Momo, as my partner. In all senses of the term.” She cuts off her ramble with a deep breath. She realized somewhere in the middle she began nervously twirling one of her jacks.

She also had a moment of realization that perhaps right here, on the sidewalk, as the world slowly wakes around them, isn’t the best time to confess. Or maybe it’s the best time with the breeze slightly swaying their skirts and the birds singing a song just for them.

“Jiro-”

“Kyouka. It’s Kyouka.” Kyouka interrupted. She held her hand out, open, waiting. “That is… if you’ll have me.”

Momo took a few steps forward and gently placed her hand in Kyouka’s. “Always.” She said. Nothing more needed to be said.

They took a moment to simply smile at each other. Fingers intertwined.

As they returned to their walk to class, the sun rising higher into the sky, gently blues dispelling the pink morning blush, Kyouka spoke up. “You know, I love this time of year.”

It wasn’t surprising that a room built only to house lectures and silent, reluctant learning provided little to no focal points for Denki to attach his attention to—only four white walls with fading purple accents and rows of vacant chairs. A chalkboard behind the exhausted eyes staring at him. Yes, the room was empty enough to allow even his thoughts to echo, but Denki was going to make damn sure to do anything in his power to avoid another speech berating and warning against the overuse of his ability. The seemingly never-ending chorus of how he needed a better grip on his control.

Denki knew differently though. Was proud of the progress he had made over the past two years. Would pat himself on the back for his win-lose ratio against his own wattage if not for the suffocating atmosphere. The numbers weren’t important—the only necessary information was that winning was higher than losing and that winning was a trend on the rise. He wasn’t too proud to admit that loss still happened… enough.

Enough that Aizawa had felt it necessary to end Denki’s sparring match early.

Denki had been unaware of the energy shift until the air was suddenly punched out of his lungs and his view of Midoriya was replaced with cracked concrete. Air attempted to rush in, replenish and revive his dignity but failed when his body was forcibly tugged, lodging it in his throat. In retelling this story later in life, he would choose to omit the small yelp he let out. It wasn’t until he began struggling that he realized he was cocooned in that stupid, all too familiar scarf. Again.

“Oh, come on,” he whined. It was petulant, he knew that, but it felt justified as the small wave Midoriya was giving him began to fade into the distance.

Denki bit his tongue for the entire humiliation parade. Not a single complaint about the rubble scratching at the back of his head. No protests in his ability to walk on his own as he heard Jirou’s snickering. Only a mumbled thank you was given as he was yanked to his feet and released to make his way to his desk.

That was progress. Growth.

Aizawa’s sudden sigh was enough to pull Denki’s attention away from the scorch mark on the desk two rows over.

“Thought we’d be over this by now, kid.”

“We are!” Denki’s voice absolutely did not crack before he continued, “I’m freaking awesome out there. I was one zap away from finally taking Midoriya down. I wasn’t gonna lose it. I had it under control.” The dark stare had him tacking on, “Respectfully, sir.”

“You lack patience. I tell you every time, and yet here we are.” The sigh that followed pushed an apology on Denki’s tongue, the one he knew he needed to say. He was cut off before he even opened his mouth. “I’m passing you off. If you won’t listen to me after this long, then maybe it’s time for someone who can meet you head-on.”

Confusion was not an unfamiliar feeling for Denki. Not really. It was one feeling he was rather comfortable in. Now, though, it sent him reeling, felt too heavy in his mind. This wasn’t how things normally went. He would apologize, promise that he’d take care of himself, and acknowledge his mistakes. Aizawa would send him off with a grunt and a nod of his head. He didn’t—he had never really put his foot down. Not like this.

He’d never just… given up.

Denki moved to protest, confront. The sticky note slapped on his forehead stopped him in his tracks.

“Don’t be late,” Aizawa said as he moved past Denki and out the door.

Denki peeled the paper off and lightly rubbed the slight sting with his other hand.

Greenhouse. Thursdays - Sundays after classes.

He studied it for a moment before letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. A silent and resentful goodbye to his freedom was given as he languished over the fact that he’d never even come across a green building at school.

Jirou’s laughter echoed through Denki’s head as he made his way to his new life sentence. She had barely made it through telling him that the note was in reference to the weirdly shaped glass structure he’d occasionally pass during his runs with Kirishima.

He ambled his way across campus, dragging his feet once he hit a gravel path. He scoffed to himself, disbelieving that Aizawa really thought some dirt and petals were going to teach him a lesson.

By the time he reached the impending doom, he had a realization that he could possibly get out of this if no one saw him. He could ditch. There wasn’t a chance in hell anyone was actually there. He couldn’t imagine who would waste their time hidden away, surrounded by the humid air now rushing in his face. He didn’t believe that a soul would want to use their strength to carry around stacks of plastic seed trays.

But there someone was. Standing right before his eyes which had begun to trail further up to take in littered scars and wide shoulders. Denki tilted his head to the side and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. This could prove to not be as bad as he thought. Golden eyes continued on their path, up, up, up to the red ones now staring back at him and—oh.

A thud softly resounded as the black trays hit the ground and sent soil scattering.

“You gotta be fucking me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, Kacchan.” It was instinctual, nothing new, but Denki’s previous thoughts left him fighting off a wince.

“Do not start that shit,” Bakugou said, taking a step forward. It would have been menacing if he hadn’t faltered, expression shifting from anger to realization to puzzled. “Why ‘ya here, dunce? Fry yourself out and get lost even after Aizawa stopped—Aizawa. That bastard.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Denki before he could reel it in. The look Bakugou was giving left him torn between explaining and hightailing it out of the blast zone. He settled for somewhere in between and raised his hands in surrender as he slowly stepped back.

“You know what? You little shithead I… I don’t care. Just clean this shit up.”

And then Bakugou was gone.

The slammed-shut door now entrapping Denki alone with his rising anxieties. He swallowed hard, trying to force them down. This was just typical Bakugou. Things would be better next time. He tried not to dwell on the impending doom swelling in his chest, the sweat he swore was from the humidity, and the fear that things might actually be worse than he imagined.

And they were. At first.

Wrath was something Denki had prepared himself for—the swearing, explosions, snide comments, the snarls that threatened to prove there was bite behind the bark. Indifference, however, was not an energy he had expected to be greeted with throughout the next few weeks. Bakugou never greeted him when he strolled in, snack in hand, but he never yelled at him either. He merely glared, occasionally clicked his tongue, and gave Denki his task for the day. Therein laid the largest problem, the main source of Denki’s disdain. Bakugou seemed hellbent on boring Denki to death. He never allowed him to do any more than small, menial tasks. Sweeping, countless seed packets dumped before him to count, cleaning tools, grabbing things for the first-years, sweeping, and more sweeping filled each of Denki’s nights in the greenhouse.

Night after night he tried to get Bakugou to at least talk with him, did his best to get a small smirk in return for his jokes, and fished for homework answers he knew he wouldn’t get.

Night after night he was met with silence. An occasional grunt if he was lucky. A scolding to pick up the pace if he really pushed his luck.

Denki couldn’t understand why. Why wouldn’t Bakugou at least try to make things more bearable? They were in the same boat all things considered. It only made sense for them to at least try and make the best of this punishment until Aizawa deemed them reformed.

“Ka-Bakugou,” Denki said one night during the third week. Enough was enough, and he had found himself in a position he never thought was possible—craving work. “I’ve been watching you mess with those plants for hours now. Let me help out. Please? If I have to hold this broom for five more seconds, I think I’m going to stab it through my eye.”

He saw Bakugou’s shoulders tense and waited with bated breath as they slowly relaxed back.

“Fine.”

Fine.

Fine was the greenest light he’d ever gotten.

Denki let the wooden handle slip from his grasp and land with a clatter. He raced to grab the stool he had previously claimed for the times he would sneak off to be on his phone. No time was given for takebacks. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

“Ready whenever you are, boss!”

It was still quiet after that. Bakugou had only given him the instructions to watch, copy, repeat. Denki fell into the rhythm easier than he thought, watching as Bakugou filled the larger trays with new soil and gently pressed up on the bottom of the old trays to remove each seedling. His mind began to wander after a while. He found himself becoming fixated on how Bakugou’s hands made the plants look even smaller. The way his fingers were barely exerting any pressure at all. Gentle. Pretty.

Denki felt a blush creep up his neck as he shook his head, forcing himself to look away and get back to the task at hand. Quiet was fine. Everything was fine.

So, of course, he had to open his mouth.

“Y’know I’m surprised Aizawa thinks taking care of some plants is going to somehow teach me skills to win a fight,” he said, picking up the spade next to him and swinging it around to make his point.

Bakugou scoffed, “Of course, you’d think it’s about that. Listen, dunce, he put you in here because you never fucking listen. You just race ahead with that annoying, cocky attitude—”

“As if you’re one to talk.”

“You’re an eager dipshit who’s ready to shove my seedlings into the soil without checking the roots,” Bakugou continued, ignoring his comment, “You think you can take one swing, get your glory with one big action. Like. An. Idiot.”

“That’s not fair I only messed up two of them!”

Bakugou closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Look,” his tone shifted into something soft, “it ain’t about your skill. Hell, you got more of that than half the dumb fucks we train with. You take yourself too seriously on the field. Don’t check in on your limits. Your infuriating confidence is your best quality, you do what you have to in order to win, but that’s the worst thing about you too.”

Denki blinked. Then, blinked again for good measure. They were staring at each other now, plants abandoned. That…

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I think? Careful, though, people may start to think you actually like me.”

The grunt he received in response was gruff, blunt as Bakugou turned away.

“Yeah, well, no one’ll believe you if you tell ‘em.”

Things turned around from that night. It was as if Denki was finally able to break down some invisible wall between the two of them. Bakugou began to let him handle more difficult tasks. Didn’t seem to mind teaching him or answering the infinite amount of questions he had, said it was better than hearing ‘ya bitching and whining. Denki figured he actually just liked the company.

It was how they ended up side by side once again, Denki asking how much longer Bakugou was sentenced to greenhouse duty while doing his best to keep up with the basics of pruning being thrown at him.

“I don’t. Time was up a while ago. Didn’t mind the work, so,” Bakugou shrugged.

“What? How—how long have you been… working here, I guess?”

“Mistakenly told the hag they forced me to see during first year that my hands were made for destroying. She thought this would be good for me. Show me that they could create. Beats the damn breathing exercises.”

“Oh. I had no idea,” he trailed off for a moment. “I think it’s pretty rad. Y’know, havin’ something outside of hero-life. Balance. Makes sense you picked up on it, though. You’re like the most smart and capable person I know!”

A beaming smile crossed his face as he turned in his seat.

Bakugou’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed, abandoning whatever he was going to say in favor of grumbling to himself.

The tips of his ears turning pink hadn’t gone unnoticed, though, and Denki was hit with the realization that Bakugou was actually kind of… cute. With each passing day, he’d catch the other doing something that had his chest tightening. The meticulous way he kept track of everything from humidity to water levels. The way he let the first-year girls get by with just about anything. How he spoke to the flowers, threatening them to bloom faster, when he thought no one could hear him. How he lightly pressed his hand into Denki’s back every time he passed behind him.

How he looked, Denki would dare say, pretty when he was relaxed discussing mundane things with Denki a few weeks later.

It was past nightfall, beyond their usual departure time as they sat across from each other. Neither making a move to leave. Denki reveled in the fact that Bakugou had opened up to him enough to have time like this. He did his best to ignore the way everything seemed to melt inside as he watched red eyes light up as Bakugou began to break down his most recent fight with Midoriya. It was something along the lines of passion.

It was what stayed there as he trailed off, seemingly thinking of something.

“C’mere.”

And who was Denki to not follow?

They moved toward the back of the greenhouse. Weaved their way through until Bakugou was moving carts and soil bags to the side and pushing a flap aside to reveal a room Denki had somehow failed to notice.

It was small but filled to the brim with leafy plants. A whiteboard and desk were seemingly shoved into one corner, both littered with sticky notes.

“Close your eyes.”

For some reason, he listened.

“Open up.”

For some reason, he listened.

“Bite.”

The fingers grazing his bottom lip nearly distracted him from the thing being pressed between his teeth.

For that reason, he listened.

It was a brief moment of bliss, of ignorance, before Denki’s eyes shot open and the burn settled in. The tears springing to his eyes blurred his view of Bakugou doubled over in laughter, and if he had been able to think of anything other than hot, burning, death, he may have had a chance to realize he’d never heard the other laugh like that before.

“What the hell, Bakugou! What, hah, what was that?”

“King of Fire, Lord of Heat.”

“Hah?” Words had become difficult.

“My pride and joy,” Bakugou said before making a sweeping gesture behind him. Pepper plants. Rows and rows of reds and yellows.

He looked back over, electricity dancing at his fingertips, ready to light up the entire room, but he stopped short.

The way Bakugou was looking at him—near tears in his eyes, his soft smile, the mirth in his voice as he choked out an apology—paralyzed him for a moment. He found himself wanting to bottle the moment up, save it for his worst days on the field.

He stayed put as the distance between them shrank, Bakugou reaching up to ruffle Denki’s hair.

“C’mon, Sparks. Let’s get you somethin’ so that pretty mouth doesn’t completely melt off.”

And Denki—

Denki knew then that he was completely, utterly, undoubtedly fucked.

He tried to not let it show the next day. The entire walk home, the restless night tossing and turning in bed, throughout all of his class—every moment had been spent coming up with a plan.

Keep his distance. Make sure one of the first-years was always near and ready to be roped into conversation. Don’t think about how Bakugou’s fingers felt against his lips.

He was confident as he strode up, swinging the door open with a dramatic, “Good afternoon, everyone!”

Silence.

Only the slight sway of leaves waving a welcome.

“Only us today, Denks.” Bakugou’s voice called out as he rounded the corner. His arms were loaded with a stack of soil bags, and Denki tried to look anywhere other than his arms. Avoid the way they flexed when they tossed the bags to the ground.

“Where—Where are the girls?”

“Said some shit about making chocolates for tomorrow.”

All traces of his internal panic were forgotten as his shoulders slumped. His feet finally moved him further into the building before he threw himself onto the stool nearest to where Bakugou was inspecting the tomatoes.

“It’s Valentine’s already?” His voice pitched upward, “Actually, no, don’t answer that. I don’t know if I can stomach another year of watching Todoroki get fawned over by the entire school.”

“Yeah, like you’re not gonna be the most insufferable motherfucker showing off whatever sad little gifts you get.”

It didn’t have a bite, not really, but Denki couldn’t help but feel like there was something unsaid that he was missing.

“Well,” he started, “I mean, no? I don’t really get treats. Not from people who like me because Mina’s sympathy chocolate definitely does not count.”

“Huh.”

There it was again. It was in his tone. Denki tracked Bakugou as he moved to the other side of the table, mulling over what exactly it was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Just surprised is all. Figured there’d be someone you’d be expecting them from.”

“Like who? You?”

The temperature dropped. He knew it from the goosebumps rising on his arms. Knew it from the frigid feeling of stillness in the room.

“I—Hah, sorry, not a funny joke. Not that it’s a joke. I didn’t mean that meanly. It’s not like I wouldn’t want them. From you. Y’know. You’re… well, you’re you. Anyone would be lucky to get them from you, but it’s not like you like me. Like… like that.

I’ve gotta go.”

And then Denki was gone.

Didn’t allow himself the opportunity to say anything else, embarrass himself more than he already had.

He avoided the red stare he felt throughout the entire next day. Hid from it within the circle of Midoriya’s group and listened to them count Todoroki’s gifts. Kept his head down as everyone filed out of the classroom. Peered around every corner as he made his way to swap out his shoes, double-checking over his shoulder before reaching into the small locker and—oh.

A small black bag was placed atop his sneakers.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring at the orange ribbon tying it closed, working up the courage to pull it out with shaking hands. To open and peer inside. To find the chocolate spheres. To slowly place in his mouth. To discover that they—

They were hot.

Gravel cut up into his socked feet before he realized he had moved.

Denki stopped in the entryway of the greenhouse. Gasping breaths heaved as he looked around before spotting the carts in the back out of place. He beelined to the backroom, an accusatory finger pointed in Bakugou’s face when he stopped mere steps away.

“You!”

The table rattled as Bakugou stepped back, hands moving back to catch himself.

“Look if you're gonna yell or laugh—”

“You like me! Too. You like me too. These,” he held out the bag still clutched in his other hand, “these are so good, and you like me too. Back. I like you.”

“Really?” Bakugou had the nerve to look unsure.

“What do you mean—Forget it.”

Hands were on Denki’s waist as fast as he himself had moved in, pressed his lips to Bakugou’s. Again, again, again.

Until Bakugou pulled away with a hum, eyebrows drawing together as he looked down.

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.

A startled gasp awoke Izuku. The shock of cold air rushing into his lungs dizzying, sending him off balance as he pitched himself upward. His hands clutched at the edge of the bed, willing himself to stay steady as he stared at what he knew should be the floor. It was too dark to see. It was surrounding him. Entrapping him. It was his vision tunneling in on the collapsing structure and Shouto—

He was sweating. Knew from the feeling of it running down his face and his growing discomfort. Might have heard it hitting the floorboards if not for his ragged, heavy breaths demanding the space. The churning in his stomach had him leaning a little further over the ledge. If he lost his grip, if he just let go, he could go tumbling. Like Iida—He closed his eyes from the horror. A futile attempt. This would follow him wherever he turned. Sink its claws into him for eternity.

Fingers began to unfurl.

Knuckles brushed against the back of his neck before pulling away, taking the collar of his shirt with them. It peeled from him like a second skin, and for a moment Izuku was struck with panic that the oversized comfort was being taken from him. The thought was gone with the sudden shift in his position. It was gentle, smooth. Careful. An absence of abruptness as he was lifted upright. A hand moved back to hold behind his head.

“Gonna fall, nerd. Gotta tell me what’s up.”

It was groggy and rough. Would have been every bit as calming as it always had been if not for the dread racing through Izuku’s shaking form.

Izuku couldn’t look. Not to Katsuki. Not to the ceiling. Not up. Not to where he could see Mina careening toward the already crumbled concrete, broken into jagged pieces that could, would, did pierce through. Already rapid breaths picked up and skipped over each other amidst the realization that he truly couldn’t see. Couldn’t pinpoint everyone’s locations. Couldn’t save them with his body feeling so heavy and weak. Air stuck in his throat, and he would have given anything to dislodge it. Exhale it into Katsuki to provide crushed lungs one last breath to aid the word forming on his lips.

“Izuku.”

Fingers tilted his chin up and his eyes opened with rapid blinks at the call of his name. Soft light illuminated Katsuki from behind, a whisper of a glow tracing his figure. It brought a sliver of relief to Izuku, knowing it was all over for at least tonight.

Fingers threading through his curls and scratching gently seemed to relax every rigid muscle. It sent him collapsing into Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki quickly wrapped his free arm around Izuku’s middle, his other hand never leaving its grounding position.

Izuku felt the vibrations in Katsuki’s chest, breath fanning across the top of his head, as a quiet go ahead was spoken.

And the dam broke.

He broke.

Izuku clung, flung arms around trimmed waist, as the first cry escaped. A pathetic whimper more than anything. An embarrassing cluster of them amounting and piling upon each other as they wracked through him. He wanted to reach out, cram each of them back in and swallow them down alongside his pride; incoherent recollections of the sights his mind had provided left no room to do so as they began to pour out. Ramblings of Izuku’s predicted failures—the catalyst of others’ demises.

Eventually, the shaking subsided. Words fizzled out. Izuku allowed his mind to focus on the gentle sway Katsuki had them moving in. The way he was held a little tighter with each passing minute. The feeling of Katsuki’s pinky shifting to tuck the tag back into his stolen shirt.

With a sniffle, Izuku righted himself to face Katsuki. He opened his mouth to apologize but promptly shut it. It wasn’t what Katsuki wanted to hear. He knew that. They’d spent previous nights like this. Each ended with Izuku’s cheeks squished in Katsuki’s grasp as he was told apologies were never needed for his emotions. His anxieties. Izuku had always known Katsuki was a man of action and solutions, even if it had taken him a while to become accustomed.

“I’m so tired,” Izuku attempted to clear the scratch from his throat, swallowing to soothe it, “I hate this constant reminder that I could be… that I have to be better.”

The two stared at each other momentarily. Izuku searching for the annoyance and exhaustion that he knew deep down would never be there. Katsuki giving time for more to be spoken if need be.

“Idiot,” there was no bite to his words, “How could you of all people be better? You self-sacrificing, overachieving—D’you hit your head on patrol today? Forget you’re number-fucking-one? Can’t really get any better than that. Aren’t there for nothing either, you dumbass. You’re so… kind. To everyone. Pisses me off. Makes me want to eat you alive.”

He flexed his hand and pressed more into Izuku’s side. Comforting grasp turning into something more.

“Then do it.” The words were nearly lost in Izuku’s rush to clamber fully into Katsuki’s lap. His legs trapped Katsuki’s between them. Scarred fingers dug into broad shoulders. “Please, I want to forget. All of it. Just for tonight.”

A slight tug at his nape forced a hum out of Izuku. Katsuki brushed through Izuku’s hair as he moved to drag a thumb across Izuku’s still trembling bottom lip, tongue peeking out to chase the movement.

“No.”

Copper. Slight and sharp as Izuku brought his tongue back in and bit down. His mind began to spiral, imagining diving off the bed quick enough for Katsuki not to catch him this time.

Senseless.

Moronic.

“That’s not what you need,” Katsuki said.

Izuku was flipped onto his back before there was a chance for the confusion to clear, to take in that he hadn’t made a fool of himself. He blinked up at Katsuki’s looming, predatory smirk. Tried to fight the way his attention split between the steadily increasing heat on his hip and the pressure holding his wrists to the pillow above him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to return Katsuki’s stare. The intensity of it was too much. As Katsuki tilted his head, it change to pensive, bordering confused. He seemed to think aloud, “Really have no fucking clue, do you?”

Anticipation crept up Izuku’s spine, realizing the distance between them was shrinking. He let his head tip backward, eyes falling closed.

The soft press to his lips never came. Instead, it found its way a short distance higher. Made itself known as it traced the pattern of scars adorning his wrists to his fingertips.

“Able to hold up buildings like it’s nothing. Steady. Dependable.” Kisses became punctuation.

He had already latched onto the warmth pressed against him enough that he couldn’t help the whine that escaped his lips when it disappeared. Katsuki gave a sympathetic shush and dived back to Izuku’s neck. Sharp teeth pressed against slender expanse of exposed skin in a promise for more to come.

The hand at Izuku’s wrists moved down his arm, leaving prickling skin in their wake. Fingers left feather-light trails as they followed more scars lower and lower, reaching Izuku’s shoulder. The touches never become overwhelming. They had confidence in their movements, knowing nothing more was needed to have Izuku relax deeper into the sheets. Slower this time, they retraced their steps back up. Katsuki released his own groan as if just running his fingers along the muscles, hidden beneath sun-kissed skin, was enough for him. The sound pooled down Izuku’s throat like honey and aided the heat zipping through him, guiding it to settle in his stomach.

“God, does Sparks even realize how lucky he is every time you carry his sorry, zapped-out ass to safety? Should tear him apart—everyone for not worshiping, adoring—” Katsuki cut himself off as he sucked bruises into Izuku’s throat. Trailed them lower to decorate the sliver of collarbone on display. A final nip at the sensitive skin left only once Katsuki seemed pleased.

“But you know I never cared for sharing.”

Izuku thought on how lucky he was in moments like this. To be loved so wholly. To have someone who could put him back together by breaking him into pieces. To have Kacchan. Kacchan. Kacchan.

“Just like that. Beggin’ so pretty for me.”

Katsuki lifted Izuku’s shirt as he began to greedily take in the feeling of soft skin before easily maneuvering Izuku to remove it fully. Izuku’s thoughts started to slip, languidly drifting away his ability to speak anything but little noises. All for Kacchan.

Desperate for an anchor, his fingers grasping blond spikes. Curling and tightening as Katsuki’s mouth continued on its path lower and lower, teeth, lips, and tongue leaving traces of their devotion. Back arching, Izuku relished in the way the praise flooded his senses and flowed through his veins.

Protective.

Clever.

Reckless.

Courageous. Special. Darling.

It was too much. Not enough. A haze engulfed him as Katsuki kissed up his thighs.

“Adaptable. Worked harder than all those idiots to make sure you could still fight.” A bite. Sharp. Claiming. It had Izuku’s legs falling open a little more. “And thank fuck for that.”

He was unable to keep a grasp on things when lips moved just a tad higher. Surrounded Izuku with heat—wet and gentle and tight. A distraction from the eventual glide of fingers deep where Izuku needed. Pressing deeper at his command—more so a plea with the desperation on his tongue. Pulled more sounds that went unheard from the roar of blood in his ears.

Time passed in sensations.

Eyes glazed over with the lull of contentment and relief.

Cold air hitting saliva-sticky skin. A shiver rattling through him. Lips pressed quickly to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Izuku whined against Katsuki’s mouth. Easy slide of lips and tongue against teeth. The tender cradling of Izuku’s neck juxtaposed the new pressure between his thighs.

Heavy weight pressing in, driving forward. Deeper.

Eagerness and longing to hold onto this moment for weeks, keep the feeling of being complete. Full.

Wet lashes.

“Fuck, so pretty. Crybaby,” Katsuki groaned as he swiped a thumb across Izuku’s cheek. “My crybaby.”

Izuku wanted to nod, agree. His sluggish mind only managed a slow blink, a shallow sigh.

“Say it.” A demand.

“Crybaby.” A sigh.

“Whose?” Triumphant.

“Kacchan’s.” Blissful.

“And I only have the best. Don’t I, baby?”

Rapid clarity resurfaced Izuku as he snapped. Mouth falling open in a silent cry. Finally managing to hold the red gaze until Katsuki nearly collapsed forward. Izuku tightened his legs around Katsuki’s waist, and allowed himself to bask in the final bite at his shoulder, muffled encouragements, rumbled groans.

Panting breaths filled the new, comfortable silence. An ease into the afterglow.

Izuku kept himself wrapped around Katsuki while the promise of real sleep enticed him to start the descent. The silent request for Katsuki to stay was only met with gentle disconnection, a press to his temple, and a murmur to stay put.

And he did.

Willingly, gratefully.

Trusting Katsuki to keep the control he’d had. To keep taking care of him. To return to him. He knew Katsuki’s meticulous and practiced routine by touch and sound alone. Draining faucet, tender hands carefully rolling Izuku to his side, clicking of the lamp’s switch. Blanket tugged over the both of them—its safety incomparable to the arm and leg tossed over him. Enough warmth to pull Izuku fully under.

Enough to remind him that he would never truly fail.

Never fall.