Momo, as a policy, doesn't judge. It's simply not her place, and to think otherwise would be hubris. Who is she to hold a strong or upstanding opinion on a life that isn't hers, a story she plays little part in? She isn't a god, she isn't even someone who holds any ounce of authority beyond her prowess and prestige as a public guardian.
And matters of the heart are something you can't look up in any book, that follow no laws or even concrete rules, so these especially land outside her radar.
However - and there's always an exception to every fact or proclamation, no matter how certain they may seem - there are times when the sheer lunacy of a particular person or situation seems to slip past her denfses.
"Date me?"
Momo stares across the table at her friend of many years and contemplated exactly how they ended up in this particular situation.
"Katsuki, we talked about making it more obvious when you're joking, right?"
Bakugou looks offended at the mere motion that he might be joking, nose scrunching, the right side of his lip twitching in the way that says he's holding in an outburst - he's gotten a lot better at that. Knuckles blanching around the porcelain cup in his hands, he takes what seems to be a very unsatisfying deep breath before continuing,
"I'm not joking about this, Momo." Oh so he's serious? He never actually calls her by her name unless he's being serious.
Momo bites at the inside of her cheek - but why? Bakugou had never expressed romantic interest in her since their one, awkward kiss during spin the bottle at Sero's birthday party back when they were teenagers. And it's not like him at all to be spontaneous with feelings. If there's anything Momo knows about Katsuki Bakugou, it's that his emotions need time to build into something he can clearly label, otherwise he doesn't even entertain the idea of having them.
So why...
"Could you please explain further?" She tries her best not to sound too robotic - Bakugou once told her he hated how she sounded like some sort of hostess bot, polite to a fault and locking away her opinions.
"Eijirou wants to get everyone together this Friday." Oh yeah, Momo heard about that. She often sees her friends separately, but it would be lovely to have them all gathered on one place once again. In fact, she'd been planning on going anyway. Though she's not quite sure why Bakugou feels the need to bring that into the equation- "To show off his fiancée."
Oh. Now that part she didn't know.
In fact, she didn't know Kirishima was dating at all. Since his and Bakugou's mutual decision to remain friends after a turbulent month of trying romance on for size, the redhead had only taken one lover to Momo's knowledge, and they didn't exactly...last.
Though she supposes there isn't necessarily a reason she would know about the complex inner-workings of her high school friend's love lives...
"A fiancé...?" She murmurs, the words feeling strange on her tongue. "I didn't even know he was dating. Why didn't he mention that in the invite?"
Bakugou looks pained when he spares a glance out the window of the coffee shop to the dreary day outside - Momo hurts for him.
They may have broken up, if you really want to call it that, but Momo knows... She knows that Bakugou never really stopped...feeling for Kirishima, even if he hides those feelings under a layer of nonchalance and apathy thick enough to drive away even the most well-intentioned hearts.
But she also knows that it isn't her place to pass judgment on the state of their relationship. That's for them to figure out and her to support, so instead she drives the conversation back toward the topic at hand,
"So then why ask me out?" She takes a sip of her tea, hoping, maybe, that her friend will take the gesture for what it is - an attempt to assuage some of the tension lingering in the air. "I know we're close, but I'm almost positive you don't feel that way about me...right?"
Bakugou frowns but huffs nonetheless with his usual, sardonic grit, "Trust me, Ponytail, if I liked you there'd be a hundred better ways I could go about askin' you out."
Momo shouldn't find the nickname a relief, but she does. A chuckle escapes her lips, "That's good to hear, hoenstly, I'm not in the market for a partner at the moment."
That much she's sure she's already made clear to her friend. If twenty-five and single spells out nothing else, it's that.
"I'm asking you 'cause..." his sentence trails off, uncharacteristically tentative. Red eyes dart every which way as if to avoid Momo's own as he thumbs at his chapped bottom lip - hoenstly for as such good care of himself as Bakugou seems to take, he sure does a piss poor job of caring for his lips.
She's already fishing the flavorless chapstick (the only kind he'll use, kind you) out of her bag as he continues, "'Cause I don't wanna show up alone, alright?"
Such a declaration sounds strange coming from Bakugou Katsuki of all people - a man who, by all accounts, has never been afraid to be alone. In fact, if there's one thing Momo knows about him, it's that he prefers solitude to a great many things, if only becasue he doesn't really like most people.
But she can understand. Showing up to the pre-marital party of the man you are, by all accounts, head over heels for (he's never directly said it, so she's paraphrasing, making an educated guess, if you will) isn't exactly an easy thing to do, much less something you'd want to do alone.
"I see," she nods, passing the chapstick over the table and seeing the chagrin play out on Bakugou's face as he reluctantly takes it. She's tempted to ask why he's so hesitant to go alone, why he feels the need to be seen with someone, if only for the verbal confirmation that her hypothesis is correct. But she doesn't. She doesn't really need to know.
In fact, all she really needs to know is, "Why me, though? You're also close with Mina, are you not? I'm sure she'd be equally willing to help you out."
Bakugou makes a tortured face, an equally pained groan stage diving off his lips, "I'm close with Mina but...fucking...I'm closer with you," his facial muscles go through a whole array of emotions then, most of which Momo recognizes as at least one of the five stages of grief, before he drops his voice to a whisper. He grumbles, "You're one of my, fucking best friends." Quickly tacking on, "Don't repeat that. To anyone."
"My lips are sealed," but a smile is tugging at her lips regardless - even she has to admit their friendship is a strange one, and not one she would've entirely expected when Bakugou had taken one look at her during their first day at UA and sneered as though he were disgusted at the very idea of her existence.
But they'd grown close, been through a lot, bonded over interests Momo had never thought she would've shared with anyone. In the end, she can truly say she treasures Bakugou Katsuki.
"Besides, I think she already has a girlfriend," Bakugou mutters, taking his first sip of the coffee he's been nursing for the past half hour. "Saw a picture of them playing tonsil hockey on her lock screen. It was fucking disgusting."
Momo feels a giggle rise in her throat, "Careful, people might think the infamous Katsuki Bakugou is homophobic."
"You can't be fucking homophobic when you're the fucking homo in homophobic."
"I don't think that's how it works."
"What the fuck ever," he sniffs. He hunches over to stare into the dark pool of his coffee, a scowl pulling at the corners of his lips - he looks amazingly young considering how much he frowns. Good genes, she supposes. "The point is that Mina's not an option, and the only other friend I have who openly dates guys is Izuku."
He says the name with no small amount of disgust, and Momo can't pass up the chance at a jest.
"Aww," she pushes out her bottom lip. "Midoriya's your friend?"
"Fucking-" ears red as strawberries and cheeks following suit, the blond only barely manages to keep his voice at a public-appropriate level as he spits, "No. I meant like-...acquaintances."
"Mhm, I'm sure that's what you meant," Momo hums, feeling far too self satisfied as she leans on her palm. "Anyway, I'm perfectly fine with it, if that's really the image you're okay with projecting to the world."
And she truly means that. As public-facing as the life of a pro-hero is, who you're dating and when is always something to keep in mind. There could be any number of reasons that you're scrutinized, demeaned, even mistrusted for who you choose to be with. In the past heroes have been ridiculed to hell for dating other heroes, even members of the public who weren't deemed worthy enough to stand beside them or by concerned citizens who worry about the life of a pro's partner.
And they're valid concerns. Loving someone out in the open opens them up to all kinds of dangers, ones you have no way of predicting or preempting.
"People fucking love you," Bakugou huffs as if it's an insult. "If anything you'd probably raise my social image. Besides, if it's not you then I'm probably just gonna pay an escort to pretend date me for a night."
His expression sours at his own confession - honestly, it even sounded sad to Momo. But she doesn't say that out loud.
"You know...you could get a real boyfriend or girlfriend," she suggests, knowing very well what the answer will be.
"Fuck no! That's way too much work."
"And pretending to date me isn't?"
"All I have to do is show up to one party and occasionally bullshit questions about our relationship," he rolls his eyes as if she's asking him obvious questions. "Any shitty amateur actor can do that. Worst case scenario we just break up."
Momo has her doubts about that - doubts that mainly center around the fact that he's severely underestimating how many questions he's going to receive about dating anyone, much less another pro in his circuit. But she keeps those doubts to herself.
She has nothing against being in a fake relationship - at the very least, it would keep the press off her back about why she's still single during the dating prime of her life. If Bakugou thinks this is what's best for him, then she trusts him to know himself.
"Alright then, I suppose you're my boyfriend."
-
Eijirou prides himself on being an honest man, he really does.
But sometimes, sometimes, you're backed into a position such that lying - to yourself, to your friends - may very well be the only option. And sometimes, the lies are bigger than others.
"Dude," three in the morning and his fiancé, is rearranging the pillow wall they spent a ridiculous amount of time putting together in the first place. "I lost Carly Rae Adele-Jepsen Lucifer the Third again."
A sigh escapes his lips - great, another night of this, "Did you check the floor?"
He really doesn't want to go on a manhunt for Carly Rae Adele-Jepsen Lucifer the Third the frog plushie at three in the morning on a Wednesday night after being in the emergency room for two hours because Kiyana forgot to track him down before they got into bed.
"Yeah. And under the bed."
But he also doesn't want to stay awake for three more hours until Kiyana eventually knocks herself out talking because she can't get to sleep without Carly Rae Adele-Jepsen Lucifer the Third the frog plushie.
So he turns on the bedside lamp - the lesser of two evils in this particular situation - and scans their room with tired eyes, finding nothing but the usual with a pinprick of disappointment.
He really likes Kiyana, don't get him wrong. She's fun, bubbly, interesting, beautiful too, by all accounts. The kind of person you'd adore showing off to your friends and family because you just know they'd love her. The kind of person that has your mom calling her sweetheart fifteen minutes after meeting her.
But he doesn't love Kiyana. And he doesn't think he could love Kiyana, even if he tired his fucking hardest.
"I'm sorry," she says dejectedly as they tear apart their pillow wall in search of Carly Rae. "I really thought I'd be able to keep track of him but it's like he has a mind of his own."
Eijirou rubs at his eyes and attempts a smile that probably looks lifeless and lopsided given his current level of exhaustion, "It's fine. He's gotta be around here somewhere, right?"
In all honesty, he doesn't mind helping her find the frog - it means a lot to her. She's had it since she was thirteen, a good luck charm of sorts that got her through her father's first divorce. And his second. He can, however, admit to himself that he isn't psyched about the idea of getting only three hours of sleep because of Carly Rae and his mischievous antics.
But he bottles this discontent up.
"You know what, it's fine!" Kiyana cuts in suddenly, voice far too bright, and a whole lot too awake for the hour. The look on her face is a plastic smile. "It's fine, for real. I can make do without him for one night. Honestly, you just spent your night at the hospital and here I am complaining about a fucking stuffed animal," a stilted laugh and the softer, "you're probably exhausted."
See? This is why he can never hold a grudge against her (disregard the fact that his grudge-holding skills are underdeveloped at best in the first place).
"'Yana, you're gonna be up," there should've been more words in that sentence but he doesn't currently have the brain power to think of what they might be. She bats a hand in front of her dismissively.
"It's fine," she insists, already turning to the edge of the bed to slip on her frog slippers. "I'm not the one who has work bright and early tomorrow. I'll just see if there are any coffee shops still open and I can look for Carly Rae in the morning."
Eijirou grouses at the idea of her going out alone in the dead of early morning - call him old fashioned, but she's 5,2 and a hundred and twenty pounds. Even if she had a combat-ready quirk (which the ability to talk to animals is not), her lack of training and physical stature would put her at an automatic disadvantage.
"Are you sure?" He asks, reflexive as it is. "We have coffee here."
"I'm sure. If I keep making noise around the apartment you're gonna be up all night," She's right about that much. Plus she's already slipping on a sweater and sweatpants, combing her hair out with her fingers to a semi-presentable level of tameness. "I'll be super safe and careful, pinky promise. Plus we live in a safe area."
At least that much is true. And worst comes to worst he's technically on-call twenty-four-seven.
"Mmkay," he settles on, knowing it's a fruitless battle anyway - and that he's liable to pass out at any second.
She does him the courtesy of turning off the bedside lamp as he flows on his stomach, face against the pillows now strewn about.
In a voice diluted by the sleep already pulling at the corners of his mind, she whispers, "Sleep tight, Eijirou." And it's sweet, and sincere, and he thanks his lucky stars that, if he's going to be forced to marry anyone, at the very least, it's someone kind.
So no, he doesn't love Kiyana. But he does like her.
-
"I'm not wearing this shit."
When Katsuki emerges from the bathroom - in a tailored tux that he fucking hates, but the way - Momo looks at him with a familiar expression of unrestrained glee. She's not a normal rich kid by any means, Katsuki can attest to that, but she does have her moments. One of those moments, unfortunately, culminating in the overwhelming need to get Katsuki a new tux.
"I don't have the fuckin' budget for that, Ponytail," he'd told her as she steered him toward a stuffy traitors shop. "I ain't goin' bankrupt for a fucking suit. I have better things to spend money on."
To which she'd reminded him, most infuriatingly, that he's one of the most famous pro heroes in Japan and that, yes, he does have the budget for that, before assuring him that she'd pay for everything herself - like she always does.
He swears on god that she must have a solid potential career on Wallstreet because there's absolutely no way she spends this much money and still has so much left without a killer level of financial literacy. She's scary that way.
"You look so good!" Palms pressed to her cheeks she looks at him as if she'd sewn the suit herself by hand.
"Take a fuckin' picture it'll last longer." Maybe he feels a little bit of guilt (the tiniest almost barely perceptible hint) - after all, she did by him a really expensive article of clothing that he can probably rewear in lieu of buying something new for every formal event he's forced to go to. But he didn't even want it. And he feels lame wearing it to boot. "Now I'm changing outta this before anyone has the chance to see me in it."
He begins to maneuver himself back toward the bathroom before there's a hand on his arm, trapping him with a vice grip - for someone who projects such elegance and grace, Momo sure does have a grip like a fucking gorilla.
"No you don't," she says lightly. "You are not showing up to a black-tie dress-coded event wearing ripped jeans. It's disrespectful."
How the fuck did she know?
"Okay well you don't fuckin' know that I was gonna wear that specifically," he whips back.
She rolls her eyes, "It's literally all you own," and a sneer involuntarily curls his lips.
"I own regular jeans too."
"And I'm extremely proud of you for it," Momo Yaoyorozu certainly has a way with sarcasm when she wants to. Releasing his arm, she takes a step back. "Now, let's practice your manners."
"I'm not fuckin' five years old."
"Let's practice them anyway," she smiles lightly at him, though there's warning hidden behind it. "I told you you look nice, what do you say back?"
He snorts, "You look hot, I'd tap that."
The look on her face says it all.
"No, try again."
"Bangin' tit window."
"No."
He hates it here.
"You..." god being formal is for losers. But he knows she's not going to let him go until he says it, so he chokes out, "Look nice."
As cringe as it is to sound like a teenager talking to his prom date, it is true, at the very least.
She wears a form-fitting dress that hugs her hips and shows off her legs, a rounded cut out at the chest giving the dress sex appeal while still keeping it classy. And her hair is swept back in a bun, glossed lips matching simple eyeliner. She looks hot, he'd tap that, if either of them had any desire too.
She smiles graciously at him, cloying, even, like a mother praising a child.
"Well done," he rolls his eyes - now that was a jab, and not even a well concealed one at that. "And I would say thank you."
"Looks like you've been practicing your manners too." She looks absolutely affronted at the snark.
"What a way to treat your girlfriend, Katsuki, I mourn for your past lovers."
He's a big enough person to admit that she pulls from him his first genuine laugh of the night, even if he does try his damndest to choke it down - it's also probably his last, if he's being honest.
He really doesn't want to go to this...thing.
He doesn't want to sip on champagne he doesn't even like for three hours while people ask him questions about his life that even he doesn't have answers to. He doesn't wantto fake date his friend and pretend to be happy doing it. He doesn't want to get all dressed up so he can meet the fiance of the man he l- used to date and feel like shit about it all night.
And he will feel like shit about it, even if he fights the internal battle with himself to just not care, he'll always lost one hundred percent of the time when it comes to Eijirou Kirishima. So no he doesn't want to go to this stupid party with all his stupid classmates and his stupid best friend.
But he's going to. Because more than he is an ex-boyfriend or some pathetic love story that barely got a chance to start, Kirishima Eijirou is his friend. His best friend. And he'll be damned if he doesn't support his best friend, even if it sucks and makes him feel like he's going to throw up before they've even gotten in the car.
"Katsuki," Momo waves a hand in front of his face what could have been minutes or hours later, snapping him back to reality. As a knee-jerk reaction, he scowls. "Are you okay? You spaced out."
He doesn't know how to answer her on that.
'Okay' is such a nebulous word - it could mean a lot of things. 'Okay' could mean something as complex as being happy, content, even, with the state of his life, or something as simple as not being on the verge of a full break with reality.
He licks his lips, a stinging sensation arising at their dryness, "I'm fine. I just don't wanna go to this fucking thing."
Momo gives him a sad look at that - and yeah, he knows why. (She probably thinks she's hiding it well, but she's never really been able to wear her heart anywhere other than her sleeve. It's morbidly endearing.) But he's not going to give her the satisfaction of confirming it.
As far as she should care, he and Eijirou Kirishima are perfectly platonic, normal, completely uncomplicated best friends.
"Calm your tits, Ponytail," he grits out - if there's one thing he hates more than being forced to go to shit he doesn't want to go to, it's being pitied. Pity is for people who actually need it, and Bakugou Katsuki decidedly does not. "I just hate champagne and it's all they ever seem to fucking serve at black-tie events or whatever you called it."
-
a/n - you know a year ago when people on this hellsite emotionally destroyed me over my mha opinions I thought I was never going to write for this fandom again. but those stupid fuckers only made me stronger. but like also pls be nice to me I haven't written for bnha in over a year.