"If a hot chick tried to pick me up, would you fight for me?"
"Only the normal amount before eventually conceded to the obvious chemistry between you two." Eijirou already hates this venue - it's huge and too expensive and paid for handsomely by the Nijimura's and exactly the opposite of what Eijirou would want, had he any choice in the matter. But no, it's barely his party to hold. In fact, he's more of a side character at this event than he is the man of the hour.
"Wouldn't that look strange, though? Letting your wife run off with a sexy stranger?" Kiyana should probably not be eating all the hors d'oeuvres before the guests even get here, but such doesn't really seem to be her concern as she sticks yet another cheese cube in her mouth.
"Wouldn't it look strange that my straight wife is being wooed by a hot chick?"
"Touché." Her French is terrible, absolutely abysmal. He doesn't know how she managed to pronounce the one French word universally known by everyone everywhere, but she's once again managed to surprise him. She snorts out of the blue, "Imagine liking men, holy shit."
"Hey, don't knock it 'till you've tried it," he mimes the time-out gesture at her snacking - even Kiyana Endless Appetite Nijimura could probably stand to slow down a bit or her parents are liable to blow a fuse when she doesn't actually eat during the prescribed meal time. They're big on manners, or whatever. Not that Eijirou isn't, just that...he's not that big on it.
So big that a simple get together with his friends had to turn into a full on seven-course dinner party with champagne and speeches from famous pros and food catered by Michelin star chefs. So big that a hundred other ppl who aren't even close to being friends of his have suddenly been invited to what was supposed to be a private event.
He sighs, already tired. God he hates being tired. It's so not like him. Last June he was named most personable hero by the general public for his upbeat attitude and positivity in the face or mortal peril. Or soemthing like that.
Now he feels...washed up? Is that the right word? Maybe not. His career is going better than ever, he just moved into an apartment way nicer than the one he'd been basically squatting in since he moved out, he just got engaged for fuck's sake...
So why does he feel so fucking exhausted?
"Do you need like...a Monster or soemthing? Because I can probably get you that," in the blink of an eye, Kiyana is in front of him. She looks like a goddess in her silky-white gown, strings of pearls around her neck, hair swept into a style Eijirou doesn't have a name for, jem-studded, cheeks rosy and glittering with highlighter.
He should feel extremely lucky. And he kind of does, on some level. He feels lucky that he didn't have to marry a straight girl. Not that there's anything wrong with straight girls, just that they might have some expectations of Eijirou would be incapable of catering to.
"Huh?" He belatedly processes her question.
"I said do you need a Monster? Or like a shot of espresso?" For as made up as she is, she certainly doesn't look the lady her well-to-do parents would want her to be, leaning on her hip, mouth half full with a mini-quiche. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm good, no I'm fine," he leans on the bar in his best attempt at nonchalance. People will be arriving any minute, he can't be looking like he's not enjoying himself - his future in-laws and consequently his mother would have a collective stroke. After all, appearances are what's most important, right? "I'm just a little tired from..."
From? His mind can't conjure a single thing he did today other than drive here, and that only took twenty minutes.
"From sleeping until noon and getting your hair done?" Kiyana jests, far too perky considering they're about to be subjected to hours of socialization that, frankly, he's fairly sure neither of them want to do. Despite being raised as a public figure, Kiyana herself is far too eager to get out of the spot light whenever physically possible. He must not answer fast enough, for she takes his silence as a negative. "I'm fuckin' with you. All this appearance-keeping bullshit gets old after a while."
She can say that again. If he'd wanted to get his appearance ruthlessly picked apart then put back together again piece by piece, he could've gone to Mina and received arguably more satisfactory results.
"God you can say that again," he scrubs a hand down his face, slapping both cheeks, and forces himself to focus.
They're only standing there for a couple minutes more in silence before the grand double-doors carved ornately of cherrywood suddenly fling open, startling him to attention.
People flood in after cursory checks by the guards at the entryway - Eijiro has to admit there's some embarrassment on his part at that. He understands that with so many pro heroes gathering in the same place, it's basically a perfect venue for any malcontented villain to take them all out at once. But that doesn't mean he doesn't hates the fact that ppl he's known for almost a decade now are being one step short of strip-searched.
He turns his face back to Kiyana, probably wearing what is no doubt a pained expression - if her equally wounded attempt at a smile is anything to go by.
-
Katsuki can already feel his anger swelling as this glorified bouncer pats him up and down for the second fucking time. And all because he'd gotten a little mouthy when his probing hands had reached the crotch area - how was he supposed to know that this was routine for Eijirou's new fancy-pants in-laws? Fucking humiliating, that's what this is. Sitting here getting frisked with the anger levels of a man who just watched someone shoot their dog.
Momo waits patiently near the entrance, a polite smile clearly masking the urge to laugh. God he already hates it here - when Eijirou had invited them here, he'd expected small, likely less torturous gathering of only him and their insufferable classmates. Not this pretentious bullshit.
Katsuki Bakugou rarely feels outclassed by anything, almost nothing can make him feel truly small, inconsequential, out of place. But this - the high ceilings, the crystal chandeliers, the gold-plated...everything - this makes him feel out of his depth.
There's nothing to conquer in this environment, no enemies to fight, just domestic socialization and smiling for the cameras. He hates that shit.
Blessedly, finally, they let him through like two cops releasing him into the custody of his "girlfriend". Momo extends an arm to him gracefully, pursing glossed lips to stifle a what is clearly building into a giggle. Great, his mood is already shit and they've barely stepped into the building. This night is going to be hell.
That said, he supposes there's always room for improvement.
"Hey buddy!" A familiar voice echoes as the full weight of a familiar body crashes against his own, nearing sending them both careening backward and ripping his arm from Momo's. Eijirou.
The redhead draws him into a hug that's far too tight and doesn't last nearly long enough - maybe it's a weird thing to notice, but he smells good, not like he usually does, but good nonetheless. Lavender and mint aren't typically Eijirou's M.O, but he supposes it must be a side effect of his new...fiancé.
Katsuki bristles at his own thoughts.
"Didja miss me?" Eijirou pulls back with a pat to his shoulder - is that really even a question when the redhead smiles that bright, genuine smile at him?
"Shitty hair," he grunts because a straight up 'yes' would be far too suspicious - and entirely out of character, by the way. Eijirou simply grins at him, blindingly.
God he looks good, all dressed up in a fancy suit and shit, hair pulled back into a bun, all broad shoulders and sharp edges. Katsuki feels like he's given himself whiplash just staring at him. And the situation doesn't get any better when the redhead slips an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in jovially.
Katsuki's going to have a stroke before the night is over, he's almost sure of it.
"Never gonna lose that nickname are we?"
Katsuki huffs, suppressing a smile as best he can, "Whenever your hair becomes un-shitty then we will."
"Excuse you," Eijirou says, but a smile is tugging at one corner of his lips. "My hair is better."
"Than it was."
It's so easy to slip back into old patterns - one thing he's thankful for among this shit show. At the very least there's no rigidity, none of that absent tension that had pervaded the week after they "broke up", if you can even call it that. Eijirou would never let them fall apart that easily.
He supposes that's the difference between them.
He's about to continue with their mindless back and forth but falls short when a woman Katsuki can only assume is his best friend's fabled fiancé strides up to them gracelessly. She's dressed to the nines in a silk gown and what have got to be diamond earrings, but she's as clumsy and down to earth as Eijirou is, nearly tripping in multiple inch heels.
Dammit, she's already endearing. Katsuki hates her.
"You must be Bakugou! I'm Kiyana, Eijirou's fiancé!" She chirps in a voice that's huskier than he was at first imagining. When Eijirou had described her as a rich girl, he'd imagined someone elegant, demure. Nothing like the bull in the metaphorical China shop of grace and dignity he's witnessing now. "I've heard so much about you!"
Katsuki greets her with a stare and a sneer, lip curling on instinct - Denki always told him he looked like a feral dog, but honestly he begs to differ. He's going for don't fucking talk to me.
Eijirou smacks him upside the head, "Kats, be nice!"
"I am bein' nice!" By his standards, at the very least. He thinks not telling her to fuck off while he's conversing with the only person he really cares about talking to at this hell-party is being extraneously nice, actually.
"Not nice enough!" The redhead hisses.
"Fine," he supposes he can be a tad bit more decorous to the person his closest friend is getting married to, even if it burns him up inside for reasons he doesn't particularly feel like exploring at the moment. He nods his chin toward her, "Hey."
"You're literally hopeless."
Kiyana jumps in to save them from any more ambling bickering - not that Katsuki sees it as much of a service. Eijirou is the only person at this thing he actually wants to be around, but instead of spending time with his best friend, he's forced to engage in small talk with Kiyana of all people.
"I hear you're slated for number one again this year, Bakugou?"
Eijirou beams at that, grin stretching between rosy cheeks as he tacks on, "He's been slated for number one since we were fifteen."
"Woulda got it last year too if Deku weren't such a fuckin' try hard," he huffs through his nose, still feeling the bitterness of last year's defeat on his tongue. Maybe he should be old enough now to let go of old grudges, let bygones be bygones, to truly make an attempt at friendship with Izuku Midoirya...maybe he should, but at the same time, he really doesn't want to.
Nothing against the green-haired little fuck, but Katsuki is better than him. He knows it.
Eijirou laughs, a stupid little giggle that makes his heart feel tight and strained in his chest.
"One of these days, you'll have to admit he's earned your respect."
"Not a fuckin' chance."
Kiyana mimics Eijirou's smile, but it's not an exact reflection - her's is strained and uneasy, likely not knowing that Katsuki's attitude is commonplace. She better get used to it real fuckin' fast. Maybe it's ungracious of him to think like that, but at the same time, he doesn't even want to be here. He feels like he should be commended for his good behavior just for showing up.
"By the way," Kiyana butts in, demanding small talk - Katsuki is seconds away from turning on his heel to leave, hopefully find some isolate corner to sulk in until the night is over. "I saw you walking in with Creati? Is she your girlfriend?"
My...Katsuki's brain stalls out. Girlfriend? That was definitely not the vibe he was intending to give off.
He was going for the relationship level of someone you take to a wedding because everyone else is going to have a plus one and you don't, leaving you hopelessly humiliated in front of all your relatives. Girlfriend is absolutely not what he was going for and honestly, he finds the very notion appalling.
But his brain doesn't work fast enough to say as much, apparently.
"I-"
"You and Yaomomo are..." Oh god, Eijirou is looking at him with those wide fucking eyes of his, enormous and curious and adorable and intent on stopping Katsuki's heart where it beats too fast in his chest. Voice caught in his throat, he barely gets out a weak whimper that sounds like a kicked puppy (fucking embarrassing) before Eijirou is breaking into a smile. "That's amazing dude!"
That stings a little bit for reasons he refuses to analyze or even acknowledge.
"We-"
"I knew you guys were close. I didn't think that was what your relationship was like, but still," Eijirou rambles on in that way of his - usually it only happens when he's stressed or over-excited, and it's honestly hard to distinguish between the two. Katsuki usually finds it morbidly endearing, but at the current moment he swears it's going to send him to an early grave. "I would ask if you think she's good for you but, I mean, this is Yaomomo we're talkin' about, she's good for everyone-"
Amidst his prattling, Kiyana raises a curious eyebrow, manicured finger curling around her flute of champagne.
"I feel like I have to meet her now."
And all too suddenly, Eijirou is pulling away from his side, back to his fiance, leaving Katsuki with an undue feeling of jealousy that burns acrid like bile in his throat - god, he fucking hates it here.
"You'll love her, dude," he should've known Eijirou would call his fiancé dude. That's what he'd called Katsuki when they were together. In fact, he'd even called Katsuki 'dude' when he'd had is dick buried in the blond's throat. It's nice to know he's consistent. "She's amazing. Does beg the question though, how'd you manage to bag her?"
Oh Katsuki? How did someone like him manage to woo someone like Momo Yaoyorozu? Funny he should ask. Is there a way to say "I didn't" without making it sound shady?
Katsuki Bakugou has many talents, but lying on the spot doesn't seem to be one of them - at least not in this situation. It's disgusting but he's sweating buckets. One more push and he's liable to level the entire building.
But before he gets the chance, there's a hand at the small of his back, the sweet smell of his girlfriend's perfume reaching him subtly. Daring a glance to the side, he finds that, of all the people who could've deescalated this situation, he did not happen to get one of them.
"I heard my name?" Momo stands next to him, now a few inches taller than him in stiletto heels.
"Oh my god she's tall," Kiyana's eyes blow wide as if she's never seen a woman over six-foot before, tongue darting between her lips as she looks Momo up and down. "Hey," Kiyana extends a hand to Momo - apparently more deserving of a handshake than Katsuki. "I'm Kiyana, you can call me Yana, though."
"It's lovely to meet you, Kiyana," Momo provides her with that award-winning smile, long lashes fluttering as her eyes scrunch.
"You're Bakugou's girlfriend, I take it?"
"Girlfriend? I-" Momo looks to him only briefly, as if begging for some sort of cue or direction, to which he silently responds by widening his eyes in a way that he hopes screams, please just get us out of here. Apparently, he's not clear enough, or she's intentionally ass-fucking this night and Katsuki's sanity with it, though that doesn't sound like something Momo would do, so it must be his lackluster non-verbal communication skills. Because she says exactly the opposite of what he needs her to, "Yes, I'm his...girlfriend."
And if Katsuki thought that was the worst of it, he must be dumber than he'd initially assessed himself to be, because it's at that moment that cameras flash. He'd almost lulled himself into believing there wouldn't be press at this stupid thing. What an idiot he was.
A scowl pulls at his lips, rage and embarrassment engaging in a heated footrace to determine what will instigate his full scale meltdown first.
His blood pumps through his veins, angry and too fast, in a way it never does in combat - this is so much worse than any stupid battle or fight with a villain, and he's so much less equipped to handle it. There's nothing to fight here but his own psyche, nothing to stand against but the past version of himself who'd had such a grandiose sense of control over his life that he'd conned himself into believing this was a good idea.
God, why tonight? Didn't he have enough problems just coming here? Having to see Eijirou be happy without him? Didn't he already have enough on his plate trying not to humiliate himself trying to get into this stupid fucking building that's built like a fucking castle-
"Hey, Kats," Eijirou draws him back to reality, back from the brink, from the pounding in his ears and the too-loud pumping of his blood with a hand on his shoulder. Earnest eyes pour into his, upturned brows asking silent questions. "Take a breath, yeah?"
Katsuki spares a glance to the side where Momo's done him the favor of not acknowledging his near-breakdown, continuing to force idle chatter with Kiyana so as not to disrupt the flow of the night.
He nods, not feeling particularly up to words now.
Forcing a deep breath, he feels rational thought trickle back to him in pieces - okay, there are cameras, and people all around, and he fucking sees Deku of all people chatting too excitedly with Iida and Uraraka in a far corner of the room. Those guys never change. Always the same, hyped-up trio.
He sees the rest of his former classmates dotting around the expansive dining hall, interspersed with pro-heroes he recognizes from other districts. He sees people he has no concept of names for mingling as though there belong there. And suddenly he feels a little less small, a little less dwarfed by arching ceilings and towering columns.
Momo and Kiyana have departed for the bar - god please let it be an open bar - leaving only him and Eijirou, exactly how he wanted.
"You okay, bro?" Except that suddenly, it's not what he wants because he doesn't know how to describe what just happened, nor does he have any explanation for his new girlfriend or how he got her in the first place.
Normally he would shrug off the hand on his shoulder, humiliated by the mere notion that he needs someone to keep him in control when 'es completely fucking lost it. But he doesn't. Once he does, Eijirou will probably flee back to his fiancé, leaving Katsuki to alone with his malcontent. So he lets his best friend hold on just a little longer, looking at him with enormous eyes.
"There's an open bar, right?"
-
"Would it be considered slutty if I wanted to bang your best friend's girlfriend?"
Eijirou reluctantly draws himself away from a very heated debate about the merits of high-waisted jeans (of which Katsuki believes there are none) to look up at his face-mask-clad fiancé, who currently looks like she could land herself a leading role in a live action Shrek reboot.
Arms folded, she tucks her hands into her armpits contemplatively, leaning with a pout against the door frame to the bathroom.
Honestly, he'd expected at least one sexual comment about Yaomomo to slip during the duration of the night. He's actually proud of her for having reigned herself in all the way through dinner, so much so that he'd almost convinced himself that she was cured of whatever horny she's been ailed with for quite a while now.
"I wouldn't..." He starts, feeling awkward with the knowledge that his finacé is lusting over his former classmate turned best-friend's girlfriend. He's man enough to admit that Yaomomo is an incredibly attractive woman, beyond attractive, actually. But for lack of a better way to classify his fiancés behavior... "I wouldn't use the word slutty..."
"So, yes, then," Kiyana runs her tongue across her teeth. "Man, how were you not constantly bricked up going to high school with her?"
Eijirou's going to give her a minute to think about that one. Why was he, a gay man, not joining the rest of his peers (regardless of gender) in lusting after Momo Yaoyorozu as a hormonal teenager? He's sure it'll come to her eventually.
In fact, he sees the moment she realizes what she said play out in real time on her face, the lime-green face mask scrunching where her eyebrows push up against her forehead.
Bringing her fingers to her lips she drops her voice to nearly a whisper, "Oh shit I forgot you're gay."
Eijirou purses his lips to suppress a laugh.
"Yeah, just a little bit."
Kiyana seems to retreat back into the bathroom with shame, muttering something to herself that definitely includes the words "dumb bimbo bitch" as she peels off her face mask, flipping it into the trash can like a dead fish.
"So how was it seeing your blond boy toy all dressed up?" Eijirou already feels a sigh welling up in his chest - he knew this would come up, it always does when he spends time with Katsuki, no matter how many times he reminds her there's nothing between them. "I saw you lookin' at him like you wanted to drop to your knees and suck his cock in the middle of the dining hall. I could feel the lust radiating off of you-"
"You know, when I agreed to marry you I didn't think you'd be this vulgar," he says just to shut her up, and hopefully purge any of the vivid imagery she'd just burned into the front of his mind. He doesn't want to suck Katsuki Bakugou's dick, okay? Even if he had looked really, really good all dressed up in a suit. He doesn't.
He has nothing but completely normal, friendly, platonic best friend feelings for Katsuki, and it's always been that way. And even if he did have slightly more than completely normal, friendly, platonic best friend feelings for his best friend, he wouldn't do himself the disservice of saying it out loud.
He's...happy with the way things are between Katsuki and him. He couldn't ask for anything more.
"I'm not vulgar, I'm truthful," ah yes, that age-old excuse.
"You un-ironically used the word 'cock' in a sentence."
"I thought it was a little classier than 'dick', sue me," Kiyana's rosy-cheeked face pops out of the bathroom, moisturizer sitting in pale swatches under her eyes. "And besides, you're deflecting because you know I'm right and you hate being wrong."
"Katsuki and I are just friends," it feels like a tired line by now, and he knows Kiyana is tired of hearing it. But it's the truth.
Kiyana, however, doesn't care about the truth, "Sorry can you try again? I don't speak complete and utter bullshit."
"Yana, we dated a re-"
"Really long time ago for less than a month," she bristles as she pulls her hair from it's ponytail, forcing a brush through accumulated tangles. "I know. You mention it so excessively that I'm beginning to think you might not be as friendly with Bakugou as you claim."
Sometimes, sometimes, he gets frustrated with this facet of his fiancé's personality. Sometimes he gets fed up with her stubborn insistence, with her prying nature - it all stems from her inherent selflessness, from the care for others that she totes around in the same way she wears her heart on her sleeve. But it can be so goddamn infuriating sometimes.
Because sometimes he doesn't want to think about how Katsuki made him feel in the short time they were together. Sometimes all he wants to do is sleep off a night of tedious small talk and fastidious socialization.
"Alright, that's enough awake-time for you," he slumps back onto their bed and shuts off the light on his side table, tilting his gaze up toward the ceiling and hoping to god that he doesn't dream tonight. He needs a mental break.
"That sounds like something a serial killer would say," Kiyana steps out of the bathroom, clad in her nighttime sleep set with hair frizzy from over-brushing. She presses her hands into her hips."Are you going to murder me in my sleep, Eijirou."
"You have a vivid imagination."
"That is not a no."
"Do you have Carly Rae?" He remembers to check this time before they officially turn off the lights - just to spare them both a bit of late-night trouble.
Kiyana simply provides him with a dutiful nod as she fishes the worn frog plushie out from under her pillow. Its once bright green fur is matted and faded with age, too many patches made from any available material thrown haphazardly across limbs that are hanging on by a thread. And he's missing an eye, but she holds him up as though he's some sort of trophy, and Eijirou finds himself horribly endeared.
"I stashed him so I wouldn't forget."
-
Momo wouldn't say she's been thrown into a lot of buildings, but she's had her fair share of impacts with brick walls and glass windows. This might be one of the worst, though, she thinks.
If she hadn't broken most of the bones in her body, she'd probably have the humor to laugh about it. But currently, she's feeling a bit...for lack of a better word, boneless. And laughing seems like something of a chore with multiple broken ribs. There's a cost to everything, including taking down a mutant as the only hero in the immediate vicinity not already called away.
Sometimes she questions what exactly made her want to choose the profession of hero - there are a lot of people with powerful quirks and the drive to save others. She doesn't even have the raw power of someone like Midoriya or Bakugou. She could've been a librarian. She could've worked in a book store with one of those little coffee shops built in.
She certainly wouldn't have fractured what is definitely most of her body in a bookstore.
It takes only seconds for two familiar faces to arrive on the scene - Momo appreciates their concern but she definitely could've used their assistance fifteen minutes ago when she was getting smacked into an apartment complex.
Boy is she about to have some lawsuits on her hands. You always try to minimize damage, but it can be hard to worry about chaos management when your body is flying through the air at an ungodly speed.
"Ponytail!"
"Momo!"
God, she is in so much pain.
"I think..." she groans as Bakugou face comes into view, "I think I broke a few things..."
She would take a few minutes to analyze the barely there, horribly uncharacteristic concern written across her friend's face were she not in excruciating pain. When she'd woken up this morning, she had not expected to end the day...like this.
"A few?" A signature smirk of relief digs at Bakugou's lips as he examines her up and down. "Fuck, Ponytail, you look like a broken doll."
She can admit that bruises her ego. She's not terribly insecure about her appearance, but she supposes, if there were ever a time to worry about what she might look like, this would be it.
"I'll be fine. Recovery Girl is a miracle worker."
Another hand places itself on her other shoulder, and she dares a look up despite the aching in her head to find one of her favorite people - possibly ever.
"Hey, Shouto." She lets a smile play across her lips - it's been so long since she's been able to talk to Shouto Todoroki outside a professional context. She should really work harder at maintaining her social life.
Though it's an absent though when Bakugou says,
"Let's get you up-" Because even though Momo appreciates his attempts at getting her on her feet, his hand under her back and his fingers wrapped around her wrist make her body scream in pain and protest.
"No no no," she thinks it would probably be better to wait for emergency services to arrive before trying to move. At all. In fact, maybe she could just stay like this for the rest of her life - sure her bones would heal weird and her career would be over and she'd look like a budding psychopath child fucked up their Barbie doll, but it seems a small price to pay. "In pain."
Just this once, her boyfriend, seems to take mercy on her, for he lays her back down with a great deal of care and a plethora of painful cracking sounds that, trust her, feel much worse than they sound.
"Well, on the bright side, you're going to be every headline for the next few weeks," Shouto says, monotone as always with as little expression as usual - he's never had the best bedside manner, but she can tell he's trying. Momo can honestly say she appreciates the effort.
She forces a laugh through cracked ribs (a bad idea, for future reference, should you be thinking of utilizing it yourself), "For taking down a five-story mutant or cracking every bone in my body like a glow stick?"
"You are glowing." Heterochromatic eyes scrunch slightly at the corners - practically a grin in the context of Todoroki Shouto.
It's amazing how much smoother he's gotten since high school. Even in their third year he could barely conduct a cursory interview without choking on his own spit at least once out of nerves. And now look at him, flirting awkwardly and biting back a smile.
Momo commends him - honestly, it's a good look.
"Stop flirting with my fucking girlfriend!" Bakugou cuts back in just as the sounds of sirens crest around the street corner.
Right. She has a boyfriend now, strange as that is. She'd never imagined herself being with anyone really, but even if she had, Bakugou wouldn't even make the top ten.
"Apologies. Your relationship is truly strange," Shouto seems to find as much novelty in it as she does. "We do have to get you off the ground, though."
All at once, the ease and joviality of the moment is gone - that sounds like an absolutely horrible idea. Or, at the very least, an idea that would involve a lot of physical anguish on her part, which automatically makes it a horrible idea.
"No," but Bakugou is already pushing at the - auspiciously uninjured - space between her shoulder blades, forcing her to an egregiously excruciating sitting position. Did she break her hips too? Honestly, she probably did. She whines because it's all she feels capable of doing at the moment, "No please just let me die here."
"It's us or them," Shouto says, not unkindly, nodding toward the paramedics rushing toward them. She supposes that's true, but she also knows that she might do anything - and she means anything - to have five more minutes on the fractured, rocky ground that digs into the skin of her arms. She feels like she's been sent back to her teenage years, begging Iida to let her sleep in just a few more minutes.
Only this time instead of a sleepiness she can't kick its every muscle fiber in her body screaming out in agony.
"Oh god please, just make it fast."
-
"Hey, girlfriend."
Bakugou says as he enters her hospital room, a blatant show to any passersby that he has never had a girlfriend in his entire life.
"You don't know how straight people talk to each other, do you?"
"Neither of us are straight people."
And while that's true, at the very least, Momo has had more girlfriends than him, so she feels that should qualify her for some elevated status, even if she's not an expert on the inner-workings of most relationships, "Touché, but we can at least make an attempt."
He grunts as he takes a seat on the ugly chair placed in the corner across from Momo's bed - it's a dreary, run-down looking thing, upholstered in worn leather and making a poor attempt at bringing up the class of the room. Momo doesn't mind it so much.
She's intimately familiar with high-class hospitals. They always feel cold and unfamiliar, no matter how often you see them or how many copies of the same, polished room you walk into. Normal hospitals feel oddly home-y to her.
After a moment of silence, Bakugou looks up at her, completely deadpan. "I'm glad you're okay." Which is about as soft and smushy of an admission as you're going to get form him. So Momo holds it close to her chest silently - because there's no way in hell he'd ever say it again if she acknowledged it (that much she's learned) - cherishes the rare display of caring. Even if he does quickly follow it up with, "You were fucking disgusting today, by the way."
"Wow, low blow," she fakes hurt but honestly, she's well-aware. The overhead coverage of her fight with the mutant was less than flattering to her form - well, what little form she had with her limbs bent at inhuman angles. "It's not my fault my musculature was turned into ground beef-"
Bakugou snorts as if she's said something funny, "I'm talking about with your fucking boy toy, Todoroki." Oh. "You're glowing." He mocks.
Momo huffs a laugh through her nose - there's no thing between her and Shouto. They're friends, that's all. That's all they've ever been. And sure, she may miss him, and yes, they may have been absurdly close in high school, and okay, he's one of her favorite people in the world, platonic or otherwise, but, her life has been too much of an emotional roller coaster as of late to entertain the idea of a partner.
Besides, she's one hundred percent sure that Shouto Todoroki would not be looking for a girlfriend in her. If her play-pretend with Bakugou is anything to go by, she's not really cut out for it.
"There is nothing between me and Shouto," she says, and she half-believes herself - she pats herself on the back for a job well done. Technically it's not a lie, it's just not entirely the truth either. Feelings are complicated, and not what she needs to be spending her mental energy on at the moment.
Bakugou doesn't seem to believe her.
"Alright liar."
She rolls her eyes.
"Anyway," She pushes a subject change, if only because Bakugou is stubborn enough to keep citing examples from their past that she really doesn't want to talk about. "Not saying it isn't a pleasant surprise, but what brings you here?"
When she had been lying there, immobile among the rubble, drawing closer to pained tears with every breath she in-took, she had not imagined Bakugou would be visiting her in the hospital. He's a busy man who has better things to do. It simply wasn't an expectation of her's. Ochako, Mina, and Kyoka had all insisted they were making the trip, even if it was outside their district, but Bakugou is never such a sentimental man.
"It's my civic fucking duty as your official boyfriend now," he responds, looking mad about it - he's mad about most situations though, so it could be any number of other things that plague him. "I'd look like a shitty partner if I didn't even pretend to care."
Momo manages a pained laugh at that, "Hey, you're the one who asked to date me."
"I didn't think I'd actually have to date you though."
She can admit freely that that's a bit of a jab at her ego - not that she's obsessed with being dateable or anything, but even in a fake relationship, it's nice to feel cared about.
"You thought you could show up as the number two pro-hero in Japan to a highly publicized event attended by your former classmates, who are now also pro-heroes, with a pro-hero on your arm as your girlfriend, and no one would bat an eye?" For someone so intelligent, he's certainly lacking in public-relations skills. Though, she supposes, in all the seven years that he's been a pro-hero now, he's never quite had this much of a personal life before. "You are aware that you're famous, right?"
"Thanks for the fuckin' lecture, Ponytail, but yeah, I just fuckin' figured people wouldn't give two shits about my personal life," Bakugou grouses, a deep scowl marring his face - honestly, Momo knows he's attractive, if only he didn't seek to destroy it with a perpetual grimace.
Of course he didn't expect people to notice. He's not the kind of person who takes into account the opinions of others, even when he most definitely should. He doesn't do anything with the intention of pleasing others, and even if he did it most certainly wouldn't extend to his personal life. So in that respect, Momo isn't all that surprised that he went into this whole arrangement of theirs with the expectation that it would be a simple one-off.
Still, she can't help but jest, "You're supposed to be smart."
"I am fucking smart!" Bakugou whips his head up so fast his neck nearly snaps. "I'm just not good at this bullshit."
"You mean being in the public eye?" Momo tucks falling strands of hair behind her ear, drawing in a breath. "Because, with all due respect, no surprise there."
He glares at her as if she's just shot his dog.
"I knew I shouldn't've come. Waste'a my fuckin' free time."
"Not a very kind thing to say to your girlfriend, Katsuki."
"Suck my ass," he really is lucky there's no one around to see him flip his newly minted girlfriend the finger - now that would be a real scandal. Heroes are supposed to be squeaky clean but Katsuki Bakugou toes that line like a tightrope walker.
"I would really rather not," maybe she's being too hard on him. His situation is...less than ideal. But Momo is nice all the time! It's just so fun to see Bakugou get all riled up. He grabs his jacket and storms toward the entrance with his usual angst. "What? No kiss for your girlfriend?"
"Oh fuck off."