Jirou’s dizzy on the comedown after the performance, the cheers still throbbing in her ear. The face-tape on her mic is peeling, her skin is sticky with sweat and the shoulder strap of her guitar is carving an angry red mark into her skin.
None of it matters though. She’s high on the adrenaline, system pumped full of it. She practically stumbles into Momo’s arms and that does nothing to slow her racing heart.
“You did it!” Momo calls happily, hopelessly unaware of the fact that she’s cradling Jirou in her arms, hopelessly unaware of the effect she has on her. “I’m so proud of you, Jirou! You did it, you really did it! I knew you could, obviously, but you did it!”
Jirou soaks in the praise like it’s sunlight.
Simp, Kaminari mouths at her from the corner.
Asshole, she sends back and he laughs, holding both hands up in the air. Her knees go slack, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. Momo buckles under the weight but doesn’t break, digging her elbows into her cheek to keep them both upright.
Kaminari gives her a knowing look from across the stage.
And right. Right. The whole point of this thing was to give her courage–to confess to the person who stirred her heart in the first place. She sucks in a deep breath, steels her resolve and stands up straight.
“Yao-momo,” she says and Momo blinks up at her, expectant. There’s still glitter inked onto the corner of her eye and it twinkles back at her under the stage lights.
“Yes?” she replies innocently.
“Yao-momo,” she says again for lack of better options and god, she really should have planned this out better, should have at least written the outlines for a speech. All that build-up and for what?
“Is everything okay, Jirou?” Momo asks, studying her carefully.
“Yao-momo,” Jirou says for the third time, stuck like a disc left on loop. Because she can sing a hundred songs about the girl she likes but she can’t bring herself to tell her.
Kaminari makes obscene chicken-flapping motions behind her back, completely unsympathetic to her gay plight, and that finally does it. She swallows her fear and pushes the words out. They roll off her tongue and plop onto the space between them–more of a whimper than a bang.
“I-It was all for you,” she stammers out.
Time stops. Kaminari’s jaw goes slack, Tokoyami’s hands still from where they’re packing up his guitar, even Bakugo’s eyebrow hikes exactly one millimeter up on his forehead in what she can pretend is an impressed gesture.
And then Momo breaks the silence.
“Yeah!” she hollers proudly. “It was for all of us!”
Bakugo scoffs and turns away, Tokoyami snaps his case shut and hauls it onto his back. Kaminari’s full-on rolling on the floor now and she kicks him in the stomach without missing a beat.
“Y-Yeah,” she replies weakly, offering her a thumbs-up. Momo returns it two-fold.
Jirou sighs and lets Momo guide her out the back exit, already flashing her parents’ solid-black credit card that she’ll use to cover the all-you-can-eat barbeque.
Oh well, she thinks, watching her smile under the stagelights. There’s always next time.
FILL: Team Kittyuri
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Jirou’s dizzy on the comedown after the performance, the cheers still throbbing in her ear. The face-tape on her mic is peeling, her skin is sticky with sweat and the shoulder strap of her guitar is carving an angry red mark into her skin.
None of it matters though. She’s high on the adrenaline, system pumped full of it. She practically stumbles into Momo’s arms and that does nothing to slow her racing heart.
“You did it!” Momo calls happily, hopelessly unaware of the fact that she’s cradling Jirou in her arms, hopelessly unaware of the effect she has on her. “I’m so proud of you, Jirou! You did it, you really did it! I knew you could, obviously, but you did it!”
Jirou soaks in the praise like it’s sunlight.
Simp, Kaminari mouths at her from the corner.
Asshole, she sends back and he laughs, holding both hands up in the air.
Her knees go slack, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. Momo buckles under the weight but doesn’t break, digging her elbows into her cheek to keep them both upright.
Kaminari gives her a knowing look from across the stage.
And right. Right. The whole point of this thing was to give her courage–to confess to the person who stirred her heart in the first place. She sucks in a deep breath, steels her resolve and stands up straight.
“Yao-momo,” she says and Momo blinks up at her, expectant. There’s still glitter inked onto the corner of her eye and it twinkles back at her under the stage lights.
“Yes?” she replies innocently.
“Yao-momo,” she says again for lack of better options and god, she really should have planned this out better, should have at least written the outlines for a speech. All that build-up and for what?
“Is everything okay, Jirou?” Momo asks, studying her carefully.
“Yao-momo,” Jirou says for the third time, stuck like a disc left on loop. Because she can sing a hundred songs about the girl she likes but she can’t bring herself to tell her.
Kaminari makes obscene chicken-flapping motions behind her back, completely unsympathetic to her gay plight, and that finally does it. She swallows her fear and pushes the words out. They roll off her tongue and plop onto the space between them–more of a whimper than a bang.
“I-It was all for you,” she stammers out.
Time stops. Kaminari’s jaw goes slack, Tokoyami’s hands still from where they’re packing up his guitar, even Bakugo’s eyebrow hikes exactly one millimeter up on his forehead in what she can pretend is an impressed gesture.
And then Momo breaks the silence.
“Yeah!” she hollers proudly. “It was for all of us!”
Bakugo scoffs and turns away, Tokoyami snaps his case shut and hauls it onto his back. Kaminari’s full-on rolling on the floor now and she kicks him in the stomach without missing a beat.
“Y-Yeah,” she replies weakly, offering her a thumbs-up. Momo returns it two-fold.
Jirou sighs and lets Momo guide her out the back exit, already flashing her parents’ solid-black credit card that she’ll use to cover the all-you-can-eat barbeque.
Oh well, she thinks, watching her smile under the stagelights. There’s always next time.