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Their first real meeting—that first, casual meeting not bound by the stress and urgency of hero work and villain battles—was Bakugou Katsuki’s nineteenth birthday party.
Momo was honored to be included, as she knew Bakugou could be picky about who he invited to such events. It was challenging to determine whether Bakugou legitimately disliked something or was simply showing off his usual attitude, but that meant he would only invite people he legitimately considered a friend, and she was apparently among them.
He held the party outdoors, in the park near his house. The peak of cherry blossom season had passed, and though a few stubborn petals floated by on occasion, they were able to enjoy a casual picnic with baskets of food Bakugou had (according to Kirishima, who urged everyone to show proper appreciation) labored over for multiple days prior.
This is good, Momo thought to herself as she bit into a strawberry cream sandwich. Light, sweet, and refreshing. At home and at public events, Momo usually ate carefully with the manners her parents had taught her, but a casual picnic like this made her want to abandon all sense and stuff her face. She could probably eat a dozen of these and still have room for more, but she vowed to pace herself to make sure everyone could have a taste and appreciate it first. In the meantime, she would compliment the host.
Although she was happy Bakugou had invited basically their whole graduating class from UA, along with some others, it meant there was quite the crowd. Multiple blankets and baskets were spread out, and for once Bakugou was being quiet enough that she couldn’t locate him by his grumbling. She looked around in vain.
“You good?” Tooru asked, a takoyaki ball floating in the air for a moment before it disappeared into her mouth.
“I’m looking for Bakugou, but there’s so many people here. I can’t quite seem to…”
“Miss Yaoyorozu?”
She turned at the sound of his voice. Though his formality felt strange, she was relieved to see his spiky blond hair. “Bakugou, this sandwich is…”
Her voice faltered at his expression. Bakugou Katsuki, the poster child of what Kyouka called a ‘resting bitch-face’, was smiling warmly at her, a twinkle in his eye.
Alright. It had been a few months since they’d had a chance to catch up. Maybe he was trying to take public relations seriously and practice smiling. He would probably appreciate if she treated him normally and didn’t show her shock.
She coughed, just once to cover her shock, then continued, “This sandwich is delicious. You did an excellent job with it.”
He chuckled, taking a step closer. He still had that unfamiliar smile. “I can tell, since you ate my handiwork so eagerly.” He tapped the side of his mouth. “There’s still a little cream.”
Momo brought up her hand and discovered that, yes, she’d accidentally left a bit on the side of her mouth. She wiped it quickly. “Oh, pardon me.”
He took another step closer, nearly nose-to-nose with her now. “Don’t apologize for being adorable, my little kitten.”
A wave of cherry blossoms whirled behind him, filling the space with fluttering pink.
The color drained from Momo’s face. She took a step back and grabbed Tooru’s shoulder, pulling her close to whisper, “I believe Bakugou may be under the effects of some sort of quirk.”
Before she could plan the next steps to quarantine him and investigate the potential causes of his uncharacteristic behavior, there was a breeze of someone running past her from behind, and a fist went right for Bakugou’s face.
Momo’s brows raised as Bakugou dissipated into sparkles, then she realized that the person who had punched him was also Bakugou, this time looking properly pissed.
He tilted and pointed at a woman less than a meter away, who was casually standing around with a cup of juice. “Utsushimi, don’t pull this shit on my birthday.”
The woman flipped her long blond hair over and pouted with full lips. She was shorter than Momo, but seemed to take up more space with her big hooped earrings, loose croptop, and colorfully patterned tight pants. There was a boldness to her, one that wasn’t cowed at all by Bakugou’s glare directly at her.
Illus-o-Camie, Momo recalled. The illusion hero.
“Come on, Katsuki, live a little,” she whined. “We’re just having a little fun. Weren’t we?”
Suddenly, Utsushimi’s gaze was on her, thick eyelashes batting. Momo blinked back, stunned for a moment by being the focus of this bombastic woman’s attention.
Utsushimi took a few steps towards her, addressing her properly. “Well? Don’t you think it was a lit joke?”
Bakugou said, “You don’t have to play along with her, tell her off.”
Though he had spoken, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Utsushimi. The illusion hero was still fluttering her eyelashes, a coy but hopeful look in her face that had probably opened a dozen doors for her throughout the years. It was hard to say no when someone looked at you like your agreement would make their whole day.
Momo swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”
Utsushimi turned away with a laugh, facing Bakugou again as he grumbled at her, and the tension suddenly dissipated. It wasn’t anything serious, after all.
She spent the rest of the birthday hyperaware of her presence. Whether Utsushimi was sprawled on a blanket beside Mina and exchanging slang-dense phrases so rapidly that it sounded like they were speaking another language, or rocking on her heels beside Shouto while barraging him with some idle story of her makeup shopping the other day, leaving the occasional space for him to deadpan some confused reaction that she would laugh at, Momo couldn’t help but catalogue her movement through the space. She was a butterfly fluttering here and there, but never lingering too long. Skimming the surface, never dipping too deep into anything and getting weighed down.
Towards the end of the party, after Momo had sampled every single one of Bakugou’s baskets of food and was making rounds for seconds, starting with the final strawberry cream sandwich, she realized Utsushimi had stopped speaking.
At that point, Utsushimi’s perky drawl had become part of the background noise of the party, and its absence made her search anew for the woman she’d just met. She chewed on her sandwich as she scanned the scene.
She discovered her leaning against a tree trunk, drawn back from the festivities, taking a moment to breathe and stare up into the branches.
Utsushimi’s face was blank.
Her eyes flicked down, caught Momo’s gaze, and an amused smile returned so quickly Momo wondered if she had imagined that momentary glitch.
Embarrassed at being caught staring, Momo approached and tried to salvage the situation. She reached out a hand. “You’re Utsushimi Camie, right? We met earlier, but didn’t have a chance to be introduced properly. I’m Yaoyorozu Momo.”
Utsuhimi’s head tilted, casual, and she reached out her own hand. Instead of shaking—instead of doing what was proper, what Momo had always been taught was right—she used the opportunity to tug Momo towards her. Startled, Momo stumbled forward, leaning down until they were nearly nose-to-nose.
With a grin, Utsushimi lifted her other hand and placed it on Momo’s cheek. Momo’s breath caught.
Her thumb brushed the side of Momo’s mouth, then she released her. She stepped back, showing off a smidgen of cream captured on her thumb.
“Messy again,” Utsushimi teased her.
Then Utsushimi licked it off, winking at the same time, and Momo pondered the statistical improbability (but not impossibility) of spontaneous human combustion.
The second meeting was even less expected than the first.
Her parents had been invited to a charity gala, and insisted she join them. Though Momo had been to a few pro-hero charity galas, this was more of a high-society event with a different tone and different sorts of attendees. There was an occasional pro-hero, but they were invited for their wealth or connections more than their choice of career. She was there only thanks to parental connections.
Shouto, descended from the Himura family line, was invited as well.
His presence was a relief, and the reason she had finally decided to accept the invitation. Once he shared that his mother had encouraged him to attend, Momo knew it would be for the best if she came as well, so they could support each other through a long night of subtle social politics and brown-nosing. So she’d agreed to come with her parents, put on the full face of makeup her mother insisted was required at events like this, and wore the nice red dress she’d received as an eighteenth birthday present.
Now she stood near an hors d'oeuvres table, scanning the hall for Shouto’s distinctive dual-colored hair, and occasionally plucking one of the bite-sized appetizers to throw into her mouth. She didn’t often wear makeup, and was cautious about smearing her lipstick.
Finally, as she finished almost a full rotation, she came face-to-face with Shouto, grinning with a sparkle in his eye.
In perfect French, Shouto said, “Mon petit chéri.” Then, “What a pleasure to see you.”
Momo was glad she hadn’t picked up a drink yet, as she might have dropped it to the floor at his greeting. With disturbed caution, trying not to alert whatever body-snatching quirk had stolen Shouto away that she was onto it, she said, “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Shouto.”
“You look radiant this evening.”
Shouto had never complimented any outfit she’d ever worn unless someone else prompted him to. He took a step closer, and she instinctually took a step back. If whatever had caught him was contagious, she didn’t want to risk it.
“You look nice too,” Momo said, too alarmed to process any details on his tuxedo.
Could he have accidentally drunk some champagne? She’d never seen him drunk. Maybe he slipped into French flirtations while inebriated. Even so, this was too far outside her expectations.
“Did you… have anything to drink?”
He laughed delicately, tilting his head back just enough to make his hair flop pleasingly, like some sort of idol. “No, I’m drunk enough on the sight of you.”
A tactical retreat was in order. Momo backed up with haste, keeping her eyes on the suspicious character in front of her. Unfortunately, she was so focused on the potential threat “Shouto” posed that she failed to account for potential obstacles behind her, and ended up bumping into something.
As she turned to take in what she’d hit, she elbowed a hand, and something cold washed over her hair, face, and shoulders. She wiped at her face with haste, dispersing the water to take in whatever or whoever she’d accidentally bumped.
“Sorry,” Shouto said, an empty glass in each hand. “I didn’t expect you to move like that.”
She blinked rapidly, confused. Hadn’t she just run from him? She glanced back towards the out-of-character Shouto she’d just spoken to, and in that exact moment he exploded into sparkles.
From the mess, a blonde emerged. Every layer of hair was perfectly coiffed into waves that could star in shampoo commercials. Her face was smooth and contoured, sculpted to precise curves and planes that made her glittery eyes and glossy lips pop. Her black dress had a v-neck that went to her waist, and showed off breasts that might have been contoured as well from how much they stood out. She stepped forward and knocked the side of her head with a loose fist in an apologetic sort of whoopsie motion.
“I wasn’t trying to make Shouto yeet our drinks onto you,” Utsushimi said. “My bad.”
Though Momo was soaked and surrounded by socialites whispering at the scene they were making, her adrenaline dropped at the realization that the weird Shouto was just another one of Utsushimi’s illusions.
She smiled, wiping at her wet face again to try and clear up the mess. “It’s fine, I was just startled.”
Utsushimi’s brows raised as she stared at her. “Oh, babe, is your glam water-based?”
Momo blinked. “Huh?”
She shook her head, sighing, and grabbed Momo’s hand. “This was my bad, so I’ll dazzle you up in a snap.” She waved her free hand towards Shouto. “Don’t get into trouble while we’re vibing!”
Then Momo was whisked away to the nearest ladies’ room, and she discovered why Utsushimi had been alarmed. In the mirror, her face was smeared from eyeliner and mascara wiping all over her cheek. Her foundation and blush had smeared as well, creating an uneven mess.
Momo sighed. “I didn’t bring any makeup to touch up…”
There was a snap, a clutch opening in Utsushimi’s hand, and she said. “I did.”
Somehow, lending her makeup turned into Utsuhimi putting it on her. Since she was shorter than Momo though, the most logical setup for this turned out to be Utsushimi sitting on the bathroom counter, legs spread as Momo stood diligently between them with her face upturned trying not to make too much eye contact as she was directed to tilt left, tilt right, close her eyes, open them wide, part her lips…
Momo kept her pulse calm by thinking of anything except how warm Utsushimi’s palm felt braced against her chin to help keep her still. To help anchor herself, Momo started a conversation as Utsushimi paused to get a new product from her bag.
“I’m surprised you carry around so much makeup.”
“Even though I’m always looking like a doll?”
“You don’t have to put on makeup for that. Couldn’t you use your quirk? Then it’s easy to take on and off, won’t leave any mess…”
Utsushimi snorted. “Did you create the dress you’re wearing now?”
“No, of course not.”
A compact snapped shut. “I’d much rather put on a full face I don’t gotta think about than have to maintain my quirk all the time.”
“Oh, that makes sense… but what about hero work? Doesn’t it get in the way?”
“No way, I use the hardcore stuff. So you’re in luck today, as what I’m putting on you will totes stay on the rest of the night. Waterproof and all that, so if our candycane pretty-boy gets all clumsy again, no amount of water is gonna be an ish.”
Momo’s eyes were closed as Utsushimi glided liquid eyeliner smoothly across the lid’s edges, the touch of it cold enough to elicit a shiver. “It’s really that waterproof?”
Though Momo had been taught to do makeup as a teenager by her mother, she hadn’t searched out anything beyond that, and hadn’t been aware that makeup could be that sturdy.
“Legit, yeah. You could go swimming in this. Eyeliner finito, open up and let me look at you.”
Momo opened her eyes to see Utsushimi staring intently at her. She was so concentrated on her task, making sure everything was evenly applied, that she hadn’t bothered with her usual glib smile and was back to that nearly-blank expression, as if she was in her own little world while looking into Momo’s eyes.
Swallowing hard, Momo tried to think of anything else. “How does it work?”
“They got stuff in them that makes a whole-ass film which repels all that water. Lemme see…” She picked up the foundation she put on Momo earlier, squinting at the side. “...this one’s gotta be silicone-based, I bet. There’s some sorta silica thing on the ingredients list.”
Ingredients. Components. Chemicals. “Can I see?”
Utsushimi clicked her tongue and placed a single finger on Momo’s nose. “Not so fast, I gotta do your mascara first. You can read when I’m putting the lipstick on you.”
So Momo let Utsushimi’s hands keep fluttering over her, combing through her lashes, pressing in liquids and powders all over like she was a canvas. Momo was used to being the leader, to arranging, planning, and managing others, so to be forced to stand still and someone else handle her for once was…
Strange. Utsushimi was an expert in this field, and Momo… admired expertise.
If she talked, she couldn’t think too hard about the fluttering feeling in her belly. “So how did you end up at this gala? I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.”
She laughed. “Obvi not, this is my first-time. But Shouto yapped about this awhile back, and I got so curious, I begged him to take me as his date.”
Momo stayed completely still. “A date?”
“That’s the lingo, yeah?”
She breathed in a perfectly even pattern. “I… suppose. So are you two…?”
“What? Lol, you think he’s my bae or something?”
Momo had never heard anyone other than Denki say ‘lol’ as a spoken word, but she couldn’t linger on those linguistic oddities right now. “Is he?”
She snorted. “He’s not my type, no cap.”
It was as though Momo’s whole body unclenched. “Ah.”
“Oh, here’s the foundation. You can read it if you want. Just keep your lips open.”
There was no time to process before a container was pressed into her hand, and something light and smooth brushed over her lips.
Momo forced herself to look at the foundation ingredient list. Water, Dimethicone, Isododecane, Alcohol denat., Butylene glycol, Trimethylsiloxysilicate…
“Hey.”
She looked back at Utsushimi, whose face had somehow gotten closer. Those full, smooth lips made a puckering motion.
There was a brain-frying three seconds that Momo thought she was asking for a kiss, and then she recalled the lipstick that had just been spread on her. With a deep breath, Momo rubbed her lips together and then puckered them out in the manner her mother once taught her.
Utsushimi squinted, then tapped some of the edges with her lipstick again. Lipliner came out of the clutch. Momo brought the foundation back up as though she was going to read the ingredients again, but couldn’t seem to focus.
Finally Utsushimi drew back with a grin. “Perf.”
It took a few weeks for Momo to learn how to create makeup.
It was complicated. There’s a lot of chemical components in precise proportions, and although she could look up ingredient lists for many brands, the manufacturing and proportions of the different parts is proprietary. That didn’t stop her from occasionally buying and trying to replicate a product, though. Just to see if she could, never to sell or seriously replace the product itself. There were so many options though, that Momo struggled to narrow in on what the best products were.
That’s where Utsushimi’s TigTog came in.
There were so many “getting ready with me” videos where Utsushimi would share a story or her thoughts on a subject while putting on her makeup for the day that Momo could watch one every day and probably wouldn’t run out for months.
It became a strange sort of routine most mornings, having breakfast while watching Utsushimi recount a story about spilling a whole bag of donuts in front of a group of rabid preschoolers, interspersed with an occasional note about the L’ollusion-branded mascara she was putting on.
Utsushimi was funny. Occasionally her slang was hard to parse, but her tone carried Momo through the confusing parts, making her feel like she was part of some special club who got to hear these endearing little anecdotes about her sister stealing her curling iron and then burning off a lock of her own hair.
Though Utsushimi changed up the products at times, likely due to sponsorships, her overall routine remained the same, and eventually Momo switched to watching the videos at night so those familiar and predictable motions lull her towards sleep.
All the while, she bought and tested out the products, then recreated them with her quirk, and slowly her cake-like foundations and clumpy mascara evolved into stuff that one might actually get out of one of those bottles.
The villain attack wasn’t in Momo’s area, and she hadn’t been called for backup, but she saw it recapped on the news afterwards.
Utsushimi went down like a rock. Inasa had blown her into the air towards a group of kids held hostage on a roof, and although Utsushimi had thrown illusions around to make it unclear which was the real her, the villain had figured out the truth and swatted her right out of the sky.
The crunch as Utsushimi landed made Momo sick to her stomach.
Shouto was able to get her the hospital and room Utsushimi was in.
She arrived to Inasa sitting in a chair outside the room. She gave him a polite greeting, then went to knock on the door.
“Don’t even try,” Inasa said with a sigh. “She’s been rejecting all visitors.”
Momo knocked anyway.
“Lay off!” Utsushimi called from within.
“It’s me, Yaoyorozu.”
There was a pause.
“Still, scram. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
Her stomach twisted, imagining the worst. “Are the injuries that bad?”
“Nah.” A pause. “I mean, yeah. But it’s not that, fam, it’s my face.”
Panic spiked. Utsushimi’s branding relied on her beautiful face—if something happened to it, then she had some big personal and public adjustments she was going to have to make. “How much damage did it take?”
“Huh? No, not like that…”
“Then like what?” She tried not to sound frantic, but failed.
“I’m glam-less, okay!” Utsushimi’s voice was shrill, probably still exhausted from recovery. “Makeup-free! Bare naked up there! So just leave me alone so I can look like a wreck in peace!”
Momo’s face scrunched. She and Utsushimi weren’t that close—maybe it would be best to leave her like this.
But Utsushimi wasn’t letting anyone in. Wouldn’t the social butterfly get lonely?
“I’ve already seen you without makeup in your TigTog videos, so can you let me in?”
There was another long pause. Then: “You watch those?”
Her cheeks grew hot, realizing it might be weird to admit. She rushed to defend, “They’re public videos.”
“Yeah, for the general public, but most my colleagues aren’t really into the whole influencer schtick, so…”
Before it could get more embarrassing, Momo pushed the point, “Can I come in?”
Utsushimi had both arms in a cast. It would be for just two days thanks to various healing gels and quirks the hospital had access to, but in all that time she would need assistance for most tasks, and of course wouldn’t be able to do her own makeup.
Her face was bare, and although Momo had seen it like this on a video screen before, there was a vividness to seeing it in person. The camera and her ringlight still kept everything even and smooth, so without it Momo felt a strange sort of privilege, like a collector getting to see all the textures of a priceless vase in person for the first time.
“This is so fucking cringe, but I can’t stand the thought of people seeing me like this. I got a whole brand to rep, yeah?”
Momo thought of Inasa, stalwartly guarding the door outside the room despite Utsushimi’s refusal to see him. “Even your friends?”
Utsushimi blew out air, and although her lips were not glossy, they still looked like they would be plush to the touch. “I wanna look even more poppin’ for my friends. I want them to see me at my best, not like…”
There was a slight wobble to her chin, but she just pressed her head back into the pillow with a sigh.
“I’ll be gucci soon enough.”
“But your friends are worried about you now. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind seeing you like–”
“I mind,” Utsushimi snapped. “And I’m too exhausted to do some sorta quirk overlay. I’d rather just chill ‘till I can be like, presentable and shit.”
The air was tense, and Momo felt like she was truly seeing Utsushimi for the first time.
“Sorry,” Utsushimi said suddenly, a mask descending as she put on a smile. “It’s whatevs. You can just tell Inasa I’m fine and the injuries are no biggie.”
Dismissal, dismissal. Utsushimi always wanted to tread lightly, and the moment feelings got too deep, she rushed back to the surface level. Momo hesitated, wondering if she ought to leave and let Utsushimi recover alone. She had gotten so far though, into the room itself, even though Inasa had failed.
So she offered, “What if I did your makeup?”
Her nose crinkled. “I don’t even have my makeup with me.”
“That’s okay, I can make some.”
Utsushimi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I’m pretty picky about what I use.”
“I know. Would L’ollusions Pro Glow Liquid Honey-toned Foundation work to start with?”
Utsushimi blinked three times, fast. Her eyelashes were so light and fair as they fluttered that Momo wanted to brush against it and feel how soft they might be while au naturel.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Utsushimi suspiciously asking, “How many of my videos did you watch, exactly?”
Momo straightened her back, trying to look like nothing more than a diligent researcher. “I’ve been trying to learn about makeup, and you seem like a reliable resource.”
Utsushimi’s eyebrows were high on her forehead, and Momo wasn’t sure if that was good or not. In the end, though, Utsushimi said, “Alright, let’s see what you can do.”
Momo spent the initial foundation and contouring leaning across the bed, one hand braced on the other side while the other spread the makeup on Utsushimi’s face.
“There’s no way it’s even,” Utsushimi said as Momo got towards the end.
“Does it not feel even? Where? I think it’s alright…”
“You’re viewing it all from a side angle, you gotta get the whole pic.”
Momo walked all the way around the end of the bed to assess her work from the other side, and realized that the contouring was slightly lighter on this side despite all her best efforts. “Oh dear, my apologies, let me just…”
She began working again, but Utsushimi said, “I have an idea.”
Momo hoped no nurse would walk in on this.
She was on top of Utsushimi, sitting on her lap with her legs spread to either side. The hospital cot wasn’t very wide, so Momo’s calves had to squeeze against Utsushimi’s hips to stay stable.
Which Utsushimi was being totally normal about, so Momo could be too.
Since her lower body had been minimally injured, Utsushimi said it was “totes fine”, but Momo still tried not to put her whole weight on her. The end result was a long exercise in endurance and restraint, trying not to settle her body fully against Utsushimi’s while also trying to recreate Utsushimi’s signature full face of makeup with tiny samples of her usual products.
“Hey,” Utsushimi said partway through. “Do you need to make a whole container? Or could you just like, make the stuff direct from your fingertips?”
“I suppose I could release most of it directly, though mascara and precise stuff is probably best with a wand or tool still. Why?”
“Just do that, then,” Utsushimi winked. “It’s better for the environment not to add extra plastic, yeah?”
Momo swallowed hard. “That… makes sense.”
Unfortunately, at that point it was time for L’ollusion’s Ultralite Cherry Petal Lipstick, which meant Momo had to touch those lips directly.
As she came close, she resisted an urge to apologize. Utsushimi knew what she asked for, and probably thought it was normal and didn’t overthink contact like her.
Gently, she pressed a finger to the fullest part of Camie’s lower lip, and allowed herself a half second to admire the softness before releasing the lipstick and smearing. It would be so easy to let her finger slip inside, to feel her warmth and her tongue…
Momo forced herself to pull away. “Rub them together,” she told Utsushimi.
She did so. Momo touched it up, trying to make as little contact as possible. She rushed through the lipgloss using her pinkie, afraid Utsushimi might find it weird if she lingered again.
“Alright,” she said, leaning back to admire her work. “You’re done.”
Momo produced a small mirror for Utsushimi to take a look, and was gratified to see her eyes brighten at her reflection.
“Hot damn, this is supes close to my usual, you’ve been like, legit paying attention to my routine, huh?”
“I’m sorry, if me watching your videos so much makes you uncomfortable, Utsushimi. I can stop–”
“Hey.”
Momo met her eyes, which were still sparkling, complemented by the fresh glittery eyeshadow.
“You can just call me Camie. I think we’re tight enough at this point, yeah?”
To emphasize her point, she jerked her hips up to remind Momo that she was on her lap, legs spread out over her, close enough to grind, and Momo stopped breathing.
This is what Camie did. She joked, flirted, and made people fluster, but a good friend who could call her by her given name wouldn’t let that give her unrealistic expectations. She said flirty things to Bakugou, Todoroki, Inasa occasionally too. She wasn’t serious about any of them, so Momo had to make sure she didn’t take this sort of thing too seriously, no matter how seriously it stirred her up.
She leapt off before Camie could take a good look at whatever ridiculous expression she might have been making just then. She turned to face the door and said, “Can I invite Inasa in? He’s been waiting all this time.”
Camie laughed. “I guess he can come in now.”
The pro-hero gala was going great, aside from all Camie’s attempts to drive her insane.
There was going to be a dancing portion towards the end of the night, and Camie had teased her twice by asking her to dance. First as Bakugo, with a “I’m only so rude because I don’t know what to do in the face of your overwhelming beauty, won’t you please give me a chance by dancing with me,” then as Shouto with a “I’ve loved you since the day we met, won’t you give me your hand in a dance that we might finally confirm our feelings?”
Both jokes, of course. Momo was wise to her tricks by now, so she just had to raise an eyebrow and the illusions popped into nothingness, leaving only a laughing Camie behind.
A laughing Camie who, notably, did not ask Momo to dance once the joke was finished.
Momo tried to linger a bit, made conversation, but sooner or later one of Camie’s many, many friends would skate by and tap her shoulder, greeting her with a hug and a flurry of catch-ups that made Momo feel like she ought to find her own friends to demonstrate that she didn’t just wait and hang on Camie’s every word like a fool.
So she hunted the hall until she found Bakugou, arms crossed under an arch and bristling as some newbie pro-heroes on the other side started to edge towards him, gathering courage to potentially introduce themselves to the explosive hero.
Momo swooped in and said to him, “I’m famished, have you seen the snack table?”
He snorted. “The choices are tiny. You shoulda brought a sandwich if you wanna actually get fed.”
Still, he walked with her away from the newbies towards a table with some food laid out. It was one of the first places Momo had scoped out, but the walk gave them a chance to make conversation. “How has your evening been so far, Bakugou?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t yelled at anyone yet, so… tolerable.”
They found a table with some stuffed mushrooms and shrimp, and Momo took a stand there while assessing the scene. Most the pro-heroes had arrived, and the live chamber band for the dance was getting set up. Dancing would be starting soon, and across the room Camie was fluttering her eyelashes at some guy Momo couldn’t identify from behind.
Which was fine. Camie could do whatever she wanted. Just like Momo could do whatever she wanted, like hanging out with Bakugou.
She focused back in on him. “You’re feeling alright?”
She tried not to pry, but too much agitation wasn’t good for his heart, and there were times when he opted to leave events early if it strained him too much. She wanted to be there for him if he needed someone to help him cool off.
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I should be asking you that question.”
She blinked. “Me? I’m fine, of course.”
A single eyebrow raised. “So why have you been sighing in Camie’s direction all night?”
She dropped her stuffed mushroom.
There was a momentary fuss as she apologized to a waiter, but he cleaned it up with ruthless efficiency, and she was left with nothing else to distract from Bakugou’s accusation.
“So?” He prodded.
“It’s only natural to glance at her occasionally. She draws a lot of attention.”
“Hmm.”
Momo refused to elaborate further.
Bakugou pushed again with an unexpected, “She’s talked to me about you.”
Momo suppressed an urge to raise her eyebrows off her forehead. She very calmly turned to face Bakugou and asked in an even voice, “Oh?”
“Yup.”
She waited, but he did not elaborate.
Momo was forced to admit her curiosity and asked directly, “What did she say?”
“Let me think, I think it was something like…”
The furrows on Bakugou’s face abruptly smoothed out, and he waved a hand beside his head as though flipping hair away from his face.
“Yo, that Momo knows everything, she even has my whole glam routine on lock! She’s the full package. Like damn babe, leave something for the rest of us!”
Momo had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. His impression was spot-on.
After she recovered though, she asked Bakugou, “Did it sound as though she thinks I’m too much of a show-off?”
Bakugou took in a long-suffering breath.
Before he could share all the complaints Camie had ever had about her, Denki came up from behind them and called, “Baku-bro! Yaomomo!”
She didn’t bring up Camie after that, but when Denki went on a long rant about some newly released videogame, she couldn’t help but search the gala for that familiar figure.
There she was, in a corner with Mount Lady, the two of them flipping their hair as they spoke with the exact same wrist motion that Bakugou had imitated. Soon, though, Mount Lady saw someone else and waved a goodbye to Camie.
Camie was alone. The band started up. Momo watched as her head slowly turned through the room. Slowly, her gaze got closer and closer…
Denki grabbed her hand, and she spun to face him.
“Yaomomo, please, won’t you dance with me? I don’t wanna look unpopular…”
She bit her lip and glanced back.
Camie was gone.
So she crushed that little disappointment in her gut and gave Denki a smile. “Of course.”
After the first dance, Momo trawled the hall for Camie, but couldn’t find her.
She was so busy looking left and right that she almost ran right into Shouto.
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Are you looking for a dance partner?”
He already had a hand up, as though he was running through a script someone had drilled into him to handle the social dancing portion of the gala.
“No!” Momo said, perhaps too forcefully. “I mean, not exactly. Not at the moment. I’d love to dance with you later, but I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Someone specific?”
Momo hated being obvious, but if Bakugou had already noticed something was up, trying to hide her desires was useless at this point. “Camie.”
Shouto tilted his head. “Didn’t she leave earlier?”
“What? She did?”
“I saw her going out the back door.”
The back door led to a covered walkway with thick marble columns supporting the edges, which further led to a garden. The garden was rich with hedges that afforded plenty of blindspots, bushes and flowers that peeked out in riots of color, and an elaborate marble fountain in the center. And there, sitting on the edge of the fountain’s pool, like a flower that had fallen off its stem, was Camie.
Her face, staring off to the side, was completely blank, as Momo had only seen when Camie thought no one was looking. A strange, unwitnessed emptiness.
Momo understood a lot of things. She understood the components of a computer down to each chip, and could lay it all out and explain how each part interacted with each other and created the whole design.
Biology was her weak point, though. She couldn’t produce a brain, couldn’t recreate a person—to do that she would have to understand them down to the deepest layer, which she didn’t, couldn’t do. No amount of staring at anatomical diagrams could actually tell her why any particular person felt or thought a specific way. People didn’t come with blueprints that she could just study to always know what to do with them, and though manners and experience gave her some general guidance for social interactions, it was ambiguous times like this that she floundered.
Despite her earlier urgency, seeing Camie like this suddenly made her hesitant. If Camie wanted a moment alone where she didn’t have to wear her usual mask, wouldn’t it be cruel of Momo to interrupt that?
Out here, the music in the hall could be distantly heard, and that had probably covered the sound of Momo’s movements. She leaned a bit closer to a column, hiding herself properly to avoid disturbing her.
Perhaps it was best to leave Camie to her solitude. Momo felt abruptly egotistical, thinking that just because she’d helped Camie in the hospital after a villain attack that she might have a right to chase her further, soaking up more than her fair share of that magnetic personality that ought to be spread evenly among the many people Camie deigned to give her attention.
Momo took a step back, and would have left as was proper if she hadn’t seen Camie twitch.
It was a mere flick of the wrist, but suddenly there was a sparkle in the air beside her, a few petals swirling, and Momo stood there.
The real Momo froze, struggling to process her own doppelganger just a few yards away. A glamour, in front of nobody but Camie.
Illusion Momo smiled and stretched out a hand towards her creator. In Momo’s voice, she said, “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
Camie didn’t quite smile, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, as though she were coming just a bit back to life.
Though Camie put out her own hand, the glamour couldn’t actually pull her up, so she stood up of her own accord and carefully placed her hands around the image of Momo. That Momo followed suit, placing her hands carefully along the edges of Camie’s body to bring them into a dancing pose.
Then they danced.
Or rather, the real Momo watched Camie dance with an illusion of herself. There was just enough music to keep steps. Camie seemed to know what she was doing well enough to carry along, though without a physical body to anchor her, the movements looked a tad off-balance, and in places Camie couldn’t see the glamour’s hand clipped through her back.
Momo was transfixed, heart racing at what this could all mean. Camie, with no audience to entertain, fantasizing about Momo offering a dance.
The song was coming to an end. Camie laughed a bit now, and spun around twice as the illusion raised a hand. At the final notes, Camie automatically leaned back for a dip.
There was nothing to actually support her, and she stumbled back.
Momo moved in an instant, uncaring of how rude the reveal of her spying would be, as it was nothing compared to the possibility of Camie smashing the back of her skull against the steps of the walkway.
She caught her from behind, allowing Camie’s crown to land safely against her chest. Camie looked up, eyes wide. In the soft light of the moon, she was unfairly gorgeous.
“Hello,” Momo said.
Camie jumped up and away from her with a gasp. She waved her arms through the illusion wildly, forcing it to disperse, before turning to face Momo properly.
“Whoa!” Camie said, voice reedy. “Give a gal a lil heads-up, yeah? I was in the middle of… Like I mean… I just…”
Momo took a hopeful step forward. “Just…?”
Camie avoided her eyes, and busied herself fluffing her hair on either side. “Just a joke, obvi! You know me, always playing pranks, so, like, lol?”
Momo thought she might choke from being forced back when they were so close. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
She took a sharp breath, still looking away. “My bad, for real. I won’t play pranks like that anymore.”
“No, no, I mean, I wish it wasn’t a prank.”
Her eyes snapped to Momo’s, and widened anew. “...Legit?”
“Legit.”
Camie’s hands raised, then lowered. Then raised again. She searched Momo’s face, which was probably the shade of a ripe tomato by now.
In the face of Camie’s hesitance, Momo clarified, “If you want to flirt with me, I wish you would just flirt. Let me take you seriously for once.”
Camie took a step closer. “...For real? Someone like me, whose vibes come off kinda ditzy might not be all that interesting for the gal who knows everything.”
The air between them was heavy. Momo said slowly. “I don’t know everything. For example: I don’t know how you really feel about me.”
Camie swallowed hard. “I’m not great at being serious, but if… if like, I were to say I was a lil serious, what would you do?”
Momo grabbed her and pulled her in for a kiss.
Those lips were just as plush as she’d felt in that hospital room. Momo thought her heart might rattle out of her chest from how much overtime it was doing at the realization that Camie was really here, in her arms, kissing her.
Kissing her back.
Camie’s arms came up to capture the back of Momo’s neck and forced her a little lower so she could bring their faces closer, sliding their lips together. They were merged, finally touching on those feelings they had been dancing around all this time. The moon was bright, the garden was beautiful, and the music…
Momo drew back first to ask, “Do you want to dance?”
They danced in the garden, spinning and dipping each other in the giddiness of recently confirmed mutual feelings. Momo kept meeting Camie’s eyes and laughing, realizing that everything she’d wanted had been in arms reach all this time.
Several songs later, they returned to the gala, holding hands.