Note: I said I wasn't going to do this but I'm a known liar. I'm not great at baby fluff and these two are babies. I just want them to be happy.

There are things he can't do. Things his father might or has done. Words his father would say. Even thoughts are incinerated before they can fully form. On some days his mind is so full of ash that he feels dry, half-burned. Shouto selects his language carefully when he speaks to her. In a fight, he's as impulsive and brash as they come but with Momo he stops. He thinks.

"Do you want to come with me?" It should always be her decision.

"What do you think about this?" He cares about her opinion.

Momo is a slower thinker than he is. She analyzes things and rolls them over in her head. She likes plans and making them. She likes details. Shouto doesn't always think about details. His strategies are often quickly formulated and exist only in a broad stroke. He doesn't consider details unless he has to. Momo makes him stop and think. He thinks maybe he loves this about her.

He trusts her. Since coming to UA he has learned to trust many but Momo is different. She can not only save herself but she can save him too – and has. Sometimes he wonders if he brings anything at all. Shouto knows his worth as a hero. He understands his potential. His goal. But what is he worth to her? Outside of his mother, Shouto has never considered what he might be worth to a girl. The only touch he's ever wanted was the one that came with a measure of doubt. His mother is doing better now and he feels less empty, but when Momo smiles he feels something else. Something new. Can he make her smile? Maybe. If he tries hard. She makes him want to try.

Sometimes she sits in her chair and stares down at her desk. He used to wonder why she sits in the back when he knows she wants to be in the front. Now he realizes it has a lot to do with letters and recommendations – things she hasn't earned but wants to. Shouto never cared about earning anything other than a spot above his father. Sitting above Endeavor on a throne made of ice would be his greatest accomplishment – or so he thought. He still wants this, of course, but now he wants other things, too. He wants to know why Momo gets lost on the track in her head. He wants to know why every train of thought is paired with one of crippling self doubt. She second guesses her every move and he wishes she wouldn't.

Momo eats a lot. Fatty things, filling things. He doesn't wonder where she puts it all. Shouto used to think his own quirks were as personal as personal could be, but Momo's quirk is personal, too, just in a different way. She gives pieces of herself and even though the pieces have no life he thinks they must have significance. She puts her heart into everything she does, surely the objects that are made from her body aren't worthless once she's done with them. Nothing about her is worthless.

Maybe he should say something. She's always there. Always beside him at the back of the class. The words feel sticky on his tongue. They can't quite fall out the way he wants them to.

"What is it?" she asks. Shouto blinks. He's staring. He hadn't meant to stare. Momo's fingers crinkle the paper on her desk. Her mouth slides into the uncomfortable grin he hates. The one that only comes out when she's got a traffic jam in her head.

"Nothing." Her discomfort doesn't ease and he hates himself for both getting caught and not saying what he wants to say. "Lunch," he blurts. There's more space in his mouth now for other, better words but none come.

"Lunch?"

"Yeah," Shouto's fingers curl around the edge of his chair. "With me." He clears his throat and there's no air in his lungs to push out but he speaks anyway. "Do you want to sit with me at lunch?"

Momo's eyebrows dent together and her her head tilts a little to the left before the discomfort in her expression melts away. "Yeah, sure. I brought tea today. I like tea."

"I don't..." he pauses and finally manages a breath. "I don't know a lot about tea."

Her face lights up and she fills the space between them with a stream of words he doesn't ever want to stop.