The first time he sees her, she is among the flowers.
Her mother hovers close by, long black hair swept up into a loose bun. Her smile is fond as the younger woman brings a lily to her nose. The contrast of white against the ink of her hair is striking and he knows, then, that he wants to see more.
The next time, she is alone.
Surprise settles across his chiseled features as he knows how protective mothers can be of their young. Besides, anyone would be protective of the fragile beauty she possesses.
He has been coming back to this spot, this vast collection of flora, just to catch glimpses of her. This time is different, however. This time, he will strike up a conversation.
His feet cross the distance between his spot and hers with ease until he's at the edge of the garden. Nervousness overwhelms him like a tidal wave and he cannot remember the last time emotions have stirred in the depths of his soul. He has veins of fire and a heart of ice, after all. Still, gazing upon her pretty face and gentle smile, he actually feels something. Of course he cannot grasp the feeling for he simply does not understand it. This woman is surely something of myths.
"Uh - Ahem," he clears his throat and then pushes on, her midnight eyes locking onto him with a quickness he has only seen Iida possess. "Sorry to interrupt." He really isn't.
"Oh! I - I'm sorry," comes from her lips in a tumble as a rosy tint dusts across her lips. "I didn't see you there!" A sheepish smile forms and he rubs at the skin on the back of his neck, looking away. She is even prettier up close.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he mumbles. She swaps smiles, then, and he understands why sunlight seems to follow her. Her smile is the sun and he is simply basking in its glory.
"It's quite alright!" Her tone is bright to match her smile.
"If you say so," comes his unsure reply.
She rises to her feet and red pools around her, the flimsy flowing material of her dress reminding him of bloodied rivers. Funny how well a woman as gentle as her can wear such a violent color.
He prays to see more.
"Would you like to see the flowers? They're quite beautiful around this time." He gulps at her words and uncertainty makes him take a small step closer with a questioning gaze. He is a stranger to her and yet, she is inviting him closer? An eyebrow of red quirks upward and he pins her in place with the piercing combination of gunmetal and sea water.
"You do know you're inviting a stranger to your side, right?" He murmurs. His legs move on their own accord, carrying him closer and closer as a gossamer giggle floats between them. Not even angels could make that pure of a sound.
"I'm not worried," she replies.
"I could be here to kill you," comes his retort. He's in front of her now, a few inches taller than her delicate frame.
"Try it," she challenges. The gleam in her eyes is intriguing, a mixture between delight and excitement. It's enough to pull his head toward hers in retaliation, his own gaze narrowing slightly. Something about the look she has on her features sets his nerves ablaze and his right hand idly moves to his left arm, searching for the fire he feels. Surprisingly enough, his left side has yet to activate. Strange.
"Maybe I will." She smirks at that before offering a pale, delicate hand into the space between them. "My name's Momo. It's a pleasure, stranger."
He doesn't miss the flicker of her eyes when her gaze drops oh so slow toward his hands. The pause when she spots his lips before roaming further to the destination is enough to quite possibly cause him to burn the entire place to the ground.
Somehow, the idea of her standing among the ashes in that crimson dress is almost erotic.
His rough hand finds her own in a heartbeat and he matches her smirk with one of his own.
"Name's Shouto," he breathes. "Although, I'm not opposed to a nickname if it pleases you." Her lips widen at his words, a dazzling smile forming from the death of her smirk./p
"Next time I see you, I'll have one for you." The idea of a next time is enough to send a shiver down his spine.
She pulls him along, then, steering the conversation toward the various flowers before them. He leaves a few hours later with the feeling of her hand still in his own and a red rose in his pocket. He has never been one to appreciate their beauty but after just a few minutes in her presence, he comes to understand the allure of roses.
After all, they may be pretty but they have all have thorns.
He brings a rose with him the next time he goes, delicately holding it in his calloused fingers. Finding such a flower, or any flower really, in the underworld is a hard feat but he prevailed. Triumph is fleeting, however, when the Fates can't stop laughing at him long enough to get any coherent sentences in. He flushed, of course, at their mocking but an icy glance sent in their direction was cause enough for them to leave the god be.
It isn't hard to find her. She never truly strays from that beautiful patch of land, nestled in the grass. Once again she is left alone among the flowers (her favorite place to be, really) and he approaches with an almost timid air.
"Oh, you're back!"
Her voice greets him before he even feels the sun kiss his scarred face and Shouto finds himself chuckling at the gleeful look upon her face.
"Someone's happy to see me," he snickers as he steps closer toward her and her field of flowers. He earns an eye roll from that, much to his own amusement.
"Don't let your head get too big, it's already a decent size as is." Now it's his turn to roll his eyes at her, although the giggle he earns in reply makes it rather difficult to feign hurt.
"So mean," he pouts. This only causes her to giggle more as she gets to her feet in a swish of a short red skirt and a tangle of flowing black hair. Momo crosses the distance between them with the lithe movements of a dancer and perhaps she is. The way she moves in one fluid motion, swirling around in the crisp fresh air is a true work of art. Does she know how graceful she looks? His heart flutters in his chest at the mere sight of her and maybe she knows the magic she's casting on him and his once unbeating organ.
"You like it, don't try to fool yourself."
Yes, he really does. The banter is the most fun he has had in years, perhaps even eons if he is being honest. The dead aren't very good at conversations after all.
Silence engulfs them and he shifts awkwardly, suddenly unsure of just what to say to her that won't come off as creepy. Yes, I love your teasing. You're enticing when you quip back with remark after remark. Just marry me already. Yeah, that would not go over well.
He rubs at his neck with a sheepish grin and instead of speaking, he merely shoves the rose at her. Her eyes light up, a supernova against her starless eyes, and he decides right then and there that he wants to see more of the light in her eyes.
"How sweet," she coos and plucks the flower gently from his hands. The thorns seem to be at home in her grasp and he knows that he made the right choice in his gift for her. Bringing it to her nose, she takes a soft sniff and a sigh of content passes through her parted lips. He revels in the sound and takes a small step closer when her eyes meet his.
"I-" He begins before another voice enters the fray, halting the words before they can escape from his lips.
"Momo, what are you doing?" The mature voice belongs to her mother and he shrinks back, the nervousness from his first encounter with Momo returning in spades. The woman steps from the trees and he sees her narrowed eyes and firm frown before glancing at her daughter before him. Surprise takes over her face, her body pivoting to face her mother's approaching figure.
"Spending time with a friend," Momo replies. Her tone is soft, uncertain, as if even saying the words will bring the wrath of the gods down upon her. One more look in her mother's direction and he can certainly see why.
The older woman's face has pulled into a menacing scowl, her pretty features morphing to rival Medusa's. A small part of him is fearful, but not for himself. No, he's king of the Underworld, he doesn't fear anything. The fear is for his companion, with her gentle demeanor and kind smiles. The idea of her mother ripping that kindness to shreds is cause enough for his fear (and quite the fuel for his anger).
"Get away from him," comes the growled reply. Momo recoils back at the words as if burned and he tries to mask his sudden rise in anger by forcing a deadpan look across his features.
"But - But I don't understand…" Her confusion bleeds through her words like a fresh wound and yet, her mother doesn't offer her any explanation. Instead, she rounds on him with an angry fire in her eyes.
"Stay away from her," she snarls. "Go back to your rotten kingdom. I'm sure the dead miss their king." Between the sneer and the venom in her words, her disgust is obvious. Truthfully, he isn't all that surprised. After all, most if not all of the gods detest him. Banished to a decaying kingdom with no one but the souls of the damned and his precious Cerberus, he is the outcast brother, condemned to spend an eternity alone.
"King?"
The look Momo gives him, then, cuts through him worse than any blade. Betrayal shines in her eyes, the idea of him hiding who he truly is seems to be painful to the ink haired woman. He could have assumed that she knows who he is and chose to ignore it but he knows it's his fault for not indulging in this information. After all, mentioning he's Shouto Todoroki, god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld isn't exactly a great conversation starter.
"We're leaving," her mother's voice is firm. There is no room for questions, despite Momo seeming to have a plethora of them. His eyes fall to the hand clasping her wrist, the rough tug by her mother that all but yanks her away. He wants to say something, wants to protest this, wants to burn her mother alive for touching Momo in such a harmful way.
He stays silent, however.
The flustered protests from Momo fall on deaf ears and she is dragged away, wide black eyes never leaving his as the distance just grows and grows and grows. Something painful erupts in his chest and he merely raises his left hand, hot and fiery and everything is ablaze at once.
She is gone and he is alone. His flames are the only company he has now and they are demolishing her precious garden, unleashed and full of fury.
He had wanted to see her among the ashes in one of her crimson dresses, smirking at him, and now that vision is shattered. Instead, it is replaced by the scene of the ashes of what could have been and what will never be.
Momo's flowers are never coming back, just like her.
notes - this idea came to me in the car the other day and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it since so here's a two-shot based on a todomomo take of the hades/persephone myth (my favorite btw). hope you guys enjoy and i hope i do the myth justice. thank you for reading~!