AN: Shouto and Jirou come to their own realizations. (The song Momo is humming is Dancing in the Rain because I'm a sap, and the songs in the kmjr segments are: Rock to My Roll (Anarbor); Mambo No.5; Party in the USA (Miley Cyrus) and Fire Escape (Andrew McMahon). Enjoy!)
11. A Dash of Fun to Season the Party
The clack of her heels against the wet cement is almost melodious, and Shouto notices that she has the same skip to her step even when she isn't serving customers. The streetlamps strewn on the alley that leads to her apartment shed light over a mostly empty street, their yellow glow reflected in the ponds that line the pavement and ripple with the occasional drop of water that dribbles down a damp roof.
"You really didn't have to do this," Momo says as they take a right, looking at him with curious amusement.
"I know." And he does know. He didn't have to walk her all the way home, or to get his shoes wet jumping in puddles with her - it was really childish, but her clear laughter was enough of an incentive anyway - so the only answer he is left with is, "I wanted to." Her heels stop their rhythmical tapping for a split second, just enough for Shouto to add, "I couldn't let a friend walk back alone."
Momo blinks, but her confusion soon morphs into one of those smiles Shouto keeps replaying in his mind whenever he thinks of her, but can never quite capture the right place of her dimples or the number of creases along the corners of her eyes. Satisfied with his answer, she focuses on the road again, humming lowly - it's a song Shouto can't recognize, but she seems so entranced by it that he doesn't dare break her daze.
The other reason why Shouto walked her back is because he feels as if, as soon as they leave A Cup of Magic, time turns against them, flying by even faster to make up for its boundless patience inside the coffee shop. He decides to keep that hint of selfishness to himself.
Soon - too soon - Momo stops in front of an apartment complex. "We're here," she muses, but lingers for a heartbeat before digging into her purse for the keys. For how organised she is, it takes her quite a bit to fish them out, but Shouto doesn't mind it. There's something fascinating about the halo of light around her dark hair that seems ripped out of the night.
When she finally finds her keys, she takes a step towards the stairs, but twirls around to say, "You're friends with Kaminari-san, right?"
Shouto isn't sure if friends is the right word - he doesn't dislike the boisterous barista, however, and that must count for something. "Yes," he answers, his voice hanging in a question.
"Wonderful!" Momo claps her hands. "Then would you like to come by the shop tomorrow? We always hold a party for our newcomers, but Ochako has been sick up to now. She's feeling better though, so she'll be back tomorrow!"
A month ago, Shouto wouldn't have fancied such an outing - would even have called it a waste of time. But now, he remembers the warm hug Uraraka pulled him into when she called him family, the pleasant time he spent with Sato in the kitchen, creating both the best and the worst mousse he's ever subjected his taste buds to, and the fistbumps Kaminari always greets him with.
When he sees Momo's smile, he knows his decision is already taken.
"Sure," he concedes, watching as her face brightens even more.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then! Good night, Shouto!"
"Yeah," he mutters, raising a hand to mirror the small wave she gives him. "Good night!"
He sticks around until the sound of her boots stalking against the stairs dies out, and loosens a breath he didn't know he was holding in. As soon as her fragrance dissipates into the chilly November air, however, Shouto feels a wet drop on his right cheek, and then another on his hand. The familiar pitter-patter of rain pads against the barely dry pavement, and Shouto tips back his head with a tired sigh.
It's been like this ever since their first meeting - Momo brings calm with herself wherever she goes, but as soon as the last hints of her presence melt away, chaos installs itself comfortably in the hole she leaves behind. Within a few seconds, Shouto's hair is damp beyond salvation, and he decides he'll just walk home, trusting his history of not catching colds to save him again.
And maybe that's how he would have made it home, if not for frenetic steps chasing him and someone calling his name. "Thank God I catched up with you!" Momo pants a bit, holding out an umbrella that Shouto gratefully accepts.
"How did you-" he tries, but she can probably read his mind by this point.
"I couldn't let a friend walk home in the rain," she says slily, tilting her own umbrella to reveal a gleeful smirk.
Fuyumi calls Shouto's default setting "deadpan with a chance of frown", but right now, he finds himself chuckling at the pride with which she turns his own words against him. The sound of his low laughter is drown out by the pouring rain, but she must hear it nonetheless, because she practically beams at him.
"Well, my job here is done," she speaks over the downpour, but doesn't shout, because Momo never shouts, not at rude customers, nor at mishaps behind the counter and clearly not at the weather. But Momo is flustered, and that's a look Shouto feels inexplicably drawn to when he knows he's the reason for the soft pink flush covering her cheeks.
In his defense, his hand moves on its own to wrap around her fingers when she twirls around to go. The muddled look she gives him suggests she finds no logical explanation to it. That makes two of them, at least.
Quickly finding his footing again, Shouto says, "Thank you. For the umbrella," he adds after a small pause. For everything, he keeps to himself.
"Of course!" she easily says, taking a step closer again and twisting her hand in his. Shouto almost lets her go, suddenly aware of his every knuckle and the warmth of said palm, of how calloused from wearing plastic gloves in the lab every day it must be, and how rough it is when compared to her gentle fingers. She only flattens her palm against his, however, and squeezes his fingers closer reassuringly.
The part of Shouto that has been subject to years of Fuyumi's cheesy romantic flicks tells him this is the part where the protagonists share a kiss, and he is bewildered at such a thought even crossing his mind. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he watches her starry eyes with mild dread, because he's not sure what she expects him to do.
All he knows is that the weight of her palm is pleasant, perhaps he'd even call it fitting, if he believed in fate and the insanely easy perception of having something destined before one's birth. He doesn't, however, so her hand remains pleasant, and he remains just as clueless about how to proceed.
And then, suddenly, a stroke of genius makes him blurt out, "Could I have your phone number?"
Momo looks entertained by this solution, almost appreciative of the subversion of the "holding hands in the rain" trope, and Shouto counts his giggle as a victory. "Sure," she answers, sliding her phone from the pocket of her jacket without letting go of his hand.
She's the only contact in his phone that Shouto labels using just one word - even Fuyumi-nee and Natsuo-nii have a short Todoroki added next to them - but Momo is just Momo, and no word can fully encapsulate or tag her. He smiles a little when he notices she also writes him down as Shouto, and then they truly bid their goodnights for the last time. His left hand feels cold after she lets go.
Shouto takes his time walking to the subway station, watching the curtain of rain enclosing him as if in a cage, but realizes he's never felt so free. Chaos coexists with calm, and in a strange role reversal, Mother Nature is ire while he is perfect balance. Momo would call this magic, but Shouto doesn't believe in magic.
She makes him want to believe.
It's still coming down in buckets when Shouto opens his umbrella - Momo's umbrella - and steps outside the comfort of the bustling subway station, but it feels more like the sky's sigh of relief than shouts of anger. Shouto doesn't remember the last time he just looked at water rolling down tilted rooftops in thick beads and thought that was beautiful, or even smiled at the sight of children jumping from puddle to puddle, wrapped in colourful raincoats and loud giggles.
It's a foreign gesture, but it makes his blood flow quicker, just like the best of Sato's cakes do.
On his way to the coffee shop, Shouto checks on the cat he feeds every day, worrying about her shelter on such days. As he passes by the usual corner, however, he sees a man already crouched in front of a cardboard box, holding an umbrella out for both himself and the cat and scratching her between the ears with a fond look.
Maybe the terrible weather just brings out the best in everyone.
Even before opening the door to A Cup of Magic, Shouto sees Momo's spiky ponytail through the glass door fogged up by the rain and spies her poised posture, even as she's sitting on a barstool, focused on an open notebook resting between her elbows. The melodious clinking of the chimes barely reaches her, and Shouto folds his umbrella quietly, almost afraid that the raindrops he's bringing from the outside could dispel the soothing buzz of the quaint cafe.
Sato emerges from the kitchen wearing his brown apron and wide smile, carrying two trails filled to the brim with steaming cookies that he pours into a jar on the counter. When he catches Shouto's eyes, he raises a quiet hand in salute, and juts a thumb towards the chalkboard sporting the seasonal menu, as if to ask if the usual will do. Shouto nods wordlessly before sliding onto the stool next to Momo's.
Her attention has been stolen by a page of what looks like quotes and cup designs, the end of her mechanical pencil pressed against her front teeth and her brows lowered in a thinking pose. "Red and white?" Shouto asks as his eyes flit to the catalogue of tones and colour schemes she holds close by. She jolts a bit, as if woken from a dream, and her eyes slowly zero in on Shouto. "Isn't that a bit mainstream?"
She blinks as a lazy smile dismisses the frown. "Was that supposed to be a jest?" Her eyes hover over Shouto's hair for a split second, and he just shakes his head bemusedly. "We're brainstorming the newest design for the Christmas month," she explains, pointing to the neat stack of colour coded quotes she has printed out.
"Got any ideas?" he asks, reading some of the suggestions. They're the usual, commercial "Have a Merry Little Christmas" or "Let it Snow!". He feels like he finally understands where the frown stemmed from.
"We left a suggestion box in every shop and even opened one online but…" she trails off, glancing at the pile she has probably sorted through at least a dozen times, given their worn, crinkling corners. "None of them is…"
"Magical," Shouto completes, and she nods wearily. "May I see?" Even before she answers, he pulls the notebook towards himself, flipping through pages upon pages of scribbled notes. It's the first time he actually notices how neat and organised her writing is, and is taken aback by the number of models she's gone through - stripped, spotted, with stars or trees, and even one with cats that Shouto finds himself particularly drawn to.
Reaching the last page, his eyes are pulled by a simple mug that has hte logo drawn on it, and is surrounded by stars and globes hanging by strings. "Momo," he mutters, afraid that louder words might chase away the idea that has just sent shivers down his spine. "I think I got it."
He feels Momo's gaze trained on him, quietly ebbing him on when a soft clink makes them both jolt. Sato props his elbows on the counter and leans in, "What have you got?"
"You can use this model," Shouto points to the one he's been entranced by, "but replace Magic with ellipsis."
"So A Cup of…" Sato's eyebrows point sharply to the bridge of his nose.
"You can complete that with words that describe the cafe and place them on the globes hanging around," Shouto explains, scratching the Magic from the design and writing Smiles in one of the nearby round bubbles.
Momo claps her hands and swiftly wrestles another pen from her pencil case. "And then we can add Magic in a matching cup on the back!" she beams, drawing another identical shape with only a few lines, brimming with excitement as her hair spills from its place behind her ear. "And we can use the responses from all the customers to fill the globes!"
"That's great!" Sato agrees with a nod, clapping Shouto's shoulder. "This calls for a piece of the finest High-class Vanilla," he grins widely before disappearing into the kitchen to obtain the promised treat, and Momo beams at Shouto from ear to ear.
"Thank you," she says, and Shouto knows that she means it. Momo always means it.
"Anytime," he shrugs, cutting the pile of printed flyers in two and taking a stack for himself, sorting through the responses to the online survey as his physics assignments lie forgotten in the bag slung over the backrest of his chair.
Jirou has a faint feeling that the sudden song change that just so happens to overlap with her entering the cafe and with Kaminari whistling along to the much too familiar tune is not just a suspicious chain of coincidences, but the first few lyrics cut off her snarky remark. Jirou takes off her headphones to make sure she isn't just imagining things.
Of course, life is not so convenient that this is all one big and shitty product of her imagination, which leaves a frizzy haired Jirou absolutely baffled, frozen on her way to the counter, listening to her secretly favourite lovesong. Of course no one else in the coffee shop knows about this, so Jirou has no reason to feel as embarrassed as she does.
And then Kaminari has the audacity to wink at her, just to remind her that he is a ball of walking and talking cringe that just so happens to know she is not the queen of rock she prides herself to be, and Jirou is suddenly not feeling flustered anymore. Oh no, she's pissed off by this antrophosized Pikachu just walking back into her life to make her sing pop trash and listen to Rock to My Roll all over again like he never broke her heart, and she's had it.
But of course that's not it, because Lady Luck and Jirou had a terrible fallout some years ago and now they're just out to get each other at every possible turn. This time it's Lady Luck's point, because Kaminari just has to do the worst possible thing.
He sings along.
He sings along to You are the rhythm to my rhyme/ And you are my radio/ Turn you up when I feel low/ You are the soundtrack to all I know, while gazing at Jirou and using the cup he's holding as a fake microphone. When the chorus kicks in, he holds the impromptu sound amplifier to her mouth as an invite.
For the entirety of the chorus, Jirou blankly stares at the blond, a myriad of conflicting emotions passing through her without stopping to even give Jirou a chance at picking them apart. She knows there's annoyance, and anger, and something that she should probably name longing but decides to call stupidity, and it all culminates in her letting out a wheeze.
Roaring laughter bubbles out of her for no apparent reason, and Jirou doubles over under Kaminari's incredulous - and slightly concerned - eyes, but she can't grab the reins over her cackling. The song keeps playing, and Jirou peeks at Kaminari through the curtain of hair that's now cascading over her eyes. The fondness she finds in the melted gold makes her breath catch, but she keeps laughing to ensure the confidentiality of her blush.
"You okay there?" Kaminari asks when she straightens up.
Jirou cocks her head, slamming her hand on the counter and giving him a pointed look. It makes her feel in charge again. "Really? Rock to My Roll? How cheesy can you get, Pikachu?"
He grins, "You can't fool me, Jirou. You actually like it!"
She just turns around, calling, "Grande cappuccino with caramel topping" over her shoulder, but she knows it's just an act to get away from that infectious smile she can never get quite enough of.
"Thank you again, Kyouka," Momo says as she pops the CD in and ushers everybody - including Jirou - behind the counter. "I knew I could count on you!"
"I'm just here to make fun of his pop music," Jirou stresses as she reluctantly ducks behind the bar, crushed between a beaming Momo and an Ashido that wriggles her eyebrows to the point where Jirou wonders if she can get muscular pain because of it.
She wants to spit out a snarky remark, but Ashido covers her mouth with perfectly manicured fingers upon hearing the creaking of the lockers door. Soon enough, Kaminari's voice reverberates closer and closer to them, "I'm done. Good work - hey, where's everyone?" His footsteps stop before the counter and Momo's fingers slowly curls into her palm as the countdown reaches its end-
"SURPRISE!" they collectively shout, jumping from behind the counter like a finely tuned spring toy. Kaminari's eyes widen and shift to the ceiling when Kirishima flips the light switch on, replacing the usual warm hues of the coffee shop by Ashido's disco ball, which bathes his blond hair in pink and blue squares.
"What-"
"Welcome to the family, Kaminari-san!" Momo shuffles past her coworkers to stand before him and give him a genuine smile. "Now you're officially an A Cup of Magic employee, and that calls for a proper celebration."
He gapes for words, and Jirou recognizes the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. This is awkward Kaminari, unused to being appreciated or praised, this is him trying to keep in tears of joy, and that is precisely why he wraps his arms around Momo and pulls her in a hug. Jirou can't quite hear it, but she's sure he mutters, "Thank you" in her ear.
It only takes Ashido and Uraraka jumping over the counter with the warcry, "Group hug!" to pull every innocent soul on the battlefield, including a reluctant Jirou and that half and half boy Momo hangs around lately.
It's probably Uraraka, finally back at work and ready to party, who presses play on the CD-player, and the coffee shop is filled with pop tunes that Jirou really wishes she didn't recognize, which is of course impossible because a) she spent too much time with Kaminari to get out unscathed and b) she compiled the list herself. As any retired soldier does, Jirou considers her part done and perches herself on the counter, watching Kaminari go through Mambo No. 5 effortlessly.
He first spins Momo around, making her chuckle at his over the top moves, and then promptly spins her out of his reach and dubiously close to the half and half boy that she most definitely has a crush on given her furious blush when she suddenly loses her grace and almost stumbles into his arms - not that Jirou's judging. Kaminari then proceeds to match his moves to Ashido's wild tempo, and surprisingly for everyone but Jirou, succeeds, only to just as deftly switch to teaching Uraraka how to dance along this classic.
Jirou doesn't even try to pretend her eyes aren't following him - she's a terrible liar, after all. This is the same goofy Kaminari that she enjoyed hanging out with, the same guy who made everything seem easy, and most definitely the guy Jirou could never quite get over. She's also infinitely aware that she was too stupid to tell him how deep her feelings ran - that maybe she only realised she truly liked him when it was already too late.
Miley Cyrus kicks in, and she makes a point to fake gag at the beat of Party in the USA when Kaminari catches her eyes. Ignoring her feigned disgust, he yells, "Who even made this playlist? All my favourites are here!"
Uraraka and Ashido both jab a finger in Jirou's direction, effectively breaching at least three rules of the broship code, and Jirou gives them the death glare when Kaminari starts strolling towards her - without stopping that weird Elvis-hips-swaying act he has going on, of course. Jirou doesn't know why she expected anything more.
When he stops in front of her - if the little pirouette he does can even be categorized as such - she rolls her eyes and bats the outstretched hand away. "Dream on, Pikachu," she snorts.
"Come on, Jirou," he whines, catching her other hand and giving her one of the trademark electrifying smiles as she tugs her on the so-called dancefloor. "It's my party!"
She rolls her eyes again, wondering if they'll get stuck at the back of her head, but before she can pretend to give in just because he's a royal pain - and not because the butterflies in her stomach are too much - his hands are on her waist and he's pulling her up, spinning her around once before letting her down gently. It all happens so fast that Jirou's knees almost buckle when she touches the ground, but she can't ignore the warmth he irradiates or his hands linked on the small of her back.
She slaps his shoulder only half playfully, prompting a nervous chuckle out of him. She hates how despite his cheesy grand gestures, she's still tapping her foot to the beat. She hates it even more that Kaminari notices it.
His hands lower slowly, tentatively, from her waist to her hips, just as Jirou slides her arms from around his neck to his chest, padding his shirt like it might burn her. Unbeknownst to her, her body sways to the music, and Kaminari's eyes light up with a smile his lips can't quite muster. Jirou gets it - she herself is afraid that if any muscle in her jaw twitches, she'll wake up and realize this has all been nothing but a dream.
The song changes, but Kaminari doesn't switch partners, and Jirou doesn't stop dancing either. His presence is oddly comforting, and the proximity, strangely not at all unsettling. "Our big ideas filled empty bars," Kaminari mouths along as he spins Jirou once.
She crashes against his chest just as the song goes, "You're the reason why I'm still up at down," and feels a small laugh leave her lips when he smiles down at her.
Perhaps having Kaminari greet her with cheesy love songs she secretly adores might not be that bad, after all.
AN:Hi~
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I had a *hard* time not making it TOO sappy, believe me! I absolutely adore the rain scene though, and I'm just super excited because some adorable kmjr scenes are coming up in the next chapter and I'm lowkey dying to write them. Almost every character will get their arc in this story, so I'm excited who you think comes next hehe:)
Till next time, with a cup of warm tea (beware of the cold!) dear readers~