BEING IN LOVE WITH A GIRL who would never love you back was a silent kind of agony, the kind that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed until you forgot how to breathe.

Yaoyorozu Momo knew this pain intimately, had lived with it like an old wound that refused to heal. Because she was in love—with you, Aizawa [Name].

The girl with sea-blue eyes that shimmered like sunlight on water. The girl whose white hair caught in the wind like threads of silver, always a step ahead, always just out of reach. The girl who was strong, untouchable, fierce in battle, and yet so impossibly kind. The girl who made Momo's stomach tighten, her hands tremble, her heart race like a war drum in her chest.

You were a storm and a sanctuary all at once. The fire to her steel, the offensive brilliance to her defensive strategy. You challenged her, pushed her, stood beside her, and before Momo even realized it, she had begun to compete—not just for power, not just for the top ranks at U.A., but for your heart. A competition she had already lost before she had even begun.

She had confessed once. In the midst of lunch, voice steady but hands clenched beneath the table, her pulse hammering against her skin. She had barely finished saying the words when you looked at her with something unreadable in those endless blue eyes and shook your head.

"Momo, I... I don't—"

That was all it took. A rejection so soft it could've been a whisper in the wind, but it shattered her all the same.

She smiled through it, pretended it didn't crush her, swallowed the pain down until it was nothing but a dull ache she carried with her wherever she went. And things remained normal—because you made them normal. You, with your effortless grace, your bright, carefree demeanor, never letting anything turn awkward, as if Momo's confession had never happened at all.

And so, she told herself to move on. More preferably to a boy. Someone who could pull her away from this cruel, unattainable hope. Someone who could make her feel the way you did.

But she couldn't. Because every time you laughed, something inside her broke. Every time you trained together, every time you stood shoulder to shoulder, every time you turned and called her name with that easy smile—Momo felt her resolve slip through her fingers like grains of sand.

What she didn't know was that you were changing, too.

You had turned down Bakugo, Todoroki, even Shinsou—boys you had once thought you'd eventually fall for. But each time, something felt... off. Wrong. Incomplete. As if there was something missing, something you weren't ready to face. You told yourself you just hadn't found the right one yet.

And yet, there was a strange warmth that lingered in your chest when Momo laughed. A quiet flutter when she adjusted your uniform collar without thinking, when she leaned too close while studying, when her eyes met yours across the battlefield, full of trust and admiration.

And there, deep in the reflection of your own eyes, was a shimmer of green.

It was so faint at first, just a trick of the light, barely there. But as the days passed, it grew—glowing softly whenever Momo was near, whispering a truth you had not yet dared to say aloud.

You didn't know what was happening to you.

Didn't understand the shift, the slow unraveling of everything you thought you knew about yourself. But in the quiet moments—when your heart beat a little too fast and your breath caught just a little too sharply—

You were beginning to understand.

And maybe... just maybe... you had been looking in the wrong direction all along.

It first started on Halloween.

"So, we're all doing the costume party—except for Mr. Grumpy Bakugo," Mina announced, dramatically flopping onto your bed, her arms spread wide. "I swear, he's still pissed that you rejected him, [Name]."

You snorted, twirling a pen between your fingers. "Please, as if he's ever not pissed."

"Yeah, yeah, but you bruised his ego," she teased. "Anyway, the random picker 1-B made chose our costumes, so we don't have to worry too much."

You exhaled, watching how Uraraka's hair bounced slightly when you blew on it. "Oh yeah! Momo-chan is performing on the keyboard with the school band," Uraraka added excitedly, practically bouncing on her heels.

Momo let out a nervous chuckle. "It's just a small performance..."

Your eyes met hers for the briefest second before you both looked away.

"Oh yeah! [Name] and Momo are dressing up as a runaway bride and groom," Hagakure announced.

A collective gasp rippled through the room, and suddenly, you felt warmth creeping up your neck. The slight stutter in your breath, the way your heart skipped a beat—Momo noticed. She always noticed.

The gymnasium pulsed with life. Flashing neon lights illuminated groups of students dressed in everything from superheroes to horror icons. Music thundered through the speakers, shaking the floor as bodies moved to the beat, laughter and cheers blending into an indistinct hum of noise.

Somewhere across the room, Kaminari was hyping up Kirishima, who had gone full vampire mode with fake blood dripping from his fangs. Midoriya, ever predictable, was dressed as All Might, and Bakugo—true to form—was just... himself, standing in the corner with his arms crossed, glaring at anyone who came too close.

Momo wasn't sure what possessed her to agree to this.

Maybe it was Ashido's meddling. Maybe it was the desperate need to be close to you, even if just for a night. Either way, she now stood in front of a mirror backstage, adjusting the crisp white shirt she had on. The tie around her neck hung loosely, the first few buttons undone—casual, yet refined.

She wasn't used to dressing like this.

Like someone confident. Someone reckless. Someone who could take what they wanted instead of standing on the sidelines, yearning for it.

Tousled short dark hair sat on her head, wispy bangs framing her face, and glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, adding a mischievous, almost roguish touch.

The thought of you seeing her like this sent a shiver down her spine.

Then you walked in.

And Momo forgot how to breathe.

You stood there—shoulders slightly hunched, as if unsure of how you looked, but god—Momo had never seen anything more mesmerizing.

Messy white curls framed your face, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a halo around you. Your dress, short and slightly tattered, hugged your form in a way that made Momo's pulse stutter. Sneakers scuffed against the floor as you spun in place with a giggle, your veil slipping slightly over one eye. A small bandage adorned your cheek, adding a touch of mischief to your otherwise ethereal presence.

Momo clenched her fists at her sides, willing her heart to stop hammering.

While you gazed at her.

She stood just a few feet away, looking unfairly attractive in a tailored white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the delicate curve of her forearms. A tie hung loose around her neck, her short, tousled dark hair making her normally elegant presence feel... different. Messier. Edgier. More like someone who could pull you into the backseat of a getaway car and tell you to hit the gas.

The air between you crackled.

Your breath felt tight in your chest. Your fingers twitched.

And then—

Momo took a step forward.

A slow, careful step, as if she were crossing some invisible threshold.

Your stomach twisted as she reached behind her and, almost too abruptly, thrust a bouquet of flowers into your hands.

"Here."

You blinked, staring at the delicate arrangement of roses and wildflowers now clutched between your fingers.

"What?"

"It's... part of the costume," Momo said quickly, voice slightly breathless, as if she had only just realized what she had done. "A runaway bride should have a bouquet."

Her words were steady, practiced, but her hands—her hands trembled.

Your fingers brushed hers as you took the flowers, and the contact was like a live wire to your skin.

Your heart pounded, blood roaring in your ears as you looked up at her.

She was so close now.

Close enough that you could smell the faintest trace of her perfume, something soft and floral, like jasmine and vanilla. Close enough that you could see the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Close enough that, if you leaned in just a little, her lips would be just a breath away.

Something flickered in her expression.

The same something that had been plaguing you for months.

Uncertainty. Hope. Fear.

You felt your grip on the bouquet tighten. Your mind screamed at you to say something, anything, to break the tension coiling between you like a held breath.

But all you could do was stare.

And she stared back.

"...Thank you," you finally murmured, voice quieter than you intended.

Momo exhaled sharply, as if she had been holding her breath. "You're welcome."

A moment of silence.

Then—

"You look beautiful," she blurted out.

Your heart lurched.

The words hit you harder than they should have. Maybe it was the way she said them—like she meant them, like she had been dying to say them all night. Maybe it was the way her voice wavered, just barely, betraying something raw and vulnerable beneath the surface.

Or maybe it was because no boy had ever said those words and made you feel the way Momo did now.

Your grip on the bouquet tightened, knuckles turning white. "You too."

She blinked, caught off guard.

That smile.

Soft. Breathless. A little nervous, but there.

Something inside you cracked wide open.

"...Good luck with your performance," you said, voice unsteady. "I'll be cheering."

Momo nodded, too quickly. "Right. Yes. Thank you."

The words tumbled out in a breathless rush, her usually steady voice uncharacteristically unsteady. For a fleeting second, you wondered—was her heart pounding as wildly as yours? Was she drowning in the same overwhelming, dizzying feeling that had wrapped itself around your chest?

Silence settled between you like an unfinished melody, a space too heavy with things left unsaid.

Her hands twitched at her sides, as if she wanted to reach for you. You clutched the bouquet she had given you, fingers tightening around the delicate stems. The scent of flowers mixed with the faint, lingering scent of her perfume—the one you always noticed but never let yourself dwell on.

Someone called her name.

And just like that, she was gone.

Momo disappeared into the crowd, her figure swallowed by the shifting bodies, leaving behind the ghost of something electric, something fragile and new. You stood there, frozen in place, fingers still curled around the bouquet, pulse hammering against your throat.

Something was happening to you—something you couldn't ignore anymore.

And when the music started, you knew.

Momo was on stage, her fingers gliding across the keyboard, effortlessly weaving together notes that filled the air like a heartbeat. She was poised, elegant—everything you had always admired about her. And yet, tonight, there was something different.

Her eyes searched for you in the crowd.

And when they found you, everything else faded away.

Her deep black eyes shimmered for a moment, shifting, morphing, turning—until they glowed a soft, undeniable green. It was beautiful and terrifying, a silent confession spoken through the color in her gaze.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading, unfurling.

Your blue eyes flickered—no, changed—your reflection in the glass window near the stage revealing something unfamiliar. A hint of green, barely there, but unmistakable.

Recognition crashed into you like a tidal wave.

You liked her.

You liked her back.

The realization settled heavily in your stomach, twisting into something dangerously close to longing. But a question loomed in the back of your mind, suffocating, clawing at you with sharp edges—

What if it was too late?

The band's performance ended too soon. Cheers and applause erupted around you, but you barely heard them. You barely noticed anything except Momo stepping down from the stage, scanning the crowd.

Looking for you.

You slipped outside, the cool night air doing little to settle the storm inside your chest. The moonlight bathed everything in silver, and you sat down on the bench, bouquet still in hand. The petals were slightly crumpled from how tightly you had been holding them.

And then she was there.

Momo sat beside you, her presence warm, familiar, but different—heavier, like something between you had finally shifted.

"Your performance was really nice," you said, voice softer than you intended. You were fidgeting, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the edges of your dress, stealing glances at her sideways.

"Thank you," she said, but her voice was just as quiet. Just as hesitant.

Another pause.

The air between you was thick with something unnamed, something aching to be spoken.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "Momo, do you..." You hesitated, glancing down at your hands, then back up at her. "Do you still... like me?"

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she didn't breathe.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, she asked, "Do you want me to?"

Her hand inched closer on the bench, her fingertips so close to yours, but not quite touching.

You exhaled, heart thudding against your ribs. "Yeah."

And then, as if something inside you had snapped, you moved.

Your hands reached for her collar, gripping the fabric of her shirt. The fabric was warm under your touch, slightly wrinkled from the night's festivities, but all you could focus on was her—her scent, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her breath hitched.

"I hope this is fine," you whispered, voice trembling.

She nodded, barely, eyes locked onto yours.

And then you leaned in, closing the space between you.

Your lips brushed against hers, tentative at first, searching, tasting the uncertainty, the years of unspoken words between you. She exhaled against you, a shaky, desperate sound, before she pressed back, her fingers curling around your wrist, as if grounding herself in the moment.

Momo barely had time to think before your lips pressed against hers.

It was soft at first—hesitant, unsure, as if both of you were testing the weight of this moment, trying to understand if it was real. But then you moved, just the slightest tilt of your head, and something inside her shattered.

A sharp inhale, her fingers clutching your wrist, holding onto you like she was terrified you might slip away. You weren't running. You weren't rejecting her. You weren't looking past her for someone else.

You had chosen her.

The thought sent a rush of warmth through her, setting every nerve alight.

Her hands slid up, tentatively, brushing against your arms before resting on your waist. You trembled slightly, and she couldn't tell if it was the night's chill or the way her hands fit so perfectly against your frame. But she didn't pull away. She couldn't.

And then you deepened the kiss.

Your hands tugged her closer by the collar of her shirt, and she gasped softly against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, emboldening you. You tilted your head, pressing in, your lips parting just enough for her to taste the sweetness of your breath, the warmth of your skin.

Momo had imagined this moment a thousand times before—fantasized about it in the quiet corners of her mind, in the sleepless nights spent wondering if she had been born the wrong way, if she would ever be enough to make you see her.

But now, here you were, kissing her—not as a boy, not as some alternate version of herself, but as Momo Yaoyorozu.

Just Momo.

Her heart swelled, breaking apart and piecing itself back together in the span of seconds.

She didn't need to change.

She didn't need to wish to be someone else.

Because you loved her like this.

She smiled into the kiss, and you felt it, pausing just long enough to rest your forehead against hers. Your breath mingled in the cold night air, warm and trembling, hearts racing in sync.

"I really like you, Momo," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Momo exhaled shakily, her fingers curling around the fabric of your dress. "I love you, [Name]."

And for the first time, she wasn't afraid to say it.

//

The moment you and Momo stepped into class hand-in-hand, all hell broke loose.

It was as if time itself froze for a second before the entire room erupted.

"WHAT?!" Kaminari practically launched out of his chair, his juice box flying out of his hands. "NO WAY, NO WAY—SINCE WHEN?!"

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT—" Mina flailed dramatically, practically vibrating with excitement. "YOU TWO?? LIKE, YOU TWO?? I—" She gasped, hands on her cheeks. "MY SHIP CAME TRUE! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE."

Ochako's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. You guys are actually together?" Her face quickly morphed into a soft, giddy smile. "Awwww, that's so cute!"

Shoto, ever the calm one, simply blinked and nodded. "I see. That makes sense."

Bakugo, however, looked absolutely livid.

"TCH." He slammed his hands on his desk, palms crackling as if he was barely containing his rage. "SERIOUSLY?!" His crimson eyes burned with frustration, flickering between you and Momo before he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away. "Whatever. I don't care."

But you knew he cared.

Todoroki, standing beside him, sighed quietly. "Well. That explains why she rejected me." His voice was calm, but there was a tiny hint of disappointment lingering in his mismatched eyes.

Meanwhile, Kirishima grinned, throwing an arm over Momo's shoulder. "Man, I'm happy for you guys! Momo, you look so happy right now."

Momo's face flamed at the comment, and she quickly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat. "W-Well, I—I am." She glanced at you, squeezing your hand. "Very happy."

You grinned, already boasting about your relationship to others. Your children would be 'Nepotism Baby: Final Boss' after all.

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT."

The dreaded voice.

Mineta.

The small pervert came skidding across the floor on his knees, tears in his eyes, hands clutched together like he was witnessing the end of the world.

"PLEASE, TELL ME—" He dramatically gasped, looking between the two of