Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yaoyorozu Momo was used to two things in her life: Being busy, and her cat absolutely not giving a single damn about her schedule.

Creati, a fluffy white female ragdoll who will always choose to be a menace as she had made a habit of slipping past the automatic gates of the Yaoyorozu mansion. It used to terrify her, but after escaping over twelve times in a single month, Momo had simply accepted that this was her brand of enrichment.

She hired people to check on her. Bought GPS trackers she ripped off within hours. Installed cat-proof fencing that she somehow scaled like a tiny criminal.

Despite these continuous acts of escape, her precious cat will always return home and cuddle during night time.

Cats being cats, she eventually told herself. Cats being cats.

Tonight, however, was different.

Tonight, Creati didn’t come home.

And Momo, still in her silk robe and house slippers, stared at the empty cushion on the living room floor like someone had stolen a piece of her soul.

“Creati?” she called while shaking the bag of cat treats in her hand, knowing full well the cat never responded to anything unless it involved food.

But silence pressed in on her. The large, echoing kind—one that made the mansion feel twice as big and ten times as cold.

Her heartbeat spiked.

No, no, she always comes back by sunset.

Always.

Always.

Momo went to her bedroom to change clothes, a coat wrapped around her body to keep warm in the chilly outdoors. She brought her phone and the bag she kept near the door, then she practically sprinted out the front doors.

The night air was cool. The moon was bright. And Momo was one minor inconvenience away from a breakdown.

She searched the street in front of her home.

Then the next one.

And the next.

Nothing.

Her panic worsened. “Creati, please…”

Another block. No cat.

Her lungs tightened. Her steps quickened. Her eyes stung.

She turned a corner–

And froze.

A girl stood under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, looking around on the pavement, holding something bundled in her hoodie.

Something white yet smudged with dirt.

Something familiar.

Creati.

Bleeding.

“Oh my god,” the words ripped out of Momo like a gasp.

The girl jerked her head up, purple hair falling over one eye, thick black eyeliner smudged from sweat. She had a guitar case slung over her back and a look of startled concern that made Momo’s chest twist in ways that had nothing to do with her cat dying.

“Uh– hi?” the girl said, voice raspy. “Are you… this cat’s owner?”

“Yes, yes that’s my cat,” Momo blurted, rushing forward. “Is she– what happened– is she breathing– oh god–”

“She’s alive,” the girl said quickly, shifting to show Creati curled against her chest. “Got into a fight with a bigger street cat. I chased them off. She’s scratched up but looked like she was trying to go somewhere, so I figured she belonged to someone nearby.”

Momo made a strangled noise, mostly panicked as she reached out, hands trembling. Creati meowed weakly.

Her heart cracked.

“Oh sweetheart… I told you to stop escaping…”

The girl softened. “Hey, she’s tough. Just stubborn, I guess.”

“She gets that from me,” Momo whispered before realizing what she’d confessed.

The girl hid a smile.

“I’m Jirou,” she said. “Kyouka Jirou. Local musician but… you probably don’t know me.”

Momo blinked, startled—even in the chaos, she noticed how Jirou’s voice dipped into a bashful tone that was… cute. Ridiculously cute.

“I–I’m Momo Yaoyorozu,” she replied. “Thank you for saving her. Truly.”

“No problem, really.” Jirou reassured, adjusting Creati gently. “We should get her to a vet.”

“Yes– yes, absolutely.” Momo moved so fast she swayed. Jirou reached out instinctively, steadying her elbow.

The touch was brief.

But it burned.

Momo swallowed. “My car is around the corner.”

“Great,” Jirou said. “Lead the way. I’ll keep holding the kitty.”

– 🐾 –

Creati was whisked away by the vet staff the moment they arrived.

Momo stood at the counter, signing paperwork, hands shaking too badly to write legibly. Jirou placed a steadying hand on the small of her back, grounding her.

“It's okay,” Jirou murmured. “She’s gonna be okay. She’s just scraped.”

Momo didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it came out in a shudder.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re being… very kind.”

“It's no problem really,” Jirou said. “I’m just… I don’t like seeing people freak out.”

The sincere tone somehow made all of it worse for Momo’s already scrambled heart.

They sat in the waiting room.

Momo wrung her hands. Jirou tapped her foot.

Silence stretched.

Until Jirou said, “So… Yaoyorozu. Like. Yaoyorozu Yaoyorozu?”

Momo winced. “I– yes. My family is… well-known.”

“No kidding.” Jirou scratched her cheek. “I’ve seen your face on a few billboards.”

Momo flushed. “Ah.”

“No offense,” Jirou added dryly, “but you look less… airbrushed? in person.”

“…That’s not offensive?”

“It’s a compliment,” Jirou said, grinned lopsidedly. “You look real.”

Oh.

Momo’s brain tried to reboot itself.

“Th–thank you,” she stammered. “You’re… very real..? as well.”

Jirou snorted.

Before Momo could run herself to the nearest wall, the vet door opened.

“She’ll be fine,” the veterinarian announced. “Just scratches and a shallow bite. We cleaned the wounds and gave her antibiotics.”

Momo sagged in relief.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course,” the vet said.

She followed them inside. Creati sat in a kennel, patched up, eyes half-lidded with annoyance.

“Oh thank goodness,” Momo breathed, reaching through the bars to stroke his head. “You’re grounded for a week.”

Creati purred despite the threat.

Jirou’s chuckle behind her was soft, warm.

“She really likes you,” she said.

“I like her more,” Momo smiled.

She didn’t notice Jirou watching her with the same softness she has with Creati.

– 🐾 –

“You shouldn’t have to walk home alone,” Momo said as they exited the vet.

Jirou shrugged. “I only live a few blocks down.”

“At least let me drive you.”

“You just had a heart attack over your cat,” Jirou teased. “And you still wanna chauffeur me?”

Momo’s face heated. “It’s… the least I can do.”

Jirou opened her mouth—likely to tease her more—but she saw the earnestness in Momo’s eyes and softened.

“…Sure. I’ll take the ride.”

It was quiet the entire duration of the drive, slightly awkward and tense. Jirou seemed contemplative over something, hands fidgeting on her lap. When they arrived outside Jirou’s apartment building, she took a deep breath in and looked towards Momo.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “would you be okay with texting me updates on Creati? J–just so I don’t worry when she decides to take revenge on the street cat out of pure spite.”

Momo perked up. “You want… my number?”

Jirou’s face lightly flushed red. “Well– I’m sorry I’m probably overstepping, nevermind–”

“NO– um,” Momo fumbled with her phone. “It’s okay! Uh– here–”

Their fingers brushed as they exchanged devices.

Both pointedly avoided eye-contact as they saved the numbers and returned the phone.

“Goodnight, Yaoyorozu,” Jirou said softly, stepping out of the car.

“Please call me Momo.”

Jirou paused, smiled.

“Goodnight, Momo.”

Momo barely slept that night.

She blamed the adrenaline.

She blamed the cat.

She did not blame the musician with purple hair and a voice that lingered in her head like a melody she couldn’t forget.

– 🐾 –

The next morning during breakfast, Momo’s phone notification chimed.

Jirou: good morning, momo! how’s the stubborn kitty?

Momo: She’s recovering well!! Thank you again, truly.

Jirou: its cool

Jirou: u feed her now?

Momo: Yes, he ate a full breakfast.

Jirou: damn

Jirou: she eats better than i do

Momo giggled.

They ended up texting a lot the entire day.

And the days after that.

Jirou: …is it normal for cats to hiss at people or is that just ur cat’s brand

Momo: You brought her to your studio?!

Jirou: well u said she needed company

Momo: I didn’t mean you had to provide it!

Jirou: too late she’s judging Kaminari

Momo’s heart melted.

She was texting how restless Creati was getting by being stuck inside the house and that she can’t take her outside with her busy schedule. Momo hadn’t asked Jirou to stop by.

But Jirou had offered.

“Just to make sure she isn’t lonely,” she’d said, casually, pretending the visit wasn’t an excuse to see Momo again.

As the sun set, a knock was heard on Momo’s door. Her pulse sped up as she speed-walked to open it.

Momo invited her in the house for the first time and after Jirou’s flushed stuttering of "it’s okay– you don’t have to," they ended up sitting on the living room floor, watching Creati nap on the couch.

“So…” Jirou said, glancing at her from the corner of her eye, “this place is… big.”

“It is very big,” Momo murmured.

Jirou tilts her head. “Do you feel lonely here?”

Momo blinked, caught off-guard by the bluntness.

But she didn’t lie.

“Sometimes.”

Jirou looked at her, eyes looking for…something.

Her expression then softened. “Well. You have a cat. And me, I guess. If you want the company.”

Momo tried not to combust.

“I’d… like that, Jirou.”

“Kyouka.”

“Huh?”

“If I can call you Momo, you can also call me by my first name, if you’re chill with it.”

Momo’s eyes lit up, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s more than fine, Kyouka.”

Kyouka’s cheeks pinked.

“Cool,” she muttered, plucking at her earlobe out of habit. “Cool.”

– 🐾 –

They keep finding excuses to keep meeting.

“Creati liked sitting in my guitar case yesterday,” Kyouka said. “I should take her again.”

~

“I’m worried she needs someone to watch her while I go to my photoshoot,” Momo said. “Could you…?”

~

“I bought new cat treats, you should see what she likes best,” Momo texted.

~

“My friend gave me his extra cat toys,” Kyouka texted. “Can you come over to play with Creati?”

They hung out in parks.

In cafés.

In Kyouka’s cramped but cozy apartment filled with music gear and posters.

In Momo’s overly large, cold echoing mansion that somehow felt warmer when Kyouka was there.

Sometimes they sat in comfortable silence.

Sometimes they talked about music and fashion and their childhood.

Sometimes Momo stared at Kyouka’s hands while she played guitar and flushed.

Sometimes Kyouka watched Momo laugh and got flustered.

It was subtle.

Slow.

Unspoken.

But they were falling.

Very, very obviously falling.

– 🐾 –

It had been three weeks.

Creati healed completely.

Tonight, Kyouka stopped by after a gig, still smelling faintly of smoke machines and sweat.

“How was your show?” Momo asked as she handed her a cold drink.

“The crowd was small,” Kyouka said. “But they were very enthusiastic."

“I wish I could’ve gone,” Momo said softly. “My shoot ended late.”

Kyouka shrugged. “You’re here now.”

Momo’s heart fluttered.

They ended up on the couch, Creati sleeping on Kyouka’s lap.

Momo stared at Kyouka’s face—the contour of her jaw, the slight eyeliner smudge, the hint of tiredness mixing with something warm and content.

She felt her heart beating fast, hands clammy and throat dry.

She realized she wanted—desperately—to keep her.

“Kyouka?” Momo said softly.

“Hmm?”

“I… have something to say.”

Kyouka looked at her. “Shoot.”

Momo inhaled deeply.

Her stomach twisted.

Her heart pounded.

Everything in her shook, but she spoke anyway.

“I like you.”

Kyouka froze. Eyes wide. Breath stilled.

Momo pushed onward, voice trembling but honest.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a short time, and I know we started hanging out because of Creati, but… I really, really like you. More than just… friends.” She swallowed. “Would you… maybe want to go on a date with me?”

Silence.

Agonizing.

Momo wanted to melt into a puddle.

But then Kyouka exhaled—a soft, stunned laugh.

“You’re kidding.”

Momo’s heart plummeted. “I—”

“No! no,” Kyouka said quickly, leaning closer, “I’m not saying no. I just– holy crap, Momo, you’re–” She gestured helplessly. “You’re you. And I’m just… me.”

Momo blinked. “I don’t quite understand,” her head tilted and eyes wide. “I like you because you’re you. Is that not enough?”

Kyouka stared at her.

Her face then softened into something bright and fragile and overwhelmed.

“…Yeah,” she murmured. “That’s enough.”

Momo’s breath caught.

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Kyouka said, cheeks flushed pink. “Like. A real one. Without your cat being a definitely-not-obvious excuse.”

Momo laughed—loud, relieved, unrestrained.

Kyouka smiled.

Creati meowed, annoyed that the moment ruined her nap.

The two giggled as they pampered the cat as an apology.

Momo reached carefully for Kyouka’s hand.

Kyouka let her.

Their fingers laced together.

Warm. Steady. Right.

Momo whispered, “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow,” Kyouka said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll pick you up. And no fancy car, I’m showing up with my bike.”

“Oh dear,” Momo teased.

“Hey,” Kyouka smirked, “you already agreed.”

Momo giggled.

Kyouka leaned her head against Momo’s shoulder.

Creati settled back down.

And under the soft glow of the living room lights, the beginnings of something new—gentle, hopeful, impossibly sweet—settled between them.

A date tomorrow.

A maybe-something more after that.

Open-ended.

Warm.

Promising.

Just like them.