#internship.arc

[ryuu-scribbles]

Poor Monoma, the angel that fell...

@ua-monoma

[ua-momo-archive]

Left on top of the bundle of presents already left there by other people is a sparkly green package, wrapped with silly wallpaper covered in little lizards and dinosaurs. Inside is a bundle of shirts, a light pink one, a light blue and a black one. The pink one reads "GO CREATI!", the blue "GO LIZARDY!" and the black, a complicated and beautiful graphic of both their names with matching logos. A picture with Setsu wearing the Creati shirt tops it, the back saying "HAPPY BDAY! To you + to us 💚"

[prev.]

Momo opens the gift wrapping carefully, almost smiling at the tiny reptilians that smile at her on the paper. When she takes in the designs of the shirts, she feels something in her chest ache - a feeling that is all at once so distant and yet so, so familiar. A lone tear runs down her cheek as she runs her thumb over the picture of Setsuna wearing the matching shirt.

Within the next hour, she’s resigned from her internship in France and is boarding a plane back to Japan.

@ua-setsuna

[ua-aizawa-returns]

(ua-kazutomiki). SMS: Mr. Aizawa, may I ask for your help? Well, seeing as the internships are going up and running, I wonder if it's fine if we... Uh... trained? I wanted to train with you. Uh, not that I wanted to have an internship with you, it's just, uh,, it's fine if we can't do it now! We could do it later! Is it fine with you? Sorry for intruding if you were in the middle of your job.

There is no issue with reaching out. Training will begin in earnest after orientation. If you have any specific requests, I am available.

@ua-kazutomiki

[ua-aizawa-returns]

So... How do you feel about the simulation, Aizawa?

It’s bullshit.

The whole thing.

Traumatizing students under the excuse of preparation? It’s not just morally wrong, it’s illogical. Push people too hard and they will either break or push back.

There is also a new explanation that the worst of the trauma is some secret villain. Far too convenient. No matter what happens I won’t buy into this goddamn bullshit.

I wish I’d been able to stop it.

[Prompt: Muse is unable to control emotions for three asks - 2/3]

[ua-momo-archive]

I MISSED YOU I LOVE YOU 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️♥️♥️💓💓💓💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💓♥️♥️♥️♥️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Ah, yes... I apologize that it’s taken me so long to return to U.A... There were some issues with paperwork and the like, but I’m happy to be back now. Thank you for your continual support. I’ll do my best to ensure that I won’t let you down in the future.

[ua-momo-archive]

september 23 | evening

Momo’s been in France for nearly a month now. Today is her birthday, and if her grandfather hadn’t surprised her with a sudden visit, she wonders if she would have forgotten. He’s brought with him an assortment of gifts that had apparently been left for her, as well as some personal ones he had chosen for himself. And when he looks at her, his eyes beam with a certain degree of pride that she doesn’t think she’s seen in ages; he laughs at the sight of her, remarks at how much she’s grown, how much honor she’s brought to her family, what her current actions mean for the current status of the Yaoyorozu legacy... 

And there’s a piece of her that has to hold back tears at his praise because it all feels so, so wrong.

That part of her has grown smaller now though. Nearly nonexistent. In a country far away from her closest friends and family, with only the support of the Hero Commission and her distant relatives to give her any solace, that part of her has whittled away into scarcely anything at all. She wonders if that thought should sadden her.

Touma looks a little uncomfortable for a moment and excuses himself to the bathroom.

When he returns with a noticeable lump in his pocket, there’s a curiosity sparkling in his eyes and he looks at her. Really looks at her. Momo wonders when was the last time someone actually had.

“Sweetheart… Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Momo doesn’t even have the energy to sigh at the question, instead fingering a sparkly green box that sits upon the pile of gifts her grandfather had brought. There’s something about it that holds her attention, but she can’t quite pinpoint what exactly it is. “I have internship duties today, Grandfather. I’m not sure how long I can stay with you to chat.”

Touma frowns, obviously hurt by the answer. “Why, you can’t even take a day off to spend time with your loving grandfather who’s already flown all this way?”

“I cannot abandon my duties, Grandfather. You’re the one who taught me that.”

He says nothing for a moment, leaning back in his chair with a relatively dumbfounded expression on his features. “Well… Yes. I suppose that’s true. It’s important for you to live with the responsibility of your actions. You are the one who wanted to be a hero after all, and now that you’re getting all of these opportunities… It wouldn’t be fair of you to change your mind. After all, people expect a great deal of things from you now, Momo.”

She feels herself shrink in her seat.

“Yes, Grandfather. You’re absolutely right.”

--------------------------

It isn’t until night falls, when she’s said her goodbyes to her grandfather and finished her duties for the day that she finally gets to open that sparkly green present.

[ua-momo-archive]

august 12 | evening.

It’s an awkward situation to say the least.

Mayumi and Ichirou sit at opposite ends of the dining table, doing everything they can to avoid looking one another in the eye. They’ve made it a point to continue acting as though everything’s okay—for Momo’s sake, they continue to insist, though at this point its more for their own than her’s. Appearances have always been their everything and that much shouldn’t have to change. So they continue to play the respective roles of loving husband and wife, doting mother and father, with masks of carefully painted porcelain and smiles that never truly reach their eyes. It’s been fairly easy to do; Ichirou had already been spending nights at the office even before their big fight, and Momo had planned to stay in Musutafu to be closer to her internship. Their interactions have been minimal at best.

Which is what makes this whole thing feel even worse.

They had both been surprised to receive individual calls from the heads of the family’s chauffeur team, informing them that “Miss Yaoyorozu will be arriving at the family estate just past seven—we apologize that she won’t be arriving until after dinner, but this is the best we can do on such short notice. Our sincerest apologies.”

Mayumi had lamented that the news was “most regrettable,” Ichirou had responded that such circumstances were “perhaps unavoidable,” and then they had each hurried to call the other with frustrated demands to learn just what exactly was going on.

Neither one had an answer for the other. And so, really, all they could do was arrange for a caterer to provide the setting of a loving family dinner, sit at their respective places at the dinner table, and wait.

Today was the first official day of her internship.

Momo hasn’t even been working for a full day.

Mayumi can’t help but bite her lip at the thought, consciously doing everything in her power to not sneak a glance at her husband across the table. But she can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s rushing to the same conclusion that she is, the only viable conclusion, really, given that Momo’s made the decision on her own to return home and that she hadn’t even bothered to phone ahead to let her parents know.

Ichirou, for his part, has been unable to take his eyes off his wife—and he wonders if its the weight of his gaze that warns Mayumi to never once grace him with even the most sparing of glances, lest they make eye contact and feel obligated to start up a conversation.

It pains him in a way that he can’t quite describe.

Her hair is pulled back in a way that’s he knows is meant to appear somewhat messy, but the way the stray strands of hair frame her solemn features only seems to highlight the gauntness of her cheeks and the dark circles beneath her eyes. The red of her lips is moreso from the way she gashes at them with her teeth than the artificial color of her makeup; in fact, the light application of blush only seems to emphasize the pale pallor of her features. She looks stressed and tired and almost forsaken—and it feels as though it’s been lifetimes since Ichirou last saw her like this. 

But the fact of the matter is that it had only been last November, when news of the attack on U.A. had first been released and they weren’t yet sure if Momo was okay or if they’d lost her forever to the cruel trials of the world.

The door chooses that exact moment to softly click open, and at the subtle break of silence, Mayumi and Ichirou rise to their feet in expectation.

“Momo darling, is that you?”

There’s no response.

“Sweetheart, you’re just in time for dinner!”

Nothing.

Ichirou feels himself stiffen up as a chill runs down Mayumi’s spine. He whips his head back to stare at her once more, a desperate, questioning look in his eyes as he finds himself at a total loss for what to do, unable to understand what it is that’s going on because he fears too strongly what that understanding might mean.

Mayumi doesn’t spare him a glance. And the door clicks shut.

The sound seems to spur her into action, and she scurries out of the dining room without another word. Ichirou finds himself chasing after the crimson silk of her top, turning sharp corners in a desperate attempt to keep her in his sight and to be led to the answers she’s sure to find.

Still standing in the entryway to the parlor is Momo, clad in her hero outfit and an expressionless mask. Her bags are nowhere in sight and her shoulders are slumped forward, as though they’re being forced down by a burden invisible to them all. She stares at her parents, blankly, and when Mayumi rushes to give her an affectionate hug and a kiss on the cheek—as is their usual greeting—Momo flinches back.

She flinches.

An expression of shocked horror consumes her mother’s features as she struggles for the words to say, but it seems that such an attempt is futile. Before she’s even given a chance, Momo simply shakes her head, turns, and walks up the staircase to her room.

For the first time since their fight several nights ago, Mayumi finds herself willingly turning to meet Ichirou’s gaze, eyes wide, desperate.

Ichirou says nothing but the knowing way in which he stares says everything.

Mayumi falls to her knees, grabbing at her hair as her breathing picks up, as her worst fears are all but confirmed and she realizes that her prayers fell on deaf ears—as they always do—and that it really is true…

She’s useless.

(She just wanted to do what was best for her family. 

For her family.

Anything for her family.)

[ua-momo-archive]

august 16 | morning

It’s been three days since Momo arrived back home. She hasn’t left her room and she hasn’t said a word since her return. Her parents are forced to leave food outside her doorstep in the hopes that she’ll at least eat something, but their hopes are always dashed.

Until that fateful morning.

Ichirou’s sitting at the table, coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other. It’s just for show, really—he can’t find it in himself to idly read when there’s so obviously something wrong with his daughter and absolutely no way for him to know what it is exactly. 

Mayumi had tried to call the Hero Commission directly to try and get some answers, but even that led to minimal luck: the line had constantly been busy, and even when she did get to speak to a representative, she was simply told that the family would be receiving a personal call from the head of the commission with the finer details, but what she could be told was that there had been an accident during the internship orientation—but nobody had been hurt, not really. Her daughter was perhaps just experiencing some shock but would surely explain herself in no time. There was no need to worry.

No need to worry.

Needless to say, Mayumi had screamed and yelled and threatened the helpless representative, demanding to speak to an actual head of the commission “as soon as fucking possible”—only to be promptly hung up on.

She hadn’t gotten another call through since.

Not wanting to drag her mother into the mess and not wanting to somehow make things even worse for herself, Mayumi’s settled for canceling all further appointments so that she can remain at her vigilant post in her home, waiting—praying—for the moment that Momo will finally come down the stairs. Ichirou, too, has stopped going to work and has been sleeping at the dining room table while Mayumi’s taken the living room sofa; they both know that, logically, there are countless bedrooms for them to choose from… but both fear the possibility that they’ll miss their daughter.

And it really is just Momo that ties the two together at this point, so that’s probably why their personal sleeping arrangements have yet to be brought up. Though, to be fair, they haven’t been saying much to each other at all.

Mayumi’s slumped over the tabletop, absentmindedly watching the steam from her tea drift ever upwards when she sees it in the periphery of her vision: the gentle steps as someone makes their way down the staircase.

She sits up immediately in surprise and, noticing the change in her demeanor, Ichirou is quick to turn his attention to the staircase as well.

Sure enough, there’s Momo: a blanket thrown over the  hero’s outfit she’s yet to change out of and her hair oily and stuck to the sides of her face. She makes eye contact with no one as she takes her seat at the dining room table.

Mayumi’s lips part in greeting, but no sound comes out. From the corner of her eye, she sees Ichirou shake his head at her and, for once, she consciously agrees with his silent warning. Her husband pours Momo a fresh cup of tea from the pot as Mayumi hurries to the kitchen to grab a makeshift breakfast.

Momo finishes the meal in silence. And every time Mayumi tries to break it, she catches Ichirou subtly shaking his head. Her heart surges in her chest as Momo stands up, wishing, wanting to say something but not being able to find the proper thing to say. She doesn’t know where her courage has gone, but it seems that it’s nowhere to be found.

For a few moments, Momo lingers in the entranceway, fingers gripping tightly onto a nearby column for support. She doesn’t turn around when she finally speaks.

“I don’t want to be a hero anymore.”