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It starts, as with many of the bonds within 1-A, on a battlefield. The battlefield in question, admittedly, isn't a lethal one, no pale figures grinning under bloodlust-rotten hands, no hulking monsters with exposed organs and tar-toned skin; no, in lieu of that it is a cityscape where dummies are scattered in buildings and streets, and the looming threat of explosions due in several minutes that can only be dealt with once the villains - in this case, three of their other classmates - are thoroughly distracted or incapacitated in some manner.
Creati and Uravity are standing shoulder to shoulder, a staff in one girl's hands, a fierce grin on the other's face, as they square up against Ingenium, Tailman and Cellophane.
"Plan C, stage two perhaps?"
"Plan C, stage two for sure!" And with that, they burst into movement. A flurry of sunrise sparks have several balls of slate dropping into existence between them and Uraraka doesn't even hesitate as she twists, a sweeping hand movement that could almost lead to a low punch rendering all of the stone orbs weightless, her momentum sending all of them rocketing towards the three opponents.
Kicks meet several of the orbs, and it has the stones shattering. Slate shards scatter against Ingenium and Tailman, sharp and cutting, and in amongst their cries of surprise, Uravity charges forwards, ducking in low. Parallel to her, Creati darts forwards as well, targeting Cellophane. The lattermost "villain" had used tape rather than his own body to block the attack, and the adhesive had kept the slate balls largely intact.
Tape is no good against flashbangs though, and even his lowered visor can't stop the burst of light from being reasonably effective. A short cry heralds Cellophane careening back, hands coming up to cover his face instinctively, and it provides the perfect opportunity for Creati's staff to smash into the side of his knee, following up by another strike to his sternum. She has just enough time to glance sideways, ensuring that Uravity is doing well. And indeed the shorter girl is, a fist with brass knuckles that Yaoyorozu made for her denting the helmet over Iida's cheek, her brown eyes absolutely sparking, fierce as a tiger's, and Creati can't help but smile herself, even as she knocks Cellophane out.
"Cre-!" The girl in question whips around fully, already kicking off from the ground with her staff raised, because that cry had been choked off in pain.
But her rush isn't entirely needed, because even though Uravity has gotten hurt, judging by how she lists to one side, the brunette is also blocking and deflecting Tailman's hits, more-or-less keeping up with the tail and karate and various other moves, hands splayed in her own hits, trying to catch the blond with her Quirk like she already has for Ingenium.
Before Creati can intervene, a tail strike catches Uravity's hand, bending several of her fingers back and up with a painful pop. The taller girl doesn't even have to think before she's lashing out with one hand, a wave of water arching into Tailman's face. He ends up sputtering, choking, and it gives Creati enough time to pivot Uravity behind herself, staff jabbing into guts, a spray of adhesive splattering out of the back of her wrist as she moves, another staff-strike coming down, aimed carefully, instinctually, on the boy's thigh (anterior branch, saphenous nerve, enough to cause noticeable pain, no chance of crippling with this hit). Another wave of her hand has more fast-drying glue spattering over the so-called villain, sticking clothing and fingers together and catching feet to the floor. None of it is enough to restrain the blond, but it's enough to distract, to slow down, and to give Creati the chance to grab her handcuffs out, snapping one end of them around Tailman's wrist.
The three villains themselves are down, but the explosives aren't dealt with, nor are the civilians. They need to be quick.
"Dislocated or broken?" The question is automatic, drilled in by round after round of first-aid training, and Creati is glancing back over the villains, even as she starts to pull out her medical kit from her utility belt. Ingenium is floating against the ceiling of the gym, unconscious; Cellophane is also unconscious, although he's sprawled on the floor, and she'll handcuff him momentarily, much like Tailman is. It's safe enough to focus, for the moment, on her partner's injuries.
"Dislocated," Uravity grits out, and Creati is quick to come closer, tucking the kit away again, and take a gentle hold of the other girl's wrist, assessing how her pointer and middle fingers are awkwardly angled, bulging at the affected joint.
"Are you willing for me to relocate them both?" She offers, not wanting to insist upon it, but also knowing that not doing so will significantly hamper this exercise.
"Better do." The shorter girl smiles, though it's distinctly a grimace, and Creati wastes no time in taking a careful grip of first one of the afflicted fingers, pulling it sharply back into place (dorsal dislocation, therefore traction and hyperextension, Recovery Girl can heal tendon and cartilage damage), not daring to hesitate before following with the second in quick succession. Uravity's spare hand is clenched on the taller girl's shoulder, thumb tucked in but fingers digging in from the pain. Creati knows if she looks in an hour or two's time, there'll be a bruise there, but she doesn't even wince. Relocating joints is not fun, as she should know. They all do.
"Are you alright?" she asks, soothing fingertips carefully around the relocated joints.
"Think so, yep!" Uravity chirps, only a little strained, and they move apart then,
"We've got five civilians to retrieve, right?"
"Indeed." Creati drops another set of handcuffs into her own grip, those sunrise sparks flaring into life again, and she quickly restrains Cellophane as well, satisfied that none of their opponents will be able to attack them again.
From there, they fall into familiar protocols. Standard procedures. They've been given no information on the possible casualties, so Creati pulls out the heat-vision goggles that have become a standard part of her costume (they all learnt rather a lot at Kamino, considering how little direct involvement they had in the event, and one of those things was the value of being prepared over relying on their Quirks) and starts to scan the buildings around them. One is already exploded, had been before they started the exercise and there's a heat signature within it, one vaguely human-shaped, and she's already moving in that direction before thinking twice about it,
"One heat signature, perhaps ten metres back into rubble and buried two metres down. Must have been a smaller building in the first place."
"Got it! Hey, Creati, you gonna be alright to maybe put up some support beams?"
"Quite, thank you." They share a brief smile then, before they start working on getting this first dummy out.
The first layer of rubble is one that's safe to simply remove. Moving delicately, trying to pick her footholds carefully, Uravity follows Creati's guide for where they're trying to get to and touches some of the non-load-bearing pieces, then kicks them away to the empty alley space between buildings. They know better, by now, than to create more destruction on roads (emergency services, evacuations, police blockades; so many of them rely on remaining infrastructure).
When Uravity kicks forwards, one leg brought up to roundhouse kick, Creati can't help but notice the subtly muscular bulge of her thigh, the strength and thickness to it, but she pushes past the observation (and the accompanying warmth lining her ribs) to charge forwards herself, creating some support poles so that she's safe to go into the rubble herself, assessing the dummy from up close. There's red lights along one of its arms, UA's indicator of an injured person, but nothing around its head or spine, so she doesn't hesitate to reach in further and scoop up the civilian into a bridal carry.
"Civilian retrieved, only apparent injury to left arm, primarily elbow," she reports, knocking out her own support as she backs out from beneath the building, giving her partner the nod of permission to release the supported structure, the whole lot collapsing back down with only a small cloud of dust and sediment. Better for it to already be low and settled in lieu of prone to falling again in a less controlled manner.
The pair settle the dummy in the middle of the street, where no explosions should be able to catch them, but also within one of the odd unfolding tents that they use for rescue simulations, several of them clipped to each of their belts; the tents are hardy things, heat resistant with metal poles that can be rapidly clicked into place to keep them rigid and able to withstand a reasonable amount of surrounding destruction. The bright orange colour helps too.
With the first of their five civilians retrieved, they start to work systematically through the buildings. They have to ignore their own flinches at the explosions that rock the cityscape, because complete villain apprehension is not the goal of this exercise: they're meant to be dealing with the rescue elements, as though they were relying on other allies to prevent further destruction. It's with that knowledge that they continue to ignore the piling rubble and shuddering ground, merely keeping their footing and soldiering on. Thermal goggles only do so much good when the world is cracking open with heat, but in the quiet moments (minutes, stretching sweat-soaked long, bone-aching tiring) in between, they work together, shifting rubble and supporting structures and pulling out civilian dummies. By this point in their second year, they've had rescue work drilled into them time and again, first aid procedures and architectural analysis to ensure that neither they nor the victims get further hurt or trapped. And they're doing well, saving four dummies with relative ease. Uravity prompts Creati to stock up pre-emptively with one of her high-calorie snack bars, the taller girl scarfing it down whilst Uravity settles their latest civilian in one of the two-man tents alongside the third.
The fifth civilian is only just down the street, and the glow of their injuries is apparent through the cracks in the detritus, so perhaps that makes them careless. Perhaps it's the exhaustion, or the aches sparking down to their bones, or simply the assurance of nearly being done, but they rush it. Creati still carefully directs Uravity along a safe path across the side and top of the demolished building, and she begins levitating shards of concrete and rebar out of the way.
"Be careful of your footing to your left!" And as Uravity glances down, to the side, shifting her stance and weight accordingly, her fingers brush against something softer, but in the movements of the mess she's standing on, the different texture doesn't register until she's looking ahead of herself again, noting that the faint red light is gone. The civilian can't have died, surely, nothing has particularly fallen or-
That, of course, is the moment when Uravity looks up and notices the dummy is trapped in amongst the rubble she's just used her Quirk on.
"Creati, there's-" Even as she speaks she's already moving, activating her Quirk on herself so that she can leap up and start trying to rescue the dummy. The instant nausea gets ignored in favour of ricocheting herself off of one concrete chunk, then a second, and then she's reaching up, reaching out, getting ahold of the body, vaguely registering the flurry of sparks below her as Creati materialises them something to help-
In the process of wrapping her arms around the falling civilian, her fingers brush together, and then they're all plummeting.
The next thing she knows - before Uravity can try to tap her Quirk on herself again, or let go of the dummy, or even orient herself to land on her feet - is that she is thumping against a warm body, arms sliding under her back and knees, both of them staggering back on creak-sliding ground made of rubble as Creati fights to keep a steady footing without dropping her teammate or the civilian whilst debris rains down around them. Uravity, half-focused on the swathe of vanilla-raspberry scented hair tickling at her face, manages to splay her fingers against the few pieces that come too close for comfort, and then they're both there, amongst settling dust and trickles of dislodged pebbles, panting. That... that was rather more eventful than intended.
But, the civilian is still alive, they're fairly uninjured themselves, and when they get all of the dummies back to the cityscape exit, Aizawa-sensei only chides them for recklessness and getting sloppy (it's illogical to rush just because you're near the end, not when mistakes can cause more hazards and therefore more casualties, understood hellspawn?) for twice the time he acknowledges their good teamwork and appropriate strategies and sensible, flexible Quirk usage. Frankly, from their grumpy dad of a homeroom teacher, it's almost a praise-filled ramble. Almost. By his very high, rigorous, and sleep-deprived standards at least. They share a dust-coated smile and bump shoulders all the same.
It's a Tuesday. That's it, there's nothing remarkable about it. They're in class, their Biology test went as expected this morning, and now they're headed for PE. Gym uniforms on, they pile into one of the more standard gym spaces, ready for two hours of sparring and weight training, and several of the girls are standing together, continuing the discussion about potential redesigns of Yaoyorozu's costume that they had started in the changing room.
It's when their attention is pulled by Aizawa-sensei entering the room that Mineta sneaks over. The girls, as a whole, have become far too used to looking down when feeling like they're being watched, but Yaoyorozu is distracted, finishing up her point to Jirou whilst glancing over to their teacher, and so she doesn't notice until there's a hand on the back of her thigh, sliding upwards along her tracksuit and, even as she goes to move away, to hit him and shout, somebody else beats her to it.
"Oi, perv, back the fuck up." The words are a low growl, absolutely fierce, and Yaoyorozu whips around to find Uraraka with a hand on each of Mineta's shoulders, fingers tight enough to undoubtedly bruise.
"Uraraka, no murd-" Aizawa huffs, not even bothering raising his voice when she keeps on speaking,
"This is the last straw, you awful little grape; how fucking dare you touch her?" The brunette's teeth are bared, eyes flashing, and Mineta whimpers in her grip.
But then she smiles, serene and eyes crinkling closed, perfectly sweet, and she lets him go.
Mineta floats up, up and away, scrabbling to get ahold of something. The moment he nearly catches a handful of Uraraka's hair, she lashes out, smile never slipping at all, and punches him. Viciously. Somewhere that has Mineta squealing pathetically, face ashen as he careens up to crash into the ceiling. Everybody watches on, utterly uncaring at best, or cackling madly at worst; Aizawa is perfectly blank-faced. The look he gives Uraraka could definitely be called approving, although most people wouldn't recognise the slight glint in his gaze as anything more than idle interest. No, the class know better and are very much gratified by it. After all, they know that their Sensei has been no less enamoured with Mineta than they have, even if the horrible grape's uncle being on the board means that they're having to gradually build up evidence for a case.
"Uraraka, let him down when the principal gets here. Mineta," he calls, raising his voice so that the boy writhing against the ceiling should actually be able to hear,
"This is the final incident needed for your expulsion, witnessed by myself and several others. Nedzu will be arriving within the period to take you for the paperwork."
Of course, when Aizawa-sensei says within the period he means the very end of the lesson, when all of them are leaving. Mineta isn't offered the luxury of being caught by anything but the ground, and if there's a few cracks or pops when he crashes down, then nobody even flinches. No, catching the end of his sobs, a few of them actually grin before the door closes behind them and they're cut off entirely from the pervert. Well, at least they shouldn't have to deal with him again.
Ever.
A few months later, both Yaoyorozu and Uraraka have fallen into a routine. They study together once a week, taking over the taller girl's bedroom with papers and stationery and giggles as they work. Admittedly, the work gets derailed into chatter, sometimes gossip or training or telly shows, but sometimes more serious things. Ochako ends up being the first person Momo tells when she realises that she likes girls (although she doesn't tell Ochako about her fixation with strawberry-scented hair, little swirled fingerpads that remind her of kittens, nor soft lips that stretch so easily into beaming smiles and mile-a-minute words) and she only gets support, smiles and enthusiastic hugs for the murmured admittance. Actually, to be entirely frank, she also gets a reciprocal coming-out. But we're ignoring that, just like we're ignoring how the knowledge that Ochako is also gay makes Momo's heart stutter, and she bashfully tugs at her fringe to hide the slight blush that rises with the knowledge (and the internal acknowledgement that she might not be the only one interested in the other girl in the room).
Regardless of such specific instances though, their pattern for study sessions is to sprawl out in Momo's bedroom and, one day, when they've munched their way through more strawberry mochi and hanami dango than should perhaps be possible or wise, Ochako props herself up on her elbows from where she'd been lying flat, reading a textbook and lazily kicking her feet, to look up at Momo. Her eyes glint golden-brown, burnished and beautiful, in the soft light,
"Hey, Yaomomo-chan, we always study at yours! Why don't you come over to mine next week instead? You can try my neighbour's sweets when they're freshly made!"
"Oh! That- that sounds wonderful, if you're sure I won't impose." They're both smiling now, Ochako shifting around to sit up fully, bouncing in place with fingers tapping together in excited little patterns,
"Nah, you're fine! And, hey, the Mashimotos have been doing less work for Yato-san recently, so they'll probably want to meet you too! Ooh, and you have to meet Aina-baachan, because she makes the best ramen in all of Musutafu, and she knows how to fix boilers and kotatsu heaters and oven hobs, so I know too now, and she killed the creep that was trying to prey on some of the younger yakuza blokes, and also she makes the prettiest little knitted soft toys! You know the swan I gave you? I have a matching one from when she was showing me how to make it!" Momo blanches a little at that because surely she didn't hear quite all of that correctly?
"She... pardon?" Ochako looks a little confused, but her eyes remain just as bright, and the taller girl can't quite tell if the gleam to them is mischief or sheer excitement.
"She helps me fix stuff! You know when the radiator in class packed in and none of us could bear to wake Sensei up? I knew how to fix it because of her!" Either Ochako is completely oblivious to her own words, or she doesn't care, that much is blatant, yet Momo is still struggling to process them,
"Oh... how wonderful."
"Yep!" This visit is guaranteed to be interesting at least.
Next Tuesday, Momo walks beside Ochako as they get off of a train from UA. It's getting chilly, and they're both rather glad for the fact that the taller girl managed to convince Ochako to let her buy the other girl a coat they saw on the last class shopping trip because the thing is thick and fleece-lined, navy with pink star designs on the outside, and it's absolutely adorable.
In fact, the coat is one of the first things that gets commented on when Ochako leads the way up a rickety staircase along the outside of an apartment block, the cold wind cutting at them, pausing on the second floor, three flights up, to knock on a red-painted door.
"Aina-baachan, I brought Yaomomo-chan to meet you!" she calls, even as shuffling can be heard from inside the apartment, and then the door swings open, revealing a woman hunched over enough to barely come up to Ochako's ribs. Yet her eyes, a pale blue-green like sea glass, are sharper than shrapnel, assessing both of the girls in front of her. Something about the lady, and it isn't her hair, no matter how messy it might be, reminds Momo of Aizawa-sensei, and perhaps not in a good way. Probably an unhinged way, frankly.
But Momo has been raised to be nothing if not polite, so she bows all the same,
"Lovely to meet you, Aina-san, please look after me."
"Bah, none o' that tripe, girl, get your skinny lil' arses up to that flat of Chako-chan's before ya freeze. An' call me Aina-baachan whil' ya're at it." Trying not to show quite how taken aback she is by the gruff voice and rough dialect, Momo focuses on how the woman's eyes soften when looking at Ochako, and she makes a decision.
"I expect you're quite alright, but would you allow me to offer you my arm?" She gets a sceptical look, but the cane that she had noticed by the front door gets left in favour of a curt nod, and a gnarled, cool hand settling at the crook of her elbow instead, somehow chilly even through her own jacket.
It doesn't take long to have all of them settling in Ochako's own flat, another floor up, and whilst the brunette busies herself with making tea, having rebuffed Momo's every offer, the taller girl finds herself faced with another appraising look,
"Ya the one who bought her that fancy new coat?"
"Oh, yes! She was shivering far too often, and it looked very pretty on her, so it seemed silly not to." Momo flushes a little at her own words, glad that she narrowly avoided outright calling Ochako pretty, yet the old lady has a gleam in her eyes that says maybe the teen wasn't as subtle as she'd hoped to be. But Aina-baachan only smiles at her, gappy but for one gold tooth,
"You'a good'un, huh. Chako-chan, luv, you better keep 'er round!" The lady cackles then, eyes clever and darting but the lines around them soft, the hand reaching out to retake its place on Momo's arm is gentle, simply leaning for acknowledgement rather than pressure, and somehow all of it is reassuring. Even if Ochako lives in a rather rough area (Momo hasn't missed the wild-eyed children, the ragged clothing, the rubbish abandoned in streets nor the distant calls and shouts of an area with too-thin walls and several unhappy people), she must surely be safe with neighbours like this. However, that's disregarding the shorter girl's own fighting prowess. Momo's combined knowledge of these two facts more than has a weight along her shoulders slipping away; something tight along her spine uwnwinding, wires spooling gently to the ground rather than garotting her heart, and she can't help but smile.
She's very, very glad she came to Ochako's house today, regardless of how little studying they're likely to get done. Sometimes it's better to simply enjoy each other's company.
"Aw man, it's busier today than usual," Ochako huffs, pouting as she nudges them both towards an emptier bit of the floor. Beside her, hair down in a loose braid that looks unfairly good, Momo hums in agreement, following along with her usual poise. Although, when she glances down at the excitable girl clutching at her arm to 'keep from getting separated', she can't help but blush, pretty pink dusting along her cheekbones and ears.
Before either of them can melt into a pile of ohnoshe'spretty, they spot the first of the shops they'd intended to visit, and make a beeline for it. It's a higher-end one that Momo had absolutely insisted upon, and the shorter girl doesn't get a hint of why until she's led immediately to a display of skater-style skirts, all in cute pastels and simpler monochromes, that perfectly fit her personal style.
"Momo-chan." Her deadpan tone gets her nothing but a single raised eyebrow,
"Yes?" Damn her and her gorgeous eyes, she has the nerve to look perfectly cordial, with no hint of deliberation except for the faintest hint of satisfaction to her smile.
"Where's my purse?" Because it's not in her pocket like she thought it was, and she's too good of a pickpocket to get pickpocketed herself.
"I'd imagine on the kitchen side in the dorms, where I put it this morning." Now Ochako is full-on pouting, because how dare Momo be so sneaky in the name of spoiling her?
"You did this last time."
"And it worked again!" Not to mention that absolute audacity the taller girl has to look so darn beautiful when she grins like this, all proud and pleased and simply delighted.
"I suppose I'll simply have to buy whatever I want for us both."
They leave that shop with a baby pink skirt and a stripey top.
Unfortunately, three shops later (and a pair of leggings each, along with matching Thirteen hoodies and a sweet little Thirteen soft toy for Ochako), they leave a shoe shop to find a commotion in the middle of their current floor. And of course on their day out they come across a villain with what looks like a trajectory-based Quirk, judging by how the tall figure is sending random items - bags and plants and dropped shopping - to break windows and hit people with fair speed and accuracy.
Without a word, they tuck their shopping bags into the nearest semi-safe corner and run into the fray. Creati drops a series of matryoshkas, some with flashbangs inside, into Uravity's hands, and they simultaneously throw them above the villain.
"Release!" The shout garners them a little attention, from both the villain and crowd, but it's yanked away again when the flashbangs explode upon the dolls abruptly crashing atop the figure. It's the perfect distraction to allow them to cross the final distance to the villain. Uravity gets in close, bypassing a usage of her own Quirk in favour of grappling with the startled person, jabbing a punch for their guts and then throat in neat succession, darting back as Creati takes her place, with cable ties (quicker and easier to make than handcuffs, requiring less of her stores, no apparent strength or cutting Quirks to render useless) and yanks the coughing villain's wrists together, allowing her to wind the ties around in a practiced motion. As she pulls them tight, Uravity steps up beside her with a sweeping kick, aimed for the back of their knees.
The person is knelt then, collapsing forwards with hands bound to prevent them from using their Quirk, and all of the flying objects have apparently already crashed into things. Must have a limited time or distance range then.
"Well, that didn't take long!" Ochako chirps, her grin blinding, and Momo's expression might be softer, but it's no less fearsome.
"Certainly not." A security officer is hurrying over to them, and luckily his vicious scowl fades some when they both flash their Provisional Licenses at him, always kept with their school passes and therefore always with them, and though he looks a little shocked, he apparently recognises them, judging by the way he accepts them at face value.
"Thank you, I'll take them from here."
"Of course." Giving a statement is quick, albeit delayed slightly by going back to find their tucked-away shopping bags, and they're offered a first aid kit or paramedic attention by one of the police officers that arrives on scene. They opt for the kit.
They attend to each other then, luckily both with only a few small scrapes or cuts from the various things flying everywhere, any pain at the time lost to adrenaline, and they manage to just-about keep their blushes down from the tender touches and sugar-sweet proximity, carefully looking after every single wound with gentle movements, wiping away little beads of blood and wrapping even the smallest cuts with bandages or plasters.
If Ochako insists on painting Momo's nails bright red (like the blood of our enemies!) after they're all bandaged up, then maybe Momo simply smiles and offers to decorate Ochako's with burnished copper that remind her of old yen coins, appropriate for a future high-ranking heroine looking to support her family.
The so-called Dekusquad have taken over the common room for a study night. It's not exactly a rare event, particularly given that Wednesday nights are the Bakusquad's designated "go and do dumb shit" night, so that leaves a lot of the communal space relatively empty, and they shouldn't be imposing upon too many people by sprawling out over the central sofas and coffee table. The telly is on in the background, but it's on the radio channels, with their teacher's voice filtering quietly through the speakers, and they have papers and textbooks and pens strewn everywhere. The seven of them have long since given up trying to keep most of their stationery separate, so everyone uses the pens that end up nearest them except when they want a specific highlighter colour, at which point a hunt for the exact shade will commence. For now though, they've all settled into a lull, working on some simpler homework. Momo and Ochako have paired up for their newest research project (in which Shouto and Hitoshi are half-heartedly attempting to restrain Izuku's wild enthusiasm and tangents upon, of all things, the laws surrounding the difference between support gear and medical equipment, which is less a set of laws and more a series of complex, badly-worded manufacturer guidelines, but really the two got themselves in for that sort of hassle when they let Izuku have full reign over their paper's topic) and are sitting next to each other, sharing the taller girl's laptop. By sitting together, it's actually meant that their thighs are pressed together, knees touching regardless of how Momo sits seiza, back straight, whilst Ochako sits cross-legged, hunching forwards. Their relative positions means that Ochako gets to lean into the taller girl's side, and when she peers up at Momo, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, the rest of the group have a prime view to how Momo blushes slightly.
They also have a prime view for how, whenever Momo laughs at something Ochako says, the brunette's neck pinkens as well as her cheeks, eyelashes fluttering as she takes a deep breath as though steadying herself (fortifying herself to get through the beautiful sound without simply surging up to press a kiss to smiling lips). They all agree, with tacit glances, that it's sickly sweet and neither of their friends could get much luckier.
Assuming that one of them might actually get around to confessing one of these days, of course.
For the time being though, the two simply fall into a world of their own. One where they lean into each other; share brief glances full of warmth and amusement and molten affection, and where there are constant little touches. A melodic tap of fingertips, knuckles brushed against a thigh or elbow, tucking each other's hair over a shoulder or behind an ear when it gets in the way. They're casually in a bubble of their own, one that seemed to develop slowly then sped up, all swirling galaxies of soft emotions and sakura-pretty blushes, shy glances, and even the most oblivious or uninterested of their friend group has long-since picked up on it.
One thing they all know, all agree on, is that the two are very cute, and that there's a fair chance that they might just take over the entire world together.