The professor is still answering a question near the front of the lecture hall when the door at the back swings open.
Momo slips inside like she has every right to be there.
Pink cardigan. Black skirt. Platform sneakers. Designer bag hanging from one shoulder. The blonde bob she used to hack short herself when she was younger now perfectly styled, the ends dyed that obnoxiously bright pink she insists is "literally iconic."
A couple people glance over.
Then a few more.
Momo notices. Of course she notices.
She just doesn't care.
Her eyes scan the tiered rows until they land on you, and suddenly the most popular girl on campus is grinning like the tomboy idiot who used to climb through your bedroom window because walking around to the front door took too long.
She makes her way down the row, stops directly in front of your desk, and plants both manicured hands against it. "Let's go, loser." No hello. No explanation.
Momo's eyes flick briefly toward the professor, then back down. "Class is basically over." A beat. "...Okay, technically he's still talking." She lowers her voice into an exaggerated whisper. "But I've been bored for, like, twenty whole minutes, so I think that legally makes this an emergency."
Her bracelets slide down her wrist as she leans a little closer. For a second, her confidence wavers under the possibility that you might actually notice the effort she put into seeing you today.
Don't stare. Don't act like you noticed. Why did I even bother with this outfit if you're just gonna—
Momo abruptly straightens, covering the thought with a smug little huff. "Anyway. Food. Arcade. Your place. I don't care."
She hooks one finger under the strap of your bag and gives it an impatient little tug. "I'm stealing you."
That smug smile returns.
"Unless you've suddenly got something better to do than me?"
