chapter two: time ago

Momo pretends that never happened.

And she hopes that Nayeon doesn't sober up any minute.

It's loud, it's more than goddamn loud, but it feels like a silent film.

This is tragic, Momo thinks.

Mina calls her the next day. Momo's completely sober but hell, does she know Nayeon knocked the hell out last night and was probably dragged out by Mina, perhaps before she had mustered the courage up to go and swerve through sweaty bodies to find Jihyo, also knocked out, on top of Jeongyeon (she isn't asking how that happened).

Momo's lucky Nayeon's probably crashing in Mina's room, and Jeongyeon's probably gonna be drunk out of her mind. She prefers to stay away from inevitable vomiting so she's in Jihyo's room.

It's dead silent, creepily silent almost, and Momo picks the phone up to avoid any other dry stares from Jihyo urging her to answer it.

"Hey..." Momo elongates, currently having a heated staredown and mute argument with Jihyo, and she's just gonna have to deal with that that's just the way things are, that Jihyo somehow figures out everything, "Oh, the double date thing? Yeah, uh, I'll get dressed, but no promises," Momo fakes a cough, though it's more of an odd hiccup, "I'm sick...ish." Momo provokes Jihyo (a very childish bravado ensues) threatening her with a fist if she doesn't stop with the weird gestures while she's talking, and she nods, listening intently to Mina's babbling, and she throws her phone on the floor after she drops the call as suddenly as she picked it up. 

"I'm... not going," Momo says, watching as Jihyo picks up the cracked phone screen on the floor, "Not with Nayeon."

"You know I'm not all against the fact of staying away from a devil, actually, I could say I'm an advocate of Christianism and the art of holiness," Jihyo adds, dramatically putting her hands together in prayer, "but you can't disappoint Mina, you know that girl, she's... super sensitive, just go with Satan for a day, I'm sure Mina's 'date' would calm the mood of dining with an angel, a stranger and Lucifer way, way down."

"What if Nayeon remembers everything? She's the only person in this school I hate, apart from you of course, and I kissed her," Momo scrambles for words, before looking at Jihyo nonchalantly donning her white robe in front of the window, and she jokes, "I kissed Satan, Jesus-hyo."

"First of all, Jesus-hyo is a good nickname, I'll keep that one," Jihyo settles beside Momo, wrapping an arm around her, "second of all, I know. You coming to drag me out of the club last night and forcing me to drive you home while you recited, 'Nayeon was completely drunk' and you maiming your own lips was definitely not a give-away."

"I'm just scared, okay? I hate love and you know that I hate it--," Jihyo stops her before she continues saying someone's name, that exact name, that's kind of forbidden in their vocabulary, and she says instead, "Momo, just go to the damn double date. You've been depressed ever since she left, and it's been three years. Isn't it time to get over it and move on?"

Momo doesn't respond, not verbally, but she exhales, and it's more than good enough for Jihyo.

It's not that long before hell begins later tonight, so Momo opts for something to calm her down.

Well, if accidentally bumping into Nayeon and having a unnecessarily acidic 'conversation' is defined as calming.

Why me, Momo frets.

“You look like an open autopsy,” Nayeon sneers and it's back to normal (there's hope left that she doesn't remember anything that happened that night), "I'm taken by surprise no one commented on how bad you look today, but I guess everyone's just a little oblivious to it."

Momo is... oddly dressed, but not badly, not Jeongyeon bad since she probably dresses in the same clothes for a week, and Momo grabs the shoulder Nayeon forcefully football tackled into (how she got that strong is beyond anyone), and she lets out a forced smile, “Well this isn’t at all like High School Musical," Momo rebuts, "And you don't look fine yourself, Miss Sharpay Evans."

Momo, I think it's best if you leave the insults to... everyone but yourself.

"Clearly you haven't seen being pretty as inconvenience," Nayeon's cocksure, arrogant smile appears, and Momo almost punches her in the face if it wasn't for the expensie clothes she was wearing right there and then (they didn't deserve to get stained), "like, how I am to do anything when I'm constantly being pestered by fans?" There we go. Jihyo would love to hear this act of Satanism.

Momo sighs, slaps a hand to her head before significantly calming down at Nayeon's beyond narcissitic statement with a dry, humourless laugh, and she whispers, "Open your mouth, your personality'll drive them away, trust me."

Momo tries walk away as fast as possible (it's not obvious from her repressed giggling), hearing Nayeon's gasp as if she might hit her any time, and though unseen, a bitterness crawls onto Nayeon's face and Momo's probably halfway down the hallway (half-scared-less, half-proud-of-herself). She definitely touched upon an ego, Nayeon's prim, prissy, thick-skinned ego. Maybe, with that amount of hostility, she knows exactly who's attending Mina's little get together (Momo's contemplating whether or not she should really go, though this might take the cake).

Take two. Momo definitely needs to not bump into Nayeon anymore; she might have a heart-attack. Instead, it's Mina, who's heading into her dorm. 

"Those two are cheesy as hell," Momo winces, "And don't act like we're goddamn invisible!"

She kicks her legs in an attempt to shield herself from the view that is Chaeyoung and Tzuyu making out (read: Chaeyoung eating Tzuyu's face like a , because she doesn't know how to ing kiss), and she dramatically slams her glass of water on the table (Mina's nice enough to distribute non-alcoholic drinks, sadly for the 'kids', water, chocolate milk, whatever you fancy, for her visitors).

Mina instantly shoots a glare out the corner of her eye (Chaeyoung and Tzuyu look for a good few seconds, before resuming the atrocity that is young love), pulling away from cleaning her bed for she leans over to inspect how dented her precious tabletop was from the manhandling that's elicited from Momo's petty jealousy.

"Come on, Momo, I invited you here to help me pick out an outfit, not scold Chaeng and Tzuyu for being... in yeah, whatever they're in, and not for you severely dint my own table."

Momo doesn't notice Mina's tart looks and resumes her unwanted monologue of complaints, "I can't watch, why are they even crashing in here?" Mina's turns on her phone and plays her (beautiful, everything to do with beautiful, a masterpiece of an artist) George Ezra playlist and it lulls Momo into a pensive (albeit brief) silence so she can get dressed in peace (Chaeyu are quite the distraction). 

Mina comes out of the bathroom, a few minutes later, dressed in a nice and simple white dress (probably expensive as hell, though), spinning around flamboyantly which even halts the disgusting-ness of the couple behind them.

"You look y," Chaeyoung says, earning a light punch from Tzuyu, "I mean, you look like money, lots of money."

"I'm gonna pretend I never heard that," Mina clasps her hands together, thinly hiding her shock, and she turns to Momo who's completely staring-- and have some decency, Momo--, "What'd you think?"

"You look... hotter than ever." 

(Momo's problem is that... she never thinks.)

"Please pretend I never said that." Momo replies to herself, and it's quite embarassing. 

"Well," Mina surmises, "That means you think I look hot, exactly what I was going for."

There's only an annoying 'ooh' that comes out of Chaeyoung's mouth as Mina retreats back into the bathroom. 

Momo doesn't like Mina; not in that way.

After silently escaping the hell that ensued in Mina's room, she begs Jihyo after arriving in her dorm for a good hour to drive her to the place where everyone would meet (meaning Momo finally made her breakthrough of getting over her), and she ends up doing so, because you can't defy the cuteness that is a pouty, whiny and puppy-eyed Momo, (Maybe Jihyo for the first times she did it, she found it quite disgusting, she softened up, though).

"So this is what hell feels like, huh?" Momo says out of the blue, shuffling in her seat with a tired Jihyo too lazy to take her eyes off the road to give Momo that glare, and she continues, "So this is the endless abyss of which I die, forever and ever--,"

"Christ, Momo, shut up." Jihyo steps on the brake at a sudden red light, hitting Momo at the back of the head lightly, "You'll be fine, trust me. It's not like you'll see anyone else you hate apart from Nayeon."

That's true, Momo hopes.

It takes a few E-Girls songs and regretfully a few One Direction songs to get everything off Momo's mind, briefly, for about thirty minutes until they arrive, too soon, at the restaurant.

It's grand to say the least, like any overly-priced restaurant in Beverly Hills. Every diner, pit stop, and fast food restaurant still look like they're five star restaurants. Of course, Momo's gotten used to using Jihyo's money after her parents cut off her allowance, and this, Momo hoped that Mina would lend her some money like the kind soul she is.

If hell was willing to accept new souls at no price, Momo'd be first in line. Ushering and pushing is what it takes to get Momo out the car and a few metres away from the restaurant, exactly where one, two, three heads are standing, Mina wearing her white dress, Nayeon wearing the most ugliest black dress in history and--

Who's that?

She's of similar height to Mina and Nayeon, blonde hair, and Momo can faintly hear their conversation, she's not speaking English, that's for sure... French? What person speaks French here? Momo wonders, turns to an idle Jihyo also staring as if she caught a moment of realization, and it takes two seconds for Momo to realise when she turns around, and Jihyo soon after.

Why did she dye her hair?

How did she get taller?

When did she get back from France?

She's... so much prettier?

Why in the world is Minatozaki Sana here?

Momo turns straight off her heels in the opposite direction of the restaurant, right next to Jihyo, also wide-eyed (also in the process of expression changing, 'what the hell', 'is that her?' faces included), and grabs her arm to get her back into the car before Jihyo starts rapidly pointing and garnering attention.

“Shut up, it’s fine, just chill, we’re fine, I’m fine, everything is cool, everything is good! We’re chill, nothing is happening and I am not freaking out, not at all, we’re FINE," Momo says, while hiding in their car, thankfully hidden by the decoration of a tall, bushy tree, "These flowers are giving flashbacks." Momo says, her eyes darting out the window from the flashy decoration around the restaurants parking lot.

", Momo," Jihyo says, equally freaking out, though mutedly, "Do not start thinking of the sad life of you when you were florist before you came to this school."

Well, that's exactly what Momo did. Time to recall everything when her parents weren't all that rich.

Momo ties her apron around her waist, bites on her bobble and ties her hair up in a loose, low ponytail. If the trope of a florist was this, she’d be a spot-on character. She looks elegant, as always, her dark-pink hair matches perfectly with her homey clothes, baggy and comfortable. Today is no different. She’d see the few regular customers—The Old Lady, she’d pity her for she bought the same exact roses for three years straight, assuming her husband had died and she had left flowers on his grave every morning; The World’s Most Cliché Boyfriend(s), she’d only fake a smile, handing over the flowers that were arranged for displays, since boys know nothing about flowers; and The Dad(s), who’d come in every so often, forgetting a birthday or anniversary. It was a story in the shop, people for different reasons coming for different flowers; and Momo enjoys every bit of watching stories unfold.

She’s sympathetic to say the least, being a florist made her so. Momo’s eyes switch off the marigolds in her hand and to the door, where a brunette is standing, utterly disheveled and Momo hurriedly arranges the flowers in her hand to rush over to the counter.

“Can I help you?” She says, in a tone that’s friendly, though she’s quite regretful the flowers aren’t exactly placed how she wants them to be.

The girl slams $20 dollars in front of her, “How do I passive-aggressively say  you in flowers?”

Momo’s stills, she hasn’t been asked this for her years of being a florist, so she only smiles and completes her order, running around the shop frantically because she can’t find one of her flowers. The shop, really, was breath-taking. Lilacs, tulips, lotuses, bonsai, every variation, every colour, every aesthetic, fit into one shop in a bustling city. Momo's quite proud of it-- originally run by her grandma, who in turn, granted her such a position over running the shop, loves flowers in every way, they're just too pretty to be forgotten, too precious to forget the meaning of. That's what Momo thought, or was taught, that it was peaceful, enjoyable and sweet, that she wouldn't do anything else.

The brunette only giggles then stops when Momo turns around, a beautiful bouquet with a quite a combative elucidation in her hands.

Momo’s out of breath, but manages to spew a whole list of the flowers in hand, a foreign language almost as she says it fluidly, “So, you have a bouquet of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (