Fuck Man This Was Just Beautiful, Such A Great Read

Fuck man this was just beautiful, such a great read

it isn't living if you're not with me

hirai momo x fem!reader

summary: you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.

i figured out what i believe in, momo says.

music? you ask.

you.

tags: pop punk/punk rock!au ; fluff ; smut ; pieces of mihyo ; brief mentions of minsung (skz) ; almost everyone has a piercing of some sort :) ; momo has a dragon tattoo ; drinking ; cursing ; not proofread!!! + anything else i've missed

author's note: hallo

it's something simple, inconsequential. the two of you meet at a festival, headlining the main stage on different days. momo's band plays on friday. yours is saturday. there isn't much else to do aside from drink and watch the other artists perform; it's a bad medley, if she's being honest.

friday night is loud, frantic, pulsing. the beats synthesize like something born in a lab. jihyo's high notes on the keys and dahyun's steady drumline combine into the reminiscence of a time none of them were alive for. it's like if the 80's aesthetic were drenched in apathetic millennial existentialism, mina always says with a grin; and, well, the lesbians love it.

momo sings; most of the crowd follows her. she can only see as far as directly in front of the stage when the lights are on. the ball of her tongue piercing presses against the roof of her mouth. there's only one face she recognizes.

you're off to the side with your band's drummer, singing along. the two of you are both bobbing your heads, pausing to talk and laugh occasionally. you both must've used your passes for vip access. momo's nerves flare underneath her skin, opening, touch starved. you stare directly at her with your lips curled. you know every single word to every single song, though you sometimes seem distracted by momo's fingers on her guitar.

you stay until the end. the lights dim and drop; momo hands a stagehand her instrument, starts unwiring herself. the crowd thunders outside, cheering. momo thinks of your mouth shaping into an o, whistling.

"what's the rush?" jihyo asks, tightening her ponytail, hand slipping down to her industrial.

"hot date," dahyun supplies with a wink, ripping off her sweatband.

"y/n y/l/n," momo says shortly, ducking behind a stage technician and heading for the door.

the crowd's somewhat dispersed, idling. the patches of dirt stick out against the grass, littered with trash. momo glances around the pit. you're gone.

momo's only a little drunk by saturday night. jihyo a bit more so, and tzuyu not at all. they're following a man with a shirt that says event staff around the perimeter of the main stage.

"she's on in ten," tzuyu says, checking her phone for the time. "nice of her to watch us yesterday."

"she knew our songs," momo says distractedly, following their security escort through a roped-off area of the grass. "you don't have to come if you don't want to."

"i want to get a good look at her," jihyo says, fiddling with her piercing again. "what if i'm her type?"

momo tosses an amused glance back, eyes her torn-up black tights, her high boots, her loose, long black dress, her necklace. "you aren't."

"how do you know?"

"because i'm her type."

jihyo harrumphs under her breath. "you're conceited," she says, slipping through the front gate to the vip area. "that's what you are."

"maybe." momo looks at the others in the pit with them; a few people she recognizes by face only, from bands she can't name. "you thought i was your type for a while."

"i was new at this," jihyo says offhandedly. "you're hot and gay. unfortunately, your personality—"

momo laughs, leaning against the bars as the lights dim. "right."

you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.

"ugh," jihyo says boredly from behind her. "you are her type."

you stumble off stage, laughing with your band. the lead guitarist, a guy whose name momo thinks is minho, has his arm around you. you stop when you see momo standing there, shoving him off of you. minho's too wired up, following your keyboardist off into the back, barely noticing you're not with them.

you're smaller in person than momo'd thought you'd be, despite your boots — they have a higher, thicker heel than momo's do, giving you an extra inch or two. you're probably about five-six or seven compared to momo's five-nine. you're beautiful, magnetizing. you entirely deserve the screaming crowed beckoning you back to stage.

"hey," momo greets.

"hi," you say, tongue darting across your upper lip. "you're momo. hirai momo. from wallflower."

"you're y/n. y/n y/l/n. from alien."

you grin. you're still covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the show but you're not self-conscious about it. "did you actually know that, or did you hear us introduce ourselves?"

"i saw you at our show yesterday." momo takes a step closer, hands tucked casually in her pockets. "i came out tonight to hear you play."

"is that right," you say, not like a question. "just to hear us play?"

"not 'us'," momo says. "you."

you raise an eyebrow, tonguing your lip piercing. your eyes drop interestedly to the full length of momo's tattoo, a dragon winding all the way up her arm before disappearing into her muscle tee, black with a large white xxx written across the center. the stage crew move around you both, busy and unbothered. the two of you are both too contained and nothing.

"i love your music," you say after a pause.

"i know," momo answers, hinting to arrogance. "that's why i'm here."

your smile quirks again. "oh," you say, understanding the insinuation. "that's why you're here."

momo shrugs, stepping even closer. "i'm your type."

"you are," you agree. you slip a finger through momo's belt loop, tugging her in slightly, examining her subtly, appreciatively as you do so. you lean up on your toes, lips hovering above momo's, and murmur, "but i'm not that easy."

momo's mouth curls aloofly, smirk almost detached. there's a trap here, somewhere. there's a path to undress. the challenge says kiss me anyway, it's what i want. but she's learned a few of her own lessons.

"oh, i didn't think you were," she says. "i just thought it was about time we got acquainted."

she wraps her fingers around your wrist, gently loosens her grip, lets your arms drop separately. you only still, cataloging her movements, motions. the two of you are both so contradictory to your words.

"i'll see you around, y/l/n," momo says lightly, sirens of an undertone. you sense the storm.

"until the next one," you answer, watching her leave.

"you didn't even kiss her," jihyo drawls on the bus as she cracks open a beer. "have you lost your touch?"

momo rolls her eyes, boots kicked up on the arm of the sofa. "i purposely didn't kiss her, princess."

"semantics," jihyo waves away. mina chuckles harmlessly from where she's sitting on the opposite couch.

"look," momo says, scrolling through twitter aimlessly, "just because you aren't getting laid doesn't mean you need to be bitter that i'm about to be."

"oh, ouch," tzuyu calls, snickering all the way from the front seat. jihyo shoots her a dirty look, harrumphing.

"easy for you to laugh at," jihyo says. "you don't even like sex."

momo doesn't have to see her face to know the expression she's pulling. "it's not my thing," tzuyu says, indifference evident.

"whatever." jihyo tosses her hair over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. "i could get laid if i wanted to."

"oh, yeah?" momo asks, feet thumping against the floor as she lowers them. "prove it."

she stares jihyo down, realizing after she possibly should've thought this through; jihyo never backs away from a challenge, like it's composed of hooks that dig in. she rubs a finger over her industrial automatically, clearly thinking, until her eyes narrow, smile spreading sharp.

she rests her bottle back on the counter, steps around it towards momo, holds her gaze even as she angles her body towards mina until the last possible second. mina looks up at her, surprised without confusion, phone falling to the side.

it's almost as if jihyo sizes her up for a moment — takes in her thighs showing through the rips in her jeans, her loose burgundy tank top slit down the sides, her black bra visible underneath — and then she bends over, cups mina's face in her hands, and kisses her.

momo's eyes feel too big for her skull, her jaw hanging off hinges; mina freezes for less time than momo expects before her hands spread against jihyo's hips, nudging her closer, and jihyo straddles her lap, fingers brushing through mina's undercut above the back of her neck. momo watches mina's mouth open a little too widely, sees how jihyo sinks dangerously low.

"are you fucking serious?" momo asks bluntly after a solid minute.

jihyo breaks the kiss, smirks brazenly, and slides off of mina's lap in an oddly graceful manner. mina, to her credit, is more stunned than anything, as if her brain's barely finished processing the situation. her lips are smeared red.

"i can get laid if i want to," jihyo says again, slowly, and runs a finger around her mouth, wiping away her lipstick. she walks back around the counter and reaches for her beer.

it's hard to get a moment alone, but they manage. it's midnight and they're standing outside a mcdonald's at a rest stop off of highway 10, passing a joint between them. the night's warm but momo likes the feeling of the heat sinking into your leather jacket.

she says, “you and jihyo, huh.”

mina exhales, head tilting back. “i suppose so.”

“you were into it.”

“i know.”

momo presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “you’ve been into it before, haven’t you?”

mina grins in amusement, still staring at the dark sky. “yeah,” she admits guiltlessly. “i slept with her a few weeks ago.”

momo's eyebrows shoot up. the tip of the joint lights, stutters. her lungs are too big for the cage they're contained in. "you slept with her?"

"yeah," she says like it's nothing, shrugs. "she said i needed to relax, and that it'd been too long since i dumped my ex to count as an excuse any longer." she pauses, brushes her fingers against her undercut, the short bristles of hair. "she made some good points."

the insinuation speaks for itself. "i bet she did."

"whatever." she takes the joint from momo, brings it to her lips. "it seemed like a good idea, at the time."

"doesn't it always," momo says, and laughs after, finally settling against the idea with the smoke. it's strange; not because they don't work together, but because they do. "you and jihyo."

"she's— you know," mina says, glancing towards the bus. "she's so... hot-headed and stubborn. i think it's kind of cute."

"well, don't ask me to sing at the wedding."

she shoves momo's arm, laughing with her. "shut up."

it's a friday a week later when your tour paths cross. the two of you are playing separate venues on the same night, but your show ends an hour after hers. it's perfect.

jihyo tags along again, this time with her arm looped through mina's, fitting against her side. mina's hair is up in a high, messy bun, crisscrossing pattern visible above her neck, eyebrow piercing sharper than the look she gives jihyo when she thinks momo isn't watching. jihyo's dress is grey and falls rippling down her body, barely covers her ass under ragged black tights, wearing haughtiness the same way she'd lined her lips with a dark garnet. well, what's the harm in playing parts.

they're seated upstairs at a private table with bottle service. they only catch the last three songs and the encore, but the encore is momo's favorite, anyway, and jihyo and mina seem content doing shots and snickering behind their hands, leaning in to whisper. you look good, like you always do, with your hair pinned over your left shoulder and white short-sleeve button-up untucked from your tight maroon jeans, blending into higher boots than you'd worn previously. you hold the microphone with both hands in between your bass lines. momo imagines what they'd feel like wrapped around her neck.

"i know that look," jihyo says from mina's lap, smirking arrogantly.

"admiration," momo says shortly.

"lust," jihyo mimics in the same tone of voice.

"now's your chance," mina says, her arms around jihyo's waist. "go corner her in a dressing room or something."

momo slips off the stool, heads for the stairs. "thanks," she says dryly, because she's not about to actually take advice from two girls who got bored and decided they found the other kind of hot.

the bouncer doesn't recognize her, but your personal bodyguard does, and he gestures her up with a nod. "she's the first door on the right," he says, unconcerned, and momo thanks him with a smile.

she knocks on the door twice. the wood's painted black and chipped in a few places, and the knob's tarnished, dull. you call, "come in," and momo doesn't wait to be told again. there's nothing to with hesitation.

"hey," she says, slipping into the room like she belongs there. she kind of does. she belongs wherever you are.

you're toweling off your face but drop it at the sound of momo's voice, hair swinging over your shoulder. you stare, mouth slowly unfurling at the corners, the pages of a book. "hey."

"our show ended earlier," momo answers the unspoken question. she leaves her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. "thought i'd stop by."

your eyes roam blatantly up and down her body, teeth dragging your bottom lip into your mouth. "just in the neighborhood?"

"yeah, actually."

"you look good," you say bluntly. her skin is copper-wired, conductive.

momo half-smirks, a cross between a summon and a calling. "i look even better up-close."

you grin, extending a hand. the show's over; you're running out of things to put on. "well," you say, "make your case."

momo slips her fingers past your palm, up your wrist, stroking the inside of it lightly. "how about," she says instead, "you let me buy you a drink."

you hum, stepping in, your other hand resting against the outside of momo's jacket. "why?"

"because," momo says, voice like the dulcet, low lines of a bass, "you aren't that easy."

jihyo isn't drunk. "i'm not drunk," she tells mina, trying desperately to hide her slur.

"sure, baby," mina says mildly, glancing down as her phone lights up with a text. it's only dahyun, asking where they are. her arms stay loose around jihyo's waist. "i'll let you have that."

"maybe you're drunk," jihyo says, tilting her neck and looking at her through fluttering eyelashes.

"maybe," mina agrees seriously, and jihyo breaks and laughs. "that's what happens when you do five shots in an hour."

she wiggles slightly, and mina spreads her legs, allowing jihyo to slip back to the floor. she turns and faces her, sliding her fingers around the back of mina's neck, scratching through the short, soft hair.

"remember when i thought momo was my type?" she says, grimacing at the concept. she's no good with a poker face; it's endearing when it isn't inconvenient.

mina mirrors her oppositely, grinning. "yes."

"i only realized she wasn't," jihyo says, "when i realized you were."

"that's cute," mina says, lips stretching wider. "are you propositioning me?"

jihyo reaches up, brushes her thumb over mina's eyebrow, rolling the ball, hand dropping down to her cheek. mina only watches in amusement and adoration, less hidden than she'd like to be. there's something about the devil and his girl friday — no, wait, she's mixing up her references — but jihyo stands on her toes and drags mina's mouth to hers, and the devil's definitely in there somewhere.

the crowd's filtered out, hogging the merch table up front. momo leads you back up the stairs, keeping your fingers linked. jihyo and mina are marking out at the table momo'd left them at. momo rolls her eyes; she can't leave them alone for five minutes, literally.

you laugh. "oh, really?" you say, delighted.

"it's a secret thing," momo explains, passing them up for the bar. "i don't know. i'm not getting involved."

"that's probably wise." you slip onto a stool, tucking your chin against your palm, elbow on the counter. "minho and han have a thing like that, but it's none of my business."

"han's your rhythm guitarist, right?"

"yeah." you untangle your fingers, resting your now-free hand against momo's knee. "i'll have a whiskey sour," you say to the bartender.

"tequila sunrise," momo says.

"so, this is your plan?" you ask, stretching out a boot to rest on the rung of momo's stool. "get me drunk and seduce me?"

momo snickers a little breathlessly, caught off-guard. "no," she says. "i'm just here to talk."

"oh, really," you say again, leaning closer to her, eyes narrowing playfully. "so, you've got an end goal."

"don't you?"

"well, sure," you say, taking your drink with a smile and lifting it to your lips. "i think they're two sides of the same coin."

"working for it and making me work for it?" momo guesses wryly, the flirtatious arch of her eyebrow. she wraps her mouth around her straw. your gaze drops interestedly.

"you did your tongue?" you breathe out, letting your arm fall to the wood. "oh, that's hot."

"talk, y/l/n," momo enunciates, picking up your jaw.

momo gets her way; you keep your attention held to passive things for the most part. there's the tour, that's one. the way all roads feel endless and none of them lead home, if home ever existed to begin with. there's your influences, inspirations. momo's mom abandoned her, and it's something she'll never sing about. your parents raised you as an activist, music's your kind of rebellion.

"that's what drew me to punk rock," you're saying. your glass is empty. "fuck it all, really, but believe in something."

momo smiles genuinely; your words are too passionate to disregard. "what if i don't know what i believe in yet?"

you flutter your eyelashes, mouth like a cathedral. "i could probably help you with that," you purr, trailing your index finger along the side of momo's hand, but crack and laugh. you're trying to be too many things at once.

"it was a good attempt," momo says teasingly.

you roll your eyes with a grin but move on. "besides," you say, "you believe in music, don't you?"

"yeah," momo says, mildly surprised. "yeah, i guess i do."

jihyo stumbles over twenty minutes later, leaning her chin on momo's shoulder with a harrumph. "oh, it's you," she says somewhat rudely to you, mina's hands settling on her waist. "you know, momo hasn't kissed you yet."

"i'm aware," you say, holding back a laugh. momo only downs the rest of her drink.

"it means she likes you," jihyo reveals devilishly, straightening up. "otherwise she would've just done it."

"is that so," you say, tongue rolling your lip piercing thoughtfully, throwing momo a look.

"yeah," momo says, shrugging.

"huh."

"yep."

"wow."

"shut up," jihyo interrupts crossly, mina laughing behind her. "just fuck already."

"no," momo says. "get out of here."

mina pends down, whispering something against the shell of jihyo's ear, who raises a single eyebrow carefully and curls up the corner of her lip. "okay," jihyo says serenely (drunkenly). "we're leaving. nice meeting you, y/n. sorry that you're doomed or whatever."

"doomed?" you repeat, your straight face finally breaking; somehow you find jihyo funny rather than annoying.

"oh, please," jihyo says loftily, still slurring her words. "momo's so your type. walking up to the two of you talking or whatever was like— you know when you open a dryer, and it's just like, hot air? that's you. it's hot over here. you want each other."

"are you sure that's not just the two of you?" momo asks, but she's smirking at the mess of a description.

"no," mina finally chimes in. "we're getting laid, thanks. tension's gone."

jihyo laughs, tugging her away towards the exit; you snicker under your breath. it's dim and empty; even the bartender's wrapping up. you say, "is it nice to have a friend so worried about your sex life?"

"jesus," momo says. "no. it's not. my sex life is fine."

"is it?" you ask, chin back in your palm.

"well, when you put it like that," momo says, understanding implications, "it's lacking. what about yours?"

"could be better," you say. "but i think we'll have that for our next date."

your next date is at a burger king on a rest stop off of route six. your buses overlap. it's three in the morning and there are no motels. besides, dahyun says, i really want a whopper.

the night's a little cooler; you are all a little further north. you're wearing sweats and a t-shirt; momo's in shorts and a hoodie. you smile when you see her, gesturing her over with a crook of your finger. she spies the blue of han's hair inside, minho's blond gleaming next to him.

"hey," you say acutely. "should've known you'd be here."

"i'm stalking you," momo says.

"clearly."

"we're in the middle of nowhere," she says. "want me to buy you a milkshake?"

"sure," you say, charmed. "chocolate."

the two of you open the door and step up to the counter; your drummer stares knives into her back the entire time. she doesn't give it weight. she says to the cashier, "a large milkshake. chocolate. thanks."

the man takes her money boredly, gives her the change and proceeds to make it himself. momo grabs two straws; she thinks you blush, but the interior is so drenched in bright colors that she can't be sure of anything.

the two of you walk back outside, strolling around the building leisurely until you both are facing the highway, watching the occasional car fly by. the two of you struggle to drink at the same time, giggling when your noses brush, when you both meet each other's eyes too close and cross.

"i'm going to write a song about you." momo says, because you're somehow just as attractive in your pajamas with a bare face; your lip piercing's out and your hair is up in a loose ponytail. "just so you know."

you release the straw, looking up at her from under your eyelashes, smiling. momo takes the cup, sets it on a groove in the wall by the window, and leans in, capturing your lips. they're cold and you taste like the shake, but she laughs into it, your fingers curving around momo's jaw. momo pulls away slightly, letting the moment breathe, but you chase her mouth, kissing her again, again, and again. momo's arms rest loosely around your waist.

"god," you say, and even your eyes are bright. "maybe i should've just let you do this from the beginning."

you actually write the song first, something momo only finds out when she crashes one of your shows two weeks later. it's thursday night; momo's band doesn't take the stage until friday. you stand at the mic with your bass hanging and you look like heaven, like hell; your pants are leather, and your boots have gold spikes on them. you've changed your lip ring to a barbell. you're like a succubus, sucking out the soul of every other demon in the room, or at least whatever's left.

she finds them easily in the crowd; it's impossible to overlook jihyo's red hair, even when she's wrapped up in mina. they'd insisted on coming; tzuyu's behind them, taking pictures with dahyun to add to her instastory. you slip off the stage with the mic during the bridge of a sogn you don't need to play for and rest an arm around momo's shoulders over the barricade, singing directly to her with a smirk. your voice beckons like a tide, magnetic and ungrounding.

the song, though — the song comes one before the end of the show, when you say casually, "so, i met a girl recently, and she told me she was writing me a song." there's process, and then wild, incoherent screaming. "i didn't tell her i'd already beat her to it. hopefully she likes it."

jihyo shoves her in the back, smirking, as if momo had somehow missed the memo. tzuyu goes, "oooh," and dahyun records her face when the opening notes play. it's sultry but strangely upbeat; it's a feeling and a concept more than it is a simple song — the lyrics are all suggestive and make momo's head spin: oh, it's not about the long and winding road, it's all about my bed and the imprint of your soul — momo wants to dance to it, wants to kiss you to it, wants to soak in it until she drowns.

the band traipses off-stage. momo's already in the wings, smirking. the crowd screams and thunders and storms. you're sweaty and thrumming and your eyes look like flakes of gold under the light. you kiss momo with a smile, one arm around her neck, the other flung carelessly over her shoulder.

"you," momo says.

"what'd you think?" you ask cheekily.

momo grins, steps out of your arms, brushing by all of them onto the stage; you only watch behind her, entertained despite the stagehands' sudden spike in nervousness. the lights flicker on, dim; the crowd is momentarily confused, but starts to scream louder, most of them recognizing her. well, your audiences tend to overlap.

"in case you were wondering," momo says into the mic, "i loved the song," and somehow the only sound she hears is your laughter to the left.

"you're so gay," jihyo says to you both, pulling a face from where she's sitting in mina's lap. you all are on the rooftop bar of your hotel, rented out for the night. minho and dahyun are playing some kind of drinking game in the pool, which the staff — and han — are eyeing cautiously.

"you're one to talk," you shoot back, breaking away from momo's mouth long enough to respond. "last time i saw the two of you, mina was pretty much wearing your lipstick."

jihyo huffs, rolling her eyes. "i like wearing lipstick," she says. "mina doesn't care. do you?"

"mina doesn't care about anything," momo interrupts, her hands on your hips.

"that's mostly true," mina agrees, chin resting on jihyo's shoulder. "she can wear whatever lipstick she likes."

"i don't know a lot of high femme lesbians in punk," you say, grinning. your fingers twist and tangle with momo's. "i'm liking the crossover."

"i'm one of a kind," jihyo says whimsically, and mina hides a grin against her skin.

"i wouldn't go that far," momo replies, and drags your mouth back down to hers.

you come to her show the night next with your band, but momo's song isn't ready and it's just the normal set. you sing along to every word anyway, and the drummer — this girl sana who'd been at the original show with you — doesn't seem nearly as chipper as the last time. like she's enjoying it against her will.

you spend far, far too much time staring at momo's fingers, entranced to the point of disorientation. you're somewhere else entirely, as if momo's singing to you and only you in the presence of a much smaller room. momo thinks you're far too alluring, if punk rock were a person and not a concept, a movement, an ideology.

she finishes her set. you wrap your hands around the sides of momo's denim jacket, tugging her in and kissing her, not caring about the guitar in the way. "you're so hot," you say, "and your voice," but the sentence never ends. momo parts her lips, and your tongue slips through her mouth, ball of her piercing cool and foreign. you pull away, pressing yourself even closer, throwing your head back briefly. "you should take me back to your hotel room," you say, eyelids hooded.

"i should," momo agrees, finally slipping her guitar strap over her head and handing it off to someone who barely even blinks.

"so do it," you breathe out.

"y/n," sana says suddenly from behind the two of you.

"what," you say, tone steadying itself. you don't even look over, too absorbed, electrified.

"we're leaving," she says shortly.

"great," you say, eyes still darting between momo's and down her mouth. "i'm not."

momo peels off her shirt, unbuttons her jeans, strips her own tank top overhead. you run your hands all over momo's body and kiss her like it's your inherited right to. momo's toned and muscular and somehow lacking edges, soft and gentle. you straddle her and laugh until momo gives you a reason to stop, digging her teeth into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, fingers dancing on the inside of your thighs until you laugh again. but that's what sex is, what it should be; the two of you are just happy to be in bed together, sharing skin.

"i'm so bored," you complain over the phone. "i can't believe we don't see each other for another week."

"i know," momo says, laying in her bunk. "you just had to go south, didn't you."

"it's not like i planned the tour," you reply mildly. "don't you miss me?"

"more than anything."

"you're gay," you say. "at least mine's over after that."

"true." momo examines her fingernails, reminding herself to trim them before saturday. "what are you going to do when it ends?"

"follow you on yours, obviously."

her lips quirk. "good," she says. "you can hear my song for you."

"good luck topping mine."

"oh, i'm going to top a lot of things."

silence, and then a snort, "let's not get ahead of ourselves here," you say, rustling around, and momo presses the home button on her phone just to see your picture, your body hidden under white sheets and your smile spreading to your eyes.

it's late at night; it always is. they're musicians, and a good show often keeps them wired until four in the morning. jihyo and mina are sitting across the couch near the kitchen, sharing a single beer because jihyo couldn't finish it alone. she has a hand resting on mina's knee and she strokes it occasionally, absent-mindedly.

"jihyo," mina says, tucking jihyo's hair behind her ear.

"hm?"

"you know," she says softly, "that i like you, right?"

jihyo's mouth quirks bemusedly. "i'd hope so," she says, leaning closer to mina. "isn't that the point?"

mina raises her eyebrows expectantly. "is it?"

"oh," jihyo says, understanding; well, there's a lot of sex, and it's not her fault mina's so willing to acquiesce. "yes. it is."

"okay," mina says, grinning as she relaxes. "good."

"i like you," jihyo says, turning towards her, finding her mouth automatically. thankfully she's not wearing lipstick. "i'm a bitch, but i'm not that much of a bitch."

"i don't think you're a bitch," mina soothes, kissing her again.

"yes, you do," jihyo replies, but she's smiling, amused. "you just think it's hot."

"semantics," mina waves away, and jihyo reaches for the rest of the beer, leaning back against her chest.

momo's up front for alien's last show of the tour. mina and jihyo had elected to remain in the vip area up top, sitting at a table with tzuyu and dahyun, who are undoubtedly attempting to ignore them. they're in love now or whatever.

you catch her eye just before the first song and smile so widely you look more pop-punk, like momo, than your own punk rock. you pluck at your bass assuredly and sing and you've never sounded better; none of you have. it's the end, always the end when the energy's the most amplified. you toss momo two picks just before heading off-stage, prepping for the encore; momo hands one to a wide-eyed fan who screams holy shit this is fucking awesome into their friend's snapchat, keeping the other.

you all settle back in your places underneath blue pulsing light. the crowd quiets, preparing, and momo yells out, "marry me!" loud enough to be heard.

you laugh into your microphone; minho starts strumming the guitar but throws momo an approving wink.

"yes," you say, grinning to her. "give me a few years."

"it's all over twitter," jihyo says, gesturing at her laptop. she's wearing her glasses instead of contacts, something mina finds overwhelmingly adorable. "your dumb fucking proposal."

"oh, it wasn't serious," momo says, staring over at you with a smile. "but if they take it that way, it's not my problem."

"i'm hurt," you say sarcastically, your arms around momo's neck, legs thrown across her lap. "that wasn't real? i can't believe this. and here i already hired caterers."

"oh?" momo says, raising her eyebrows. "and what are we having, dear?"

"well, darling, i'd thought a teriyaki-grilled salmon or lemon-herb roasted chicken for the main course might do nicely," you begin whimsically, putting on an elegance. "a nice salad with like— walnuts and raisins or something, just for class; you and i don't actually have to eat it — maybe a soup. oh, fuck it, i don't know."

"i'm thinking burger king," momo says while mina laughs in the background. "we'll split a milkshake."

you grin so widely it pulls at the corners of your eyes, crinkling. you rest a hand against momo's shirt, smoothing it over her heart. "keep this up," you say, kissing her playfully, "and i'll propose right now, only it won't be a joke."

they're practiced musicians; the new song doesn't take a ton of time to learn, the same way yours hadn't. it's why they're all able to pull it off. it's been two months since she first met you, and—

wait, yes, that's the perfect introduction. momo grabs the mic, lets her guitar hang. "so, it's been two months since i met this girl," she says, and the entire venue knows exactly who she's talking about. "they've been the best two months of my life. she beat me to the song, but i think the waist was worth it."

you smile from where you're watching off of stage left. you'd wanted to be closer than the vip mezzanine. momo strums; dahyun crashes on the drums and stutters them. jihyo kicks in nostalgic techno beats. it's more upbeat than yours, more hopeful and optimistic and fun, like it comes with the label no seduction necessary. it's all lines blurring into a story meant for nobody but you to understand; we're binging three a.m. like chocolate and put your tongue somewhere i can taste it. momo glances over, catching you rocking to the rhythm, like the music's in your bones.

the song ends to silence — no, that's not right; it's just that she can't hear anything that isn't you — and she passes off her guitar almost on instinct, beckoned towards your blooming grin and the way you hold your body as if waiting for something to put your weight on. maybe momo's too slow, maybe your rare impatience consumes you; you take long, quick strides over, and momo catches your intention just before it's acted upon, her hands settling under your thighs as she hoists you up, legs wrapped around momo's waist.

you laugh — oh, music's one thing, but this is a sound she'd fight a war for — and kiss her shamelessly, uncaring of who's watching backstage, if anyone is at all. you say against your mouth, "i love it. play it at every show."

momo smiles, cheeks pressing against your palms. "i figured out what i believe in."

"what?"

"you."

momo keeps her word, playing the song for you at every show, regardless of if you're there or not. by now it's spread through the atmosphere; plenty of people show up already knowing the words, casting glances around the pit and trying to peek backstage for signs of the girl they all know it's about.

some music magazine contacts her manager about an interview. you and she are popular, she learns; there are blogs dedicated entirely to the two of you, twitters with the two of you as their icons. she agrees to a few questions before her next show; coincidentally you're there anyway, sitting sideways in her dressing-room chair, leg thrown carelessly over the arm. the journalist's young, about your age, but easygoing and relaxed.

answers in between applying eyeliner, mascara, letting you chime in occasionally for a laugh. it's practiced and simple between the two of you, pressureless. the interviewer says at the end of it, "it seems like you've really clicked."

"sometimes," you say with a smile, "you meet someone, and you just know."

she's playing at your hometown on a saturday two weeks later, nearing the end of her tour's final leg. you bring your parents and momo treats them to an expensive bottle of wine during the show; there are impressions. not everybody approves of pop-punk rockstars.

but you kiss her in front of them afterwards, your priorities made clear. you drag momo over by the wrist, introduces her to your parents casually, your fingers never leaving momo's for long. your father says, "y/n's never been so insistent we meet a partner of hers before."

"oh?" momo says, lip curling. "i'm both flattered and honored."

"shut up," you say, though nobody's quite certain who it's aimed at. "the others were assholes. i've learned my lesson."

"yes, i think you have," your mother says kindly, watching momo watch you with a warmth in her eyes she swears could melt glaciers.

they spend a little more time asking her about her inspiration, her influence, where she got her start, and then they seem unable to help themselves, reminiscing about you. you keep your hand on momo's knee under the table, rolling your eyes at the stories you've heard a thousand times. momo loves it, loves the pictures your sister pulls up on her phone, loves the anecdotes, loves you. maybe that's the wine talking — you turn to her, smile, and oh, no, it's definitely not.

the two of you bid goodbye to your parents under the glow of bright billboard lights and flashing signs. momo's fingers settle through yours, linking casually. she looks at you and finds a beauty so raw she knows she'll never succeed in putting it to lyrics, like seeing stars in a city where the sky's too bright for space. she tugs on your hand. you glance at her quizzically.

"i love you," she says, and your eyes dart between her own. "too early?"

you lean in, kissing her, and there's that familiar slant, that smile. "no," you say, kissing her again, giggle bubbling in your throat. "i loved you from the moment we met."

"i loved you the first time i saw you," momo breathes out, one hand spreading against your jaw.

"what is this," you say, pulling a face, "a competition?"

"yeah."

"oh, okay." you poke your tongue against your piercing thoughtfully. "then i loved you from— a past life or something."

"that's a good one," momo says seriously, going along with it. "i loved you in all of them."

"we'll agree, then," you say, your fingers linked around momo's neck. people move around the two of you on the street, uncaring and dismissive. they'll never be as important to anyone else as the two of you are to each other. "all our lives."

"it's you and me, baby," momo says breezily, and the two of you kiss again until someone wolf-whistles behind you both, a chorus of laughter. a group of three men walk by smirking.

you stare at them down and yell, "fuck you! fucking virgins!"

they don't seem to find you funny. momo laughs hysterically into the crook of your neck and thinks about eternity.

"last show," jihyo says, applying a cherry lipstick in the mirror. "i can't wait to go home."

mina hums her agreement, putting up her hair casually. jihyo reaches back without looking, brushing against her arm. "you're coming with me," she says.

"oh, am i?" mina says moderately.

"yes."

"okay."

"you're whipped," you say from the couch, flipping aimlessly through a magazine.

"says you," jihyo replies without bite, running a finger underneath her bottom lip. "you're literally reading an article about your own girlfriend right now."

"she looks so hot on the cover," you say, unbothered.

"thanks, baby," momo says, in the middle of changing her shirt. your eyes dart up, watching appreciatively, trailing over the lines of her tattoo. whatever; you all have seen each other naked at this point.

"besides, what kind of girlfriend would i be if i skipped all these important details?" you continue, squinting at a page. "she's a scorpio. her favorite ice cream flavor is mochi ice cream. her favorite color is pink."

jihyo actually grins against her will, amused. "you knew all of those things already."

"because i'm a good girlfriend," you state, matter of fact. "do you know mina's favorite ice cream flavor?"

"mint chocolate," jihyo answers without hesitation, and mina nods affirmatively.

momo drops a kiss against your head. "wow," she says. "this room's just full of serious relationships."

momo plays your song with the encore, this time, because it's the most important thing she's ever done, and it only feels right to honor it as such. the crowd screams themselves raw, hoarse, and momo tosses all the guitar picks she'd used that night out into the audience.

she's just finished saying thanks for coming out when you step on stage, walking right up to her, and kissing her in front of everyone. they love it, probably more than they loved the actual show. it's long enough to be earnest, short enough to skip the awkwardness.

"oh, sorry," you say into the mic, wrapped up in momo's arms. "i heard coming out and thought it was my cue. if you didn't know already, i'm in love with her."

you all are close enough to home that you all drive instead of fly. you stay on the bus with them, stretched against momo in her tiny bunk, running your fingers over the line of her jaw, her clavicle. you're always smiling when you're around momo, like your mouth itself is magnetized. the other four are playing cards up front; jihyo and dahyun are each other's throats about the score, and mina' calming tone echoes low, undoubtedly trying to keep peace and doing it poorly.

"well," you say out of the blue, "at least we're good for each other's careers."

"that's why i'm dating you," momo says, following regardless. "the free publicity."

you hum against her chest in a laugh. "is that so."

"totally."

"my intentions were purer," you say. "so i'm probably going to have to dump you now."

momo runs her fingers through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. "tell me about these intentions."

you shift up, meeting her eyes somewhat shyly. "our single drops tuesday," you say.

"i know. i already preordered it."

"i'm writing for our album," you say. "i've been inspired."

momo waits for the conclusion of the sentence, but it doesn't come naturally. you still have your moments of embarrassment. "inspired, huh?"

you press a kiss to momo's mouth as if you can't resist, just because it's there. "what if they're all your songs?" you ask, your smile like spring waiting for the sun. "what if it's all you?"

momo finds your lips again, kissing your cheek, your nose, your forehead; your smile bursts. "you already have my life," she reasons acutely. "it's only fair i get your music."

jihyo's apartment is a penthouse downtown with an incredible view of the skyline, lights twinkling below like stars, like gemstones. mina drops her bags by the door; jihyo tosses her keys on the entryway table. she looks too small for all this room.

mina says gently, "i'll stay with you as long as you want me to."

jihyo turns as she flicks on the kitchen light, surprised. she rolls the bar of her industrial. "that could be a long time," she warns, and she's actually serious. mina nods.

"i'm fine with that," she says.

jihyo steps back to her, raises her hands to mina's jaw and stands on the tips of her toes, searching for her mouth. jihyo kisses her softly for a moment and sinks down, leaning into her arms and sighing.

her eyelids flutter shut. "you're safe," she says quietly, "and not in a bad way."

"safe?"

"yes." jihyo nuzzles closer. "momo made me realize— well. isn't this what we all want? someone you know will never hurt you."

mina smiles tenderly. all the barbed wire has only ever been a prop. she touches jihyo and finds the remnant of something lovely, learning how to live again.

there's no beating around the bush. it's han's birthday and sana's throwing daggers with an intensity this makes momo think she should check her drink for poison. "what's her deal?"

you shrug somewhat uncomfortably. han yells as minho splashes him in the jacuzzi. "she used to be in love with me," you say, "when i was with my ex — you know, the shitty one — and I think she’s just... cautious or something.”

"hm." momo weighs the explanation, but it checks out. "that makes sense."

"yeah," you allow, sipping your daiquiri. "so i'm not really sure what to do about it."

"we need another lesbian to distract her," momo says. "we already lost jihyo to mina. i'm running out of single friends."

"speaking of distractions," you start.

"oh, here we go."

"this bikini," you continue, running your hand up momo's ribcage.

"uh, have you looked in a mirror?" momo counters. "i didn't know a one piece could look so..."

"so..."

"dirty," momo says, eyeing the way it dips between your breasts, how it's low in the back, open on the sides. "jesus christ."

"hey!" minho suddenly barks. "no foreplay! get in the pool, losers! this is a big deal for han!"

"excuse me!" jihyo snaps, mina pausing midway through applying sunscreen to her shoulders.

"not you," minho says, rolling his eyes. "y/n's about to mount momo right there at the bar cart."

"i have manners, thanks," you respond flatly, setting your cup on the table. "i would've at least waited until nobody was looking."

momo laughs, shaking her head, and putting her own drink down. she bends over, slides an arm underneath your thighs and picks you up bridal-style, muscles flexing.

"oh, don't you dare," you warn, your arms looping around momo's neck automatically.

momo smiles widely. "it's a party," she says, and jumps in the pool.

"sana," momo says later in the evening. you all are toweled off and mostly dry. she's wearing one of your hoodies; in retrospect, she could've been slightly more tactical. you're walking around in momo's loose tank top over your bathing suit and nothing else.

sana eyes her cautiously. "hey."

"look," momo says. "you and y/n — that's none of my business. but just so you know, i'm not going to hurt her. ever. i'd rather die."

sana's eyebrows raise at the intensity of the sudden declaration and lower again, processing. there are walls for a reason. she sizes momo up, but there's nothing hidden, no mangled doorways, no garden mazes. she sighs. "i know," she says bluntly. "it's obvious."

"but you still don't like me."

"i like you," sana says. "i just wish— that i could've done what you did."

momo asks, "how so?"

sana frowns, lips somewhat tight. "she was sad, you know. before you. she was... like no one could get to her."

they both stay quiet. your voice echoes out from inside the menagerie noise, standing out the loudest. it's light and airy and there's no sign of haunting.

"i'm alive for her," momo says quietly. "that's what it feels like, you know?"

sana smiles sadly but claps her on the shoulder. "yeah," she says. "don't fuck it up."

alien's single hits big, reaches number two on the charts within four days. momo takes you out to dinner. it's nothing fancy at all; it's a hole-in-the-wall seafood place near the ocean. the two of you both wear ripped jeans and boots; your hair's in a ponytail, and momo's falls as messily over her shoulders as it always does. you both are recognized once by a teenager who nearly has a heart attack just saying hello, but it's cute instead of uncomfortable.

"i'm proud of you," momo says. "is that cheesy?"

"totally," you respond, taking an oyster. "but it's also nice to hear."

"then i'm proud of you."

"thanks, baby."

momo smiles, looking at you serenely across the table. "god, i love you."

you actually blush slightly. you look adorable under the warmth of the red-tinted light, studiously avoiding momo's eyes with your mouth fighting a curl. "i love you," you say, blushing further.

momo actually laughs at that point. "what is this, our first date?"

you glance up at her, your grin breaking too wide to hide. "no," you say. "i'm just— it's weird to be here, you know? i have you, my band's successful, and i'm happy." you shy away again. "that's all."

momo reaches out and takes your hand, her smile softer. she doesn't say anything, just letting the moment soak itself in until there's nothing left but the freedom of feeling it.

"eat another oyster," she says after. "they're aphrodisiacs."

the two of you are both playing another festival the weekend of momo's birthday. wallflower is headlining, only because their single had dropped the weak before and it's big in the charts. alien plays right before. it'd been deliberate by the management team, trying to take advantage of your joint celebrity status.

momo watches you play, and it isn't like the first time; it's better, because now the girl on stage is hers. you own the music as if drawing it directly from your blood; you were born holding a bass guitar with a soul wired for poetry. you pause just before the last song and say to the wild crowd, "okay, everyone knows it's my girlfriend's birthday today, right?" screams to the point of incoherency; you shoot her a sly look in the wings. "how about we all sing her 'happy birthday'?"

momo ambles on stage, waving at the crowd, who are beside themselves at the gesture. they sing it wonderfully, all off-key and at different speeds, your voice holding her to the earth. at the end you pull her in for a kiss and momo wouldn't have it any other way.

the two of you share a hotel room; you both have the tendency to kick your boots off in the same place, as if habits can be developed in minutes with the right person, rather than weeks. you wander around in only your underwear and whichever shirt of momo's you've pulled out of her duffel bag, toothbrush in your mouth. momo's startingly content just watching you move around your shared space, and then suddenly she's thinking about it, you being everywhere momo is all the time, sharing dresser drawers, sleeping in a bed that belongs to the both of you.

you crawl across the mattress, straddling her with a smile. "hey," you say. "you've got a look."

"i'm having a revelation," momo says, palming your hips.

"which would be?"

"we should live together," she says easily, like it's obvious.

you still. "oh," you say, mildly surprised. "you're so right. we should."

"i know."

"okay," you smile blindingly again, bending down, and kissing her. "i can think of nothing better than you."

the album process flows effortlessly for the both of you. you're slightly ahead; your time in the recording studio comes a few weeks before momo's, but in the meantime, the two of you are also starring in each other's music videos. yours is a little darker, sultrier; the two of you kiss with the intent of seduction, not like the two of you are the only two people in the room but like you both are the only two who matter. it's sexy, your director says, and why shouldn't it be? keep that intensity. maintain it. it's the truth. the point of the video is that you belong together, and everyone one — well. they're nothing.

momo's video has more of a linear story, just due to the nature of the song; it's the two of you capturing each other's attention over and over again until every scene whittles itself down to physics, until the walls are gone and then the two of you are closer, you're right next to her, the sun is in the room with you both, shining. momo makes you laugh, the world kind of ends. your videos are both so popular that the two of you actually get offered a web series to serve as a continuation, which you both decline — "you've got the face for music," you say, "but i wouldn't test the cameras," and momo laughs, shoving you off the bed.

the two of you get an apartment the neighborhood over from jihyo's (and mina's? whatever) and the building the two of you are in is upscale, but it lacks pretentiousness, exactly what you both had wanted. "if i have to hear someone call me ms. y/l/n every day," you had said, "i'm going to fucking lose it," and so the doorman says, y/n, momo when he greets you both, grinning widely.

it's only a one-bedroom, but the two of you have ample amounts of space in the living room and dining room, and your tastes in interior design overlap perfectly to the surprise of no one. the two of you have always been complementary and it keeps its roots. you both lounge on your respective instruments, riffing off each other. half your pictures are prints from fans, moments they'd captured during your various crashing of each other's shows; momo always smiles fondly as she passes by each and every one. "i miss it," she says, "i can't wait until we get to do it again."

"all my songs are for you," you say from where you're sprawled across the couch reading a book, "so just let me know which one's your favorite, and i'll be sure to play it last. give you something to look forward to."

"i look forward to what comes after all that, actually," momo says, sliding the book out of your hands cheekily. "you know, when we get home."

you smirk. "well, darling, i can't fuck you on stage, so take what's offered."

"you can fuck me now."

"i can," you agree, biting your lip. "actually, yeah. i can. take your shirt off."

your albums drop exactly a month apart, a year and a half after you both had originally met. it's close enough that the two of you can tour at the same time, but far enough that you both aren't competing. not literally, momo's manager says, it's just better for business. both hit number one on the charts; momo texts jihyo the news and she writes back thank god, i'm running out of money.

asshole, momo types. and here i thought mina was making you nicer.

hello! the tone is suddenly not jihyo; it's instantaneous. momo isn't about to give her an inch.

shut up mina.

you get the tour schedule first. the two of you are spearheading something kind of unusual; two shows per city, alternating who opens and closes. the two of you keep your own buses, though the overlap means you both aren't really specific to passengers anymore; you and momo bounce between whichever is the closest after a show, and sana and dahyun take comfort in being the only two people who aren't consumed by inter-band romance.

it's fun. the only thing momo loves more than playing music every night is watching you play music, watching you work a crowd with a sly grin and a few choice bass notes, taking over the stage like you're the only one who's ever walked on it. she cheers and applauds with the audience, waiting in the wings for you to fall laughing into her arms and kiss her at the end of every set. there's a night where you all switch band members for a song; han trades with jihyo for the keys, you play the bass instead of mina, and together, in front of the crowd, she finally feels invincible.

"you know what i like most about this tour?" you ask her, stealing french fries from her tray at an arby's off of route five. it's just past midnight. there are only three weeks left. "you."

"that's what i like most too, you know," momo says.

"me?"

"no, myself."

you throw a fry at her head, laughing. "shut up."

"of course, you," momo says, grinning softly. "all my songs are about you. we should've named our tour two girls, one tour or something."

"horrible name," you disagree, "and not at all accurate. it's more like six gays, one tour."

"three lesbians, two bisexuals, and a gay man..."

"...walk into a bar," you finish, and momo snickers. "no, our tour name is just fine."

someone like you.

in truth, momo's been planning it for a while now.

the guitar pick sits heavy in her jacket pocket. she touches her fingers to it, runs a thumb over the engraving. you smile at her as you wire up for the show and all momo can do is hope it works. there's two weeks left of the tour left. she wants the two of you to be magical. she wants the two of you to be without the uncertainty of a future. she wants all roads to finally lead home.

she waits for the lights to dim and grabs your wrist. "hey," she murmurs, passing you the pick. "use this one tonight, okay?"

you find her mouth in the darkness. "okay," you say breathlessly, and slip out of momo's grasp for the beckoning of your music. you play through three, four, five songs — momo's getting nervous, her palms sweating, veins too hot for her skin — she presses her tongue piercing against the roof of her mouth, rolls it around, waits, waits, and waits. finally, there's a guitar solo and you glance down, pausing, and freezing entirely, your eyes darting back and forth. momo thinks her lungs might've overloaded. the drums pick back up, and you're supposed to come in but you're just standing there, staring down, and minho immediately realizes you're not following them. the crowd's humming, looking around, and minho says, "uh, y/n?"

"sorry," you breathe out at the prompt, shaking your head, free hand wrapping around your microphone. "sorry. i, um— i need a moment. i think— um, i think my girlfriend just asked me to marry her."

there's silence — the instruments all fall short, their echoes fading — and then a swelling gasp from the audience, clamoring forward for a look. you're turning to pick over and over in your fingers, as if trying to make sense of it all. you continue, "she handed me this guitar pick before the show, and i only— i only just read it. it says marry me."

"go, dumbass," jihyo says, shoving her forward. "that's your cue."

oh. oh, right. momo walks slowly onto the stage, right out of a dream, the lights too bright and you're standing underneath them like something ethereal, expression hopeful and open and saccharine. there's something — there must be — but she barely even hears it, anymore. the world softens at the edges, becomes a photograph, becomes a melody, becomes a song.

she gets right up to you, leaning into the microphone. it's hard to know where to begin, even though it's the only thing she's been thinking about for months.

you say, "momo?" in a sweet, quiet voice, and that's all the prompt momo needs.

"you threw me this guitar pick at like, the third show of yours i crashed, or something," she says, too anxious to be smooth. all that's left is the truth. "i kept it this entire time and i had it engraved two months ago. i've just been waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect show, and today," she pauses, swallows over the closing of her throat, "today, i looked at you and i just— it's always right. every day with you is perfect. marry me."

"yes," you say instantly, staring at her wide-eyed. "oh my god. yes. i'll marry you."

"i love you," momo says, entranced. there are lights flashing, cameras recording. she doesn't care. she'll keep this forever; in however many forms she can get. you laugh, tears welling in your eyes.

"i love you," you say, and your lips meet to the sound of thunderous applause.