AWAITING ARRIVAL

[onelittlefeather]

Title: awaiting arrival
Prompt: 077 - Box
Summary: This is the face she wants to show the world.
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It’s delivered to her doorstep by a somewhat puzzled postman exactly three and a half weeks after Tomomin’s death, cases stacked neatly side by side in two of Tomomin’s many shoe boxes; the collection of Hikki CDs that Tomomin was so proud of. All 7 studio albums. All 3 compilation albums. All 27 singles, too, including the 6 DVD singles… Miu counts and they’re all there, not a single title missing. Despite how she knows for a fact that the collection had been scattered all over Tomomin’s apartment, in little bits and pieces – left within sporadic reach, depending on what kind of sound Tomomin wanted for the moment. Besides, they always listened to ‘Prisoner of Love’ in the bedroom, right? That song belonged there.

So, it’s all wrong when she picks out the CD from amongst the rest and puts the disc in the player, the cover hanging limply from between her fingers while the music starts playing. In the background. Everything falls into the background at the words that burst out of the loudspeakers. Everything except Tomomin’s breathing, laboured from the small, circular movements of Miu’s fingers. The splatter of Tomomin pouring lotion into the palm of her hand and rubbing it into the sore skin on Miu’s feet. The feeling shared by two bodies that look exactly similar, yet Miu would definitely be able to tell Tomomin’s apart from her own even blindfolded.

Attached to the lid of the first box is a small note, the writing neat and just a little bit stern. Dear Kotori-san, it reads --

It is my feeling that my daughter would have wanted these to pass into your possession, so I send them to you in accordance with what I believe would have been her wishes. All shows of gratitude are redundant.

Sincere regards,
Ishii Mariko

They didn’t tell anyone, about… And Miu hasn’t told anyone either, afterward... No one knows. Except maybe Tomomin’s mother who might have a clue, because Tomomin admitted to never stop talking about Miu at home. Putting the CD case down on the table before she drops it, her fingers feeling lifeless and unresponsive in extension of her body which feels cold and dead and bereft, she starts crying. Quietly. First, they’re just tears. Running down her cheeks, following the contours of her face, gathering around her nose. Tickling, tickling the sensitive skin there. Then, slowly, it becomes sobs – followed by little cries, until she has to sit down on the couch and bury her face in her hands. From then on and five minutes ahead, everything is a blur of salt and snot and memories of having pillow fights in time to the beat of Hikki’s music…

But Miu has rehearsals to attend. Actually, she’s in a bit of a hurry, right? Or she’ll definitely be late. So, she washes her face carefully. Applies make-up even more carefully, choosing a lipstick that will look really good formed in a smile. That’s the face she wants to show the world, after all. Her fan club, her troupe mates and the people closest to her when they ask if everything is alright. This face, with its cute pink lipstick and hot pink eye shadow with a touch of snowy white. And it’s that face she presents, later, during irimachi. For every step she walks with her small collection of fans, she moves a little further away from the grand collection of CDs at home.

Not awaiting. Simply there.