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Shizuku’s lying in her bed, in her hotel suite, in the middle of the biggest city in the world, and she’s lonely. So lonely.
She’s just finished a concert in the largest stage she’s ever seen in her life, sang her heart out in front of tens of thousands of her most loyal fans, a following of people who would do anything for her. She’s surrounded by a team of dedicated people meant to cater to her every whim, serve her food and smooth her pores.
Shizuku’s closest confidants are some of the most famous people in the world. Saying their names will light up a spark of recognition in anyone’s face. She’s friends with people who have millions upon millions of followers on social media, people who live a life filled with luxury and abundance.
Shizuku’s one of the most famous idols in the world. She’s charming, flirty, bright, beautiful, perfect, stylish, elegant— the list goes on and on. She’s been described with a million words, from glowing praise to bitter hate. Everyone knows her name. Shizuku Hinomori. A stunning sensation.
Posts on her social media are filled with pictures of her friends, young and beautiful, laughing together and flushed with youth. But even though she trusts them with her life, something is missing. They meet as often as they can, catching up on each other’s high-profile lives, but even though they’re close as sisters, Shizuku can’t help but feel that something’s missing from her life.
It makes her feel silly, stupid, even, because if she ever voiced that feeling, people would laugh at her. They would say you have everything anyone could want and tell her that anyone would kill to have her life, full of glamor and glitz, but then she would tell them, if she would ever be brave enough, that her life is nothing like how they imagine it to be. It’s lonely.
Shizuku thinks back to her earliest memories. Somehow, they aren’t tinged with the same sharp blue of loneliness. Instead, they’re soft, a warm green-blue. She searches deeper in her memories, fighting past her life as an idol.
Oh, right. Shiho.
She hasn’t talked to her sister in years. Not since their falling out, at least, as private as it was. But Shizuku can’t help but reminisce about their years together as small children, falling asleep together, baking together, dancing and singing together. Like proper sisters, always together.
Shiho’s sudden disappearance from her life had left her reeling, but she kept going forward. They dropped all contact, and Shizuku hadn’t even thought about her sister in a year, given the busy nature of her life. But whenever she tried, she was met with a stinging hurt that had her immediately moving on to other, more pleasant thoughts.
Where was Shiho? She hasn’t heard the name Shiho Hinomori in a while. None of her friends were close to Shiho when they were all in high school together, and she hasn’t heard her name in the news. But maybe she’s just running in the wrong circles to find her.
Shiho had said she wanted to become a bassist for a band one day. Maybe she had achieved her dream. Maybe she was popular enough that her name would come up with a quick Internet search.
Shizuku grabs her phone and types her name in. Hopefully she'll find something, anything, that can tell her where Shiho is now. Hopefully she won't find anything that'll bring back that stinging needle of pain.
Shiho Hinomori pulls up barely anything worth looking at, except a small video interview from a couple years ago. Shizuku breathes out. At least she found her sister.
The video is a promotional bit for Shiho’s band, some local punk band based in Shibuya. It was through a small variety show that Shizuku had never heard of, featuring the band members sitting on slightly faded couches.
Shiho had changed her hair a bit, dyed in a black streak that matched the hard steel in her eyes. Other than that, she looked just as she had during their high school days. Shizuku blinks twice, trying to get rid of the tears welling up in her eyes. So Shiho was okay. She was doing well, she had people to take care of her.
The video plays into silence, the only other sound being the shifting of her blankets.
It was the usual interview, boring and scripted. She waits.
“Shiho, are you by any chance related to the famous idol Shizuku Hinomori?” Shizuku sucks in a breath. In the video, Shiho suddenly straightened her shoulders.
“No. We just happen to share the same surname.” And it was the unforgivingly cold look on Shiho’s face that made Shizuku stop the video and throw her phone down, suddenly pinned down with a gasping, choking sob.
Her own sister. Her sister. Denying their undeniable bond as sisters, pretending they weren’t even related. Oh, how her heart hurt. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the firm frown and slanted eyebrows as Shiho stared at the host, familiar green eyes piercing through the screen. It was so familiar and yet so far away that Shizuku lay on her bed, unable to move.
She lifts a hand. Watches it, suspended in the air, trembling ever so slightly. A crack of moonlight coming through the window stripes a line of white on her perfectly painted nails.
She rubs her tears away. Shiho clearly wants nothing to do with her. There's no point in attempting to change that, so she’ll just continue on as if nothing is wrong, as if the last member of her family still loves her.
If that’s what Shiho wants, so be it.
Shiho’s lying in her bed, in her apartment, in a small town full of people, and she’s lonely. So lonely.
She’s part of a relatively popular band, the star bassist, one of the best in Japan. Her performances draw crowds, and she’s even been asked for an autograph once.
She’s nowhere near as famous as her stunning sister, but it’s still certainly something to be proud of. A bassist in a famous band. Her dream, coming true in front of her eyes.
So why is she still so lonely? Why does she smile in front of her friends, and then go home and disappear into herself?
Shiho knows why. Even though she hated her fussiness, actively ignored her whenever they met at school, she still misses her older sister. Misses her sweet smile, her willingness to help.
But her sister is the most famous idol in all of Japan. Shiho sees fans on the street wearing shirts with her sister’s name on them, watches ads with her sister in them, hears about the stunning concerts her sister performs in. By comparison, she’s just a bassist in a band with a fraction of the number of fans, making her way through the music world at an agonizingly slow pace.
She knows the repercussions of getting in Shizuku’s way. She knows of Shizuku’s reputation, an untouchably perfect girl, and knows that if Shizuku were to have a sister as uncouth and unpopular as Shiho is, her reputation would be ruined.
So Shiho denies questions about being related, chalks it up to having the same surname, dyes her hair to look different and acts as unrelated to Shizuku as she possibly can.
But sometimes, she can’t help but wonder what would happen if they still kept in contact. If they still called each other, told each other about their lives, as proper sisters might do.
Shiho scrolls through the contacts in her phone until she stops at H.
Even after their falling out, even after all these years, she had still never summoned the courage to delete Shizuku’s number. It probably wasn’t even the number she used now.
Her thumb hovers over the call button. Just one press…
Shiho puts the phone down, far away, where she can’t reach it. Reconnecting with Shizuku would only hurt her later on. It’s best that they stay apart, no matter how painful it was.
If that’s what Shizuku needs, so be it.