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Shizuku has trained herself well when it comes to disguises. It’s as simple as a large hat drawn over her eyes, a fluffy scarf tickling her nape; any number of accessories would do, so long as no one looks her in the eye. She supposes it’s the flip side of the coin when it comes to her image: when the audience only knows Shizuku Hinomori as perfect, no one would think of her as anything else. She’s the shining star of Cheerful*Days, the face of countless magazine covers on any given day, an ethereal figurehead, who could grant her fans hope with a simple, performed smile. Perfect. Untouchable. Without even having to break a sweat.
Such an idol wouldn’t be hunched over on a park bench, completely lost as to where she was.
Shizuku allowed herself a long sigh of defeat, and it came out as a mournful noise. What a disaster. It’s not as if she expected any different, given her track record with directions, but it’s disheartening all the same. Below her hat’s brim, she casts a gaze across her surroundings. She’s certain she’s been in this park before: it’s an open stretch of grass, sidewalks carved along its reaches like lines in one’s palm, and it sparks some familiarity in her memory… but that’s about all she knows, and she doesn’t have the faith to continue on this half-remembered path. It’ll be best to just stay here and text Shiho her location.
In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if her sister had already prepared to collect her. The house had been quiet when she’d crept out. When she had knocked on Shiho’s door and let her know that she’d be out, she swore she heard a heave of breath, a frustrated noise that her sister didn’t hide well enough from behind the door.
“Right,” she had called back, in a voice pulled tight with patience, “Have fun.”
Shizuku’s heart sinks even further.
What is she even doing? Hugging herself on a park bench, bothering her little sister?
It’s not a new realization, but it comes as a blow to her chest anyway, a slow, dull pain beginning to creep up on her breathing. She’s supposed to be responsible, experienced, perfected, and yet she does nothing but inconvenience those around her. The question expands to include her idol career: her muscles are still sore from yesterday’s rehearsal, and in the stillness of retrospect, every mistake becomes painfully obvious — all the little gestures she’s supposed to have perfected, that her peers have perfected, and instead she’s having her hand held by her managers. How could anyone look at her and find hope in that?
And alone amidst the parkgoers, there’s no makeup or frilly dresses to hide her defects, no glaring stagelights to blind all who sees her. No persona to present but herself. She sees it in full clarity, now. Shizuku Hinomori is nothing but smoke and mirrors, and at the center of it all is a pathetic excuse of an idol, of an older sister, of a star.
…She can’t continue along this line of thinking. Rubbing circles along her hand with her thumb, Shizuku tries to settle her racing heartbeat, to believe in Airi’s words so long ago, to empty her thoughts just as she’d learnt to do in archery, but she shuts her eyes and it still feels futile; without a point to focus on, these thoughts rear their ugly head, sap at her mood. So Shizuku resolves to fail quietly, in the relative anonymity of her disguise, lost in a park where no one would expect an idol like her to be. And when Shiho picks her up, she’ll be as composed as ever.
That was her plan, anyway. Instead, someone walking past speaks up —
“…Shizuku? Is that you?”
— and hearing someone recognize her, she tenses.
Yet another mark of failure on her part. She knows she’s not supposed to react in public. If she turns a deaf ear, people will assume they’ve been mistaken and leave her alone. Bitterly reprimanding herself, she keeps her head ducked and hat drawn over her brow, eyes fixed on the sidewalk underneath… but now that his voice is beginning to register, she finds that this person is familiar in some way. The way he talks with his entire chest, even in hesitance, as if he was announcing her name rather than asking it. A bold voice, like sunlight breaking through an overcast sky. The more she dwells on it, the more curiosity compels her to look up.
And she’s already been identified, anyway. Would she really give someone the cold shoulder? Shattered self-image or not, she wouldn’t forgive herself for doing that to a fan.
Shizuku sucks in a breath and lifts the brim of her hat.
He’s already staring at her when they lock eyes, standing tall along the groove of the sidewalk, studying her hunched-over form for some familiarity. An ombre of yellow-orange frames his face, and he blinks when he sees her face properly, eyes shining with an unmistakable fire. A beat, and they brighten even further with recognition, his face immediately splitting in a grin.
“Shizuku!” And this time, Tsukasa’s voice is soaring with delight, “I knew I recognized you!”
Tsukasa Tenma, her friend from elementary school. Shizuku doesn’t know how she didn’t recognize him at first: there’s no mistaking the way his voice carries, the boisterous confidence he radiates with, a mark of his character even all the way back then. She must have too much on her mind. Seeing him, though, Shizuku’s quick to swallow back her woes: she straightens up properly, folds her hands together, and dons a smile to match his own.
“Tsukasa!” Good, her voice is even. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Neither did I!” He’s approaching her now, and the thought of conversation isn’t as awful as before, so she scoots to the left and allows him to take a seat. A kick of a leg, a prop of his elbows against the bench’s backrest, and he’s settled at her side like he was always meant to be there. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Mhm, much too long. How have you been?”
Before she knows it, he’s waving around his right hand, and she finally sees what he’s been holding: index cards, scripts written along its lines. “Busy! I’ve got an interview soon, and I’ve been practicing all week!”
“Really?” Tsukasa wasn’t shy about his goal to become a world famous star, so it’s a delight to hear him making progress. “That’s great! To where?”
“…Pheonix Wonderland.” For a split second, his enthusiasm falters — then Shizuku blinks and he’s as bright as ever, his head lifted high. “But all future stars have humble origins! I’m sure I’ll find a bigger stage soon enough.”
She’s not sure what to say to that. It would feel inauthentic from her, the star of Cheerful*Days, who everyone thinks didn’t do a thing to earn it, so she just nods earnestly and hopes it’s enough. Luckily, Tsukasa doesn’t seem offended.
“Anyway,” he starts again with a stretch of his limbs, “What are you doing here? Is Shiho not with you?”
Right. She’s lost. Remembering her original predicament, she feels shyness creep up on her cheeks.
“Oh, I was just taking a walk.” She tries to sound casual, but there’s no going around it. “I’m kind of lost, though, so I thought I’d call Shii…”
“…Wait, lost?! ”
She startles. Out of nowhere, his voice has shot up a decibel, loud with shock. Tsukasa straightens up in his seat, his mouth opened and concern pinching at his brow, then he repeats himself: “ Lost?! How long have you been out here?”
Really, it’s not such a big deal. But when she shrugs, he only grows more agitated — then he’s fishing out his phone, and she catches a glimpse of the maps app he’s opened.
“Very well then! You still live in the same neighborhood, right?”
“Tsukasa, you don’t have to—“
“Nonsense!” Somehow, he’s grown even louder, a fist pumped against his chest. “I’ll lead you home!”
Shizuku doesn’t mull it over. She doesn’t have the heart or the luxury to decline, so when Tsukasa gets to his feet and gestures for her to follow, she does so, taking a moment to straighten out her shirt. She feels stiff with inaction. Or maybe with dread. Nothing’s been solved with this walk, and with that thought, her head begins to swarm with wasted time.
Once again, she gathers her thoughts in a deep breath, trying to clear her mind with fresh air.
“Hm? Are you okay, Shizuku?” Tsukasa asks suddenly — a clear note of concern in his voice.
“Y-Yes,” she answers hurriedly. Pushing back the brim of her hat, she meets his gaze. “Thank you again.”
Luckily, he doesn’t press. His face lifts at her reassurance, and with his hand in her own, they’ve started walking.
It’s comfortable. Tsukasa has always been like that, eager to reassure others. Bending over backwards for his sister, putting on all sorts of shows to keep her spirits high… she remembers him clearly in that regard, a vivid picture against the haze of childhood — with a gap-toothed grin, his chest puffed out, standing tall in the center of their playground stage — a boy that couldn’t bear to see a face fallen in misery. She’s not surprised he’s carried his love of shows forward. Even if he’s become a bit prideful in the meanwhile, that much is still there, and she can’t help the paradoxical feeling rising in her chest, the static beginning to drone in her ears.
At her side, he’s talking a mile a minute about the audition he has, how he’s been preparing, the exercises he’s been doing, and he’s so certain of himself. Shining with that simple dream to become a star on the world stage. No hesitation holds him back. No fanciful outfits define his worth. He has a dream and he’s taking it by the reins, riding it to higher skies. And it’s with weariness that it all comes back to her, the woes which chased her out of the house to begin with, the storm of troubles that led her along an unfamiliar path.
Because at the end of the day, don’t they both want to make people happy? Don’t they both want to stand on stage, look out over a sea of faces, know that they’ve given them their smile? Suddenly, the fire he speaks with is sweltering, miserably hot with disappointment. He’s a cruel reflection. She can’t take her eyes off of him.
If Tsukasa was in her position, he would certainly make better use of it. If she had a fraction of Tsukasa’s resolve, she wouldn’t be here, trying to lose herself amidst the city.
Such feelings pound against the cage of her chest, demand to be spoken aloud. The responsibilities on her shoulders, how feeble she feels under their weight —how lucky Tsukasa is to have such a drive, that he was born strong-hearted and ambitious. But she doesn’t have the right to do that. She has to bite down on her tongue to keep from spilling it all right then and there. He’s still talking, and she’s still giving her usual replies, enough to keep the conversation going as they leave the park’s bounds, as she follows him along sidewalks and waits at stoplights. It’ll be too mean of her to interrupt him when he’s on such a high.
The blue sky above has grown pale by the time she recognizes her neighborhood. Dusk sets in like a bruise, and Shizuku lifts her gaze to see it through the lining of telephone wires above, the thin clouds drifting aimlessly along the horizon. And Tsukasa must recognize it too — he quiets, slows along the sidewalk they’re walking along, and Shizuku glances over to see that he, too, is taking in the rows of fences, the houses in line.
That’s right. He used to run down these streets whenever Shiho forgot her jacket at his house, whenever Saki had one final message to pass along.
He blinks, and the pensive look is gone from his eyes.
“You can get back home from here, right?” Tsukasa catches her off-guard with that, and she finds herself nodding moreso out of instinct than anything. Even so, she assumes that’s her cue: she pulls her hand away from his, albeit with some reluctance, and takes a step away.
“Mhm, I shouldn’t hold you.” A push back of her hat, a polite nod for him. “You should get back to practicing, too. I’m sure you’ll do great with your interview.”
He’s quiet. So much for words of hope. Her jaw locks tight, and she wonders why she spoke at all. There’s nothing of any value that she can do for him, except set her gaze on the streets before her, find her way home without dragging him along, taking one step after another —
“Hey, Shizuku,” Tsukasa starts again.
And he’s speaking in some unfamiliar way. From any other person, it might have been a normal tone of voice, but it surprises her enough that she pauses, turns to look behind her. Tsukasa’s standing there, his shadow smeared blue against the sidewalk. His hands have dropped to his side. The glare of the sun rips white in her vision from where she stands.
Then he lets out a breath she didn’t realize he was holding, and properly meets her gaze.
“I hope that you’re doing well with your career!” He gives a nod, his voice carrying strong even in the quieter volume. Then, even quieter, “It really has been too long.”
It has. So much so that she doesn’t know where she’d even start — “ I don’t have time now that I’m under Cheerful*Days, ” or “ Shiho hasn’t been talking to anyone lately, ” or even, “ Saki, is she doing better? How has she been? How have you been? ” — and more than the appreciation for what Tsukasa has done for her, she feels the weight of what has changed, gathering under her Adam’s apple.
But she says none of that. Who is she to bring that up? There’s nothing she can do — nothing, maybe, except to give him her best smile.
“The same to you, Tsukasa.” A swallow, a nod, hoping that her sincerity reaches him. Already the moment is stretching away from her, so she hurries to finish her thoughts. “Good luck with your interview! Thank you again for today, and… and say hello to your family for me.”
“Of course!” Just like that, he’s speaking bold and loud once again, a spark to his eye that Shizuku can’t find anywhere else. He gives a final wave goodbye. “Send my regards to Shiho! Tell her that Saki says hi!”
(She doesn’t think she can do that, either.)
And he turns away. Disappearing, amidst the fences and sidewalks, amidst the evening’s purple wash, amidst the sudden sickness she feels once again, with nothing but the pulsing of her heartbeat to fill her thoughts. He crosses the street and turns a corner and it’s quiet again, too quiet, such that the noise of the world feels drowned out, that she thinks she could just stand there forever and nothing would happen to break the statis.
Then, a jab of memory. It’s getting late. The air is growing sharp with cold. She has practice tomorrow… and Shiho’s at home, unaware that she’s been dropped off.
She has no choice but to keep walking forward.