Work Text:
Kohane’s bedroom was simple. No huge amounts of decoration, simple bunting across the top of her curtains, simple pastel polka dot coloured bedsheets. A Phoenix Wonderland inspired splash of colour, but other than that, a simple bedroom. Weeks at a time, thin layers of dust built up on the shelves. Polaroid photos build up in small piles, thin slices of paper debris scattered around the floor of her desk from hours of dedicated scrapbooking. Once it came to this point, Kohane knew it was time for the room to be cleaned.
But, regardless of clutter and disarray, one small shelf above her bed was always meticulously dusted and kept pristine. A shelf of her most important memories. Random clutter to others, special memories to her: A receipt from her first drink at Weekend Garage, a group photo with Shiho and Minori. A picture of her as a young child at Phoniex Wonderland holding a Phenny Plush that seemed so large back then, but so small now. The plush in question leaned against the photo frame, in surprisingly good quality for being years old.
But next to that plush, was something even more special, a little lamb. A shade of faded cream with black nose, snout and a singular button white eye. It’s front right leg stitched on backwards after an incident, so it leaned to one side. Though its wool was matted and and stuffing was flat, the little lamb held so many memories and was so well loved.
This little lamb had no name, but was the sole reason Kohane’s mother called her “her Little Lamb”. The lamb went everywhere with Kohane, so the nickname quickly stuck. No matter where she went, the lamb was not too far behind. Whether hanging out of the side of her school bag or in her tiny clutches as she slept, the lamb was always there for her.
There for her when she needed it the most.
The matted parts of the plush were the result of years and years of tears. For when she felt scared, she clutched to the lamb, holding it close to her chest as she sobbed. Wash after wash the knots in the wool remained permanent. Memories intertwined in cotton, out of all the objects on this shelf, the lamb was always the most important. So every now and then; late at night when her worries would get the best of her; Kohane would always reach for the lamb, and gently run her fingers across the wool. She would lay there, remembering all the moments where she was alone, but never truly lonely.
The times as a young child when she cried for her parents, those memories lay intertwined in the knots. How once lost then found and how she hugged the plush so tightly that the eye burst the seams, recalling that as she gently traced the button eye. How one time she tripped when carrying the lamb, how the leg ripped and lay on the floor, stuffing scattered, that same feeling of guilt and anxiety that she felt back then was the same she had just now.
For when you feel so anxious and alone, sometimes you begin to blame yourself, to blame yourself for all that went wrong, even if nothing had truly happened. To blame yourself for the hypothetical rather than the realistic. As far as Kohane had come with her anxiousness, she still had these moments of doubt, of self hate that lingered in the night.
But just like that plush, scars can heal. Overtime by themselves, but the love and care of others by your side always helps. The stitching on the plush was buried beneath the wool, but Kohane could still feel the thin line that was out of place. Out of place, out of sight, but still there all the same.
This is why in moments like this, the little lamb was always there. Watching over her, ready to be there for her when nobody else was. When her mind was screaming at her that reaching out would make her a burden, the lamb was never far out of reach.
For overtime scars heal, but still remain. Faded overtime but still they’re all the same. Some things might not be as they used to be, sometimes you may feel like what was broken, what was torn, was sewn together incorrectly: that sometimes you feel out of place because of those differences. But in those moments it’s important to remember you are never truly alone, and despite those looming thoughts; that lingering feeling of fear and guilt. Remember, you are never alone.
But, that’s easier said than done isn’t it? Sometimes despite being told all this, the positive intent never comes through. And for Kohane this was the case sometimes, sometimes common sense wasn’t exactly an option. Which is why she still has the lamb. Childish yes, immature maybe. But to the rest of that world that didn’t matter. For who would really care about the young woman clutching to her lamb in the middle of the night, tears quietly falling down her face as her grasp tightened. Because in the moment, nothing else truly matters, nothing else would ever matter.
Because at the end of the day, the girl had her little lamb, and the little lamb had her girl. Similar in nature, but closely intertwined in memories. Memories are like scars. Some fade faster than others, some linger for a while then slowly disappear-
Whilst others are more prominent. Remembered fondly or sadly, faded to a faint mark or a prominent feature. But no matter what, memories or scars-
Neither change who you truly are