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There’s supposed to be another body here.
It’s a strange thought to have whenever you’ve just walked into your room, but it’s the one she has.
Momo can see some left behind clothes she knows aren’t hers, unless she had decided to go for darker and cooler shades, and posters she knows weren’t there before.
But what really makes her think this is her bed.
There’s more pillows and blankets than she typically sleeps with. She can see the indent of two heads on these pillows.
Momo could feel her face flush the longer she stared at it. Who the hell had layed beside her enough times for that to happen??
…who had she allowed to get that close?
Whatever, she thought with a huff. Finding that out could be a problem for future Momo. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.
Momo flopped into her bed, hoping sleep could just take her away from all of it. Take her away from her concerned granny and her estranged old friend and the stranger in her home and the faceless one in her bed.
She takes a deep breath, pulling the blankets over her; and that’s when she smells it. More proof that somebody else has been here.
It lingers on the other pillows, faint but there. Cinnamon and vanilla and fresh books.
It should alarm her, it should, because what the fuck happened in the time she’s forgotten to have somebody snuggled up in her bed long enough to leave their scent, their shape beside her?
It should alarm her, but… the smells nice. It’s not what she would choose for her own perfume, but it’s nice.
Before she can think better of it, she reaches out for one of the pillows and pulls it closer; letting her mind wander.
Who had been here? How close had they layed to her here? Did she hold them? Did they hold her? Who were they?
Momo’s eyes drift shut, and she lets herself imagine. Just a little bit. Just a little bit of stability found in this crazy day, found in the lingering smell of a book shop.
She imagines it’s a body she’s wrapped herself around, one expecting nothing of her. Not for her to remember anything or for her to do anything, just allowing her to hold them because it’s… her.
Momo sighs into the imagination of arms wrapping back around her. She lets her mind fill in the blanks with bits of her own silly celebrity crush.
Kind brown eyes, steady hands, dark hair.
Her eyes blink open when she feels something wet upon her cheek, coming to realize her vision is blurred from tears.
It shakes her out of her little fantasy because god— this is stupid. She’s being stupid. She’s crying over a hypothetical, missing person.
There’s a stranger in her home that her granny seems to treat better than her and nobody was making sense and something was missing and she didn’t know what.
She cries herself to sleep, the last thing on her mind before she slips away being the moonlight on her skin and the want to go home.