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hyojungss's comment ficathon
date posted: 2024-01-10
summary: She should be better than this.
word count: 1,813 words
notes: just go with it i don't know. fill for hyojungss's comment ficathon
Mizuki stared at her phone from where it sat beside her on the couch, reluctant. She doesn't understand why she's so nervous about this – it's just a phone call, and to a friend, at that! She should be better than this.
Actually, scratch that – she understands why. She remembers, in that moment, that this isn't the first time this has happened – all the times she's tried to call group veterans, to congratulate them on new ventures and graduations and things like that, she feels this same jittery unrest in her chest, how it gets harder to keep her breath steady.
Mizuki closes her eyes shut, as tight as she can, and breathes in deeply, then breathes out as sharply as humanly possible. This is it. I'm going to call her.
She grabs her phone and opens her contacts app and scrolls to Hiichan's number in her phone with superhuman speed, trying to scroll past and outrun her nerves. She can do this.
Her finger hovers over the call button under Hiichan's name in her phone – Honda Hitomi, cut-and-dry, formal, no room for emojis or anything that cheesy.
For some reason, something Mizuki can't and won't analyze, she always keeps a boundary between herself and those she admires. Even if it's as silly as a contact name, she keeps it clean, unmarred by emojis or nicknames or however she might really think of them in her head. She has Yukirin's number, sure, but her name in her phone is still Kashiwagi Yuki, nothing more, nothing less.
Mizuki likes it this way, but knows she also kinds of hates it, how impersonal it is. But she thinks, this is the only way to keep her distance. She'd be no better than the fans if she did anything more, said anything more in their calls, tried to become closer than acquaintances or distant friends. This is how it's supposed to be: Yamauchi Mizuki, one of AKB48's many rising stars for years on end: as stagnant as the position is, it's one she has to be content with, and has to live with its effects.
So there she is: thumb shaking over the call button on the contact of the girl she considers a friend but knows, internally, means infinitely more to her than she could ever convey.
The magazine to her right, plastered with Hiichan's face, makeup all gyaru style and hair in spikey, short blonde pigtails atop her head, so otherworldly and three-dimensional, bares a hole into Mizuki's eyes from where it sits, with only so much as a glance from Mizuki its way.
Mizuki scrunches her eyes closed once more, breathes out sharply without inhaling. She taps the call button, puts it on speaker phone (distance, she thinks again).
Her heart thrums with each ring, but she forces her eyes shut again, to the point of tears pricking in the corners from how tight together her eyes are. She won't cry – she can't, with her phone in front of her mouth and the sniffling would be too noisy and it would all just worry Hiichan, and surely, worrying the girl that makes her chest thrum the way it does would be a disaster.
The third ring stops abruptly.
"Zukky-chan! How've you been! It's good to talk to you!" Hiichan – Hitomi says cheerfully over the line.
Mizuki feels something in her stomach flutter at the use of her nickname. She ignores it, tries to find the words to respond to Hitomi.
"Hitomi, hi! I just... I just wanted to call because I saw you in a magazine. You look wonderful! I'm sorry for bothering you!" She says, and realizes how ridiculous she sounds almost immediately, how fangirl-like she sounds, all cheerleader and no other personality.
It's silly. It's all she knows.
So she forces herself to keep going, taking advantage of the silence on the other end, forces herself to fill the silence with something not awkward, even if it's embarrassing and humiliating for her.
Mizuki reminds herself that the only thing she could possibly lose here would be her connection to Hitomi.
Somehow, that frightens her more than the thought of losing anything else.
"How have you been? Are you at work right now? I'm sorry to bother you if you are!" Mizuki forces out, her voice going a mile a minute. It's embarrassing beyond belief.
She hears something shifting on the other end, and imagines Hitomi moving her phone to her shoulder, leaning her head on it to keep it still. She wonders what Hitomi's up to right now, if she's busy and if Mizuki's call is interrupting her in the middle of something important. She tries to clear her head, knows that staying stuck in it will only prolong her anxieties; years as an idol has taught her that stewing in her nerves will only serve to extend them than quell them.
The shuffling finally ends, and she hears Hitomi's voice again: "I'm at a photoshoot, yeah! For my graduation photobook. You heard, right? Oh no, I hope this isn't how you found out!"
Mizuki feels her heart still – something in her stomach plummets like a roller coaster ride dropping off a hill on the track.
She never did read the inside of the magazine, did she? How shallow she is, to only look at Hitomi's face on the cover, next to Nako, both of them fitting the K-Pop side of their careers perfectly in their Y2K outfits. How shallow she is to only skim the text and still buy the magazine, yanking it out of the stand and bringing it to the counter with so much as a glance at the back of the magazine, still plastered with shots from the same photoshoot of Hitomi and Nako.
She's reminded of that time on the sidewalk with Hitomi, how she had told Mizuki that she had no intention of graduating, and how Mizuki shamefully, selfishly believed her.
Mizuki really is no better than she was two years ago, still no better than the fans.
She grips the phone tight in her hand. "I'm sorry," she begins, forcing herself not to stammer, "but yeah, I didn't know you were graduating. How silly of me, to buy a new magazine of yours before actually reading it!" She forces a laugh out, nervous and high pitched. Humiliating.
There's a brief silence on the other end, no shuffling. Mizuki wonders if Hitomi's at a loss for words, wondering just how stupid Mizuki could be, or how Mizuki couldn't know.
Mizuki herself doesn't know the answer to that, how she couldn't have known. Word travels quickly in AKB – surely, she had to have found out at some point, through any of the members, anyone in senbatsu for the new single; one of them would've had the scoop for the latest graduations. She found out about Yukirin's graduation months before it was announced; how could she miss this one?
But Hitomi interrupts her thoughts, again.
"Ah, I'm sorry you found out this way, Zukky-chan," Hitomi says, and it sounds so polite, but still apprehensive. Mizuki wonders if Hitomi feels like she's walking on glass, now, dealing with something as fragile and delicate as Zukky, the idol who can go along with a joke but will burst into tears once it's over. Somehow, Mizuki doesn't find it as easy to go along with things now as she usually can, like she can't wait until things are over to start crying like a baby.
It's always been a bad trait of hers, that she can't contain and compartmentalize her feelings the way other idols do, the way Hitomi and Yuiyui and Naachan can, the way they've kept their careers going for almost or over a decade, all of them.
Now, more than ever, this trait of hers makes her feel something more than embarrassed, teetering over the edge into self-hate. It's shameful.
She steels herself, as much as she can bring herself to.
"It's ok, it's my fault more than anything," Mizuki starts, "I didn't read the magazine yet. I just... I saw your face and I was amazed! You look so beautiful! I really want to dress like that!"
There's a laugh on the other end, brief but still so lively. Mizuki admires it so much that it makes something in her chest swell up and nearly burst.
"Thank you, Zukky-chan! You're too nice!" Hitomi pauses abruptly, and Mizuki hears more shuffling, something windy in the background, before Hitomi's voice comes back.
"I just ran outside real quick, but I don't have much time to talk," she says, rushed. "When's the next time you can talk? I'd hate to drop this when you found out so suddenly about my graduation! I feel so bad about it now," Hitomi chuckles, lightly but tinged with nerves.
Mizuki suddenly feels her stomach drop, knows that she's made Hitomi feel this way. That swelling in her chest swells more, suddenly, so close to bursting, but with shame this time. Her hand tightens into a frustrated fist in her lap, and she grits her teeth for a moment, so annoyed and disappointed in herself.
But she forces herself to respond, to give a goodbye, at least.
"I hate to bother you, Hitomi-san," she says, voice trembling (how embarrassing), "but we can call another time, yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll talk to you another time. Are you ok, Zukky-chan?"
For a moment, Mizuki wants to tell her to stop calling her that, to stop it just for a moment so she can breathe longer than a second. Her heart's beating like a bomb in her chest about to explode, and she knows she has to end this now, that there can't be another time.
"I'm ok, you don't have to worry about me," she says, and smiles shakily, even though no one can see it. "I'll talk to you another time. Have fun at your shoot!" She says, and hangs up.
Mizuki lets her hand drop to the couch, going limp as it hits the cushion and her phone sliding out of her grasp. She leans her head back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling.
She feels something prick at her eyes again and squeezes them shut. Not now. Not right now.
It's stupid, she knows. She's stupid for this.
Mizuki lets her head fall back forward, slowly, then opens her eyes, stares at the wood floor, thinks about how it creaks with every step. She's always wished she could get it replaced, but it'd never be possible with her AKB salary alone.
She thinks about creaky floors and the blank popcorn ceiling above her and ignores how everything feels so frozen. She stays like that for as long as she can, waits for it to clear up, because it will, because it has to, eventually.
Like everything, like her relationships, this will pass.