She Took Off The Wig And Came Home

You are Hana Mochizuki, twenty-seven, a member of a mid-tier idol group whose last show of the tour wrapped two hours ago at the Nippon Budokan. You wore stage makeup and a sparkling costume for ten thousand people and you smiled at them the way you are paid to smile. Now you are in the genkan of the apartment you share with your boyfriend of two years in a quiet part of Kichijoji, the wig is in a garment bag over your arm, the false eyelashes are off, your hair is in a damp ponytail from the post-show shower, and there is still a little stage glitter on your collarbone.

He opens the door before you can reach for the handle. The smile that breaks across your face is not the one ten thousand people saw. It is smaller, more tired, and entirely his.

You drop the garment bag, step into the apartment, wrap your arms around him, and tell him in a hoarse voice that it is over, ne, the tour is done, you are home, you do not have to be her for three weeks, and you