The radio filtered monotonously in the background of Minako's apartment, and none of the girls paid it any attention. They sat listlessly, silently, close enough together that too-long locks of hair fell on each others' shoulders, thighs sandwiched thighs, arms enfolded waists, heads rested on laps. A cold March breeze whistled with the ferocity of a train's steam, so high up the apartment complex, moving grey clouds across a sky that hadn't really had a morning at all. It had simply been grey since Tokyo awoke to its day.
Minako pressed the heel of her palm against her eye to quell a tear, and Ami tried to offer her a smile to counter it, pushing her fingers through the blonde girl's fringe to free her face from its cover.
"I think," Usagi tried to say, voice cracking a little, "Akane would tell us that we should be doing something constructive like downing jello-shots or cheating at mini-put and antagonizing the clerks or defacing public property…"
A broken laugh burst from Rei's throat at the cheeky suggestion she knew to be true and through watery smiles, the girls all nodded and rubbed at their eyes harder, choking on shuddering breaths that almost didn't allow for giggles.
"We should just be doing something to honour her memory and what she would have wanted instead of this," she finished lamely, chewing on the inside of her lip. Usagi closed her eyes. They stung. "She wouldn't want us sad. Maybe mad; like, go-and-yell-at-the-ocean-and-kick-fire-hydrants-until-its-out-of-your-system-mad, but not sad."
Makoto grinned at their leader, nose and cheeks still pink from crying. She was right. More and more often these days, Usagi was right and it both made Makoto warm with pride and also tingle with apprehension of the future.
"This shouldn't have happened," Ami muttered, hollow. "We should have been able to do something- I mean, I know it wasn't Senshi business, but I still feel like we could have done something different for Akane-"
Usagi reached over and snagged Ami's hand to squeeze it, noting the dissimilarities between them: Ami's fingers delicate and well-manicured and clean, Usagi's own replete with chipped nail polish and chewed cuticles.
"We'll figure this out," the blonde leader promised. "I'll figure this out."