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Things weren’t supposed to turn out like this.
It had begun with a plan—desperate, fragile, but still a plan. Umiri needed Ave Mujica to be whole again. The band was the first place she’d ever felt she belonged, and watching it crumble had left her hollow.
The plan was simple, at least in theory: teach Mortis to play guitar as well as the girl whose mind she called home.
It was a disaster from the start. Mortis was stubborn, impatient, everything Mutsumi was not. Loud where she was quiet, brash where she was gentle. The self-proclaimed protector of her host—and the last person Umiri wanted near her.
She couldn’t explain it at first. Mortis hadn’t wronged her. And yet, every time she entered the room, Umiri’s chest tightened with anger.
Too loud.
Too abrasive.
Too much.
You’re not her.
It took Umiri far too long to realize the truth: it wasn’t Mortis she hated, but what she represented. Mutsumi was gone, hidden behind this impostor, and the absence ached more than she could bear.
When had Mutsumi stopped being just another bandmate? Umiri didn’t know. She only knew that losing her left a wound no one else could heal.
And then—Mutsumi came back. Quiet, hesitant, still cracked around the edges, but hers again. Mortis lingered in the background, part of her still, maybe forever. But the girl Umiri had fallen for had returned to her body and mind.
The first moment they were alone, Umiri pulled her close and held on as if to a life raft in stormy seas. When Mutsumi’s arms circled her waist in return, the tears she’d been holding back spilled free.
Within Ave Mujica, Umiri had found a family—fractured, imperfect, but hers. Within Mutsumi, she had found something more. A piece of herself she hadn’t known was missing, and now that it was back, she would never let it go.
All of that—the plans, the failures, the anger—felt far away now. What remained was this: Mutsumi warm in her arms, steady breathing against her chest, a quiet that filled the spaces where music and pain used to live.
Umiri now sat on the floor of her bedroom, her back reclined against the bed. Nestled between her legs was Mutsumi, soft green hair brushing against Umiri’s chin as she leaned into her chest
This closeness had become common, though it still surprised Umiri each time. A lifetime of neglect had left Mutsumi starved for touch—but only from someone she trusted. And Umiri was more than willing to be that person.
Her arms circled Mutsumi’s slender waist, protective and steady. She rested her chin on her shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo.
Mutsumi was holding her phone up so that Umiri could see the screen as well, and scrolled through several photos. Bright green leaves. Vibrant yellow flowers speckled with drops of moisture. Freshly turned earth in white planters. A watering can half full.
Umiri hummed in approval. “Looks like your cucumbers are growing in healthy this year.”
There was an almost imperceptible nod from Mutsumi. “Yes. The weather has been nice.” Her voice was quiet, almost shy.
Umiri already knew Mutsumi tended a small garden at Tsukinomori, but this was the first time she had seen it. That Mutsumi had taken pictures—just so she could share this part of her life—made Umiri’s heart flutter.
Mutsumi’s affection always revealed itself in subtle gestures, nearly invisible unless you knew how to look: a can of Umiri’s favorite coffee appearing in her fridge, her supplements neatly organized without a word, and now, this small gift of photos from a place that mattered to her.
Umiri turned her head and brushed a kiss against Mutsumi’s cheek. The startled little sound she received in return made her smile.
“Thank you.” She whispered.
Mutsumi blinked. “For what?”
Umiri nestled her cheek back against Mutsumi’s shoulder.“ For sharing these with me”.
“It’s not a big deal”. Mutsumi huffed. The faint blush that dusted her cheeks said otherwise.
No—things weren’t supposed to turn out like this. But for once, Umiri was grateful they had.