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The first thing Mika Yasuda felt when she opened her eyes was the sharp pain in her ribs, like a vice gripping her chest. Her head pounded in rhythm with the beeping monitor next to her, and the sterile smell of the hospital flooded her senses. Her lips were dry, cracked, but her first thought wasn’t for herself.
“Yasuda,” Bailey said, a small smile on her face and her voice gentle. “Hey, welcome back. Your surgery, it went well. You’re going to be okay.”
"Chloe?" she croaked, her voice barely audible, raw, and trembling.
Bailey was there. She always was, her presence was never a doubt, not once. But this time, her expression was a tempest of grief and restraint. She stepped closer to Mika’s bed, stroking Mika’s hair.
"Chloe?" Mika rasped, her panic growing.
Bailey’s face twisted, her lips pressing tightly together before she shook her head.
"No," Mika whispered, her body stiffening as the room seemed to tilt around her. "No," Her voice broke, a gut-wrenching sob tearing from her throat.
"No.” Mika’s words dissolved into incoherence as her grief consumed her.
Bailey reached out, taking Mika’s hand, and holding it tight. “No,” she choked out. “No.” Tears flowing down her pale face.
Bailey placed her hand on Mika’s cheek, dragging her thumb back and forth ever so slightly. The warmth of Bailey’s touch only deepened the cold emptiness spreading through her chest.
Mika’s friends began arriving over the next few days. Each one brought something: flowers, food, books, whispered condolences. She wasn’t even awake to hear them, still, they all hoped the words meant something.
Simone was the first to visit, followed by Lucas and then Blue. Each one offering their love and support while supressing a hint of guilt they each felt. They circled her like planets around a dying sun, trying to bring light to the void left by Chloe’s absence.
They were all aware that their feelings for Mika were never apparent. They rarely showed the true love they had for her. Of course, there would be moments where laughs would be exchanged, but it was often wondered if it was ever enough.
The last to see Mika was Jules. She had been there once before, she had fallen asleep with her head rested on Mika’s legs but since then, nothing.
It wasn’t intentional, not visiting Mika. Things had just been a lot, and the more she saw Mika lying in that bed, looking so small, so fragile... it had made it harder to see her. Multiple factors played a part in it, how she coded right in front of her. How she heard Lucas declare time of death on Chloe, and how she found out from Bailey that Mika—her Mika—was in a coma.
She was afraid.
Jules had tried to come earlier, multiple times. She’d made it as far as the ICU floor and was only a few steps away, but a few steps felt like miles and as time grew heavier, so did the weight of her feelings. So, she left and told herself she would visit another day.
This happened for two weeks straight.
Today she had made the achievement of standing outside of Mika’s room.
She could hear faint voices inside—Bailey or one of the other nurses Mika had worked with. They sounded gentle, reassuring. Jules wondered if Mika even knew where she was if she’d woken up at all. If she’d asked for her.
If she blamed her.
The thought made Jules’ stomach churn. She pressed her back against the cold wall of the corridor and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself.
"It’s not about you," she told herself. "This isn’t about you."
But the guilt twisted like a knife in her gut. She had liked Chloe too. They had bonded over their shared dislike for olives and Jules had been there on the nights she couldn’t sleep. She’d spent hours with Chloe, listening to her reveal Mika’s bad dating habits and admitting that she liked the thought of Jules becoming something to not only Mika, but her too. (She had been high on drugs when this was admitted, but it still matters. At least it does to Jules who held tightly onto the thought of becoming something more.)
Chloe had been the little sister Jules never knew she needed, and Mika- Mika was the unshakable, protective force who somehow managed to ground them all.
And now, Chloe was gone, and Mika was broken. And Jules had been too afraid to face either.
"Jules?"
The voice startled her, sharp and familiar. She looked up to see Bailey standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, a mixture of sympathy and disappointment etched on her face.
"You’ve been standing here for twenty minutes," Bailey said softly, taking a step closer. "Are you going in, or are you going to keep running away?"
"I’m not running away," Jules muttered, looking down at the floor.
"Could’ve fooled me," Bailey said, her tone blunt but not unkind. She moved closer, her voice softening. "She’s awake, Jules. And she’s been asking for you."
Jules’s head snapped up, her chest tightening. "She has?"
Bailey nodded. "She’s hurting. Physically and emotionally. But you being here might help. You’re her friend."
Jules shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don’t know if I can face her. What if she… What if she hates me? What if she blames me for not being there?"
"Jules." Bailey’s tone was firmer now, grounding. "This isn’t about blame. It’s about showing up. She needs you."
Jules hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie. She wanted to believe Bailey. She wanted to believe Mika would still see her the same way she always had. But the fear of seeing the light in Mika’s eyes dimmed by anger or sorrow was almost unbearable.
Bailey placed a hand on Jules’s shoulder. "You’re not going to fix this by yourself, Jules. But being there? That’s the first step. Don’t make her feel more alone than she already does."
Jules swallowed hard, nodding despite the lump in her throat. She took a shaky breath and pushed off the wall, stepping toward the door. The sound of her footsteps felt deafening, and her heart pounded so loudly she was sure Mika would hear it.
When she reached the door, she paused, her hand hovering just above it. She took another breath, steeling herself, and stepped inside.
The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Mika lay in the hospital bed, her head turned toward the window. Her dark hair was messy, and her face was pale, bruises blooming along her cheekbone and temple.
The sight of her stole the air from Jules’s lungs.
Mika must have heard the door, because she turned her head slowly, her eyes landing on Jules. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Mika’s gaze was unreadable, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and something Jules couldn’t quite place.
"Hey," Jules said finally, her voice hoarse.
"Hey," Mika replied, her voice quiet but steady. She blinked slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line before she added, "Took you long enough."
The words weren’t sharp, but they weren’t light-hearted either. They hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Jules winced, stepping closer to the bed. "I know. I’m sorry."
Mika studied her for a moment, then looked away, her gaze fixed on the window again. "Why are you here?"
The question felt like a slap, but Jules forced herself to answer. "Because I should’ve been here sooner. And because I—" She swallowed, her throat dry. "Because I care about you. And Chloe."
At the mention of her sister’s name, Mika flinched, her jaw tightening. She closed her eyes for a moment before turning back to Jules.
"She’s gone," Mika said flatly, her voice cracking. "And I… I don’t even know why I’m still here."
Jules’s chest ached at the words. She moved closer, pulling the chair up to the bed and sitting down. "Mika, you’re here because you’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. It’s a good thing you’re still here.”
A beat or two passed, “I am so glad that you are still here.”
For days after Jules's visit, Mika grew quieter. Bailey noticed first—how she spoke only when necessary and avoided meeting anyone's eyes. The sharp, biting grief that had driven her initial anger dulled into a chilling silence,
Jules came back, of course. So did Simone, Lucas and Blue. Teddy and Amelia did too. They brought coffee, magazines, even awkward jokes to try to lighten the mood. But Mika only gave them small, tight smiles or murmured thanks, never engaging further. Her friends tried to reach her, but it felt like Mika wasn’t really there anymore, not the Mika they knew.
It was natural to assume that this was a stage of grief, nobody is going to be the same after their sister dies, that was obvious. But it felt as if there wasn’t a hint of a cheery person inside of her. No silly nicknames or small jokes. This wasn’t Mika anymore.
The next time Jules visited, she found Mika sitting upright in bed, staring out the window again. The blinds were partially closed, casting long slats of shadow across her pale face. She didn’t turn when Jules came in, and she didn’t say anything when Jules sat down.
Jules fiddled with the hem of her jacket. "I thought I’d stop by and bring you something," she said, pulling a small paper bag out of her tote. "It’s those donuts you really like, from that place downtown. Thought you might—"
"I don’t want it," Mika interrupted, her voice flat and emotionless.
Jules blinked. "Oh. Uh, okay. That’s fine." She set the bag on the bedside table and leaned forward. "But, Mika, can we talk? I feel like you’re shutting everyone out. And I get it—"
"You don’t get it," Mika cut in, her tone sharp now, though her gaze never left the window.
"Mika…" Jules hesitated, then softened her voice. "I know you’re hurting. But we’re here for you. I’m here for you."
Mika finally turned to look at her, but her eyes were distant, hollow. "And what good does that do, Jules? Is it going to bring Chloe back? Is it going to make this… this hole in my chest go away?"
"No," Jules admitted. "But being alone isn’t going to make it better either."
"Maybe that’s what I want," Mika said, her voice rising slightly. "Maybe I don’t want to feel better. Maybe I don’t want to sit here and pretend that having people around is going to fix anything."
Jules stared at her, stunned by the bluntness. "You think we’re pretending? Mika, we’re here because we love you. Because we care about you."
"And I don’t want it," Mika snapped. Her hands clenched the edge of the blanket, her knuckles white. "I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your guilt. And I don’t want you acting like it’s your job to save me.”
Jules flinched, her throat tightening. "What are you talking about? It’s not pity, Mika. Nobody is trying to be a superhero and save you. We don’t want you to face these burdens alone, okay? You’re our friend. I’m here because I- “
"Because you feel guilty," Mika interrupted, her voice cutting through Jules’s like a blade. "You told me yourself. You think if you’d have done that surgery, things would’ve been different. But they wouldn’t. Nothing changes what happened. Chloe’s gone, and I’m the one who failed her.”
"Mika," Jules said softly, her eyes filling with tears, “I just don’t want you to be alone.”
"I’m already alone," Mika whispered, her voice breaking. "I’ve been alone since the second she… since the second she was gone. And I think it’s better that way."
Jules felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She searched Mika’s face, looking for some sign of the warmth, the strength that had always defined her. But all she saw was the icy distance Mika had wrapped herself in, a barrier she seemed determined to keep in place.
"You don’t mean that," Jules said finally, her voice trembling.
Mika turned back to the window. "Maybe I do."
The finality in her tone was like a door slamming shut. Jules sat there for a moment longer, her mind racing for something—anything—that might reach Mika. But nothing came.
Over the next few weeks, Mika continued to retreat further into herself. When she was finally discharged, she kept to herself. Spending all her time hidden away in the depths of her bedroom, surrounded by constant darkness and the most violent silence. She wanted to be alone, and she had made that noticeably clear to everyone before the instant isolation.
It came late one night, when Mika was sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Jules slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. She sat in the chair by the window, saying nothing at first, just watching Mika’s stillness.
"I thought I told everyone to leave me alone," Mika said flatly, not turning to look at her.
"I’m not everyone," Jules replied, her tone gentle but firm.
Mika finally glanced at her, her eyes dark with exhaustion and anger. "You’re wasting your time. Go. Just… go."
Jules leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "No. Not until you hear me out."
Mika snorted bitterly. "What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?"
"Nothing," Jules admitted. "I’m not here to make it better. I’m here because you need someone to blame."
Mika’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering through her grief. "What?"
"Blame me," Jules said, her voice breaking slightly. "Blame me for what happened. I gave you that surgery knowing you were exhausted. If you didn’t take the surgery, you wouldn’t have been driving. You would have been sleeping, and you and Chloe would be fine. So, if you need someone to hate, someone to scream at, someone to tear apart-" She leaned closer, her eyes locking onto Mika’s. "Let it be me."
The quiet hung in the bedroom, heavy and suffocating after Jules’ words ran through Mika. Jules moved from the chair to the edge of the bed, placing her hand on Mika’s, the weight of what wasn’t being said began pressing on both of them.
"You don’t get it," Mika muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jules frowned. "What don’t I get?"
"You don’t understand what it feels like. To know you’re the reason someone’s dead." Mika’s voice wavered, but anger started creeping into her tone. “You don’t get it.”
"I get it more than you think," Jules said, her tone measured but firm. "I know guilt, Mika. Maybe not the same as yours, but I know it."
Mika’s eyes narrowed. "Do you? Were you the one behind the wheel? Were you the one who killed your own sister?"
Jules flinched, the accusation cutting deep, but she refused to back down. "No, I wasn’t driving. But I was supposed to be the one doing the surgery that night.” Her voice rose, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "If I had just taken that stupid surgery, maybe I could’ve stopped it. Chloe would still be alive!"
"Stop it," Mika snapped, her fists clenching. "Don’t put this on yourself just to make me feel better. You didn’t do anything wrong."
"Neither did you!" Jules shot back, her voice sharp now. "Do you even hear yourself? You’re so ready to shoulder all of this guilt, but when I try to share it, you shut me down. Why?”
“Because I can’t deal with this. Okay, I can’t.” Mika cries. “This is too much for me. Being in that hospital is too much for me. Being in Seattle, I- “She takes a deep breath, “I can’t be here anymore.”
“What? What do you- what are you saying?”
Mika composes herself. “I’m leaving Seattle, Jules.”
Jules stared at her, her heart sinking. "Where are you going?"
"Home," Mika admitted, finally looking up. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression raw and vulnerable. "To be with my family. I need that. So do they.”
Jules leaned forward; her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Mika, I get why you feel like this. I do. But you have so much here, you have your job and- and your friends and those donuts you like. Your mentors,” Jules says, her breath hitching. “You have me.”
"I know. But I’m trying to survive. Staying here… it feels like drowning. I can’t keep walking these streets, seeing her face everywhere, hearing her voice in my head. I can’t work in the place she died. Where I almost died. It’s too much, Jules."
"We will help you through it,” Jules said, her own voice cracking. "We want to help you. I want to help you."
Mika shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "And that’s the problem. I don’t want people looking at me like I’m some fragile, broken thing that needs fixing. I can’t be here and feel like this, surrounded by people who remind me of everything I’ve lost."
"That’s not what we’re trying to do," Jules said desperately.
“Look, Jules. My mind is made up.”
The silence between Mika and Jules stretched long and heavy after Mika's revelation. It wasn’t an ordinary silence—not the comfortable kind they’d shared before, when they didn’t need words to fill the space between them. This was something else entirely. It was loaded, dense with everything neither of them could say aloud.
Mika sat stiffly on the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. Jules sat next to her; arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. The air in the room felt fragile, as though the smallest sound could shatter it.
Jules finally broke the stillness, her voice quiet and strained. "So… that’s it, then?"
Mika flinched, but she didn’t look up. "Yeah."
Jules’s jaw tightened. She wanted to scream, but instead, all she could manage was a sharp exhale. "I don’t even know what to say."
"Then don’t," Mika said softly, her voice a whisper.
"And us?” Jules says.
“What about us?”
Jules laughs bitterly. “That’s just it. What about us? You told me you didn’t know if we were an us.” She speaks. “Well, we were. And I thought we were going to continue being something. I know you’re going through so much and I know that it’s unbearable, but- “
“Jules,” Mika turns to her.
“No,” she says sharply. “No, I need to say this.”
She took a deep breath.
"I love you," Jules said, her voice softer now, tears starting to form in her eyes. "And I don’t mean just as your friend. I mean all of it. Every part of you, even the parts you’re trying to hide from me. I love you so much it hurts to see you like this, to see you pushing everyone away, to see you pushing me away."
Mika stared at her, stunned into silence.
Jules turned towards her, her hands trembling. "I know you’re hurting. I know you feel like you need to leave to survive, and maybe you do. But I need you to know that I’m not just some friend who’s going to disappear when things get hard. I’m here. I’ve always been here."
Mika’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her expression a mix of shock and something Jules couldn’t quite place.
"I love you," Jules whispered, her voice breaking. "And I can’t stand the thought of losing you, Mika. Not like this."
Mika finally spoke, her voice barely audible. "Jules… I don’t know how to-"
"You don’t have to know," Jules interrupted gently, taking Mika’s hand into her own. "You don’t have to fix everything, or even feel the same way. But don’t shut me out.”
Mika’s tears spilled over, and she shook her head, her hands clutching at the hem of her hoodie. "Jules, I’m so broken. I don’t know if I can be what you need."
"You already are," Jules said, her voice steady now. "You’re enough, Mika. Just as you are."
Mika’s face was a mess of tears, her breath hitching. "I don’t know if I can stay," she admitted, her voice trembling.
“Then we can try long distance. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I know that I love you. I know that I want you.” Jules lays down on the bed, patting at the empty space next to her, inviting Mika to lay with her. She hesitates but joins her and pushes her neck underneath Jules’ chin.
“If you need to leave, you can. I understand that. I do. And more than anything, I want you to be okay.”
Mika lifted her head, and their eyes met, and for a moment, something flickered there—gratitude or regret. "Thank you," she said softly.
“Jules?”
She hums.
“I love you too.”
Jules gently kisses Mika's forehead, and pulls her closer. "You aren't alone, Mika. You have me, always."