𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓜𝓮 [ ObaMitsu fanfic/ R-(M)] Kimetsu No Yaiba

Chapter 21 - If Silence Could Kill

Chapter Song: Chord Overstreet - "Hold On"

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The Saturday morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting soft rays across the room—its warmth a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled between Mitsuri and Obanai. The silence was suffocating. Mitsuri stood in front of the mirror, dressed and ready to leave, but her heart was heavy. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes tired from sleepless nights, from wondering if their relationship was slipping through her fingers. She glanced over at Obanai, who was hunched over his laptop, completely absorbed, oblivious to her presence at the doorway.

"I'm leaving," she whispered, her voice barely audible, not because she wanted to be quiet but because she felt like her words no longer carried weight.

Obanai didn't stir. His focus was somewhere far away— obtaining a restraining order for for Mitsuri towards Misaki. Mitsuri's chest tightened. It had been days since they'd spoken properly, and the silence between them had only deepened, like a chasm that neither seemed able to cross. She bit her lip, trying to hold it together. Today wasn't just any day; it was the day she would retrieve the last of her belongings from their shared apartment, a day that marked the closing of a chapter she was ready to close.

Without another word, she quietly opened the door and stepped out, leaving the apartment and Obanai silence behind her. The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed louder in her heart than in the empty room.

Later that day

After a long morning of moving things into the truck, Mitsuri, along with Shinobu and Kanae, stood at the entrance to their new place, keys clutched tightly in hand. They had just signed the lease, and under any other circumstances, it would have been a day filled with excitement. But for Mitsuri, the day had been heavy with a lingering ache, the weight of her unfinished business with Obanai overshadowing her joy.

Shinobu and Kanae chatted as they admired the spacious apartment. Natural light flooded the rooms, highlighting the sleek granite countertops and the breathtaking view of Mt. Fuji in the distance. Mitsuri forced a smile, the new space was everything they had hoped for, yet she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness in her chest.

Outside, the guys were busy unloading the truck. Sanemi leaned against the side, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the pavement. His mind was elsewhere, on Kanae, who hadn't spoken much to him since their argument. He had come to help, to try and talk to her, but her cool demeanor told him she wasn't ready to listen. He sighed, watching her from afar as she stepped out onto the balcony, her hair catching the sunlight in a way that always made him pause.

Obanai was loading boxes onto a dolly beside Giyu, but his mind, too, was far from the task at hand. His thoughts kept drifting back to Mitsuri. The way she'd quietly left that morning lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. She hadn't called him by his first name in days. It was something so small, yet it hit him like a punch to the gut. Was she mad? Was she giving up on them? He tried to shake the feeling, but it clung to him like a shadow, unaware of the fact he started it.

Meanwhile, Giyu worked silently, as always, his calm presence somehow managing to irritate both Obanai and Sanemi.

"I swear, he's too quiet," Obanai muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip on a heavy box.

Sanemi grunted in agreement. "It's like he's too good to speak," he added, glancing over at Giyu with barely concealed annoyance.

Shinobu, standing on the balcony, overheard them and smiled to herself. "Giyu, could you grab the bedframe from the back?" she called out sweetly, though there was always a subtle edge to her tone when speaking to him.

Giyu nodded and moved without a word. His silence, efficient as always, only seemed to heighten the tension. As he worked, Mitsuri appeared beside Obanai, her bubbly energy dimmed but still present. She tried to keep things light, but her interactions with Obanai were brief, her words clipped.

"Thanks for helping," she said quickly, walking away before he could respond.

Obanai's heart sank further, her coldness cutting through him like a knife. "Anything for you," he murmured under his breath, though she was already out of earshot.

Sanemi, now carrying a dresser into Kanae's room, found his frustration building. He set it down with a bit too much force, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes darted toward the balcony where Kanae stood, her back to him, staring out at the distant view of Mt. Fuji. The breeze caught her hair, making it dance in the light, and for a moment, Sanemi allowed himself to hope. He wanted to speak to her, to fix things, but the words felt stuck in his throat. She was too far away—in more ways than one.

As the day dragged on, the tension between the guys simmered beneath the surface. Obanai kept stealing glances at Mitsuri, guilt weighing heavily on him. She hadn't smiled at him properly in days, and every time he tried to catch her eye, she turned away. It was as though a wall had gone up between them, one that he wasn't sure how to break through. Sanemi and Kanae were no better—sharing stolen glances but no real words.

When the last of the boxes had been unloaded, the apartment felt more like a home, but the distance between them all had only grown.

"Thank you, guys," Kanae said softly, her gaze lingering on Sanemi for a moment longer than the others. There was gratitude in her voice, but also something unspoken, unresolved.

Sanemi nodded stiffly, his usual bravado replaced with uncertainty. He had come here to help, but more than anything, he had wanted to fix what had been broken between them. Yet, as the move ended, it seemed like they were no closer to mending the cracks.

Mitsuri, feeling the weight of what's to come, stood beside Obanai, but there was no warmth in her gaze, only a polite smile. "ready to go, Iguro?" she said quietly, her use of his last name like a cold slap to the face.

Obanai's chest tightened. She hadn't called him by his first name in days. That small detail, that tiny shift, felt like a chasm opening between them. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close, to say something—anything—that would fix the growing distance he created. But he couldn't. Not here. Not now.

As they left the apartment, the weight of their unresolved tensions hung heavy in the air, leaving behind more questions than answers as they entered the car to her ex's apartment.