Tomori sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of RiNG’s Studio 1, peering down at her smartphone. As she read through the group chat logs, a wave of melancholy washed over her.

“Sorry, Tomori,” Taki had just written. “Think I caught something too.” Hours earlier, Anon and Soyo had mentioned running a fever.

It wasn’t just that they’d be missing practice, that she wouldn’t get to see Taki and Anon and Soyo, though that certainly did tug cruelly at her heart. It was more than that. Today was meant to be… special.

She glanced at the only soul sharing the room with her.

“Raana-chan… it… it looks like Taki-chan’s sick, too,” she said.

“Rikki is?” Raana looked back at Tomori from behind her byzantine array of vacuum-tube amplifiers.

“Yeah. See, she just sent a text.”

“Hmmmmmmm.” Raana carefully inspected the message log. “So, no band today?”

“Um. Well… we already paid for the studio time, so—”

Tomori was immediately interrupted by a loud, heavily-distorted chord, which flooded the room and nearly sent her flying onto her back from its sheer volume.

“Mm. Out of tune.”

“A-ah. So… I guess we should use it, b-but…”

“But?”

“But…”

“Tomori.” Raana gently set her guitar aside and scampered over. “Whatcha sad about?”

“…Sad? H-how could you tell…?”

Raana leaned down towards Tomori, swiveled her head left and right, and then sniffed at the air in front of her, making a strange chill run down Tomori’s spine.

“It’s in your voice.”

“O-oh. Well… there was… something I wanted to show everyone today.”

“Mm?” Raana tilted her head.

Reaching into her school bag, Tomori produced an old, worn-out recorder; the cheap bakelite-molded sort parents buy for their kids in elementary school. Its black paint was heavily flaked off, and it was covered in dents and gashes.

Feeling her heart pound, she presented it to Raana, who turned it over, surveying it from several different angles.

“Um! I… I thought that, s-since I learned to play it in grade school, we could… w-work this into one of our songs! L…like, as an introduction or an interlude o-or something, representing… t-the fleeting nature of youth! Or… or the beauty found in imperfection, you know, like… like wabi-sabi!”

Raana put a finger to her chin. “Wabi-sabi?”

Tomori began to fidget. “I… I’m not sure how to explain it well…”

“I wanna hear it.” Raana fell backwards and sat down on the floor. She watched Tomori intently.

“Oh.” Tomori blinked. “O-okay.”

She took the recorder, put her mouth to it, and began stumbling through a childishly amateurish rendition of Sakura, Sakura. By the time she was done, she was completely out of breath.

“T…That’s… about all I can play.”

“Gimme.” Raana held her hand out for the recorder. A strange tingling came over Tomori’s chest as she watched her put it to her lips.

Somehow, Raana seemed to know the instrument intimately. She played back the same melody with the sleight of hand of a trained musician, mixing in graceful flourishes and improvised variations. The recorder began to sound less like a children’s toy than a tool worthy of a proper orchestra.

“R… Raana-chan,” Tomori breathed. Her eyes were wide. “That… that was amazing! I… I know–we should have you play it instead!”

“…No.” Raana shook her head solemnly and handed the recorder back. “Not enough wabi-sabi. You do it.”

“A-ah. Really…?”

“Mhm. But let me show you.”

Raana gracefully slid behind Tomori and wrapped her hands around her. Her calloused fingertips left goosebumps on Tomori’s skin as she guided her hands into position. “Like this,” she whispered.

Tomori followed along; carefully, she blew into the mouthpiece, moving her fingers as Raana directed.

“Ah… you’re right, Raana-chan.” Tomori smiled, once they were done. “It sounds so much… warmer.”

“Mhm.” Raana peeled away and picked her guitar back up. She hit her distortion pedal’s foot switch and strummed a clean B minor. “Let’s play.”