a/n: i heard hazuki had an eight-pack. that hazuki was shredded.
i feel like i hyped up this chapter too much, there wasn't as much angst as it seemed in the outline
"You . . . you can't do that!" Yuuko practically flung her chair away to look at Mizore. Kumiko could see her gulping back tears. "Mizore, this is your last chance to play in the Nationals with everyone! Taki-sensei, you know how ridiculous this is, right?"
"While it's true that Yoroizuka-san is the only oboe here and we'd suffer a great loss if she quit, it's not up to me to decide what the students want. I had considered Kasaki-san as a backup if anything were to happen to any of you, and if this is what you really want, Yoroi-"
"It is." Mizore still sounded as breathy and nervous as she usually did, but there was something else in her tone, too.
Determination, Kumiko thought as she watched the scene unfold. That's what it is.
"Please, Taki-sensei, let me do this for her. She's learned the flute part, she knows it all, you won't have to teach her anything new. She deserves it more than me."
"It's decided, then." Yuuko looked as if she'd just been stabbed through the heart with a rusted dagger. "I won't allow any petty disagreements between you all to affect the band's overall well-being. Kasaki-san, talented young woman that she is, will join us beginning tomorrow."
"Thank you." Mizore slid back into her chair. Natsuki quietly elbowed Kumiko in the ribs.
"What?"
"Did you know about this?" Natsuki whispered. Kumiko thought back to the mountain.
"I didn't. Nozomi's your friend, wouldn't you be more likely to know?" Natsuki kicked back her chair with one foot.
"Eh, I figured you'd maybe have a clue about what this whole deal is about, since you're always lurking around anyway. I don't know how you do it, Kumiko."
"Do what?" Natsuki smirked, folding her hands behind her head.
"How you always find yourself tangled up in other people's crap, facing problems that don't really concern you, and you take 'em on anyway. It's weird. I've never been able to understand that."
"I don't mean to do it."
"Yeah, but ya still do. I'd just leave it alone, if I was in your place." Kumiko ran her fingers along the spine of her chair.
"It's not . . . it's not some kind of big heroic gesture or anything. I don't try to do this stuff. I don't want to hurt people, but I don't feel a compulsion to help everyone, either. It just happens, I guess."
"It's still weird." Kumiko could see Yuuko shaking Mizore by the shoulders, sobbing out things she couldn't focus on long enough to hear.
"Yeah, I guess it is."
"That was strange, even for Yoroizuka-senpai," Reina noted that night on the train, a hint of disdain in her voice. "For someone so brilliant at the oboe, she was quick to give it up for someone she loved." Practice had gone late, and so the stars had started to dot the sky. Kumiko could see them reflected in the train's window. "It's selfish."
"It's romantic."
"She's jeopardizing the band's chances of winning - of making it past Kyoto, even." Reina let out a scoff.
"It's not that bad, Reina. You've heard Nozomi, she's great. Sure, it sucks that we don't have an oboe anymore, but the band's good enough to survive without Mizore-senpai. It's not the kind of thing that depends on one person. Nobody's the center."
"Taki-sensei, maybe."
"Maybe." Reina flicked the Oboe-kun keychain she'd received from Hazuki and Midori months before. "Did your mom say anything else about his quitting?"
"He isn't quitting." Reina's voice turned sharp, defensive, and Kumiko inched away. "His contract's running out. Taki-sensei wouldn't quit."
"You still haven't gotten over him, have you?" Kumiko teased, lightly punching Reina's arm. She froze when her hand made contact with skin, the electricity she should've been used to by now starting to flood her veins until she was drowning in it, drowning in Reina, and it wasn't until Reina slowly pushed down her arm that she realized that she had stopped moving. Reina herself started to scoot to the other side of her seat.
"I can't."
"What?"
"I can't get over him. I won't." Kumiko took a deep breath, cautiously resting her hand on top of Reina's.
"Listen, Reina, I know what I told you back when . . . back when all of the stuff with Asuka-senpai had just happened. He doesn't have a wife now, you're really mature, all that."
"Terrible things, yes."
"Well . . . yeah. Exactly. It was my terrible personality showing through, like it always does." Kumiko twirled a loose thread from her uniform around her finger until it turned red. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that stuff when I did." Reina visibly recoiled. "He's twice your age, Reina. I'm sure that there're other people, people our age, who'd give an arm and a leg to be with you." Kumiko started to fumble for what to say next. "I mean, you're really pretty and everything you say is really interesting and you play the trumpet really well, w-who wouldn't want to date you?"
"Taki-sensei," Reina bluntly replied.
"All I'm saying is that there're other fish in the sea. Other boys or girls or whatever." Reina breathed in sharply.
"I'm focusing on my work," she muttered. It didn't sound like she was really talking to Kumiko, not anymore. "I'm too young for romance, anyway."
"Sure." Kumiko didn't know if she could have said anything else.
Kumiko clicked the play button on her CD player that night and let her caretaker's playlist slowly drift over her. Mamiko had asked her if she'd want something more modern as a birthday present or something like that, but she'd refused. There was something irreplaceable about the feeling of the disc in her hands that she couldn't really imagine it any other way. She found herself remembering the last time she'd listened to a CD with someone - Asuka's father's music, though Kumiko hadn't known it at the time.
I wonder how she's doing. The songbook still resided permanently in her bag. I hope she's happy, wherever she is. Maybe she's not going to college at all, maybe she's just a crazy traveling musician annoying people overseas. Kumiko smiled at the thought. Or maybe she joined the circus, or started working on writing her own euphonium-centric musical. Kumiko's phone started beeping, and she checked the messages to be greeted with a nearly incoherent string of texts from the brass section.
Natsuki: hey if any of you are up i'm having some leadership problems
Hazuki: its nine!
Hazuki: whod be asleep at nine?
Momo: ahem
Natsuki: anyway, madam president's got her ribbons in a twist because of what happened earlier today
Momo: oh, with yoroizuka-senpai?
Momo: i thought it was sweet
Natsuki: yeah, we all appreciate the gesture, it doesn't change how
Natsuki: k UMIKO YOU'Re A PART OF THIS CHAT RIGHG.?
Natsuki: please!
Natsuki: she's just going to get hurt
Midori: what's happening
Natsuki: you know what that's like, right?
Natsuki: wanting to protect someone?
Natsuki: at any cost, even if you have to steal a phone to get help and do it
Midori: oh
Natsuki: kasaki /hurt/ her and i'm happy that they made up but how long's it gonna last?
Natsuki: she doesn't have to do this
Natsuki: she doesn't have to give up everything
There weren't any messages for a moment.
Natsuki: okay i got my phone back
Natsuki: god, she's fast
Natsuki: nimble, too
Natsuki: sorry to anyone who saw that
Natsuki: as i was saying, it doesn't change how it's messed with a lot of people's...ideas, i guess that's the best way to put it
Natsuki: some of the first-years are starting to email yuuko, asking if their friends can join in the competition team too, and we have to keep telling 'em no
Natsuki: nozomi was an exception
Natsuki: it's not even up to us, it's taki-sensei's problem
Natsuki: it wouldn't even /be/ a problem if the prez wasn't so upset
Natsuki: i guess she's upset about not being able to see this coming
Momo: so is yoroizuka-senpai going to stay in the competition team or not?
Natsuki: she left
Natsuki: it was her choice and she left, nozomi's probably gonna start showing up to practices tomorrow
Natsuki: anyone who has a problem with that just needs to get over themselves
Kumiko shut off the phone and sighed, holding the songbook to her chest.
Or maybe she's just sitting in a classroom somewhere, tired and bored.
"Hey, Reina, what do you think Asuka-senpai's doing right around now?" Kumiko had refused rather pointedly to ask Reina about yesterday, but it wouldn't have mattered either way - Reina never seemed to want to talk about anything deeper than the surface with her own problems.
"I wouldn't know." Reina toyed with her Oboe-kun keychain idly. "You still care about her, don't you?"
"In a friendly way, yeah."
"You still feel some kind of connection to her." There was sharp accusation in Reina's tone, harshness and yet a strange bit of nervousness to it. Kumiko elected to ignore it the best she could.
"Listen, Reina, a lot of things happened last year. I learned some things about her, it'd be hard not to think about someone after all that. Besides, she's another euph. There aren't many of us. I feel the same sort of thing with Natsuki and even Momo, to some extent."
"I suppose there are enough trumpets that I really couldn't ever feel the same way. Yoshikawa-senpai isn't exactly the friendliest person, you know that better than I do." Kumiko thought of her many overheard conversations, the way Yuuko seemed to talk with her teeth bared, and she knew.
"A-anyway, I was just thinking about it since everything's been . . . happening, lately." Reina smiled wryly.
"You'll have to be more specific than that."
"She'd never have let Mizore get away with what she did. She'd have probably kicked her out of the club right there on the spot, or at least stopped the switch."
"I might not have liked her much, but she never let her emotions get in the way of anything she did. That's something . . . nice." Kumiko cocked her head in confusion.
"You don't do that, either." Reina tightened her grip on her trumpet case.
"I've let my feelings tell me what to do more times than I can count."
Taki-sensei, Taki-sensei, Taki-sensei. The name danced around Kumiko's head like a taunt, mocking her, daring her to say something about it. "Yeah, but you've never, uh, l-lost your cool in front of other people. Even when you're mad, or doing something crazy like challenging a third-year's skills, you always seem so composed. It's like nothing bothers you." She knew, of course, that this wasn't true - she'd seen Reina's mask crack before, she knew that there was someone beneath that exterior, but she couldn't let Reina know that, and so she let her duct-tape the mask back on and went along like she hadn't seen anything.
"That's how you get people to respect you. Don't show any weaknesses, don't let them know what gets under your skin. That's what I learned, anyway, and it's worked so far."
"Right." The train rolled into the station, and Kumiko didn't talk until she bid Reina a quiet goodbye at the classroom entrance.
"Kousaka-san's been walking you to class a lot lately, hasn't she?" Hazuki purred, resting her chin in her hands. Kumiko could see her swinging her legs under her desk.
"Hazuki-chan, I don't think that twice counts as a lot," Midori interjected.
"Midori, that's actually really-"
"Of course, it doesn't change the other things she's done around you lately!" Midori stood up on her chair, still only towering about a head above Kumiko. "You two are destined! It's written in the stars, you're destined to be together!"
"It's the red string of fate!" Hazuki added. "You're tied together by it, and nothing can break it, ever!" Kumiko had never before felt such a desire to sink into her chair as she did now. The teacher entered with a telltale clip-clop of his shoes, and Midori hopped back from her desk with alarming speed.
Nozomi made her way into practice that day like an enemy soldier waving a white flag, her flute a weapon clenched in fearful hands. She slid into her spot as a ghost might, every movement flowing into the next, always afraid of being seen. For the most part, everyone acted like she was a ghost, too, save for Natsuki's quick wave and a huff of disapproval from Yuuko. Taki didn't act as if anything different had happened. It was a bit unsettling, now, how thick-skinned he always seemed to be. He never lost his temper, never cried, never made his feelings particularly clear.
Maybe it's a ruse, Kumiko thought as she shifted her euphonium's weight on her lap until it was somewhere near comfortable. Maybe he used to be a lot happier.
"Psst, Kumiko." Kumiko sat up straight, letting out a surprised "bweh!" as she did so. Natsuki had leaned in close, her hands resting on her knees. "Keep an eye on Nozomi, will ya? I want to make sure she's okay, but that one percussionist is . . . really tall. I can't see her."
"Why don't you ask Momo?" The girl in question was busy digging through her bag for her sheet music.
"She doesn't know who Nozomi is."
"Right." Kumiko suspected that there might be a bit more to it than that.
"Anyway, it's just 'cause it's her first day. I'm sure it'll die down after this."
It didn't.
The band still stared Nozomi down every time she entered the room, still treated her like she didn't belong. It was unsettling, to say the least, but Kumiko knew that she shouldn't - couldn't - say anything about it, not when Natsuki and Yuuko could hardly hold themselves upright.
It's none of my business, she convinced herself in the following weeks, as the Kyoto competition drew ever closer and the practices grew ever stricter.
"You know, Kasaki-senpai's being really brave, doing what she's doing even with everyone being all spooky around her," Hazuki said one day, strolling in time with Kumiko, Reina, and Midori on the way home from school. "I'd never be able to do that. Just the thought of everyone glaring at me like that . . ." She shivered.
"The piece hasn't suffered from the lack of an oboe, at least." Reina spoke up for the first time that evening. "Kasaki-senpai picked it up fairly quickly."
"Well, yeah. I mean, she used to be the president of the concert band in her middle school. That's a pretty tough task, isn't it?"
"She might've been a bit more suited to that position than our current leaders." Kumiko didn't miss the contempt in Reina's voice. "I think it's a bit much for them."
"Oh, yeah! Yoshikawa-senpai's in charge of your section, isn't she?" Hazuki snapped her barrette between her fingers until they turned red. "That must be tough. I'll bet she's super scary when Taki-sensei's not around, I always got that . . . vibe from her."
"Vibe?" Reina echoed.
"I get it too!" Midori interjected. "It's like she's a steaming kettle, ready to explode!" She made a comical motion with her arms to further her point. "It's always the cute ones."
"You're one to talk," Kumiko said.
"I think there's more to it than some pent-up anger," Reina mused. "Everyone has that."
"Even you, Kousaka-san?" Hazuki breathed. Kumiko had to hold back laughter.
"Everyone," Reina repeated. "It's not just that. The president has a cool head about her when she has to, she wouldn't be this angry about a small shift like this. It's . . . it's her feelings." Reina stopped, shoes scuffing the uneven concrete sidewalk. Kumiko could see her chest rise and fall like she'd just been running. "It's just like last year, when she defended Kaori-senpai. It wasn't for the good of the band. It wasn't even for herself. It was just stupid, stupid dedication."
"You're saying that she's gay for Yoroizuka-senpai?" Hazuki gasped. Kumiko groaned.
"You don't have to specify that she's gay. You're not . . . you're not really supposed to do that."
"Natsuki-senpai does it all the time."
"Yeah, but that's different from you saying it." Hazuki tugged at her scarf, knitting her eyebrows.
"Hmm . . . I don't get it."
"The point is that the president doesn't care for anyone outside of her little circle, and everyone else can just burn for all she cares." Reina's jaw clenched, a bead of sweat dripping down her cheek.
"Now, now, maybe we could talk about something else?" Midori offered. "Something that isn't quite so . . . sad?" Reina lifted her head with her eyes cast downwards. Kumiko thought she looked like a queen ready to declare war.
"It won't change the fact that she's starting to drag us all down with her."
"You're worried about Nakagawa-senpai." Reina said it more like a statement than anything - an "aren't you?" would have been greatly appreciated, Kumiko thought, but instead Reina simply propped up her trumpet case next to her and leaned forward.
"Of course I am. She's my friend, this is her first and last year playing on the team with everyone, and the whole vice president thing is really getting to her."
"You say that, but there's more to it."
"You keep trying to dig deeper into this stuff, Reina, but I don't really know what else there is to say." Kumiko knew, of course, that there was more, but every time she tried to think about it, it felt like a stone being wrenched from where it had rested for years and years. What business does she have asking me about this stuff, anyway? She won't even talk to me about anything that's ever bothering her.
"There's the president to consider. She doesn't act scary during practice, like Katou-san says, she just . . . watches. She plays the parts in sectionals right alongside everyone else. You can hardly tell who the section leader even is."
"Isn't that a good thing? I mean, I don't know her that well, maybe that's how she really is." Reina tapped her foot on the metal floor of the train impatiently. The sound echoed rather ominously.
"I don't know if anyone knows how anyone 'really is.'"
"Eh?"
"People are weird, Kumiko. They're always trying to be the best version of themselves for others, and that usually ends up taking on different shapes for different people. I don't talk to you like I talk to Taki-sensei, or the president, or Katou-san." Reina paused, flicking away a fuzzball that clung to her skirt. "That's why you're so strange."
"Reina, I know that you're trying to be mysterious and all that, but I really don't get what you're saying."
"Even now, even after over a year, I still haven't done it. It's like it's just . . . clinging to you, now. I can't see what's behind it anymore."
"The good-girl skin, right?" Reina had stopped talking already, but Kumiko could see her quiet down anyway, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I'm always going to be there to catch you when you fall, you know." Kumiko felt the strange compulsion to give Reina a hug.
"I'd do the same thing for you, Reina."
"You'd probably be thrown back by how fast I was falling," Reina laughed. "I'd hit you like a bullet."
"I don't doubt that." Kumiko's mind was already filled with Reina crashing into her, and she thought that perhaps being driven into the ground with Reina in her arms wasn't such a terrible way to go. The train stopped, jolting her from the slightly morbid daydreams.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Reina stepped off, already heading in the direction the two girls always walked in together. Kumiko didn't follow her.
Kumiko had just barely gotten inside when her phone beeped from the corner of her bag.
Reina: I wanted to try running home.
Reina: I've heard that it's a way to gain stamina.
Reina: I didn't realize until about halfway through that I didn't actually tell you that before.
Reina: Whoops.
Somehow, the mental image of Reina saying "whoops" in her deadpan voice was enough to make Kumiko burst out laughing.
Kumiko: i'm glad that it wasn't anything i did
Kumiko: lol
Kumiko: oh my god i just said lol
Kumiko: please do me a favor and never speak of this to anyone
Reina: I'll try to keep that in mind when I talk about my personal text conversations with other people.
Kumiko: anyway, i can't believe we're only a week away from the competition!
Kumiko: where'd the time go?
Reina: I can't believe it either.
Reina: Taki-sensei's been working hard, too.
Reina: I think he's glad that everyone knows what he's expecting, now, instead of being doubted.
Kumiko: we didn't doubt him last year
Reina: Really?
Reina: I think I can recall a certain someone and her trombone friend talking about how much he overworked you.
Reina: It sounded like doubt to me.
Kumiko: reina, that was more than a year ago
Reina: It still happened.
Kumiko: i can't see you but i get the feeling you're looking really smug right now
Reina: Perhaps.
Kumiko set the now-warm phone down on her bed. She hadn't gotten any gifts from her caretaker since the corsages (hers currently sat next to a windowsill cactus) and she'd started to wonder why she felt such an odd premonition in the air. She was reminded of Midori's teakettle metaphor, of something about to boil over, of the calm before the storm. Before she could even finish her thought, she'd picked her phone back up and dialed Natsuki's number.
beep-beep-beep
"Hey, Natsuki?"
"Kumiko? I was about to go to sleep." Kumiko glanced at her clock, blinking 7:30.
"Uh, anyway, I just wanted to make sure that you were . . . erm . . ."
"Yeah?"
" . . . okay?" Kumiko finished lamely. "Running the club sounds like a lot of work." She could hear grainy laughter on the other end of the line.
"You don't have to do this, y'know. Always checking up on people. It's gonna get you in trouble someday." Kumiko thought of her middle school euphonium, swept to the floor, of blame and cold words and a colder classroom. She didn't even notice the tears that started running down her face until one fell on her bedsheets. "Kumiko? Are you still there?"
"Y-yeah, I'm still here." Kumiko curled herself into a ball. The bed didn't feel quite as welcoming as it usually did, somehow.
"Well, don't let my crap screw with your own problems. I'm more than capable of handling it on my own, so just focus on living your life and figuring things out. That's what high school's all about, after all." The phone crackled. "Crap, I think it's breaking up. The connection in my room sucks, I dunno if I've ever told ya that. Bye!" Kumiko heard a click and gripped her phone tightly in her hands as if it were something precious. She held it like that until she fell asleep, until her hands cramped up and the phone fell somewhere beneath her bed while she dreamed of things she only wanted to forget.
"We have five days until the competition," Taki calmly said, looking to his right and to his left and back again. Momo pressed herself back. Natsuki inhaled a mug of coffee that she'd somehow snuck into the room. "You've all shown excellent improvement these past few weeks, I hope you're all very proud of yourselves." There was a quiet, excited sort of murmuring between the students, congratulations and high-fives and pats on the back aplenty. Hazuki silently pumped her fist. "I expect the same sort of readiness at the competition, and I'm sure you'll all do well. Yoshikawa-san, I'm assuming you'd like to do the chant?" Yuuko looked up.
"Oh, right. Yeah. Kitauji, fighto!'"
"Yeah!" the band cheered. Kumiko saw Yuuko sink back into her chair with an expression that could only be described as pure exhaustion. Even her ribbon seemed to droop.
"Hey, Kumiko, I'm gonna help Gotou and Riko and Midori put away some of the instruments, go on ahead without me." Hazuki picked up her tuba, and Kumiko noticed muscles bulging under the short sleeves of her uniform.
"Have you been working out?" Hazuki flexed in response.
"I've gotta be able to carry Tubacabra around everywhere next year! Taki-sensei won't keep us out of SunFes two years in a row, will he? I doubt it." Kumiko drew a sharp breath, remembering what Reina had said - months ago, now, but still taunting the edges of her thoughts. Hazuki didn't seem to notice. "Since I'll be the oldest tuba, it'd fall to me to play it in the parade."
"That's . . . actually really smart, Hazuki." Hazuki beamed proudly.
"Okay, okay, enough chatting, go and meet up with Kousaka-san!"
"That's what this was about, then?"
"I'm not gonna let you leave this opportunity behind, Kumiko!" Hazuki got right in Kumiko's face, still holding her tuba. "You and Kousaka-san have something really, really special, the sort of thing most people can't even dream about! What kind of friend would I be to let that just pass under my nose?"
"It's not that, it's just that-"
"You're scared?"
"-she's the instrument manager. Taki-sensei said she had to take inventory tonight." Hazuki blinked.
"Oh."
"It's fine. I'll just head home on my own, it might be, uh, nice to have some time to think or something."
"Okay!" Hazuki mock-saluted her before sauntering down the hall, humming as she did so. Kumiko started in the direction of the exit when someone barreled out of one of the classrooms, running at such a speed that they rammed into the wall and slumped to the floor.
"Hey, are you-" Kumiko realized who it was a second too late. "Yuuko-senpai?"
"Oumae." Yuuko rubbed her head, shakily rising to her feet. Kumiko offered her a hand, and Yuuko swatted it away.
"So, the competition's in less than a week."
"So I've been told," Yuuko replied dryly.
"Taki-sensei's been working everyone really hard, but I think it's paying off. I mean, the band sounds great!" Yuuko's face betrayed no emotion, no response. "You've been a good leader, too. You've, uh, you've taken the lead more than Haruka-senpai ever really did. I mean, she was still amazing, but-"
"Quit rambling." Kumiko flinched.
"I think I'll just go-"
"Oumae, what do you think of the vice president?"
Why does everyone keep asking me about this stuff? "She's my friend." Yuuko clicked her tongue.
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"She's pretty calm about everything, but she really cares about the band and she wants the best for everyone. I know you don't like her, but-"
"Who said I didn't like her?" Kumiko started to walk away, unsure of how to answer.
"I really have to get going if I want to take the train, and-"
"Oumae." Yuuko put a hand on Kumiko's shoulder. "Tell the vice president she's making a mistake."
"Is this about the whole flute-oboe switch?" Yuuko's hand felt heavy, and Kumiko could feel her fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform. She waited a moment before she said anything.
"Just get her back. Figure it out." Kumiko nodded.
"I'll try."
Kumiko realized, fairly early on in her lonely walk to the train home, that she had no real way of contacting Mizore. She wasn't a part of the competition team anymore, her number wasn't in Kumiko's phone, and asking Natsuki would defeat the purpose entirely.
"I don't get it," she muttered to herself. The weather had gotten warm in the past month, but a light breeze had still forced its way through the humidity and tousled Kumiko's clothes. "It's not my business. With Reina, back at the auditions last year, I had a reason to do something." Kumiko looked up at the clouds floating over the moon. "What's the point of all this?" She sat down on a bench nearby, pulling her knees to her chest and letting the wind caress her cheek.
"Oumae-senpai?" Kumiko nearly jumped. Momo stood next to the bench, rocking back and forth on her feet. "What're you doing here? I thought you lived on the other side of town."
"What? I- oh." It occurred to Kumiko at that very moment that she was lost.
"Anyway, I still can't believe that the competition's in less than a week." Momo sat down on the bench and set down her euphonium, snug in its soft case. "I've been practicing really hard so that I can make everyone proud." She said everyone like she was trying to convince herself of it.
"Yeah, I get that." Kumiko watched a streetlight flicker to life as the sun went down, soon followed by the rest of them. "It's not going be easy, y'know." Momo adjusted her round glasses, looking down at the ground, and Kumiko couldn't help but feel that she'd said something wrong. "Still, we're in a really great place right now. I think we're going to make it- I want to, at least. I want us to get to the Nationals and win gold there, too." Kumiko laughed to herself. "I never would've been able to even think about saying something like that two years ago."
"You really think we'll get to Nationals?" Kumiko could've cackled at the irony of the statement, the sudden way she felt herself thrown into Reina's shoes two years prior.
"Yeah." Momo smiled. "I really do."
Kumiko spent the (slightly longer than usual) train ride thinking about her conversation with Momo, thinking about Mizore and Yuuko and Natsuki and all the ways they seemed to connect, like one big red-threaded web.
I'm not the same as I was last year, am I? she thought to herself. I'm not sure what it is, but something's different.
The stars had already come out by the time she got home.
Kumiko woke up to chimes ringing and her bed vibrating. Fumbling for her phone in the mussed sheets, she found it after a few minutes of searching.
Reina: I heard that you went home alone last night.
Reina: So, naturally, I realized that I actually had a reason to worry about dangers to you.
Kumiko didn't ask when she hadn't actually worried about dangers.
Reina: Katou-san and Kawashima-san joined me on my way back after we had finished putting everything away.
Reina: They seemed disappointed.
Kumiko gulped.
Kumiko: they've sorta been playing this little matchmaking game with us
Kumiko: it's dumb and ridiculous, i know
Reina didn't respond for a moment, and Kumiko tried to quiet the little hopeful bud that seemed to bloom in her chest.
Kumiko: unless you don't think it's dumb
Perfect.
Reina: The first-year euph player asked me for a case to take her euphonium home in.
Kumiko tried to quiet the now-withering bud that seemed to constrict her very heart.
Reina: Momoko, right?
Kumiko: yeah
Kumiko: i dunno if i've ever heard anyone other than taki-sensei call her that, though
Reina: One of her friends was in the trumpet section.
Kumiko: was?
Reina: She quit after the first week.
Reina: I haven't seen her since, obviously.
Kumiko: momo's nice
Kumiko: she's really determined to get better, even though she's already great
Kumiko: and nothing seems to wear her down
Kumiko: i can't really say the same thing for the third-years
I can't do anything about them.
Kumiko: they're stressed out and tense and it's just
Kumiko: idk
Reina: Troubling?
Kumiko: yeah
She flicked on a light switch, getting her uniform from where it hung on a peg on her closet.
Kumiko: troubling
Kumiko strolled through the day with relative ease, trying not to let the thoughts of Yuuko and Natsuki gnaw away at her.
"Four days," Hazuki whispered, shivering as she walked down the hall a few steps ahead of Kumiko and Midori on her way to practice. It wasn't cold in the slightest.
"You'll be fine if you keep a calm head about it," Reina said, popping up next to her like some sort of ghost. Hazuki jumped.
"K-Kousaka-san!" she yelped. Reina's bag was slung over her shoulder, her trumpet case in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.
"I've been doing fine, at least," she said. Kumiko didn't believe her. She took a sip of the tea before continuing. "If you just clear your head and don't think about anything that you absolutely don't need to, the stress will go away."
"It's that easy?" Hazuki asked in bewilderment.
"No." Reina walked ahead and reached the band room before Hazuki could ask anything else, but Kumiko didn't miss the way her hand trembled on the door.
Kumiko had always found it freeing to play in an ensemble - everything woven together, sixty instruments joining to perform a single song. It was like flying, almost, for how light she felt, for how at peace she felt. Eclipse faded out, the band set down their instruments, and Taki slowly clapped.
"It bears repeating that you're all doing quite well," he said. "Still, there are certain things we should try to iron out in this final stretch. Trombones, please try to keep in tempo, a few of you missed some beats. Percussion, play with a bit more emotion to it. Flutes, you seem disconnected from the rest of the band." Nozomi cringed.
"Geez, I wonder why," Yuuko growled under her breath. Natsuki gritted her teeth.
"Clarinet, I might've heard a squeak . . ." Kumiko let herself tune out of Taki's usual nitpicking, watching Yuuko and watching Natsuki and waiting for it all to boil over and burst.
"You know, it might all be over on Saturday." Reina leaned on the train's window, forehead pressed against the cold glass, and Kumiko simply sat beside her.
"Eh?"
"If we don't make it past the Kyoto competition, I mean. There won't be much left for the band to do."
"'Did you really think we could make it to Nationals?'" Kumiko said in a squeaky imitation of her own voice. "You hated that. It took me a while to understand why, but I do now." Kumiko reached for Reina's hand, and she took it delicately, as if it could fall apart if she moved too quickly. "We'll make it to Nationals, Reina." Reina squeezed her hand, her eyes still focused on the countryside and cityscape out the window.
"I hope we do."
"Hey, Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Did any packages show up?"
"Oh, you have that thing with the gifts, right? No, there haven't been any." Kumiko tried to hide the disappointment in her expression and ducked into her room. The cactus sat on her table, somewhat ominous in the evening light.
"You," she muttered. The cactus, as usual, simply sat there. "I don't get it." She slumped down on the carpet, knowing full well that it would leave a mark on her legs. "I don't get it, I don't know what Reina wants or why Natsuki and Yuuko keep expecting me to figure everything out for them, I don't know why there's all this fear about Nationals." She tried to stop her eyes from watering. "I don't get it."
"Kumiko? Are you alright?" Kumiko looked up to see her concerned mother standing in the doorframe. She wiped her face with her sleeve before turning around.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine. It's just, uh, stress, y'know? The first big competition's on Saturday, so everyone's on edge." She wasn't technically lying. "I'm going to do some homework now, I can microwave dinner for myself a little bit later, if that's okay?"
"It'll be in the fridge." Kumiko heard the door creak shut, and she was once again left to sit with the cactus. She flopped down on her face as soon as she knew she was alone.
Reina waited at the train station the following day, smiling warmly when Kumiko ran through the early-morning fog to greet her.
"Three days," she said, as easily as one would say hello.
"Three days," Kumiko echoed. "These past few months have been pretty weird, haven't they? I guess it'll all come to a head on Saturday."
"Exactly." The train wailed into the station, and the two girls stepped on. "It's all been building up to this." Reina sat down in the first open seat she saw, and Kumiko followed suit. "If we win gold, I'm going to buy a new trumpet case. This one's starting to wear out. It'd be a nice little celebration gift for myself."
"If we get gold, I'm going to invite the whole brass section over to my house for dinner." Kumiko smiled warmly at the thought. "I'd invite you, too, and maybe Mizore-senpai and Nozomi-senpai."
"Don't you live in an apartment? It might get a bit crowded." Kumiko shrugged.
"Eh, ten people's not that much."
"You're including yourself?" Kumiko looked at Reina in confusion.
"No, then it'd be eleven. There's me, you, Hazuki, Midori, Natsuki, Asu- oh." Reina blinked quickly, staring straight ahead. "I still forget that she's not here anymore sometimes." Kumiko tried to ignore the feeling that seemed to twinge in her gut when she said that.
"Of course."
"I'll meet you in the classroom if you get the key. I think that one of the sports clubs was using it for a meeting, and we both know that they didn't clean up after themselves."
"You don't want to see Taki-sensei?" Kumiko teased. Reina swatted her on the arm.
"I can't let anything distract me from the competition," she muttered, as if in a daze. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
"Yep, got it." Kumiko quieted the uneasiness that rested in her stomach. There was something unnerving about walking down the hallways of the school alone nowadays. She'd hardly walked up the first step in the stairwell before a familiar voice rang in her ear.
"I don't know what you're expecting. I don't know why ya think it's all going to fix itself."
"Sure, sure, play the 'cold and distant' card like nothing matters to you." Natsuki and Yuuko were talking in near-whispers, but Kumiko could hear them all the same. Someone stomped above her. "We know that's not true! Quit pretending, geez!"
"You're one to talk." Kumiko started to ease her way up the stairs. "Don't act like I haven't seen past that persona you're always putting on, bratty trumpet."
"Lazy euph." She could see the doorway, now. "Maybe if you'd been a better senpai, that kid would've stepped down and we wouldn't owe the school this much money."
"Maybe if you'd been a better friend, Mizore wouldn't have." Taki's office was just out of reach.
"Oh, you're acting like that's my fault?" Kumiko was grateful for the school's dim lighting, pressing herself up against a wall like an old-timey spy. "I didn't tell her to do that! I didn't throw the auditions or whatever it is that you're accusing me of, I just wanted to . . . to . . ." Kumiko tried to creep past a classroom, and Tuba-kun caught on the doorknob. Natsuki stiffened.
"Who's there?" Kumiko ran down the hallway before Yuuko could even be bothered to turn around, ducking into Taki's office. He looked up at her panting, trembling figure with an odd sort of fatherly concern in his face, and Kumiko crumpled to the floor.
"Oumae-san?" he said. "Is everything alright?" Kumiko nodded just a bit too quickly.
"Y-yeah," she breathed. "I'm fine."
If she'd stayed in that hallway just a few moments longer, she might've been able to see the band's two leaders on the brink of tears.
Kumiko tried her hardest to focus on playing the notes right when she reached Reina and the classroom, but she could only think of Natsuki and Yuuko at each other's throats, their argument seeming to change every time she saw them.
"Is something bothering you?" Reina asked, rather bluntly, after their second performance of the day. "You don't seem quite as invested as you usually are." Kumiko dismissed her claims with a wave of her hand.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted. "Really, nothing's wrong."
"You're a great liar." Reina rested her trumpet on her lap. "If there's something bothering you, it wouldn't kill you to bring it up."
"What about all the things you said about 'only focusing on the important stuff?'"
"I shove things down, Kumiko. It's what I do. I have to become special, and I can't let anything get in the way of that. You don't have that obligation."
"Was that an insult?"
"Maybe." Reina paused, staring Kumiko down. "Not really, no. All I'm saying is that this-" she gestured to herself, at this point "-might not work particularly well for you."
"Right." For a moment, Kumiko was tempted to tell Reina everything - how badly she missed Asuka, how worried she was about Natsuki and Yuuko, how dearly she wanted to hold Reina herself again and kiss her passionately like they did in the movies - but she stopped herself just in time. "Well, uh, you don't have to worry about me anyway. Nothing's wrong, I'm just a little bit stressed." Reina held out her thermos.
"It's a bit lukewarm now, but it might still help you calm down."
"Oh. Uh, t-thanks?" Kumiko carefully took the warm thermos in her hands, taking a sip of the tea (or perhaps coffee, she couldn't really tell) and quickly determining that it tasted disgusting.
She pretended not to realize that she had just indirectly kissed the girl of her dreams.
"We're so close," Hazuki whispered as the homeroom teacher droned on.
"It's almost time!" Midori squealed excitedly during lunch.
"Taki-sensei's gonna be expecting a lot of us today," Natsuki grimly muttered when Kumiko met her at the door to the music room, her shoulders hunched and her face a pallid white. "We're getting so close, everyone's on edge about it."
"Is it worse with the section leaders?" Natsuki scoffed.
"Way worse. We're expected to carry the weight of the band or whatever, it's kinda terrible. I still don't get why Asuka-senpai didn't leave Gotou or Riko in charge. Some kind of euph thing, I guess."
"Maybe." Kumiko noticed Natsuki tapping her foot on the floor as she leaned against the door. "You're good, y'know. At playing the euphonium, at being a leader, we're just in a weird place right now." Natsuki's expression brightened for a moment.
"You're not just saying that, are ya?"
"Of course I'm n-"
"Oumae-san, Nakagawa-san, I wasn't expecting to see you two here so early." Taki approached the door with the keys jangling in his hand. "You can help set up."
Practice went by without a problem, and Kumiko once again relished that feeling of being in an ensemble.
I'll be doing this in front of a huge crowd on Saturday, she thought. I guess it isn't too different, just more stressful. Natsuki was the first one to stand up when Taki dismissed the band. Nobody wants to let anyone else down.
It was far windier that evening. Reina hugged herself as she hurried down the sidewalk, shivering as she did so.
"It's mid-June, this weather is ridiculous," she chattered. "Isn't it, Kumiko?" Kumiko spit a curl out of her mouth before answering.
"I guess?" In truth, it wasn't very cold at all. "I think it's kinda nice, to be honest. It's refreshing."
"Right, I forgot that you preferred the wintertime."
"I don't know how anyone couldn't, really. I mean, there's snow, and that nice crisp winter air, and sledding."
"There's also chapped hands, pneumonia, and godawful Christmas songs playing on the radio every day."
"What's so great about summer, then?" Kumiko challenged.
"I don't like summer much, either." Reina's scarf threatened to fly off, and she held it to her chest with her free hand. "I've always preferred spring."
"Why?" A particularly strong gust of wind blew through the street, and both girls shivered. Scraps of garbage - shreds of paper, half-torn bags, bottle wrappers - drifted past them, like some kind of urban cherry blossoms.
"New beginnings."
"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Reina shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood at the intersection that would lead her home.
"Yeah. Hey, do you think you could fill me in for bringing home my euph tomorrow? I figured it wouldn't hurt to get a little bit of extra practice in. I would've asked today, but I kinda . . . forgot."
"Euphonium, soft case, Kumiko Oumae," Reina said, in what was probably an imitation of a robot. Kumiko stared at her for a moment before they both burst into laughter.
"Bye, Reina."
"Goodbye, Kumiko." Reina gave her hand a squeeze before walking off.
Two days.
That was Kumiko's first thought the following morning, the only thought that clung to her like a stubborn burr as she brushed her teeth and got dressed and headed out the door. Reina was waiting at the train station, her trumpet lifted to her lips as if she was just about to play it.
"Y'know, they probably wouldn't mind it if you practiced on the train," Kumiko said, pointing to the trumpet. "We're usually the only people in there, anyway." Reina nodded, taking Kumiko's hand and dragging her into the train without another word. It started a few minutes later.
"I've always wondered what it would be like to perform in a bar or a restaurant or something like that." The train screamed to life, rolling out of the station.
"We've performed in competitions before, that's pretty similar, right?"
"Well, sure, it's playing in front of people, but most of them are there solely to judge us. It might be . . . freeing, in a sense, to play in front of a crowd that couldn't care less about whether or not we were good, a crowd that wasn't scrutinizing every last mistake we made."
"You've got a lot on your mind, huh?"
"Taki-sensei told me that I needed to think about my future more. I know that I'm going to go to a music college, graduate and probably move back here, but what after that? How do I become special after that?"
"You're special to me," Kumiko murmured, leaning her head against Reina's shoulder in an act of bravery that only a sleep-deprived teenager with forty-eight hours left until a possibly life-changing competition could do.
"You're terrible," Reina scoffed. "Still, I wonder."
"You could join a traveling orchestra. See the world, come back to visit Kyoto sometimes, meet exciting people. I'm sure they'd accept you, you're amazing."
"It would be a bit stuffy for me, I think. All those old men in suits, looking down at me like hawks to their prey." Reina shivered. "Maybe I'd do something a bit more humble to start."
"Nothing you've ever done is humble, Reina." Reina let out a satisfied hum.
"You might have a point there." Kumiko caught sight of the tricycle again. A flock of sparrows nearly covered it, now, pecking at its cracked plastic. "What about you? What do you want to do with your life?" Reina held Eupho-kun between her thumb and her pointer finger.
"I don't know, Reina. Really, I just hope we win gold in the Kyoto competition." Reina looked a bit disappointed for a moment before she straightened her back.
"You said something about practicing on the train, didn't you? We should give this empty car a reason to listen."
Hazuki was practically vibrating out of her seat when Kumiko reached the classroom.
"Can you believe it, Kumiko? Two days! Two days, and they'll all hear Kitauji High School's sound!"
"She's been like this all morning," Midori whispered.
"Y-yeah, I'm pretty excited, too." Excited wasn't exactly the word she'd have used - terrified fit the bill much better - but she couldn't bear to squash Hazuki's chipper demeanor.
"Hey, I don't really wanna change the subject, but did anything else happen with that weird gift-giving person?" Hazuki leaned over on the desk to stare Kumiko down. She wondered how Hazuki hadn't flipped over and fallen on her face at this point. "You're not answering."
"Maybe it is a secret admirer!" Midori squealed. "Why else would you be so bashful about it?"
"I haven't gotten any packages since the festival. They probably forgot about me or something."
"Or they're planning something really big!" Hazuki argued. "Keep your head up, Kumiko! You've got to make sure your glass is always half-full, or else it'll empty completely and you'll just be an empty gay glass!"
"I don't think that's how the saying goes, Hazuki," Midori said. Hazuki ignored her.
"Well, you've just gotta keep that . . . neutral attitude for two more days, and we'll be good!" Hazuki gave a thumbs-up before settling back into her seat. The teacher walked in hardly a second later.
Kumiko could hear her own footsteps echoing as she headed to the music room. Yuuko was waiting at the door, this time. She looked like a ribbon-clad zombie.
"Is everything okay?" Kumiko asked. Yuuko glared at her.
"It's fine, Oumae." She sniffed, as if Kumiko's very presence disgusted her. "It's just not a walk in the park to run the entire band on your own."
"I know that, b-but you have Natsuki and the rest of the section leaders and Taki-sensei, too." Kumiko took on the calming voice of a mother, the kind that always made her feel just a little bit better when she cried. "You don't have to do this alone, y'know." Yuuko barked out a laugh.
"You're adorable, Oumae," she snorted. "You don't know anything, you know that?"
"I know enough."
"You know everything about me? Am I supposed to believe that?" Kumiko could see Reina's figure approaching, traveling down the hallway like an angel sent to rescue her from this awkward situation.
"I s-saw you," Kumiko mumbled. "That day with Mizore-senpai, I was there too." Yuuko tensed up, clenching her fist, gritting her teeth, refusing to answer. Reina held up the keys, saying something about Taki being a bit late today. It sounded like she was underwater.
"Get in the room, both of you," Yuuko growled. "We can't just stand around here all day."
"You've all been doing quite well," Taki said at the end of practice, surveying the room for any response, but everyone was too exhausted to say even a word. "As you know, tomorrow is the last day before the Kyoto competition, which means that it's also our last day to practice. I believe in you all, but don't let that make you lazy. We still have one more practice, I'm expecting you to continue keeping yourselves in shape and to give it your all on Saturday."
'"Kitauji, fighto!" Reina pumped her fist in the air, earning her several looks from the other band members. "I, erm, figured that the president might be a bit too tired for that, so I-"
"There's no reason to apologize, Kousaka-san," Taki said, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. Kumiko couldn't bear to look at Reina for her response.
Kumiko's phone beeped in her bag as the train rolled along, and she curiously took it out.
"Who's that?" Reina asked, pushing Kumiko's euphonium aside to see.
"Natsuki."
Natsuki: tomorrow's the last practice, huh?
Natsuki: seems like just yesterday that we'd started the year
Kumiko: well i mean it's not the /last/ practice
Kumiko: just the last one before the kyoto competition
Natsuki: i guess that's one way of looking at it, yeah
Natsuki: see ya, kumiko
"What did she want?" Kumiko put the phone back in her bag, holding her knees to herself.
"I don't really know."
Kumiko knew, logically, that there was no reason for a package to show up on her doorstep, but she felt disappointment bubble in her chest nonetheless.
"Maybe you should write a letter to the magazine," her mother suggested when she saw the mail devoid of mysterious boxes. "This seems like a weird pattern." Kumiko could practically imagine a lightbulb going off over her head.
"Y-yeah, that's a great idea, Mom!" She had already flung herself onto her bed and pulled out a pad of notebook paper before she even had time to think.
Dear caretaker, she began.
I know that this letter isn't going to reach you. I know you're just some random person who probably didn't even mean to send these things to me - I'll bet that it was just a coincidence-filled mistake, but I'm still thankful. Things have been weird this year, and it's nice to have a weird thing be . . . good, y'know? So, thanks for that, I guess.
Kumiko tapped a mechanical pencil against her cheek, trying to think of what to say next.
Which brings me to my next point - things are really, really weird right now. Everyone's really tense because of the competition on Saturday, my best friend who I might have feelings for is sending me mixed messages, and I can't shake this feeling that something's going to happen soon. Have you ever had that feeling? It's scary.
She started to fold up the letter when one more thought came to mind.
Anyway, this was just a glorified thank-you note that you're never going to get. I miss you, even though I've never met you. I hope we meet someday.
~someone who really likes your packages
A branch flung itself against the window - the wind from the previous day hadn't quite let up, and Kumiko imagined the lightbulb for the second time that hour. She folded the letter up, stuffing it in an old envelope that sat on her desk, and tossed it out the window. The letter flipped and turned with the wind, and she watched it fly until it disappeared from sight.
I hope this reaches you.
For how heavily premonition rested in her gut, for how nervous she felt, Kumiko thought that it might as well have been the day of the competition. She lifted her euphonium from where it lay on its side, protected in its soft case, as she started to prepare for the day.
"I wonder if anyone got that letter," she muttered to herself. "It'd be nice if they did."
"You're here early," Reina commented. Kumiko looked up from her phone, where she'd been waiting at the train station alone, watching the people pass by idly.
"I couldn't really sleep last night. Pre-pre-competition jitters, they're kinda . . . terrible."
"Trust me, I know." The train rolled in right on schedule, and Kumiko stepped on in time with Reina. "You were never this nervous last year."
"Reina, I promise it doesn't have anything to do with the other stuff."
"You mean the president and the vice president? They have their own host of problems, Kumiko, it isn't doing you any good to let it bother you."
"I know, I know, but I keep . . . running into them, overhearing them, and I don't really know what it means, but it has to mean something, right? Natsuki's my friend, I can't just pretend nothing's happening at all."
"That's exactly what you should do, actually." Reina folded her hands in her lap. "There'll be time for this after the competition. You can't expect it all to come to a head today, in any case. They'll still be the same people on Sunday morning."
"A lot can change in a day, Reina." Kumiko looked up at the now-torn poster for the festival, nearly illegible at this point.
"They're smart people, Kumiko."
"B-but what if I should be doing something? What then? What if I'm just sitting back and watching?"
"We can't work ourselves up over these things." Reina's voice, even and measured, reminded Kumiko of how she'd been at the beginning of the year. "We can't, Kumiko." It cracked, just for a second, and Kumiko looked at her for what must've been just for a second too long, because the tips of her ears turned red and she turned away with a scoff.
"I don't have to go to the storage room today," Kumiko weakly joked, lifting up her euphonium for emphasis. Reina smiled hesitantly, as if testing the waters, dipping a toe into the chilled swimming pool in the windy summer. The doors slid open.
"Terrible, so truly terrible," she laughed, running off the train and up the stairs of the station. Kumiko struggled to keep up with her euphonium on her back, but she couldn't stop herself from grinning like a doofus, spreading out her arms and looking up at the warm sky above her.
She wondered how long this peaceful feeling would last.
"I'll see you in practice," Reina said, leaving Kumiko at the door to her classroom. The uneasiness residing in her stomach had returned.
"The last practice, if we don't work really hard."
"We're going down this path again?" Reina teased. Kumiko snorted.
"I 'do' think we can make it to Nationals this year, you know." Hazuki and Midori both sat perched on their desks like over-eager cats. "We did it before, and m-maybe this year we'll win gold."
"Maybe." Reina leaned in towards Kumiko's cheek, and Kumiko could very vividly imagine her lips brushing it gently, soft and warm and perfect, but she drew away with hardly a moment of contact. "I'll see you in practice, Kumiko." Kumiko quickly stumbled into the classroom with the look of a lovestruck fool as Hazuki and Midori stared at her blankly.
"Okay," Hazuki began. "What . . ."
". . . was that?" Midori finished. "She kissed you on the cheek!"
"Maybe it was just her way of saying goodbye," Hazuki mused. Midori looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "I've heard that they do something like that in France."
"I thought you were the one who wanted them to get together!"
"I do, but I don't wanna get my- erm, Kumiko's hopes up." Hazuki pressed her face against her desk. "It's too easy to be hopeful right now." Midori solemnly nodded in agreement. Kumiko wondered who they were thinking about.
Kumiko felt like she was about to throw up when she reached the music room, her stomach doing some kind of acrobatic flip as the band streamed in. Nobody wanted to be late on the last day, after all. Natsuki was one of the last people to enter, her posture still resembling that of a hunchback, her eyes still sunken and weary. Yuuko stood at the front of the room with an equally tired expression.
"Taki-sensei asked me to make a speech before he came here," she started, running her hand along the side of the conductor's stand. "And to conduct you all through one round of the song, he said that he was going to be late today."
"Where's Momo?" Kumiko whispered as Yuuko droned on about how it had been an honor to lead the band for the past few months. The seat next to her was empty, a jarring gap in the room packed full of students.
"She has some meeting with a teacher," Natsuki whispered back. "I think she's gonna be here for at least part of practice."
". . . I couldn't have done it without the vice president either." Kumiko glanced at Natsuki, who remained frozen in her spot. "Thanks." Yuuko lifted her baton, and the room erupted into sound.
Taki took up his usual position as conductor soon afterwards, Yuuko slinking back to her spot among the trumpets. Momo was still nowhere to be found, and Kumiko simply couldn't focus on the music in front of her. Notes drifted in front of her eyes, mixing themselves up like they were dancing an awful dance, threatening to fly right off the page. She heard a painful squeak sometime around the middle, but she couldn't tell for the life of her whether or not it belonged to herself or Natsuki, and soon the thought of the squeak fell away, too, like a thread unraveling and dropping in the wind.
"That was a fine performance," Taki said, but Kumiko knew from the way he took a breath after saying it that he had endless nitpicks with the song. "Still, I heard a bit of . . . detachment, from the flute section."
"That's what happens when you only choose one flute," Natsuki muttered. "It's not Nozomi's fault." Kumiko could see Yuuko's ribbon rise and fall from where she sat, no doubt the result of the girl taking deep breaths.
"Euphonium, I don't quite know what happened, but you didn't seem focused at all throughout that entire performance." Kumiko could feel her veins turn to ice before she realized that Taki was looking directly at Natsuki. "Is everything alright?" Natsuki's breaths turned quick, nervous, and she started to shake her head when Yuuko's voice cut into the quiet of the room.
"I think that Nakagawa-san is fine," she said. Natsuki stood up, knocking over her music stand as she did so. Kumiko flinched.
"Quit putting words in my mouth," she hissed. She was shaking, now, and Yuuko whipped around from her position in the trumpets to face her. "Quit putting the blame on me, quit putting instruments in my shopping cart, quit being so fucking selfish all the time!"
"Oh, I'm selfish? I'm selfish? What, just because I didn't want to scream to the world that we had this thing going on between us? Just because I didn't want to ruin myself?"
"Just because you couldn't stand the thought of anyone thinking we didn't hate each other?"
"Girls, please," Taki shakily said, reaching out his hands like he could push them apart. Nobody listened to him.
"You call me lazy, you call me a bad person, you act like I'm nothing but ya can't really go on without me, and I c-can't . . . I can't . . ." Kumiko saw tears dripping down Natsuki's cheeks in big, ugly blobs - she'd always imagined that seeing people crying so angrily, so openly, would look more like it did in the movies, but Natsuki just looked sad.
"You could've told Nozomi to step down! You could've done something good for this band instead of pretending it was all okay!"
"You could've owned up to this and came clean about the euphonium!"
"Yeah, euphonium this, euphonium that, we both know that doesn't have . . . anything . . . to do with it . . ." Yuuko was crying, too, while the rest of the band could only watch. "You just can't be bothered to talk about it!" Natsuki held tightly onto the back of the chair in front of her, letting her tears stain the sheets scattered beneath her.
"Hey, everyone." Momo slid open the door, holding her shiny euphonium. "Sorry I'm-" Natsuki shook as she tried to hold onto the chair. Momo's eyes widened, her euphonium clattering to the floor. Kumiko instinctively held onto herself. "Nakagawa-senpai?" Natsuki sank back into her seat.
"I'm tired of this," Natsuki muttered, starting to pick up the sheet music.
"Me too," Yuuko muttered, straightening her back. "Taki-sensei?"
"You're both dismissed." Taki's eyes had gone cloudy, his expression turned cold. "I'll see you at the competition." Natsuki stood up again and gathered her things before tapping Kumiko on the shoulder.
"Meet up with me at the fast food place later," she whispered. Kumiko nodded.
The room had gone cold.
Kumiko hurried down the hallway as soon as practice had ended, but Reina caught up with her in a few short strides.
"What happened back there?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Did you know?"
"I k-knew that something was going to happen, I just didn't think it was that."
"Do you have somewhere to be?" Kumiko slowly nodded.
"I'll see you at the competition tomorrow morning, then. I'm going to be at the school as soon as it opens. I won't blame you if you take a later train. You have some euphonium things to deal with." Reina gripped her shoulders, looking at her with compassion in her face. "I understand."
"Thanks, Reina." Kumiko only looked back for a moment before she kept on running.
A bell jingled as Kumiko entered the fast food place, filled with idle chatter and sleepy people. Natsuki sat alone at a table near the back, her tears nearly dried. She looked exhausted.
"You're here," she said, lifting her head just slightly.
"Y-yeah, I'm here." Kumiko slid into the seat opposite Natsuki's. "Are you okay?" Natsuki shrugged.
"Depends on the definition of okay." Kumiko pretended to stare very intently at the menu for a moment before she tried to break the silence again.
"So, you and Yuuko, huh? How long had that been going on?"
"Since the beginning of the year. We were meeting at my house for some leadership stuff and I told her that she looked cute and one thing led to another and then we were kissing on my parents' couch."
"Oh." Kumiko nervously twiddled her thumbs for a moment as Natsuki tugged at the seams of the menu.
"These things're really fancy for a place that specializes in cheap burgers," she said. "But, yeah, we were dating. Big shocker, I know. I guess it was doomed to fail from the beginning. The whole 'opposites attract' thing can only go so far." Natsuki laughed softly. "It seems romantic on the label, y'know? Two broken people, clinging to each other, going through the same crap together. I mean, that's what you can Kousaka have, right?" Kumiko blinked.
"We're not-"
"You two pull each other up." Natsuki let out a hoarse chuckle. "You make each other better. All we do is tear ourselves down. Maybe we're just too mean, two nasty women always going at each other and then making out in the bathrooms when nobody's looking."
"Natsuki, I-"
"Don't worry about it." Natsuki patted Kumiko on the shoulder, taking a shaky breath. "Some relationships just don't work out." Kumiko watched her leave with all the feelings one might get from seeing a car wreck - upsetting, oddly powerful, and utterly captivating in the strangest way possible.
True to her word, Reina reached the school before Kumiko had even dragged herself out of bed. It was a strange trip without Reina by her side, and Natsuki's outburst and confession still rattled around her head endlessly. She hadn't heard anything from her since, nor from Yuuko or Momo, but she tried her hardest to push the thoughts back. Today was the day of the competition, after all. Today was the day that it would all end if they failed, or the day it would all begin if they succeeded.
"Here we are," Kumiko whispered to herself. She'd approached the entrance to Kitauji's campus countless times before, but something felt different about it this time - more foreboding, perhaps, as if the school itself was waiting for her, as if it would gobble her up if she walked inside. You'll be fine. We'll all be fine.
"Ah, Kumiko!" Riko was the first to greet her when she stepped inside, warmly smiling. "The percussionists need help carrying their drums, do you think you could help them with that?"
"S-sure." Reina was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Natsuki. They're both probably just helping load stuff into the truck. She picked up the nearest drums and started heading for the door when she caught sight of someone lifting a euphonium, spiky auburn hair just barely reaching the nape of her neck. "Uh, excuse me, nobody who isn't in the band should be here right-" The student turned around with a crooked smile. "Natsuki?!"
"Nakagawa-senpai!" Momo gasped. Kumiko jumped. "Did someone break your heart?" Natsuki snorted.
"I break my own heart, ya nerd," she said. "It was just time for a fresh start."
"Hey, euphs, hurry it up." Yuuko held her trumpet like it was briefcase, streaming past the trio with a huff. "We don't have all day."
"I guess she's not gonna do it, then."
"Do what?" Momo asked. Natsuki grinned and slowly raised her fist in the air, already on her way out the door. She seemed . . . free, Kumiko thought.
"Kitauji, fighto!"
The resulting "yeah!" could've rattled the whole school.
a/n: *banging fists on a table repeatedly* soft butch natsuki! soft butch natsuki! soft butch natsuki!
