a/n: me: don't vent your emotions about lexa's death through kumiko. please. my brain: ~how bout i do anyway?~

so yeah. i'm very tired.

It's very easy to sneak into the school's library.

That was what crossed Kumiko's mind as she tiptoed along the wall, pressing her back against the cold brick in hopes of evading any watching teachers. Not that anybody would be in there at this hour, anyway. Nobody in their right mind would spend a Friday night in a dusty school library, smelling of old books and freshly cleaned tables. Nobody, that is, except for Kumiko, who had no reason to be there either. No reason but the simple peace and solace that it offered, the brief, ever-so-short relief from her everyday life. As long as she didn't look at the books and didn't see how unabashedly heterosexual they were, as long as she didn't look out the window and didn't see the couples trotting along the sidewalk hand-in-hand in the rain, she could almost pretend that she was nobody. She could almost, almost pretend that life wasn't currently kicking her in the ass and that she had no escape from it. Accompanied by nobody but her euphonium and her backpack, the girl slumped over on one of the tables and let out a long groan.

"What's wrong with people?" she sighed to the ceiling, looking up at the square tiles organized ten feet above her. "What's wrong with this, huh?" Kumiko pulled out her euphonium and began to practice, trying to let herself go in the music, trying to let it carry her away, far from this dark, dingy school library. This must be why Reina plays the trumpet when she's upset, she thought, and as soon as the name entered her mind she knew that this false retreat was a failure. The euphonium's notes became squeaky and off-key, and Kumiko set it down gently on the table, the brass dully glowing in the moonlight. "I love her," she muttered. "W-why . . . why does it always have to be this way? Why c-can't I . . . why can't I do anything about this?" The beginnings of a yell bubbled in her throat, and she shoved back her chair to stand, ignoring the horrific scree-ee-ee it made when it made contact with the hard floor. "W-what stupid force is t-trying to make me feel so powerless?" A memory of an earlier time, just a few months ago, of a girl (the girl she loved) screaming atop a hill (she knew why, now, or at least some degree of why) rose to the surface, bringing with it the scent of rosemary and brass, and it took Kumiko a moment to remember how to breathe.

"Kumiko."

The girl dismissed the voice as a figment of her imagination, and she clenched her fists on the table.

"Kumiko, it's me. Reina. I'm sorry, for the way I acted earlier. Life doesn't treat us particularly well, does it?" It took only a few seconds for Kumiko to turn around, see Reina's figure illuminated in the doorway, and race over to her before wrapping her in a tight, firm embrace.

"P-promise me you won't l-leave, okay?" Kumiko murmured, breathing in Reina's scent (she was here, and she was okay, and she was alive) and pressing herself up against the other girl as if it was the last time she would ever see her.

"I promise, Kumiko." Reina shifted in Kumiko's arms, and she guiltily realized that the trumpet player had probably gone through the same emotions she had a thousand times before.

"I'm tired," Kumiko whispered, and the weariness began to weigh her down like a stone, exhausted in Reina's hold.

"I'm tired too. You need to understand that it's not . . . this isn't going to be us forever. Things get better, Kumiko."

"H-how do you know that?"

"I don't. In fact, I really shouldn't have said that at all - unrealistic ideals are what tend to lead to unfulfilling lives, but there's not much else we can say without losing ourselves completely. We can't just blindly believe in a fantastical future where everything's perfect."

"You just s-said that things get better. Hypocrite." Kumiko let out a soft chuckle, a gentle hiccup that quickly became a sob.

"You're just as terrible as I am, Kumiko. Regardless, you didn't let me finish."

"Eh?"

"I was about to tell you that I don't know if things will get better, but that's why we need to take it upon ourselves to make that change on our own. We'll live in that world someday, Kumiko, but only if we attempt to make a difference in the world." Reina laughed, and the sound filled up the whole library, a contrast to the pattering rain outside. "I'm starting to sound like some type of political advertisement, aren't I?"

"Y-you mean it?"

"Of course I do, Kumiko. Now, I believe that Nakagawa recommended a few movies to you. Perhaps we could leave this dreary library and find something to provide us a bit of solace, hmm?" Reina pulled away from the hug, still holding Kumiko's hands, and tilted her head to the side with a small smile.

"I'd like that." Kumiko grabbed her euphonium and its case from the table and reached again for Reina, who returned in kind. The two girls walked out into the rain, hand-in-hand, leaving the library behind. They were safe, they were together, and for the first time in weeks, Kumiko felt a spark of hope spread through her body in the midst of the downpour.

a/n: donate to the trevor project: : / / www . /fundraise?fcid=625415