Transposed

Nozomi lets you burrow into her side.

Her arm comes around your shoulders, playfully jostling you, and she stares up at the evening sky with a placid, relaxed smile.

Because you tilt your head upwards and to the side, basking in Nozomi's presence, there's a crick in your neck. It's a small price to pay, isn't it? To have Nozomi, at long last….

"I'm glad," Nozomi smiles, glances at you then back up at the sky. "I'm so glad, Mizore, that you had Yuuko by your side." Nozomi's hand cards through your hair, lulling you into closing your eyes, and Nozomi repeats, softer, "I'm glad she's your friend."

Oh, but… that's not quite true. Yuuko isn't your friend, you want to assure Nozomi.

But if she's not your friend, you know Nozomi will ask, then who is Yuuko to you?

Yuuko—she is—Yuuko is—is—she's—

A kind, patient stranger.

Yuuko is—not Nozomi.

The two of you might've been friends, but when Yuuko had approached you, you could hardly do more than gape and mumble one-word answers to Yuuko's questions; that friendly smile had dropped, her brows had furrowed, and then she'd sighed and smiled all over again.

The two of you might've been friends, once upon a time, but you were and are hopeless.

The two of you might've been friends, this year, but Yuuko was not and is not Nozomi.

Except—except—except: Yuuko is Nozomi. Sort of. Not really. Almost, not quite Nozomi.

Nozomi, transposed from alto to soprano, transposed from respectful reservation to generous affection, transposed from unattainable to well within reach.

A distorted version of Nozomi. A facsimile. An approximation. A—substitute?

"I regret a lot of things…." Nozomi shrugs in a motion that draws you closer to her. "At least, though, I know that you weren't alone."

You stare at your hands lying limply in your lap.

Transposed, transposed, transposed until you could sort of pretend that you were… content to have Yuuko as the one needling you in the morning, the one wheedling promises out of you to hang out, the one peering over your shoulder during practice, and the one leaving you behind in favor of other friends.

Close enough.

Good enough.

Right?

"But I have to admit, I'm also glad you kept playing for me."

You drag your gaze upwards to find Nozomi staring at you. Her smile, you realize, has changed—well, of course it has. An eternity has passed since you found out she quit the club; surely this is not the same Nozomi you once knew.

You, however, remain the same as ever.

Antisocial, awkward, apathetic despite Yuuko's best efforts to change you (because if Nozomi couldn't change you, wouldn't stay for you, then you won't change, won't stay for anyone else—maybe, you think, you assume, you wonder).

The next, terrible question occurs to you: is Yuuko merely a placeholder?

If she is not your friend, not your muse, and only someone to temporarily stopper the hole in your heart, then does that not make you a terrible person?

"Nozomi," you murmur, your hands pulling your uniform skirt into tight fists.

"Hm?" Nozomi tilts her head, lightly resting on yours as you stare at your whitened knuckles; Yuuko would've exerted more pressure, you think. Yuuko would have cheerfully complained about you overthinking things. Yuuko would have—

"What does friendship mean, Nozomi?" you dare ask. You swallow, wondering if you really said that aloud. Maybe you have changed, if you are willing to ask such a question to Nozomi, no matter your need to please Nozomi.

A moment of silence, then Nozomi exhales. "Friendship… is two people seeking each other's company outside of obligations."

Seeking each other's company outside of obligations.

You mull that over. Does it count if you wanted Yuuko's company but never actually said so? Does it count if sometimes you wanted Yuuko's company because you felt yourself missing Nozomi to the point of physical pain—is that an obligation? Does it count if you thought Yuuko was with you out of pity and you were with her out of loneliness?

It sounds like nothing but obligations.

"Friendship," Nozomi continues, stronger and sterner, her arm heavy around your shoulders, "is two people looking out for each other, and being a good friend means talking about things that affect both of you, not just making a decision by yourself."

You know Nozomi is referring to herself even though you're perfectly fine with the past as long as you have Nozomi with you in the present and future.

Does that make you a bad friend to Nozomi?

"I like to think what we had was something more than friendship, though."

"More?" you echo. You can barely understand friendship and now there's more?

Nozomi angles her face down towards you. The light of a nearby lamppost tints her tentative expression a soft orange-yellow. Nozomi leans closer, closer—close enough for you to feel her breath on your lips when she whispers, "I'm sorry for leaving you, Mizore.

"Please, forgive me for abandoning you like that. And, if you can forgive me, do you think…." Nozomi retreats again, leaving you gaping up at her sheepish, hungry expression.

Hungry. Your heartbeat quickens in your chest for the first time since you found out Nozomi hadn't bothered to let you know she was quitting the band.

"Do you forgive me, Mizore?"

You nod, you stutter, "O-of course, yes-yes-yes, N-Nozomi," as one of your hands reaches out to grasp Nozomi's uniform shirt in the tips of your fingers.

"That easily?" Nozomi doesn't frown, but her tone is serious. Her right hand brushes your bangs out of your eyes unnecessarily.

"I'm glad you came back," you say. That's all that matters, really (and where does that leave Yuuko?).

Nozomi stares at you.

You have to glance away after a few seconds; your cheeks burn and your hands tangle themselves in your skirt again and Nozomi's arm around your shoulders is a furnace, a brand, a promise. Her gaze, on you, is… is…?

"Can I kiss you, Mizore?" Nozomi whispers, her breath tickling the side of your face but you almost don't notice that over the roar of your heartbeat in your ears.

Kiss?

And when your head creaks to face Nozomi, your eyes fall on her lips and—and—and—

You kiss her, she kisses you.

Your eyes slip shut. You cease to breathe.

This, you think, is more.

Her nose bumps into yours. Her arm pulls you closer, closer, closer so that you have to brace yourself against her. Blindly, your hands land on her waist.

Nozomi pulls away, and though you want to follow, your lungs remind you to take a breath of air before you faint. Nozomi's smile takes your breath away all over again.

The question tumbles out of you, "What are we?"

"Girlfriends," Nozomi answers, her cheeks red and her lips twitching upwards. "If you want."

Want?

"Yes." You nod once, twice, thrice.

"I'm glad," Nozomi repeats and rests back against the bench; this time, you rest your head on her shoulder. "You make me smile," Nozomi confesses. Her hand strokes your hair again.

This, this is why you play for Nozomi: you like making her smile, and she makes you smile, too.

And Yuuko?

You made Yuuko smile a lot, once she and you got over your severe introversion. That counts for something, surely, but not… not what you and Nozomi have. There's a difference between Nozomi and Yuuko that you hadn't known was important.

What you felt for Yuuko, what you had with Yuuko was—was—was—what you felt for, what you had with Nozomi, except—except, transposed.

Maybe that's the answer.

It was a different key signature, a different range, and an approximation.

Transpositions, you know, don't always sound as good as the original. No, it's more accurate to say that transpositions aren't supposed to be exactly like the original—the mistake is in trying to force the new work to mirror precisely the old work.

That was your mistake.

You transposed your feelings for Nozomi into your best guess at friendship for Yuuko. So maybe, yes, Yuuko would have been your friend if you had just realized that Yuuko wasn't, didn't need to be, Nozomi.

Had you stopped thinking about Nozomi-Nozomi-Nozomi, maybe you would have noticed that you like Yuuko perfectly well for Yuuko's sake, as a friend—as your friend.

"Nozomi?"

"Yeah?" You reach up so that your nose brushes Nozomi's jaw; you revel in the shiver that goes through Nozomi at your touch.

"I'm glad I had Yuuko, too. Even though I was lonely and missed you a lot, it wasn't so bad when Yuuko was with me." Looking back, in retrospect, you can clearly see Yuuko's affection, genuine friendship for you.

Her hand pauses. Nozomi murmurs, "I think Yuuko would be happy to hear that."

The brushing resumes. Your eyes drift shut.

"I know. I'll tell her."

a/n:

Part 1 of 2.

I was in love (I mean, I think I was in love) with someone unattainable, and right around the same time someone else liked me so I figured I'd give person C a chance but person C hated the idea of being second-best so they ended things after a week, lol. I wasn't hurt, and we're best friends to this day, but I felt bad about only having eyes for person B and I knew person C deserved a lot more than what I could give.

This isn't exactly that; this is more about Mizore learning to distinguish between friendship and romance. I also wanted to address Mizore's dependency on Nozomi, but I think I want to put that in a second part instead, with Yuuko.

Please review! Even a simple, "This was nice," works for me :)