Transposed II

Someone opens the clubroom door, but no footsteps indicate entrance.

It must be Yuuko—Yuuko, who is your friend, you remind your stiffening spine and quickening heartbeat. You don't have anything to fear from Yuuko; she already knows who you are, she already knows, she knows and she's still your friend, okay?

"Ah." Natsuki's voice is half question, half statement, all sharp notes making your spine stiffen further because stranger-stranger-stranger.

Nozomi greets, "Good morning, Yuuko-san, Natsuki," and you inhale.

"Good morn—"

"—just passin' by—"

"—'we'? Speak for yourself!" Yuuko protests but doesn't say anything further when Nozomi starts laughing.

You like the sound of Nozomi's clear, easy laughter. Something between a giggle and a chuckle, so fond it makes your cheeks hurt from the smile it elicits and your heart pound halfway out of your chest in breathless gratitude. Your shoulders relax almost without you noticing.

It's okay. Natsuki is to Nozomi what Yuuko was to you (but probably better); there's nothing to fear from Natsuki, either, despite not really knowing her.

"I was just on my way out, actually," Nozomi tells them once she catches her breath, to your disappointment. Her hand squeezes your shoulder as if reading your mind. "I don't want to distract our competing members from the Kansai competition any more than I already have."

Natsuki shushes the pointed scoff that escapes Yuuko.

Risking a glance upwards to Nozomi, you blink at the question in Nozomi's expression. Are you okay? her furrowed brow asks. You blink again; she tilts her head towards the others.

Oh—your jaw is glued shut and your voice is smothered in your throat and your eyes skirt around Yuuko and Natsuki—Nozomi's asking about your, your, your social anxiety that is a constant crescendo and diminuendo.

Nozomi taps the open score in front of you. You drag your gaze to follow; she points to a new little note in the corner, in Nozomi's cursive: I believe in you! Her hand squeezes your shoulder again, warm and reassuring.

"Seriously, though, weren't you going to practice with your darlin' sempai outside today?"

Your gaze traces over the loops of Nozomi's handwriting.

"Actually," Yuuko declares, brave, "I want to talk to you, Mizore. Why don't you and Nozomi-san stand guard outside, Natsuki? We don't want the first and third years hating us more."

Natsuki retorts, "I get along with 'em fine. You would, too, if you'd just stop antagonizing everyone."

"Sure," Nozomi intervenes before the argument escalates. "Come on, Natsuki, let's give them some privacy." She turns to face you, staring intently into your eyes, and though you want to say please stay, you nod weakly.

You're not afraid of Yuuko.

The ridges of your oboe begin to dig into your calluses. Your heart jumps.

You're just, just a bit nervous. You haven't spoken to Yuuko since that day you broke down—your sternum aches with shame, embarrassment, humiliation.

But—but it's okay. Yuuko already knows, she knows, knows who you are and she's still your friend.

"Text me when you're free." You nod, lips twitching. Nozomi smiles, inclines her head at Yuuko, tosses a wave to you over her shoulder, and lets Natsuki close the clubroom doors.

Only then does your gaze skitter towards Yuuko, who stands alone in the middle of the room, her gaze inscrutable, on you.

This is a different key signature, a transposition—different, different to what you have with Nozomi, but not unknown. You simply need to be a little more cautious.

"Good morning," you whisper. That's a good, safe place to start, right?

Yuuko huffs, then, and strides over to you, muttering, "It shouldn't be this awkward."

Shouldn't—shouldn't, but you know too well that rationality cannot circumvent anxiety.

Watching her progress until you can't see her because she's directly behind you, you wonder if you should go straight to apologies or if you should wait for Yuuko to say what she wants to first or maybe something else that you've overlooked.

Nozomi would know what to do, wouldn't she? You wish she were here. To start, to initiate, to play the opening notes. Yuuko is a looming presence behind you, you can't decide if being unable to see her face is easier or worse, and who will count off the beat to begin?

Hands settle on your shoulders. She takes the decision out of your hands.

"Are you happy?"

It's asked as gently but still blunt as a trumpet, as Yuuko's trumpet can be. Of all the questions, of everything Yuuko could have said, she chose this.

Fidgeting with the ridges and keys of your oboe, you think: almost. Almost, almost, almost. See, you want to explain, your definition of "happy" is an estimate based on what you've seen of others' definitions. A transposition, again, because you don't know if you have ever been truly at ease.

But, but, but content is approximately happy. Its cadences carry you through your tired days.

Happy, you think, is when you are with Nozomi. You're with Nozomi now—with, in more senses than one—so, "Yes."

"Really?"

That's not skepticism in Yuuko's voice. It's not doubt, either, in your ability to make decisions. It's not, it's not, it's not. It's a sharp note, a sharp note according to the reigning key signature; it's worry, worry for you that colors Yuuko's question.

Your hands ache now. You have to blink away the sting of abrupt tears.

"I'm sure," you whisper. Anything louder than that and Yuuko might hear the waver in your voice.

"Mizore." Yuuko's hands squeeze your shoulders, setting them alight. "Be honest with me, Mizore, please."

"Why don't you believe me?" you snap, double sharp—no, triple sharp because this is the wrong key signature, your heartbeat stutters in your throat and it's hard to regulate your movements—why, why, why are you so upset about this?

Slipping her arms around your waist and nestling her chin against your hair, familiar, Yuuko mutters, "That's… not what I meant. Not like that, Mizore." Then, lower, almost-almost-almost whispered, "I'm scared, Mizore, that she'll swallow you whole."

A simple sentence.

It renders you speechless. As if you are not your own person, independent and existing outside of Nozomi and Yuuko.

But. Yuuko has a point, doesn't she? Weren't you a ghost before, and after, Nozomi? Didn't you borrow Yuuko's lungs to suffuse color and sound into your limbs and didn't your passionless oboe and colorless extremities reveal the lie?

Ghost-ghost-ghost.

Pianississimo, her hands tight on your shoulders, "Mizore?"

Who is Mizore without Nozomi?

Who is Mizore without Yuuko?

Flat. A series of flat notes, discordant, dull, without meaning other than a wordless keening plea for help.

Your stomach churns.

That's, that's, that's not who you are. Surely, surely, surely, "That's not true," you protest. Wavering.

You lived without Nozomi—before Yuuko, and before Nozomi, too. You lived. Maybe, maybe, yes, you were sad and lonely and adrift, but you lived. From weekend to weekend, across endless days and heavy nights, but you lived. Who lived through those times, if not you? You exist. Your existence might be, might be, might be lackluster, but—

It's yours.

I believe in you, Nozomi wrote on your sheet music; it's true, yes, it's true you need someone like her in your life to be able to come to life. It's true you look forward to waking up now because she is in your life, because band is no longer a chore, because breathing is so-so-so much easier now.

All that is true.

But you lived. Before. After. You managed. Inch by inch. Second by second. You were—learning, at a glacial pace, feeling out each note as you transposed.

You know a handful of things: you love Nozomi, you love Yuuko, and you can learn. You have been, but you are not, static. Oftentimes you need guidance. You can't deny your melancholic uncertainty as you muddled through your life.

You crane your neck, then, to regard Yuuko. She stares back at you, expectant. Waiting. Listening. You turn in your seat. Her hands loosen to let your shoulders shift, then tighten.

This doesn't-doesn't-doesn't mean you are and will forever be a failure.

You have to transpose, transpose, transpose until you find your key signature, your range, your tempo. Nozomi's flute isn't Yuuko's trumpet isn't your oboe.

Haven't you gotten this far? You can, will, go further.

"Mizore?" Yuuko asks again, but her face softens into a tentative smile from something she sees in your expression.

"I'm myself. Who else can I be?"

"Only yourself," Yuuko agrees. Her hands drop from your shoulders. Her expression… is still troubled, still betrays some unease despite her smile.

Yuuko is your friend. There's nothing to fear from her, so you carefully set down your oboe to pull her into a hug. Your jaw tightens.

Her chin digs into your shoulder, your arms fumble around her, her hands sink into your sweater. You try to convey reassurance through your embrace, only…

There is more.

More you should say, explain, acknowledge.

You—are not blind, no. You are not blind; you just have-have-have a tendency. A tendency. To avoid. To hide. To feign ignorance until you begin to truly believe in the lie.

Which, which, which is your roundabout way of saying, saying that for all of your efforts to make good approximations, you know that sometimes—many times—you, you take the easy way out.

Take the easy way out. As if that explains the entirety of your experiences. You felt sick, so sick at the sound of Nozomi's flute. Does the pain you endured before finally breaking mean nothing? To imply that you give up from the onset is to lie; you wouldn't be a musician at all if you didn't have some measure of persistence.

See? That, right there, is the problem. What you say doesn't always fully encompass what you mean to convey. To someone who does not live in your mind—Yuuko, Nozomi—well, of course they do not know what you know, what you intend to say.

For that, you have to verbalize your thoughts aloud.

Your throat clogs up. You gently disengage from Yuuko.

Remember, remember to take deep breaths.

Even so, your voice breaks when you say, "Yuuko." Your cheeks flush red.

"Mizore," she parrots, cocking an eyebrow at you, looking calmer already. Your eyes dart away, towards the door where Nozomi and Natsuki must be. Yuuko waits as patiently as ever.

You envy Yuuko's composure. Nozomi's, too, and that of everyone else around you (including the first years in band).

But you, you have come this far. You can, and you will, go further. After all, both Yuuko and Nozomi have believed in you.

You can learn to believe in yourself—in time.

"I… I know you're worried, Yuuko." You pause, stop to take a deep breath, reiterate your determination to see this through. You drag your gaze back to Yuuko—obviously, you're not yet at the point where you can play the score by heart.

Frowning again, Yuuko says, "You see it, right? You know what I'm talking about.

"I just didn't want to say anything, not before, but this, this can't be healthy, Mizore. You've changed because of her, not of your own accord! I know—" Yuuko inhales deeply, and then, calando she continues, "I know you're yourself, Mizore, but you're dependent on her."

"…And you," you point out through the blockade in your throat. Yuuko blinks, her expression simultaneously furious and gratified.

Nodding, Yuuko concedes.

"I know I am, but, Yuuko… I'm not like you." Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. "It takes me… longer… to… find my place. If we'd never reconciled, I would've gotten there… eventually.

"I promise, Yuuko. One day, I will stand on my own."

When Yuuko hugs you this time, your entire being relaxes.

You live, are yourself, find happiness, and learn—

In your own way.

a/n:

I'm blown away by everyone's support - so much so that I think I spent longer than I should have trying to make this perfect, haha. But it's alright; I'm very glad to see that so many found themselves reflected in the first chapter. I hope this second part wraps up the story well.

Shout out to Maaqss for leaving me an essay for a review! It really made my day :') And to everyone else, too, for their support! It means a lot to me.

Speaking of reviews, I swear I'll get around eventually to replying to them. I've just been so busy and scatterbrained and trying to keep myself afloat (it's been a long quarter) that I haven't had the energy yet.

Please do tell me if there are things you think I could've done better, or if you have questions, etc. I'm always up for some constructive criticism.