Quiet Me for Nozomi/Mizore or Haruka/Kaori
(i’m going to do something crazy and…….write both…..)
Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]
“listen, hey, mizore, it’s alright, really.” it was a late summer afternoon, the two girls sitting in a park with instruments in their laps, forgotten for the moment. mizore pressed her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible and failing, due in part to nozomi’s presence. she could never feel small with nozomi - the other girl made her feel big, more than herself, like she could do anything. she wasn’t a fool, she knew that the world wasn’t kind enough to fix everything just because she had a wonderful friend who might be more, but it was peaceful moments like these that she had grown to treasure.
it was peaceful moments like these that made her long for middle school, before anything and everything felt fraught with tension.
“i refused to talk to you,” mizore muttered. “i didn’t even listen to your side of the story for over a year! why aren’t you mad?”
“do you think i could ever be mad at you, mizore?” nozomi leaned on mizore’s shoulder, an awkward position for the taller girl, and mizore flinched at the sudden contact.
“if i had just talked to you, if i had just stopped for once and-”
“the past is done, mizore. do you think i’d have quit the band back then if i knew what’d happen? we still have the future, mizore. we still have another year.” mizore wanted her to stop talk, to stop saying her name like that, so softly and intimately, because she didn’t deserve it and- “and you still have me.” nozomi gently smiled, radiant and warm, and mizore sat for a moment, unsure of what she could say. “you don’t have to say anything, you know,” and it was as if nozomi had read her mind, and so the two of them sat on the hill with instruments held in their hands once again, speaking with music and shared glances.
“do you think i don’t know that?!” haruka snapped, clutching the songbook to her chest. “and why are you talking like she’s dead? she’s just quit the club, i’m sure that she’s fine!”
“she quit?” kaori stepped back, gripping a nearby shelf to keep her footing.
“w-well, yes, that’s what i’ve heard, but she’ll come back, won’t she?”
“she quit. you said it yourself.” haruka sank to the floor, the mask of the president crumpling along with the book in her arms. “are you alright?”
“kaori, i can’t- i can’t do this alone.” kaori crouched beside her, rubbing circles on haruka’s back.
“you’re not alone,” she murmured. “you have me, and the rest of the band.”
“she should’ve been the president! i’m just a figurehead, i don’t know how to lead anyone- i’m a follower. i’m a follower, kaori, and now i have to lead everyone right before nationals and i’m so … god, i’m so scared.” the tears had started to fall as soon as haruka spoke, but they fell in huge blobs now, staining the carpet and her skirt and her saxophone strap.
“i’m here,” kaori said, holding her in a fragile hug, afraid of holding her too close. she couldn’t comfort her with much more than that, not at the moment.
