Chapter Text
Ring, ring, ring.
Ring.
Ring, ring, ring.
Izumi fishes out a hand from the comforter and slams it down on her phone. The horrible ringing is silenced with a vicious stab of her thumb against the power button.
Against her belly, Kimchi stretches out underneath the blankets. Warm fur brushes against her bare stomach, tickling her. There’s a small mewl as Kimchi yawns and then the long sigh of death as she settles back down for her second nap of the morning.
Izumi, meanwhile, opens her eyes.
The white ceiling above her is fuzzy and gets fuzzier with each blink until she musters the strength to rub at her eyes. As she lies there, not willing to get up just yet, she can’t help but miss the knock on the door that usually accompanied her alarm on any given school morning. It’s been a while now since Chikage last stayed at her place, though.
Izumi rolls over and yawns, stretching her arms over her head. As comfortable as her bed is, she has to get up and get moving. She half-stands from the bed and half-slides out of it. Her journey to the bathroom is just as treacherous. She barely makes it, and she twists her shower tap on. The pipes of the house creak and squeal as the tank pressurizes.
As she waits for the shower to warm up, she brushes her teeth and scrutinizes her face in the mirror. There are a few pimples on the side of her face that she usually sleeps on. Maybe, it’s getting time to wash her pillowcase again.
The shower wakes her up a little.
By the time she’s out, she’s feeling much more excited at the prospect of seeing all her band kids again. Not that she hasn’t seen any of them over the short, spring interlude between school-years. Kazunari and Misumi came over once to play with Kimchi. Sakuya’s come over several times for Masumi. But many of the others, Izumi hasn’t seen for two weeks now.
In the kitchen, Izumi readies the coffee pot. Like every morning since Chikage moved out, instead of pouring herself a mug from the already-brewed pot, she has to go through the whole process of finding the coffee filters and measuring the coffee grounds : filling the machine with water and plugging it in before flicking the power button. The machine sputters to life, struggling after ten-odd years of being used relentlessly.
While that starts up, Izumi goes to wake Masumi.
She knocks first, of course. Then, upon hearing no response from inside, she cracks the door a smidge and calls, “Masumi? It’s time.”
But he’s dead to the world. Only the smallest amount of his dark hair pokes out from the comforter.
Izumi pushes the door open wider and makes for the windows. She has vivid memories of her mother doing this very same technique with her when she was younger, and so she pulls the curtains aside to allow the sun into the room.
From the bed, there’s an angry groan before the lump in the sheets rolls over.
“Morning,” she says. “What can I get you for breakfast?”
“… Don’t wan’ breakfast.”
“Toast,” Izumi nods, “understood.”
If Masumi’s still awake, he doesn’t respond. Izumi figures she’ll leave him there for the time being.
She returns to the kitchen. She pours herself a mug of coffee and drinks it, staring out of the window over her sink, before she inhales deeply and sighs. Time to start breakfast.
Masumi gets ready with all the speed of a sloth, but they manage to get out the door at the right time. He’s still yawning, but Izumi has lost all her drowsiness.
The possibilities for this school-year are running through her head at the speed of light. What if the band doesn’t get any new recruits? What if it gets more than she’s equipped to teach all at once? Will she have any troublemakers this year, either in her band club or in her general studies classes?
In her hands, she carries some of the instrument equipment that she let her students use last year and plans to offer them again. The clarinet – graciously partially funded by Taichi’s mother – that Banri practices with. The oboe she wanted to bring in all of last year and never got the chance to.
New instruments means new opportunities, and Izumi’s never been particularly patient. She wants the morning meetings to be over already, so she can get to teaching.
They arrive at the same time as one of the geography teachers, who eyes Masumi without saying a word. Izumi is very glad when he ambles off without calling any attention to their walking together. Masumi changes his shoes, while Izumi waits in her socks.
“You should check the homeroom board,” she suggests, nodding her head to where the bulletin’s been pinned to the wall. “I can open the band room for us once I grab my keys and sign in.”
Masumi shrugs, still too tired for verbal communication, and heads for the bulletin.
Izumi digs her school flats out of her bag and steps into them before bee-lining for the staff room herself. It’s a thin crowd, but there are still more people in the room than there usually are at this hour. That’s what the anticipation of the first day of school does to people, even teachers. Everyone wants to be somewhat on their A-game.
Most notably of the people in the staff room who are usually not there before seven is Matsukawa. Iwai must’ve dragged him in. Both his socks are mismatched, and his tie is horribly crooked. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sharp edge of a razor since the school-year ended in March.
“Morning,” she greets him, nevertheless. She tosses her bag, with her wallet and house keys and books, down roughly onto her desk and sets the instrument cases down on her swivel chair. “How long’ve you been here?”
“Too long,” he yawns, straightening up in his chair. “Tetsuro wanted to leave at six this morning. I barely convinced him to settle for six thirty.”
“That must’ve been really tough for you. Good work.”
He chortles at her sarcasm. “Eh, it wasn’t all bad. Got to check the stage and rafters before the sports club kids got here.”
“I thought morning clubs were canceled for today?”
“Eh. Tell that to Yuzo.”
And, speak of the devil, Kashima comes rolling into the staff room : reeking of sweat, grass stains covering his white exercise shirt. Izumi avoids eye-contact out of force of habit. Kashima taught here when she was still a high-schooler, and she’ll never fully recover from her gym classes with him.
Thankfully, he seems much more interested in fetching his water bottle from his desk than chatting to anyone. He heads back out the door with a wave to Matsukawa, who bravely returns it.
“Some people never change,” Matsukawa sighs wistfully. “Yuzo still smells of sweat in the mornings, Tetsuro still refuses to talk to me when he’s angry, and you’re still a nerd. That’s the beauty of Mankai.”
“I’m still a nerd?” Izumi repeats, a little offended. “Matsukawa-san, you wear checkered bowties on Wednesdays to celebrate hump-day.”
Matsukawa leans back in his chair, smirking.
He seems utterly disinclined to respond to what Izumi just said. She rolls her eyes.
“How’re you feeling about the theatre club?” she changes the topic. “You had a lot of third-years graduate last month, right?”
“That we did,” Matsukawa sighs. “It’s always tough seeing them go. But I hear Rurikawa has a sister who’s joining this year. Hoping I can swindle her to follow in her sister’s footsteps and be my next soprano lead. I’ve already picked out a selection of plays for the kids to vote on. Having a new soprano understudy would really pull things together.”
“Ah,” Izumi replies intelligently. “Here’s to hoping, then.”
“And what about you? Missing your third-years yet?”
Izumi smiles. “You have no idea,” she replies honestly.
She excuses herself from the staff lounge after a little more small-talk with Matsukawa. The vice-principle wanders over for a ‘chat’ with her about the band club’s volume level for the upcoming year, and Izumi makes all sorts of promises she doesn’t intend to keep. Then, she has her instruments and bag in-hand, and she heads for the band wing.
She runs into Masumi on the way, who’s waiting for her at the entrance to the courtyard.
“Hey,” she greets. “You see which homeroom you’re in?”
“2-A.”
But he doesn’t look happy about it at all.
“I take it Sakuya’s not in 2-A?” she guesses.
“2-B.”
“Ah, tough luck. You’ll still see each other in-between classes.”
“I guess.”
“Anyone else you know in your homeroom, then?”
Masumi hesitates, then grimaces. “Banri.”
“That it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the cookie could’ve crumbled worse.”
“Not really.”
“You could’ve shared a homeroom with Tsuzuru,” she reminds him. “And we all know Citron barges into Tsuzuru’s homeroom as a hobby. You’d never have a minute to yourself, without your fellow trumpets there.”
He physically shudders at the thought.
“You’d be a good horror writer.”
“If I didn’t make it as a high-school band director, that would’ve been my Plan B for sure.”
She unlocks the band room door and pulls it open for them both. The wood and metal squeak as they move, evidently not having been budged since the last time she came into work.
Inside, the band room smells stale and yet clean.
Empty.
She drops her things off at her desk as Masumi settles into his usual spot in the third row.
In the silence, there’s something like rhythm. She pulls out her electric kettle from the box she’d stored it in – hidden it in, more accurately – over the short break between school years. She plugs it into the wall socket half-hidden behind her desk and busies herself with starting it up. It’s the first pot of the new school-year, which is an occasion, and she listens to the harmony of Masumi’s chair creaking under his weight and the quiet hiss of the water beginning to heat and steam.
She doesn’t have to ask any more if Masumi would like a cup.
Until she buys a percolator and starts hand-pressing coffee in the band room, he’ll always reject her offers. Firmly a coffee person : no tea allowed. And he loathes drip-bags, even though Izumi can’t taste the difference between drip and pour-over for squat.
So, she brews only her own cup of tea and drinks it as she settles in with her student roster. Circles names that she’ll want students to clarify the pronunciation of. Tries to commit their faces to memory as best she can, so that it’ll be easier for her to remember them later.
It’s just the two of them until the bell rings, and then they’re due to head down to the gymnasium for the entrance ceremony.
The entrance ceremony is as utterly uninteresting as any other that Banri’s attended.
At least, it isn’t as bad as the dry speeches they gave at his private school : where the principals would espouse bullshit about school unity and pushing students towards success. Those could take up to an hour to get through.
Here, the student representative for the third-years gives a short speech on the hard work that the student council will put in this year, and the principals give their own vague espousal of staying committed to school values.
Two new instructors are named. Begrudging acknowledgment is given to the band club for attending Veludo Expo last year ; they’re encouraged to continue their hard work. Despite the sugary words, not even a flicker of happiness or pride crosses the admins’ faces. The Director, standing off to the side of the room, has her plastic smile on.
She catches Banri staring and winks conspiratorially. He chuckles, gets an elbow from the guy next to him, and settles down.
But otherwise, Banri spends the rest of the ceremony thinking back on the commute to Mankai High this morning.
It was the first time, after all, that Kumon was also putting on a uniform for Mankai High and joining them on the eastbound side of the platform. They walked the entire way together, from the very first step out the door to finding their shoe lockers inside the foyer of the school building.
To say it was a headache and a half would be the understatement of the fucking decade.
How many times, this morning, did Banri have to listen to snitty little comments about how much better it would be if it were just Hyodo and Kumon alone : if Banri weren’t also there, tagging along, as if he’s some annotation to the main text that can get erased from the margins.
Their mom was the first to warn Kumon to knock it off. Hyodo echoed the same during their walk.
Banri knows better than to think that Kumon will listen to either of them.
Whatever war started when Kumon saw Banri kiss his brother, it isn’t ending any time soon.
In fact, even as the ceremony draws to a close and the students begin to filter out, heading to their homerooms, Banri scans the crowd for a glimpse of the kid. He finds the familiar mop of purple hair disappearing out the doors with Muku by his side.
Hyodo is nearby, too, talking with Taichi as they head out to their shared homeroom.
The only person Banri knows well in his homeroom is Masumi, but Masumi without Sakuya is a recipe for the silent treatment, so he doesn’t even bother searching for the guy.
All for the better, really, it turns out. Masumi’s already in their classroom by the time Banri gets there.
The rest of their homeroom files in steadily, tail-ended by their teacher. And, then, the usual start-of-year itinerary begins.
Banri just wants it to be the end of the day already. Sitting down with the Director over a cup of her contraband tea and shooting the shit sounds excellent right now.
“Alright, Misumi, can you move the xylophone with Itaru? And Banri, you and Citron can handle the gong. Be careful with it, please. Omi, I’ll let you handle the chimes. And as for the timpani… Taichi, how about we move that together?”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Izumi rounds the timpani to begin unlocking its wheels, but she keeps a damn close eye on Citron and Banri as they move the gong. She trusts them, she does… she promises. But she keeps an eye on them, all the same.
She and Taichi are just locking the timpani back down when the band room’s door slides open.
Hoping it’s not school admin, Izumi glances up. And, thankfully, it’s just Tsuzuru. Along with a first-year that could not more clearly be his brother.
Izumi straightens her back and beams. She’d heard that one of the Minagi crew would be joining the school this year, and she’d figured he’d join the band at one point or another, based on what she’s heard about the family. But it’s still so exciting, having a new member already join them even before the club fair’s happened.
“Tsuzuru!” she waves him over. “Glad you could make it!”
“Of course,” he responds, which is more flattering than he probably realizes. “Sorry I’m late, I ran into Miyoshi-san on the way over.”
Kazunari : who’d already informed her that he’d be busy with the Art Club until the club fair on Friday. She gave him a free pass on club duties until then.
“No worries!” she brushes the apology off. “Is this your brother?”
“Kaoru,” Tsuzuru introduces, taking a half-step off to the side.
“Nice to meet you,” Kaoru completes, bowing lightly.
Of course, everyone in the Minagi family is polite. She wonders – only half-jokingly – if it’s genetic.
“Welcome in! We’re so happy to have you! Whatever instrument you’d like, it’s yours.”
An embarrassed, polite smile rewards her enthusiasm.
“I’ll think about it,” he promises.
Tsuzuru, at his side, nudges him with his elbow. “Kaoru’s been on the trumpet just as long as I have, he’d be an excellent addition. He’s also played french horn for his middle school the past two years.”
“I’ve been meaning to try trombone for the past few years,” Kaoru adds. “Though I guess that could be troublesome, to have yet another beginner in the band.”
“Not at all! Almost everyone was a beginner last year, it’ll be no more bothersome if most everyone’s a beginner again this year. Besides, both our french horn and trombone positions are completely open right now, so you’d be doing us a huge favor if you pick up one of the two, no matter which one it ends up being.”
“I should talk you into french horn,” Tsuzuru mutters half to himself. “God knows who’ll inherit Homare’s position if you don’t take it.”
Izumi smiles weakly.
She sincerely doubts anyone could give Homare a run for his money, no matter how outrageous they are.
Judging from the small laugh Kaoru gives, he’s no doubt heard plenty of stories.
“KAORU!”
From Izumi’s left, a blur of movement comes flying past her and tackles Kaoru nearly down to the floor. For a relatively scrawny kid, Kaoru somehow manages to remain upright, albeit after a few steps backwards. By then, the once-blur-of-motion has become recognizably a person.
“It’s been so long!” Misumi laughs, crushing the Minagi brother to his chest. “Kaoru is so grown-up now!”
“Hey, Misumi-san,” Kaoru wheezes out.
A new body joins their small group. “Hey, Kaoru,” Omi smiles warmly. “You look like you’ve been eating well. Recent growth spurt?”
“He shot up six centimeters during spring break,” Tsuzuru brags.
And yet he’s still so short, Izumi thinks to herself.
Well, not that she has any room to judge. She’s long since lost her chance to hit even 157cm.
“OH!” a gasp from the band room entrance has them all swivel. Citron comes skipping in, his eyes alit with joy. “Kaoru is here already?! Tsuzuru, you should have told me!”
Citron tackles Kaoru from the back, effectively sandwiching the poor kid between himself and Misumi.
“This is exactly why I didn’t,” Tsuzuru sighs, but he makes no move to free his brother.
“Kazu is gonna be so happy,” Misumi croons. “He was telling me this morning about how excited he was to have you join us!”
“Is he not here?” Kaoru glances around.
Tsuzuru shrugs. “Art club, I guess.”
“I gave him the week off,” Izumi confirms. “But he’ll be back with us starting next week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”
By now, the rest of the club is starting to peer over at them. Their little group has transformed into the heart of the band room in no time at all.
So much so that, when Banri steps into the room, he takes one look at them and quips, “What, is this a town meeting or something?” But he joins them with an easy-going smile and claps Kaoru on the shoulder, barely missing Citron’s face along the way. “Nice to meet’cha, name’s Settsu Banri. You’re Tsuzuru’s brother?”
“Y- Yeah,” Kaoru coughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Settsu-san. I’m Kaoru.”
“Ah, don’t use that ‘san’ crap with me,” Banri smiles. “Just call me Banri.”
“R- Right.”
“Alright,” Tsuzuru cuts in, pulling Citron away from Kaoru by his pits. “Give him some room, you guys. You look pathetic.”
“Boo,” Misumi pouts, but he also takes a step back.
Kaoru visibly catches his breath, rubbing his shoulder. Citron, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to latch onto Tsuzuru instead. After a small fight, it becomes clear Tsuzuru won’t be able to pry Citron off any time soon.
“Ugh!” he snaps. “Whatever. Kaoru, I should introduce you to everyone else, too.” He turns abruptly towards Juza, whose expression turns from curious to immediately shy. “Kaoru, this is Juza, he’s in the clarinets section.”
“… ‘ey,” is all Juza mumbles quietly.
Banri chuckles quietly.
“Itaru-san is in the flutes section with Banri,” Tsuzuru gestures to Itaru, who had followed Misumi in earlier. “He’s our club treasurer this year. Oh, uh, yeah, speaking of which, Omi-san is our vice president and Misumi-san is our president.”
Misumi beams brightly, while Omi and Itaru cough in embarrassment.
“Miyoshi-san’s the secretary, but don’t let him boss you around,” Tsuzuru continues swiftly. “If he gives you any trouble, come to me straight away and-”
Kaoru chuckles a little. “You don’t need to use me as an excuse to talk to him, y’know.”
Citron chortles with laughter, while Tsuzuru turns red.
“That’s not- I did not- Anyway!” Tsuzuru points firmly at Taichi. “Taichi’s our lower brass.” And now he stabs a finger at Sakuya. “And Sakuya’s our bass clarinet.”
“Hi!” Sakuya chirps with a wave.
Meanwhile, Masumi crosses his arms with a scowl. “Why didn’t I get introduced?”
“What?” Tsuzuru squints. “Kaoru already knows you. You’re in my section.”
Masumi stares him down in stony silence. Tsuzuru groans.
“Kaoru, this is Masumi. Masumi, Kaoru. There. Happy?”
“Not really.”
Tsuzuru hisses through his teeth. Kaoru smiles, shoulders softening with something like genuine comfort.
“How ‘bout once we get the room all situated,” Banri offers, “we go out altogether? Ice cream, anyone?”
“It’s not that hot out,” Citron protests. “Let’s do karaoke.”
“We’re not bringing the Director with us to karaoke,” Tsuzuru sighs. “We wouldn’t even all fit into one room together.”
“Ohh, barbecue, then!”
“Pick something we can afford!”
“How about,” Izumi interrupts, “we finish up the band room, and then I’ll treat everyone to that old-timey diner near the station? They have a few large-group booth seats we can squeeze into.”
“Hell yeah!” Banri cheers. “Drinks are on the Director!”
Izumi’s smile weakens. She dearly hopes none of the other faculty are near the band wing right now.
Underneath the cheers of Citron and Banri, Tsuzuru’s sigh is long-suffering.