A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, e50 – write about gaining an understanding for something.

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An Underwater Concert

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They bled. Midori's fingers on the contrabass. Her own nose and throat with the euphonium. And though they didn't see any blood leave Reina, they saw her: pale, almost white, under the sun, and knew she was bleeding for her craft as well.

They had all been swept up in that fever, that desire to transcend their current limitations and obtain the perfection they sought, the perfection that was demanded of them, that they couldn't quite attain.

But now she was bleeding without a cause. Taki-sensei's voice still echoed in her ears. The accumulation of her failure. The proof that passing the audition was not enough. The proof that she had to go further, had to try harder –

And remembering how Reina had played on the roof every day after school, she knew there was nobody to blame but herself in having begun too late.

But still, that rejection teared at her soul.

And she cried. She cried both tears and blood because she couldn't bring herself to put brakes on that fervour, that feverish practice even if she'd fallen short of the goal. Too little, too late – wiser words never said, she thought bitterly, and she only wished she could have understood earlier.

Blood slipped over her upper lip and kissed both, and there was still a stain on her tongue. It would be worse if she coughed, she knew. Water was what she needed. Water to wash it down.

Water like the tears flooding from her eyes, from her wailing heart and the hands trying to grip something to keep her upright, even though that dream had slipped away. She gripped the bridge rails: saw the sparkling water down below. Sparkling like the music she'd fell in love with, like the sounds she'd fallen in love with again.

She hadn't even thanked Reina for that performance, for that spark that lit the fire of her love again.

But it hurt so badly now that she was relieved she hadn't. She could blame instead. Blame for these tears. Blame for this blood. Blame for this pain.

She gripped the rails tighter. Its roughened bits bit into her palms under the guise of well-worn vanish. But she was a musician. A fraud, perhaps; a pretender: passed the auditions but couldn't keep up with the demand. But she was a musician nonetheless. She could feel the texture, just like she could hear the notes in her head: of that piece she tried so hard to reproduce –

But she failed. Again and again she failed. And now there was no more chance for failure. Just a spiral to continue on.

Her euphonium was a heavy weight on her back and she set it down. The rail glistened: dark, transparent, like rib shadows obscuring the beautiful flow of blood. Ultrasound was like a music; that's what her sister said. Her sister that seemed to grow further and further away, the close she got to her euphonium. And now, after taking in sweat and blood and tears, there was a barrier again. And she couldn't lose all that; she couldn't.

She slumped down and set the euphonium in her lap. It played badly like that; she knew she needed a chair, that height. But there was only the rail, digging into her back. The rail, casting shadows on the river water beyond.

Her eyes drifted back and forth. Her euphonium, a dull gold in the evening's last rays of sun. The water: a sparking blue – and she needed water. Her nose still bled. Her throat was still raw and she wouldn't be surprised if it had started to bleed again as well. But the euphonium was an accumulation of too much. And the rail her stability –

She pulled herself up and then sat on the rail. The top was wide. Enough to hold her, even when she struggled to pull the euphonium to her height.

But once it rested on her lap again, the position was right. And the water was there: that wide, infinite expanse. Her potential. Where she's sought to reach. The sun was starting to set as well. In an hour, maybe less, the almost full moon would be reflected in those depths.

She brought the mouthpiece to her lips and began to play.

She knew the piece by heart: how it should sound, where she needed to move her fingers, catch her breath, give pause – and though it was better from the ground, it was still poor. Worse than the performance that had been silenced mid-way. Worse than all that practise that had never reached the height she'd struggled toward.

The euphonium slipped in her hands and she grabbed it, leaning precariously forward. A wave of dizziness washed over her and a drop of blood missed the handkerchief in her lap and fell. For a moment she saw the precious instrument, studded in the muck of her toil, falling into the water. She saw it washing all that way, like it didn't matter, like it had never mattered –

And then her fingers loosened and it did fall – and her legs and seat unwound in the same movement and she was falling after it.

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Pathetic, her sister sneered. She didn't understand. Nor did her parents. Or the doctors. They talked about stress. They talked about unhealthy tendencies. About self-harm and suicide and all those were far from the mark. They talked about how she should quit the band, cut down on practice. Maybe change equipment. Or leave the music industry entirely. Abandon her precious euphonium, newly baptised and tucked away at the school.

But only Midori and Hazuki had come. She was hoping for Asuka. Or Reina. Especially Reina.

Now she understood why Reina had cried so bitterly the year before. Why she'd practised so hard. Sweated so hard. Bled so hard.

Kumiko understood – but now she had to wait an entire year to be able to reach for the fruits again. And could she really? She saw the sacrifice, the cost. She saw the self-imposed isolation. The scars cut into time and time again until they couldn't get through the scabs anymore. Could she do that? Did she love the euphonium that much? Did she love the band that much? The music? The want for success?

Would she rather feel that cold, detached space that was under the river water? That distant place where it didn't matter how well she did. How well anyone did? That distant person who could not care if they made it to the Nationals or not, if they won or not, if she even played or not. The one who could just be swayed like a blade of grass in the wind or in the water. Could she be that person? Could she become her sister? The person who'd thrown it all away and become a bitter fruit in a basket of otherwise sweet, delectable, treats.

She wanted her euphonium. Even if she wasn't to play it, she wanted to see it, dripping, shining –

Rusting.

Her sister hadn't even done that for her. Her poor euphonium. She sent everyone into a frenzy because of it but it looked like Midori and Hazuki were a tiny bit relieved. They surprised her. 'You look happy,' they said. They said she looked happy in a hospital gown recovering in the hospital from pneumonia and missing the competition.

Reina walked in when she was crying from the absurdity of it all. A part of Kumiko wondered if Reina had done that on purpose, but that was absurd as well. The blood they shed, the understanding they'd reached – they were chains tying them together but that was a level of intertwinement neither would ever achieve with another person. No such chain existed.

'Your euphonium needs cleaning,' Reina said calmly, looking at the instrument on the desk. It wasn't lustful, shining, like how Kumiko had imagined it after the water. It had been baptised, yes, but not properly cared for thereafter. And Kumiko had only cleaned it a little after she'd gotten it back.

She nodded. She knew it did and somehow it was easier to think about all that wasted effort as a stepping stone towards the future with Reina there. Because Reina had worked hard. Reina who had cried so bitterly over their loss last year had now obtained the solo: the pinnacle of this new band. Reina knew. Reina understood.

Or, rather, it was Kumiko who now understood.

Kumiko swung her legs off the bed and sat near the euphonium, grabbing the oil and a cloth.

Reina let a small smile flicker across her face, then said: 'When we got that dud gold last year, I ran.'

Kumiko paused.

'Up the hills. Higher and higher until I could barely breathe. But I wanted to go even higher. I wanted to reach the top of the tallest mountain and play my trumpet there and make everyone look up me: that special person, that star in the sky.'

'I saw the water,' Kumiko said softly. 'I hadn't understood why you cried last year, but now I do. And the water was so beautiful. Sparkling. And yet so distant and cold. I was that distant and cold. But I love the euphonium.'

'You love the euphonium,' Reina repeated. 'Then don't abandon it.'

'I'm not.' Kumiko wrapped her arms around it, oil and all. 'I won't.' It was easy to say, but to follow through. 'But all that work… And I couldn't play it, and when I lost that chance I thought I'd die it hurt so much…'

'You told me you will play that piece, Oumae-chan.'

Both girls snapped up to the voice. To Taki-sensei at the door. Reina lost her composure for a breath before she replaced her mask. Kumiko's cheeks flushed a deep, unhealthy red on her still pale, tear-tracked, skin.

Taki-sensei smiled lightly. 'You're looking well.' He placed the flowers he carried on a table. 'From the band.'

They were bright flowers: fresh, aching for the sun and for water. But she knew what happened to flowers when they were drenched. Their colour bled. Their vibrancy bled. They became waterlogged.

'Did I become waterlogged?' she wondered aloud, staring at the flowers and their fresh, bright, petals.

Had it been anyone else they would have been bemused, but both visitors understood. 'Perhaps,' And there was a serious glint in Taki-sensei's eyes as he said that. 'But when you love your instrument, and your music, enough to feel such pain when you fail it, don't you think you can wring yourself dry and reach it?' He considered a moment, then added: 'It was one rehearsal, Oumae-chan. I trust you'll be returning next week?'

Next week, Kumiko thought. One week before the competition.

One week before the competition…

And she suddenly processed the rest of what Taki-sensei had said. 'You mean –?'

He nodded. Kumiko felt tears burn her cheeks again and she almost laughed. 'Look; I still have tears left.'

And blood. She still had blood too.

But first was the euphonium: its true baptism. And peace.

'Reina?' Taki-sensei had left by then. 'Can you play your trumpet?'

And she noticed the beads of sweat roll down Reina's neck as she played, and imagined her running with her trumpet, running up the tallest mountain in the world and playing, being special.

And she smiled and continued cleaning and polishing her euphonium, imagining herself sitting on a bridge at the bottom of the ocean with her euphonium, the music spreading to the surface coaxing everyone to gaze down.