Symphonies of Friends and Sonatas of Rivals

by jello12451

Summary:

Techno raised an eyebrow to his stand partner. “So.”

Dream scowled. “Shut up.”

Techno shrugged and stood up, violin in hand. A very expensive violin, Dream might add. It was one of the top tier instruments in the country.

Then again, the best was always reserved for the best. And loathe as Dream was to admit it, Technoblade certainly was one of the best violinists in the generation. Perhaps /the/ best.

For some reason, Dream took that as a personal challenge. So here they were.

OR: In which Technoblade is a violin prodigy without a lot of time left, Dream is a frustrated rival, and I take too much inspiration from Your Lie in April. Oh, and the rest of the gang's here too.

Notes:

• For Aria_Cinabun.

Hi
If you have no idea who I am, I'm jello12451 and this work is unbeta'd. I edited it though, so hopefully there aren't any flagrant mistakes.
If you know what I mean by "inspiration from Your Lie in April", well... I haven't exactly decided on that bit yet. Maybe yes, maybe no.
So basically I just went "I need more music conservatory AUs" and this came out. I can't guarantee any specific posting schedule, but I'll try my best to update every friday.
Thank you to Aria_Cinabun for getting me stuck in this fandom
Edit: I've done it! If you don't understand any musical references, go to the next work in this series! That's the technical version lol

Chapter 1: Carmen: Overture

The baton came down.

Energetic notes sprang forth from the violins and flutes, clarinets and oboes supporting with the same rhythm as the rest of the orchestra played eighth note after eighth note, making way for the melody’s lively tune. Technoblade smirked as he rattled off the notes on his violins, E string ringing out with the rest of the section, glancing briefly at his struggling desk partner, Dream, as his fingers moved of their own accord.

Soon enough, the rest of the woodwinds made way for the flute, leaving Niki to take the spotlight even as the rest of the violins continued to play the melody. Her deft tongue played around with the notes as she reveled in the joys of being first flute, and too soon, the main theme was coming back with a great crescendo, leaving most of the orchestra to take the melody once more.

Suddenly, Harvey was playing all alone with his fellow trombones as well as a few trumpets, rhythmically taking two bars for themselves before the strings came back in the well-known melody of Toreador.

George couldn’t help but grin as he, a viola, finally got a chance to play the main line and not just accompaniment. Sure, he was joined with the other strings, and rolled his eyes when Sapnap fought a laugh from the second violins’ first desk, but he was happy and cherished this moment.

Phil smiled softly as the rest of the woodwinds ghosted their appearance with a few triplets, and then came back in with grand fanfare (literally) as everyone fought to be heard in the organized cacophony of noise. He paid the chaos no attention, and fought a wider smile when he saw Wilbur’s distressed expression from the clarinet section. He made a note to push him to practice, later. 

From the bass section, Ant tried not to sulk as he continued to play accompaniment for the rest of the orchestra. Of course bass were useless, and only there to play when the cellos weren’t available. It’s fine. He’ll get his revenge later.

Toreador ended with a flourish of notes as the main theme came back once more. However, the ending was abrupt.

Tense beats followed as all eyes were on the Professor’s baton.

It came down again.

The violins and violas responded with soft tremolo, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. Badboyhalo breathed in deeply and led the cello section into the ominous melody of fate. The basses continued to pluck in the background, adding to the atmosphere.

The melody went higher, and higher, and higher, tension increasing (and the woodwinds were running out of breath but that wasn’t important ) and the violins and violas’ tremolos were getting louder and louder, and then-

And suddenly, everything cut off with an unresolved chord.

Silence.

More silence.

Even more suffocating silence. 

Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, the entire orchestra let out a collective sigh of relief. The woodwinds took some deep breaths in as the violinists removed their violin from under their chin. Everything seemed fine.

Until the conductor started giving feedback.

“Wilbur.”

The clarinetist groaned, knowing his fate was inevitable.

“Bar 75, beat 2. Doesn’t look so good.”

The man buried his head in his arms after setting down his clarinet on the stand, cheeks burning with embarrassment from being called on.

Sapnap snickered at Wilbur’s expense.

“And Sapnap.”

The violinist froze.

“See to it that you look at the concertmaster and note down the bowings.”

The violinist in question shrank back, George laughing silently beside him even after Sapnap shot him a glare. Dream just looked on fondly at their antics.

“Dismissed.”

Almost immediately, there were rustles as everyone started to put away their instruments, scrambling to secure practice rooms. Sapnap made it out first, mostly fueled by embarrassment and the determination to beat George, who made it out second. 

Techno raised an eyebrow to his stand partner. “So.”

Dream scowled. “Shut up.”

Techno shrugged and stood up, violin in hand. A very expensive violin, Dream might add. It was one of the top tier instruments in the country.

Then again, the best was always reserved for the best. And loathe as Dream was to admit it, Technoblade certainly was one of the best violinists in the generation. Perhaps the best.

For some reason, Dream took that as a personal challenge. So here they were.

But no matter how much he practiced, he would always be behind. Technoblade is a prodigy, after all.

The violinist in question had already packed up and wiped down his violin. He had one hand on his case and the other hand waved at him mockingly. “See you around, nerd.”

Dream scowled again and raced after him, hoping that it wasn’t too late to get a practice room.

~

“I hate this.”

“Mood.”

“Shut up, Dream. It’s not like you weren’t taking a beating today either.”

“Well, Sapnap, you’re a second violin, and I’m a first. My mistakes are justified.”

“Not nearly. You didn’t practice much, did you?”

“Well, not Bizet- ”

“Yeah, yeah. And I didn’t practice Bizet either-”

“-but at least I did well enough on Don Juan.”

Sapnap heaved a deep sigh as he stared forlornly at his music sheets, scribbles filling the page. “You know, I hate Strauss.”

“Moo- Actually, I can’t say anything either.”

“Exactly.”

The two violinists lapsed into comfortable silence. Well, figurative silence, because Sapnap’s screeches were anything but silence.

Then again, a violinist’s practice session is never fun to listen to.

Seriously, the movies should do better.

“Oh my gods, what the heck is that?” Dream said, aghast.

Sapnap sniffed. “It’s my fingering.”

“It’s an abomination. ”

“No, it’s not.”

“Oh my gods-” Dream marched up to his music stand and scribbled in a few fingerings, crossing out the original. “There. I can’t believe you’re a section leader.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes before putting his violin under his chin again. “Well, to be fair, I’m not exactly expected to help them.” His eyes lit up when the next attempt, although still horrible, came out okay. “Dream! You’re a genius!”

Dream snorted. “No, that’s Technoblade.”

“Fair.” Sapnap amended.

“Go back to Bizet.”

“But it’s so boring and there’s nothing to play. ”

“You’re playing with me, and you’ll be watching my bowing. For every bow you mess up, I’m taking a piece of your chocolate stash.”

“Dreammmmm.” Sapnap whined. “Can I not. ”

Dream shrugged nonchalantly. “You can either play Bizet, or we can have fun with Bolero. Ravel wrote that piece pretty well for rhythm control-”

“Okay, fine! Bizet!”

Dream smirked in victory as he picked up his own violin.

~

“You look tired.” Bad noted.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, George, you look terrible. Bad practice session?”

“Haha, funny.” the violist retorted. “But yeah.” He sighed as he plopped down on their dorm couch, running his fingers through his hair. “I hate viola.”

“No, you don’t.” Bad sad in a matter-of-fact tone, still fingering his concerto on the fingerboard.

George raised his eyebrows. “Which piece?”

“Prokofiev.”

“Sinfonia Concertante?”

“Ugh.” Bad groaned. “It’s so annoying.” What followed was a series of high notes that sounded like they were being tortured from the cello. To be fair, however, the notes were better suited for a violin. It was just written for the cello for a reason that Bad couldn’t fathom. 

“Can I see?” George peered at Bad’s repertoire out of curiosity, and almost immediately recoiled. “Yeah… good luck. Why did you choose this piece to play anyway?”

Bad grumbled. “I wanted a challenge, you muffin. Let me practice.”

George lay sprawled on his bed. “Okay, cool. Anyway, when do you think the auditions for the solo concert are coming up?”

Bad shrugged, still trying to figure out the last few bars, an occasional screech sounding from the cello and a wince when Bad heard it. “Well, I hope it’s not soon. I’m not ready.”

“You’re better than all of the cellists in the school.” George snorted.

“George!” Bad yelped. “I’m not!”

“You are section leader.” He pointed out.

“Muffinhead!” Bad chucked a broken piece of rosin at George, who dodged it. “But I’m not a genius. I’m only the section leader because there aren’t prodigies at the school.”

“Except for Technoblade.”

“He’s a violinist.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

~

Phil grinned upon entering the dorm. “Guess how many times I heard your name in the hallways today.”

Techno paid him no attention, continuing to go through his notoriously difficult pieces. A prodigy’s gotta live up to his name, after all.

“Twenty-seven, Techno. Twenty seven. I’m glad that they don’t know I’m your roommate, or else I would’ve been stopped in the hallways a million times over.”

“That many nerds in this school?” Techno asked in a bored tone.

Phil shook his head with a light laugh. “Wilbur’s feeling horrible, though. He’s been practicing until he’s lightheaded.”

“Winds.” Techno snorted.

“Hey!”

“You’re the pianist, though.” Techno said monotonously- and Phil couldn’t argue. Although he played the bassoon in the orchestra, it wasn’t exactly a secret that Phil got into the conservatory through his legendary piano skills.

He wasn’t Techno-level, though. Not quite.

That didn’t bother him. He was fine with being the best pianist. Plus, being the best instrumentalist in this prestigious conservatory seemed tiring.

Technoblade blew a strand of pink hair out of his face before continuing to practice his ricochet. 

“So this is what a violinist does during practice sessions?” Phil asked, eyeing his idle left hand incredulously. “Just… this? Open strings?”

“Right. I don’t do anything with my right hand, either.” Techno deadpanned sarcastically.

“I expected your practicing to be more, I don’t know, nicer sounding.”

Techno raised his eyebrows in a challenge. “A practice session of a violinist is never nice-sounding.”

“Sure.”

“Go listen to the practice rooms if you don’t believe me.”

Phil stood up and left. 

About five minutes later, Phil came back into the room, looking shell-shocked. “That’s… different… from a pianist’s practice session.”

Techno laughed and continued to play open strings.

~

“Interesting rehearsal, don’t you think?” Harvey teased.

Wilbur plopped down on the couch. “Shut up.”

“Alright, shutting up.” Harvey paused. “Though I’m not sure why you didn’t practice that bit.”

“Easy for you to say.” Wilbur shot back. “You barely have anything.”

“False.” Harvey said cheerfully. “I have quite a few hard bits.”

Wilbur dragged a hand down his face. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“Because I’m your roommate.” 

“Fair point.”

Their banter continued before Wilbur decided to take out his guitar.

“I’m not sure why you didn’t apply for the guitar program instead.” Harvey mused, looking at the clean and smooth wood.

“I’m not as good on guitar.” Wilbur muttered. “Though I’d much rather be. Which piece is it tonight?”

Harvey perked up. “I get to choose?”

“Don’t take it to your head. I’m too dead inside to choose.”

Harvey grinned. “Scarborough Fair.”

Wilbur started strumming.

Notes:

Pieces referenced:
The overture to Carmen, By Georges Bizet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQI5LtRtrb0
Don Juan, by Richard Strauss: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_um5yLJx-RM (notoriously difficult and I hate it :D)
Bolero, by Maurice Ravel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhhkGyJ092E
Sinfonia Concertante for cello and orchestra by Sergei Prokofiev: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEulw62snSQ (Bad's attempting the last notes)

Chapter 2: Scarborough Fair

Notes:

Holy crap.
The support I've gotten- thank you all so much!
Apparently you guys wanted plot? I'm giving you plot.
/you have doomed yourselves, mortals./

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

Niki hummed along to the melody echoing through the window of Wilbur’s dormitory. Wilbur was most likely the only person that was allowed to practice with his window open, given that his voice was liked by many, and his guitar playing was more welcomed than the screeches of the practice rooms.

Remember me to one who lives there,

She once was a true love of mine

Niki heard Harvey’s voice sing the second part when the instrumental section ended.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt

(On the side of a hill, in the deep forest green)

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

(Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested ground)

It will be winter soon. The air was actually starting to get a little chilly, Niki noted as she shivered, though she refused to walk away from earshot and miss Wilbur’s performance.

Without no seams nor needlework

(Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain)

Then she’ll be a true love of mine

(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call)

A rustle. Niki spun around and saw Ant shuffling sheepishly into view. She smiled and sighed, then continued to listen.

Tell her to find me an acre of land

(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves)

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

(Washes the grave with silvery tears)

Just on cue, the leaves from the tree above her fell. She plucked one of them from her hair, studying it as her breath fogged in front of her. 

Between the salt water and the sea strands

(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun)

Then she'll be a true love of mine

She shook her head at the lyrics. Who asked their love to do things like that? They were impossible.

Then again, that was probably the point.

Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather

(War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions)

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

(Generals order their soldiers to kill)

The herbs she bought suddenly felt much heavier, and she looked in her bag, her eyes finding parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Why did the song mention that so many times, anyway?

And gather it all in a bunch of heather

(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten)

Then she'll be a true love of mine

“Rosemary and thyme.” Niki mouthed. “Grows merry in time.” She let out an “ohh” at the revelation, and continued to wait upon the final verse, during which both boys sang together.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Remember me to one who lives there

She once was a true love of mine

She doesn’t know if Wilbur heard the applause under his window, or the cheers of the musicians tired of hearing their own playing for the day. All she knew was that it wouldn’t be the last time she would wait under his window for his playing.

~

“Say, Wilbur, why don’t you ever play the different stanza?”

“That one about love demanding impossible tasks?” Wilbur clarified, carefully putting away his guitar.

“Yeah. That one.”

Wilbur shrugged. “It sounds too sad, I guess.”

Harvey rolled his eyes at the excuse. “Sure. And the songs you write aren’t sad, either.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright. Shutting up.” Despite that, the trombonist continued to grin. “Oh, by the way Niki was cheering quite loudly-”

“Shut up!” Wilbur hissed, cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Oh, I’m not shutting up this time.” Harvey said in a sing-song voice. “Wilbur likes Ni-mmph!”

Thankfully, the window was closed. No one heard the brief scuffle, and no one asked why Harvey had a slight bruise on his arm the next day.

Except for Phil, but he already knew, and hid a smile at the tale.

~

“Why do the practice rooms stink? ”

“Did someone eat something again?” Sapnap asked, munching on a ham and cheese sandwich in the dorm as Dream dropped dead on the couch.

“Yes. It smelled horrible.”

“There should be a rule for it.”

Dream threw his hands into the air. “And you think that will be of any use?”

“Fair point.” Sapnap continued munching. “Hey, you missed Wilbur’s performance.”

“Oh come on. ” Dream kicked the table in frustration. “What did he sing?”

“Scarborough fair. And Harvey was singing too.”

“ Dammit. ”

Sapnap laughed. “Also, we’re going to tour some high schools.”

“Is Technoblade going?”

Sapnap’s eyes became shifty. “...no?”

Dream narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, yes.” 

“Then no, I’m not going.”

Dream turned to set his violin down, but as soon as he did Sapnap whined. “Oh come on! Don’t leave me as the only other violinist!”

“You have Technoblade for company.” Dream retorted dryly.

“Techno’s so scary though. Like, his stare just makes you-” Sapnap shivered. “At any rate, Dream, please. ”

Silence.

“I want your full chocolate stash.”

Sapnap’s eyes lit up. “Deal.”

~

“Stuck in it again, huh?” Phil asked sympathetically as Techno stared at the form he was going to be forced to fill. Again.

The violinist snorted. “No, Phil, I definitely have a choice and I can choose not to go and lose the conservatory a bunch of revenue.” Techno retorted.

Phil laughed easily, long since accustomed to Techno’s sarcastic remarks. 

Techno sighed. “But yeah. I might as well do it, though. Don’t have any more years ahead of me, now, do I?”

Phil immediately got angry. “Don’t think like that.”

Techno stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Don’t think like that.” Phil repeated. “You- the doctors said there’s a chance you will make it! You just have to hold on!”

“And how long, exactly, have they been saying that?” Techno deadpanned. “I’ve come to terms with it, Phil. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

Phil was indeed, still very angry. “Dave!”

Technoblade flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

Phil continued to fume and stormed out of the room, presumably to vent his anger out on any poor piano that happened to be in his vicinity. Techno sighed, his hands involuntarily moving to his violin.

~

“He sounds… pissed, today.” Bad noted as he heard the first notes of Carmen’s Fantasy ring out in the campus, without accompaniment. “Usually he doesn’t open the window for everyone to hear his playing.”

“Is he that angry?” George asked, headphones still in. “Angry enough to forget to shut the window?”

“Yeah.” Bad muttered. “I hope he cools down enough when the tour comes.”

George paled. “Yeah, I don’t want to be stuck with an angry violin prodigy for a week. That’s not good for my heart.”

Both winced when they heard the screech of a failed harmonic, and Bad mouthed “Language” on reflex when Techno’s loud cursing came spilling out. 

For a violinist who would usually speak in monotone and generally appear indifferent to the world, this was scary.

Technoblade seemed to finally realize that his window was open and it shut with a click. No one else could hear the frustration spilling out of his violin, but everyone saw this way his bow’s shadow moved frantically, and his left hand plucking the strings aggressively.

Bad and George sat for a good twenty seconds, trying to process half of what they heard coming from the prodigy’s dormitory.

George swallowed. “What got him so worked up?”

Bad stood up slowly. “I’m going to… find Phil.”

The door closed.

Five minutes later, Bad came back in, looking even more shaken.

George immediately grew worried. “Bad?”

“Phil’s angry too.” Bad whispered. “He’s been playing Beethoven’s Pathetique nonstop. And only the first movement, at that.”

“...”

Wordlessly, George picked up his viola and began playing the first bars of their arrangement of Bach’s first cello suite, trying to calm them both down. Bad didn’t even have it in him to join him with the cello, growing worried over his friends. Techno never messes up the theme of Carmen’s Fantasy, and Phil never gets angry.

He hoped they were alright.

~

The next day’s rehearsal was normal. Except for the fact that Phil glared at Techno the whole way through, and Techno looked so defeated. No one was sure why, though the rumours flew around.

The general consensus was that the violinist and pianist had a fight.

Dream didn’t pay attention. He was still trying to one-up Technoblade (and failing) as he played the beginning of Don Juan over and over again. 

Because of his (hopeless) rivalry with Technoblade, Dream was one of those few people that felt desperate enough to practice during break. The only other people who were practicing were Wilbur, most likely due to yesterday’s incident, and Bad, who has always been the good child that practiced all the time.

Rehearsal went on without a hitch. Well, Sapnap lost count of his bars at some point, but that didn’t matter. And Harvey thought that the beginning was in four for some reason, but the professor let that slide. 

Dream did notice that when rehearsal was over, Phil avoided Technoblade at all costs, and rushed to claim a piano. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Phil and Techno, along with Wilbur, were great friends. “Sleepy Bois Inc” and all that. To see Phil actively avoiding Technoblade? That was new.

He didn’t have too much time to ponder on that, though. Dream had a few forms to sign, and a stash of chocolate to claim, so he ran out as fast as possible.

~

“You’re not gonna do anything about them?” Harvey asked, cleaning his trombone.

Wilbur stopped strumming and sighed. “Tell me, Harvey, what exactly would I do? Phil is scary when he’s angry, and Techno just becomes even more reclusive than before.”

Harvey shrugged. “I dunno. Just thought it felt wrong to leave your friends fighting and not trying to mediate between them.”

Wilbur scribbled on his notebook of songs, grumbling. “It’s not like I didn’t try! Phil won’t tell me what they were talking about, and Techno just brushes me off! What do they know that they can’t tell me?”

Harvey fell silent.

Wilbur heaved another sigh and put down his guitar ever so carefully before he kicked the table in frustration. “And the tour is in three days, too.”

The usually cheerful trombonist picked silently at the threads of his sweater, not sure what to say.

“We…” he finally started. “We’ll just hope they truce, when that time comes?”

Wilbur dragged a hand down his face in frustration, but he nodded. “There isn’t anything else we can do anyway.”

“We can hope.”

“We can hope. But does that really do anything?”

Wilbur had absolutely no idea how much those words resembled what was running through Techno’s mind as he plucked his strings over and over again.

Notes:

Pieces referenced:
Scarborough Fair: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiZJP_XLmrQ
Carmen Fantasy by Pablo de Sarasate (I love Sarasate so much guys you have no idea): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLeoq8P3AAQ
Sonata Pathetique by Ludwig Van Beethoven: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79gzdskOGu4
Cello Suite 1, Prelude by Johann Sebastian Bach: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1prweT95Mo0
Don Juan (again lmao) by Richard Strauss: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_um5yLJx-RM

Chapter 3: Kreutzer Sonata

Notes:

SAD-IST ANIMATION POGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ALSO THANK YOU ALL FOR ONE HUNDRED KUDOS, ALSO POG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As a gift to both you readers and Sad-ist, I have posted another chapter. Dw, chapter 4 is still coming friday!
I just got really inspired while playing Kreutzer. It sounds so empty without piano accompaniment.
The Kreutzer Sonata sounds like a musical argument. Change my mind.

“Okay. I get it. I fu-fricking get it. You’ll just give up on life, is that correct?” Phil demanded. They’ve danced around this topic for the past three days, and tomorrow was the tour. Then Phil just suddenly felt a confrontational need, and- well, here they were.

Techno remained silent.

“You’ll just- there’s a ten percent chance, Techno. That’s better than nothing.”

“Is it really, Phil?” Techno asked quietly. “Tell me, if I die anyway, would you feel better knowing there was nothing you could do, or that there was a possible, slim, ten percent chance that I could’ve survived, but died anyway?”

“At least it’s hope! ” Phil all but screamed.

“Hope is a dangerous thing.” Techno shot back.

They were engulfed in silence. But this wasn’t the kind of tense silence in the rehearsal hall, which was comforting and familiar. This was silence between someone who was desperately trying to save his friend, and someone who had no idea how to be hopeful when the world seemed so hopeless.

Phil stood up. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“The practice rooms.”

“It’s ten. ”

“I don’t care.”

Techno sighed and stood up, and was all but pulled into the first practice room, violin in hand.

It’s been a long time since he was in a proper practice room. Whenever he was in one, the students at the conservatory tended to flock outside his door to get a listen of what he was playing, and how he was practicing, looking for tips to improve themselves. That just pushed Techno to confine himself in his room.

Phil shoved the sheet music in front of him.

The Kreutzer sonata.

“Phil, I’m not going to play this at ten- ”

“Do it.”

Techno sighed. The violin went under his chin.

The first chords rang out. Phil remembered briefly that the soundproofing for practice room one was not the best, but he didn’t care. He had a point to prove.

Technoblade slowly relaxed into the melody, feeling it rush over him. He forgot what this felt like. It’s been literal days since he practiced properly, and the Kreutzer was always able to get him that feeling.

The major chords ended. Phil echoed him with accompaniment, and Techno continued.

The introduction kept going. Then the short sixteenth notes came in, pushing the melody forward, and then-

And then the introduction ended.

Techno’s eyes snapped open.

Phil’s hands were poised on the keyboard, waiting for the bow to come down.

The condemning E and F started the melody known to so many, yet played by so few. The Kreutzer Sonata is one of the only true sonatas out there, with the melody being played around by the piano and violin, each side getting equal bits. Like an argument, almost.

Violinists tended to get used to solo repertoire. It was why people strived to be soloists and not orchestra violins. It was why they disliked the Kreutzer. 

But Technoblade had no such qualms.

A G chord, and a C chord.

Phil’s fingers flew over the keyboard, effortlessly playing the arpeggio so many have struggled over. At this point, some of the students at the conservatory were gawking. Phil paid them no attention.

Techno’s fingers slowly slid up the fingerboard, hit the high A and slowly shifted back to first position, then played another melody with a pedal. Phil echoed him, and continued to play it, giving Techno accompaniment, and the violinist the chance to echo the pianist.

An abomination, to most violinists. Refreshing, for Technoblade.

There were too many that bowed to him like he was some kind of god, the violinist mused as he continued to go through the sonata, soon hitting bar 75 and trilling on his notes. He never got a chance to be equals with the pianist.

Phil was not his worshiper. He was his friend. He took over without fear, without hesitation.

F-sharp, E and D-sharp were played over and over again, accompanied with a different note each time. 

Bar 91. Dolce.

Sweetly. Singing-like.

It was a nice break from the usually explosive Beethoven. Techno smiled- smiled , and continued to play.

~

Wilbur rushed down the dorms as soon as he heard the faint Kreutzer sonata. There were very few people that played that piece, that played it with such passion, and even fewer that dared to play at this time in the night.

Sure enough, he saw his other two brothers in all but blood, playing their hearts out as a bunch of students watched.

Harvey caught up with him just in time to see Technoblade’s smile.

~

D major.

More explosive notes.

Eighth notes flowed freely and Technoblade’s pink hair began to swing around wildly. Did he care? No.

The movies depict a dramatic practice session, or a romantic one. It doesn’t matter. They just need it to not be boring.

A dramatic practice session happens sometimes, but very, very occasionally. To hear these kinds of playing in practice rooms, and not the usual screeches? A rare treat.

The practice room stank. Techno didn’t care.

Three high Es. More eighth notes.

Phil took over fully, playing the melody boldly with octaves. Techno continued to pluck, and eventually echoed Phil.

B, E and D.

C.

Silence.

A new key. The hammers knocked against the strings of the piano and Phil let the melody scream before Techno came back in.

It went on like that, for so long. Dancing around each other, playing their arguments out, stealing the melody when it was their turn and accompanying the other when they played.

It was a mess. An organized mess of notes, of Beethoven, of violin and piano. A cesspool of noise and the ringing of strings.

Techno loved it.

They yelled their own bits of the melody. They went quiet when the other one took their turn. 

Bar 314. The arpeggios took over. Loud chords, as Techno took a particularly long turn at laying out his arguments, and silence, leaving only Phil’s G minor chord.

Phil started the argument again.

They went on. On and on.

Techno trilled his notes again. Phil continued to play his own fair share of eighth notes.

Bar 412.

So much like bar 91, yet so different. A different key. A different perspective.

Is this what I try to live for?

Phil continued his chords.

Yes. Yes, it is.

Bar 438. More explosive notes.

Techno played with the same passion as the beginning, but there was a lot less fight. There was more complementing. Phil noticed this, and grinned despite himself.

More pizzicato. More eighth notes. More Beethoven. 

Techno could see why Rodolphe Kreutzer hated this piece. Techno loved it anyway.

Bar 537. Chromatic scale, one half note at a time. Octaves. Techno’s pinkie hurt, and he continued to play.

Bar 575. Adagio. A slow recall to the introduction, providing respite…

Silence.

Bar 583. The A ruined the peace, and he shredded the notes, pouring the rest of his objections into it. He knew why Phil was angry.

He understood.

Did he agree? No.

Was he going to try to? Yes.

Three A minor chords.

One E major chord.

A final, finishing A minor chord. Techno couldn’t help but think how much it sounded like death, finally making its way to him.

The cheers exploded from outside the practice room, and Phil belatedly realized that the soundproofing was much worse that he thought it was.

Thankfully, Wilbur understood. Dropping a quick wink to the other two members of Sleepy Bois Inc, he ushered most of the conservatory students away with the help of Harvey, and left them alone.

The roommates were still silent. Sweat had created a thin sheen across both of their foreheads. Techno reached up to wipe it away.

“See, Techno? This is what you live for. This is why you try.”

Technoblade very carefully did not respond. 

“I know you haven’t agreed yet.” Techno’s head snapped up, and Phil laughed. A noise full of mirth that Techno hasn’t heard for a while. “I’ve known you for years, Techno. I know you’re stubborn. But promise me you’ll try.”

Techno hesitated, fiddling with the violin strings.

Finally, he said, “I will.”

Phil grinned even wider than when he did while playing, and stood up, carefully closing the lid on the piano. “Come on. Back to the dorms!”

Techno’s half-smile had never faded. Blocked by his strands of dyed hair, yes. But never faded.

~

Dream was ashamed to admit that he was one of those gawking students that stood outside Techno’s practice room, even at ten in the night.

Sapnap wasn’t there. He didn’t really care, but Dream did. As he said, Dream took the violinist’s ingenuity as a challenge. He was going to try and match that level of skill.

Sapnap had stolen a few pieces of his chocolate stash back, but that didn’t matter. Dream was busy wallowing in his self pity.

Dream, you understand that you don’t have any other choice, right? To survive. We aren’t a poor family, but we aren’t rich either. Once you graduate, we won’t have any means to support you.

Dream snorted involuntarily, causing Sapnap to give him a weird look.

You know that the only way to get a good job is if you’re the best in that conservatory, right? You only have one chance. Don’t waste it.

But of course he had to be in the same class as Technoblade. The violin prodigy. The god everyone worshiped. The one who could make everything look so effortless, while everyone was shedding blood sweat and tears-

Okay, maybe that was unfair. Dream was well aware that Technoblade had his own fair share of troubles.

Still, couldn’t a man be jealous?

“Not hyped for tomorrow, I see.”

Dream snorted again. “I’ll be stuck on a bus with you for a week, taking long trips just to visit high schools and earn the school money.”

Sapnap threw a piece of chocolate at him. 

Dream grinned and caught it. “But I get to stay with Bad and George. Oh, and there’s Harvey, Harvey’s pretty cool. And there’s Wilbur, nice guy. Niki’s there too. And there’s Phil, and Techno-”

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “I thought you hated him.”

“I’ll get to watch him get bombarded by his fans.”

Sapnap narrowed his eyes, then nodded gravely. “Fair.”

~

“Wow.” Bad sighed, walking back to his dorm. “I feel enlightened.”

George gave him a glance and said nothing, allowing Bad to continue to gush about how passionate Technoblade’s playing was, and how excited he was to finally see him and Phil playing the Kreutzer sonata together, how it was a once in a lifetime experience-

George was pretty sure that he saw Phil smirk when they passed him. Probably adding to the counter of “how many times someone said Technoblade today.”

“-orge? George?”

The violist snapped his attention back. “Yeah, what?”

“I was asking you if you wanted to ask Dream and Techno to play the American Quartet with us! For the end of the year performance, you know?”

George blinked. “Isn’t that like, a full eleven months away?”

“Better early, right? Get that offer through before the others inevitably come as well?”

George stared at Bad blankly, then grinned. “Sure, why not?”

~

Long story short, Dream agreed quite easily, and Techno stared at them until his roommate- which was Phil, oh my god, they room with each other?! Said yes on his behalf.

(“He’s socially awkward.” Phil whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t take it to heart.”)

Bad bounced the whole way back to their dormitory, giggling every few seconds.

George would be lying if he said he wasn’t giddy with happiness either.

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Sonata no. 9 for violin and piano, the "Kreutzer" by Ludwig Van Beethoven: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNGt6yLPOE0
American Quartet by Antonin Dvorak: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxtAHpYIXdU
Once again, thank you for the support!

Chapter 4: Humoresque No. 7

Notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ARIA_CINABUN!!!! WE LOVE YOU (platonically)
Yes I know, here I am, with another chapter. Well, gotta get a birthday gift out :D
I'm glad that I can mention some other people in this chapter, and even throw in a small chatfic bit :)
Chapter five will be on Friday, promise. I've got a backlog of a few chapters, so don't worry!
OH AND PLEASE READ THE ENDING NOTES

Ph1lza added Technoblade, Dreamwastaken, Georgenotfound and six others to the group chat.

Ph1lza renamed the group chat to Tour in six hours and we’re all dead inside .

Ph1lza: I know it’s three am, but I’m well aware that none of you practice proper self care, even though I would much rather you do. So here’s the group chat.

Sapnap: I would practice self care, but Dream’s being a b*tch and he’s practicing Symphonie Espagnole in our dorm. At three in the morning.

Georgenotfound: Bad’s sleeping, so I’m saying it on his behalf: Language.

Antfrost: Gonna be honest I thought y’all forgot about me.

Sapnap: Dream just shamelessly admitted that he forgot about you.

Antfrost: Tell him he sucks.

Sapnap: He tells you that it’s been duly noted.

Technoblade: Hey, nerds.

TapL: Wilbur’s been writing songs for the past three hours and I’m concerned.

Technoblade: Tell the nerd to get some sleep.

TapL: You type as if I haven’t tried that yet.

Ph1lza: Tell Wilbur that I’ll burn his house in the minecraft SMP we share if he doesn’t sleep in the next fifteen minutes.

WilburSoot: F*ck you, Phil.

Georgenotfound: Again, from Bad: Language.

Ph1lza renamed WilburSoot to Clarinet go toot .

Clarinet go toot: What.

Clarinet go toot renamed themselves to WilburSoot .

Nihachu: I just realized those two names rhyme.

Badboyhalo: Hiiiiiii Niki! :)

Nihachu: Hey Bad :) 

Nihachu: Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be sleeping?

Badboyhalo: I was. And then I was woken by the buzzing of George’s phone.

Georgenotfound: Sorryyyyyyyyyyyy

Badboyhalo: It’s alright :D

Badboyhalo: But I’m sleeping now. I have to wake up early to bake a few muffins.

Dreamwastaken: Bake me some

Sapnap: Me too! 

Sapnap: (Yes, Dream literally put down his violin just to tell Bad to bake muffins for him.)

WilburSoot: I want some too!

Nihachu: Save some for me!

Antfrost: I need muffins.

Georgenotfound: He tells you guys that he’ll make enough for the road trip. He’s sleeping now.

WilburSoot: Cool.

WilburSoot: Have you guys decided what to do for the demonstration?

Sapnap: … there’s a demonstration?

Georgenotfound: Sapnap.

Nihachu: Sapnap.

Ph1lza: Yeah. I think I’ll do something with Techno. We haven’t decided yet.

WilburSoot: The tour’s in six hours. You’re not going to practice?

Technoblade: I think you know the answer to that question.

WilburSoot: I’m going to pretend I never asked. For clarinet, I’ll play the second sonata by Brahms (Phil I hope you'll still accompany me), but I want to do something for guitar too.

TapL: Play Despacito.

WilburSoot: NO!

Georgenotfound: NO!

TapL: Okay, lmao, I was joking. I’ve basically given up, I’ll probably just play Canon in D. Just the melody, ya know? It’s a nice one. 

TapL: ...guys? 

TapL: Did I offend anyone with my piece choice?

Georgenotfound: Harvey you’re so lucky Bad’s asleep right now.

Technoblade: Yep.

Ph1lza: Even I know not to mention that.

Sapnap: VICTORY!

Sapnap: I found an easy piece

Sapnap: Bach’s partita no. 3! Gavotte en Rondeau!

Nihachu: Ooh yeah that one’s nice

TapL: Better than the other options.

Nihachu: I think I’ll play Syrinx.

Nihachu: You know, that one by Debussy?

WilburSoot: Good choice!

TapL: [Message Redacted]

Nihachu: Harvey?

TapL: Nothing! Nothing.

Georgenotfound: Bad and I will play an arrangement of the first cello suite.

Technoblade: Bach?

Georgenotfound: Who else, really?

Antfrost: Y’all forgot about me again. I’m gonna be playing jazz, probably.

Georgenotfound: It’s not our fault that you’re so reclusive.

Ph1lza: Even more than Techno, actually.

Sapnap: Dream will probably play one of Paganini’s caprices. He’s practicing the fifth one right now- oh and his E string snapped.

Georgenotfound: F

Ph1lza: F

WilburSoot: F

TapL: F

Nihachu: F

Technoblade: F

Antfrost: F

~

Ten sleep-deprived instrumentalists (except for Bad, who was carrying giant trays of heavenly muffins) were loaded into a tour bus. Except they weren’t celebrities that were on the tour bus to see fans- no, they were students being forced to spread the culture of classical music.

Except for Techno. Techno was going to get bombarded with fans, and that was a fact.

It was simple. They would go around to seven different schools that paid a lot of money, and suffer through days of high schoolers gawking at them. Really, all they were supposed to be doing was inspiring the students.

The said students decided to treat them as gods, but very few of them actually bothered to learn.

Phil and Wilbur only remembered one student from the first school they went to. His name is Fundy, and apparently he was an aspiring pianist.

Fundy was one of the only people who looked at Phil the whole time he was playing his sonatas.

Thankfully, the students got bored of the performances, and the strings didn’t have to demonstrate anything. Niki played Syrinx, Harvey played some pop music to keep the students entertained, and a few hours later they crashed into the tour bus.

The teachers closed the doors to their compartments and told them to sleep.

They made three mistakes in total.

One: They did not take away their devices.

Two: They gave them the wifi password for the bus.

Three: They put them into compartments with outlets.

So between the ten instrumentalists, they got a total of twenty hours of sleep. Eight of which were Bad’s, and the other twelve were split evenly among the others.

… Well, Harvey may or may not have had no sleep at all, playing minecraft UHC through the whole night.

The second day was uneventful as well. Techno played a solo, and Dream played a solo. It was an obvious competition that Technoblade won.

Dream was fuming for the whole ride to the third school. This time, the ten instrumentalists got a total of fifty hours of sleep. Ten of which were Bad’s, eight of which were Harvey’s, and the remaining eight got the rest.

… Still not ideal, but no one said anything.

The third day was interesting. Technoblade and Phil finally decided to play their small, quirky duo.

Humoresque number seven, by Dvorak.

A simple and beautiful piece. Sixteenth and thirty-second notes glided gracefully as Techno’s bow slid around carelessly, while Phil played with the same style.

What was special about the third school they visited was there were two aspiring musicians. One of them had visions of grandeur that Niki listened to fondly, while the other was more quiet and withdrawn, but eager all the same. Bad listened to Tubbo’s hopes of becoming a cellist and smiled widely, while Sleepy Bois Inc entertained Tommy’s dreams. 

The class was all but begging for Phil and Techno’s little duet, and the duo complied. 

Humoresque is beautiful in the way that the notes are fleeting, almost as if taunting the audience with a melody that fades in and out. It was a representation of the joys in life.

Nothing lasts forever, but while it lasts, it’s worth cherishing.

Grace notes littered the sheet music and Techno’s fingers were agile as he bounced between one note and another. Phil smiled softly.

A few high notes on the A string. No big deal. Then-

Bar 25. Poco piu vivo.

A little more lively.

Techno’s tone became grander and fuller, and Phil switched from small and short notes to heavy and sadder chords. It was still beautiful, but nostalgia laced every note.

The melody got transposed up an octave, and it became even more majestic- and as a consequence, even sadder, than before. Phil’s chords went deeper. Techno felt his eyes fill and forced the tears back in. He was pretty sure he heard a sob.

For a piece titled whimsical, it sure hit hard. Or maybe that was just his special situation.

The double stops closed off the grave section. Techno breathed in deeply.

Bar 41. Tempo I.

As if the mournful section never existed in the first place, Technoblade took the carefree music in stride and played through the last bars of the piece, ending off with a few thirds and a final G-flat.

His bow hovered in the air for a few more seconds before dropping down to his side.

The high schoolers gawked at him like a flock of little children. Which, in all honesty, they were.

“POG!”

Tommy’s yell prompted the cheers and clapping from the rest of the students. Techno smirked when he saw Dream scowl. Why was Dream so focused on Technoblade, anyway?

When Techno asked Phil that as George and Bad got ready, Phil gave him one of the weirdest looks he’s ever gotten.

“You’re telling me,” Phil repeated slowly. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Dream’s been trying to rival you for the past thirteen months. You didn’t know? ”

Techno blinked slowly.

That explained a lot.

~

“Hey.” Techno said by the way of conversation as he sat down next to Dream, watching Sapnap prepare. After Sapnap’s performance, they would all get a thirty minute lunch break, and everyone was looking forward to that. Heck, Dream was starving.

But of course the prodigy had to come along.

“What do you want?”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “Such hostility.”

“You-”

Thankfully, further bickering was stopped by Sapnap’s first chords.

Gavotte en Rondeau. A piece known for its polyphony and double stops. Sapnap played it beautifully.

A light melody drifted through the air, a lot like Humoresque. But Bach’s kind of playfulness was different- it was restrained by the conventional Baroque style of his time. And the grave parts were also dampened by the fact that there isn’t much of a contrast.

And yet it could paint the same picture of flowers and a gentle breeze. 

Bach was a pioneer of solo violin pieces for a reason.

Bar 9. Minor key. That went without a hitch.

Bar 17. Main theme, again. Also without a hitch.

Bar 25. The start of a two-line melody. Without a hit-

Screech.

The room flinched, but Sapnap didn’t care. He really didn’t. Dream flinched harder than everyone else, yet Techno didn’t. Huh.

A few of Sapnap’s chords went super off tune. Not that many of the high-schoolers would know, except for maybe Tommy and Tubbo. But at any rate, not performance-level.

Bar 73 was a mess. Sapnap continued to play like nothing happened.

Techno involuntarily half-grinned, the quirk of his lips blocked by his pink hair. He liked this one. Playing without a care in the world.

Dream caught a glimpse of it, and grew confused. Thankfully, Sapnap’s performance was over, and Dream was free to leave.

Not.

Haha. When Technoblade demands your attention, you give it to him. No exceptions. 

Dream scowled again. “What do you want?”

“Eat lunch with me.” Technoblade said conversationally.

Dream obliged. 

They ate in silence. Awkward silence, awkward enough so that the other Muffinteers left the table and Sleepy Bois Inc broke up to give Techno and Dream their own space.

As soon as Techno finished his sandwich (and muffin), he broke the silence. “Sapnap is a better musician than you, you know.”

Dream choked. “I’m sorry. What? ”

“Not in the way you think.” Techno said. “Your technical skills are good, I’ll give you that. You have emotion, correct. But you must understand that the best musicians are rarely the most successful musicians.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Quit being mysterious. Get to the point.”

“Sapnap is a better musician because he plays how he likes.” Techno twirled his fork in his hands, stabbing his salad violently. “He does not play how society likes. In the other people’s eyes, he is playing it wrong. But he’s a better musician than you, in that aspect.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling me that the big names didn’t play how they wanted? Look at Paganini, for god's sake!”

Techno held up a finger. “I said rarely. Not never. If you play well enough, you will shape society, not the other way around. You will play your way, and society will accept it.”

“And, pray tell, how do I get to that point?”

Techno smirked. “I’m making you an offer.”

Dream continued to eat.

“I’m offering to teach you.”

Dream choked, again. “ What? ”

“You heard me.”

There was no way Technoblade was just offering free lessons. And although Dream hated him as a rival, he would kill for the chance to learn from the prodigy. “What’s the price?”

Techno blinked. “I haven’t thought about that.” He mused. “A bar of sea salt caramel chocolate, every week.” Techno grinned. “They’re quite good.”

“That’s like two dollars. ” Dream said numbly, not quite believing it.

Techno continued to smirk. Dream could detect no signs of deception.

Finally, he asked. “Why?”

Techno shrugged and stood up, pink hair swaying. “I’ll see you on wednesday. 8pm, practice room ten.”

Dream gawked after him.

Notes:

OKAY I'VE GOT A LOT OF THINGS TO SAY
Before I get into the referenced pieces, I just wanted to note a few things:
I noticed that there's a "correct" way to play pieces nowadays, which uh, doesn't sit well with me. I mean, for some pieces, sure, you don't play loud when you're supposed to play soft, but even for pieces like Humoresque, you're sometimes forced to play the way the adjudicator likes in order to get more points. Basically, there isn't much room for true, personal interpretation? Just wanted to put that thought down.
Also! I'm starting to look over my previous chapters and I realize how much musical knowledge you need to understand these references ;-; how would you guys think of a repost, in which I have notes slotted within the fic and I explain some stuff to non-musicians?
Edit: please lmk in the comment section
That's about it

Pieces Referenced:
Symphonie Espagnole by Edouard Lalo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cw20rHFqaPQ (just imagine the first notes of the solo violin in your room at 3am, off tune and very very loud)
Sonata No. 2 for Clarinet by Johannes Brahams: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lC6VAIjXY74
Despacito: Do I really need to link this
Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVn2YGvIv0w CELLISTS I'M SO SORRY BUT I HAD TO PUT IT IN THERE FOR THE JOKE (for the record, the cellos have eight notes on repeat the whole time, which is why we never speak of it.)
Gavotte en Rondeau from Johann Sebastian Bach's Partita No. 3 in E major: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb3LAzCABsM (Hilary Supremacy!!!!)
Syrinx by Claude Debussy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNjroFNi7mA
Prelude from Johann Sebastian Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 in G major: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGgG-0lOJjk
Caprice No. 5 by Nicolo Paganini: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jXXWBt5URw (SHE'S TOO GOOD AT THIS (also I hate 0:32 and onwards))
Humoresque No. 7 by Antonin Dvorak: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR9msTsmpZs (It sounds so full of nostalgia T_T)

Thank you to anyone who has been reading! And a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ARIA

Chapter 5: La Muse et Le Poète

Notes:

We finally have the side arcs! I had to think these arcs through, and there will be angst, but I'm not gonna unload everything on you guys all at once. Most likely, these short, side arcs will conclude one by one, or overlap a bit, as the main Technoblade & Dream arc progresses.
Thank you SO MUCH for the support! We're almost at 200 kudos- y'all are CRAZY!

Badboyhalo is known to be soft. Especially in this new friend group in the tour.

He spent so much time with Tubbo that third day, giving him tips and playing some pieces with him. He even let Tubbo try out his bow.

He baked muffins for everyone. He was probably a pushover, but they loved him for it.

...right?

Truth be told, Bad wasn’t sure why he was so soft. Bad wasn’t even sure if he could stand up for something, even if he tried.

Not without his friends backing him, anyway.

His parents called it insecurity. 

Really, it was just a euphemism for weakness. 

Bad was the “good child.” He slept through the night while his fellow tourmates stayed up and played minecraft together. He practiced whenever he could. Bad wasn’t exactly sure why.

He didn’t know where his fear of being imperfect came from. It’s been bothering him a lot more recently.

Perhaps it’s because he’s seen the others. Seen how Sapnap plays his solo, how he doesn’t fear imperfections, how he blatantly allows the notes to be out of tune.

Without a care.

Perhaps it’s seeing Harvey blast his trombone in other people’s ears. Perhaps it’s when Bad heard Technoblade swear for the first time.

Perhaps it’s when Niki actually gets angry at Wilbur for spilling water in her flute, and then forgiving him almost immediately.

Why was he so adamant about being the perfect person?

~

The fourth school wasn’t as eventful as the third, except for the fact that the two violinist rivals were now on better terms.

Not many were sure how that happened. Except for Phil, because he knew about Techno’s plan from the start.

The fourth school had one aspiring oboist by the name of Eret, who Sleepy Bois Inc and Niki took an immediate liking to. Possibly because they needed to talk to a woodwinds player for once. There was also someone called Punz wanting to become a violinist, and the strings flocked him.

That left one very awkward trombonist.

Harvey stood around, avoiding everyone’s eyes on him as he fiddled with the slider on his trombone. 

He couldn’t wait for lunch.

~

“Hey, George?”

“Mn?”

“Why are you guys my friends?” Bad asked cautiously.

George gave him a weird look. “Because you’re sweet and kind? Bad, you’re probably the only sane person in this group. I mean, look at Harvey. He pulled another all-nighter last night, grinding his way up to the leaderboard.”

Bad nodded slowly. However, as he lay awake in bed while George’s mouse clicked away, one thought continued to simmer in his mind.

If everyone is insane, doesn’t that make insane the new sane?

~

School number five was boring. At school six, Sapnap and Bad, along with Phil, had planned to play La Muse et Le Poète.

The deep melodies and high notes complemented each other perfectly, much like their contrasting personalities. Sapnap was the definition of volatile and carefree, while Bad was quiet and sweet. 

Bad couldn’t concentrate. 

Their performance wasn’t as good as it could’ve and while the school clapped politely, the other instrumentalists threw worried glances at him.

“Bad?” George approached him carefully. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Hm? No, I’m fine.”

Seeing his skeptical look, Bad hurried to confirm. “I really am fine.”

George threw him one last glance. “If you say so.”

He was fine. Bad was sure he was fine.

~

Of course, he got cornered by Technoblade .

Normally he’d be excited to talk with the prodigy and be begging for a chance to listen to his playing, but he was too busy having an existential crisis to do that. 

Techno scrutinized him. “Hey, Bad, you look horrible.”

Bad frowned. His hair was brushed and he showered every day. How could he look terrible?

His confusion evidently showed on his face, because Techno hurried to clarify. “I mean, mentally. You’re clearly not the best you’ve been.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Techno continued to eye him. Bad began to squirm uncomfortably.

The pink-haired violinist sighed. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to hear you play La Muse et Le Poète, at some point.”

Bad tilted his head. “I did, though?”

“Not like that.” Techno said. “You know what I mean.”

Bad stared at Technoblade blankly.

Techno pinched his nose in frustration. “You- nevermind. Meet me in practice room ten, Tuesday at 8, yeah?”

Bad nodded slowly, not quite processing what was going on.

Techno left.

~

Day seven.

Everyone was completely burnt out. On top of it, they had to deal with more of Technoblade’s fans.

It’s not like the first six schools didn’t have Techno’s fans. He was already well known for his prodigious playing across the country. But in this school-

The students were swarming them in the halls as they moved from music class to music class. Phil heard that some of them took music just to see Technoblade.

That’s some serious dedication right there. 

Dare Phil say, simping.

Phil got a punch from Technoblade for that.

Then Wilbur said it too, and Wilbur got a punch as well. It didn’t stop the two Sleepy Bois Inc members from teasing Techno about it.

But seriously, it was hilarious. People were scrambling just to take a look at his violin. Which Phil could kind of understand- not many get to see a Strad in their lives.

Doesn’t matter that this Strad is considered on the lower end of the Stradivarius spectrum. It’s still a strad.

Phil bit back his laughter again as one particularly enthusiastic fan knocked on the music classroom they were in. Because of the… plethora of fans they had, they’d decided it was best to just have a practice session while the rest of the school watched.

And if they put Techno last on the list but never told the students and made them sit through nine other practice sessions for the day, the teachers never admitted it.

In the end they inspired a few people. One of them was False, who suddenly decided she wanted to do trumpet, and another was Grian, who picked up the clarinet as well.

But at the moment, Harvey cleaned his trombone nervously. He doesn’t practice in front of people very often, and his friends were right there, ready to judge.

He supposed it wasn’t whatever stage fright was supposed to be. It was more like… the nervousness of being the only brass player in this group.

Brass instruments are hard to play. It’s hard to get a noise through the mouthpiece, and for the trombone, you don’t have any buttons to press. No, it’s just the slider.

What to play, what to play?

As usual, Harvey ran through a few scales first. Those were easy.

Now, pieces.

Harvey began to sweat.

Eventually, he decided to Rimsky-Korkasov’s Concerto for trombone. There were few concertos for trombones, because most concertos required the solo instrument to be very distinct from the rest of the orchestra, and sometimes, the trombone just didn’t fit those requirements. 

Rimsky-Korsakov was a special man. Everyone knew that.

He’s most famous for “flight of the bumblebee”, but there’s also Scheherazade and the Third Symphony, both of which were also well known. It’s just that no one knows they’re by Rimsky-Korsakov.

Harvey stared at the music sheet for a bit longer before blowing into his trombone.

Ten instrumentalists. Ten instrumentalists, going through their pieces, one hour each.

It was going to be a long day.

~

Finally, they were done.

Ten sleep-deprived, tired, burnt out instrumentalists came back to the campus on Tuesday morning, and immediately rushed off to their respective classes.

Bad groaned. He had been coerced into staying up until two am last night, and was feeling the aftereffects.

And he had to meet Technoblade in practice room 10, at eight, tonight.

Oh boy. 

The day passed by quickly. Although Bad was sleep-deprived, he was still able to properly function throughout his cello class. He brought up the matter of Technoblade listening to his performance to his teacher during that time.

She frowned thoughtfully. “Technoblade’s a genius. I’m sure you’ve figured that out. To have him guide your musicality?” Suddenly, she grinned. “A once-in-a-lifetime chance. It’s very likely that he can interpret La Muse et Le Poète even better than me.”

That was the main reason why Bad didn’t consider ghosting Technoblade. If even his private teacher told him to go listen to the prodigy? He was going to comply.

In all honesty, Bad wasn’t exactly sure when his thoughts started to take a turn. Just a week ago, he was bouncing in excitement at the prospect of playing a quartet with Technoblade and Dream. And now? He was seriously considering abandoning a practice session with the said violinist. 

His thoughts were interrupted when the number ten was staring at him in the face. He checked his watch. Eight, on the dot.

Blearily, Bad pushed the door open. The pink-haired instrumentalist was waiting, plucking his strings idly. The cellist set himself up, pulling out the endpin and arranging his sheet music.

Techno nodded. Bad took a deep breath and began playing.

It felt weird to play without the piano accompaniment rendition that Bad had been playing with Phil and Sapnap. It felt weird to play without any accompaniment at all.

Just him and the cello.

A deep D-sharp started his parts, and he shifted higher and higher, just like how his teacher taught him. 

Back down to the C-string.

Technoblade surprised Bad by playing the violin bits, between Bad’s rests. The piece was still incomplete without the accompaniment, but Bad began to regain some semblance of the norm.

It was easy, after that. Call and answer, over and over again. 

Even when the tempo changes, even when instrumentalists have to focus to play the correct notes, and even when the pieces are notoriously difficult… it’s easy for a musician to lose themselves in the music.

Very easy. 

Too soon, Bad found himself playing the last double stops of the piece, and exhaled, happy that he didn’t embarrass himself.

Techno thought otherwise.

The violinist raised an eyebrow at the cellist. “You’re… satisfied… with that?”

Bad chose not to respond.

Techno waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t lie to me; I’ve studied psychology before.”

Bad blinked a couple of times. Of course the prodigy would be well-versed in the other subjects, even obscure ones like psychology.  

Technoblade set his violin down. “Okay. I know so many people have asked this and been asked this, to the point where it’s cliché, but that’s because it’s a good question to ask. So I’m going to ask this question, and Bad?” Techno held eye contact with him. “I want you to answer this honestly. Why do you play cello?”

Bad kind of expected this question. The “correct” answer rose to his lips- he plays cello for the sake of playing cello.

He said as such.

Technoblade was unimpressed, to say the least. “Come back next week. Give a better answer.”

Bad blinked after him. Wasn’t that the answer he was supposed to give? 

What else was he supposed to say?

Notes:

Pieces referenced:
La Muse et Le Poète by Camille Saint-Saens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NN-35xB-UmA
Concerto for Trombone by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7s4CtU5zOU
Flight of the Bumblebee by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYAJopwEYv8 (did you know this piece was actually originally written as an interlude for an opera?)
Scheherazade by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQNymNaTr-Y
Symphony No. 3 by Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5tfetOYiJU

Chapter 6: Zigeunerweisen

Notes:

I did a swore in this chapter.
Musical peeps don't be so surprised lmao
We're almost at 250 kudos! :DD

“Hey, Sapnap, do you have caramel-sea salt chocolate in your collection?” Dream asked as he shuffled through the frankly quite impressive-sized bag he’d managed to swipe from his roommate.

Sapnap frowned. “No? I’m not exactly a fan. Why?”

“Technoblade wants some.”

“ Technoblade likes caramel-sea salt chocolate??? ” Sapnap asked incredulously.

Dream shrugged. “He’s going to teach me.”

“ WHAT?! ”

Dream winced at the loud volume, though he supposed it was justified. “I… you never knew? I never told you?”

“No?! Dream, how could you forget to tell me something as important as this?! ” Sapnap screeched. 

“Hey, I’ve been busy, alright?” Dream protested. “It’s not like we had much time to practice, and my Zig hasn’t exactly been the best!”

They paused in their bickering.

“How do you pronounce that monstrosity again?"

“Zig-gu-ner-wi-sen?” Dream sounded out

“Uhhhh, I think it’s Zig-geu-ner-wi-sen.”

Dream waved a hand dismissively. “Not important. Techno will probably know.”

“So that’s why you guys weren’t as hostile towards each other as before.”

“Shut up.” Dream grumbled. “I still hate him.”

~

The door slammed shut. 

Technoblade was already there. Dream glared at the pink-haired man, and set his violin case down, setting himself up. 

Tuning came easy to him. Warming up also came easy to him.

Starting Zigeunerweisen did not come easy to him.

He forced himself to do so anyway.

G C D E-flat, and a few more grace notes to top off the introduction to the virtuoso-like melody.

A series of quick notes, seemingly without any pattern. He rattled them off easily enough, his fingers shifting forward just like they’ve done thousands of times before.

The problem was not the technique. Technoblade knew that, and he continued to repeat that thought several times as Dream continued to play his way through it.

Dream’s G string resonated as he continued to play, ending that phrase with a dominant chord, followed by a tonic chord. Usually, the piano accompaniment would play a beautiful scale, giving him a cue to play his next phrase, but that was no longer there.

For the briefest of moments, Dream faltered. He pushed onwards when he realized he didn’t have the option to falter.

High F. Dream winced when it was slightly off-tune. He knew he should’ve practiced longer. 

Too late to worry about that now. Dream continued to play the notes as they slowly descended back down to the G string, where he shifted up again, giving the piece its rich tone.

A G, which he held for a considerable amount of time. The arpeggios much like the ones from the Kreutzer Sonata rang out, and he completed that phrase with a plucked chord.

Bar 12. Dream could almost hear the piano chords, and the next section of the piece began.

Also known as “Gipsy Airs”, Sarasate’s virtuoso piece is known for its wide variety of emotions. There is the majestic and grave opening, and then there’s this part, much like a lament, with a few double stops to torture the violinist.

Wait, Dream meant to add texture.

He can’t say he isn't bitter that the piece is hard, though.

Somehow, again, Sarasate managed to pull the notes higher and higher, up to very high G, and Dream did a glissando back to a more manageable position. That didn’t last long either, and he was shifting up on the A string, again.

Over and over, Dream shifted up and down, a slave to the score. Although he got his technical bits down, his musicality left much to be desired, and Dream knew it.

Left hand pizzicato. Dream was pretty sure that his calluses were going to fall off any second. 

After six agonizing minutes, the beginning bit was over. It felt weird to play the saddest part of this piece by itself, without the piano chords, but it was doable.

Plus, this was the easiest part of the piece. Dream cherished this moment of respite, but of course Sarasate only wrote it to be twenty bars long, before there would be yet another shift to the high C.

Bar 71.

Allegro molto vivace.

Fast. Very lively.

Dream could do that.

It still sounded weird without the piano accompaniment. But the fast spiccato came easily to Dream. To be honest, he was playing on muscle memory more than anything else.

The section opened with a few octaves, and then the fast notes came. Dream nimbly switched between the G and E strings, then played those sixteenth notes once more.

Suddenly he was in eighth position, and he was shifting higher and higher. The notes were clean and precise, bright and lively.

Then he was in first position, sliding up to a harmonic every four bars. The harmonics were clean as well, nearly identical to what the masters played.

Techno furrowed his brow. He didn’t like that.

Bar 100.

Three plucked chords. Bowed thirds, the bane of a violinist’s existence.

Dream played them easily, having run through them hundreds, if not thousands of times. The melody ascended again and again, hitting the note A several times before settling on one of them, slowing down.

To an ear who has not heard this song several times, this seems like the end of the piece.

Bar 109.

Dream couldn’t help but smile as he slid back to second position, spiccato even more important than before as his bow bounced across the strings.

It was the only other respite he would be provided with before the monstrosity of the next sections.

The next one was similar. It was just transposed up, and while it was a bit inconvenient, Dream’s long fingers took care of it easily. 

Then…

Bar 123.

Artificial harmonics.

Ugh.

Switching between the G string and artificial harmonics on the A string became a pain. Dream winced when a squeak was heard, and flinched when it happened again. Why would Sarasate write artificial harmonics with string crossings?

Dream’s pretty sure that the only person who ever did that was Sarasate.

(No, he’s pretty sure there were many more.)

Interestingly enough, Technoblade did not flinch.

Then came more left hand pizzicatos. Dream’s calluses prevented much of the pain from plucking the strings, but the ache was still there. One can only dig the string in their flesh for so many times before they would feel it.

Bar 135. 

The next notes would’ve been deep and grandiose if they had been written for a slower tempo. But of course, it had to be fast.

And all on the G string, at that. 

Bar 143.

A callback to bar 100.

Dream played it the same way as before. Once again, Techno furrowed his brows.

The repeat this time was more expansive as Dream used his full bow, playing the quadruple stops and triple stops. More thirds, and even a few left hand plucks to add texture.

The final spiccato. Dream couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Four more bards of extended spiccato. Just a bit more…

Two final plucked chords. Finally, finished.

Dream breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up, and saw Technoblade massaging his brows.

He got a little annoyed.

“So.” Dream had his violin in guitar position, idly plucking at the strings. “Thoughts?”

Techno blinked a few times. “You want the honest opinion, or the euphemistic one?”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Euphemis- nevermind, I’m not going to ask. Honest opinion.”

“That,” Techno said slowly, “was one of the worst ways you could’ve possibly played Zigeunerweisen.”

It was Dream’s turn to blink a couple of times. Sure, he knew his musicality wasn’t as good as it should’ve been, but that bad?

“Do elaborate.”

“No.” Techno stood up. “You don’t learn anything that way. Dream, what do you think you’re doing wrong?”

Dream frowned thoughtfully and stared at the sheet music.

The sheet music disappeared from his view.

“What the-”

“ Dream. Don’t look at the sheet music.”

The violinist in question scowled and tried to grab the paper back from Technoblade, ultimately failing. “If I don’t look at the sheet music, how will I know what I was doing wrong?”

“You shouldn’t need to look at the sheet music!”

“Not everyone’s a genius, Technoblade! I don’t have Zigeunerwisen memorized like the back of my hand!”

“Zigeuner wei sen.” Techno automatically corrected. “And I don’t mean like that! Don’t look at the sheet music. What are you doing wrong?”

“I don’t know!” Dream threw his hands into the air. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I really don’t know. Enlighten me!”

Silence.

Technoblade sighed and pinched his nose. “Okay. Let’s put it this way- what does Zigeunerweisen mean?”

“Gipsy Airs.” Dream scoffed. Did Technoblade really think that he wouldn’t know this?

“Okay. What is a gipsy?”

“Well…” Dream fumbled for a proper explanation. “Someone like… Carmen.”

“Yes. Someone like Carmen. ” Technoblade deadpanned. “I trust that you know what kind of person Carmen was.”

“Fickle, aggressive, yeah, yeah.” Dream narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Oh my god- The title of this piece is quite literally gipsy airs. You have to play like a gipsy. ”

Dream subconsciously clenched his violin and relaxed immediately, glaring at the pink-haired violinist. “But there’s no right way to play that.”

“That’s the whole goddamn point! ” Techno sighed. “To play as a gipsy means to play in your own way. Why do you think I chose Zigeunerweisen to teach you, rather than Bach? Bach was constrained by society. And even though he still managed to shape society, you can’t shape your personality in Bach if you can’t even shape your personality in Zigeunerweisen , one of the pieces that are most open to interpretation.”

Dream blinked slowly, again. “Interpretation? But what about-”

“Forget the fucking score!” Techno cut him off. “Just don’t think about the score! Play how you would want to play!”

“But there are so many options.” Dream said quietly. “How does one choose?”

“Let’s put it this way.” Technoblade sat back down. “Why do you play?”

Dream was silent.

“I asked this question to Badboyhalo too. He said he plays just to play the cello. I knew he was lying, so don’t lie to me.” Techno stared at him. “Why do you play violin?

Dream still didn’t respond.

Techno ran a hand down his face. “You are so much like Badboyhalo it’s not even funny-” Techno sighed and started packing his unplayed violin. “Come back next week. We resume classes when you have an answer for me.”

~

“I play cello for my parents.”

“No, you don’t.”

~

“I play violin to play the pieces I love to play.”

“No. Try harder.”

~

“I play cello so I can play with other people.”

“Not quite.”

~

“I play violin to fit in with others.”

“You know that’s not true.”

~

“I don’t understand what he’s getting at!” Bad exclaimed in their dormitory, Bruch’s Kol Nidrei long since forgotten on the stand. George looked ready to protest at the music stand abuse, but said nothing. 

“I mean, I’ve been saying everything I can think of! Why else would I play music??” Bad pouted. “I- I don’t know.”

“Bad…” George whispered. “Do you really? I think you know. Why else would you choose the most difficult pieces? Why else would you choose the hardest pieces? Why else would you practice so much?”

The cellist was silent. The violist didn’t elaborate.

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Zigeunerweisen "Gipsy Airs" by Pablo de Sarasate: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmV2hj-I7Xo
Kol Nidrei by Max Bruch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i91RX2LhY8s

Chapter 7: Cello Concerto in E Minor

Notes:

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT
I THANK CREATOR [insert the chinese character] FOR MAKING THE VERY FIRST PIECE OF FANART DRAWN FOR ME!!! GO CHECK IT OUT: https://twitter.com/HappenUwu/status/1328536051003002880

“Because…” He paused. “Because I want to be successful.”

Badboyhalo finally said his answer out loud. It had been the fifth week since he’d first been asked the question. 

Technoblade wiped his violin, nodding. “Correct. You play to be successful. You play so that society can accept you as a cellist, and so that your playing will be listened to. In the end, Bad, you want to leave your mark on the world.”

Bad opened his mouth to protest. Techno fixed him with a stare. “Am I wrong?”

The cellist shrank slightly. “I-I don’t want to leave my mark because of glory , I just…”

Techno’s eyes softened. “You’re scared. You’re scared, that when you’re gone, no one will remember you. You’re scared that your flame will go out, and the world will forget your shadow.”

To be honest, Bad was quite sure that he’s always known that. Some part of him has always known that.

But to hear someone else say it to his face was a different story altogether.

“Can I see?” George peered at Bad’s repertoire out of curiosity, and almost immediately recoiled. “Yeah… good luck. Why did you choose this piece to play anyway?”

Bad grumbled. “I wanted a challenge, you muffin. Let me practice.”

Unknowingly, Bad had told a lie that very day.

If Bad was being honest with himself, he had chosen the Sinfonia Concertante because it was memorable. Because those last bars were impossible to forget, once played correctly.

They were also nearly impossible to play perfectly. 

But, like Techno said, Bad was scared.

He was scared that no one would remember his name. He was scared that one day, he would ask someone about Badboyhalo, and they would stare back blankly, asking, “who?” He was scared that one day, he would breathe his final breath in the afterlife, scared that he would die a second time, that there would be no indication that Badboyhalo lived in this world at all.

Bad didn’t know when the tears started running down his face.

Techno was caught in an awkward position. He wasn’t exactly the best at emotions- that’s Phil’s thing.

That has always been Phil’s thing.

Then again, one can only go emotionless for so long when you have a roommate as empathetic as Phil.

“Hey… Bad?” Techno tried for a soft tone.

The cellist looked up.

“I… well, I’m not the best at people, that’s Phil’s thing…” Techno rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “But now that you know what’s blockading you, we can work past that barrier. Yeah?”

Bad hiccuped. “But…”

“Hey, the christmas concert’s still two months away.” Techno flashed him a wry grin. “That’s plenty of time.”

With that, the pink haired violinist picked up his violin. “Now, let’s get started, shall we?”

~

“THE AUDITIONS ARE OUT!!!”

“Wait, seriously?” Dream spun around and saw Sapnap bursting through the door, waving a poster in his hands.

“Yes! The audition spots are up now!!!!”

Dream scrambled to his feet, rushing over to his computer and opened up the email for the Christmas concert.

Although the Christmas concert isn’t as important as the end of the year concert, it’s still an important event for various musicians to cement their place in the conservatory. In a way, it was meant to provide the chance at the spotlight for the new ones while also allowing the prodigies an opportunity to be recognized.

There were only so many people that listened to the practice rooms, after all.

Dream’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as he debated on which piece to play for the concert. He didn’t want to get an accompanist, and Dream doubted that the others would stay at the school for Christmas break. 

He finally settled on the fugue from Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor. Simple, yet the difficulty of the piece cannot be denied.

The violinist made a mental note to get Technoblade to teach him the piece, later.

~

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Dream asked, annoyed. “If anything, the fugue is easier than Zigeunerweisen! Why would you teach me something harder when I don’t have the easier things down?”

Technoblade shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. The fugue is the harder one, when we’re talking about you.”

Dream stared at him like he was crazy.

Techno ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. “Okay, Dream, put it this way. I am not here to work on your technique. If we were working on the technique, I would’ve put you through several scales and studies before I taught you Zigeunerweisen. But I am here to help your musicality . In that sense, Zigeunerweisen is much easier than Bach. We talked about this some time ago. Did you forget?”

Dream threw his (empty) hands into the air, implying that indeed, he has forgotten. Or rather, he chose to forget. “Are you mad? Have you seen how complicated Sarasate wrote this as?”

“Do you not understand yet?” Techno deadpanned, despite his expression. “It’s because it’s complicated that it’s easier for you to play.”

Dream blinked several times. He’s been doing that recently for more times than he cares to admit.

“...Elaborate.”

“Don’t you get it?” Technoblade gritted his teeth. “I’m not trying to teach you how to play like the sheet music does, I’m trying to teach you how to make it your own! I repeat- Zigeunerweisen is so much more open to interpretation than the fugue is. You have to nail that before you can play the fugue! You know this- why won’t you accept it?!”

“Technoblade.” Dream’s face hardened. “I don’t think that you know that I’m playing to be the best.”

Techno blew a strand of hair away from his face. “So you’ve finally admitted it.”

“I have.” Dream’s hands clenched. “So if you will please -”

“ No. ”

“You can’t expect everyone to learn the same way you did!” Dream shouted. “Some of us can’t afford to stray from the sheet music! Some of us have to be slaves to the score!”

Technoblade stared at him. 

Dream, when will you realize the amount of potential you hold?

Dream closed his violin case and stormed off. He had some pieces to practice.

~

“That didn’t go well.” Phil observed.

Techno heaved a sigh. “When did teaching get so difficult?”

Phil frowned thoughtfully. “I think it’s always been this difficult. Being a teacher means that you have to try to adapt to your students’ feelings, and you have to know them better than they themselves do, while also convincing them that you know them well enough.”

“That’s so hard .”

“And you’ve never been one to quit.”

“Fair.”

Phil grinned. “So, now that that’s out of the way… christmas concert.”

Technoblade groaned.

~

“Someone’s in a bad mood today.” Sapnap remarked when Dream slammed the door shut behind him.

The violinist didn’t even bother responding.

Sapnap grew a bit worried. “Hey, Dream?”

Dream set down his violin case and opened it, taking his violin out, stony-faced. He only tunes for ten or so seconds before he launches himself into the fugue.

~

Tour groupchat

Sapnap: Hello, Technoblade.

Sapnap: Can you please explain why Dream’s been practicing the fugue for two hours straight.

TapL: Someone explain to me what’s going on

Technoblade: The nerd’s actually doing that?

WilburSoot: Techno are you telling me you thought Dream was going to do this

Technoblade: …

Badboyhalo: Wait why is Dream doing this?

Ph1lza: To put it simply… class didn’t go well.

TapL: ...class?

Technoblade: I teach him

TapL: you WHAT

Georgenotfound: WHEN WAS THIS

Badboyhalo: Him too?

Nihachu: What

Antfrost: Excuse me

Ph1lza: Did we forget to tell you guys or something

Georgenotfound: Oh yeah. Definitely.

TapL: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GUYS

TapL: PHIL DON’T YOU DARE LOG OFF

Technoblade: Leave him be.

Sapnap: Dream, or Harvey?

TapL: STOP IGNORING ME

TapL: TELL ME WHEN THIS STARTED AND WHY I WASN’T INFORMED

Ph1lza: He’s muted. You’re welcome.

Technoblade: Leave Dream be. 

Sapnap: … and just let him practice fruitlessly for another, like, two hours?

Technoblade: If that’s what it takes, yes.

Sapnap: … The christmas concert’s auditions are in a week though.

Technoblade: Your point?

Sapnap: Nevermind. Speaking of which, how many of you are going home for Christmas?

Technoblade: Not me

Ph1lza: I’ll be staying here

WilburSoot: … you know originally, I was planning to go home

WilburSoot: But Phil almost never stays on campus, so I’m staying.

Nihachu: Then I’ll stay too!

TapL: [message redacted]

WilburSoot: Phil why did you unmute him

TapL: So mean :( 

TapL: I’ll be staying too, my family’s across the globe and they’re going to be stuck there. A hurricane struck the airport or something.

Georgenotfound: Harvey I don’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about this

TapL: :D

Georgenotfound: But anyway, me, Dream and Sapnap have always stayed on-campus. I don’t see why this year would be any different.

Badboyhalo: I know I’ll be staying. My classes with Techno aren’t done yet :)

Antfrost: This is peer-pressuring

Technoblade: I wouldn’t say that…

Ph1lza: No, it’s most definitely peer-pressuring :D

Antfrost: Be that way

Ph1lza: Cool! All of us will be staying on-campus!

Ph1lza: So, anyone up for a small private christmas party?

Technoblade: After the concert.

Ph1lza: That goes without saying

TapL: I thought we could skip it for a blissful second :L

WilburSoot: Haha no.

~

When Badboyhalo walked into practice room 9 to meet up with Technoblade, he did not like that look on the violinist’s face. He didn’t like that Phil was just sitting there, too, looking quietly amused. 

Techno cleared his throat as soon as Bad sat down in position. “So, I heard that you’ll be playing the Sinfonia Concertante by Prokofiev. And a solo arrangement, at that. Pretty impressive.”

Bad inclined his head. “How did you know?”

Techno let out a small chuckle. “I’m running auditions this year.”

Bad blinked. Of course. Why not?

He did not like that wicked smirk that took over Technoblade’s face next.

“Uh… Techno?”

“I have taken the liberty.” Techno paused. “To change your audition piece.”

“ What?! ”

“Cello Concerto by Elgar.” Phil said cheerfully. 

Bad gaped openly. “The auditions are in a week! I haven’t touched this piece in forever! Furthermore, I don’t have an accompanist-”

Bad stopped when Techno held up a finger. “One, you have an accompanist. Why do you think Phil is here? Two, you can play this piece. You have skill, Bad, you’re just afraid to use it.”

The cellist stared at him like he was crazy. To be fair, Techno probably was, but he knew with absolute certainty that Bad held potential- close to the amount of potential Dream held, and that was quite a bit.

Phil clapped his hands together, flexing his fingers. “Shall we get started?”

~

“You’re still stubborn, aren’t you, Dream?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

~

Dream and Bad both made it into the concert. Techno made sure of that.

The others had also made it in- well, it was easy, considering they’ve done the tour with Techno and Phil, but with their skill level, they would’ve made it regardless. Wilbur had grudgingly agreed to play Bartok’s Contrasts- a truly interesting trio featuring piano, violin and clarinet. 

Finally, Sleepy Bois Inc would get to play a trio. The conservatory was scrambling to hear it, impatiently waiting for the concert.

As time passed on, and the date of the concert drew closer and closer, practice rooms started getting harder and harder to claim. It wasn’t doing anything good for Bad’s nerves.

Students leaving the campus for christmas were set to leave right after the concert. No one was permitted to skip it, although typically no one would object.

They’d take any chance to listen to Technoblade.

It really didn’t help Bad when he realized that he was playing right after the SBI trio.

Bad groaned in his room, trying to sleep. “George, are you not going to consider sleeping on time? You’re playing Harold in Italy tomorrow, and that’s not exactly easy, especially the snippets that you chose.”

George shrugged. “My accompanist said I can take it slow.”

“You can’t take it that slow-”

“Eh, anything’s possible.”

Bad groaned again. “Can you at least try to sleep? I know I need it.”

“Hm, alright, fine.”

Bad still couldn’t sleep.

~

Technoblade stared pensively at the falling snow outside the window, cloak draped over his shoulders.

It was kind of peaceful, watching the snow drift down, even when the wind blew cold drafts of air through the open window. Techno frowned as he shivered. It wasn’t nearly as cold as last night, he shouldn’t be…

The door creaked. Techno only glanced backwards to see Phil’s tell tale bucket hat, striped white and green before returning to staring out the window. Phil joined him, taking off his coat and putting it over Techno’s shoulders.

It said a lot about Techno when he didn’t even protest.

“Getting, worse, hm?” Phil muttered. “You should definitely stop this.”

“And miss the snow falling? I don’t think so.” Techno took a deep breath in. “Funny how a ticking clock makes you appreciate the smallest things.”

Phil subconsciously clenched the windowsill.

“You said you’d try.”

Techno shot him a wry smile. “I never said how long the clock’s ticking for.”

Phil hesitantly returned the smile.

~

Sleepy Bois Inc’s flawless performance did not at all help Bad’s nerves.

Phil had opted to stay on stage instead of getting off and getting back on almost immediately. The pianist turned around and gave him a wink, which… still didn’t help.

Bad was terrified.

He had barely had a month to practice this piece, and he hadn’t had any time to think about how to play it, he’d just managed to get the notes down, he-

Bad let out a shaky breath. No, this was exactly why Technoblade pushed him, wasn’t it?

He walked out on the stage, cello and bow in hand. Bad sat down, getting into position and facing the crowd.

There were so many people.

His eyes found George’s, who gave him a thumbs up. Sapnap, beside him, mouthed “you can do this” and Dream smiled reassuringly.

Bad took a deep breath.

He can do this.

Phil’s eyes stared at Bad’s bow hand, trying to determine when he’d start. Abruptly, the cellist pulled on the bow, and Phil played the beginning chord.

Cello Concerto in E minor.

Adagio.

Slow.

Bad played the first chords quite rigidly, if he’d say so himself. He was essentially operating on muscle memory, relying on his hands to keep him going. 

He knew that that's not how one was supposed to play.

Bad tried to lose himself in the music like he had done several times before. But what he could accomplish so easily in the past did not at all come to him as the rest of the conservatory stared at him.

Backstage, Technoblade bit his lip.

Come on, Bad. 

Things were not as good as they could’ve been, to put it lightly. Bad was essentially panic playing, and that did no favours for his musicality. He pushed on, nonetheless. 

His vibratos were stiff and glissandos too measured. He needs to-

One bar before rehearsal number 5, Bad surprises himself.

He is allowed freedom in his allargando, and he pushes it. Bad surprises himself when he strays far, far from the regular tempo, and yet…

This is so liberating.

Phil seems to catch on, and begins to put more personality into the accompaniment. A competitive side that Bad never knew he had takes that as a challenge.

Quite a few high notes. Then he’s back on the G string, and he makes the most out of it before shifting up again. 

Expressivo.

Once, Bad was afraid of that marking.

He finds himself craving it. 

The notes are getting higher, and they’re staying higher, too.

Rehearsal number 10.

Poco stringendo .

To both Bad’s dismay and utter delight, Phil pushes him forward even more insistently. Forcing himself to play the way he’s always felt like he should play, but never has.

The notes are really high now- high enough to be notated on the treble clef. Bad shifts up over and over again, crossing over to the lower strings sometimes. 

He even improvises a few fingerings when he falters.

Bad thinks that he lost count of the bar numbers. He doesn’t even know what’s the downbeat and what’s the upbeat anymore.

All he knows is the melodic line.

It’s scarily freeing. 

On one hand, he has no sense of direction, and he is not at all rooted to the ground. It’s like he’s flailing in the air.

On the other, it’s like he’s flying. He has no control over where he goes, but he’s flying , and there’s a certain kind of thrill to not knowing what you’re doing. 

His fingers hurt from pressing down on the string so high up the fingerboard, and yet he can’t find himself to care. Badboyhalo has never felt more elated in his life.

Two bars before rehearsal number 15, he goes back down to bass clef.

Sonore.

Easier said than done.

The cellist slowly makes his way up, playing getting more and more passionate as he hits an astonishing E6 on the cello.

Phil milks the moment for all its worth during the breaks when Bad cannot, and Bad breathes heavily, already nearly worn out. He only has a few more bars to play.

The piece closes off with a slowly winding down melodic line that eventually fades…

Pizzicato, in line with Phil’s soft staccato octaves.

G.

F#.

E.

Silence.

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Sinfonia Concertante for Cello and Orchestra by Sergei Prokofiev: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEulw62snSQ
Fugue from Sonata No. 1 in G minor by Johann Sebastian Bach: https://youtu.be/R8xTneajT8Q
Zigeunerweisen "Gispy Airs" by Pablo de Sarasate: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmV2hj-I7Xo
Cello Concerto In E Minor by Edward Elgar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPhkZW_jwc0
Contrasts for Violin, Clarinet & Piano by Bela Bartok: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqROu7Dw9lo
Harold in Italy by Hector Berlioz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4NC4E5RXik&t=391s

Chapter 8: Liebestraum

Notes:

THANK YOU FOR SUPPORT Y'ALL ARE AMAZING
BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, I HAVE A DISCORD FOR Y'ALL NOW:
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GO JOIN
Edit: Totally didn't forget to name the chapter like a clown o_O

He’d done it.

He’d done it.

Bad breathed out. He’d really done it.

The applause erupted.

Shouts and screams and cheers, and Bad revelled in it all. But most importantly, he’d done it. He felt the insecurity fade away. He can succeed like this. He can.

Bad can make his mark on the world.

He feels the grin on his face as he bows. Behind him, Phil stands up and smiles. Bad walked backstage, where Technoblade is waiting.

Pride radiates from the violinist.

Bad, you’ve done it.

He giggles, and Techno schools his expression back into an apathetic one, toning down to a bored tone when he says “good job.”

It’s too late to do that, and Phil teases Techno for it.

~

Techno stares at Bad as he travels backstage, a bounce in his step as he securely puts away his cello.

He’s proud. 

At least he did something- at least he made an impact on Bad’s life.

Techno sighed. Now, to convince Dream…

~

Harvey frowned at the program. “It’s break right now, yeah? There hasn’t been a single brass instrumentalist yet.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Hm.” Ant shifted slightly, popping another piece of chocolate in his mouth. “Maybe they’re in the second half?”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the rest of the program. “I… don’t see any.” Aside from his own name, there was literally no other brass player. None.

“Huh.”

But Ant isn’t a brass player. He plays bass, and although the bass are often neglected in the strings family, they have representation nonetheless. Not for the first time, Harvey is struck with how different he is, exactly, from the rest of this little group they’ve created.

And as always, Harvey shoves it behind a mask of jokes and laughter.

He wonders if it’s healthy.

(It’s most definitely not, but he’ll keep lying to himself for as long as possible.)

~

“BAD, YOU DID AMAZING!!”

Sapnap was the first to barrel into Bad, although it was comical how he stopped when he saw the very expensive and definitely cherished cello on Bad’s back. The cellist laughed and set it down carefully before spreading his arms out.

“Yeah, I know. I did it. ” Bad smiled.

“Yes, you did.”

Bad turned around, and there was Sleepy Bois Inc, two of them holding their instruments and the third spinning a bucket hat on his finger. Technoblade waved stiffly upon seeing Bad stare at him, and turned around, not willing to deal with social interaction.

Phil laughed silently, even as Techno glared at him from his position near the corner.

The pianist and clarinetist joined the string quartet, essentially completing the group with the exception of Harvey and Ant. They talk, and Bad’s voice is animated as he describes the rush of performing onstage, continuously thanking Techno for pushing him as the pink-haired violinist looks on with a smile.

Dream is mildly disgruntled, but he’s happy for Bad. He’s happy that Bad can find his own happiness this way.

(Secretly, he wishes that he could.)

~

It isn’t a long time before the second half of the concert rolls around, opening with a masterful performance of Harold in Italy by George. More musicians followed, and none of them had the same kind of lustrous performance that Bad and George had, although there was one pianist by the name of Skeppy that caught Bad’s attention. But other than that, no performances were particularly striking.

Dream took the stage.

There was a smattering of light applause as the violinist bowed. He took a deep breath and put the violin under his chin.

Dream has something to prove today.

Fugue from Bach’s sonata number one in G minor. A piece which gives only one bar of the melodic line only before jumping into all the beautiful polyphonies Bach had loved to write. And despite the fact that the Baroque area was all about tradition, you can still differentiate Bach’s pieces from Handel’s pieces, because it has a unique sort of charm to it.

Four Ds commence the piece, and Dream immerses himself into it.

The piece is an elegant crochet of notes, each musical line as its own thread and weaving around each other to create a tapestry of music. Of course, polyphony on the violin is very difficult to pull off, but the end result is worth it.

Technoblade massages his brows next to Wilbur, who stares at the violinist with an unreadable expression.

Dream plays the piece flawlessly. Wilbur still can’t place his finger on what he thinks is wrong.

When Dream finishes, he walks backstage and the crowd bursts into whispers, discussing his performance. Techno hears some snippets.

“...So technical, not a single mistake…”

“...Prefer the cellist…”

“...flawless, why isn’t there more…”

Techno sits back with a smirk on his face. Beside him, Wilbur frowns. 

“I can’t seem to pinpoint what exactly is different between your performance and Dream’s.” Wilbur mutters. “But I can tell it’s different, nonetheless.”

“That’s the difference between prodigies and geniuses.” Techno said amicably. “Because I can tell the difference.”

Wilbur glared at him.

~

Phil sighed as he walked onto the stage for his third performance. The bowing, sitting down on the piano and adjusting the stool, waiting for the applause to die down- it was all a routine to him.

He places his fingers on the keyboard, and draws a deep breath in.

Liebestraum number 3, in A-flat major.

In the unconventional time signature of 6/4, Schubert aptly named this piece as “dream of love.” The eighth notes in the right hand were meant to be played in a light sort of way, while the sporadic notes in the left hand providing a bass line easily forgotten, yet the piece can’t proceed without them. 

Phil lulls the audience into a relaxed state as he presses down lightly on the keys. There are many ways to play Liebestraum, if only because there are several different “dreams of love” that people can have. 

Today, Phil shows everyone the calm and peacefulness of snow drifting down, ever so slowly. For one violinist in particular. 

Techno, why aren’t you going to play a solo this year? 

I dunno, Phil. Feels like I’ll have more motivation to survive if I know that I haven’t played a solo on the stage yet.

You know you might never be able to after this year…

Look who’s being pessimistic now, Phil.

But your solo is quite important- and plus, don’t you have the quartet to look forward to?

Hm. I dunno, I just… I don’t think it’s right for me to do it, especially if I’ll be gone.

Techno-

Phil. Concentrate on the Liebestraum.

The beautiful middle line continued to wash over the crowd, as the harmonies and bass line changed ever so slightly in the background. Techno breathed in, hearing the colours swim across his eyes, feeling it wash his worries away.

It got louder, and it got faster. 

The snowfall got heavier, and the wind got colder.

A masterful transition to A minor, then to E major. The tone of the piece never wavered, and yet the differences were undeniable.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and gave the snowflakes a new light- literally. It looked like something out of an animated movie, the crystals glittering, yet it was the same.

The piece continued to switch keys, and Phil’s playing grew in intensity, culminating at a F-flat in the middle line, which in turn slowly winded down to a G-natural.

The snowstorm only grew in speed, and you could barely see anything. Then, all of a sudden, the gust of wind stopped, leaving it hanging in the air, as it drifted down once more.

From the low E-flat, the notes got pulled up two octaves, and lines were added until there were three notes at a time, and Phil took advantage of it by putting more personality into those three notes that slowly and slowly flew up the staff lines, then back down again. 

A new gust of wind blew from a different direction, scattering all the snow that had piled on top of the trees and roofs. Slowly, they fell down, joining the rest of the white powder on the ground, slowing down once the bulk of it had already fallen.

A more established, new key. B major.

Five sharps.

Piu animato con passione.

The melodic line was now the top line, and it was much more animated than before, now that Phil didn’t need to excessively hide his accompaniment. It was more freedom.

Slowly, the snow melted to give way to spring. Green peeked out from the watery patches, and flowers started to blossom while the trees regained their leaves. The birds were coming back out, and the bees came around.

Gradually, the melody gets higher and higher, culminating at an F-natural followed by a broken F major chord in the accompaniment. However, the true climax comes two bars later, in C major, and Phil pressed down on the pedal, letting the notes ring.

The warmest day. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, the strawberries are ripe. In this night, the crickets chirp their songs, and the stars twinkle above in the indigo sky- blinking, tiny lights dotting the endless expanse of darkness.

The melodic line is now the only thing the right hand plays, with its grand four-note chords. Phil’s left hand leaps around the keyboard, dancing around three octaves of notes, and the melodic line caps at the G-sharp, although the next phrase pulls it even higher.

And the warmth lasts. The warmth lasts, even in the time of the day when it’s supposed to be cold- something that’s nothing more than a chill. Then it’s day again, and the sunbeams shine down on the greenery…

The phrase repeats itself, but even though it’s higher, it’s no longer as grand as it was the last time. A brief stint with F minor, before Phil pulls it back to major keys, but it’s already a reminder that the climax never lasts long.

And it’s all still beautiful. But it gets chilly, it gets colder, and the crops are harvested as the plants fail in the cold weather. The leaves turn red, orange and yellow, and they fall. They fall… they fall.

A desperate last bid for the major key, and the octaves travel up the staff lines again, hitting G7, taking a bar for themselves, then going up, up again, and a rolled chord, and… 

The leaves fall. It gets cold again, and the snow comes back down, fluttering slowly at first, but inevitably turning the landscape barren again.

The notes are light as they travel down several octaves, then back up, then back down… And then Phil comes back to the initial speed.

His left hand is no longer restricted to the bass line as it was the first time, and it crosses over, above the right hand while quietly rolling a few chords. The melody slowly diverts from what it used to be, but it’s still relaxed. Nothing is jarring at all when Phil slowly plays an arpeggio, leading to a few light chords up in the treble clef.

Four bars of that.

Another rolled chord.

And another, and a few solid ones, before a closing section of three bars, ending with a single, A-flat major chord.

Silence.

Phil does not hear the hesitant applause that soon escalates into full blown cheers at his performance. 

And although most of the audience doesn’t know it, he dedicated this performance to his long-time friend. Every note- to the person who heard the first time he played this Liebestraum number three, who encouraged him when he himself was bouncing around boarding schools, trying to find a home for himself. To the friend who may perhaps never hear the song that brought them together from Phil, ever again.

Phil is silent as he locks eyes with the pink-haired violinist, and he bows.

Notes:

Pieces referenced:
Harold in Italy by Hector Berlioz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4NC4E5RXik
Fugue from Sonata No. 1 in G minor by Johann Sebastian Bach: https://youtu.be/R8xTneajT8Q
Liebestraum No. 3 by Franz Schubert: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhW_tRmpLFs

Chapter 9: Concertino for Trombone

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: Harvey's arc is short purely because I wanted his to be light-hearted. I'm not trying to slight brass instruments, I promise.
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This is an… interesting choice of instrument, Harvey.

Thought it would be nice to give it a try! I think brass instruments need more love. I mean, whenever you think of “classic musician”, it’s almost always the piano and the string instruments- not brass, for sure.

Well, if you wanted to take a brass instrument, you could always pick up the trumpet.

Eh. I think trombone has more potential.

There aren’t many trombonists for a reason, Harvey.

Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.

“Harvey?”

The trombonist blinked, eyes focusing on the violinist in front of him. Harvey gave a sigh. “Hey, Technoblade.”

Techno inclined his head ever so slightly. “You know, I kind of expected you to be much more social, and not… standing on the side, like I am.” Techno gestured towards the general clump of the other eight people.

Harvey snorted. Needless to say, this was one of the weirdest parties he has ever been to. Soon after Phil’s stellar performance and Harvey’s… interesting one, Phil had immediately herded them into his and Techno’s room.

Dream eyed the place. “You guys didn’t plan much, did you?”

Phil had shrugged. “We were initially just going for a movie night or something with takeout. Speaking of which, what takeout-”

“Chinese food-”

“-Burgers and Fries-”

“-Thai food-”

“-Pizza-”

“-Ramen-”

Collectively, everyone had stopped and stared at each other. Phil had raised an eyebrow, and eyed Techno, who spun a pen in his hands- where the heck did he get that? and had a notepad. 

The pink-haired violinist had grinned. “Anything else?”

Eventually, once their food had arrived, everyone had settled on crashing on the couch as they watched sad anime. Except for two, apparently.

Technoblade unwrapped his weekly bar of chocolate agonizingly slowly, filling the uncomfortable silence with the crinkle of wrapper. Harvey began to grow just a tiny bit antsy.

Finally, Techno spoke.

“So. Interesting performance.”

Harvey sighed.

The minute and twenty seconds of accompaniment seemed to drag on and on as Harvey fiddled with the slider on his trombone. Finally, it was just a few bars before his entrance, and he slid around for a few seconds before finally blowing, starting his solo with a loud and proud E-flat.

The David Concertino.

This is one of the few pieces for trombone solo, and it’s written quite beautifully, if Techno says so himself. He watches and listens as Harvey plays the triplets, watches as his notes get higher and higher, and watches as he plays the G4 and winds back down to the E-flat 3. 

The accompanist carries on. As always, Harvey manages to surprise Techno at every turn. He follows the dynamic markings, doing crescendo and decrescendo as needed, but the tempo changes are drastic and send people into a rollercoaster, almost in a sacrilegious way. 

The hilarious part is that other times, Harvey completely adheres to what’s on the score, raising his eyebrows, taunting the judges. 

His playing is just like those people that are overbearingly polite, yet you can catch that they hold no respect for you at all. 

This is interesting, Techno muses. Last year, Harvey had performed timidly enough, then surprised everyone with a loud and proud ending. This year, Harvey plays around even more, and this dance is more dangerous, but as a result, much more enrapturing.

The triplets come in more and more often, and then they eventually make way for the sixteenth notes, which culminate at a climax… for the first movement.

The second and slower movement is significantly shorter in terms of bars, but because of the change in speed, it’s longer. Technoblade can tell that Harvey is slightly bored- he’s never been one for slow movements, but he wants to play the third movement, too.

That’s not to say the second movement isn’t difficult. Often, instrumentalists find slower movements harder, if only because the audience can pick out more aspects of their performances with the slow performance. The notes span over more than three octaves, but Harvey has no problem with it.

The C3 is held for four bars before the third movement- Harvey’s personal favourite- comes along.

Allegro maestoso.

It is a lot like the first movement, except the accompaniment is much shorter, and Harvey comes in within twenty seconds. The opening theme is the exact same as it was in the first movement, but the notes on the staff dance around much higher and much lower, and much faster as well. Techno finds himself both dreading and anticipating what would come in the ending.

Predictably, Harvey is unpredictable once more.

He extends the final ritardando much longer than what is considered acceptable, and the quirk on the edge of Harvey’s lips is a telltale sign that he is well aware that the adjudicators are most likely having an aneurysm.

After agonizing seconds that feel much more like a small eternity, the notes resolve into the final, grand tonic. 

And the problem is, there isn’t a single wrong part about this performance. Harvey has always played the way he has wanted- he never had the blockade that the others suffer from. But the audience isn’t as enthusiastic as it is for Badboyhalo, no matter how much they should be. 

Harvey’s face falls ever so slightly when he registers the same fact, but his grin comes back on nevertheless and he bows.

“Interesting performance?” Harvey repeated. “Well, I don’t think I did much wrong.”

“Ah. So you know it too.”

Techno and Harvey spare a few seconds to watch that particularly enrapturing scene where the protagonist is close to death… again.

Once again, surprisingly, it’s the introvert that breaks the silence.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“About what?” Harvey asks, confused.

Techno gestures towards the group again. Anyone can see how close the group has gotten over the few months. Niki is squished between Wilbur and Phil, both of whom are stealing the last bits of popcorn from Niki as she stares at the computer. George, Sapnap and Dream have pretty much established themselves as a trio, and they are lying sprawled on the couch together. Bad and Ant are sitting on the top, Bad nearly asleep and Ant looking disgruntled, though both Harvey and Techno could tell that Ant’s feeling happy.

There’s only one cushion left on the couch.

And Harvey says as such.

Techno shrugs. “That may be true, Harvey, but that doesn’t mean there’s only one space left.”

The grin Techno shoots him is so unlike the violinist that Harvey has to take a double take. “You want your place in this world? Carve it out for yourself.”

He laughs silently as Harvey blinks at him. He should definitely do this more often- it’s entertaining to watch the confusion of his fellow instrumentalists.

Still smiling, Techno plops himself down on the floor, leaning ever so slightly against Phil, who smiles softly as well. The cushion remains open for Harvey.

Harvey blinks a couple more times.

You want your place in this world? Carve it out for yourself.

Suddenly, Harvey smirks as he swipes a pillow.

Wilbur turns around. “Hey, Harvey, what’s-”

That’s the last thing before he gets a faceful of pillow.

Wilbur shrieks as the rest of the group bursts into laughter, and Sapnap catches on, taking his own pillow and slamming George in the face with it, who then proceeds to faceplant the floor. Dream’s wheeze is cut short as Harvey smacks him as well, and he leaps into the fray with a battle cry. Niki’s peal of laughter is bright, uninterrupted as everyone collectively decides to spare the lady. Even Technoblade isn’t spared once Ant surprisingly hits him, and the pink-haired violinist retaliates with Phil at his side.

Throughout the whole pillow fight, Harvey stakes out the top of the couch as his.

~

“So, Niki, huh?”

“Wait- Phil, no.”

Phil shrugged. “I didn’t mean it that way, if that’s what you were wondering.” Beside him, Techno was silent as he trod around the hallways of the university with the rest of Sleepy Bois Inc. “I know that’s not what you want, despite what Harvey teases you for.”

Wilbur exhaled in relief. “Yeah. Thanks, Phil.”

“No problem.” Phil says lightly. 

The three of them fall into a comfortable silence. Well, that’s what Wilbur thinks.

The other two are holding a silent conversation.

Phil, please.

Techno- no, seriously, we can’t hide it from him forever-

Then we’ll hide it for as long as possible. I really don’t need more people hovering over me like you are- and I don’t mean you’re a bad person, it’s just that… you can only take so much of being treated like a china doll.

With your precarious situation, you might as well be one.

Phil, please. 

…

…

And if he finds out some other way?

Then that’s my responsibility.

You better survive this, Techno.

I will.

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Concertino for Trombone by Ferdinand David: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNlM598hkeg

Apologies for the short chapter, but...
This is the last fluff chapter before things start going down... you've been warned :)

Chapter 10: Boléro

Notes:

I HIGHLY, HIGHLY HIGHLY RECCOMEND YOU TO LISTEN TO BOLERO WHILE READING THIS.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhhkGyJ092E
Tip: Read along with the pace of the story. Each entry of the melody has its own section, written in italics- until the last section, which I split up into multiple parts. Entries of the melody are broken up by two empty bars without the melody.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta...

The piece starts with the rhythmic tapping of the snare drum. It begins an ostinato that will quickly become the only constant throughout the piece, save for the melody itself, repeated exactly one hundred and sixty-nine times. Things start off very quietly.

“Well, Technoblade. I think I’ve finally figured it out.”

Techno snorted. It’s already been another two weeks after the Christmas concert, and classes have started up already. Techno was still teaching Bad and Dream, though they’ve moved to practice room eight by now.

“Finally, huh?” Techno threw the bar of chocolate into his bag. “Took you long enough.”

He began to rosin his bow. “What made you figure it out?”

Dream stared at his violin for a few moments before answering. “I think it was when I saw Bad perform. He looked so happy… and then when I performed, I realized that I’ve been basing my arguments on the fact that I don’t have potential.”

“Don’t get cocky about it.” Techno jested. “But yes, that’s it. You have potential, Dream- far more than you know, and far more than you think. Even more than Bad, and I think we have both seen how amazing he is when he lets go.”

Just on cue, Kol Nidrei rings out and Dream peeks over to see Bad practicing in the room across them, looking every bit the professional cellist he’s always dreamed to be.

Dream sighs. “You’re sure about this?”

Technoblade only smiles in response.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta...

The first flute gives the first appearance of the melody while the violas and cellos pluck on the second and third beats of each bar. The snare drum continues.

“Ever thought of getting closer to her, Wil?”

Wilbur looks up from his guitar. “Easier said than done.”

Harvey grins. “At least you clarified what you want. I’ve been trying to set you two up romantically for forever- looks like all my efforts have gone to waste.” Harvey dramatically plops down on his bed, and Wilbur laughs gently before he continues to play the same chords, looking for just the right melody for his new song.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The second flute follows along with the rhythm as well, now. The violas and cellos continue their pizzicato as the first clarinet takes over the expansive melody, smooth as always. The snare drum continues.

“Hey, Ant!”

The bassist looks over and sees Bad waving frantically. Bad’s wearing a coat- was he outside?

The cellist is beaming. “The sun’s out, and I know how much you like drawing scenery-”

Bad’s laugh flows out as Ant scrambles to gather his notepad and pencil. True to Bad’s word, the sun is shining for the first time in several weeks.

Ant breathes in and feels the sun on his face.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

Now, the first flute takes over the snare drum rhythm as the harp joins the violas and cellos in their rhythmic plucking. The bassoon is given the melody, although it is different, now. The snare drum continues.

“Phil, do you ever just wonder why apples can’t be orange? I mean, sure, there are green apples, but why not orange apples?”

The pianist in question blinked a couple of times at Harvey. “...What?”

Techno cut an apple on the other side of the table. “Because that’s how biology works, nerd.”

Niki laughed lightly while Harvey pouted.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The snare drum’s rhythm is handed back to the second flute as the E-flat clarinet takes the same melody that the bassoon played. The harp, violas and cellos continue to pluck their strings. The snare drum continues. 

“Okay. Let’s try that again.”

Dream gritted his teeth as he played the first few bars of the Mendelssohn concerto for what must’ve been the fiftieth time. The whole time, Techno just sat there, closing his eyes and breathing, stopping him when he deemed the part unsatisfactory.

Dream took a deep breath. He can do this.

If this is what it takes to be the best, he’ll do it.

He’ll make his way to the top.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The two bassoons relieve the second flute, and the oboe d’amore takes the melody back to what it started with. This time, the violas and cellos are joined by the second violins and the bass plucking, and the harp receives respite. The snare drum continues.

“George!”

The violist turned around and saw Sapnap panting to catch up to him. “Wait up!”

Almost reluctantly, George decided to stop and let the violinist catch up to him. “Hey, Sap.”

“George- What’s up with Dream?”

The musician in question frowned, suddenly noticing the changes in Dream’s behavior. He’s still obsessively practicing, but he does it with more of a purpose than before, and he seems much more amicable towards Technoblade…

“You think the lessons are actually working?” Sapnap asked him breathlessly.

“...Huh.”

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

In the sixth entry, the first horn matches the rhythm of the snare drum. If you’ve been paying attention, everything has been gradually getting louder. Here, we also have the first duet for the melody- the first flute, at pianissimo, and the first trumpet at mezzo-piano, though the latter has a mute on. The second violins make way for the first violins to take pizzicato. The snare drum continues.

“THE SNOW’S MELTING!”

Niki spins around to see Wilbur and Phil running outside joyously while Techno lags behind, though from the small quirk on Technoblade’s face, she can see that he’s nothing less than pleased. Niki finds that a smile rests on her face as well, and is quick to join the others.

And indeed, the snow is melting. The colours of the world are coming back, no longer filled with the endless blanket of white it had been covered with before. Green is starting to peek out in patches of small grass, and the birds are coming back.

You can even see a few flowers where the seeds are particularly bold.

Niki breathes it all in. She’s always been one for more colours.

It’s also why she notices that Techno’s pink hair has gotten significantly paler.

“Hey, Techno?”

The violinist turns around. “Hi.”

“You might want to dye your hair again.”

Techno frowns, tugging his braid in front of him and inspecting the faded edges. “Hmm.”

Niki says nothing when Techno comes back the next day, week, and month, and he doesn’t dye his hair.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The second trumpet picks up where the horn left, and dutifully plays the repetitive rhythm. It’s the tenor saxophone that plays with vibrato and expression, this time, with the same different melody that the bassoon once played. The violas get a break and the cellos and bass carry on, now joined by the woodwinds for the first time- the flutes, as the seconds come back in, and the second flute switches out for the clarinet in the last four bars. The snare drum continues.

“You want me to play what? ”

Bad stared at Techno incredulously. “The Schumann Concerto? That is notoriously difficult in terms of difficulty- I-”

“And you’re doing it again.” Techno said, subconsciously drawing his cloak around his shoulders a bit more. “I thought we talked about this- your potential is near limitless, Bad. Let go the way you did on stage two months ago.”

Bad stared at the sheet music. Perhaps half a year ago, he would’ve run away at the mere thought of performing such a notoriously difficult piece. Even though Schumann doesn’t sound difficult… Bad would’ve likely dropped it for Prokofiev.

But it’s been six months.

In practice room seven, the first notes of the third movement of the concerto ring out.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The sopranino saxophone takes the same melody as the previous one did, and hands off the last four bars to the soprano saxophone to finish. The second trumpet gives the first trumpet the ostinato rhythm, and all the strings save for the second violin continue their harmonization in the background with the oboes and cor anglais. The snare drum continues.

“Oh, hey, Wilbur!”

Niki waves cheerfully at the musician in the library who startles upon hearing his name. 

Wilbur turns around and hesitantly smiles at Niki’s bright grin, clutching a small book in his hands. The flutist walks over. “What’s that in your hands?”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, really…” Wilbur mumbles. “Just a few songs I’ve written.”

Niki’s eyes light up. “Woah! Wish I could compose.”

“They’re not good…”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt it.” Niki giggles. “The rest of Sleepy Bois Inc is waiting for you, by the way. The name of your group is so cute , I love it!”

Wilbur’s head snaps up upon hearing the sentence. “Oh, shoot.” The clarinetist groans. “I forgot to- crap-”

Niki’s laughter is still as bright as ever as she watches him scramble out.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The second horn makes its first appearance with the rhythm along with the flute and violas at this point in the piece. Both piccolos, the first horn, and even the celesta take up the first melody once more. At this point, regardless of whether or not you’ve been paying attention, the notes are most definitely louder. The first violins switch out for the second violins in the accompaniment, and finally, there is divisi in both second violins and violas, parts playing triplets that travel across their four strings to bring more colour, as bass clarinet joins them and the bassoons and harp come back once more. The snare drum continues.

“You want the second violin part?”

Needless to say, Sapnap was quite confused. “Technoblade, I thought you would, you know, play the first violin while Dream and I played the second.” The other violinist in question was similarly confused.

Technoblade snorted. “Who said that?”

Bad and George blinked several times.

Techno positioned himself beside Sapnap, gesturing for Dream to take the outermost seat in the quartet.

“Let’s begin.”

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The first quartet with the rhythm of the snare drum consists of the fourth horn, third trumpet, second violins and the violas, as the first oboe, oboe d’amore, cor anglais and clarinets take the second melody. The rest of them that are not playing the snare drum’s rhythm continue their dutiful accompaniment, joined with the muted trumpets. The snare drum continues.

“Hey, Techno!”

Technoblade looks up from his sheet music and sees a grinning Wilbur. 

“I’ve finally got it, Techno, I’ve got my song!” 

Techno continues to remain impassive, though by this point Wilbur already knows that Techno is very proud of him, and he continues to smile as he strums the first chords of this new song.

“I heard there was a special place… where men could go and emancipate… the brutality and the tyranny of their ruler…”

Wilbur stops. “And I still need to figure out the rest.” he says mildly bashfully. “But yeah, how does it sound?”

Techno doesn’t reply for a few seconds. When he speaks, it’s soft- impossibly soft, and Wilbur can barely catch it, but he hears it nonetheless.

“It sounds great, Wil.”

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

In the eleventh entry of the melody, everything seems to quiet once more, despite the obvious fact that throughout the piece, everything has been building up to an unknown climax. Only the first trombone plays the second melody and first flute, second horn and violas join the snare drum. Accompaniment is taken up by the clarinets, bass clarinets, contrabassoon, harp, first violins, violas, cellos and double basses. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

Normally quiet and timid Ant was yelling at a laughing Harvey, who spun around with all his spare strings. The bassist continued to try to swipe his strings back as Harvey held them out of reach, and the rest of the lunch table continued to laugh at Ant’s expense- even Bad. 

Phil continued to wheeze before he finally schooled his expression back into a normal one, then proceeded to burst out in laughter again when the image of Harvey pretending to use the bass strings as dental floss. Even Techno let out a small chuckle.

Eventually, Phil calmed down. “Harvey, give Ant his strings back.”

The trombonist relented, then yelped as Ant proceeded to chase him down for the cookie he stole earlier. Eventually, a Dream that most definitely was a tea kettle at the moment stepped in, (gently) wrestling Ant back to his seat.

The rest of the table was still laughing.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The fourth horn, first trumpet and second violins take the rhythm and bass clarinet, bassoons, contrabassoon, harp, first violins, violas, cellos and basses give the rest of the accompaniment. The melody comes back with much more force, and things are moderately loud at this point- piccolos, flutes, oboes, the cor anglais, clarinets, and tenor saxophone all come together to play the first melody. The snare drum continues.

“I don’t understand!”

In practice room six, Dream shouted in frustration, glaring at an ever-impassive Technoblade.

“What is there not to understand?” Technoblade drawled. “You know exactly how to work past the blockade. It will take a long time, but you know how- so what’s stopping you?”

Dream growled. “Surely there’s a better way to do this. Surely-”

Techno’s eyes flashed in irritation. “You think a musician’s life is easy? I only got where I am from years of sweat and tears. And blood, he adds silently.

“Then, I-”

“Then what, Dream?” Techno demanded. “It’s not like you have any other route to walk, now. You’re too deep into this pit of music- and even though you love it, there’s no way to extract yourself from it. Unless you want to go become a cashier.”

Dream breathed in sharply. That hit way too close to home.

For all of Techno’s social faults, he knows when someone begins to grow defensive, and he drops the topic. “Again.”

Dream continues to glare as he picks up his violin.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The first and second horns take the snare drum’s rhythm once more, and the melody loses the cor anglais and the saxophone, although they gain the first violins, and the section makes up for the loss of wind instruments. For the first two bars, the first oboe and clarinets have the accompaniment, although they leave it to the bassoons, contrabassoon, the remaining horns, timpani, second violins, violas, cellos, and double bass for the rest of the section.

“Bad?”

The cellist spins around and meets the eyes of a clearly startled flutist. “Hi, Niki! What are you doing here…?”

“I could ask the same for you…” Niki eyed the currently tickling oven in the conservatory kitchen. “I didn’t realize you had permissions to the kitchen, but why now? It’s two am.”

Bad shrugged. “Stress baking. I’d usually be asleep, but George isn't feeling the best, and I got him some tea, then I saw the ingredients and I guess I just…” Bad gestured helplessly to the oven, where a few muffins were baking. “But yeah, what about you?”

Niki shrugged as well. “I actually come down here pretty often. I have a sweet tooth.” She confessed, and Bad chuckled.

They spent most of the next two hours mixing random combinations of foods.

If anyone noticed that Badboyhalo was significantly sleep deprived the next day, or that Niki seemed to be running purely on a sugar rush, they said nothing.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The remaining horns take the rhythm from the first and second horns, who take the third and fourth horns’ positions in the accompaniment. The rest of the accompanying instruments stay the same, although they’re now joined by bass clarinet as well as the harp. The same instruments from two sections ago come back together in the original melody, now joined by both violin sections, making it even more powerful. The snare drums continue.

“You still haven’t lost the cloak.”

Phil noted this with the slightest hint of worry- no, who was he kidding? He was worried. He was most definitely worried. 

As always, Techno shrugged it off. Not the cloak- he was still cold. “Phil, I told you that you don’t need to worry.”

“You can’t just say that-” Phil fumbled for words. “You can’t just say that when you’re clearly not doing as well.

“I’ll be fine.” Techno insisted. “It’s not like you can do anything, either.”

The doctors didn’t have the heart to look at Phil in the eye when they confirmed his suspicions. 

That day, the rest of the group said nothing as the pair took seats at the opposite ends of the table, even if they wanted to ask about it.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

The snare drum rhythm is given back to the first and second horns. The first two bars are still played by the oboes, although it’s joined by the flutes instead before leaving it once more to the clarinets, bassoons, contrabassoon, remaining horns, sopranino and tenor saxophones, the first and second trombones, the tuba, timpani, harp, cello, bass and viola, the last of which interchanges for the second violins for the last four bars. Flutes, oboes, cor anglais, the first trumpet, and the violins take the secondary melody, although bass clarinet joins them in the last four bars, and fourth horns and violas interchange with the first trumpet and second violins respectively. The snare drum continues.

“Fu-” “Language!”

Before George could swear profusely, Bad had already interrupted him with the language treatment. The violist sighed. “I almost had it! I almost -” George groaned in frustration again.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to you eventually.” Bad mused as he looked over his fingering. “Also, rehearsal is in fifteen minutes, we should really get going.”

George sighed again. “Yeah. Sometimes I hate rehearsal.”

“Don’t we all?”

The violist blinked a couple of times. “You did not. ” George said, aghast.

Bad stared at him before realizing he just essentially complained about orchestra rehearsal- since when did that start happening?

The cellist tried in vain to shush George as he promulgated the news loud enough for most of the campus to hear.

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

All horns come together to play the snare drum’s rhythm while the bass clarinet, bassoons, contrabassoon, trumpets, second and third trombones, tuba, timpani, harp and bass play the accompaniment. For the first two bars, the second violins and cellos are also playing accompaniment, though they switch to the melody with the flutes, piccolo, oboes, cor anglais, clarinets, first trombone, first violins and viola. When the secondary melody gets too low for the sopranino saxophone, it gets handed off to the tenor saxophone, who comes in in the last four bars with the bass clarinet. The snare drum continues.

“Wilbur, how’s that song coming along?”

Harvey glanced over to the clarinetist’s messy notebook, barely able to read the scribbled lyrics and noted the blanks. 

Wilbur followed his eyes to the said blanks and snatched his notebook back. “I think I’ve gotten it all finished. I just-” Wilbur paused. “I don’t know which names to write down.”

“You could name them Apple, Tapple, Gapple and Harvey.” The trombonist joked.

Harvey got a smack from Wilbur for that, but Wilbur scribbled it onto the sides anyway. For all he knew, he might actually use it.

“I just don’t understand your obsession with apples.” Wilbur muttered. “Clearly, oranges are superior.”

“Let’s not have this debate.”

“Orange is superior.” 

Harvey jumped and shrieked at the unexpected arrival of Technoblade, who laughed at his expense. 

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

For the first two bars, the flutes and piccolo take the rhythm, although they transition into the primary melody right after, joining the piccolo trumpet, C trumpets (coming from two bars of accompaniment), soprano and tenor saxophones, as well as the first violins- all at fortissimo. Oboes, clarinets, horns, second violins, violas and cellos are all left to the rhythm, and the bass clarinet, bassoons, contrabassoon, tuba, timpani, harp and double bass play the accompaniment, also at fortissimo. The snare drum continues.

“Niki, what do you think about spring?”

The two musicians were sitting under a tree in one of the campus’ open fields. The other eight instrumentalists of their group were currently walking around, though the flutist and bassist preferred to sit and draw. Ant continued to sketch a detailed picture of the scenery.

“Spring? Well, it feels like all the colours returned to the world. Everyone looks much more alive when spring comes, too.” Except for Techno.

“Yeah.” Ant mused. “Techno’s hair is quite pale, now.”

Niki frowned. “I told him about it, about a month ago. He still hasn’t dyed it.”

“Is he not going to bother?”

“Not sure.”

Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta ta. Ta. ta-ta-ta ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta…

Everything the orchestra has been playing has been leading up to this moment. Once again, the flutes and piccolo take two bars of the rhythm before going into the melody. Oboes, clarinets, horns, second violins, violas and cellos all play the rhythm for the rest of the orchestra, and the C trumpets and first trombone take two bars of accompaniment before also joining the melody, leaving bass clarinet, bassoons, contrabassoon, second and third trombone, tuba, timpani, harp and double bass once more, though half of them aren’t even audible under the organized cacophony of noise. The melody is played by the same instruments as the entry before, though joined by the first trombone. This melody stretches on, including both the primary melody and the secondary melody, implying that this is as exciting as it gets. The snare drum continues.

“That was a pretty good class.”

Phil remarked this as he saw Techno walk out of practice room five- not quite bouncing , though his steps certainly have some cheer in them.

“Well, it’s pretty late, so I’d hope so.” The violinist said dryly. Behind Phil, Wilbur grinned. “Come on, let’s get back to the dorms.”

They walked most of the way without much problem. Their feet tapped against the pavement as they crossed the street.

In an interesting shift, Ravel masterfully redirects the entire piece to E major. Even though the accidentals have all been quite ambiguous, nothing has been as abrupt as the sudden G sharp near the end of the secondary melody. Right before rehearsal 18, everything becomes E major, and the melody is even higher than before. Everyone is playing as loudly as they can, and even though by all accounts it should be messy, it is somehow all still clear. The snare drum continues.

None of them noticed anything wrong. They’ve done this many times, after all.

But it was dark out. It still wasn’t quite late enough in the year for the night to be young- it’s only March, after all.

Six bars before the end, the bass drum, cymbals and tam tam make their first entry. They add even more to the already tense atmosphere. The snare drum continues.

The streetlights meant that the bright lights coming from their right went unnoticed.

Five bars before the end, nearly the full orchestra plays in unison, although the saxophones and trombones play interesting ascending triplets and the harp and bass maintain the original accompaniment. The snare drum continues.

They were too engrossed in their conversation to hear the screech of tires.

Four bars before the end, everything stays the same. And yet, everything still manages to get even louder. The snare drum continues.

They didn’t hear the alarmed shouts.

Three bars before the end, everything is still the same. Things are still getting louder, and the snare drum continues.

The three brothers in all but blood don’t notice the barreling truck until it’s too late.

Two bars before the end, all hell breaks loose. The snare drum no longer continues. Everyone is playing uncoordinated glissando winding down, and yet Ravel still manages to close the dance with notated notes on paper, detailing very specific rhythms. 

And when they did, all they could do was freeze in horror.

The last bar closes with a single C major chord, representing one particular concept.

Except for one.

Death.

Notes:

Waiting for you to yell at me on my discord :)
https://discord.gg/HwbkW8jqrf

Pieces Referenced:
Boléro by Maurice Ravel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhhkGyJ092E
Violin Concerto in E minor by Felix Mendelssohn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I03Hs6dwj7E
Cello Concerto by Robert Schumann: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIHrhEpCcvw
L'Manburg Anthem: We all know it, like- come on...
Kol Nidrei by Max Bruch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i91RX2LhY8s

Chapter 11: Sonata no. 3

Notes:

Your questions are being answered :)

Edit: i can exPLAIN- THE TITLE-
OKAY SO I MADE A BET ON MY DISCORD SERVER THAT IF I GET A DEMON SLAYER AU WITHIN A WEEK I'D CHANGE MY TITLES TO CRACK. I REGRET EVERYTHING.
BUT GO READ IT: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172313/chapters/69031959

Another Edit: Pog, we're back to normal. But if you didn't catch the crack title- it was Music Conservatory AU except it's MCYT and I make you cry

Techno was frozen.

He was frozen and couldn’t do anything- couldn’t do anything as Wilbur snapped out of his state of shock and pushed them away, without pushing himself out of the truck’s path-

The impact was sickening. The screech of the tires as the driver tried to stop jolted him back to reality, but it was too late.

Techno blinked, and then Wilbur was lying on the ground.

He could hear nothing past the roaring in his ears. Not the babbled apologies of the shaken driver, not the deranged screams of Phil as he fell down on his knees beside Techno, cradling Wilbur in his arms, not the shouts of the other students as they called for an ambulance. 

Everything passed in a blur. He vaguely remembered Phil explaining the situation, remembered people shaking him, asking what’s wrong and Phil yelling at them to stay back. There wasn’t a single moment of clarity.

Outside the operating room, Techno could only think a single thing over and over.

It should’ve been me.

~

“How is he?” Phil asked desperately. He tried to ignore how Techno only seemed to look up when they said anything or asked anything about Wilbur’s condition. 

He did not like the grim look on the doctors’ faces.

“We aren’t sure about his condition. He suffered severe head trauma- it’s a miracle that he’s even alive at all. His skull has been fractured- to prevent further brain damage, we will need to do surgery. Normally, we’d need to ask for his parents’ permission, but…”

But his parents had never given a single fuck. Phil thought bitterly.

“Do it.” Phil said. “Wil’s life is more important.”

The doctor gave a single nod of understanding, before disappearing back into the operating room.

Phil sank slowly to the floor, and Techno fell back into his haze.

~

They had to keep monitoring Wilbur. They couldn’t let Techno or Phil see him, telling both of them to go back to the conservatory and get some rest.

Techno trudged back to their dorm. Phil’s feet brought him to the practice rooms.

It’s funny, really, how many times Phil has taken to abusing the piano whenever any of his brothers were at medical risk. It’s just never been Wilbur before.

It’s always been Techno. 

Prokofiev’s third sonata starts in the deceptive key of E major, despite being written in A minor. The modern dissonance and bold chords represent Phil’s jumble of thoughts as he rams on the keyboard, venting everything and yet nothing all at once.

Everything, because this is literally his only coping mechanism.

Nothing, because as the piece moves on, he does not feel any better- if anything, Phil feels his anger, fear and sadness intensify.

He goes on. There is little respite at points, but almost immediately, they’re followed by another quick and nimble hop to the other end of the keyboard. If Phil is being honest with himself, he’s definitely not doing well. 

He pushes onwards. And onwards.

Wilbur’s limp body flashes in his mind, and he blinks away the tears that threaten to escape his eyes.

He doesn’t have any more time to think about that, however. The sonata forces him to focus on the notes, on the dynamics, on the phrases and nonsensical patterns that Prokofiev wrote. In a way, it’s the only way Phil can stop thinking of things. 

Too soon, fifteen minutes pass, and he’s breathing hard, staring at the final page of the sonata, and the double bar lines that mark the end. 

He flips back to the start.

Over and over. 

Techno says nothing when he doesn’t see Phil return to the dorms. He can’t- he continues to stare up at the ceiling, replaying the events over and over again in his mind.

Neither of them get any sleep that night.

~

“Can you stop pacing for one goddamn second.”

Dream glares at Sapnap, who has his face buried in his theory textbooks. “No, Sapnap, I can’t. Wilbur- he could be dead for all we know!”

“You think I’m not worried?” Sapnap snaps, a rare enough occurrence that Dream freezes. “Pacing is not going to help anyone, unless you’re trying to drive us both crazy. Get some sleep. We won’t be allowed off-campus until the morning.”

Silence falls between them, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Faintly, they can hear the sets of notes ringing from practice room four. 

Dream’s eyes involuntarily go to his door. “How do you think Phil’s doing?”

Sapnap snorts. “With that playing? Not well. Not well at all.”

~

Harvey stares at the empty bed from across him. It’s already five am- usually, even Harvey would be asleep at this time in the very early morning. But how can he? 

Harvey’s eyes trail across the room, only to land on Wilbur’s beloved guitar, lying in its case, waiting for its owner to open it. 

He doesn’t even know whether or not Wilbur will be able to come back, after this. The trombonists’ hands close into fists, nails cutting into his own palms. A sob threatens to climb its way out of Harvey’s throat, but he pushes it down.

Crying isn’t going to help anybody, least of all Wilbur. 

~

Niki is in shock as she rests in her dormitory. Thankfully, her roommate says nothing, but she can feel the pitying looks that she shoots her. 

Why?

Why Wilbur?

Why Wilbur, the moody yet kind musician that had a voice people scrambled to hear? Why Wilbur, the best friend that Niki has ever had? Why Wilbur- Wilbur, the man so good with words and compliments, whose dry humour bound the group together?

Why?

Her flute remains untouched. She was supposed to play a duet with him, tonight.

Cafe 1930- one of the only duets for such unconventional instrumentation. They were supposed to practice it together, tonight. 

She refuses to play it without him.

~

“Bad?”

George pokes his head out of the door to the kitchen, finding the cellist easily. “Bad, what are you doing?”

“Baking.” Bad replies nonchalantly, as if it isn’t 6:30 in the morning and ninety percent of the campus isn’t even awake yet. On that note… “Why are you awake, George? You always wake up at 8 at the earliest.”

George shrugs. “Can’t sleep. I haven’t slept, actually, last night.”

Bad blinks at the oven, expression unreadable. “You were there.”

It isn’t a question.

George clears his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah, I was.”

“What happened?” Bad asks quietly.

George shifts a little before responding. “It was all really quick… I don’t think many of us noticed the truck until it was too close. And even when the three of them did… Wilbur was the only one to move.” The violist looks down uncomfortably. “There wasn’t time for him to get out of the way as well. He pushed them, and the truck hit.”

Bad doesn’t reply for several minutes.

“...Bad?” George ventures.

“Do you suppose Phil and Techno blame themselves?” Bad says suddenly.

In the distance, the piano continues to ring.

“...Yeah.”

~

Ant knocks on the door of practice room four at seven thirty in the morning, holding a cup of coffee. Without waiting for a response, he enters, quickly shutting the door.

Phil continues to play.

Ant says nothing as he sets down the cup. Rules be damned- Ant knows that Phil isn’t close to stopping anytime soon. If he knows him well enough, Phil will keep on playing until his lessons start up again.

He exits the room just as quickly and quietly. Outside, Ant makes eye contact with Harvey, and shakes his head in response to the silent question. Harvey swallows nervously and promptly turns around, heading towards the cafeteria. 

Neither of them have to say anything.

There’s nothing to be said, after all.

~

To the nine musicians, the days that stretch between that fateful night and the day when Wilbur is declared stable are a small eternity. Phil and Techno are never seen apart, until the evening, when Phil goes straight to the practice rooms and Techno goes back to the dorms. Sometimes, Phil falls asleep on the piano, resulting in Techno asking Harvey to check on him at around three am every night. 

Niki is distraught, more than anyone else has ever seen her. She barely goes down to the kitchen anymore, out of fear of starting a fire, and doesn’t play with as much vigor as she used to. The practice room that Niki and Wilbur had booked out for an entire week remains untouched and unused. 

Harvey tries to be as humorous as possible, but he can tell that no one else appreciates it, even though it’s his best coping mechanism. He continues to check on Phil, his heart going out to the fatherly pianist. 

The Dream Team dances around the topic, avoiding all questions and refusing to answer any when they’re cornered with them. Dream starts slipping back into his previous playing style, though Sapnap and George remind him constantly of the way Technoblade wants him to play. And even though he knows it’s wrong, he continues to play to the score. It’s easier. 

Badboyhalo and Antfrost watch over the group, always there to comfort whenever one of them needs it. The two of them are the ones that function the closest to normal, and they continue to remain strong for their friends. 

And Technoblade…

Well… 

~

“Why did it have to be him?”

Techno rambles, on and on as Phil watches. Harvey had quite forcefully told Phil to take a break from his nightly practice sessions, clearly enunciating that it wasn’t of any use for Phil to do this over and over again. Something in Techno had broken upon seeing Phil sit on his bed for the first time in a couple of days, and…

“Why couldn’t it be me? I’m dying anyways, I- Phil, why did it have to be Wilbur?”

Phil looks up, and a bit of guilt overtakes him as he sees something in Techno’s eyes shatter. He’s been selfish, these past couple of days, disregarding his friends and hammering away at his pieces mindlessly, not offering comfort when he should’ve.

Techno’s grief is quiet and calm, but it’s there. Phil stands up and walks across the room, hugging him gently as Techno lets it out. 

“ Why him? ” Techno sobs out, and Phil rubs soothing circles on his back.

“He made that choice, alright, mate?” Phil mutters. “It was Wilbur’s choice, Tech. It wasn’t your fault- it has never been your fault.”

“I-” Techno chokes on his words, and settles for taking a few deep breaths.

Phil extracts himself from the hug and puts his hands on Techno’s shoulders, looking at him in the eye. “All the more reason to live, Techno. If he- if he dies-” Phil forces out, “-then you’ll just have to live on, Techno. It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

“He doesn’t even know.” Techno whispers. “This secret- he doesn’t even know. ”

The chilly spring wind blows in from the open window.

~

It’s painful.

It’s all Wilbur knows for a good few minutes, he believes- actually, he’s lost all sense of time. What’s going on? Why is there so much pain?

There’s a consistent ringing in his ears too- why? Did his hearing get damaged? If it was, how is he going to play clarinet? How is he going to play guitar?

Wilbur can distantly hear shouts, but his brain is too muddled to understand any of the words he distantly registers. 

The darkness is inviting.

He goes back to sleep.

~

“So I have good news and bad news.” Phil says carefully. “Which one do you want to hear first?”

All eight voices around the table reply in unison. “The good news.”

“Wilbur’s stable.”

The entire table blinks a few times. A slow grin spreads on Harvey’s face. Hope shines in Niki’s eyes. Dream looks on the verge of cheering, and Techno- Techno looks absolutely delighted. 

Phil doesn’t share their cheer, and Bad notices. “Phil?” Bad asks cautiously. “What’s the bad news?”

“The bad news…” Phil swallows dryly. “He… his hearing is damaged. He’s deaf.”

Sapnap’s fork clatters on his plate. George looks horrified. Niki gasps in shock, and Ant blinks, unsure of whether or not he heard correctly. 

Techno freezes.

It should’ve been me.

Notes:

Waiting for you to yell at me on my discord :)
https://discord.gg/HwbkW8jqrf

Pieces Referenced:
Sonata no. 3 in A minor by Sergei Prokofiev: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGRls_Kjt9I
Cafe 1930 by Astor Piazzola: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=NgPfDePmd1E

Chapter 12: I'll see you for another day

Notes:

If you noticed the title's different please look at the beginning notes from Chapter 11. I hate everything.
But also, BlueQuills drew some absolutely pog fanart that I LOVE AND STILL AM SCREAMING OVER. IT'S AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER.
Merry Christmas. Have some sadge

From Wilbur Soot’s experience, awareness comes in slow stages. Most of the time it’s pleasant- like when he’s waking up in the morning, it’s a slow, welcoming feeling back into the world of the living.

It’s different, this time.

It’s agonizingly slow.

Typically, the first sense that comes back is touch. Wilbur dimly registers the soft blanket over him, and the mattress below him. So he’s in a bed. He doesn’t remember why, but that doesn’t surprise him- typically, awareness of where he is comes last.

The second sense that comes back is smell, interestingly enough. On most days, this wouldn’t mean much, except for the smell of sweat from the dormitory- but instead of sweat, antiseptic assaults his nose, and he’s briefly confused.

The third sense that would come back is hearing. But he doesn’t hear anything- the world is silent. Wilbur’s pretty sure that shouldn’t be how it is, and waits for his hearing to come back, but it doesn’t before he cracks his eyes open.

The room isn’t dark- in fact, the bright lights are enough to convince Wilbur to screw his eyes shut again, breathing shallowly. Where is he? What happened to him?

Then, as always, the memories come crashing back.

They aren’t pleasant.

Wilbur doesn’t remember much. There are only two things he remembers with absolute clarity- the overwhelming feeling of pure, sheer panic, and the screech of tires.

The sound echoes in his head, over and over, but he can’t seem to hear it.

He can’t seem to hear anything, actually.

That’s… a problem.

That’s a problem.

That’s definitely a big problem that Wilbur needs to fix, why isn’t he hearing anything? Why can’t he hear anything, why why why why-

A hand grasps his shoulder and Wilbur jerks, barely preventing himself from knocking over the IV. He turns around to see a green and white striped bucket hat- Phil, his name is Phil- and Phil is mouthing words, presumably of reassurance, but he can’t hear anything -

Phil is speaking frantically over his shoulder now, and a shadow looms over the duo, but Wilbur can’t hear any of them- he turns and sees so many people- Dream, Harvey, Niki, Sapnap- Techno- relief fills him as he sees the pink-haired violinist uninjured, but he still can’t hear anything, and all the moving mouths around him are not helping-

It’s too much.

~

“It’s permanent, isn’t it?”

Ant asks the doctor with a grim kind of certainty. He knows that it’s almost certain that Wilbur Soot will never recover, but he needs to know.

The doctor can’t seem to look him in the eye when he nods.

Behind him, the other seven members of their group all sink into different kinds of despair, Phil still in Wilbur’s room, trying to calm the younger down.

And when Ant turns around to face them, he’s stricken, really, by the sheer emotions on everyone’s faces. The ten of them have pretty much become a found family over the course of the past six months, and it shows. It shows in the way Niki has her hand over her mouth in a terrible kind of horror, in the way Dream looks over Techno worryingly, who seems close to sinking to the floor- it shows in the way everyone cannot hide their horror. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. Tears spring up to the side of his eyes as well, and he’s quick to wipe them away, catching Bad’s eyes, full of understanding.

The two of them are the caretakers of this group, the next best thing after Phil. They’ll have to be strong for them.

~

“I can’t believe it.” 

George repeats it over and over, pacing in his dormitory with Bad sitting there, expression unreadable. “I can’t believe it- Wilbur’s gone so far. He’s such a promising musician- why? Why does the world have to be so cruel?”

“We can’t do much about it now, though.” Bad says quietly, even quieter than usual. It’s clear that the older is pensive, staring at the carpet below their feet. “I… We just have to be there for him. We can’t do much else.”

George stops pacing, staring at Bad. “Bad, will Wilbur be okay?”

The cellist can’t answer.

~

It was definitely a disaster.

Putting it in the absolute lightest way.

Wilbur knows that fundamentally, there’s nothing wrong with being deaf. There’s nothing wrong- he’s still Wilbur. Heck, Beethoven was deaf when he wrote the ninth symphony, and it sounds amazing, doesn’t it? Can’t he do the same?

Except- why does it feel so hard.

He had goals. Wilbur Soot had dreams, of writing some of the best songs, of becoming one of the greatest musicians the world had ever known. Why did it have to take away his hearing? Why not his sight? 

Why?

Shaky hands find his guitar. He’d asked for it, drawn it on so many notepads, begged, pleaded to have Phil bring it into his room. As soon as the elder had realized what he was asking for, he ran off to find Wilbur’s beloved instrument- but it didn’t change the frustration Wilbur had felt, during the silent minutes while the communication between them was screwed over.

The strings still feel the same under his fingers. He can almost hear the chords that he is playing in his head.

But it is not the same as hearing them through his ears.

~

Excite me,
Even if I am imaginary
All I counted on was the world,
I’m spinning out and there I land on the ground. What reality?

The chords echo, and Phil and Techno can just barely hear them outside Wilbur’s door. The two others had taken to sleeping on the chairs just outside Wilbur’s room, but both had been woken the moment Wilbur started playing. Across them, Niki blinked blearily.

It’s frightening,
All these thoughts they are just, frightening
I’m really missing out
The world’s screaming but I can’t hear none of it

“That didn’t age well.” Techno muttered under his breath, exhausted from all the grief and anger weighing down on both of them. Somewhere along the line, Niki started crying. Not that Phil blamed her. 

I don’t wanna say that I was right about feeling alone
And all I ever do now is just stare right at my phone
I’ve been running around got my head up in the clouds
Don’t wanna spare a moment in my life right now

The unsung lyrics are so loud. At least, they are in the silent space of Wilbur’s mind. He can’t actually hear it, and he doesn’t want to try to sing it. He hopes that his muscle memory of one of the first songs he’s ever written prove enough, and he’s not playing in some other key.

I’ve been waiting day and night
Just for one big reply
If ya miss me don’t be scared
To call me at night

Niki can’t help but sing the song softly. It was one of Wilbur’s personal favourites, and one of the songs he played to himself at night, she’s been told. After much prodding, Wilbur had caved and taught her how to sing it. She sings it now, trying to slip back into the normality that will never happen again.

If you don’t remember my name
Don’t be shy, it’s okay,
But promise me that 
I’ll see you for another day

Wilbur falters ever so slightly as he fumbles for the next chords. Eventually, in the dim lighting of his room, he finds the correct frets to place his fingers down on. The vibrations against him feel familiar, yet alien at the same time, the thing that accompanied them having been taken away. 

Listening to the same songs on repeat
All I think about are the memories from the past
I’m moving on too fast
Have you ever thought about how this year wasn’t such a blast?

Phil joins in, now. Niki looks at him with a kind of gratefulness, before singing again with that angelic voice of hers. The two of them are in unison, though one can easily tell there are two voices. 

You can go ahead and try your best to make me smile, but you can’t
I need a lot more time, I need to rest and forget
Cause I’ve been running around with my head in the clouds
Don’t wanna spare a moment in my life right now

A soft sob escapes Wilbur’s throat. At least, he thinks what that is. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore, and keeps on playing, the humming, slow vibrations of the guitar his only source of comfort.

I’ve been waiting day and night
Just for one big reply
If ya miss me don’t be scared
To call me right now

Even Techno’s humming to it, now. Phil turns around, briefly surprised, but he doesn’t comment. Techno’s eyes look heavy as he hums, and Phil doesn’t fault him for it.

If you don’t remember my name
Don’t be shy, it’s okay
But promise me that 
I’ll see you for another day.

Soft, closing chords. As soon as they stop, all three of them can hear the sobs from the other side of the door. Phil nearly gets up, but Techno grabs his wrist and shakes his head.

They both know Wilbur needs time.

In his room, Wilbur stares emptily at the wood instrument on his hands. It had been some kind of childish fantasy- but he’d hoped that he would be able to hear it.

He’d hoped that perhaps the familiar sound of the guitar would magically bring his hearing back.

It didn’t work.

It wasn’t supposed to, wasn’t it? That’s not how biology works.

But when you’re desperate, you think of the wildest fantasies. 

Notes:

The song featured in this chapter is "I'll See You For Another Day." It's a beautiful song, really, composed by my good friend jo- but unfortunately, she took it down from soundcloud and doesn't wish for it to be public. I respect it.
That being said, she let me use the chords for another song, so maybe I'll transform it into something similar.
But just like Wilbur, you will never know how it sounds like.
:)

Chapter 13: Toward The Sea

Notes:

I,,,, did a music....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKOJDu085l4
Please listen,,,, sub and like, maybe comment?

Anyway yeah, I was especially cruel last chapter. Have some comfort

Niki knocked softly on Wilbur’s door. “Wilbur?”

She then silently cursed herself. They would need to come up with a better way of communication, if Niki was going to enter Wilbur’s room without alarming him. Right now, though, she didn’t have much of a choice.

Niki slowly pushed the door open.

Wilbur looked up from his position on the bed. His guitar lay beside him, a few notebooks strewn across the blankets. Behind him, the curtains fluttered, a tell-tale sign that the window was open. Niki sighed as she moved across the room to close them.

Once she sat across Wilbur, she turned on the room lights, and was struck by how lifeless Wilbur’s eyes looked. 

“Wilbur.”

Niki spoke, even though Wilbur could not listen.

“Wilbur, I… well, I can’t tell you that I know how you feel. It- none of us have ever had to go through this, and, well… we’re all lost, Wilbur. Please. It’s- you’ve been so distant these past few days. Phil is feeling terrible, and Techno- don’t get me started on Techno.”

Wilbur inclined his head. Niki’s probably imagining things.

“Techno’s been beside himself for the past week. And- we all want you back, Wilbur. Even though you can’t hear anything, you’re still very much our friend. And I know how cliche it sounds- I know, I know -” Niki choked. “But really, Wilbur. You’re our friend, no matter what happens.”

A hand squeezed Niki’s. She looked up (when did she look down?) at Wilbur, to see him motion at the notebook and scribble something quickly.

Is Techno okay?

“You- you can understand me?” Niki asked urgently. Wilbur seemed to deflate a bit.

I can’t hear. Wilbur’s hand paused in his writing. Lip reading is… difficult, but it’s doable.

“Wilbur.” Niki repeated. “Oh, Wilbur. Why didn’t you tell us?”

Wilbur chewed on his lip ever so slightly. I didn’t seem ready to say anything, I guess. I don’t think I am. There are so many places where everything can go wrong. Heck, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to become a musician ever again.

“No, wait- Wilbur.” Niki grabbed his shoulders, forcing Wilbur to look at her. “Please. Don’t say that. Please. We can work it out.”

How? Wilbur looked so tired. I’ve accepted it, Niki-

“ No! ” Niki basically sobbed out. A tear dropped from her eye and onto Wilbur’s hand, who looked up in surprise. “ No. We’re going to make it work, Wilbur.”

The world is cruel.

“The world is cruel!” Niki forced out. “But we’ll have to make it work. Wilbur- you can’t go on like this. Music is your passion- we’re going to make it work.”

I’m not Beethoven.

“Why can’t you be?”

He was a genius. A madman. I’m not-

Wilbur didn’t have time to finish before Niki grabbed his wrist, a new kind of fire in her eyes. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Wilbur Soot. You’re a musician. You’re talented. You’re not a madman, but you are a genius, and a one of a kind one. You’re not trying.”

The guitarist wrenched his hand from Niki’s and picked up his pencil again. I am! You think I don’t want to continue?!

“WILBUR SOOT! You-” Niki cut herself off from saying ‘listen’. “Look at me. You want to continue, yes, but some part of you is preventing yourself because you’re scared. There are few things you’re scared of, but you’re scared of trying this. Wilbur. Please.”

Wilbur stared at her for a few seconds.

The wind blew softly, the moonlight streaming in even in the light of the lamp. 

This isn’t like you.

Niki laughed wetly. “No, it isn’t. Techno knows you better.”

~

“He’s scared, Niki.” Across the flutist, the prodigy paced back and forth, the most agitated Niki’s ever seen him. “Wilbur’s scared of the unknown. It took him years to pick up the guitar and singing, and now? Deaf? It’s a huge blow.”

“And I’d say he isn’t.” Niki argued. “Techno, as much as I wish it were true… I don’t think Wilbur has the will to continue playing guitar.”

Techno’s footsteps froze. “No.” The pacing started back up again, with Techno’s chanting. “No, no, no. No. Wilbur knows better. Wilbur has always and will always know better to give up- that resolve is still in him, Niki. We can bring it back.”

Niki crossed her arms. “How, then?”

“I-” Techno threw his arms up in frustration. “That’s the problem! I don’t know! I’ve never been one for words, or convincing- that’s Phil’s thing, but Phil isn’t holding up as well! You know this- wait.”

Niki stared up at Techno.

“You know this. You can convince him.”

“What-”

“Yes! It’s perfect! You’re close with Wilbur, possibly even more so than me or Phil, and you know how to convince someone. Niki, please.”

“I-” Niki quickly shook her head, her previous resolve crumbling the tiniest bit. “Techno- no, what if I get it all wrong? What if I push too far and discourage him even further?”

Techno stopped pacing and went down on his knees to get on eye level with a sitting Niki. “Niki, listen to me. You know him. You know when to push and when to stop. It won’t be you alone- all of us will be helping him, but Wilbur values your opinion, Niki. Please. Try.”

Silence.

Niki had no idea Techno had such puppy eyes.

A sigh. “Alright.”

Not like she wouldn't have agreed anyway. 

~

Hypnotizing, soft flute melodies start as Niki blows on the alto flute.

Toward the Sea, arguably, isn’t the best piece to choose. The sheet music is haphazardly thrown into order on top of the blankets, the eleven-minute piece spread out as Wilbur stares at the chords, eyes glancing up, meeting Niki’s.

Although Wilbur can’t hear, Wilbur can see.

Niki nods exaggeratedly, and Wilbur unsurely plays the beginning chords.

On Niki’s end, it synchronizes surprisingly well.

Wilbur can’t hear anything, though, and plays a tad bit too fast. It’s alright, though. Niki’s there to match him, match him at his own pace as Wilbur slowly relaxes back into the pattern of strumming chords.

Typically, the piece would require extensive listening from the guitarist, ready to match up with the ever increasing and decreasing speeds of the flutist, but Niki’s more than willing to match up with Wilbur, instead.

Unconventional.

But then again, everything about this little family they’ve built is unconventional. 

Wilbur stops his chords, and looks up at Niki again, who cues him into his next entrance. He starts off a little more confidently, this time, and they continue the first part- the Night.

It’s challenging, at times. Like that part, not long after, when they’re meant to synchronize a series of quick notes- Wilbur is a bit late, and Niki’s reaction time isn’t quick enough.

Nevertheless, outside in the hallway, a pianist smiles.

A particularly long flute solo continues, and then there’s a bit of a pause before Niki nods at him. This part is easier, and Wilbur relishes in the rhythmic accompaniment as Niki trills and plays some of the hardest bits. 

Pause.

Nod. Play.

Pause.

Nod. Play.

Over and over and over again.

Wilbur has to squint twice during the uncomfortable silence at the next chords as he attempts to open the next part, Moby Dick. It starts off with some of the weirdest chords Wilbur has ever seen- but Wilbur has always been more of a classical musician.

Perhaps this is his chance to get into modern music. After all, he can’t exactly hear the notes he used to deem “cringe-worthy.”

Wilbur cracks a smile at the thought, and continues to squint at the music, eyes travelling between sheet music, his left hand and Niki in quick succession.

And somehow, Wilbur finds himself able to play again.

Not just the notes.

The chords are weird, and they resonate in his head, even though he can’t hear them. So he pours himself into it.

And there are so many imperfections. There are so many, and Wilbur winces when he sees his fingers stumble on the wrong fret. After all, he is sight-reading.

But to Niki, it sounds absolutely beautiful.

There’s another short solo for Wilbur, and he strums the way the composer would’ve wanted to- just like the rolling waves of the sea.

It’s just like the sound of whales. Not that Wilbur will ever know it.

The thought saddens Niki again, but she pushes forward, and Moby Dick closes off peacefully.

More unorthodox chords start off Cape Cod, the final section of the piece. Wilbur has much more confidence this time, and his playing becomes a little more reckless.

He doubts that his teacher would’ve approved.

He’ll deal with it later.

And fundamentally? There isn’t much difference between this section and the other two, except for the fact that the guitar is much more involved, and is heard much more. Wilbur initiates the rubato, and Niki happily bounces off of it, barely needing to nod him in anymore.

Wilbur then realizes he can look at the fingering of Niki if he pays attention for long enough, and match them up to the notes on the paper.

And all of a sudden, Wilbur’s playing is so much more cheerful.

It’s nothing at all like those mourning songs he has played, unsung lyrics heavy in the air. Even in the face of the dissonance that almost brings the piece to a minor key, Wilbur plays like he has always done.

Three chords.

An ending, broken one.

There’s a tear tracking down Niki’s face. There are a lot, actually, and Wilbur can feel some sliding down his face as well. Both careful not to disturb their instruments, Niki hugs Wilbur, and suddenly everything feels like it’s back.

The world isn’t the dull black and white it was while Wilbur’s world was silent. And it still is, silent, right now…

But there are so many more colours.

They swirl around, and fill in where the voids used to be. 

And as Wilbur hugs Niki tightly back, he cannot hear the cheers outside his door. He cannot hear Phil’s relief, or Dream’s celebration, or Bad’s delight. He never will.

But maybe that’s alright.

Maybe. Just maybe.

Maybe the world won’t come crashing down. 

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Toward The Sea by Tōru Takemitsu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_JkZs1Ku9c

Chapter 14: Victory's Cry

Notes:

Not me writing a chapter based on my own song
But like. I saw too many parallels between the colours I saw while writing it and this story I had to ;-;
Different format and style today, lmk how it is
Also 10k hits pog, thank you all so much for the support!

Peaceful, piano, broken chords go back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The violin enters, playing nothing but whole and half notes, careful not to overtake the piano. It’s peaceful, and it’s quiet, and it washes over, the lines overlapping.

It’s also bittersweet. That’s the nature of the piece.

When I wrote this, it was more of a concept than an actual, structured piece. The instruments come in, one by one, but there’s never a clear melody, except for the section in the middle. 

Wilbur strums the same chords, over and over again. Ever since that night when he played the duet with Niki, he’s been filled with a new kind of passion to defy all expectations. Deaf as he may be, he’ll never stop playing guitar.

Clarinet? …

And there’s a bit of an issue with the conservatory. The rest of this year has been planned out, and they can’t kick him out- but as far as Wilbur is concerned, they’re fully capable of doing so next year. 

It’s an issue he’s sure the others are discussing right now. He sighs and puts away the guitar, ignoring the questioning looks on the others’ faces as he tries to lip-read the conversation. It isn’t exactly easy, and Niki knows, signing along for him to understand. A soft smile crosses Wilbur’s face at the gesture. 

“We could bribe them.” Sapnap said offhandedly, yelping a bit as George punched him in the shoulder. 

Techno shrugged. “Well, I mean. Sapnap’s not wrong. It’s definitely an option, given the somewhat apparent lack of funding there is for instrument insurance.” 

“ But. ” Phil cuts in forcefully. “We would prefer another, more reasonable option. None of us are rich.”

George turns away.

Sapnap, Dream and Bad shift awkwardly, as if on cue.

“...Bribery, you say?”

Phil stares at George.

~

There are very specific colours that I thought of, when I wrote Victory’s Cry. The first one was black- the black on L’Manburg’s proud flag, the black of the smoke as the nation blew up, the black of Schlatt’s funeral and his suits, the black of so many things. Black, to me, sounds, for some reason, like the lower violin- not the cello, interestingly enough.

The lower violin plays whole, long notes. It’s, in a way, representative of a constant promise of chaos. To me, black is the colour of the bitterness that comes with victory- the people they’ve lost. 

Here, the colour black is Wilbur. It’s him being deaf. It’s the bitterness of having such a fate.

Wilbur grits his teeth in frustration. He’s been trying to sign the correct words for such a long time, but Niki is still tilting her head in confusion.

It’s so hard. Perhaps the most frustrating part about being deaf is the lack of communication between him and the others. 

He’s not well-versed in signing yet, to communicate as fluently. It’s easier for him to just write what he wants to say- but his hands cramp up, and he can’t afford to lose his playing ability to, not after losing his singing ability- and he needs to be able to communicate faster.  

Niki is so patient with him. Even when the days are terrible, even when the weight of the situation presses down on him and he truly realizes how much he’s screwed- Niki is there. She helps him through everything.

It doesn’t change the days when he’s too tired, too annoyed, and he snaps at people- more than once, he’s regretted the glares he’s sent people. Especially Technoblade.

He doesn’t understand why Technoblade looks so guilty. Sure, Wilbur went deaf saving them- but there’s Phil, too. Why does Techno feel like that? Why does he look like that?

~

There’s another colour on the L’Manburg flag. It’s a bright, beautiful gold- to me, gold sounds like hope. Gold is the colour of hope, of the sunrise, of the dawn of a new age as L’Manburg gained independence. Gold, to me, is the higher violin, as it plays the same, long, whole notes, though they’re an octave higher. 

Gold is the colour of the epaulettes, of the crown, of victory. Gold is the Victory in the name, Victory’s Cry. Here, gold is Niki- gold is Niki and Sapnap and Harvey, who push on and remain optimistic despite the circumstances. They are not necessarily the caretakers of the group they’ve formed, but they help where they can. 

There are moments when Sapnap looks at this group, and goes, man, they kinda suck.

Not at music. Everyone in this group of ten is a genius, in one way or another. Sapnap knows this- from the way Dream practices obsessively, the way Techno and Phil pour their all in the music like it’s the last time they’ll ever play, the way Harvey nearly missed that fire drill that one time.

But they kinda suck at other things- like, what Techno calls, the thing that sets aside prodigies from geniuses. And not to brag, but Techno hasn’t bashed him on it like he has for everyone else yet, so Sapnap would say he’s good.

Musicality aside, however, they also kinda suck at living life to its fullest extent in the face of crises like these. Yes, Sapnap agrees, that they have to help Wilbur through this terrible time, and encourage him- but the world revolves nonetheless, and you’ll get sweeped away if you don’t catch up.

And Niki, too. Sapnap can see the way Niki hunches over on herself when she thinks no one is looking, but Niki is so strong. She does not push her emotions down like Techno does- she confronts them, makes peace with them, and carries on with her day. A ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

There’s Harvey, too. Optimistic Harvey, who never fails to crack a joke, who never fails to bring smiles to their faces. He pushes on- moving on from his emotions instead of wallowing and wasting away in them.

It’s quite frankly, respectable. 

~

There is the navy blue that waves across the top of the flag. It’s a swath of the colour that is, to me, melancholy. Blue is the main colour of the uniform, of the expansive sky during night and day, of the sea, and of sadness. Blue is the colour of the crystals Ghostbur hands out, and to me, blue is the colour of the cello. 

The cello does not come in until the middle section, when it supports the melody with pizzicato. Later, it takes the progression for itself, but it plays high notes- perhaps that is why I associate it with the dark blue, and not the black so many people expect me to.

Here, blue is Phil and blue is George.

George is feeling great, thank you very much.

Truth be told, he doesn’t like to get involved in the things that happen in… the world in general. There’s a reason why his username is Georgenotfound. But despite that, everyone can see that he cares for this group that has binded together.

In a way, George’s story is the most dull. The largest amount he has ever been involved in this story is when he got lectured a few months back by Technoblade. The violinist had been infuriatingly monotone, but he remembers that conversation ever so clearly.

He’d been in one of his moods, and he’d been sullen as they practiced the quartet together. Of course, Technoblade had noticed, and pulled him aside- and somehow, in a ten minute conversation with hushed tones, Technoblade had changed his perception of the world.

It had been a single, simple concept.

George didn’t get involved, because he immediately assumed that there was no spot for him to get involved in.

“That’s your problem.” Technoblade said. “You’re not like Harvey- Harvey worries about a place in society.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” George asked blankly. 

Technoblade huffed. “If you oversimplify it, yes. If you think about it, no. Each of our desires and insecurities are complicated, George. Much more complicated than you think.”

George gestured vaguely. “So tell me. Enlighten me, then.”

“Truth be told, it stems from the stigma around viola.” Technoblade bluntly said. George froze. The violinist paid no attention, and continued. “Insecurities stem from being scared. All of us are scared, just for different reasons. Hence, why I said yes. But at the same time, no- because you’re scared about not being accepted, not not having a place in society.”

“But-”

“Do you really know yourself, George? Think about that for a little while.”

Technoblade had promptly walked back into the room, starting up a new quartet- not the one they had practiced. Another one, one of the many Technoblade threw at them to keep them at their toes, to stop them from overanalyzing the pieces. 

String Quartet No. 2, by Felix Mendelssohn.

George strode back in, closed the door, and picked up his viola, deftly picking up at where they were, starting a new phrase.

(Technoblade smiled.)

And George is no Wilbur. He doesn’t have a big tragedy to paint his life in- his family is privileged, and there aren’t that many blockades in his life. 

Not like Phil, who looks sadder, more desperate, and guilty as time moves on. George can almost see the weight of an unknown world pressing down on the elder’s shoulders as time moves on. 

He wishes he could help.

~

There is a bit of white in the middle. White is disputed to not be a colour- it is a shade, after all. The lightest shade, the representation of a world without colour. White is the shade of the brightest light. When we say a blinding light, we will always say “a blinding white”.

You only notice white when there are no other colours around it, giving the contrast. To me, white is the second piano- the one that enters first, that plays those chords over and over. You notice it at the beginning, because it’s the only one, save for the violin, but as more and more instruments come in, it fades completely away.

Here, white is Bad and Ant. They are the caretakers, and sometimes they’re forgotten. Ant, more noticeably, because of how reclusive he is.

Ant holds an interesting place in everyone’s heart.

In one way, he is the white noise- you don’t notice him until you focus on him. You don’t notice him, until he’s gone. 

Being a bassist doesn’t exactly help that.

But Ant is the quiet helper. Along with Bad, they hold the group up through these dark times, providing comforts and making sure everyone is taking care of themselves. Right now, Ant plays a vital role, and they acknowledge him.

And later, they’ll go back to forgetting him.

It’s not on purpose, and Ant knows that. But it’s always been the muffinteers plus Ant. And he’s just reclusive in nature. He can’t help it.

He can’t blame the others, either. 

~

There is red. On the flag, there are two red crosses, and a red stripe at the bottom- it is not the colour of violence, to me. To me, red is a beautiful colour, even though it is the colour of blood, and the fireworks that Techno unleashed upon the world. Surprisingly, red is the colour of the first piano. Not the one that enters first- rather, the one that plays thirds and fourths, the second entrance, detailing a melody.

In the middle section, the piano is alone with the other one, and it has a complete lack of harmonization until the other instruments come in as well. It’s a single line, and although it isn’t expansive in any way, I see the red crosses and the stripe at the bottom of the flag.

Here, red is no one. There is no one in this story that is red. Because to me, I associate red with loudness and yet quietness at the same time. Perhaps, if they were the protagonists of this story, red would’ve been Tommy and Tubbo. The dynamic duo, perfect opposites, complementing each other to form red. 

But they are not the protagonists of this story.

Black, Yellow, Blue, and White.

Wilbur, Niki and Sapnap and Harvey, George and Phil, and Bad and Ant. 

There are two others.

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Victory's Cry by Jello12451: https://youtu.be/vKOJDu085l4
String Quartet No. 2 in A minor by Felix Mendelssohn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UAU7xbTOyA

Chapter 15: Fanfare for the Common Man

Notes:

EARLY CHAPTER TODAY.
I WROTE AN ARCTIC ANARCHISTS THEME BOREALTWT GET YOUR FOOD: https://youtu.be/1cKMf03QWW8

Wilbur, Niki and Sapnap and Harvey, George and Phil, and Bad and Ant.

There are two others.

Dream and Technoblade.

Dream’s colour is green. But in this story, you can see clearly that that shade of green changes as his story goes on. At first, it’s a dark, jealous shade of green. Jealousy at Technoblade, and the skill he held. There was also a bit of black- the bitterness touching him, but not taking over him. 

Technoblade is a different story.

Techno is a muted purple. 

He used to be what pink represents- the darkest shade of pink, refusing to show his brightness and care for everyone, shoving it under layers and layers of sarcasm. But when Phil, him and Wilbur became Sleepy Bois Inc, that shade changed.

It’s now a deep, muted purple. 

Purple and green do not compliment each other.

Then again, neither do yellow and black. 

~

Things are getting better. They are getting so, so much better, and Techno can see it all.

Wilbur is learning how to adapt to his new situation. His sign language is becoming more and more fluent day by day, and the communication barrier slowly dissolved until they could essentially communicate the same way they had before. Wilbur was also getting better and better at lip-reading, and gradually, the group got used to the silent language.

And, for the first time in a whole month, things were finally looking up for them.

It’s been a terribly long month for Sleepy Bois Inc. But Techno isn’t insensitive enough to not recognize the others’ struggle, and sits down beside the bassist of their group.

“How’re you holding up?”

Ant blinked, then sighed. “Are you going to give me the talk?”

“The what? ”

Techno was pretty sure his brain had short-circuited, which didn’t happen often. Since when did his talks become the talk?

His confusion must’ve shown on his face, because Ant laughed. “Yeah, the talk. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been helping us all- usually, it’s just one conversation, so we’ve started calling it the talk.”

Techno stared for a few more seconds before Ant waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, Techno? You good?”

Techno blinked a couple more times, before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I just kinda wanted to talk to you.”

Ant nodded and sat back. “Well, you’ve been working magic on all of us. Don’t stop now.”

Techno sighed. “Okay, well, if you know I’m trying to help you, that just makes my job easier. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Ant grimaced. “Tired? Done with all of this? Unmotivated?”

“Left out?”

Ant slumped a little. “Yeah.”

Techno hummed, giving Ant a little time to think for himself. 

He started up the conversation again when he deemed the pause long enough. “Well, everyone plays favorites. It’s not possible to remain completely unbiased.”

Ant’s eyes shifted, staring at the group. “Yeah, I guess. I just- it feels so lonely, sometimes.”

“They’re not doing it on purpose.” Techno reassured him gently. “We all hold some people in higher regard than others. As much as we have ‘you’re all equal to me’ on our tongues, we all know that some of us are more drawn to each other than others are.”

“Hmm.” Ant stared up ahead, seemingly at nothing. “But they all have groups.”

“You don’t consider yourself part of the strings group?”

“That… well, they want something different. I won’t be surprised if they end up touring as a string quartet. But I’m thinking more jazz, more… spice. I don’t know. It just seems wrong , in a conservatory of classical musicians.”

Techno cracked a small grin. “That joke, huh? About the wrong notes.”

Ant felt a small smile on his face too. “It’s jazz.”

They shared a chuckle.

Techno exhaled. “But back on topic. I think you forgot someone else. Another essential outcast in this family of ours.”

Ant tilted his head ever so slightly in question.

Techno gestured to the trombonist, who was attempting to dye apples orange. 

“ Harvey? ” Ant asked incredulously. “He’s literally the extrovert of the group!”

“And he’s an outcast, too.” Techno reminded him. “The only brass. The only one who plays Copland- other than you, of course.” Techno grinned, then stood up and walked off.

It really was hilarious, and Techno bit back his laughter at Ant’s expression.

~

They’re back at the conservatory. 

To Wilbur, nothing’s ever the same again. He never thought he would miss the screeching of the practice rooms, or the very, very loud sound of the piccolo screeching in his ears, or Harvey doing the same with his trombone. 

He gets stares, walking down the hall.

Wilbur tries his best to ignore them. Niki squeezes his hand in reassurance. The guitar on his back is a comforting weight, and he shoulders it, trying to remember the clarinet fingering for his first orchestral rehearsal as a deaf musician.

Theoretically, it would be possible. If he can adjust his clarinet just right, and watch the conductor very closely, he would be fine. And on top of it, there are no solos and he and Niki have developed signals to tell him to blow harder or softer.

It should work.

In front of the rehearsal hall, Wilbur takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. 

~

Ant clenches the mallets, waiting for the conductor’s cue.

The baton goes down.

In a regular orchestral concert, an orchestra plays three pieces. There is the overture, which usually opens the concert, but due to a little bit of a more… unorthodox program, since the end of the year concert needs to feature other soloists without the orchestra, it will open up the second half instead. The Overture to King Stephen.

There is the concerto. The concerto, this year, is to be played by Dream, interestingly enough- Techno had adamantly pushed solo of the year onto Dream and not one of the Sleepy Bois, something unprecedented. That piece hasn’t been decided yet- but they have four months. An orchestra can learn a concerto in a matter of two, so they have time.

And then, there’s the symphony. But because of time constraints, there will be no time for a grand one like Beethoven’s third, or Mozart’s fortieth. This year, in the place of the symphony, there will be two more pieces- an ending one, one named Pavane, and another, one called the Fanfare for the Common Man.

The one that will open the end of the year concert.

They say that if we had anthems like the national anthems for the human race, Copland’s Fanfare would be the anthem of the human race.

The felt hits the timpani once, pauses and Ant lets the sound ring along with the rest of the percussionists before hitting it two more times. They repeat the pattern, albeit the pause between the one hit and the two hits is longer this time. 

They repeat it again, and the timpani, bass drum and tam-tam ring in the air for a full bar before the trumpets come in.

Two sixteenth notes, then an eighth note that ties over the rest of the bar. The same motif again, though the notes go up and then down instead of staying up like last time, and the trumpets pull up again, with longer quarter notes, then the quicker motif comes back again, going up and down. 

Ant comes in again, though the tam-tam isn’t there, and he plays his own motif one more time, with the same notes, before more of the brass make their appearance.

This section, it starts off the same, but when the quarter notes hit, the french horns and trumpets keep on playing quarter notes instead of returning to their original rhythmic motif. There’s a quick time signature change, and Ant is back again with a deadened bass drum, though they only play two quick beats in succession.

Then , the quick motif comes back as usual, and trumpets and french horns harmonize beautifully, closing off another section. The tam-tam comes back when Ant plays the original rhythm, and as soon as they finish, the trombones enter.

Harvey moves his slider with practiced ease, blowing in with the rest of his section, hearing Ant play the same notes during his rest, and he quirks his lips in a half-smile as he blows again, this time hearing the rest of the brass join them. 

The quarter notes are long, and when they get held out for the half note, Ant comes in again, with the quick sixteenths. They play more, and hold again, and Ant comes in, this time with eighth notes. 

It’s like a small game of call and answer.

The key shifts, and the brass are now playing flats. Ant and the bass drum play twice, leaving the brass to start up again, and again.

Back to the original motif.

The brass are still in sync, but it’s more of a canon now, and trombones are alternating with the rest of them, only joining the quarter notes after the percussion come in again with three hits. 

Pesante.

Heavy.

Three more hits from the percussion.

Accents on the fourth beat of the bar, with no percussion at all. Until, of course, they hold another dotted half note, and Ant takes that as his cue to hit once more. 

Harvey pulls on his slider to play the last notes, and holds them, waiting for the percussion roll to finish. He unconsciously makes eye contact with Ant, who’s rolling for the timpani, and somehow, they end off by staring at each other, instead of the conductor.

Eh. Doesn’t matter. We ended on time.

...what the hell, we ended on time without looking at the conductor.

What.

The conductor says nothing and flips to the next song, and the rest of the orchestra scrambles from their short break to start up the overture. Harvey’s still grinning for one reason or another.

And, well. If Ant moves to the bass section without sulking as much, that is neither here nor there. 

~

He’s been dreading this visit ever since he’s been hanging around the hospital.

It’s getting worse, he can tell.

But Phil’s not going to let him escape the visit this time, so he’ll just have to… make do.

He refuses to look at Phil in the eyes and see his growing desperation when the doctor confirms that he is steadily, most definitely, undoubtedly getting worse.

“How long?” He asks.

He’s given an answer of three and a half months.

And the concert is in four.

Some twist of fate this is indeed.

Techno puts his hands into fists. He’s always resigned himself to his shorter lifespan, but he refuses to die until he helps the last person of their group. “Is there any way to extend it by two weeks?”

The doctor is pensive. “If you’re lucky, perhaps you will be able to survive two weeks. It’s improbable, but possible. We can guarantee you three months, but this is a new strain of a disease- we’ve never seen anything like it before. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing much we can do.”

Phil looks on the verge of yelling, and for once, it’s Techno that puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He speaks quietly. “I understand.”

When the doctor nods in understanding, the look in his eyes is just as sad. 

~

“Hey, Phil?”

“...”

Phil does not respond, but Techno knows he’s listening. In their dormitory, the window is still open in the one room where there are none of Techno’s instruments, and he breathes in the fresh air as always. “Why do you suppose it was a fanfare for the common man?”

That has Phil’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“Well. Most pieces, when they refer to the common man, they refer to the duality of man, and our fleeting lives. But this one is proud, brash and loud, and it sounds so optimistic. But then, usually, when a piece is optimistic, it’s not common man. It’s a tribute to some special person.”

“Not really.” Phil disagrees. “It’s like the strength in numbers kind of thing, isn’t it? In no part of the piece is any instrument left hanging, on its own. Even when the timpani comes up by itself, there is still the underlying support of the held brass.”

“And what if you’re actually all alone, Phil?” Techno questions. “Have you heard the fanfare without full instrumentation?”

Phil is silent. 

“When Harvey plays it, it’s cheerful, but it’s lonely and melancholic, almost, at the same time. And when the percussion does it- gods, it’s just sad. A call that will never have an answer.”

They say nothing to each other for the rest of the night, unspoken words loud between them. 

Notes:

Pieces Referenced:
Fanfare for the Common Man by Aaron Copland: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEMyj-8I3pw

Chapter 16: Symphonie Espagnole

Notes:

Oh ho ho. We're gettin' into the final stretch
And yeah this is completely written out and everything already so updates will be Mondays and Fridays
Big pog :)
Check out my theme for L'Manburg?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXCHV6Sv9Ho

“You’re doing it again.” Techno says absently as he stops Dream from repeating the same bar too much, stopping him from thinking too much.

Dream sighs. “It hasn’t exactly been easy to stop, Techno. The past month was hard.”

Silence stretches for a few beats in practice room four. The bar of chocolate lies in Techno’s bag, untouched. He hasn’t been touching them for quite a while, actually, appetite slowly decreasing even when they got back to weekly classes.

“Hmm. Well, that bar again. And don’t think. You’ll get used to it.”

Dream stared at the sheet music, definitely skeptical of such a claim. “Is this what I’ll play for the concert?”

“Hmm? No, I have something else planned for you.”

“What is it?”

Techno pointedly ignores the question. “The bar.”

Dream grumbles a bit before putting the violin under his chin again, playing the first phrase of the fifth movement. 

“Stop.”

Dream stopped.

“Again.”

He’s trying. He really is. But old habits die hard, and more often than not he’s over-analyzing the score, taking in each and every single crescendo and rubato, calculating, measuring, putting small timestamps on where he should be softer and where he should be louder, dividing it and making everything-

“Stop.”

Dream stopped.

“Again.”

He made it further, this time. The eighth notes were easy to play, and it was a simple matter to not overthink it- these were the easiest, phrases that weren’t constrained but were still technically quite simple. 

Then he got to the sixteenth notes, and things fell apart a little.

The first two were fine, but then at the third, when complex arpeggios started to happen and he slipped into focusing on technique and ignoring musicality-

“Stop.”

He stopped.

“Again.”

~

Tour groupchat

Ph1lza: Thinking of the end of the year concert. What do you suppose all of you will be playing this year?

TapL: Why so sudden? I mean, it doesn’t hold that much meaning for us, I think?

Antfrost: Yep. Phil, aren’t you graduating next year, instead?

Ph1lza: I know, I know. But not the point. I’m just kind of curious.

TapL: Well. For the first time, we shall have something called jazz on the stage of a conservatory. 

Technoblade: With Ant, I assume?

Antfrost: Who else?

Georgenotfound: Fair. I don’t think I’m doing a solo this year. 

Georgenotfound: Wait actually none of us are doing solos this year aren’t we?

Dreamwastaken: I am

Sapnap: Yeah. Speaking of which, Dream, have you chosen your piece yet?

Dreamwastaken: ...no?

WilburSoot: BRUH

WilburSoot: The concert’s in less than four months. How the hell are you going to prepare for it?

Dreamwastaken: Hey hey hey in my defense

Dreamwastaken: Technoblade’s not telling me

Technoblade: I have my reasons. Don’t worry Wilbur

Ph1lza: He’ll get the piece by the end of the next month. We swear.

Dreamwastaken: I mean the only piece we’ve been practicing has been Symphonie Espagnole, but you told me that that isn’t the piece I’ll be playing, so I don’t know, man.

Badboyhalo: The piece better not be Mozart

Sapnap: Gods, if you choose Mozart I will hate you for the rest of my days

Nihachu: I mean, I won’t necessarily hate you, but Mozart is kinda stagnant…

Technoblade: Hey hey I take personal offense to that

Technoblade: Mozart is great.

Ph1lza: the sonatas suck

Technoblade: Phil you’re supposed to be on my side

Ph1lza: :)

Technoblade: I’ve been betrayed

Technoblade: But yeah I won’t be choosing Mozart. There’s something far more interesting that I believe Dream will have fun with

Dreamwastaken: I suddenly feel an indescribable feeling of dread

Georgenotfound: You literally just described it

Dreamwastaken: Shut up

WilburSoot: Ominous much?

Technoblade: Why does everyone interpret my words as ominous

TapL: You’re literally the pessimist and you’re so dramatic

TapL: Do you really expect us not to interpret them as ominous

Technoblade: Fair

~

He’s getting farther, now. It’s getting farther, he’s getting closer, he can feel it. He can feel it. He’s made it past the first onslaught of sixteenth notes, and he’s getting up high, he’s feeling exhilarated , and things are finally looking up.

Then the next, harder group of sixteenth notes shatters the fantasy.

Dream stops himself before Technoblade can tell him to. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Techno look up in surprise, then nod and gesture for him to continue.

Dream takes a deep breath. He got further. That’s a record- nearly making it to the second break, the second section of eighth notes. He can nail the eighth notes- all he has to do is push through the sixteenth notes.

He’s getting there.

~

DMs- Ph1lza, Technoblade

Ph1lza: Techno

Ph1lza: Techno

Technoblade: What

Ph1lza: They said you most likely won’t get four months

Technoblade: ...Elaborate

Ph1lza: Well you know how they’ve been saying that there’s like, a point that you have to cross. Because your immune system is fighting it and everything?

Ph1lza: I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. But they said that there’s this bottleneck- apparently, right before you turn twenty is the age for you. Apparently for this specific disease, it can be fought once you’re developed well enough

Ph1lza: Once your like, body is developed- 

Ph1lza: I don’t know how to explain this. But the point is, Techno- if you survive this part, there’s a high chance that you’ll push past everything. That you’ll live a normal life.

Technoblade: …

Technoblade: You’re exaggerating, aren’t you.

Ph1lza: Why the fuck are you able to just automatically detect when I’m being overly optimistic

Ph1lza: I’m trying to give you hope

Technoblade: It’s not helping

Technoblade: Phil I already have a reason to live, and I’m fighting, I promise. I promise I am. 

Ph1lza: Are you sure about that.

Ph1lza: Practice room three, tonight. I don’t care what you say.

Technoblade: Phil

Ph1lza: No buts. Now get back to your lessons

~

“So?” Technoblade asked warily. “Which piece is it tonight?”

“Mozart sonata number 32.” Phil said. “I’m waiting.”

Techno sighed and got out his violin, taking perhaps a little more time than strictly necessary to rosin his bow and position his shoulder rest just right. Then he shifted to his bag to sift for a few minutes for his sheet music-

“It’s on the stand.”

Technoblade stands up, and walks over to the stand.

There are a few beats of silence, before Techno raises the bow up high and plays the first Largo chords. Phil follows along easily, and they play. 

As always, as their little duets do, they remind Techno of why he’s fighting.

When the piece finishes, Techno sighs again, but it’s with a bit more relief than before. He had been slipping a bit, and he hadn’t really noticed- but of course, Phil would always notice.

“Thanks, Phil.”

Phil smiles back at him. “Anytime, mate.”

~

Dream Team (Muffinteers + Ant)

Sapnap: Every time I open this group chat I always ask why it’s called Dream Team and not Sapnap Team or something

Sapnap: but I digress

Sapnap: which room is Dream in for Techno today?

Badboyhalo: I think they’re in practice room 3? Techno let me use 4 because my original room was taken and I didn’t really want to move my cello so far

Georgenotfound: Yeah I passed by room three, they’re there

Georgenotfound: Why?

Sapnap: Conductor’s starting to pressure for the solo piece

Antfrost: ...About that

Antfrost: Apparently they still haven’t chosen

Sapnap: HWAT

Georgenotfound: EXCUSE ME

Badboyhalo: Hmm.

Sapnap: BAD HOW ARE YOU NOT PANICKING RIGHT NOW

Badboyhalo: I mean

Badboyhalo: Techno has a very special way of teaching, you know?

Badboyhalo: He just kinda throws you into it. It helps you learn, and it also ensures that you’ll find the best match for yourself

Badboyhalo: Of course, he’s only doing this to us because we’re apparently talented, but yeah

Badboyhalo: I won’t be surprised if they still aren’t working on it

Antfrost: That surprisingly kinda makes sense

Georgenotfound: In a weird way, yes, but the orchestra needs to rehearse

Badboyhalo: You’ll be fine

Badboyhalo: I have confidence :D

Sapnap: I’m so dead

Antfrost: Yeah, you probably are

Sapnap: I prefered you when you were all reclusive

Georgenotfound: He’s hanging around Harvey too much

Badboyhalo: It’s not a bad thing! At least Ant talks more

Sapnap: Ugh

~

A tempo.

He’s never made it this far before. The passion in him reignites- Dream had slowly been losing hope that he’ll ever be able to move on from Lalo, but now he was getting further. The new key gives him new hope, and he gets even farther than expected- perhaps because of that change in mood.

He’s disappointed in himself when he gets thrown off again by the octaves that jump around the strings, and stops himself.

“It’s getting better.”

Dream swivels around to face his instructor. “What?”

“It’s getting better.” Technoblade repeats grudgingly, as if it physically pains him to say it. “I think we can move on.”

Dream stares at him, uncomprehending. “But I’m not even halfway-”

Techno cuts him off with a shrug. “I mean, let’s put it this way. I haven’t needed to stop you myself for a good three weeks, Dream, and we’ve even increased our lessons to twice a week. I think…” Techno pauses. “I think you’ve learned all that you can from me.”

Dream frowns. “I’m still nowhere near your level.”

“But you know how to improve yourself now, and you can go on without me.” Techno encourages. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll guide you through one last piece.”

The prodigy hands Dream sheet music. Dream stares at the notes on the page. “And what about after that?”

Techno meets his eyes and gives him a little tired smile. Dream can’t help but think it looks sad. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

~

Some group chat idk

Georgenotfound: Every time I see this group’s name I wonder why the hell we named it this

TapL: Look I didn’t have ideas alright

Antfrost: We could name it to Bubble Tea Group.

Sapnap renamed the group to Bubble tea

Sapnap: There

Sapnap: So does that mean we’re getting bubble tea

Antfrost: I assume so? Are any of the others free as well?

Sapnap: Dream’s having a lesson with Technoblade right now

TapL: ...isn’t it like, Saturday today, or am I really that sleep-deprived

Sapnap: No it’s Saturday, they’ve increased it to two times a week. Dream’s been complaining about buying more chocolate.

TapL: Hmm.

TapL: Wilbur’s with Niki practicing some duet or something, I don’t know. He told me he won’t be back until dinner

Georgenotfound: Bad’s practicing a concerto. I think I saw Phil playing the accompaniment for him? Either way I don’t think either of them are free

Antfrost: Ok

Sapnap: Four dudes abandoned by their dorm-mates, banding together to get bubble tea

Sapnap: Sounds like a party

~

Sleepy Bois Inc

WilburSoot: Hello

WilburSoot: I’m free Friday evening, are any of you available?

Technoblade: F 

Technoblade: I have to go somewhere

WilburSoot: Go where?

Technoblade: ...somewhere

WilburSoot: Oh

WilburSoot: Can I come?

WilburSoot: ...Techno?

Ph1lza: Sorry Wil, I’m gonna be busy :(

WilburSoot: Oh alright

~

Tour groupchat

Sapnap: Dream please tell me that you’ve chosen a song

Dreamwastaken: I literally DMed it to you a minute ago

Sapnap: Oh

Georgenotfound: Sapnap moment

TapL: Lmao

TapL: It’s nothing ridiculously difficult for the orchestra, right?

Technoblade: no

TapL: Good

Badboyhalo: Harvey are you going to grind UHC again

TapL: ...no?

WilburSoot: I’ll make sure he sleeps

TapL: Screw you

Nihachu: Back on topic, when’s our first rehearsal with Dream as soloist?

Ph1lza: In a month, I’m pretty sure. Techno, did you even start showing Dream the ropes for this yet

Technoblade: …

Dreamwastaken: We’re getting there

Antfrost: Great. Now Dream has hopped onto the ambiguity train

Georgenotfound: We’re doomed

Sapnap: The world is falling apart

TapL: Oh noes

Dreamwastaken: Shut up

~

“Little question, Techno.”

“Tell me.”

“Why the practice room numbers?”

Techno freezes from his position on the chair, where he’s putting away his violin. He snaps out of his shock and lowers the fragile instrument gently, taking his time securing the straps before answering. “So you noticed.”

“Yeah.” Dream still hasn’t turned around, taking long enough to wipe his violin.

Techno sighed. 

Should I tell him the truth?

Should I lie?

But he’s so close… let him have his moments of glory. Then you can tell him.

...And that’s what I tell myself every time.

“Techno?”

Techno blinks a couple of times before returning to reality. “Yeah sorry, just thinking.”

Dream gives him a look.

...Hide it for now. Maybe you’ll survive, and they’ll never need to know.

“I wanted to set a little timer for myself.” Techno lies through his teeth. “Ten months, you know? Thought it would pose a little challenge.”

Dream nods slowly, not quite believing it but letting it drop for now. Both of them pack their violins up and head to the rehearsal hall. 

There isn’t as much talk as there usually is. Presumably, theories are being thrown around as to why Technoblade isn’t playing the solo with orchestra this year, and all the students quiet down, not willing to let the violinist hear them. The orchestra gets ready without fanfare, and Techno situates himself in the position as concertmaster.

Wilbur fingers with his A clarinet.

Phil adjusts his bassoon reed.

Niki blows a few choice notes into her flute.

Harvey stares at his nearly empty sheet music and plays around with the triangle. 

Ant experimentally plucks a few notes on the bass.

Bad fingers a few excerpts on the fingerboard.

George and Sapnap poke a little fun at each other.

And Dream’s eyes run over the trills and arpeggios on his own sheet music, breathing out nervously. He has memorized the piece already, but it doesn’t make anything easier. 

He makes eye contact with Techno, who nods ever so slightly.

In turn, he takes a deep breath and nods back.

Techno stands up, and immediately, the orchestra hushes. The first oboe plays an A for everyone to tune to, and Niki finishes up quickly before signing at Wilbur, who adjusts his clarinet just a little bit.

Techno waits for him to finish, and when Wilbur nods, Dream nods at the conductor.

The baton goes up.

Notes:

Pieces referenced:
Symphonie Espagnole by Edouard Lalo, mvt 5: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ke12MLTDNq0
Sonata no. 32 for Violin and Piano by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N8_UrOE1C8

Chapter 17: The Lark Ascending

Notes:

GUYS I RELEASED AN ORIGINAL SONG PLEASE GO LISTEN IT'S ACTUALLY HALF-DECENT
https://youtu.be/-7oiYoajJ5w]

But also
I added a tag
...

Edit: if you saw me mess up Phil's instrument. No, you didn't

Three notes, the last one held for a little while, then three notes again. It’s held, and all musicians’ eyes snap up to the conductor, whose movements tell them to hold their fermata. Dream breathes in, and starts.

Four quick thirty second notes that settle into an A, then again. The notes slowly climb up, the second phrase ending in a B instead, then eight thirty-second notes, then the notes are ending in a dotted eighth and sixteenth. That particular motif repeats three times before the thirty-second notes form a longer melodic line, going up to high B, going back down and back up, over and over.

Just like a lark’s song.

What a beautifully named piece, Dream muses as he continues to effortlessly go through the notes. His notes start spanning over a larger range, and he string crosses down to the D string a couple of times.

If you had heard it in person, it would’ve sounded like a butterfly taking flight for the first time. Colourful, beautiful, and breathtaking.

Imagine Dream’s experience, playing that way.

His notes are slower now. The orchestra has been told to stop, and Dream finally plays the main melody, speeding up a bit and slowing down at other times. 

Senza Misura.

His notes slow down a bit more, and he goes down to his middle strings. When the piece inevitably brings him back to high D, the orchestra takes it as its cue to come back in.

When the orchestra comes back in, it’s a bit moodier, perhaps due to the darker tones that come with playing lower notes. But once Dream gracefully makes his way up to a high E, combined with the sharps that worm their way into the sheet music, everything becomes just a bit brighter.

Like sunlight, peeking out from behind the clouds. 

Key change to D major.

Dream can almost delude himself into thinking he’s high up in the sky, flying. 

No, he can. He can picture himself among the birds, singing a song, flying.

Dream didn’t quite understand it that night, six months ago, when Bad had excitedly rushed on and on about the exhilaration that came with performing the way you want on stage.

Has it really been six months?

So much has happened since then, Dream reflects.

After his next phrase, the winds make an appearance. Technoblade can’t help but smile in pride as he sees and hears Wilbur play the same way he used to. Even during the solo, which Wilbur would’ve blanched at only two months prior.

The piece lulls them all into a kind of trance. Phil’s own orchestral solo is executed beautifully.

For the first time in a while, there are rests in between Dream’s little sections, and he plays a little game of handing off the melody with Phil before the long notes return with strings, though they disappear just as quickly, leaving Dream hanging with the high G.

He doesn’t really mind.

Last year, it had been Technoblade that stood in his position, playing Max Bruch’s Concerto no. 1 so well that the entire conservatory immediately put him on a pedestal far above the others. It was just that good- the deep melodies, the high notes, the calm nature of the second movement, the grand nature of the third movement. No one had complained about the fact that it had taken 25 minutes instead of the allotted 15. 

There was not a single person in the audience that hadn’t given Technoblade a standing ovation. To say Dream’s hopes took a hard hit was an understatement.

Immediately, everyone had assumed that Technoblade would be the one dominating the solo concerts for the rest of his four years at the conservatory. 

What a shock it was to everyone when Techno had insisted Dream take his place as the soloist with the orchestra this year.

Now Dream’s playing a little game with Niki. Niki plays the quick and agile thirty-second notes, and Dream takes over the long and expansive notes, which seem to fill the space even though they’re so high.

Four groups of sixteenth notes.

They’re back in G major. The full orchestra takes over this time, (save for Harvey, who sulks, still not having played a single note ) and adds layers to the piece. Most notably, Techno leads the first violinists into the melody, playing in unison with all flutes and the oboe. 

When Dream comes back, he’s playing octaves that echo the orchestra, and his next sections are all double stops in one way or another, with nothing but harmonizing strings for accompaniment.

It leaves him no room to hide.

That’s fine.

When you’re at the top, there is no part of you that you can hide. 

The short, polyphonic section ends, and Dream gets one and a half bars of rest before it’s his turn again.

He transitions down to the G string, holding the low B and letting the orchestra take the spotlight for a little while. 

Then, six notes, reminiscent of the opening, are his cue to start up his second cadenza the same way he started his first.

It’s all the same, except it isn’t. Because he’s going much higher than before, and he’s stopping his cadenza, holding the dominant note much sooner than before as well. 

Niki looks intently at the conductor’s hand, and it goes down as she pulls the orchestra into the new time signature- 2/4.

Ant and Bad pluck along obediently with the rest of their sections, and Phil continues to play his long notes. They aren’t suffering, per se, happy to let their friend have his moment, but they can’t say it isn’t boring.

Dream, obviously, disagrees. After the rest of the instruments (save Harvey, who’s still languishing in the percussion section) have made their re-entrances, Dream enters with his sixteenth notes, marked tenuto.

And it’s not like the sixteenth notes are the melody- no, it’s Technoblade and the rest of the first violins that are playing the melody- but our attention is drawn to Dream’s somewhat heavy notes anyway. 

He trills, and goes up to high E, playing the melody. 

A sudden, deceptive change to C major, yet the change is refuted when Techno, Sapnap and the rest of the violins play an F sharp as Dream’s notes fly around the page in triplets. The piece then continues on in C major as if the F sharp never happened.

There’s a little call and answer between english horn and bassoon, though that fades to the background once Dream brings them once more into a new key- this time, D major. 

A crescendo, and things are ever so grand, before Dream plays a small, quiet, quick cadenza and trills.

Harvey scrambles to get in position and just barely manages to get his first entrance in on time. 

Once by one, the woodwinds with reeds come back in, moving the new section forward.

There isn’t a single moment of rest for Dream’s fingers until the rest of the strings come in, and by then a new melody has already been established.

And finally, now that all the instruments have been included, things go along smoothly. Dream loses himself, forgets he’s in the rehearsal hall, and just plays.

It’s really not all that complicated.

You just play.

Of course, it’s because it’s simple that it’s hard.

Dream’s learned a lot of things over the past nine months.

Tranquillo.

Allegretto Molto Tranquillo.

Allargando.

Tempo Del Principio.

Poco Animato.

Largamente.

They all pass in a blur.

During that blur, each of the ten musicians reflect on how far they’ve come in the past nine months. Not that they knew the others were thinking, too.

As Ant continues playing the bass part, he hides a smile at Harvey’s disgruntled expression. Nine months ago, he would’ve been sulking, only grudgingly engaging himself in conversation, reclusive and socially awkward. Now, he plays with a little more freedom, and he talks willingly, engages willingly.

Bad continues his accompaniment as he reflects. Nine months ago, he would’ve been staring at the score, only looking up to see where the conductor’s hand rests, to time his notes perfectly. Now, as he plays with the rest of his section, he opens his ears as well, playing call and answer when it’s his turn.

George no longer minds as much as he used to. The grudge that had only barely been planted from all the viola stigma has completely dissipated, and he accepts the role he plays in the orchestra without much argument. In these nine months, George had come to appreciate his own instrument in a new light.

Sapnap continues to poke fun at George whenever he can, never losing his mischievousness. Though he hasn’t changed as much as the others in the past nine months, he cannot deny how much closer everyone has gotten- through thick and thin, and all that the world has thrown at their way. It also makes stealing George’s pencil easier. 

Wilbur still cannot hear his clarinet, as much as he wishes he could. The bitterness from what has happened to him still lingers, a plague in his mind, but he embraces it, lets it wash over him, and steps through that wave. Nine months ago, he’s taken everything for granted- now, he does not, but he continues to play the way he used to.

Niki trills and blows the same way as she has before, though her movements are slightly more exaggerated. Nine months ago, she was mostly the same- there has not been much of a change in her, much like Sapnap. But both instrumentalists have learnt how to better support their friends, and as Niki moves in the way only Wilbur understands, she smiles.

Harvey ponders for himself as he looks at the rows upon rows of multi-bar rests on his music score, absentmindedly counting the bars down. Nine months ago, however carefree he was, he wasn’t quite as confident as he thought he was. The conversation with Techno changed that, and now, as he lounges in his chair, he can’t help but feel just as grateful as the others. 

Phil continues to blow in his bassoon, always sneaking a glance at Techno to make sure he isn’t collapsing. In nine months, he’s learned a lot of things. Most are good- learning how to take care of a group, becoming the “dad friend”, baking and cooking from Bad and Niki- but there’s also a few slightly less good things. Like keeping secrets. 

And Technoblade reflects as well, feeling Phil’s eyes on him even though he’s not looking back at the bassoonist. He thinks of the impact he has left on the other nine in this found family, listening to Dream’s music and how it has changed. 

(He can’t help but wonder how things will be in two months.)

And Dream? Dream’s changed the most out of all of them.

Whereas nine months ago he would’ve been too scared to even stray a single second off the score, even for free markings like rubato, which have always been carefully measured- Dream now plays with true freedom. Some part in him still whispers that this is not how his teacher would’ve wanted it, but he pushes the thoughts down easily.

And before Dream knows it, he’s back where he started.

Those same six notes, and the cadenza. Except it’s longer, and the whole orchestra already has its instruments down, waiting for him to finish.

He doesn’t mind taking his time. 

Up, and down. Up, and down.

End on a high, high B.

Silence.

Two.

Three.

Four.

There’s a wide smile on Dream’s face when he finally lowers his bow, and the orchestra erupts into applause. He can catch Techno’s grin, Phil’s smile, Sapnap’s whoop, and all of his friends’ joy.

Dream takes a deep breath, and it feels like he’s on top of the world.

He’s done it.

~

Here’s a secret that everyone knows.

Humans play favourites. And so, there are certain people that always flock to each other whenever the ten of them meet up.

It’s become a kind of tradition to crash at Techno and Phil’s place, eating takeout and crying over anime. Whenever they do, there are always certain people that sit together, and certain people that take seats beside each other at the dining table.

There’s a group of five, and that is Dream, Sapnap, George, Bad and Ant.

There are two groups of four, and those are Dream, Sapnap, George and Bad, and Phil, Techno, Wilbur and Niki.

There are two groups of three, and those are Dream, Sapnap and George, and Phil, Techno and Wilbur.

And there are five duos. Dream and Sapnap, George and Bad, Ant and Harvey, Phil and Techno, and Wilbur and Niki.

That’s a secret that everyone knows.

~

Here’s another secret that everyone knows.

There is something going on between Phil and Techno.

Everyone can see it. In the way that Phil and Techno will sometimes sit on opposite ends of the lunch table instead, in the way that they seem to hold conversations with a single glance, in the way that they play their duets in the middle of the night.

Wilbur isn’t exactly happy. He vents his frustration, often, to his roommate or to Niki. After all, Harvey is always there to help, and Niki is the kindest, most understanding person that’s ever been in Wilbur’s life.

Sometimes, Dream is frustrated too. There are times during their classes’ breaks when Techno would be typing furiously at his phone, but when Dream asks him about it, he closes off immediately. George and Sapnap are always willing to lend an open ear, when he rants on and on about those frustrating days.

There is absolutely no one that misses the tension between Techno and Phil, which seems to grow thicker as the end of the year approaches.

That’s a secret everyone knows.

~

Here’s a secret that some people know.

Techno isn’t doing the best.

There are obviously two people that know better. But the others have picked up on small signs throughout the past ten months- how Techno does not lose his cloak, how he shivers when it’s perfectly warm, and how he not-so-discreetly coughs every so often.

When they do catch it, they always present their concerns, but Techno shrugs them off easily. That doesn’t stop Bad, Niki and Ant, among others, from worrying about his health.

They talk together, sometimes. During the conversations between Niki and Ant under the spring and summer trees, they talk about Techno, and worry together. Often, they’re joined by Bad, and Wilbur will sometimes come as well, wanting to know more about what his brothers in all but blood are keeping from him. 

But the rest of the world is oblivious. To the conservatory, Technoblade will always be there to organize the concerts. To the conservatory, Technoblade will always dominate the solo performances. 

To the world, Technoblade will grow up to be one of the greatest violinists the world has ever seen. 

To the world, Technoblade will go to places across oceans, travel overseas just to give a couple of concerts, make box offices sell out within hours, and bring beautiful music to everyone, inspiring more and more young musicians. 

To the world, there’s nothing wrong with Technoblade.

But there is something wrong with Technoblade.

That’s a secret some people know.

~

Here’s a secret that no one but two people knows.

Technoblade is dying.

But there’s no one but Phil that knows that.

Technoblade’s been dying ever since he was diagnosed with an unknown illness at the age of fifteen. Technoblade’s been dying even before he met Phil and Wilbur, before Sleepy Bois Inc was formed, and certainly before their group of ten came together. 

And he’s been hiding it.

(Sometimes, the urge to tell someone nearly overwhelms him, especially when Wilbur is signing at him, asking him if he is okay. But it will not do to worry the rest of them excessively. He knows he’s being selfish and putting Phil in a hard position, but Technoblade’s a selfish person.)

(After all, everyone is a selfish person. The question is to what extent.)

He’s not a fool. Eventually, Techno knows that they’ll find out, one way or another. That one day, perhaps he’ll break in front of them.

But other than Phil, the rest of the world thinks of his off moods as nothing more than bad days or a small cough. 

Technoblade is dying.

That’s a secret no one knows.

~

Until they do.

Until that fateful night, at Phil and Techno’s dormitory, when they’re having their anime-movie night again. When Techno feels sudden, sharp pain lance through him, and he spits out a clump of red.

Well, shit.

Phil immediately spins around at the noise, to see Techno hacking and coughing, slowly lowering himself to the ground. “Techno!”

He can barely hear Phil over his pain-induced haze. His braid has touched the ground, now, dyeing it a deep crimson.

Nothing like the pale pink it was before.

All the voices are a blur, now, not only Phil. There are alarmed shouts. Someone’s rushing out the door. Someone else is calling the emergency services.

At least, he thinks.

Techno slips into the void of unconsciousness. 

Notes:

...so how we feelin'?

Pieces referenced:
The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOWN5fQnzGk
Concerto No. 1 for violin by Max Bruch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jS1Wbw6Q4y8

Chapter 18: Pavane

Notes:

Psst.. you should probably subscribe to the series! After this is completed, I'll be posting side stories in this same universe :)

But also...

...

I'm sorry

It’s the damned hospital again.

The smell of antiseptic is already familiar to Phil, but it’s the complete opposite of comforting. The smell only serves as a reminder that someone is in danger.

Again.

He ignores the rest of the group, talking quickly with the doctors, providing information where needed and answering questions. He can’t bring himself to look at Techno’s limp form.

There is no rest. 

There are only a few interludes, and none of them provide any moment of respite for Phil.

The first one is the inevitable confrontation.

~

“What the fuck, Phil?” Harvey demands. “You’re telling me you knew Techno was dying, and you didn’t think to tell us?”

“I-” He stutters. “Techno didn’t want any of you to know.”

“That doesn’t mean-!”

“Harvey.” Ant puts a hand on the trombonist’s shoulder, who fumes and stalks away. The others’ expressions all hold similar emotions- disbelief, betrayal, sadness, anger. Ant gives Phil a look of understanding- just enough to tell him that he’s not alone. However, he ends up following Harvey anyway. 

He can see the disappointment and sadness in the Dream Team’s eyes, and swallows nervously. But George, Sapnap, Dream and Bad are more understanding, and they nod at each other before leaving Wilbur, Phil and Niki alone.

Wilbur is a completely different story.

His gestures are wild and frantic, and he looks like he wants to do nothing more than scream his throat out at Phil. Wilbur doesn’t care that Phil’s feeling terrible as well- no. They’ve hidden this from the third member of Sleepy Bois Inc for so long. 

Why?

He asks him. And every time, Phil is shaking his head, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, telling him that Techno didn’t want him to know.

(Telling him that Techno didn’t trust him with this information, and trusted Phil.)

It’s not enough. Wilbur storms out of the waiting room with tears streaming down his face and Niki running after him, vowing to never forgive Phil.

~

The second one is when Techno wakes up. Temporarily stable.

Phil is the first to visit him.

“You told me you’d tell me if you were feeling worse!” Phil hissed to Techno, who’s sitting up in his bed. “You promised! ”

“Phil, I didn’t realize either.” Techno says, tiredly. “In case you haven’t noticed, the first indication was literally blood vomit, and once that happened, it was kind of obvious.”

“You’re telling me you felt nothing off before you gave us all a heart attack?” Phil asked incredulously.

Techno nods. 

Phil puts his head in his hands. “And the others… I don’t know what to do , Techno. They- they’re all so unbelievably angry.”

There are a few beats of terse silence, where the only sound is the beep of the machines and the sound of air conditioner. 

Techno sighs and leans back, staring up at the ceiling. “Let them see me.”

Phil looks up. “Are you sure?”

The violinist closes his eyes, then nods again.

~

The first one to visit was Bad.

The cellist had silently opened the door and closed it behind him, ignoring the muffled protests of the other musicians. As much as Techno would want to get this over with, he didn’t have the energy to deal with multiple of them at the same time.

Bad pulled up a chair and sat in it, before finally saying “Hey.”

“Hey.” Techno replied, refusing to make eye contact.

Bad twisted his hands in his lap. “I uh… I just wanted to tell you I don’t blame you.”

Techno stared.

“I mean…” The cellist paused. “I get it. You didn’t want us to worry, and everything, and there’s a bit of yourself that was probably scared of what our reactions would be… I get it.” Bad muttered. 

Techno sighed and closed his eyes. “I can already hear the ‘but’ in that sentence.” He commented dryly.

Bad offered a weak smile, even though Techno wasn’t looking. “ But, ” Bad emphasized playfully. “You have to let us help you, Techno.”

A beat.

“Hmm.”

Bad then stood up and left the room just as silently, preventing the others from entering as well. Techno opened his eyes again, already feeling drained. 

From the corner of the room, Phil asked him a silent question.

Techno nodded tiredly.

~

The next one to enter was Harvey.

The trombonist was nothing like Bad, and stalked in with none of the quiet. Phil looked ready to tell him to be quiet, but Techno shook his head.

Harvey plopped down in the chair.

“Well.” Harvey started. “Fuck you.”

Techno can almost hear Bad saying “Language” and smiles softly. “Good day to you too, Harvey.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Phil relax.

“You- you terrible person. In which world did you think that keeping this from us would be a good idea?” Harvey said, tears beginning to spring from his eyes. 

Techno dutifully does not comment. “Well, it’s out of the bag now.”

Harvey laughs a little. “I hate you.”

“Glad to know the feeling’s mutual.”

Harvey shakes his head through his tears. “You’re going to live past this, you hear me? Phil told me you have a chance. You’re going to live through this or I will personally deck you."

Despite himself, Techno cracks a grin.

“Thanks, Harvey.”

The trombonist huffs and leaves, not willing to take up more time than he already has. 

~

The third one is Wilbur.

This is the confrontation that Techno dreads the most. He pointedly ignores how Phil and Wilbur refuse to look at each other, and instead opts for a smile. “Hallo.”

Techno wishes that he could sign, but the IVs connected to his arms prevent him. He’s too tired to lift his arms up much, anyway.

Wilbur signs back.

I can’t believe you.

Techno blinks a few tears back. He wants nothing more than to go to sleep, but he’ll see what Wilbur has to say, out of respect. It’s the least he can do for him, after all.

I can’t believe you, Techno. You- Even Phil knew. We were supposed to be Sleepy Bois Inc- we were brothers, all three of us! You didn’t think to tell me?

“I wanted to, Wilbur.” Techno chokes a bit. “I really did.”

You had so many opportunities!

“I really didn’t want you to worry, Wil.” Techno says, trying to stop Wilbur’s movements from becoming too erratic. 

That’s not an excuse, Techno! You didn’t trust me- you didn’t trust me with such information!

Techno can almost hear Wilbur shout at him.

He gives in. He screws his eyes shut. “Wilbur, I’m sorry.”

He can’t see his response. The chair scrapes against the floor as Wilbur stands up abruptly, slamming the door behind him. 

Techno forces himself to open his eyes again, and meets Phil’s wet ones. 

~

The fourth one is Niki.

Niki says nothing when she enters, nor does she say anything after she sits down. 

Instead, she takes out her flute. 

Techno breathes in with relief, knowing that he will not be expected to confront any words. He’s already exhausted as he is.

Pavane starts slow and quiet, and Niki plays the melody with a kind of sadness Techno’s never heard before. It’s not the same sadness as when Niki found out about Wilbur’s predicament. If anything, it sounds resigned.

He makes eye contact with Niki, who sends him a silent look.

She knows.

The melody is lulling him into a peaceful state, and his eyes close despite himself. Techno’s tired. 

He does not hear Niki standing up silently to leave, nor does he hear Phil whisper to the others to give him a little time. He’s already exhausted.

~

On the next day, the first three conversations are short. Perhaps it’s because of how easily he fell asleep yesterday, but they’re short nonetheless. 

George doesn’t have much to say to him. In all honesty, neither does Ant or Sapnap, though the latter does stretch out the conversation a little bit just for the sake of talking. Sapnap and Techno had never really interacted prior to this whole situation, and Techno humours Sapnap.

“We’ve never really talked, you know.” Sapnap rambles. “And well- I’d just like to get to know you a little better.”

“Because I’m dying?” Techno says dryly.

“What- no!” Sapnap flushes. “I just thought it would be- you know- nice.”

Techno chuckles. Sapnap visibly relaxes.

He likes this. Mindless banter, like there’s nothing wrong. He appreciates that Sapnap isn’t treating him like a china doll, even though he’s functionally one. 

At some point, Sapnap shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll… I’ll leave, now. I know Dream wants to talk to you.”

From his corner in the room, Phil’s lips harden into a line.

Once Sapnap closes the door, Phil goes to sit by Technoblade’s bedside. “Are you sure about this? You don’t need a break?”

“Just call him in.”

“Techno-”

“Phil.”

The pianist pursed his lips before moving towards the door, allowing the other violinist into the room. He exited, as per Techno’s request.

The two former rivals were left in the room alone.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Awkward, terse silence.

Dream inhales sharply. “So you lied.”

“I did.” Techno says, unphased.

“Those room numbers weren’t just a timer for me. They were a countdown for you, as well.”

Technoblade nods.

Dream is silent. They share that silence for a little longer before Dream finally breaks it. “Is that why you decided to teach me?”

Technoblade hummed noncommittally before answering. “Not exactly. You had potential. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Is that really it?”

“Yeah.”

Dream sighs. “As much as I want to deny it… it makes sense. Why you’re actually interacting with people all of a sudden. You don’t have time to waste, and you want to make the most of it. Leave your legacy behind.”

Techno shrugs. “You could say that.”

A few more beats of silence. Techno’s about to go back to sleep when Dream speaks again.

“I don’t blame you.”

Techno breathes in, if only to ground himself. “You don’t?”

“Well, I guess I do. But not… not in the way where I’m angry at you for leaving. More like… well…”

Strangely, Techno gets it.

He says as such.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

A final bout of silence stretches between them. 

“...I’ll be going, now.”

Techno nods, and Dream stands up and leaves the room. Phil comes in, but upon seeing Techno’s seemingly asleep form, he backs out.

In reality, Techno is still awake. He hears the murmurs from Phil, telling everyone he’s asleep. The footsteps fade away, presumably leading the other nine back to the conservatory dorms. 

He stares down at his shaky hands.

Techno doubts they’d even be able to hold his violin. 

With those shaky hands, he weakly grasps at the textbook at his desk, left at his request. There’s a pen, and a few extra sheets of paper too. 

Pressing the tip down and letting the ink bleed into the paper, he starts writing. 

By the time he’s done, there are already quite a few tears splattered across the pages, but he can’t find the strength to write anymore. He holds the papers carefully, placing them at the desk with another small stack of papers. 

Turning off the lamp, he stares up at the dark ceiling. 

He’s so tired. 

~

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

…

Beep.

…

Beep.

…

…

Beep.

…

…

…

Beep…

…

…

…

…

…

~

It’s 2:43am when Phil wakes up, unable to fall back asleep.

It’s 2:43am when Phil turns on the lights and makes himself some tea, in an attempt to calm his nerves. 

It’s 2:43am when Phil dips the tea bag in the boiling water.

It’s 2:44am when Phil checks his phone.

It’s 2:44am when Phil drops it, his glass cup shattering on the floor along with it.

It’s 2:47am when Bad comes over to Phil’s dormitory, carrying a tray of muffins because he knows neither of them can sleep.

It’s 2:48am when Bad uses the spare key under a plant’s pot to unlock the door and step in, because he hasn’t received a response.

It’s 2:48am when Bad sees Phil standing there, frozen in shock.

It’s 2:49am when Bad tries to shake Phil back into reality, and is unsuccessful.

It’s 2:49am when Bad picks up Phil’s somehow still-functioning phone.

It’s 2:49am when he sees the message. 

…

It’s 2:56am when the tour groupchat receives three messages in quick succession. 

It’s 2:56am when Harvey shakes his roommate awake.

It’s 2:56am when Wilbur makes his vocal chords work after months of voice therapy, and he screams. 

It’s 2:58am when Niki and Ant run down to Harvey’s dormitory, and find Wilbur in a mess.

It’s 2:58am when George wakes up to the buzzing from his phone, and pales at the notifications.

It’s 2:59am when Sapnap punches Dream awake.

It’s 2:59am when Dream realizes that Techno had less time than he thought.

Notes:

I'm sorry

Pieces referenced:
Pavane by Gabriel Faure: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQDoN40-_C4

Chapter 19: Silence

Notes:

....

Well objectively, this sucks.

If you’re reading this, well. I guess I didn’t make it to twenty after all. 

Two things right off the bat, alright?

Phil, don’t blame yourself. And everyone else, don’t blame Phil. I asked him to keep a secret- he just wanted to respect my choices. 

Well, uh. I don’t know where to start.

Maybe from the disease.

Yes, I’d known that I’d been dying for a long time now. Maybe four years? Not even five. 

Don’t blame the doctors or anything. I mean, I know you’re all good people. I just want to put it out there. They’ve been confronted with a new disease that they have never seen before… I wonder if they’ll call it Dave’s disease.

Yeah, my real name’s Dave. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you myself.

I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually…

Huh. So much for my English studies.

I can’t- I’m just writing aimlessly now.

Okay, first… I’m sorry for not being able to tell each of these to you all myself. Even if social interactions suck, I wish you guys could hear these words from my mouth instead of reading them off of a piece of paper. 

But I digress. 

Presumably, if you’re reading this, then I’ll be dead.

It’s weird to write a letter to those that you’ve just been with.

I just feel like… if this were any other world, I would say Technoblade never dies. 

I’m gonna be honest with you all. Before the tour, before I was forced to spend a week in close quarters with all of you nerds- I felt like I was wasting away. My clock was ticking, and there just wasn’t enough time for me to do all I wanted. I think I kinda gave up before I met the rest of you. 

Phil and Wilbur saved me from the stagnant life I’d been leading. Believe it or not, I’d completely given up violin before I heard Phil play the Liebestraum. 

But I’m sorry for not making the most out of my time with you. I know there are so many things I could’ve done better, that I should’ve done better, that I never did. 

And there’s the rivalry.

Dream, thank you for teaching me that there’s more to learning something than just doing it for yourself. Before meeting you, someone who’s so dedicated and fixated on one thing- you changed my perspective. 

I’d only been playing music to keep myself going, in my first year at the conservatory.

Once I saw you- a violinist who needed guidance, I realized that there’s another reason you can play music as well. 

To inspire others. To help others. 

But I’m sorry I never got to play the first movement of the Symphonie Espagnole with you. I’m sorry that we never got to the Bach Sonatas and Partitas. 

I wish we had more time for that.

I’m sorry I didn’t finish those bars of chocolate you gave me at the end, either. You can take them back, if you want. Give them a try. 

To Wilbur. 

There are so many things I wish I could’ve said to you.

I’m so, so, so sorry for not telling you everything that I should’ve. It’s just… your world was perfect, Wil. I didn’t want to shatter it with the knowledge that I would be gone soon. And even when you lost your hearing, I couldn’t find it in myself to break to you that you ultimately saved a dying man. 

Do you regret pushing me away?

Do you regret not saving yourself?

If you do, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Wilbur. 

I wish I’d lived long enough to hear your unfinished song.

Phil. 

I’m sorry for what I put you through in the past few years. You deserve a better friend than me- someone who doesn’t force you to keep secrets. You’re a good person, Phil. 

And to the rest of you- please. Please don’t forget what I’ve told you all.

Carve your place in the world. Play how you love, not how the score dictates. Let yourself fall, and don’t hang onto that ledge that restricts you so. 

Please. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye in person.

I’m sorry I kept so many secrets from you all. 

I’m sorry I never got to play the quartet with you guys. 

Do me a favour, won’t you?

Play it. I know the concert’s in two weeks, and you’ll have to adjust to one second violinist instead of two- but please, play it. If not for me, then for the world.

Don’t cry. It’ll make me feel like I did something wrong. Which, in all honesty, I most likely did- but please. Don’t make me feel worse. 

I hope that you don’t hate me. 

I hope you can keep on calling each other family. 

I hope that you’re all okay. 

Sincerely,

Technoblade. 

PS: Enclosed are my two compositions that I wrote on a whim one night. I don’t know what made me all sappy enough to dedicate it to you guys, but nonetheless, they’re for you. A piece orchestrated for two violins, viola, cello, bass, piano, trombone, flute and guitar, and another, for two violins, though there’s a version for piano and violin.

I hope that you will play them someday.

PPS: Hey, Phil? Make sure to keep the window open. The fresh air has always been less stuffy than air conditioning. 

~

That night, nine people’s worlds come crashing down.

That night, something breaks inside of the pianist, and he clutches his part in the symphony with fists. Nothing can console him for the rest of the week.

That night, the guitarist doesn’t touch his instrument. He doesn’t trust himself with it, and is undeniably angry with both himself and the pianist, despite what the letter says. 

(That night, a bond between two brothers shatters.)

That night, a cellist and a bassist try to stay strong for the group, but they mourn as well. 

That night, a flutist tries to provide comfort through her own tears. 

That night, a violist stares at the notes and words on his own page. 

That night, sorrow takes over the dormitory of two violinists. 

That night, in a room where a violinist used to live, breathe, laugh and play in, the curtains flap as the cold night wind blows in from the open window.

(That night, there is no music.)

Notes:

No pieces.
After all, the best requiem is a bar of silence, isn't it?
o7

Chapter 20: Epilogue- American Quartet

Notes:

Oh ho ho and we're here, at the end! Once again, please subscribe to the series, I'll be posting side stories!
And read the ending notes if you feel up to it :)

~6 years later~

Dream, Sapnap, George and Bad ended their final piece in perfect unison, and there was a beat of silence before the crowd burst into applause. Cheers, shouts, most of them chanting their names. The other members of the group grinned at Dream as he rose from his chair, to more applause from the audience. 

To the surprise of most people, Dream is handed a mic by the stage crew and shoots a quick smile back at them before turning back to face the audience.

“Hello.” Dream speaks into the mic, and just like one would expect, he is immediately taken back by the sheer volume. His eyes widen briefly before he recomposes himself, and the audience gets a pretty good laugh. Dream’s lips quirk into a smile.

“Hello. So… wow.” Dream takes a moment to look around the stage. “Nothing’s changed.”

And indeed, nothing has changed. Six years later, four years after he graduated from the conservatory, the curtains, seats, and even that broken light on the left aisle, five rows back is still not fixed. A small smile spreads across his face at the thought, and he clears his throat again. “Sorry. Got a little caught up in nostalgia. Anyway-” He grins at the audience. 

“So! If nothing is different about the year end concert, I’m guessing that we’re roughly half an hour behind schedule. Is that right?” He calls out to no one in particular, and someone in stage crew yells a yes, which gets the audience and the performers to chuckle. 

“Really, nothing’s changed.” Sapnap says, voice loud enough to be heard by the entire audience. George smacks Sapnap lightly. 

“Anyway.” Dream flashes a quick grin to the crowd. “Sorry for taking up about half an hour of the concert. But I’m sure you all don’t mind.”

There’s a chorus of “no”s. 

“Right. So, actually, if you’ve been following our group-” He gestures with his other hand, holding a mystery stack of papers, vaguely at the quartet, “-you’ll notice that we will always end off with the same piece. Now, it’s never on the program, but we’ll always play it as an encore. Doesn’t matter where we are.”

Silence. Nods from the audience.

Dream’s mood dampens a bit. “There’s a lot of questions as to why we do that. We’ve avoided answering them for the past four years, but- well, now that we’re here, back at the conservatory- seems like a good place to address it.”

He turns around to Bad briefly, who nods in reassurance. Dream returns that nod, and takes a deep breath in.

“Nearly eight years ago, a legend took his first step into this school. He walked these halls, sat in these seats, and complained about the same practice rooms.”

Dream inclines his head. “You all know him as Dave. Well, we know him as Technoblade.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe you guys know him as Technoblade, too. But I’m off topic. Well, where does this story start? Fast forward a year, to the tour we went on.”

Dream’s eyes scan over the audience, and he smiles when he spots a few familiar faces. “I can see some recognition here. Fundy, perhaps? Tommy and Tubbo? Eret?”

The four instrumentalists startle upon hearing their names called. The one called Tommy recovers quickly, and he whoops loudly. Tubbo’s trying to pull him down, but there’s a wide grin on his face as well. Fundy and Eret are stunned, but happy nonetheless.

Dream has his own grin. “Yeah. I remember you guys. Because that was a very, very special tour. On day three, Technoblade offered to teach me.”

A beat. 

He sighs. “In hindsight, it was obvious that he was trying to make sure his knowledge wouldn’t go to waste. But most of us were too caught up in- well, everything, to notice much wrong. To notice that he was... dying.”

The hall is silent in response to his slightly bitter tone. Even Tommy has stopped.

“But despite that, he helped us. All nine of us, the other members of the tour group- perhaps you’ve heard of them. Wilbur, the deaf guitarist. Niki, the accompanying flutist. Harvey and Ant, the pinnacle of the combination of jazz and classical music. Phil, the legendary pianist. And, of course, us.”

A rueful kind of smile appears on Dream’s face, next. “I’ll be honest with you all. Before I had Technoblade’s guidance, I was nothing more than a slave to the score. I saw nothing past the markings on paper- but now, I understand more. I just… wish he could’ve stayed longer.”

Dream’s eyes are a little misty, now, as he stares up at the lights on stage, pausing just a bit more before continuing. “And, well. Eventually, Technoblade died. He left behind three packets of paper- two scores, and a letter. He’d written a symphony of friends, and a sonata of rivals.”

Behind him, the other instrumentalists stare at the sheets of paper in their binders, all carefully preserved. Dream clenches the music in his hand.

He tilts his head back down, to look at the audience. “And in the letter, he asked us to stay true to what he’d taught us, to play the quartet even without him, and to keep on calling each other family.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m ashamed to say we failed two of those things. As unlikely as it had seemed, Technoblade was the one that had brought us all together, and he was the one that kept this family stitched up. As soon as he left us, our family fell apart. Wilbur couldn’t forgive Phil for keeping the secret from him, and Sleepy Bois Inc disbanded.”

Dream pauses to let that sink in. “Once we graduated from the conservatory, there was nothing preventing us from leaving.”

He forges on.

“Phil was the first. He had always been a year older than us, and the first chance he got, he left the country. He tours all around the world, evading us.”

“The next ones to leave were Wilbur and Niki. As soon as the graduation ceremony had finished, Wilbur grabbed Niki and told her he’d bought them tickets to the other side of the world- exactly on the opposite of where Phil was. They hop around the globe, too.”

“And the last ones to leave were Harvey and Ant. They’d always been more jazz-inclined than the rest of us. They also go around the world.”

Dream is silent for a few seconds. 

“We never see each other by coincidence. And the one time we did, I’m told it didn’t go so well. So we left, too- the group of four that failed to fulfill Techno’s performance request.”

Dream exhales. “I think it was guilt. We’d failed to perform the quartet, and thus we were trying to make up for it. In every concert we played, we would always make it our finale. Perhaps as a kind of apology.”

Even more silence, as the audience contemplates the implications of what he’s said.

And suddenly, Dream directs his eyes to the camera from the crew he knows is there. “And I know you’re watching. Each of you. Phil, Wilbur, Niki, Harvey, Ant- I know you are.”

He stops, considering his next words.

“Grapes turn to wine, but wine turns to vinegar.” Dream forcibly stops himself from choking. “Please, we’re waiting for you to come back. I know we’ve kept online contact- but we miss you. We want to see more than just a Merry Christmas, or a Happy New Year, or a Happy Birthday when we deign to remember it.”

Dream holds up the sheet music in his hand. 

“We’re waiting to play the symphony.”

Dream sets the mic down, ignoring the stunned audience, and carefully sets the symphony on his stand before pulling out the other piece he has mentioned. He picks up his violin and stares at the notes.

American Quartet.

He nods briefly to the others, and they start.

Him first. Sixteenth notes fill the hall, then Sapnap comes in, then Bad with a held F.

George gets the first entrance to the melody. A stately, bold statement of pentatonic theme, ending with a brief arpeggio, going up and down. 

Dream gets the next appearance of the melody, and Bad switches to pizzicato. They’ve done this hundreds of times, and none of them even bother flipping to the next page, all of them playing on muscle memory alone.

Arpeggio calls and answers between Bad and Dream.

Then, there’s a small shift in key, and they go into D-flat major. Then, eventually, there’s another shift- this time, into E minor. Despite the staccato-like motifs in most of the accompaniment, Dream maintains a melodic and smooth legato line.

A minor, now.

There’s another slow section in A major, but at this point, all four players are lost in the music. It’s a wonder, how they manage to stay together, but they do.

To Sapnap, it’s like the first time he played with Dream after Dream mastered Symphonie Espagnole. 

To George, it’s like that time he played with the rest of the quartet, right after Technoblade had talked with him.

To Bad, it’s like the time he played the Cello Concerto on the same stage, after months of preparing with Technoblade.

And to Dream, it’s like The Lark Ascending all over again. 

Development and Recapitulation pass in a blur. All four musicians are only pulled back into reality six bars before the end. Dream trills his ascending notes, Sapnap and George’s sixteenth notes are as clear as ever, and Bad plays the dotted eighth and three sixteenth notes motif two more times, before joining in repeating only sixteenth notes. 

Dream and Sapnap are playing the same notes, albeit an octave apart. George and Bad hold half notes before splitting off into their own motifs. 

Repeat.

Two bars before the end, they play rhythmically as a unit. Ascending sixteenth notes, a dotted eighth, followed by another sixteenth note. 

An eighth note.

A chord.

And a chord.

Their bows go up, and the curtains go down.

~

Coda

Backstage, Dream puts his violin away carefully. He knows the other three are waiting for him, but he takes his time nonetheless.

This is the last time in a long time where they’ll be able to visit the conservatory. He takes just a moment to breathe it all in.

Outside, the rest of the Muffinteers chat quietly, and upon seeing the remaining member, they walk out together. Their banter is less enthusiastic as it would usually be, memories weighing them down. 

Then, they’re met with a surprise.

Once they exit through the backstage door, there’s someone waiting for them.

They stare at each other before Bad finally recognizes the figure. “Ant?” He asks, overjoyed.

“Hey.” Ant grins. “You guys were taking pretty long backstage, there.”

Bad sets his cello down carefully before barrelling into a hug with the bassist, who returns it. Dream gapes for a little while longer before collecting himself. “Ant? How- why are you here?”

“Oh, not just me.” Ant says conversationally. “We.”

Four more figures step out of the shadows. A very familiar pianist, guitarist, flutist, and trombonist. 

Dream stares at each of them in turn. “Phil… Wilbur… Niki… Harvey?”

Wilbur smirks. You look like an idiot. He signs.

And suddenly, there are hugs all around.

They’ve changed. Phil looks older, and more tired. Wilbur, in contrast, looks a bit younger, and Niki’s eyes shine with a new light. Harvey looks a little more mature, though he still pokes fun at everyone. “That was quite cliché, Ant.” the musician jests, and Ant makes a little offended noise.

Dream gently extracts himself from the hug. “You- you guys worked it out?”

“Yeah.” Phil says easily. “Buried the hatchet and all that. Some speech you gave there, Dream. Techno would’ve been proud.”

Six years ago, bringing up the missing violinist would’ve caused too much pain for anyone to bear, and no one would’ve even tried to talk about him. 

But now, as they stand together, in the empty, cold parking lot behind the conservatory they all used to live, breathe, laugh, and play in- they can think of him fondly, and recall the memories.

Welcome to the conservatory, everyone. Where the legendary Technoblade and his nine friends once lived, and where several special things happened, that one particular night. 

That night, Wilbur plays the unfinished song, now finished.

That night, Phil opens the window of an unsuspecting musician, in the dormitory.

That night, they all go to practice room 1, and they rehearse.

A symphony for friends.

And a sonata for rivals. 

Notes:

And we come... to a close.

Pieces Referenced:
American Quartet by Antonin Dvorak: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxtAHpYIXdU
Symphonie Espagnole by Edouard Lalo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cw20rHFqaPQ
Cello Concerto in E minor by Edward Elgar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPhkZW_jwc0
The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOWN5fQnzGk

Small easter egg: Word count = 42096. 4, for the number of pieces Dream learned with Technoblade- 20, for the opus number of the first piece Dream learned with Technoblade, Zigeunerweisen- and 96, for the opus number of the American Quartet.

Damn okay so this has definitely been such a warm welcome into the fandom. In the end, really, this is my love letter to music, but I've got people to thank, anyway. And not just the composers of all of these beautiful pieces, but others as well.

To sky_books, for being the first person to kudos.
To rosesandmusic, for being the first commenter. (From one musician to another, hope you're doing better.)
To AloiseCrystillina_VFM38, for being the first person to bookmark this.
To Creator [still don't know this chinese character lmfao] for drawing the very first piece of fanart I've ever received, and to BlueQuills and Definitely Not Liz for drawing equally beautiful fanart.
To Equivocal Spectre and Otfritz for leaving such beautiful, beautiful comments.
To every single person that read this, and is reading this, and got this to 15k hits, 150 bookmarks, and 800+ kudos. As much as I seem to laugh at your pain, I appreciate all of you.

And finally, to Aria_Cinabun. Every word of this- this is for you, as a thank you for inspiring me to start writing.

To every musician out there. Keep on playing.

And thus, for the final time in Symphonies of Friends and Sonatas of Rivals, I hope you enjoyed.

~jello.

Chapter 21: in regards to the current situation

Notes:

#technosupport

So this aged poorly. Really poorly.

 

 

But after mulling it over a few days, I've made the decision to not delete this story.

SoF&SoR was not written as a way to cope with the current situation. It finished like, seven whole months ago. SoF&SoR was written as a way to find myself as a musician, and to give the musical community of this fandom something. to bring them together.

It is a matter of fact that this story has given many people something. Inspiration is one of the things I would not want to take from anyone, and if this story gives people a way out of a music block, then I will gladly keep this up.

Thank you, again, for everyone's support on this fic. It has grown even after its completion, and I am extremely grateful. Thank you so, so much.

This isn't goodbye. Not yet. Heck, when all this blows over, maybe this chapter will be deleted.

But thank you.

 

Keep playing.

 

-jello12451

Notes:

my only regret for this chapter is that it ruined the perfectly good 42096 count but eh

Chapter 22: update 2

I want to preface this with the fact that I woke up today, a day after the news was broken, and considered not getting up.

Nothing serious. Just. Lying there. Thinking. 

It still feels wrong to attribute this entire situation to sofsor because there's obviously so much more that's going on here - I don't have any right to bring this all back to this fic, but the coincidence and similarities are there and I'm just angry. The news came to me on a day that coincidentally brought something for which I took a giant blow to my musical career and I nearly impulse deleted this fic right then and there. 

 

I nearly did it. My cursor was right there on the button, but still - I thought that maybe I owed it to you guys to think about this for just a little longer. 

I'm sorry it took so long for me to reply to all the comments and DMs that have been coming my way that meant nothing but something well. I'm so sorry. I'm just so angry at the world at large and it's terrible, that something so out of control that happens out of pure unluckiness can happen to the people who meant so much to so many people. 

I'm still angry, I think - but I've thought about it, and I don't want that anger to control me anymore. 

 

I'm not an adult. I'm a teen and I've seen enough to be angry and spiteful of this stupid, imperfect world of ours - to already know that I have no future if I want to do what I love except for one on the streets and in student debt. But then I scrolled back through my inbox - through all these messages telling me of these strangers on the internet who were also angry, so very angry, at this world and how this fic, somehow, of all the fics, this fic, managed to change their lives and help them see the better and that just got to me. 

 

It wasn't even the video that broke the dam. It was you guys - you guys - commenting and DM-ing and reminding me that one time I'd kept someone living, and that's when I decided that this one time would be enough. 

 

I won't ever write for this ever again, I think. I think it's set in stone. There's so much more that I wanted to expand on - the jazz duo's intermittent years - the younger generation in their graduation - and everything, but - I can't. I really can't write more for this, and if anyone else is brave enough to take the mantle by all means, please. please do. 

But the least I can do for you all, I think, is to keep this up - if nothing else, then to keep giving you something. Anything that helps - anything that keeps us going in these frankly terrible, terrible times, through our anger and grief and everything that has tried to knock us down. 

 

I'm going to say goodbye to this fandom with one quote that I've realized-

"The world takes time to love, but we have never had enough time."

 

It's really been such an amazing run with all of you. I've neared two years in this fandom, and I will always remember this fandom as the one through which I met so many people I keep so close to my heart even now. I'm sorry to all of those, again, with an unresponded comment - but I read every single one of them. Bluejay, I haven't forgotten - thank you so much. All the anons and those who have found their freedom again - I hope your life is better than it was before, when you were in a space you couldn't pursue your passion. To the marimbist - I hope your prosthetic arm is getting easier to control. I hope you can play again. 

 

30161 hits, 1604 kudos, 741 comment threads, 612 bookmarks, 281 subscriptions.

If nothing else, I think that this fic brought us together. 

 

Thank you. Thank you so, so, so much. I don't think any of you will ever understand the impact every single interaction with this fic had on me, but thank you.

 

Keep playing.

Jello12451, author of Symphonies of Friends and Sonatas of Rivals...

 

 

...stepping off the stage. 

Notes:

Comments and Kudos are always appreciated- comments even more.
My YT channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQHHEpmzIrOYyxX659-3tfA
See you guys next week hopefully ;-;
Edit: bold of me to assume anyone would want to, but if anyone wants to do art on this, feel free! Just lmk in the comments ^_^
Edit 2: I've got a Technical Edition up! It's in the same series as this one, and everything musical is explained there.
Edit 3: Hey there! Got a discord for you readers ^_^ https://discord.gg/HwbkW8jqrf

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of MCYT Music Conservatory AU
• Part 1 of and the arts in our lives and the beauty they bring, let us thank them too