Work Text:
The bell chimes as Tommy steps into the studio he has grown accustomed to. His father, Clay, decided that Tommy would play an instrument starting at the ripe age of 7. Tommy got to pick the instrument, but there was no disagreement with the infamous “Dream”. You see, Dream was part of a famous band. The “Dream Team”. Kind of self-centered when you ask Tommy.
The studio smells like parchment and ink, a sterile cleaning supply, and rose. There were people tuning Cellos and polishing harmonicas. It was a symphony in Tommy’s mind. All of these people bonding over music, notes on a page.
I mean, nobody ever spoke to Tommy. They gave him fleeting looks and then grimaced while going back to organizing sheet music. He was the prodigal child. Precocious and stuck up his ass, as the other students would call him. He kept his head down while he prepped for his lesson. Wilbur, his coach, was out today. He left Tommy a note on his studio door saying that Wilbur’s brother would be substituting for Tommy.
And oh, has Tommy heard about Technoblade. He was a master of the violin. An esteemed being who lives through music breathes the notes, every step he takes is like poetry. Wilbur just happens to share a home and blood with him. Techno was in town and was doing his brother a favor. The only issue; Technoblade was Tommy’s idol. He once single-handedly beat Dream at the Essempi Music Festival. Nobody does that. Of course, Techno hates Tommy’s Father.
Way back when Tommy was an infant, Techno and Clay were friends. Techno and his partner, Phil, would babysit Tommy, to the point that they were Uncle Tech and Uncle Phil. Phil was cool, he is a veteran musician who would tour with Techno in the early years when Techno and Dream were just starting their music career.
Dream did not know that Techno was in the studio today. Dream did not know the studio was owned by a certain retired musician. Dream did not know that Wilbur was related to Technoblade.
When his Violin was ready for the lesson, he went to sign-in on the clipboard they kept at the front desk. It was there to keep track of who was teaching which student, and for how long. Just so they knew how much you owed them. The studio was relatively cheap and accessible. Phil wanted music to be an inclusive form of expression.
Tommy took a deep breath and swung his violin’s case over his shoulder. It had stickers and writing on it, mostly from Tubbo and Ranboo, his close friends (only friends). He tentatively stepped deeper into the bright studio, searching for the whiteboard placard that would say his instructor’s name on it. He came upon the end of the carpeted hallway. He went up to the last door; marked with Wilbur’s name, permanently engraved into the wood.
After three knocks, he could hear the footsteps coming up to open the door. At that moment, it finally hit Tommy that he was about to meet his childhood idol for the first time in years. The blood drained from his face and his stomach dropped to his feet. He was about to just walk out of the studio when the door creaked open.
“You must be Thomas, come in.” The man said with a polite smile. His pink hair was tied into a bun with a few strands falling into his face. It was sleek and shiny, professional. His gold-rimmed glasses were low on his nose. He wore a long-sleeved white button-up tucked into his black dress pants. The room itself had multiple windows with hardwood flooring. Most days Tommy and Wilbur would keep the lights off and work in the natural light.
He liked how the natural light looked on the grand piano pushed into the corner of the room. There was a bulletin board inside, right next to the door. Wilbur liked to hang up the medals and fliers from the competitions his students went to. Tommy’s first metal was proudly pinned in the center of the board. It was gold and shiny, a bit tarnished over the years. After Tommy started winning all of his competitions, Wilbur stopped putting up his metals in the room. Now they hung proudly in his apartment. The medal on the board wasn’t even a first-place one.
It was from Tommy’s first competition. He was eight at the time, and his father didn’t bother showing up. He was so nervous that he played off-key the entire time and didn’t notice. When he finished, Wilbur was the first to cheer. He jumped and hollered, giving Tommy a standing ovation. He bowed and ran off stage, immediately collapsing into Wil’s arms and sobbing. Ahh, memories.
Tommy looked up, that's right, up. He had to look up to meet Techno’s gaze. His eyes were a striking auburn, bordering red.
“Uh, Just Tommy is fine, s-sir.” Said Tommy.
“No need for the formalities. I’m Techno. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to watch you while your father was on tour.” Said Techno. “Father” was said dismissively. It was hard to catch, but Tommy was a musician. He could hear when someone’s tone switched. Tommy nodded.
“I remember. You would always correct my posture, even when Wil said it was perfect.” Tommy said with a small smile.
“You were a rascal, that much is true. Always trying to get your fingers to stretch into weird chords.” Techno remarked fondly. Tommy smiled back up at him, assuming his normal position in front of the piano. Sometimes Wilbur would play alongside him, that be guitar or Piano. Techno watched with a keen eye, almost like he was searching for imperfections. It was intimidating. Techno grimaced when Tommy went to warm up. He paused and gave Techno a questioning look.
“You look so much like your father, it's insane. You play like him, too.” Sighed Techno. Tommy stopped playing his scales abruptly. He lowered his bow and met Techno’s eyes. A fire lit in those blue’s that Techno hadn’t seen in years. The kid was so dulled down when he walked into the room. Techno was glad to have some of the spirits back.
“I’ll have you know, I am nothing like my father. He is too scared to leave his little world. I can see past the fans and his stupid “team”. I would even say I am better at violin than him. Hell, I could out sing him.” Techno was not expecting that reaction. Tommy looked almost hurt when he brought up Dream. He should probably stop while he’s ahead, but this was too interesting to resist.
“Oh really? The other students have much to say about the “prodigal son” of the SBI studio. They all claim they could outplay you. You are unreachable to them. Almost like some other celebrity I know.” Techno smirked. This was a bad idea, but this kid needed to be humbled.
Tommy knew that Techno was provoking him. But he made this argument a challenge, and Tommy hasn’t known losing in a long time.
“Okay, blade. Just because you beat my father does not mean you have power over me. I’ll show you “ prodigal son ”.” Tommy was seething he raised his violin unto his shoulder. Techno pulled up a chair, sitting on it backward. He rested his arms on the back and watched Tommy. He was backlit by the windows, making an elegant silhouette. Techno couldn’t believe that this was the kid who used to bite through the hair of his bow. Tommy took a deep breath and began to play a suspended note. It was solemn, almost lonely. It stopped and Tommy closed his eyes, letting his shoulders relax. The tension dripped off of his back, leaving the illusion of his father’s stance far behind.
Techno could now see the young musician in Tommy. Any trace of Dream had melted from his pose. This kid was impressive, and he hadn’t even started playing. The song started low and smooth. Almost slow. Techno observed the way Tommy swayed with his music. He was mostly picking the strings, not using his bow yet. The tune went up and down the lower range, sounding like a saddened ballroom scene.
When Tommy started to use his bow for the high notes is when Techno could recognize the spark in Tommy. It was familiar. A loneliness Tech was all too familiar with. The music picked up in pace, Tommy’s face scrunching up. Suddenly, the music slowed. Tommy was frowning. Techno had never heard this piece, but it was enough to bring him to the brink of tears. Tommy strummed the strings of his violin, and that is when the tears started to fall. His toon started back up with melancholy strokes of how to bow. Through the tears, Techno could see Tommy had a small smile plastered to his face like he was remembering a fond memory. The toon dwindled and ended with the same lonely note that it started with.
This was something Dream never showed. The pure vulnerability Tommy puts into his music is like snowfall on a dark night. Melancholy and nostalgic, but not quite happy. It is cold and lonely, and yet still holds those fond childhood memories of snowmen and hot cocoa.
Tommy has resumed his tense position, pretending like Techno didn't just watch him have a breakdown while playing the violin. His father was back in his stance, a pity. Tommy turned his head and gave Techno a confident smile.
“I gotta say kid, that was impressive. You know your stuff.” Techno said while giving a slow clap. Tommy felt pride swell in his ribcage. All previous taunts were forgotten. His idol had clapped for him, he had proven himself. He regained his poise with a sniff and a smile. He was at ease, this room is his domain. Techno stood and turned to Tommy.
“What was that piece though? It was beautiful. I have never heard anything like it.” Techno said. Tommy could cry. Scratch that- he was going to cry. Tommy had written that music. Techno had said it was beautiful. He might just die. He gaped at techno.
“I- I Uhm, I wrote that.” Tommy stuttered. Techno’s face betrayed him, looking at Tommy with muted shock.
“Where did you learn to compose?” Techno asked, baffled.
“I am self-taught. It just kinda; comes out, I guess?” Tommy explained. Techno looked severely constipated.
“Woah big man, you gonna catch flies with that mouth?” Tommy nervously chuckled. Wordlessly, Techno pulled a notepad off of a shelf and scribbled something down on it. He tore the page off and Tommy raised an eyebrow. Techno handed him the note and read it.
“I don’t understand, this is just an address?” Tommy asked. Techno pulled himself together enough to explain.
“You have just been invited to my family’s home. The SBI is going on a tour to promote the next generation of musicians. If you would like, you can come over for dinner this weekend and we can set up dates for you to come open for our shows.” Techno smiled, “You are a very talented musician Tommy. I know that Dream doesn’t notice you nearly as much as he should, but I am allowing you to find a community that would celebrate you. Wilbur would be ecstatic.” Techno said. Tommy’s jaw dropped. Touring? With the SBI? This has got to be the best day of his life. He was eager to agree when he remembered,
“My father would be furious,” Tommy said, downtrodden. Techno hummed agreement and put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“This is your choice, Tommy. He doesn’t get to control your future.” Tommy gazed into Tech’s eyes, searching for any sign of falsehood. Tommy felt his eyes burn and he furiously scrubbed at his eyes. Techno put a gentle hand on his shoulder and the dam broke. Throwing his body into Techno, he buried himself into his fancy shirt and bawled. Techno sat down on the hardwood floor and cradled Tommy in his arms. They sat for hours until the sunset and the noise settled. It was finally closing time, and Techno picked up the slumped teen. Tommy looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks. It was a mournful sight. Tech jostled the sleepy boy, asking if he was okay with sleeping at Wil's. With an enthused nod, they were off into the night.
The city lights were pretty at night. So colorful and joyous. Tommy felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He hadn't let himself cry like that in years. Techno had his hands firmly on the wheel, ever so sneakily slipping glances at Tommy. Tommy didn't want to fall asleep, he wanted to see Wilbur and meet Phil. The next time he opened his eyes, there was a huge apartment building in front of the car.
Tommy lugged his violin over his shoulder and leaned against Technoblade the entire way up the elevator. When people gave them strange glances, Techno made sure Tommy didn't see. Finally, they made it to Wil's apartment. It was spacy and looked lived in. Tommy liked it. He heard a rush of footsteps coming from somewhere to the left. Suddenly a mop of brown hair and yellow yarn was engulfing him, and he sunk into the fabric.
"Toms! It's so good to see you! I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your lesson today, I have a stupid cold," Wilbur said with a pout. He giggled when he heard how nasally his voice was. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he realized how late it was.
"Do you have somewhere I could knock out bid dubs?" Tommy asked. Nobody commented on the tear streaks stained to his cheeks like burns. It hurt Wilbur to see the boy so tired.
"Yeah bud, do you wanna go to bed right now, or do you want some sou first?" Wilbur asked
"I think I just wan' go to bed," Tommy said, progressively getting more slurred as he leaned on the counter. Distant laughter could be heard from the upstairs bedroom and it startled Tommy. Techno laughed as he leaned next to Tommy.
"That's just Phil and Kristin, they are always up chatting at this hour." He chuckled. Tommy perked up at this.
"can I meet Phil before I go t' bed?" He looked hopefully between Wil and Tech. It was nice to see him light up, he was always too quiet for a boy with a huge personality.
"Of course, I am sure they would love to meet you bud." Wilbur led Tommy up the stairs to the couple's room. Two knocks later and a "come in" was heard through the door. Two people were sat next to each other in a large bed. The bed had a fluffy purple spread, making it look very cozy. Phil had a book propped open while Kristin was knitting. One lamp was on, so the room was pretty dim. Tommy gave a wave as Wilbur introduced him.
"Hey Dadza, this is Tommy! One of my students. He is sleeping over tonight. He wanted to meet you, he's a fan." Wilbur smirked. Tommy halfheartedly jabbed him, to awed by the only man ever in front of him.
"hello Philza, sir. I love your work. It is nice to see you." Tommy spat out. He heard muffled laughs from behind him. His face burned a bright red as Kristin giggled.
"Well, it is quite nice to meet you too, mate. I have heard plenty about you. Would you like to take off your case? I'm sure you're tired." He gave an accusatory look at his sons. Tommy nodded and Techno gently lifted the case from his shoulder. He felt a wave of exhaustion fall over him once again, except there was something else to it. Something familiar and uncomfortable. He automatically gave Wilbur the hand sign to indicate he was having an anemic attack. His knees buckled and Wilbur gasped. He felt heavy arms supporting him from under his. His vision swam. Someone ran down the stairs. His ears rang and he felt weak. A protein bar was shoved into his hands next to a bottle of water. He scarfed down the bar and drank the water, feeling relieved.
"oookay. I think it's time for bed. Night Dad!" Wilbur rushed Tommy to the guest bedroom and almost threw him on the bed. Tommy sunk into the plush and gave a hum of comfort. Wilbur gave him a hug and Techno patted his back. He heard hushed whispers as he drifted off. If Wilbur and Techno were talking about how to take custody, it wasn't Tommy's business.