Chapter Text
…
In the music wing, a few students lingered with computer light gleaming in their eyes or pencil in hand scribbling furious notes onto the poor ancient relics you could technically call sheet music, who have to withstand the hand of a student’s scrawling penmanship.
The evening began to envelop the campus with its star-speckled veil, drenching the music wing with the intense, dying hues of the day. Blazing purple and orange seeped into the seams of the night as the stars blinked gently down upon the students.
Wemmbu stood in a secluded corner of the music wing, flicking through the pages of his many music books for a violin piece to play for the final assignment. The ender dragon hybrid’s eyes flitted across the content pages of each one, but to no avail in finding the piece.
He scratched his purple shoulder-length hair, pondering.
Wemmbu readjusted his music stand.
Too tall for me.
And he readjusted it again.
My sheet music might slip off.
He reached out with his talons to nudge the page retainers.
The wind could blow through the closed windows.
..
Wemmbu sighed. How can the wind blow through a closed window is the question.
Maybe someone had opened it?
He flicked his tail and glanced suspiciously at the very clearly closed window.
The ender dragon hybrid raised a brow.
Go on, Wemmbu narrowed his eyes at the window, try me.
After a pause, Wemmbu’s speckled wings drooped slightly.
Why he was doing this, he didn’t know.
He didn’t know what piece to play for the final assignment. He didn’t know if he’d even go well.
For heaven’s sake, he doesn’t even know if he’ll get a good accompanist, or if he’ll even need one.
Wemmbu didn’t know if he wanted to make a good impression on the judges, on Mane, or if he just wanted to go off on his own terms with absolutely no marks and no stress.
..He knew which one he was going to do.
…
There was a lot of ‘not knowing’ to Wemmbu’s life.
Not knowing whether if he’d get a good mark or not.
Not knowing if he was too much.
Not knowing if he wasn’t enough.
He never knew if his people-pleasing persona was ever anything credible; even Wemmbu cringed at his own actions.
Even with the mask he had built and the walls he had stacked so carefully around him just so he could feel fine about himself, just so he could feel like he belonged even when he already had friends who accepted him for who he was, and even with all these blessings that no other could have in a lifetime - he still felt insecure.
Insecure about how he looked, how he played, about any single blink or word that rolled off his tongue.
As if the people in this world were a council who had come together solely to burn holes into people’s backs by judging them silently.
Unfortunately for Wemmbu, it felt like everyone was expecting something from him.
Waiting.
Judging.
Wanting.
Even with good or bad intentions.
Even as he plays the role an actor would of playing a character who doesn’t care what others thought of him, he really did care about how people viewed him more than he could ever wish to admit.
It felt like he was drowning in these insecurities that could easily be avoided if he just disciplined himself.
….
Wemmbu’s grip tightened on his bow.
Lock in.
His bracelets clinked together with a soft chink as he patted his trousers and cardigan. They were friendship bracelets armed with charms gifted by Parrot, Spoke and Flame on his birthday when he asked for something that wasn’t an ugly painting of him, or a bunch of forget-me-nots, or a prompted punch to the face.
Spoke had instantly deflated, saying that it would’ve been a dignified ugly painting of Wemmbu. (“It was going to be like.. like an ugly Christmas sweater!”)
Parrot’s wings had drooped slightly, but the avian had quickly fixed his reaction up. (“It’s fine. It was just a.. tradition I had when I was in high school.”)
Flame had scoffed, claiming that he’d go beat up Spongs after the little roach had stolen his lunch that day. (“That’s fair. Spongs still owes me; I paid $6 for those fries. $6! In this economy?! That chud is going to pay.”)
Wemmbu smiled, his purple hair flowing down in waves as he grinned stupidly at his bracelets.
He really did have great friends.
Friends who would support him.
Would stand by him even on his deathbed.
Something that he never did for Rejoice.
Wemmbu placed his bow back on the music stand a little too forcefully, jostling the stand from the perfect position he had put it in earlier.
Perfection is a picky price to pay.
He really did know that. But sometimes, he just can’t help it.
Wemmbu glared at the email gleaming from the computer that was sat innocently on top of the piano:
‘You are all given a month to put yourself out there. Find and practice a piece that speaks levels about the whimsy of freedom.
The will to be able to do anything without fear of judgement.
Without fear that in the context of that piece, people will accept you for who you are.
To witness the beginning of a new age.
And to say farewell to your old worries.
Good luck; don’t disappoint.
- Doctor Mane [Head of Performing Arts]’
The ender dragon’s eye twitched. The audacity that stupid lion has.
Even after all the potential that Wemmbu showed, even after all the times he had impressed Mane, the lion always acted like he had a bone to pick with Wemmbu.
And yet, with Flame, his beloved younger cousin, Mane always stopped the tiger in the halls to praise Flame for being a damn theatre kid.
Was it bad that he was jealous of Flame?
(Probably.)
He knew that he was being a terrible friend by having this lingering tendril of jealousy swallowing him whole, constricting his thoughts to the bitter berries of a bush that looks perfect on the outside.
Flame was his friend, yet he was still like this.
It didn't help that with classical music, while it was extremely rewarding, was just as demanding as the equivalent of keeping a mask on when your eyes are glued to your shoes and your hands feel like they belong to someone else.
It was just as mentally exhausting as it is to keep mourning for the one person who had accepted you, yet you were the same person who willingly stood on the sidelines when they got struck down.
Books of sheet music and pieces made by the hands of great musicians from eras before lay around him, piling up and trapping him in the very walls he had built for himself.
Shiny, flashy, classy, snarky, cocky. Musicians with blue satin sashes practicing for more than forty hours a day.
Wemmbu sank to his boots, burying his face in his talons. Purple hair trickled through his fingers, framing his face like a portrait at an auction.
Like a bird in a cage, watching as their own beauty led to a veil shuttering their real self from society.
“I’m sorry, Rejoice-“ Wemmbu hiccoughed, clawing at his perfect curls, “For turning out like this-“
The ender dragon’s tail wrapped tightly around his ankle.
Too much.
Not enough.
Wemmbu choked out another sob. His violin, his bow, his music, had piled up all around him before he could even notice he was drowning in his insecurities in the first place.
“I’m sorry..”
…..
“Sorry for what?”