Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Tommy had put down Band as one of his future classes for high school he had no idea what he was getting into. He was dared by Tubbo, his best friend and 3rd chair french horn that's played since the 6th grade, and how was he supposed to say no. There was just one…. slight problem. Tommy had no idea how to play an instrument of any kind.

All he knew was that he wanted to play something super cool. He could probably pick up the trumpet or trombone easily. The saxophone would also be a good choice. He was so ready.

But… looking at the choices of lesson teachers his school offers, Tommy hesitates. Quietly, he pulls out his pencil and writes down the email address of one of the lesson teachers. He would find time to email them later.

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Now would probably have been a good time for Tommy to think about his life choices. His lesson teacher, a blond man in a green bucket hat, was called Phil. Apparently he also worked as Tommy's band director and one of his kids, Technoblade, was the trumpet section leader.

Now here Tommy was, in a small room with walls covered in carpet, and an instrument case in his lap. He could feel the excitement and nervousness buzzing in his hands and he took a deep breath.

"Let's get this started then, shall we?" Phil asked. Tommy nodded his head quickly and Phil reached for his own case. "Alright, do you have any experience playing an instrument?" He asked as he opened the case. "Uhh…. Not really?" Phil just nodded and made a note on his clipboard.

"I think we should go over some basics first then. You'll be playing a woodwind instrument so it's important to know how to blow your air in a way that'll get sound out." Then, Phil gently grabbed one of Tommy's hands and put it about an inch away from his mouth. Tommy stared at his hand in confusion and looked up to Phil who had done the same.

"What's this supposed to do?" Tommy questioned. Phil smiled softly at him. "Can you blow cold air at your hand for me please Tommy?" He pursed his lips and blew towards his palm for a second. "Good! Now do that for a little longer please." Tommy looked at him confusedly for a moment before complying. After about 4 seconds the lightbulb went off in his head. "Oh! This for the uhh… the air flow… stuff!" Phil chuckled to himself. "Yes Tommy, you catch on quickly! Now, try blowing cold air at your hand but this time, I need you to try and hit the tips of your fingers." Tommy moved his hand down so his fingertips were at mouth level before Phil reached over and pulled his hand back up. "Use the air and your lips, not your arm." Tommy furrowed his brows and blew. The air hit near the middle of his fingers and he turned to look at Phil. 

"Weird." He said. Phil laughed and pulled out his case. "You're a quick learner! Let me try something." After a few seconds Phil had pulled…. some part of his instrument out of the case. He handed it to Tommy and pointed at it. "This is the head joint. This hole here is called the tone hole and this raised metal part is the lip plate." Tommy raised it closer to himself and examined it closer.

Phile grabbed the head joint and put it back in his own case. Tommy took that as a cue to take out his own instead. He carefully took it out of his case and held it out to Phil. He took it and put it under Tommy's lips slowly. He examined it for a moment before slightly turning it inwards. "So, when you get ready to play, your bottom lip needs to cover your tone hole almost ⅓ of the way."  Phil explained. Tommy gave an affirming noise and wiggled his lips a bit.

The cold metal felt odd on Tommy's face and it took a second to get used to. He looked to the older man in a silent question of 'what now?'. "Put out your bottom lip a little Tommy." Phil prompted. Tommy pushed his lip out and Phil gave him a nod. "Now blow like how you did before." Tommy took a breath in and blew.

No sound came out and he furrowed his eyebrows. "Try again, more air this time." The older man said kindly. Another breath in and…

A shrill whistle noise pierced the room and Phil smiled widely. "Was that me?" Tommy asked, excitement clear on his face. "Yes! Good job Tommy!" Phil held out his hand for a high five. Tommy was happy to give one.

Phil gently took the headjoint from Tommy and put it in the case. Tommy gave him a questioning look. "We're already putting it away." Phil gave him a reassuring smile. "Well you have to learn to read music at some point, little man."

Phil pulled some papers out of a binder and showed them to Tommy. "This is a music staff and this symbol here is a treble clef. Now each line and space has a corresponding note."

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Tommy sighed as he dropped down onto his bed. School started in a week and Tommy still didn't have the show music learned. Hell! He could barely get through his scales and the switch from C to D killed his fingers. Who even okayed that! Tommy was sure that whoever they were, they've got a special spot in hell reserved for them. 

Tommy's legs ached as he rolled over to grab his phone from his carry-on bag. Oh yeah! Band camp was a new kind of hell for Tommy. He hadn't done that much exercise in a week alone ever in his life. On the first day, he almost passed out from dehydration because he brought a singular water bottle and was too anxious to ask for another one after he had finished it.

He still needed to shower after spending a day out in the heat. If he got up, he felt he would collapse, so he would just wait until the stickiness of his own sweat became unbearable. Freshman year hadn't even started yet but it was already such a hassle. What was he going to do?

Chapter Text

Tubbo had been Tommy's best friend since they were children. They lived across the street from each other, Tubbo having moved into the neighborhood a month and a half before they started second grade. Tommy remembers his mother gently urging him to go say the day after Tubbo and his father had moved in. 

So Tommy and his mother had gone and knocked on the door. A man with messy brown hair and mutton chops answered the door a minute later. He looked surprised to have visitors and took a second to get a word out. "Uh… hello?" 

Tommy remembers laughing and his mother introducing them. Next thing he knew, he and the boy across the street were best friends. They spent every waking hour together and Tubbo often ate dinner at Tommy's house as well. The two were joined at the hip. Tommy's mother would always joke that they were like a couple, and they would both loudly protest, to her amusement.

Tommy remembers laying on Tubbo's bed one afternoon after school. They were in 6th grade at the time. He remembers the look of Tubbo's ceiling and the feel of his sheets. He remembers the click of a keyboard as Tubbo sat next to him on his laptop, chatting to some friend Tommy didn't know very well. Tommy remembers the anxiety eating away at his stomach as he just layed there.

Tommy sat up suddenly and took a deep breath. Tubbo stopped his typing and looked up in confusion. "Toby, I need you to promise me something." He had used Tubbo's birth name to show that he was serious. Tubbo put his laptop on the bedside table and sat criss cross facing Tommy.

"What do I need to promise you?" Tubbo had asked. Tommy remembers the tight feeling in his lungs and the numb feeling in his fingers. "I need you to keep something a secret, nobody can know about this. No adult at least." Tubbo gasped. "Oh my god, are you pregnant?"

Tommy stared at his best friend dumbfounded. "...No? Not pregnant." Tubbo leaned in and gripped his shoulders. "What then? What could be so bad that I can't tell anyone?" Tommy remembers the awkward eye contact they had sustained for about 30 seconds. "Tubbo, I think I'm a guy?"

☆___________________☆

Tubbo stared down in shock.

Concert Band - Period 1

Concert band was not the place for Tubbo! In Middle School he had been in the highest band, he had been playing since he was 9, he was a very skilled player in his own opinion, and yet…. This had to be a mistake! Why would they put him in the lowest band? His initial audition had been fine.

He would ask about this, come the first day of school. This had to be wrong...right? Oh God, what would his dad say? Tubbo groaned in frustration. This school year was going to be the worst.

Tubbo furrowed his brow and threw his phone down on his. His instrument case sat innocently in the corner. He stalked over and roughly pulled it over to his desk. There she sat, his pride and joy, his beloved horn. He gently pulled her out of her case and put her in his lap. She was quite the beautiful mellophone, but she wasn't new. She was slightly green and beat up and it made her wonderful. Together they were a hell of a team. 

"Concert band." He muttered to himself and scoffed. "We'll show them just how great we are." He started pulling his instrument out of the case when he heard a shout from downstairs. "Tubbo! Dinner's ready! Get down here fast or I'll eat your food and mine." Tubbo dropped his mellophone back into the case and raced down the stairs. If there was one thing he could control, it was that his dad didn't follow through with his 'threat'.

☆______________________☆

They hated moving. Moving into a new house in a new neighborhood, going to a new school with new people. It was all too much and they got overwhelmed over such stuff all too easily. If only their cousin hadn't gotten a new job offer. New, new, new.

They buried their face in their old ratty turtleneck sweater and stared out the car window. There was some pop song they didn't know playing over the radio. Their cousin and sister were talking in the front seats, discussing a life they had no interest in. The word 'color guard' was thrown around a few times, always accompanied with a few laughs. They hated this. How could they not care about packing up all their things, their entire life, to move to some random small town. It was crushing. They were leaving behind a piece of themself at their old house. And oh, how jarring that was to finally realize. They would never get to stare out of their window at the old oak tree or climb through its branches ever again. 

They sighed and pulled their knees to their chest. They were so, so tired. They quietly pulled out their journal, as it seems everything they do is quiet nowadays, and opened it to a fresh page.

August 2, 20XX

My family and I have moved out. We're moving to this small town in the middle of nowhere. It's called L'manberg, according to Eret. He got offered a job over there as the color guard instructor. It's scary to be moving to a place I'm unfamiliar with. I hope I can make it through the school year. Maybe people here won't be as judgemental, but I doubt it. Let's make this school year a fun one? If that's even possible. Good luck, future me??? Try not to die, drink water, and I don't know, try to make at least one friend. We got this, I think.

-Ranboo