Chapter Text
"So what instrument do you want to play?"
It was for Brett's 5th birthday when his parents decided it was finally time for his son to pick up an instrument. Asian parents things, of course; after all, they did have high hopes for their son to make the family proud. It's almost like choosing a Pokemon starter; the Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle equivalents of musical instruments could be the piano, the violin, and the cello. Well, except that you can choose another one if you like (and if you have quite a stack of ka-ching ka-ching to afford another), and you don't use it to fight others; you use it to create music and harmony.
"I want to play the violin!" Young Brett said, his eyes shining like bright stars when he saw those small, brown wooden boxes in an elegant shape hanging over his tiny head.
"Are you sure? It would stick with you for the rest of your life. You'll have to take care of it and practice a lot-"
"Yes, ma! I will! I will! I'll do anything for it!"
Seeing such a determined face on their son, they had no choice but to pay for one. Brett got himself a small violin that perfectly fit into his hand. The varnish was decent; the sound: not the best, but sufficient for a young kid to play on. Seeing his bright face fidgeting and playing his first notes while struggling to maintain a good bow hold was simply the cutest and funniest scene ever.
His parents had never seen his son this happy before.
Perhaps Brett and the violin were meant to be together.
Soon after, Brett was given violin lessons. The teacher's house was quite far away, so every Saturday he would be in his dad's car, the small violin case right beside him. Usually for a child this young, instrument lessons are not the most exciting thing ever, but for Brett, he never failed to look forward to them. Always the first to hop in the car, 15 minutes earlier than the lesson, and always had those enthusiastic eyes and a lovely smile throughout the lesson. He learned something new with his instrument every time he saw his teacher, and would never let his newly learned skills be wasted as he always made sure to get hours of practice done every day.
One night, as Brett couldn't fall asleep and had been rolling on his bed for 2 hours straight (perhaps too long of a nap at noon punished him), he crept out of the room and tried to open his violin case. Entirely forgetting how loud and piercing the sound could be, he jumped when his bow touched the string. He then tried to produce a quieter sound on the violin, but his not-yet-controlled bow weight made the sound either crunchy or too loud (surprisingly no one woke up; good for him). Disappointed, he put his bow back in its place, and almost the violin too, when his finger plucked the string and the violin created a small, articulated sound. "Of course, pizzicato!", he thought to himself. He then quietly pulled out the pieces he was learning and tried using pizzicato instead of arco for them. "That's an interesting sound. I love it." He played and played for how long Ling Ling may know (Ling Ling would be like: look how much this child is doing to mimic a fraction of my power) until he suddenly got reminded that it was midnight. "Oh shoot, 3 am already? Thank god the ghost didn't take me away. I'd better go back to sleep." Brett packed his violin, put it in its place, and went back to sleep.
"Brett! Brett! Wake up!"
Brett was suddenly pulled out of his sweet dream. It was his mom calling. He groggily turned his eyes towards the person.
"You usually wake up so quickly in the morning. Today it took me forever to wake you up. What happened? Are you tired?"
"No, ma. I just want to be a little lazy today." More like having spent 3 hours at night to practice the violin, he thought.
"That's good. I've prepared your breakfast. Be hurry, I'll be downstairs."
It would have been fine if this incident only happened once. But it happened more and more often, to the point Brett's parents had turned worried. They decided to do a little investigation. His dad bought a bunch of security cameras, both for security and investigation. He was surprised to see the notification "Someone has entered this location" on his dad's phone the next morning. He followed the notification, which popped up at midnight, and opened the app; lo and behold, the camera showed... a small kid turning on the light and pulling out something from the wardrobe. "It's Brett! What is he doing at 12 am???" Then he recognized the thing in his son's hands: the violin case. Somehow he managed to practice at midnight, probably for multiple days, without waking anyone up; he's quite a genius, but this can't last any longer. He decided to set things straight.
That evening, Brett was called for by his parents.
"Brett, tell me; why have you been waking up so late these days? Are you doing anything behind our backs?"
Brett didn't answer.
"Don't you think we don't know; be honest and I'll spare you."
Brett slowly raised his head towards his parents, his mouth finally moving. He admitted that he had been spending the night practicing on the violin and that he felt like he didn't practice enough during the day. He also said that the reason why he could create a soft enough sound was because he was plucking the string, which created a less loud sound than when he played with his bow. After that, he looked back down again, waiting for his punishment.
There was silence for a little while. His dad looked into his son's eyes, then said:
"That's... interesting. You're quite a rare kid, not backing off practice, which is not always the most pleasing thing to do. I appreciate your effort to get better on your instrument."
"But you shouldn't be practicing at midnight, son." His mum continued. "You can disturb your neighbor, or us ourselves. Worse, you are harming your health. Without it, you can't practice. Also, you're going to school soon. How are you going to go to school at 7:30 am when you still wake up late like this?"
Brett nodded in agreement.
"Also, you should open the door while you practice. You should be playing loudly and proudly; no need to soften your sound by... what, pizza... catooooo? Even if you make a mistake, we're always here to listen and suffer together. We don't have musicians' ears, but we can lend you our ears at any time to hear your achievements and your little fumble. Understood?"
"Yes, ma. Yes, pa. I won't do it again." Brett answered.
Time passed, and Brett was now an elementary student. He still practiced the violin, of course, just not at midnight and he always leaves the door open. At first, he feared that his parents would be put off by the crunchy sound he made, but as he progressed, the sound became smoother and sweeter, perhaps even with a little musicality. He would usually play for his parents, and they cheered for him supportively.
One morning, Brett was practicing as usual when he felt... off. Something wasn't right. He was so focused that he didn't pay any attention to the problem. Then an invisible knock to his head struck him, making him utter the most painful scream ever. His mum heard the scream and, in the blink of an eye, rushed to his room. She saw her son, pale with shock, gripping the instrument with all the strength he could summon. She put the violin and the bow onto the ground (hopefully not in a sacrilegious way) and reached her son.
"Brett! Brett! Can you hear me?"
But Brett could no longer take in a single word from his mum. Sensing that he was in safe hands, he let his body relax in his mum's cuddle, eyes closed but face still twitching with pain.
"Is he alright? Will he wake up soon?" The worried mum asked.
"He should be alright and will come round soon. However, I do have something to say. Can I have your minute please, madam?"
The woman and the doctor entered the room, full of white and cleanliness.
“From our assessment, it looks like your son suffered from a headache too severe for his body to handle. It should improve the older he gets but do be careful of his fainting, for fear of the risk of falling.”
The mother nods.
“Also, remind him not to overexert himself and try not to make him stand for too long. It may make the blood circulation move more slowly and cause fainting.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You can see your son; he should be awake now.”
“Thank you,” the mother replied, and left the room, towards her son’s bed.
The boy, at the sight of his mother, cried out:
“Ma, it was so scary! Am I okay, ma? Is there anything wrong with me?”
“You’re absolutely fine, son. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes! I’m feeling a lot better now! I can run around to show you!” Brett exclaimed and proceeded to jump off the bed. His mother gripped his hand tightly.
“You don’t need to. All I need to see is your energetic spirit. Now, my lionhearted child, what do you want for our dinner tonight?”
“I want a pizza(cato) and a cup of bubble tea! Half sugar less ice!”
“Now that’s what we call a cuisine connoisseur here! Off we go, then!”