Chapter Text
“i don’t understand,” tommy whines, eyes straining against his computer, back slouching in his black chair. tubbo sat on the floor across the room, eyes glued to his own screen.
“it’s not too complicated, all you need to do is pick a composer from the list and make a presentation!” the brunette said confidently, already starting his own assignment.
the boys shared the same music class, both of them playing the piano. tommy would say he was a good player, but definitely gave most of the credit to his talented best friend, tubbo.
they were recently given an assignment where they were to study an 18th - 19th century classical music composer, and make a presentation explaining their careers and impact on the music genre. tommy had chose an easy slideshow presentation, but he had yet to even choose the composer in which he would study.
tommy twisted in his chair, facing his friend. the other looks up and laughs at tommy’s confused face, safely assuming he wasn’t listening.
tubbo sits up and walks to tommy’s side, maneuvering the blonde back around to face the monitor. he observes the list, many of the composers’ names already marked off as taken by the other students. on the bottom of the page, tommy perks up and points his finger at an unfamiliar name.
“who is that,” he asks.
“that’s wilbur soot,” tubbo gleams. “he was one of the first composers to get their hands on a guitar and used it for his pieces- very interesting guy!”
tommy hums in approval, writing in ‘wilbur soot’ as his presentation topic and clicks off of the site, opening up google slides and beginning his work.
reading the tragic backstory that wilbur had made tommy feel anxious. soot had lost his son, who’s name was fundy, to his own father who thought he was unfit to take care of the young boy. he also lost his love, a woman named sally, in a shipwreck on her way home from france.
tommy felt bad for the man. every article he read talked down on wilbur who was suspected to be insane, trying to finish a symphony which only drove him mad. the way he lost his wife & son in the span of a few months, and turned to music in hopes of gaining peace.
everyone the musician knew turned their backs on him- no wonder why he went insane. if music was your only calming source, then it would make sense if someone went crazy trying to finish a masterpiece.
that’s what many historians called his final composition. personal accounts, written by the few who have read the piece during it’s beginning drafting states, called the music perfectly emotion-filled, extraordinary, and breathtaking.
he read that soot’s final work, an unfinished symphony dawning the name ‘forever unfinished’, was lost among the people in his written will. historians had no trace of the supposed ‘most beautiful work of classical music’, yet suspected the son, fundy, had kept it for himself.
tommy wrote all this information into simplified bullet notes, later to be organized into readable sentences.
———————-
it must’ve been a few hours later, both of the boys jumping up at tubbo’s phone alarm going off, signaling the time for his departure. tommy helps as tubbo picks up his work sheets and laptop, messily throwing them into his backpack.
they walk downstairs together, tubbo quickly saying his goodbyes to phil and techno- tommy’s dad and brother.
“oh, tommy, before i forget,” tubbo grabs his phone and opens a link, copying and pasting it to tommy’s messages.
“this is for your assignment, since we have to listen to some of the classical pieces,” and with that, tubbo left, leaving tommy to go back into his room and click the link.
it lead him to a spotify playlist titled ‘wilbur soot- symphonies’. he stares at the many songs, around 10-20 on the playlist, and grabs his earbuds to plug them in, pressing shuffle and laying down.
the pieces were impressive, calming, very entertaining. random crescendos added excitement and suspense, yet the soft and soothing tones of soot’s guitar chords flowed through tommy’s ears. if music has a temperature, he would call the pieces warm. the type of warm where someone could easily fall asleep and not have to worry about being too cold or hot. the perfect temperature. for some reason, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. he felt at peace, like he was home, listening to the music.
before he could finish the third composition, he was asleep.
——
loud clanking of horse shoes and buggies jolted tommy awake. his back ached as he used his elbows to prop himself up, looking around his new surroundings.
a light dusting of snow covered the ground as a freezing breeze chilled the young boy’s bones. the cloudy skies dropped soft flurries, the temperature was frigid. he shivered, standing up in an old alleyway, dusting off his ...old looking trousers?
he stares down at his clothing. the khaki trousers were accompanied by dirty white socks and beaten up black loafers. his shirt, a loose, also dirty, white cotton long sleeve had a red button up vest tying the piece together.
how the hell did he get these?
his eyes dart up and he walks quickly through the narrow alley, staring at the main road as 18th century civilians cross across a large dirt path. tommy walks closer, not bothering to look around, only focusing on the brick and stone buildings casting shadows down the street.
he steps forward as a large black horse-drawn carriage comes racing forward, a deep voice yelling for the teen to move. before tommy can think, the carriage rides by straight into a puddle, splashing freezing, muddy water all over him.
“the streets are too busy around this time for you to frolic around mindlessly,” the voice calls angrily. tommy scowls as he wipes his dry sleeve over his face, cleaning up part of the mess.
it was so cold. the wind, sharp like knives, battered against his skin as tommy walked. his pace was slow, he tried not to look out of the ordinary. all he had to find was a bed & breakfast to stay for the night.
tommy stops, reaching into his pockets, realizing he had no money. he curses under his breath, and continues to walk down the streets as the day began to turn into night.
he made it passed a few blocks, the street lamps becoming the main light source of the roads. there were a few closed businesses, but no inns or hospitable looking houses for him to knock.
it was so, so cold, and tommy could feel his body begin to give way. each breath he took was shallow, his legs limping as he felt his arms go numb. he falls, straight onto his knees and onto his side, letting the cold overcome his body.
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tommy slowly awakes, the new feeling of warmth surrounding him. he looks around, the tan couch he was laying on was close to a fireplace, which seemed to have fresh wood burning in it.
he glances at the table next to him, piles of ink-stained papers covering up the wooden fixture. he lifts his arm up, reaching towards the pages, but stops as he looks at the new clothing. tommy was wearing a now clean, darker tan colored, loose fitting shirt. his vest was gone, but he still wore the same pants as earlier.
“ah, you’re awake.” the blonde whips his head around as his eyes meet brown ones. the voice was deep, smooth like honey, matching the man’s aura.
the man, who has curly brown hair, walks towards tommy with a cup of warm water, handing it to the boy.
“it’s too cold for you to be walking about with the clothing you’re in.”
tommy took the mug, taking a long sip of the soothing drink. he didn’t realize how bad his throat hurt until he began speaking.
“i’m lost, didn’t expect it to be so bad,” he begins, speaking hoarsely as the other slowly nods. “thank you, for helping me.”
the man smiles, nodding again. “it’s too late for you to travel back home now. you can stay here if you want.” tommy agrees, and the man returns to the kitchen to grab, what tommy hopes to be food.
tommy begins looking around again. the house was huge, two stories with large windows that were covered by white curtains. the furniture seemed to be new, in very good condition. whoever he was with must’ve had a lot of money.
“i apologize for the mess, i did not expect a visitor today,” the man states, bringing back a plate of roast beef and bread, urging tommy to eat.
he gladly accepts, letting the warm food help sooth his burning throat. he quickly finishes, letting his hungry stomach calm down.
“would you like some tea? more water?” the brunette asks.
“water, please,” tommy responds, quickly being served another hot cup.
“what’s your name,” the man asks, sitting in an arm chair across the room from the blonde.
“tommy- thomas,” he quickly responds, covering up the childish name to make him seen less suspicious than he probably already was.
“well, hello thomas, i’m wilbur soot.”
tommy chokes on his water, coughing up some of the liquid. wilbur stands up, rushing over to the younger. “are you alright? is something wrong with the drink?”
the blonde fixes himself back up, setting the cup down. “no, everything is fine. i was just shocked by your name!”
“my name?” wilbur backs away, sitting back down next to the boy.
“i know your name. you compose music, correct?” speaking a little fancier wasn’t as hard as tommy thought.
“you- you know who i am?” wilbur was very confuse. yes, he has composed a few pieces, but he never knew people had known him for it.