Collection • TwoSetViolin

X. Legacy

Summary: N/A. (958 words, ~5 minute read)

Warnings: Mention of death/major character death.

Notes: An experiment of sorts, where I write a fic more focused on neither Brett/Eddy. My goal was to utilize dialogue to establish relationships and personality, and I hope that worked out c:

I've been updating less lately because I've been travelling the past few days, but I promise once I get home, I will 100% be ready to write again! Thank you, and enjoy^^

• • •

The music was inexplicably beautiful, according to news reports written days after the event. It was no longer confined in Earth, instead reaching the heavens and beyond, speaking to some otherworldly spirit. It was loud and clear, leaving curious children and adults to find the source of the sound - a single old man, sitting down by a grave with his back hunched over.

He played the violin next to his grave. The winter wind blew his white hair around, tousling it until it was all tangled. His hands shook, his joints ached and creaked, but he refused to stop. The melodies came, one after another, and everyone in the graveyard could hear Sibelius, Bruch, Tchaikovsky, and more coming from him. He moved everyone to tears as they sat there, flowers in hand, staring at the graves of their own loved ones.

They said his eyes were closed. His face was scrunched up with emotion, tears rolling down his face. They said it was like a spell; they couldn't look away no matter what they did. They were forced to stare at nothing but the man, as dead leaves swirled around him.

They had stared at the man and the grave for so long, that the name of the grave was now imprinted into their mind. The name would forever linger, reminding them of the passion lingering behind the notes and an overwhelming sorrow.

Brett Yang.

The man continued to play. He played, he played, and he played until he finally stopped when the sun set and the stars glowed. The entire graveyard was empty as he curled up next to the tombstone, closing his eyes and breathing for the last time.

They called his death poetic: violin in hand; tombstone in arms; his last moments dedicated to his late husband. For a while, it was even named the "ideal death," until the media forgot about it and everyone moved on.

But he refused to forget.

• • •

A few years after the incident, another man walked into the graveyard with two bouquets and a violin case in hand. His head held high, he walked, past the weeping families and rows of graves. The winter wind stung his face and sent tears welling in his eyes, but he continued to walk briskly.

He found himself in front of two graves.

Brett Yang. Eddy Chen.

He sat down on the dried grass, placing the two bouquets in front of him. Without saying a word, he began to take out his violin. He had thought about bringing his own viola and having some fun with that, but decided against it. He blinked, pushing the tears - which he claimed was from the wind - away.

Then he began to play.

His playing was nowhere as good as the two of them, he believed. He still had miles to go. Even though the recordings of the past were awful compared to today's technology, he could still hear the passion, the technical near-perfection that they both had. But he was trying his best as he toured and travelled around the world.

He played and he played, unwilling to stop. He let the winter air freeze his fingers until it was nearly impossible to play double stops and chords without pain crawling across his wrist. His eyes stayed focused on the graves, taking in every last detail of the intricate carvings around the borders.

Eventually, he stopped, shaking out his cold, sore hands. He buried himself deeper into his jacket and shivered as he packed his violin.

"I hope you enjoyed that."

Nobody replied. The dead leaves continued to crackle around him.

"I'm starting the tour tomorrow. Figured you would want to hear some of the pieces I'm playing." He shrugged. "Some of your favorites, you know? Debussy, some Tchaikovsky, Sibelius..."

He sighed quietly, vapor from his breath lingering in the air. The vibrant flowers in front of him seemed to glow against the dirt ground. He sat down on the grass, legs crossed, his finger trailing the dirt.

"I wouldn't have ever gotten here without both of you. Thanks for motivating me to practice, for encouraging me to pursue whatever I wanted." His tears continued to flow, and he wiped them away hastily. "I miss you both. I wish we could just play trios together - even if it meant I had to play the viola part.

"I-I also didn't know about TwoSet until a few months ago. Both of you never told me you made videos at some point in your lives. I... was surprised. But the more I thought about it, the more fitting it was for the both of you. You loved teaching. Entertaining others. It made sense."

He let the words ring in the air before clearing his throat and continuing. "I've been trying to do the same. Just started maybe a month or so ago. It's been doing decently okay, I guess. It's nowhere near as good as your channel...

"People still remember you both," he commented. "They say I'm your legacy. I'm continuing your work of enjoying classical music while making it fun for everyone around me. And I don't know. I feel rather proud of that, in an odd way. I've looked up to you both for so long that-"

He coughed, choking on his own tears. "Thank you. For everything you've done for me. Thank you for feeding me classical music and fostering my appreciation for it. I just wanted to let you know that your vision is coming true; I'm going to introduce as many people to classical music as I can. Trust me."

He glanced down at his watch and stood, picking up his violin case with a wry smile on his face. "I have to go home to do some last minute packing. But I'll be back soon.

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Ba. I love you both."