twoset oneshots

6: gifts

warnings: expletives, fluff, and dad puns

summary: every single wednesday brett would often find gifts in his dorm. right there in his doormat, with piles of chocolate and handwritten letters from people around the campus. but there's always one letter that would stand out,

"how would you like your eggs in the morning?"

he found it incredibly stupid and dorky. but he loved it.

not extremely accurate since everyone in uni just uses tinder and hooks up i mEan wHaT

-

10-minute scales. done.

After finding the perfect practice room that had decent acoustics and a lot less stinky than the other rooms, he was sure to maximize using it. He ran through Ysaye Sonata Number 3 in D minor.

Focus, focus Brett you can do this.

Brett wasn't even sure if he's ready to perform it in front of the professor and other students. People see him as this practice freak and music theory genius but when you love something it doesn't come off as a task. Music to him was never a task, it was more of an exciting project he can't wait to get his hands on.

He adored learning about classical music, the vast techniques, the history behind certain compositions, and the composer's life or how classical music has paved the way for other people to shine in the world.

Brett hoped to be a soloist. Although that goal has changed ever since he set foot to music university. He may never shine individually, but he didn't mind. It still feels surreal when working with an orchestra. More so, working in an actual professional orchestra.

But amidst the whole adoration for learning music, the university has drained the life out of him. This was the first time he's had breakdowns in his private time, the first time he experienced burnout and the first time he's had...admirers?

Drawing out the last fast chords, he steadied himself and breathed carefully. He needed to relax while playing, can't be too stiff.

Am I finally ready? Is my bow properly rosin? Crap, my bow got some hair out...-- he plucked the strands of bow hair and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

And so, onto weekly workshops it is.

-

Needless to say, he got another head up from the professor. The performance was commendable he said, but then, of course, he wasn't totally prepared. The critique he got was a, 'practice more and work on your technique'.

Practice, I need to practice.-- his body was on the verge of giving up but he continued to walk in the university dorms. The setting sun was keeping his nerves calm, a couple of hours ago he was a nervous wreck. With sweaty palms and anxiety. But now he can rest, tomorrow is a Thursday and he can sleep as long as he likes since he didn't have morning classes. He could sleep until 10 am, get up at 11, and go to classes immediately.

When he jingled his dorm keys he wasn't baffled when a pile of chocolates and letters are stacked upon one another on his doormat.

He loved the attention sure, but he's too tired to get these. But hey, at least he's got snacks when he's hungry.

Brett grabbed the items and went inside his room. Plopping all of the letters and food in his small study table. He skimmed through most of them. It seemed like it was the same admirers again.