Which composer likes tea the most? Chai-kovsky.

5. steady Eddy

"When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe."

Henry David Thoreau

The lights went out. Thunder clapped outside, and lightning illuminated the café. Brett dropped to the floor. "Eddy?!"

"I'm alright, don't worry!" Brett heard Eddy's violin case and music bag touch down gently onto the floor over the counter, followed by the awkward sounds of Eddy struggling to climb over the café counter. "Where are you?"

"...down here" Brett replied meekly. A cellphone flashlight blinked on and spun to shine on him, where he was curled up on the floor.

"Are you ok bro?"

"You're blinding me."

"Oh sorry," the light was lowered as Eddy crouched down. "Are you ok? Did anything happen?"

"I just....hate... thunder storms."

Eddy drew closer to Brett, sitting next to him against the cabinets on the cold floor. Brett's shoulder shook against his. Brett was scared, but they needed to make sure they were safe.

"Brett, is there somewhere we can move where we're further away from the windows?" Brett blinked, then turned to the kitchen.

The back room was crowded with all the everyday things that went in to the café. Eddy swept his flashlight across the space, spotting a pantry, large tables covered in flour and dirty baking sheets, a mop sitting in a sink off to the side, a few chairs, what looked like 3 refrigerators and a massive deep freezer. "The only window is that tiny one", Brett said, pointing to a small frilly curtain overtop the sink. Thunder clapped again, and Brett folded in on himself, clutching his hands over his ears.

"Brett", and Eddy was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into them, then softly pulling him to the floor. Brett's back was against the cool side of a prep table. He couldn't see the window from here, which was better, and the sound of the thunder seemed less harsh. His heart was still pounding, and his palms were sticky with sweat, and his legs were drawn up tightly to his chest. He felt a warm hand on his leg. Eddy was reaching out, handing him one of his ear buds. "Take it, I'm putting on the Tchaikovsky." The chord from the ear bud was too short, though, and Brett needed the stability of the table against his back. So, he scooched over, and motioned for Eddy to sit beside him.

Their shoulders were touching now, and Eddy's arm was warm against his. Lightning flashed through the window. The thunder rumbled, and Brett squeezed himself even tighter. This needs to stop. I can't do this – especially not here. God! I don't want Eddy to see me like this. This is pathetic! Only children are afraid of thunder. He wished he were home, with his blackout curtains, weighted blanket, and noise maker. That's the only way he knew how to get through storms like this one. A hand appeared on his knee again, and he grabbed it and squeezed like his life depended on it. An arm snuck around behind him and before he knew it, he was pressed against Eddy's chest, with lips at his ear whispering:

"It's ok. You're ok, I promise." A hand carded soothingly through Brett's hair. "The storm will pass. It will pass." He felt an earbud being pressed into his ear, and the sustained tones of the wind section beginning the second movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto. He pictured two dark clouds floating high above the ocean, and his mind began to float off along with them.