(love)birds of a feather

chapter one

It's the little and big memories, the most important things. These memories of childhood years in the past, of melodious laughter, of music notes dancing across the staves, given voices by the pure song of their violins. These memories are everywhere.

He sees all these memories fluttering like the pages of a book within his best friend's eyes; every page breathing with color, telling stories of childhood beginnings and two lives arm-in-arm—bringing forth a flurry of emotions to flicker across both their faces.

Eddy sees all these memories glowing like pristine stars in the night sky, every day within the same person's eyes—Brett. Brett Yang.

He's the axis that Eddy's entire world has pivoted on since day one; the glowing sun to his vibrant Earth. Brett's everything to him—the sun, the moon, the stars; he'd never risk losing Brett without ever telling him how much he, Brett Yang, means to him.

He's thirteen years old, at math tutoring—he looks up as the boy sitting next to him asks, "do you play violin?" and he has a bright interest in his eyes holding out a hand and saying, this is me. By and by, Eddy learns the name of this boy with dark hair and glasses—Brett.

For every moment after and a lifetime to come, they're best friends glued together at the hip, never once straying from eachother's side. "I just can't function without Brett," Eddy says on multiple occasions, because it's true. It's true.

He's eighteen and Brett's nineteen—on the phone with Brett, telling him that he, too, has just been accepted into the Queensland Conservatory, that he'll be joining him soon enough; for years worth of studying music and violin, what brought them together, by eachother's side.

He's nineteen and Brett's twenty—he's watching while seated within the orchestra as Brett stands beneath the stage lights, bowing to the audience's applause after his Tchaikovsky debut. Eddy's smile in this memory as he applauds his best friend is a proud one.

(In this memory, he harbors the smallest hints of love for him, not too sure of its welcome in his heart—but how could he not, with the way Brett Yang and Tchaikovsky's violin concerto become one whenever his bow meets his violin's strings?)

Now in the present, he's twenty-seven and Brett's twenty-eight. It's been seven years of the two of them content-creating on YouTube, reaching more people as days of both sun and rain go by, as they spread love for the very thing that brought them together.

The happiest place is where Eddy finds himself here and now—by Brett's side. In fourteen years, that hasn't changed one bit.

(The small traces of love eating away at his heart have long since disappeared now; it just wasn't meant to be between them. He's one hundred percent okay with that. Maybe ninety-nine percent.)

It never fails to bring a smile to Eddy's face and so much warmth to soar inside him when people say, "I want someone to be the Brett to my Eddy," because who doesn't? He's known it for a long time—what they have is special, one of a kind.

They're all memories his brain has accumulated over the course of fourteen, maybe fifteen years, stored within him to warm him against harsh winds—each an accented note in his head, fortissimo and clearer than the defined print of music notes scrawled across staves.

He wouldn't jeopardize his friendship with Brett for the world—but then.

It comes to an evening when they're filming for their next Twoset episode, scrolling through the top posts on r/lingling40hrs, laughing over memes and gaping at god-tier fanart from their fans.

Brett scrolls down to the next post and reads the caption aloud. "Some things never change."

What comes next is two photos of them—Eddy recognizes one from last year, the other from not long ago. He's shoulder to shoulder with Brett, and they're playing two-on-one violin like they used to, Brett's fingers dancing effortlessly across the strings and Eddy controlling the bow.

It's amazing how photos capturing moments bursting with life and comfort and joy, all packed into a still image—can evoke so many memories thought to be distant, long forgotten. (Moments that Eddy may or may not have blocked out from his memory.)

It's because there's other unmentioned, small moments lacing his memories; they all come rushing back now. These photos, for Eddy—they bring back longing gazes, touches lingering for mere moments too long, giddiness at the other's laughter; a feeling from a distance, forever unrequited.

It was when they'd jokingly lace their fingers together after a round of scissors, paper, rock.

It was when Eddy said, lifting Brett's hand and lacing it in his own, as a grin spread on his face, "should we tie it like this?"

It was when he looked at a photo from Brett's highschool years and said, "would you take..." a small chuckle, "would you take this guy to the prom?" A jovial laugh, then, "I would."

It was when he said, with a high-pitched voice he reserved for imitations, "oh my god, I ship Brett and Eddy so much! Next fanfiction, freaking—"

It was when he said, with a mouthful of food as he answered a fan's question, "It's me, I have a crush on Brett, he's mine."

It wasn't love, he tries to convince himself now. In another world, though, where the stars in the sky were mapped out differently, it could've been; and maybe, just maybe...they could be like that again?

It was all back when he felt...different feelings for Brett, the insanity they call love; yet he kept it lighthearted and a joke on camera—fan service, he'd like to think of it, knowing perfectly well it wasn't just that. It was easier to pretend.

Even now, long after he's stowed the feeling deep down and away, he still has subtle sensation and memory of the heart palpitations that used to threaten to tear his chest apart.

All thoughts of what could've been, though, are immediately hurled out the window when he senses Brett tensing up beside him. The fermata above awkward silence is only a second or two long, yet it feels like eons.

Brett saves the day by dint of another lighthearted practice joke, like he always does. "Yes, gotta practice. Are you practicing? No, you're not!"

Eddy hears him faintly—though he's only jerked back into reality when Brett proceeds to the next reddit post.

He thought he had sealed up—whatever the hell that was—for the rest of time, stowed it away, deep into the past. He wonders to himself now, why is it all coming round again now, over a reddit post, of all things?

He can't allow history to repeat itself, or half his life of this bond that he and Brett staked everything on will be a waste. He doesn't think he can pull through that—there's no lifetime in which he can function without Brett by his side.