Minor Changes

Chapter Three

Brett stepped onto the sidewalk and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent too many hours staring into a computer screen, and the ripening October sun was garish; offensive, even. 

Five years had passed by, as had two orchestra jobs, endless fundraising, a world tour, and a brokenhearted flautist.

Their YouTube channel had garnered an enthusiastic following, and despite the uncertainty of a global pandemic looming on all sides, Brett was grateful that he still had the job of his dreams.

"Hey," Eddy called from the window. "Grab me a tea?"

Brett signaled with a thumbs up. He strolled a go-to noodle place near their shared Brisbane flat. They had been working nonstop, and he was glad for an excuse to get out of the house.

"I'll have the number three and a large milk tea, less ice, please," Brett said through his mask to the woman behind the counter. 

He took his food to the park, but by the time he arrived and found a bench, he felt sluggish and regretted not getting tea for himself, though he was trying to cut down on caffeine.

Eddy won't mind, he thought, taking a sip of the sweet, cold tea. He watched a toddler pulling her mother down the sidewalk by the hand. Despite being somewhat isolated due to the pandemic, the days were full, and it was nice to pause and enjoy the small moments.

He had been thinking a lot about his family. It wasn't that he missed being around them. In fact, it was kind of nice to limit their gatherings. It was just that, as he got older, he wondered what it would be like to start a family of his own. He couldn't imagine giving up his current life for something more sedentary, but he sometimes wondered.

The heat was starting to get to him, so he rolled up his sleeves and headed back toward the flat. Eddy opened the door to find his sweaty friend presenting him with a takeaway cup of half-drunken tea.

"Sorry. Got thirsty on the way back," Brett shrugged.

"Um, thanks?" said Eddy, shaking his head. Brett tossed off his shoes and began devouring his lunch. Eddy stood in the kitchen and reclined against the counter, taking an occasional sip.

Brett felt Eddy's eyes—observing him? Studying him? The gaze. It had been there for as long as he could remember, though in recent weeks, it seemed more pronounced. More penetrating. Come to think of it, it carried the same ambiguous intensity he had felt after they played the Ysaye Sonata that time in Sydney—an event that they had neither spoken of then or since.

He attributed Eddy's "gentle listening" to the deep regard that had snowballed between them over the years. Admiration, you could call it. It was only Eddy, after all. Still, he kept his eyes focused down, as though his bowl of noodles was the most fascinating thing in the room.

***

That evening, they spent a couple of hours laughing effervescently in front of the TV with a bottle of wine. The heat had subsided, and they opened the windows to let a cross-breeze move through. In his bed, Brett faced the window, enjoying the night air.

And then, Eddy was sitting close by. 

Very close. 

Close enough to touch.

He watched Eddy's calloused fingertips hover, then brush over his knuckles. Slowly, delicately, yet without hesitation. Gentle. Sure.

His mouth opened, but no words come out. So, he lay still, letting Eddy cradle his left hand and massage his first finger until he got to the end, where he clamped down with enough pressure to turn the skin pink. Eddy did this with each finger in turn, and then cupped his hand, as though to shield it. He held it for what seemed like ages, allowing the molten glow to melt away every ache.

Brett yearned to lean into his friend's neck and soak him in. He wanted to breathe in his scent; to absorb more, more. More of his solid presence. More of his touch. As he shifted to move closer, he rolled to the edge of his bed. He was awakened by a blurry street lamp shining through the blinds. 

His right hand clutched onto his left. He sat up in a daze, not knowing quite what to do with the ache in his chest.

***

Eddy woke to the harsh sound of the coffee grinder. Vague scenes from an excessively sweet dream lingered in his mind. He and Brett had been laying in a field of swaying grass, staring up at the sky. They had been holding hands. 

So innocent, Eddy thought, so pure. A far cry from other images that had surfaced in recent dreams.

He stumbled to the bathroom to put on his jeans.

"Morning," he heard a familiar voice say.

"Morning," Eddy said, rubbing his eyes, taking a seat on the couch. Brett stood at the counter stirring cream into his coffee. He had combed through his hair and wore a clean black tee shirt and jeans. His eyes were groggy, but his posture was tall and composed, and he looked mature and stately in the morning light.

"You're up early," Eddy said.

"Coffee was calling," Brett said. His voice was still deep and gravelly, and undeniably sexy.

"Thanks," Eddy said as Brett set down a cup in front of him; his movements rigid, his expression yielding no emotion. Eddy weaved his belt through the loops on his jeans. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Brett glance in the direction of the buckle as he fastened it.

"I'm gonna pick up some food. You in?"

"Go ahead," said Eddy, running his fingers through his hair.

"Alright," Brett said crisply. "Let me know if you get hungry. I could bring something back."

Eddy gave a perfunctory nod. As the door closed behind Brett, Eddy let out the breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding in. He decided to go for a jog.

While he typically listened to his air pods while running, he wanted to collect his thoughts in silence. He ran several kilometers and felt good, so he kept going. It was cathartic to work up a sweat. Before he knew it, he had circled in a loop and ended up at the park. He jogged to a large tree where they had practiced Sarasate's Navarra the previous year, before the pandemic. It had been so pleasantly cool that they'd decided to practice outdoors. He caught his breath; hands on his knees.

He remembered the grass being so soft underfoot that he had kicked off his shoes. Brett had laughed at him, then followed suit. Several people had stopped to place a dollar in the violin case or simply stand nodding in approval. When they had finished the energetic piece and stood in the afternoon breeze, an older woman had applauded and stated, "What a beautiful pair."

Eddy looked up at the sun-dappled leaves shivering in the breeze. He needed to get away.