Which composer likes tea the most? Chai-kovsky.

6. breathe with the music

Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things.

Denis Diderot

Soon the rain had lessened, turning from violent into a soft and steady rhythm. Eddy gently separated himself from Brett and walked to the small curtained window.

"It's getting better now, I don't think we're in any danger of flooding", he said, "but I don't think we should leave just yet. The roads are a mess and there's still a lot of wind. Best stay where we are."

Brett's head popped up over the counter, and he gingerly walked over to Eddy and peeking through the curtain.

"It is a bit better, isn't it?" he sighed in relief. Eddy rubbed a soothing hand across his shoulders, and Brett suddenly felt a bit meek. "Sorry about that, I just get so nervous with storms. I can't really control it, and I don't really know how to explain it. I know I'm ok if I'm indoors, but it's like part of my brain won't .... listen. And I just shut down."

Brett's eyes were stuck firmly on the floor, because if Eddy didn't notice, then he could tell himself that he wasn't that upset – that his heart wasn't still pounding at a million beats per minute, that his hands weren't still shaking. This was one of the loudest storms he'd ever heard, and he was glad Eddy was there. The soft music, and touch had kept him in the present, out of his doomsday thoughts. And Eddy, at some point, whispered "breathe with the music" into his ear, and from then on, he let his mind ride on their breath like waves. Tchaikovsky in his ear was like a bath in warm milk. But still, Brett wasn't used to being taken care of, and it made him bristle a bit.

Eddy seemed to sense this. He grabbed Brett's hand.

"You know, growing up, I would panic every time I was around more than 5 people? My heart would race and my palms would get sweaty, and my English would just get worse. Still, sometimes, there are moments when I meet someone new, or I'm at a crowded party, and too much is going on at once. And I'll just feel like the air is being squeezed around me. And usually I end up doing something a little embarrassing, like leaving super early, or one time I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour. "Brett looked up to see a humorless chuckle ghost Eddy's lips. "You don't have to explain this to me. I'm not afraid of storms, but I think I've felt this way, the way that you feel, before. I don't know how to explain it either. I was just hoping that music could make it better for you, like it did for me"

Brett squeezed Eddy's hand, and felt his chest grow warm.

"It did help. You helped" Brett reached a hand behind Eddy's neck, and brought them together.

Their lips met in a jolt, and their arms were quickly around each other. Brett pressed himself against Eddy, feeling the planes of his stomach against his own, enjoying the pull of Eddy's hands on his hips, the sound of Eddy's little moans in his mouth. He wanted to be surrounded by Eddy, to be overwhelmed by him. Their minds and spirits fit together just as well as their bodies did, and Brett wanted to explore and savor every second of it.