(love)birds of a feather

chapter seven

It's just on the brink of sickening, how much he loves him; albeit in silence, compressed into a bottle ready and waiting to explode.

A glowing abundance of a violinist's prowess, of beauty, of sparkles in gorgeous eyes. Of a soft-melodied voice. Of all the beautiful little and big things in the world.

All Eddy wants is his lips pressed against his. All he wants is for their hands to be laced together. All he wants is for them both to be in eachother's arms.

All he wants is him. Only him.

If I was your love, I'd give you the softest of kisses and gifts and spoil you so bad. I'd hold you tightly in my arms every night. I'd tell the stars about you. I'd love you to the moon and back, with every beat of my heart.

Brett Yang, you have me at the point where I'll leave the entire world behind, just for you.

Because what is love without a little madness?

♡ ♡ ♡

If one were to retrace their steps all the way back to months before, they'd remember.

"We should make a violin version."

"Brett needs to blind-date eleven hot steamy violinists! They can be young, old, men or women, doesn't matter—as long as they play a stringed instrument!"

"On the next episode—"

Another unwitting promise, an abundance of moments to the collection of videos said promises have produced over the years.

Famous last words, as one might say. And so, months later, here they are.

Why did either of them agree to this again?

♡ ♡ ♡

Before Brett can undergo this situation Eddy's gotten him into, though, there's more pressing matters in front of them that need to be addressed.

"Brett, are you sure you're okay to film? If you need rest, get some rest." Eddy puts a hand on his shoulder. "Health before channel."

Brett's been falling sick, heading to the hospital quite a few times over the last few months, some trips resulting in his and Eddy's separate quarantining. Which sucked, since, of course, neither can function without the other.

Brett needs rest, every part of his body's screaming so, but he's willing to push through, and so— "It's alright. I'll manage."

"Are you sure? We can move filming to another day. Get some rest." Eddy says, reaching over and adjusting Brett's jacket collar.

"Really, Eddy, I'm okay to film." Brett replies, trying not to focus on the hands occasionally making warm contact against his skin in mere brushes.

"If you say so." Eddy lets his hands fall, albeit concern still tightening his features. "But if you do need some time off, feel free to."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Eddy." A smile spreads on his face. "You're lucky I'm nice enough not to fake sickness to get out of the blind-dating thing."

"You wouldn't."

"But I would. I probably should, actually, but I won't."

♡ ♡ ♡

And so, Brett's standing on one side of a large white screen, eleven musicians lined up on the other side, hidden from his view. Him and Eddy are both explaining the video to the camera.

"—Yes, and I'll pick—"

Brett makes the mistake of looking over at Eddy. They make eye contact, and Brett knows straight away; there's something going on behind those currently inscrutable eyes.