(love)birds of a feather

chapter thirteen

And thus, their friendship—rephrase—friendship with unvoiced love, is back to normal; nothing's really changed. Well, except for the unvoiced love aspect, nothing's really changed.

In short, everything has changed.

And that unspoken love—it's sparked and deepened something in the air between them. It's there, they both know it, but contrary to the past, it's not a puzzle piece trying to click where it doesn't belong. It's as if both him and Eddy have accepted it, just this close to finding the final place for it to settle. And it's blossoming something so incredibly beautiful in the air and in them, too.

And with even more exuberant news—after running a few more tests, checkups, and reports, to both him and Eddy's relief, Brett's specialist has given him the good-to-go signal. Which means they can finally, finally, go back to filming, go back to what they both love doing, together this time.

And so, they're driving home with heavy weights dissolved from their shoulders upon the news, Eddy behind the wheel and Brett in the passenger seat. The Adagio Sostenuto of Rachmaninoff's piano concerto no. 2 wafts from the car radio, further coloring the euphoric atmosphere.

Brett remembers the way Eddy's eyes had lit up like the stars upon the news. And Brett knows, Eddy is just so freaking happy right now—he missed being by his side just as much as Brett missed being by Eddy's.

Even as Brett's looking over at him now—admittedly aware of the adoration in his eyes—he can still distinguish the warm joy in Eddy's eyes.
Like a sonata of clear sunlight, accompanied with the trace of a smile twitching on the corners of his mouth. It's a huge contrast with that night when Eddy's tears had fallen like the rain. A huge contrast with the past month of Brett's illness, during which something had been greying in those normally high-spirited eyes.

Brett leans back against his seat and sighs, an inevitable smile growing on his face. "So. We definitely won that battle, hey?"

God, the endearing warmth completely dominating Eddy's eyes—it's a beautiful sight. "Yeah. We definitely did. But still, I stand by what your doctor said—you can't get back into bubble tea and coffee just yet."

Brett grumbles as Eddy laughs. "Half-shot coffees have my back, at least."

Eddy stops the car upon the red traffic light ahead and looks over at him. "Really though—I honestly can't describe how happy I am. And when I say I can't, I really can't. I missed you, Brett."

And, well, what does he say to that? Brett wonders so as they lapse into a comfortable silence as the light turns green, and Eddy continues driving, before Brett speaks again.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Eddy. Y'know, I always just feel safe when I'm with you. Like nothing bad can happen."

The corners of Eddy's mouth quirk up a bit more. "I guess that's because, well, I care about you. I've always cared about you."

"How touching," Brett teases.

Eddy chuckles. "Well, look who's talking."

God, this unbelievable soul right here, right next to him, is the person he wants to hold to for the rest of his life—the person that feels like Brett's home—is Brett's home.

It comes to the ninth minute of the second movement, what most would consider the main climax of the whole movement, possibly even the main theme—it sounds of pure bliss, like sunlight after rain; the strings and piano together coax out raw yet in-depth emotion out of an E Major melody. It's sheer exhilaration to the ears.

He doesn't stop himself from reaching a hand over and resting it on Eddy's thigh, his palm warm from the contact. Brett watches Eddy's expression carefully, waits for those soft eyes to glow like a million stars. He waits for the quirking-up mouth corners to unfurl into a full-on smile and outshine the beauty of the moon.