Straight

XI

By the time Brett comes out of the shower, a towel around his waist too, his hair wet and all over the place, the eggs are cooked and Eddy is toasting some slices of bread. He makes very sure not to look at him as he's getting dressed, keeping his eyes trained forward, on what he's actually doing. 
Has he ever really looked at Brett? I mean, he's seen him, of course. He knows all about him. But does he know him differently, now? 
"That looks awesome Eddy, thanks! How's your head?" Brett has put on a simple button down shirt and some black jeans. Eddy looks back down at the toast. 
"Fine, now. Sleeping helped."
Or maybe the other thing? Eddy has no idea. But he's feeling good now, refreshed, the fiasco at the bar just a distant memory already. 
"We should get practising in a minute. And don't we have an extra rehearsal later?"
Brett nods. 
"Yeah. Rehearsal on Saturday, which idiot came up with that?"
They sit down at the tiny breakfast bar and tuck into their eggs and toast. 
"We should get some bubble tea before the rehearsal." Eddy says after a moment. 
"Love it."

He puts the violin case on the mattress, opens it and tries not to think about what they did on that mattress last night. His dick twitches as the images float around his brain. 
But no. No, not now. Brett has the right idea. Just don't talk about it. Just carry on like they always have. 
He can't help but sigh, though, as he puts his violin on his shoulder. 
Because God, was it ever nice. 
He turns around, and Brett is just bending over his own case, taking out his own violin. 
"You gonna practise for the rehearsal?" Brett says as he gets back up, his tone so neutral it would be beige, if it had a colour. 
"Nah. I've looked it over yesterday. I need to practise for the competition."
"Yeah. I wish we had more hours in the day to practise."
"I wish my neck wouldn't get stiff after a few hours of practice."
Brett blinks at him and seems to bite his tongue. Then he puts the violin on his shoulder with a shock and starts tuning. 

Eddy doubles down and tries to focus on the Katchaturian. Look, this shit is important. He's about to have a nationwide competition. But even though he knows that, or maybe because he knows that, he keeps fucking up. He's somehow so aware of Brett, being there right in the same room, practising Tchaikovsky. Brett has been like his right arm for years, like there is hardly a difference between them, like they're basically one person. 
God, have they fucked all that up now? 
He grunts at himself and starts again. 
He should go home tonight, to his own bed, where he can dream in peace, wank in peace. Maybe he should stop all of this, take them both back to some semblance of normality now that he still can.
It would be the smart thing to do. So why does that thought make him sad? 

Suddenly Brett looks up and right at him. 
"You good? We should set off in like half an hour?"
The words are all there, right under the surface, he can picture himself telling him now. But Brett's made it clear, right? No talking, there are no elephants in this room, sir. So he nods. 
"Yeah, I guess I'm still a little tired or something. I'll be fine once I get some bubble tea in my system."
Brett grins and raises his bow again. 
"Bubble tea. A panacea."

Eddy nods and grins back, raises his own bow and starts practising the chord again.
Yeah. He should definitely go home tonight.