Straight

XXII

"Jesus, Eddy, you look like shit." he says without preamble. He's still in the door opening, and his outline against the light makes him look like an angel. 
He is an angel to him anyway. 
"Thanks." he grunts again. Grunting seems to be all his voice is capable of right now. Must be all the crying.  
"What's wrong with you?"
Brett is stepping in and closing the door behind him. He's carrying a bag in his right hand, which he puts on the floor. 
"I dunno. Just a migraine, I guess, or something."
Brett sits down on the bed. 
"Have you eaten?"
Eddy just shakes his head, and Brett picks the carrier bag back up and puts it on the bed, points at it a bit awkwardly. 
"It's fried rice and some chicken soup. I figured you may need it."
Eddy almost cries again, because it's the sweetest thing in the world. It's also the most perfect thing in the world. He sits up and opens the bag. 
"This is perfect." he says as he rubs the chopsticks together and opens the box of rice. He hands the other pair of chopsticks to Brett and holds out the box to him. They can share.  

Look. He knows what he had decided, and he knows why as well. But Brett is here now, and his whole system has started to relax. The pain is being driven away, and for the first time in two days he feels like he can breathe. And even if he wanted to, it's not like he could send him away anyway, is it? 
Not now, not without hurting him. And hurting him is the last thing he wants to do in the world. 
The first bite of rice is the best thing he's ever tasted. 
"Oh, God. I hadn't realised I was so hungry." he says, and his voice is starting to sound a little more like his own. "This is so good."
Brett smiles and takes a bite of rice too.
"Cool."
"How was the con today?"
"Boring."
Eddy looks up with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Wait, what does that undertone in Brett's voice mean? He can't think about it now though. There's no space, he's too busy stuffing himself with rice. He picks up the spoon and opens the soup. 
"Hmm, this is so good."

"You look a bit better now." Brett remarks when the boxes are empty. He's stacking them in the bag and puts it on the floor. 
"Yeah, I think I'm getting there." Eddy says. 
He has no fucking clue where there is, of course, but he knows very well that he'll have to keep lying about migraines getting better. And right now something is definitely getting better. 
"Wanna go for a walk? Or play some games? You up for that?"
Eddy nods. 
Look. There's been so much crying, so much pain. He's feeling a million times better now that Brett is here. All his muscles are uncramping, and he takes another deep breath. 
"Games sounds good."

Brett gets up and gets the controllers, then sits next to Eddy, his back against the wall behind the bed. They play, they chat. He eats more food, when his mum comes home from work and cooks. They practise, side by side in his room like they've done a million times. And when it has gotten dark Brett looks at him and smiles. 
"So, you want me to stay?"
Eddy blinks. Is it fair? Is it fair to ask him? But he knows the ocean of grief he was in earlier. And he knows Brett thinks he's still half sick. They won't do anything tonight. 
Before he knows it he nods. 
"Yeah, of course."

The bed feels so different with Brett in it. He doesn't even wait, now, he just scoots right over and lets Eddy put his arms around him. 
"Good night, Eddy." he says softly. 
"Good night."
And he would probably worry, obsess, but he's too tired. He just sinks into the deepest sleep in weeks, and stays there all night long.