Four thirty-three

Chapter 21

With Eddy back to teaching, everything seemed to have fallen into place in Brett's life.

Even with his arm not fully functioning yet, the man was ruthless in his lessons, pushing Brett to his limits, making him sweat for every bit of fire he managed to cast. They now had two lessons per week, one to focus on actual repertoire and technique, the other centered around controlling his element with the violin. On top of that, he still had his job in the library, his theory lessons, his friends. And, of course, practice.

Despite his new crazy schedule, that he'd been keeping up for nearly three months now, he wasn't feeling as tired and worn out lately as he had been for... well, the rest of his adult life. Even though every night he fell face-first into his bed and was asleep the second his head touched the pillow, he woke up very early in the morning, feeling energised and ready to tackle the day. The bags under his eyes, ever-present before in spite of him getting eight or nine hours of sleep every night, were now barely visible. Even his friends had commented on how he seemed more alive these days, his resting deadpan face notwithstanding.

The thing is, fire seemed to have awakened something in him.

It had been such a slow, subtle change, he'd barely noticed it at first. But as the days went on, it had kind of dawned on him. He felt good. He felt better . Every lesson felt like a cardio session, the exhaustion at the end mixed with the kind of happy lightheadedness one gets after a good bout of exercise.

His mind felt sharper, too. It was like his brain had always been full of cotton, making every thought feel slow and muddled. But suddenly everything felt sharper and brighter, his thoughts quick and focused.

It was like a part of his brain had been dormant all his life, and was just now awakening.

Honestly, he felt happier than he'd ever been.

This was his true self, he knew now. The one that'd been hidden all these years without music. Had it not been for the Con, and for Eddy pushing him to keep practising time and time again, he would have stayed half asleep forever.

He couldn't thank the man enough.

♪ ♪ ♪

The new lessons had awakened something else in him, too.

In all honesty, though. He couldn't say he didn't know this bit of information about himself way before this whole training thing started.

But denial's such a bitch sometimes.

So what does Brett Yang do, when confronted with new information about himself that he doesn't really want to admit? What does he do, when the truth of his own thoughts, his own desires, stares back at him from the mirror of himself, and he does not like what he sees?

He plays. He summons fire. He practises for hours on end, until his body is all sore and his mind is turned into mush, until covering himself with the sheets is the only thing he's capable of before falling asleep. Tiring, drilling practice is the only thing that keeps his rampant thoughts quiet inside his head. The violin becomes a steady companion, a vibrant soul against his face and neck, an unmovable rock in the middle of a tide too strong for him to fight. There's a sweet and sour familiarity to it, stemming from the knowledge that your mistakes when making music are yours and yours only, but that they can be corrected with time and patience, and this steadiness is much more preferable to whatever uncertainty he's faced with outside of the practice room.

And so, he plays.

There are flames floating around him, fire getting bigger and thicker as he makes it twist and turn with his violin, and there's a sparkle of life ever-present in his eyes, a reflection of the fire around, a mere hint of the fire within.