It was 8 pm, right after dinner...

XXIII

It almost seemed etheral, this person on the grand, playing a piece Brett wasn't able to put a name on. It was sweet and melancholic, a bit sad even, but nonetheless beautiful. There was no light except for the moon shining through the window, so he had to step closer to make out, who was playing.

Each of his steps was accompanied by a few notes ringing from the piano. The image became clearer and Brett saw a silhouette he knew better than his own, tall, slender, strong and passionate in everything he was doing.

Brett wanted to call his name and opened his mouth, but no sound could be heard. He tried again and again, but the player didn't even seem to notice that he was here. He just pressed the keys, sunken into his own music.

Frustration and anger overcame Brett. He rushed to the piano and started to hammer on it with his fists in an attempt to make himself noticeable, without success. The other just continued his playing and now, tears ran down Brett's cheeks and his head sunk down on the lid of the piano, making it sacrilegiously moist.

Suddenly, the piece stopped. Everthing fell silent and slowly, Brett raised his tearstained face.

The piano player stared directly into his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. Brett took a deep breath to finally voice the others name, but was muted again. New tears formed in his eyes, but before they ran down, the person asked: "Is there something, you want to, have to tell me, Brett?"

With a loud gasp, Brett sat up in his bed in lightning speed. There was no piano, no piano player, no piece. Just his fast beating heart and accelerated breathing, sounding incredibly loud in his ringing ears.

He looked around. It must have been in the middle of the night, based on how the street lamps shining through his curtains were not mixed with the dusky light of dawn.

Brett gulped. And gulped again. And then he shoot out of his sheets and rushed to the toilet just in time to retch into the bowl.

Why? He asked himself, as his stomach decided to empty itself for the fourth or fith time, not that he could keep track. He hadn't eaten anything bad or heavy. He hadn't had any of the forbidden foods or drinks from his new diet list. For fuck's sake, he had even gone to bed early yet again, with Eddy pushing him and he himself being spent after filming with his head annoying him to the max with being painful physically and painfully obnoxious because of the "Eddy-by-the-piano"-picture.

Brett barely heard the knock on the bathroom door.

"Brett?", a concerned voice rang through it.
"Brett, you alright?"
"Hmmpf!", Brett made, not wanting to open his mouth of fear for another load.
"I'm coming in, ok?"

Eddy carefully opened the door and immediately slouched down next to Brett as soon as he saw him sitting in front of the toilet.

"Hey", he said softly, stroking Brett's back, "What is going on?"
"Hurling, obviously", Brett croaked and tried very hard not to vomit again. He flushed and leaned his head on the toilet seat, the few unshed tears from his dream not far away.
"Oh man", Eddy simply said. He took a cloth, rinsed it with cold water and started to wipe Brett's sweaty forehead. Brett was too weak to protest. He was also too weak to stand up, apparently, because when Eddy asked him, if he wanted to go to his room, he just shook his head and stayed exactly in the same position.

"Mate, you can't just spend the night here! Let me help you get to bed. Or do you think you'll hurl again?"
Brett just winced and moved his head left and right.
Eddy sighed. "At least rinse your mouth quickly, come on." He gave him a glass of water, which Brett eventually took. Eddy took the opportunity and convinced Brett to let him piggyback him back to bed.

After being layed down, Eddy sat down next to him and carefully brushed away Brett's hair from his face.

"Shhh... It's all good now. Go back to sleep", he lulled and the last thought on Brett's mind, when he started drifting away, were, how very soothing Eddy's hand, Eddy's voice, Eddy's presence was to him.