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XXXIV

“Brett, Eddy, who wants to go first?”

It was almost blinding, Mr. Jones’ wide smile when he asked them. And it was for sure too much for Brett who was trying his hardest not to fall off the chair and cause a scene in the process.
“Brett?”, Eddy passed the question on and oh, Brett could hear it in the underlying tone of how his name was being spoken, could see it in the way Eddy’s eyebrows touched his fringes, could pretty much taste it through the tension in the air: The care and concern the taller still had for him despite Brett’s unjustified retort earlier, almost driving Brett to back out from rehearsals for today. Almost.
“I will.”
“Brett! Excellent! I’m looking forward to your performance!”

There was no way, no way in hell Brett was gonna survive this, as he distressingly realized when the simple task of picking up his violin made his vision go as dark as a cloudy, moonless night. It was a miracle he managed standing up and stepping to the soloist’s position with the sharp pain in his head increasing whenever he did so much as lifting a small finger. He took a few deep breaths and tried to settle his frantic heartbeat. 
“Are you ready?”, Mr. Thames asked, but furrowed his brows when he noticed Brett’s expression. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Brett." It was the first time he used Brett’s first name. God, he must be looking very shitty. “Are you alright? Do you need a break?”
There! This was his chance, presented to him on a silver platter. 
“To be honest, I’m not feeling that great”, he finally admitted, a tad too late however, because there was no stopping the darkness now, enveloping him fully until he sank deeper and deeper, hearing his name being called out in the distance…

“Brett! You awake?”
“Hrnnnghhh”
Heavy. Brett felt so very heavy. There must have been a truck parking on his chest with how pressed down he felt. Slowly, bright rays of light shone through his eyelids into his consciousness as his nose picked up a scent somehow new and yet familiar to him. 
He liked that scent.
Where the hell was he?
“Brett”, this gentle, warm voice said. Brett forced his eyes to open up, slowly, siruppy almost. 
“Eddy?”, he heard himself croak, his voice sounding as if he hadn’t used it for half a century. Eddy was sitting beside a bed Brett appeared to be laying on, his silhouette illuminated from behind by white sunlight coming from outside the window and Brett wasn’t sure if he was actually awake or dreaming of an angel examining him with the softest, most concerned gaze.
A big hand positioned itself on Brett’s.
“How do you feel?”
“Dunno…”, Brett answered truthfully, his head reeling and the brain inside trying to make sense of everything while simultaneously getting rid of the fog clouding his judgment. 
“You remember what happened?”
Did he? It had been after lunch. The orchestra had already been on stage. And then, Mr. Jones asking them who wanted to play first. And Brett raising his hand, standing up with his violin in hand.
His violin!
His eyes widened in horror when he grabbed Eddy’s forearms, hard. “Where’s my violin?”
“So you do remember”, Eddy sighed, a small smile playing around his dark red lips, “It’s safe. It’s here in your case.” He pointed to the corner of the room where Brett’s black case leaned against the wall. “Mr. Thames caught it and your bow before he could catch you.”
“Thank god!”, Brett let out a breath, his body hitting the mattress again, “What… what happened?”
“You fainted”, Eddy informed quite neutrally, the slight tension in his brows betraying him however, “Mr. Thames was talking to you and suddenly, you started to sway. He took your violin but by the time he wanted to reach out to you, you’d already hit the floor.”
“God”, Brett muttered, his face buried in his palms. Now he’d gone and done it and had made a spectacle out of himself in front of everyone. Brett could envision it lively, how the other students were gonna glare at him, whisper behind his back when they thought he wasn’t noticing. 
“You were burning up and we couldn’t wake you up, so we brought you here.”

Here. Brett blinked a few times and let his eyes wander across the room. It wasn’t big, bed and a wooden wardrobe were covering most of its floor and where one would have caught a glimpse of the carpet, various items, mostly sheet music and wrinkled clothes layed around proving entropy. A big poster of Hokusai’s Great Wave hung above where they’d put Brett’s violin and in front of the window stood a desk with an Apple laptop, a black desk lamp, some pencils and pens scattered around and more sheet music. Next to the desk was a music stand on which Brett could make out Henle’s edition of Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. I didn’t expect visitors anytime soon”, Eddy shrugged and leaned back into what seemed to be a semi-broken desk chair. 
“I’m in your room?”, Brett exclaimed incredulously. Then this bed was…
“Yup. The university’s infirmary’s closed, you know. Summer Holidays. This was like the closest place we could bring you to which had a bed.”
“Your bed…”
“Uh, yeah. Who else’s?”, Eddy sniggered. 
For a reason unbeknownst to Brett, he felt his cheeks flare up and his mouth go dryer, like that was possible. 
Eddy frowned. “Brett? You feeling unwell again? Do you need anything?”
“Uhm, some water would be nice.”
“Oh, of course!”

Brett would have bet a Stradivarius violin only a day before that this wouldn’t be the scenario how he’d see Eddy Chen’s room for the first time, let alone not entering it on his own feet. He gratefully took a sip from the glass of water Eddy handed him and looked around again. 
“It’s nice here”, he commented.
“Really?”, Eddy laughed, “It’s tiny. But part of the scholarship covers its cost, so I’m happy.”
“I like it.”
Eddy smiled. “Good. How are you feeling now?”
“My head still hurts, I guess. God, I’m an idiot. I should have listened to you.”
“Yup, you should have”, Eddy said nonchalantly, making Brett laugh, “What the hell were you thinking? Stepping on stage in your condition. Even under the spotlights Mr. Thames was able to see that you were white as a sheet.”
“I don’t know”, Brett shook his head, but stopped immediately when the knives drilled themselves deeper into his head. He groaned. 
“You still running a fever?” Eddy laid a cool hand onto Brett’s forehead and Brett, the sensitive idiot he was today, flinched. 
“Be cool, bro, just checking.”
“Isn’t that what thermometers are for?”, Brett desperately tried to banter over his suddenly accelerating heartbeat. What the hell? Was that a symptom of his sickness too?
“Yeah, as if I have one of them laying around”, Eddy tsked, his gaze however turned towards the ceiling, probably trying to make out Brett’s body temperature. “Still pretty warm, I reckon”, he furrowed his brows eventually and removed his cooling hand.
“A doctor's gonna come check on you soon, I think. Mr. Jones called someone. I can cook you some congee later if you’re up for it. That’s like one of the few dishes I know how to cook, so you’re lucky.”
“Wait…”, Brett made as something dawned on him. “What time is it?”
Eddy checked his Mickey Mouse watch. “Around four p.m., why?”
“Eddy!” Brett’s hands shot forward on their own accord, grabbing Eddy’s, “What about rehearsal?”
“You’re not seriously suggesting going back to rehearsal, are you?”
“No!”, Brett moved his head right and left and regretted it again before he chose to ignore the pain, “What about you? Your run-through?”
“Oh, that”, Eddy said, “I chose not to.”

Eddy had chosen not to.
What?

Brett was positive his hearing must have received damage when he’d fallen. Eddy Chen, the guy who’d made very clear he’d do everything for his career had decided against a rehearsal with the orchestra?
“Why?”, Brett muttered. 
“Why? Dude, you fucking fainted, that’s why!”
“But, that has got nothing to do with you! You’re good, aren’t you? I thought getting the soloist spot is the most important thing in this camp for you.”
“Well, first of all”, Eddy started and gave Brett’s hands holding his a squeeze, “it wouldn’t be fair if I’d get an additional rehearsal while you can’t, would it? And secondly…” 
A short second of hesitation, a moment where Brett could practically feel Eddy deliberating over what to say next.

“I guess, there might be more important things than getting that soloist spot.”