Club - a Breddy Fanfic.

95) Dance lessons

Eddy sighs. A weary face, eyebrows frowned, lips taut stares back at him from the mirror above the sink. He has just taken a shower, his hair is still damp. "Well fuck!" He curses heartfeltly. Why did this Wednesday have to come so soon? Unusually he normally can't wait for it to arrive, but now he has been dreading it ever since last Sunday evening. He's even been trying to find an excuse to cancel, but he couldn't think of a legit reason, so now Brett will arrive any minute and he's still so not ready.
A 'ping' cuts through the silence, startling the crap out of him. He picks up his phone and sees the expected message from Brett.
'Got the food you ordered. Smells delicious <3!'
It's good that he's ordered food, because cooking is still not his thing even after living on his own for seven years now. It's one less thing he will fail tonight. He sighs deeply again.
'Nice! See you in a min.' he writes more enthusiastically than he feels.
Oh how he hoped Brett would forget. He hoped and hoped, but that hope flew out the window to the Bahama's when Brett reminded him first thing in the morning about the 'dance-lesson' planned tonight. If only he could go to the Bahamas as well and avoid his inevitable doom.
He rubs his face, forces a smile and judges his look in the mirror. He sighs again. Sheesh. How will he be able to hide his nerves about performing in front of Brett when he can't even fool himself?
He's so rusty, even though he practiced today, yesterday and the day before. Nowadays he mostly listens to Classical music, but a few years back he listened and danced to pop music more often. Better said: he danced to K-pop. Because the nice thing about Korean boy-bands is that they have the moves spelled out so you only have to copy and follow. Maybe he's not as fluent as he used to be, but he's got them down fairly well again. So why is he so worried? The face in the mirror knows the answer to that question very well. At the Club people don't dance. Not to Eddy's standards anyway. They only seem to make rhythmic spasms and repeating them over and over. How is that even dancing? Before he can form an explanation about that and worry further, the doorbell rings.

"Hey!" Brett enthuses as he walks in when Eddy opens the door. "Good evening." A quick kiss and he has his shoes kicked in the corner and his coat thrown on the hanger already. "The food you've ordered us smells so good! It's a miracle that I haven't eaten half of it already, so let's dig in, shall we!" He practically bounces as he walks past Eddy inside the living room, not noticing Eddy's internal mood. So far so good for not getting Brett to notice his anxiety.
A minute later Eddy watches Brett as his chopsticks fly rapidly between the box of fried rice with shrimp and his mouth, ravishing the food happily. He talks about a random Cello-guy from his orchestra that Eddy couldn't care less about, but he stays quiet. He should eat so Brett will not know something's up, but his throat is so thick that he's afraid not even a pea will be able to pass his uvula. He tries to swallow anyway, but of course the food gets stuck and he starts coughing frantically.
"Woah, Eddy." Brett puts his food on the table and hits Eddy on his back to help the food up. "You know you have to breathe with your trachea and eat with your oesophagus!" he smirks.

"For fuck's sake!" Eddy manages feebly after another few coughs. "I can't eat like this!"

"Need a spoon?" Brett banters.

Eddy feels his temperature rising. How can he banter like that when Eddy feels so anxious?! How can he be so blind? Tears that formed while choking and coughing out his lungs threaten to overflow. He can't pretend everything is okay anymore.

"Fuck Brett! Please! Let's practice our moves now and eat later." He's not ashamed to beg. He angrily wipes away a tear that had the audacity to fall from his eye.

Finally Brett notices something is off. "Huh? What? Why?" he asks astounded.

Eddy just can't anymore and short circuits. "I'm fucking nervous! That's why!" he yells in desperation.

Brett looks at him as if he sees water burning. "Nervous? But why are you nervous?" He pauses for a few seconds, taking in Eddy's state and narrows his eyes. "Wait. Are you worried because you'll practice dancing with me?"
Eddy frowns and presses his lips together tightly, so very close to bawling.
"Oh no," Brett's face falls. "I'm so sorry! I never thought you'd be worried about that!" He leans over, cups Eddy's cheek with his hand. Eddy diverts his eyes so Brett won't see them filling with tears. He can't cry over something like this. Not in front of him.