Play!

C

The rest of the afternoon turned out to be as dreadful as the first hour, prompting Brett to question his career choice and whole identity. Needless to say, he took the opportunity to leave out dinner since he was able to bail after his practice session. Cole did text and try to call him. However, it was easy to ignore it when he walked through the park, his violin case bobbing up and down with every heavy step, his mind straying aimlessly like the seagulls over the nearby coast. 

They had an evening off. Brett decided to go to bed early, his head hitting the pillows around eight. He didn’t notice Cole coming in two hours later whose worried gaze rested on his roommate for a solid minute.
The night was accompanied by unrest and weird, blurry dreams. Brett woke up with a massive headache and deeming this day unsurvivable without painkillers, he popped two the minute he swung his legs over the side of his bed. 
“You alright?”, Cole yawned sleepily from his side.
“Fine”, Brett mumbled back, though the idea of calling in sick was incredibly tempting to him, wouldn’t it be a sure way to lose his soloist spot. 

But did he still want it? Wouldn’t it only be fair to give it up to Eddy?

Yeah, why not, he asked himself when they made their way to the con through returning scorching heat, the rain two days ago only a faint Fata Morgana. It would solve one of his major problems, wouldn’t it? He’d only have to sit in the concertmaster’s chair instead of pouring his at the moment not available heart and soul into a performance he hardly cared about. His parents would probably kill him, but he might be dead by then anyway, so what the hell.

“Penny for your thoughts, mate?”, Cole probed when they stepped through the front door of the Sydney con, nodding at fellow orchestra members they didn’t know very well on their way to the big hall.
“Nothing important”, Brett answered, eyes fixed on his sneakers changing positions underneath him.

His grace period was short. They had the whole morning reserved for Mozart, but it was Brett’s turn in the afternoon. Should the quality of his playing not increase drastically, Mr. Thames and Mr. Jones were surely going to have a word or two with him. The thought of it made Brett sit there and blankly and robotically bring out the notes in front of him, playing piano most of the time so he didn’t stick out. He was sure Eddy next to him picked up on his scheme. Since he'd returned to strictly not talking to or looking at Brett all morning however, Brett was positive he was gonna be left alone.

Lunch rolled around and Brett noticed the effect of the painkillers wearing off as he shuffled to the cafeteria with Cole on his heels who made sure he couldn’t get away again. He’d convinced Brett to eat a toast with butter at breakfast which had most likely saved his ass during rehearsals. As usual, he didn’t feel like getting anything down at all. Brett didn’t have to look around to know that Eddy was there, sitting a few tables away and burning the small portion of disappointing salad leaves in front of Brett with his glare. There was no ounce of energy left in him to wonder what it did or didn’t mean.

“You okay? You’re pale af.”
“Probably because of that goddamn salad.
Cole creased his brows while setting up his violin. Afternoon rehearsal was about to start and Brett seriously doubted by now that he could produce any decent tone whatsoever. He rubbed his forehead and inhaled deeply.
“You don’t have like aspirin or something on you?”
His friend denied. “Angelica maybe? She strikes me as someone who has. Want me to go to the reception and ask?”
Brett shook his pounding head while getting up to walk over to the french horn players. All he got was a worried “No” though and since Mr. Thames was already stepping on the podium, there was no time to ask elsewhere.

“All right, orchestra! Good work this morning and I hope you have some energy left for Korngold.”
Brett didn’t, but too late to back off now. He tried to get into musician mode again, pushed the pain and an odd inkling of Eddy watching him from his seat to the back of his mind. Surely, it was his brain playing games with him, right?
“Brett, you’re ready?”
Brett’s nod came on autopilot and he placed the instrument on his shoulder. The oboe's A rang through the hall, the orchestra tuned and like so many times before, Mr. Thames gave the starting cue.

It wasn’t a surprise that the conductor cut them off shortly before the cadenza. 
“Try to keep your rhythm steady, alright?”, he suggested, concern written all over his features. Brett couldn’t blame him. 
The second time they had to stop was during the second movement. Brett had a memory slip during one of the easiest passages and couldn’t get back for the life of his. His knees started to wobble and suddenly, holding his violin became a challenge itself.

Within seconds, Mr. Thames hit the baton against his stand and prompted the orchestra to stop. 
“We take ten”, he echoed through the stage while his feet already carried him to the struggling soloist.
“Sit down!”, he ordered and pulled Brett’s chair over with so much force the first desk’s music stand collapsed, baffling a part of the first violinists who hadn’t left yet, including Eddy. In fact, he stood there, stupefied, wide eyes staring at Brett while holding his violin and bow in such a tight grip his knuckles turned white.
Brett just so managed to slump down while black spots started an interpretive dance in front of his eyes. Bless Cole for quickly taking the violin out of Brett’s hands.
“Do you need a doctor? Water? Food?”
The young conductor howered down next to him, his face a display of rapidly changing emotions. Mr. Jones joined them too with brows furrowed in unease.
“I… I’m fine… sorry…”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Brett froze. In fact, everyone froze and slowly, they turned their heads towards the source of the voice. 
Eddy’s face was contorted in anger, nostrils flared and eyes not cold for once, but burning themselves into Brett’s soul as he stared at the small, deflated violinist without blinking once.
“You’re not fine at all, are you?”. His words reverberated through the hall.
The spectators remained stunned, unable to move or say or do anything. Brett guessed this was probably the first time any of them experienced Eddy raising his voice.

And what happened next was definitely not on Brett Yang’s orchestra camp bingo card. Eddy hissed a furious “God dammit!” before he clasped Brett’s arm and dragged him along with him, out of the concert hall and out of everyone’s sight.