distraction: you

chapter eleven

it's not that eddy dislikes cynthia, not really. she's an exceptional musician: diligent, methodical, thorough. there's nothing he can say to critique her playing.

she's just—unsurprisingly noisy.

"hallelujah," she crows as the food gets served to them steaming hot and delicious. "we thank the heavens for eddy chen and what must be his overflowing bank account."

brett snorts, then slaps a hand over his mouth as if to take it back, and fine, eddy can appreciate the humor in that. it's one thing to know that around the table, only one person can afford to pay for everyone's food without breaking a sweat, and another thing to take it easy and joke about it.

later on, however, it becomes all too apparent that cynthia is way too thrilled over having finally pinned him down for a proper chat, and with brett right there next to her listening to every word, eddy doesn't really have much of a choice in the matter. he knows his reputation; he knows others are curious of him and his past.

he finds he wants brett to know more about him beyond teasing text messages and late-night conversations procrastinating over their weird practice hours. (cynthia's presence here is merely an additional variable.)

so, that's what eddy does: he shares about his family, typical Asian-strict and work-oriented and filthy rich, and how he'd once been forced to learn the violin before he had come to love it himself. he does not share any more than that; they won't like what they'll hear if he continues any deeper. in return, brett offers similar stories of his life as a firstborn son in an Asian family, supporting eddy's claims of being denied dinner if he hasn't practiced with a bright, commiserating grin. it's a give-and-take, an ebb and flow, and eddy is immensely grateful.

that's when things go south.

after that, the topic turns to whatever else they can discuss, anything under the sun. what's funny is that, despite his usual dominance, eddy finds it difficult to slip in between the two and join in their conversation. every time he senses an opening left for him by one of the pair to speak, brett suddenly laughs or cynthia suddenly giggles, and he's lost the opportunity just like that. for the most part, eddy has been relegated to spectator status, and it's—not a very good feeling to have.

eddy watches the two compare hand sizes—because that's just what musicians do, okay?—while he polishes off the last of his salad and pretends his fingers aren't itching where they're wrapped around his utensils. eddy hears bits and pieces of gossip about the members of the violin section and the cello section he wouldn't normally be hearing about. eddy catches himself watching brett more, his hair falling over his eyes in soft waves, and wonders if maybe—

self-awareness smacks him on the head like a ton of bricks, and oh god. he's jealous. he's jealous that he's having to share his friend with their friend.

eddy's gaze trails from brett to cynthia, and he's surprised to see her looking back at him, eyes bright and edged with amusement. he looks away first; that feels like he's lost a competition, but at this point, eddy's too distracted to care.

(he misses the knowing smile that flickers on her mouth. that should have been the first sign, really.)