distraction: you

chapter seventeen

it's the dead of night, the concert hall empty and deserted, and eddy's tiptoeing like a thief along the hallways with no small degree of hesitance.

he's never tried this before, but he supposes this is as good a time as any. rarely do they open the concert hall for midnight practices, but eddy had asked nicely, and the director had understood.

maybe he just wants a diversion, a distraction; might as well make it a productive one. he doesn't want to think about the trust he's been trying to wrangle hard-won from the orchestra, trying to remedy potential relationships turned sour by the explosive outburst he'd done. he doesn't want to think about how their music is finally as close to the notes in his head as it could be, but somehow more lifeless than ever.

(brett's been avoiding him. he doesn't want to think about that either.)

and so here he is, skulking about the empty corridors like a specter and trying not to wince at the loud squeaks his shoes are making. the silence is pervasive, all-encompassing in its presence—until it's not.

at first, eddy thinks he's hallucinating the faint sounds of the brahm's sonata emanating from the main auditorium, but no, no. he can never imagine playing it that way: passionate, intimate, a hint of longing in those high notes. it enthralls him; his footfalls begin to slow, his heartbeat pulsing in time with the unspoken metronome.

he finally reaches the half-opened doors to the grand hall, and yes, of course it is. there had been no other choice, really. it's brett yang, standing on the soloist's spot like he naturally belongs there even with the empty orchestra seats behind him, playing eddy's part like a virtuoso, and it's—

it's—god. it's perfect.

silent tears slip down unbidden from eddy's eyes, his cheeks warm and wet as he listens, laying down all other burdens at his feet in favor of absorbing the sounds ringing out across the hall like a thirsty sponge.

he loves the music, he really does. he's just can't remember the last time he'd been moved this much by it. all his life, he'd been taught to play to perfection, no missed note or nuance out of place, and now, he's somehow reached the point of robotic, mechanical, unfeeling.

this, however. this is what he's been striving towards but never quite reaching. the music eddy plays is perfect, to his own ears. it doesn't sound like the living, breathing beast of passion brett's coaxing from his instrument right now.

so spellbounded is he by the music, and by extension the violinist himself, that eddy absentmindedly leans against the door left ajar and it gives way under his weight, clattering harshly against the tiles. the sudden intrusion clashes against the performance, and oh my god, eddy's a clumsy idiot.

brett whirls his head around to look at him so fast, eddy's distantly worried he'll get whiplash. "o-oh," the shorter man stutters, quickly moving away from eddy's usual spot. "sorry, i was just—"

"no, it's," eddy raises up his hands to placate the other, "it's fine. i just—didn't expect you to be here." god, he's not complaining, though.

brett squints at him with a hint of suspicion. "why are you here?"

"solo rehearsal. you?"

"same," brett replies, shrugging.

coinciding midnight rehearsals? if eddy hadn't known any better, he would have thought this a ploy to get the concertmaster and the soloist to sync up again before their cold war starts to affect the orchestra's harmony. not that eddy's protesting; he wants that too.

"playing the soloist's part, though?" eddy tries his very best to make it light, friendly, and teasing, but it falls flat under brett's somber gaze.

"i just wanted to see how you saw it," the other man explains, like he hadn't just flipped eddy's worldview on its head with his music. "hear how you heard it." brett looks away, and something in eddy's chest cracks like a fishbone. "that's all."

god, this man. how is he even real?

"i'm sorry." the words spill out of eddy's mouth without prompting, falling at brett's feet like scattered autumn leaves. "i never got to apologize for shouting at you last time and for all those stupid things i said." his voice shakes minutely, but he continues on. he has to get this right. "i was wrong, and you were trying to help, and—yeah. i'm trying my best to be better now, i really am. i'm sorry."

brett looks at him from under the veil of his bangs for a long time, and then offers a faint smile. "thanks," he replies softly. eddy's not looking to end the conversation like that, though; he wants his friend back.

and so he continues. "i was a dummy."

"you were."

"i was such an idiot."

"you were."

a dramatic pause. "you're not being very charitable; please stop me from verbally degrading myself."

at last, brett snorts, his lips tugging into a grin. "everything you're saying's true, though."

that sight of that smile never fails to unsettle him, leaving him on unsteady ground. eddy moves closer, gently nudges brett's bow arm. "let me make it up to you again, your majesty."

a beat of silence, and then: "you owe me so goddamn much, peasant." brett looks at him haughtily, but the curve of his mouth is sincere. "just be grateful emperor yang is endlessly forgiving."

there are no words for the giant rush of relief that sweeps through eddy's chest like a tidal wave. they smile together in silence for a while, relearning how to act naturally around the other once again, and then he makes his request.

"could you—maybe play again?" eddy quietly moves to position himself in the concertmaster's seat, placing down his violin case and taking out his instrument. "i'll accompany you."

brett raises an eyebrow, confusion tinting his gaze. "shouldn't we be practicing the other way around, though?"

"nothing wrong with a little change of perspective every now and then," eddy replies, all too casually. "please?"

his friend, bless his soul, obliges him. they begin to play, and for a brief moment, eddy sees the twinkle of stage lights, the sea of the audience stretching out and filling the seats of the hall, the orchestra moving and breathing to brett's every whim, not as concertmaster but as the—

an idea takes root in eddy's mind, wild and almost unheard of, but it completely makes sense. he's going to right a wrong, and nothing is going to stop him from doing so.

no distractions, eddy.

no, no, he tells the voice, finally silencing it for good, this one is a necessary one.