the rhythm our heart plays {breddy; twosetviolin fanfiction}

13 (slight nsfw)

author's note: slight nsfw again. cause of Eddy's horny thoughts ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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It was inevitable, the way Eddy keeps thinking about it.

He thinks about closing his lips on Brett's own, pressing in until their tongues meet, skittish and shy before an urge for more of it, more of Brett overwhelms him. The kisses are so sweet, slicked in hot pools of saliva that Eddy swallows with a shiver, the rest of his body warming up to an unbearable degree. He thinks about deepening the contact, thinks about pushing Brett down as he licks into his mouth, hungry and desperate and wanting. He thinks about Brett rolling on top of him, thinks about the way Brett grinds on him nice and slow while pressing firm kisses along Eddy's neck and under his jaw, how he shoves his tongue deeper into Eddy's mouth and swallows all his moans.

Oh fuck.

Eddy slaps the side of his face. Hard.

Reality check!

"Alright, Eddy. Get your shit together," Eddy says with firm conviction. He slaps the side of his face a couple more times for good measure. "Good bros don't daydream about making out with their best mate. It's not a thing. Stop trying to make it a thing. It's — It's sacrilegious."

As if in protest, his subconscious promptly shoves another mental image of Eddy raunchily making out with his good ol' buddy and pal and friend and wow. Just.

Eddy aggressively cards his hands through his hair with a loud whine. "Aurgh! Stop it, me! That is so not cool!"

Honestly. Ling Ling Insurance better cover the expense of his rapidly declining heart rate 'cause this shit is lethal.

*

So. Eddy thinks about it.

He thinks about it when he watches Brett suck the boba out from the straw of his drink.

He thinks about it when Brett unconsciously bites his thumb in the middle of his brainstorming.

He thinks about it when Brett fingers the violin in one of their practice runs.

No, seriously, give him a goddamn break!

Eddy keeps thinking about it and thinking about it, and at this point he's this close to writing his own obituary:

Here lies Eddy Chen, death by inappropriate thoughts triggered from a wild YouTube violinist with kissable lips.

The humility.

"Oh man, how come we haven't tried this place before? Their fried chicken is insane."

They're out for lunch. Eddy watches from across the table as Brett happily takes large bites of said fried chicken like it's the best thing in the world. Maybe if Eddy wasn't so distracted, he'd be able to appreciate the taste and flavour too. But, yeah, no one has the right to look that adorable eating fried chicken. Especially not with sauce splattered all over their mouths. "Dude. You...got something on your face."

"Hm? Where?" Brett asks, flicking his tongue out and around his lips.

Okay, he has to be doing this on purpose. Eddy is sure he is. There's no other explanation for this fuckery.

"It's. Here, let me just...." Eddy grabs a serviette for Brett and, with a tender loving smile, shoves it into his face.

"Nffdghh?!"

*

Eddy didn't get this far in life to be tragically compromised this way.

But, well...he keeps thinking about it to the point where he gets sick of it.

Quite literally.

*

[Eddy] sorry bro. Sick af 🤢

[Eddy] raincheck on recording?

[Brett] oh sht. Yeah no worries

Eddy does feel bad that they have to push the schedule, so he responds to Brett's text with a couple of alternative dates that could work for them. Normally he'd still power through a video even if he's got a sniffle or cold, but the headache he's sporting today is an absolute bitch. There's no way he can concentrate on anything when it feels like a gang of violists are trying to drown his brains out with their C string and — shoot, right, easing up on the viola jokes. He doesn't want to get cursed again.

Not like it matters, considering how cursed he already feels right now. Maybe he's feeling like shit because of all these immoral thoughts he's having towards Brett. It's certainly stressing him out, if that's anything to go by.

Now, instead of agreeing on an alternative date and leaving Eddy to rot away with his fever and unholy thoughts, Brett decides to still come over to check up on him. "Figured you'd want me to keep you company," he says with a knowing grin that makes Eddy feel unnecessarily attacked. Stupid Brett. Stop being so nice to me. Eddy doesn't want to fall for him any harder than he is now.

Eddy's long past the point of trying to ignore his feelings, since clearly that doesn't seem to be working so well for him. The best option is to give himself some space between them so he can work things out in his head, but the thought of taking a break from Brett feels wrong, somehow. Besides, it's kind of hard to do that when you're one half of a duo on a YouTube channel. They can't really stay away from each other even if they tried.

He really should have tried.

Eddy's sitting in his bed while Brett's checking his temperature, brows furrowing at the thermometer. "It doesn't look too bad, but you are warm..." Brett looks at Eddy, curious. Inquisitive. Eddy's heart catches in his throat. "Are you really sick, or were you just making excuses?"

"I'm..." Eddy licks his lips nervously, watching as Brett's eyes flicker down to them.

It's hot, suddenly.

"Maybe I'm lovesick."

"Ridiculous," Brett says, without missing a beat.

Whether it's the pounding headache or something else, Eddy feels a rush of impulsive confidence wash over him, rash and maybe even desperate.

"Maybe you should kiss it better."

It's all said in a heated rush, and he's definitely not thinking as he surges forward. All he can think about is wanting to press his lips onto Brett's own, just like how he envisioned it a thousand times in his mind. He wants to hold him closer. To mark him. To not let anyone else touch him or kiss him or —

Eddy's met with Brett's palm held firmly over his mouth.

"Cut it out, Eddy." Brett doesn't sound mean when he says it. He just sounds...closed off.

Eddy pulls back, watching Brett silently. He feels sick all over again.

"You're not feeling well. I'll grab some medicine from the store."

Eddy doesn't bother to tell Brett that he already has some in the kitchen cabinet. He'll let Brett have that excuse to get away. He's not sure if he can say anything at all, really.

By the time Eddy falls back asleep and wakes up again, there's takeout for congee on the nightstand and a post-it note stuck on the plastic bag, telling him to get better in that familiar, messy handwriting. The room is quiet. He's alone.

Eddy throws an arm over his eyes and sighs. He's not sure if he wants to cry, but he comes close to it.