distraction: you

chapter twenty nine

contrary to his outward facade, the confidence outlined through every action, every glance, every word—deep down, eddy's simply terrified.

he's trying, he really is. normally, his calm and collected ice prince persona would suffice against whatever circumstances thrown his way, but when he's here, in a scenario where every single thing matters when it comes to what brett thinks of him, eddy's frighteningly out of his depth. sentiment has stripped all his masks away, rendering him helpless against the onslaught. he's tried his best to hide his shaking hands, sweat pooling at the back of his neck, but he's not quite sure his anxiety has escaped the shorter man's notice.

but when it all comes down to it, in the end, honesty is what carries him through. eddy hadn't even spared a thought about the chattering girls or the admiring looks or even the starry-eyed waiter assigned to their table. when he tells brett that his attention is all that matters to eddy, he means it. thank god the other man believes him.

he'll do anything to make him believe it.

and so they leave the cafe an hour earlier than planned, but that fact pales in comparison to the way brett's shoulders relax, the way his smile shines all the brighter. god, eddy can get addicted to that smile, he really could; he's so enamoured with it that he almost doesn't catch the green stubs brett flings in his direction. "what's this?"

"tickets," brett tells him, eyes fixed on the road as he drives. "we're going to the carnival, remember?"

sure enough, as they wind along the road leading out to the harbor, the massive ring of the ferris wheel spirals up into view above the urban skyline. eddy's never been to the carnival before, so he supposes this is a special occasion, and who better to share it with?

• • •

it turns out that maybe they didn't have to stop by the cafe after all.

"i'm probably gonna explode," eddy complains, patting his stomach as brett laughs and laughs, an ice cream cone precariously teetering in his hand.

"yeah, not everyone can consume ice cream the same way." the shorter man shrugs, licks up the melting ice cream along the sides of the cone—he's really doing that, eddy's mind screams, right in front of me, oh my god—before it can drip onto his skin. "but hey, maybe we'll make a confectionary master of you yet someday."

"yes, master, please teach me," eddy deadpans, sending brett into even more peals of laughter, and damn, he really can get addicted to this.

they make their way through the crowded paths between the various colorful stalls, dodging wayward limbs and running children as they take in the sights and scenery. eddy wants more than anything to reach out and take brett's hand, but it doesn't seem—right, somehow. it would feel different from all the other times they've jokingly held hands out in public like back in the diner, and it's not just to offer comfort, like he's done in the cafe earlier; it would mean more.

or maybe you're just being a wuss. where's your confidence now, huh?

eddy's about to smack himself in the face when brett calls out to him from where he's standing next to a shooting gallery. "watch this, i'll win a hat for you."

"really?" eddy grins, moving closer to inspect the stall. rows of tiny ceramic ducks line the wall at a distance from where the player is supposed to shoot at them, and whoa, that's a real shotgun in brett's hand. he eyes it warily. "uh, are you sure?"