Brett was discharged that day, and Eddy had driven him home - it seemed that something about the Mendelssohn had stuck with him, for he had been quietly humming the same opening four notes - three B's, one G, or something of that interval - for what seemed like hours now. There were moments where he attempted to continue the piece. His head would be turned to face the window with his eyes clouded over. He would try to hum more notes before his voice cracked with a desperate confusion, and then silence.
Eddy's hands were on the wheel the entire time, sparing glances in the rearview window to see how Brett was doing. He was still looking out. His glasses were blocking his eyes, reflecting the blur of the green and blue outside, making it so that Eddy couldn't see anything that was going on inside his head. But the silence was unnerving, and Eddy figured Brett wasn't in the mood to start a conversation again; and so, he resorted to humming the first few notes of Mendelssohn over and over.
Three B's, one G.
Brett would do the same. And then the cycle would repeat. Music, notes that seemed like they begged to go on, only to falter and plunge the car into silence as the dull waves of guilt gnawed its way through Eddy's stomach. His grip tightened on the wheel. His head was beginning to hurt: perhaps from the lack of sleep and the overwhelming weight of silence.
All it took was music for his headache to stop.
Three B's, one G.
***
Brett was in the storage room, or what used to be their practice room. After Brett had begun to lose all capability to practice, the room began to feel stifling every single time Eddy stepped in with his violin, and he therefore kept it locked up for the rest of his days. Walking into their bedroom, Eddy hesitated for a split second, before opening up the closet and reaching in - beyond the collection of normal clothes they wore, beyond the formal clothing Eddy saved for his dates, beyond the old merch that they used to promote in every video - for the violin in the corner.
His hand wrapped around the straps, clasping it tightly as he hesitated. Nails were digging into his skin, leaving behind marks of bright red.
Was this a good idea?
No was his immediate answer. What if it actually happened? Brett raising the violin over his head, bringing it down onto the tiled floors, wood flying in all different directions; the carcass of the instrument strewn all over their old filming room, left for Eddy to pick up later when he was alone, to pick up the fragments of the life they had both lost. He flinched at the sound of the imaginary crack, ringing in the back of his mind. It was debilitating to keep thinking about the disease, even if it wasn't affecting him as much as it was Brett (your priority is him, Eddy; if he wants the instrument, why not let him play it? don't be so-), and Eddy eventually shoved the thoughts into the back of his mind to pull the instrument out of the closet.
***
"Do you want to play something together?"
Eddy couldn't hear it through his headphones, but he could most certainly see it in his mind: Brett nodding, holding the violin up to his shoulder without saying a word. It was as if they had returned to maybe just a few years ago, when everything was still fine, and when Brett was still healthy and well - there was no sign that Brett had begun to lose himself, to succumb to what confusion awaited him once he rested his head on the instrument.
His eyes shot open once he heard the first note. A shaky one, one that would have been seen as an obvious rookie's mistake as he listened to Brett's bow skid across the fingerboard and over the bridge, but one that startled him awake. Leaning back on the large chair, he watched Brett shift in their bed. Eddy reached into his pocket and raised the volume on his phone. The recording played louder as it stumbled through vague, forgotten notes.
This wasn't Mendelssohn, no. This was Tchaikovsky, loud and clear, even with the pauses and hesitations in between.
Eddy was glad he decided to record the practice session. As the recording of Brett played the chord like it was nothing, like his mind wasn't fading away by the second, Eddy could feel himself forgetting. He could see their wedding day, so long ago, with flowers that were strewn across the floor and with the white suit draped over him and Brett. His mind flashed back to their first date, where Eddy had forgotten to bring his wallet and apologized profusely as Brett chuckled and paid for both of their bubble teas. His thoughts lingered on Brett's debut and the bouquet of roses that he had spent his week's earnings on, cradled in his arms as they awaited the end of the movement.
And then the recording would stutter. Eddy's eyes would flash open once more, darting to the restless boy in the bed. He would take a deep breath and steel himself. He would remind himself that there was still hope for Brett, that the fact that his violin was still intact and in the corner of the room was more than enough, and that his ability to stumble through most of the first movement was enough that maybe, just maybe-
Don't be stupid, Eddy. You know the disease doesn't work like that.
-Brett could hold the progression off.
That maybe, just maybe, he could be alive and here with Eddy for the rest of time.
***********
-vilopan_
YOU ARE READING
Remember Me
Fanfiction"Even if you start to forget everything about you, I promise I will still remember you." When Brett is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease, Eddy is the only one who can help Brett stay as Brett. Mystery, romance, and lots of sadness. Col...
