When Brett picked up his bow, he realised things weren't going to be easy.
'It's gotten heavier,' he thought.
He tried playing some scales. The notes were wispy, contact point unsteady, and he couldn't quite press the strings hard enough.
Brett stood stunned as if he couldn't believe the fact that, after two weeks of not practising while hospitalized, he was unable to play even a simple scale.
He took a deep breath, gazing at his violin, and tried again.
The results were better than before, but he knew that wasn't anywhere near enough. His control of the bow had dropped.
--------------------
Brett realized it's because his strength had dropped.
Dammit.
No wonder all the late transitioners, whether Alpha or Omega, are always complaining.
Previously, he'd felt that life hadn't changed much.
Turns out the problem was waiting here all along.
--------------------
Brett returned his violin to its case and sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his face. Before he was able to sort his thoughts out, a knock sounded at the door.
"Brett?" Eddy asked, "Are you practising?"
"... Sort of." Brett answered dejectedly.
Eddy fell silent for a moment, as though he couldn't quite understand Brett - a rare situation since most of the time his best bro is very straightforward.
"Can I come in?"
Brett glanced at his violin sitting in its case, knowing that he could never hide his problems from Eddy, and said: "Of course. Since when did you need permission to enter my room?"
'That's because you like to go on your phone sprawled in bed with your ass facing right at the door,' Eddy thought.
He opened the door and found Brett sitting in bed, his violin case on the floor in front of him.
That doesn't look like practising.
--------------------
"You don't look well," Eddy observed.
"Transition problem." Brett tried to reply calmly, but his misery still showed through, "I think my muscles' gotten weaker."
"Ah... yes." Eddy instantly understood what he was implying and felt rather at loss. Brett is telling him, his twenty-odd years of instruction, his hundreds upon thousands of hours of practice, may all be for nothing now.
Eddy didn't even dare to imagine if he'd be as composed as Brett is if the same thing happened to him.
Brett hadn't expected consolation from his friend - or perhaps the act of saying it out loud by itself had soothed his emotions - he inspected his violin and remarked: "I might have to start practising again to continue performing... and TwoSet's videos will be affected.
Eddy just looked at Brett, still digesting how deeply transitioning had disturbed Brett's life. He, too, is a violinist, and he tried to put himself in Brett's shoes: starting violin in childhood, competing, winning a wall full of medals on display, becoming a distinguished graduate, joining orchestras, creating TSV together, playing on their show, touring. These past two decades, on this day, may all become dreams of the past.
Eddy felt sad.
--------------------
Perhaps because Eddy was quiet for too long, Brett finally lifted his head towards the overgrown child standing in front of him.
