You Are the Best Thing

1.

Eddy has too many ideas. They are constant and overwhelming, about subjects huge and mundane - an endless wave of potential videos, analyses of technique and phrasing, the future of classical music, fashion, new approaches to social media, the artistic merits of k-pop. Ideas that prompt exploration and research that invite even more ideas in an endless feedback loop, more than he could ever tackle in a single lifetime. He wants to manifest them all.

Growing up, his mother so badly wants him to pursue medicine and steers him hard in that direction. Sweetheart, she tells him, you should use that big brain of yours for something important. He miserably thinks he can't - not that he isn't smart enough, but it's not what he wants and knows it would kill his soul little by little if he tried - and it's not until he joins youth orchestra that he allows himself to believe that art is important, too.

At some point in high school he begins to think about not only the ideas but why he has so many, about what the point of it is if he can't do anything with them all, and it feels like such a waste. An idea on its own is useless unless you make something of it, he thinks. What's the use of him if he can't?

None of his classmates seem to concern themselves with things like this, like it isn't the most important thing, and he wonders if it's just him. Is he driving himself crazy over nothing, or is he just wallowing in a bunch of angsty delusional artist bullshit? It eats away at him.

He only voices this out loud once in his life, during a quiet, sleep-deprived conversation at 2 a.m. in a university dorm room. The silence stretches out long after the words leave his mouth, and his heart sinks with every passing second. It's such a ridiculous thing to agonize over, the way he's always in his own head. He's not some kind of tortured genius, he's being pretentious and stupid and why did he even say that -

"I know," Brett finally says, simple and soft. It sounds like you're not crazy. It sounds like it's okay. Eddy is able to breathe again.

Brett is sprawled on the floor across from him, slouched with his back against the wall. His head lolls over to look at Eddy, considering. The concern that flashes over his face is so subtle and brief that anyone who didn't know him so well would have missed it.

Brett's the first to break the silence. "I don't know exactly, the way you do. But given everything..." his arm gestures broadly across the room, at the con, at music in general, at the whole world maybe, "it's probably better than the alternative, yeah?"

From anyone else, that question would have prompted an eyeroll and an Of course it is, that's not the problem. But that's not what Brett's really asking. It's not even a question, just a gentle mental push towards what is the problem here, exactly?

Brett is not a simple person, but sometimes he'll communicate that way to get his point across. It's more effective at cutting through Eddy's bullshit than anything.

Brett does it again with his follow up: "You've got more options than most, then. Just gotta be selective with your projects, right?" Light-hearted and cheeky to be sure, but they both know exactly what he's doing: it's another push. A little firmer now, this time towards It can be a good thing if you approach it the right way.

Brett waits patiently for him to work it out in his head. Just before Eddy can respond, he speaks again.

"You can't do everything, Eddy," he says gently. "Nobody could." The unspoken It's all right hangs in the air between them.

Brett's smile is small but encouraging. The room, the moment, goes still and warm, and incredibly, Eddy's mind follows. The relief is enormous. Neither of them speak for awhile, content to bask in the feeling.