Andante

CLXXVIII

Eddy had not been allowed to help Brett at all as he fumbled around in the kitchen, warming something up in the microwave. Eddy guessed his mum must have made them food before she left. So he had leaned against the kitchen door jamb and watched his love for a bit as he moved around, popping dishes in microwaves and fishing bowls out of cupboards. After a while he had decided that maybe Brett would like a musical interlude, so he had walked back into the living room and sat down behind the piano in the corner of the room. It was a completely ordinary dark brown upright piano, but it was decorated in the most Asian fashion ever, with frilly runners and pictures on top. There was one of Brett on the right, getting his LMus, a few years back, and even one of him, as he stood on a stage somewhere with Brett by his side. He loved that picture, and he loved that it was here, on Brett's piano, in Brett's house. 
He decided to play Arabesque by Debussy. He knew it by heart, and of course within seconds he was lost in the fluidity of the opening lines, the impressionism of the triplets, so much so that he startled when Brett put his hand on his shoulder from behind. 
"Sorry." Brett chuckled, looking pointedly at his right hand. "I didn't mean to frighten you with my super scary hand, or anything."
Eddy laughed. "Yeah, yeah. You know I just become very easy to startle when I make music."
It was true, as well. He would simply sink into the music and get into his own little world, so that when anything happened around him he would basically jump out of his skin. He got up from the piano stool and took the hand Brett was still holding out.
"I like this hand, a lot. Nothing scary to see here." he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin between Brett's thumb and index finger. Then he tugged softly so Brett would walk with him to the kitchen.
 Ooh, but it smelled good here, and his mouth dropped open when he saw the table. There were two plates of what smelled like kung pao chicken on a white table cloth with light blue flowers. A blue and white china bowl full of the fluffiest white rice sat in between the plates. The table had been layed out nicely with ornate wooden chopsticks and little glasses, and there were several candles lit on the table. 

"I guess I'll have to hide those before my parents come back." Brett said behind him in his deadpan voice, pointing to the candles. "You like?"
"Jesus, Brett... I more than like, I love."
He didn't have to look behind him to know the smile on Brett's face. 
He stepped forward and moved the chair back, the scraping of the legs loud in the quietude of the kitchen. Brett put his phone on the counter, and after a beat it started playing the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. Eddy sat down and blinked at his steaming food, completely overwhelmed with Brett's sudden romantic streak. 
"Bretty, I love this to bits but you know... you know this wasn't necessary, right?" he said in the softest of tones. 

Brett sat down on the chair opposite and nodded without looking at him. "I know, Eddy, but it was necessary for me. And it's not like I'm not having fun or anything, is it?"
Eddy grinned as he picked up his chopsticks and put the first mouthful of chicken into his mouth. It was mouth-wateringly good, of course. Brett's mother was a fantastic cook, almost as good as his own mother. 
"I'm glad."  he whispered. He let his foot slide forward over the white tiles until it encountered Brett's. He moved his toes over Brett's and stroked them softly. Brett hummed quietly, somewhere deep in the back of his throat. It was a great sound. 
Now that he was actually eating though, he was hungry, and he cleared his plate before Brett did. 
"So..." he hesitated as he brought his empty plate over to the sink and started some water going for tea. "What's point three on the agenda, then?"