Chapter Text
It hardly ever happened before, but maybe that is about to change now. Brett requesting Eddy to play pieces for him. Maxing out his newly acquired carte blanche.
“Play Valse Sentimentale,” Brett asks out of the blue on one fine April evening.
“What?”
“By Tchaik. You haven’t put away your violin yet,” Brett says, pointing at the instrument still sitting on the piano lid.
“Tsk! You’re actually obsessed with him,” Eddy complains weakly, already picking up his violin and tightening the bow. “You need to get that checked out. I don’t know, speak to a specialist or something...”
“And you keep putting moon in everything,” Brett retorts, putting on his gremlin smile and sticking out his tongue. “Moon here, moon there. Are we an astrology channel?”
“What does it have to do with anything?” Eddy shakes his head, imitating annoyance, violin prepped on his shoulder.
“Are you actually jealous of a dead composer?” Brett teases, pressing his index finger to his nose.
“I mean, he is your number one,” Eddy sighs theatrically, tuning. “Always has been, always will be. How can anyone compete?”
“Number one on the list of people I can’t have,” Brett clarifies, smiling dreamily, stretching his arms up. “For the other lists...”
“There are multiple lists?! You’re one thirsty dude,” Eddy acts shocked and appalled. Admittedly, he can be a terrible actor when he wants to.
“You don’t say,” Brett suggestively raises his eyebrows twice.
“… It’s getting late. Do you want your Tchaik or not?” Eddy asks, opening the music score on the ipad.
“Yes, I want my Tchaik,” Brett says, smiling like a cat that is about to get the cream, attaining a cross-legged sitting position, nested comfortably against the sofa cushions.
Eddy gives him a pointed look and starts playing. He begins very soft, understated, his tone smooth and shimmery, with selective, tastefully placed vibrato. Brett almost manages to turn off his critical musical ear, closing his eyes, enjoying the delicate lyrical flow of the old familiar melody, caringly drawn out by familiar hands… when about a minute in, it stops abruptly. Without any warning.
“Damn it,” Eddy mutters.
Brett opens his eyes, and sees that Eddy’s E string has snapped. His adrenaline spikes suddenly, he hears blood pumping in his ears, his heart pounding very fast.
And then it CLICKS.
In real life, a snapping E string doesn’t make a loud ringing *zing* noise. More like a quiet *whip*.
He sits in shock, his senses numb, tunnel vision focused on the single spot on the violin in Eddy's hands.
Has he, a mature violinist, with 25 years of experience, who broke strings countless times before, forgotten? Has he been gaslighted by his own fucking dreams? Betrayed by his own brain function?
What the hell. Damn those dreams. He takes off his glasses, rubbing his face with his palms, feeling irrational overwhelming relief wash over him. A tingling sensation is running from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, making him feel lightheaded, his limbs turning into jelly from the immense tension leaving body. And then he starts laughing. And laughing.
“What?” Eddy smiles, clueless, looking at him with wonder. “I have a spare string. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Brett deflects, clearing his throat.
“Fucking liar,” Eddy says without bite, pursing his lips.
How can he be so stupid. How?
If the E string snaps, you just replace it with a new one. That simple.
"You need to start saying what’s on your mind, you know," Eddy says softly, his eyes still on him. Always on him.
“I’m working on it,” Brett nods, putting his glasses back on, taking a few deep breaths to calm down.
“Good boy.”