Chapter Text
Third movement
Brett has been in love before, he thinks. After messing around a bit in university, his relationships started getting more serious, and he had loved all of them; the guys and girls he had tried to build something with.
Some had been musicians, some not.
But nobody has been like Eddy.
This love he has, it’s so full. It’s filling him in his entirety, the little holes in his life he never realized were there. It shifts through every color, dynamics, rhythm and it may cover every genre.
This love takes the elegance and lightness of Mozart, when they laugh in a sunny kitchen; borrows the evidence, the divine from Bach, when they play together, moving around music; then takes flight in the passion of Tchaikovsky, when confidence drips from Eddy and Brett’s throat is dry, his body throbs; it settles into Debussy, when they sit with the night creeping around them, sharing old stories and shortcomings.
He wants so much, but is fulfilled at the same time. He feels as if, even if he somehow managed to get more, there’s no place left inside of him for it; he’ll just explode and spill all the melodies of his love on the floor, dripping at Eddy’s feet, exposed.
It doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.
His life has shifted and on the tip of his tongue, there’s the taste of inevitability. There’s no going back from the way his stupid neighbor makes him smile.
He doesn’t think he has ever smiled that much in his life, and all the reasons are so silly that he can barely believe himself sometimes.
A lesson plan he helped Eddy make the other day is forgotten on his table, because his memory is terrible, and he smiles.
A stain on his shirt, because Eddy spilt some wine on him, one night while they were having dinner, the freaking klutz, and he smiles.
A tag on the wall, because Eddy had giggled like a teenager a few weeks ago, saying it kinda looked like a dick, now it’s all Brett can see, and he smiles.
The four cups of bubble tea in his trash can, because Eddy just had to look at him, say - I want bubble tea, now - to have Brett already already ordering, and he smiles.
His rosin that he gets out of his case, because Eddy complained about having to go buy some more, and how could one grown man be so dramatic about having to buy some rosin for fuck’s sake, and he smiles.
There are bits of Eddy spread everywhere around him, wherever he looks and he smiles so damn much he must seem like a loon.
*
“You’re so smitten, it’s almost pathetic,” Phoebe slams two beers in front of Ray and him.
He gets called out, of course he does, his friends aren’t blind, they see the way he behaves, the way he looks, the way he gets soft when Eddy is around, when Eddy is talked about, when the subject of Eddy isn’t even breached, but something somehow made him think of the teacher.
He’s a bit drunk already, because he’s a lightweight and they’ve been at the bar for the past hour, but Ray’s state is worse than his, so at least there’s that.
“You two have known each for, what? More than a year now?” Ray rolls his eyes. “You’ve almost been flirting since day one, what the heck are you waiting for? Written permission?”
“Actually- kinda…”
Tijana just raises her eyebrow, and it’s unfair how sober the girl seems, because Brett’s pretty sure she just downed three shots on top of her beers, and she’s even thinner than him.
“You should make an eyebrow contest with Hyung, Tij,” he snorts. “I don’t know who has the most- is the most judgmental when you do that- that eyebrow thing.”
“You’re waiting for written permission?” Ray slaps the table before she gets the time to answer, because he’s unable to let go of anything, especially when it concerns his friends’ love lives, and it would be a bit concerning if Ray wasn’t so sweet, behind all the annoying.
“Not- not like that, exactly but- I just feel he’s not ready, I’m waiting for a sign or something.”
He learned through the time spent together, speaking with Sophie and Alex and those people surrounding Eddy, he learned about his neighbor’s previous relationship. This girl. How it lasted years - long enough that everybody thought they would get married - How it ended. How it left the teacher a little bit damaged, a little bit untrusting.
So he waits.
He wants to kiss him, all the time, now that he knows he loves him, wants to run his finger through his hair, to steal some of the shine from his lip, to feel his body heat - and damn it’s crazy how much he came to care for that childish man that somehow became one of the best things that ever happened to him.
But he waits - he waits and hopes at one point, the other will be ready for it, for them, because he can see, can read in the light touches, in the glances, in the unique softness in Eddy’s voice, that he’s special too.
He’s not sure - you’re never really sure about those things, some part of you always whispers - you’re projecting, it’s wishful thinking - but then Eddy is laughing, eyes sparking at something Brett said, even when it wasn’t that funny, he looks at him like he’s the world, and hope is surging again.
So they play together, they play for each other, they look and they talk and they share, but Brett’s waiting, and at this point he doesn’t even really know what he’s waiting for.
“Look mate, I understand you want to be considerate and all, that’s all to your honor, but the guy is the epitome of shy. What do you expect him to do? Barge into your apartment and kiss you all of a sudden?”
That- sounded weirdly appealing.
“Hey, Brett! Stop daydreaming, it won’t happen. I mean, it took him actual months to start talking to us normally, you need to take some initiative here. Be the one doing the barging inside the apartment and kissing stuff!”
“That’ll just totally freak him out.”
“I’m with Brett on that.”
“Phoebe!”
“No, Ray, don’t give me the betrayed look. He will freak out. You need a more subtle approach, Brett. Don’t worry, we have this whole plan we talked about with Hyung-”
“If you have that much free time to talk about my love life, you should practice more,” he grumbles, but keeps being wholefully ignored.
“I thought about writing you a small script, but you wouldn’t bother learning it, so I decided not to-”
“You are worse than my mom when she tries to set me up, all of you.”
“I’m pretty sure we aren’t the only ones,” Tijana smiles.
*
They aren’t.
It feels like a big conspiracy the whole world is into sometimes.
The old lady from the first floor giggles with the mother of three when he comes back from rehearsal, and they suddenly go silent as soon as they see him, giving him the biggest grin and innocently asking about the other violinist neighbor.
Whenever they bump into each other at the small shop down the street, the cashier keeps giving them compliments on how cute a couple they are, and they gave up on correcting him at this point.
Since Eddy shows up pretty much every weekend at his performances, the whole orchestra knows him by name, and he’s been subtly pushed into the man so many times by now, the teacher must think Brett has a balance disorder of some sort.
There is also this one memorable time Eddy’s students locked them up in the classroom one Monday when he paid him a visit at work.
It feels like, as he falls more and more in love with Eddy, people get more and more involved in their relationship.
*
They’re playing Smash Bros together, at Brett’s apartment, because his TV is bigger, even though the game is Eddy’s.
The teacher had sent him a Snapchat with the picture of a Switch in a store, a few weeks ago, with the caption ‘A new way to decide who plays first violin?’ and Brett had called him instantly, said - Hell yeah - and hung up.
They’ve been spending way too much time on this since then, but it’s all worth it when Eddy wins and jumps around excitedly, bunny teeth distracting and hair flopping around while he screams in joy.
“Dinner’s on you tonight,” he sings songs.
“Dude! It’s been three nights in a row, that’s not fair.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be better and actually beat me for once.”
“The Switch is at your place most of the time! You’ve got more time to practice Smash Bros than I do.”
“Nah, nah, nah. Excuses, excuses, Brett. I’m just bette-”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, a pillow is hitting him in the face.
“Oh, so this is how you chose to respond? With violence?” Eddy is laughing, picking up the offending object and throwing it back.
“You’re as much of a child as I am, if not worse,” Brett is aiming at his legs now.
“Yeah, well this child is still better than you-”
The pillow hits him in the head again, and before any of them can comprehend it, they are in a full blown war.
How is he even supposed to be twenty eight? Brett thinks while Eddy is shrieking as his fingers dig in between the teacher’s ribs. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be twenty nine himself, so he just shrugs it off and continues his assault.
The pillows get forgotten at one point, probably when Brett started the tickling, and Eddy is thrashing around in his grip, screeching, and the neighbors are probably all having the wrong idea. Until the taller man manages to overcome his ticklishness enough to grab his wrists and pin them behind his back.
“God, would you stop it now?” his neighbor wheezes, tears in his eyes, and choking on laughter.
They are both standing in the middle of the living room, the only light coming from the TV screen, still displaying Eddy’s character dancing in victory. Brett is pressed all against the teacher’s front, face in his shoulder, he’s laughing too but all he can really focus on is how much stronger the other is, how easy it was for him to pin his wrists like this, how large his hands are. He can’t escape the grip and there is a shortness in his breath that is not due to exertion, a heat building up, low in his belly, and he wants to stay here forever.
The other man doesn’t seem to mind. Their hilarity has died down by now, but they stay like this. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddy’s chest, he can smell the skin of his neck, he’s aware of the pressure of the fingers on his wrist.
“If I let you go now, how can I be sure you won’t tickle me again?”
His neighbor probably tried for one of his usual whiny tones, but his voice comes lower, throaty, rumbling unexpectedly and Brett can feel it vibrate against his own ribcage, reverberating in him and he wants to keep this sound prisoner there.
“I suppose you can’t,” he answers because that seems like the best way to stay trapped there.
But then Eddy lets go of his wrists anyway, arms coming up around his shoulder, sags a bit against him.
“This feels nice, you’re a good hugger,” his friend mumbles in his hair.
The heat dies down, only leaving comforting warmth, because now, everything is soft.
“Thanks, I suppose.”
His own hands find their way to the other’s back, reciprocating the embrace.
“Can we- huh. Can we stay like this? Just a bit longer? I- I kinda miss human contact,” Eddy stutters, and Brett has half a mind to tease, but he can see, can feel the red climbing up his neck, burning his face.
“Yeah, sure,” his answer is so soft he doesn’t recognize his voice.
So they stay like this, and it’s been- it's been a long time since Brett hugged someone like that, full bodied, just for the sake of human contact, just to share warmth and support. So he closes his eyes and enjoys every second of it.
*
That night, he lays down in his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, and he gapes at what an idiot he is.
Was that it? The hug? Was that the sign? Did he miss it? Should he have kissed him?
Oh God, he should have, shouldn’t he? And now he didn’t and Eddy’s probably thinking he doesn’t like him that way and freaking out in his own bed and-
He’s so stupid. He should have kissed him.
*
They don’t have the time to get weird about it.
“Dude!”
Brett barges in Eddy’s place unannounced, violin case still at his back, coming straight from rehearsal. He has to take a minute to breath because he ran all the way to the fifth floor, and he’s everything but an athlete. Eddy is staring at him owlishly, blinking behind his glasses, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in another. He looks strangely… grown up compared to the sillier version of this man he’s used to seeing.
“You won’t believe it!” he continues, because now is not the time to ogle him. “Hilary Hahn! Hilary Hahn is going to play with us!! She’s our soloist for our next concert!”
“No way! Dude, no way!”
Brett nods with all the enthusiasm in his body and Eddy’s mouth is hanging open, eyes round in wonder. Then he starts getting up, agitating his hands in every direction, and the illusion of a grown man is shattered, only leaving child Eddy behind.
“Oh my God! Fuck! That’s- Oh fuck! D’you think I can come backstage after and meet her? Oh that would be so, so cool!”
*
They meet Hilary Hahn, she signs both of their violin cases, this day stays in Brett’s memory as one of the best of his life, and they’re both so happy he doesn’t have the time to overthink not kissing Eddy.
*
Good thing, he has friends for that.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t kiss Eddy.”
“Ray! Keep your voice down, he’s on the other side of the room, he can hear you!” Brett whispers furiously.
They’re all hanging out on a Tuesday in the orchestra practice room again, under the pretense of doing music, Eddy is talking with Tijana as she shows him how to pedal the harp, and he looks focused enough he probably didn’t register Ray’s words.
“You know,” Hyung starts softly. “This was really fun at first, but after one year of pining this is starting to piss me off a little.”
The cellist takes a huge inspiration and speaks loudly enough his voice travels to the other side of the room, above the chatter of Sophie and Alex and the plucking of strings.
“Eddy.”
“Yeah?” the violinist turns toward the three of them.
“Would you mind terribly if Brett kissed you?”
Ray is choking on his own saliva, Phoebe is giving Hyung a disapproving shake of the head, Sophie’s hands smash the piano keys and Brett is dying from the inside.
Eddy’s face is so red he might as well be a bassoon player, from the back of his neck to the tip of his ears, and he opens and closes his mouth a number of times before managing to get sounds out. His eyes dart to Brett’s and he licks his lips, swallowing.
“I- huh- what? I mean- I- this is- I suppose I don’t- don’t terribly mind, no.”
“Okay thank you, that was all,“ he turns to Brett. “There. You have it, your sign.”
*
“Remember when I told you about my colleagues teasing me about you? Yours are worse.’
Brett laughs, charmed despite himself by Eddy’s embarrassment. They’re back in their building, and everybody had nodded to them as they climbed the stairs together. He never remembered this place being so friendly before the teacher came.
“I know, sorry about Hyung, he just- I don’t know what took over him,” he glances up and finds Eddy already staring at him.
The other avoids his eyes and Brett snorts.
“Why don’t you look at me, am I not someone cute?”
“Oh God! Will you ever shut up with that? That was forever ago!”
Eddy opens his door and they both get inside, starting to get rid of shoes and scarves.
“I take back what I said when I helped you unpack last year though,” Brett keeps going, because Eddy is annoying enough most of the time, it’s always great to get back at him a bit. And his neighbor’s blushing face is worth everything. “You definitely weren’t hitting on me, you’re way too awkward to flirt.”
Eddy frowns and Brett can tell he’s honestly triggered. He’s about to joke and defuse it, but then something shifts. This confident skin the professor wears, now and then, envelops him, draps around his shoulder, and he doesn’t need the suit, the tamed hair and the professor title. It’s coming from within him, and he seems taller, broader, something in his eyes is different.
He steps forward, invading Brett’s space, the man’s hands flirt around his shoulder before settling at the lapel of his coat, removing it slowly. He’s way too close for what he’s doing, but Brett’s not about to complain.
“You’ll have to excuse me about that,” he rasps, and even his voice is deeper, softer, somehow, coming from a low place in his chest. “I get nervous around you sometimes, I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing and you’ll leave, which would be a shame, because I have never been more happy than since I met you.”
The coat is off now, and instead of going behind him to hang it, he just extends his arms, bend closer and closer until personal space is not even a concept, trapping him between his body and the hanger on the wall. The coat is hung, but he doesn’t back off.
Brett knows, he knows what the little shit is doing. He’s trying to prove to him he can be a flirt, in such an… such an Eddy way. Confident, vulnerable and a bit ridiculous. The same way he plays, opening his chest to reveal all the beauty and weirdness inside of him, giving to the spectator the possibility of destroying it, smashing everything precious. So he rolls his eyes and puts his hand on the other’s shirt, not knowing if he’ll push him away for some breathing room, or pull him in so he can drown in everything that is Eddy.
The other’s fingers come up to cradle it.
“I really, really like your hands,” he smiles, teeth out and lips shiny, his character is breaking a little already.
“Yeah. They’re small though, you’re lucky you have big hands, some chordes just make my fingers suffer.”
“Hey, think of the tiny hands as allowing you to be closer to the music.”
“That was- Eddy that was terrible,” he bursts out laughing, and the teacher follows him in it, the shift is over and it’s just regular, shy Eddy in front of him, the one he fell in love with.
“I know, that’s all I could find on the spot. This is hard, hey.”
“You did okay,” Brett smiles, “I’ve known worse flirts than that.”
“I’m flattered that you’ve seen worse.”
“You’re so easily triggered,” he snorts. Eddy’s hands are still cradling his own, he’s still so close and Brett very much wants to kiss him now.
But he stares at his neighbor’s eyes, the sparkle in them, at the easy banter they have, at the thing in between them, this sweetness that never left, at his bunny teeth, his messy hair, his acne scars, and he’s afraid, suddenly, of ruining everything. Of getting up on his toes, grabbing his face, kissing him, and ruining everything, this now year long friendship they’ve built on bad flirting, violin playing, bubble tea ordering and late night dinners.
“Do you want to have dinner here or just go back to your place?” Eddy finally asks after the silence went on for too long, freeing his hand.
Brett thinks- he thinks he needs something, one last sign, one last assurance he won’t screw this up.
“Actually… We haven’t played much today, with the others, maybe we could play a bit, at least one piece? To end the day?”
“Yeah sure! I would love that. What do you have in mind?”
Eddy is already opening his case, adjusting the music stand and he seems so happy to just- to just play with Brett. Nobody has ever been that happy to play with him, in a crappy apartment, in a grey building with meddling neighbors and bad isolation.
His chest is constricting around this love he has been carrying around, he doesn’t recognize any distinctive melody now, everything together; passion, softness, tranquility, trust, grandiose; every part of his love is begging for attention.
“Navarra?” the words escape his mouth on their own.
“Dude, I love playing Navarra.”
“I know, me too.”
They get their violin out, they share a look, breath in sync and lower their bows.
They play, smile at each other and Brett realizes he doesn’t need a sign, they’ll be okay, they won’t screw this up, they’re good for each other.
They climb, and climb, and climb, the notes on his violin, and they dance around them, birds chirping. They are in the middle of winter, but it is spring in this apartment. The night fell already, but they are creating puddles of sunlight warming each other’s skin. They’re swaying to their own music, eyes closed, devoted to the sound, gravitating toward each other, answering to the highs and lows of the music. His finger vibrates on the string, and his whole being vibrates with the joy pulsing inside of him. His chest expands, expands and expands, until he feels big enough to have it, to have more, to take everything, to give everything. There’s a shiver in his spine, he opens his eyes.
There’s so much gentleness meeting him in the other’s gaze, so much love, he doesn't know how he doubted.
It gets faster and faster and faster, higher and they smile, they laugh.
The piece is over.
And from everywhere in their building, clapping.
The old lady from the first floor, the mother of three, the drunk next door, the young couple, everybody is cheering and clapping, and they can only share a bewildered look.
“For what it’s worth,” Brett says, high on love. “I really like your hands, and I’ve never been more happy than since I met you too.”
He never gets to kiss Eddy.
Because Eddy kisses him.
And everything about it is so Eddy-like his heart wants to burst. It’s soft lips firmly pressed against his own, but there’s a trembling in it, a fear that never really goes away, except when Brett kisses back, hands going through his hair, pulling a bit at the strands. The vulnerability is still there, then, but it manifests itself in a different way. It’s in how the other surges forward to meet him, how his mouth gets hungry, how his hands can’t stop roaming, how there’s a tear going down the teacher’s cheek, and Brett pretends to ignore it, because it all shows Eddy cares so much, too much. He opens his chest again, by pressing their lips against each other, and there’s nothing but love.
Suddenly, Brett wonders if his own chest will ever be large enough to take it all.
*
“I can’t believe you were so slow to kiss Eddy, that Eddy had to kiss you! I’m-shy-when-there’s-more-than-two-people-in-the-room Eddy!”
“Shut up, Ray,” Brett rolls his eyes.
“I feel like I should be offended, but he’s right though, it really took forever,” Eddy says, readjusting the violin under his chin.
“Shut up you too, you also could have made a move before.”
“Nah. I think things are perfect just the way they happened,” Eddy smiles.
The man is insanely cute, even when he shouldn’t be, with his wiry glasses, bunny teeth showing, messy hair and acne scars. But it somehow works for him. Maybe it’s the sparkles in his slanted eyes, maybe it’s the broad shoulders, maybe it’s that he's tall enough that Brett barely reaches his nose, maybe it’s the way his lower lip juts out, shiny and bitten. Whatever it is, it’s working.
“You’re such a sap. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”
“C’mon, you love me.”
“Yeah, he does,” all of their friends answer together.