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After teaching a lesson, Brett always chooses to walk home instead of taking the bus.
There are a lot of reasons he likes walking.
He likes prolonging his time away from home, away from his mother’s constant nagging.
He likes the fresh air, he likes thinking about how so many composers before him also liked taking long walks in nature. It makes him feel like he's doing something right.
But mostly, he just likes the view.
The view of course, being Eddy Chen, star basketball player from their local college.
And he knows this crush of his is childish, but college is hard, okay? It’s constant group projects where he compensates for everyone, unpaid internship positions during the day, masterclass violin lessons at night, beginner violin classes he teaches for extra money in the afternoon, and in-between it all: practice, practice, practice.
For the most part, Brett handles it all really well. He’s always been complimented on his work ethic, his diligence, how much he's able to handle.
But Brett has some secrets.
For one, despite all his hard work, he’s going to pursue music, even if his parents think he’s going to become an architect.
Second, he really likes checking Eddy out. Even though he really shouldn’t.
Through the power of social media and mindless gossip, he’s been able to learn a bit about Eddy.
He was the best basketball player in their whole school, had the highest grades, been offered multiple sponsorships, and was even invited by teams abroad to go play for them.
Eddy was the it boy. Smart, fit, and handsome, with an adorably crooked smile and an endless supply of admirers. He has everything going for him.
So Brett likes Eddy. He likes Eddy because nothing is going to happen. It’s safe and easy, watching him from afar. He'll let his brain run wild of fantasies about Eddy, where he can borrow his jersey, where Eddy's arm snakes around his waist, where they’re tucked in his bed, talking quietly in an intimate place alone…
It’s safe. No confrontation. No interaction.
Eddy is distant, beautiful, and untouchable, just the way he likes it.
Perfect.
At least, that’s what Brett wants to think.
But life has a funny way of bringing things together. In this case, Brett, always lousy with his spatial awareness, is hit smack on the head, hard, rubber ball right to his face. It knocks his light body to the ground, where the side of his cheek hits the cold concrete.
The hit was intentional.
They’ve noticed Brett for a while.
He’s not exactly subtle. He’s just so clearly checking you out. The guys laughed, lightly teasing Eddy about how his little fangirl would come by visiting. It’s like he’s undressing you with his eyes, mate. Snickering whenever Brett walked by.
Fuck off. You’re just jealous because the cheerleaders ranked you last for best looking, Eddy shot back, the other boys yelling oooooh as they resumed their roughhousing and playing once more.
Usually Eddy loves cheeky banter, but this in particular had been annoying him for a while. So the next time he saw Brett, before his teammates could start making jokes again, he bounced the ball as hard as possible, aiming square for Brett’s jaw, knocking him down completely.
Bad move, of course. The guilt immediately spreads over his face when he sees Brett knocked down to the floor.
When he and his teammates go over to look at the damage, Eddy’s eyes widen when he sees what he’s done: cracked glasses and dried blood on the pavement.
“Dude…” one of his teammates says, scandalous, once they realize who it is. Eddy sends them a glowering look before they can say anything else.
One of the first things you learn when you start playing basketball: Hurt is inevitable.
It’s one of the first things they tell parents when they sign their kid up for the sport. Sprained ankles, jammed fingers, bruised knees, and fractured feet are all common injuries, and should be expected.
Of course, Eddy’s parents weren’t told this, because they didn’t sign Eddy up for basketball.
His Mom was disapproving of any sports, preferring that her children be academically smart instead. Sports is just play. She would frown. You need to grow up. Join the real world and contribute to society.
She was quickly shut up when she learned how much money could be made from basketball. So she drove Eddy to practice every morning, woke him up early for runs, and cooked him well balanced meals to ensure he grew big, healthy, and strong.
How he got into the sport was an accident. He was one of the tallest kids in their grade at the time, and it was a good way to get out of the house. Simple as that. Basketball was a good stress reliever whenever he got into an argument with his Mom, when his studies seemed too overwhelming, or if he was just being a generally angsty teenager.
When he got selected for their high school team and started to play competitively with college recruiters watching, that’s when it started to get real. Schools started sending offers to Eddy, inviting him to play overseas. After enough negotiations, they decided that Eddy would stay at the local university in Brisbane, on a basketball scholarship, fully paid, majoring in Medicine.
Needless to say, it’s easy to point out who the favorite child is.
But still, even at his grown age, Eddy thinks about what his first coach in middle school told him: Hurt is inevitable. The sooner you understand it, the easier life will be.
So yes, hurt is inevitable. Hurt comes at you like a sharp elbow to the head, hurling you towards the ground when all you were trying to do was make a pass. Hurt comes at you like your mother only seeing you for what you could be, instead of what you actually are. Hurt comes at you like your estranged childhood best friend walking past you every day, subtly reminding you that you’re the one that hurt him, and he’s the one that has to live with it.
“Eddy?”
His head shoots up, “Yes?”
“Are you Eddy Chen?”
“That’s me,” Eddy says, gesturing from his seat in the waiting room.
He’s been observing the hospital setting since he got here. Is this his future? Eggshell paint and harsh white lighting? The receptionists are giggling about something, but this whole hospital is painfully bare—pale, sterile, lifeless.
“And your relation to Brett is… partner, is that correct?”
“Huh?” Eddy says, eyes wide, “No, we’re like, uh, old friends.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” the doctor says. “That’s what he put down,” he says looking through his paperwork on the clipboard, putting in a little note.
“Well, thankfully, Brett is going to be fine. There only seems to be external damage. The scans say his brain hasn’t been affected, it’s just a typical bruise. Besides ice and the over the counter medicine I prescribed, I would just recommend keeping it easy for a couple of days.”
“So where is he right now?”
“He’s signing some paperwork with the nurse. He should be—”
“Finally.” A loud, exasperated sigh, which makes both the doctor and Eddy turn their heads. It’s Brett accompanied by a nurse, looking annoyed.
He immediately goes over to Eddy, and hooks his arm around his, sighing dramatically as he leans on his shoulder. “Eddy, these people are horrible. All I ask is to see my boyfriend, and—”
“Boyfriend?” Eddy says, the doctor looking at him accusingly. Eddy meets his accusing look with his own look of confusion. “Brett, we’re not—”
“I just want to go home already,” Brett whines. Home? “They keep asking me weird questions about an accident, but I don’t remember anything. I just want to be with you,” he says, which makes Eddy turn crimson.
“Is this a joke?” Eddy asks, horrified.
Brett blinks, looking confused.
“No?”
He turns to the doctor, gesturing at Brett.
“Are you sure you don’t want to run another test?” Eddy asks. “Clearly there must be some type of memory loss or damage, because we haven’t dated in years.”
“What?” Brett says, but he goes ignored, as the doctor furrowed his brows at the two.
“Again, his scans reported he was fine. In the tests he answered everything correctly—his name, his address, the year he was born, so there is no significant damage,” the doctor says, trifling through the papers. “I’m sure if he just rests, maybe gets some sleep, he’ll probably wake up and remember everything. Now, boys, there are other patients I need to attend to—”
“That’s it?” Eddy says, appalled by what he is hearing. “Just sleep?”
“Look, if the problem persists, you can schedule another appointment with our receptionist, okay?” the doctor says, not even giving a formal goodbye, as he walks down the hall, and into another room.
“Unbelievable,” Eddy says. He turns to Brett, who still looks lost and confused.
“We’re not dating?” Brett asks, his voice is so small and in disbelief. He’s still holding on to him.
“It’s…” Eddy looks Brett up and down, this weight against him is familiar. He hasn’t seen him up close in a while. He still smells the same. He can’t tell if he loves or hates the fact that he hasn’t changed at all. “Complicated.”
Brett has never looked so helpless before. Out of the two of them, he’s always been the more steadfast and competent one.
Eddy shrugs him off. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.”
The car ride is quiet.
“So where should I drop you off? Do you still live with your parents, or do you dorm, or…?”
“Eddy, what do you mean? I live with you,” Brett says, which makes Eddy grumble. He’s going to be patient though. Right, right. Brett’s under the effects of a concussion. That’s why he’s acting weird.
“Okay, so I’ll just drop you off at your parents place?” Eddy asks.
“Are you being serious?” Brett asks. “Are we fighting or something? Eddy, I want to stay with you. I can’t believe I even have to ask. I’m always with you,” Brett says, looking away.
When he sees Eddy turn towards a familiar street, he realizes that Eddy isn’t joking and grabs him.
“Eddy, I don’t want my parents to see me like this, please,” Brett says, with a surprising amount of desperation he’s never heard before. “Isn’t this the least you can do for me? You’re the one who did this after all, right?”
It’s the first thing Brett’s said that shows recollection of an actual, real event that’s happened. So at least he knows Brett hasn’t entirely lost it.
Eddy sighs, looking at Brett’s eyes. There’s always a place in his heart that goes soft for him.
“Okay, you can stay the night. It’s probably for the better anyways, so we can check your memory and see if we need to make an appointment tomorrow.”
He makes another turn, on the route back to his apartment, and he feels better when he sees Brett relax his shoulders.
Brett still looks annoyed by the memory comments, but he chooses not to say anything, looking out the window instead. Eddy really ought to be nicer anyways, Brett’s been through a lot today.
Eddy almost wants to run his fingers through his hair. He knows it comforts him. He knows Brett will lean into his hand if he were to reach out.
“Sorry for the mess,” Eddy says, flicking the lights on.
“Dude, what happened to this place?” Brett asks. He looks confused, looking at Eddy’s living conditions.
The apartment is somehow both empty and messy, it’s almost impressive. Ripped envelopes and scattered letters, jerseys strewn on the kitchen table, which Brett can only assume Eddy doesn’t eat at. Three mugs on the coffee table, with three different liquids…?
“I got this off a stipend from the uni as part of my scholarship,” Eddy explains, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
“I don’t recognize this place at all,” Brett says.
“I don’t expect you to.” Eddy huffs lightly. “It’s not like you’ve ever been, and I rarely invite people over,” he says, getting the three mugs and placing them in the sink, a feeble attempt at trying to make the house look semi-presentable. Though what’s the point? Not like Brett hasn’t seen him at his worst or anything.
Brett’s looking at the interior confused. Eddy’s walls and shelves are bare.
“Where did our pictures go?” From what he remembers, the walls, their fridge, should be littered with pictures of them, out with friends and on dates with each other.
“Brett, what are you going on about?”
“Our stuff. Our things are gone.” Brett looks around, staring at this devoid, lifeless bachelors pad, confused. All of his things are missing, looking at the dining table once more, he widens his eyes. “Holy shit, where’s my architectural project? It’s supposed to be here.”
“You’re taking architecture?” Eddy asks, pleasantly surprised to hear about Brett’s life, even if it’s a tiny detail. He’s always been curious about Brett ever since their breakup. Brett has no social media, his friends are a closed circle, and he’s highly private about his life—once you’re out of the loop, he won’t let you back in.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” Brett says. “It was so stupid. I asked you to get me popsicle sticks for my project, and instead you just bought popsicles. You would lick my chin whenever the popsicle melted, and we just ended up making out.” Brett giggles. Just recalling it and Brett already looks so much happier.
“Really?” Is all Eddy can say, enjoying the scene more than he’d like to admit. Something sweet on something even sweeter. Brett’s always been the more creative out of the two of them, Eddy’s impressed by how vivid his imagination is.
“Yeah, you don’t remember?” Brett asks, his eyes look hopeful. “Where are you hiding the project anyways? I need to submit it tomorrow.” Brett says, looking around. Eddy grabs his shoulder.
“Nuh uh, don’t even think you’re going to school tomorrow. You’re going to bed. It’s been a long day for you,” he says. “And the doctor says you need to rest.”
He wanders to his bedroom, digging through his cabinets. When he comes out with a spare blanket and a pillow, Brett’s face falls.
“You can sleep in my room, I’ll take the couch,” Eddy says.
“We’re not sleeping together?”
“No, Brett.” Eddy sighs.
“Why are you being so cold to me? Are you mad at me?” Brett finally asks, with a small voice. “Because whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Eddy assures.
“Then why are you mad?” Brett asks. “Did something happen at work? At school? I mean, you’re acting so distant and weird. I don’t understand—“
“Brett,” Eddy says. Just saying his name feels like a challenge. “What do you think we are right now?”
“You’re my boyfriend,” Brett says, matter of fact. With his confidence, Eddy almost believes him.
“Do you think we’re still in high school or something…?”
“No,” Brett says, shaking his head, looking at Eddy like he’s the stupid one. “We graduated, remember? You’re on a basketball scholarship even if you hate it, and I’m an architecture student. You let me wear your jersey around the house, and we go on midnight dates to get boba or snacks when you’re feeling down. We do each other’s homework when the other doesn’t feel like it, and I always rub any pain or injury you might feel from games afterwards.”
What alternate universe are you from? Eddy wants to ask. Secretly, the life he’s describing sounds so euphoric.
“So… you don’t…?” Eddy says slowly.
“Don’t what?”
“Brett, we broke up in senior year,” he says. “First day, don’t you remember?”
“No.” Brett says, in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”
When Eddy is silent for too long, Brett nears him, nudging him softly.
"Fine.” Brett, says, playing along, "Why did we break up?”
“It’s… complicated, and you’ve had a lot happen to you today,” Eddy says, repeating himself from the hospital earlier. He can't do this. Not now. "Just go to bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”
Brett narrows his eyes, looking dissatisfied with Eddy’s non-answer, but he nods, as he goes to Eddy’s bedroom, closing the door shut. No goodnight or anything.
Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Eddy tries to keep himself busy, pacing around the living room, tidying up.
Only until he hears a soft sob from his room, does Eddy stop. It’s almost like torture, he realizes, what he’s doing to Brett. He’s just told him he’s broken up with him after an injury, then he forces him to sleep in his room, in sheets that smell like him, wearing his clothes as pajamas? God, he’s an idiot.
Plus, the muffled sniffles are getting increasingly louder, even though he can hear Brett try to suppress them, which makes it even worse.
He opens the door to his room, and he sees Brett curled in his bed, clutching at his pillows and blankets—it breaks his heart, even though it shouldn’t.
Eddy can’t help it. He goes over immediately and sits by his side, running his fingers through Brett’s hair. Brett leans in as expected, sighing at the familiar warmth of Eddy’s hand.
It’s not long until Eddy gives in and slips under the sheets, fitting in nicely as he wraps his arms around him, and he can feel Brett shiver at the touch.
“Are we still broken up?” Brett asks. He sounds so worn and tired.
“Yeah,” Eddy says. “It doesn’t mean I still can’t care for you though.”
Brett cries even harder, Eddy holding him close.
Eddy almost jokingly wants to ask if he’s looking for something. Brett is burying himself in Eddy’s chest, desperate, like maybe he can enter and find where it all went wrong.
When Eddy wakes up, it’s to an empty bed and rustling in the kitchen.
“Brett?” he calls out, rubbing his eyes, as he walks out the bedroom. “Woah,” he says, stopping in place.
The dining table, freshly wiped and cleaned, is now decorated with grocery bags of snacks—shrimp chips, pudding, biscuits, and a fresh batch of milk tea and pearls that’s a Yang family recipe. It makes Eddy almost fall over, because he was pretty sure he was never going to be able to taste that ever again.
“Your house is a mess,” Brett says, not even bothering with a good morning, as he finishes washing the dishes, putting it on the dishrack. “I know you’ve always been the messier one out of the two of us, but god, Eddy, this is a new low. And your fridge is empty! Do you even eat? You’re an athlete. Or is that just bachelor life? Hm?”
Bachelor life? Eddy grins. “Oh, so your memory is back?”
“What do you mean? I’ve always had my memory.”
“But you know we’re not dating anymore, right?”
“No,” Brett replies, almost too quick. He looks away. “I mean, I guess you told me, but I still don’t really… believe it.”
“Where are my manners,” Eddy suddenly says, going over to Brett, as he lightly presses his hand against Brett’s forehead. “Did you take your medicine yet? You’ve had water?”
“Stop fussing over me.” Brett frowns, the bruise looking gnarly on his face still. “I just need to know what happened.”
“Okay,” Eddy says, reluctantly. “Where do you want to start?” he says, sitting at the newly cleaned table, Brett joining him.
“Our actual ‘break-up.’” Brett says, break-up in quotations. Like he can't believe it, like this whole thing is definitely some big, unfunny, convoluted joke he's not in on.
Eddy lets out a big sigh, scratching his head. “It was the first day of school. I remember, it was right before try-outs,” Eddy says. “And uh, uh…”
He looks at Brett’s face, and feels his own start to disfigure and scrunch up. He looks away. “Can we talk about it later? After I eat?”
“Are you serious?” Brett says dumbfounded. “You keep insisting that we had a break up, then I ask you about it and you can’t even say anything?”
It looks like he wants to press further, but when Eddy looks at Brett with wet eyes, Brett stops.
“Aw, Eddy.” He scoots over next to him, enveloping him in a hug, smoothing over his hair and the back of his neck.
For a while, they sit like that. The food slowly getting colder, but Brett’s presence staying warm around him, which is all that matters anyways.
When Eddy manages to calm down, he takes a deep breath, and starts talking.
“I dumped you,” Eddy eventually confesses.
“Yeah?”
“And… I didn’t even mean to. That’s the worst part. In high school, and even now—I was so mad all the time, for no reason, just completely irritated. I felt so powerless. Everybody around me kept saying I had potential, but I felt like I was burning out constantly. And I took it out on you.”
“You did?”
Eddy nods guilty.
“I dropped you, with no warning, and I never checked up on you, because I was too scared to show how much I missed you." Eddy frowns, looking frustrated with himself, "I was afraid you wouldn’t miss me, which is stupid, so I just always avoided you, which of course, made it worse, and I missed you, so much, and I thought about you every day, even though I was the one that ended it—”
He’s doing it again, isn’t he? He’s rambling.
“It was so hard to forget you. Nobody was asking me to, but it just felt like something I had to do,” Eddy said. “And then, I started seeing you again, on walks, and it felt taunting. So you passed by, and I couldn’t help it, I had the ball in my hands, and I aimed right for your head.”
Brett can’t help but laugh. “So you’re telling me this wasn’t an accident?”
Eddy looks like he’s about to cry as he lightly touches Brett’s bruise. “I try to get closer to you, and the only way I know how to do it is by hurting you.”
“It takes a lot more than that to hurt me,” Brett assures. “I’m not as weak as you think.”
“Brett, you literally got a concussion.” Eddy snorts.
“You don’t know that,” Brett says. “Maybe you’re the concussed one. The life I remember is much nicer.”
“Oh yeah? What did it look like?” Eddy asks, genuinely curious.
“It’s just like this one, except we’re still dating. You kiss me without looking so scared, and there’s more vegetables in your fridge,” Brett replies, as he ruffles Eddy’s hair, standing up to give him some space. “C‘mon, go eat now.”
They make some agreements and clarifications:
- Brett will live with Eddy until the bruise heals.
- They’re not fighting and everything is forgiven.
- They’re not dating.
They fall into a rhythm much easier than anticipated. Besides groceries and meals with actual substance like vegetables and meat, Brett brings his life into the apartment one by one—medicine, sheet music, violin, architecture major materials—card stock, basswood, and weird foams that Brett constructs on their dining table.
“I don’t really see how this is any better,” Eddy says, gesturing at the newly cluttered kitchen table—no longer Eddy’s jerseys, but a chaotic building in the works.
“No jock sweat,” Brett replies simply, which makes Eddy laugh. Fair point.
“I can’t believe you’re still pursuing music along with this,” Eddy says. “You understand that’s crazy, right?”
“You used to want to be a musician too, remember? That was our dream—become world class violinists.”
“Together?” Eddy says, raising a brow. “Isn’t a violin a solitary instrument?”
“It doesn’t have to be. We could become soloists together, a duo. You used to love classical music, from my world.” He pokes Eddy lightly on the arm.
“I still do listen to classical music, hey,” Eddy says accusingly. It’s funny to hear this from Brett. He hasn’t picked up the violin in a year or two, ever since his basketball career had to be taken seriously.
All this talk about violins and world class soloists—it’s just kids talk, the type of things they’d dream and joke about when they were younger. But seeing Brett and how exacting he was, calculating the costs of architecture school, the profit it would make, the requirements for changing majors, the money he made when teaching students, it all seemed like a very real possibility, one that Eddy wanted to join in on.
“There's definitely an alternate universe where we’re less hesitant and just go straight to music school.” Brett sighs, slumping over Eddy’s shoulder. It feels like a violation of the third rule they’ve made, but Eddy doesn’t fight it, he misses the feeling of him. “But you know, this isn’t half bad.” He sighs.
“Ow,” Brett hisses, lightly touching his head, which Eddy immediately dotes over.
“Is it medicine time?” Eddy asks, which makes Brett groan.
“Whenever you say that, I feel like an old person and you’re my caretaker or something.”
“I mean I basically am, right?” Eddy grins cheekily, as he leads Brett to the kitchen counter, where he sits on top.
It’s easier this way, so Eddy doesn’t have to bend over to tend to the bruise. It’s a lot better now, not as purple, but blooming into an ugly yellow mix that makes Eddy hiss just looking at it.
“Is it really that bad?” Brett asks, as Eddy takes out organized plastic baggies of medicine, carefully sectioned out. He hands Brett tylenol and tea.
“It’s nothing a little tiger balm and ice can’t fix,” Eddy says.
“I’m sorry, and you were supposed to be a doctor?” Brett asks wearily, which makes Eddy laugh as he gently warns, “Don’t move.”
There are specific ointments which were recommended by the doctor, but Eddy figures he has say over it as a med student.
“You wanna know something interesting about basketball injuries?” Eddy says, smearing the ointment graciously. Brett hums.
“A concussion is always caused by colliding with something else, right? But in basketball, the injuries are almost never from the ball itself. Injuries are usually from the thing you hit immediately afterwards—like the floor or a player.”
"That's interesting." Brett says, lightly hissing at the pain of the bruise. “So even if something hurts someone, it’s what they hit afterwards that impacts how bad the injury is?”
“Right, the initial hit sets up the trajectory of hurt, but the damaging part is always the afterwards—what they hit, where they find themselves landing, and whether or not they brace for the fall.”
“I guess what’s nice is that when you get hurt—bones grow back twice as strong, right?” Brett says, which makes Eddy laugh and sigh.
Technically, no. But of course, Brett’s always the optimistic one, the one who always reminds Eddy that even if bad things happen, good things can still come afterwards.
Brett’s sitting on the countertop, as Eddy leans over and buries his head into the crook of Brett’s neck, holding onto the smaller man.
“What’s this all about?“ He chuckles, running his fingers through Eddy’s hair, nice and soft.
“I just missed you. A lot,” Eddy says plainly.
“I’m right here.” Brett grins, welcoming Eddy lovingly into his arms. Look, you hit me in the face, yet I’m still the one comforting you. Brett wants to laugh. Imagine if your teammates saw you like this. Big, popular, Eddy, wrapped around the fingers of little Brett Yang, unsuspecting violinist. He grins.
After a couple moments of shared silence he says, “Do you want to know something about us from what I remember?”
Eddy hums, enjoying being held by Brett.
“We’re not perfect there either,” Brett says. “We still have problems, and we have fears, selfish ones. Sometimes, we worry more about what people might think of us instead of what they actually think of us. It just happens. We all lose focus sometimes, and that’s okay. I would’ve thought you, of all people, would know that.”
“So you don’t like me, this version of me?" Eddy asks. "You prefer the one from your world.”
“It’s the same.” Brett shrugs. “Still flawed, still working on stuff, still lovable despite all that. If anything, lovable because of that.”
Eddy’s stomach drops just hearing that.
It’s kind of an impulsive move, but Eddy can’t help it. After all, rules were meant to be broken right?
He looks up, and gently pulls Brett by the loose t-shirt collar, bringing Brett’s lips to his. If hurt is dependent on where someone lands, Eddy wants to be a place Brett can fall on where he’s always safe afterwards.
Brett melts into the kiss, and all of this feels too good to be true. Why has Eddy been denying himself this for so long?
This kiss is long overdue, compulsive and clumsy, with tongue and want. Brett is sweet on his lips, and he can’t tell who is leaning more on who—both are holding on to each other tightly, desperately wanting to become one.
When they pull apart to catch a breath, Eddy laughs, "I think I broke the third rule."
"Eddy Chen," Brett frowns, full name meaning he's in trouble. "If you don't take me to the bedroom right now—" he begins, but Brett doesn't need to finish his empty threat, as Eddy laughs once more. He scoops him off the counter, and brings him to his soft bed, making up for years of lost time.
Brett’s always been the early riser out of the two, but lately, whenever Eddy wakes up, Brett is still asleep, curled around Eddy, holding onto his arm, like he’s stopping him from going somewhere. Even if Eddy is positive he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here.
With Brett being asleep, Eddy shifts into bed, and examines Brett carefully, lightly tapping at the bruise which was almost gone, albeit some light discoloration that would probably be away soon.
Since it’s just him, he lightly kisses the mark, wondering if it will help make it better, as he entangles his fingers with Brett’s and pulls him towards him, going back to sleep.
“Eddy?”
“Hmmm, morning?” Eddy asks, lazily snaking his arm around Brett's waist, only to be met with a harsh pull back.
Brett scrambles up in bed, pulling the blanket up even if he’s wearing clothes—Eddy’s clothes, but, could be worse.
“What am I doing here? Have I been kidnapped? Is this a dream?” Brett asks frantically, poking Eddy and freaking out when he’s real and not a figment of his imagination, “Oh my god, did we—? Did I—? God, did I lose a bet or something? Did I get too drunk and called my high school ex? Because that’s so embarrassing oh my god—“ Brett says, panicking.
“Hey, hey,” Eddy says, grabbing onto him.
“Why am I here?” Brett asks. Eddy widens his eyes when he realizes something. The yellowed discoloration has completely disappeared. There’s no bruise at all.
“All of this will make sense soon,” Eddy promises. “But first I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Why did you always walk by?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brett says, and Eddy realizes something.
In this universe, he’s just like him. He’s just as scared. He’s just as unwilling.
But Eddy knows—there’s a part of Brett, that's strong, brave, optimistic, and he can find him if he just does this correctly. If he’s as patient with Brett as Brett has been with him all these years.
“Don’t play dumb, Brett,” Eddy says. “You’re not very subtle. Every day, when the sun is setting and we’re on our last game, you always walk by. It’s quite distracting.”
“It’s just my walk home from my student. He lives close by,” Brett says looking away. “You think I like walking and seeing you too?”
He pushes a little further. “I want to think so,” Eddy admits, quietly. “I know, it probably hurts you, but I really liked seeing you,” Eddy says.
“You’re always gawking at me like I’m a piece of meat,” Eddy jokes, which makes Brett red from the imagery.
“Eddy,” Brett hisses, scandalous, like someone might hear them.
“I really missed you,” Eddy confessed.
Brett still won’t look him in the eyes, but lets out a sigh as he says, “I missed you too. But now you have to explain what I’m doing in your bed!”
“Okay! Okay…” Eddy says, as he recounts all the crazy events that have happened that past couple of weeks. The basketball hit, the concussion, the hospital, the bruise. You kept saying things were different in your world. My world? Yeah, Eddy says, as he proceeds to describe everything Brett had told him, his hopes and dreams, and what life could really be like if they weren’t so afraid.
“You don’t remember any of this?” Eddy clarifies.
“No.” Brett shakes his head. “But you’re a bad liar, and I don’t think you have it in you to make this up,” Brett said.
“It’s weird, bro,” Eddy says. “But yeah… so…. anyways, I was helping you with medicine, put it right here.” He lightly traces the outline of Brett’s initial gash. “One thing kind of led to another and ah… I guess now you’re here,” he says, patting the bed, finding it severely satisfying at how much Brett is blushing.
“I see,” Brett says. “So… I’ve been staying here for a whole week?”
Eddy nods. “Yep, all your things are here now, it’s like we’re living together—all your architectural stuff, violin, sheet music, everything.”
“And… you’ve been taking care of me, this whole time?” Brett asks, his voice sounds hopeful.
“I mean, it’s the very least I could do, after everything,” Eddy says, quietly.
“And you liked having me around?”
“Of course. I mean, it was awkward at first, and I initially was really resistant to you, but… yeah, we became familiar really quick.”
Brett hums, brows furrowed in focus. “I mean, this is a lot to take in, Eddy.”
“I know! I know, it’s crazy, it doesn’t even feel real, and obviously there’s so much we still need to talk about and discuss, and… I totally get if you don’t want to—“
“Want to what?”
“Want to… get back together with me.”
He feels shy and nervous, like they’re grade school kids in PE and Eddy accidentally brushes his hands against Brett’s. The ball’s in Brett’s court now, but hey, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?
“I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past, but I was young and if we could just…” Eddy begins, but is cut off by Brett, who throws his head back in laughter. He caresses Eddy by the cheek lightly, rubbing his thumb over.
“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” Brett asks, and Eddy can feel the blood rush to his cheeks, making his face a bright pink. What’s daring about it is that Eddy knows Brett can feel the heat.
“Really?” Brett pulls Eddy’s hands towards him, rough and big in contrast to Brett’s from all the practice he’s done from his games. He runs his thumb over the callouses.
“I mean you’re right. There’s still a lot we have to re-discuss, because who knows what Concussed Me agreed to, but… I did miss you. That part never changed. And I want you back in my life, if you’ll let me in.”
“Hey, I should be asking you that.” Eddy can’t help but laugh softly. “After all, I’m the one that pulled away.”
“Yeah.” Brett says, “But you came back too. And I’ll always have a space for you,” he says quietly.
Brett’s hand is still cupping Eddy’s cheek, and Eddy thinks it's criminal that they haven’t kissed yet.
So he leans more into Brett’s hands, and leans over to Brett’s lips, kissing him, their kiss soft and slow. Of course I’ll let you into my life. He grabs Brett by the ears, pressing deeper, enjoying the soft whine Brett lets out. You don’t even have to ask.
Pain is inevitable. Eddy knows that.
But what they don’t tell you is that goodness is inevitable too.
Eddy had always assumed growing up, that goodness, success, and happiness are things of constant scarcity. Something he would always have to fight for and preserve and protect and worry about constantly.
But being next to Brett, Eddy realizes that goodness is inevitable too. Goodness shines through abundantly every morning, like sunlight streaming through a window, its light bouncing off all reflective angles, always finding its way back to him.
It’s abundant like Brett’s relentless work ethic, abundant like the tall skyscrapers he builds and the long concertos he performs.
Goodness is abundant—infinite, everlasting. Just like Brett’s love for him, which he expresses, big and small, like when he cheekily winks at Eddy across a busy room, or when he cheers the loudest at every one of Eddy’s games, and when he whispers an endless string of praises after he wins.
It’s abundant, steady and constant, like Eddy’s love for Brett. He makes sure to always be there for Brett, always a willing audience for his practice sessions, or a helpful assistant, where he helps Brett with his architecture projects, hunching over laptop screens by his side, assisting him with 3D models, or going shopping for materials with him late at night, melted popsicles and secret kisses shared between them as treat.
Brett is a constant, present, enduring force—more forceful than the smacking of a basketball or a pulsing gash. If hurt is inevitable, then healing is too. And as long as Eddy is by his side, he thinks they’ll be able to overcome anything.