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VIII

The Queensland con students were staying in a hotel near the Sydney Conservatorium, only a fifteen minute walk away. After the concert, most of them hung around, socialized with the Sydney con's students or went out for a drink at the harbor. 
Brett was normally the one leading a group to the nearest bar ever since he'd been of legal age (and one futile time before, where he'd gotten caught and his mum had had his head in a way he'd sworn never to try something so stupid again), the one ordering a pint for starters, the one throwing in jokes and good stories for everyone to enjoy. Not tonight though. Tonight, he was one of the few heading back to the hotel, pulling out a keycard from his pockets for the room he was sharing with Cole and entering the quiet place with a sigh. He was exhausted. Meeting new people, playing violin the whole day, including in a shitty practice session, and attending a concert in the evening was one thing. But being so fucking confused by the other contestant on top of all was what had sucked out his energy like he'd dared to come too close to the supermassive black hole in the center of the milky way. And wondering why his weirdass self still so desperately wanted to connect with him hadn't exactly been helpful either.

Brett would have to put his mute on so he wouldn't disturb potential other guests too much. He would have prefered a practice room at the con, but since the university closed its doors after ten p.m., Brett had had no other choice than to come back. Fortunately, half of the hotel was occupied by his classmates anyway, so he didn't really have to worry. He unpacked his instrument, tightened the bow and tuned. He hadn't brought a stand, stupid past Brett, he silently cursed, so he simply placed the sheet music on the one table this room had. After playing a few scales as warm-up, he took a moment to gather himself, inhaled deeply and then slowly started on the cadenza. When he felt comfortable enough, he raised the tempo, similar to this afternoon. But when Brett got to the required tempo, his fingers just didn't want to follow the bow speed. The passage got skitty, the rhythm uneven and the tone unclear.
"Shit!", Brett hissed, scrunched his eyes shut and shook his left hand. Alright. Slow again. It would take forever for Cole to return, so Brett had a lot of time. 

On his second attempt, his run did get a bit cleaner. The third time was a total disaster and all the other tries afterwards barely satisfying, so Brett went on to the part of the third movement which reminded him of cowboys galloping into the sunset. 
At least, the bow bounced nicely off the strings, making the bit sound lively and dynamic. This part worked much better than the other, which eased Brett's worry a bit, that he'd somehow left all his talent and ability at home. However, it wasn't at the level he'd had before he came to Sydney. And not at all enough for winning against Eddy, he knew that.

Brett rubbed his eyes with the back of his bow hand, racking his brain about what to do next. Then, on a whim, he laid his instrument on the hotel bed and searched through his stuff. The booklet he was looking for contained the most important information for their stay in Sydney, including a time table. His index finger wandered along the date, searching for the schedule tomorrow. Rehearsal in the morning. Mozart again, this time the third and fourth movement. And in the afternoon, the first time playing Korngold with the orchestra. First movement, including the cadenza Brett couldn't even play at the moment. Eddy and Brett would both get a try, so the orchestra could get a feel for them and vice versa. 

"Shit", he mumbled and lowered himself on the bed next to his violin, for which he suddenly had to withstand a strong urge to throw it out of the window so he'd have a good reason why he couldn't play tomorrow. Luckily, another idea mixed itself with the frustrated emotions, taking away their sting. Brett picked up his violin again and launched himself into the cadenza of Tchaiks violin concerto without batting an eye. 

It went fine. Good tempo, no mishaps, solid playing. 

With a deep frown in-between his eyebrows, he lowered his instrument. 
Okay. So it wasn't the tempo or his fingers not working in general. It was about the piece. To be fair, the scales in Korngold's concerto were full of accidentals and the double stops in the cadenza not easy, not to mention the high notes in the beginning and the shifts. Slowly but surely, Brett started to suspect that he had never been able to play it in the first place and simply hadn't noticed it at home and now, it was all revealed, cristal clear for everyone to laugh at. Here, where there wasn't enough time to do something about it anymore. 

He brushed a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. What should he do? If he'd suck as bad tomorrow as he sucked now, he at least wouldn't have to compete anymore. They would give the soloist spot to Chen without further discussion and his worries would vanish into thin air. It would spare him lots of headache and nerves for sure. 

And yet…

And yet, performing a concerto with an orchestra was always a great opportunity. Was he really ready to give it up this easily? Was he this willing to admit defeat against Eddy without even actually entering the ring?

Deep down, Brett knew he didn't want that. He wasn't the type to not even try. 

This didn't change the fact that he couldn't play the damn concerto anymore though. And he tried to put his worries away for the evening, tried to deadpan over it when Cole asked how it had gone with a one syllable "Hm.", tried to wash it away in the shower because he knew, stressing over it would bring nothing than increasing the chances for sucking even more the day after.

However, the voices were not silenced when they turned off the light. And it took Brett forever to fall asleep. 

A/N: Sorry for the late upload time. Turns out I can't write for the life of mine when I'm sick (yet again...).