'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

If anything, that's probably why she sounds so suspicious, amidst the barely-concealed yawns. Now he's not quite sure whether it's the guilt or the worry that's making his stomach feel sour.

"Yeah, no, sorry," Brett mumbles into his phone. "Just, uh. Just wanted to see if I could ask for a listening ear. For something I have to say. If that's okay with you."

Well, if Belle's silence indicates anything, it's surprise and even more suspicion. But then there's just the rustling of fabric, the creak of a bedframe, the muted thump of a body falling back against a mattress. "Of course, Brett. You can talk to me about anything; you know that."

(He's only ever done this sort of confessional twice before with Belle. Both times had been about Eddy. This is the third.)

So: how do you explain your shitty fake dating plan that's been slowly unraveling because of that Realization that's been a decade in the making? The answer—in the case of Brett Yang, at least—is to devolve into a tirade that lasts for a good half hour. The elder Chen, bless her soul, doesn't say a word in judgement of his master plan, but neither does she seem very surprised. Either she's learned to expect these sorts of shenanigans from Brett, or Eddy had already told her.

Before he can decide which scenario is more terrifying, Brett's mouth does the thinking for him as it blurts out: "Are you going to say anything?"

"Sorry, it's just a lot to take in. Give me a second, okay?"

Shit. Now, he feels worse. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

Belle hums, the sound tinny as it drones through Brett's phone; it's an adequate accompaniment to the ragged flailing of his heartbeat. It's fine for a moment, here in the waiting. But then the next words come and he loses all composure he's managed to build up a few seconds ago.

"So. He must really love you, huh?"

Ah. What a fucking stellar conclusion.

"That's," his breath skitters. Air in, air out. "That's not a funny joke."

"It's not a joke—it's an observation."

Never before has he ever wanted to choke on his own spit before now. "How so?"

"Listen to yourself, Brett. Play back what you just told me." Brett opens his mouth to reply, but Belle ignores him, continuing to barrel on forward. "Everything he's done for you so far, and you don't think he loves you? How is this a joke at all?"

"You don't understand," he says, and he has to make her understand, has to show her the bigger picture so she can stop unknowingly hurting him. "Look—I'm. I'm in love with him."

Brett waits for a moment, expecting Belle to reply with shock or horror or laughter or whatever else a sibling does when faced with the unexpected revelation that their brother's best friend is head over heels for their own flesh and blood.

He waits. And waits. And waits a bit more. And when the silence continues on with an air of smug knowing, Brett has to face the disturbing fact that maybe the revelation isn't so unexpected after all.

Shit. Shit shit fuck shit.

"Please don't tell me I was that obvious. I didn't even know it yet, and I was that obvious."

"I didn't even say anything," Belle tells him, her voice all smiley. So fucking unfair. "Calm down, yeah?"

"Yeah." His feet begin to pace back and forth, carving an uneven zigzag across the fluffy carpet. "Yeah, I'm calm."

(He's really not, but Belle, thankfully, doesn't comment further on his agitation.)

"So. He loves you."