Minor Changes

Chapter Eight

Two violinists collapsed into their chairs like rag dolls, utterly spent from having rehearsed the entirety of the Sibelius concerto. Their arms fell at their sides like noodles; their hair clumped on their foreheads.

"Holy. Shit." Brett exclaimed with the bewilderment of a child, reclining back with his hands behind his head.

He felt a rush of elation and exhaustion that he could have likened to the impossible moment when they had discovered that they'd met their crowd funding goal for world tour. They'd pledged to busk and sleep on the street until they reached the goal, and in his delirious, unfiltered state, the words "I love you, Eddy," had fallen through his lips as his friend dissolved into his embrace. He still thought about that moment sometimes.

Day by day, his energy was returning, and their big livestream was just two weeks away. It still seemed surreal that they had reached three million subscribers. He let the number coil itself around his mind. Three. Million.

Oddly, Eddy didn't seem nervous. Not in the way he would have been if he were the soloist. But, then, Eddy carried his stress a little differently. He possessed the unique ability to block out everything around him and channel his nerves into white-light focus. It was like he went into another world. It was a superpower.

"I fucked up a run in the first movement, but otherwise I'm feeling pretty good about it," Eddy said, taking a drink of water.

Brett had noted the mistake, and the belabored way Eddy's face had contorted when it had happened. Eddy had re-adjusted his jaw on the chin rest and burrowed himself deeper into the music; an understated movement that had caused Brett a strange, sudden flash of sexual excitement. He had quickly looked back to the score in front of him.

The fact was, something at a cellular level had changed in Eddy over the last year—something that made him more composed. Broader. Deeper. Wiser. 

He had become a man. 

"Your third movement is sounding so solid," Brett said. 

He made brief, sincere eye contact—enough pause for Eddy to focus on the oblong little fleck in his left eye; a quirk that was so unique, so endearing, so... Brett.

"Thanks," Eddy said, crinkling his nose with a sniff.

Both fell quiet, sensing a subtle current of electricity pulse in the air. An unexpected wave of courage coursed through Eddy's body; potentially from the adrenaline of having exerted himself physically and mentally for the last half  hour.

He wanted Brett to know just how incredibly proud he was; how elated he was for how far they'd come. His hands were trembling. He lifted his eyes, which screamed for his friend to meet them. Then, as though observing himself extracorporeally, he watched his hand move across the table. 

It brushed over the top of Brett's knuckles and rested there. Though his heart was pounding furiously in his chest and his palms had gone clammy, something incredible happened. 

Brett didn't move his hand. He didn't even flinch. They locked eyes, and Brett's gaze transformed into a quizzical kind of liquid pool that Eddy had never witnessed before. There was a tenderness there; a wild, trusting vulnerability that took him aback.

"Eddy," Brett said quietly, his fingers moving just slightly. 

He looked down to spare himself from the furnace of Eddy's eyes. His cheeks burned.

"Eddy, please don't."

Eddy's hand recoiled like a wounded animal.

Brett studied the floor. The words in his throat formed a sticky ball. 

"I... it's just that I don't want to lose what we already have."

Eddy sat quietly for moment, measuring his words carefully. He licked his upper lip.

"I'm scared, too," he said softly.

"Remember when we first came up with this crazy idea?" he said, motioning toward the computer.

Brett nodded.

"We had no way of knowing where we'd land."

Another nod.

"But we risked it anyway. Imagine if we hadn't. Can you even imagine?"

A gravid pause.

"You know this is more complicated than that," Brett muttered, eyes drifting far away. 

"Please, Eddy, just don't. We... I... can't." 

Each word came out as a blow to the gut, and he watched Eddy reel helplessly into the void.

"I'm sorry, Eddy. I really am."

He laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before walking to his room and closing the door behind him.