(love)birds of a feather

chapter nine

He's no longer upright, rather, he's leaning on an arm of the couch. A warm, albeit heavy weight draped along his body.

A warm, albeit heavy weight draped along his body. Soft hair tickling the skin beneath his jaw. Hot exhales tickling his neck.

Hold the hell up.

Brett abruptly shuts his eyes and heaves out a sigh, an out-of-place Shostakovich quartet no. 8 movement 2 blaring in his brain.

They'd taken a nap here, hadn't they? Something in the universe's structure had shifted and now Eddy's sleeping on top of him, isn't he?

Don't tell me my hand is in his hair. Brett opens one eye. Oh, for heaven's sake. How did that get there?

Brett actively tries to ignore how oddly pleasant it feels to be in such close proximity with Eddy. He actively tries to ignore how oddly gratifying the peaceful intimacy of this moment feels.

He opens both eyes. Eddy's sleeping soundly, his expression unruffled and calmed, his forehead buried in the crook of Brett's neck. It's the first time in weeks he's seen Eddy this contented, and he can feel himself softening. He has to force himself to stop stroking Eddy's soft hair and running his fingers through the silken strands. Get a grip, Brett.

He's sleeping peacefully on top of me, I can feel his breath on my neck, there's nothing I can do about it cause he's sleeping so peacefully and I don't want to wake him.

The soft exhales tickling his neck breathe life into wrong thoughts, thoughts that make Brett wonder, mere theoretical wonder, what it'd be like if that mouth just moved a teeny bit closer to meet skin, skimming along his neck.

Pure unnecessary, utterly wrong thoughts that Brett desperately tries to push away. Thoughts he know he shouldn't be thinking since they send butterflies coursing through his insides. Because really, what the hell?

Brett freaking Yang, Eddy's your best friend, not your lover. You're not in love with him or anything. Get. A. Freaking. Grip.

He's sleeping peacefully on top of me, I can feel his breath on my neck, there's nothing I can do about it cause he's sleeping so peacefully and I don't want to wa—

The weight shifts, and Brett can feel as Eddy freezes abruptly, tenses against him. Aaaand he's awake.

He opens his eyes, wide eyes meeting wide eyes, awkward silence bringing forth a tinge of pink to both of their faces. In the midst of his shock, Brett forgets to take his hand out of Eddy's hair, and so once it crosses his mind, he does so as fast as possible, dangling it meekly at his side.

Eddy snaps out of it first; he lifts himself off Brett, sitting upright on the other end of the couch. "Right... well..." His voice is slightly hoarse, hence the fact that he woke up less than a minute ago, "I don't know how we ended up sleeping like that..."

Following a lack of response, Eddy looks over at him, prompting Brett to snap out of his own state of shock. He shakes his head, shoulders squaring. "Me neither."

They sit through another discomfited and uneasy silence, averting their gazes from the other. At least, Eddy seems to be; Brett, on the other hand, can't keep himself from sneaking glances.

He doesn't know how, or why, but a newfound inclination courses through Brett with vigor. Or was it just mere recklessness?

Whatever it is, Brett chooses to act on it, and so—

Maybe they did want this.

"Eddy?"

"Yeah?"