lighting the sails

chapter one

e. c.

every night, eddy's routine is the same: promptly finishes all his assignments, dives into an intense two hour practice session with the latest section of the sibelius that's been killing his fingers— and then right as the clock strikes seven, off he goes downstairs and out the front door, shouting a quick goodbye to his mom.

he needs to leave.

the slightly tense smile he wears at home switches off to reveal a monotonous look, one filled with exhaustion and stress and maybe just a bit too much pressure for a seventeen-year old. eddy's bone tired, wanting to do nothing but fall face-first onto the warmth of his bed— but he knows the second he steps foot inside his house, his mother will stop him in his tracks with a look— no time for sleep. too much to do.

so he escapes, even if for a short while, to the riverwalk overlooking the port a few blocks away from his house. the bustling chatter of tourists swirl in and out of his ears, snippets of accolades of the latest sydney symphony concert making him stop and listen for a split second. fresh sea air accosts his nose gently as he takes in a deep breath and gives one last, longing look at the sea.

his destination is not far away.

eddy walks a few blocks north, airpods in his ears, debussy's la mer playing soothingly as the destination of his nightly escapades comes into view.

the familiar concrete slope towards the entrance is a comforting sight, illuminated by the luminous glow of the billowing white sails reaching towards the sky as passerby ooh and aah as each sail is lit, one by one.

the sydney opera house.

if he shuts his eyes, he can almost hear the sounds of tuning and shuffling sheet music as the sydney symphony comes together for another spectacular performance. and maybe, just maybe, he spots a certain someone sitting in the concertmaster's seat, eyes starry as he realizes his lifelong dream has come true, he, eddy, is—

WHAM!

a solid force knocks him off his toes and sends him sprawling towards the ground. only realizing too late he has no way to catch his fall, eddy lands solidly on his back, groaning, as the dangerous projectile lets out a small yelp.

"i'm SO sorry!! i was hurrying and wasn't watching where i was going, are you alright?"

eddy is completely taken aback as two koala-like eyes stare at him, huge and brown and soft. the stranger extends a hand, and he mutely takes it, eyes fully on the boy before him.

he is dressed in a warm gray sweater with a black parka thrown over his shoulders, matching jeans to boot. the red tinging his cheeks is probably from the cold, he thinks, and he absentmindedly notes that his hair looks unusually fluffy.

a strange thought, perhaps, but simply an observation nonetheless.

realizing that he was probably waiting for a response, eddy clears his throat. "ah— yeah. yeah, i'm fine. you're good."

"oh, thank god. i'm brett, by the way. you?"

"eddy."

"ah, nice running into you. oh- literally, i guess."

it usually takes a miracle to just make him loosen up a touch, but eddy lets a small smile take hold of the corners of his mouth. "pun intended?"

brett's giggle is the lightest thing he's ever heard, clearer than air. it makes him happy to see him happy, and he's not sure why. after all, he's a complete stranger who just knocked him onto the cold, hard concrete sidewalk.

"nope! oops."

eddy's about to say something else, but brett beats him to it.

"oh, shi- shoot! i'm already so late— maestro's gonna kill me." he sighs in defeat more to himself than to eddy. "eddy, so great meeting you, but i've gotta run— sorry again, and i'll make up for it!" and with a flash, he's gone, and eddy watches him weave in and out of crowds, farther and farther away until he disappears completely, swept up into the splendor of the opera house.

it was only as he turns around to head back home (grudgingly) that he remembers the glossy black violin case strapped to brett's back. not a smudge or blemish anywhere to be seen, pristine and perfect. was he a member of the sydney symph- no, he couldn't be. he was eddy's age, wasn't he?

secretly, he wishes he could be like brett, cheerful and happy and whole, and wonders if he would ever see him again.