Four thirty-three

Chapter 11

He half expected Chen to call him out for being disrespectful. That's why he was so surprised when he heard the teacher chuckle instead.

"Believe it or not, Yang, even the best of soloists get those days. Days where nothing works, where things you thought you knew by heart are suddenly slippery under your fingers, and all the work you've been doing the previous days seems to amount to nothing. But those days are just that. Days. Twenty-four hours, and then they're gone."

Brett rubbed his nose. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. I'll just sleep on it, and tomorrow will be better."

He picked up his case and headed for the exit, shoulders hunched. Eddy felt a small pang in his chest.

Yeah, we all have those days.

That doesn't mean we have to go through them alone.

"Yang."

"What."

Eddy sighed. "Sit."

Brett gave him an ugly look, but did as told, slouching into the chair and crossing his arms defensively.

"Spill it."

"Spill what."

"Whatever's going on in your mind right now."

"There's nothing on my mind, I'm just tired."

"Yang, if mood manifested physically, yours would look like a dark cloud above your head."

Brett snorted at that. So rich coming from you, Little Miss Sunshine , he wanted to say, but refrained from it.

"I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Eddy hummed again, staring intently into Brett's eyes. "Say it again and I'll believe you."

He could see his student's internal battle, to tell or not to tell, that was the question. He could also see the exact moment he gave in, arms untangling, eyes fleeing towards the opposite corner of the room.

"It's just... I practice my arse out. Open strings first, every single day, then scales with all the different articulations, the arpeggios, the metronome, everything you say, I follow to the letter. But my intonation is awful, my bow keeps skidding, my bow strokes don't go together with the fingerings, every passage I tackle, I have to start excruciatingly slow, and half of the time I keep missing the shifts!" He rubbed his face. "Sometimes the violin feels like home, but there are days where it's as if I was back on my first day. I don't know." He paused. "Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a musician. Maybe I shouldn't be here at all."

There it was. The thought that had been plaguing him since he'd first arrived at the Con now laid in front of them, naked, openly displayed for Chen to laugh at it, or even worse, to prove it right.

Eddy just stared back for a while. Brett gradually shifted and ended up sitting at the edge of the chair, Chen's yet unspoken words the only thing keeping his fragile mental balance.

But if he was expecting his teacher's next words to be either the tipping point that drove him back to safe land or pushed him over the edge, he was sorely mistaken.

"I heard there's pizza for dinner tonight." Eddy mumbled, and raised from his chair. "We better head over to the cafeteria quickly, or there will be only the ones with mushrooms in it left. Why would they put mushrooms on pizza, anyway?"

Brett gawked at him. "I..."

"Come on, Yang, I'm hungry. If the good pizza's gone when we get there, I'll have you doing three octave scales 'till your fingers fall off."