Straight

XXVII

He sees him in the cafeteria, from a ways away, but Brett doesn't turn to him. He just stands there and talks to Jack. 
Look, there's no way he's going to interrupt them, is he? And what would he say anyway? Hey Brett, just wanted to say good morning and also I have no idea what else I'm going to say to you, at all? 
He walks to the front desk and manages to get a key for a practise room, to warm up. Brett will find him, he guesses. 

He warms up, even though he knows already that he'll be no good today. Too much worry. Too little sleep. He still tries, though, fighting with his fingers and the E flat major four octave scale. Looks to the door about a hundred times, but Brett never turns up. 
He goes to his lesson on his own, in which he manages to suck, of course, and by the time he's going into the auditorium for music history his heart is pounding in his chest so hard he's sure people can see it. He's actually quite early, for once, so he sits down on their usual spot and takes his stuff out of his bag. Suddenly his mouth is dry, as if he can't swallow, the nerves flooding him, gripping him hard. 
What will Brett say? What will he say? 
He looks up and sees Jack in the doorway to the auditorium, and next to him there's an unruly mop of black hair. 
Brett. 
He can't help but stare at him, but Brett seems to be real busy talking to Jack. And only then, only after the longest moment, he looks up and their eyes find each other. 
It's like a lightning strike, this look. Their eyes lock together, Eddy's already starting to water again, and then, after what seems like an eternity, Brett backs away quickly, back into the hallway. He says something to Jack, and then he walks away, almost runs away, towards the entrance. 

Eddy's whole system goes into a state of shock, and he swipes quickly at a tear that's threatening to roll over his cheek. Has Brett... has he seen? Does he know? Is this the rejection already, so soon, even though he's had no chance to try and be normal? To try and carry on like they have, forever? His bottom lip quivers and he bites it. He doesn't even have it in him to get up, to catch him, to ask him what the fuck is going on. 
What would he say? What could he possibly say to make this better? 
He has gone and fucked up both their lives. 

He's still frozen to his seat when Jack plops down next to him. 
"Hey, good morning. Well, to you, anyway."
Eddy swallows, once, twice. He needs his voice to work, just for a short while. He scrapes his throat and tries. He doesn't have long, now, the professor has come in and is closing the door. Time is running out, here. 
"What... erm, what's going on with Brett?" he says, impressively neutrally considering the circumstances. Almost as beige a tone as Brett's been perfecting recently. 
Jack laughs, clearly oblivious to Eddy's state of mind. 
"He says he's sick. Headache. To be honest, I think he's just had a couple too many last night. He really let loose after you left with Jill. He's probably in the bog right now, throwing the last of them up."
Eddy clenches his toes and suppresses the urge to punch Jack in the face. Manages not to shout that this is not funny, you dickhead. Instead he just nods and says nothing. 
"Anyway, you must have gotten a lot of sleep last night, hey? Saw you leaving with Jill, you dog. She's a good fuck, right?"

He's almost literally saved by the bell. The professor starts talking about baroque, and the time for talking is over. And now he can't even leave, either, not without causing a scene, anyway. 
He hears nothing of the lecture, though, because his head is reeling so hard he feels faint. Is Brett really sick? Hungover? Or is there something else wrong? 
And why did he drink so much? It's not like him to. 

And what the fuck is he going to do now?