Broken String

XIV

The leering eyes of the reception lady are almost gleeful in their malice, as she pushes Eddy into the concert hall and padlocks the door behind him. The conductor is on his pulpit, looking at him, as are the three thousand other faces in the hall. He doesn't look happy, though. He looks... oh God, is he laughing at him already? 
Even Brett, from the concert master's spot, doesn't look at him directly. He's too busy grinning with Todd, who is second seat. 
Wait. Isn't Todd a cellist? He can't think about that now, though, he needs to get going or the little splattering of laughter coming from the audience at his hesitation will turn into a full-blown sea of it, he knows that already. 
So he steps forward slowly. 
Come on. He's practised this, right? Time and time again? Maybe, by some miracle, he'll be able to play his thirds today? 
He steps into the soloists spot and braces himself. Tears are just underneath his eyelids, trying to wring themselves out, making the embarrassment complete. He swallows them down though, just as the conductor waves his baton and the ethereal tremolo starts. 
He raises his bow to his strings and finds his G. Fourth position, third finger. 
Come on, Eddy. You've done this.  A thousand times. Ten thousand times. 

The second the bow hits the string he hears it. Flat. So flat. And his bow shakes with the realisation, shaking again until there's no ether anywhere, there's only harsh ricochet stuttering into the hall. And he sees it happening in front of him, grins turn to frowns, turn to concern, turn to laughter. It ripples through the crowd until everyone is doubled over, pointing at him, laughing. 
"No!" he cries out, dropping his bow, putting his violin down as the orchestra screeches to a halt behind him and the conductor starts to laugh, too. "NO!!"

"Eddy! Fuck! Eddy! Wake up!"
Brett shakes him violently and he wakes up with a start. 
"Brett!" he hisses as he throws his arms around his waist and pulls him down to sit next to him on the bed. Because he can't, he cant, and he's crying already, he can't help himself, because even being awake won't drive away the horrid images he knows will haunt him forever. 
"Fuck." he sobs into Brett's shirt, pulling at him until he moves and lies down beside him. 
"Come on, Eddy. You're okay, I promise." he whispers as he puts his head on Eddy's pillow, bringing on a new bout of tears from Eddy. Brett's arm is around him now and he buries his face into Brett's chest, sobbing harshly, not getting control of himself at all. His heart rate is still through the roof, rivers of tears flow into Brett's innocent t-shirt and it takes forever, it seems, until it calms. 
Somewhat, at least. 
"Hey. Tell me." Brett says when at last his breathing has slowed down and his eyes have stopped pouring.
Eddy blinks and he knows he should move. He can't lie like this forever, his head on Brett's chest, but what can he do now? After he's just done this? Mortal embarrassment pulls through him about where he is, about what he's done, but there's nothing for it. Brett deserves the truth, after he came to help him, yet again.
"I had a dream that I was playing again and I fucked up. The whole hall laughed." he sniffles. 
"Shit." Brett says. His arm is still around him, holding him close, holding him together in fact, and although the embarrassment is hot in his system he has to admit...
It's better, like this, with his friend here. So much better than waking up alone and scared.
It's just Brett, right? Brett will still care about him, even if he fails? 
He will, right? 
"I've been struggling." he admits so softly he's not sure Brett will even hear. 
"Yeah?"
Brett's tone tells Eddy straight away that he knew that already. 
"Yeah." he whispers. 
"Okay. Wanna tell me about it?"