Broken String

XXV

"I don't... I don't... I don't know."  he manages. 
"I know. But this is more than a hurt hand." Brett whispers back. His hand is on Eddy's back, and it rubs gently, in circles, up, down, up, and down. It's so soothing. 
They've shared a bed before, of course, many times, at sleepovers because they each had a double bed growing up, or crashing after parties. But they've never been this close, this long. Eddy finds he doesn't mind, though. He's not alone anymore, in this. He doesn't even care, right now, that Brett is seeing him at rock bottom. 
He knows he will in the morning, but right now, in the dark, he needs him here. 
"I don't... I don't want it to be." he sobs. 
"I know, Eddy." Brett's voice is soothing, sonorous, even though he's barely whispering. "Okay. Just try and sleep, yeah?"
"Please don't leave." he says, past shame, past desperation. They will be there when it gets light, waiting for him to pick them back up, but not here, not now. He needs him here.  
"I won't." Brett tells him gently. 
Eddy knows Brett wants to say more. He can feel the unspoken words in the slight hum that passes his throat. He also knows he's not saying, now, on purpose. The sobs have slowed and are fading away. His heart rate is at least under a hundred again, he guesses. And there's so much he could say right now, but nothing he wants to, even if maybe Brett deserves his words, his explanation. He doesn't even want to think about how wrong it is to be this needy. 
Eddy closes his eyes and finally, finally drifts off to sleep. 

He wakes up because there's movement beside him. He opens his eyes with a small start and sees Brett, who has clearly tried to sneak away. Wait. It's light. Brett spent the whole night here? 
Shit. Is he even okay?
He looks fine. Glasses already on, hair mussed up, face slightly stubbly, morning wood standing proud in his loose grey pyjama pants. 
He himself is growing some too, suddenly, and he turns away quickly so Brett doesn't see it sticking up under the quilt. Which is stupid. This is Brett. He's seen him hard before, there's nothing weird about having morning wood. Hell, they were fifteen together. What do you expect? 
But somehow he feels shy, today. Small. God, he's shown so much of himself to Brett in the night. How will he see him now? His heart thumps erratically in his chest. 
"Hey. You good? You slept, right? Are you going to the con?" Brett asks. He's sitting back down on the bed, unperturbed. Confident. Calm.
God, why can't some of Brett's calm rub off on him? 
"Yeah." he says. "I have theory and shit. I guess I try and get through some of that."
Brett nods. And there's nothing for it, he'll have to get up. So he pushes the quilt off him, simultaneously swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting up. 
"Ow! Fuck!" he cusses before he knows it. His ankle has twisted, or something, and he tries to get his balance back. "Fuck!"
Brett is already rushing over and he grabs his hand before he can fall.
"Ow!" Eddy calls again, but this time because of Brett's iron grip on his wrist. "Shit!"
Brett pushes him back down on the bed and eyes him worriedly. 
"Your foot hurts?"
Eddy nods. Fear is gripping him, hard, his chest constricts and suddenly he can barely breathe. What the hell is going on with him? 
"Okay." Brett says, calmly but Eddy can see his gritted teeth. "Neither of us is going to the fucking con, I'm taking you to the G.P. and that's it."