Broken String

XLVI

They need to come up with a new word for awkward, oh, God, they really do, because the existing one simply doesn't cut it. He sits in the wheelchair in the bathroom and waits for Brett to come back with the plastic stool that lives in Todd and Ian's room. Usually it's what Todd brings to gigs when he doesn't know if there will be a decent enough chair. Today it will be used for a very different purpose. 

"Got it." Brett is walking into the bathroom as if this is any day, triumphantly holding the folding stool aloft as he closes the door with his other hand, then putting it down in their walk in shower as if it's nothing at all. He's in a black t shirt and jeans, as usual, so he'll have no sleeves to get wet, at least. 
"Cool." Eddy says, a lot braver than he feels. Look, he can't tell Brett how he's reeling on the inside, can he? He needs to play it cool. Light. It's all fucking well bad enough as it is. So he pulls his shirt over his head himself and waits for Brett to undo his belt and zipper. Then he hangs on Brett's arm and pulls down his own jeans and briefs. Brett crouches down and pulls them off his feet with his socks.  
There. He's naked. He's officially sunk to this. 
Brett turns the shower on and holds out his arm so he can swing himself over to sit down on the stool. 
"So what do you need me to do, here?" he asks gently. 
Respectfully.
Bless him. He'll never, ever, ever be able to repay him for all that he's doing for him this week. 

Oh, God, the water is nice. Oh, God, the water is so nice, he can't help the soft groan that escapes his lips as the warmth cascades over him, starting to take it all away. All the filth and the stench, the staleness of the hospital. The doctor and her benign smile that somehow, some way, now only makes it worse. His stupid, stupid night with Anna. It all flows away with the water that runs down his torso, mingling with some stupid, stupid tears that are forcing their way out of his eyes despite his command of keeping it light. 
"Um, I think I can do most of it." he manages. "Just... I don't know if I can wash my hair."
"Okay."
 Brett steps forward so he's half in the shower with him, squeezes shampoo into his hands and lathers quickly. Before he knows it his hands are on him. His eyes too, but only on his hair. 
Oh, God, this is good. So good. He hadn't known just how much he's missed his daily shower before this. Brett's fingers move slowly through his thick, black hair, his short nails scraping slightly over his scalp.
Oh, it's just heavenly. All too soon Brett gently moves his head back under the stream, and rinses out the suds as if he's been a hairdresser for a decade. Then he stands back and grins in a weird mixture of sullen awkwardness and maybe a little bit of pride. Eddy would laugh at him actually, if he weren't the picture of awkward - or whatever new word they should come up with - himself.
"Better?" 
"God, so much better." Eddy tells his best friend honestly. "Thanks, Brett."
Brett hands him the soap then and pointedly turns around so Eddy can clean himself up. And somehow, he has no idea why, his skin is suddenly all sensitive and tingly. It must be the warm water, he guesses. He rubs the soap over his arms, his armpits, his stomach, studiously ignoring the weird tingles. Then he washes his dick as quickly as he can, and he's in trouble. Oh man, he's in trouble. There's simply no denying the pressure in that. His eyes open wide. 
No, no, no. He's so not getting hard right now. Come on. Not the time, not the space. He scrunches his eyes shut and thinks of raw liver. 
It's the oldest trick in the book. See, raw liver always makes you limp. 

"Alright." he says when he has himself under control again. Brett turns around and smiles encouragingly. 
"Yeah?"
Brett picks up a towel from the rack above the radiator and hands it to him. 
"Want me to dry the hair?" he asks.
"Please."
Look, he really can't do it himself, raising his hand that far up hurts like hell. But he would be lying if he said he's not leaning into it, just a little, as Brett dries his hair briskly, then putting the towel around him. Sure, it's awkward. But when has he last been taken care of like this? 
"Thanks." he says quietly.
Brett picks up the clean shirt and boxers they brought in here and helps him put them on. Sweats next, and Eddy is starting to feel like a human again.
"No worries."