Broken String

LXIV

"Eddy."
The voice is soft, but insistent, and he has no choice but to open his eyes. Brett is there, already dressed. He knows straight away that he must have overslept. 
And that's when it all comes flooding back. Jesus. Did that really happen? 
"Shit. Did I oversleep?"
Brett chuckles, but there's something slightly off about the sound. Wait. Is he annoyed? Because he's still sleeping? Or is something wrong?
"Yeah, but I could have woken you earlier. I had no idea how much sleep you got."
"Not that much." Eddy admits. 
"I figured." Brett says, and now Eddy's eyebrows scrunch together. 
Why? Why did he figure?
"You still wanna go to the con?" Brett asks as he turns around and gathers Eddy's clothes from the chair so he'll be able to get dressed himself. 
"Of course." Eddy says quickly. 
Although it will be torture, of course. He's just now remembered what the rehearsal he's sitting in must be for. 
Orchestra, Sibelius. 
The Sibelius that was once his, but by now has basically been promised to Frank. 
Look, even if all the pain in his limbs would magically disappear right this second, he still wouldn't have enough time to get to a decent level again before the performance, so who is he kidding? He's not playing, and that's it. But he's not going to be a baby about it. He'll simply sit in, listen, and he'll be happy for Frank, who was the runner up in the competition Eddy won to get the part. He deserves it. 
"Okay. If you're sure." Brett tells him. He walks over to his side of the bed now and holds out his hand. 
And suddenly Eddy feels unbearably shy. Brett has seen him, you see, all of him. Has felt him, in fact, now knows his most intimate moment. How is he supposed to ignore that? Is he supposed to just carry on like it never happened? No biggie? 
"Um, yeah." he says as he takes Brett's arm and allows himself to be pushed up. 
God, he would love to run and hide, to take some distance to think this through. Would Brett, too?  He has no idea but it's a moot point anyway because where would they run to? He needs help. And Brett is the one who knows how. 
The only one he would ever trust to see him like this. 
So he manages to smile as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and scoots over into the chair. Brett takes him to the bathroom and leaves him behind.  

He takes a deep breath as he stares at his haggard reflection in the mirror. His heart rate has spiked the second his best friend closed the door behind him. Nausea quells up in him hard and for a second he thinks he'll hurl. 
"No, no." he whispers as he takes deep breath after deep breath. "There's is nothing wrong. Nothing wrong. No. No."
His hands are clutching the sink and tears press behind his eyes. And he wants to call for him so, so badly. But then what? Tell him I lose the plot the second you leave?
Because that's a normal way to treat your best friend? Because it isn't bad enough he's sleeping next to him every night? Not bad enough that he had to...
He takes more deep breaths and pushes the thoughts down firmly. Look. What did he tell himself about overthinking things? He pushes the chair back and lowers himself on to the toilet so he can get on with his day like a normal person. 
The last thing any of them need is for him to make everyone late as well. 

"All sorted?"
Brett's voice comes through the door and he takes one more huge breath before nodding. 
"Yep!"
He hasn't brushed his teeth. He can't, he knows he'll hurl if he does. So that'll have to wait. But the mirror tells him he at least looks a bit calmer, and he's washed his face and armpits. 
"Right. Breakfast?" Brett says as he walks in with a smile on his face. 
A weird smile, one Eddy hasn't seen before. A chill runs through him and his stomach twists. He scrunches his eyes shut and manages to keep its contents where it belongs.
"I'm not hungry. Let's just get to the con before we're late, I'll grab something there." 
"Okay, sure."