Broken String

LXXVI

"Eddy. Hey. Eddy. Wake up. Eddy."
He hears the voice in the distance, but the panic holds him captive. Frank, on stage, doubled over in laughter. The orchestra all standing up around their soloist, pointing at the pathetic boy in the wheelchair who couldn't hack being a musician, laughing. The audience around him staring at him in varying degrees of shock or amusement as the tears flow over his cheeks unchecked, as his chest flies up and down with the fast breaths he can do nothing to stop. 
"Eddy."
Wait. It's a dream, it must be a dream. A hand is shaking his shoulder, but somehow he can't let go, he's held here, he can't leave, can't open his eyes. 
"Eddy."
It's the arms, in the end, around him, holding him tight. They put him back together and his eyes fly open. His room, his room. And Brett, beside him on top of the quilt, his arms around him. Though he lets go now and eyes him worriedly.
"No." he grunts, and grabs the arms to show him he needs... he needs...
"Of course, of course." 
Brett lets go for a millisecond and he's already under the quilt with him, his strong arms around him again. And Eddy can breathe. 
"Oh my God." he sobs. "You were..."
But he can't finish the sentence. Brett was gone, sure, allowing the fist to steal Eddy's heart, the darkness to come and consume him. But he can't say that, not even now. Brett needs his freedom. It's not right to ask anything else. 
"Eddy..." Brett whispers. His left hand is stroking Eddy's back, up, down, rubbing the darkness away with it. The fist is cowering in the corner, powerless against his best friend in shining armour. 
"I'm okay. I'm so sorry." Eddy whispers as the tears ebb, as his breaths slow, taking his heart rate along with them. He can raise his head now, too, so he can look at him in the little light from the bedside lamp Brett must have flicked on, to check whether he is mad. 
He's not. He's... 
"Shit. Wait, have you... have you been crying?"
It's like a heavy door being closed, like a blind being snapped shut. The shutters close on Brett's face, his red eyes weary and so, so kind. But he might as well have a no-entry sign painted on his cheeks. 
He's not going to say a word about the crying, Eddy knows this. 
Why? Did he hurt him? 
"Is it me? I'm so sorry Brett, if it is. I'll do better." he whispers.
"Sssh." Brett says. His hand is still on his back, stroking up, and down. Up, and down. "No, it's not you. I just... I needed a moment to process things. That's all. I'm fine, I promise."
"I'm so sorry, Brett." Eddy says again, more tears welling up because he knows he hurt him. He didn't mean to, but he did. And he can't even promise he won't do it again. "I'll get better soon."
Brett smiles and pulls him closer, pulling his head on his shoulder, almost like he's tucking him in. Eddy takes a deep breath as he smells his aftershave, feels the soft fabric of his shirt again. 
"Eddy..." Brett says then, after a hundred ritenuto heartbeats. "It doesn't matter, you know that, right? I hope you get better with all my heart, of course, for you. If you don't I'll still be here. I don't care. I'll love you no matter what. You know that, right?"
Eddy does raise his head again now, because he needs to see him even though he knows tears are flowing over his cheeks again. But then who wouldn't cry after someone said that to them? Brett's eyes are moist too, he can see them heavy with the drops of salty water, and all of a sudden he wishes he could reach up gently and wipe away the tears for him.
Brett would never want him to, though, he knows that very well. There is in fact only one thing he can really do for him, and that is to get better, he needs to get better and soon, so Brett never has to cry for him again.
Had he ever known how much he loves him? 
"Wow." he whispers thickly. "I love you too."
Brett's soft smile is everything.
"Now, sleep." he orders, and like a good boy Eddy puts his head back down. 
Sure, he can sleep now, with Brett here. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The corner is empty now, the fist back to wherever it lives. Hell, probably.
It's late, too late. They should both sleep, but just as he starts to float, from somewhere in the distance there is the sound of a bedroom door closing. It's probably nothing, though. It's probably just Todd or Ian going to the toilet.
He's safe here.