counterpoint

campus crush cemetery

Brett Yang is a lucky guy.

The students know this. The parents know this. The entire teaching department knows this. Hell, the academic board knows this, but Mark's of the opinion that no one knows this more than he does, and it's why he ends up biting the bullet, asking Brett out to the Halloween Dance in front of a horrified, slightly affronted audience. Someone's got to be shaking their fists at him behind the watercooler.

It's wishful thinking, really. The far-flung hope that, somehow, all that luck rubs off on him, or something similarly inane. The truth, though, when it comes right down to it, is all too simple: everyone and their mother has a massive crush on Brett Yang, and it wouldn't hurt to try to bat for someone who, for all intents and purposes, acts like he's been single for an unthinkably long time. It's a situation that has to be rectified right the fuck now.

Which is why Mark — and current company present — feels like he's been bludgeoned when Brett smiles and says, terrifyingly: "Sorry, man, I have a date."

A gasp slips out of the loosely-formed crowd. Jenna's reddened face disappears behind a fern, and the sports director looks like he's seconds away from gnawing on the basketball in his hands. Mark subtly pinches himself in an attempt to wake up. "A date?"

"Yeah," and apparently, that's all he has to say on the subject, walking off to his next class with music scores casually tucked under his armpit.

"What the fuck," says Amelie, who normally pretends to be above the usage of expletives, and yeah, exactly.

After a brief period of suspicion and warlike standoffishness between everyone and everyone, it's concluded that no one in the teaching department is the aforementioned date. This brings them all back to square one of the Finding Out Who Brett Yang's Date Is plan, but then the day of the Halloween Dance is suddenly upon them, and there's no time to conduct any further detective work before the man himself is striding through the dance floor towards them with a taller companion trailing at his heels.

Mark's about ready to be dismissive about the other guy, maybe crack a joke or two about his being the superior choice when it comes to Halloween couple costuming, when the man's face is suddenly startingly clear, eyes bright under the purple stage lights, a distinct jaw and an alluring smile and — no.

"Hey guys, look," Brett greets them with a jaunty wave, "we're violin string mummies."

The collective silence that descends is somehow louder than the popstar crooning in the background.

"That's kinda inspired," Mark manages to say around the sudden boulder in his throat. Having dressed up as Geodude does not help matters. "And, uh, won't you introduce us to your date?"

"Oh, yeah. This is," Brett pauses, searching the other man's face and then smiling at whatever it is he's found, "my husband."

"Your husband," Jenna croaks.

The man grins, matching Brett's million-watt glow as he extends a hand for everyone to shake. "Hello, I'm Eddy Chen."

"Pleasure," says Ian, who looks caught between nausea and envy under the brim of his wizard's hat. "Nice to, uh, finally meet Mister Yang's partner. We were all wondering for a while there."

To his credit, Brett immediately picks up on the unspoken question. "We wanted to keep our marital status on the low down for a few months, but then Eddy wanted to dress up for Halloween, so." He shrugs. "This happened — pretty much out of nowhere, actually."

"Well, that, and I wanted to meet Brett's work friends," Eddy gushes, and fuck, but Mark has to take a step back, or he just might spontaneously combust. Maybe two steps, just to be safer.

"That's so cute," Lillian coos, having visibly bounced back from abject disappointment over the entire situation. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the party!"

Eddy swivels his gaze, turns his full attention towards her at that. Lillian's smile turns downright giddy, the traitor. "Will try our very best, thanks!"

"Ah, shit, there's that old director dude — sorry, we gotta go say hi to some people first, y'all know how it is," Brett says, tugging at his husband's wrist to pull him away. "Sorry, guys, we'll be back!"

A round of goodbyes herald the couple's exit, followed by thick silence.

"What the fuck," Amelie says, for a record-breaking second time. All Mark can do is nod profusely, gulping down the glass of punch Jenna's handed him quick enough to make his throat hurt.

On this, everyone can agree: Brett Yang really is a fucking lucky guy.