Whenever he steps out — well, anywhere, really — he remembers.
The memories sneak up on him at the most mundane of moments. He could be walking down 31st with the groceries hanging off his arm, or kicking off against the curb to step into a bus, or toeing garbage in a gutter with a bubble tea to his lips. It's the smell of concrete, he thinks. Dewy petrichor, sometimes, or the musk of sun-warmed pavement, wafting heavy in the heat of the day.
He remembers the patch of concrete his shoes had become highly acquainted with, and then a sea of onlookers, the tinkle of coins, pensive courage niggling in his gut. And music: endless streams of music. Snapped strings, thread-thin bruises on the pads of his fingers, stiff necks and the glare of mobile screens flaring up in the darkness. Park benches with rusty nails and tiny wood splinters. Restlessness. He remembers the night a dream had been born, a night where everything seemed possible.
He remembers hearing those unbelievable, unthinkable words for the first time. (I love you, Eddy, and can you believe it?) He remembers saying them back and meaning them with every fiber of his being.
"Hey," Brett says, and it's always with warm fingers pressed to his shoulder, bringing him back to the here and now. Past, present, future: here is the hand and the heart through which everything in Eddy's life intersects. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Eddy smiles, and he is. He is.
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counterpoint
Fanfictioni have loved you in every life, i think. nothing makes sense without you. • a collection of breddy oneshots •
