We don't want to label it

XXIV

Eddy grabs the white mugs from the shelf as the kettle flicks off, but his mind is elsewhere. 
It's always been a dream. No, less than a dream. A mirage. Something he wants, wants desperately, but can never have. 
Is it true still that he can never have it, though? Three thousand dollars a month is not a lot for two people to live on but...
It's more than it was. His heart flutters against his throat and he swallows quickly before he can get dizzy. The mugs clunk harshly against the work surface. 
It's way more than it was. 
What if it's true? What if they can grow? What if this can be a career that his mum can be proud of? One day?
He shakes his head as he pours hot water into white earthenware. He needs to get his head in the game and soon. What good is he to anyone like this? Shy, insecure? Brett needs him whole, practised. Ready to perform. So do their viewers, for that matter. 
He leans against the counter as he waits for the water to cool enough to put the tea in without burning it and becoming bitter. 
Their viewers. Somehow they've always seemed so vague, like a mirage of their own. Sure, he's witty on camera, he can explain things well. He's in his element. Sure of himself, as long as he has Brett by his side. It's just them, a camera and a laptop, in the end. And a microphone, which keeps stealing focus. 
Their viewers are never happy about it stealing focus. 
They're real people, and they're watching, and YouTube are actually paying Brett and him because they are watching now. Eddy pushes himself away from the work surface with a shock and dunks the tea leaves into the cups. 
They're real people. Don't they deserve the best as well? Would he have the balls? This orchestra job he has is everything he's worked towards since he's realised he'll never be a soloist, and quitting? It would be the scariest thing he's ever done. And yet Brett, for whom this must be just as scary, is ready to do just that. 
His head swims as he grabs the cups of tea and starts towards the studio. 

"Fifty thousand dollars." he says as he walks in and puts the cups down. 
"What?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. It's what you calculated we'd need."
"To tour? Yeah."
Brett is in the left chair, knee deep into editing, clearly. A video they shot day before yesterday. A good one, too. Eddy smiles. 
"Yeah. I have an idea. How about we get our viewers involved?"
Now Brett stops editing and swivels towards him. 
"How?"
"I don't know. But if we had a dollar for every subscriber?"
"Whoa." Brett's hands fall into his lap, his eyes open wide then cloud over and Eddy can't help his grin, because Brett is so adorable when he gets all pensive like this. He knows their viewers like him too. He gets plenty of girls now, swooning over him, throwing themselves at him. He's seen him kiss a few. He's seen him shag one or two as well and Eddy gets it when he watches him like this, rubbing his nose under his glasses, then turning to him with his most serious glance. 
"That's... a really good idea. I think. We... Jesus, Eddy. Okay. Look. Stop. I need to mull, okay? Or my head will explode. Can we just edit? Please?"
Eddy stills all at once. Then he nods, scoots closer and puts his hand on Brett's shoulder. He's seen him do this many times before of course, although their viewers have never. Brett locks up, sometimes, when it's all been enough, and Eddy knows that right now it's time to leave him alone, to let him think. To wait until he brings it up again. 
Which is just fine.
It is, honest.
So he squeezes the hand that rests on Brett's shoulder, leans over and kisses him once, just for a second, but he knows it will relax him. Then he walks over and grabs his violin. 
"So. Duet?"
"Um, sure. Yes. Let's do that first."
Eddy opens the case and takes out his most loved possession. He tenses his bow and quickly checks his tuning. It'll do. 
"Alright. I'll look for the sheet music."