'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER ONE

Here's the thing, the first and foremost thing one needs to know about Brett Yang: he is a brave, brave soul.

"My grandma thinks we're together, so will you please come visit her with me for Christmas as my fake boyfriend?"

Here's the second thing one needs to know about Brett Yang: he's not above doing outrageous things to get what he wants. Case in point: this elaborate plan he's concocted in his head. All he needs to do to get started is to persuade the man in question, who's currently looking at him like he's Beethoven fresh out of the grave. Which is kind of unfair, considering the circumstances he's in. Honestly.

After a few seconds, Eddy finally snaps out of his stupor, glancing at the mug in his hand like it holds the secrets to the universe before his gaze shifts over to Brett. "Excuse me?"

Brett pours himself a cup of coffee before sliding into a seat opposite Eddy, wasting no time launching into his prepared spiel. "I know your parents are away, your sister's preparing for her hot gig in Rotterdam, and you've got nowhere else to spend the holidays but here, so I'm donning the helm of a savior and extending you a way outta this place."

"Hey, I reject that," Eddy waves a dismissive hand at him. "I'll be fine squatting here, and maybe I'll have the room all to myself in blissful silence for once," he smirks, and wow, that jab to Brett's inclination to practice at weird hours in a day is very sad. But: they've been roommates since Eddy first entered uni, so surely there's something Brett's doing right, somehow—Eddy isn't exactly shy to speak his mind when something's bothering him.

"You're telling me you're really going to spend Christmas drinking yourself to oblivion with—god forbid—Remy?" Brett shudders at the mere thought of the violist sophomore weirdly intent on following them everywhere around the con. "You're better than that, bro."

"I never said that." Eddy looks as if he's about to say more, but then stops. "Wait, wait, hold on—back the fuck up. What was that first thing you said?"

"I said: will you please be my fake boyfriend for Christmas?" Brett folds his arms over his chest, pointedly ignoring the befuddled expression on Eddy's face in favor of explaining what he means. "My parents want me to stay with grandmamma over the holidays, but now she's got it in her head that we're secretly a couple or something, so—wait, you remember her, right?"

"You mean Nana Helen?" The question is tinged with nostalgia, and yeah, Brett remembers that she and Eddy had been close during their childhood days. "Your kinda-kooky but also ridiculously rich grandma?"

"The very same," Brett sniffs; he should probably be insulted with Eddy's description, but it's not like it isn't true, though he's not about to go and announce it to everyone else either. There's a reason she had gone into seclusion after her long, illustrious career as an orchestral librarian, and it's not just because she got tired of polite company.

"Well, how can I forget? You must've gotten your kookiness from somewhere, hey?"

"Fucker. But yeah, please? She thinks we're together, so she wants you to tag along." Brett pauses, thinks well, fuck it and then continues. "She may have also dangled the promise of giving away some handwritten Mahler, Beethoven, Bach, whoever else you can think of." It's a testament to his grandmother's reputation that Eddy doesn't immediately try to argue over the validity of that declaration, eyes widening as he looks over to Brett. "For real, bro. Some actual handwritten scores from the composers themselves. Remember that Beethoven string quartet we saw hanging on her wall? That's the real deal. She knows she's got leverage, so she's making me bring you over."

Truth be told, Brett understands why Helen Lee Yang would think Eddy's his boyfriend. They've been friends since childhood, when a chance meeting at a math tutoring class had cemented an initial recognition that had carried on into their second meeting in the youth orchestra. The rest, as they say, is history; they've been almost inseparable ever since. Eddy's been there for Brett like no one else ever has—the only one equipped to deal with his bullshit, as their friend had so graciously declared three years ago.

There's only one problem: Brett's never seen Eddy in any other way but platonic, like, ever. The string of partners they've both acquired over the years should be a neon sign pointing to that, really.

So, at this point, all he can feel is amusement at Eddy's confusion, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline as he digests Brett's spiel. "Why would she be offering you those? This is the nerdiest piece of blackmail I've ever heard in my life."

"Hey man, Grandmamma knows how to get what she wants," Brett shrugs. "We'll share them, of course. You just need to be my fake boyfriend and come along with me when I visit her. And yeah, okay, I know there's no world where the words can you please be my fake boyfriend can ever lead to anything good—"

Eddy snorts, moving to get himself a glass of water. "Then why the fuck are you asking me that, then?"

"I'm out of options, bro. This is the cry of a desperate man." He clasps his hands together, wringing them tight in Eddy's direction. "Can you please be my fake boyfriend for Christmas?" Brett pauses for a moment, then adds, "it'll be fun?"

The laugh that burbles out of Eddy's mouth bounces off against the kitchen tiles. "Idiot. It might be fun, but I don't think I'm up for a lie this big." The look he gives Brett is genuinely curious. "I mean, I don't know about you, man, but I'm sure our friends and family aren't stupid. Everyone knows how and when we met." And it's a little weird, when Eddy just says that all matter-of-factly, but it's true; it's a story they've always pulled out as an explanation whenever someone comments on how close they are. "How the hell are we going to convince them it somehow took a decade for us to fall for each other?"

Sometimes, the best answer is the simplest one. Brett spreads his arms out wide and grins. "Pining."

Eddy slaps his face with both hands, muffling a dramatic groan with his palms. "You gotta be kidding me."

"No, really." He pauses for a moment in thought, and then flaps his hands in the air. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what they think. It's only for a week in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere, and then we can say we broke up because of irreconcilable differences." Eddy winces at that, but Brett shrugs and continues. "No one has to know, but if you really wanna sell the deal to my grandma, you can break my heart in public. Or maybe it's better the other way around, so she'll think I'm the villain in this equation."

"Dude," Eddy drawls out the word, disbelief outlining every syllable, and really, Brett doesn't understand why he's so hesitant about this. They trust each other, don't they? Being all lovey-dovey shouldn't be too hard if it's all pretend. It takes a while for Eddy to speak again, leaning against the kitchen counter as he swishes the water around his half-empty glass. God, but Brett hates this waiting game. Thankfully, the other man does continue. "You realize your grandma's probably messing with you?"

"Yeah, maybe, but fuck, I want those manuscripts so bad." Okay, so maybe Brett isn't telling him about the Strad that's on the line too, but then it's—well. It's not really something Eddy needs to know about. Not yet, at least. "So? What do you think?"

Eddy stares at him blankly for a moment, and then something in his gaze shifts, an odd gleam in the dark. His limbs loosen out, his tense shoulders fall, and by then, Brett knows he's already won. "This is a bad idea," the other man finally tells him after a moment of silence, waggling a stern finger in the air.

"Nah, it'll be fine." They really will be just fine; Brett can assure Eddy of that. "And I know you wanna get ahold of those manuscripts just as much as I do."

"Why did we have to grow up to become huge nerds," Eddy complains, but then he's smiling, so Brett's not really worried. If anything, he thinks Eddy might even warm up to the idea once it settles firmly inside that great big skull of his.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Brett declares, an enterprising smirk carving itself deep into the grooves of his mouth. Oh, this is going to be so much fun.