'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I kissed Brett."

A sleepy yawn answers him from the other end of the call. He'd feel more guilty about calling Belle up with the wildly contrasting time zones, but at this point, his desperation for a listening ear trumps any familial feelings about disturbing his sister's slumber. "Sorry, I don't think this revelation you're having is worth waking me up at—like, three in the morning, c'mon."

"I kissed Brett," Eddy repeats slowly, as if trying to make sense of the words that are flowing out of his mouth, "for real."

Another yawn. "Did you at least make it good for him?"

"Belle."

"Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I hear you." She pauses, and there's a sudden creaking of bed springs. Is she stretching or something? Now, he does feel a little bit guilty. "And this is a problem because—why again? Aren't you supposed to be kissing as pretend boyfriends or whatever?"

"Yeah, but I think—fuck. I think I took it way too far." Eddy drags a hand down his face, slouching his shoulders further as he leans against the brick wall overlooking the garden. He's not doing something as undignified as hiding, but—well. It's very close to that sort of thing. "He's going to kill me."

"Or he'll think you're just being weirdly overcommitted to this thing he's roped you into, and frankly, he loves you way too much to kill you, so it'll have to be the latter option here."

Hell, but Eddy flinches when he hears he loves you, because really, after this fucking stunt, he'll be lucky if Brett even wants to look at him. "But—god, I kissed him in front of Nana Helen, of all people."

"Whoa, bro, I'm impressed! I never took you for the brazen type."

"Ha ha, very funny." He glares at the ivory-coated hedge bush opposite the wall, rips it apart in a desperate flurry of leaves and snowflakes within his mind. As sudden as the screaming fury comes, however, the storm calms, and he's left with an aching in his ribs that has never subsided, not since the first day he's laid eyes on Brett Yang and the everything that he is. He's so far gone, it's embarrassing. "He's going to kill me."

Belle sighs. "Calm down, Eddy," comes the expected words, but he can't just calm down. Not after a slip up. Not after that.

Truth is, he's never thought he'd ever get the chance to kiss Brett for real. Between becoming inseparable friends and a multitude of ex-partners, the idea had just never come up. And then Nana Helen had been on the brink of ordering them to kiss each other not even ten minutes ago, and maybe there's something far too selfish, far too greedy inside his chest that won't let such a prime opportunity pass it by. Brett had been right there and it had tried to take its fill.

And it hadn't been satisfied.

He tucks his chin deeper into the loose folds of his sweater, willing the heat on his cheeks to go away. What the fuck is he even thinking about? He's here to help Brett strictly as a friend, not to suck his brains out through his mouth right in front of Brett's own grandmother.

Think of the damn handwritten manuscripts, you idiot, they're why you're here in the first place!

"Eddy?" He snaps back to himself, realizes Belle's been calling his name three times now. "You still there?"

"Yeah," he croaks, scrubbing his face hard with the coarse fabric of his sleeve. The roughness scrapes against his cheek, a ragged wake up call. "Yeah. Sorry, I—I'm fine now. Don't worry."

There's a pause imbued with disbelief. Fuck. His sister's far more perceptive than he wants her to be, at times. "Yeah? You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll figure this out. Sorry I woke you up."