'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER NINE

"Earth to Brett Yang. Earth to Brett Yang."

—notice. Yep, just like that, Brett you moron.

He covers his slip up with a slightly exaggerated yawn, his gaze darting up to meet his friend's in a way he hopes doesn't look startled. "Hmmh? What?"

Eddy gives him a funny look. Shit. Not looking too good right off the bat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just—I'm still sleepy, I guess." He rubs his eyes for good measure, displacing his glasses from the bridge of his nose. It's not quite clear if Eddy's buying his acting facade, but then the other man's shrugging and turning back to the stove, so. Brett counts that as a win. Double win, because pancakes, of course.

In no time at all, they're both watching maple syrup and butter dribble down the fluffy cakes in a medley of delicious goodness, and if he gets a little too misty-eyed staring at a breakfast meal of all things, it's all fine because Eddy's not going to rat him out.

He's about to dig in when a warm cup slides into his palm, Eddy the exerting force behind the movement. "Well, here, take your coffee," he mumbles, words slightly obscured from behind the rim of the mug he's put against his mouth, turning his gaze somewhere over Brett's shoulder in the general vicinity of the window like he's suddenly found something interesting to look at elsewhere.

Their fingers brush as they make the hand-off. A shiver ripples down Brett's spine, and he has to cough dramatically to mask the way his body jolts. What the fuck. "Thanks, man," he replies, managing a smile as he quickly downs a few gulps of the beverage, only vaguely aware of the burning sting on his tongue.

Breathe in, breathe out. It's just Eddy. Good 'ol Eddy. There's no reason to be nervous around him, of course not, stop.

"So," the word slices through the air like a knife, and it's only now that Brett realizes they've just been sitting there for a while, dumb as rocks and not talking, which is quite frankly out of the ordinary, especially in Brett's corner. Eddy used to complain Brett was relentlessly wordy in the morning, whether or not he was hungover or exhausted.

God, leave it to him to clamp up like an idiot right this very moment. Brett clucks his tongue and raises his eyebrows at Eddy. "So—what?"

"Have you been holding out on me?" At the scrunched up face he makes at that question, Eddy laughs. "Nana told me about this skating rink around here, and you never even said a word, bro, c'mon." There's a twinkle in his eyes that makes something in Brett's stomach cramp, and if he were a more suspicious sort of person, Brett would call him out on his bullshit or whatever he's trying to do here. "Finish your breakfast, quick. We're going ice skating."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckles, shaking his head faintly in amusement. Ice skating? He could think of better things to pass the time. More important things, even. Case in point: "What about practicing that duet you promised her?"

"I mean, you were gonna go along with it anyway, so hey." Eddy smirks, plucks their empty coffee mugs and carries them over to the sink. "And don't worry about the duet. Remember the Jingle Bells medley we did last year?"

Brett does, but he can't quite figure out how it connects to their dilemma. "That was an orchestral piece, though?"

"Well, lucky for us, my ex arranged a duet out of Jingle Bells way back then." Right as the words come tumbling out of his mouth, Eddy's face flushes red, faint color rushing to his cheeks. He swivels to face the sink, washes the cups clean. "He, uh, he made it so he and I could play it together. The arrangement's really good, so I thought—y'know, maybe we could use it for the duet. He'll probably flip his shit if he knew, though, so, uh. Don't tell?"