Over the course of the next few months, Eddy's teetering and tottering on the edge of the hole they say is called love. Every day is him falling off the edge and barely grasping the edge for dear life, hoisting himself back up before the neighboring villagers push him towards the edge again.
Until one day he falls and doesn't catch the ledge in time.
It's the way he smiles brighter than most of Mozart's music. The way his laughter's more pleasant than Tchaikovsky's violin concerto. And to think that he's often the cause of both gives him a sort of false and empty happiness and hope, as much as he hates to admit it.
A few months later, an innumerable amount of heartbeats, and a lost argument against his own self. God help him, but he lost the wrestle big time.
All the evidence from the past few months points directly at the truth; somehow he's fallen in love with his best friend. Again.
And by somehow, he means somehow. Which deity misaligned the stars to cause this internal crisis? If Brett does find out, he may well go force-feed himself rosin.
What do you do when you've accidentally fallen in love (again) with your best friend? When you can't help but hear an out-of-place Mendelssohn violin concerto second movement every time you sneak a glance at him? When heart palpitations threaten to tear your chest apart at every perfectly platonic touch?
Brett Yang may well be the bane of Eddy Chen's existence.
He would sometimes take it as a bullet through the heart when all Brett ever reacted with to his lovey-dovey innuendos was his signature deadpan face. To be perfectly honest, though, Eddy couldn't blame him; He knew perfectly well they both had established that they were just friends, nothing more.
He wouldn't ever feel the same way back until Rachmaninoff came back to life to write a violin concerto.
It's searingly detrimental to Eddy's heart, but it's the ever-so-obvious truth.
♡ ♡ ♡
Tonight Eddy merely lays there wide awake in bed, helpless against the tornado of thoughts ripping his mind off the ground. His mind doesn't give a damn about the fact that it's three in the morning. If his mind wants to travel at light speed to alternate universes where he and Brett are together, then he's damn well doing that.
He'd fallen so deeply, so quickly, it was surprising, really. Was it really possible to fall that deep within a few months? Or has he just always loved Brett without realizing?
Eddy's mind is a mess of a poet's workspace, as cheesy as it sounds. You're the first thing on my mind, the last thought before I sleep. God, I might just be losing it, but at night, I talk to the stars about you.
Little romantic verses he locks away in the chaotic vault of his wildest dreams, never to see the light of day, never to be whispered into the ears of the person he's so desperate for.
Eddy runs his hands through his already disheveled hair. "Sacrilegious," he mutters, turning on his other side, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. But he can't help but think of Brett, his violin playing, his smile, his voice. And he can't help but dream of him in his arms, mouth on his—
He's wrenched awake by glaring sunlight straining through the barrier of his window, adorned with the stifled notes of Brahms violin concerto from the other side of the wall.
Eddy sighs and gets up to start his day.