Brett had never said anything, about the competition last year. Just that he had bombed. And Eddy could see his eyes now, pained, panicked. He seemed to deliberate and then he took another shuddering breath.
"I bombed."
"I know that much. You never told me what happened."
Brett sighed deeply as he moved to the chair and sat down, buried his head in his hands.
"I don't want to bother you with it."
"Jesus, Brett." Eddy said softly as he crouched down beside him and sat on his hunches. "You're never a burden, come on. You know that, right?"
Brett didn't look up though, and when he spoke at last his voice was a hoarse monotone.
"Well, there's not much to tell anyway. I had prepared my arse off. I was cocky, I thought I had this. I played about six million wrong notes and my tone and interpretation went out the window the second I saw the committee. They didn't even bother to say anything other than 'thank you and goodbye.' I went home and contemplated my life choices."
Eddy was quiet for a long moment. He remembered that day, of course. He remembered that Brett had been busy that night, hadn't had time for games. He remembered texting him, asking if he was alright. He remembered not believing him when he said he was. But still, he hadn't expected this, and he felt a slash of guilt in his stomach. Should he have gone to him, that night? Pushed matters? Walked into his room, and try to make it better for him? Would he have let him?
"Bretty, everyone has a bad day sometimes. You'd be the first to tell me that. And I bet it wasn't that bad."
"It was."
Eddy put his hand on Brett's back and stroked it slowly, hoping that Brett's breaths would calm down. He glanced at the door once and then sat closer, took Brett's head out of his hands and held it against his chest.
"Shhh." he said. "You're going to be great. I promise. Shhhh."
He kissed the silky black hair once, twice, three times, making soft shushing noises and stroking the back rhythmically, all the way until he could feel him calming a little, his breathing slowing some. Then Brett sat up and looked him right in the eye.
"I'm sorry, Eddy. And you're in the same fucking practice room as well as I had then, which doesn't help. But I shouldn't lose it like that."
"Bretty, what on earth makes you think I have a monopoly on losing it?"
That did it, the corners of Brett's mouth tugged slightly, and after a moment he shrugged.
"I guess I don't. I don't know. It's different when it's someone else."
"I know." Eddy said gently. "I think everyone feels that way. We're harsher on ourselves. But please, Brett. Don't go through this shit by yourself. I'm right here. I'm always here."
He could see that some of the stress was leaving Brett's body, but he was still pale and he had circles under his eyes. He remembered last night, how Brett had calmed him down when he was panicking.
That had been an awesome way to calm someone down, right? And he had been a lot calmer since, right? His eyes shot at the clock, that was on the wall above the piece of shit piano. They had an hour. Plenty of time to warm up. Then he looked at the door. A lock. There was a lock. And no windows.
Would Brett let him? Would he want that?
He got up anyway and quickly turned the lock, then stepped back and sat back down, on his knees this time. He took Brett's head in his hands tenderly, one on each cheek, and smiled at him.
"You're awesome." he whispered, and leaned forward so he could give him a soft, sweet kiss.
"No one can see us." he whispered again and kissed him on his neck, just underneath his ear.
Brett groaned deeply.
"Oh, Eddy..."