"Well, that's a sight for sore eyes."
God, the dramatics of it all. Brett rolls his eyes, following Eddy's line of sight where it's aimed at the traffic signs signalling their approach to Lamerra. There's an endless stretch of empty landscape on either side of the road, save for a few trees dotting the snowflake-sheet ground, and fine, he can understand where the complaint is coming from. Still, he's curious. "Yeah? How so?"
"I was getting tired of looking at snow," Eddy says, and what? That's such an alien thing to say. He will judge his friend for it, thanks.
"Bro, who the fuck gets tired of snow? It's exciting, it's wet—"
"Oh yeah, I'm definitely interested in exciting, wet things," Eddy deadpans, and Brett can't help himself: he throws his head back against the headrest and laughs so hard, he thinks he might have torn a muscle in his stomach or something. His hands slide off the wheel for a few seconds, but they are promptly slapped back to their rightful position by the other man. "Mind the road, you idiot!"
He's gasping for breath, air just suddenly gone, but somehow, he manages to blurt out proper words. "Sorry—sorry! Oh my god, you're such a bastard." Brett shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm still so fucking happy you're here."
Eddy looks at him, then. He's looking at him like he's never seen him before, and that's—that's not disconcerting at all, nope. Brett manages not to twitch at the sudden pause before Eddy smirks and turns his head away. "Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing. Now, if you could kindly not kill us before we get there? I didn't go all this way with you to get thrown into a ditch."
The smile on his face refuses to fade anytime soon, and so he allows it to stay. He probably looks like a loon, but who the fuck cares.
• • •
When Brett had been a child, he had wondered about Lamerra. There's something mystical about the town, almost like a world beyond the touch of the passage of time, and now that he's returned after about a year or so, it still looks exactly the same as when he had last left it back then. There's the same old library, the same old cafe, the same old public park. It's a little weird, to say the least.
His confusion must've been plain as day on his face, because the next thing he knows, Eddy's tapping his shoulder with a concerned look. "What's up?"
"Nothing, it's just—it's like nothing's changed 'round here."
"Maybe that's a good thing?" Eddy shrugs, turning his gaze back to his phone. "Some things are better off staying the same way they are. Feels safer that way, I suppose."
(It's as if they're having two different conversations. He doesn't really know what to say to that.)
Brett shakes off the uncertain feeling that threatens to grip him and mirrors Eddy's shrug. "Maybe. At least I still know where to get my experimental coffee fix," he chuckles, waving at a particular coffeeshop as they pass by. The golden lettering of the ornate sign spells Gypsy Commons, and despite the uncommon moniker, Brett thinks it fits Lamerra's vibe well, with the whole artsy, unearthly style of the place. "They brew the weirdest flavors, but they're all so fucking good."
As expected, the mere mention of coffee rouses Eddy into a look of interest. Of course it would. "Bro. We gotta check it out sometime this week," he says, and yeah, Brett's got no complaints there.
"It's a date, then." He grins, relishing the monotonous hah Eddy sends his way.
The sun is just beginning to fall behind the white-peaked horizon when they pull up into an empty path of patchwork stones and bricks, a stark contrast to the snow-covered roads they've taken to get here. The sprawling mansion looms in the distance, its facade stately and ornate but ultimately—kinda lonely. Brett knows his grandmother can afford caretakers for her estate, but aside from these fleeting moments of human interaction, she lives alone. It's a life he can't imagine could be anything close to happy, but she seems content enough to live in solitude.
Brett ponders this as he drives the car down the driveway, coming to a stop just beyond the front steps to the door. When he turns the ignition off, Eddy taps his outstretched arm. "Uh, are you sure we can park here?"
That startles him into a laugh. "Yeah, dude, don't worry about it. It's not like this is a heritage site or whatever."
"Oh? Could've fooled me," Eddy smirks, looking up at the mansion with a twinkle in his eyes. Smartass.
They take turns taking their luggage out of the car, and just as they've finished dumping all their stuff onto the stones, the double doors of the mansion open with a decisive creak.
It's upon sight of Helen Lee Yang—a tiny woman with white hair and wrinkly hands and the most piercing gaze he knows—that Brett suddenly falters. The ground feels unsteady, his world buckling under the weight that this: this is real. They're actually doing this. They're actually going to fake dating each other and lie to his grandmother's face.
What the hell are you doing, Brett Yang?
He takes a nervous step backwards, earning a curious look from his best friend. "I think this isn't such a good idea."
Eddy gapes at him like he's insane, and god, maybe he is, just a little. "We're right at the fucking doorstep, and you're thinking about this now?"
Brett shakes his head, shrugs helplessly. He's only human; he's damn well entitled to a little doubt here and there. And okay, so maybe he's coming to realize that lying to his grandmother really is a bad decision—
The downward spiral of his thoughts suddenly comes to a screeching halt as Eddy loops an arm around his waist, tugs him up against his hip. "C'mon, babe," he drawls, loud enough for Helen to hear, and what the fuck. "You'll freeze to death out here if we don't get you inside soon. Let's go."
And yeah, okay, but Brett likes getting manhandled. Eddy knows this. It's fucking bribery, is what it is, but Brett can't find it in himself to complain, not when it's distracting him enough for his friend to start dragging him in Helen's direction.
(He probably won't be freezing to death anytime soon, though. Eddy's skin is a furnace, warmth radiating even through their respective layers of clothing. Weird.)
Brett's also stunned enough to stay silent for a few seconds, and then: "You dreamboat."
"Shut it." Eddy huffs, face half-buried in Brett's hair as they walk forward together, voice low and meant for his ears alone. "This is for the manuscripts, right? We made it this far. We can do this."
Ah. Right. He'd almost forgotten about that, huh.
Well, now Brett has to go through with this. He'd promised Eddy, after all. That thought pushes him to keep his feet moving, two steps in time with Eddy's one.
When they finally reach the threshold of the steps leading up to the front porch, a wave of nostalgia hits him, almost enough to send him to his knees. Brett closes his eyes, remembers the smell of freshly-cut grass and royal bluebells, the taste of anzac biscuits and almonds, the feel of weathered stone and polished wood. This is the world that had taught him to fall in love with music, guided by his grandmother's steady hand. This is the world that had nurtured his love for his violin and his craft, and with the memories that the house inspires comes the flood of emotions, warm and all-encompassing. It washes over all his fears and doubts, sweeps them away into the void.
(But the guilt—the guilt stays.)
"I'm home," Brett manages to smile, allows his grandmother to pepper his cheeks with kisses when she moves forward to greet them. Eddy lets him go, then, and he sags his weight onto the old woman without really meaning to. Brett's not taken aback by the sudden disappearance of warmth, of course not; he's only a little surprised.
"Ach. You are growing sentimental." Helen tsks at him, but the adoring smile on her face belies her teasing words. "This is my home, Little Yang, and you are my guests." She pauses for a moment, eyebrows climbing to her hairline as she turns her gaze towards his best friend. Eddy coughs non-discreetly behind his closed fist.
Oh, an introduction. Okay, he can do that.
"Grandmamma," Brett begins with a slight tremor to his words that he furiously tries to tamper down, "this is Eddy. My boyfriend."
If Helen has noticed anything about the emphasis on that last word, she doesn't show it, opting instead to peer up owlishly at Eddy from where he stands a fair few feet taller than her. The side by side comparison is a little funny, and yeah, it helps to make his smile a little more genuine. Two of his favorite people, here together with him. Who wouldn't be ecstatic at that?
"I know who he is, silly boy," Helen replies at last, beckoning Eddy to stoop down so she can pat him on the cheek. "You are growing into a giant, Edward. This is very good, but you are also too tall. How will Brett reach you now?"
"Well, I'd happily lean down for him whenever he wants me to, Nana." Brett raises an eyebrow at this, meeting Eddy's amused gaze over the sound of his grandmother's chortles. What a smooth fucker. Where is this suaveness coming from? He needs some of that to survive this damn week.
"Charmer. Oh, I will ask Charles to take your bags upstairs," Helen murmurs, and Brett recognizes the individual as his grandmother's young errand boy, only recently acquired. He's never met the man, but he figures he'll like him already, if only for the fact that Charles is taking care of Helen's needs. "Have you two eaten yet? Shall I call for food and we can eat in the dining hall? It's newly-renovated, you know. I would like to have your opinions on the wallpaper."
Ah, god—Brett can sense the approach of an incoming familial interrogation when it happens, and no thank you, he's way too drained to keep his lies straight where his fake relationship with Eddy is concerned. Time to make a hasty escape. "Can we, uh, retire for the evening, Ah Ma? I drove all the way here and I'm dead on my feet right now. I'm not really—I'm not up for any more than sleeping at the moment."
"He's feeling really tired," Eddy adds in support of his plea, rubbing small circles on Brett's shoulders that's equal parts relaxing and distracting, weirdly enough. "Maybe we can have breakfast together tomorrow instead, Nana."
Helen looks back and forth between the two of them with an unreadable look, and then she caves. "Ach, all right. Go on along then, the two of you. Good night!"
Brett's not exactly running up the stairs as he leaves with Eddy in tow, but it's a near thing.
• • •
Well, okay, there it is—a single bed in the room his grandmother has assigned to them, and it's most definitely because Helen thinks they're comfortable enough to sleep together because they're dating. Funnily enough, his grandmother's got far more liberal views than most of his other extended family members, who'll never leave him and any romantic partner alone together for more than ten seconds.
The look on Eddy's face isn't exactly helping matters; it's as if he's just witnessed someone smash his violin, which is honestly overdramatic, even for him.
Well—it's not that bad a situation, is it?
Brett snaps out of his stupor and clears his throat to catch his friend's attention. "So, just like when we were kids, huh?" They've slept on the same bed together before back in their childhood days, but ever since they've gotten older, dating around and screwing around, they've never done it again. To sleep with someone is to be vulnerable, and for all that they're attached at the hip ever since primary school, there's still some walls between them that aren't exactly the most transparent of barriers. "I'll take the right side, you take the left?"
"Yeah." Eddy continues to stare at the floor and then suddenly shakes his head. "Actually, no."
What? "No?"
Eddy stalks forward, begins throwing cushions off the bed and onto the wolf rug in front of the fireplace. "I'm sleeping on the floor. Go take the bed."
"The fuck are you saying? If anyone's sleeping on the bed, it's gonna be you. You're the guest." Brett grabs a pillow and brandishes it towards his friend like a weapon. "But look, we should probably be sharing the bed. It's more practical, and you'll get a crick in your neck if you sleep on the floor."
"But there's not enough space—"
"The bed looks big enough for a foursome, you idiot. I'm gonna smack you with this pillow, just see if I don't."
They glare at each other for a few moments before Eddy sighs, waves his arms up in surrender. "Fine, let's share the bed. I will kick you if you steal all the blankets, though."
He snorts, because okay, fine: he's known to be a blanket hog. Fair is fair. "That's understandable, so go ahead. As long as we're both comfortable, because seriously, we damn well deserve it after that trip." A slight pause while they construct a wall of pillows to separate their respective sides of the bed. "Also, don't worry, I'm not gonna jump you while you're sleeping or anything. In case you were worried," Brett jokes, but it falls flat even to his own ears. It sounds way too embittered, which isn't what he's trying to aim for, but hey, what can you do.
I'd rather switch to viola than do that with you, Eddy had said, and despite his joking dismissal back then, Brett really had felt just the teensiest bit hurt. Just a little bit. It's ridiculous, but—it's sacrilege, is what it is, and to think that Eddy's willing to go that far just to avoid any real sort of anything with Brett beyond faking it is—well. It bothers him more than he'd like to admit, even to himself.
Thank god Eddy just laughs at him, after a moment of pin-drop silence. "Thanks for your concern, but my virtue isn't what I'm worried about."
"Then what are you worried about?"
Eddy stills, his muscles tensing as he seems to consider his words. Brett finds himself idly appreciating the firm lines of his friend's back and then mentally smacking himself on the forehead, because what the hell? That's kinda weird. "Trying to lie all week, I guess," the taller man finally answers, his face all scrunched up.
"Look, we're going to be just fine."
"Yeah, I hope so." Eddy smiles at him, waving towards the bed as he moves to the bathroom. "Go to sleep, Brett."
All Brett can do is nod in reply and let himself fall onto the sheets. He's so tired, he just blacks out the moment his head hits the pillow.
(He isn't awake to notice the longing look that makes a home for itself in Eddy's eyes. He isn't awake to notice the way Eddy positions himself right up against the pillow wall, fingers inches away from his own, warm and wanting.)