Eddy gets very little sleep that night.
When he wakes, it's to his eyelashes sticking together, throat coarse like sandpaper, and the early morning sunlight streaming through the high-arched windows. The coverlet is soft under his limbs. There's a blanket keeping the chilly bite of winter away from him and—
—the warm, dozing body next to him.
Brett.
And so, yeah, he's suddenly mere seconds away from a minor panic attack. Eddy breathes in deep, settles the wild animal that's burrowed itself within his chest: calm, calm. It won't do him any good to lose his mind right now—he hasn't even had breakfast yet.
As if to punctuate his line of thought, his stomach grumbles. Great. Well, he's not about to go stomping around on his own downstairs. He needs to rouse his companion, no matter how hard it is to do so.
"Hey." He nudges a soft-sleeved shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. Their Great Wall of Pillows has survived the night unconquered, aside from the wayward arm Brett's flung over it, inches away from his own. It doesn't mean anything, aha, whatever. Eddy valiantly resists the urge to run his fingers over that exposed patch of skin and pokes Brett again. "Bro. Wake up."
"Nngh?"
Fuck, but he's adorable. "Wake up."
"Don't wanna." Brett still hasn't surfaced from the sea of blankets. Eddy's stomach growls again. Insistently. "Go away."
And just like that, the dark cloud of anxiety begins to ebb away. Even in this charade, he's still the same old Eddy, and Brett's still the annoying fucker he's fallen for. They can make it through this, together. A smile blooms on his mouth unbidden, petal-soft, even as he goes to jab his cold fingers into Brett's abdomen. "Come on, Brett. Don't make me face Nana Helen alone."
That does the trick. Brett explodes out of the covers like a speeding rocket careening out of its launchpad. "Ah, shit," he draws the curse out, voice still worn and rough from sleep. Eddy watches on in equal parts amusement and attraction, damn it all. "I almost forgot about that, sorry—I'm up, I'm up."
"It's all good. Come on, before my gut starts barking at me again," he complains. Brett pats him like a child praising a puppy and rolls out of the bed, grinning.
Eddy's skin feels warm all morning.
• • •
All things considered, he adores Helen Yang's home. Nostalgic blast from the past aside, it's got a rustic, cosy vibe to it that's not really something one encounters when living in the city, and god, but Eddy misses the easygoing nature of the countryside house. It's a wonderful home, truly. He loves every inch of it.
"How is the wallpaper?"
Not the wallpaper, though—that thing can go. His eyes sting every time they land on the disgusting olive green shade, and the tangy ornate designs aren't helping matters at all. Still: "It's very nice, Nana. Very, uh, artsy."
Judging by the old woman's stare, though, he thinks he hasn't gotten away with the lying. "Ach. I just like very green things. Like a garden. Gardens are very beautiful, yes?"
"Don't listen to her, Eddy," Brett intervenes, laughing around his mouthful of scrambled egg. It's disgusting that he still finds the man attractive with rice spilling out of his lips, but fuck, this is his life. "She's out to try and persuade you to like it, but I know you know it looks horrible, so nah, don't fall for it."
Loud chuckles ring in his ears, and Eddy can't help but join in. It comes eagerly, this laughter; eating good food surrounded by good people makes it all too easy. He can't help but notice the way Brett's relaxed in this place, like a heavy burden that's been hanging on his shoulders at the con had lifted the second he stepped into his grandmother's presence. Eddy might still be feeling guilty about all the lying fuckery they're doing, but now he doesn't feel very regretful about coming here to see his best friend leave all his worries away by the door.
"Well, enough about my apparent bad taste in house apparel," Helen sniffs, mock-wounded, and then takes a dainty sip of her teacup. "So. I am curious. Would you mind if I ask little questions?"
This: this is the part they've rehearsed. Brett's grilled him over and over with questions about their fake cover story, training him like a drill master for this very moment.
When did you fall in love with him?
The day he skipped a concert he was supposed to play in to go watch mine, the idiot. That's when I realized I was in love with my best friend, no matter how stupid he is.
Who made the first move?
Brett did. He says he got too impatient waiting for me to see the light, or whatever that means.
Who said I love you first?
Me. And I'd tell him that everyday, even if he grows tired of it.
(He'd put more of his heart into answering if all the things he's been saying are true.)
(He fell in love with Brett way before that concert ever happened.)
But then, the old woman smiles, puts down her cup in its saucer and leans forward. "There are plenty of other fish in the sea around you, Edward. I use the Facebook, you know," she tells him, and oh shit, his pictures with his exes. He hadn't thought to delete them or hide them at all. "What made you stay with Brett, stupid boy that he is, when there are plenty of pretty girls and boys lining up for you?"
Silence. Brett looks seconds away from throwing himself over the table to intervene, and as hilarious as that mental image is, Eddy's not about to let his mask slip. "Well, it's because I love him." It feels like an incomplete answer, and so he takes a deep breath, pulls an answer from the depths of his heart. "I love him, flaws and all. He understands me when no one else could, so really—I'm absolutely lucky to be with him."
Eddy's telling the truth, no beating around the bush about it, and so it comes out absolutely sincere. Brett's eyes flicker towards him for a brief second, though, and that confuses him. What's so wrong about that confession? Doesn't he want this to sound genuine?
Blithely ignoring Brett's sudden need to bury his face in his coffee mug, Helen leans over the table to pat Eddy's cheek fondly. "Such a sweet boy. I think my idiot grandson is the lucky one to be with you," she smirks,
"Ah ha. I'd have to disagree with that, Nana," Eddy grins, finding sure footing in the conversation again, "on everything but the idiocy."
"Yes, yes, Brett Yang is an idiot, moving on," Brett complains, breathing out what Eddy knows is a sigh of relief at the sight of his grandmother's amused grin.
There are no prying questions after that.
(Deep down, he's a teensy bit disappointed. It's worth the anxiety of impromptu interviews, seeing the flush on Brett's face behind that coffee mug.)
• • •
Nana Helen tells them to make the most of the afternoon and explore some sites Lamerra has to offer. Which is, to say, not very much, but they're determined to make the best of things, and so he and Brett head out into the cold bundled up to their necks and drive off in the direction of Gypsy Commons.
They haven't gotten inside away from the snow yet when they're stopped at the door by a rosy-cheeked woman, laughter lines wrinkling around her mouth when she smiles in greeting. "Brett? Is that you?"
To his credit, Brett immediately snaps out of his surprise and grins. "Hey, long time no see, Naomi! Oh yeah, this is—"
"Your boyfriend?" The redhead laughs, missing the way the two men flinch. "Yeah, I know! Grandma Yang kinda told everyone her grandson and his partner would be around for the holidays for a visit."
Fuck, they're already known around town as a couple? So much for laying off on the charade only when Nana Helen isn't around. Eddy's never going to have a blissful moment of peace for days.
Even so, he's not about to be stopped from reuniting with the caffeine love of his life, and so Eddy smiles brightly at the woman with all the friendly energy he can muster. "Well then, I'd love to buy my boyfriend a coffee. What would you recommend?" When she smiles back, he counts it as a win; when they push through the doors to an artsy, bohemian-inspired interior, he counts it as a triumph.
"This cafe looks fucking awesome," he whispers to the other man, trailing behind Naomi as she moves to the counter. The floor-to-wall windows stream faint sunlight into the building, bouncing off of opaque glass tables and polished wooden chairs. There are throw pillows everywhere, and yeah, he could definitely see why Brett had sung high praises about the coffeeshop in the first place.
Brett snorts, clearly used to the scenery at this point. "Told you." After a few minutes spent ordering some interesting coffee orders—it's a hazelnut honey lemon what-now?—they appoint a corner cubicle for their own, making themselves comfortable against the cerulean cushions as they gaze into the winter wonderland beyond the glass. People-watching is the best sort of activity to pursue where they're situated, and the town folk walking around outside on the streets prove to be fascinating subjects.
It feels—well. It feels like a date of sorts. Eddy's not about to point that out, though.
A few minutes pass by in comfortable silence, and then Brett's lips tug into a frown. When his gaze refuses to lift from the whipped cream tower in his coffee, Eddy gently knocks his foot against the other's shin, getting his attention. "You okay?"
"Ah—yeah," comes the quiet reply. "Just kinda feels weird, actually being in the moment where I have to call you my boyfriend, I guess. No offense, by the way; it's not you." Brett smiles cheekily, and yeah, that helps as a distraction from the sinking feeling in Eddy's chest. "And, well, y'know, it's been a while since I've gone out with anyone, so it might be that too. Just feels weird."
Eddy takes a sip from his coffee to avoid saying anything. He's not quite sure how to respond.
Thankfully, the other man keeps going. "By the way, I didn't know Grandmamma was gonna tell everyone around about us being boyfriends and shit. Sorry. Now we're gonna have to be on guard the entire time."
"That's okay." In a sudden burst of courage, Eddy places his hand over Brett's on the table and bats his eyelashes teasingly. "I'm here for you, sweetcakes."
Brett explodes into laughter, drawing the attention of the few patrons scattered around the cafe, and try as he might, Eddy can't quite hide his wide grin. "You fucker! Who said we had to work on my pet names?"
"Hey, I'm just taking from what you—"
"E-excuse me," suddenly comes out of nowhere, and the two men turn their heads towards the voice. A young boy stands before them, red hair peeking out from under his beanie as he stares at them for a moment. Brett and Eddy stare back.
"Yeah? What do you need?"
The kid bites his upper lip, looking as if he's steeling himself before he speaks again. "My mum says I could ask people to play with me," he waves a hand over to the smiling redhead over at the counter, and oh, okay. He'd been worried about feeling jealous over Brett's familiarity with her for like half a second earlier. "So, um. Wanna play with me in the snow?"
• • •
"How did we get here again?"
They're walking through the snow, shivering minutely as they trail behind the boy running towards the open field across the road. He doesn't even really know Naomi yet, and already, he thinks she's a grand evil mastermind for putting them in this situation. Kids are annoying and ridiculous, and he's got way too little patience for them.
"C'mon, man." Brett nudges his shoulder. "We might as well be friendly while we're here, hey?"
Well, they could be friendly, but Eddy's not sure he has it in him to be accommodating so quickly. It doesn't help that as soon as he and Brett finish a wonky-looking snowman for the little boy, they get mobbed by other children in the neighborhood looking for big, strong playmates. Naomi's son introduces himself as Steve, and the other kids take this as an opportunity to yell out their own names. Millie, Jack, Noah, Charlotte, Kelly, Lucas. There's no fucking way he's going to memorize all of those immediately.
"I'm not good with kids," he tells Brett, just to get that out there. He has to know Eddy's got nothing in mind to entertain these tiny creatures.
"What, and you think I am?" The other man shakes his head, turning his back on the children as he makes a woebegone expression right in Eddy's face. "We're just here to babysit or something for a while, so. We don't have to join the—"
Smack! Snow falls off Brett's shoulder in clumps: the telltale aftermath of a snowball throw. Giggles ring out over the clearing as Steve rubs his hands together, a teasing grin plastered firmly on his face. "Come on, old man! Are you just going to let some babies run all over ya?"
The thing is: Brett Yang is incredibly competitive. Eddy's seen him in rhythm classes and theory exams and mock performances, coming out on top every time no matter what it takes. He doesn't think that competitive streak extends to kids, but then.
Brett picks up a handful of snow and stalks forward, crafting it into a ball in his hands with a wicked smile playing on his mouth, and oh shit. "Ho ho ho, bitches."
"Please don't," Eddy laughs, but then the other man is off like a bullet, weaving through the tiny bodies as he throws snowball after snowball in a relentless barrage. The sounds of childish screaming fill the air, loud enough that several passersby are beginning to stop and stare. He'd be embarrassed, but the sunny grin on his friend's face, warm enough to melt snowflakes, is worth all the amused, knowing looks thrown their way.
This is what Brett Yang would look like as a father, comes the stray thought, and Eddy immediately pushes it away. Shut the fuck up, brain.
He opts instead to trudge along the sidelines and make snowballs for his best friend to throw at some kids, and when Brett comes out on top as he always does, the wet smack of lips on Eddy's cheek doesn't faze him at all. Let them stare; for now, Brett is his, and Eddy's all too willing to be known as Brett's, too.