Chapter Text
It begins like this:
A night of drinking and socializing with friends winds down to just the two of them on the couch. Their plan was to watch a little anime, but that’s derailed when Brett curls against him with a soft look on his face that makes Eddy’s heart skip every other beat. Comfortable and infused with bravery borrowed from a bottle, Eddy pulls him close for cuddles that transform into caresses before giving way to kisses– his forehead, his cheek, his lips.
It progresses so naturally he barely has time to think, much less question what they’re doing. Kissing Brett feels nice, just a natural extension of their usual affection, and touches between them have always been easy. They don’t bother talking except for the occasional murmured question. Here? Like this? That okay?
They’re only half-serious, enjoying being tender with one another until a shift in their positions has Eddy’s legs straddling Brett’s thigh. Eddy continues his open-mouthed kisses, breath quickening as Brett tightens his arms around him. Kisses and movements coalesce into a rhythm, the friction hitting exactly right and suddenly, with almost no warning, Eddy’s clinging to his friend’s shoulders and coming hard enough to leave him shaking and winded.
That’s never happened before, not even close, and as he descends from the high Eddy’s emotions tangle into a knot of embarrassment and worry. “Sorry,” he manages, but Brett gives him an odd look along with an amused half-smile.
When he reaches for the hardness between Brett’s legs with a questioning motion, Brett stills his hand and shakes his head. Eddy shrinks back, heart pounding, but Brett’s expression is serene and his lips remain half-curved. After pressing a fluttery kiss against Eddy’s temple, Brett slips off the couch.
His departure is executed so quickly Eddy barely has time to register what’s happened before Brett wanders down the hall towards the bathroom. Eddy figures he’s washing the mess off his skin, another thing for him to be embarrassed about, who splatters their best friend’s shirt with come and doesn’t even offer to launder it? He waits for Brett to return, and long minutes tick past in silence. Finally Eddy knocks on the door as his worries overwhelm him.
“You okay in there?”
“I’m fine,” is Brett’s immediate response, and a second later water rushes into the sink. Eddy relaxes, ready to hug him as he exits and pull him into one of their rooms to talk because what happened definitely merits discussion. Instead the shower starts and continues until Eddy gives up and goes to bed, leaving his door open as usual.
Brett remains in the shower for what feels like an eternity. When he's done, he slips down the hallway and enters his own bedroom without a word.
Eddy lies awake half the night, dreading the next morning.
—
But then nothing happens in the morning.
Brett’s up first, as usual, and has a pot of coffee brewed by the time Eddy manages to stagger into the kitchen. He’s seated at the table, working at his laptop, headphones on as he deals with the meeting Eddy didn’t wake in time to join.
“Want me to—” Eddy gestures towards his own laptop, but Brett gives a quick shake of his head and signals that he’s not missing anything important. Eddy lingers in the background for a few minutes, listening to Brett’s tone and wondering what he’s thinking. Brett appears well-rested and relaxed, his voice even, his faint smile natural. It’s all so normal that Eddy half-wonders if maybe he imagined the events of last night. Maybe he had far more to drink than he realized.
But the images are too clear, as is the lingering worry and confusion. Even if he can’t trust every detail of his alcohol-influenced memory, he trusts his emotions, and he’s as unsettled as Brett seems calm.
He goes for a run, hoping to steady his jangled nerves enough for a coherent talk by the time Brett finishes his meeting, but when he returns Brett is engrossed in what sounds like a productive practice session. He listens for a few minutes, nodding along to the music with his eyes closed before taking a shower.
Surely by the time he’s clean, Brett will be ready to talk.
Apparently he’s right, because when he emerges from the bathroom Brett is talking — but on his phone, to someone else. He’s laughing and joking and chatting in gentle, intimate tones that send a dagger of jealousy lancing through Eddy’s heart. He lingers in the doorway, trying to use context to figure out who it is, but Brett has a lot of friends and it could be any of them.
Knowing won’t help anyway, so he takes his violin and closes himself into their studio. He plays loud and angry, hitting nearly as many bad notes as correct ones.
At some point the door opens and Brett slides into a chair by the window. Eddy glances in his direction, somehow even more annoyed that Brett’s face remains tranquil in the midst of Eddy’s aural attack. He deliberately strikes three off-key notes in a row before lowering his instrument and turning to face his friend.
“Why are you here?”
Brett arches a brow. “It seems you need to talk,” he replies, his voice soft.
Something dark ripples through Eddy’s mind, and when he speaks his tone reflects it. “Clearly you don’t, so what does it matter?”
Unbelievably, Brett remains unflappable. “Because what you need matters to me.”
Eddy narrows his eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Like… what?” Brett’s head tilts to one side, expression curious and still utterly, infuriatingly calm.
“Like you don’t even care!” Eddy blurts, horrified as his eyes brim with sudden tears. He rushes out the door, down the hallway and into the bathroom, where he finds himself in the bathtub, crying against his knees in the dark.
A moment later Brett is there with him, climbing into the tub with a stifled sigh. “Poor Eddy,” he says, pulling him into his arms.
Eddy attempts to choke down sobs and succeeds only in giving himself the hiccups.
“There, there,” Brett murmurs, like this is all perfectly normal. “Let it out, I’ve got you.”
He cries into the crook of Brett’s neck until his tears run dry, leaving him with a chest that occasionally hitches and stupid hiccups interrupting every other breath.
Brett strokes his back. “Tell me how I can make it better.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” Brett says, easy as anything.
Eddy hiccups. “Tell me you don’t regret kissing me?”
There’s a slight hesitation this time, subtle enough no one else would notice. “I don’t regret it.”
“The rest, though.”
Brett tightens his arms around him. “I don’t regret any of it. I’m sorry if that’s the impression you got.”
“Why did you stop me, then?”
There’s a longer pause this time, and Eddy can feel him shift through his words before choosing the right ones with care. “Because I had a feeling it would end in tears, potentially with us crying in the bathtub in the dark and I wanted to spare you that.”
Eddy sits in motionless silence for a moment. “I don’t understand. Why not just talk to me about what happened?” He pauses again, his belly tightening around a mass of worry. “You stopped me for a reason.”
“I did,” Brett agrees in a sigh.
“I don’t know why, that’s what I’ve been waiting for you to share, so if you could just do that…”
“I stopped you because you’re straight.”
“I’m n—”
“Please don’t do this,” Brett says, his easy-going persona faltering into a pained tone. “You’ve only ever been with girls. Girls short-term, girls long-term, girls you’ve had crushes on from afar…” He shakes his head. “It was dumb of me to kiss you. I don’t want to be your gay experiment, because that ends with my heart broken and our friendship ending.”
This time, Eddy’s silence is born of shock. “You— you think I’d do that?”
“Of course not,” Brett soothes. “Not intentionally, absolutely not. But the risks are just too high for me. Twoset is too important, and I love you too much.”
Eddy’s mind spins in unhelpful circles. “Then why kiss me at all? Why let things go as far as they did?”
Brett shrugs against him in the dark. “Because I’m weak, because I love you, because it’s hard to resist you, because I’d been drinking and it all felt right.”
Eddy gropes for his hand and links their fingers together. “It all felt right to me, too.”
“I believe you.”
“So…?”
Brett sighs. “Listen, I’m glad it all felt good and right for you, I was worried you’d wake up feeling like I took advantage. But you’re straight. You’d been drinking, you were keyed up, and friction pushed you over the edge — but given a choice, your preference is for girls.”
He knows he can’t argue against a decade’s worth of evidence, but having his sexuality dictated to him by someone else seems like something he should be offended by, even if being offended isn’t likely to help his case. “Girls, and you,” he replies at last, sounding as petulant as he feels.
Brett leans against him. “I’m your best friend, and stuff sometimes gets confusing because wires get crossed, but Eddy– no one is gay for just one person.”
“I’m pretty sure I am.”
Brett tightens his grip on his hand. “Maybe you are,” he says after a slight pause. “But that brings me back to where I started. You’d have to experiment with me to be sure, and the risks are too high.” His voice undergoes a subtle transformation as he continues. “What we have already is pretty great, isn’t it?”
Eddy holds back a sigh. “It is.” He stews in silence for a few more seconds before continuing. “So does this change things?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifts uncomfortably, and Brett squeezes his hand again. “Do I still get to, you know, touch you? Hug you? Cuddle with you?”
With a breathy laugh, Brett leans against him until he’s almost in Eddy’s lap. “I hope so. I’d be sad if that changed.”
They rest together in the darkness for a while longer before various parts grow sore and Brett pushes himself to his feet. “Come on,” he tells Eddy, helping him up and making sure he clears the edge of the tub before releasing his hand.
As he does, the loss of warmth travels the entire length of Eddy’s body.
—
The answer comes to him in the middle of yet another sleepless night, and the plan is this:
He simply has to convince Brett that he’s not straight.