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Brett shouldn’t have favorites, in fact it’s advised that caregivers not develop feelings of any sort for their charges, but he can’t stop himself. The dark-haired, sweet-faced young man touched something inside him the first time their eyes met, and trying to resist is a waste of energy.
(He’s only human, after all.)
As usual, he has Eddy scheduled for the last appointment of the day, and as usual, he hurries through the rest of his appointments so they have extra time together.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as Eddy takes a seat in his sterile, white-walled office.
“Pretty good,” Eddy replies, eyes averted. He’s often shy when he first arrives, but he’s already smiling this time. His smile was one of the first things Brett noticed about him, open and trusting, crooked teeth framed by generous dimples. “Happy to see you. I just wish it were more than twice a week.”
“Me too. Maybe someday, yeah?”
As soon as he says the words Brett regrets them; they both know Eddy seeing Brett more than twice a week would spell unpleasant things for him. But Eddy just offers his bunny-toothed grin and shrugs. “They change policies all the time, maybe they’ll decide we need more frequent care. That’d be nice. I could use some more care.”
Brett hums as he washes and dries his hands. “Just generally, or is something hurting you?”
Eddy’s eyes gleam. “Which answer gets me more attention?”
Brett gives a little shake of his head as he retrieves Eddy’s chart to get started. He begins with his weight—unchanged since last week, good—and moves on to collecting his vitals. His temperature and oxygen levels are where they should be, but his pulse is slightly elevated.
“Are you nervous?”
“Not exactly.”
He listens to Eddy’s heart, strong and steady, before nudging him onto his back so he can check the incision site. It’s fully healed, but there’s more scar tissue than expected. He makes a note to keep an eye on that. As his fingers brush Eddy’s belly he twists about, giggling, and Brett gives up after a few minutes of wiggling. “How are you so ticklish?”
“I don’t knoooow,” Eddy laughs.
Brett pauses long enough for him to catch his breath before resuming his probe. Eddy begins thrashing again, but playfully this time.
“Stop, stop,” he begs. “You’re doing that on purpose, I know you are!”
“I swear I’m not,” Brett says with a chuckle. “The good news is, you’re healthy as ever.”
Eddy sits up, his smile fading. “And the bad news?”
Brett sighs. He hates this as much as Eddy does, maybe more. “Well, your labs from yesterday look good, and your urine test from this morning is perfect, so I’m going to draw some of your amazing AB-negative blood, okay?”
The color drains from Eddy’s cheeks. “Okay,” he says, his voice hushed.
Brett squeezes his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll be very careful. You barely felt the needle last time, right?”
“Right,” Eddy agrees. “You don’t hurt me, but I still hate it.”
“I understand.” Brett gives his shoulder another sympathetic pat before turning to his table of supplies. “Have you been drinking water today?”
A note of petulance slips into Eddy’s voice. “No.”
Brett turns to the sink, fills a glass, and passes it into his hands. “Get started, then.”
Eddy’s sulk deepens as he begins choking it down—and to be fair, the water here is chlorinated and metallic-tasting.
“Next time, I’ll bring you bubble tea.”
“Really?” And just like that, Eddy’s entire face brightens into a sunny smile.
“Yup. You like the black sugar pearls, right?”
Eddy’s grin widens even further. “Bring two.”
Brett chuckles. “Greedy.”
Eddy gives a minute shake of his head while draining the glass. “Not two for me. One for each of us. It can be like, you know…” He ducks his head shyly. “...A date.”
Brett quirk a brow at him. “A date where I get you hydrated so I can remove a pint of your blood?”
Eddy pales, but his smile remains intact. “So long as there’s bubble tea, I’m happy.” He lowers his voice and his eyes. “Bubble tea and you.”
Brett works with painstaking care, first examining the veins in Eddy’s arms, then disinfecting the site. He gets the insertion right on his first try, breathing a sigh of relief as the needle slides into place. When blood begins flowing, he pats Eddy’s shoulder again. “How does that feel?”
“Fine. I can’t even tell it’s in.”
“Good. Well, good in this context, at least.”
Eddy snickers, his eyes shining as he gazes up at him with such adoration Brett has to look away.
(He doesn’t deserve Eddy’s affection, but he takes it all the same.)
While they wait, Brett chats with him about the weather and a new card game everyone’s playing, and once the tubes are filled he gently removes the needle. He covers the site with a cotton ball and a plaster, which he gives a little tap. “You did well,” he says, and Eddy flushes with pride.
“When do I get my hug?” he asks, and Brett breaks more professional protocols to wrap his arms around him.
He definitely shouldn’t have favorites, but Eddy is impossible to resist.
(And like all humans, he’s weak.)
*****
“You know he’s manipulating you, right?”
Brett shrugs. He only talks to his co-workers when he has to; this isn’t the sort of place where one’s colleagues become friends. Unfortunately they’re not an unobservant bunch, and it didn’t take them long to notice that he’s different after spending time with E.Chen2488.
“They all try it,” Blake adds from across the table. Brett knows Blake better than the rest; he’s the violist in his ensemble group. “You’re best off not talking to them at all. Just do your job, make sure they’re functional for as long as they need to be and don’t spare them any more thought.”
The sad-eyed girl sitting beside him nods. “If they get the impression there’s a crack in your armor, they’ll be swarming you. Give me this, buy me that, do this for me, I need more of that.”
Brett shrugs. “I can’t really blame them.”
“No need to feel badly for them either,” the senior carer intones. “They’re doing what they were born to do, just as you are. There’s no need for anyone to feel guilty.”
He doesn’t, Brett assures them, and they return to their previous conversations. No one much cares, really; if Brett fucks up it’s his ass on the line, not theirs.
*****
Some weeks Eddy is sad. He does his best to hide it with forced smiles and even sillier jokes. Sometimes Brett does him the kindness of pretending he’s convinced; other times he decides that’s not helpful and pushes a little.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he says while making notes in Eddy’s chart. He’s dropped another two pounds, five total for the month, which pushes him into the at-risk category. When that happens, he has no choice but to address the issue.
It’s his job, after all.
“What, and make you sad, too?” Eddy shakes his head. “I’d rather we enjoyed our time together.”
Brett sets aside the chart and crouches in front of him. “You told me you feel healthy, and your tests all look good, but you’re losing weight again. That makes me think something’s bothering you. Maybe it would help to talk about it?”
Eddy looks away. “You could play your violin for me instead. That always makes me feel better.”
“I could,” Brett agrees, resting a hand on his knee. “But let’s talk first. You said you’re sad?”
“I didn’t.” Eddy gives a stubborn tilt of his chin. “I said I didn’t want to make you sad, that’s different.”
Brett waits, his eyes on Eddy’s face. When Eddy remains silent, Brett tries again. “It’s my job to look after you, to keep you healthy. That includes your mental health, too.”
Eddy gives a laugh that’s tinged with unusual bitterness. “We both know they don’t care about that, mate.”
Brett gazes at him steadily. “Maybe they don’t, but I do.” He stays where he is, his hand squeezing Eddy’s knee until he speaks again.
“You worry too much. It’s just a few pounds. I gain some, I lose some, it’s no big deal. I just haven’t been very hungry.”
Brett eyes him with concern. “Is it the food? You mentioned that it’s mostly Western-style stuff in the cafeteria, and it doesn't always agree with you.”
Eddy shrugs. “The food’s okay. I’d prefer Asian dishes, but as far as Western food goes, it’s not too bad.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is softer. “I guess it’s mostly that I’ve been eating alone lately, and I hate that.”
That sends a ripple of unease down his back. “Alone? Why are you alone? I thought you and your friends ate together, played games together…?”
Eddy shakes his head. “Carter just got out of surgery, Mica's not well, and Jen got released two weeks ago.” He sighs. “I’m happy for her, but she promised she’d write and she hasn’t. No one ever does. Is it really so amazing out there that once people are released they never think about us again?”
Brett squeezes his knee again. He’s not sure how to answer that, or if he should even try. “I imagine it’s a big adjustment. There’s a lot to figure out when you transition to a different location. When I moved here I don’t remember writing to anyone for months.”
“Yeah, but…” Eddy seems ready to argue, but appears to change his mind. “Did you bring it?” he asks instead.
“I did.” Brett pushes himself to his feet. “We have some time; do you want me to teach you more, or do you just want to listen?”
“I wanna listen,” Eddy says, leaning back and closing his eyes.
It gives Brett the opportunity to study his face unobserved, and he’s not pleased by what he sees. His cheeks appear sunken, his complexion is unusually pale, and there’s shadows lurking beneath his eyes. Unable to resist, he traces his fingers down Eddy’s cheek, relishing the feel of his petal-soft skin.
(Don’t think about ashes and cold. Don’t.)
Eddy keeps his eyes closed, smiling.
Brett’s violin is stashed in his office closet; he brings it here because he has rehearsal with his quartet after work three nights a week, and on the days when he doesn’t there’s always a chance he’ll have time to play for Eddy. Eddy’s an ideal audience member, responsive and attentive as he listens with clear pleasure.
When Brett finishes his rendition of Debussy, Eddy opens his eyes again.
“I wish I could just listen to you play for hours and hours.”
Brett lowers his violin. “If we had that much time together, I’d be teaching you more and making you practice. You sure you don’t wanna play a little?”
Eddy’s eyes flicker and his fingers twitch, and before he has a chance to decline again Brett hands him the instrument. “Just go through a few scales.”
There’s a beat of hesitation before Eddy accepts, his cheeks flushing with pleasure as he moves into position. “How do I start again?”
Brett takes a few minutes to go over the basics with him, but it’s mostly for show. Eddy knows what he’s doing, he just likes reassurance. After they finish dithering Eddy produces a perfectly in tune A before running through his scales with ease.
“You have talent,” Brett tells him when Eddy lowers the violin with a wince. “You just need more practice. The more you play, the less holding it in position will hurt.”
Eddy places the instrument on the exam bed behind him and shakes out his arms. “I can’t believe how much just holding it hurts.”
“Another reason for you to hit the gym,” Brett teases, easing behind him to rub his shoulders. “Focus on your forearms and biceps, skip cardio altogether until your weight is back up.”
Eddy’s head drops forward as Brett’s fingertips work into tense muscles. “That’s nice,” he says. “Do you have special training?”
Brett glides his hands down Eddy’s arms. “Not officially, but I once had a partner who would do this for me after long practice sessions. I’d play until everything ached, which I don’t recommend, and he’d help like this.”
Eddy sighs appreciatively as Brett warms the skin beneath his fingers. “Once?”
“Yeah.” Brett runs his hands up and down Eddy’s slender biceps, kneading at the tension. “He made it further in his career as a musician than I did. Maybe he’s playing for an orchestra on the mainland now, I’m not sure.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“We haven’t talked in years.”
“I’m sorry,” Eddy says, sounding so genuinely sad that Brett’s hands still.
“It’s okay. Except for being musicians, we weren’t a great match. Does this feel okay, or am I pushing too hard?” He moves to Eddy’s forearms, which are basically skin and bones, taking care to avoid the bruises in his inner elbows.
“Feels nice,” Eddy murmurs. “You’re always so gentle.”
Brett runs the palms of his hands along Eddy’s shoulders a few times before finishing by squeezing their hands together. Eddy’s are larger than his, but somehow feel more delicate. “I’m afraid we’re out of time,” he says. “But I’ll see you again in a few days, hey. Do me a favor and try to eat more, yeah?”
Eddy sighs. “I’ll miss you.”
“Think about me while you eat toast with extra butter, mashed potatoes, and mystery meat.”
Eddy laughs. “You really want me associating you with that?”
Brett grins. “I didn’t say anything about gravy.”
Eddy groans, shaking his head. “I remember our first few sessions together, back when you were all serious and super professional.”
Brett gives a rueful shake of his head. “There was a time when I was a respectable professional. Just look at the effect you’ve had on me. Now hurry up and get your hug, we’re way past our time limit.”
He knows he should keep it short, but Eddy feels so nice in his arms, warm as he slots against his body. He tries to resist, but it’s pointless. A moment later he finds himself kissing his cheek before nuzzling his nose against his ear.
Eddy blushes and laughs.
The sound is the best music Brett’s heard all week.
(Commit it to memory, every moment of it.)
*****
Brett starts preparing food, stashing it in his office’s mini-fridge along with bottled water and, when he has time, bubble tea from the employee dining room. It’s not very strong and a little too sweet, but at least they have Eddy’s favorite flavor.
“Thank you,” Eddy tells him between mouthfuls of rice, noodles, and vegetable-packed stir fry. “This is all so good. You know all my favorites.” He pauses after a swallow and gives a tentative smile. “How did you learn to cook like this?”
Brett shrugs, stirring the food on his plate. He’s not hungry, but he does his best to keep Eddy company while he eats. “My ex taught me some, and there’s cookbooks, and the rest was just trial and error. There were a lot of errors at first. You wouldn’t believe how many things I’ve burned or turned to mush.”
Eddy gives an impish grin. “Maybe I would. Guess who made them change their policy of allowing us to keep hot plates in our rooms?”
Brett widens his eyes. “Are you seriously telling me that that fire last year…?”
“My fault,” Eddy says with a wince. “Although I can explain!”
Brett arches a brow.
“I thought I put water in with the ramen, then I got distracted by something else and forty minutes later…”
“Forty minutes!” Brett wheezes with laughter before regaining control of himself. “Seriously though, you could have been badly hurt. Please don’t tell me you fell asleep.”
Eddy looks away, a guilty look crossing his face. “Okay.”
“Eddy. You need to be careful, you’re—”
(Valuable.)
“—important to me. I need you safe, which means no taking chances.”
“I was tired! But you don’t need to worry, we aren’t allowed to have any sort of heating apparatus in our rooms now. Don’t tell anyone it was my fault, though,” he adds quickly.
Brett chuckles. “Your secret is safe with me. Wouldn’t want an angry mob going after my favorite patient.”
Eddy finishes the rest of the food on his plate before speaking again, and when he does, it sounds like he spent some time deciding which words to use. “So um. Was the ex who taught you cooking stuff the same one you mentioned before? Massage-dude?”
Brett hesitates before answering. “Nah. Massage-dude was useless in the kitchen. He couldn’t even make a decent cup of tea, which is outright unacceptable once you’re past a certain age.”
Eddy ducks his head. “I uh…”
“Not you,” Brett says gently. “And if I can teach you to play violin, I’m pretty sure I can teach you to brew tea.”
Eddy looks so relieved Brett has to fight the urge to laugh. “So after you split with massage-dude… uh. Did you, I mean are you… did you find a new boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or…?”
“Nah. It’s just me, my work, and my violin.” He favors Eddy with a warm smile and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Eddy battles through his shyness in record speed, leaning forward with a hopeful smile. “If you don’t have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anything like that… can this be a date, then?”
Brett tilts his head to one side and arches a brow. “I’m afraid that would violate my medical ethics.”
Eddy’s observant eyes study his expression before he responds with a performative sulk. “So you’re a doctor?”
Brett shakes his head. “Closer to a nurse. Although if I’m being honest, I’m more of a glorified orderly.”
Eddy leans slightly closer. “Are there rules against orderlies dating patients?”
Brett hums. “There’s rules about almost everything, but the longer you’re here, the easier it is to know which rules count and which can be dodged. That said, I’m pretty sure hosting dates in my office would be frowned upon.”
“Good thing there’s no one here to see, then.”
Brett leans closer. “What would change this from ‘eating with your physical exam-giving, blood-drawing friend’ into a date?”
To his surprise, Eddy takes a moment to consider the question, with various expressions flickering across his open face. “Intent,” he says at last. “If we both agreed it was a date, then that makes it a date. Even if we were only sharing water instead of all the good food you made for me.”
“Ahh.” He waits until Eddy meets his eyes before speaking again, smiling at his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. “Anything else?”
Eddy blush deepens. “Maybe a kiss,” he says, so quiet Brett can barely hear. He’s tempted to make Eddy say it again, just to see if he can turn a still-rosier shade of pink, but decides to take mercy on him instead.
“I think that could be arranged.” Brett moves his plate aside and holds out his hand; after a beat of confusion, Eddy seems to realize what he’s requesting and places his own within Brett’s grasp. Brett closes his fingers around it and draws it to his lips, where he places a gentle kiss against his knuckles.
Eddy laughs, a breathlessly delighted sound. “That’s nice,” he says, and sure enough, a brighter color has stained his cheeks. “I like that,” he continues as Brett kisses each of his fingers in turn. “But it’s um…”
“Not exactly what you had in mind when you said ‘kiss’?” Brett lets his barely-repressed grin bloom, full and bright. “Well then.” He crooks a finger and beckons Eddy closer. Eddy moves one of the bento boxes out of his way and shifts forward until their knees are touching.
“Like this?”
Brett glances back and forth between them, smiling. “This is good,” he says approvingly. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
Eddy’s smile falters. “I don’t at all, actually.” He pauses. “I get that you’re trying to relax me, but teasing is just making me more nervous right now.”
Brett melts a little. “Onto the main act, then,” he says before leaning forward, his hands moving to Eddy’s shoulders to grasp him securely. “Close your eyes. If I mess this up, I don’t want any witnesses.”
Eddy complies, his dark lashes coming to a rest against pale cheeks. Brett brings their mouths together and starts with the barest of contact, a mere brush of his lips against Eddy’s. They’re warm and dry. Eddy doesn’t seem to be breathing–
(No, don’t think about that, think about anything but that, anything at all–)
Brett presses the softest of kisses against his lower lip before breaking contact.
“Breathe, Eddy,” he murmurs. “I want this to be nice, not me giving you mouth-to-mouth.”
Eddy sucks in a strangled breath, laughing. “Sorry,” he manages. “I’m just so nervous.”
“There’s no reason to be,” Brett tells him, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “There’s absolutely nothing, not a single thing in the world you could do wrong here.”
“Okay,” Eddy says, inhaling again. “Okay, I’m ready.”
It goes better this time, with their lips connecting softly before turning passionate. Eddy transitions from stillness to breathing hard and fast, his chest hitching, his kisses messy and desperate. Brett somehow winds up in his lap, his hands working beneath Eddy’s shirt to caress his chest—
(His chest, not his belly, don’t touch there, don’t think—)
—while Eddy groans. They grind into each other, Eddy arching up, Brett bearing down until excitement turns to urgency.
“Should I stop,” he pants, and Eddy locks his arms around him.
“Only if you want to kill me.”
Brett parts his lips and begins moving with intent, rocking back and forth against Eddy’s hardness. It takes him a moment to work a hand into Eddy’s loose-fitting pants, and he’s rewarded by the heat of Eddy’s straining erection, warm and throbbing beneath his fingers. “Yeah?” he asks, and when Eddy nods he begins stroking him rhythmically, eyes drinking in the pleasure on Eddy’s face.
Eddy’s head falls against his shoulder as his body shakes. He whimpers quietly as he convulses through his orgasm, then presses his forehead to Brett’s throat while he attempts to catch his breath. Brett wipes his hand on the underside of his shirt and holds Eddy close, murmuring lovingly into his ear.
Once his heart stops pounding and he’s able to focus again, Eddy looks at him with a surprisingly shy smile, considering. “I want to do the same for you,” he says.
Brett smiles, lowers his scrubs, and guides Eddy’s hand into place.
When he comes, he groans Eddy’s name, fingers digging into his back.
(It’s good. It’s always so good.)
*****
It doesn’t take long before Eddy gains a few pounds and is cleared for another donation. He takes the news with a sigh, but brightens when Brett retrieves a bubble tea from the fridge.
“Just one?”
Brett grins as he fishes out a second straw. “I figured our relationship has progressed to the point where we can share.”
Eddy ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says a moment later, his voice oddly thick.
“Oh no you don’t,” Brett tells him. “No crying.”
“I’m not.” He swallows, and Brett winces at how painful it sounds. “See? No tears.” His voice shakes, but his cheeks remain dry.
Brett leans in and kisses his forehead. “Drink your tea,” he murmurs.
Eddy does as requested, finishing over half of it before passing it into Brett’s hands. “You have some, then I’ll finish the rest,” he says. “And um, can I borrow your violin for a minute?”
“My violin?” Brett blinks, confused.
“Just for a minute.”
With a shrug, Brett retrieves his instrument from the closet. “Here you go,” he says, settling down to drink a little of the tea while he waits to see what Eddy’s plan is.
Eddy plays two notes before looking at him expectantly.
Brett cocks his head to one side, lost.
Eddy grins and plays them again, slower this time.
“I don’t get it.”
Eddy cackles. “You’re a musician and you don’t know what notes I’m playing?”
“Play them again.”
“Third time’s the charm, I suppose.”
“Well go on then, smartypants.”
Eddy plays the notes slowly and meaningfully before fixing him with a smile.
Brett returns the expression. “A, and B,” he says. “Your blood type, on violin. Very nice, Eddy. Kind of gross, but also clever.”
Eddy gives a playful bow before setting the instrument aside. “I guess we should get on with it,” he says, climbing into the chair with a sigh.
Brett shifts into professional mode as he traces his fingers down each of Eddy’s arms. The break did him some good; hardly any bruising mars his pale skin. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises, and true to his word Eddy doesn’t even flinch as the needle slides into place.
He’s pale and shivering by the time Brett applies the bandage. “You okay?” he asks, and Eddy nods despite his obvious discomfort.
“Just dizzy.” He sinks back into his chair, his breathing heavy. “And cold. Why does it always make me feel cold?”
“Put your head between your legs,” Brett says, guiding him into place. Eddy trembles beneath his touch, and he rubs comforting circles between his shoulder blades. “The dizziness will pass in a minute, and then you’ll be good as new.” He stays where he is until Eddy straightens, and when he does he rewards him with a smile.
“I feel better. Still cold, though, but I’m always cold.”
“That’s because you’re underweight, and according to your file you came from a warm place.”
“Yeah?” Eddy brightens with interest. “That sounds nice. When I’m released, will you take me to a place where it’s warm?”
Brett turns away before Eddy can see his expression. “I will,” he says, returning to the closet and reaching for the garment he has hidden in the back. “But until then, this should help.” It’s a hoodie, soft and thick, purchased with money he had earmarked for an upgraded bow but decided this was more important.
Eddy gazes up at him in silence, so Brett eases it over his head and guides his arms into the holes. “There you go,” he says. “Just a little big on you, but that way you can layer other things beneath it and it’ll keep you even warmer.” He’s in the middle of cuffing the too-long sleeves when Eddy begins sniffling.
“You aren’t crying, are you?”
“I’m not,” Eddy manages, and Brett pulls him into his arms.
“Hush now. It’s not such a big deal.”
“It is to me.” Eddy sniffles as he talks. “No one’s ever given me a present before. Unless I count the bubble teas.”
“What, bubble teas aren’t good enough to count?” Brett teases as he thumbs away his tears. “I’m glad you like it. I want you warm and comfortable. Think of it as a portable hug, for when I’m not around.”
Eddy laughs, hiccupping. “That’s not what you say to make me stop crying.”
“No? What could the magic words be…” Brett wipes away more tears that trickle down Eddy’s cheeks, smiling. “Hmm. Maybe it’s not words at all, maybe it’s something I need to do.” He leans in and presses his lips against Eddy’s, savoring the mingled tastes of tea, sugar, and salt. He kisses him until the tears stop, then pulls back with a smile. “Yup. I cracked the code.”
“So dumb,” Eddy says with a breathy laugh. “Get back here and kiss me some more, please.”
*****
Brett always notices when something isn’t quite right. Sometimes he knows before Eddy even arrives at his office—it’s a faint curl of wrongness, a tug of worry that works its way deeper into his chest until he’s too distracted to concentrate on anything else.
He can’t focus on anything until Eddy arrives and he can assess the seriousness of the situation.
This time around, it’s serious enough that Eddy skips the usual prelude where he pretends everything is fine.
“Did you know James has a twin?” he asks before he’s even seated on the exam table, his long fingers knitting together, his eyes hooded and shadowed.
“I, um—”
“Because I had no idea James had a twin, and we were friends for a long time before he got released. Or at least I thought we were.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his body language as closed as his expression.
“I don’t know who James is,” Brett replies carefully. “He wasn’t one of my charges, so I’m not sure if I ever met him.”
Eddy gazes up at him before replying. “I knew him really well. We used to eat together, play games together, go for walks together—he was probably my closest friend here. Aside from you, I mean,” he adds hastily.
Brett brushes off the reassurance with a flap of his hand. “How much time did you spend talking about your families?”
Eddy’s eyes narrow. “Well… okay, fine, but a twin is different, don’t you think?”
Brett shrugs. “A lot of people have twins. I read somewhere that since the population crash and the new fertility drugs, almost ten percent of births are multiples.”
“Really?” Eddy cocks his head to the side. “Well, I guess that would make sense. It just feels strange, is all.”
Brett grins at him. “How about you feel me instead?”
Eddy groans, but he’s smiling again. “Don’t you have some business to take care of first?”
Brett gives an exaggerated series of blinks. “What’s this? Eddy Chen, wanting to do the unpleasant part of our time together first?” He reaches forward to touch his fingers to Eddy’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Very funny,” Eddy’s smile brightens. “But seriously.” He lowers his voice and ducks his head. “I figured… now that we’re more than caregiver-patient… and more than friends, even…” He pauses and clears his throat.
Brett waits with an encouraging smile.
“Fuck,” Eddy says as he steals a look at Brett’s face. “Why can’t you make these things easier for me?”
“Because you’re cute when you get flustered?”
Eddy rolls his eyes. “I was going to say now that we’re more-than-friends, I should be making your job easier for you.” He pauses and lowers his voice. “But um, I guess I should find out exactly what we are. If you um.” His voice falls even lower. “If you’re ready to have that sort of conversation.”
Brett settles beside him and takes his hand. “Whatever label you want is fine with me. I’m not picky.”
Eddy’s shy expression morphs into gentle amusement. “So you’re cool if I wanna call you my butt-boy?”
Brett lets his smile turn lopsided. “I’m totally fine with that. By all means. I wanna hear you say that in public without dissolving into a puddle of embarrassment.”
Blushing, Eddy laughs. “Okay fine, call my bluff.” His voice goes soft again. “Just um. Partners? But I won’t go telling everybody,” he adds hastily. “There’s probably rules against this on your end, yeah?”
“There are,” Brett admits. “But so long as you’re healthy and I’m doing my job, they don’t much care. The only time eyes turn towards people like me are when things go wrong. So, I’ve just got one more reason to keep you as healthy as possible, hey.”
Eddy offers a brave smile. “Let’s get my blood drawing done with, then, before we do whatever we’re gonna do together tonight.”
“I have some ideas,” Brett says with a smile as he begins with Eddy’s vitals.
(Fine, fine, he’s fine, everything is normal, he’s perfectly healthy and will stay that way.)
*****
Dozens more appointments pass before Eddy questions Brett’s interest in his abdominal scar.
“There you go again,” he says as Brett probes the edges, making him wiggle and squirm. “It never changes; what do you think you’re learning while you prod at it?”
“Prod?” Brett leans down to press a kiss against the curved line. “I don’t prod. Just looking after it, is all. It’s part of my job.”
Eddy squirms beneath his feather-light lips. “Doesn’t seem like it,” he says. “I mean, you aren’t measuring it or using any sort of instruments or anything a doctor would do.”
“Well, there you go. I’m not a doctor.”
“You’re just obsessed, huh?”
Brett sighs and pulls Eddy’s hoodie down to cover his belly. “I was worried. And I am your partner now, so of course I worry.”
Smiling sympathetically, Eddy traces a finger along his cheek. “You don’t need to worry anymore. There’s no pain or anything. I don’t even remember the operation.”
“Good,” Brett replies softly. “Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”
*****
The exam table isn’t ideal for intimacy, but Brett figures it’s better than the floor. They wedge it against the far wall and tear off the protective paper sheets and giggle as it creaks beneath their combined weight.
“Another advantage of dating an orderly,” Brett tells him as he warms it between his palms. “Medical-grade lubricant.”
“This is going to spoil me for anyone else, isn’t it?
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Things might have continued as they were indefinitely if not for the incident.
Altercations between caregivers and patients don’t happen often, but when they do everyone within earshot is required to drop any non-essential tasks and assist.
Brett considers sucking Eddy’s cock essential, but doubts his superiors would accept it as a viable excuse. He pulls away with a string of apologies as alarms blare from the hallway. “It’s probably nothing,” he says. “I’ll be back quick as I can.”
“That’s fine,” Eddy pants, his eyes hooded, his face flushed. “I’ll, um, wait right here.”
Brett drapes a blanket over his lap, presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and dashes to join the mayhem. From what he can gather amid the shouting, his colleague’s patient crafted a weapon from a piece of metal and slashed the orderly’s face while screaming about body-snatching demons.
It should have been easy to subdue him, but blood makes the floors slippery and the caregiver’s injuries divert half the responders. Brett joins the trio attempting to wrestle the weapon away, but the crazed man has rage and adrenaline on his side and manages to slash his upper arm before throwing him to the floor.
There are times, Brett thinks in a daze, when he wouldn’t mind being a half-dozen centimeters taller and a bit heavier.
Just as he starts wondering if they’ve lost control of the situation, a young woman who works across the hall slides in from behind, striking the attacker over the head with a heavy book. He collapses to the floor and his weapon clatters across the tiles, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. For a moment there’s complete silence as everyone takes in the trio of fallen bodies, the pools of blood, and the groaning caregiver clutching at his slashed face. Brett manages to reach his side, pulling off his shirt to apply direct pressure until someone else takes over.
“Sit and don’t move,” the supervisor’s voice directs him. “We’ll have someone check your injuries in a moment.”
Brett nods, dazed, the hallway fading as his heart pounds.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before his arm is stitched, but it’s long enough that the crazed patient and injured orderly have been hauled away.
“You okay, Yang?”
“Just fine,” Brett replies faintly. “Um, what happened?”
The medic assisting him shrugs. “Sometimes they go crazy.” He lowers his voice. “Some people say they develop a sixth sense when things are about to end for them. Never put much stock in that myself, but then a thing like this happens and it makes you wonder, you know?”
Brett nods at the words he barely processes; all he can think about is how long he’s been away. “Pardon me,” he says before rushing off.
The tile floor gleams white again as he approaches his office, all evidence of violence wiped clean.
Eddy is still waiting, but he’s moved from the exam bed to Brett’s desk, where he’s paging through a pile of charts taken from the file cabinet he left unlocked. Brett stands motionless, watching him, and after a minute Eddy looks up, his face expressionless.
“How much did you read?” Brett asks, his throat tight.
“Enough.”
Brett sighs and rubs at his eyes behind his glasses. “Do you want to talk, or…?”
Eddy shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. “I think I need to be alone for a while,” he says, his tone flat as his expression. He edges around Brett and backs his way to the door.
Then he slips out and silently vanishes down the hallway.
*****
Eddy has no choice but to attend his appointments, but it’s like interacting with a stranger. He’s cooperative, but says almost nothing. The gulf between the feels wide as the ocean, and nearly as cold.
“I’m sorry,” Brett whispers when Eddy flinches as the needle slides into place.
Eddy says nothing, his expression static.
*****
Eddy won’t talk to him, so he talks to Eddy.
As the blood flows from Eddy’s arm he rambles about his favorite pieces, about the joy and anxiety of performing in front of audiences, the peace he finds rehearsing with his ensemble group and his sorrow over having abandoned a potential musical career for what he does now.
Eddy holds out longer than Brett thought he would, finally speaking again three sessions later.
“I felt like I could trust you,” he says, his voice hoarse, his attention on the blank wall. “I’m not sure why, but from the first time we met I thought you were different.”
“You can,” Brett replies, forcing the words past his rapidly tightening throat. “I swear, you can.”
“But you lied to me,” Eddy says, sounding much further away than he’s seated. “Lies of omission are still lies. Even worse coming from the person who was supposed to be my partner.”
Alarm sends unpleasant sparks of pins-and-needles through his limbs. “Supposed to be? Am I not now?”
Eddy shrugs, still not meeting his gaze.
Brett sighs. “I just… I didn’t want to make you sad. I couldn’t see how knowing any of that would make your life better, and that’s what I want. To make things better for you.”
Eddy gives a slow but resolute shake of his head. “I don’t mind being sad,” he says. “I”m used to it. I’m not okay with being lied to. Especially by you.”
Brett moves a little closer, studying Eddy’s expression for any possibility of forgiveness. “I’ll stop keeping things from you, if you give me another chance,” he begins, but Eddy cuts him off with another headshake.
“I’m not ready to have that conversation yet. And I think the vial is almost full, mate.”
Brett shifts his attention and grimaces; he nearly had another mess on his hands.
*****
Within weeks, Eddy’s dropped so much weight that he’s back in the danger zone, and he begins showing up to appointments so dehydrated that Brett doesn’t even attempt to get the needle in. His urine output is low, the liquid dark, and Brett is increasingly frustrated.
“Please, talk to me,” he begs, but Eddy sighs and shakes his head, his Adam's apple quivering.
“I just don’t have much to say.”
“You aren’t taking care of yourself.”
Eddy gives a low, bitter laugh. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It matters to me.”
He’s hoping for another reply, but Eddy falls silent again.
*****
He meets with his supervisor about the situation, which is awkward because he can’t spell out the true reasons for Eddy’s decline. Instead he goes for the second-best option, reporting that Eddy is depressed due to social isolation.
His supervisor doesn’t look up from his paperwork as he listens, but when Brett pauses he stops signing and stamping long enough to speak.
“This again, Mr Yang?” he asks, managing to sound both bored and annoyed.
“Socialization is important,” he insists. “Loneliness is detrimental to health, and he’s only a few months post-op.”
His supervisor finally picks up the chart Brett had deposited on his desk and pages his way through it. “Ah. The AB donor.”
“Yes. He’s important, he’s the only one we have right now, and his blood isn’t much use to us if he’s not healthy enough to donate.”
The man gives a disinterested nod and lifts his rubber stamp again. “Request approved,” he says. “On your off-work hours. If you need to find extra time, I suggest you cut back on the fiddling.”
Brett manages to keep his expression neutral, and he’s fortunate his supervisor’s eyes have returned to his seemingly bottomless stack of work.
*****
When Eddy opens the door to his dorm room to find Brett standing there, blood drains from his face like he’s looking at an apparition. “Are you,” he manages after a moment, “are you allowed here?” He leans out to glance up and down the hallway, but it’s empty and silent.
“Not usually, but I got special permission.” Brett tries his most charming smile. “I just… can I come in? Can we talk?”
Eddy lingers in the doorway, not bothering to disguise his expression as worries and doubts play out across his face. For a moment Brett’s certain Eddy is going to send him away, telling him that if he doesn’t want to speak in Brett’s office then he certainly doesn’t want his private space invaded.
Just as Brett is readying a short apology, Eddy takes a step back and allows him inside. “I don’t really have anywhere for visitors to sit,” he says apologetically. “Just the bed.”
Brett glances around the room, surprised by how small it is. There’s a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and an unmade bed. The tiny bedside table is crammed with a lamp, decks of cards, and more books. “I don’t mind sitting there,” he says. “If that’s okay with you. I um. I hope we’re still friends, at least.”
Eddy’s eyes instantly brim with tears. “I hope so too,” he says, his voice a soft croak.
With a sigh, Brett steps forward and gathers him into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Eddy chokes out. “I know you don’t like it when I’m sad.”
“Oh, Eddy.” Brett rubs his back. “It’s not that. If you’re sad, you’re sad, it doesn’t make me love you any less.”
Eddy freezes against him. “You love me?”
“I do.”
Eddy pulls free of his arms. “But you’ve only known me for a few months.”
Brett shakes his head. “No. I’ve known you for much longer than that.”
Eddy’s eyes go wide.
“Didn’t you read your own chart?”
“No. I was reading the others, working up the courage to look at mine when you returned.”
“Ah.” Brett takes his arm and leads him to the bed. “Well. If you have questions, I’ll answer them. Or I’ll do my best. There’s a lot that employees at my level aren’t told.”
After settling together, Eddy places a hand against his belly. “I have a question.” His voice shakes. “What did they take from me? A kidney? I was thinking a kidney but then I read that those are usually removed from the back so I don’t know and it’s giving me nightmares and—”
Brett squeezes his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”
“How could I think anything else?”
Brett hesitates, his eyes on Eddy’s distress-lined face as he speaks. “It wasn’t that,” he says at last. “They don’t want your various organs; your value to them is your blood, and the rarity of it and the important people who need it makes you one of the most valuable ones here.”
“Valuable ones?” Eddy stares at him. “You can’t even say it, can you.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“I’m already upset!”
“Okay, okay.” Brett twists his hand together within his lap. “You’re one of the most valuable clones in the facility. They wouldn’t operate on you to take any of your organs for a random match because your blood is valuable; essential, really, especially when operations need to be performed quickly and they don’t have time to call for off-site resources.”
“Resources,” Eddy echoes, his eyes huge.
Brett sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Reading what you did… it must have been a terrible shock. I should have told you.”
Eddy looks away. “So the scar.”
“You aren’t going to like this part, either.”
Eddy gives a bitter little laugh. “No, I imagine not.”
Brett drops his gaze to his lap, where his fingers are knit together so tightly they ache. “It was your appendix. They knew it was bad, and would eventually burst, so they removed it soon after you were created this time.”
“This time.”
Brett nods.
“This time,” Eddy repeats, his voice rising again. “So I’m not the first me?”
Brett swallows hard before replying. “No,” he manages, his voice barely audible. “The first you died. When his—your—appendix burst, and they couldn’t operate in time to save you. Him.”
He should know it’s coming, but it sneaks up like it often does, the awful wave of grief that overwhelms everything and leaves him trembling, hot tears streaming down his face.
An arm encircles him and pulls him close, and the next thing he knows he’s being held against Eddy’s chest, his face pressed against his neck. “I’m sorry,” Eddy says, sounding so pained that Brett laughs amid his tears.
“Don’t apologize for dying,” he chokes out. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Eddy says. “I shouldn’t have gotten annoyed with you for being obsessed with my scar. I should have realized there was a reason for it.”
Brett curls closer into the comfort of Eddy’s arms. “I should have told you. But it’s hard for me to talk about… I loved him—you—so much.”
Eddy’s quiet for a while. “Am I the same, then? Same as the first Eddy you knew?”
“Almost the same.” He draws in a breath, slow and shuddering. “He didn’t wear glasses; I don’t know why that changed. He was shyer, too; it took much longer for him to trust me. I guess part of you remembered part of me?” He shrugs. “It’s not like I could ask.”
Eddy leans against him, taking some time before responding. “I felt like I could trust you right from the start,” he said. “You felt safe.”
Brett forces a hard swallow. “I hope you can feel that way about me again.”
A long, awkward silence follows.
“What else haven’t you told me? I need for you to be honest. Fully honest. I don’t see how I can trust you or feel safe with you again otherwise.”
Brett nods, wiping his face to buy a little more time. “I was never a professional musician,” he says at last. “I made it sound like I was, but I wasn’t.”
Eddy takes a moment. “Why did you lie about that? I don’t understand; what’s even the point of lying about something like that?
Brett doesn’t have much of an answer, but he does his best. “It was something I pretended was true, a fantasy life that I dreamed about. It could have been, and part of me feels like it should have been, and sometimes I like to pretend I had some other life before coming here.” He shrugs. “I know it’s dumb. But pretending makes things better.”
Silence spools out again before Eddy replies. “So you don’t know what it’s like out there? On the mainland?”
Brett shrugs. “I go there occasionally for performances with my quartet, but usually just straight to the venue and then back. Maybe with a stop for dinner or drinks or something, but we’re expected back here before curfew.”
“But your ex-boyfriends…”
“They work here, too.”
Something flickers in Eddy’s eyes before he looks away again. “You talked about moving house, about coming here from somewhere else…”
“I imagine I did, at some point. But I don’t remember.”
Eddy considers that. “I don’t remember coming here either. What do you suppose it means?”
Brett is silent.
When Eddy finally speaks again, his voice is very soft. “I think you know what it means.”
Brett sighs.
“Brett. If you don’t remember a life before you worked here, then you’re almost certainly a clone, too. Maybe everyone who works here is, everyone except perhaps the supervisors and managers. Although who knows.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all of us. An entire island filled with clones, using one another as we prepared to be used.”
Brett gives a slow nod. “It’s one of the things supervisors like to remind us. That we all serve a purpose, and serving that purpose is what matters.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It sounds more convincing when they say it, though.”
Eddy looks stricken. “We have to leave.”
Brett stares at him, lost.
“All those people who were ‘released’ — they’re all dead.” His voice shakes. “How can you be so calm about it, knowing it could be you at any time?”
Brett shakes his head. “Not unless the person I was cloned from gets seriously ill. Most of the clones here are made from people with congenital issues; from what I know, my original is normal.”
“Normal people get sick all the time. He could develop some sort of deadly disease tomorrow for all you know.”
Brett offers his most reassuring smile. “Who suddenly gets deathly ill at twenty-eight? He’s young. I’ll be fine for a long time to come.”
“I was dead before thirty.”
A rush of blood overwhelms his ears and his head swims with lightness. “Yeah,” he manages, his voice sounding a million miles away. “That’s true.”
“Brett?” Eddy’s arms engulf him again, pulling him down onto the narrow mattress. A hand goes to his hair, petting him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough and also.” He gives a little bark of laughter. “What would I do without you? I’d never be okay again if I lost you.”
“There’d be a new me,” Brett chokes out. “Might take you a little time to adjust, but he’d be mostly like me.”
Eddy shakes his head. “I don’t want a new you. I want this you, the one who loves me.”
Brett curls up more comfortably against him. “Every version of me will love you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m sure.”
Eddy wraps his arms securely around him. “We’re leaving. Just as soon as you figure out a plan.”
Brett manages a strained little laugh. “That’s on me, huh.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve never been outside this compound; I probably shouldn’t be the one figuring out the escape route.”
Brett considers. “We don’t know what we’d be escaping to. What sort of a life we could have out there, if any. At least here, we’re safe.”
“Safe?” Eddy chokes down a laugh. “You have a strange definition of safe. We could be harvested for our organs and killed at any time, that sounds like the opposite of safe to me. James thought he was safe. So did Jen. And Kaitlin, and Ava, and Madison, and Anthony, and—”
“Okay,” Brett cuts in, unable to bear the litany of names both familiar and obscure. “You’re right, it’s not safe at all. It’s just… known. Here, we know what the risks and dangers are.”
Eddy gives a stubborn tilt of his chin. “You mean the costs. Those things are what it costs us to stay here, and the price is way too high. You know it is. You’ve paid it before.”
With a sigh, Brett nods. “I can’t promise you anything, is all. I have no idea what our lives will be like if we can escape.”
Eddy peers into his face, his eyes intense. “We’d be together. Isn’t that enough?”
Brett isn’t sure how to answer, so he kisses him instead.
*****
Part of him hopes that things will return to how things were, only better because he’s allowed to visit Eddy after his work hours and they have more time together. Brett apologizes in every way he can think of until Eddy tells him to knock it off; he doesn’t require eternal repentance and it’s time to move on. Soon they’re laughing and teasing each other again, and everything is fun except for the blood draws.
“I hate this,” Eddy tells him each time, his face pale, his lips twitching.
“I know.” Brett pauses his work to lean in and kiss him, but Eddy’s responses are
perfunctory. “It’ll go quick though, you’ve done a good job with your water today and—”
“Not just getting my blood drawn, all of it. I hate being your patient. I hate the reminder that we live at their mercy.”
Brett is quiet, keeping his head down as he readies the needle for insertion.
“Have you thought more about how we can get out of here?”
The needle won’t stay steady. “Sure. I’ve been thinking about it since you said that’s what you want. There’s problems, though.”
“Yeah? How do those problems compare to the possibility of being ‘released’ at any point, for any reason?”
When Brett flinches, Eddy closes a hand over his wrist. “Sorry,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry for putting this all on you, but I don’t know anything about the mainland. I’m not even sure which way leads out.”
“It’s okay.” Brett rests his head on top of Eddy’s. “I think I can get us out of here. It’s just, I don’t have much money. Or know anyone out there who can help us. Or have a plan for how we’d survive, or… anything, really.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Eddy says, tugging him down for another kiss. “And we’ll have each other. I don’t need anything but you.”
*****
The most likely outcome involves getting caught, followed closely by starving or freezing to death on the city streets. None of it sounds like an exciting romantic adventure, but he can’t argue that Eddy’s got a point. Something could go wrong with his original at any time. Hell, something could go wrong with Eddy’s original, or someone else that his organs are compatible with. His blood isn’t special enough to save him if someone important needs parts.
It takes time to pull the plans together, and each day that passes increases Eddy’s anxiety. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” Eddy tells him, tense and miserable as Brett attempts to draw his blood. “Now that I know why people are having surgeries, and what it means when they don’t come back—I feel like we’re living inside a morgue.”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Brett mutters when he fucks up the needle insertion for the second time. His hands are rarely steady these days; he misses too much sleep due to terrible dreams and bouts of heart-pounding panic.
Eddy doesn’t even flinch, too wrapped up in his worries. “I don’t care,” he says. “Don’t care where we go, or how we have to live, or what we have to do to survive; I just can’t live like this any longer.”
“We won’t. I promise. Just give me a little more time.”
*****
He meant what he said, but it’s all too easy for time to slip past inside the facility.
Brett has his work, which has always been enough to keep him occupied, and the extra hours he’s allowed to spend with Eddy makes the days fly past even faster. Days bleed into weeks, and weeks into months, and before he’s noticed, an entire season has turned.
Eddy doesn’t push or pester, but Brett senses his mounting anxiety. He does his best to soothe and distract, because he still thinks they’re safe and have time for him to save money while circumspectly asking his co-workers what they know of the mainland. He’s not surprised when the answer is ‘not much,’ but figures any scraps of information might be useful someday.
If they actually leave, that is.
The easier thing would be to stay where they are and hope for the best. With his appendix removed, Eddy could live a long and healthy life, and so long as the recipients who depend on his blood also remain alive, he’s safer than most.
That’s what he tells himself, at least, and he’s always been good at telling himself what he wants to hear.
*****
It’s the end of a long week when arrives at Eddy’s room, eager for some time with just the two of them. He’s raised a hand to knock when a loud crash startles him, causing him to take an involuntary step backward.
“Eddy?” he calls, alarmed, but the only answer is another resounding thud that echoes through the walls.
This time, he doesn’t wait, just opens the door and steps inside.
Eddy’s hair stands away from his head in all directions, like he’s been dragging hands through it for hours. His face is pale, his eyes are wild, and they look right through Brett without recognition.
“Eddy?”
The room around them lies in ruins. Torn books and crumpled paper lay discarded on the floor, the shattered remains of a glass spike up from a crumpled rug, drawers have been emptied, and the wall gapes with a freshly-kicked hole. A low keening plays from somewhere nearby, and it takes his stunned mind a moment to recognize that the source is Eddy himself.
“Eddy,” he says again, his voice shaking, and Eddy turns and lunges.
(“Sometimes they go crazy,” the orderly said.)
“Eddy, stop,” he commands, catching his friend by his wrists. “It’s me! It’s Brett. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, I’m here, you’re safe…” He continues the reassuring litany until Eddy’s eyes clear and he gazes at Brett in horror.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says, followed by, “are you hurt?” and “I don’t know what happened,” and then a deluge of tears while Brett does his best to comfort him.
Later, after Brett has cleared up the broken glass and disinfected the scratches that line Eddy’s arms and consoled him as best he can, they talk.
“I don’t remember any of it,” Eddy says with his face pressed against Brett’s shoulder. “I was fine, excited about tonight, and then I suddenly had this sinking feeling. Like something was wrong, but nothing was happening. It was just—hopelessness, like I’d never felt before. I sat down on the floor and waited for it to pass, but the next thing I remember you were here.”
(“Some people say they develop a sixth sense when things are about to end for them.”)
A shiver runs the length of his body, and Eddy pulls a blanket over them.
“It’s okay,” Brett whispers. “But I think we’ve waited long enough. It’s not you, it’s this place.” He repeats the word a few more times while he runs his fingers through Eddy’s hair, repeating the phrases until their hearts stop hammering and their bodies melt together.
*****
Brett considers half a dozen plans, but sadly the one with the best odds of working comes at the cost of someone who trusts him. He’s sick over it, but every passing day sends Eddy deeper into his mental tailspin and spirals his own worries. Young people shouldn’t get deathly ill, but it happens all the time. Young people here get released like clockwork; there’s no way he can assure Eddy that one of them won’t be next.
He invites himself to Blake’s room with a lie, pretending he needs help learning the viola part in case they need to cover for each other. Blake is flattered, happily assisting with the things Brett pretends not to understand and beaming with pride as his student learns the basics. Brett delays mastery until Blake excuses himself to use the bathroom. As soon as he’s alone Brett shoots to his feet, raids his friend’s closet, and stuffs the stolen items into his empty violin case.
“I’m sorry,” he tells Blake when he emerges a few minutes later. “I’m suddenly not feeling well, I’m gonna head home, but thanks for the help.”
Blake looks at him with concern. “You’re flushed,” he says, laying the back of his hand against Brett’s cheek. “You want me to walk you back?”
Brett shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” He hesitates. “Take care of yourself, though, hey? I hope I didn’t infect you with anything.”
He rushes back to his room, making the final preparations as quickly as he can while his heart pounds and his head aches with the effort it takes not to think about Blake. Would he be blamed? Accused of being an accomplice? Hopefully the videos of Brett coming and going with his violin case will convince the Investigation Committee that Brett tricked him, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.
Eddy is the only person he’s responsible for from here on out.
If only he’d had time to save more money. If only he’d bothered to make contacts in the city. If only, if only… he crams the essentials into a backpack, leaves his bedroom door unlocked, and rushes to Eddy’s dorm.
“Time to go,” he announces as he steps inside, and Eddy gazes up at him with startled eyes.
“Right now? I didn’t know…”
“I couldn’t tell you, because I wasn’t certain I could get the things we needed, but I’ve got them and it’s time to go.” After sucking in a breath, he intentionally lowers and slows his words. “If you have anything you can’t bear to leave behind…”
“Just the hoodie you gave me,” Eddy says, but he’s wearing that, the sleeves pulled down over his hands. “So what do we do?”
Brett explains that plan as they exit the building, and once they’re shrouded by darkness he helps Eddy into Blake’s work jacket. “Pull your hood up and keep your face down as much as you can. The guard probably won’t really look at you, I’ve heard him say we all look the same but if he asks you any questions, let me do the talking.” He presses Blake’s ID badge into Eddy’s hand with another twinge of guilt.
Eddy seems to understand how he’s feeling. “Is this gonna get him in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Brett admits. “I’ve never been involved with anything like this before, so I don’t know how things are investigated or what the consequences are. Hopefully they’ll decide he’s a victim and blame me entirely.” He draws in a deep breath. “The story is that we’re headed into the city to perform at the Geinoon Concert Hall. You’re Blake Alexander, violist—”
Eddy groans. “That’s like… character assassination.”
Normally Brett would laugh, but he’s too tense with worry. He adjusts Eddy’s hood and zips his staff jacket. “Just stay behind me,” he says. “And if I give the word, be ready to run.”
Eddy’s expression turns serious, and he follows close at Brett’s side as they reach the guard station at the end of the compound’s property.
“Hello,” Brett greets as he approaches the person working security. He affects the same bored tone he usually does when departing for an evening, and he’s grateful for his past decisions not to draw attention to himself. “Brett Yang and Blake Alexander, departing for a performance in the city. We expect to be back before midnight.”
The guard scans first his card and then Eddy’s, not even glancing at their faces. “Performance, huh? Well. Break something.” He snickers at his witticism only to abruptly cut himself off as his eyes flicker between them. “Hey, why’s he not got an instrument like you?”
Brett’s heart begins pounding in his ears, but he keeps his tone level. “This dummy managed to drop it, cracked it right down the middle. It’s been in the repair shop, so that’s where we’re headed before the performance.”
The guard smirks at Eddy’s misfortune. “Dumb,” he agrees. “Hopefully it won’t cost you an arm and a leg to get it fixed, but I guess if it does, you’re working at the right place.” Still snickering, he opens the gate and waves them along.
“Oh my god,” Eddy whispers once they’re out of earshot. “Do they really… the people who work here know what goes on? And they laugh about it?” His voice shakes.
Brett grimaces. “I don’t think they mean to be cruel. It’s sort of a coping mechanism. With most of them, at least. Come, we’ve got to hurry.” He urges Eddy along, moving faster and faster as they approach the train station.
Eddy stares at the building, dazzled. “It’s huge,” he marvels. “And so bright.”
Despite his worries, Brett flashes him a grin. “Wait until you see the city. The lights alone… I’m afraid you’re in for a shock.”
Eddy’s face sets with determination and he squeezes Brett’s hand even harder. “Whatever it is, I’ll adjust. What do we do next?”
“I was originally thinking we should buy tickets,” he says, leading Eddy around the edge of the terminal and avoiding the clusters of people as best he can. “But now I’m worried we might attract attention. Someone might notice us, report us, remember which exit we took…” He trails into a sigh. “So new plan. We wait until the train arrives and sneak in with the cargo.”
Eddy’s eyes go wide. “You know how to do that?”
Brett shakes his head. “I’ve thought about it, though. Well, fantasized about it. It seemed like a fun adventure, if I were the sort of person who had fun adventures.”
“You can be,” Eddy tells him softly. “We can remake ourselves entirely, if we want.”
Brett attempts a confident smile. “Just follow my lead, again, and again—be ready to run.”
They lurk at the back of the boarding area, standing in silence as a train shrieks down the tracks and comes to a shuddering stop. Uniformed attendants assist departing passengers before taking tickets from the weary-looking souls.
“This way,” Brett whispers, leading him down to the end of the line where a pair of bored-looking youths are arguing as they heave packages, crates, and luggage out of a rail car.
“You grab the new shit, I’ll haul these back.”
“No way mate, I don’t even know how much there is, I’ll finish emptying while you get the new arrivals.”
“What the fuck does it matter, and why you always gotta make things go like this? Just for once do what I fuckin’ say instead of pitching a tanty…”
The two square off against the side of the cart, and Brett gives Eddy’s hand a sharp tug. “Let’s go.” They scurry behind boxes and dive through the open door, tumbling to the back until they find a stack of crates to hide behind.
“Shhh shh shh,” Brett murmurs when Eddy opens his mouth to say something. He gets them settled as securely as possible, counting down the minutes as the two lads sort out their differences and return to hurling luggage.
“Do you hear that?” Eddy whispers, cocking his head to one side, and at first Brett doesn’t—but then there’s a lull in the noise and he hears it, a faint siren, joined by others, growing louder by the moment. “Do you think they’re after us?”
“I don’t know,” Brett admits, pulling Eddy closer against himself. “But I think we made the right choice riding back here, even though it isn’t gonna be very comfortable.”
It’s even less comfortable when the doors slam shut and they’re plunged into darkness. Eddy swallows hard and wraps his arms around him, and Brett curls against him. “I’m sorry it’s so cold,” he says. “First thing we’ll do when we arrive is find a warm place to sleep.”
Eddy shrugs. “We can sleep on the streets for all I care, so long as I’m with you and we’re safe.”
Brett nestles in closer. “I wish I could promise you safety.”
“Just promise me you.”
Brett twines their fingers together and smiles in the darkness. “I can do that.”
“How long is the ride?”
“Not long. Maybe an hour to the mainland? We could keep going, head into one of the smaller cities, but…”
“No. I want to see the real city. I bet there’s more opportunities for us there, too.”
“You’re probably right.”
They’re quiet for a long time, lost in their own thoughts and worries, and eventually Eddy’s head drops down to rest on top of his. “I’m scared,” he says at some point, and Brett squeezes his fingers.
“Me too. But it’s gonna be okay.”
He must sound convincing, because Eddy relaxes against him for the rest of the journey, seemingly content.
Less than an hour later the train screeches to a stop, and soon afterward the door to the luggage cart slams open. Brett shoulders his instrument case and Eddy grabs their backpack. “Ready?” he asks, and Brett nods.
They weave their way through crates and boxes and tumbles of luggage, squinting as they step from the car into the dazzling light of the city’s terminal.
Eddy stares around in wide-eyed amazement, his pupils dilated. “Oh,” he says, voice faint. “There really is a whole world out here.” He pauses, his attention returning to Brett’s face. “I don’t recognize anything, but it feels familiar. Have we done this before? As previous versions of ourselves?”
(Would you tell him? Should you tell him?)
Brett takes his hand and offers a brave smile.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s run.”