Minor Changes

Chapter Two

Eddy must have caught a second wind, because after they ate, he suddenly wanted to go shopping.

"I don't have much cash on hand," Brett said. "But you go ahead."

So, Eddy browsed at couple of his favorite Sydney shops on his own; bought a shirt and some stylish trainers. He needed some headspace to process whatever the hell had just happened. The whole interaction had left him barreling headlong into a vice grip of self-doubt.  As he was paying at the check-out counter, his phone buzzed.

Weird noises downstairs. Domestic violence... Freaking me out. You nearly back?

Eddy sighed. This wasn't the first time Brett had texted while paranoid, but Eddy suddenly felt very tired.

There in 20.

He stood at the door and took a deep breath before knocking. Even when he was high, Brett was a master at couching his real emotions in sarcasm and bravado, and Eddy stood like a surgeon with a scalpel in hand, ready to read between the lines.

"It's unlocked," Brett called.

Eddy slowly turned the knob. He was greeted with a sloppy, glassy-eyed Brett on the couch. Eddy surveyed the flat, listening for the so-called disturbing noises. There was a heavy thudding sound coming from below. He sighed.

"Bro. It's only their washing machine. Tell me you didn't try the edibles we had last time."

"Only one. And a half," said Brett.

Eddy sucked in his breath. He took a seat on the other end of the couch. The television cast a dull glow over the room.

"I'm so thirsty," Brett said.

"Are you asking me to bring you a drink?" said Eddy.

"Would you mind?" Brett said, casually slinging his arm over the back of the futon in a way that made Eddy's stomach do a funny dance. Eddy banged around in the kitchen, setting some tea to boil before filling a glass with cold water.

"What's the occasion?" Eddy asked as unassumingly as possible.

"For taking a dive off the deep end?" asked Brett. Eddy nodded, moving back to the kitchen.

"I wanted to relax."

Brett caught a flash of hurt in his friend's eyes. Normally they would get high together; watch a dumb movie or play video games. They could laugh for hours.

Eddy bit his tongue, but the anger bubbled over anyway.

"Dude—you're so baked right now."

Brett fiddled with the strings of his hoodie.

Eddy exhaled.

"Why do I have to take care of your entitled ass all of the time?" he said, immediately hating himself for saying it.

The words rolled off Brett's flinty exterior, but Eddy knew it had been a deep cut.

There was a moment of static quiet.

"I threw out the rest. The edibles," Brett said.

Eddy turned his back and nodded. Look at me. What a tool. He slammed the mug on the counter a little more roughly than intended. One glance at the sleepy mess of a boy on the futon, though, and his heart began to thaw.

"Sorry, bro. I didn't mean it," he said quietly.

"It's okay," Brett said. "I don't know why I ate those."

Maybe because you experienced a fucking FEELING today, Eddy wanted to scream. 

Instead, he padded across the room with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks, Eddy," Brett said, hugging a pillow.

How was he supposed to stay angry when Brett looked so ridiculous sinking into the cushion, swimming in his oversized hoodie? He looked away before Brett could absorb his tenderness. Sometimes he just couldn't hold it in; it seeped through his pores like sunlight through stained glass.

Brett sat cross legged with the mug cradled between his legs. Eddy picked up the remote.

"What's this shit you're watching anyway?"

Brett stifled a laugh, though crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes.

"MXC, and I have no idea why."

Eddy clicked through until he found a documentary that had been in his queue for a while about two world renowned musicians who were also siblings. As they performed a piece together, Eddy's eyes peered over the rims of his glasses toward his friend. 

Brett returned the glance, but his eyes quickly rebounded toward the screen. Eddy was quick, but he was quicker. And besides, Eddy had a girlfriend, he reminded himself. 

Not that he ever really talked about her.

As the film wore on, Brett grew sleepier and sleepier, until he leaned his heavy head back. He nodded and bobbled, and gradually migrated down toward Eddy's shoulder, which sent Eddy's stomach plummeting to his feet. He was filled with the urge to smooth back an oily tuft of hair that fell in front of the other man's eyes. 

One stray hair, and it broke his heart.

The confounding thing was, there were so many familiar shades to observe when it came to Brett. The scent of his shampoo mingled with cologne. The shadow of stubble on his firm upper lip. The precision of his left hand on the fingerboard. Yet, so many things remained indefinite mysteries— the taste of those pouty lips. The touch of those elegant hands. The way he might feel nestled in his arms. The sounds he might make when releasing other, more instinctual passions.

Mere centimeters between them formed a deep rift. It had been this way for so long; light years wrinkled up between unspoken words. With one slight movement, Brett closed the gap, resting his head fully against Eddy's shoulder. The motion set his glasses crooked and Eddy smiled at how unkempt and vulnerable he looked, like when he was fifteen. He carefully removed Brett's glasses, folded them, and set them aside.

"Eddy," Brett mumbled, his head lolling deeper into his friend's shirt so that his voice went muffled. 

Eddy turned to look down at Brett's heavy eyelids glistening in the dim light. He clenched his fists to keep from touching the unruly sliver of hair.

"Do you think they'll ever make a movie about us?"

Eddy chuckled and said, almost in a whisper, "Only if Ray Chen plays my part."

"Pffft," Brett laughed.

"Eddy?" he said, more inquisitively this time.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for putting up with me."

Eddy suddenly felt wildly intoxicated by each careless breath falling down his neck. It was then that he put his hands on his knees and stood.

"Alright, bro. G'night then."

Brett stood and stretched languidly before making his way to his small room.

"G'night, Eddy."

Eddy tossed and turned on the futon, listening to the air con rattle for what seemed like an eternity before falling into a fitful sleep.

***