(love)birds of a feather

chapter twelve

Words hurt—they can slice through someone like a sword. They can sap the sunlight out of someone's life, can abruptly turn vibrance into greyscale.

Brett knew that previously, of course, but he knows that perfectly well by now—it's etched into his brain like the one time he came in with the wrong pitch in his Mozart concerto performance a while back.

Except, the concept hasn't been embedded in his knowledge because he himself was a victim to heartbreaking words—his best friend was the victim to heartbreaking words Brett himself had given voice to.

So Brett probably should not have said "it didn't mean anything" and "we're just friends."

He lied to convince Ray, and himself, for that matter, but his lie broke Eddy's heart.

He hadn't meant to break his best friend's heart, especially since Brett himself feels the same now.

Right after the words had tumbled out of his mouth, he promptly wanted to take them back—an unbearable silence followed, a searing medley of Ray's skepticalness, Eddy's pain, and Brett's own regret.

But nothing sharpened the blade of regret that slashed through him more than one thing—when he looked at Eddy and saw the shining tears that threatened to spill from those beautiful eyes.

Beautiful—when they weren't strangled by anguish. He'd have softened looking at them, if they had their regular air of adorable cheerfulness. But then, at the sight, Brett wanted to cry, too. And it was all his fault.

At that moment, Brett desperately wanted Eddy to look up at him; he wanted to communicate with his eyes what he couldn't say with Ray there. He wanted to give the same comfort a hug of solace has that he couldn't give with Ray there.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, Eddy. I didn't mean what I said. In all honesty, I love you. I'm sorry.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Eddy, please, look up.

But to Brett's dismay, Eddy didn't look up. Didn't want to look up. To be fair, what was he expecting? Was he seriously waiting for Eddy to look up, after he broke his heart?

Plus, he shouldn't have said that, since, well, it certainly meant everything.
And since, well, he knows they're both hopelessly in love with eachother.

Hopelessly in love—hopelessly, because they can never be together for real.

God, he's probably overthinking things, but Brett would confess to Eddy if it wouldn't ruin their lives—because what if they get together and it somehow leaks beyond their walls, and what if that makes a shipwreck of their lives, a shipwreck of everything they've built together, of not only Twoset, but with their bond?

Looking at the way personal information about other famous people has been easily leaked in the past, Brett knew the same could very well happen to them, too. And he doesn't want to think about how much of an absolute Shostakovich symphony that would be. A falling-apart orchestra with no concertmaster to take charge.

Though, it's a strange phenomenon; ever since he realized he'd fallen in love with Eddy, all of Eddy's actions, his words, they were all accented in his head at fortissimo, and Brett sees it all clearer; like when Eddy uploaded a video titled "If Paganini Wrote All I Want For Christmas Is You" that he hadn't noticed before. (God, Eddy's prowess on the violin that he refuses to admit to—why Eddy always says he isn't talented enough, Brett has no clue.)

But still—Eddy Chen, you absolute sap.

Even with the whole personal life thing out of the way, hence, Brett would confess to Eddy if he knew how to; how do people do it? Does he just blurt "I love you" and pull him down for a kiss? Does he ask him out? Does he give him an entire speech about his feelings before the three words?