(love)birds of a feather

chapter fifteen

So this is what it's like to be in love—together this time, that is.

To Brett, it's still certainly a Mendelssohn violin concerto second movement, yes, but less so now—it's leaning more towards Tchaikovsky or Rachmaninoff, even. Like the Tchaikovsky concerto's Allegro Moderato or Rachmaninoff's Adagio Sostenuto.

The roots of Tchaikovsky trail deep within the resonance of Brett's violin strings, whilst Rachmaninoff is forever embedded among Eddy's black and white keys, among the pedals.

Everlasting—like this beautiful, beautiful thing between them now.

That's the beauty of their music—everything down to the tiniest atom gets hints of something, whenever bows meet strings in their amorous duets—be it euphoria, caramelized warmth, passion, any emotion that eventually equates to love.

Thoughts along those lines, admittedly at Eddy Chen Level of Sappiness, ricochet through Brett's brain as he walks into the living room, where Eddy's settled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

He loves you too, he loves you too, he loves you too.

He marches up to him, leans closer, hands on his shoulders—and he kisses Eddy again, sweet and soft albeit without warning, without leaving space for any reaction from Eddy whatsoever.

(He may or may not have just scared the living daylights out of him, with the way he swooped down like a hawk to prey, but he's too fixed on the reverie he already has one foot in to worry about that right now.)

It's one of those soft, heavenly kisses glazed with the warmest glimmers of yellow sunshine. One of those kisses that, once the gust of surprise wears away, Eddy welcomes with open arms—quite literally; Eddy pulls him close, onto his lap, welcoming him into the warm reverie that they slip into together.

Except, it's not a reverie, not a dream. None of it is, because this love—it's pure. It's real.

Eddy pulls away first to catch the last of his breath, a glimmer in his eyes, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Dude, that scared the crap out of me," he laughs.

Oops—so he did. Brett grins unapologetically, giving him a look. "You loved it anyway."

"That I did. Well—I love you." Eddy responds straight off. Once the words leave his mouth, he shakes his head as his smile widens. "How did I give you the power to turn me into this cheesy mess?"

Love is a reverie melted into a reality, isn't it? Well—this is most certainly love.

A brief summary of the remaining plot twist of a day—occasionally one of them musters up enough courage to give the other a tiny kiss or two, landing on cheeks, foreheads, lips, wherever.

But the one thing both would utterly melt inside over every time, was when they got the final prize they were after—the other's shy yet happy smile that lit up the stars both within them and the sky.

The smiles that are for eachother and eachother only.

(Between them and the sky, a big difference not so big at all.)

And that in itself is also sprinkled with long and soft eye contacts held easy between them ("who are you admiring, hm?" Eddy had teased at dinner, ruining the moment), layered with a few gentle touches here and there ("bro, relax, I'm just holding your hand, not trying to drag you into the basement for your murder!")

It's all coaxing forth a sheath of moonlight, a volley of sparks. All a product of pure love, now out in open air.

And let's not forget, the gentle "I love you"s that carry amidst soft voices; testing the waters because hell, they're both still unable to believe the other loves them back.

("Is all this real or a dream? You genuinely love me the same way I love you, no joke?")

And thus, while the world dims outside, their love for eachother glows in the comforting silence of their own little world.

They're lounging on the couch after a day quite long yet life-changing all the same; Brett's head finally resting on its home spot on Eddy's shoulder, while he's caged in the warm solace of Eddy's arms, leaning into Eddy's touch as he plays with his hair.

And truth be told, Brett's never felt this at home with anyone else before. It's a comfort he'd never thought he'd ever get to know.

"It's beating for you." Eddy's soft words carry through their silence. Brett shifts to look at him, tilting his head in confusion.

Eddy smiles another one of those soft smiles, his hand finding the back of Brett's head as he gently pulls it towards him, ear to chest. "You hear that?"

And yes, oh, yes, he hears it—the soothing, steady rhythm of Eddy's heart, the metronome that could only ever lead Brett's music, and Brett's music alone. The beat helping with stabilizing the sound of love melted into music. Helping with pacing their own love story.

Brett pulls back, smiling as well now. He moves Eddy's hand to his own chest, before putting his own hand on Eddy's chest and pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes, and through the darkness, he hears the beautiful way both their hearts beat as one. "I could say the same for my own."

They sit there together, all silence but their synchronized hearts, their synchronized breathing. A connection strung between them and strengthened tenfold.

This is love, this is love, this is love. And it's so very beautiful.

As the moon rises somewhere outside, Brett's eyelids grow heavier with every minute that creeps by. He doesn't want to sleep, he wants to stay here with Eddy. But it gets to when he can no longer hold in a yawn.

"I think I'll head to bed now," he says, before gently kissing Eddy one more time and standing up. "Night, Eddy."

He hears Eddy's voice carry again from behind him. "Night, my love."

Brett stops, a hand on the doorframe as he lingers in the doorway, lingers with the air of soft words and soft endearments given voice.

Though he doesn't turn around, because he's damn well aware Eddy just called him "his love." And he's damn well aware of his heating cheeks. Thus, he doesn't want to face the teasing from Eddy should he turn around, no siree.

"My love?" he repeats.

"Testing out endearments. If you don't like that, what d'you think of sweetcakes?"

"Dude–" Brett can't stifle his laughter, and so he gives in and turns back around, as Eddy's mouth curves into a smile.

Eddy hoists himself up from the couch and takes Brett's hand, looking into his eyes for a mere second, before bending down and giving him one more soft kiss. Brett squeezes his hand.

Eddy pulls away, whispering once more, "I love you."

Brett smiles and replies with an "I love you too" just as soft, before pulling him close for a hug. An embrace no different from, say, two tied whole notes topped with a fermata above.

He pulls back, albeit still lingering in the warmth of Eddy's arms, hesitant to let go—because what if he were to let go and leave the room, and this love between them faded with the warm contact? Because what if he were to wake up the next morning for all to be forgotten, both of them back behind their charade of "just friends?"

But no—even after they let go of eachother completely, the pure adoration and love in Eddy's eyes is still very much there, and Brett knows, oh, this is forever.

That profound Sappy Romantic Eddy Chen persona, Brett finds, is what he'll have to put up with till his last breath.

And Brett also finds, he doesn't mind that one bit.

As long as they can keep one thing; love.

As long as they can keep that one beautiful lifeline between them until every single clock stops ticking.