the rhythm our heart plays {breddy; twosetviolin fanfiction}

4

Eddy's on his fifth cup of coffee for the day and his body is already telling him what a terrible, shitty idea that's going to be in the next few hours. He can't help it though; between recording, reviewing the editing, brainstorming new content, and checking up on merchandising stocks and all that fun logistical stuff behind the scenes, his body is starting to shut down. It doesn't help that he thinks he might be developing some new heart disease, with the way it keeps jumping all over the place when Brett comes within an inch of his personal space. He never had a problem with that before, so why now?

Eddy glances across the table to see the person responsible for his emotional turmoil tucked in between his own arms, unmoving — presumedly napping, maybe even dead. Eddy feels like he's on his way there so he can't really blame the guy. Eddy watches the way Brett's back rises up and down, hours of work finally claiming its toll on Brett first. It's funny, even, when Brett turns his head and the glasses that he never took off sat askew on the bridge of his nose. Eddy reaches over and gently plucks it off his face, quite used to the way Brett tends to drift off to sleep with them on. It's also funny, the way Brett's hair is mussed up and sticking in all sorts of directions, probably from the way he keeps pulling his hoodie over his head while they work. Eddy's fingers twitch at the sudden prospect of carding his hand through Brett's hair but he curls it into a fist and quickly shuts it down.

Eddy looks back down at his notebook, littered with lists of ideas and random scribbles for TwoSetViolin. He stares at a really crude drawing of two stick figures with violins and hula hoops — something Brett decided to doodle when he was suggesting they add pictionary to their list, classical music edition. It's a comical, terrible looking drawing because it's apparently supposed to be them: one of the stickmen with a disproportionately long line for a body and another shorter one with two circles inside a bigger circle that Eddy can only assume was a representation of Brett and his glasses. It's a very silly drawing but Eddy can't help but be a little fond of it. He's fond of...

Eddy sighs. He suddenly wants to sleep away everything, but the caffeine in his blood is pumping too vigorously through his system and he ignores the little voice in his head that's telling him, I told you so! when it comes to his poor decision-making skills. Eddy looks up again at Brett who's got his brows furrowed in his sleep, neck craning in an uncomfortable position over his arms. Eddy, being the thoughtful soul that he is, figures it's time to wake Brett up so he can sleep on a more comfortable surface that isn't Eddy's dining room table.

"Brett. Hey, Brett. Psst, wake up. Brett!" Eddy's patting Brett's arm to get his attention, but the older boy just murmurs something incomprehensible and digs further into his arms, ignoring Eddy's futile attempt at a wake up call. Eddy stands up and rounds the table to get closer to him, this time shaking Brett's shoulders a little firmer. "Brett. Dude. You can use my room to nap if you want. I don't want to hear you complain about crinks in your neck when you wake up later."

Brett grumbles something again but doesn't make any attempt to move.

Okay then, he has left him with no other choice.

Eddy reaches over the table to grab his violin, resting it onto his shoulder as he leans close to Brett. He takes a steady exhale as he places his bow gently on the strings.

Then, he shreds it like a motherfucker.

Brett instinctively curls in at the brutal screeching next to him, hands covering his ears as he makes a sour face at Eddy for ruining his beauty sleep. Eddy just grins and starts prancing around him. "C'mon, BrettyBrett, rise and shine!"

Brett groans as he tries to wave Eddy away from him. "Okay ookay, I'm up. Just stop this torture. My eardrums are killing me."

Eddy doesn't do as he's told and instead, switches to playing a piece from Bach as Brett sluggishly gets off from his seat and follows Eddy like he's the pied piper luring sleep-deprived souls from their rest; only, instead of a magic pipe, it's a violin — the more superior instrument of the two, of course. Eddy takes Brett to the bedroom and stops his playing, pointing his bow towards the bed and ushering Brett to sleep off whatever fatigue he has left in his body so they can get back to work later.

Brett looks a bit sheepish, but he doesn't refuse the offer. It's not like this is the first time they've napped in each other's beds when working at each other's houses. Brett unceremoniously flops onto Eddy's bed and makes an appreciative noise at probably how comfortable it is compared to the hard-wooden surface he was on hours ago. "Yeah I know, you're welcome," Eddy says and Brett grunts in response. Eddy's about to leave when Brett reaches out to grab his wrist, pulling him back.

"Aren't you...gon'ap too?" Brett mumbles, remnants of sleep coating his words. He isn't aware of the brief silence that follows.

Eddy purses his lips. "Nahh, too much coffee in me right now. I'm gonna go practice or something for a bit." Eddy gently shakes his wrist out of Brett's hold. He then shows off the violin he's holding in his other hand to prove his point. "I have it out already, so might as well."

Brett hums in response and lets his hand drop back onto the bed. He then turns to his side as he gets comfortable, eyes already closing in on themselves once more. Eddy doesn't wait for him to fall back asleep before stepping out of the room and closing the door.

Fuck. Eddy leans against the wall and bangs the back of his head against it. He closes his eyes and tries to swallow down the gross fluttering that's flaring wildly in his chest, making its place at home and refusing to leave no matter how much Eddy tries to fan it out. The part of his wrist where Brett had held onto feels like a burned sting and he hates how he wants to feel it burn even more.  Desperately, he tries to shake the image of Brett's expression away but it's useless; it's filling his mind like quicksand, that sleepy and soft look he gives him, the one that Eddy wants to treasure and kiss silly.

Fuck, Eddy swears viciously in his head, sliding down the wall and onto the ground. He sets his violin aside and presses both his hands against his face, hoping to hide all the feelings he tried so hard to throw away. But it doesn't go. It doesn't want to go.

Fuck.