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Eddy was sitting on the couch again.
There was nothing immediately suspicious about this situation. In fact, Brett was extremely familiar with the routine of unlocking Eddy’s front door with the key he had been given years ago when Eddy first rented this house, and being greeted with the sight of his best friend sitting on the couch. Usually Brett would say hi, and Eddy would immediately launch into whatever conversation he wanted—often video ideas or requests for UberEats—and that would be that.
But today was not like the usual routine, and Brett could immediately sense it.
You know how Spider-Man had his spidey-sense? Brett could swear he had an Eddy-sense. It was probably an inevitable consequence of knowing Eddy for upwards of fourteen years—half of his lifetime. It was something he’d had long before he and Eddy became business partners, and it was only strengthened by their gradual and gentle evolution into becoming something more than just best friends.
Brett’s Eddy-sense was very helpful all the time, and especially in scenarios like this, where Brett was hit with an undeniable knowledge that something was wrong. The vibes in the room were off, Eddy was off, Brett just knew it. So he could quickly let his flippant comment die before it left his throat, and give himself time to assess the situation instead.
Brett studied Eddy closely as he shut and locked Eddy’s front door. His best friend was slumped on the couch—fine—but he didn’t have the TV turned on—not so fine. Eddy did have his phone, but it sat idly on the couch cushion next to him, screen dark. Not so fine, again. The expression on Eddy’s face was vacant. His eyes were fixed, unseeing, on some indeterminate point on his living room wall. His brows were slightly furrowed; his lower lip looked a bit puffier than usual, as though he’d been chewing on it.
Extremely not so fine.
Brett knew immediately what was going on, and more importantly, he knew what to do.
Quietly, Brett walked into Eddy’s house. It only took a few steps to reach the living room, and when he did, Brett placed his bag down on the armchair. He made his way around it until he came to stand in front of Eddy, their knees almost touching.
“Hi,” Brett said softly.
Eddy blinked a couple of times. He raised his eyes to meet Brett’s and grimaced.
“Hi,” he replied, voice sounding a bit scratchy.
“Wanna talk about it?” Brett kept his voice low, his tone even, letting Eddy know that there were no expectations from him, here.
Eddy paused. Shook his head no. Brett nodded—that was fine. Usually in this case he would sit himself down next to Eddy and turn on the TV, so they could lose themselves to some show or anime for a while until Eddy either wanted to talk or felt better. Brett was about to move and do just that, when he saw Eddy’s face suddenly crumple, for a split-second, before his hands flew up to cover it.
“Ah, shit,” Brett murmured, and reached for him.
Eddy was trying very, very hard not to cry: Brett could hear it in the cut-off gasps, the shaking of his chest. It pained Brett when Eddy felt like he couldn’t let go or let all of his emotions out, but Brett knew there was nothing he could do except be patient. So he didn’t move from where he was standing, and just pulled Eddy in towards his own body. It meant Eddy’s hand-covered-face was pressed into Brett’s stomach, and Brett’s hands could rest on Eddy’s shoulders and slide up to cup the back of his head. The hair there was soft and thick. Brett combed the fingers of his right hand through it, getting lost in the sensation, offering whatever comfort he could. Eddy’s body kept shaking with concealed sobs. Brett wished, not for the first time, that there was something more that he could do.
After a minute, he leaned down to drop a small kiss to the top of Eddy’s head, and said, “Come on.”
Eddy was pliant beneath Brett’s coaxing hands. He allowed himself to be pulled up to standing, to have his hand held by Brett’s, to be led into his bedroom. Brett laid down on his back on the bed and patted the space next to him, and Eddy followed. Brett held his right arm out and waited as Eddy crawled into the embrace, lying mostly on his side and leaning his torso into Brett’s, so that he could lay his head on the side of Brett’s chest. Brett’s arm came around Eddy’s upper back. He knew his arm would fall asleep. He didn’t care at all.
Eddy sighed. The gust of air warmed a spot Brett’s T-shirt, right near the centre of his chest. Relief washed through Brett as he felt Eddy’s muscles loosen. Eddy’s whole body had been strung tight and tense on the couch, but now it seemed to gradually relax into Brett’s. Brett closed his eyes for a moment and let himself sink into the mattress and the feeling of Eddy’s body pressed up against him. He had made sure to push his head far up on the pillow near the headboard, but he knew if he looked down he’d still see Eddy’s toes inching towards the edge of the bed. It was the only unfortunate side-effect of cuddling like this: the height difference.
Brett was shorter than Eddy, he was a short guy in general, and while it had bothered him when he was younger, he couldn’t care less now—he had bigger things to worry about than something he couldn’t change about himself. Better to focus on becoming a better person instead. It certainly didn’t bother Eddy, who, despite being taller, favoured their current position the most, feet hanging off the bed notwithstanding. It was why Brett had pulled him into this, to try and offer the best comfort to Eddy that he could. Eddy often wanted to feel wrapped up in Brett, tucked in safe and sound, and Brett was very, very willing to provide that.
He tightened his arm around Eddy’s shoulders and back, pulling him in even more firmly. Brett liked the feeling of their chests pressed together, their bodies sharing heat. Eddy’s hair tickled Brett’s chin. One of his knees was slung across Brett’s thighs. It all felt very nice, and Brett loved feeling useful, using his body to give Eddy comfort.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed with them just lying there, snuggling into each other.
Time passed differently when they were together like this. Brett couldn’t say how long they laid together, snuggling into each other. Sometimes, when they cuddled like this, Brett could even fall into a light doze without even realising. Eventually, though, the gentle silence between them was broken by Eddy’s rough voice.
“Thank you,” was all he said, and Brett’s grip on him tightened instinctively. He brought his left arm, which was not currently being crushed by Eddy, up so that the backs of his fingers could stroke across Eddy’s cheek.
“Of course,” Brett murmured back. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do,” Eddy said. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my brain being stupid all the time.” Before Brett could even open his mouth to protest, he continued quickly, “I know, I know. I’m not stupid. But I do feel silly.”
“Why?”
Silence, for a moment. And then:
“It just feels so dumb, you know? To worry about the same things so often. I’ve done all the right things. I’ve gone to see a psychologist, I’ve done all the exercises, I’ve addressed all the bad thoughts.” Eddy sighed. “But I still keep getting caught up in them.”
Brett’s heart ached for Eddy. He let out a low hum, allowing it to rumble in his chest so Eddy could feel it beneath his cheek. “What were you thinking about this time?”
“Work,” Eddy said immediately. Brett was not surprised. “It’s frustrating. If I look at everything positively, then I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Things are going well. We’re getting views, subscribers are increasing, all the stats look good. We’ve got the Singapore plans, I mean, we’ve got plans coming out of our ears really. So many ideas. So why am I focusing on everything that could go wrong, instead of everything that could go right?”
“The algorithm,” Brett said, answering Eddy’s question.
“That’s—exactly—it,” Eddy replied, thumping his hand against Brett’s chest in time with each word. “This thing that we do—Youtube, Instagram, social media—it’s so… transient. There’s no permanency. No guarantee.”
“Our career is at the mercy of the algorithms,” Brett said. “And when we have no idea how they work and no way to predict the future, all we have to deal with is a complete lack of surety.”
“It’s fucking scary when I think about it.” Eddy’s palm smoothed across Brett’s shirt. “I get so worried about us. I keep Googling orchestra jobs, auditions, that sort of thing. Any fallback that I can get for us, if all of this just fails tomorrow.”
Brett’s heart clenched at the casual inclusion of himself in Eddy’s worries and plans. “Hey,” he said, voice softly admonishing, “I don’t need you to worry about me.”
The silence from Eddy this time felt somehow pointed. Brett couldn’t see it, but he was sure Eddy had an eyebrow raised. “Asking me to not worry about you is like asking you to not worry about me. It doesn’t work.”
Brett snorted. Checkmate.
“Alright, fine,” he relented. “But just because these worries might be there, doesn’t mean we have to let them rule us. Or hurt us.”
“Mmm.”
“Always bring it back to what we know is true.” Brett lifted his head off the pillow, just enough to place a firm kiss on Eddy’s head. “We are in this together and we have a team. We are doing okay. Even if this did all crumble to the ground tomorrow, we would still be okay.”
Eddy seemed to curl into Brett even tighter, which Brett didn’t think was possible, pressed as close together as they were.
“You are not alone in worrying about this stuff, Eddy.” Brett could hear the honesty in his own voice. “But it’s no use letting all of these thoughts pile up in your head. You’ll just start believing things that aren’t true. So I’m really glad you talked about it with me, okay? Talking about it helps us realise that these anxieties are just lies that we don’t have to listen to if we don’t want to.”
Brett’s words settled in the air between them, solid and secure. After a few moments, Eddy spoke.
“Dude,” he said, “maybe you should actually be a psychologist.”
A laugh bubbled out of Brett’s chest. “Eddy, I’m just saying what you’ve already told me before. You’re the smart one here.”
Eddy turned his head inwards to bury his whole face into Brett’s chest. He was probably blushing. “Stop it, I’m trying to give you a compliment.”
“Rejected,” Brett said flatly.
“No!” Eddy faked an angry protest, although the effect was diminished by his shout being muffled by Brett’s shirt.
Brett smiled. Eventually, Eddy rolled back over and let himself breathe. The air between them was warm, the tension in the room evaporated. Brett noticed, with some humour, that their breathing was slowly syncing together. He wondered if they were going to nap now. Probably. He hoped so.
Eddy sighed into the quiet. “Thank you,” he said. “You always know. I didn’t even say anything when you walked in, and you just knew.”
“I know, I’m amazing like that,” Brett said, aiming for comedy.
It hit the mark. Eddy let out a hoarse chuckle. It lasted less than a second, but it happened, and it was a win for Brett, even if he couldn’t see Eddy’s face.
“Come up here,” Brett said. Eddy moved immediately, which told Brett everything he needed to know about what Eddy wanted in that moment.
Eddy pushed himself up onto his left elbow, shuffling away from Brett just a bit to make room. His hair stuck up in all directions, probably from a combination of Brett’s fingers messing it up and Eddy rubbing it against Brett’s own body. Eddy’s eyes were slightly red-rimmed and puffy, but they were dry, and staring at Brett with a look of such strong affection that Brett felt like shying away suddenly, like he was staring at something far too bright.
There was only one thing he could do then, really, and it was to slide both of his hands up Eddy’s arms, shoulders, neck, to rest them against Eddy’s cheeks and pull him in for a kiss.
Brett kept it soft, close-mouthed. He pressed their lips together for a few seconds, then guided Eddy back slightly. Brett pulled him in again, head tilted at a slight angle. This time their lips met differently, stacked together, Eddy’s top lip between Brett’s own. Brett again let the kiss last for a few seconds, let their breaths mingle, before pulling Eddy away, pulling him back in, kissing him again and again.
Each time Brett moved Eddy’s head back, their lips parted with a soft pah. Their kisses were dry and sweet and sent a comforting warmth radiating through Brett’s body. He loved it when he got to kiss Eddy slick and dirty, with tongues and hands everywhere and tensions high, but they both equally enjoyed the intimacy of this as well: soft, slow kisses that had no final destination, kisses that existed only to bring both of them comfort and joy and pleasure.
Eddy’s right hand had crept up to rest, palm-flat, against Brett’s collarbone. He used it to steady himself as he leaned in over and over, happy to be guided into kisses, and Brett liked the feel of it there. He liked how Eddy leaned a bit of his weight into it; it made Brett feel grounded, secure.
Neither of them were going anywhere. This was exactly where they both wanted to be.
Brett let himself sink into their kisses, kept his eyes closed, all of his focus on the warmth and softness of Eddy’s lips. When Eddy pulled away, and another kiss didn’t come, Brett finally opened his eyes, blinking as he took in Eddy’s expression.
“Thank you,” Eddy told him again, voice barely a whisper.
“I love you,” Brett replied, simple and true, and finally, for the first time since he’d let himself in through Eddy’s front door, Brett got to see Eddy’s lips curl up into a smile.