Broken String

II

He can't sleep, of course. Who was he kidding anyway? He's had three bottles of beer, but they're actually having the opposite effect than he'd hoped for, because he can feel them making their way into his bladder now. Urgently.
Fuck. 
He's going to have to go pee. 
He sighs deeply and throws the quilt off himself as he sits up, leaning his left hand on the bed to push himself up. 
"Ow!" he cusses sotto voce and waves his hand up and down. 
Hm. Maybe he does need to practise a bit less tomorrow. He grumpily makes his way over to the toilet and sits down on the toilet seat. He's just too fucking tired to stand right now, so if his bladder can just play nice and empty itself quickly he can get back to bed and finally get that sleep he needs. 

The harrowed face in the mirror stares back at him as he washes his hands. His hair is mussed up and he can see the bags under his eyes even in the faint bit of light that comes from the street lamp outside, underneath them. 
Fuck. 
He shakes his head and walks back to his bedroom quickly, slipping under the quilt and closing his eyes.
He still can't sleep, though. Everything he's struggled with today seems to be dancing before his eyes. The horrible runs of thirds in the Pag that he just can't get in tune, no matter what he does. The middle section, the bit that's probably responsible for his hand hurting, that just about breaks him every time he tries it.
Not to even talk about the tenths in the Sibelius. He's seen them all, today, many times, he's failed them all as many times. 

God, he sucks. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because it's light when the alarm clock pulls his eyes open again. He feels terrible. His hand is still vaguely sore, but that'll go away once he warms up, he's sure. He's not so sure about his stomach, though, which is smarting, making him feel vaguely sick. 
He's not getting ill, is he? That's the last thing he needs right now. 

"Good morning!" his house mate Todd says, way too cheerfully, as he makes his way over to the bathroom once again.
"Hi." he mumbles. 
Todd is a cellist and one of his best friends. He's one year ahead of him at the con and will be graduating this year at the same time as their other housemate Ian, who is a violist. Todd and Ian always used to be best friends but they've been a couple for a bit now, ever since their concert trip to Taipei a while back. Eddy manages to smile at Todd and tries not to think about the fact that Brett will be graduating as well, of course. They'll all be graduating ahead of him and quite possibly moving on after that. Eddy will be the only one, the younger one, left to finish another year. 
It's going to suck. 
"You good, Eddy?" Todd asks him, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looks him up and down. 
"Yeah, I'm okay, I think. My stomach's weird. Hope I'm not coming down with anything."
He gets himself into the bathroom before Todd can ask anything else and turns on the shower quickly. He strips and steps under the shower, turning his face into the warm stream, leaning his hands against the wall and taking deep breaths to calm his belly down. God, he's so tired and the day hasn't even begun yet. 

He feels Brett's eyes on him from the opening to his room - adjacent to his own - as he steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. 
"Good morning." he grunts.
"Hey. You good?"
He looks up at his best friend in the world. Et tu, Brute? Is he really looking that bad? Or did Todd tell on him already? His eyes are kind, though. They're warm. 
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna warm up." he says quickly and shoots past him into his own room to get dressed.