Broken String

CVII

Brett pushes him through the last sunlight that streams over the pavement in waves of gold and orange, moving slowly like it usually does over the floor of their apartment. There's not much to say, right now. Eddy is nervous, because he has no idea what Brett is planning, but it's easier with him behind him.
As long as he's just right behind him. 
"Am I not too heavy?" he asks.
"Huh? No, why?"
Eddy shrugs.
"Lily said it was heavy to push the chair."
"Oh! She just has weak dancery arms." Brett quips. "I'm a man, you know, who plays the violin, you know."
"Ah, is that the one?" Eddy laughs. "Violin man doesn't need good quality wheelchairs?"
The hand that brushes his shoulder for just half a second is everything. 
"Nope, he doesn't. But really, it's fine, though. You're only in here short term anyway, it's not worth getting a better one. I'm building up pushing muscles as we speak. Oh! We're here."
Eddy looks up with a shock. It's a restaurant, which he had kind of guessed, given the hour. It's an Italian restaurant?
"Wow!" he says. 
"I know. We can leave if you don't like it." Brett says almost apologetically. Hesitantly, even. Eddy looks back at him in surprise. "Go get some hotpot instead. It's just... Todd says they serve the best tiramisu in Australia here. I've been wanting to try it for ages."
"No, I love it!" Eddy hastens. "Of course! I love tiramisu!"
Brett smiles vaguely and pushes him inside. 

God, Eddy hates the shuffle of chairs when the wheelchair comes into a restaurant, he hates how everyone starts asking Brett all the questions like there is something wrong with his mind or something.
Well, maybe there is? Isn't that what John said?
It's weird, being the disabled person. It's like the world changes around you, and then changes you with it. He looks down at his legs and simply shuts up while a chair gets taken away from a corner booth and he is pushed in. He takes a deep breath as Brett sits down across from him. They've been given a small table with a window on one side, Brisbane darkening behind the tinted glass, light fading away down the street to the west. There is a red table cloth on the table and a couple of white candles burn on the end by the window, a drip of wax running very slowly down the side of one of them. It looks like he could scoop it up with his finger, but he's not eight years old. 
He smiles at the cutlery. No chopsticks here, of course, but it's... whoa. It's romantic here. Did Brett know that? This is not like any of the places they've been to before. 
"What would you like to drink?" the waiter asks. 
"Can we have a bottle of red wine?" Brett's voice has no hint of uncertainty now, he's been in control, kind yet authoritative the whole time they've been inside.
God, it's sexy when he does that. 
Eddy looks at the table cloth and says nothing, leaving him the reigns. Red wine? Since when?
"You good with that, Eddy?"
He looks up and gives him what he hopes is a radiant smile. 
"Absolutely."

They order pasta with four cheeses after he checks with the waiter that there are no mushrooms in it. Brett lifts one eyebrow just a touch.
"Four cheeses with mushrooms?" he enquires ironically, as soon as the guy is out of earshot.
"Better safe than sorry." Eddy retorts, and laps up Brett's answering smile. 
Could he take his shoe off? Put his foot on Brett's? No, no, it would be way too much. Too obvious. Plus, the waiter is back with wine, pouring it into glasses with a flourish. 
Brett doesn't look at him, though, he nods at the guy but his eyes stay on Eddy the whole time. His hand slides over the table and he rubs his thumb over Eddy's hand gently, as the waiter leaves the wine bottle and steps away. 
"Todd says the food is great, here."
I mean, Eddy would say something to that, but he's a little bit too busy hanging on to his wits. The waiter must have seen that. Brett mustn't care. 
Surely that means... that means... 
It does, right? 

It's easy to sit and chat about nothing, it's easy to be quiet and look out of the window while the last light fades. It's easy, because it's always been easy and why would it be different now? The waiter brings pasta and he manages to use the fork to get some to his mouth. 
"Whoa! You can thank Todd later." he groans. "God, this is good."
"Hmhm!" Brett hums appreciatively. "I'll be sure to."
Has he ever had a better time? With anyone? He smiles across the table and devours his pasta.