distraction: you

chapter fifteen

it takes a fair amount of waiting for the shadows in eddy's mind to retract their claws and slink back into the deepest corners where he keeps them, and so by the time he checks his watch, it's already five minutes past the prescribed lunch time. his stomach is grumbling at him for sustenance, but it's time to get back to work.

he's already done too much damage. he's not looking to get kicked out of a job too.

when he strides into the concert hall, it is with considerably less fury than he had earlier on, but really, that doesn't matter now. he's left a disaster in his wake when he first stormed out of the room; that's not something people easily forget or forgive. even as eddy steps back onto the soloist's position, the other musicians give him a wide berth. 

he's probably just imagining the ice shards their gazes are throwing in his direction, but still: the room temperature feels as if it's dropped twenty degrees.

he does not apologize, not yet, not now. the music comes first, for now. he'll make amends later.

the last of the tardy stragglers finally join the orchestra, among their number the concertmaster and the principal cellist. eddy takes one glance—just one glance—and sees a flush on brett's cheeks, the kind that makes one wonder if, just maybe, he's—

eddy turns his head away, fixes his gaze on the sheet music splayed in front of him. he does not dare take another glance after that.

the conductor takes his place at the podium, looking wearily at eddy for a moment. "i trust we'll be finishing things in an orderly fashion, yes?" he asks the orchestra at large, but it's obvious he's really directing the question at eddy. he responds with a sharp nod, readies himself to play once more. 

after that, it's a straightforward rehearsal; eddy doesn't speak a single word, and he doesn't stop at any point unless the conductor is telling him to. when he draws the bow across the strings, it is with icy precision: perfection, but cool and impassive and somber. the orchestra follows along with him in harmony, the concertmaster leading the rest of the strings to coincide with the musical flairs the soloist dishes out.

they do not look at each other. that, of all things, is what stabs deepest, straight to the marrow.

no distractions, eddy. didn't i tell you?

the voice is a resounding echo in his head, over and over: repetitive. eddy breathes in deep and continues to play, the music his only concern. everything else is thrown to the wayside for now.

(entrenched in his own self-reproach, eddy doesn't see that brett does look at him: only when his back is turned. those eyes are not eyes of hatred, not one bit.)

• • •

no matter how many times eddy's rehearsed this in his mind, it still doesn't sound right. however, the opportunity is right there, and he needs to do this before it blows up in his face again. he's trying to be better, okay; he really is.

brett's words⁠—you don't have the right; you can't just expect people to be whatever you want them to be⁠—have not been playing on loop in eddy's brain this whole time, of course not.

just as the principal oboist passes by in the hall, eddy corners him. "hey, man. i-i just wanted to say that," he sighs, hangs his head. "i'm sorry. for, you know, what happened earlier."

martin raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "yeah? really?"

"really." eddy can't help the edge his voice adopts at that reply, but he needs to calm down. he takes a deep breath before he continues. "i know i'm not the best of people to work with—"

"—ain't that the truth—"

"—but. i'm trying my best to ease up. sorry that i yelled at you. i was," eddy pauses, a familiar pair of eyes all too clear in his mind's eye, "too impatient. i wasn't thinking about others, then. i'll be better next time."

martin gapes at him for a moment, mouth fallen open over the course of eddy's apology, and then he blinks once, twice. eddy resists the urge to fidget. "ah," the other man finally says, and does he really have to sound that disbelieving? is this how much his reputation has preceded him? "hey, it's all good, man. thanks for apologizin'. we all make mistakes here and there, and it's kinda gratifying to see even the great eddy chen does too."

it's eddy's turn to gape, mouthing the words the great eddy chen wordlessly, and martin laughs at him. "yeah, yeah. you're not so bad, chen. you better make sure you work that thing you got out, though, but you're not so bad."

"thanks, i guess," eddy murmurs after a few moments, and they shake hands. apologizing feels like a whole lot of weight off his chest now; that had gone so much better than he'd thought it would.

now—he just needs to hustle up the courage to do it to someone far more important than martin ever will be to him.

(eddy can admit that much to himself now, at the very least.)