'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER SIX

Eddy gets very little sleep that night.

When he wakes, it's to his eyelashes sticking together, throat coarse like sandpaper, and the early morning sunlight streaming through the high-arched windows. The coverlet is soft under his limbs. There's a blanket keeping the chilly bite of winter away from him and—

—the warm, dozing body next to him.

Brett.

And so, yeah, he's suddenly mere seconds away from a minor panic attack. Eddy breathes in deep, settles the wild animal that's burrowed itself within his chest: calm, calm. It won't do him any good to lose his mind right now—he hasn't even had breakfast yet.

As if to punctuate his line of thought, his stomach grumbles. Great. Well, he's not about to go stomping around on his own downstairs. He needs to rouse his companion, no matter how hard it is to do so.

"Hey." He nudges a soft-sleeved shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. Their Great Wall of Pillows has survived the night unconquered, aside from the wayward arm Brett's flung over it, inches away from his own. It doesn't mean anything, aha, whatever. Eddy valiantly resists the urge to run his fingers over that exposed patch of skin and pokes Brett again. "Bro. Wake up."

"Nngh?"

Fuck, but he's adorable. "Wake up."

"Don't wanna." Brett still hasn't surfaced from the sea of blankets. Eddy's stomach growls again. Insistently. "Go away."

And just like that, the dark cloud of anxiety begins to ebb away. Even in this charade, he's still the same old Eddy, and Brett's still the annoying fucker he's fallen for. They can make it through this, together. A smile blooms on his mouth unbidden, petal-soft, even as he goes to jab his cold fingers into Brett's abdomen. "Come on, Brett. Don't make me face Nana Helen alone."

That does the trick. Brett explodes out of the covers like a speeding rocket careening out of its launchpad. "Ah, shit," he draws the curse out, voice still worn and rough from sleep. Eddy watches on in equal parts amusement and attraction, damn it all. "I almost forgot about that, sorry—I'm up, I'm up."

"It's all good. Come on, before my gut starts barking at me again," he complains. Brett pats him like a child praising a puppy and rolls out of the bed, grinning.

Eddy's skin feels warm all morning.

• • •

All things considered, he adores Helen Yang's home. Nostalgic blast from the past aside, it's got a rustic, cosy vibe to it that's not really something one encounters when living in the city, and god, but Eddy misses the easygoing nature of the countryside house. It's a wonderful home, truly. He loves every inch of it.

"How is the wallpaper?"

Not the wallpaper, though—that thing can go. His eyes sting every time they land on the disgusting olive green shade, and the tangy ornate designs aren't helping matters at all. Still: "It's very nice, Nana. Very, uh, artsy."

Judging by the old woman's stare, though, he thinks he hasn't gotten away with the lying. "Ach. I just like very green things. Like a garden. Gardens are very beautiful, yes?"

"Don't listen to her, Eddy," Brett intervenes, laughing around his mouthful of scrambled egg. It's disgusting that he still finds the man attractive with rice spilling out of his lips, but fuck, this is his life. "She's out to try and persuade you to like it, but I know you know it looks horrible, so nah, don't fall for it."