'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Brett opens his eyes to a new day, it's to a headache and an empty bed.

Well, okay, so maybe he doesn't realize he's alone yet, not for a good long while. He hasn't played around in the snow nor has he done any sort of strenuous activity for some time, and now, his body's complaining at every twitch of his muscles, every flex of his limbs. Brett twists and turns on the bed for a moment, tangling himself in the blankets, when he realizes the other side of the pillow wall is empty.

Eddy isn't in the room. Ignoring the sinking feeling that's made a home in his stomach, he gets up and goes in search of him.

The halls are silent, his steps echoing across the wooden floor as he makes his way through the house, down the stairs and across the foyer. He waves at his grandmother through the window as he passes by, the old woman tending to the flowerbed she's taken a claim over as her personal project. He catches a glimpse of ginger hair turning a corner further ahead. Probably Charles, or something.

When Brett arrives at the kitchen, Eddy's rummaging through the cupboards, hair dishevelled and his pajama bottoms tugging low around his hips before he wordlessly pulls them back up. The light hits the glass window just right, and suddenly he's wreathed in sunshine: a sleepy angel made luminous.

Thud, thud, goes his heartbeat, and wait. Thud, thud?

He pushes away the sudden shyness that lingers at the back of his mind, begins moving quietly across the kitchen tiles, trying not to make a noise as he approaches.

Brett watches the other man replace the lid on the box of sugar as he takes a sip from his mug, and maybe he's still got a foot in the dream world, because the first thing that comes out of his mouth is: "You don't take sugar in your coffee."

Eddy finally glances over towards him. There's a faint smile on his face as he produces another cup of coffee from behind the cookie jars. "Nah." He strides over to where Brett is perched against the breakfast counter, sliding the warm cup into his eager, waiting hands. "That's 'cause this is for you." A smirk so pronounced, it's almost audible. "Good morning."

"Good fucking morning indeed," Brett sighs, his words muffled as he lifts the mug to his lips. It's made just the way he likes it: three sugars, a splash of milk. He can't remember ever having taught Eddy the exact way to make his favorite brew, but somehow, he's got it down pat. Incredible. "God, I could kiss you." He pauses, chuckles at the strange word choice he's used. "Y'know what I mean."

"Well, maybe I don't."

Brett blinks at him owlishly, running the spoken words through his head again, before Eddy turns away and takes a sip into his coffee cup. Whatever the fuck that means.

"Anyway," he draws out the word, taking a moment to dispel the confusion clouding his brain before he continues, "I didn't think you'd go downstairs without me."

"Needed my coffee fix. Nana told me to make myself at home, so," Eddy trails off, gesturing half-heartedly at the kitchen counter. It's sparkling clean, not a single utensil or condiment out of place. "I figured I knew how to use the coffee maker, so why not?"

"Yeah, right. You wouldn't be this prim and proper back at home with all your shit lying around and you don't even clean up your ramen packets!" Brett doesn't even think twice about naming their shared dorm home; it doesn't occur to him that Eddy might not be thinking the same thing until he's already spoken the words. Before he feels self-conscious about it, though, he places a hand to his forehead and sighs dramatically. "God, if only you'd do the same back at the con. A man can dream."