'tis the season (to love you)

CHAPTER TEN

There's something different about Brett, and for the life of him, Eddy can't quite figure out what exactly it is.

He's not sure where the tipping point had manifested itself, really. Sometime between getting in the car to the ice rink and trudging back out into the snowy outside, it's as if Brett's axis has shifted somewhere to the right. Or left. Whichever new direction. His best friend looks fine at first glance, sure, but all the tiny warning signs are right there, in his walk and in his talk. Obvious, if you know what to look for, and Eddy's status as best friend (and oh, isn't that just bittersweet?) puts him in the unique position of knowing precisely what to look for.

Brett's eyes are slightly glazed over, gaze hovering on the space just above Eddy's right shoulder. There's some degree of sluggishness to his steps. The stoic look that's normally plastered on his face has twisted, albeit subtly, into something more thoughtful, something more reflective. And that, above all things, is what scares Eddy the most.

On a better day, he might've probably solved this mystery by now, but his brain's a bit befuddled at the moment, thanks.

He's still reeling from the impromptu cuddle session in the middle of the skating rink. He could live out a hundred lives and not understand nor deserve the fact that the other man had squeezed the air right out of him without any prior reason.

(Okay, so he'll at least admit to maybe, probably, possibly flirting with Brett. Just a little. It could've easily been misconstrued as friendly ribbing, so. And fuck, but he's allowed to; they're boyfriends, pretend though they are.)

He had been so scared that Brett would find him out, notice the way his heart had been threatening to jump straight out of his chest and into a soggy wet mass of muscle in Brett's hands, that he'd tried to balance things out with a dash of casual indifference, and—well.

Nice had been the not-enough word he'd used to describe the warmest hug he's ever known. Oh god, but he really is something of an idiot, huh?

But hey, maybe he isn't really that much of an idiot, because Eddy's pretty damn sure it's something he's said during or after that hug that must've tilted Brett's equilibrium. The problem is, he doesn't know what he's done to trigger anything in his friend.

What had he done? Fuck, the state of not knowing is a horrible thing.

Try as he might to ignore it, Eddy has always been a sucker where Brett's mental wellbeing is concerned. He nudges the other man's shoulder, and it's another testament to Brett's distracted state that it takes him a few seconds to look up from where he's staring at a sharp edge jutting out from the cement of the parking lot. "You okay? What's up?"

"Huh? Nothing," the other man deflects, angling a winsome smile in Eddy's direction that he doesn't trust, not one bit. "Come on, let's go back. I'm fucking freezing out here."

Ever the gentleman, Eddy quickly divests himself of his thick winter coat, leaving his limbs clad in a thinner jacket as he wordlessly offers the coat to Brett, who stares at it for a moment before shaking his head.

"Don't be a martyr for my sake, fool."

(I'd be anything for you, Eddy carefully does not say in reply.)

He opts to raise his eyebrow incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest. "What, you don't think I can handle a little bit of snow?"

"Says the one complaining about it when we first got here," Brett snorts, stepping closer to acquire the heavy piece of clothing.

If he hadn't been looking so closely, Eddy would've missed the way Brett mindfully positions his hands a polite distance away from Eddy's own, clutching the offered coat in a way that speaks of mild avoidance. But: he's looking closely, and so he does notice. The non-touch, deliberate as it had been conducted, hurts like a bitch.