"Do you think we are taking on too much with the tour?", Eddy whispered, glancing at Bretts sleepy figure next to him.
"Hm, no", the slurred words where all he received as an answer.
/
Brett had this habit of falling asleep in the early evening. Or late afternoon. Nearly every day.
It didn't really matter what they had been doing during the day or whose flat they were at, if they ended up on one of their couches between 5 - 8pm, he'd eventually drift off. Eddy could set an alarm for this. Bet all his savings.
It was the biggest consistency in his life.
No one was allowed to touch him during that. If Eddy tried to carefully tug a blanket over him, Brett would jerk awake immediately, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes but wouldn't fall back asleep.
/
"I think you should switch to the viola."
"...fuck you..."
/
So, all Eddy could do was watching in delight how Brett would sit next to him, them having Netflix turned on and Brett would slowly, very slowly, slump down lower. Lower and lower until at some point, he would turn to the side, resting his head onto the couch cushion.
That was usually the point where he would take of his glasses and stop trying to pretend he wasn't sleepy.
/
"Remember when we were fiften and played that one wedding gig?"
"Dude...which one?"
"The one where you said it was a beautiful ceremony."
"Hm."
"I liked it as well."
/
It always ended with Brett laying completely on the couch, curled in on himself, his legs pulled up.
Within one to two hours, he would wake up again, looking puzzled that he had fallen asleep, forgot where he was for a moment, but in the end, just stretching his whole body like a cat, nearly purring while trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.
And five minutes later he was back in the land of the living, pretending that his little snoozing session had never happened.
/
"I'm proud of what we have done so far."
"Me too."
/
That was all on the rather cute scale of their friendship.
What was bothering him was that Brett had this irking fascination with deadass boring crime series, with lonely old man that have a drinking problem and live in depressing towns where it rains all the time. Jesse Stone. Jack Taylor. The occasional Father Brown or Miss Marple.
They watched it and it never took more than ten to twenty minutes for Brett to snooze off. Irritatingly, Brett also immediately woke up as soon as Eddy tried to turn the tv to something else.
So he endured the slow crimes and boring dialogues and depressing settings to let Brett sleep on the couch, because he was in way too deep anyway.
/
"I think you played so well today, I couldn't take my eyes off you", Eddy whispered.
No answer.
/
What was the really adoring thing about this though and really, also the only thing that made Eddy endure this, was that Brett talked in his sleep. Mumbled, more like it. Sometimes, Eddy would tell him things and sometimes, Brett even answered.
And Eddy took full advantage of that, whispering words and questions, saying things he didn't dare to say in the brutal hours of daylight.
/
"I have loved you since we have met."
"I love you too."