Chapter Text

Chapter 1

London, March 3rd 1895

Snow crunches like hot embers under his feet as the city slowly calms. Everybody with eyes can see that London never sleeps, but Edward Chen prefers these dark evenings to the busy, crowded streets of working hours. The added danger of criminals is worth the quiet, in his opinion. Maybe he’s just lost everything worth losing; maybe he doesn’t care anymore.

The streets all look the same to him in this strange hour of twilight, the sky above disguising billowing blankets of smog as clouds. 

He’s never liked this part of London much, opting instead for the quiet streets behind opera houses or small society meetings just outside the city. But alas, money is short for now. 

It’s quite a nice house, Edward thinks to himself as he approaches the front steps. The brick terrace house is quite sizable, and the thick wooden door at the front looks respectable enough. He leaps up the steps, stretching his hand out to meet the brass door knocker and placing his suitcase at his feet.

Cold air bites through his scarf as he waits, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his long, black coat. After what feels like a half hour, the door creaks open an inch. 

“Yes?” An old lady pokes her head through the frame, silver bun wobbling precariously atop her head. “What do you want, young man?”

Edward opens his mouth, stumbling over his words as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m…I’m looking for this house,” he fumbles around in his pockets for a second, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and presenting it to, who he assumes is, the landlady. 

She nods slowly, taking the piece of paper and inspecting it. “Yes, that is this address, Mr…?”

Edward picks up his suitcase. “Chen. Edward Chen. I was wondering if you could rent a room to me.”

He waits in anticipation, nails digging into his palms.  The landlady peers over her spectacles, lips pursed. “Are you a violinist too, Mr Chen?” She asks, nodding at the case strapped to the young man’s back.

“Yes,” Edward replies, “but I’m willing to practice elsewhere if you aren’t keen on noise.”

“That won’t be necessary as long as you follow the same rules the other player does. I’ve got another musician in the top room.” The landlady steps to the side and gestures for Edward to follow, shutting and bolting the door behind him. “I’m willing to let you rent a room, Mr Chen, but I won’t stand for late payments and I certainly won’t tolerate rule-breaking.”

Edward nods. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Your first payment will be on the first Monday of the month. No women in the room after dark, no social gatherings of more than 3 people, no smoking and no animals.” She turns around and stares at Edward with her piercing eyes. “But you seem decent, Mr Chen.” 

She shoves her hand into her apron pocket and pulls out a key. “Here you go. Up the stairs until you get to the second flight, it’s the first door on the left.”

Edward takes the key, grabbing his suitcase and turning down the hallway. “Thank you, so much.”

———

The room is nice, really. It’s the right size with a decent bed and a wooden desk. The sink in the corner is clean and a new bar of soap sits between the taps. Edward sighs, tucking his violin case under the brass bed frame and sinking into the armchair by the window. Suddenly London doesn’t seem as bad through his frosty window, and the unusually cold March air doesn’t seem as smoky. 

Edward stands up, throwing a coat around his shoulders. He makes sure the door is locked as he closes it.

———

He realises how long it’s been since he’s heard the Bach as he climbs the stairs to the loft rooms, each step bringing him closer to the same thing he’s dedicated his life to. Floorboards creak underneath his cheap leather shoes when he reaches the top, a dark oak door sitting a few feet away from the last step. Unlike downstairs, this smaller corridor isn’t carpeted, but clad with lush wooden boards and numerous pawn-shop paintings.

Edward’s breath catches in his nose as he knocks, using his free hand to brush a lock of hair away from his golden-frame glasses.

The music stops, and footsteps approach the other side of the door. Edward hears something being placed down, and his heart beats faster with every passing second.

“Happy birthday, Brett.”

(An d if he relishes in the feeling of finally saying that, he’s only got himself to blame.)

The man who stands at the door is a head shorter than him, round glasses perched on the end of his nose and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mouth hangs open in shock as Edward waits for him to respond. His eyes are close to tears and his handsome smile is twisted slightly.

“Eddy,” he breathes eventually, face pale. “You came back.”

Eddy nods.

Brett clears his throat. “Come…come inside.” He backs away from the door and Eddy follows, closing the door behind them. 

As soon as it’s shut and bolted, Brett pushes the taller man against the door and throws his arms around him. “Christ, Eddy, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d lost you.”

Eddy relaxes into the hug. “I know. I’m truly sorry.”

Brett pulls away, “Stay with me, I beg. Don’t leave me again.” He takes Eddy’s hand and kisses it, long eyelashes fluttering in the gas lamp light. “Please. Don’t leave.”

Eddy takes Brett’s hand, too. “I’m not leaving without you this time, Brett. It’s taken me so long to find you. I’m not leaving.”

Brett looks up at him and Eddy can’t help but marvel at his beautifully proportioned features. He leans closer, brushing his lips against Brett’s. Brett smiles into the kiss, placing a hand behind Eddy’s neck and bringing him down to his level. He silently curses his too-tight waistcoat as he struggles to breathe.

“No women after dark,” Brett teases when Eddy pulls away, gliding a thumb over the older man's cheek.

“I’m not a woman,” Eddy mumbles before grinning. “I’m just…illegal. We are…this is illegal.”

Brett grins back. “Isn’t it strange? Bach married his cousin but I’m not allowed to marry you. Hell, I’m not even allowed to kiss you.”

“But you do.” Eddy runs a thumb over Brett’s cheek, smiling softly in the lamplight.

Brett shrugs. “Indeed. I’m a walking lawbreaker. We both are. But I do love you.”

Eddy hums, walking away to sit on the bed, leaning against the frame. 

“Tell me how you’ve been, Brett. I want to know everything I’ve missed.”

Chapter Text

Brett Yang had not expected Eddy Chen to knock on his door that night. He should have seen it coming really: Eddy had stopped writing to him and the vacant room downstairs had been rented out that afternoon. 

He eventually admits to himself that the suffocating weight on his shoulders had been crafted from Eddy’s absence.

His plans for his birthday had mostly been to practice for an upcoming concert. Perhaps he’d go out for a meal later in the evening or go and see a performance at the opera house.

 Instead, he’d recounted his entire six months in London to Eddy. Oh, how he’d missed this man perched at the end of his bed, and how he’d missed his touch when he eventually invited him to sit underneath one of the blankets next to him.

He’d missed his smell, his warmth, his smile. Everything that makes Edward Chen home and Brett’s sole comfort.

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddy says when he’s finished, the clock by Brett’s bed screaming way past midnight. “You turned what happened into an opportunity to show the country how astonishingly talented you are.”

Brett shrugs, reaching over to draw the curtains against the darkness of the night. “I needed to keep myself busy.”

Eddy smiles, reaching for Brett’s hand one last time until the morning. “I need to go now,” he kisses it, standing up and grabbing his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.”

Brett blushes in return and blows a soft kiss across the room. 

—— 

Eddy sleeps better that night than he has done in months, comforted by the fact that their secret is still safe and only a floor away from each other. Perhaps he smiles to himself as he untucks their short letters from his pockets, and maybe he imagines Brett’s arms around him as he dozes off.

By the time the morning peeks its lazy weekend head over the city, Eddy is already up and unpacking the rest of his limited belongings. It’s mostly sheet music in his suitcase, wedged between a few shirts and trousers. The coat and scarf on his back are the only things sheltering him from the frosty March mornings. He arranges the sheet music chronologically on his shelf, propping the books up with his old metronome. Brett had gifted it to him when he’d graduated, and it had traveled with him ever since. 

His palms start to sweat when eleven o’clock rolls around. Brett had said to meet him downstairs at half past, and his shirts are still crumpled and creased. He sighs and dresses anyway, trying to smooth down the ridges with his hands in front of the mirror. Something’s missing - he grabs a bow tie and knots it hastily, adjusting the bow. He’d never really been a tie sort of person, but society would argue otherwise. 

At twenty-five past, a knock at the door brings Edward out of his thoughts. 

“Hello,” Brett smiles when he opens the door, beckoning him inside and turning the key in the lock. “Sorry I’m a bit early,” he reaches up and places a kiss on Eddy’s cheek, sealing the red creeping across it. “I brought you these.”

Eddy takes the small bunch of flowers and sets them by the window. “Thank you,” he replies, filling a cup at the sink and placing the flowers inside. “Tell me - how on Earth did you get those flowers up the stairs without anyone noticing? Everyone who lodges here is a man.”

Brett chuckles, arranging the flowers so they sit nicely in the cup. “Getting them inside was easy. It was getting them past Mrs Black that was the problem.”

“Mrs Black?”

Brett sighs. “The landlady. How did you rent out a room without knowing the name of your landlady?” He turns, wrapping his arms around Eddy’s shoulders. 

“Kiss me.”

“Brett, l-” Eddy starts to speak but Brett presses a finger to his lips. 

“We won’t get caught, I promise.” Eddy relaxes, raising an eyebrow. Brett continues, “Trust me.”

Eddy nods and leans closer, pressing his lips against Brett’s. His hands come to rest on his waist, strong arms wrapped around the shorter man. 

Brett pulls away when there’s a knock at the door, eyes widening. Eddy leaps away from him, searching his pockets for the key. “Grab my violin from under the bed,” he hisses, taking off his coat. “And move the flowers.”

“Good morning, Mrs Black.” He smiles as he opens the door. “How can I help you?”

The landlady raises her eyebrows at Brett, who’s tuning Eddy’s violin next to the window with a face the colour of a beetroot. “Am I interrupting you two, Mr Chen?”

Edward swallows. “No, ma’am. We were just about to go and rehearse at the concert hall.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yes, our conductor insists.”

She hums under her breath, peering around Edward. “I see. Well, I just called to bring you this spare key. I have learnt from past mistakes and it seems my clients have a tendency to… forget things. ” She looks back toward Edward as she says it, one eyebrow raised.

Edward nods and takes the key. “Thank you.” He closes the door as she walks back down the stairs and slumps against it with relief.

“Rehearsal?” Brett asks, setting the violin back in its case. “I had planned a little more than rehearsal.”

Eddy shoots him a look. “ Thank you Eddy for saving my skin. I didn’t mean that we were actually going to rehearsal. I just needed her to go away before she noticed anything off.” He turns around, catching his eyes on the vase on the side.

“Brett?”

“Yes?” Brett hums, fixing his collar in front of the mirror. 

“Did you move those flowers back?”

Brett shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t move them in time.”

Eddy groans. “What? There’s no way she didn’t notice that.” Brett frowns at his words.

“I’m sorry.” 

Eddy sighs, crossing to stand by Brett at the mirror. “It’s alright. But Brett,” he places his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders. “Other people wouldn’t see us as we do. If anyone knew about the true nature of our relationship it’s very likely we wouldn’t see each other again.”

Brett nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m sorry. I’m being too careless, aren’t I? I haven’t seen you in six months and this is what I jump to - it’s costing you your safety.”

Eddy closes his eyes, letting his face relax. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Eddy leans closer, brushing Brett’s fringe away from his eyes. “I miss being in Taiwan. It’s so much easier there. God, I even miss living in Australia.”

Brett shrugs. “No matter where we go…we’re still just best friends on the outside. Colleagues; associates; business partners. But certainly not lovers.”

Eddy shakes his head in distaste, but his heart throbs because he knows Brett’s right.

——
 

The cold March air nips at Brett’s fingers as they wander through the streets, shoulders a respectable distance apart. Eddy sees them shaking, of course, resisting the overwhelming urge to grab the small hands and hold them in his own pockets. Instead he lends Brett his gloves,  cheeks brushed with red when they touch hands.  

“Where do you want to go now?” He asks as they finish up their coffee in a small cafe a few streets away from one of Brett’s favourite concert venues. “Your choice. My treat.”

Brett raises his eyebrows. “It’s not my birthday anymore, you know. You don’t have to.”

“I want to. It’s not your fault that my ferry was awfully unpredictable. I may have a habit of being late but I’m not letting you miss out.” He sets his cup down on the table between them.

Brett hums, tapping his fingers on his knee. “Alright, Chen. Concert? They’re playing Tchaikovsky’s fourth tonight for the first time.”

Eddy smiles. “Perfect.”

And so there they were, sitting side by side in the darkened auditorium. 

It felt so good to be sat this close, shoulders nearly touching - exactly the same as everyone else in the room but somehow…different. Like an invisible string pulling them closer together until Eddy can hear Brett’s steady breathing when he turns.

The first movement starts andante sostenuto, the warm glow of the French horn’s tone illuminating the entire hall.

“This is beautiful,” Brett whispers when the second movement casts its spell over the audience. The strings swell and dance, painting a hauntingly beautiful image in Eddy’s mind. He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting the moment imprint itself in his brain. It’s moments like these he never wants to forget as Brett rests a hand on top of his for a split second.

“What’s it like in Paris, Eddy?” Brett questions as they linger in the lobby afterwards, watching the ebb and flow of people slowly diminish.

Eddy allows himself to smile. “Oh, you’d love it. The concert halls are spectacular, and there seems to be something worth watching around every corner. It’s so beautiful and much friendlier than London.”

Brett hums, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. “Will you take me one day?” His voice is low now, almost a whisper.

Eddy looks across at him, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “Yes. I will take you to Paris. I will show you every beautiful thing that reminded me of you and every place I saw a couple of sweethearts smile.” He chuckles.

Brett nods, laughing slightly too. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, and I don’t want to miss a second.”

Eddy pulls a silver fob watch from his pocket, stringing it between his fingers. “We’d better get back if we’re going to practice together without disturbing anyone.”

Chapter Text

They run through the Bach double for what feels like the thousandth time that afternoon. It had taken a while to get back into playing together, as six months playing purely solo or in orchestra had taken its toll.

“Bach would be turning in his grave if he found out who’s playing his piece now.”

Eddy turns the page, setting his rosin on the bed. “I don’t think he would. Music is music, right? Music is love. It doesn’t matter who’s playing it or who they’re playing it with.”

Brett smiles. “That’s the most poetic thing you’ve said all day,” he raises the violin to his shoulder and Eddy follows, drawing his bow across the string with a quick flourish with Brett following close behind.

Eddy makes tea afterwards, carrying the hot water carefully up the stairs and covering a spilt spot with a rug to clean up later. Brett shakes his head, holding open the door and swerving away from the scalding pan.

“The only thing I didn’t miss is you running around with hot water and nearly scalding yourself,” Brett jokes as he pours the tea, settling into one of his armchairs by the window. Brett’s room has a nicer view than Eddy’s, rising just above the housetops and capturing the orange-yellow sunsets in the summer. In winter, the snow settles restlessly on his wider window ledge and his larger wood burner provides more heat.

“Very amusing,” Eddy sips at his tea, slouched in the other chair. He drops his head against the back of it, closing his eyes and placing the teacup on the windowsill. 

“So,” Brett starts quietly, gazing at a pigeon perched on the roof opposite the window. “Beatrice.”

Eddy’s eyes snap open. “Beatrice? You didn’t mind, did you? I thought…I thought maybe if someone accidentally opened our letters then maybe they’d think I’m just writing to a girl.”

Brett smirks. “A girl named Beatrice. I like it.”

Eddy huffs. “It was the closest to your name that I liked. It was Beatrice or Clara, and I figured you’d prefer the former.”

“Like Clara Schumann?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Perhaps being her namesake wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Eddy?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we talking about which female names we'd have?” Brett erupts into laughter, tears forming in the creases of his eyes. He clutches his stomach, nearly knocking his teacup to the floor.

Eddy laughs too, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

 Brett feels much better for laughing, forgetting his previous worries and fixing his gaze on Eddy. His eyes have missed such beauty these last months, keeping themselves busy with sheet music and endless letters and books.

He’s missed being loved like this.

———

Eddy staggers up the stairs, pounding on Brett’s door. He groans, holding a hand to his head.

“Eddy!” Brett pulls himself inside when he opens the door, pushing him over to the bed and sitting him down. “What on Earth happened? Are you alright?”

Eddy nods, moving his hand away from the gash on his head. “I fell up the steps.” He smirks, wincing. “Typical of me, I guess.”

“Don’t say that,” Brett kisses his forehead lightly and stands, running a cloth under the tap and pressing it to Eddy’s head. “I’m no medical expert, but I think we should get this cleaned up.” He gestures towards Eddy’s head.

Eddy nods slightly, holding the cloth. “Alright.” He sighs and smiles weakly at the smaller violinist as he dabs at the cut gingerly. It’s clear he has no clue about this kind of thing but Eddy lets him do his best anyway.

“You’ll be alright, my lovely.” Brett concludes, standing up to inspect his handiwork. “It’s only a graze, really. Could you hold this while I get you a bandage?”

Eddy grimaces as he reapplies the cloth, pressing it down slightly. Brett dives under his bed, pulling out a briefcase and opening it to reveal a slightly jumbled collection of cotton bandages. Eddy’s eyes widen.

“Where on Earth did you collect those?” He gawps, as Brett unravels one and begins work on tying it around Eddy’s head. 

“My mother gave them to me a while ago. She was worried about me getting mugged in London or something like that.” He shakes his head, sliding the case underneath the bed frame. “God, Eddy, this is a bit of a makeshift job - are you sure you don’t want me to call for someone more medically trained?”

Eddy shakes his head carefully, reaching up a hand to feel the cotton. “No, I’ll be alright. You’ve done a good job, thank you.”

———

Eddy sighs, buttoning his pyjama shirt and slipping his glasses off. Neither of them see the point in changing into their pajamas only to change back later, but they can’t very well sit there in their day shirts.

“I can’t believe it’s only my first week in London and I’ve already injured myself and pulled the button off my shirt twice.”

Brett chuckles, setting his book on his knees as he gathers the blankets for Eddy to crawl under. “You’re just clumsy, my lovely.” He strokes the taller’s fringe away from his eyes.

Eddy hums. “What do you think people think we do when I disappear into your room every evening or you come into mine?”

Brett blinks sincerely. “Well, Mr Popely in room 1 keeps asking me if you and I would like to play chess with him.”

Eddy laughs, minding his head on the metal bed frame. “Perhaps we ought to learn chess, so we actually have a public reason for this.”

Brett smiles, pressing himself closer to Eddy and letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He carefully wraps his arms around the taller boy. This was how it was supposed to be, after six months of holding onto nothing in his dark sea of troubles. This is how he feels safe.

And yet, despite this closeness and security, something feels off.

——

Matthew,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I’m writing to you, a dear old friend, to ask of you a favour. Recently, two violinists moved into the rooms above me, and something rather suspicious seems to linger about them. Forgive me for prying, but every evening one of them disappears into the other’s room and doesn’t return until far past 11 o’clock.

Now, this could be a good old-fashioned case of gambling and drinking, but on the other hand…

What’s the reward for the arrest of indecent exposure? And two cases, at that.

This is where I require your technical genius in the art of framing. Please consider my offer, and we’ll split the reward.

Your friend,

Alfred Popely. 

------

"Ah, Mr Yang! Just the man for the job." 

Brett spins around, taking his hand off the doorknob. 

"Good morning, Mr Popely." Brett smiles, shaking his hand hastily. "Tell me, what am I the man for? I'm afraid if it's writing or putting up shelves I can't help you unless you like them wonky."

Mr Popely is a plump, stout man with a large moustache and a bulging waistcoat, the buttons of said garment straining valiantly down his front. 

His booming laugh sprays saliva all over the carpet. "Oh no, Mr Yang. I was wondering if you could help me look for my monocle chain, I seem to have misplaced it.”

He pats his stomach, rocking on his heels slightly. Brett stands his violin case against the door frame, rubbing his hands together. “Of course. I’m not claiming to have perfect sight but I’ll certainly try.”

He crouches down, dropping to his knees and peering under the chaise lounge. “Ah, here it is.” He scoops the chain into his hand and stands up, straightening his shirt and handing over the chain.

“Ahh, you’re a good man,” Mr Popely booms, “Let me offer you a drink for your troubles.”

Brett sighs. “That’s very kind of you but…well actually, I-“

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Popely slams a hand down onto Brett’s shoulder, nearly making his knees buckle. “I insist!”

“Mr Popely, I really think-“ Brett tries to protest, but the old man is already pouring a glass of amber liquid and gesturing towards a chair.

“Please, sit down Mr Yang.” So Brett sits, hands sweating on his knees.

Mr Popely hands him a glass, sitting in the chair opposite. He takes a swig of the liquid and Brett raises the glass to his lips, pressing them together to avoid drinking the contents.

“So, how’s that chess going? Didn’t you say you were thinking of joining a club?”

Brett smiles politely, grimacing on the flip side. “Well, I think Mr Chen has mastered the basics at this point, so perhaps.”

Mr Popely nods, licking his lips. “Good old Mr Chen. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, I think. How do you two know each other?”

Brett swallows. “We met as adolescents, really. I was attending boys’ school and he was the year below me. Mathematics tutoring was where we eventually started talking. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“I see. That’s decent, don’t you think? That you’ve been friends for so long.”

Brett nods, setting his glass down on the table. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He stands. “I’m afraid I really must be going, Mr Popely. I shall be late to rehearsal otherwise. Good day.”

With that, he walks away into the bitter wind.

Chapter Text

Agatha Black hadn’t been the same since losing her husband and her sister in the same year. By the end of Winter 1885, she’d had more than enough of churches and funerals and cheap, black gowns. Her mantelpiece found itself lined with flowers, most of which covered the photograph of her beloved William resting on the wall. She’d spent lots on that print - too much.

 In Summer 1887, Agatha opened what she’d like to call a ‘lodging house’. For the first time in years her old terrace house finally felt like a home to someone…or rather, multiple people. She’d seen many people come and go in her time, and very few remain.

So when young Brett Yang moved into room 5 in the summer of 1894, she soon realised that this man was something different. His eyes housed a spark of the likes she hadn’t seen in a gentleman since her wedding day, and his music was a blessing on her ears at all hours.

Mr Chen followed a few months later with the same spark in his smile. He knew Mr Yang - very well it seemed - but something had felt ever so wrong to Agatha since that cold March day.

The two men would disappear into each other's rooms every night, the other not emerging until as late as midnight every time. She’d smile and nod at them if she was still up, watching quietly as doors were closed and bolted.

“Do you happen to know anything about those two in 4 and 5?”  She’d asked Mr Popely, her longest resident. 

“Not a thing more than you do,” he’d boomed, downing yet another glass of whatever foul substance he’d poured into it. “If one of those two were a lass* they’d be mistaken for sweethearts.” He chuckles to himself, a sickening smirk illuminated by the glowing fire.

“Yes,” Agatha mumbles, wrinkled hands gripping her skirt. “Perhaps so.”

*lass - Northern English/Scottish slang for ‘girl’

———

“One more time please gentlemen, from the top.”

Edward sighs, catching Brett’s eye as he slouches at the back of seconds. Unfortunately, spending six months away from the orchestra had made it very hard to convince the conductor to let him play with the first violins. The conductor raises his baton, nodding at each section in turn.

Brett, concertmaster as always, turns around and starts leading; the rest of the section following suit.

His fingers are cramped beyond belief by the end of rehearsal, back aching from the sheer amount of time spent sitting down or waiting for his next semibreve. He unwinds his bow carefully, stretching his arms above his head and yawning when it’s safely in the case.

Brett joins him at the door, pulling a scarf around his neck and donning a pair of gloves.

“You finally invested in a pair of gloves?” Eddy raises an eyebrow, holding the door open.

Brett shakes his head, lowering his voice and leaning closer for a second. “I borrowed yours again. Sorry.”

Eddy blushes. “Don’t…don’t apologise. I don’t mind.”

Brett exhales, watching a cloud of steam escape from his mouth. The sky is darker now, but there’s still light enough to read by. Eddy watches as the smaller man digs his hand into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper and examining it.

“Ah, yes. Read this and tell me it doesn’t sound fun.”

Eddy takes the paper, squinting over his glasses to read the faded print. He looks up at Brett. “Seriously? This could get us arrested.” He brandishes the print in front of Brett’s eyes, hissing quietly.

Brett shakes his head. “No!” He pulls Eddy out of the light and into a darker backstreet, crouching behind a barrel and yanking Eddy’s coat down with him. “Don’t you see? This place…this place is our chance!”

Eddy bites his lip. “They’re like us?” He asks, and Brett nods. “How safe is it?”

Brett shrugs. “That depends. But can’t we just try it out, Eddy? Just for an hour?” He tucks the paper back into his pocket. “I promise, if you don’t like it we’ll come straight home and you can tell me I was wrong.”

“I don’t want you to be wrong,” Eddy mumbles. “It’s all very well us being who we are but if we willingly go to this…venue…there’s no turning back. As soon as we step through those doors everyone in this city has evidence - and hell, a right - to get us arrested.” He checks they’re both well hidden before grabbing Brett’s hand and kissing it through the soft fabric of his glove.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispers, blinking slowly. “Give me your word we’ll be safe.”

Brett swallows. “I cannot, for I do not know. But Eddy, please trust me. I want to show you that there are other men just like us…we’re not alone, no matter how much you’d like us to be in our own little fantasy.”

Eddy nods. “One hour, Brett. Show me.”

After much nervous shaking and rambling, Eddy calms down when they’re outside the venue. Brett checks his paper again, squeezing Eddy’s hand gently as they wait after knocking. The cold, dark alleyway they stand in is illuminated only by a single thread of light escaping under the door in front of them. 

A tall, lanky gentleman answers the door, shielding the contents of the building from their view. “Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?”

Brett clears his throat. “We’re here as new members of the…um…writers’ society.”

The man nods, standing aside to let them through. “Of course. Enjoy yourself, gentlemen. And remember,” he taps his nose, “what is said in the society stays in the society.”

Brett nods, taking Eddy’s hand when they’re inside. A long hallway approaches them, the only room sitting right at the end of what feels like a haunting tunnel of anticipation.

The door is open, spilling golden light on Brett’s black shoes. He clears his throat as they enter, Eddy hanging in the doorway.

“Mr Yang!” A man calls from the corner, waving nonchalantly at Brett.

Eddy glances at his partner, eyes wide in disbelief. “You know them?” He hisses, eyes sweeping around the room. About a dozen men sit around the perimeter, almost all of them smoking and talking comfortably.

Brett waves, pulling Eddy behind him as he crosses the room. “Good evening, Henry.” he beams, “How are you?”

Henry shrugs, “Same old, same old. I’m counting myself lucky as I go another day without being arrested.”

Brett laughs and even Eddy finds himself smiling. “It’s funny how I’ve never properly thought about that before, even if it sits at the back of my mind every time I leave the house.” His ears blush red as the words escape his mouth.

Henry grins, extending his hand to shake. “You must be Edward. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eddy glances at Brett, who’s red cheeks have enhanced profusely. “Really? All good things, I hope.”

Brett nods, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “Of course.”

“He said you wouldn’t believe him,” Henry chuckles, extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray beside him. “You’re a lucky chap, Edward.”

“Thank you. I know I am.” 

They chat for a while longer, slowly introducing themselves to other members around the room and eventually sitting down with a few, laughing and talking.

“So…where are you two from, exactly?” One of them asks eventually, necking the last of his drink and setting the cup down with an obnoxious thud. 

Eddy clears his throat. “We were both born in Taiwan, but lived in Australia for most of our childhood. When we were old enough we were packed off to boarding school in England. Then, Brett came to London and I went to Paris.”

Brett hums, tapping his fingers on his knee in a cryptic rhythm. “We’re planning to stay here for a couple of months more, and then on to Paris and eventually Australia.”

The man’s eyebrows raise. “Christ, you do get around. I’ve never even been across the channel.”

Brett chuckles. “We’re very lucky. Often we save for months and months just to afford the tickets, but it’s worth it.”

Eddy nods in agreement, shifting his gaze to Brett’s creased, white shirt and up to his face.

Still the man continues. Questions - why so many questions, Eddy thinks to himself, but he keeps quiet because Brett seems happy enough.

“So you two are violinists?” They both nod, Brett gesturing to their cases left carefully by the door.

The man raises his eyebrows, taking a long drag from his cigarette before replying. “Perhaps you can play for us sometime.”

———

“That wasn’t so bad,” Eddy agrees later that night as they begin their evening armchair ritual. He pours the tea and settles down, removing his glasses. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Brett shakes his head, sipping his tea. “Don’t be sorry. I was doubtful myself, but it seems they like us. Henry likes you, my love.”

Eddy chuckles, gazing at Brett with a tenderness not even glimpsed by anyone else in his entire twenty-odd years of living. The clock ticks on the mantelpiece, steady as the time it measures and tortoise-speed compared to Eddy’s heart when Brett catches his hand, squeezing gently even after all this time.

“Will you stay with me forever?” Brett mumbles, tracing a thumb over Eddy’s fingers.

Eddy squeezes back, grasping Brett’s hands - restoring balance to his world. “Until death do us part, my dear. Don’t be afraid of that - you’ll always own my heart. Only you until my last breath.”

To have and to hold; for better or for worse.

— ——

They go back every week, sometimes twice, and play for the group. Eddy becomes more comfortable in their company, and Brett learns to worry about him less in the hours spent in the small room.

One week a piano appears in their midst, both of them confused as to how it got through the tiny door frame. A new member joins by the name of Matthew, older than the rest of them but seemingly decent.

Eddy sits down and plays at the piano for a while, Brett humming along to the waltz next to him. They swap out eventually, Matthew volunteering to play as Eddy extends his hand to the older violinist.

“May I have this dance?” He grins. Brett laughs, threading their arms together in a clumsy hold.

“I can’t dance,” he whispers, giggling slightly.

“Neither can I.” Eddy smiles down at Brett, holding him close with a gentle grip. “If I trip over your feet - or my own feet, for that matter - will you catch me?”

“Of course I will.” Brett buries his head in Eddy’s shoulder as the music slows to a slow waltz. He hums. “Chopin.”

Eddy nods, concentrating carefully on his feet and the dancing room. For just a moment (or maybe it’s just his imagination) the couples around them shrink to the corners of the room like they’re protected by a bubble. A bubble that’s been there since day one. Their bubble.

The music stops abruptly and Eddy looks up from his partner, startled. The room falls silent, hearts beating erratically as the door pounds.

“We know you’re in there! Stop your disgusting little party and open this goddamn door!” Someone shouts, and Eddy glances at Henry. He mouths something to Eddy as he reaches for another man’s hand. He hears two voices mumbling on the other side of the door as he reaches for Brett’s shaking wrist.

Get out of here. “It’s my fault you two are here,” Henry hisses ,“Run.”

Eddy turns around, looking for somewhere, anywhere , they have the slightest chance of escaping from. Brett nudges his shoulder, dragging him behind the door and holding a hand to his mouth. Eddy nods in understanding without a second glance at the others.

They break the door open eventually, three of them pouring into the room. Brett tugs on his hand, pulling him around the door and out into the alleyway.

And then they run.

Chapter Text

Eddy doesn’t care who sees them anymore, bolting through the streets grabbing Brett’s wrist. They speed past street corners without a second glance at their surroundings, nearly running straight into several barrows and carts.

After what feels like five marathons, Eddy pulls Brett up the stairs to the lodging house, fumbling with his key as the smaller boy pants behind him.

They sprint up the stairs, locking the door to Brett’s room behind them and collapsing against it, leaning on each other.

Eddy buries his head in his arms, tears painting a sick landscape on his cheek.

Brett holds him carefully, stroking his sweaty fringe and sniffing quietly. “It’s alright, Eddy - we’re home. We’re safe.”

Eddy groans, “Don’t you see?” His voice raises with every syllable. “Everything…everything we left at that goddamn club has our names and address on it. Our possessions are about to be thankfully returned to their owners.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he clings to Brett’s arm, a sob forming in his throat.

“Oh.” Brett swallows, resuming his comforting strokes. Eddy feels him shift under the weight, and moves away slightly to rest his head on the other’s shoulder.

“We need to get out of London.” Brett whispers eventually, voice barely audible. Eddy nods.

“I know.”

“Where are we going to go?”

“I don’t know.”

Brett pulls away, sighing. “We’d be legal in France,” he mutters, “but we’ll never get out of the country like this. Two homosexual violinists playing for the highest aristocracies in England? They’d make a mountain out of it, I’m sure.”  

He turns around, pulling a briefcase from under his bed.

“What are you doing?” Eddy asks, wiping his nose on a handkerchief. “Surely…we don’t have to go now?” Brett can see him fighting back the tears, wiping them away with the cloth. 

“I’m afraid so,” he whispers, running a thumb over Eddy’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t lose you.”

Too often is that phrase on their lips.

There’s a knock at the door and Brett inhales sharply, resting a hand on the knob.

“I’ll be right back, alright?” He nods at Eddy as he turns it, shielding the red-faced young man from view before closing the oak door again.

“Mrs Black?” He furrows his brow at her confused expression, resisting the urge to place a hand on her shoulder as she shakes. “Are you very well?”

She closes her eyes as if she’s to blame, wringing her hands together.. “There’s someone here for you. And Mr Chen…downstairs.”

Oh. Struck by a few simple words, every hope nestling in Brett’s chest gathers everything and leaves. He blinks slowly, the hall around him rocking like it’s stuck in the midst of a storm without a compass. That’s exactly what they are now - lost. Lost in a pitch black maze with no apparent end and no light to guide them through. They’re fumbling around the edges, metres away from the monster growling in the middle of it all.

Brett grimaces, the dam in his chest close to bursting. “Ah. Right…thank you. I’ll see to them.” He turns, straightening his shirt and trudging down the stairs.

“Mr Yang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. Tell…tell Edward I’m sorry.”

———

Eddy throws open the wardrobe door, digging through the contents until half of his body is submerged in the closet.

He throws the clothes into the tiny suitcase, reaching for their violin cases before he realises they’ve been left behind.

The last things in the world he truly loves are in danger and there’s not much he can do by now.

Rushing down the stairs, something feels off. I’ll be right back, Brett had said - so where is he?

“Brett?” Eddy calls, turning his head around door frames. “We need to go.”

He’s about to give up and barge into one of the rooms when a hand touches his shoulder. A relieved smile parts his lips as he turns, but soon vanishes as his eyes focus on the man before him.

“Mr Yang won’t be joining you tonight.”

———

Agatha collapses into her sitting room chair, vision shaky. 

“What have I…goodness, what was I thinking?” She whispers to herself, glancing up at the midnight-stricken clock. A tear escapes her eye and, with shaky hands, she brushes it away.

“It was for the best, Agatha,” Popley mutters from the corner of the room, smoking a fat cigar that leaves trailing embers all over her carpet.

“No, it wasn’t,” she breathes. “Why did I believe you? You selfish, evil pig.”

She stands, shuffling towards the plump man with fire behind her streaming eyes. “They were happy! Is there really anything wrong with that? They weren’t harming you, or anyone else for that matter!” She throws her arms up in exasperation.

“Mrs Black, I really think you should calm-“

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down in my own house,” she seethes, “get out of my sight .” Despite her predatory glare, Popely stands stock still in the candle light.

And Agatha Black - the little old lodging lady down the road - slaps him.

“Get out.” She repeats, watching him nurse his tomato cheek. “Get out, now.”

William’s portrait eyes pierce her from behind when she slams the door, finally retiring to her room with nothing but her own regret for company and a building sense of dread at her door.

———

“I am hereby arresting you on account of gross indecency, Mr Chen. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in court.”

Eddy swallows, straining against the handcuffs holding in his tears and the last strands of hope. “Please,” he breathes. “This is a misunderstanding.”

The police officer shakes his head. “I’ve heard it all before, Mr Chen. That’s what they all say.”

“No!” Eddy’s voice is raising, tones laced with frustration and hurt. “Please, let Mr Yang go, at least.” He glances at Brett, who isn’t struggling against the restraints donning his wrists. “Please…”

The officer grabs his arm, moving towards the door with Eddy in tow. Brett raises his head and Eddy sees red as the tears step out of their crude disguise.

“NO!” He hollers, resisting the officer’s grasp. “BRETT!”

Brett finally - finally - struggles against the officer holding his arm, parting ways from him and sprinting across the room into Eddy’s chest, burly officer a few steps behind.

He clings to Eddy like the last roses of summer clinging onto the last bits of sun, desperation bleeding through his shirt. Despite his handcuffs, he grabs onto Eddy’s collar, pulling him close to his mouth. 

“I love you,” he whispers through the tears, finally giving in to the police dragging them apart. Eddy reaches for his hands, holding them for a few mere (but oh, so warm) seconds before letting go.

Eddy turns, straining his neck to snatch one last glimpse of the small man before he’s pulled through the door. As soon as he does, he regrets it.

The officer shuts the door a second too late. Eddy blinks slowly, disbelief creeping into his chest as Brett’s small frame is slammed against the wall and his body grows limp.

“BRETT!”

By now, he’s screaming to himself as his weakened legs give up and he’s practically dragged through the streets.

No, no, no, no…please….no, no, no, no.

He’s like a stuck record, pleading and begging on repeat until he can’t hear his own words - can’t even tell if what he’s saying is English or if it makes sense.

The screams that pierce the bustling streets of people are enough to make their very stomachs turn.

Chapter Text

Brett’s eyes are struggling to stay open by the end of the night, sobs washing over him in his damp confines. He doesn’t want to sleep, no matter how much his eyelids pull on his consciousness. He mumbles his apologies over and over to the walls, the small holding cell also playing guard to his deepest thoughts and unspoken prayers.

“I’m sorry Eddy,” he mumbles to the paper from his pocket, scrunching it up and shoving it down his shirt. The print is smudged by now, the letters nothing but a cloud on the paper. “I’m sorry.”

When he does fall into sleep it’s shallow and unpredictable - his brain throws everything at him with no relent and more than once he wakes with a shuddering start. The ceiling seems to sink by the hour, pressing closer like a stamp into an ink pad that shrivelled and dried up hours ago.

And for the first time since that fateful birthday night, Brett allows himself to be scared.

***

Time seems to pass so slowly in the dark, damp cell that Brett doesn't even know what day it is when a key jangles in the lock and a pool of light spills over the floor. He winces, squinting his eyes to register the figure standing in the door.

“Mrs Black?” He croaks, shifting his weight onto his feet. “What are you doing here? Have you seen Eddy? Is he alright?”

She shuffles over, sinking to the bench next to Brett. “I haven’t seen poor Edward. They’ll be trialling you very soon, my dear.” She shakes her head. “I came to apologise.”

Brett furrows his brows. “What do you mean? We were followed back, it’s I who should be apologising for the bother.”

“No.”

Brett looks up, eyes falling on the tears grazing the woman’s eyes. She opens her mouth to continue, grasping his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It was all mine…I was a fool for trusting Popely and now look at you.”

“Popely?” Brett hisses, eyes narrowing. “It was him?”

She nods. “He sent one of his friends to your little gathering. Matthew…yes, that’s right. Do you remember him?”

Brett nods shakily, leaning his head against the wall. “Yes. He joined that night, even played the piano for us. I thought he was quite decent.” He tugs on his fringe with a dirty hand, sighing.

“I suppose I was wrong.”

“Don’t blame yourself, my dear. None of this is your fault and goodness knows it isn’t fair. I only have myself to blame, after all. I shall never forgive myself if anything bad happens to you two.”

Brett sniffs. “We were careless, Mrs Black. When we were in Australia, we wouldn’t even dare go outside together. And now look at us. Frolicking around London visiting other men like us and having a jolly old time.”

The old landlady places a wrinkled hand on his back, rubbing small circles of warmth into the cold skin covered by the remains of his shirt. “If my husband walked into my hallway this morning, I’d want to do everything with him. I know your situation is so very different from mine, but you can’t be blamed for wanting normality in your relationship.”

Brett shakes his head. “I can be if it’s costing Eddy his freedom.” He buries his face in shaking hands, tears running races into his palms. “I might never get to apologise to him.” He lifts his head, checking the door is closed and the window slid shut before lowering his voice. “I love him. I love Eddy more than I could ever love anyone else.”

Agatha nods slowly, grasping Brett’s hand and pulling it from his face. “You two will get through this.”

Brett sniffs again, voice shaky. “Thank you for visiting, Mrs Black.”

“Don’t mention it, my dear.” She rises, gathering her purse in her hand. She’s about to push open the door when Brett calls out.

“Mrs Black? If you see Eddy, please tell him I’m sorry.”

She nods, the officer bolting the door behind her and plummeting him into darkness once more.

***

When the door opens again, every inch of Brett’s body is screaming in agony, protesting against the cold, hard stone floors on top of being thrown against Mrs Black’s wall.

“Stand up, Yang.”

He stands, letting the officer inspect him before catching the clothes being thrown at him.

“Get dressed. You want to look decent for your pathetic little lover boy, don’t you?” The sneer flares up Brett’s eyes, burning holes in the officer’s pupils.

He bites back a reply, buttoning the shirt down his front. The officer, however, does not hesitate.

“Who knows - perhaps he’ll open his eyes and realise you’re not worth being locked up for.” He rocks on his heels, every movement fuelling Brett’s fury.

“Do you really love him, Yang? Or are you using him…will you cast him aside when you see another young boy walking down your street?”

Brett cracks, snapping his eyes back to the officer’s twisted smile. “Sir, please stop deriding me.”

“Or what? Are you going to hit me, Yang?” He sneers. “Are you going to push me against this damned wall and profess your undying love to me while covering my mouth so I can’t call out? Is that what you did to your beloved Edward?”

Brett turns away, brushing away the damp in his eyes. “Please, leave me be.”

“Maybe you should leave young men alone, you perverted-“

Brett jumps around, fist ready and something inside him screaming warning bells.

Please don’t make me do this, Eddy wouldn’t forgive me for getting myself into more trouble

“Officer Parker? Will you please escort Mr Yang to the assembly rooms?”

Parker nods at the senior officer, a blush spreading along his brow. “Certainly, sir. Yang, follow me.”

***

Despite performing in an endless number of concert halls with elaborate interiors and shimmering candlelit chandeliers, Edward can’t help but admire the meeting room. He’s desperately clinging on to distractions as they wait for the others to arrive. Two officers stand by the door like they’re containing a prominent criminal, and it takes everything in Edward not to say something about being the same as everyone else.

“Mr Chen, please stand.”

Edward stands as the door opens and two more officers stride in, Brett close behind. The door is shut, bolted, and who Eddy assumes is the man with their fate in his hands draws up a chair.

Brett sits opposite Eddy, eyes damp and looking frail and weak enough to crumble. Eddy wants to reach for his pale hand, feed it with his warmth. He keeps his hands folded on the table to resist the temptation.

What happened to you, Bretty? What did they do?

(And if he tries to fool himself into thinking Brett can hear his futile attempts at communication, can he really be at fault?)

If truth be told, Eddy had been rather expecting more people to judge their ghastly affair - a wave of relief washes over him when he realises the jury consists of just three men.

The prominent-looking gentleman at the head of the table clears his throat. “We are here today to review the case of Mr Edward Chen and Mr Brett Yang, arrested on suspicion of gross indecency and witnessed in the company of men previously charged of such.”

Eddy opens his mouth and shuts it again, remembering where he is and whose company he is occupying. He is silent to the words against him until he hears his name.

“Mr Chen, are you choosing to represent yourself in this case?”

Eddy nods solemnly. “I am.”

“And do you plead guilty or not guilty?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, all eyes fixed on Eddy. He glances at Brett, swallowing through a dry throat. “Not guilty, sir.”

The judge bends over his notes, scribbling something at the bottom. “And you, Mr Yang? What do you plead?”

“Not guilty.” Eddy bites back a tear, the strain in Brett’s voice cutting through his chest.

“Very well. Let us begin by presenting the facts.”

Chapter Text

(1882)

When young Edward Chen started at St Peter’s grammar school for boys, he’d thought of nothing but home for weeks, cursing his parents for packing him off to boarding school like a ‘respectable gentleman’. His dreams of becoming a violinist had been slashed by his exceptional grades and one teacher’s vision of him as a successful doctor. Another argued he’d be in the army - field marshal, if he worked hard enough and dedicated more of his time towards training.

And so he was signed up for shooting lessons: hour upon hour of hunting and target practice and pure pain in Edward’s eyes. In the evening, he’d collapse in the corner of the library and try to catch up with his medical and music studies.

After a few months of fruitless mathematics study, he was enrolled in tutoring. A room full of seemingly incapable boys on a Tuesday evening, slaving away over algebra and calculus until their fingers positively ached and their brains were full to the brim with equations and formulae.

“May I please borrow a pencil?” Edward had whispered to another boy one night, the teacher out of the room for a minute.

The boy looked up, grinning. “Of course.” He passes Edward a pencil, grasping his hand in a firm shake. “You’re Edward, aren’t you? I’m Brett.”

Edward blinks, caught off guard. “Yes. Or Eddy, I don’t mind. How did you know?”

Brett smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Professor Watson was telling me of your musical prowess. You play the violin, no?”

“Yes.” Eddy spins the pencil between his fingers, allowing himself to smile a little. “I’ve played since I was six years old. Do you play?”

“I do. I’ve been playing for nine years and one day I’d like to go to music school. I suppose I’ll leave this place before you, hey?” Brett frowns momentarily, eyes cloudy. “However, my parents’ wish is that I become a lawyer, so I suppose that’s what I’ll do.”

Eddy sighs. “You mustn't give up hope, Brett. I’m being pulled in every direction - my mother and father sent me to boarding school to study medicine or become a lawyer, but my teachers here think I’d be a decent soldier.”

Brett looks up, eyes shining behind his wire-framed spectacles. “A soldier?” Eddy nods.

“I know. I’m hardly army material, am I? I mean, I’m too cowardly for a start, and heaven forbid I damage my hands...” He laughs, burying his face in his arms to stop the impending attack of laughter brought on by eye contact from the older boy.

Brett looks rather beautiful when he laughs.

Eddy clears his throat, eyes back on the blackboard. He tries to clear his mind - focus on the mathematics - but the longer he sits in the hard wooden chair the longer he finds himself thinking about the charming violinist beside him.

***

In just a few years, Eddy Chen and Brett Yang had become inseparable.  To honour every cliché, they really had become joined at the hip since mathematics tutoring.

“Brett! Slow down, I’m coming too!”

Eddy straightens his school tie as he catches up with Brett, panting furiously. The gravel beneath his shoes crackles when they continue walking in comfortable silence.

“So, where are we going?” Eddy asks eventually, gazing warily over his shoulder at the school building shrinking further away from the pair with every step. In the three years he’s been at the school, he’s grown to like the building a little more than he did as a quiet school boy of thirteen. Brett has described him as a man a few times, and every time he does something stirs in Eddy’s tangled mess of a heart.

Brett hums. “Nowhere special. Just…it’s…I wanted to show you before I start the final exams. I might not get any free time with you for a while.”

Eddy nods. “I understand. Goodness, Brett, you mustn’t worry about spending time with me at a time like this! You’ve worked so hard…” The last segment is closer to a mutter than direct address, and his words fade out with every syllable.

Brett pats a hand on his shoulder, turning towards Eddy with an enigmatic expression. “I know, and you’re decent for saying so. I just don’t want us to drift apart.”

Eddy smiles. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

They trek on, coming to a mass of trees at the edge of the grounds. From here, Eddy can make out the school and little dots of people watching a cricket game just beyond it. Brett tells him with a grin that this patch can’t be seen from anywhere in the school, carefully hidden by four cricket fields and a large oak tree.

Brett pulls a book from his pocket, crouching on the ground with his back to the giant oak. He pats the ground beside him. “Come,” he mumbles, “sit.”

Eddy sits, tossing aside his blazer and jersey and loosening the knot of his tie. Sunlight dances like golden leaves on the ground before them, and the English May heat rests comfortably against Eddy’s skin.

Something envelopes his wrist and he starts, heart pulsing erratically.  “Oh,” he mumbles when Brett’s hand comes to rest in his. “You scared me for a second.”

Brett chuckles, resting his head on Eddy’s shoulder. “I would never hurt you, you know.”

Eddy squeezes his hand carefully, feeling the warmth transfer from  Brett’s skin to his. “I know…you’re the only person I truly trust. Sometimes it feels like I’ve known you my entire life, like we were meant to be together.” He snorts, embarrassed. “Sorry. That was really strange. Ignore me.”

Brett laughs - oh, that soft, sunshine laugh - and lays himself across Eddy’s legs, tossing aside his book and placing his head in his lap. “It’s not strange. I like it, and I’d never ignore you for anything.”

Eddy blushes. “Can…can I tell you something? You can tell me to stop if it’s too far or if-“

“Eddy.” Brett stares blankly into his eyes, squinting in the sunlight. “Say it.”

Eddy swallows. “I love you, Brett.”

Brett exhales, dark fringe laced with gold in the late afternoon sun. “I love you too.”

Eddy reaches again for his hand, whispering. “I think I always have. I know that you’re leaving for university soon and that I should be doing something more for my future career now that I’m nearly seventeen but I’ve realised that all I’ve ever wanted all these years is you.”

Brett sits up, placing his hands on Eddy’s waist and pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t want to leave you.” Somehow he manages to move closer still, sealing the tiny gap between their upper bodies still clad in the starched uniform.

Everything melts away when Brett leans in to kiss Eddy, running a hand through his soft, dark hair. Eddy isn’t even aware of the birds chirping away above them or the faint scratch of tree bark through his shirt. Everything he’s felt since that distant Tuesday evening gathers into one ball of feeling and projects itself into the kiss.

Their lips are swollen when they break apart, faces still just centimetres apart. Eddy closes his eyes, burying his face in Brett’s shoulder and breathing in the harsh smell of grammar school washing soap.

“Will you follow me to university?”

Eddy nods into Brett’s shoulder. “Of course I will - I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m following the music, after all.”

***

A few months after that afternoon reverie, Brett stands with his suitcases on a train platform deserted except for the boy standing beside him.

“I don’t want to go.” He croaks as Eddy checks the ticket again. “I don’t want to go.”

Eddy places a hand on his shoulder, arm slightly tanned from the summer left behind them. “Don’t say that. This is what you’ve worked for…it’s going to be amazing.”

Brett collapses into a bench. “I can’t do it.” He gestures around them. “This is all I’ve known for so long - I started at that school as a young boy and now I’m very nearly an adult.”

Eddy nods slowly, sinking down into the peeling wooden seat. “I understand. I’m lucky, I suppose - I’ll have you. But I’m certain you’re going to do just fine at university, Brett. You’re the most talented, intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

Brett smiles shakily. “I’ll miss you.”

“Hey,” Eddy touches his arm lightly. “I’ll miss you too. Come and visit, won’t you?”

Brett stands as the train comes chugging steadily closer. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Eddy blushes, trying his best to hug Brett in a manner that could be viewed as… close friendship . “This isn’t goodbye, this is good luck.”

Brett grins, hauling his suitcases onto the train. Eddy waves as the train departs, watching Brett wave back until the track bends slightly and a clump of trees take over his view.

“Just one more year,” he mumbles later that night, his tiny room empty without Brett.

Chapter Text

In the meeting room, the clocks seem to be charmed into moving agonisingly slow and Eddy’s heart drops further with every bit of evidence used against them. Every so often he looks up, trying to catch Brett’s tired gaze - without success. Brett sits with his head down, back straight and breaths irregular.

“So, Mr Chen. What is it to be? Have you changed your plea in light of the evidence surrounding us?” The judge gestures at the jury and Brett sitting motionless in his chair. 

“No,” Eddy starts, standing up. “I will not change my plea, for I have nothing to be guilty of.” His legs shake and he leans a hand on the oak table. “Why should I plead guilty for valuing another human being?”

The judge frowns, caterpillar eyebrows furrowed. “Are you saying, Mr Chen, that you do have a romantic relationship with Mr Yang?”

Still, Brett doesn’t look up from his stance. Eddy inhales deeply, steadying his head. “What I am saying, your honour, is that I don’t feel the need to apologise for not letting my opinions and emotions be twisted by society. Surely you aren’t going to punish myself and Mr Yang for having a relationship close to that of a lady and her friend?”

The judge stares at Eddy, tapping two fingers on the table. “I am, Mr Chen.” 

Finally, finally, Brett looks up. “No. Punish me, don’t hurt Edward.”

Eddy opens his mouth to protest, but is silenced. He sits back down before he falls, legs unable to support the weight of his body (and his heavy heart). The jury scribbles on their notes, whispering quickly. Eddy catches Brett’s gaze, shaking his head, “No,” he mouths, eyes heavy with tears, “no.”

The judge clears his throat, glancing at Brett and Eddy in turn. “Edward Chen, I find you guilty of gross indecency and sentence you to two years in prison. Brett Yang, I find you guilty of gross indecency and sentence you to three years of service to the community. Does the jury object?”

One of the gentlemen raises his hand. “Your honour, may I ask why you feel that Mr Yang should not serve a prison sentence?”

The judge smirks, peering at Eddy’s tear-streaked face and Brett’s shaking shoulders. “I don’t care what happens to them as long as they're apart.”

The jury files out after the judge, leaving just an officer by the door. As soon as the lock clicks Brett kicks his chair aside, running to Eddy’s embrace.

This could be our last. Eddy brings a hand to Brett’s hair, stroking the silky, black hair and whispering softly into his ear. 

“I love you, I love you,” he repeats, not giving a damn to the officer at the door. “I love you, my dear.”

Brett’s tears soak through his waistcoat, his shirt. “This shouldn’t be happening to you, this is all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. Neither of us are to blame for loving each other.”

“I should be serving time,” Brett pulls himself away from Eddy’s chest, face inches from the other boy’s. “Not you.”

Eddy rests his head on Brett’s. “Don’t be silly. I’d do anything for you. And besides, what other option do I have? I’m not going to just watch you while away your days in a cell. Be free, and wait for me.”

“No!” Brett chokes, pulling on Eddy’s sleeve as tears flood his mouth. “No! I can’t let you do that.”

“Brett, please…”

“I can’t!” Eddy crumbles at Brett’s expression, helpless and irate in his arms. 

Eddy shakes his head. “You have to, my love. Please, be strong for me.” He takes Brett’s hands in his, kissing them gently with feather-like touches. 

“Could you?” Brett swallows, lamenting in virtuous concern. “If you were me, could you be strong?”

Eddy nods, brushing Brett’s cheek with a thumb. “To save you, I could do anything.”

In that moment they’re back under the oak tree all those years ago, all hurried picnics and chaste kisses before classes. Mumbled poetry and lazily gazing across the lavish grounds of their societal prison - hasty goodbyes and tardiness marks from teachers.

When Eddy kisses his lover for the last time, he’s prepared. And when Brett kisses him back, he realises they’re used to being torn apart too early.

It doesn’t stop them screaming for each other.

———

Agatha’s house, for the first time in many years, is empty. With Popely on his merry way, his rooms echo their own murmurs and the rooms of two young violinists tell their own tragic stories. 

She doesn’t move their belongings, dusting daily between rooms and under cupboards. Some days, she’ll wander up to Mr Yang’s room and  retrace his steps down to his imminent arrest, closing her eyes in remorse and constant torment. William watches from his mantelpiece, eyes looking but never - never - seeing her pain. Even if he could see, Agatha doubts he’d care, after all these years.

Many times, she’d debated visiting Edward and offering him kind words. But what could she do? God only knows where Brett had been whisked away to and when she put her mind to it she couldn’t really find anything else to say to the one broken half.

At night, their music still echoes down to her sitting room. A ghostly duet, haunting the abandoned instruments tucked under their bed. For all their lies, Brett Yang and Eddy Chen hadn’t gotten their resolution; so neither would their music.

Popely, on the other hand, had disappeared in the dead of night (a move as predictable as his evident drink problem) and left Mrs Black with a considerable sum of money to make up for his troubles over the years. Matthew had disappeared with him, only once seen sulking at his heel like a disobedient dog after the incident at the meeting. Like Popely, the amateur pianist had obtained a rather large bruise under his eye, carefully painted there by Henry behind the back of an officer.

Henry had gotten away from the ordeal, squeezing his way out of arrest and running up north. Yorkshire, he’d planned, maybe as far as Scotland if he could scrape enough funds together. He hasn’t forgotten about the young couple of musicians, a part of his mind reserved for them and their memory even after all these years.

They never made it to the newspapers, the police deciding to keep it quiet once again. 

“They’re not all that well-known,” someone had pointed out, leaving the rest of the crew nodding their heads in agreement. 

Their story wouldn’t be printed.

Chapter Text

It’s always been the birds who call no matter what, chirruping and singing while people mourn and remember. There’s no exception today as Ewan strolls between the graves and guardian angels, shoes crunching over the carcasses of fallen leaves. He stops, breaking away from Will and shuffling to the very back of the graveyard.

He traces his hand over a towering oak dominating a corner of the overgrown graveyard. The late summer sunlight is filtered under the leaves, dancing shadows playing at his feet as he bends down to one knee, squinting at the fading stone engravings.

Here lies Edward Chen

1869-1898

The birds who sing are the ones who are heard.

Ewan sniffs, turning his head in recognition of the boy behind him. “My grandmother told me about them.”

“Them?” Will furrows his brows, crouching next to Ewan.

Ewan leans forward, brushing aside a tangle of ivy from another stone. “His lover, my grandma said. Her grandmother housed them in her lodging house…she always blamed herself for their arrest.”

“What happened to them?” Will breaths, hand on Ewan’s shoulder. The boy sniffs again, steadying himself with a hand on the ground.

“They were arrested - I think they were caught at a homosexual safe house type of thing. Agatha, that was my grandma’s grandmother. She gave them rooms and missed them like sons once they were gone. Edward…”

He gestures at Eddy’s grave. “He was sent to prison for two years. He died in prison…of a broken heart? Perhaps. Grandma said  his violin was buried with him; the music doesn’t die, Will.”

“And Brett?” Will nods at the other stone, which is leaning slightly towards the other. “What happened to him?”

“He was sent away somewhere. He never saw Edward again, but grandma never told me how he died. I always thought he killed himself over Edward, but I’ll never be sure.” Ewan reaches behind him, grasping Will’s hand. “I’ve always wanted to talk to them. Tell them that one day, everything will be better.”

“I guess we’re luckier than we realised, hey?”

Above their heads, the birds still sing. 

“They seem sweet,” Eddy remarks, leaning against the main trunk of the tree next to Brett, who perches haphazardly on a branch.

Brett nods, peering through the canopy of leaves separating them from the boys. “Everything got better, hey?” He mumbles his words, as though they’re foreign on his tongue. “Everything we hoped and prayed for came true, enough for people like us to live their lives together.”

“It didn’t come soon enough for us, Brett. Maybe if we were living now we’d get married and settle down.”

Brett picks at a leaf, glasses sliding down his nose - nothing has changed, not really. “I’d like that. But, Eddy?”

Eddy looks down, one arm still wrapped around the trunk of the tree. “Yes?”

“The time that we had…it was fun.”

Eddy grins, sliding down to sit next to Brett. “It was. Christ, remember how different it was?”

Brett laughs, head on Eddy’s shoulder. “Oh yes. I miss it sometimes, but then I think of how much things have changed since then.”

Eddy hums, one arm snaking around Brett’s. “I’m with you now. No matter how much has changed or what happened to us…I’ll always be happy with you.”

They watch as the gate clicks shut behind Ewan and Will, sealing them in their world once more. Stuck in time, but always moving forward together.

~Fin.~