i practice only 39 hours a day--dont tell twoset

oH wOW more aesthetic pics of my bae!1!1!!!

aesthetic pics of my bae~

twoset bubbel tee

composing music on your math notes be like

imagine being a small handed violinist

hotel quarantine except Eddy smuggled Brett into his room

why are they pretty af

A horrifying thud came from the hall. Eddy lifted his head off the pillow, removing his earbuds and listening intently. "Brett, was that you?" Eddy called out. No response. "Brett?" Silence. Eddy scooted to the end of his bed, stuffing his phone into his pocket. Brett was probably asleep and didn't hear him—but what had caused that noise? Eddy could've been hallucinating, or it could've been from the neighbors. Still, if something had happened. . . It wouldn't hurt to check, right? Eddy stood up, walked to the door, and opened it. Nothing seemed off. He stepped out of his room and looked around. Everything seemed perfectly fine. Eddy turned to walk back inside. "I—ah. . . Ed. . . dy. . ." a small voice croaked. Eddy turned back around and rushed to the end of the hall. Brett was lying motionless on the floor. Eddy dropped to his knees and supported Brett's head carefully over his lap, feeling his forehead. "Hey, what happened? Brett, come on, are you alright?" he faltered, gently slapping Brett's cheek. "I. . . I c—can't. . . " Brett gasped. "You—you can't what? You okay?" Eddy asked desperately. Not too long ago Brett had seemed a bit. . . off, like he was dehydrated. They both ignored it, though, but then after they filmed that one video Brett was feeling very far from well. Eddy shouldn't have ignored it. Brett was getting paler by the second. Eddy hoisted him up and onto his lap and pulled out his phone with shaky hands. "Stay with me, Brett, I'm gonna call 911. Hold on," Eddy begged, pulling Brett's head to his chest.

I GOT THE PRACTICE HOODIE FOR CHRISTMAS

Brett feeding Eddy be like

sleep well Brett 💕

no touching my Brett