teach me gently on how to breathe || tradley/brad

منزل

Light snow falls from outside the window as Brad eagerly packs his bag. Happiness is radiating around him like a halo. This is the happiest he's ever been in the morning time, and probably the happiest he'll ever be at 07:00 on a Saturday. The thought of leaving the medical center has always felt so out of reach, even yesterday he couldn't imagine him untangling himself from this place. Leaving didn't even feel like it had a chance of occuring in decades. But it's finally here, and all the brown-eyed boy can seem to do is smile like an idiot.

"Ready?" his nurse asks, poking her head through the door. Brad zips his backpack closed and pulls his arms through the straps, hugging his new graphic novel tightly to his chest. Sucking in a breath, his brown eyes carefully scan the room in a silent farewell. He hated staying here, but this helps, like he's dismissing this page in his book to walk back into the world where he belongs.

The sixteen-year-old scurries over towards the desk in his room and takes the two items he'd neglected weeks ago into his hand. "Ready," he confirms, shoving the picture frame and torn photograph in his bag.

Brad follows closely behind the nurse as she leads him away from his former room and back towards the medical center's entrance. It feels like the first day as the curly-haired boy trudges through the minimalistic room, his eyes fixed on the same boots he wore down the square patten decorating the fancy carpet. Looking up, he eyes his dad uncomfortably sitting in one of the old-fashioned chairs. Brad doesn't want to smile at him - he's supposed to hate him - but his lips pull into a small smile, anyway, and he lets his dad hug him without protesting.

"You look so healthy," he tells him, happily. Not really, Brad thinks, even though he hasn't actually seen himself since he came here. The thought of looking at himself with all this weight intimidates him, knowing he's most likely enormous.

Brad hugs the book tighter to his chest, like it'll protect him from his lack of control, and jots down a mental note to step on a scale immediately after he gets home. "Thanks," he mumbles.

And then he says the words Brad's been waiting since forever to hear: "Let's go home."

But Brad's hesitant. He was beyond prepared seconds ago, but now the idea of leaving seems almost unreal. As crazy as it sounds, he doesn't even think he's ready to face the world again, and get to know what his new life will be like now, the new life doctors and his parents chose for him. And he doesn't know if he can leave knowing he's never going to see Tristan again or be reminded what friendship is like through James and Connor (although that didn't last very long.) Even if James gave him his number and address, and Brad still has the opportunity to visit Tristan on Wednesdays, it's still so complicated, like everything else in Brad's life lately.

He unexpectedly lets out a yawn.

"I take that as a yes," his dad laughs. "C'mon," he says, nodding towards the exit.

Brad follows without looking back.

. . .

The ride home takes longer than expected, but Brad doesn't mind it. Even though he spent most of last night staring out the window and screaming in the inside because of Tristan, he's wide awake, silently watching the world blur by his window. The uncertainty has worn off, and now Brad's just happy - ecstatic, even - now that he's a part of the world again. He'd almost forgotten the lively sound of cars and birds and real life.

As the sixteen-year-old's surroundings become familiar, he thinks about how careful he's going to have to be with his weight loss now. He thought he was. careful before, but according to where he ended up, he wasn't careful enough. It'll be easy, though; Brad's positive it will. It only takes prowling through as much pro-ana blogs as he can to figure out new tricks his mum and dad and a stupid, special internist won't notice. Getting away with eating was beyond too easy last time. Now it'll only be a little difficult, maybe, but not difficult enough.