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

انا صبي

After his father happily waves the two boys off, Brad silently trudges towards the familiar vehicle parked in the driveway with Drew closely following behind him. For once, the blond doesn't say anything to him, but Brad has a feeling the silence isn't going to last long. Even when the two boys were friends Drew would talk his ear off, expect it didn't bother Brad as much as it does now, and he could easily silence the younger boy at the mention of food, or simply throwing a pillow at him and telling him to shut up. Usually the latter.

"You want to sit in the front, right?" Drew asks him when they reach the car, because that's where Brad usually sat to control the radio and force everyone to listen to his music. But today, he doesn't feel like he should sit in the front, and probably never will.

"No," he replies, pulling the door to the backseat open and climbing inside. Brad hears the blue-eyed boy let out an annoyed huff before climbing into the passenger's seat.

"Morning," Drew's dad greets without looking up. His phone is pressed to his ear and his brows are knitted together, most likely meaning he's in the middle of a business call, like usual. Brad can tell how annoyed Drew is about his dad. He feels kind of bad for him, but he doesn't send him a text message like he usually would when he saw his friend upset, but couldn't comfort him out loud. Instead, he stares out the window, listening to Drew's dad tell someone off through the phone.

"What do you want to listen to, Brad?" Drew asks. It takes a while for the sixteen-year-old to realise he's being addressed. He glances at the younger boy looking back at him and shrugs his shoulders before fixing his eyes back on the blur of houses and trees passing by the window. "Arctic Monkeys?" his former friend suggests.

"No."

"I thought you liked them," Drew mumbles, disappointed.

"'m not in a music mood right now," Brad says, slightly raising his tone out of annoyance. It's a lie, because Brad's always in a music mood, and Drew seems to know that hence he frowns at him before turning away.

"Sorry about that," Drew's dad apologises out of nowhere, pocketing his phone in his blazer. "These dumb-witted clients, I swear."

"Mm-hmm," Drew hums, uninterested, before clicking the radio to a pop station. "Is this okay?" he asks, like Brad controls the radio. The curly-haired boy carelessly shrugs his shoulders again.

"Brad," his dad says, like he's calling out his name for an award, "it's been a while since I've seen you."

Brad glances at Drew's dad and looks back out the window. "Yeah."

"You're doing better, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"That's good, that's good." Brad awkwardly nods. "I never thought you'd be the one to develop a disorder like that. It was surprising when Drew told me. I mean, I always thought you were pretty chubby -"

"Dad," Drew warns. Brad uncomfortably shifts in the leather seat, relocating his eyes on the blond's father.

"I didn't mean it like that," he laughs. "I was just saying that he was pretty chubby, but it was nothing to starve himself over -"

"Dad!"

"- Maybe a little exercise here and there, but there was no reason to take it to the extreme. But now that you know, I'm hoping you'll learn to lose weight in healthier ways, and then join the soccer, um - football team with Drew next year."

"I'm not really into playing football," the curly-haired boy admits. Sure, he likes watching it, but now he can't even do one push up without feeling like his heart is going to fail him, let alone kicking a ball around a field and running.