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

الوزن

"Why are you hiding alone in the closet, weirdo?" James asks, crawling in the tight space to join the curly-haired boy. Brad frowns at the seventeen-year-old's intrusive presence, wondering what's so hard to understand about 'I'm fine, you can go home.'

"I'm not alone," Brad disagrees, running a hand through his dog's golden fur. "Jesse is with me."

James closes the door behind himself and plops down beside him. It's strange being behind a closed door due to Brad's unbearable lack of privacy for eight months. Open doors are all he's been surrounded by. It hasn't dawned on him until now how much he misses being able to close his door and lock it whenever he walks into a bedroom, or closing and locking the door behind himself whenever he heads to the toilet.

"Is this really what you do every time you're sad?" he questions, allowing Jesse to sniff his hand. "Just sit in your closet with your dog?"

"Most times," the sixteen-year-old honestly replies. If he were still the insanely self-conscious boy he was before, he would've been too afraid to admit that to anyone, but Brad doesn't really care about anyone's opinion on him right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brad shrugs in response, not wanting to bother anyone with his stupid problems. Especially James. He's not oblivious to how he feels about him, just like how everyone else feels about him. It's obvious he's a dick in any breathing soul's opinion, and it most likely wouldn't surprise James that he fucked everything up between Tristan and him, ruining any chances between the two boys.

But isn't this what I wanted? Brad questions himself. He remembers wanting so badly to rid himself of any attachments, convinced it'd make life easier for him. And in the scenarios in his head, Brad always walked away from the blond, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But when the scene actually played out, Tristan had been the one to walk away, and Brad only left the medical center feeling like an extra weight had been harshly dropped on top of him.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to make any of this better, and he doesn't know if he should make it better, anyway. Maybe Tristan's just better off without him.

"I fuck everything up," Brad mumbles, burying his face in Jesse's fur. "I make terrible decisions that I think are better for me without thinking how it'll affect other people, and then everything turns out shit."

"I'm sorry," James apologises after a period of silence.

"It's not your fault." It's mine, he thinks, tears filling his eyes as he replays everything he'd said to Tristan two hours ago. Brad doesn't understand why this hurts so bad. A person shouldn't have the power to make someone feel this pathetic and empty. Tristan shouldn't even be on his mind, and his opinions shouldn't hurt him. He wishes he could be the boy he was before he entered the medical center. The emotionless and simple boy who wanted no attachments, and only cared about returning to his real life. Now there's so many confusing emotions inside of him, so many new parts of him he doesn't understand, and they're all fighting against each other. Brad's so frustrated with himself.

"I don't know what to say," James admits.

"It's okay, I don't want you to say anything." The sixteen-year-old wishes James'll leave before he starts crying. He hates crying, especially in front of people, but he doesn't know how to kindly tell him to leave. "Hey," he says, pulling his face away from Jesse, "I know something you can do for me."

The older boy kind of seems relieved. "What is it?"

"Ask my mum or dad for painkillers," he instructs. "Or a heating pad. Wait, ask her for painkillers and a heating pad."

"Okay." James nods and crawls out of the closet, pushing the door closed again behind him. As soon as he's gone, Brad buries his face back into Jesse's fur and allows the tears he's been holding back since he left the visiting room fall. He feels pathetic, crying two days in a row, and it makes him cry harder. He's tired of crying and being angry every waking minute. Why is it so difficult to be happy? he wonders. Real happiness has been so rare to find for too long, and whenever he feels like he's found it, he ends up running it away.