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

كونور

"Isn't he?" his son repeats, desperate for good news.

"I'm sorry."

The sixteen-year-old furrows his brows at the apology and shakes his head. "He has to be okay. He's Connor. He's always okay. He's fine, right?"

"I'm sorry," his father repeats. "Connor passed away this morning."

Brad feels limp, like a wave suddenly hit him. But all he can do is lie there and drown.

Connor and him weren't even that close. They didn't really have a bond, they didn't know a lot about each other, and Brad was a shit friend to him the whole four months he knew him. But it hurts knowing that he's gone. He'll never have the chance to have a close bond with him now, he'll never get the chance to get to know him more, he'll never get the chance to be a good friend. There are so many things he wishes he had done differently during those four months now, and he hates himself for only realising this now that it's too late.

"I'll leave you alone for a bit," his dad tells him, sympathetically squeezing his shoulder and disappearing up the staircase. Brad can only nod, blankly staring at the wall ahead of him, even though his dad already left. Now he wishes he hadn't told Tristan to leave.

At first, Brad just sits there, repeating 'I'm sorry. Connor passed away this morning' in his head as he tries managing his mixed emotions. They're terribly confused, switching from anger to sadness to nothing at all. The whole situation feels unreal, and Brad doesn't understand. A couple of weeks ago Connor was sitting beside him at his birthday party, happy and alive and being a pain in the ass, and now he's dead. All because of purging. Brad didn't even think that was possible. Who knew something that seemed so harmless could be so deadly? The curly-haired boy didn't even know purging could damage your heart. There are so many things he didn't and doesn't know about purging.

How am I just thinking about this now? he wonders. He only made himself throw up those three times because it seemed like the only option left, and he thought purging was practically harmless to your body. He wonders if James realises he could unexpectedly die any minute, too, and now he's terrified, because he really does care about his friend. He wants to call him and ask him if he's heard about Connor, but he ends up slowly sinking into the couch, closing his eyes and hoping when they flutter open, Tristan will be at the end of it, holding a marker and happily finishing the rainbow on his cast.

But he's still lying on the couch, alone, with a rainbow on his cast that stops at the colour green, a hurting chest, and the knowledge that his friend is dead.

. . .

The rest of the day doesn't feel like reality. Every second seems to drag on for hours. He doesn't know why, but he ends up ringing Connor six times, like maybe there's a chance the sixteen-year-old will answer. Brad stops calling when the younger boy's mum eventually picks up. He doesn't know what she tells him, because he hangs up as soon as she gets the first syllable of a greeting out.

Somehow during the day the curly-haired boy ends up in the closet, cuddling Jesse and allowing his thoughts to attack him. He's not sure what time it is, but his mum or dad haven't come in the room to nag him about eating since his father dropped the news. They haven't even came by to mention his locked bedroom door. All this freedom should be like heaven to him, it's the most privacy he's had in four months. This would've been the happiest day of his life, hands down - if it were any other day but today.

The sixteen-year-old's on the verge of falling asleep when there's a knock on his bedroom door. He lets out an exasperated sigh, assuming his "heaven" is coming to an end. Brad scoops up Jesse and sets her aside before limping out of the closet and to his bedroom door. It's surprisingly dark in his room. Brad hadn't realised how late it had gotten.