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

مخفي

The curly-haired boy's never seen Tristan in a suit before. He looks nice, but it makes Brad sad that the first time he's ever seen his boyfriend dress up is for his friend's funeral. This shouldn't even be happening. We're teenagers, Brad thinks. We shouldn't be attending our friend's funeral.

He looks over towards James who's somehow managing a poker face, biting the inside of his cheek and staring straight ahead. Brad realises he kind of looks like he's in another world, but he doesn't blame him. If it were as easy for him to slip away, he'd allow himself in a heartbeat.

He wishes he could tell James something to make all of this better, but - just as Tristan had told him eight days ago - it's impossible to make any of this better. Brad assumes maybe time will just have to heal, but he's not really sure that saying his true. Well, it's always failed to apply to him at least.

As the funeral begins, Brad fortunately finds himself slipping away a bit, but he's half-conscious, partially listening to mostly unfamiliar faces, and others he'd been introduced to from the party, talk about meeting Connor in school, the type of person he was in class, and all these other things that aches Brad's stomach. Usually at funerals people talk about a person being a good friend, or they tell everyone about a funny, happy memory about them that reflects their personality, but as he listens to Connor's friends talk, he wonders if anyone actually knew who the sixteen-year-old was. Brad barely knows anything about the younger boy himself, but if he wanted to, he could easily walk up and tell a memory better than how Connor always knew the answers in science class before anyone else. That's not memorable; that doesn't reflect who Connor Ball is.

Tristan tugs on his hand. The curly-haired boy jumps, realising everyone is standing up, heading out of the building and his friend's body and casket is gone.

"C'mon, they're going to go bury Connor," the blond says, tugging his hand again.

Brad automatically shakes his head. "I don't want to see."

The older boy nods understandingly and kisses his temple. "Sit with me when we eat?"

"Yeah, of course," he quietly replies, watching his boyfriend leave the building. Brad lets out a sigh and slowly pulls himself onto his legs. It's complicated being without a cast and his crutches now, but he's gradually getting the hang of it.

As he limps towards the exit, he pauses, realising he's not the only one who didn't want to see Connor lowered into the ground. Drew's just making his way out of the building. His camera isn't around his neck and he's walking slow, dragging his shoes on the ground with each footstep. Sucking in a breath, Brad pockets his hands and limps over towards him.

"Hey," he says, looking down at his black shoes dragging in the grass along with his former best mate.

Drew quietly gasps at the sound of someone's voice. He looks to his side and frowns when he's met with Brad. He doesn't say anything in response, just buries his hands in his pockets and continues dragging his feet. The curly-haired boy realises he looks terribly different, like he hasn't slept his decades. Even his hair is messy, which is a hairstyle Brad's never seen on the younger boy, even when they'd sleep over each other's houses and the older boy would wake up before Drew.

"I know you hate me," Brad says, grabbing the sleeve of his blazer and forcing him to stop his slow footsteps. Drew surprisingly stops, but he doesn't look at Brad. "I'm sorry," the older boy apologises. He didn't realise how genuine his apology actually is. Thinking back, he realises Drew's actually the only person who stuck with him through everything. No matter how much Brad pushed the younger boy away, he was so constant, and he was so sure that he'd come to his senses. It's hard to find people like Drew in the world, and the curly-haired boy feels like a shit person for pushing someone like him away so easily, like he didn't have any feelings.