Drew comes back Wednesday, like he said he would, with a puzzle of Mona Lisa for Brad and himself. He's impressively more infuriating than last time as he talks about his boring life and how he miraculously beat his own high score on this stupid video game Brad used to play with him. From the looks of it, Brad isn't going to be able to get rid of the irritating boy within fifteen minutes this time, like he had been counting on. Somehow Drew's become insensible to how distant Brad is.
"Christmas is soon," Drew mentions. Brad glances around at the Christmas decorations the medical center had just hung up last night. The teenager has no idea what the date is (he doesn't even remember the date when he came to the medical center), but he doesn't ask. If he talks to Drew, Brad would probably end up screaming at him, and he doesn't have the energy to be angry right now (even though he thinks he deserves it). "I ordered your present yesterday," he tells him. "I'm really excited for you to see it on Christmas, if you're out of here by then."
What makes you think I won't be? he angrily thinks, glaring down at the stupid puzzle Drew was putting together by himself.
"And I almost forgot to tell you," he begins, "I made another playlist for you. I'll send it to you when you're back home."
The curly-haired boy exhales in a long, annoyed sigh.
Wow, that was loud, he could hear Tristan stating in his head with his stupid smirk. Brad accidentally lets out a small laugh.
Drew cluelessly laughs, too. "What are you laughing about?"
He shakes his head and looks back down at the incomplete puzzle, flicking all his emotions off again.
"Aw," he hears the boy across from him say, "you're so cute."
Brad huffs and pushes his chair backwards so it's only standing on two legs as he steadies himself with the table. It feels like this one hour has been going on for three years. He doesn't know how long he can stand listening to Drew talk, even looking at him gets on his nerves.
As he mutes the blond's voice, he thinks about before everything happened and how close they were, although they'd only known each other for five months. It's sad how much people change after you don't see them in the light you used to. Before Brad hated him, everything Drew did was awesome and hilarious and envious. Now, he wonders if he was always this annoying and loquacious.
"I wish you'd talk to me." Brad looks up and notices how sad he looks; how much he means it. But Brad still thinks he deserves it. He ruined his life, and no matter how upset he manages to look, the sixteen-year-old is not going to be best friends again with someone who's the reason he stopped liking himself in the first place.
The nurse approaches the two boys. She's not the same nurse as the one Brad's usually with, but it's not like he was growing fond of the one he had before. "Time's up," she announces.
Drew sadly nods and cleans up the forgotten puzzle. The curly-haired boy automatically jumps up from the table, letting out a sigh of relief.
"I won't be able to come next Wednesday," Drew informs him, placing the lid back on the puzzle box. "So, I'll see you next, next Wednesday. Have a good week, okay?"
When he's finally gone, Brad leaves to the white hallway and walks slowly with one foot in front of the other (which evidently annoys the hell out of the nurse more than Brad expected, but he really doesn't care), like he's walking a tightrope until he reaches the other side of the door and disappears into his nightmare again. It's not that being in the visiting room is heaven, but it's better than being on the side where everyone's depressed and he's not allowed to be in charge of what he puts in his body anymore.
"What's the date?" Brad finds himself asking.
"December second," she replies. Brad attempts to figure out when he came here and when he's going to leave, but quickly gets frustrated and gives up as soon as he starts.
They reach a large room near the medical center's entrance that Brad's never been in before. There are rows of chairs lined up, facing the front, and nearly all of the patients are inside of the room, carrying a conversation with someone. Brad has no idea where he's supposed to sit. Usually Connor and James would invite him over to wherever they're seated, but since James is still angry with him and Connor is ignoring him (well, Brad's assuming Connor is. They haven't talked or looked at each other since the argument Friday) he's not sure where he's supposed to go until he notices Tristan quietly sitting in the way back, playing with his sleeves.
Brad breaks off from the new nurse and slowly walks past the rows until he reaches Tristan. Since James and Connor abandoned him five days ago, Brad has been hanging around the blond a bit more: automatically pairing up with him in group therapy, talking to him in the rec room whenever he isn't reading his graphic novels, and walking with him as they traveled the grounds, but they don't really talk during the walk since Tristan explained he likes to use that hour to think a lot (he apparently always falls asleep during his alone time like Brad).
"Hey," the curly-haired boy greets, plopping down next to Tristan.
Tristan gives him a small smile. "Hi."
"What's going on?" Brad asks, motioning towards the room.
"Some lecture or whatever, I think," he replies, unenthused as more patients flood into the room. Brad rolls his eyes causing Tristan to let out a laugh. "I know, right?"
Brad sighs and sinks in his chair. "I'm really not in the mood for this."
"Why? Did the someone you hate visit again?"
"You remember that?"
"The day you basically told me off in the hallway?" he says. "Of course I remember that. You gave some really great advice."
Brad laughs at his sarcasm. "Why were you upset, anyway?"
He frowns and quickly looks down at his hands, uncomfortably shifting in his chair. "It was nothing, really."
"Um, okay." Tristan still isn't looking at him. "But anyway, I've been meaning to ask you about something. It's like a favour."
"What is it?"
"I —" A voice booming over a speaker cuts Brad off, and he turns to the front of the room, curious to see who it is. There's a woman smiling and happily greeting the patients. Brad groans. "We'll talk about it later."
Tristan nods. "Okay."
A dreadful hour later, the lecture on nutrition ends, and the patients are finally allowed to leave. Brad thought he was going to throw up sitting in there, being forced to listen to the woman talk about what your body needs. He barely listened, though, since his friends online know way more about nutrition than she does. Though, he did hear her mention something about how bodies are like a car and they need fuel to run, but only because Tristan mocked her under his breath the whole lecture to make the younger boy laugh.
The patients walk out out the room with their nurses, talking quieter than before. Brad wonders if he's the only one infuriated.
"What did you want to talk about?" Tristan asks, standing up from his chair.
Brad glances around to see if any of the nurses are in earshot. "Do you know anywhere I can exercise without anyone seeing me?"
He doesn't say anything for a while before saying, "You're serious?"
"I'm serious," Brad confirms.
"Okay," Tristan mumbles, "I can figure something out, but you have to do something for me."
The sixteen-year-old sighs of relief and smiles, burying his hands in his pockets. "Anything. What do you need?"
"Apologise to James and Connor."
His smile drops. "What?"
"Apologise to James and Connor," he repeats.
"But I'm not sorry. I didn't do anything."
"Just do it, okay?" Tristan begs. "I don't really know them like that, but I think they deserve it. And anyway, I think it'd make you happier, and it'd work out for James, too, because I don't think he enjoys eating in his room so he can be away from you as much as he seems."
"Like I care how much James dislikes eating in his room," he says under his breath. Tristan shrugs. "And what does this do for Connor?"
"I think he'll start eating again," Tristan predicts. "He's nice from what I can tell, and he's fifteen, I think, so I want him to get out of here."
"I don't have the power to bring someone happiness," Brad argues. "Nobody does when you really think about it."
Tristan laughs. "You're really stubborn, I love it."
"Is this really the deal? Are you seriously going to make me apologise to two people you barely even know just because?"
"Yes, that's exactly the deal."
Brad lets out a loud sigh causing the blue-eyed boy to laugh. "Okay, whatever, I'll apologise. But you can't let me down with this, okay? I haven't exercised in forever and I feel like jelly."
"'Trust me," he tells him, walking backwards to his nurse, "I won't let you down."
. . .
How am I supposed to do this? Brad asks himself as he trudges six feet behind James and Connor. They're walking the grounds and the sixteen-year-old is internally panicking at the thought of apologising to them. He's never actually apologised to anyone before, and the fact that he doesn't regret anything he said or did makes it worse and more difficult than it should be. He doesn't even know if James and Connor will listen to him. Maybe Connor, but James is almost as headstrong as Brad is, and mostly likely will walk away at the sight of him.
To be honest, Brad didn't expect James to avoid him this long. Maybe for one day, but not five. The last time he'd offended the boy, he was over it in under an hour. It didn't make sense why James was deciding to hold grudges now.
"Uh, are you following us?" Connor asks. He's standing alongside James, of course, who's glaring at him.
Brad's face flushes red before he clears his throat and says, "We're all going the same way. So in a way we're all following... each other."
"What the hell are you talking about?" James says in his snappy tone.
The curly-haired boy almost snaps back at him, but he pulls himself together because he needs to exercise today. "Um, can I talk to you two?"
"I don't care," Connor says, even though Brad can tell he clearly does. He's angrily furrowing his eyebrows and crossing his arms.
He's mad at me, Brad notes. When did that happen?
"Connor," Brad says, turning to James and adopting the boy's glare, "and James, I want to say that... I'm incredibly sorry. Forgive me."
They both soften their facial expressions. Connor looks down at the floor as James studies Brad like he's deciding to welcome him back in a clique or not.
But James angrily furrows his eyebrows again. "Did Tristan tell you to apologise?"
"Um..."
"He did, didn't he?" James asks. He shakes his head. "Why am I not surprised?"
Before Brad has a chance to lie, James quickly walks away, leaving Connor and Brad walking side by side in awkward silence. Brad nervously plays with the bottom of his sleeves.
"Brad." The boy looks up and locks eyes with Connor. "Whether you're honestly sorry or not, I forgive you," and then he quickens his footsteps to join James.
. . .
He has no idea how this is supposed to work out. The only thing Tristan told him was to be ready at night, and to not fall asleep, which discourages him a little bit. He's almost convinced the boy doesn't even know what he's doing, or have any type of plan, but he's trying not to freak out as he settles down into his temporary bed.
Brad turns over on his side and anxiously watches the door. Where are you, Tristan? he wonders.
A loud noise suddenly sounds from outside the door, like the sound of someone being slapped. Brad and his nurse jump at the sound before the nurse guarding his door runs away, followed by a few more nurses speeding off behind her.
Brad curiously sits up from his bed. What the hell?
Tristan appears in front of his door out of nowhere and runs inside of Brad's room, dragging him out of the bed before the curly-haired boy can even put his feet on the ground. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he says in a panicky voice.
"What the —" The blond grabs Brad's hand and yanks him out the room without saying anything else. The boy looks behind himself to see what's happening, but only catches a glimpse of someone lying on the floor, surrounded by nurses, before Brad's being yanked again down a hallway.
As they near another hallway, Tristan stops instantly at the sight of a nurse, sending the smaller boy running into his back.
"What are you guys doing here?" the nurse asks, furrowing his eyebrows out of confusion. Without responding, Tristan tightens his hand around Brad's and drags him out of the hallway to another one as the younger boy struggles to keep up with his quick footsteps.
They reach the group therapy room and Tristan quickly opens the door and runs inside, jerking Brad along with him and quickly shoving the two of them in a cramped closet. All Brad can hear is his own heavy breathing in the tight space (he hasn't ran in two weeks, and it surprises and infuriates him at how out of shape he's become in such a short period of time) and looks up, finally aware of how close he is to the taller boy. They're pressed so tightly against each other Brad can feel the rhythm of Tristan's heart, and his ribs expanding over his own as he breathes in deeply, and out again.
"Well, that turned out well," Brad sarcastically whispers, out of breath. He looks down noticing they're still holding hands.
Tristan struggles to laugh through his pants and pulls his hand away from Brad's. "Yeah."
"It's fine, though. I feel like we're Bonnie and Clyde." He laughs again and Brad finds himself staring at him. There's so many things he's never noticed about Tristan, like the sharpness of his jawline and his minty scent (it reminds him of the Wint O Green Life Savers his mum orders sometimes) and his lips — oh, God, Brad doesn't even remember how those got there. And when did they start looking so kissable?
He can't see Tristan's eyes due to the lack of lighting, but he knows he's staring down at him now, too. And Brad's a little thankful he can't see his eyes, because he knows he'd melt away under Tristan's gaze (most likely literally).
"Are you going to kiss me?" Brad softly asks.
Tristan exhales, like he's been holding his breath forever. Brad only breathes it in. Even his breath smells like its been attacked with peppermints, and the sixteen-year-old wants to know if his mouth tastes like them, too. "Would you like that?"
"Mmm-hmm," he hums, gripping onto Tristan's jacket and pushing himself up on his tiptoes so their faces are only inches apart. He pauses, not really sure how he's supposed to dive into this. It's been a while since he's kissed someone, and he doesn't even know if he's even any good at it.
The taller boy places his hands on Brad's shoulders, and Brad relaxes knowing that he'll be taking the lead. But instead he pushes the curly-haired boy down to his initial height and says, "You should start working out before we get caught."
And then he eases the closet door fully open, disappearing into the group therapy room and leaving Brad standing in the dim-lit closet, shocked.
"Did you just..." he trails off into silence and shakes his head, dropping the situation and pushing down the argument on the verge of flowing from his mouth. Whatever. Tristan doesn't want him. It's not a big deal. Brad's experienced way worse.
"What's your goal?" Tristan asks, like Brad wasn't just coming onto him a few minutes ago. The younger boy steps out of the closet as Tristan unfolds a chair that's pushed in the corner and plops down in it.
Brad instantly drops to the ground in the form of a push up, happy to be able to exercise again. "What do you mean?"
"What's your ideal weight? How much do you want to weigh?"
Brad raises himself from the carpeted floor, his arms trembling under his weight. The boy sighs at how out of shape he's become. It doesn't really make any sense. How does one go from being able to do a hundred push ups without pausing to barely being able to get out just one?
"Sixty," he replies as he struggles to lowers his body to the floor again.
There's a silence before Tristan questions, "Sixty kilograms?"
"No." He pulls himself back up again. "Sixty pounds."
"What made you want that?" He doesn't ask him like it's crazy, neither impossible. It's a genuine question. He actually wants to know.
"I like the number sixty."
Tristan nods, although he seems confused, like he expected more. "Oh, okay."
Brad gives up on push ups and rolls over on his back to start on crunches. "What about you?"
"I don't actually have one," he tells him. "I'm not really trying to lose weight."
"You confuse me."
Tristan lets out a laugh and runs his hand through his blond hair. "I know." It's silent for a while besides Brad pathetically grunting and breathing heavily before he speaks again. "But I like feeling empty. People think it's insane, but it's actually strangely comforting."
The curly-haired boy lies flat on his back, already exhausted from working out. "I know... I know what you mean."
"Maybe you should stop," he comments, watching Brad wide-eyed.
Brad sucks in a breath and starts on his crunches again. "I've barely moved."
"And you look like you're going to faint. Anyway, I'm sure the nurses are trying to find us by now, and even if we're going to get in trouble either way, I think we should leave now."
"Okay," Brad acquiesces before slowly pulling himself up from the floor. As Tristan folds his chair again and places it with others, Brad starts talking again, "Wait, Tristan, can I ask you a question?"
He slowly turns and looks at him, like he's not sure whether he should respond or not. "Sure, I guess."
Brad nervously shakes up his hair before asking, "Why do you care so much?"
The older boy furrows his eyebrows indicating he has no idea what Brad's talking about.
A sigh slips past the boy's lips. "Why do you help me more than you help yourself?"
"More than I help myself?" he repeats, still confused with the question.
"You help me get closer to getting out of here," Brad explains, "and you want others to get out of here, like Connor for example, but you won't help yourself get out of here."
For some reason this makes Tristan uncomfortable, and he nervously plays with his sleeves, avoiding any sort of eye contact with Brad. "Oh, okay."
"I guess what I'm implying is... is it okay if I help you out of here, too?"
This causes Tristan to look up. "How?"
"I don't know. Just being here, I guess? If you're going to encourage me, then I feel like I should encourage you."
"Um, okay. That's very... fair?"
Brad lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, okay. So, you're going to drink your breakfast, right?"
"What?"
"What?"
"Aren't you going a little too quick?" Tristan tells him. "You can't just expect me to jump right into it."
The sixteen-year-old places a hand on his shoulder and says, "nothing is your choice right now, Tris."
Tristan lets out a sigh. "Damn it, I should've never said that."
They both laugh.
"So...?" He trails off into silence and drops his hand by his side, waiting for Tristan's response as the older boy thinks it over. Please don't say no. Please don't say no. Pleasedon'tsayno.
"Yeah," he finally answers, nodding his head.
A smile widens on his face. "You're going to try?"
"Yeah, I'll do it," he confirms. "I'll try."