I look stupid, the sixteen-year-old thinks, running a hand through his curls. He doesn't even know why he's going to this stupid party. The last time he attended a party, he left single, humiliated, and covered in alcohol. That memory isn't something he'd prefer like to relive, and he knows the memories are unevitable being in a party setting, and he'll most likely panic. There's no way he can't escape that night. But he's been trying his best for nearly eight months by deliberately avoiding anything close to a party. Not like he's used to people inviting him to them, anyway. When he thinks about it, no one has ever actually invited him to a party before. Jack was always the one who received the invitation, and then Brad was the little, lame boyfriend who tagged along.
The teenager eyes his white tee shirt and one leg and a half black jeans in the mirror. He decided going simple, because he has no idea how he's supposed to dress for a party. Basically, he has no idea how to dress for anything, but he tries at least. Sadly, he ended up kind of looking like Simon Cowell.
Brad limps out of the bathroom as the doorbell rings throughout the house followed by Jesse loudly barking. The sixteen-year-old carefully makes his way down the staircase alongside Jesse, watching his mum pull open the door, greeting an infuriated James in pajamas standing in the doorway. The curly-haired boy shakes his head at him as he reaches the bottom step.
"Make sure you eat," his mum tells her son, wrestling the teenager to kiss his cheek.
"I will," Brad replies, wiping her lip balm off his face.
"Have fun studying, you two!" She waves them off as they walk out of the house and into the night, James trudging three feet ahead of him.
"Studying?" James repeats after the door closes behind them. The younger boy chuckles at his lie. "Why would we study on a Saturday night?"
"Because we want to be smart," Brad tells him, tapping his temple. "And anyway, that's the cover up everyone uses. I couldn't think of anything else."
"You didn't even bring any books with you, smart one."
"Oops," the younger boy carelessly says. He pulls open the car door to the passenger's seat and climbs inside, chucking his crutches in the back of the vehicle.
"I still can't believe I'm driving you to a party I wasn't even invited to," James angrily mutters as he slides in the driver's seat. "Why were you even invited? You're annoying and rude."
"I am not annoying!"
The older boy lets out a frustrated sigh. Pop music fills the car as the engine roars to life. "Brad, don't ever help out your friends. When you try to help them out, they yell at you and don't invite you to their birthday parties."
"I will remember that someday," the sixteen-year-old tells him. The car speeds off down the road towards Connor's house. Brad relaxes in the seat and redirects his eyes outside the window, the world passing by in a blur of houses and lights outside the glass. Tonight will only be fun if you let it, he reminds himself before repeating the statement over and over again in his head, deeply inhaling and exhaling. He reminds himself to not let the past bother him anymore. Brad's supposed to be past it by now. But he's terrified.
The ride remains silent, giving the curly-haired boy too much time to think about his ex boyfriend, and his present boyfriend. He doesn't really know what to think about Tristan right now. Brad's been too embarrassed about Sunday morning to talk to him, ignoring all of the blond's calls and pleading text messages. Sure, his boyfriend has seen the sixteen-year-old at his worst, but he's upset with himself for snapping at him, and then panicking in front of him. He still can't forget how freaked out Tristan seemed. It was almost like he was seeing how he felt with Connor at the hospital, and he never wants to compare himself with the newly sixteen-year-old at that moment.
"Argh, there's so many people here," James notes, glaring at the group of cars creatively parked around Connor's large house. He angrily furrows his brows at the sight and stops the car. "I should be one of those people."
"I'll text you when to pick me up," Brad tells him. He sympathetically pats his shoulder, earning a glare from James before retrieving his crutches from the back of the car and climbing out.
"I hope the party sucks and the cops crash it."
The younger boy lets out a laugh. "Thanks for driving me, James."
The older boy waves him off through the car window and speeds off down the road, leaving the curly-haired boy on Connor's lawn all by himself. He nervously turns towards the large house and anxiously eyes it, his crutches sinking in the grass. Sucking in a breath, he limps over towards the front door. The music inside is audible by the time Brad makes it towards the staircase. He hops up the four steps and nervously stands in front of the entrance. Am I supposed to ring the doorbell? the teenager questions himself, glancing around the house. Whenever he went to parties, the doors were usually unlocked, but this is the first time Brad's arriving by himself. He doesn't just want to freely walk inside.
Suddenly a group of teenagers walk up the staircase from behind him with presents in hand, conversing and laughing loudly. They casually walk past Brad like he's invisible and push the door open, welcoming themselves inside and loudly greeting everyone. The curly-haired boy suddenly realises that the only person he knows inside this house is Connor.
Why am I even here? Brad thinks. He already gave Connor his birthday present on his actual birthday. The curly-haired boy could easily ring James and return home to his bedroom with Jesse where he'd rather be on a Saturday night than at a party full of loud teenagers he's never even laid eyes on before.
But the newly sixteen-year-old suddenly appears in front of the opened door, enthusiastically greeting the older boy. "Why are you just standing there? Come inside! I want you to meet my friends."
"I - um..." The younger boy grips him by the wrist and drags him in the house, closing the door behind the two boys. It's surprisingly a calm party, which is a relief compared to what Brad expected. Everyone's just standing around or sitting on couches, eating and talking despite this one girl shamelessly dancing by herself in a corner.
Connor starts pointing at random groups of people, listing names to different faces that Brad most likely won't remember. He's given a name to everyone they pass until the two teenagers reach a crowded kitchen. The younger boy plops down beside a girl and pulls Brad down in a seat beside him.
"I'm so happy to be out of the hospital," he tells him, smiling. "I hated it in there."
"Why were you released so early?"
"My mum took me out," Connor happily tells him. "She felt bad for me. She didn't want me to spend my birthday in a hospital. I'm happy she came to her senses. I would've hated her if I were in there for my sixteenth birthday."
Brad pulls out his phone and sets it on the table. "Well, good thing you're out, I guess."
"Yeah," he says before furrowing his brows at the older boy. He picks up a red cup placed by a bowl of salad and takes a sip. "By the way, I've noticed your other half isn't here. Where's Tristan?"
Brad shrugs, fidding with his fingers. "It's a long story, Con."
"Oh." The blue-eyed boy casually picks up Brad's phone, swiping right to unlock it. "What's your password?"
"Vampire Diaries." Connor lets out a laugh as he types it in, an amused smile on his face." What are you doing?" Brad questions.
The younger boy turns the screen away from Brad's view. "Playing a game, chill."
He frowns, glancing around the kitchen before picking up Connor's red cup and taking a sip without looking in it or sniffing it. The curly-haired boy chokes at the taste, instantly dropping the red cup back onto the table. "What the fuck are you drinking? Gasoline?"
Connor lets out a loud laugh at his reaction. "You really don't do parties, do ya?"
"No shit."
"It's vodka," the younger boy explains, shaking his head at him before looking down at Brad's phone and tapping his thumbs across the screen. "You need to get out more."
"I've drunk vodka before, thank you very much," Brad defends, taking another sip and sending himself into another coughing fit. "But I've never had it straight," he barely chokes out.
"Aw," Connor insincerely says, his thumbs tapping on the screen of Brad's phone.
"What are you doing?" the brown-eyed boy questions, stretching his neck to look over Connor's shoulder.
The younger boy turns away, a sneaky smile on his face. "I'm playing a game!"
"No, you're not!" He grips him by the shoulder and gasps, realising that he's scrolling through his text messages. "Stop it, Con!"
"I only texted Tristan," Connor nonchalantly tells him. The older boy frowns. "He's on his way here. I told him you want to see him."
"What?" Brad shoves the younger boy in the chest, nearly sending him flying off his seat. But he catches his balance and evilly chuckles. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I want him here," Connor says with a shrug. He taps his fingers across the screen again. "Oh, and by the way, Tristan's a virgin."
"How do you know that?"
"He just told me. Well, he just told me, thinking he was telling you."
The older boy furrows his brows out of confusion. "Why would he randomly tell me that?"
"Because you said you want him to fuck you in the ass."
Brad gasps. "Connor! You perv! Why would you tell him that?"
"You probably do." He pulls his phone out of the older boy's reach, pushing him away as he desperately reaches for it.
"We've only been together for three weeks!" Brad tells him.
"It's never too early, my friend."
"Are you kidding me? What other ridiculous things did you tell him?"
"I'll read you the conversation," Connor says, scrolling upward. "So, basically you apologised and asked him to come to the party. He said, "okay, I'll come. I've missed you - blah blah." And then you said, "bring condoms, because I'm so horny and I want you in me so bad." Then he was like, "um..." And you said, "what's wrong, baby?" And then he started talking about how you're acting strange and then that's when you told him you just want him to fuck you in the ass, and then he said he's a virgin."
Brad glares at Connor. "Then what did you say as me?"
"You said that his innocence is making you hard." The younger boy bursts out laughing, sliding his phone across the table back to him. "Good luck, man."
"This isn't funny!" Brad angrily tells him, downing the rest of Connor's drink. He lets out a cough and sets the empty cup on the table, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I really hate you, you know?"
"Aw," Connor unapologetically says, "you'll thank me later."
"No, I won't!"
He lets out a laugh and pours more vodka into the red cup. Brad reaches for it, but the younger boy smacks his hand away. "Get your own."
"Too much work," Brad tells him, stealing his cup and downing it.
"Well, you do need it more than I do. You're about to shag your pure three week boyfriend."
"No, I'm not!"
"Yeah - okay."
Brad glares at him again. Connor smiles and grabs his arm, suddenly introducing him to everyone at the table. He just silently drinks, flying through numerous cups, because it makes everything less awkward and it pushes him to communicate more. He wishes Connor would stop telling him names. The older boy doesn't care enough to know or remember anyone, but he just lets him continue. At least he's trying to include him. Brad realises that's something he really does like about the newly sixteen-year-old.
"I care about you, Con," Brad admits to the younger boy. "I care about you a lot. You are my friend."
Connor chuckles at the sudden confession. "Um, okay."
"You were the first person to talk to me at the medical center," he reminds him, drinking directly from the bottle. "You were nice and cute and your hair looked fluffy."
"My hair still looks fluffy."
"It does," Brad agrees, eyeing his feathery hair. He pauses to finish the whole bottle. Connor watches him down it with wide eyes. "You need a haircut."
"I do. You do, too."
"I love you," he says.
"I love you, too?"
"You're a good friend." Brad nods along with his own words. A wave of sadness suddenly washes over him. "I've never actually had friends before."
"I'm sorry."
"I was always so alone," he says, blinking rapidly. "I didn't have anyone, and now I have you and James. I now have two good friends that care about me."
"Um, yeah..."
"I hate myself." Brad frowns, feeling tears build in his eyes. "I should be lonely."
Connor awkwardly looks around the kitchen. "Brad..."
"I'm such a disappointment! My family hate me!"
"Stop shouting," the younger boy tells him, pulling the nearly empty bottle away from him. "You really do not need to drink. Ever."
"Why can't I be perfect?" Brad buries his face in his hands. "I want abs and muscles and I want to do well in school and be a perfect son and a perfect boyfriend! BUT I'M NONE OF THAT! I'M A FAT FAILURE!"
"Water," Connor suddenly says, jumping up from his seat. "You need water."
"Don't leave me!" Brad pleads, gripping the younger boy by the arm and forcing him back into his seat. "I love you!"
"That is exactly why I'm leaving." The curly-haired boy pouts and pushes him back in his seat once he attempts to leave again. Suddenly, his phone pings on the table indicating he received a message. Connor instantly glances at Brad's screen, sighing of relief. "Tristan just told you he's here."
Brad instantly grabs his phone and pockets it before snatching up his crutches and stumbling out of the kitchen. His eyes automatically land on Tristan awkwardly pushing his way through the teenagers, heading up the staircase occupied by people chatting and sitting on it without noticing Brad's presence. The sixteen-year-old limps through the clusters of teenagers, nearly tripping and falling on his face to follow the blond. There are even more people up the staircase just talking or making out against the wall. Brad wishes he could do that with Tristan.
The older boy pauses once he reaches the top step, questioningly looking around the crowded area, like he has no idea what he's doing with his life.
"TRIS!" The curly-haired boy screams at the top of his lungs to be heard over the music and loud conversations. Tristan whips his head around just in time to catch the younger boy flinging himself at him. Brad struggles to wrap his legs around the blond's waist with his stupid cast, but Tristan still holds him up, anyway as the brown-eyed boy presses their lips together and kisses him. Really kisses him.
He pushes his tongue past Tristan's lips, running his hand through his hair and moaning into his mouth, even though the older boy isn't reciprocating his actions. He's doing nothing, actually.
Brad pulls away and jumps off of him. Tristan catches him before he hits the floor and helps him place his crutches back under his arms. "What is wrong with you?" the younger boy angrily asks, shoving him in the chest. Tristan hits the wall, nearly knocking down a portrait of young Connor with an ejaculating dick drawn on the frame's glass. "Don't you like me?" Brad questions.
"Of course I like you," the blue-eyed boy slowly replies, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and rubbing his chest where the smaller boy pushes him.
"Then kiss me like you do," Brad tells him, lowering his voice in an attempt to be seductive. He grips him by his shirt and pulls him in, but Tristan quickly pushes him away. The younger boy frowns up at him.
"Stop being weird, Brad."
"I'm not being weird! Kiss me, damn it!"
"You need to calm down." He suddenly looks angry. "How are you going to ignore me for a week, and then just randomly talk about us shagging?"
"That was Connor." Brad rolls his eyes. "But I wouldn't mind us shagging. Did you bring a condom?"
"No!" Tristan angrily shouts. "We're not having sex!"
"Then why are you here?"
The older boy looks hurt by his response. He lets out an exasperated sigh and slowly backs away from him. "Talk to me when you're not being a dick, Brad."
"Don't leave!" he pleads, pathetically limping after Tristan. "You just came here. C'mon, let's go somewhere else, please."
They end up in Connor's backyard, away from the party and everyone else. There's a covered up pool and a beat up swingset on the grass.
Brad looks at Tristan, his appearance illuminated by the moonlight and patio light. He gasps at the sight of his face and brushes his fingertips across Tristan's discoloured jawline. "What happened here?"
"Shh," Tristan replies, pushing his hand away. They both plop down onto the grass. "It's nothing."
The smaller boy crawls into his boyfriend's lap, examining the bruise with concerned eyes. "Did your dad hit you?"
"It's nothing."
"You said that," Brad says. "It's obviously not nothing, Tris. Tell me what happened."
"He was just angry, okay? Let's not talk about it, please."
The curly-haired boy sighs, burying his face in Tristan's shirt as he lies them down on the grass. His boyfriend laces his fingers through Brad's curls, pressing a kiss to his forehead and messy curls before tightly wrapping his long arms around the smaller boy's body.
"I hate my life," Tristan mutters, staring at the moon brightly shining in the night sky.
"Same," Brad agrees, looking up at him and snuggling his face into his shirt, "but I guess now it's not all that bad."
. . .
The two boys are in Tristan's nan's vehicle sitting in Connor's parking lot. Brad feels bad about leaving without saying goodbye, but when he went searching for him, the younger boy was evidently too busy flirting with Drew, and Brad really didn't want to get in the mist of that.
"Where are we off to, Hobbes?" Tristan asks, placing a hand on the steering wheel and glancing over to the passenger's seat.
"I don't know. Away," the curly-haired boy simply replies. He gives his boyfriend a sloppy smile and directs his eyes to the dark world outside the car window.
Tristan clicks on the radio. The car fills with this weird, slow song the younger boy instantly hates, but Brad somehow ends up shamelessly swaying to it, anyway as the car takes off down the road. The blond drives way too fast than what Brad's used to, but he thinks it's fun, even though he's also terrified their going to end up crashing. But he quickly grows used to it and rolls down the window, letting the wind destroy his curls.
"I lied to you when I said I don't remember the day I stopped eating," the brown-eyed boy randomly admits. "I remember perfectly. I just don't want to."
"Are you ever going to tell me?" Tristan questions.
Brad drops his head against the back of the seat, deciding he doesn't feel like holding it anymore. "One day," he promises.
"Okay." Tristan smiles and slips his fingers into the younger boy's palm, tightly holding his hand in his own. "You can take as long as you want."
"Thank you." He looks down at their hands as the wind runs through his hair. "Sorry about the past week. I've been an asshole."
"You're not an asshole."
Brad closes his eyes. It's lightly raining, but he doesn't move to roll up the window. "I shouldn't have ignored you and I shouldn't have snapped. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it, okay? I forgive you."
"You shouldn't," he realises, looking over at him. "You treat me so well, and you're always trying to help me, but I'm so helpless. Look at me, I'm drunk and sad on the day of my my friend's birthday party. I can't even go to a party without being a wreck."
"I don't think you're helpless." Tristan parks the vehicle in the empty parking lot of the playground and turns the engine off before crawling over into the passenger's seat. "I think you're perfect just the way you are," he tells him, wrapping his arms around his neck.
The younger boy lets out a laugh and presses a sloppy kiss to his boyfriend's lips. "I think you're perfect just the way you are, too."
Tristan wipes Brad's saliva from his mouth and buries his face in his neck. The younger boy absentmindedly pulls his fingers through his blond hair, like Tristan always does with him, and wonders what's going through his head. He wishes he could erase all the bad in it and kiss the bruise on his jawline away along with all his boyfriend's pain.
"The day I stopped eating was the day my dad moved out," the blond quietly tells him, pulling his head away from his chest. "My mum and dad fought a lot that night. They were screaming and throwing things before my dad packed up his stuff and stormed out. I knew it was coming sooner or later. I knew one of these days my parents would separate, but when it actually happened, I felt so strange, like it was somehow my fault. So I punished myself by not eating dinner.
"After that, I kept punishing myself with starvation for stupid things, like messing up presentations in class and forgetting to do a chore in the house. And then I became obsesssed with fasting. I started to challenge myself and see how long I could go without eating. I felt powerful. There was something in my life I could finally control and I loved it. I never wanted that power to go away. So, I never wanted to start eating again."
Tristan nervously bites his lip and looks out to the moon still shining brightly in the sky. "Now I guess you know pretty much everything about me."
The sixteen-year-old follows his gaze. "Do you ever miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"That powerful feeling," Brad elaborates. "Feeling in control and being in control, and the universe seeming like it's finally on your wavelength."
"Yeah," he honestly replies. "But I don't ever want to go back. I don't want to become that severly emaciated guy again."
"Oh."
"Soon you'll realise it, too, Brad," Tristan promises, gently kissing his nose. "And then you'll want to get better, but you have to realise you're sick first."
Brad just looks out the window as the vehicle falls into silence, and he lets all of Tristan's words slowly sink in. "Let's swing," the brown-eyed boy decides when he notices the rain has stopped.
"What if the swings are wet?" Tristan questions, but the smaller boy's already wiggling from under him and pushing the car door open before losing his balance and falling. The seventeen-year-old chuckles and climbs out the car after him, nudging the door closed and scooping the small boy up into his arms.
Brad laughs as he carries him to the swingset. "I'm too heavy! You're going to drop me!"
"No, I'm not," the blond says, rolling his eyes. He throws him an inch up in the air causing Brad to let out a scream, interrupting the silent night, before he's falling into Tristan's arms again. "I'll always be here to catch you, Brad."
The younger boy laughs at how cheesy his boyfriend is and snuggles into his chest, watching the swingset ahead of them with only the moonlight to take them there.