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

علاج

The world is still from where he sits. No birds, no voices, no wind, just silence.

Here, Brad feels entirely detached from the rest of the world, like he's been separated and locked away from reality. But the thought unintentionally conciliates him, reminding Brad that this isn't his real life, and when he's discharged, he can go back to building himself again. The realisation is like a breath of fresh air.

He absentmindedly taps his foot on the concrete, wondering how he's supposed to spend his alone time before lying down on the wooden bench. Since he can't exercise due to the nurse watching him behind a transparent door, Brad doesn't see a purpose for having an entire hour for himself. There's not really anything to do except look and think. It's nothing different from what Brad has been doing since he's been here. Despite the fact, out here he's sort of alone.

Brad doesn't remember falling asleep. But what feels like only seconds later, a nurse grabs his shoulder and gently shakes him awake. "Time to go," she tells him when his eyes flutter open.

A small yawn slips past his lips as he slowly pulls himself up into a sitting position and stands. With one last glance at the outdoors, he sleepily stumbles back inside the medical center, watching his shoes as he trudges through the hallway alongside his nurse to group therapy. After exercise class, he caught a grip on his schedule, and a little description of everything considering exercise class was an understatement. The patients were only instructed to sit down on a comfortable, blue mat and do simple, primary school gym class exercises — bend down and touch your toes, tricep stretch, and other things that Brad could do in his sleep. Which made his inclination to needing to work out even worse.

The group therapy room isn't really big, but it isn't really small either. The floors are carpeted and there's a circle of plastic chairs in the center of the room. Brad's relieved he arrives a little earlier than most so he doesn't have to go through the awkwardness of deciding where he's the most welcomed to sit. He's never been very well with making decisions, or reading body language to see who wants at least anything to do with him.

A Korean man approaches Brad, smiling as chatty teens slowly spill into the room. "Hey, I'm Dr. Hans." He has an American accent. "And you're...?"

"Brad," he nervously replies, inattentively fidgeting with his fingers.

"Welcome, Brad," Dr. Hans greets. He nods his head toward the circle. "Take a seat."

Brad breaks off from his nurse and scans the circle of chairs. He didn't notice James walking in from before, but the boy's sitting beside an empty chair and enthusiastically motioning towards it for him. Brad trudges toward the seat and plops down.

"How bad did exercise class suck?" James asks, already jumping into a conversation.

Brad lets out a small laugh. "It sucked pretty bad."

"The sitting on the floor part is nice, though," James says, and then he laughs. Brad laughs along with him, even though he can't find the humour in being lazy and enjoying it. But he doesn't want him to laugh by himself.

Dr. Hans grabs everyone's attention by shouting a greeting. "Good afternoon, group!"

He pauses as the door flies open and Tristan unhurriedly enters the room, crossing in front of everyone to an empty chair and taking his precious time. It feels like hours before he finally decides to sit down beside the girl sitting next to Brad and sink into his chair. "Good afternoon, group," Dr. Hans starts again, picking up a stack of paper. "As you can see, we have a new face in the room."

Brad slowly lifts his hand and awkwardly waves at the group, realising Dr. Hans left him to continue the introduction by himself. "Um, hi. I'm Brad."