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

نظيف

"I don't want to go," Brad whines, comfortably tugging his blankets back over his head. The curly-haired boy attempts snuggling into the blankets, like the creative cocoon he wrapped himself in (before Connor insensitively took it upon himself to pull him out of it fourteen minutes ago.) But the fifteen-year-old quickly yanks his blankets off of him, once again exposing his underdressed body to the cold.

"It is Saturday!" Connor argues before grabbing him by the arm and attempting to force him out of the bed. The older boy lets out a frustrated groan and desperately reaches for something to hold him back, accidentally dragging all his sheets to the carpeted floor along with him.

He self-consciously hides his embarrassingly, chubby stomach behind knees. "I hate you, Con."

"You should appreciate me being a good friend," the younger boy tells him. "You've been hiding away in your man cave for two weeks because of Tristan, Brad. That's extremely unhealthy and depressing."'

Brad carelessly shoots him a thumbs up before shouting out in pain and frowning up at Connor after he kicks him in the leg. "You're such a bully," he says, carefully rubbing the pained area.

"Great observation," Connor sarcastically replies. "Look, are you going to hang out with me or not?"

The curly-haired boy pulls himself into a sitting position, wrapping his blankets back around his body. "I'm sure I've made it more than clear I'd rather be left alone."

The younger boy plops down on the floor alongside him. "I know something that'll no doubt make you feel better."

"Does it involve Tristan?"

"No."

"Then it's most likely not going to make me feel better." Brad shamelessly lies down on his bedroom floor, curling himself into a little ball of sadness. "I fucked everything up, Con, and it's not easy just going out and being happy, okay?"

"You could just call him, yano."

"It's not that easy."

"Everything is really difficult with you," the younger boy tells him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I'm not Einstein or anything, but I think if you just talk to Tristan and tell him how you feel then he'll listen to you. It's not like he's supposed to gain this magical superpower that gives him the ability to know exactly what's going on in that complicated brain of yours. Not everything is as complicated as you think it is."

"What if it actually is as complicated as I think it is?"

Connor glares at him, like that's the stupidest question Brad could ask. "Brad, you're the most stubborn person I know, and you're just sitting here, allowing your boyfriend to get away."

"You've been spending way too much time with James."

"Funny. I told James that yesterday." Connor pulls himself onto his boots and looks down at the older boy. "Okay, I promise to leave you alone-"

"Thank, God."

"-If you at least get out of the house and hang out with James and I tonight."

Brad frowns before quickly saying: "I would, but my parents don't allow me to go out on weekends."

"I already asked them and they said it'll be fine," Connor informs him. Damn it, Brad thinks. The fifteen-year-old pulls his lips into a smug smile, like he's reading his mind. "Well, anyway, I'll text you about what I've planned for us."

"Does it involve bowling?" Brad asks, unenthused.

Connor pauses and awkwardly glances around his room. "Um, no," he scoffs.