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

كابوس

Brad jumps awake in sweat, a sigh of relief escaping from his lips as he realises the nightmare is over. Untangling himself from his blankets, the curly-haired boy throws them off his body, pulling himself into a sitting position and pressing his back closer into the wooden headboard. Every night the sixteen-year-old closes his eyes to himself, standing in front of a mirror, strong and confident, ribs visible and bulging muscles and toned abs - everything he's always wanted to have and be. But his reflection unexpectedly changes, and it's so suddenly, the teenager seemingly jumps ten feet in the air. He's no longer admiring his progress, the breath has been stolen from his lungs and he's staring right into a skeleton wearing his same clothing from before.

"What does it feel like?" the skeleton asks him, the deep, frightening voice fitting its intimidating appearance. Brad doesn't know how to respond, because he doesn't know what it's talking about. He slowly steps backwards, away from the skeleton, but his movements are cut short as he bumps into something - another mirror. Whipping his head around, he pauses, met with the same skeleton from before. "What does it feel like to almost die?" it questions.

That's when the curly-haired boy breaks out into a run, only to be met with another mirror, always greeted by the same skeleton repeating the same question until Brad finally breaks himself out of his torturous slumber. He wishes the dream would stop, but it's continuous every night, never failing to scare the piss out of the sixteen-year-old. He wonders what it means, but he can never make sense of it. When he thinks about it, the skeleton sounds like his old therapist, Miss Lillian: always reminding him about death, his "unhealthy" weight, and how close he was to dying. Miss Lillian is definitely someone he doesn't want to be reminded of whilst sleeping.

Extending his arm over to his nightstand, he reads the time printed on his lock screen: fifteen minutes 'til three. Maybe I should call Tristan, the boy contemplates, but he decides against it. Even though his boyfriend assured him that he loves being there for the younger boy, Brad doesn't want to interrupt Tristan's sleep with his stupid problems. It's just a harmless dream, anyway that Tristan probably wouldn't even understand this early in the morning.

The cool air finally engulfs Brad's body, and slowly brings his temperature back to normal. He comfortably snuggles into his blankets once again, calmly breathing and closing his eyes to fall back asleep, hoping the bad dream won't reoccur like expected. He tries bringing his mind to a happier place, which unsurprisingly brings him to the thought of Tristan. Maybe it doesn't make sense for your happy place to be a person, but the blue-eyed boy seems to be the only thing his mind resorts to.

The two boys have officially been in a relationship for two weeks. It's not very long when Brad thinks about it, but it feels like months. For all sixteen days, Tristan's all the curly-haired boy surrounds himself with. Due to the unfortunate one hour distance, they're not physically with each other as much as they'd like to be - which sucks - but they're always video chatting or just simply talking to each other on the phone. But they rarely text each other, because the two boys rather listen to the sound of each other's voice.

Brad wishes things can stay like this forever. He likes feeling happy and waking up knowing he has something in the world to look forward to, even if it's a person, and he probably shouldn't allow someone to have this much power over him according to how badly his relationship with Jack played out, but honestly, Brad doesn't care. And anyway, he trusts Tristan not to hurt him.

Brad's stomach loudly growls, rudely interrupting the peaceful silence of the night. The sixteen-year-old lets out a content sigh, rolling over onto his empty belly. He likes the feeling of emptiness. This is basically the only time he has the chance to feel it, and he appreciates every moment of it.

It doesn't take long for the familiar hunger pains settle in his stomach. He simply pulls his knees to his chest, because it easily takes the discomfort away. The sixteen-year-old feels like how he used to be when nobody knew he was dieting. He remembers how satisfied he felt to fall asleep or wake up with an empty stomach, knowing that his goal was officially in reach. Brad wishes his parents never interrupted his weight loss. He wonders if they realise how unhappy and fat their son is now.