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

مشرق

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.