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

كونور

As April begins, Brad finds himself in the passenger's seat of Tristan's nan's car more than his own home. He's not quite sure what the two boys do together most of the time. All the sixteen-year-old really knows is he loves spending time with the blond as much as he can, whether the two boys are just sitting in the parking lot of the playground talking about everything and nothing at the same time, or Brad's sitting on top of the car as Tristan stands in front of it, loudly reading a magazine out to the world to practice managing his mumbling.

It's one of their lazy days, though, and Brad's sprawled out across the couch in the living room of his house as Tristan draws a colourful garden on his cast. He's been using his leg as an art book for the past forty minutes, but Brad doesn't mind it. He's too busy admiring his boyfriend and how adorable he looks concentrated. The tip of his tongue's poked out between his lips in a smear of pink as he colours in the petals of a tulip, every moment slow and deliberate. Brad thinks it's cute how careful and serious he is with the smallest of things, making sure that everything he does is done at his best.

Brad giggles at the happiness on Tristan's face when he finishes the tulip and begins colouring in the rainbow stretching across the blue sky. The older boy questioningly darts his eyes upwards as he picks up a red marker, popping off the top. "What?" he asks, smiling at his boyfriend with furrowed brows.

"Nothing," the curly-haired boy says, chuckling to himself. "I just really like you."

Tristan smiles widely and grabs an orange marker. "You're cute."

"You know," Brad says, pointing to the crowded blue sky, "this kind of looks like your eyes."

"You think so?"

The sixteen-year-old hums in response. "But your eyes are prettier, of course."

Tristan lets out a laugh. "Stop, you're making my ears heat up."

Brad laughs along with him as he hears slow footsteps down the staircase. The curly-haired boy's eyes quickly dart towards it, expecting his mum to creep down again, encouraging them to eat as she checks up on what they're doing, like she expects Tristan to be downstairs, helping her son lift weights behind her back. But his dad unexpectedly enters the living room with this look on his face. Brad instantly freezes. He automatically knows something is wrong. It's the same face his father gave his two children when he was informing Natalie and Brad their nan was sick.

"Brad," his dad says slowly, "can I talk to you for a bit?"

The sixteen-year-old looks to Tristan. "You should probably head home."

"Right," the older boy says, popping the lid back onto a green marker and jumping up from the couch. He awkwardly waves his boyfriend and the younger boy's dad off before he's disappearing outside of the front door.

"Is Jesse okay?" Brad instantly questions, furrowing his brows.

"Yes," his dad replies. The curly-haired boy sighs of relief, placing a hand over his heart. "Brad," he says slowly and carefully like before. He pauses and looks at the wall, like he's contemplating what should come next. Brad just looks at him, awaiting an explanation. "Connor's mum called."

"What happened?" his son questions with furrowed brows again. He crosses his colourful cast over his thigh, his heart beat involuntarily quickening in his chest.

"This morning, Connor was rushed to the hospital again," his father slowly explains, "because of sudden cardiac arrest. He'd been purging so much it damaged his heart."

Brad doesn't know a lot about cardiac arrest. All he knows is it's bad, but you can survive from it. "He's all right, though, isn't he?"

His dad doesn't reply. He nervously glances around the room, leaving the teenager to piece the puzzle together on his own.