Simple//Tradley:Jonnor

A ship is a mode of transportation

Tristan and Brad were now sitting on a park bench, watching some ducks swim across a rather murky-looking pond. They were still 'lost', but Tristan had decided that the brunette needed time away from the stupid nurses and boring centre, in order to let the short boy clear his thoughts; he had cried for the first time in God-knows-how-long, the blonde figured he'd need a moment to sit down. Admittedly, it was nice to sit there in the park, despite the cold wind which slapped against their faces, blowing their hair in any-which-way and the cold wood of the bench which had turned their butts numb.

As the lanky boy watched the ducks, he wondered how the animals could stand to be in the water - it must have been like swimming at the north pole, seeing as it was winter and absolutely freezing. Nevertheless, the birds didn't seem in the least bit fazed by the weather as they ducked their heads under the icy water and splashed along with their webbed feet. Tristan supposed that they were just making the most out of what they had and decided that ducks were better than people, because they weren't selfish, unless it was over a scrap of bread, which they needed to survive. Then again, ducks didn't know any better so he figured that the pond must have been their equivalent to a five star hotel. But what if they did know better? Would they refuse to settle for the murky pond when they could have something so, so much better, just like all of the greedy humans on the planet? Would they put their fellow ducks down to bring themselves higher up in the duck world, just like all the top dogs had done? Would they take risks to see how far they could get themselves, just like a gambler? Who knows. It was one of life's great mysteries.
Then again, they were ducks... Tristan needed to stop looking so deeply into this.

Snapping himself out of his philosophical duck thoughts, the blonde boy felt a weight on his shoulder that he hadn't realised was there before, which was accompanied by the warm scent of the younger boy, drifting gently into his nostrils. It was a comforting smell, a homely and inviting smell, as if the younger boy was saying 'come and talk to me, get close to me, I welcome you to my heart, it's yours for the taking'. He wondered how many times somebody had taken Brad's heart, broken it and then put it back where they found it. He could have gone through a major heartbreak before he became... like he is. After all, the blue-eyed boy barely knew anything about the other boy, apart from the fact that he spent around 97.77% of his time wearing a confused frown. He didn't think that he ever would find out anything, either, unless Tristan managed to get Brad to remember all of his emotions, which he was pretty sure he would not be able to do; he had been trying for over a month and all he had done was make the boy cry slightly for about two seconds.

With a defeated sigh, the blonde let his head fall to the side, the brunette's curls brushing against his flushed cheek. It tickled him slightly, but he didn't move his head from its place atop the other boy's. It was comfortable to sit there like that, using Brad's body heat to warm him as if the boy was his personal radiator. He half expected the younger boy to be cold; he was emotionally, seeing as the only emotion he had kind of experienced was sadness, sadness at the words his disgusting father had spoken to him. Tristan wished that the brown-eyed boy had never heard those words, that the first emotion the boy had felt was the gently tugging of his soft lips being lifted up into a smile, however small it may be.
But time couldn't be changed. The words were said and had already stuck to the insides of Brad's brain as if they were covered in superglue. The older boy didn't even know why it mattered so much to him, anyway; Bradley was just the annoying, slightly dumb, seriously fucked-up kid who Tristan had to deal with, but now he had become Bradley, the confused, mistreated, fairly adorable boy who Tristan was quite fond of and felt the need to help. It was almost as if he owed the younger boy his emotions, as if the blonde was the one who had taken them from him in the first place. That didn't mean that Tristan didn't still find him incredibly annoying, because he did - he thought that Brad was quite possibly the most annoying little shit he had ever met. But he was ignoring that, because in this moment the brunette wasn't talking and everything was just- "Tristan, what is an OTP?" ((ournewbrokenscene this is for you))