Pretty Boy: The Lost Chapters

Brad's Survival Arc: Part 15

Light hums filled the downstairs level of an otherwise silent household. An overhead light sitting above the dining room table filled the room with a warm, yellow hue. Cool-toned shadows ran across flat surfaces, lengthening into strange geometrical shapes along the walls. A touchscreen phone was left face up on a countertop, giving extra illumination via a multicolored interface undulating alongside song beats. Brad's voice carried a bit more power when singing certain sections.

Experienced hands worked to dress a plate with freshly made Paella. Yellow rice mixed with tomato, red peppers, peas, mussels, clams, and sliced chicken was further prepped by displaying large pieces of shrimp in a circle on top. Red pepper flakes were sprinkled in specific areas, whereas lemon wedges were squeezed to give an additional hint of zest. Fresh cilantro from a newly grown garden outside gave the plate a slightly more sophisticated finish.

Nodding to himself, Brad brought the plate over to the dining table. He also grabbed a glass and filled it with a new batch of Sangria that spent a majority of the day chilling in the fridge. Warm churros kept in a glass-covered container were brought over as well, just in case something sweet was needed for dessert.

Brad habitually glanced over his phone to see if he'd gotten a message. 

It was difficult to ignore the jab of pain which pushed through his chest when seeing no new notifications.

As much as he wanted to reach out, however, a little voice in his head kept repeating how this...period of separation was necessary. Whether he was expecting something from Marshall or Leah, Brad couldn't truly say. He just knew dwelling on his feelings for either person was going to send him down a path he didn't want to follow right now.

Instead, a quick trek up the stairs presented a good opportunity to focus on something, or someone, else.

A customary knock against the wall was given, even though the bedroom door was already open. "Paul? I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to let you know dinner's done and waiting for you."

Tired brown eyes opened, moving from pointing toward the ceiling to the vampire patiently waiting in the hall. "You're not bothering me. I was just resting a bit. I think all these extra patrols are starting to get to me."

"Running around for sixteen hours a day will do that to a person."

"Marsh would definitely be yelling at me and telling me to take a day off if he knew."

Brad clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying too much. He didn't want to nag or make room for an argument to start because he knew Paul wasn't doing well. Neither of them were, really. But they were facing different types of loss in their own ways.

Brad's pain stemmed from a feeling of emptiness—as if something of vital importance was missing and he didn't know how to get it back.

Paul's pain—it was something completely different. Even though he was running himself ragged in order to keep himself busy, his loneliness was only heightening with each passing day. Dark bags were becoming a permanent trait on his slightly pale, worn out face. Whenever he was home, if he didn't spend his time sleeping, he was sitting on the porch in silence. Waiting.

Aside from his first and only call with Marshall after he'd left, Paul hadn't yelled. There were no tears. There were no breakdowns.

It was just...silent agony.

It was a bleeding heart crying in its confines as it waited for the most precious person in the world to come back home.

Paul did his best to continue living like normal. His detachment from the world only shed light on how the Forever Bond really had changed the intensity of his attachment to Marshall.