Bradley Bradshaw x Jake Seresin, anxiety, comfort, soft and love :’)
“I’m just so angry,” Bradley says, and his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. “I have all this anger.” His hand presses flat against his sternum, fingers curling slightly, like he might be able to dig in and pull the feeling out by the roots. “It’s just… here. All the time. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
The room is silent, Bradley knows by heart, but he still can’t face the gentle look on Ali’s face.
“Bradley,” Ali says sofly, “can we try something?”
Bradley nods. Talking feels hard. His throat feels tight, full.
“I want you to imagine you’re watching yourself,” Ali says. “Like you’re a character in a movie. What would you think about him?”
Bradley swallows. His eyes sting.
“I think… I’d be mad at him,” he admits quietly. “I’d think… why are you so sad? You finally have everything you wanted. So why isn’t it enough?”
Ali’s expression is warm, and kind. He is not what Bradley had expected, he had imagined someone older, from the army maybe. What he got was just a skinny guy with glasses and calm.
“Weren’t you saying,” he asks softly, “that all you felt was anger?”
Bradley’s breath catches.
Jake’s voice is warm sunlight, casual and bright, the way it always is when Bradley walks through the door. He’s on the couch with a book, domestic in a way that still feels surreal sometimes like Bradley accidentally wandered into the life he used to daydream about at twenty.
The smile doesn’t disappear. It just… changes.
He knows. Of course he knows.
Bradley nods once in greeting, but he feels like he’s floating three feet behind his own body. He sits at the far end of the couch, shoulders hunched, hands locked together between his knees.
He’s learned. Bradley hates being touched when the feelings first hit when everything inside him is too loud and too sharp. Jake, who used to barrel into everything at full speed, has somehow become the most patient man alive.
Love did that, apparently.
“This is stupid,” Bradley mutters. His voice sounds wrecked. “It’s so stupid. I’m thirty seven years old. I can’t believe I’m crying over—”
He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.
“I’m just so—” His breathing stutters. His palm slams against his chest again, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Jake,” he whispers.
Jake moves then, slow enough to be permission instead of pressure. “Can I touch you?”
Jake gently pulls Bradley’s hand away from his chest and wraps his fingers around his wrist, checking his pulse. Fast. But not the worst they’ve seen.
He guides Bradley’s hand to his own neck. “Match me,” he murmurs.
It’s something they figured out together, Jake’s steady heartbeat acting like a model to Bradley’s nervous system.
“Do you want to talk?” Jake asks.
Bradley tries. A frustrated sound comes out instead, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t know how to word it.”
“Okay,” Jake says immediately, like that’s the easiest thing in the world. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Bradley’s forehead. “Do you want a bath?”
They walk to the bathroom holding hands, Bradley trailing slightly behind. He sinks down onto the floor while Jake turns on the water, testing the temperature.
The tub isn’t designed for two grown men, especially two broad shouldered pilots but that has never stopped them before.
“Do you want help undressing?” Jake asks.
Jake sees it, the flicker of shame, the moment Bradley feels like a burden instead of a partner.
So Jake flops dramatically onto the floor beside him and groans. “My back is killing me today,” he complains, making an exaggerated face. “You think you could help me? Please? I’m a fragile old man.”
Bradley’s head snaps up, his own pain forgotten. “Of course.”
Jake would commit actual war crimes for this man.
Bradley helps him out of his shirt, careful and focused, hands steady now that he has a task. Then Jake returns the favor, movements gentle without making a big deal of it.
They climb into the tub together, knees tangled awkwardly, Bradley settling with his back against Jake’s chest.
Jake’s fingers slide into Bradley’s hair, massaging his scalp.
“I love you,” Bradley whispers.
Jake presses his cheek against Bradley’s temple. “I love you too, baby.”
It isn’t a fix. They both know that. The conversation will have to happen eventually.
But for now, there is warm water. Steady hands. A heartbeat he can follow.
It has always been what Bradley wanted.
