OKAY IM FINALLY HERE.... "Please stop talking." for bratie lol
So he does. He stops talking and listens instead for crickets beneath the bed or wind howling against a windowpane, but here, of course, there is no sound at all, just the quiet whispers of the two of them breathing. The silence could drive him crazy— he will start to hear the rattle of his mind instead, and then everything will really go to shit. But he knew that already.
He turns so he can see something other than the far-off ceiling, pressing his face into his pillow instead. He feels his heartbeat heavy against the mattress. The cotton pillowcase starts to get warm, muggy from his breath, but he doesn’t feel like moving again. There’s a cold spot where his right arm meets open air, but he doesn’t try to claim back any of the covers.
"We never fucking talk." He almost feels sorry for having said it, but— maybe when he says it like this, when it’s almost stifled into nothing between him and his pillow, it doesn’t count.
“You do.”
He does. He does, but he wants to say: that’s different, he’s always talking, he’s always saying something but it usually means nothing, that’s just him, which Brady knows by now. He does, but he wants to say: I do, but there are two bodies in this bed, two sets of ribs and teeth and fingers, but sometimes it feels easy to forget, and where are you, and why are you here, anyway?
But talking has never been part of the deal, and Artie knows that— and that’s not just them, but that’s Brady, and he knows that, too.
"Whatever." His eyes are starting to tear up from the heat, so he just shuts them tight. He uses one hand to clumsily pull at the blanket.
He’s too tired to fight about it tonight.