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David stood in Brad’s door, holding a tupperware container of some food. Brad gaped him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he said.
“Uh, I came by to--”
“You shouldn’t be here. Who gave you my address?” Brad hissed. “Fuck, was it Zach? How did Zach get my address?”
David furrowed his eyebrows. “Jo gave it to me. Your brother doesn’t know your address?”
“No, he doesn’t, and I intend to keep it that way.” Brad stuck his head out the doorframe and looked from side to side for people other than David. “Please leave.”
“I--I brought food,” David stuttered, holding out the tupperware. Brad grimaced.
“Nope. See ya.” He slammed the door closed in David’s face.
“Brad!!” David yelled, slightly muffled. “Brad, open the door!”
Brad didn’t answer, sliding out of view of the windows so David would think he walked away and hopefully LEAVE. He really could not deal with interacting with other humans at the moment.
David knocked. “Brad, c’mon. Let me in.”
He kept perfectly silent.
“Brad!!” David banged on the door a few times, pressing his body to it. He stumbled forward as Brad swung open the door.
“Shut the fuck up,” he said, too close to a shout to keep up his uncaring demeanor. He pulled David in by the arm and slammed the door behind him.
“Oh!” David gasped.
Brad crossed his arms and glared. “What the fuck are you doing here, David,” he asked again.
“I just-- I heard about your dad,” David said quietly, and Brad froze.
“Zach,” he growled under his breath, scowling up at the ceiling. He felt nauseous. Of fucking course Zack told David about their dad dying. Fucking dick. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he said to David.
“I, I wanted to offer my condolences. And macaroni.” He extended the tupperware and tried to give it to Brad, but Brad pushed it away.
“Well, I don’t accept. I don’t want your condolences and I don’t want your macaroni. Fuck you.”
David paused. “At least take the food.”
“No.”
“Brad!”
“No!”
“C’mon, I made it for you! We can eat it together! Have you had dinner?”
Brad had not, in fact, had dinner. And he didn’t fucking plan on it either. Especially not now, not today, not with memories of his fucking father at the forefront of his mind. “I’m not eating dinner with you, David,” he said as meanly as possible. He really just needed David to leave.
David floundered. “I just--I thought you might want company, since you’re grieving.”
“I’m not grieving. Go away.”
“I know this must be hard,” said David in a soft, comforting tone that made Brad want to puke.
“Fuck you, it’s fucking not,” he snapped. “My dad was an asshole and now he’s dead. Doesn’t make a difference in my life.”
“Your dad was an asshole?”
Fuck. Fuck. Revealed too much. He sighed aggressively. “Yes. Please leave.”
“I--”
“LEAVE, David.”
David gazed at him silently for a few seconds.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “But I’m leaving this here.” He looked around in the bare entranceway for a place to put down his macaroni before giving up and setting it on the floor.
“Whatever.” Brad opened the door and David walked out. He turned around to say goodbye, but he only got halfway through the word before Brad cut him off by slamming the door.
He stared at the container of macaroni.
It took him a bit, but he finally picked it up and brought it into his empty-ass kitchen. He put it on the counter and stared at it some more, stomach turning. He was hungry. But the thought of eating made him feel sick.
Fuck his dad.
Honestly, Brad was glad he was dead. He was a fucking asshole. Brad was mostly just dreading the funeral. He really didn’t want to see his family. He was such a fucking pussy. He glared at the macaroni, stomach tight, mildly nauseous. Fuck his dad.
Part of him, a stupid, stupid, fucking pussy part of him, wished he hadn’t turned away David. His house was too big, too empty, and he was alone. And he hadn’t been able to eat since he’d gotten the news. It had been Zach that had called, actually, voice dripping with that infuriating fake kindness. Not a very fun phone call. Zach had probably timed it to when he’d be at work on purpose, just to trip him up.
He’d had breakfast that day. It didn’t stay in him for long after Zach’s call.
It was for the best. He was fucking fat.
He didn’t eat the mac and cheese that night. Or the next night. But some time later, he brought the empty tupperware to the office to give back to David.
“Did you like it?” he said.
“It was fine,” Brad replied tersely. David smiled.