Ordinary, chapter 32
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Ian prepares for death.
warnings: sadness and mild language.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty two
Ian was shaking as he sat in the usual cozy chair in Kris' office, nervous. His life was ending; he felt his body shutting down, his heart on its final beats. He had no idea how long it would be now, and he was not sure how much time he had left with the kind old man who stood at his desk at the other side of the room, quickly putting away papers in order to be with his young patient.
Kris came over and sat with the ailing young man, greeting him with a smile, that faded when he saw the fearful look on Ian's face. He sighed, discontented with seeing him in such a state. "What's wrong, my boy?" He felt sick for even asking the question. So much was wrong. The boy had cancer, less than a few weeks to live, and he hadn't even told his family. A life was falling apart in front of his eyes, and no matter how much he helped, he couldn't fix it.
"Kris, I don't know how much time I have." Ian said, only aware of his estimated time frame, to early July, and the date, June 25th, but of nothing else. "I don't want this to be goodbye."
"Ian." Kris leaned over in his chair, and touched the younger's sleeve. Even in the hot weather, Ian had taken to wearing hoodies when he was in public, his arms noticeably thin and pale. "I won't let this be our goodbye. So don't say it. Not yet. Just talk to me. How are you? How are you accepting this?"
Ian nodded, and smiled in gratitude, visibly relaxing. "I have regrets, you know, but overall, I'm at peace. I know I have to die, I've accepted it, so there's nothing I can do now."
"Regrets?" Kris removed his hand from Ian's arm to adjust his glasses. He gave Ian an encouraging look, and for a second, Ian was reminded of his therapy session the previous week, when he screamed at Kris, when he broke down and sobbed. A wave of guilt hit him, and he pushed it away.
"You know, the standard old man's regrets...looking back and wanting to say yes to more, to travel more, to do more. There were things I wanted to do, that I just didn't do. And I can't fix that now. I've accepted that though, I accepted that a while ago."
"There are some things you can do now, some you can fix." Kris said pointedly. "They might not seem big and important because they're not physically going out and having a huge adventure, but the actions you can take in the time you have left are still journeys."
"Yeah, I know, I'm almost done cleaning my house, preparing my family for life without me, so that's something I can do now." Ian nodded, though practically done cleaning. He knew the remainder of his time would be concentrated on making sure no one found out.
Kris sighed once more and thought for a moment. True, Ian could spend the rest of his time keeping up his act, but Kris was hoping he would instead realize it was time to tell his family. He looked up at the boy, who was examining the globe he always left on the table. Could he really say that Ian was making the wrong choice, when it wasn't clear if there was even a right and wrong choice in the situation?
Personally, if Kris were put in that situation at his current old age, he wouldn't tell anyone. But, should that have happened when he was Ian's age, he might've told. He probably would have. But they were two different people, and everyone had to treat their situations differently.
Many months ago, Kris bought yet another psychology textbook, one specializing in patients who knew they were dying, from cancer or another illness. Kris had studied that sort of thing in college, but he was on the hunt for one book that said it was alright for the patient not to tell his loved ones. He found none.
Every professional psychologist out there would want Kris to look at Ian, in the eyes, and ask him to at least consider telling his family, if not, command it. But Kris couldn't do that. He couldn't ask Ian to do that. He was too close to the boy for that.
"Ian. My boy." Kris said, and Ian looked up, directly into his eyes. "Even though this is the end, I want you to continue coming in every Monday, until your death. If that's one visit, or one million." The twinkle was present in his eyes, and he emulated a warm feeling of consolation.
Ian nodded, blue eyes on blue, and then suddenly broke down. He stared down into his lap as tears leaked from his eyes, and he quickly hid his face. This was the second week in a row he had cried like this in front of Kris, and not for a different reason. Last week, he was frustrated, and he was this week as well, but it was more than that. He was tired, he kept in his emotions all the time and couldn't hold it in anymore, needed to vent. He was scared of leaving his family, nervous about keeping his secret. Guilty for keeping it, paranoid he was making the wrong choice. Happy to have what he had, full of regret for things he'd never done. And relieved, so relieved, for Kris. For this father figure who helped him through it all.
And there he was, sitting in the chair he had learned to associate with warmth and care, and the accomplishment of discussing an issue and receiving love and attention, never fear or hate, and he was sobbing, because everything was happening so fast, so many different things, and he couldn't control any of it. He lost the chance to control when he permanently decided not to tell Anthony, and now he was just a victim, a victim of life and love and disease.
Kris was again stoic as his patient cried, and waited calmly as Ian regained control. Eyes red, body shaking, he looked up at his therapist, and unlike last week, gave a small smile, which was returned. "Thank you so much for being here for me, Kris." Ian finally said, voice rough. "I'll come back every Monday, I promise."
"I'm glad." Kris stated simply, and the pair settled into comfortable silence. But Kris was only glad that he had more time with Ian; not glad he was dying, or glad why he was there and had those sessions, or glad about any part of their situation. He was part of a sad friendship now, one where only the partner brought joy, not their standing or situation.
And as Ian left his office, Kris could barely feel that joy, as it had been for months, because the sadness that was death had hung around them like a poisonous cloud, choking its next victim, weakening those who surrounded, even those who did not know of its presence, but especially Kris, and even Marrow, who struggled to view the real world while trapped in that cloud with him.
***
Another mail time. It seemed the same, but it was still so different. They were opening huge amounts of mail in a desperate attempt by an ailing man to read it all before his death, to avoid giving his friend yet another burden. He was pale and thin and sick, yet he sat, pretending things were alright, as he opened fan mail with his best friend, the man he kept everything from as of late.
A lot of it was gone by then. Ian was hopeful they would finish it, but he couldn't be sure. Of anything. He couldn't even be sure that he would keep the secret until his death; on last Friday's video, at least a hundred people had commented on how bad Ian looked, how sick and frail and shaky, but they all thought it was low blood pressure. He was desperate that his friend would think it was the same, and luckily he did, but he was nervous all the same.
***
He spent the rest of the week as he had spent so much of his time, torturing himself by faking like it was all okay, then spending his moments alone ill or cleaning. He took a long time to make sure the house was perfectly clean, and on Wednesday, Ian found himself sitting in front of the desk in his computer room, staring blankly at the dark screen.
After a moment, he realized why he was in the room, and took a blank sheet of paper from the drawer. Grabbing a pen as well, he attempted his neatest handwriting, and wrote down every important pin, number, combination, or code he could think of. He then listed the password to his email address, his Facebook and Twitter accounts, which he did only incase he ended up not deleting them, and their Tumblr account, which he knew Anthony knew the password to, but left it just to be safe.
When this was done, he dropped the pen and leaned back in his chair, satisfied by his completed task, but not the reason it had to be completed. Nearly everything was in order, and Ian was almost ready to let go, despite not wanting to. But it wasn't something he could fight, it was nature, or God, or the universe. Whatever it was that gave Ian terminal cancer was a force humans could not fight, could not win against. So Ian accepted the loss without the battle.
***
When Anthony arrived the next day to film Lunchtime with Smosh, Ian was grateful that his friend showed only the average amount of concern. Anthony held the strained look on his face that was, unfortunately, getting more and more common when he wasn't filming. He relaxed, though, as Ian got the camera and they started filming.
"Hey guys, welcome to another Lunchtime with Smosh!" Ian said to the camera, struggling to smile. He was sick and tired, but he wanted to be there, so he kept going.
"So today, we're taking advantage of the weather out there." Anthony pointed out the window, where the sun was shining in a sky void of clouds, the grass green and healthy, and the insects were buzzing and showing off how much life there was during Summer in California.
"Gorgeous." Ian said about the weather, yet an image of Anthony flashed behind his eyes. He shook himself. It was too late for that now, too late for everything.
"Flawless." Anthony added with a smile.
"Picturesque." Ian said, and Anthony pointed at him, impressed, before addressing the camera once more.
"Anyway, we're gonna grill some hot dogs, but because we're the healthiest bastards alive, we're making some tofu hot dogs."
"I highly doubt we're the healthiest bastards alive." Ian snorted from behind him.
"Really? I thought my years of not exercising and eating tons of junk food made me super healthy." Anthony joked. "Come on, let's get those hot dogs."
He went to the fridge and pulled out a pack of tofu dogs, while Ian went to the cabinet to pull out some whole wheat buns, stomach twisting. The pain very rarely stopped now, even when he took his Demerol, so he had to get used to the burning and cramping.
"Outsiiiiiide!" Anthony yelled, and danced his way out the door. Ian laughed and followed him, filming as Anthony placed the package of hot dogs on the ledge next to the grill and began a foolish dance, what could pass as a failed Dougie.
The pair laughed, and Anthony suddenly grabbed Ian, camera still in hand, and danced with him around the yard, giggling. Anthony had one hand entwined in his, and the other on his side. Ian's giggling was nervous, as he was afraid Anthony would feel his ribs through his shirt, but still enjoyed the dance. Anthony, naïve, merely twirled his friend around, not noticing his fears and pains, then laughed as they started a tango along the garden, which was not in as fine condition as when Ian was able to take care of it.
There was a moment of something that felt like silence, but it wasn't. They could hear their giggles, their short breath, the light wind ruffling the leaves around them. They could hear the neighbor's wind chimes and kids playing down the street. They could hear grass being pressed beneath their shoes, bugs buzzing around them, birds wings in the air, their own contented sighs. Ian realized it wasn't silence; for the first time in so long, it was peace. Utter peace.
And then it was over. They untangled their hands, and Anthony let go of his back. The giggles subsided as Anthony walked back to the grill and turned it on.
"Excellent dance moves. Can you grab some plates and the tongs?" Anthony asked, making the motion of using tongs with his hand.
"Sure. Be careful, I think you're turning into a crab." He pointed at Anthony's hand, and the friend looked panicked.
"Water! I need to live in water!" He made several choking sounds and fell over. Ian stared at him for a moment, then headed inside.
"Aren't you guys glad I'm filming this? Me getting some plates, this is honestly the most interesting thing we've ever done on this show." Ian said lightly to the camera in his hand as he retrieved some paper plates from the cabinet. He grabbed his bottle of water and returned to Anthony outside, who was still lying on the ground, hands around his neck as though suffocated.
"Here's your water, Ant." Ian said, untwisting the cap of his water bottle and making as if he was about to pour water on his friend.
"No, no, no, no." Anthony stood up in a rush, and they both laughed lightly.
"Take your tongs."
"I'm taking my tongs."
"Go grill some wieners."
"I vill grill zese vieners." Anthony said in an accent, placing his tongs on the ledge beside the grill and opening the package of hot dogs.
"Yes, ve all love ze wieners." Ian played along. "Despite not buying zem from the usual viener place."
"Who needs zeir wieners, ve can have our own vieners." Anthony placed three hot dogs on the grill, and licked his lips at the camera.
"I love my own viener." Ian smiled, and Anthony laughed.
Anthony spent the next few minutes talking amiably to the camera, but Ian didn't pay attention. He stared at his friend's tall, slim figure, then down at his own weak frame. He figured by then Anthony must've noticed the weight loss, but just didn't see how severe it really was. Anthony had always been like that; caring, but not knowing the extremity of a situation until it was too late. For this, Ian supposed he ought to have been thankful, because his friend would have surely figured it out a long time ago.
"Ian, would you like your bun toasted?" Anthony asked him, interrupting his pondering. Ian nodded, and Anthony put a hot dog bun on the grill, next to Ian's single hot dog. Ian knew that Anthony was at least aware of Ian's sickness, for he had given his friend only one hot dog without asking if he wanted another. He knew about the change in diet and the weight loss, but figured it wasn't serious, and just a result of low blood pressure.
"Alright, time for plates." Anthony spoke again, and put the hot dogs on their plates. He turned off the grill, and grabbed the tongs and the camera from Ian, while Ian took everything else, and they went back inside. Ian set the plates and his water on the table and put the hot dog buns in the cabinet, and the rest of the hot dogs in the fridge.
"Don't forget our ensalada." Anthony said from the sink, where he was speaking to the camera while washing the tongs. Ian nodded and grabbed the bag from the fridge, opening it and pouring some on both of their plates.
"Hot dogs and salad? This looks familiar." Ian commented as he put the salad away and took a can of soda for his friend.
"Aw yeah, hot dog salad." Anthony said as the pair sat down.
They both laughed comfortably, then fell silent for a moment. "Who needs Vidcon." Anthony said softly after the little silence, and they shared a friendly smile, before Anthony spoke in a normal volume to the camera once again, and Ian was left with the slight guilt of not attending the last Vidcon he would ever live to see.
Some similarities remained from when they had started Lunchtime with Smosh so long ago. It was still two friends, laughing and eating, answering questions as they joked. But Ian had gone from loud and always eating, to quiet and thin, having to force himself to eat. Anthony had gone from average volume to loud just to make up for his friend's silence. One friend went from healthy to ill, the other from happy to strained with his worry. Lunchtime with Smosh was changing now, falling apart now, and would soon be completed. Finished. But not entirely gone; the memory of it would last forever.
"Now that our food is complete," Ian began as Anthony laughed across from him. "what would you rate it, Ant?"
"I would rate this wonderful meal one hundred hot dog salads out of one hundred. But I would rate Ian's dancing zero out of one hundred."
Ian faked a hurt look, then turned and gave the camera a small smile. "See you next Thursday, bitch!"
Lunchtime with Smosh ended, and Anthony left, and Ian was left all alone for the day, only able to ponder on the last thing he said to the camera. He hoped his words rang true.
warnings: sadness and mild language.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty two
Ian was shaking as he sat in the usual cozy chair in Kris' office, nervous. His life was ending; he felt his body shutting down, his heart on its final beats. He had no idea how long it would be now, and he was not sure how much time he had left with the kind old man who stood at his desk at the other side of the room, quickly putting away papers in order to be with his young patient.
Kris came over and sat with the ailing young man, greeting him with a smile, that faded when he saw the fearful look on Ian's face. He sighed, discontented with seeing him in such a state. "What's wrong, my boy?" He felt sick for even asking the question. So much was wrong. The boy had cancer, less than a few weeks to live, and he hadn't even told his family. A life was falling apart in front of his eyes, and no matter how much he helped, he couldn't fix it.
"Kris, I don't know how much time I have." Ian said, only aware of his estimated time frame, to early July, and the date, June 25th, but of nothing else. "I don't want this to be goodbye."
"Ian." Kris leaned over in his chair, and touched the younger's sleeve. Even in the hot weather, Ian had taken to wearing hoodies when he was in public, his arms noticeably thin and pale. "I won't let this be our goodbye. So don't say it. Not yet. Just talk to me. How are you? How are you accepting this?"
Ian nodded, and smiled in gratitude, visibly relaxing. "I have regrets, you know, but overall, I'm at peace. I know I have to die, I've accepted it, so there's nothing I can do now."
"Regrets?" Kris removed his hand from Ian's arm to adjust his glasses. He gave Ian an encouraging look, and for a second, Ian was reminded of his therapy session the previous week, when he screamed at Kris, when he broke down and sobbed. A wave of guilt hit him, and he pushed it away.
"You know, the standard old man's regrets...looking back and wanting to say yes to more, to travel more, to do more. There were things I wanted to do, that I just didn't do. And I can't fix that now. I've accepted that though, I accepted that a while ago."
"There are some things you can do now, some you can fix." Kris said pointedly. "They might not seem big and important because they're not physically going out and having a huge adventure, but the actions you can take in the time you have left are still journeys."
"Yeah, I know, I'm almost done cleaning my house, preparing my family for life without me, so that's something I can do now." Ian nodded, though practically done cleaning. He knew the remainder of his time would be concentrated on making sure no one found out.
Kris sighed once more and thought for a moment. True, Ian could spend the rest of his time keeping up his act, but Kris was hoping he would instead realize it was time to tell his family. He looked up at the boy, who was examining the globe he always left on the table. Could he really say that Ian was making the wrong choice, when it wasn't clear if there was even a right and wrong choice in the situation?
Personally, if Kris were put in that situation at his current old age, he wouldn't tell anyone. But, should that have happened when he was Ian's age, he might've told. He probably would have. But they were two different people, and everyone had to treat their situations differently.
Many months ago, Kris bought yet another psychology textbook, one specializing in patients who knew they were dying, from cancer or another illness. Kris had studied that sort of thing in college, but he was on the hunt for one book that said it was alright for the patient not to tell his loved ones. He found none.
Every professional psychologist out there would want Kris to look at Ian, in the eyes, and ask him to at least consider telling his family, if not, command it. But Kris couldn't do that. He couldn't ask Ian to do that. He was too close to the boy for that.
"Ian. My boy." Kris said, and Ian looked up, directly into his eyes. "Even though this is the end, I want you to continue coming in every Monday, until your death. If that's one visit, or one million." The twinkle was present in his eyes, and he emulated a warm feeling of consolation.
Ian nodded, blue eyes on blue, and then suddenly broke down. He stared down into his lap as tears leaked from his eyes, and he quickly hid his face. This was the second week in a row he had cried like this in front of Kris, and not for a different reason. Last week, he was frustrated, and he was this week as well, but it was more than that. He was tired, he kept in his emotions all the time and couldn't hold it in anymore, needed to vent. He was scared of leaving his family, nervous about keeping his secret. Guilty for keeping it, paranoid he was making the wrong choice. Happy to have what he had, full of regret for things he'd never done. And relieved, so relieved, for Kris. For this father figure who helped him through it all.
And there he was, sitting in the chair he had learned to associate with warmth and care, and the accomplishment of discussing an issue and receiving love and attention, never fear or hate, and he was sobbing, because everything was happening so fast, so many different things, and he couldn't control any of it. He lost the chance to control when he permanently decided not to tell Anthony, and now he was just a victim, a victim of life and love and disease.
Kris was again stoic as his patient cried, and waited calmly as Ian regained control. Eyes red, body shaking, he looked up at his therapist, and unlike last week, gave a small smile, which was returned. "Thank you so much for being here for me, Kris." Ian finally said, voice rough. "I'll come back every Monday, I promise."
"I'm glad." Kris stated simply, and the pair settled into comfortable silence. But Kris was only glad that he had more time with Ian; not glad he was dying, or glad why he was there and had those sessions, or glad about any part of their situation. He was part of a sad friendship now, one where only the partner brought joy, not their standing or situation.
And as Ian left his office, Kris could barely feel that joy, as it had been for months, because the sadness that was death had hung around them like a poisonous cloud, choking its next victim, weakening those who surrounded, even those who did not know of its presence, but especially Kris, and even Marrow, who struggled to view the real world while trapped in that cloud with him.
***
Another mail time. It seemed the same, but it was still so different. They were opening huge amounts of mail in a desperate attempt by an ailing man to read it all before his death, to avoid giving his friend yet another burden. He was pale and thin and sick, yet he sat, pretending things were alright, as he opened fan mail with his best friend, the man he kept everything from as of late.
A lot of it was gone by then. Ian was hopeful they would finish it, but he couldn't be sure. Of anything. He couldn't even be sure that he would keep the secret until his death; on last Friday's video, at least a hundred people had commented on how bad Ian looked, how sick and frail and shaky, but they all thought it was low blood pressure. He was desperate that his friend would think it was the same, and luckily he did, but he was nervous all the same.
***
He spent the rest of the week as he had spent so much of his time, torturing himself by faking like it was all okay, then spending his moments alone ill or cleaning. He took a long time to make sure the house was perfectly clean, and on Wednesday, Ian found himself sitting in front of the desk in his computer room, staring blankly at the dark screen.
After a moment, he realized why he was in the room, and took a blank sheet of paper from the drawer. Grabbing a pen as well, he attempted his neatest handwriting, and wrote down every important pin, number, combination, or code he could think of. He then listed the password to his email address, his Facebook and Twitter accounts, which he did only incase he ended up not deleting them, and their Tumblr account, which he knew Anthony knew the password to, but left it just to be safe.
When this was done, he dropped the pen and leaned back in his chair, satisfied by his completed task, but not the reason it had to be completed. Nearly everything was in order, and Ian was almost ready to let go, despite not wanting to. But it wasn't something he could fight, it was nature, or God, or the universe. Whatever it was that gave Ian terminal cancer was a force humans could not fight, could not win against. So Ian accepted the loss without the battle.
***
When Anthony arrived the next day to film Lunchtime with Smosh, Ian was grateful that his friend showed only the average amount of concern. Anthony held the strained look on his face that was, unfortunately, getting more and more common when he wasn't filming. He relaxed, though, as Ian got the camera and they started filming.
"Hey guys, welcome to another Lunchtime with Smosh!" Ian said to the camera, struggling to smile. He was sick and tired, but he wanted to be there, so he kept going.
"So today, we're taking advantage of the weather out there." Anthony pointed out the window, where the sun was shining in a sky void of clouds, the grass green and healthy, and the insects were buzzing and showing off how much life there was during Summer in California.
"Gorgeous." Ian said about the weather, yet an image of Anthony flashed behind his eyes. He shook himself. It was too late for that now, too late for everything.
"Flawless." Anthony added with a smile.
"Picturesque." Ian said, and Anthony pointed at him, impressed, before addressing the camera once more.
"Anyway, we're gonna grill some hot dogs, but because we're the healthiest bastards alive, we're making some tofu hot dogs."
"I highly doubt we're the healthiest bastards alive." Ian snorted from behind him.
"Really? I thought my years of not exercising and eating tons of junk food made me super healthy." Anthony joked. "Come on, let's get those hot dogs."
He went to the fridge and pulled out a pack of tofu dogs, while Ian went to the cabinet to pull out some whole wheat buns, stomach twisting. The pain very rarely stopped now, even when he took his Demerol, so he had to get used to the burning and cramping.
"Outsiiiiiide!" Anthony yelled, and danced his way out the door. Ian laughed and followed him, filming as Anthony placed the package of hot dogs on the ledge next to the grill and began a foolish dance, what could pass as a failed Dougie.
The pair laughed, and Anthony suddenly grabbed Ian, camera still in hand, and danced with him around the yard, giggling. Anthony had one hand entwined in his, and the other on his side. Ian's giggling was nervous, as he was afraid Anthony would feel his ribs through his shirt, but still enjoyed the dance. Anthony, naïve, merely twirled his friend around, not noticing his fears and pains, then laughed as they started a tango along the garden, which was not in as fine condition as when Ian was able to take care of it.
There was a moment of something that felt like silence, but it wasn't. They could hear their giggles, their short breath, the light wind ruffling the leaves around them. They could hear the neighbor's wind chimes and kids playing down the street. They could hear grass being pressed beneath their shoes, bugs buzzing around them, birds wings in the air, their own contented sighs. Ian realized it wasn't silence; for the first time in so long, it was peace. Utter peace.
And then it was over. They untangled their hands, and Anthony let go of his back. The giggles subsided as Anthony walked back to the grill and turned it on.
"Excellent dance moves. Can you grab some plates and the tongs?" Anthony asked, making the motion of using tongs with his hand.
"Sure. Be careful, I think you're turning into a crab." He pointed at Anthony's hand, and the friend looked panicked.
"Water! I need to live in water!" He made several choking sounds and fell over. Ian stared at him for a moment, then headed inside.
"Aren't you guys glad I'm filming this? Me getting some plates, this is honestly the most interesting thing we've ever done on this show." Ian said lightly to the camera in his hand as he retrieved some paper plates from the cabinet. He grabbed his bottle of water and returned to Anthony outside, who was still lying on the ground, hands around his neck as though suffocated.
"Here's your water, Ant." Ian said, untwisting the cap of his water bottle and making as if he was about to pour water on his friend.
"No, no, no, no." Anthony stood up in a rush, and they both laughed lightly.
"Take your tongs."
"I'm taking my tongs."
"Go grill some wieners."
"I vill grill zese vieners." Anthony said in an accent, placing his tongs on the ledge beside the grill and opening the package of hot dogs.
"Yes, ve all love ze wieners." Ian played along. "Despite not buying zem from the usual viener place."
"Who needs zeir wieners, ve can have our own vieners." Anthony placed three hot dogs on the grill, and licked his lips at the camera.
"I love my own viener." Ian smiled, and Anthony laughed.
Anthony spent the next few minutes talking amiably to the camera, but Ian didn't pay attention. He stared at his friend's tall, slim figure, then down at his own weak frame. He figured by then Anthony must've noticed the weight loss, but just didn't see how severe it really was. Anthony had always been like that; caring, but not knowing the extremity of a situation until it was too late. For this, Ian supposed he ought to have been thankful, because his friend would have surely figured it out a long time ago.
"Ian, would you like your bun toasted?" Anthony asked him, interrupting his pondering. Ian nodded, and Anthony put a hot dog bun on the grill, next to Ian's single hot dog. Ian knew that Anthony was at least aware of Ian's sickness, for he had given his friend only one hot dog without asking if he wanted another. He knew about the change in diet and the weight loss, but figured it wasn't serious, and just a result of low blood pressure.
"Alright, time for plates." Anthony spoke again, and put the hot dogs on their plates. He turned off the grill, and grabbed the tongs and the camera from Ian, while Ian took everything else, and they went back inside. Ian set the plates and his water on the table and put the hot dog buns in the cabinet, and the rest of the hot dogs in the fridge.
"Don't forget our ensalada." Anthony said from the sink, where he was speaking to the camera while washing the tongs. Ian nodded and grabbed the bag from the fridge, opening it and pouring some on both of their plates.
"Hot dogs and salad? This looks familiar." Ian commented as he put the salad away and took a can of soda for his friend.
"Aw yeah, hot dog salad." Anthony said as the pair sat down.
They both laughed comfortably, then fell silent for a moment. "Who needs Vidcon." Anthony said softly after the little silence, and they shared a friendly smile, before Anthony spoke in a normal volume to the camera once again, and Ian was left with the slight guilt of not attending the last Vidcon he would ever live to see.
Some similarities remained from when they had started Lunchtime with Smosh so long ago. It was still two friends, laughing and eating, answering questions as they joked. But Ian had gone from loud and always eating, to quiet and thin, having to force himself to eat. Anthony had gone from average volume to loud just to make up for his friend's silence. One friend went from healthy to ill, the other from happy to strained with his worry. Lunchtime with Smosh was changing now, falling apart now, and would soon be completed. Finished. But not entirely gone; the memory of it would last forever.
"Now that our food is complete," Ian began as Anthony laughed across from him. "what would you rate it, Ant?"
"I would rate this wonderful meal one hundred hot dog salads out of one hundred. But I would rate Ian's dancing zero out of one hundred."
Ian faked a hurt look, then turned and gave the camera a small smile. "See you next Thursday, bitch!"
Lunchtime with Smosh ended, and Anthony left, and Ian was left all alone for the day, only able to ponder on the last thing he said to the camera. He hoped his words rang true.