Waiting
summary: Anthony is in a car crash, and Ian is waiting for him. Set back in 2008.
warnings: foul language, severely injured character
rating: pg-13
genre: hurt/comfort
pairing: Ianthony
A/N: This is inspired by Anthony's actual car crash in 2008, but this isn't what really happened. I'm pretty sure Anthony wasn't hurt at all back in the real crash, which is good.
Set in 2008.
It was an ordinary day for Ian Hecox, the most standard and average day of all time. He was home editing, and Anthony had just went out to get some milk. It was raining out, not the lovely, comforting rain, but the disgusting kind of rain that makes you want to hide indoors and never come out.
He was at his computer, editing for nearly an hour, when he heard his phone ring, sitting on the dresser in his bedroom. With a sigh, he walked over to the other room, and stared at the unfamiliar number on his screen before picking it up.
"Hello?" He asked casually.
"Good afternoon, is this Ian Hecox?" A woman said on the other end of the line, and Ian was instantly curious.
"Yeah, who's this?" Ian responded.
"My name is Nurse Anna Penton of San Diego General Hospital. Do you know a man named Anthony Padilla?" She asked, and Ian felt his blood run cold.
Right away, he became on edge, the knowledge that something was wrong slamming into him with unexpected force. The world around him became hazy, and he could only focus on that one phone call, that one woman, and Anthony's fate. Their next words rang in his ears.
"What's wrong?" He asked in a low voice.
"Mr. Padilla is in the emergency ward for severe head and neck trauma. He was in a car accident, sir." Her voice was monotone, almost uncaring in attempt not to lose her mind at the tragedy she saw daily.
Ian felt the world collapse around him. He swayed and almost fainted in shock, temporarily losing sight of his surroundings. Her words repeated over and over again in his ears, a broken record in his brain that hurt and terrified him more than anything else in this world. He was plunged into a cold world of panic and confusion, his emotions matching the turbulent weather outside. The next word he said emanated this.
"What?" He questioned in a hoarse whisper.
"He's in critical condition, Mr. Hecox." The woman said, voice somber, expecting death, for she had seen it so often within that white building.
Ian felt his bottom lip tremble, and he hung up on the woman, unable to hear any more. Weak, he fell onto his knees, his phone slipping through his hand, forgotten. A sob ripped through him, and he held his hands over his face, fighting back tears.
"No." He said, the only thing he could say, voice shaking. He broke, and shuddered as he sat on the carpet, sobbing heavily. His friend was in critical condition. Dying. He needed to be with him, needed to help somehow.
After a minute of just crying, he realized what he needed to do. Determined, he stood, legs shaking, and picked up his phone. Wiping the tears from his face, he left his bedroom and walked to the kitchen, only stopping to grab his wallet and keys from the counter before going to the garage. Getting into his car, he drove slightly too quickly as the tears began to fall down his face once more.
He needed to get to Anthony, as soon as possible. He needed him to be safe, he needed things to be okay. Out there, driving in the miserable rain, he thought of his friend, his life with him. Vivid memories of meeting him and befriending him flashed through his mind, worsening his tears. They slid down his face faster, but he did not wail again.
He wanted to speed to the hospital, to rush as fast as he could to Anthony, but the rain, like a gift from an angry god, caused traffic, and Ian found himself sitting in it, knuckles white from clenching the wheel. He was nervous, scared, and upset, all the while shaking as he attempted to hold back tears, but he was under control. He kept himself sane, just for a moment, for Anthony.
It was too long a drive, but he eventually found himself at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot and wiping his tears away. He wanted to be strong going in, because he knew that Anthony wasn't.
With a deep breath, he left his car and walked into the main doors, blocking out his hatred of hospitals so he could stand being in the horrid place. He rushed over to the receptionist's desk, the smell of disinfectant already burning his nostrils.
"Hi, I'm here to see Anthony Padilla." He said to the receptionist, a nice looking young woman. She nodded and typed his name into her computer, then paused.
"I'm afraid Mr. Padilla is unavailable for visitors right now." She said calmly, but Ian was shocked and angry.
"What do you mean, 'unavailable for visitors?'" He asked, and could hear his inner panic coming through in his slightly-too-loud voice.
"Mr. Padilla is in critical condition in the emergency ward-"
"I know that." He said angrily, cutting her off. "The nurse who called me told me that, you're telling me what I already know. Why can't I see him?"
"Doctors are still working on him, sir. He's in surgery." The receptionist said, seeing how nervous he was and trying to calm him down.
"Okay." Ian responded, taking a deep breath in attempt to be less tense. "When does he get out of surgery?"
"I don't know, but you can't see him right afterwards, not until he's been given a room and declared stable." She replied, with a look of pity on her face that angered Ian enough to make him want to hit her. He was here for help, here for his friend, not here for pity.
"Whatever." He said in a low, angry tone, and walked to the main hall.
"Sir, you'll need to wait-"
"No, I'm seeing my friend right now, thanks!" Ian yelled behind his shoulder to the woman, who, unseen to him, had a look of panic on her face.
"Sir!" She called out, standing up at her desk, but he kept walking. A security guard at the entrance of the hallway noticed the commotion, and quickly side stepped to stand in front of Ian, putting his hand out as if preparing to restrain him. Ian attempted to walk around him, but he kept moving in his way, not letting him through.
"Sir, I'm afraid you can't go in just yet." The guard said politely, but his face was slightly red with the effort of stopping this furious young man from going further into the hospital.
"I have to see my friend!" Ian yelled, then shoved the guard. Another guard at the other end of the hallway saw what was happening and ran over, helping the first get Ian away from the section of the hospital filled with patients.
Ian attempted to push through them both, and they pushed back, reaching out to grab at his arms and wrists to try and restrain him. Every time they did so, they were forced violently away, and for a minute, they acted as a brick wall, a barricade between Ian and his severely injured friend.
Ian wasn't trying to hurt them. He never kicked, he never threw a punch. He didn't want to cause the men pain, they were just doing their job. All he wanted to do was see Anthony. To be with him. To hope for his safety and protect him in his time of need. So he pushed. And he screamed.
"Let me see him! Let me see my friend!" His voice had never been so angry.
"Sir, you cannot-"
"I just wanna be with him!" His voice was hoarse and cracking.
"I'm afraid we must-"
"Please, please!" His screams were the loudest they'd ever been. "I can't- I need to see him- if he- if he dies, Jesus."
His screaming had turned to pleading, and he had dissolved into tears once more. He stopped fighting the guards halting his forward progression, and instead leaned into the original guard, holding the front of his uniform tightly in his grip as he shook with tears. He hadn't collapsed onto the man, and was only clinging weakly, face red as he bent, crying.
The original guard, old and sympathetic, paused and let the younger man cry for a moment, used to seeing such anguish in this place of pain and death. The younger, in his forties, did the same, and for a moment, they could only watch the man break down.
"I'm sorry, sir. But you'll have to wait before you see your friend." The older man said at last, his voice polite once again.
Ian sniffed and wiped a hand across his cheek, brushing away some of the tears that sat upon it. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the waiting room staring at him, awkwardly nervous, and humiliation rose within him. He realized how loud he was, and how much attention he had brought to himself, and decided to, for now, give up on trying to get in. He would wait for his friend.
He nodded stiffly, then turned wordlessly and walked to the far corner of the waiting room, retiring to one of the many empty chairs. The guards, still eyeing him suspiciously, returned to their posts, and the people who had been staring at him gradually looked away. Now he could only wait.
He sat still, staring at the ground, while his mind raced, trying to gather what little information it had. He wondered what caused the crash, and highly suspected the dreaded rain to be mostly at fault. He wondered what Anthony felt, or if he even knew what was happening.
He couldn't imagine the scene. He didn't want to. He pushed awful thoughts of crunching bone and metal from his mind, convinced they would poison him with fear and anguish and start his tears anew. As he sat there, he was grateful he wasn't in the car with Anthony: not only because he didn't want to be physically hurt, but because he couldn't bear the thought of being next to Anthony when it happened, of seeing his greatest friend so battered.
He felt guilty, too. So guilty. When Anthony said he wanted to go out and get some milk, he should've volunteered to go instead of staying home editing. He just didn't want to go out in the rain.
The next time Ian moved, it was to check the time on his phone. It was half past six, which meant that Nurse Penton informed Ian of the crash about three hours previous. And he was still waiting. He heard the rain still fall outside the window behind him, and knew that, if the sky was clear, the sun would be setting. And he was still waiting.
As the night moved on, he sat still in his chair, waiting. He heard the rain progress, changing and becoming all different types of rainstorm. The water fell slowly, in fat drops, then thick and heavy like thrown baseballs. Then came the thunder and lightning, then the drops became small but still speeding, like icy pins and needles. Then the water wasn't falling down, but moving slowly, as if floating through the air, sticky and thick in your lungs.
At some point, Ian considered calling Anthony's mother, but he knew he could not. He would only break down again, and besides, he had no answers for her. He knew nothing, except that Anthony was in a car accident. He would not torment the poor man's mother with such little information, and vowed to call her when he would finally be able to see his friend.
It was a very long time before the rain was all on the ground, and the clouds were dissipating. At this point, the sun peaked out, and Ian realized that it was rising. He had been waiting in that hospital for over twelve hours. Waiting for Anthony.
He recalled the last time he slept, almost delirious with lack of it. He was in a thick, dreamless sleep, the good, restful kind, when his alarm went off, and he got up to clouds and an average day, an average day improved by the presence of his best friend. Now, almost a full day later, he was waiting to see if this friend was alright, or if he was even alive. Funny, how quickly things change.
He was tired, sad, scared, angry, guilty, nervous, and waiting. And at last, a nurse came down the hallway, and he was done waiting.
"Mr. Hecox?" A woman in her thirties called out into the waiting room, where sat a very small amount of people. Ian looked at the tired woman in a nurse's uniform, and stood up. She noticed, and nodded with a small smile. "Mr. Padilla is in stable condition, and you may see him now."
Ian could not remember ever feeling so much relief and apprehension at once. He could see Anthony, yes, but he had no idea how he was, or how he could help him. He stretched and followed the nurse down the hall and to the right, feeling his worry increase with each step. And then she led him to an open doorway, and he peered inside, and there was his Anthony.
He was sitting up in his bed in a paper dressing gown, some bandages on his shoulder and Band-Aids on his arms, with bruises and scratches on his jaw and neck. His messy hair was half concealed with a bandage, carefully wrapped around his head, and he was hooked up to a machine that beeped in time with his heartbeats.
And when he looked up at Ian, he gave him the biggest, brightest smile he had ever seen on his friend, and the beeping on the machine sped up tremendously, and Ian didn't even notice that because he was far too busy yelling Anthony's name and running towards him, grabbing him, kissing him with surprising ferocity as Anthony kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him closer to him than he'd ever been with anyone, the cold of the hospital finally fading with the heat created between their bodies. And there they were, Ian on top of Anthony and his hospital bed, still being careful despite the heavy kisses, finally done waiting.
Their entire torsos were touching, pressed together with the absolute need to be closer, their hands grabbing at each other's clothes and hair, their lips pressing hard against each other as two pairs of lungs struggled with hot, heavy breaths. They were both crying, tears streaming down their faces, but both were smiling through their kisses. Ian wondered, briefly, if the nurse who escorted him here had departed, but found it hard to care when his Anthony was holding him and kissing him, and he could hear his heartbeat race with excitement. And for one moment, they didn't care about safety, or hospitals, or rain, or waiting, because they had what they needed. They had their tight grip on each other.
And then, of course, they cared again, and through kisses and tears, Ian could hear Anthony explaining what happened, a grimace of pain, worry, and fear on his face that Ian couldn't quite see because he was a bit preoccupied with crying and kissing as well.
"I bought the milk-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I was coming home-"
Stop for a kiss.
"All the rain-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I lost control of the car-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I hit a road barrier-"
"Shut up." Ian said, not wanting to know the rest, only wanting to kiss Anthony forever, and keep that tight grip on him forever.
"I'm sorry." Anthony said, and they were both crying almost to hard for words.
"Don't be." Ian replied simply.
"But-"
"Don't be."
Because he wasn't. He wasn't sorry for all his waiting and all his crying and all his kissing, so Anthony didn't have to be sorry for doing the same. Waiting, crying, kissing.
And that's what they did for a few minutes, holding each other as tight as they could, each losing the feeling in their fingers as they held on and sobbed, and kissed, and sobbed some more. In those moments, they were closer than they'd ever been with anyone, literally and spiritually. In those moments, they felt all the pain and love that was perfection.
After that time had passed, after Anthony's heartbeat slowed down to just slightly faster than normal, Ian leaned his head against Anthony's unbandaged shoulder, the exhaustion finally getting to him. Anthony, also tired, kissed his head, still holding him tightly.
"We kissed." Anthony said quietly in Ian's ear.
"We did." Ian replied softly, eyes closed with a little smile on his face.
"Now what?" Anthony mumbled, lips lightly touching Ian's skin.
"Scoot over." Ian replied, and Anthony did so. He lifted himself from Anthony, and they untangled their arms, until Ian got himself onto the little bit of the bed Anthony wasn't occupying. The bed wasn't meant for two, but neither complained, lying close to each other and relishing the other's warmth.
"When we get you out of here, we're gonna go home, and make a little, light-hearted video about your car, and then we can remember it and move on." Ian mumbled, fighting sleep.
"And as for those kisses?" Anthony mumbled back, barely containing a yawn. Ian reached over and grabbed his hand, too tired to realize how foreign it felt to hold Anthony's hand, foreign but oddly comforting.
"We'll do what you want about that." Ian whispered, and the promise of a continuation hung in the air.
"Ian." Anthony whispered as his friend almost fell asleep right next to him.
"Hm?" He gave a tired reply.
"The backseat's probably covered in milk."
Ian gave a little snort of laughter, then fell asleep, Anthony quickly doing the same. Together, stuffed into that tiny bed, in that cold white hospital room, with the sun shining in through the window, they were done waiting.
***
Almost two weeks later, Ian stood in front of Anthony and his car, which was smashed in the front, and smelt very strongly of spoiled milk. He held a camera in his hand, and smiled at his friend-turned-boyfriend, who looked slightly nervous, but mostly gleeful, at what he was about to do. Ian switched on the camera, and Anthony became serious, staring at his car for a minute. Then, he yelled as loudly as he could.
"FUCK!" He screamed, and they both held back laughter as Ian shut off the camera and they ran into the house as fast as they could, before their neighbors could run out and scream at them.
Later, a tow truck came, and took the car away, but they weren't watching. They were too busy lying in bed together, giggling and whispering, closer than any two humans on Earth, holding each other as tight as possible. And from then on, whenever it rained, they either stayed home under the covers, or they drove through the storms, together.
warnings: foul language, severely injured character
rating: pg-13
genre: hurt/comfort
pairing: Ianthony
A/N: This is inspired by Anthony's actual car crash in 2008, but this isn't what really happened. I'm pretty sure Anthony wasn't hurt at all back in the real crash, which is good.
Set in 2008.
It was an ordinary day for Ian Hecox, the most standard and average day of all time. He was home editing, and Anthony had just went out to get some milk. It was raining out, not the lovely, comforting rain, but the disgusting kind of rain that makes you want to hide indoors and never come out.
He was at his computer, editing for nearly an hour, when he heard his phone ring, sitting on the dresser in his bedroom. With a sigh, he walked over to the other room, and stared at the unfamiliar number on his screen before picking it up.
"Hello?" He asked casually.
"Good afternoon, is this Ian Hecox?" A woman said on the other end of the line, and Ian was instantly curious.
"Yeah, who's this?" Ian responded.
"My name is Nurse Anna Penton of San Diego General Hospital. Do you know a man named Anthony Padilla?" She asked, and Ian felt his blood run cold.
Right away, he became on edge, the knowledge that something was wrong slamming into him with unexpected force. The world around him became hazy, and he could only focus on that one phone call, that one woman, and Anthony's fate. Their next words rang in his ears.
"What's wrong?" He asked in a low voice.
"Mr. Padilla is in the emergency ward for severe head and neck trauma. He was in a car accident, sir." Her voice was monotone, almost uncaring in attempt not to lose her mind at the tragedy she saw daily.
Ian felt the world collapse around him. He swayed and almost fainted in shock, temporarily losing sight of his surroundings. Her words repeated over and over again in his ears, a broken record in his brain that hurt and terrified him more than anything else in this world. He was plunged into a cold world of panic and confusion, his emotions matching the turbulent weather outside. The next word he said emanated this.
"What?" He questioned in a hoarse whisper.
"He's in critical condition, Mr. Hecox." The woman said, voice somber, expecting death, for she had seen it so often within that white building.
Ian felt his bottom lip tremble, and he hung up on the woman, unable to hear any more. Weak, he fell onto his knees, his phone slipping through his hand, forgotten. A sob ripped through him, and he held his hands over his face, fighting back tears.
"No." He said, the only thing he could say, voice shaking. He broke, and shuddered as he sat on the carpet, sobbing heavily. His friend was in critical condition. Dying. He needed to be with him, needed to help somehow.
After a minute of just crying, he realized what he needed to do. Determined, he stood, legs shaking, and picked up his phone. Wiping the tears from his face, he left his bedroom and walked to the kitchen, only stopping to grab his wallet and keys from the counter before going to the garage. Getting into his car, he drove slightly too quickly as the tears began to fall down his face once more.
He needed to get to Anthony, as soon as possible. He needed him to be safe, he needed things to be okay. Out there, driving in the miserable rain, he thought of his friend, his life with him. Vivid memories of meeting him and befriending him flashed through his mind, worsening his tears. They slid down his face faster, but he did not wail again.
He wanted to speed to the hospital, to rush as fast as he could to Anthony, but the rain, like a gift from an angry god, caused traffic, and Ian found himself sitting in it, knuckles white from clenching the wheel. He was nervous, scared, and upset, all the while shaking as he attempted to hold back tears, but he was under control. He kept himself sane, just for a moment, for Anthony.
It was too long a drive, but he eventually found himself at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot and wiping his tears away. He wanted to be strong going in, because he knew that Anthony wasn't.
With a deep breath, he left his car and walked into the main doors, blocking out his hatred of hospitals so he could stand being in the horrid place. He rushed over to the receptionist's desk, the smell of disinfectant already burning his nostrils.
"Hi, I'm here to see Anthony Padilla." He said to the receptionist, a nice looking young woman. She nodded and typed his name into her computer, then paused.
"I'm afraid Mr. Padilla is unavailable for visitors right now." She said calmly, but Ian was shocked and angry.
"What do you mean, 'unavailable for visitors?'" He asked, and could hear his inner panic coming through in his slightly-too-loud voice.
"Mr. Padilla is in critical condition in the emergency ward-"
"I know that." He said angrily, cutting her off. "The nurse who called me told me that, you're telling me what I already know. Why can't I see him?"
"Doctors are still working on him, sir. He's in surgery." The receptionist said, seeing how nervous he was and trying to calm him down.
"Okay." Ian responded, taking a deep breath in attempt to be less tense. "When does he get out of surgery?"
"I don't know, but you can't see him right afterwards, not until he's been given a room and declared stable." She replied, with a look of pity on her face that angered Ian enough to make him want to hit her. He was here for help, here for his friend, not here for pity.
"Whatever." He said in a low, angry tone, and walked to the main hall.
"Sir, you'll need to wait-"
"No, I'm seeing my friend right now, thanks!" Ian yelled behind his shoulder to the woman, who, unseen to him, had a look of panic on her face.
"Sir!" She called out, standing up at her desk, but he kept walking. A security guard at the entrance of the hallway noticed the commotion, and quickly side stepped to stand in front of Ian, putting his hand out as if preparing to restrain him. Ian attempted to walk around him, but he kept moving in his way, not letting him through.
"Sir, I'm afraid you can't go in just yet." The guard said politely, but his face was slightly red with the effort of stopping this furious young man from going further into the hospital.
"I have to see my friend!" Ian yelled, then shoved the guard. Another guard at the other end of the hallway saw what was happening and ran over, helping the first get Ian away from the section of the hospital filled with patients.
Ian attempted to push through them both, and they pushed back, reaching out to grab at his arms and wrists to try and restrain him. Every time they did so, they were forced violently away, and for a minute, they acted as a brick wall, a barricade between Ian and his severely injured friend.
Ian wasn't trying to hurt them. He never kicked, he never threw a punch. He didn't want to cause the men pain, they were just doing their job. All he wanted to do was see Anthony. To be with him. To hope for his safety and protect him in his time of need. So he pushed. And he screamed.
"Let me see him! Let me see my friend!" His voice had never been so angry.
"Sir, you cannot-"
"I just wanna be with him!" His voice was hoarse and cracking.
"I'm afraid we must-"
"Please, please!" His screams were the loudest they'd ever been. "I can't- I need to see him- if he- if he dies, Jesus."
His screaming had turned to pleading, and he had dissolved into tears once more. He stopped fighting the guards halting his forward progression, and instead leaned into the original guard, holding the front of his uniform tightly in his grip as he shook with tears. He hadn't collapsed onto the man, and was only clinging weakly, face red as he bent, crying.
The original guard, old and sympathetic, paused and let the younger man cry for a moment, used to seeing such anguish in this place of pain and death. The younger, in his forties, did the same, and for a moment, they could only watch the man break down.
"I'm sorry, sir. But you'll have to wait before you see your friend." The older man said at last, his voice polite once again.
Ian sniffed and wiped a hand across his cheek, brushing away some of the tears that sat upon it. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the waiting room staring at him, awkwardly nervous, and humiliation rose within him. He realized how loud he was, and how much attention he had brought to himself, and decided to, for now, give up on trying to get in. He would wait for his friend.
He nodded stiffly, then turned wordlessly and walked to the far corner of the waiting room, retiring to one of the many empty chairs. The guards, still eyeing him suspiciously, returned to their posts, and the people who had been staring at him gradually looked away. Now he could only wait.
He sat still, staring at the ground, while his mind raced, trying to gather what little information it had. He wondered what caused the crash, and highly suspected the dreaded rain to be mostly at fault. He wondered what Anthony felt, or if he even knew what was happening.
He couldn't imagine the scene. He didn't want to. He pushed awful thoughts of crunching bone and metal from his mind, convinced they would poison him with fear and anguish and start his tears anew. As he sat there, he was grateful he wasn't in the car with Anthony: not only because he didn't want to be physically hurt, but because he couldn't bear the thought of being next to Anthony when it happened, of seeing his greatest friend so battered.
He felt guilty, too. So guilty. When Anthony said he wanted to go out and get some milk, he should've volunteered to go instead of staying home editing. He just didn't want to go out in the rain.
The next time Ian moved, it was to check the time on his phone. It was half past six, which meant that Nurse Penton informed Ian of the crash about three hours previous. And he was still waiting. He heard the rain still fall outside the window behind him, and knew that, if the sky was clear, the sun would be setting. And he was still waiting.
As the night moved on, he sat still in his chair, waiting. He heard the rain progress, changing and becoming all different types of rainstorm. The water fell slowly, in fat drops, then thick and heavy like thrown baseballs. Then came the thunder and lightning, then the drops became small but still speeding, like icy pins and needles. Then the water wasn't falling down, but moving slowly, as if floating through the air, sticky and thick in your lungs.
At some point, Ian considered calling Anthony's mother, but he knew he could not. He would only break down again, and besides, he had no answers for her. He knew nothing, except that Anthony was in a car accident. He would not torment the poor man's mother with such little information, and vowed to call her when he would finally be able to see his friend.
It was a very long time before the rain was all on the ground, and the clouds were dissipating. At this point, the sun peaked out, and Ian realized that it was rising. He had been waiting in that hospital for over twelve hours. Waiting for Anthony.
He recalled the last time he slept, almost delirious with lack of it. He was in a thick, dreamless sleep, the good, restful kind, when his alarm went off, and he got up to clouds and an average day, an average day improved by the presence of his best friend. Now, almost a full day later, he was waiting to see if this friend was alright, or if he was even alive. Funny, how quickly things change.
He was tired, sad, scared, angry, guilty, nervous, and waiting. And at last, a nurse came down the hallway, and he was done waiting.
"Mr. Hecox?" A woman in her thirties called out into the waiting room, where sat a very small amount of people. Ian looked at the tired woman in a nurse's uniform, and stood up. She noticed, and nodded with a small smile. "Mr. Padilla is in stable condition, and you may see him now."
Ian could not remember ever feeling so much relief and apprehension at once. He could see Anthony, yes, but he had no idea how he was, or how he could help him. He stretched and followed the nurse down the hall and to the right, feeling his worry increase with each step. And then she led him to an open doorway, and he peered inside, and there was his Anthony.
He was sitting up in his bed in a paper dressing gown, some bandages on his shoulder and Band-Aids on his arms, with bruises and scratches on his jaw and neck. His messy hair was half concealed with a bandage, carefully wrapped around his head, and he was hooked up to a machine that beeped in time with his heartbeats.
And when he looked up at Ian, he gave him the biggest, brightest smile he had ever seen on his friend, and the beeping on the machine sped up tremendously, and Ian didn't even notice that because he was far too busy yelling Anthony's name and running towards him, grabbing him, kissing him with surprising ferocity as Anthony kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him closer to him than he'd ever been with anyone, the cold of the hospital finally fading with the heat created between their bodies. And there they were, Ian on top of Anthony and his hospital bed, still being careful despite the heavy kisses, finally done waiting.
Their entire torsos were touching, pressed together with the absolute need to be closer, their hands grabbing at each other's clothes and hair, their lips pressing hard against each other as two pairs of lungs struggled with hot, heavy breaths. They were both crying, tears streaming down their faces, but both were smiling through their kisses. Ian wondered, briefly, if the nurse who escorted him here had departed, but found it hard to care when his Anthony was holding him and kissing him, and he could hear his heartbeat race with excitement. And for one moment, they didn't care about safety, or hospitals, or rain, or waiting, because they had what they needed. They had their tight grip on each other.
And then, of course, they cared again, and through kisses and tears, Ian could hear Anthony explaining what happened, a grimace of pain, worry, and fear on his face that Ian couldn't quite see because he was a bit preoccupied with crying and kissing as well.
"I bought the milk-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I was coming home-"
Stop for a kiss.
"All the rain-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I lost control of the car-"
Stop for a kiss.
"I hit a road barrier-"
"Shut up." Ian said, not wanting to know the rest, only wanting to kiss Anthony forever, and keep that tight grip on him forever.
"I'm sorry." Anthony said, and they were both crying almost to hard for words.
"Don't be." Ian replied simply.
"But-"
"Don't be."
Because he wasn't. He wasn't sorry for all his waiting and all his crying and all his kissing, so Anthony didn't have to be sorry for doing the same. Waiting, crying, kissing.
And that's what they did for a few minutes, holding each other as tight as they could, each losing the feeling in their fingers as they held on and sobbed, and kissed, and sobbed some more. In those moments, they were closer than they'd ever been with anyone, literally and spiritually. In those moments, they felt all the pain and love that was perfection.
After that time had passed, after Anthony's heartbeat slowed down to just slightly faster than normal, Ian leaned his head against Anthony's unbandaged shoulder, the exhaustion finally getting to him. Anthony, also tired, kissed his head, still holding him tightly.
"We kissed." Anthony said quietly in Ian's ear.
"We did." Ian replied softly, eyes closed with a little smile on his face.
"Now what?" Anthony mumbled, lips lightly touching Ian's skin.
"Scoot over." Ian replied, and Anthony did so. He lifted himself from Anthony, and they untangled their arms, until Ian got himself onto the little bit of the bed Anthony wasn't occupying. The bed wasn't meant for two, but neither complained, lying close to each other and relishing the other's warmth.
"When we get you out of here, we're gonna go home, and make a little, light-hearted video about your car, and then we can remember it and move on." Ian mumbled, fighting sleep.
"And as for those kisses?" Anthony mumbled back, barely containing a yawn. Ian reached over and grabbed his hand, too tired to realize how foreign it felt to hold Anthony's hand, foreign but oddly comforting.
"We'll do what you want about that." Ian whispered, and the promise of a continuation hung in the air.
"Ian." Anthony whispered as his friend almost fell asleep right next to him.
"Hm?" He gave a tired reply.
"The backseat's probably covered in milk."
Ian gave a little snort of laughter, then fell asleep, Anthony quickly doing the same. Together, stuffed into that tiny bed, in that cold white hospital room, with the sun shining in through the window, they were done waiting.
***
Almost two weeks later, Ian stood in front of Anthony and his car, which was smashed in the front, and smelt very strongly of spoiled milk. He held a camera in his hand, and smiled at his friend-turned-boyfriend, who looked slightly nervous, but mostly gleeful, at what he was about to do. Ian switched on the camera, and Anthony became serious, staring at his car for a minute. Then, he yelled as loudly as he could.
"FUCK!" He screamed, and they both held back laughter as Ian shut off the camera and they ran into the house as fast as they could, before their neighbors could run out and scream at them.
Later, a tow truck came, and took the car away, but they weren't watching. They were too busy lying in bed together, giggling and whispering, closer than any two humans on Earth, holding each other as tight as possible. And from then on, whenever it rained, they either stayed home under the covers, or they drove through the storms, together.