Rejection Only Hurts One Part 2
Rating:pg-13, some swears, insults.
Disclaimer: Disclamed.
A/N: I really need a new title. This one sucks.
Summary: Ian snoops, gets a fake Twitter, and corners Anthony.
Previous Chapters: http://shadowdancer11.livejournal.com/900.html
First things first. I locked Ant’s phone, setting it across the table how he left it. I washed our cereal dishes, wiped the counters, and then sat on the couch, innocently starting up Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Today was Thursday, so we had to film Lunchtime with Smosh, or as Anthony would call it, Lengthy Weiner Sucking. I chuckled at the inside joke, wincing as Link died in a swordfight.
Anthony appeared in the hall, wet skin gleaming under the lights.
“Look, Ian, I know I am sexy, but you don’t have to stare.” He said, his voice cracking over my name.
I laughed a short, harsh laugh, trying to glaze over the fact I couldn’t look away from Anthony in his towel. I struggled to tear my eyes from the bronze Adonis standing mere feet from me. I looked at my game in time to see Link die.
“Damn, you suck!!” He said with a hearty laugh.
“Shut up.” I blushed madly, looking intently at the TV.
He grabbed his phone, ducking into his room to get dressed.
I abandoned the game, going into the bathroom. I wiped off the foggy mirror, staring at my cherry-red face. My blue eyes stared in my reflection. The ever-present purple stains under my eyes showed my rigorous schedule. I was glad that today it was just me and Anthony, doing our improv like Smosh naturally is. Today there were no film crews, no green screens, and no people up in our business. Just me and my best friend who may or may not be in love with me. I pulled on my maroon hoodie, settling down to wait for Anthony. He reappeared, this time clothed. He wore his wool hat, black semi skinny jeans, and a black Smosh graffiti hoodie.
“Hey, where’s the cam?”
“Uh. My room.”
I skipped down the hall, eager to see Anthony’s room. It smelled warm, like vanilla. It wasn’t exactly clean, but everything was in its place. I saw the camera on his table, next to the new picture frame of our graduation picture. Me and Anthony. When we were 18. We had our backs to the camera, both of us holding our middle fingers up at the school. We wore our blue graduation robes, but the hats were held by our moms. I remembered how hard we laughed, thinking how we were free. I smiled, remembering our lives, before we did Smosh professionally. I knew Anthony waited, so I grabbed the camera, and letting it warm up, we walked out to the car, deciding where to eat.
“Pizza?” He asked.
“No.” I declined.
“Mexican?”
“No.”
“Chinese?”
“No.”
“Indecisive, I see.”
“No.”
“If you don’t pick a place, I swear I will-”
“Let’s get pizza.”
“OK.”
“We drove over (7) speed bumps, and arrived at the place. We got one large, an order of cheese bread, and a box of chocolate crunch cakes for no good reason.
Anthony’s argument: “Cake doesn’t need a reason.”
When we got home, we tore into the food.
“Anthony, I believe it is time for something.”
“Finding Twitter Questions, Finding Twitter Questions, Finding Twitter Questions!”
I discreetly typed under the table, logging in to my fake Twitter.
“I<3IanHecox asks, ‘Are you in love, @smoshAnthony?’” He took a deep breath, saying, “Yes. I am in love.”
I blurted out, “With whom?” He froze, looking deep into my eyes.
“Ian, we will have this conversation later. Now, why are you asking, I<3IanHecox?”
His phone buzzed, alerting him to a new tweet from (not) me.
“Now, I<3IanHecox, asks, “I want to know. Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
I couldn’t help it. I blurted out, “Anthony, I looked in your phone and I saw you told that slutbag that you loved someone else, and I think it may be me. Tell me, Anthony. Pretty please?”
He seemed a little shocked I snooped on his phone, but he recovered, slowly standing up, walking over to my side of the table. He sat next to me, looking at me quizzically.
“Do you really want to know, Ian?”
So I am at the doctor's, awaiting news whether or not I have to have a tonsilectomy. Yay.
Oh. Shit. Yay, surgery. Can't wait.
Yeah, so concrit is welcome. Nothing to negative or I will send a team of surgeons to your house to dissect your brain. JK.