Rejection Only Hurts One
Rating:pg-13(mentions of anatomy)idrk...
Disclaimer: You have been disclaimed.
Prv. Chap: None. So far.
Ian drew closer. His eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the living room. I blinked, freezing as he paused against my chest. Looking up at me, he wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me down into a passionate kiss.
“What the fuck?” I said to myself, in my silent room. Ian, next door, was probably dressed, as he got up at firetrucking 5.
I don’t love Ian… at all. He’s my friend! My brother! My business partner! I ran a lanky hand through my hair, padding over to the bathroom. It was still muggy from Ian’s prompt 5:30 shower. With a nearby towel, I wiped the mirror off. I looked at myself in the mirror. I stared into my own eyes. They were a deep, almost molten, chocolate brown. I hated my eyes. I had always thought Ian’s were so beautiful. Thinking of the way they sparkled in my dreams, I thought of Ian. This was probably the most I’d ever thought of Ian within a few minutes. Ian and I didn’t have a relationship like that. No matter how many jokes we made, no matter how many people thought we were “life partners”, we were straight, and we liked girls. According to my dream, however, I was into Ian. I wouldn’t want to be, not that he wasn’t attractive. He was actually quite beautiful.
What the fuck? Where did that come from? Just because I had one weird dream, didn’t mean I loved Ian. But you do. No. No. No. I don’t love Ian. Don’t lie. Staring at my reflection, I shook it off and meandered back into my room. The glowing clock said 5:45. Too early to wake up...
~ Ian ~
Anthony was up? At 5:45 in the morning? There was something wrong. He was never up before seven. And that was early for him. I was a natural early riser. I woke at 5, showering, dressing, breakfast, in that order. I was scrupulous about that. Now, as I sat pulling my jeans on, he groaned, followed by something breaking. A shatter of glass, a splinter of wood, a sharp crack of something hitting something solid echoed through the silent house.
I was shirtless, but it didn’t matter.
“Anthony? Are you OK?” I asked, pounding on the door.
It swung open, revealing Anthony. He deliberately kept his back to me, and I saw a large, red drop fall from his right hand.
“Anthony, you’re hurt!”
“No shit, dumbshit.”
I ran over to him, noticing a broken picture frame on the floor.
“Come on, Ant. Let’s go fix that…”
“No, Ian. I’ll be fine!”
“Anthony, please just let me take care of you.” Turning around, I saw a definite bulge in his pajamas. Puzzling over it, I insisted he let me clean him up.
He relented, and I took his left hand. It felt really pleasant. His hand fit perfectly.
~Anthony~
Before I could even think, I had picked up a picture frame, throwing at the wall with all my might. It shattered on contact. I realized what I had done, reaching through the broken glass for the picture of me and Ian at high school graduation. I got a very deep scratch on a jagged piece. Of course Ian decided to come investigate. Shirtless. Fuck. When I looked at his reflection in the window, I got an instant boner. I tried to keep carefully turned, but of course my hand decided to start gushing blood. I automatically turned around; even though I was going to try to hide the physical signs I was in love. I was sorry I cursed at him. He held my undamaged hand, leading me to the bathroom. As he settled my hand under the cool water of the sink, he asked nonchalantly, “Why did you break that picture?”
“I was mad.”
“At what?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him like this. Even though we had an agreement. If anything was ever wrong, we could drop everything we were doing and talk. But now wasn’t the time.
Soon, soon.
I stared at him. I felt sort of loved, the way he fiddled with the scratch. He was almost…afraid he was going to hurt me. His brow crinkled as he carefully sprayed the disinfectant.
I felt a sense of pain. Not painful pain. Just a feeling of something that was supposed to hurt.
He glanced up at me, sending prickles of ice through my blood. His touch left trails on my skin, with stings of fire. I looked over his familiar face. His petite facial structure, delicate cheekbones, an angular chin. The faint stubble over his jaw. The thin skin over his eyes, hiding them as he looked down, blushing furiously. I saved his lips for last, noticing things I’d never noticed before. How full they were, how they held a natural curve. He always looked happy, smiling, and exultant. I imagined how easy it would be to kiss him right now. I would grab him by the shoulders, holding him tight, firmly pressing my lips against his. He slowly wrapped my hand in a gauze Band-Aid. Like it or not, now I would have a bandage over my right hand, in our Lw/S video. I could see the Twitter now. OMG what happened to Anthony? Why is he wearing a Band-Aid? Did he get hurt? Anthonyyyyy!
“Alright, Ant. Don’t break any more pictures. Doctor’s orders.”
“Ok, Dr. Lan.” I teased.
He smacked me, and as we walked out of the bathroom, he said, “If there’s anything you ever need to talk about, I am here for you, man. Always.”
He opened his arms for a hug. I squeezed him once to my chest, saying, “Thanks, man.”
~IAN~
I felt a weird lump against my lower stomach. Was Anthony… hard? From hugging me? As far as I knew, he had no female stimulation. There must really be something up…
We sat down at the table together, just like we did every morning. Today the atmosphere was different. Like we were closer than usual. When Anthony got up to shower, he left his phone behind. After I heard the door of the bathroom shut, I pounced on it, thinking it might hold clues to why Ant was being so weird.
I hit the messages icon on his iPhone. There were three conversations. Me, his mom and Kalel.
I hit Kalel’s.
Cm bk, baby… I ms u XOXO
No thx
Plz, Anthy?
No.
Please?
No. I said no.
Y not?
Here he had three saved drafts. Couldn’t decide what to say.
Just no. Saved yesterday at 9:34
Leave me alone, OK? Saved at 9:35
There’s someone else, OK? I don’t want you anymore. My heart belongs to somebody else. Saved this morning, at 6:07. Twenty minutes ago. But he couldn’t send it. Not mean enough to flaunt in that slut’s face? Or because he didn’t want to make his affections real? Not important. I needed to figure out who Anthony had his eye on…and I had my ideas.