Smosh Fic: What It Was Before (Chapter 5)
Title: What It Was Before (Chapter 5)
Ratng: PG-13
Pairings: Ian/Anthony, Anthony/OC
Genre/Warnings: Angst, OOC
Summary: Ian comes out of a coma caused by a car accident to find himself feeling like a stranger in his own life. Anthony struggles with the idea that his best friend had almost died.
Chapter Summary: Losing something hurts and sometimes it's devastating. When it's found, it's a relief.
Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four
A/N: OMG FINALLY! Can I say how much I went through to write this chapter? People seem to be having problems with technology these days and I am one of them. I really want to slap it across the face for all the damage it did to me. But, hooray! I got through it and, like the saying goes, what doesn't kill you, makes you only stronger (or really pissed off).
Constructive criticism? Please and thank you. :) Enjoy!
Anthony stayed longer than he should have in the garage. Ian would be waiting for him and the drive between Mrs. Hecox’s house and theirs was less than a minute away.
He gripped the steering wheel tight; his knuckles paling as the leather squeaked against the friction. Staring down at his hands, he let out a breath that only gave him momentary release from the weight that slumped his shoulders. So much had happened in the short afternoon and Anthony’s mind was reeling.
"You think about this, Anthony," she had said, releasing the seat belt. Makayla avoided his eyes, sniffing and Anthony knew he should comfort her but it wasn't what he wanted to do or had to. It was just something expected. "You think about us."
And he had nodded, almost leaned in to kiss her good-bye but he stopped himself. This wasn't something he had to do anymore either.
Anthony shook his head. It wasn’t true, he told himself again and again, running a hand over his tired face. Makayla was wrong. It was because Ian was hurt and needed Anthony more than ever. That was all it was these past three months. She didn’t know what she was talking about. They were best friends; brothers born with different blood but with lives that would always be a part of the other. That was all they were and ever would be. Nothing more and nothing less.
But as his emotions scraped hard to reach the surface, Anthony couldn’t help but want and let himself dream of that small leeway of possibility. It took a multitude of self-convincing and self-restrain when every little thing, to his own disturbed mind, lead to wishful thinking.
“Fuck it,” he whispered violently to himself, opening the car door and entering the house. He would see Ian and he would forget about it. Anthony walked down the hallway in long strides, determination written in his veins. He would push it down and bury it until he would forget again. It was what he had told himself on the drive home. It was what he had been doing for the longest time up to a point where he believed it as fact.
He had slipped once. He had let himself go at that moment in the hospital and even then, he had been able to pass it off as an unconscious decision, driven by half-asleep irrational thinking. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Anthony stopped before entering the kitchen, taking in a shaky breath and placing his hands at his sides. He would be ready to face Ian again no differently then he would any day. He would restrain himself, forget and allow normalcy to trickle back between them.
Yet as he stepped into the yellow light of their living room, Anthony’s chest stumbled into panic when he saw the empty wheelchair, heard the sound of quick forced breaths and then porcelain hitting the floor. His feet moved even before he could tell them to.
“I’m okay,” Ian told Anthony, panting and bending to pick up the pieces but Anthony stopped him with two hands on both shoulders. He looked into Ian’s eyes and saw redness painted on the edges of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, man.”
“Just... Just go sit down, okay?” he instructed and forced Ian to leave the small kitchen. Ian shouldn’t be walking around without crutches or supervision. It was only been this morning that he had done it for the very first time. But Anthony didn’t reprimand him, knowing it would fall to unhearing ears. “I’ll get the food. You just wait.”
Ian’s unsteady foot almost landed on a piece of glass but Anthony’s reflexes were faster, gripping tight around Ian’s ankle and letting out a relieved breath when he only teetered a little, managing to avoid getting hurt. He glanced up at Ian and couldn’t help but give him a warning look, disapproval at the whole predicament. It would have been all so easy if he could just pick Ian up and out of danger. Keep him out of harm’s way until Anthony felt satisfied.
He cleaned up the mess and sat beside Ian with their plates of noodles, feeling the need to be quiet and careful. The air was odd. “Are you sure you can do it this time?” Anthony questioned, trying to tease out the heavy mood. Ian had his fists clenched in front of him, his gaze hard on the table.
“I’m fine, Anthony,” he almost growled and went to pick up his fork. It shook dangerous and loose in his hand. Anthony hated watching Ian like this, watching him struggle. His hand itched to take Ian’s and hold it still; stop the agitating scene before him. The fork slipped between tight fingers and almost fell to the floor but Anthony caught it.
“C’mon. I’ll help you,” Anthony offered, holding the fork for Ian. But he was refused with ferocity and Anthony was defeated again to a nod. There were times like these since Ian had come home from the hospital. It would start with Ian trying and trying until he got angry, flustered and agitated. And Anthony would try his best to coax Ian back out of his negativity with a joke or calming encouragement. Therapy was where he was most out of control and where Anthony would have to stand on the sidelines, feeling helpless and restricted as Ian was asked to do the simplest tasks over and over again with little results.
That was why Anthony had been so happy this morning, watching Ian finally do something all on his own and laugh genuinely for the first time in weeks. But that morning had felt like a life time ago and as Anthony twirled his own food around his fork, he gazed sadly at the dark and looming Ian now, attempting badly to eat. It should be easier now but Ian’s body racked with tremors more than usual, as if all those weeks of therapy had never happened. It worried Anthony.
He couldn’t take it anymore. “Actually, I feel like eating a sandwich instead,” Anthony thought out loud, hoping Ian would take the hint. He stood up and made to take the plate from Ian but the other boy let out a small groan and was quick to grab Anthony’s wrist. Nails dug deep into flesh and Anthony cringed, feeling the contact rattle his careful reserve inside of him.
“J-Just... let me do this, okay?” Ian sighed, looking up at Anthony with eyes so deep blue that he was afraid he would fall into. Ian released his hold and Anthony frowned, the laces of contact licking gently underneath his skin. “I can do it, alright?”
Anthony sat back down and looked on wearily, biting his tongue as more dangling noodles fell than stayed on the shaking fork. Sometimes Ian could be so stubborn. Anthony felt just as frustrated as Ian looked, initially expecting an uneventful dinner with Ian so his mind could wander away from the afternoon. But to see this Ian, the angry and bitter one, struck an uncomfortable chord in Anthony’s chest and he averted his gaze, not wanting to fight all the urges within him to do something.
Suddenly, Ian cursed loudly in irritation and in that short amount of time, he had almost upturned the table with the plate spinning off and clattering silently to the carpet. His eyes were scrunched tight and his face fiery red from overexertion.
“Ian, Ian,” Anthony reassured, taking Ian’s rigid wrists and trying to stop him from bashing the table again. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Ian released a sharp breath and Anthony could see the violent tears forming. “No it’s not!” he spat, ripping his hands back to his own chest. Anthony’s hands hovered over Ian’s, sliding his knuckles against white hot ones. “I can’t move anything right. It’s not fucking okay, alright?” Ian turned his head away, sniffing, and whispered heavily, “This is so stupid.”
Anthony sighed, misery and regret swimming in the atmosphere around them. He didn’t know what to do. He clenched his own fists, letting the palm of his hand turn raw as he used all his will to stop from doing what his body wished him to do. Makayla’s words had caught up with him and every action, every look, every thought that processed through Anthony’s mind now was going through a filter. He could not trust himself anymore.
Anthony decided and bent down, avoiding Ian’s eyes. “I’ll clean this up and make some sandwiches.”
There were a few moments of silence with just their breaths filling the emptiness. Anthony saw from the corner of his eye Ian wiping vigorously at his face with trembling hands and then planting his half clenched fingers onto his lap. He looked back at the task at hand, again ignoring the urge to do anything, going on with picking up the greasy noodles off the floor.
“I don’t want a sandwich,” Ian said quietly, roaring the next words when Anthony continued on, pretending not to hear because he didn’t know what to do, “I don’t want a goddamn sandwich!”
Ian fell to a kneel, his legs jutting out at an awkward angle all over the mess strewn on the floor. He grabbed the plate from Anthony’s hands and let it bounce away behind him.
“What the hell?” Anthony cried, starting at Ian’s sudden actions. Ian stared at Anthony long and hard for a second with eyes that struck hot blue lightning right through the other, cheeks flushed with an angry pink that spread violently to his ears. Anthony made to grab Ian, hold him up again off the floor but he was pushed roughly back on the chest. His mouth gaped open as he sat back on the heels of his palms. “Hey! What’s the fucks matter with you?”
“Nothing,” Ian seethed through gritted teeth. “I can do this myself. I’m not entirely useless.” Then he started trying to clean the mess, raking the carpet with sharp fingers. Anthony opened his mouth to stop Ian but one look at this deranged boy, rocking back and forth, picking up hardly anything, brought Anthony to a choking caution. It scared him, the way Ian was acting right now.
“Ian... stop it,” Anthony managed to say, coming in closer and trying to catch Ian’s hands that struggled away from his. Worry gripped Anthony’s throat and he tried to swallow, torn on what to do again. Ian growled when all he managed to do was coat his hands with grease, pulling at his hair in blazing frustration. “Stop that, Ian. You need to calm down-”
Anthony cried when a hard fist connected with his jaw and he stumbled backwards, his breath escaping his lungs too fast. “Fuck!” he yelled, pain throbbing along his cheek. He stood up, caressing his chin and looking down angrily at Ian. What had Anthony done? “Shit! What the hell was that for?”
Something in the vehement look Ian had unsettled Anthony and a flash of images bombarded his vision: Ian staring heatedly at him, daggers on the tip of his tongue and eyes so stricken with remorse and angry fire that it burned to remember. It was the same look Ian had on now as he staggered, standing up as well.
"You tell me," Ian spat, knuckles white as he gripped onto the chair beside him. Ian was exhausted and Anthony could see his knees quivering from just standing. "Since you're so good at it and all."
"Tell you what?" Anthony asked, scowling at the pain that throbbed in his face and at the situation, seeing an inkling of where this was heading. "What the fuck, man? Why'd you do that?"
"Fuck you, Anthony," Ian snarled, the hand by his side shook violently. "Fuck you and your little secrets." He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.
"What secrets, Ian?" Anthony asked again, anger welling up past the calm that he forcibly tried to keep. "God, I tell you every--"
"Oh yeah, you do, buddy," Ian interrupted, "That's why I'm so happy for the two of you. So fucking happy.” Ian huffed at the hand at his side shaking erratically. “Goddamnit!” And he punched an intense trembling fist against his thigh, forehead crinkling as eyes watered.
“This is about Makayla,” Anthony realized.
“No shit,” Ian growled and rubbed a hand over his face. He sighed shakily, shoulders slumping forward.
Anthony regarded Ian with sad eyes, his pain dribbling away forgotten. He tried to explain, “Look, I didn’t know she was going to do that. I never even knew that’s what she wanted. I swear, Ian.”
“Sure, whatever, man.” Ian turned his back to Anthony, breathing through clenched teeth. “See if I give a shit.”
“Besides, we’re...” he started but stopped. Anthony furrowed his brows, angrily confused but curious as well about exactly what Ian wanted. “What’s your problem? Why are you so pissed?”
“Whatever,” he said again over his shoulder, “You and Makayla can do what you want.”
“Geez, Ian. You don’t think I would’ve asked you first about something like this?” Anthony put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. He wondered if Ian remembered this same conversation only a few months ago. “And I did, Ian, before... before all of this."
Ian shrugged Anthony’s hand off. “Yeah, right.”
“What’s the deal?” Anthony asked, feeling more restless and exasperated. What the hell did Ian want from him? “It’s not like she hasn’t lived with us before. She lived here for a few weeks and nothing changed. What could be different about it this time, huh?” He bit his lip, racking his mind of a reason to Ian's outburst. "Is it 'cause you still like her, man? Is that why?"
"What the hell?" Ian whipped his head back. "Is that what you think?"
"Well, is it?"
Ian didn’t answer and looked away. Anthony stared down at his neck, finding it slumped forward even more.
”No,” he finally managed to say, quiet and defeated, turning his head around again to look at Anthony. “No,” he repeated, “I-I’m just... I don’t know. I guess, I’m just messed up right now.” Anthony heard him sigh and shrug and all the unprecedented anger seemed to dissipate. “I’m sorry, man. About your jaw. I was out of line.”
Anthony blinked, expecting something other than such an easy apology. “What’s bothering you, Ian?” He took a step forward. “I’m trying to understand... Is it..? Would you hate us being together that much?” he asked quiet and focused, wanting to know and not understanding who exactly ‘us’ was.
“I never said that,” Ian replied, looking weary now that he had calmed, “You... you really like her, right? It shouldn’t matter what I think.”
They stared at each other and Anthony didn’t want to answer. Something in Ian’s dejected pleading eyes called for words; words that Anthony was afraid to say and shouldn’t. He bit his tongue and cleared his mind again. It was all a misunderstanding with Anthony just wanting what wasn’t there. The last time he dared to think something like that, it ended with the screeching of metal and the impossible heavy thump of a limp body.
Ian let out a sigh, eyes breaking the gaze and an atmosphere of false security fell between them. “If you two want to move in together,” Ian said after, quiet, “don’t let me stop you.”
He stumbled to walk away and a wave of eerily familiarity washed through Anthony’s blood. He closed his eyes to the blinding memory that brought in sounds and feelings that had come from the forgotten depths of his mind. Dread and imminent fear stroked the fringes of his thoughts as he remembered Ian walking away from him, words forming but lost to the series of events following.
He suddenly reached out a frightening hand towards Ian, a blur of commotion surrounding his vision. Anthony thought he could save him this time and have it end a different way. And as his fingers felt real warm skin, the illusion dissipated and he saw, they were not outside. There were no cars waiting in the intersection. No drizzling cold mist that coated the foggy cement with ice. Ian wasn’t ten feet in front of him, spiteful and mad. And there wasn’t an impatient driver turning left.
Instead, Ian’s body was real and it pressed up against him solid and breathing, almost knocking both of them backwards.
"What the..?" Ian spoke and Anthony let go quick, like he was burned, feeling fooled and embarrassed and not seeing the confused azure eyes.
“Looked like you were going to fall on your ass,” he mumbled the excuse pathetically and swallowed, walking around Ian to the kitchen for lack of what else to do. “You shouldn’t be walking.” Their shoulders brushed dangerously.
They didn’t say anything more, too absorbed in their own thoughts. Something stirred ugly and beautiful between them and both of them felt it, saw it, but couldn’t understand it.
Anthony cleared his throat, hands on the counter with his back to Ian and head looking up in case these stupid unreasonable tears fell. “Um...f-forget about the mess,” he said, forcing a grin, “L-Let’s just order pizza, yeah? I don’t want that sandwich either.”
The night was quiet. Even the rare sound of cars driving past didn’t make up for the stillness that entered the house.
Anthony hadn't come to bed and instead was sleeping in his own room. The silence rang loud in his ear and it wasn't until tonight, with his bed feeling too big for him, that Ian realized how lonely he was by himself. It didn't feel alright.
Today was a strange day and Ian clenched his fists tight, letting the struggle and pain act like punishment for what he had done. He shouldn't have been angry at Anthony because he had no reason to. What right did Ian have to whether Makayla moved in or not? They lived in the same house, shared the same things and worked together but this business with Makayla, it is all Anthony's. He needed to put these feelings of hostility and irrational unfairness aside and let Anthony live his own life.
Ian sighed. He regretted almost everything; from the moment Anthony entered the room to the punch that pulsated hot on his knuckles. For that second, Ian didn't understand himself at all. He had had days right after the accident where he felt himself lost behind a wall blocking out everything that was essentially himself. But lately, it seemed he was swimming in thoughts and reflexes from a person who he wasn't familiar with anymore. He felt like he had jumped across the wall instead of breaking it piece by piece, not letting the old Ian trickle in with careful order.
Ian realized these feelings, gripped them in his hands but they were a mess and today he had let one slip out of his rigid fingers. And here he was now, alone, regretful, embarrassed and feeling like he had ended something good.
What was wrong with him? Ian asked himself this as he rolled to his side and faced the wall, burying his body within the covers. The shadows danced around the room, mocking him with their ambiguous shapes and Ian shut his eyes, afraid the black would squeeze out his tears.
The sound of the door opening brought him out of his stupor and he froze, knowing Anthony was there. His presence sent thrills and dreadful anticipation throughout his body and Ian decided to pretend to be asleep. He didn't trust himself anymore, scared that another fight would surface if he was awake. What did Anthony want?
"Ian?"
The pad of quiet feet on carpet made Ian nervous but he forced himself to breathe evenly. Through slitted eyes, Ian saw the shadows on the wall being blocked by Anthony's silhouette and there was something tired and weary in his form. Their breaths matched but were broken when the edge of the bed sunk in and the air in Ian's throat disappeared.
Nothing happened for a while. Ian watched the dark figure projected on his wall; it didn’t move, just stayed there slumped and solid. He wondered if Anthony had maybe fallen asleep or maybe he wasn't even there and it was just Ian dreaming too real with his heart pounding so loud that he was afraid the whole world would hear.
But then Anthony's voice broke the silent thickness around them with the smallest of whispers, "Ian... Do you remember?"
He didn't answer; feeling like Anthony was talking to himself. Another long silence gripped the night between them.
"I remember everything," Anthony sighed and finally the shadow moved.
Anthony's words were so quiet that if Ian breathed too much, he would miss them.
A chuckle escaped from Anthony. "This is just like when you were in that damn coma. I kind of missed that," another sigh, "Did you hear anything?" Softer this time, "Can you even hear me now?"
Ian let out a loud snore, sighing dramatically to reinforce the image of him asleep.
"Guess not," he said and Ian felt the tremor of a hand ghosting over his shoulder, close but not quite there yet. "You're an asshole, y'know that? Biggest douche in the world."
Ian bit back his retort.
"You should have looked before crossing the street." Anthony's hand rested on the base of Ian's neck, the touch feathery soft and hesitant. "But nope, you just had to run off, like a freakin' dog. I'm never going on another jog with you unless you're on a leash."
A car drove past and Anthony's shadow stretched long along the wall until settling again in its original slumped stature. Ian tried to remember, to think again, of jogging, of that day and why Anthony was talking to him about it now. Why, right at this moment, when he had been so tight-lipped all through the past months? And the way he was talking, so free and unrestricted and how the sound of his voice finally matched the way it was before.
"You were so pissed, man," Anthony continued, still whispering, "I just wanted to know for sure if... if...” He stopped and grew quiet again. "Do you remember, Ian?"
He went on without an answer, voice growing steady and louder, "I told you that I was thinking seriously about moving out with Makayla.”
Ian's mind went elsewhere then. The pitter-patter of footsteps across hard frosty cement and the way their breaths flew into their faces, adding to the fog that hovered over the streets on a too cold winter afternoon.
Anthony was beside him, gaze hard and concentrated in front. And Ian had been thinking about Makayla and how the two of them were so close now, to a point that Ian saw it going ahead of him and away to something that would mean time and distance from Anthony.
It had scared him, terrified him, and as he had looked over at Anthony, he wondered when these feelings that weren't supposed to exist would go away. Because they made him do things and feel things that he wasn't proud of and he knew he should be disgusted and repulsed, but he wasn't.
Ian remembered that he had the audacity to wish Anthony might feel the same way about him too.
Anthony’s low voice brought him back to the dark hushed room. “We never really talked about it,” he said, “and you would always just... wave it off, I guess. It was probably the only thing you were quiet about.”
The hand tensed and Anthony sucked in a breath that heaved his shoulders high. Then the shadow drooped further down, head hanging low.
“God,” Anthony whispered, “You were gone for three fucking weeks... they told me to talk to you. That maybe you’d hear me.”
Ian furrowed his brows, trying to follow Anthony’s train of scattered thoughts.
“Probably sounded like an idiot. Rambling to some unconscious vegetable,” Anthony laughed a little but sobered up quick. The time between Anthony speaking was filled with a deep and long contemplative silence that made Ian itch to turn around and just demand Anthony to talk. But he knew his friend wouldn’t speak to him if he knew Ian was listening.
“Did you really forget, Ian?” The question was said under breath and it didn’t stay in the walls for long. “You were trying. But I knew you didn’t like it... I don’t know, I thought maybe you felt-I mean... I guess... I just wanted a reason not to.” The skin on Ian’s neck prickled with heat. “I knew you didn’t want me to move out with her.”
Ian remembered now, like the morning light creeping over closed lids. He heard in his head as he told Anthony that it was cool. That he was happy that the two of them were getting serious and that he was proud his friend had found a girl he wanted to be with.
But those were all lies.
They had run two blocks with Ian ahead of him, not wanting Anthony near him when he was so devastated inside. And Anthony had kept talking about moving, about where they would live, how much money it would cost, and how for that moment, it seemed like the thing to do. There was doubt, Anthony had admitted, and he had asked Ian what he thought about it.
“Do what you gotta do, man,” Ian had said, legs pumping harder when Anthony was able to keep in pace with him. The cement was patchy white and the setting sun was just painting the horizon with coral.
“But do you think it’s a good idea?” Anthony asked between huffs of breathlessness. “I mean... then, you got the Smosh stuff... and...”
Ian had to bite his tongue and keep his fists swinging by his side. “Yeah, sure,” he said with contempt, “Don’t worry about me, bro. Just do whatever.”
“Hey, whoa,” Anthony called, reaching a hand out to stop Ian from running any further. They stopped a few feet from the curb. It was five in the evening and cars were busy in motion with exhaust mingling with the light drizzling haze. “You’re a part of this as much as I am. This isn’t only between me and Makayla. You’re in it, too.”
Ian looked at Anthony, his hands on his side as he tried to catch his breath. “Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling sarcasm creeping up into his voice. “I’m part of this, too?”
“Yeah,” Anthony confirmed, “If I’m moving out then we have to talk about how we’re gonna deal with the house and-“
“Uh huh, cool stuff, dude,” Ian cut in and making to start running again but Anthony caught the sleeve of his shirt. He felt the burning in his eyes and blinked, hoping it would go away.
“Ian, stop-”
“Look, can we just talk about this later?” Ian shook off Anthony’s hand. It was hard keeping himself calm when he felt like Anthony had just stabbed him in the gut with a double edged sword. He didn’t want to say his next words, but they came out on their own accord, “I really don’t care what you do.”
“What?” Anthony gave Ian a confused look, exasperation in his voice. “Dude, I’ve been trying to talk to you about this forever but you’re always, just-”
“Okay,” Ian sighed, trying to dispel is anger aside. "Fine." But as he looked at Anthony, with his hair troubled in a mess with skin glistening in icy sweat, and talking about leaving, something twisted hot agony in the pit of Ian’s core. “Okay, let’s talk.”
They looked at each other, the invitation to discuss feeling untouchable now that it was out. Anthony’s mouth opened and closed several times before he scrunched his brows together in a question. The pink light became deep gold and the mist began to settle around them.
“Do you...” he started, “Do you have a problem with this?” Ian moved his legs side to side, fidgeting because he didn’t know how to still himself from the agitation. “Because if you do, Ian, maybe you should tell me.”
“No, I don’t,” Ian said short, again, “I don’t.”
“Well, I think you do, man.”
“What?” Ian shrugged his hands in front of him, “What do you want me to say?”
“Just, if you’ve got a problem with this. I wanna know.”
“I don’t,” Ian reiterated, finding his resolve leaving him slowly because he really just wanted to get out and run. He didn’t want to think about Anthony gone with Makayla and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it being reality. “If you want to go and live with Makayla, go live with her. There’s no problem with that.”
“Are you sure?” Anthony asked with something pleading in his eyes.
“Yeah!” Ian exasperated, letting out a false laugh, “It’s like you don’t believe me or something.”
“Alright,” his friend stuck his hands in his pockets, nodding and staring at his feet. “Alright, then... I guess that’s that.”
A tense quiet surrounded them and Ian shivered, the disappearing sun taking away its warmth and making the world dark. He felt a sense of betrayal settle in him that shouldn’t be there. There was no reason or right for it to form. But nevertheless, Ian felt it and he struggled hard not to let it dictate him.
“So that’s it,” Ian said, his breathing coming out fast, “That’s it. You’re going to live with her.”
Anthony looked up, not saying anything, just stared at Ian. There was a sort of expectation behind those chocolate eyes but Ian didn’t see it then, only saw Anthony walking out the door and away from him. He had berated himself for acting like a girl who was afraid her boyfriend was going to leave her for someone else.
“Really? That’s it?” Ian asked after a while, wanting something he shouldn’t, “You’re just going to get up and go live with her? Y-You’ve only been dating for a year!”
Anthony was still looking at him. “What’s wrong with that?”
“O-Oh, I don’t know?” Ian choked out in annoyance, “The fact that you hardly know this girl and now you want to go and leave after we’ve-”
Ian stopped himself. They’ve known each other for a good decade and more, lived together for a couple of years and their friendship contained so much sweat and blood, time and work and, if Ian dared to say, love. He took Anthony’s decision to live with his girlfriend as an insult; as if this one girl who hadn’t even known his best friend a quarter as much as Ian did could so easily take him away in a flash.
Ian shook his head, knowing again that he was taking things too far and too serious. He was letting his inappropriate feelings take over. “Never mind,” he said, turning around and walking the few steps towards the intersection. It was getting dark and the temperature dropped several degrees.
He punched the button to cross the street. Anthony was right on his heels, that same troubling expression on his face.
“Hey, what’s up with that?” he asked and stood in front of him. Ian didn’t want to look at Anthony, afraid if he did, he would start acting up again. “I thought you said it wasn’t a problem. Now you’ve changed your mind? What is it? Tell me, Ian.”
“Nothing,” Ian seethed and squinted, trying to see through the fog. But Anthony didn’t rest and came in closer, demanding an explanation when Ian didn’t feel at all like answering. “It’s nothing, alright? Just leave it.”
Ian hit the button a couple of more times and looked at the cars filling up the intersection. The lights weren’t changing fast enough and Anthony was getting up in his face. “Ian, if you don’t want me to move in with her, just tell me. Tell me if that’s what you want.”
The light changed and the bright white of the pedestrian walking-man shone like a beacon for escape but Anthony blocked him with two hands on his shoulders and a face so close it was all Ian could see.
“We’re best friends, right? You can tell me, if that’s how you feel,” Anthony said these words slow and clear, “Ian.”
He had pushed those hands away, pushed them down and hated how his shoulders tingled with a million electric pins. And when Anthony urged once him again, Ian had snapped.
“What do you think? I don’t, alright? Geez!” Ian admitted, his heart hammering hard and out of control, “Of course I don’t want you to move in with her.”
There was relief in Anthony’s eyes and a twitching upturn of lips but at that time, Ian was confused and only heard disappointment when Anthony asked, “Why not?”
“God, I-I don’t know...” he stammered, embarrassment flowering over his cheeks, “I just don’t because I... I-I...” And Ian had walked around Anthony too fast for his friend to stop him because he was annoyed, almost slipping over the shimmering icy street. He didn’t want to explain because he was so tempted to tell the truth.
“Ian, don’t walk away from me! Now you have to tell me why, you stupid douche!” Anthony had called with a slight teasing tone. Ian had heard this and stopped for a split second, turning around with the truth so ready on his tongue and so angry at Anthony, not taking in the fact he was in the middle of the road. He was so taken aback by the sudden goofy knowing smile on Anthony’s face when he turned around.
And in that one split second, so many things had happened.
His life had been broken into a million pieces across grey asphalt then. And because in that same second, he had seen Anthony for the first time, not just as his best friend, but as someone who he would never stop loving and who might love him just as much.
It was a thought, but it was thrown away too far and mangled.
Ian was struck almost breathless by the memory. It somehow grounded him and came to him neat and conveniently. Everything came into order.
He let this bit of knowledge settle within him, fill him up. Maybe, maybe, just maybe...
“You were gunna tell me why, I think,” Anthony’s present voice was different and Ian mourned a little, “B-But t-then...” he choked, the tight fingers on Ian’s neck quivering, “T-Then a fucking white beamer ran you over.”
Anthony’s next words crackled with heart wrenching depression, “I lost you that night,” he cried, air shuddering into his lungs, “I fucking lost you.”
Ian opened his eyes fully, moving his head slightly back to look at Anthony. His grip dug deep into Ian’s skin and he had to touch those fingers, to remind Anthony that he was there.
It was so dark and the street lamps stung Ian’s night-adjusted vision but the tears that pooled beneath Anthony’s lashes shone visible. Ian sat up, still holding onto Anthony’s shaking hand. His gaze was somewhere else, hard and far away, not in this room with Ian.
“You died in my fucking arms, Ian,” Anthony sobbed with fists that clenched tight and painful and Ian’s hand had never been so steady as he wiped hot wetness from Anthony’s cheek. Anthony kept going, “You died, you died...And I-I couldn’t... I...”
To see Anthony like this, it hurt tenfold more than waking up with broken bones and torn bruised skin. It was a hurt that reached deep and violent like a fissure in his heart.
“Shh,” Ian coaxed and he didn’t know what to do. Anthony was so broken, so destroyed and Ian had never seen him this way before. It never crossed his mind how hurt Anthony was; how this affected his friend as much as it did himself. The wounds were there, just like how they decorated Ian’s body, only invisible on Anthony. “I’m right here, Anthony, right here,” he whispered, crushing their chests together as Ian took racking shoulders into his arms. “Shit, Anthony, I’m not dead. Anthony, Anthony.”
And Ian couldn’t help but to cry too as Anthony held him, almost clawed at his back while he sobbed burning tears into Ian’s neck.
“I’m still here,” Ian reassured, words muffled by the soft skin of Anthony’s shoulder.
But he kept crying and saying, “So m-much blood... so much... I c-couldn’t... And t-then...”
They were like that for a while, each heaving out breaths that had been held for too long and letting the shock and fear of what might have happened, what was so possible and so devastating, ease out as trails of salt water on flushed cheeks. And Ian wanted Anthony to shut up, to quiet down and just stop spewing out nonsense because Ian was right there with him and fine, blood in his arteries pumping a growing body. He wasn’t dead.
He took Anthony’s fervent face firmly between his hands with his thumb constantly swiping away tears. And Ian covered Anthony’s mouth with his cheek, letting his lips whisper over and over again close to the other’s ear that he was right there, alive, and not dead. Anthony’s shaking and trembling slowed as Ian dared to press his mouth on the rough skin of his temple. Hot breath slid like liquid down Ian’s wet cheek.
Heavy swallows and a weight that left Ian’s chest heavy and pained, urged him again to ghost a kiss against the curve of Anthony’s jaw, the spot where his angry fist had connected. To Ian, it was his apology for more than just swollen flesh but for other things too.
The clutch on Ian’s back smoothed out when Ian grazed his lips boldly right on the corner of Anthony’s, tasting salt and honey at the same time. He felt invigorated, like he had just jumped from the highest skyscraper on earth and he could care less if he had a parachute or not. He only wanted to continue to fall and feel. He didn’t even think twice again as he let their lips touch, shuddering as something in his chest burst colours and piercing sensations.
Anthony was completely still and quiet now and as Ian pulled away, opening his eyes, he searched for something to stop him, to tell him otherwise but he didn’t see any of that. He saw the fear but the apprehension too and Ian took it, using it as assurance.
“I’m here,” Ian said softly and kissed him again, wanting so much for Anthony to kiss him back.
And Anthony opened his mouth, a small shaky breath coming out. Ian was so scared now, suddenly terrified this was another mistake but Anthony titled his head so that their lips slid together closed and his hands moved slowly up Ian’s spine, sending running shivers. His lips were shaking too, with nervousness or panic, Ian didn’t know. But it gave him confidence again, to press further and want more. Ian wanted so much.
He could taste the tears, feel them brush across the tip of his nose and the wetness was fresh in their mouths. A torrent of emotions ran through him as Anthony’s fingers dug into his shoulders, deepening the kiss when Ian moaned, tilting his head back.
They laid back onto the bed, Anthony's body trembling slightly as he straddled Ian's legs with both hands on either side of his head. Their lips never stopped moving and Anthony's tears dripped heavy onto Ian's blazing cheekbones. They turned cool as they slid moist behind Ian's ears.
And this was what he was missing. This, Ian knew as they breathed hard and wanting, was what filled the blank gaping holes in his memory. This friendship, this love, this connection; Anthony was what made Ian him. And Ian had lost Anthony that night too, to a world of constant fear and guilt. To a nightmare that Anthony probably dreamt over and over again, of losing his friend.
A strangled sob escaped out of Anthony, almost breaking the kiss but Ian pulled him in again, pounding chest collapsed against pounding chest, taking the quivering lips with more force, more pressure, to show Anthony he really was right there.
"Ian," Anthony cried between ragged breaths and Ian didn't give him another chance to speak, feeling his place only when their lips met.
And Anthony was right; he had lost Ian that night too. But now, as Anthony sprawled his body over Ian's and he greedily felt every part of his friend, he knew. He knew that as their lips moved strong and hungry for each other, singing sweet relief, they had found each other.
Epilogue
Want more Smosh slash?
Ratng: PG-13
Pairings: Ian/Anthony, Anthony/OC
Genre/Warnings: Angst, OOC
Summary: Ian comes out of a coma caused by a car accident to find himself feeling like a stranger in his own life. Anthony struggles with the idea that his best friend had almost died.
Chapter Summary: Losing something hurts and sometimes it's devastating. When it's found, it's a relief.
Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four
A/N: OMG FINALLY! Can I say how much I went through to write this chapter? People seem to be having problems with technology these days and I am one of them. I really want to slap it across the face for all the damage it did to me. But, hooray! I got through it and, like the saying goes, what doesn't kill you, makes you only stronger (or really pissed off).
Constructive criticism? Please and thank you. :) Enjoy!
Anthony stayed longer than he should have in the garage. Ian would be waiting for him and the drive between Mrs. Hecox’s house and theirs was less than a minute away.
He gripped the steering wheel tight; his knuckles paling as the leather squeaked against the friction. Staring down at his hands, he let out a breath that only gave him momentary release from the weight that slumped his shoulders. So much had happened in the short afternoon and Anthony’s mind was reeling.
"You think about this, Anthony," she had said, releasing the seat belt. Makayla avoided his eyes, sniffing and Anthony knew he should comfort her but it wasn't what he wanted to do or had to. It was just something expected. "You think about us."
And he had nodded, almost leaned in to kiss her good-bye but he stopped himself. This wasn't something he had to do anymore either.
Anthony shook his head. It wasn’t true, he told himself again and again, running a hand over his tired face. Makayla was wrong. It was because Ian was hurt and needed Anthony more than ever. That was all it was these past three months. She didn’t know what she was talking about. They were best friends; brothers born with different blood but with lives that would always be a part of the other. That was all they were and ever would be. Nothing more and nothing less.
But as his emotions scraped hard to reach the surface, Anthony couldn’t help but want and let himself dream of that small leeway of possibility. It took a multitude of self-convincing and self-restrain when every little thing, to his own disturbed mind, lead to wishful thinking.
“Fuck it,” he whispered violently to himself, opening the car door and entering the house. He would see Ian and he would forget about it. Anthony walked down the hallway in long strides, determination written in his veins. He would push it down and bury it until he would forget again. It was what he had told himself on the drive home. It was what he had been doing for the longest time up to a point where he believed it as fact.
He had slipped once. He had let himself go at that moment in the hospital and even then, he had been able to pass it off as an unconscious decision, driven by half-asleep irrational thinking. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Anthony stopped before entering the kitchen, taking in a shaky breath and placing his hands at his sides. He would be ready to face Ian again no differently then he would any day. He would restrain himself, forget and allow normalcy to trickle back between them.
Yet as he stepped into the yellow light of their living room, Anthony’s chest stumbled into panic when he saw the empty wheelchair, heard the sound of quick forced breaths and then porcelain hitting the floor. His feet moved even before he could tell them to.
“I’m okay,” Ian told Anthony, panting and bending to pick up the pieces but Anthony stopped him with two hands on both shoulders. He looked into Ian’s eyes and saw redness painted on the edges of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, man.”
“Just... Just go sit down, okay?” he instructed and forced Ian to leave the small kitchen. Ian shouldn’t be walking around without crutches or supervision. It was only been this morning that he had done it for the very first time. But Anthony didn’t reprimand him, knowing it would fall to unhearing ears. “I’ll get the food. You just wait.”
Ian’s unsteady foot almost landed on a piece of glass but Anthony’s reflexes were faster, gripping tight around Ian’s ankle and letting out a relieved breath when he only teetered a little, managing to avoid getting hurt. He glanced up at Ian and couldn’t help but give him a warning look, disapproval at the whole predicament. It would have been all so easy if he could just pick Ian up and out of danger. Keep him out of harm’s way until Anthony felt satisfied.
He cleaned up the mess and sat beside Ian with their plates of noodles, feeling the need to be quiet and careful. The air was odd. “Are you sure you can do it this time?” Anthony questioned, trying to tease out the heavy mood. Ian had his fists clenched in front of him, his gaze hard on the table.
“I’m fine, Anthony,” he almost growled and went to pick up his fork. It shook dangerous and loose in his hand. Anthony hated watching Ian like this, watching him struggle. His hand itched to take Ian’s and hold it still; stop the agitating scene before him. The fork slipped between tight fingers and almost fell to the floor but Anthony caught it.
“C’mon. I’ll help you,” Anthony offered, holding the fork for Ian. But he was refused with ferocity and Anthony was defeated again to a nod. There were times like these since Ian had come home from the hospital. It would start with Ian trying and trying until he got angry, flustered and agitated. And Anthony would try his best to coax Ian back out of his negativity with a joke or calming encouragement. Therapy was where he was most out of control and where Anthony would have to stand on the sidelines, feeling helpless and restricted as Ian was asked to do the simplest tasks over and over again with little results.
That was why Anthony had been so happy this morning, watching Ian finally do something all on his own and laugh genuinely for the first time in weeks. But that morning had felt like a life time ago and as Anthony twirled his own food around his fork, he gazed sadly at the dark and looming Ian now, attempting badly to eat. It should be easier now but Ian’s body racked with tremors more than usual, as if all those weeks of therapy had never happened. It worried Anthony.
He couldn’t take it anymore. “Actually, I feel like eating a sandwich instead,” Anthony thought out loud, hoping Ian would take the hint. He stood up and made to take the plate from Ian but the other boy let out a small groan and was quick to grab Anthony’s wrist. Nails dug deep into flesh and Anthony cringed, feeling the contact rattle his careful reserve inside of him.
“J-Just... let me do this, okay?” Ian sighed, looking up at Anthony with eyes so deep blue that he was afraid he would fall into. Ian released his hold and Anthony frowned, the laces of contact licking gently underneath his skin. “I can do it, alright?”
Anthony sat back down and looked on wearily, biting his tongue as more dangling noodles fell than stayed on the shaking fork. Sometimes Ian could be so stubborn. Anthony felt just as frustrated as Ian looked, initially expecting an uneventful dinner with Ian so his mind could wander away from the afternoon. But to see this Ian, the angry and bitter one, struck an uncomfortable chord in Anthony’s chest and he averted his gaze, not wanting to fight all the urges within him to do something.
Suddenly, Ian cursed loudly in irritation and in that short amount of time, he had almost upturned the table with the plate spinning off and clattering silently to the carpet. His eyes were scrunched tight and his face fiery red from overexertion.
“Ian, Ian,” Anthony reassured, taking Ian’s rigid wrists and trying to stop him from bashing the table again. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Ian released a sharp breath and Anthony could see the violent tears forming. “No it’s not!” he spat, ripping his hands back to his own chest. Anthony’s hands hovered over Ian’s, sliding his knuckles against white hot ones. “I can’t move anything right. It’s not fucking okay, alright?” Ian turned his head away, sniffing, and whispered heavily, “This is so stupid.”
Anthony sighed, misery and regret swimming in the atmosphere around them. He didn’t know what to do. He clenched his own fists, letting the palm of his hand turn raw as he used all his will to stop from doing what his body wished him to do. Makayla’s words had caught up with him and every action, every look, every thought that processed through Anthony’s mind now was going through a filter. He could not trust himself anymore.
Anthony decided and bent down, avoiding Ian’s eyes. “I’ll clean this up and make some sandwiches.”
There were a few moments of silence with just their breaths filling the emptiness. Anthony saw from the corner of his eye Ian wiping vigorously at his face with trembling hands and then planting his half clenched fingers onto his lap. He looked back at the task at hand, again ignoring the urge to do anything, going on with picking up the greasy noodles off the floor.
“I don’t want a sandwich,” Ian said quietly, roaring the next words when Anthony continued on, pretending not to hear because he didn’t know what to do, “I don’t want a goddamn sandwich!”
Ian fell to a kneel, his legs jutting out at an awkward angle all over the mess strewn on the floor. He grabbed the plate from Anthony’s hands and let it bounce away behind him.
“What the hell?” Anthony cried, starting at Ian’s sudden actions. Ian stared at Anthony long and hard for a second with eyes that struck hot blue lightning right through the other, cheeks flushed with an angry pink that spread violently to his ears. Anthony made to grab Ian, hold him up again off the floor but he was pushed roughly back on the chest. His mouth gaped open as he sat back on the heels of his palms. “Hey! What’s the fucks matter with you?”
“Nothing,” Ian seethed through gritted teeth. “I can do this myself. I’m not entirely useless.” Then he started trying to clean the mess, raking the carpet with sharp fingers. Anthony opened his mouth to stop Ian but one look at this deranged boy, rocking back and forth, picking up hardly anything, brought Anthony to a choking caution. It scared him, the way Ian was acting right now.
“Ian... stop it,” Anthony managed to say, coming in closer and trying to catch Ian’s hands that struggled away from his. Worry gripped Anthony’s throat and he tried to swallow, torn on what to do again. Ian growled when all he managed to do was coat his hands with grease, pulling at his hair in blazing frustration. “Stop that, Ian. You need to calm down-”
Anthony cried when a hard fist connected with his jaw and he stumbled backwards, his breath escaping his lungs too fast. “Fuck!” he yelled, pain throbbing along his cheek. He stood up, caressing his chin and looking down angrily at Ian. What had Anthony done? “Shit! What the hell was that for?”
Something in the vehement look Ian had unsettled Anthony and a flash of images bombarded his vision: Ian staring heatedly at him, daggers on the tip of his tongue and eyes so stricken with remorse and angry fire that it burned to remember. It was the same look Ian had on now as he staggered, standing up as well.
"You tell me," Ian spat, knuckles white as he gripped onto the chair beside him. Ian was exhausted and Anthony could see his knees quivering from just standing. "Since you're so good at it and all."
"Tell you what?" Anthony asked, scowling at the pain that throbbed in his face and at the situation, seeing an inkling of where this was heading. "What the fuck, man? Why'd you do that?"
"Fuck you, Anthony," Ian snarled, the hand by his side shook violently. "Fuck you and your little secrets." He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.
"What secrets, Ian?" Anthony asked again, anger welling up past the calm that he forcibly tried to keep. "God, I tell you every--"
"Oh yeah, you do, buddy," Ian interrupted, "That's why I'm so happy for the two of you. So fucking happy.” Ian huffed at the hand at his side shaking erratically. “Goddamnit!” And he punched an intense trembling fist against his thigh, forehead crinkling as eyes watered.
“This is about Makayla,” Anthony realized.
“No shit,” Ian growled and rubbed a hand over his face. He sighed shakily, shoulders slumping forward.
Anthony regarded Ian with sad eyes, his pain dribbling away forgotten. He tried to explain, “Look, I didn’t know she was going to do that. I never even knew that’s what she wanted. I swear, Ian.”
“Sure, whatever, man.” Ian turned his back to Anthony, breathing through clenched teeth. “See if I give a shit.”
“Besides, we’re...” he started but stopped. Anthony furrowed his brows, angrily confused but curious as well about exactly what Ian wanted. “What’s your problem? Why are you so pissed?”
“Whatever,” he said again over his shoulder, “You and Makayla can do what you want.”
“Geez, Ian. You don’t think I would’ve asked you first about something like this?” Anthony put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. He wondered if Ian remembered this same conversation only a few months ago. “And I did, Ian, before... before all of this."
Ian shrugged Anthony’s hand off. “Yeah, right.”
“What’s the deal?” Anthony asked, feeling more restless and exasperated. What the hell did Ian want from him? “It’s not like she hasn’t lived with us before. She lived here for a few weeks and nothing changed. What could be different about it this time, huh?” He bit his lip, racking his mind of a reason to Ian's outburst. "Is it 'cause you still like her, man? Is that why?"
"What the hell?" Ian whipped his head back. "Is that what you think?"
"Well, is it?"
Ian didn’t answer and looked away. Anthony stared down at his neck, finding it slumped forward even more.
”No,” he finally managed to say, quiet and defeated, turning his head around again to look at Anthony. “No,” he repeated, “I-I’m just... I don’t know. I guess, I’m just messed up right now.” Anthony heard him sigh and shrug and all the unprecedented anger seemed to dissipate. “I’m sorry, man. About your jaw. I was out of line.”
Anthony blinked, expecting something other than such an easy apology. “What’s bothering you, Ian?” He took a step forward. “I’m trying to understand... Is it..? Would you hate us being together that much?” he asked quiet and focused, wanting to know and not understanding who exactly ‘us’ was.
“I never said that,” Ian replied, looking weary now that he had calmed, “You... you really like her, right? It shouldn’t matter what I think.”
They stared at each other and Anthony didn’t want to answer. Something in Ian’s dejected pleading eyes called for words; words that Anthony was afraid to say and shouldn’t. He bit his tongue and cleared his mind again. It was all a misunderstanding with Anthony just wanting what wasn’t there. The last time he dared to think something like that, it ended with the screeching of metal and the impossible heavy thump of a limp body.
Ian let out a sigh, eyes breaking the gaze and an atmosphere of false security fell between them. “If you two want to move in together,” Ian said after, quiet, “don’t let me stop you.”
He stumbled to walk away and a wave of eerily familiarity washed through Anthony’s blood. He closed his eyes to the blinding memory that brought in sounds and feelings that had come from the forgotten depths of his mind. Dread and imminent fear stroked the fringes of his thoughts as he remembered Ian walking away from him, words forming but lost to the series of events following.
He suddenly reached out a frightening hand towards Ian, a blur of commotion surrounding his vision. Anthony thought he could save him this time and have it end a different way. And as his fingers felt real warm skin, the illusion dissipated and he saw, they were not outside. There were no cars waiting in the intersection. No drizzling cold mist that coated the foggy cement with ice. Ian wasn’t ten feet in front of him, spiteful and mad. And there wasn’t an impatient driver turning left.
Instead, Ian’s body was real and it pressed up against him solid and breathing, almost knocking both of them backwards.
"What the..?" Ian spoke and Anthony let go quick, like he was burned, feeling fooled and embarrassed and not seeing the confused azure eyes.
“Looked like you were going to fall on your ass,” he mumbled the excuse pathetically and swallowed, walking around Ian to the kitchen for lack of what else to do. “You shouldn’t be walking.” Their shoulders brushed dangerously.
They didn’t say anything more, too absorbed in their own thoughts. Something stirred ugly and beautiful between them and both of them felt it, saw it, but couldn’t understand it.
Anthony cleared his throat, hands on the counter with his back to Ian and head looking up in case these stupid unreasonable tears fell. “Um...f-forget about the mess,” he said, forcing a grin, “L-Let’s just order pizza, yeah? I don’t want that sandwich either.”
The night was quiet. Even the rare sound of cars driving past didn’t make up for the stillness that entered the house.
Anthony hadn't come to bed and instead was sleeping in his own room. The silence rang loud in his ear and it wasn't until tonight, with his bed feeling too big for him, that Ian realized how lonely he was by himself. It didn't feel alright.
Today was a strange day and Ian clenched his fists tight, letting the struggle and pain act like punishment for what he had done. He shouldn't have been angry at Anthony because he had no reason to. What right did Ian have to whether Makayla moved in or not? They lived in the same house, shared the same things and worked together but this business with Makayla, it is all Anthony's. He needed to put these feelings of hostility and irrational unfairness aside and let Anthony live his own life.
Ian sighed. He regretted almost everything; from the moment Anthony entered the room to the punch that pulsated hot on his knuckles. For that second, Ian didn't understand himself at all. He had had days right after the accident where he felt himself lost behind a wall blocking out everything that was essentially himself. But lately, it seemed he was swimming in thoughts and reflexes from a person who he wasn't familiar with anymore. He felt like he had jumped across the wall instead of breaking it piece by piece, not letting the old Ian trickle in with careful order.
Ian realized these feelings, gripped them in his hands but they were a mess and today he had let one slip out of his rigid fingers. And here he was now, alone, regretful, embarrassed and feeling like he had ended something good.
What was wrong with him? Ian asked himself this as he rolled to his side and faced the wall, burying his body within the covers. The shadows danced around the room, mocking him with their ambiguous shapes and Ian shut his eyes, afraid the black would squeeze out his tears.
The sound of the door opening brought him out of his stupor and he froze, knowing Anthony was there. His presence sent thrills and dreadful anticipation throughout his body and Ian decided to pretend to be asleep. He didn't trust himself anymore, scared that another fight would surface if he was awake. What did Anthony want?
"Ian?"
The pad of quiet feet on carpet made Ian nervous but he forced himself to breathe evenly. Through slitted eyes, Ian saw the shadows on the wall being blocked by Anthony's silhouette and there was something tired and weary in his form. Their breaths matched but were broken when the edge of the bed sunk in and the air in Ian's throat disappeared.
Nothing happened for a while. Ian watched the dark figure projected on his wall; it didn’t move, just stayed there slumped and solid. He wondered if Anthony had maybe fallen asleep or maybe he wasn't even there and it was just Ian dreaming too real with his heart pounding so loud that he was afraid the whole world would hear.
But then Anthony's voice broke the silent thickness around them with the smallest of whispers, "Ian... Do you remember?"
He didn't answer; feeling like Anthony was talking to himself. Another long silence gripped the night between them.
"I remember everything," Anthony sighed and finally the shadow moved.
Anthony's words were so quiet that if Ian breathed too much, he would miss them.
A chuckle escaped from Anthony. "This is just like when you were in that damn coma. I kind of missed that," another sigh, "Did you hear anything?" Softer this time, "Can you even hear me now?"
Ian let out a loud snore, sighing dramatically to reinforce the image of him asleep.
"Guess not," he said and Ian felt the tremor of a hand ghosting over his shoulder, close but not quite there yet. "You're an asshole, y'know that? Biggest douche in the world."
Ian bit back his retort.
"You should have looked before crossing the street." Anthony's hand rested on the base of Ian's neck, the touch feathery soft and hesitant. "But nope, you just had to run off, like a freakin' dog. I'm never going on another jog with you unless you're on a leash."
A car drove past and Anthony's shadow stretched long along the wall until settling again in its original slumped stature. Ian tried to remember, to think again, of jogging, of that day and why Anthony was talking to him about it now. Why, right at this moment, when he had been so tight-lipped all through the past months? And the way he was talking, so free and unrestricted and how the sound of his voice finally matched the way it was before.
"You were so pissed, man," Anthony continued, still whispering, "I just wanted to know for sure if... if...” He stopped and grew quiet again. "Do you remember, Ian?"
He went on without an answer, voice growing steady and louder, "I told you that I was thinking seriously about moving out with Makayla.”
Ian's mind went elsewhere then. The pitter-patter of footsteps across hard frosty cement and the way their breaths flew into their faces, adding to the fog that hovered over the streets on a too cold winter afternoon.
Anthony was beside him, gaze hard and concentrated in front. And Ian had been thinking about Makayla and how the two of them were so close now, to a point that Ian saw it going ahead of him and away to something that would mean time and distance from Anthony.
It had scared him, terrified him, and as he had looked over at Anthony, he wondered when these feelings that weren't supposed to exist would go away. Because they made him do things and feel things that he wasn't proud of and he knew he should be disgusted and repulsed, but he wasn't.
Ian remembered that he had the audacity to wish Anthony might feel the same way about him too.
Anthony’s low voice brought him back to the dark hushed room. “We never really talked about it,” he said, “and you would always just... wave it off, I guess. It was probably the only thing you were quiet about.”
The hand tensed and Anthony sucked in a breath that heaved his shoulders high. Then the shadow drooped further down, head hanging low.
“God,” Anthony whispered, “You were gone for three fucking weeks... they told me to talk to you. That maybe you’d hear me.”
Ian furrowed his brows, trying to follow Anthony’s train of scattered thoughts.
“Probably sounded like an idiot. Rambling to some unconscious vegetable,” Anthony laughed a little but sobered up quick. The time between Anthony speaking was filled with a deep and long contemplative silence that made Ian itch to turn around and just demand Anthony to talk. But he knew his friend wouldn’t speak to him if he knew Ian was listening.
“Did you really forget, Ian?” The question was said under breath and it didn’t stay in the walls for long. “You were trying. But I knew you didn’t like it... I don’t know, I thought maybe you felt-I mean... I guess... I just wanted a reason not to.” The skin on Ian’s neck prickled with heat. “I knew you didn’t want me to move out with her.”
Ian remembered now, like the morning light creeping over closed lids. He heard in his head as he told Anthony that it was cool. That he was happy that the two of them were getting serious and that he was proud his friend had found a girl he wanted to be with.
But those were all lies.
They had run two blocks with Ian ahead of him, not wanting Anthony near him when he was so devastated inside. And Anthony had kept talking about moving, about where they would live, how much money it would cost, and how for that moment, it seemed like the thing to do. There was doubt, Anthony had admitted, and he had asked Ian what he thought about it.
“Do what you gotta do, man,” Ian had said, legs pumping harder when Anthony was able to keep in pace with him. The cement was patchy white and the setting sun was just painting the horizon with coral.
“But do you think it’s a good idea?” Anthony asked between huffs of breathlessness. “I mean... then, you got the Smosh stuff... and...”
Ian had to bite his tongue and keep his fists swinging by his side. “Yeah, sure,” he said with contempt, “Don’t worry about me, bro. Just do whatever.”
“Hey, whoa,” Anthony called, reaching a hand out to stop Ian from running any further. They stopped a few feet from the curb. It was five in the evening and cars were busy in motion with exhaust mingling with the light drizzling haze. “You’re a part of this as much as I am. This isn’t only between me and Makayla. You’re in it, too.”
Ian looked at Anthony, his hands on his side as he tried to catch his breath. “Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling sarcasm creeping up into his voice. “I’m part of this, too?”
“Yeah,” Anthony confirmed, “If I’m moving out then we have to talk about how we’re gonna deal with the house and-“
“Uh huh, cool stuff, dude,” Ian cut in and making to start running again but Anthony caught the sleeve of his shirt. He felt the burning in his eyes and blinked, hoping it would go away.
“Ian, stop-”
“Look, can we just talk about this later?” Ian shook off Anthony’s hand. It was hard keeping himself calm when he felt like Anthony had just stabbed him in the gut with a double edged sword. He didn’t want to say his next words, but they came out on their own accord, “I really don’t care what you do.”
“What?” Anthony gave Ian a confused look, exasperation in his voice. “Dude, I’ve been trying to talk to you about this forever but you’re always, just-”
“Okay,” Ian sighed, trying to dispel is anger aside. "Fine." But as he looked at Anthony, with his hair troubled in a mess with skin glistening in icy sweat, and talking about leaving, something twisted hot agony in the pit of Ian’s core. “Okay, let’s talk.”
They looked at each other, the invitation to discuss feeling untouchable now that it was out. Anthony’s mouth opened and closed several times before he scrunched his brows together in a question. The pink light became deep gold and the mist began to settle around them.
“Do you...” he started, “Do you have a problem with this?” Ian moved his legs side to side, fidgeting because he didn’t know how to still himself from the agitation. “Because if you do, Ian, maybe you should tell me.”
“No, I don’t,” Ian said short, again, “I don’t.”
“Well, I think you do, man.”
“What?” Ian shrugged his hands in front of him, “What do you want me to say?”
“Just, if you’ve got a problem with this. I wanna know.”
“I don’t,” Ian reiterated, finding his resolve leaving him slowly because he really just wanted to get out and run. He didn’t want to think about Anthony gone with Makayla and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it being reality. “If you want to go and live with Makayla, go live with her. There’s no problem with that.”
“Are you sure?” Anthony asked with something pleading in his eyes.
“Yeah!” Ian exasperated, letting out a false laugh, “It’s like you don’t believe me or something.”
“Alright,” his friend stuck his hands in his pockets, nodding and staring at his feet. “Alright, then... I guess that’s that.”
A tense quiet surrounded them and Ian shivered, the disappearing sun taking away its warmth and making the world dark. He felt a sense of betrayal settle in him that shouldn’t be there. There was no reason or right for it to form. But nevertheless, Ian felt it and he struggled hard not to let it dictate him.
“So that’s it,” Ian said, his breathing coming out fast, “That’s it. You’re going to live with her.”
Anthony looked up, not saying anything, just stared at Ian. There was a sort of expectation behind those chocolate eyes but Ian didn’t see it then, only saw Anthony walking out the door and away from him. He had berated himself for acting like a girl who was afraid her boyfriend was going to leave her for someone else.
“Really? That’s it?” Ian asked after a while, wanting something he shouldn’t, “You’re just going to get up and go live with her? Y-You’ve only been dating for a year!”
Anthony was still looking at him. “What’s wrong with that?”
“O-Oh, I don’t know?” Ian choked out in annoyance, “The fact that you hardly know this girl and now you want to go and leave after we’ve-”
Ian stopped himself. They’ve known each other for a good decade and more, lived together for a couple of years and their friendship contained so much sweat and blood, time and work and, if Ian dared to say, love. He took Anthony’s decision to live with his girlfriend as an insult; as if this one girl who hadn’t even known his best friend a quarter as much as Ian did could so easily take him away in a flash.
Ian shook his head, knowing again that he was taking things too far and too serious. He was letting his inappropriate feelings take over. “Never mind,” he said, turning around and walking the few steps towards the intersection. It was getting dark and the temperature dropped several degrees.
He punched the button to cross the street. Anthony was right on his heels, that same troubling expression on his face.
“Hey, what’s up with that?” he asked and stood in front of him. Ian didn’t want to look at Anthony, afraid if he did, he would start acting up again. “I thought you said it wasn’t a problem. Now you’ve changed your mind? What is it? Tell me, Ian.”
“Nothing,” Ian seethed and squinted, trying to see through the fog. But Anthony didn’t rest and came in closer, demanding an explanation when Ian didn’t feel at all like answering. “It’s nothing, alright? Just leave it.”
Ian hit the button a couple of more times and looked at the cars filling up the intersection. The lights weren’t changing fast enough and Anthony was getting up in his face. “Ian, if you don’t want me to move in with her, just tell me. Tell me if that’s what you want.”
The light changed and the bright white of the pedestrian walking-man shone like a beacon for escape but Anthony blocked him with two hands on his shoulders and a face so close it was all Ian could see.
“We’re best friends, right? You can tell me, if that’s how you feel,” Anthony said these words slow and clear, “Ian.”
He had pushed those hands away, pushed them down and hated how his shoulders tingled with a million electric pins. And when Anthony urged once him again, Ian had snapped.
“What do you think? I don’t, alright? Geez!” Ian admitted, his heart hammering hard and out of control, “Of course I don’t want you to move in with her.”
There was relief in Anthony’s eyes and a twitching upturn of lips but at that time, Ian was confused and only heard disappointment when Anthony asked, “Why not?”
“God, I-I don’t know...” he stammered, embarrassment flowering over his cheeks, “I just don’t because I... I-I...” And Ian had walked around Anthony too fast for his friend to stop him because he was annoyed, almost slipping over the shimmering icy street. He didn’t want to explain because he was so tempted to tell the truth.
“Ian, don’t walk away from me! Now you have to tell me why, you stupid douche!” Anthony had called with a slight teasing tone. Ian had heard this and stopped for a split second, turning around with the truth so ready on his tongue and so angry at Anthony, not taking in the fact he was in the middle of the road. He was so taken aback by the sudden goofy knowing smile on Anthony’s face when he turned around.
And in that one split second, so many things had happened.
His life had been broken into a million pieces across grey asphalt then. And because in that same second, he had seen Anthony for the first time, not just as his best friend, but as someone who he would never stop loving and who might love him just as much.
It was a thought, but it was thrown away too far and mangled.
Ian was struck almost breathless by the memory. It somehow grounded him and came to him neat and conveniently. Everything came into order.
He let this bit of knowledge settle within him, fill him up. Maybe, maybe, just maybe...
“You were gunna tell me why, I think,” Anthony’s present voice was different and Ian mourned a little, “B-But t-then...” he choked, the tight fingers on Ian’s neck quivering, “T-Then a fucking white beamer ran you over.”
Anthony’s next words crackled with heart wrenching depression, “I lost you that night,” he cried, air shuddering into his lungs, “I fucking lost you.”
Ian opened his eyes fully, moving his head slightly back to look at Anthony. His grip dug deep into Ian’s skin and he had to touch those fingers, to remind Anthony that he was there.
It was so dark and the street lamps stung Ian’s night-adjusted vision but the tears that pooled beneath Anthony’s lashes shone visible. Ian sat up, still holding onto Anthony’s shaking hand. His gaze was somewhere else, hard and far away, not in this room with Ian.
“You died in my fucking arms, Ian,” Anthony sobbed with fists that clenched tight and painful and Ian’s hand had never been so steady as he wiped hot wetness from Anthony’s cheek. Anthony kept going, “You died, you died...And I-I couldn’t... I...”
To see Anthony like this, it hurt tenfold more than waking up with broken bones and torn bruised skin. It was a hurt that reached deep and violent like a fissure in his heart.
“Shh,” Ian coaxed and he didn’t know what to do. Anthony was so broken, so destroyed and Ian had never seen him this way before. It never crossed his mind how hurt Anthony was; how this affected his friend as much as it did himself. The wounds were there, just like how they decorated Ian’s body, only invisible on Anthony. “I’m right here, Anthony, right here,” he whispered, crushing their chests together as Ian took racking shoulders into his arms. “Shit, Anthony, I’m not dead. Anthony, Anthony.”
And Ian couldn’t help but to cry too as Anthony held him, almost clawed at his back while he sobbed burning tears into Ian’s neck.
“I’m still here,” Ian reassured, words muffled by the soft skin of Anthony’s shoulder.
But he kept crying and saying, “So m-much blood... so much... I c-couldn’t... And t-then...”
They were like that for a while, each heaving out breaths that had been held for too long and letting the shock and fear of what might have happened, what was so possible and so devastating, ease out as trails of salt water on flushed cheeks. And Ian wanted Anthony to shut up, to quiet down and just stop spewing out nonsense because Ian was right there with him and fine, blood in his arteries pumping a growing body. He wasn’t dead.
He took Anthony’s fervent face firmly between his hands with his thumb constantly swiping away tears. And Ian covered Anthony’s mouth with his cheek, letting his lips whisper over and over again close to the other’s ear that he was right there, alive, and not dead. Anthony’s shaking and trembling slowed as Ian dared to press his mouth on the rough skin of his temple. Hot breath slid like liquid down Ian’s wet cheek.
Heavy swallows and a weight that left Ian’s chest heavy and pained, urged him again to ghost a kiss against the curve of Anthony’s jaw, the spot where his angry fist had connected. To Ian, it was his apology for more than just swollen flesh but for other things too.
The clutch on Ian’s back smoothed out when Ian grazed his lips boldly right on the corner of Anthony’s, tasting salt and honey at the same time. He felt invigorated, like he had just jumped from the highest skyscraper on earth and he could care less if he had a parachute or not. He only wanted to continue to fall and feel. He didn’t even think twice again as he let their lips touch, shuddering as something in his chest burst colours and piercing sensations.
Anthony was completely still and quiet now and as Ian pulled away, opening his eyes, he searched for something to stop him, to tell him otherwise but he didn’t see any of that. He saw the fear but the apprehension too and Ian took it, using it as assurance.
“I’m here,” Ian said softly and kissed him again, wanting so much for Anthony to kiss him back.
And Anthony opened his mouth, a small shaky breath coming out. Ian was so scared now, suddenly terrified this was another mistake but Anthony titled his head so that their lips slid together closed and his hands moved slowly up Ian’s spine, sending running shivers. His lips were shaking too, with nervousness or panic, Ian didn’t know. But it gave him confidence again, to press further and want more. Ian wanted so much.
He could taste the tears, feel them brush across the tip of his nose and the wetness was fresh in their mouths. A torrent of emotions ran through him as Anthony’s fingers dug into his shoulders, deepening the kiss when Ian moaned, tilting his head back.
They laid back onto the bed, Anthony's body trembling slightly as he straddled Ian's legs with both hands on either side of his head. Their lips never stopped moving and Anthony's tears dripped heavy onto Ian's blazing cheekbones. They turned cool as they slid moist behind Ian's ears.
And this was what he was missing. This, Ian knew as they breathed hard and wanting, was what filled the blank gaping holes in his memory. This friendship, this love, this connection; Anthony was what made Ian him. And Ian had lost Anthony that night too, to a world of constant fear and guilt. To a nightmare that Anthony probably dreamt over and over again, of losing his friend.
A strangled sob escaped out of Anthony, almost breaking the kiss but Ian pulled him in again, pounding chest collapsed against pounding chest, taking the quivering lips with more force, more pressure, to show Anthony he really was right there.
"Ian," Anthony cried between ragged breaths and Ian didn't give him another chance to speak, feeling his place only when their lips met.
And Anthony was right; he had lost Ian that night too. But now, as Anthony sprawled his body over Ian's and he greedily felt every part of his friend, he knew. He knew that as their lips moved strong and hungry for each other, singing sweet relief, they had found each other.
Epilogue
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