Strangers In The Night

6. 21 Hours, 57 Minutes Until It Ends

Bo recoiled at the question. The entire sentiment made his skin crawl, turn his stomach. It upended his line of thought, so much so it distressed him to no end. It was delirious, and Bo could've stuck his head in the sand and ignored the question entirely. He didn't. He spat back, "What would happen if I said it bothers me that you're basically selling yourself out being a research analyst?"

Ian's shoulders fell. "Don't – don't turn this on me."

"Don't turn this on me."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked again, pleading.

"What do you want me to do? I can't stop the inevitable."

"Us never speaking again after this isn't inevitable."

"Us never seeing each other again after this is."

"No, this wedding is inevitable. The sun rising is inevitable, but we – you say that like this – " Ian gestured to the space between them, growing as Bo backed towards the door. "– is destined to fall apart at a moment's notice? It isn't. We're the ones who get to decide that."

"No," Bo stammered, turning away. His eyes were growing misty again. He hated himself for it. "No. No. It-it's not. It'll fall apart because –" He'll realize Bo isn't worth it. Ian would cite a litany of issues and shortsightedness that burns the air around him. "– because it will, Ian. It will, because it always does."

"Bo – "

"This is what happens," Bo snapped, his eyes down and hands balled into fists. "People don't listen, and I weigh them down, and then this. This is what happens."

"Sh-shouldn't we be enjoying this then?" he asked, surprised by the rise in his voice. "I want to tell you things, Bo, but – "

"No, you don't."

" – if you really don't want to keep in touch after this – "

"It just wouldn't work."

" – then I'll swallow everything I want to say to you for the next day. I'll do it."

"Why bother? You already swallow everything you want to say to people."

Ian nearly bit back. He didn't. He wanted to say a million things but cut them down in the back of his throat.

Bo stared, rigid and ready to retreat. The sight brought to mind a scalded cat. "I-I didn't –" He grunted. "Ian, I don't – fuck."

"...sorry."

"Don't," he warned. "You j – you don't understand."

Ian flapped his arms at his sides, his breaths slow and steady. His hands curled into fists, and he looked Bo in the eye. His expression hardened, and smoke slipped through his teeth. "Don't want me to hold back? Fine. I'm tired of this whole goddamned weekend. I'm tired of everyone pretending to be nice when they don't want me here. I'm tired of being fucking used. I'm tired of not saying what I mean, or what I want, because I think it's selfish or it makes me feel guilty." He paused deliberately. "And I think you don't want me to understand. I think you're scared, and you want to stay scared. Because being afraid is easier than anything else."

And the air rang. People passed just beyond the sliding doors and the little patio outside Ian's room, and the gentle rumble of black storm clouds hovered in the distance. The heat, kept at bay, could suddenly be felt wrapping around the crowns of their heads.

"You think I don't want you to understand? I'm trying, Ian. I don't try with anyone else – just you, because I – I jus – I can't do this. I can't pretend this bubble won't pop. I've been burned one too many times before, and I can't let myself trust this feeling again. I just – I can't be alone again, Ian. I won't let myself." He paused, drawing in a wet, disappointed breath. "And be angry with me. Everyone else is. I'd rather you be mad at me than pretend everything's okay." He paused. "You don't think I'm not saying what I want?"

Ian kept his gaze drawn down. He froze at the accusation, though kept collecting everything he needed for his errand. He crossed his arms over his chest, pressing them tighter and tighter into his ribs. He couldn't help himself, muttering the same sentiment in response. It felt so disingenuous. "I need to go."

Bo wobbled backward, his hands pressed into the small of his back. His eyes were down, waiting for something that wouldn't happen. "I'm s...sorry," Bo whispered, the hurt tangible in his voice.

"Fine. I need you to go now. I have things to do."

"Okay."

"You have to leave."

Bo nodded. They wordlessly exited the room, Ian closing the door hard behind him. The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the floor and into his ankles. "Ian –"

"I have things to do," Ian repeated. He side-eyed Bo for a moment before his expression softened. "See you at the wedding?"

"Sure." Bo, swallowing back the uncertainty in his voice, stepped forward. "No, I – yes," he said more definitively. "I, I'm sorry, Ian. I am."

"Don't worry about it," Ian whispered. He met Bo's eyes and smiled, though it was forced, twisted and mangled.

Bo crossed his arms again, trying to cover himself. "Ian – "

"Maybe we both need time to cool down," Ian said, words too lighthearted to sound authentic. "You know? Sorry, I got so heated in there." He laughed. Something in him didn't bother trying to mask the anger in his stomach.

He shook his head. "That was my fault. You had every right."

"You're fine."

Bo nodded. "No, I'm not."

They lingered, facing each other but eyes unable to maintain contact. The display was only interrupted as a family dressed for the pool moved past them; the two stepped aside, their backs to the wall.

Ian turned away first. He smiled and nodded, feeling a fool in the process. His footsteps were magnetic, pounding the carpeted floor as he headed toward the nearest stairwell to the parking lot. He did not look back, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Bo watched him leave for a grand total of two seconds before he forced himself to head back to Building 3. He stopped as the floor descended, sloping down into the adjacent Building 5, and glanced over his shoulder. He wanted to stop him and explain himself.

Less than fifteen seconds later, the hallway was completely empty.

~