Regret (Ianthony)

One Week Prior

Slowly shutting the door to his room behind him, Anthony found himself crawling back into his bed, even though he had only woken up a mere four hours prior. He snuggled under the covers, feeling their enveloping warmth around his body. Yes, his senses had returned to him. But, the question was, was it worth feeling again only to be crushed under the weight of not being with Ian?

The way that Ian looked at him had changed back to friendly and not loving. Unless it was brotherly love, a thought that thoroughly killed Anthony to think about.

Fucking friend zone.

Everything had gone back to normal, if that was even what to call it. For Anthony, it was hectic and the equivalent of hell. For Ian... It was something else. If anything.

Which was the better choice? Everything or nothing? Blunt or sharp, destructive or creative, black or white?

He saw him every day, which made it worse. There was no avoiding it; only burning confrontation that could not be deserted. Ian had even moved back into his own room, leaving Anthony alone in a way-too-big bed that was much too fancy for his small room that now lacked something. Whether it was when Ian left his shoes by the door or forgot to move his dirty clothes into the hamper rather than scattered on the ground around it, he had marked the room in a way that Anthony already missed.

Anthony was so, so sore.

It burned not to have the option of caressing Ian's pale body, kissing those pinkish lips, feeling the way that he smiled when Anthony did something that was adorable. Honestly, it would have almost been better if Anthony had been shot.

But, he put on the facade for Ian's sake. Everything had changed for the better, only to switch gears and change back, and there was nothing he could do about it other than play along. He had to please Ian, even if it made him want to die.

Picking up the pieces.

Burning the remains.

Standing up, only to fall again.

And again.

And again.

Maybe it was better this way; now, the proposal issue would mean nothing to either of them. In fact, it seemed that nothing that had happened in the past six months meant anything to Ian, at least. Anthony wished he could say the same. He wanted the cold numbness from before. The shock. Not realization...

Knowing hurt worse than anything. It was like the frozen steel of the blade of a jagged knife, just begging to break the skin of whoever dared to pick it up, to know what it felt like to be in power. Is that why Adam and Eve were told not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge? Was it that that so thoroughly corrupted humans over the years? Insane people...

Did they know too much?

Secrets they couldn't keep.

Caused them to lose sleep.

No more counting sheep.

So goddamn much. That was how much it stung to see Ian, who seemed entirely unscathed from the entire ordeal. Sure, Anthony had heard him screaming down the hall during the night from nightmares, but surely Anthony wasn't the cause.

...

There was no way, and Anthony would not even chance making the possibility available in his head. Build it up to break it down, right? Yeah. Better not do that.

God, he could still practically taste Ian on his tongue. Minty from toothpaste. Sweet from smiles. Spicy from his own essence. It was perfect in every single way, and Anthony would never get to try it again.

So, he acted like everything was normal. For Ian's sake, of course.