RoyalChaos Oneshots Book

Back to Boston

Okei okei here's one yeye.
No death but it's worse in my opinion.

Genre: angst
Trigger warnings:Cursing,(implied)substance abuse, (implied)physical abuse.

Boston-Augustana

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Well that was about it. What was said and done was over now. Anthony dragged the chalk onto the board. He tallied a three, next to the two vertical lines on the board. This board was supposed to be used for ideas. For inspiration. For new beginings. All it brought to him were painful endings.

He walked into the room, to find the suitcase. The suitcase included most T-Shirts and various other basic items. It didn't include the owner of the suitcases possesions like pictures, headsets, video games, and other little things that hurt Anthony so much now. He had seen that suitcase many times before. It might have not been this exact piece of broken, tattered luggage- but the sight was all too painfully familiar.

The suitcases owner entered the room, slipping on a gray coat, and taking the suitcase, along with taking his backpack upon his left shoulder. They both looked dead. Dead inside and out.

"Do you have enough money for the cab?"
Anthony said, in the most dull and empty tone he had ever uttered. His guest frowned, then nodded, as he carried his things to the outside of the apartment.

Anthony gripped the chalk into his palms, and he watched the younger man open the door. He stopped in the doorway, before turning to Anthony, and lightly opening his lips. They started to form a deep sound from the back of his thoat. "G-"

He couldn't get the words out.

Anthony felt his chest feel heavy, as his eyes swelled. Man up, asshole. You've done this two fucking times. Steven is no different. He's another useless person walking out of your useless life.

Anthony made his way to the door. He walked Steven down to the cab. The dark haired male leaned forward, kissing his now almost forgotten lover on the cheek. The two stared at eachother. It wasn't a stare of affection, or even regret. It was a stare of loss, like someone-or something-had died

And something did die.

It wasn't like the last two times. This time, it was rough. It was like every night was filled with screaming and the smell of gin mixed with the dusty apartment. Every day was demands neither of them could fufil. It was even on the worst days, it was the feeling of the more rough, bruised patches of skin.Steven needed to leave, and so did Anthony, in his own context. His hands shook, as they dropped the chalk onto the pavement. Steven loaded his things and hurried into the backseat. The cool air made Steven's breath frost the surface of the window. He wrote a phrase into his breath, lightly dragging his finger around in quick curves and turns.

Bye.

Anthony stood there in silence, waiting for the driver to take off, to take his Steven far away from him. But he wasn't really his anymore, was he? The seemingly endless nights certainly said otherwise.

He thought that he was tired. He needed a new town. He wanted to leave it all behind. But what about they? They were told it was out of love. They were told it was out of fear of losing eachother.

So what was to fear now?

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That wasn't very fun to write at all it hurt. a lot in a different kind of way tbh.