this is very open to interpretation. and I specifically don't specify who his significant other is so you can imagine whoever you like leaving him. or dying. have fun!
"Whoever gets left behind has to get the other's name tattooed on them."
It had been their promise, one that they didn't really expect to have to fulfil at any soon point of their lives. And yet here he was.
He'd still been red and watery eyed over it when he strolled into the tattoo parlour. His friend Scott sat near the back, and when he looked up, he immediately sobered up. Anthony was quiet for almost the whole time, apart from the shaky thank you he croaked out afterwards. Scott had hugged him tightly, as Anthony prayed he wouldn't fall apart anymore than he was. He handed the Italian the small, white card back to him. Anthony stared down at the slightly crooked signature in black ink, and he doesn't even realise he's crying until a tear hits the messily written name. Scott's offering him a place to stay, but he shakes his head. He has to go home.
His home used to be a person. His home had a name, a voice, a warm smile and an even warmer touch. A familiar hug.
When he gets to the empty house, Rex barks at him, running circles around him before looking at the front door. He's expecting an added person to walk through. It tears Anthony apart.
He drinks. Not enough to blackout, just enough to stop hurting. He curls up in bed-- their bed-- and he cries. Buries his head in the sheets and curls his body around a pillow and sobs. Rex's collar jingles softly as he climbs up onto the bed to lay at Anthony's feet.
It's raining outside, and it's devastatingly fitting.
Sometimes people ask him what the name on his wrist means. He usually smiles at them and says it's just something personal. When the person he eventually finds to fill the cracks left behind asks about it, with a curious, "Kid? Parent?" He'll softly remark, "A home."
