Strangers In The Night

6. 21 Hours, 59 Minutes Until It Ends

Ian said nothing. A sickening, heartbreaking feeling fell through his chest and into his stomach. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say. Anything and everything felt like a landmine, threatening to destroy whatever careful balance Bo was clearly trying to reset for himself. He stepped back far enough for Bo's hands to fall away from him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, wiping his face hurredly. The countdown in his head loomed over him, white against a black backdrop. Bo glanced and shuffled further away. "I can't," he whispered, cold all over, alone, crossing his arms. "I can't." His words were firmer, more definitive than before.

"...why?"

All he could do was shake his head. No answer Bo supplied was enough to justify the reasoning in his head. He wiped his eyes again.

Vibrating cut through them. They shuddered. Ian gritted his teeth and snatched it off the desktop. "What," he asked, irritation obvious in his tone. The voice on the other end melted that anger in a second.

Stepping back, Bo's hands rolled into fists against his arms.

"Look, this really isn't a good –" Ian hissed through his teeth, turning away with his phone pressed to his ear. "No, I – y-yes, I can do that, but after, I..." His expression fell. "...fine. Fine." He sighed through his teeth, tossing the phone onto the bed. "I...really want to continue this, Bo, but I have t –"

Bo nodded. "No. This was good. We should have stopped."

Helplessness swept through him, and rage burned in Ian's stomach. "...we should have," he said.

"We should have," Bo repeated, uncertainty in his words. He turned away.

They collected themselves carefully, moments at a time, avoiding each other like a single glance, a single touch, could lead to total decimation. Whatever warmth had prefaced their interaction had turned cold, uncomfortable. Bo knew he was pushing away; Ian knew he was withholding.

Ian's phone started buzzing again. He snatched it and hissed, "What," too low and menacing for his liking. His blood ran cold. He pulled his phone away and switched his phone speaker off. "Reed, now is not the time or the – I texted you about this already. I said –" His voice dropped, resigned. Disappointed in himself. "Sure. Fine. Whatever. Bye." The look in his hazel eyes had dulled when they moved back to Bo. He flapped his phone in his hands and whispered, "I have to..." His words failed.

"You can say 'no'," Bo found himself saying, so exacting that there was no room for argument. The unintentional snarl on his lips added to the frustration.

Ian felt the rage bubbling beneath. Suddenly, he was cornered, back pressed between a rock and a hard place, and every word was life or death. "You say that like I have a choice."

"... don't you?"

The answer, or lack thereof, hung between them in understanding. It left both their stomachs curdled, tinted blue.

Ian's arms flapped at his sides. "I said I'd help them, Bo. What do you want me to do?"

"I hit a nerve."

"No, you just – what do you want me to do, Bo?" He couldn't give more time to silence. He swiped his wallet from the desk, grunting. "I have to go get something from Walmart," Ian whispered, tone laced with annoyance. "Get some more fucking gel soles and mints and tights because they're fucking shredding through every single pair I've gotten like this is some kind of malicious game."

"You don't have to."

"And, you know, you're really one to talk," Ian mumbled under his breath, low enough to be heard but not quiet enough to be swallowed by the emptiness of the bedroom.

"What?"

His blood ran cold, and Ian turned away.

"No, what?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Ian. You said I'm refreshing honest or something like that. Speak your mind. Tell me what you said."

"No, I-I shouldn't have said that."

"What, were you going to wax fucking lyrical about how much of a pathetic person I am for 'giving up on my dreams'? Or were you calling yourself pathetic?" It came out too fast, and Bo recoiled. He bit the inside of his cheek.

Ian stared. His eyes were wide, unrestrained, burning red. The muscles in his neck tensed. He turned away. "I wasn't going to say that. I was –"

"What?"

He gave up. He turned back to Bo, the expression on his face begging, hurt at the truth. "I was – what would happen if I said I wanted to stay in touch with you after this?"