Regret (Ianthony)

Four Months, Two Weeks Prior

The lightning sliced through the air, accompanied by a symphony of thunder rumbles. The sky was blanketed by large, connected tufts of grey matter that seemed to stretch onwards, over the horizon. Vents of sunlight shone bravely through the few small areas between the clouds that were not covered, only to be blocked by more clouds. Winds whipped through the air, ripping vibrant April leaves from their trees before their time. Bullets of rain pelted the ground, darkening the pavement from beige to nearly brown. The climatic atmosphere felt insecure, and Anthony worried from inside the house as he peered through the shades at Ian's sitting figure that was criss-crossed in the middle of the driveway, regardless of the weather conditions.

Frowning, Anthony opened the door and shut it behind him before striding into the rain, instantly feeling goosebumps rise from beneath his sleeves. The chill from the biting wind and freezing water made him push on to get to Ian, who was facing the road. Anthony was behind him, and he didn't make it seem like he was trying to sneak up on Ian; he had tried it many times with Ian, but he was just too alert for his own good. Hell, Ian was just plain attentive; he noticed when Anthony wore different shoes, he got onto him when he left the car keys inside (even before he himself had realized), and even took the time to compliment Anthony when he put extra effort into editing, whether he could honestly tell the difference or not. It was a sweet quality, but he couldn't scare him worth a shit.

Standing behind his boyfriend, Anthony sighed and plopped down, scooting up beside Ian and wrapping his arms around him. He laid his head against Ian's broad shoulder, looking up to see that Ian's eyes were full of dark bitterness and tired awareness.

Without facing Anthony, Ian said, "You shouldn't be out here. It's cold."

Hugging Ian only tighter, Anthony replied, "Neither should you. I came out here to check on you so you wouldn't get pneumonia." Ian's rigid posterior refused to give into Anthony's warmth, and it made Anthony feel as though he was hugging a statue.

"I'll be fine..." Ian's sure voice didn't waver, but Anthony could still feel the lie wash against his skin as obviously as possible. He didn't comment on it, but he did allow a cautious hand to slide into Ian's grasp, only to make him retract it at the cold touch.

"Fuck, man! You're freezing!" he exclaimed, rubbing Ian's clammy residue from his fingers. However, the feeling of squeezing an ice cube lingered, causing Anthony to persist in his attempts to get Ian in the warm, dry house. "Please, come inside."

Ian was silent. His stormy eyes bored into the distance, and it was impossible to point out what exactly he was staring at. Then, to Anthony's dismay, a lone tear slid out of the corner of Ian's eye, quickly washed away by the rain. Anthony could feel the rain begin to soak through his clothes and his hair began to flatten, but he ignored it in favor of staying with Ian.

The two sat in an uncomfortably quiet atmosphere, listening intently to the thunder rumbles from above and occasionally flinching at large ripples of lightning that seemed to tear through the sky's fabric. Anthony couldn't remember how long he stayed there with Ian; he was waiting for what could have been forever or mere moments. He hated when it felt like that. Time was supposed to be a help, not a hindrance.

Suddenly, Ian spoke. "You know, I told my parents today." Anthony didn't even have to ask what he was talking about. In truth, he was partially expecting it; Ian was never really good at being secretive, and neither was he. It was a shared trait that often lead to difficult times, but sometimes saved their asses. Anthony liked to think that the former happened more often than the latter. Ian was blunt and headstrong. Anthony was careful and honest. It was a good combination.

Continuing, Ian voiced the memory. "You were watching TV or something, so I just decided to call up my mom because we don't talk much anymore. We caught up with small talk and I just..." Ian stalled, and let out a bitter laugh that Anthony never wanted to hear again. "I told her."

Wincing slightly, Anthony took Ian's hand once more, only this time he didn't let go. The cold was numbing his hand, which was better than feeling frozen. "I'm proud of you," he whispered, earning Ian's gaze.

With a smile that made him seem too old to be under thirty years of age, Ian muttered, "Thanks." Then, Ian leaned back and laid on his back, crossing his arms over each other and putting them under his neck to support his head. He stretched out his feet, and Anthony began copying his movements. The two were sprawled out on the cold, damp cement, doused thoroughly by the rain and chattering. Then, slowly, Ian closed his eyes. Anthony did too.

In that moment, he didn't need to think.