"No, no, no, no..." Anthony trailed off as he looked down at the thermometer. A hundred one degrees, no more, no less. Groaning, Anthony tossed the device into the sink and stalked out of the open door of the bathroom, without bothering to close it behind him.
He had only taken his temperature because his face was flushed when he looked in the mirror, not to mention that he felt like shit. Now he knew, but it didn't really help. Sometimes, Ian would schedule video shootings to take place on Saturdays, or even only Ian is Bored or Lunchtime with Smosh episodes because he wanted to get them over with (like when they had revealed that they liked each other in a way that was more than brotherly). As fate would have it, this was one of those Saturdays.
As he made his way to the living room (since he was already ready to head out with Ian), Anthony decided that he would try to play it like he wasn't sick. Or that he was dizzy whenever he stood. Or that he wanted to drop dead at the moment.
Ian was apparently eager to get there. He had already grabbed his keys and turned off the television and most of the lights, so there was no need for Anthony to remind him. It was a good thing, too; he felt like all that would come out of his mouth at the moment was puke, especially when he glanced at the fish bowl on the counter where Herbert resided. He loathed that fish with a passion.
Wait. Since when had he felt nauseous? He shrugged off the feeling and Ian surprised him by kissing him on the cheek just as they were about to leave for the video shooting. His lips felt cold against his skin.
Retracting, Ian mentioned, "Anthony, you're hot."
"Why, thank you," Anthony weakly retorted. Shit, Ian had realized that he had a temperature. It was all over now.
Rolling his eyes at Anthony's comment, Ian suggested, "How about I take your temperature?"
Stepping away from his boyfriend, Anthony countered, "Maybe you're just cold." It was a transparent defence, but Anthony was still persistent. He didn't want to get in the way of making videos.
Shaking his head with doubt, Ian simply stated, "No." He snagged Anthony's hand before proceeding to drag him off to the bathroom that he had just been in. Ian turned on the lights to find that the thermometer was in the sink, right where Anthony had left it after taking his temperature the first time.
Holding up the evidence, Ian asked, "Why the hell didn't you tell me you were sick?"
Frowning, Anthony defended, "I didn't wanna screw up the schedule." Again, it was weak, but he had good intentions.
Ian sighed. "Anthony, I'm not gonna be able to live with myself if you puke on the set. You," Ian pointed at Anthony's chest, "are gonna stay right here. I'll go make some calls and cancel for today."
"But when are we gonna shoot?"
"When you're healthy," Ian said, confirming Anthony's suspicions. Dammit, Ian cared way too much about his well being.
"C'mon, I'm fine!" Anthony pleaded, only to feel the awful dizziness that had been slightly present before take over his body, causing him to nearly keel over. However, Ian caught him mid-fall, and he held Anthony to his body, slinging his arm over his shoulder for support.
"Yeah, because that's totally fucking healthy."
Anthony stopped protesting as Ian pulled him to his room, carefully laying him down in his bead and covering him with his blanket. Maybe if he let Ian fawn over him today, it would satisfy Ian's need to make Anthony happy. Ian left the room as soon as Anthony was settled in. He pulled out his phone and began playing some apps on it, not knowing how long Ian planned to have him rest. Ian walked back into the room unexpectedly, setting a glass of water down on Anthony's bedside table. Then, Ian sat down on the edge of Anthony's bed and snatched his phone out of his hands.
"What the hell, man?!" Anthony exclaimed with confused anger, attempting to sit up to retrieve his phone only to be shoved down gently by Ian.
"You need to sleep. I'm keeping this 'til you feel better." Ian left the room again before Anthony could say anything, closing the door behind him softly.
Groaning, Anthony rolled over on his side, eyes wandering over to the closed door. Vivid images of random childhood thoughts overtook his vision, and before he knew it, his eyes were shut, and he was snoring quietly.
The room where he found himself in was Ian's. It was almost exactly how Ian's room normally looked. There were articles of clothing surrounding the hamper, failed baskets. His bed was unmade, his dressers covered with video game cases and movies alike, drawers haphazardly closed. The lights were off, as well as the fan. His only source of light came from the slits of light filtering in from between the shutters of the closed blinds on the windows.The walls, however, were plastered with Ianthony fanart and fanfictions alike, covering even the beige paint that used to coat the sides of the room. There were simple pictures of Ian and Anthony kissing, and there were pictures of them having graphic sex. Some were black and white, some were brightly colored. The fanfictions most likely had a similar range, but Anthony couldn't be bothered to read them through.
Just as he completed his observations, he heard the front door slam and heavy, emotional footsteps stomp down the hall, coming for him. Anthony could feel the threatening intention in them, so he quickly hid himself under the bed, diving down just as the door to Ian's room was flung open. Anthony squirmed under the bed silently, and once he was fully concealed, concentrated on breathing quietly. He could see the intruder's feet from under the bed, noting that they were wearing brilliant red flip-flops. Small sniffles were emitting from the stranger, which notified Anthony that it was a man. The feet stalked closer and closer to Anthony's hiding position, and, with little warning, the shoes were kicked under the bed, one of them slapping Anthony across the face. He almost gasped. Almost. The visitor then climbed into the bed and laid there. Anthony could feel his heartbeat from below the bed.
Boom.
The man broke abruptly broke into sobs rather than sniffles, which caused Anthony to jump, rapping his head against the bottom of the bed.
Boom.
The man hadn't heard him. He continued to sob, gasping for breath like he was drowning in misery.
Boom.
Anthony didn't know how long he waited under that bed, waiting for the man to leave...
Boom.
...but he was quite certain that it had been a long, long while...
Boom.
The heartbeat of the man in the bed was terrifying.
Boom.
It was Anthony's only way to tell time.
Boom.
It was Anthony's only companion.
Boom.
It was Anthony's only way to know he and the man were still there, still alive...
Boo-
Until the beating stopped completely, in a frozen halt of dry death. His sobs lessened, then also yielded to silence.
Anthony's body tensed, as though a part of him had died too. He knew that was silly; he hardly knew the man. Hardly? He didn't know the man at all. All he knew was that he was dead, and it was somehow his fault. It was so quiet, without the man and his heartbeat. And his sobs. Anthony didn't know if he missed it or loathed it. It was impossible to tell.
Wriggling out from beneath the bed, Anthony pulled himself up and peered onto the bed. There, lying dead and still, was Ian.
He tried to scream; nothing came out. The boom was dead. His boyfriend was dead.
He should have revealed himself to Ian. Maybe, he would have lived if he would have done the right thing.
He was so scared. So scared...
The room was trapping him; it wanted him. He didn't have to try the door to know that it was locked.
The windows offered no purchase either. They were laughing in his face, glass eyes smiling at him in a way he never wanted to see again.
The silence. It was killing him, it was dragging him down with Ian, and maybe that was good, maybe that was bad, but he still wanted to live. He tried to struggle; he felt the covers of the bed caress his body in a stroke of life, a light flashed him into blindness, and he was dead too.
Anthony's eyes flew open as he tumbled over the side of his bed, landing painfully on his arm. He knew there would be a bruise there in a matter of minutes. He was crying, he was screaming for someone, anyone.
The door to his bedroom was thrown wide open and there was Ian, charging through it to save the day. He took one look at Anthony, who was crumpled in a heap on the ground, and rushed to his side, sitting him up to lean his back against his bed.
"Babe, what the hell happened?" Ian asked frantically, looking over Anthony and noticing that his pupils were dilated to an abnormal size. "Honey, wake up," Ian ordered firmly, slightly shaking his boyfriend's body. Anthony was still sobbing, his lips parted in primal desperation.
Biting his lip firmly, Ian raised his righted hand in the cold air and, in one swift movement, let it slap into Anthony's face. Anthony immediately blinked away the horror and his pupils returned to a normal circumference, mouth closing, then opening again.
"Bad dream," he whispered, tears forming in his clear brown eyes. One streamed down his cheek, stopping on its winding path just above his lip. Ian wiped it away hurriedly and helped Anthony up, laying him back in the bed. He tried to pull the covers over Anthony's body, but he kicked them away, fear in his eyes.
"No covers. Please, no covers," he panted, and God, he looked so pathetic when he said it. It was a mouse in a trap, a bird with no wings.
"Alright," Ian managed to get out. His voice was still rough from the terror that he had felt when he heard Anthony's first scream, then the crash that followed when he had fallen to the floor. Then, crouching beside the bed to level his eyes with Anthony's in the way that parents talked to unreasonable children, he stated, "I want you to go back to sleep. You're sick."
Anthony shot up. "No," he pleaded. "I won't. I can't. Not again, not again..." More tears were following the path of the first, dribbling onto the sheets beside him and staining them. Again, Ian wiped them off with his shirt before climbing into the bed beside Anthony.
"Look, I'll stay here with you, but you gotta sleep or I'm gonna leave. Okay?" Ian questioned as he slipped under the covers beside Anthony. Hesitantly, Anthony scooted under the covers too. The skin of their legs made contact, and Anthony let out a little sigh.
"Okay." Ian wrapped an arm around Anthony, and Anthony wrapped his clammy hands around Ian. He buried his head in the crook of Ian's neck and whispered, one last time before falling asleep, "Okay."