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The first time Porter heard the song, it was as though his heart caught in his throat.
He knew those words, and he knew them well. They played in his head occasionally, tugged at his emotions when he was least expecting it. They brought back memories that he cherished, but refused to look at any deeper than the surface. Not that they were bad — in fact, they were some of the best years of his life.
'All I ever really wanted in this short life was you.'
It was what Anton had sent to Porter a few months after their breakup. They hadn't spoken since, and the text shook him to tears. Not only was he in a bad spot at the time as it was, but they'd both broken up under the assumption that it was mutual. On Porter's behalf, it wasn't, but he assumed it was what the older had desired, and he'd never wanted anything more than for Anton to be happy.
Now? He wasn't so sure.
The tune was familiar to him as well, and if he wasn't so currently compromised, he would've been mad. It was something Anton had played for him one day early into their relationship, one lazy morning while they were lying in bed. Anton claimed to remember something and scrambled to get his laptop, Porter laughing the whole while as he tripped over his own feet in his excitement.
Once both Anton and the laptop were securely situated on the bed, he popped open a video file, barely giving Porter any time to get a clear view before he hit play. It was a video of Anton at the piano, smiling almost nervously at the camera. There was no introduction aside from a soft " Alright, take four,” from the German's lip before he began to play. What he played was the exact tune Porter was hearing now.
The melody in the video finished almost abruptly, Anton's fingers stuttering before he hesitantly pulled his hands away entirely, then giving another nervous smile and a shrug to the camera. The video stopped there.
Porter was a bit confused as he turned to his boyfriend, who was now beaming at him expectantly. "It was... beautiful, Anton. Gorgeous, actually. But, uh, why are you..?"
"Oh!" Anton blushed, the nervous smile adorning the man in the video now matched right in front of Porter's eyes. "It's— it’s unfinished, of course! But, ah... it's for you."
The explanation, though helpful, didn't get Porter to speak, so Anton continued.
"It's your melody. It's all yours."
And when they kissed, lips trembling with emotion, Porter knew he was in love. Knew he wanted Anton forever, thought this love would last.
How he made it through the entire song was both a mystery and a miracle, but it ended with his head in his hands, tears soaking through his fingers. It turned him into a mess within seconds. Porter couldn't finish the album, not unless he wanted to achieve the complete and total breakdown he was rapidly speeding towards. There was probably something symbolic about the way his song — and yes, it was his song, his melody, Anton had made it for him —faded into 'True Colors' and whatever the message was, but Porter wasn't ready to go there. He didn't think he ever would be.
Before he could stop himself, his phone was in his hand and he was looking at his texts. The message was still there, staring him in the face. It seemed more vile than heartbroken now; angry, a message of betrayal, and Porter had to stop himself from throwing the thing. He hadn't bothered to ever respond to the message, but couldn't bring himself to delete it, either.
Going against his better instincts, his phone remained clutched in his hand. It only took a few short moments to make the decision before he was calling Anton, and the response was almost immediate.
“Hello?”
The voice shocked Porter - both because the answer came so quick and because Anton sounded different now, despite it only having been barely a year since they'd seen one another. Another confused greeting came before Porter was shaken out of it, and he stuttered out a response. “A-Anton, hey.”
“Who is this?”
There was a short beat of silence before Porter could respond, so Anton’s voice clarified, “I recently got a new phone, so I may not have your number. Who is this?”
“Porter.”
Another short, uncomfortable silence, and he swore he heard Anton swallow. His voice almost choked as he spoke up again.
“Porter! Hey, man.” Well, he sounded cheerful to hear from him at least. “What’s—”
“I’m sorry,” Porter blurted before his brain could tell him otherwise, and the tears came quickly again. “Anton, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”
“Porter, it's—”
“Why didn't you tell me? You could've told me, Anton, could've told me anything . I loved you. I still do .”
He heard a soft sigh from the other end. “No really, Porter, I promise I'm—”
“It's not fine, Anton!” Porter didn't want to yell. Not at Anton, not about this, but his heart was speeding faster and faster by the second, and he didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. Anton remained silent.
“If I would've known that's how you felt, if I would've known you were hurting so fucking badly , I would've done anything to help you. Anything to make it stop, Anton, I lo —”
“ Porter .”
It was a rough command, frustrated, and Porter’s mouth snapped closed immediately. Silence enveloped them again before he heard a breath.
“I've had time. I'm over it.”
The words were cold, almost calculated. Like Anton had been waiting months for Porter to call just to tell him this.
“Oh,” was all Porter said. It was all he could say, his mouth running dry.
“I'm sorry,” came Anton’s response, but it didn't seem sincere. Anton was over it, over his feelings, over him .
“Yeah.”
And then Porter hung up. He hung up, and didn't hesitate to delete Anton’s number. His phone was abandoned once the deed was done.
The tears that streamed down his face now we're bitter and angry, and he didn't even try to stop them as he sunk to the floor.