Archive of Our Own

Ian normally would have ignored Shayne and Courtney’s requests for him to join them for drinks after work. He would have shook his head and they would have moved on, playing up their disappointment but forgetting it as soon as they reached the office doors. Tonight, though, was different. They had pleaded with him from the doorway of his office as he sat behind the glowing screen of his laptop, where he had fully intended to spend another night, immersed in the myriad of tasks he buried himself in. His friends had stared him down with looks that, at first glance, were that playful sort of pleading that he knew he could walk away from; that he could begrudgingly placate with something like ‘yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll be there in a little bit’ and then flake on them without consequence. But they looked at him too long, too hard and he could see something else under their lighthearted begging and enticement. 

That was “worry” there. That was “concern” and “pity” and “a desperate wish that their friend could stop dancing around it and admit that things weren’t okay and that maybe he needed to stop working for one night and do something fun ”. 

He saw those looks, and he knew he deserved them. He knew they were right. He knew he needed to distract himself from the relentless work, the punishing schedule, the unspoken yet somehow visible grief,  the obvious burnout he was driving himself into. It was all he knew how to do to mitigate whatever the hell it was he was feeling: throw himself into work, devote himself to something outside of him and his thoughts and feelings because otherwise he was likely to fall apart and wither up and cease to be but he couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. 

So he let Shayne and Courtney convince him to come with for a few drinks at this bar a bunch of the cast members frequented after work. As Ian followed them out of the office, locking the building behind them, he felt almost annoyed by how excited they’d seemed that he agreed. Was he that pathetic that getting him to come with was sincerely this exciting? He didn’t say much as Shayne drove them all the few blocks to the establishment, letting the other two fill in the silence, jabbering happily about office drama and easy, casual things. 

And maybe it annoyed him less because he felt pathetic and more because, well… it felt more like an act. Like they didn’t even believe the lie they were trying to sell him. Because yes, they’d succeeded in getting him out of the office on a Thursday night, got him to come socialize and have a drink and laugh and be a human for an hour or two but there was nothing any of them could do about the cloud that hovered over Ian. And maybe there would have been a time, or would be a time when the invitation and their lighthearted, silly banter might have chased it off, but it still hung on him like a shroud, and he felt it getting heavier and heavier as the night went on. 

He’d come with to placate them, to make them believe that he was fine, that he could be pulled away from work and his clear efforts to burn the candle at both ends, but his mind was so decidedly elsewhere that he barely registered someone putting a drink in his hand, then another, or sitting him down at a table where a few other coworkers were sat, all of them making a marked effort to note how happy they were to see Ian out, how glad they were that he decided to come with but still that cloud persisted. After his third drink, he stood up, swaying only just a little, and moved towards the door.

“Where’re you going? Are you alright?” Shayne asked, hand gently catching Ian’s elbow as he passed. The shorter man was clear-eyed and stone-cold sober, the look of worry on his face no longer hidden. Ian suddenly felt like crying. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why, though. And he certainly wasn’t about to actually do so. Not here, not with them.

“Just need some air. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The blonde man nodded and let him go and Ian figured he was watching him slip out of the bar and into the cool night air. 

It was quiet outside the bar, much quieter than inside but somehow that just made the noise in Ian’s head that much louder. It was likely the alcohol didn’t help, but what was done was done. 

Ian grinned ruefully to himself at that thought. What was done was done. Really. Truly. Maybe that was too on the nose. The brown-haired man reached for his phone, scanning the notifications that popped up, barely registering the words on the screen. He heard a cadence of footsteps that sounded too familiar. 

“Ian.”

The voice that had said his name - not questioning or hesitant in the least - was familiar and painful and Ian almost wanted to laugh. What were the fucking odds? He looked up to see Anthony in front of him. He looked just the same as he had a few months ago, albeit maybe a little more tired. Maybe Ian looked just as tired because he felt like Anthony was mirroring the look Ian was giving him. Assessing and drawing conclusions in the half a heartbeat that hung between Anthony’s acknowledgement of him and Ian’s inevitable response.

“Anthony. Surprise, surprise.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

Ian shrugged and tried to decide if the other man’s tone held more disappointment or annoyance. He hated either option. He hated Anthony. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t hate Anthony. He hated how Anthony made him feel. Or maybe it was that he hated how he felt about Anthony. Again, Ian felt like he wanted to cry. He wasn’t about to do that now. No fucking way.

“Just having a couple with the gang.”

“The others are in there?” Anthony said, glancing around Ian easily, as if to see if he could spot anyone he recognized. No, he wasn’t glancing around Ian, he was looking right fucking through him. Like he was a ghost. A shadow of a life he was leaving behind. Ian nodded and looked down at his phone again. Shayne had texted him, asking where he was, if he was still okay. How could he answer that now? More importantly, he wanted to know if Anthony was okay. If he was alright. If he was happier now. Ian wanted to open his mouth and say it but the words got stuck in his throat. He chewed at his bottom lip and didn’t try again.

And Anthony didn’t wait for another attempt, or try to fill the silence between them, just slipped past Ian and into the noise and buzz of the bar, leaving Ian in the equally loud silence outside. 

Not even a minute later Shayne was beside him, car keys in hand and he didn’t even say a word before he was guiding Ian to his car, taking him back to his apartment. The ride back was silent but now it was muted and muffled, like Ian had been boxed around his ears or if he was underwater. Shayne didn’t push for conversation, didn’t say anything at all. He might have tried to say something once or twice, opening his mouth as if a thought came to him but closing it again when he looked over and saw Ian staring straight ahead, or out the window to his right. And when they pulled up to Ian’s apartment, Shayne only smiled apologetically when Ian got out and made his way inside.

Ian flopped over on the couch, barely registering that his phone was buzzing in his palm. The world was spinning just a little too much and again he felt like he wanted to cry but what good would it do so why bother now? His phone buzzed again and he remembered that he’d sent a message to Anthony on the ride home, had let himself ask the question he’d wanted to sling at Anthony outside the bar. 

‘are you happier?’

In his mind, it was a sharp blade meant to poke and hurt and antagonize. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t actually ask it, why his voice had caught in his throat. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was hurt Anthony. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking he could start now.  

‘Do you genuinely want to know?’

Ian dropped his phone on the ground and let it lay there, unwilling to put himself through the torture that was answering that question. Of course he wanted to know. He needed to know that Anthony was happy, that he’d made the right choice in walking away from what they’d built together, from what had been between them. But that same need was a fire, burning him down from the inside into ash, and seeing Anthony tell him in no uncertain terms that yes, he was happier now and that he wasn’t coming back and he was moving on and that Ian was going to become relegated to the role of a ghost that Anthony used to love and couldn’t stand anymore no matter how much of himself Ian poured into work or how much he tried to bury his head in keeping things afloat, in keeping this dream of theirs alive or how hard he tried to keep his focus on anything and everything that wasn’t the deafening sound of his heart fracturing apart would just ensure that the fire destroyed him completely. It would render him a total loss.

No, he didn’t want to know. And he didn’t need to be told because he already knew. And Ian began to cry.