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The curl of cigar smoke rises into the dusky evening LA air. The night is warm, darkness edging in along the expanse of the sky, staining everything a muted purple. That color disrupted by the distant lights of the city, the businesses, the constant hurry and go lifestyle that belongs to Los Angeles.
“Let’s not make this a habit,” Ian says as he stubs out the cigar he had been smoking, smothering it into the glass ceramic ashtray that’s sitting on the patio table set up between the two chairs he and Anthony are sitting in.
The two of them are hanging out on Anthony’s balcony. He’s got a small set up out here that overlooks the expanse of the city.
“The cigars or hanging out?” Anthony asks.
There’s an amusement in Anthony’s eyes, a rue smile on his face as he brings the cigar to his lips and takes a deep drag, pulling in the last dregs of his cigar before he exhales. The thick cloud of smoke billows around Anthony’s head.
Ian rolls his eyes and smiles, not even bothering to give Anthony’s question a proper answer. He doesn’t feel the need to. It’s obvious at this point in their lives which thing Ian would prefer to lose. In a way it all still feels unbelievable to have come back together again and reunite with Anthony. For the longest time Ian had resigned himself to never being close to Anthony again, only remembering him in memories, videos that hurt to watch, jokes that were funny but always just this side of sharp with painful truths.
Even with six years apart it’s like Anthony reads his mind, sees Ian as if he’s made of glass and now that he’s polished his emotional literacy skills, he sees Ian even clearer than before.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Anthony says. His eyes slide to Ian before they turn to the skyline stretched out before the two of them, “it’s ours again.”
Ian nods. It’s been such a journey, a long road with and without Anthony. To be able to make it through to the other side and to own Smosh, to reclaim it, and with Anthony, it feels like a dream in the very best way. It’s something Ian never even dared to let himself dream might happen.
“Thank you,” Anthony says, continuing when Ian doesn’t speak. It’s not the first time he’s said this to Ian since they’ve reunited, “for keeping it alive.”
Ian feels his face flush, embarrassment and something else, something good, rising inside of him and melding together. He didn’t let Smosh die but acknowledging that fact feels too much like highlighting Anthony’s absence, that he was the one that abandoned Smosh.
“Don’t feel bad,” Anthony says, again seeing Ian in perfect clarity, “own it. You saved Smosh. You saved our channel.”
Ian shrugs, “It’s just what happened. It doesn’t mean…” Ian stops short. It doesn’t make him better; it doesn’t make Anthony worse. He doesn’t know how to say that without sounding like an asshole, without hurting Anthony’s feelings or bringing up shit that doesn’t matter anymore.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Anthony says, a knowing smile crossing his face as if he can read Ian’s mind for better or worse.
“I get it, you think I’m great,” Ian says, resorting to a joke because everything else feels a little too raw.
Anthony laughs then. It’s a sound that lights Ian up on the insides, a sound that feels like home.
Now that the cigars are stubbed out side by side in the ceramic ashtray and the whiskey, they’ve drunk has settled warm in the pit of Ian’s stomach, he feels calm and content. A silence creeps in, but it isn’t like before, it isn’t painful or heavy, it’s an ease that reminds Ian of Sacramento.
Anthony reaches out and his hand finds Ian’s where it’s resting on the arm of the patio chair. He covers Ian’s hand with his own. Anthony’s hand is a warm weight that anchors Ian in the best way.
“I want you to know something,” Anthony begins.
“You’re leaving again? Already?”
Anthony’s face grows more serious, but not unkind.
“Literally the opposite.”
There’s a strange and squirming feeling that worms its way through Ian’s belly. It’s a feeling that’s been happening a lot lately, happening specifically when he’s with Anthony.
“What’s up?” Ian asks, tongue suddenly dry.
“I just…I want you to know that no matter what happens with this buy back and Smosh, even if no one cares, I’ll never regret coming back and doing this with you.”
The squirming in Ian’s chest intensifies, wrapping like vines around Ian’s chest, squeezing, inching closer and closer to claiming his heart. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
Ian would love to say that it feels unnecessary to hear all of this from Anthony but a bigger part of him needs it, needs to hear Anthony tell him he wants to be here, that everything is going to be okay. By far this is all one of the scariest things Ian has ever done.
In a week the two of them are set to film an interview on Anthony’s channel to talk about the buy back, that they own Smosh, that Anthony is back. It’s one more step that makes it all feel more official, scarier than before. Right now, the circle of knowledge in what they are doing and planning is small and private. It feels intimate in a way that all of this excitement and celebration is just for them, a win, a unification of something that started almost twenty years ago.
Anthony’s touch on Ian’s hand lingers. His fingers curled around Ian’s, holding firm and kind.
“Am I scaring you away?” Anthony asks, a quiet teasing to his words but underneath that is a realness to that question.
“No,” Ian says immediately, “even though you’re way sappier these days.”
“That’s because I’ve missed you.”
Ian is almost jealous of the ease that Anthony says it, his free admittance of his feelings, of the things that don’t come easily to Ian. He softens, turns his hand in Anthony’s hold so his palm meets Anthony’s.
“I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed you a lot.”
It’s his own quiet confession, and Ian just isn’t brave enough to meet Anthony’s eyes, to see how he feels about Ian’s reciprocation. It’s okay. It’s okay to have missed Anthony, it’s okay to be happy to see him now, to be back together. It’s okay to want him, because Anthony wants to be here as much as Ian wants him here.
Still, it’s something Ian feels so vulnerable to admit, naked and bare, but he’s trying because this is where they fell apart before, so many years ago, a wall that had been built between them that had prevented them from being open with one another.
Anthony is the one that links their fingers together. He is the one that uses his hold to bring their hands up to his face. Anthony flips their hold so he can press his mouth to the back of Ian’s hand, something gentle and bleeding affection.
This is a shift between them, something that was born and tangled in the joy of reuniting. This is equally as terrifying as announcing that he and Anthony bought Smosh. They have come together again not only professionally but personally. It’s something that started in Sacramento, a brief teenaged exploration that flickered out before it could get too far, and that had been buried for years, left behind as a trapping of childhood, of not really understanding the feelings that came with teasing touches and timid kisses.
Ian is good at going with the flow, head down, accepting what comes. Maybe he’s too good at it because it’s what got him through Defy. If he just shouldered through, if he just kept eating shit, took whatever they threw at him, that it would all get better eventually…and even if that wasn’t the best way to look at it, Ian survived, and Smosh survived, and Anthony is back. It got better.
With Anthony now Ian doesn’t want to be head down. He wants to be eyes open and see it all.
“Ian,” Anthony says, and he stands from his chair, still holding Ian’s hand.
Ian watches in confusion as Anthony stands. That feeling shifts into something else entirely as Anthony drops down elegantly to one knee, still holding Ian’s hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ian can’t help but squeak out. He lets out a nervous giggle. Sure he and Anthony are doing something close to dating but none of it warrants Anthony getting down on one knee as if he were proposing.
“Shh,” Anthony says, but he’s laughing too, his eyes crinkling as he laughs, “I’m trying to be serious and shit.”
“Seriously weird,” Ian mutters.
Anthony laughs, squeezing Ian’s hand, “Listen. I’m not proposing to you.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not,” Ian says, his heart in his throat, beating in triple time because Anthony’s not proposing but he’s on one knee and he’s holding Ian’s hand, and the night sky is slowly darkening around them, dotted with stars and light pollution, “then what are you doing?”
“I’m making you a promise,” Anthony says, “in the best way I know how.”
Ian’s chest quivers, completely overwhelmed with everything in this moment, with Anthony, his words, and what it all means. It’s nothing bad because Anthony doesn’t inspire pain or fear in Ian anymore. He’s more than that, so much more, and all of it feels good, warm, and hopeful. And as cheesy as this is, it’s hard for Ian to feel anything but fond of Anthony when he’s looking down into the heat of Anthony’s dark, dark eyes.
“Not to scare you, or force you, or convince you. I just want you to know, Ian. I’m not going to leave you. No matter what happens, no matter what comes with Smosh, YouTube, whatever bullshit life decides to throw my way, or yours, or ours…I’m not leaving. I’m not going to leave you again unless you ask me to.”
“I can’t even picture a world where I’d ask you to leave,” Ian says, breathlessly.
He’s so bad at this. He’s bad at all of it, but he’s trying and that’s all he can do, and Anthony is trying too, and it means as much to Ian as his words do.
“But if you ever want me to- “
“I wouldn’t.”
Anthony uses the hand that’s not holding Ian’s to rub at his eye, as if wiping away some wetness that comes with the raw expression of his emotions, of this promise to Ian. Ian’s not going to make fun of him or even this moment. Anthony is emotional and he’s expressing it to Ian, and Ian will take it, will hold it, accept it for what it is, even if he doesn’t know what to do with it all just yet.
“Okay, you wouldn’t, but if it ever happens, I’ll go, otherwise, you’re stuck with me.”
Anthony is making a promise, a vow, and Ian leans forward, sliding to the edge of his seat so his knees bump Anthony’s arms. Ian uses his hold on Anthony’s hand to tug him forward, closer, his other hand moving to the back of Anthony’s head where he tangles his hand in the short wave of Anthony’s curls.
Ian brings their mouths together in a soft kiss, a quiet promise of his own where his words fail him. He’s never been good with his words, with explaining how he feels, but in the gentle way their lips move together, enclosed in the hazy darkness of Anthony’s balcony, Ian hopes Anthony can feel it, his own devotion to the other man.
When they break apart Anthony stands, and he pulls Ian up with him. Anthony wraps him in a hug, strong arms encircling Ian’s waist and back, keeping him close. Anthony hooks his chin over Ian’s shoulder. Like this they are sharing warmth and Ian can feel the speed of Anthony’s heart beating against his chest.
Ian’s own hands spread open along Anthony’s back, clinging to the sweater Anthony is wearing. It should be strange to hold each other out here, on the balcony, but Ian doesn’t mind. He likes the heat of Anthony against him, the weight of his arms wrapped around Ian and keeping him close.
How many times did he want this exact thing? How many nights did he convince himself he’d never have it again?
“I love you,” Anthony breathes into Ian’s ear, and it doesn’t quite feel romantic, but it isn’t just platonic either. It’s all encompassing. It’s a fact, one that Ian holds dear.
Ian can’t bring himself to say it, even if his chest is bursting, even if he is keeping Anthony just as close, holding him as tightly as he holds Anthony’s words of love.
Anthony’s hand moves up to the back of Ian’s head, shifting through his hair.
“It’s okay, Ian,” Anthony says, excusing Ian’s lack of words, as if they both understand that the lack of them doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel it, just…that he isn’t Anthony and he isn’t…ready for that.
“I do, though,” Ian says against Anthony’s neck.
“I know you do.”
Anthony’s face is against Ian’s skin, and Ian can practically feel Anthony’s smile. In the shell of the night, their own private world, Anthony slowly rocks he and Ian in his hold, some makeshift aborted slow dance meant for just the two of them.
Ian snorts. “You really are a loser.”
“Hey, you knew that about me from the day we met.”
“Yeah,” Ian says, allowing Anthony to sway them in a slow circle, “nothings changed.”
Anthony laughs, and Ian joins in, the sound echoing in the quiet of the night.