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the night air was cold. It sent a chill down Ivan's back as he stood on the steps of Andrew's new place. It had been months. Months of contemplating, hallucinating, sobbing and trying to fill the void Andrew left in his heart. He was taught to never love another man and he knew, if his father was still here, his disappointment would be immense. Suffocatingly so. It weighed on his shoulders, which were slumped, as he stared at the faint light showing through the door window. It was a nice place, he had to admit. Something he didn't think he'd see Andrew able to afford.
Then again, not everything was the same. Barely anything had stayed relatively similar since he watched Andrew walk out of his life. That of which, was his fault. He hated change, and yet, he was the sole reason everything was different. It clawed at his soul, his wrongdoings. The sins he couldn't seem to wash away. Those sins and wrongdoings seemed to flood his thoughts as he stood there, hands stuck gripping at his sleeves and breaths unsteady. Shaky. He was a normally nervous person, but this was a whole new level of fear. He hated rejection. He avoided it at all cost, and yet? Here he was, despite it all. He hadn't changed. He was the one thing in his life that was the same. He hadn't gotten help of any kind within the time he'd been alone. The thought was shoved down by doubt each time he thought of it. He feared taking new medications that he'd only heard bad about. He feared talking about his feelings to a therapist. Deep down, he feared taking accountability. Feared acknowledging what he'd done wrong.
Why was he here, then? Why couldn't he walk away?
Because he needed the one thing, the one person that kept him even slightly stable. That kept his mind in check. That person was Andrew. With Andrew gone, he was nothing. He'd never admit it, but Andrew was his stability. He couldn't admit such a thing.
With a soft huff leaving his nose, he stepped just a little closer, a shaky hand raising before he knocked. The sound was a bit too rough compared to how he wanted to make it, making him tense up, but he couldn't take it back. He was silent as he listened to the soft, barely present sound of footsteps pressing against what he could tell was a wooden boarded floor, each step closer then the last. His head stayed low until he heard the hinges of the door creak, revealing... Andrew. Andrew, still clad in that pink hoodie and those army green pants, his glasses on and his lips curled down into a slight frown. That frown seemed to only deepen at the sight of Ivan.
Ivan felt a pit of dread dig itself into his stomach, his body instinctively compressing into itself in an attempt to make himself less noticeable. To make himself smaller. Of course, that didn't work, and he swallowed thickly before speaking up. "Hey, Andrew," He began weakly, his voice threatening to break at the sight of his best friend. Or... ex-best friend at this point. Whatever the title could be, he missed Andrew. He'd missed this man so terribly to the point he'd thrown up repeatedly over the stress of not being around him. "Please..." He whispered, his hands slowly clasping together like he was prepared to drop to his knees and beg. "Please don't close the door," He continued, "Just let me talk and I'll leave. I promise."
Andrew seemed irritated. Irritated about probably everything happening in this moment. Irritated about the fact Ivan was back, that this asshole was talking as if he had any right to be there in the first place, that he thought he had any right to even 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 to Andrew after everything he'd done. His nose scrunched up in frustration, and yet, he didn't close the door. He couldn't bring himself to, even after everything. The sight of Ivan nearly on the verge of begging, of probably crying, made him tense yet soften. It was probably another attempt at manipulation, but Andrew would feel guilty in some way. If anything, he was also scared Ivan would do something drastic if he did end up closing the door. Dox him, maybe? Ruin his reputation online, where he got most of his money from? He didn't know, but he did know anything was possible.
"I...I'm scared." Ivan admitted, glancing down and letting out a shaky exhale. "And-... and your words have been repeating in my mind without end. I stay in bed for hours on end after I wake up. I barely eat, for God's sake. I've been daydreaming in my mind until I can't tell what's real and what isn't..." He trailed off after a moment, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he thought. Then, he spoke once more, a tremble coming to his voice. "I'm trying to say that.. I'm broken." He flinched at the scoff Andrew gave in return. "Really? Is that so?" Andrew asked, cocking his head to the side with a scowl. "You think, from not even a 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 at your stupid face, someone wouldn't be able to discern... 𝙖𝙣𝙮 of that?"
Ivan was quiet for a moment. His lips were parted yet his throat constricted around the words he wanted—no, 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙—to say. "A...Andrew, please-" Andrew sneered, his hand falling to his hip. "Fuck no. You've said enough, Ivan." Ivan's breathing quickened. "You and your bullshit, over and over again. You think admitting... whatever the hell you think you're admitting will change 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜? Fuck, man, you-" "SHUT UP!" Ivan cut Andrew off, already feeling his mental state tip as he felt his desperation dig its nails into his thinning thoughts.
"I.. I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE!" He snapped at Andrew, tears overflowing and starting to drip down his cheeks. His voice had cracked from his shout. "Y-you... I helped you! I did so much for you, and this is how I'm repaid?!" He continued, breaths shaky and thoughts starting to go off the rails. "...Helped me?" Andrew repeated, his brows raising with something akin to disbelief. "You think you helped me? Helped me how? By snapping at me daily before apologizing beneath your breath? By rushing me and telling me repeatedly that I'm a leech? A malignant tumor?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, a strained grin over his lips, though it disappeared within mere seconds.
"From where I'm standing, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 are like a tumor. A leech. Nobody can stand being around you because of how 𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 you are. You bite at the slightest sign of someone pulling away, but what do you think that'll do? Pull them closer?" He questioned, his brows furrowing. One of his hands rested on the doorknob while the other rested in his pant pocket. "Y'know... I used to be so confused on why you were like this. But now? I finally understand. You're not just sick, Ivan. You 𝙖𝙧𝙚 the sickness. You spread your disease like wildfire and cry when it all hits you. You nest yourself within the cracks of another's brain, rotting away at every crevice they have, every feature that makes them 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢, before you begin to rot at yourself."
Andrew let out a soft sigh, his gaze almost softening as he looked at Ivan. His voice stayed harsh as he spoke. "You build an image, a thought, of how you want another to be. Of what 𝙮𝙤𝙪 want to be. You take even a slight similarity you have with another and build it up until it's a completely unrecognizable path from where it started. And I am sick of being apart of your shitty, expectant vision." As Andrew spoke, he had to admit, he almost felt... free. Like being able to breathe again, even if speaking like this was terrifying. He'd never been good with words, not once in his life had he spoken like this, but he knew it had to be said, once and for all.
"Give up, Ivan." He murmured, his eyes growing cold as he stared at Ivan. "I'm not coming back. No matter if you get better, or if you beg, or if you cry. I'm done with you. I 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 you." And with that, the slam of the front door sounded for just a moment through the neighborhood, but all Ivan could hear was his own heartbeat. His own breathing. His mind grew frantic, his eyes wide and glassy with tears. Then a sob left his throat, his knees giving out from beneath him. He, a grown man, was sobbing again. His tired eyes, plagued by eyebags, stared at the doorknob, silently willing it to twist and reveal Andrew again, who this time said "I forgive you". That moment never came, though.
As the night drew on, Ivan found himself just... laying there. Silently, other than the soft sniffles leaving him, the cool of Andrew's steps pressing into his side. He missed the warmth of his car, of his apartment, of Andrew. God, he missed Andrew. Missed when they once held each other, warmth seeping between their clothed bodies, the only sound in his ears being the gentle breaths leaving the other man and how steady his heartbeat was. He missed coming over to his best friend's place, sneaking small kisses between one another while Ivan pushed down the disgust he'd been trying to remove from his mind. Ivan would never have anything like that again. Not with every ounce of guilt weighing down on his soul like an anvil. Not with Andrew gone. Completely gone.
As the night drew on, Ivan drifted to sleep. There, on Andrew's doorstep, he slept quietly, dreaming about Andrew. Probably about bashing his head in with that blunt axe he kept in his room, or of the sinful passion he once indulged in with the other man. He couldn't bring himself to get up and go home yet, his car still parked in Andrew's driveway. He just wanted to be even slightly close to Andrew one last time. He wanted the familiar feeling of his presence, even if it was colder than he remembered. Even if it was through many walls and rooms that he'd never get to see. Even if it would never be the same as he recalled.