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He remembers meeting him
That boy that he didn't think was a boy.
He, Ted, was younger then. Of course. They both were, though Tony was slightly older. They'd both been sent to camp for respective reasons. Whether falling back a year in school and being sent away to live with their uncle Henry who couldn't take care of a kid for shit or long-standing family tradition was the reason, it didn't matter. They were both there. It was like they were meant to meet. When Tony stumbled into camp, all slouching and grouch-face at any adult that came his way, Ted was there like a war veteran, an experienced hero battling even in a pink shirt that wasn't for him. A saviour.
With Ted there he wasn't so upset - or, let's face it, scared - anymore. He had his friend. His friend who got scared by the bumps in the night too. His friend who also wasn't falling for all that "Virginity Rocks!" bullshit either.
His best friend who he loved with all the world's energy supply's worth of power.
Who he thought he'd never see again when summer was over.
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He remembers the next time he ever felt that. Beth.
They were only 17 when they met, at smokey bar in Fort Lee, where he'd lived forever. God if he'd known then, he doesn't know what he'd have done.
He remembers her getting the news, and how he was so scared and so happy he could burst like a children's piñata, full of sugar and colour and joy. They were going to have a baby.
He remembers dropping everything. Nothing else mattered. He moved to her hometown, Hatchetfield. It didn't matter that it was so far away - it was for the baby. Their baby. And he was going to give that baby all the support he knew his father wasn't going to help with. They would settle down to a sturdy home, he'd work there, set up a bussiness in something he was good at. All for that kid.
He also remembers, too vividly, the day in November, 2000, when it went to shit. His baby - his son, Ethan - was born a month ago and sleeping more quietly than he ever did, and when he went down to breakfast he saw the note.
On the cold, chrome fridge lay a peice of paper, black and held up by a darker yet magnet, solid and sure of it's place. He lifted it up to see the white scrawling on it - Beth's handwriting, he was sure.
It read:
"Dear Tony,
You're wonderful, in every way, and so is he, but I cant live like this. This isn't where I'm meant to be. I was never meant to be tied down like this.
I know you'll be able to take care of our son. You're caring by nature and he couldn't have a better father out of every man in the world.
I'm leaving, and I won't be coming back. Don't call me, don't try to find me. You don't need me.
All my love
Beth"
He did call. Of course he did. He called 13 times that day, and 13 thirteen again, and again.
Nothing.
By the last call, the sixty-fith, it had sunk in that it was hopeless.
He hunched himself over on the floor of their kitchen, head between his knees, wondering what he'd done, how he was going to go on, and everything was quiet. So quiet all he could hear was his own, stuttering breath, the insistent whirring of the electricity in the walls, the sounds of everything moving too fast around him.
Then, like a sunbeam breaking the first dawn after stormy night, he heard something soft. The small, bright sounds of something waking up from a tranquil sleep.
He made his way to the crib and there he was. Ethan. Smiling at his dad, all gum and giggles, as if he were an angel.
That's when he knew he'd be able to do it
Because he had to, for him.
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He remembers never being alone after that. It was always him and Ethan, through the first Christmas where he refused to let go of the star until Tony gave in and let him wear it as a hat, and his first day at kindergarten when he raced off to meet new friends and came home having had an amazing day, even if he'd come home crying because he'd grazed his knee.
He was so proud of him, because that boy, that little bundle of brightness, was his best friend in the world.
But that didn't mean he wasn't tired. Boy, was he tired.
He was at work, a slow day. Slow days worried him. Slow days meant less money, less money sometimes meant less food and less food meant only Ethan was eating three meals a day. He tried to rest his head, calming the growing headache and wondering if Ethan was feeling any better at kindergarten.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep, truly.
It was knocking on the desk that finally woke him up.
He shot awake and looked at the man who had approached the front desk - tall and lithe, with a thick chestnut moustache and aviators covering his eyes.
What kind of asshole wears shades indoors anyway? Coming in here, wrecking his sleep. Christ almighty.
But he can't say that, not if he's got to let him get anywhere near his car.
He could see it through the window - the studebaker. Pristine, with leather seating and a blue exterior. He just had to see it. So, he put on the customer service voice, cheery and less exhausted.
"Welcome to Tony Green's body shop! I'm Tony, how may I help you?"
"My god" said the man. And. That wasn't what he'd expected. He'll be honest. But, before he could process what had happened, the man was taking off his sunglasses and speaking again, "I'm sorry, I just hadn't realised it was you."
And Tony, shook to his core, noticed two things then. Number one, the man was hot. Shockingly hot, with a wicked grin and sparkling eyes that could melt a man's soul. He wasn't exaggerating.
And, number two, it was becoming incredibly difficult for Tony to keep his jaw off the floor, because standing in front of him like an angel and a devil blended into one, was a fully transitioned Ted Spankoffski.
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He remembers still every time they ran into eachother after that. Maybe it was fate, maybe they were trying to find eachother. It didn't matter.
He remembers their first date, years later than it should have happened really. And the next, and the next one after that.
He remembers every smile Ted ever gave him. His Teddy, bright and colourful and sly. He remembers every one-liner Ted had used to make him blush like a schoolgirl. Every time he'd done it back, just to prove he could.
He remembers every time they'd said "I love you". He liked those memories.
He remembers every time Ted had been quiet with him. Ted wasn't a quiet guy, not outwardly, but when it was just them, neither needed to shout to be heard. When either got upset or overwhelmed, the other was prepared to guide them through it. Ted always sounded so lovely when he was gentle.
He remembers every time Ted and Ethan have talked. They get on wonderfully now that Ethan's gotten over the fact that Ted's been sleeping with his dad (which was none of his bussiness, really. "I'm just worried about your back, you're an old guy" wasn't an excuse, he was only 40.) You could really imagine that Ted was Ethans dad, not Tony.
Which brings him to now. Remembering everything, and zoning back in, laying in Ted's arms on their sofa.
"Tony? You alright sweetheart?" Ted said, slightly sleepily.
When Tony looked into his tired eyes, still shining late into the night, he knew he had to do it.
"Yeah, yeah. Just thinkin'"
He was going to propose to that man if it meant the death of him.