Chapter Text
“Anthony.”
No, fuck, no, fuck–
“Anthony, we have to go.”
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my–
“ANTHONY!”
“AH!”
“Anthony! It’s time to go!”
He looked around. We’re at… someone's house. I’m on the couch. It’s damp… gross. I am not at the hospital. I am alive.
“Anthony. Holy shit. C’mon.” Hanbon grabbed Anthony’s arm, tugging him off the couch. He slid to the floor, his tall body crumpling as his limbs banged against just about everything.
“Wha– what’s–” I am not at the hospital. I am alive.
“We’re going to be late. Anthony, we are late. Get up.”
Before he was even mildly cognizant, Hanbon dragged him into the car, him in the driver’s seat, and off they went. On a good day, Anthony could mostly navigate the streets of New York. Today, Anthony didn't know where he was, or where he was going, his head felt like it was on fire, and he just wanted to sleep.
“Turn left, Anthony! Oh my god!”
“Hanbon, I don’t know where I’m going!”
“We were meant to be at Coy’s birthday party an hour ago!”
Oh. Oh, fuck. Hanbon– Hanbon had told him that they should probably skip last night’s party, but Anthony was too focused on getting drunk, like he always seemed to be. It’d be fine, he promised, he wouldn't drink too much, and they’d get up nice and early, and they’d be at Coy’s pre-party to help set up with perfect timing. Both he and Hanbon had slept in.
And it wasn't like Anthony could lie, if he wanted to. They didn't have time to go home and get dressed and take showers, so Anthony looked like he had a nasty hangover, and he did. The last time his head hurt this bad, he, well, he was drinking. A lot. They both reeked of alcohol; you’d think they’d soaked themselves in Everclear.
It sort of felt like he was on the bus home from school after doing something bad– the feeling of knowing your teacher called home, and having no way out of facing the consequences. Except he could’ve left. He could’ve switched lanes, got on the highway, and driven himself and Hanbon down, down, down, somewhere far from here. But he wouldn’t. Because Coy was expecting him.
Or maybe he wasn’t anymore. Maybe Coy thought that Anthony was blowing him off again— making promises and never delivering. Selfishly, Anthony almost considered claiming a crisis– but Hanbon, while she’d play along, would never let him live it down. He only had a few more chances, he knew, before he would be promptly demoted in Coy’s life. He’d already felt it starting– each hangout postponed, each brunch slept through. Each time, Coy would get slightly colder, less teasing and more frustrated, until he just stopped reaching out first.
Will had told him the theory behind that– Coy figured that if Anthony made the plans, he’d at least value them enough to follow through. And Anthony did try more after that, for a bit, but he sort of always fell back into old habits, like an addict with the drug of avoidance.
But it was just with Coy, wasn’t it? It seemed that Coy was always pushed to the back burner. He wasn't friend-of-the-year to anyone else, but he was at least present. Anthony found himself staring at missed calls, double texts, and just… ignoring them. Not entirely consciously. He’d try to think of an answer, get distracted, forget he’d even been texted– and then he’d remember late at night, drunk, spiraling, and he’d text Coy his every thought. It was another thing that worked at first, made Coy feel sympathetic for Anthony’s whole situation, but after the fifth, sixth, tenth time– at what point was it more cruel, to put all these emotions and desires to be better onto Coy without acting on any of it?
“Anthony– Anthony! Oh my god, you almost fucking hit that car!”
“Sorry, fuck, Bon, my head is pounding.”
She rustled through the center council and pulled out a bottle of Excedrin. She poured four into her hand and gave Anthony two.
“Coy’s gonna kill us, dude–”
“I know,” he said, exasperated. “I mean, he’ll probably just blame me.”
Hanbon groaned at him. “Oh my god, Anthony, it’s not always about you.”
“I didn't say it was, I just– I– he’s been pissed at me lately!”
“Yeah, because you’ve been a dick lately. Going–” Hanbon pitched up her voice, as if Anthony sounded like that at all, “–Oh, Coy’s gonna blame me, because I’m so pitiful and I ignore him and never show up to anything on time, oh, woe is me–”
“Stop it,” Anthony said, through gritted teeth. “I don’t– I don’t want to be like this.”
And he wasn't. Not always. Before everything, Anthony was so uniquely attentive and conscious, someone people could depend on. It just got hard. For some reason. Everything did.
“Well, you are. It’s your job to do something about it, Anthony. I’m not gonna hold your hand and make excuses for you. You did something stupid. We both did. The difference between me and you is that I have every intention of taking responsibility. You’ve probably been considering every single way out of this since the moment you realized what was happening. But you won't do anything, because then you wouldn't get to act like a kicked puppy when Coy gets upset with you.”
Fuck.
“You’re not helping, Bon.”
“Did you think I was trying to?”
-
“They’re two hours late.” Coy felt like he was going to cry.
“I’m sure they’ll– show up– eventually?” tried Will. He was putting up Coy’s decorations while Coy sat on the couch, pouting.
“I’m tired of this, Will. I’m so tired of them. Oh my god. Like– every single time I, I do anything, I plan anything, Anthony doesn't show up. Hanbon’s– she’s better about it, usually, but– I just want to feel like I matter to them.”
“I know, uh–” Will’s ladder shook as he leaned to tape up the banner. “I don’t, uh, think– I don’t know. Anthony’s probably passed out drunk somewhere. So, like, I’m sure Hanbon will drag him here when she finds him.”
“Why would he be passed out drunk the morning of my party? Is one night of heavy drinking not enough for him? Does he need to get drunk in preparation for getting drunk with me?”
“I don’t– uh,” Will took a step down from the ladder, feeling it wobble. “I don’t think that's it. Y’know, he really doesn't want to hurt you, I think.”
“Well, he does. Constantly. Literally not a day goes by that I don't see or hear something that reminds me of a time he blew me off. Like, it’s not a cute coffee shop anymore, it’s the-cute-coffee-shop-Anthony-said-he’d-meet-me-at-on-saturday-morning-and-then-I-ordered-his-favorite-drink-and-pastry-and-I-had-to-eat-them-myself-because-he-didn’t-show-up. Y’know?”
“Mh-Mhm– uh– fu– fuck–”
Coy jumped off the couch, turning to the sight of Will’s ladder topping, Will collapsing straight onto the floor.
“Holy shit, oh my god, are you– are you okay?”
“Um– yeah. I’m– ow– um–”
“Do we need to go to the hospital!?”
“No– err– just– just–”
“WE’RE HERE!”
Coy, rather instantly, burst into tears.
-
Does Coy even want me here anymore?
Probably not, Anthony’s own brain answered. When he and Hanbon walked into the Will situation, Anthony, in particular, did everything he could to help Coy stop crying, and then Will get situated, and then the party set up once they were sure Will didn't need urgent medical attention– some kind of penance, Anthony figured, because all he’d done lately was sin.
It didn't matter. Coy barely said a word to him. It hadn’t been this bad before, Anthony thought, and it made the air feel thick, like it was hard to breathe. Anthony felt suffocated every time Coy passed him, every wince he earned just by existing. Coy seemed so happy when Anthony was safely tucked out of sight, and if they locked eyes, his face would drop.
Anthony had even made an effort to drink less. Not nothing, because he was maybe nothing if not a seeker of sensory input, but less. Because, for some reason, he thought that maybe it would prove something, even though he was incredibly visibly disheveled and still smelled heavily of alcohol.
And maybe the worst part was people trying to talk to him. He didn't feel like he belonged here– it felt mocking for people to seek him out. And he knew he was sort of making it about himself again, but he just–... fuck.
And the night went on. Anthony hid himself in the places with the fewest people, almost avoiding Coy for fear of ruining his night, all while Hanbon came by to check in. More drunk with each pass, Hanbon was a comfort until she wasn't. It was a little infuriating that she was with him– made the same mistake– but Anthony was the only one feeling like an outcast. Coy was fine talking to Hanbon.
Why was everything so different with them? It felt like lately– lately, nothing was the same for them. Yes, Anthony had given Coy more reason to act like this in the past week than Hanbon ever had. But it wasn't just this, it was– it was everything, the way Coy reacted to things Anthony never thought he’d have cared about, the way Anthony had more of that struggle to stay grounded with Coy, it just– drove Anthony insane. He didn't get it, there was– something weird, and wrong, and it made Anthony’s heart ache and curl in on itself like it was trying to cower.
Time kept passing. People were leaving before long, and it got easier and easier to keep a slight eye on where Coy was. Hanbon kept coming over to tell Anthony to “stop doing the kicked puppy thing,” but he didn't know what else to do. Eventually, people stopped approaching him, focusing more on who and what remained in the space Coy had rented out.
Coy looked really nice, Anthony noted. He wasn't dressed especially special, but he seemed to have a bit of makeup on, and the colors blending around his eyes were pretty. He always had a knack for catching Anthony’s gaze, even on the normalest of days. Anthony forced himself to look away, like he always did. Prying his gaze off Coy was a constant task.
There were people there that Anthony didn't know, obviously. He didn't know everyone that Coy knew, but most of the people he’d never met had left. There was one… person, that, that Anthony didn’t like the look of. Or, more, didn't like his… attitude, maybe? He was kind of loud in the abrasive way, aggressive, maybe, and Anthony kept a bit of an eye on him instinctively. He stuck around Coy in an uncomfortable way, but Coy seemed so okay with it. Anthony’s skin was crawling, seeing this person he didn't know so close, hanging off Coy’s arm and playfully hitting him a little too hard.
And Anthony kept watching as a sort of tension grew between them, a– a romantic tension, but it wasn't right. No, it wasn't romantic– that was, that was hopeful– Anthony would lean towards calling it sexual, and… Anthony– Coy wouldn’t, wasn’t– did he know this person, well, or was this–?
Anthony had to have expected that they’d kiss. It was sort of obvious, the way they worked up to it. But it still made something bubble up in Anthony’s chest, a deep, deep discomfort, even though he had no reason to care. He’d just spent the last how many hours cowering in the corner of Coy’s birthday party, forgoing cake and pizza and games and socialization for his kicked puppy act, as Hanbon called it. So maybe he was just… feeling– left out– of– of what, Anthony had to wonder, what about this made him feel left out? Or more accurately, thrown away?
He felt nauseous. He’d felt nauseous, from the lack of anything but a small amount of alcohol in his stomach, but now he felt like he was dying about it. He forced himself to stand on wobbly feet and made his way to the bathroom, because he felt it coming. He knew it was coming. He shut the door behind him sharply– a single, thankfully– clicking the lock and leaning over the chipped and stained toilet seat. It was instant– nothing but liquid came up– alcohol, some water, bile before long.
He shuddered, coughing, eyes shut, leaning over with his hands up against the wall. The room was small, claustrophobic, even, and yet, he never wanted to leave. It was a weird comfort after the distress he’d experienced over the night, and yet, nothing was worse than what he’d just seen. He could handle Coy avoiding him, looking at him with a pained expression, having fun without him– he couldn’t handle this. For some reason. Something about this was– wrong, to Anthony, so profoundly. And he was dodging all the thoughts that came to mind that were too hard to process, focusing on the burn in his throat, the aching in his body, the baby pink tiles lining the bathroom walls–
Oh, anything, really, and eventually, it got back to self-pity, because it kind of always did. Hating himself was much, much easier than filtering logic out of his racing thoughts, so he did, crumbling to the sticky bathroom floor like a Jenga tower, and it felt like it– it was that night again, alone, so alone, even though his friends were closer than ever. Physically. Just… physically. Anthony had made sure of that, with every ignored call, every recording pushed back for no reason other than because he didn’t feel like it. Was he even trying anymore? Or was he going to keep acting like this until Coy realized that he deserved better?
-
“Where’s Anthony?”
“Booooonn,” Coy dragged out her name. “I don’t want to talk about Anthony right now. I’m having fun.”
“Coy, this isn’t– I get it, dude, but he was getting pretty… down. I don’t think he should be alone right now. Wherever he is.”
Coy stopped, paused, looked around. Yeah, Anthony didn’t appear to be cowering in the corner anymore. Coy felt a little bad. Anthony did try to right his wrong, in his own way, but he didn’t say sorry. He didn’t acknowledge it, just started acting. Actions, no matter how loud they spoke, were not words. Words mattered to, at least, to Coy. And he was tired of hearing nothing from Anthony unless he was piss-ass drunk.
“I don’t care, Bon. He’s been a jerk lately. I’m not gonna go– searching around my birthday party for a guy who couldn’t even bother saying sorry to me. Are you kidding me?”
Hanbon groaned into her hands. “Coy, I’m serious. You know how he is. I know he’s been a jerk lately, and trust me, I’ve made sure he knows it. C’mon. Just help me look for him.”
“Have you called him?”
“Yes, Coy. Oh my god. Obviously.”
“Don’t you have his location?”
“His phone is off.”
“Can’t you still–”
“I don’t know where he is, Coy. Trust me. I don’t know.”
“Oh my god, you suck.”
“Coy, I’m scared.”
At first, he thought Hanbon was just being… drunk. Overly concerned because she was intoxicated. But as Coy thought about it more, and started paying attention to the tears pricking Hanbon’s eyes, the unsteady tone she held–
She was afraid that they’d be ending tonight in a hospital room. Again.
Coy could be petty. He could be stubborn. He could hold a grudge. He really, really could. But even he knew better than to ignore Hanbon’s intuition.
A quick walk around the parking lot said that Anthony’s car was still here– Coy had hoped it was, considering he was certain Anthony had gotten drunk, because when didn’t he? That didn’t mean he didn’t take an Uber or something, but it was a start, especially since it looked like all of his things were still in the car.
The issue was– well, the venue was… a cozy little space, in an… entire office. And Coy wouldn’t put it past Anthony to roam the empty halls.
Coy had to push back some kind of sparking anger, because Coy’s birthday was being made about Anthony. But it wasn't this part that Coy really had an issue with, usually, when his mind wasn't cloudy with alcohol. If Anthony needed help, he needed help. It was more what came after. The part where Anthony isolated and made no effort to get better.
It was sort of infuriating, Coy thought, as he searched the entire building. Anthony only wanted to get better once he hit rock bottom. The second he had any form of support, anything to elevate him and bring him closer to absolution, he stopped trying again. Coy wanted absolutely nothing more than to have Anthony back. The sweet Anthony, the caring Anthony, the Anthony who would travel the world to make his friends happy– to make Coy happy. Coy got used to it. The gifts, the home-cooked meals, the little things– and he’d never let Coy talk about it, or make a big deal about it, but it was all there.
And obviously, Coy didn't want Anthony to be happy because he’d get something out of it. He wanted Anthony to be happy because Anthony deserved happiness, even if he was unbearable sometimes, Coy loved him. Maybe more than he should’ve, but that was something he dealt with through willful ignorance and shameful hookups with men that had scraggy facial hair, blue eyes, and really anything that reminded him of Anthony.
He didn’t like it, but for some reason, he felt like it was all he could do. It wasn’t constant, or all that frequent, even, but on his worst nights, when he couldn’t think of a better way to punish himself for how he felt, that was what he did.
Coy was too alone with his thoughts, he decided, but his mind pressed on. He thought about that night, the one that felt so distant, when Hanbon called him in hysterics with the voices of the paramedics echoing in the background. He didn't try to forget about it, but he wasn't trying to think about it all the time, either. It came and went. It was here, now, and the fluorescent lights in the office building, the white, blank walls– it all felt so familiar.
Coy wasn't at fault. But he felt like he was, because it seemed like Anthony stopped liking him right around then. He’d stayed the night in Anthony’s hospital room with Hanbon and Will, playing stupid board games while they figured out where to transfer Anthony for the next few days. He visited Anthony during those few days, and it was comforting, the way he still seemed like himself, until it was over, and then Anthony was suddenly so different.
Saying Anthony didn't like him anymore was disingenuous. When they interacted, he wasn’t rude or distant. He would be paired with Coy for recordings, and it’d be a blast, always so wonderfully entertaining. It just seemed like he stopped trying. And maybe Anthony didn't owe him trying, but if Anthony didn't owe him trying, then Coy didn't owe him friendship. Or… whatever else.
At what point was this even looking for Anthony? Was he not just wandering with his thoughts? There was one place, one door that was unlocked, and that was the one to the roof. It was a horrifically Anthony place to go, and Coy scolded himself for not thinking of it sooner. He opened the door and stumbled up the metal stairs, until the only thing that remained between him and the sky was a heavy, metal door. He pushed it open with great effort, and he immediately saw Anthony, lying on his back, staring at the stars.
“Coy?” His voice was small. Maybe raspy.
Coy felt like he was going to cry. Again.