Recovery, chapter thirteen
summary: Ian dies of cancer. Anthony is still really angsty.
warnings: foul language
rating: pg-13
It was Monday morning, a normal one for everyone else, a shit one for Anthony. He’d spent the previous day screaming at a piece of rock that represented his dead best friend, and none of the things he said had given him answers; he’d only revealed things he wanted to stay hidden, things he wanted to furiously deny to everyone including himself. What only made things worse was the fact that he had to keep pushing forward, keep acting like all that happened yesterday actually didn’t. He told that tombstone, that empty air, the universe, that he craved death after Ian’s, and now he had to deal with these revelations. It had been so much easier to be numb, to be permanently angry at a cruel world. Now sadness leaked from the deepest corners of his thoughts and contaminated him, and sorrow is a difficult thing to feel when one has so little experience, all throughout his life replacing it with anger, passion, fear, empowerment, or a blankness to shield him from the wounds of living.
It affected him as he filmed, and his false smiles and laughter were harder to produce than any in the weeks previous. The pain he felt now was somehow worse than that from immediately after Ian’s death, because that pain was so intense and raw, but this one burned inside him with a low heat, long and torturous; the first was the sadness that comes with shock and grief and it’s a flash of absolute agony, but the second was a remorse that Anthony knew he would feel for so much longer, and that’s what made it hurt so.
He tried to distract himself by meeting two more of the many new workers, Alice and Danielle. Alice was of average height and had brown hair with eyes to match, and spent most of the day saying sorry after every action she made and staring at Anthony through thick glasses with concern clear on her face. Danielle was only five feet tall with curly darker hair, and he learned during the day that she was from Bristol, England, with an accent made for attracting viewers. Nice girls, but he didn’t want them. He wanted to stop all filming, run from Smosh headquarters, and never hear the word again, but how could he do that? How could he give that up? He wanted to, he really did, but something made him stay. Ian, the nostalgia, he didn’t know, but he felt foolish with every doubt and every affirmation of staying.
And yet here they were, filming movie reviews and telling bad puns and actually pretending that it was all okay, when it so clearly wasn’t. Not for him, anyway, and couldn’t he just be selfish and unkind and stop all this? No, something held him back, something kept him from breaking entirely, but he could feel that something fading. The end of something was on the air.
***
Meeting with Kris, again, Monday at three, just as Ian had done for so long without ever telling him. He wasn’t sure if this was a cruel irony or just him finishing the job. Whatever the case, he sat in the soft chair in the warm office, across from this kindly old man, and he still felt misery bubble in the pit of his stomach.
“Good afternoon, Anthony.” Kris greeted. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
“You too.” He replied, dully. “How’s the retirement thing going?”
“Well it’s not as fast as it should be. Patients are quite particular when it comes to their therapist, I have to give them time to adjust.” He shrugged and shuffled his feet a bit, obviously uncomfortable. It was a burden that he failed Ian, and it made him feel like one himself. But it was time to move on.
“So, Anthony, I’d like to talk to you about Ian.” He smiled, though Anthony suppressed a frown.
“Shocker.” Anthony said. “I don’t wanna talk about that dream again, doc-”
“You don’t have to.” He interrupted. “We don’t have to talk about anything physical. Just about love. Did you love him?”
“Of course I did.” Anthony answered in an almost biting tone. “Just not like that.”
“Like what?” Kris asked, looking studious. It irritated Anthony, but he shook it off.
“Like, love him. Like Kalel.”
“And what’s the difference between the love you have for Ian, and the love you have for your girlfriend?” Kris questioned, one eyebrow raised.
“Well...” Anthony thought for a moment. The way he felt for Kalel was different ever since Ian started to get sick (back when he saw his friend faint, not knowing cancer afflicted him); his concern grew for Ian and decreased for her. Then, when Ian died, any thoughts of loving her, or anyone else, receded to the back of his mind as grief took a hold of him and filled him with anger. “I don’t know. I remember meeting Kalel, instantly thinking that she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen - it wasn’t like that meeting Ian.”
“But you met Ian in sixth grade during a science project.” Kris countered. “Ian told me.” He explained in answer to Anthony's questioning gaze.
“But it still felt different.” He hung his head.
“All love feels different.” Kris sighed. “To me, however, true, deep love always felt like satisfaction - like a completion.” He suddenly looked as though he was in the past, thinking of a time long ago. “It was the want to eat ice cream in the park with them, have lazy Sundays with them, curl into bed together every night and lie face to face, playing with their hair, kissing their forehead, holding their hand...and wanting to do it every night for the rest of your life. That’s what I always thought love was about.”
Anthony continued to stare at his lap, but his vision was blurred through watery eyes. He wanted to say that he didn’t feel any of that, that none of those things sounded like something he would want with Ian, but that would have been a lie. Because he could easily imagine doing any of that with him, not in a goofy way, not in an odd way for filming, but just naturally doing it. Just being together.
“Anthony, forget sexuality for a moment. Forget gender. Forget what you’re supposed to think of him. Do you love him?” Kris leaned in.
“But that stuff’s important.” Anthony could feel himself shaking. Why was he so nervous? What would his answer be? He himself didn’t even know for certain.
“I know. But anyone can love anyone. It’s important, but not what matters most. Do you love him?”
“Yeah.” Anthony let out a shaky breath, almost surprising himself with the answer. “Yeah, I love him. Loved. We can’t talk about this like he’s not gone. Besides, none of this will bring him back.”
“It’s not my intention to bring him back.” Kris sat back in his chair. “It’s my intention to help you move on.”
“And how will exposing how I feel for him do that?” Anthony shook his head. “Maybe this therapy thing is going too far. Maybe I should’ve just forgotten about all this.”
“Forgotten about your friend loving you? About him succumbing to cancer? There is no way to forget such tragedy. But knowing something, having clarity, that’s far better than spending the rest of your life pushing confusion away. And that’s what we’re here to do.”
Anthony nodded, and silence fell between the pair as the session ended, but poor Anthony felt no clarity, and had in fact never been so confused in his entire life. And this feeling, combined with a terrible remorse, would haunt him for longer than any foul feelings should.
A/N: hey guys, so I haven't updated in over three months! Wow yeah great. I swear I'll be finishing this story when I'm 50 at this rate. If you want more from me, here is the first chapter of a Larry Stylinson Doctor Who au. I'll probably finish that when I'm 80. May the fourth be with you all.
warnings: foul language
rating: pg-13
It was Monday morning, a normal one for everyone else, a shit one for Anthony. He’d spent the previous day screaming at a piece of rock that represented his dead best friend, and none of the things he said had given him answers; he’d only revealed things he wanted to stay hidden, things he wanted to furiously deny to everyone including himself. What only made things worse was the fact that he had to keep pushing forward, keep acting like all that happened yesterday actually didn’t. He told that tombstone, that empty air, the universe, that he craved death after Ian’s, and now he had to deal with these revelations. It had been so much easier to be numb, to be permanently angry at a cruel world. Now sadness leaked from the deepest corners of his thoughts and contaminated him, and sorrow is a difficult thing to feel when one has so little experience, all throughout his life replacing it with anger, passion, fear, empowerment, or a blankness to shield him from the wounds of living.
It affected him as he filmed, and his false smiles and laughter were harder to produce than any in the weeks previous. The pain he felt now was somehow worse than that from immediately after Ian’s death, because that pain was so intense and raw, but this one burned inside him with a low heat, long and torturous; the first was the sadness that comes with shock and grief and it’s a flash of absolute agony, but the second was a remorse that Anthony knew he would feel for so much longer, and that’s what made it hurt so.
He tried to distract himself by meeting two more of the many new workers, Alice and Danielle. Alice was of average height and had brown hair with eyes to match, and spent most of the day saying sorry after every action she made and staring at Anthony through thick glasses with concern clear on her face. Danielle was only five feet tall with curly darker hair, and he learned during the day that she was from Bristol, England, with an accent made for attracting viewers. Nice girls, but he didn’t want them. He wanted to stop all filming, run from Smosh headquarters, and never hear the word again, but how could he do that? How could he give that up? He wanted to, he really did, but something made him stay. Ian, the nostalgia, he didn’t know, but he felt foolish with every doubt and every affirmation of staying.
And yet here they were, filming movie reviews and telling bad puns and actually pretending that it was all okay, when it so clearly wasn’t. Not for him, anyway, and couldn’t he just be selfish and unkind and stop all this? No, something held him back, something kept him from breaking entirely, but he could feel that something fading. The end of something was on the air.
***
Meeting with Kris, again, Monday at three, just as Ian had done for so long without ever telling him. He wasn’t sure if this was a cruel irony or just him finishing the job. Whatever the case, he sat in the soft chair in the warm office, across from this kindly old man, and he still felt misery bubble in the pit of his stomach.
“Good afternoon, Anthony.” Kris greeted. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
“You too.” He replied, dully. “How’s the retirement thing going?”
“Well it’s not as fast as it should be. Patients are quite particular when it comes to their therapist, I have to give them time to adjust.” He shrugged and shuffled his feet a bit, obviously uncomfortable. It was a burden that he failed Ian, and it made him feel like one himself. But it was time to move on.
“So, Anthony, I’d like to talk to you about Ian.” He smiled, though Anthony suppressed a frown.
“Shocker.” Anthony said. “I don’t wanna talk about that dream again, doc-”
“You don’t have to.” He interrupted. “We don’t have to talk about anything physical. Just about love. Did you love him?”
“Of course I did.” Anthony answered in an almost biting tone. “Just not like that.”
“Like what?” Kris asked, looking studious. It irritated Anthony, but he shook it off.
“Like, love him. Like Kalel.”
“And what’s the difference between the love you have for Ian, and the love you have for your girlfriend?” Kris questioned, one eyebrow raised.
“Well...” Anthony thought for a moment. The way he felt for Kalel was different ever since Ian started to get sick (back when he saw his friend faint, not knowing cancer afflicted him); his concern grew for Ian and decreased for her. Then, when Ian died, any thoughts of loving her, or anyone else, receded to the back of his mind as grief took a hold of him and filled him with anger. “I don’t know. I remember meeting Kalel, instantly thinking that she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen - it wasn’t like that meeting Ian.”
“But you met Ian in sixth grade during a science project.” Kris countered. “Ian told me.” He explained in answer to Anthony's questioning gaze.
“But it still felt different.” He hung his head.
“All love feels different.” Kris sighed. “To me, however, true, deep love always felt like satisfaction - like a completion.” He suddenly looked as though he was in the past, thinking of a time long ago. “It was the want to eat ice cream in the park with them, have lazy Sundays with them, curl into bed together every night and lie face to face, playing with their hair, kissing their forehead, holding their hand...and wanting to do it every night for the rest of your life. That’s what I always thought love was about.”
Anthony continued to stare at his lap, but his vision was blurred through watery eyes. He wanted to say that he didn’t feel any of that, that none of those things sounded like something he would want with Ian, but that would have been a lie. Because he could easily imagine doing any of that with him, not in a goofy way, not in an odd way for filming, but just naturally doing it. Just being together.
“Anthony, forget sexuality for a moment. Forget gender. Forget what you’re supposed to think of him. Do you love him?” Kris leaned in.
“But that stuff’s important.” Anthony could feel himself shaking. Why was he so nervous? What would his answer be? He himself didn’t even know for certain.
“I know. But anyone can love anyone. It’s important, but not what matters most. Do you love him?”
“Yeah.” Anthony let out a shaky breath, almost surprising himself with the answer. “Yeah, I love him. Loved. We can’t talk about this like he’s not gone. Besides, none of this will bring him back.”
“It’s not my intention to bring him back.” Kris sat back in his chair. “It’s my intention to help you move on.”
“And how will exposing how I feel for him do that?” Anthony shook his head. “Maybe this therapy thing is going too far. Maybe I should’ve just forgotten about all this.”
“Forgotten about your friend loving you? About him succumbing to cancer? There is no way to forget such tragedy. But knowing something, having clarity, that’s far better than spending the rest of your life pushing confusion away. And that’s what we’re here to do.”
Anthony nodded, and silence fell between the pair as the session ended, but poor Anthony felt no clarity, and had in fact never been so confused in his entire life. And this feeling, combined with a terrible remorse, would haunt him for longer than any foul feelings should.
A/N: hey guys, so I haven't updated in over three months! Wow yeah great. I swear I'll be finishing this story when I'm 50 at this rate. If you want more from me, here is the first chapter of a Larry Stylinson Doctor Who au. I'll probably finish that when I'm 80. May the fourth be with you all.