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“Go fuck yourself, Anthony.”
“Ian?” He calls as I run as fast as my feet will carry me, out the door to my car in the driveway.
I sit in the cool dark interior, before I crank the engine and skitter out the driveway.
When I arrive at my destination, a flood of memories overwhelms me.
The place I first realized I loved him. All the work we did here. So many videos, so much inspiration. These thoughts make me wonder. Is it over? Is it the end of us? Of Smosh, of our friendship?
I sit on the swing set, and with a cursory laugh, I wonder if I can still climb to the top bar like I used to.
I stand carefully on the black rubber seat, stretching up. I wrap my hands around the green bar, hoisting myself up like I’m doing a chin-up. I carefully swing my legs up, settling on the slim bar.
With a deep breath, I stare across the grassy hill, the trees waving in the soft breeze. The rustle of leaves and the song of crickets, like they have my whole life, comfort me out of my mood. Summer in Sacramento means light skies, even at nine at night. It’s still about eighty degrees, stuffy and warm.
I am calmed, mellow even.
“Hey, Ian, would you mind coming down from there, because you know I can’t get up there.”
“Why don’t you try?” I smile lazily.
“Fine. When I break my amazingly sexy face, I can blame you.” He grunts, swinging up beside me.
“You won’t. I’ve fallen off plenty of times, and my face is still sexy.”
“It is.” He whispers. He slowly reaches a hand, caressing my face.
I catch his hand, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. Taking survey of my emotions, I am in love first, and pissed off second.
The electric shock from his fingertips held more of a spark than all the shocks I’ve gotten from the rusty chains creaking under us.
Time freezes, in this moment. His fingers twist a stray lock of my hair, fingertips gently rubbing under my ear. I think I’m drunk on his touch.
“Ian…” He murmurs seductively.
“Hmm?” I mumble.
“Will you please tell me now?”
“Tell you what?” I whisper dreamily. His thumb touches my lip. I’ve forgotten everything.
“Why you’re mad… Why you left.”
Almost like I am awakening from a daze, a lazy sleep, I remember what transpired thirty minutes ago on the couch.
“Anthony. I was in the middle of saying something important and private and scary, for me, and you interrupted like an ass. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry, Ian… Will you tell me now?” His eyes glimmer majestically in the dimming summer light.
“I don’t think I can…” I look at my Nike-d feet, swinging gently off the swing-set. I wonder numbly what people would think if they saw us. Two twenty-five year old men, sitting on an old swing-set.
“Try. Please.” His brow wrinkles, worried confusion abound.
“I… I think,” My voice drops to a faint whisper. “I think that I love you.”
“Mierda, Ian.” He lilts softly. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I’m sorry for being such a douche-puncher. I didn’t know that you were trying to tell me before. Can we get down from here so I can hug you without falling and breaking something?”
I twist to the side, landing softly on my feet. He lands with more of a clatter, messily. Not as practiced. I’ve been jumping off since I was eight. He throws his arms around me, still apologizing.
“Please stop. I’ve forgiven you.” I smile against his chest. I could stay here forever. Just crushed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, smelling the faintest hints of cologne.
“I think I need to say something too.” He smiles, a strange, wistful smile.
“Shoot.” I say, voice muffled against the warm cotton of his hoodie.
“Right after you left, Kalel called. She wanted to talk, and I told her I didn’t have time. I needed to go look for you. She accused me of not loving her, of spending too much time with you. I told her to fuck off, because I love my best friend.” He laughs bitterly.
“She called me gay, and told me she never wanted to see me again. To that I said fine, you know, whatever. Then I came and found you.”
“And…?” I smile.
“And I love you.” With two fingers, he holds my chin, tilting my head up.
A look of hesitation crosses his face.
“Oh my god. Not now. I’ve been waiting years. Just kiss me, you ass.”
And he does. Soft, sweet, gentle, perfect. When we finally break away, after what feels like hours, I see that look in his eyes, the same one I saw in his dark eyes earlier, a look of pure love, of adoration.
I’m in love with you, too.