Regret (Ianthony)

One Month, Three Weeks Prior

A loud crash and a few low moans of pain forced Anthony's eyes open from sleep. He shot up in bed, covers and sheets alike pooling at his lap in the darkness. Rubbing his eyes with exhaustion and letting out a small yawn, Anthony looked to his alarm clock's glowing numerals. It was four-thirty in the morning. Anthony turned to ask Ian what the hell he had done to make such a racket when it was in practically the middle of the night when he realized that his boyfriend was not lying down to his right. He felt panic bubble in the back of his throat before he heard cussing from his left. He climbed on his knees and scooted to the edge of the bed, where he made out Ian's vague outline lying on the ground, clutching at his right wrist in pain.

"Christ, Ian! What the fuck did you do?!" Anthony yelped, jumping to the ground beside Ian.

"Turn on the goddamn lights before I beat the shit out of you," Ian growled angrily. Anthony could almost visualize the flash of annoyance that had probably crossed Ian's features as he said that. The funny thing about being injured was how people dealt with it. Most people cried, some freaked out completely, some tried to ignore it (namely Anthony). And then there was Ian, who resorted to pure anger when hurt. It was like he was hulking out, and it made Anthony both want to laugh and comply with his orders all the more.

Eager to be able to see Ian and help him with whatever had gone wrong, Anthony dashed through the darkness, stubbing his toes on his dresser in the process (to which he swore). His fingers raked at the wall, flinging the light switch on by chance. The fluorescence of the light made Anthony feel like he had been flash-banged in some first-person shooter for a second. He swayed a bit, then regained his balance and rushed back to Ian's side, kneeling down beside him like he would to a small child.

Carefully, Anthony asked, "Ian, what the hell happened?"

"I..." Ian sucked in some air sharply, then continued, "I had a bad dream, and you know how I move around when I dream." Anthony gave him a knowing look before nodding for him to keep talking.

"Well, I fell of this damn big-ass bed and broke my fucking thumb." Ian held up his hand for Anthony to see, and he immediately saw that Ian's thumb was bent back in a way that thumbs should never naturally be bent.

"Fuck... Let me see it," Anthony commanded, reaching out for Ian's right hand, which Ian immediately retracted.

Shaking his head vigorously, Ian insisted, "Hell no. My mom's pulled the same old trick too many times for you to trick me. There's no way I'm letting you touch it."

Trying to keep his voice at a reasonable level, Anthony pointed out, "Well, how are we gonna know how serious it is if you won't let me check it out?"

"No. You can take me to the doctor or something, but you are not messing with it." Ian bit his lip with another flash of pain, and Anthony could only imagine how much his thumb must have been throbbing at that moment.

Resigning, Anthony groaned, "Fine. Just let me see it, okay? I swear I won't screw around." Placing a hand on his chest, Anthony saluted, "A boyscout's honor."

"You weren't ever a boyscout."

"Fuck off." Anthony held out his hand for the second time, and Ian hesitated before slowly edging his hand to Anthony's and placing it over his. Anthony gently prodded Ian's thumb with his pointer finger before he could do anything about it.

Hissing with pain, Ian yanked his injured hand away, wrapping his fingers from his other hand around the wrist area below his thumb. Anthony observed Ian's reaction to his poke silently to see how bad it really was. Ian was clawing at his wrist with his short nails, and Anthony was horrified to see that streaks of blood were beginning to crawl from the scratches.

Was it really that painful?

Softly, Anthony pulled Ian's hand off his wrist and used his shirt to wipe the tiny beads of blood off the bleeding wrist. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he stated firmly, helping Ian up by grasping his good hand.

The duo climbed into Anthony's car, Ian in the passenger's seat and Anthony driving. They began their journey to the small hospital that was only about fifteen minutes away, Ian punching at the radio buttons with his healthy hand. When he found a station that suited his needs (when they were already only about five miles from the hospital), he pulled away, satisfied. It was some form of rock, and Anthony instantly recognized it.

"Ohio is for Lovers?" he whispered, remembering the long trip to Orlando that they had taken months previous and how interested Ian had been in this song.

Ian nodded curtly and they listened to the song in a comfortable silence, Anthony occasionally murmuring the lyrics of his favorite parts to himself. Before too long, they were at the hospital.

As soon as Anthony cut the engine off, he jumped out from his side of the car and walked to Ian's side to open his door for him, offering him what little assistance he could in his time of need.

"Thanks," Ian thanked, giving Anthony one of his half-smiles.

"No problem, man," he offered as they broke into a comfortable stride that they were both matching, nearly walking at the exact same pace. When they arrived at the automatic glass doors, Ian stopped as they slid open before them.

"Anthony?"

"Yep?"

"While I have a thumb cast, you're gonna have to feed Herbert." The look of horror that Anthony gave Ian as he said that made him giggle, in spite of his thumb's inapt condition.

"Fuck you."