Anthony doesn't ship Iancorn (Ianthony story)

Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for liking the story so far if you did and here's the next part. Votes and comments are much appreciated :)

I better go home. I've got stuff to edit and hopefully Ian won't be there already.

Anthony slowly made his way down the tree so he didn't fall. It was at least twelve feet and he didn't feel like going to hospital at that precise moment. Not if it was caused by an accident anyway. He grunted softly as his feet made contact with the ground. It was already 4:30pm, meaning he had been up in that tree for at least an hour, just thinking. Thinking about what he'd done today, Ian's reaction and how he was going to explain what happened. He didn't want to explain his true motives behind the way he acted in Gamebang, but how else was he going to say it? Ian knew him too well to even attempt lying. It's been ten years and I'm still not ready to tell him how I feel. Will I ever be? Anthony just sighed at his own cowardice and started to make his way home.

By the time Anthony arrived home, he could see the lights on in their house. Of course Ian's home already, he must have left while I was still up in that stupid tree. Anthony just shook his head before opening the door. Normally he would have gone to find Ian and say hello, but today he just went straight to his room and shut himself in. I can't talk to him yet, I just can't. He could feel anger and self-pity welling up inside him. Anger directed at himself for not being able to speak the truth, not being able to confess that he was in love with his best friend, and self-pity because he hated himself for it.

With his jaw clenched, Anthony made his way over to the bottom drawer next to his bed, the drawer that only he was allowed to open. The only way to open it was with the key that he always had with him, whether it was on a keychain, in his shoe, or on a piece of string hanging loosely around his neck like it was currently. He opened it slowly, not concentrating on the razor blade that was still faintly tinged with blood, or the envelope that lay underneath it. He still couldn't bring himself to reopen that envelope after receiving it fifteen years ago, the last birthday card he had ever gotten from his dad. Instead, he grabbed the small leather-bound journal that lay next to the other "mementoes" from his past.

Anthony wasn't a huge fan of writing, but over the years he had come to realise that he needed it. Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, he had been harming himself; just little things, such as "forgetting" to eat meals or the occasional prick of a blade against his skin. He had told himself repeatedly that he was in control, that he wasn't going to take it any further. Until one day when he fainted at school due to not eating since the previous night. The school nurse noticed a multitude of scars across Anthony's wrists, and on his arms from when he had run out of room on his wrists. Some were angry red, clearly only a day old or so, whilst others were a pale pink, almost a year old. One thing led to another and Anthony ended up going into therapy, after both his mother and Ian insisted that he should. And so he agreed, because he loved his mom dearly and didn't want to let her down like his dad did, and because he loved Ian too, and didn't want him to be worrying about his wellbeing.

Despite being reluctant to go, the therapy had really helped him. His therapist was a kind and understanding man who understood what Anthony was going through, even if he hadn't been able to tell him the whole story. You know, the part about him being in love with his best friend.

The therapist, Dr Coleman, had suggested different ways to release his pain and emotions. He still remembered the conversation as though it were yesterday, although he was relieved it wasn't only yesterday.

"Anthony, you can't deal with this by hurting yourself," Dr Coleman had said. "You need to talk about it with someone, release your emotions that way."

"But I can't!" Anthony had protested, his eyes prickling with tears as he thought about what he was going through, alone. "Isn't that your job anyway?!"

"Anthony, I'm your therapist. I don't know you like your own mother or your best friend. I can help you with your problems, but there's only so much I can do. And we aren't going to be seeing each other for much longer," Dr Coleman had replied, feeling compassion for the teenage boy in front of him. "Well, if you can't talk about it, then you should write about it."

"Huh?" Anthony had asked, confused as to what Dr Coleman was talking about.

"I'm giving you this journal," he had said, whilst handing over the thick journal. Anthony didn't think he'd ever be able to finish all the pages. "Whenever you feel like you need an outlet of some sort, don't take it out on yourself. Just write down how you're feeling."

"I'll give it a try I guess," Anthony had responded, slightly sceptical that writing about his feelings would help him deal with them. But he had to keep an open mind.

"Good luck Anthony," Dr Coleman said, encouragingly. "We don't have any more scheduled appointments but of course, you're always welcome to make one if you need to talk to me again."

After receiving the journal, he had promised both Ian and his mom that he wouldn't cut or starve himself again. And they had believed him, so he wasn't going to break his promise now.

He sighed as he reminisced about that painful year and opened the journal. His eye scanned the pages to see when he had last written in there. September 16th 2012, my birthday. That day had been difficult for him, Ian had been chatting up a random girl from the Smosh crew when they were at his birthday party, and he could only look on, thinking about what might be, if Ian would accept him.

Anthony tried to block the memory from his mind as he turned over and started a fresh page. He wrote as if he was talking to Ian, expressing the way he felt without fear of being rejected.

Dear Ian,

I really don't know what to say. I want to tell you that I love you and that you mean everything to me, but something stops me every time. I just look into those pale blue eyes of yours and wish I could see love there. Not the friendly type that I know you already have, but the same type of love I have for you. Unconditional. Maybe one day I'll be able to confess to you for real, but for now this is all I've got.

P.S. Sorry for overreacting about your dance with Lasercorn. I just hated seeing his hands all over you.

After finishing the last word, Anthony gave up trying to hold back the tears. Every fucking time. He just let it all out, his thoughts only on Ian. He got up from his desk and got underneath his covers, burying his face in his pillow as he cried his broken heart out.

I wasn't planning on updating this soon but I just couldn't resist. Let me know what you think :)