When you wake up, there is a ten-second period of time where your body is simply at peace. There are no other distractions, your mind has nothing on it, except for the relaxing feeling of letting yourself wake up slowly, bit by bit.

Then, life hits you in the face with a baseball bat and tells you, "Wake up! Start the day already, piece of shit!" You're reminded of the inevitable, the things that you have to do today, what happened yesterday, and what lies before you. You are forced out of the pure bliss you were in, and shoved into the dark world that is all too real.

That is exactly how Anthony Padilla got out of bed at ten-thirty on a Saturday morning, except worse. His head was pounding, and the rims of his lips faintly tasted of vomit. He had, once again, tried to drink away his thoughts, and once again, Joven was sleeping in the brown recliner in his bedroom. He had come to Anthony's rescue after the bartender called him when Anthony started blowing chunks in the street. After Ian's death, Joven had been Anthony's right hand man. He comforted him when he was crying, helped him to wake up each morning, and generally tried to keep Anthony from committing suicide. I really need to get a bed for him in the spare room, Anthony thought as he stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen. As Anthony left the room, Joven's eyes fluttered open, and he trailed behind him, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning," Joven mumbled. "How's your head?"

Anthony turned around and saw Joven's ruffled dark brown hair. He had slept in his clothes, and by the look of it, forgot his glasses trying to get to the bar Anthony was at. "Still hurts like hell." Anthony replied, wincing at being reminded of the throbbing in his head. He opened the refrigerator and found it was still empty. I can go without a meal, he thought as he closed the door. He made his way to the living room and plopped on a couch, immediately regretting the decision to plop as his head started to throb again. He sat up and rubbed his temples as Joven gently sat next to him.

For a while, the two men sat in silence, staring at the blank television, deep in thought. They didn't try to enjoy the morning light, as it was grey and foggy and stormy, matching both of their moods.

"You know, this is the third time you've done this 'drink away my problems' thing this month," Joven sighed, breaking the depressing quietness of the apartment.

Anthony looked up and stared at the side of Joven's head. He didn't even process what he had said, he had been done with doing the whole "processing" thing for a while.

"I would say we're starting to get worried about you, but we're way past that stage," Joven continued. "Ever since the channel was deleted, you've been in a depression. Anthony, are you listening?"

The hungover man blinked and refocused his eyes on Joven. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Joven sighed and looked at Anthony. "I'm about ready to send you to therapy. I don't want to do that, but I will if it can get you out of this funk. It's been six months, you need to start putting things back together-"

Anthony groaned, interrupting Joven. "Joven, I swear to God, if you mention therapy one more time, I will rip your fucking head off. For the last time: I. Am. Fine."

"No, you're not!" Joven shouted, standing up. Anthony looked at the angry man with wide eyes; now he was listening. Usually when they had these conversations, Anthony would brush Joven's worries away, but it was quite clear that he was done with that response from Anthony.

"Anthony, do you realize what's happened to you?" Joven continued. "You've been doing almost nothing but sitting in your apartment for the past six months, and when you actually go out, it's to drink yourself into oblivion! Nobody besides me has heard from you since Ian-"

Joven stopped his speech when Anthony's eyes widening at the mention of Ian's name. Already, tears were forming at the corners of Anthony's eyes.

"Anthony, I'm sorry, I-" Joven started, sitting next to Anthony again.

"No, it's just-" Anthony interrupted, wiping away the tears with his hands. "I'm sorry too. I've been a big fucking mess since then, and you've had to put up with me."

"I don't have a problem with that. You're one of my best friends," Joven assured. He stared at his hands in thought for a moment. "But why? Why have you been doing this? Why have you put us through hell?" He paused. "Why haven't you moved on?"

Anthony looked up at Joven's worried face. That was a good question, and it was one that he had been trying to find the answer to for a long time. Ian had always been Anthony's best friend, partner-in-crime, and lover. He was always there for him, through good times and bad. When Ian died in the car accident six months ago, to say it was a huge blow was a major understatement.

"I don't know." Anthony began. "I mean, Ian had been there for so long, and then he was gone. Our relationship just-" He started to cry again. "I still love him. So much. And he's gone." After that, he lost all control of his tears. Joven put an arm around Anthony as he let his emotions out. Anthony hugged Joven back, and the two men sat in an emotional embrace.

While Anthony was sobbing into his arms, Joven decided it was time. He wanted Anthony to recover from this on his own, and take it at his own pace, but six months had been far too long. Joven had to throw Anthony head-first into the truth.

"Anthony, look at me." Anthony obeyed, and Joven nearly burst into tears himself at the sight of his friend with the wear and tear of his lover's death on his face.

"I know that this has been hard for you. I see it every day. But it's time to move on. I know that Ian was very special to you. He was special to me, too. But there are so many other people out there who want you to be happy," Joven paused, "including Ian. He would hate to see you like this. He only wanted you to be happy."

Joven looked at Anthony, who was still curled in his arms. He was listening, and taking in the information. "Will you be happy, for Ian?"

Anthony nodded once, then he smiled and nodded, a sight Joven hadn't seen in a long time. "For Ian," he choked out.

They both started to cry again, but these were not tears of depression, but tears of acceptance.

Anthony had accepted Ian's death, once and for all.