Disclaimer(s): I don't own Smosh. However, I do own this piece of writing. Please do not claim as your own.
Pairing(s): Ianthony. Ian/Anthony.
Warning(s): Self-harm, suicidal thoughts and behaviors. Language.
Author's Note: This may be a two-shot, I'm unsure yet. We'll see.
It's this easy.
One hand clutched the gun, barrel pressed to a pale forehead. Long fingers were laced around the gun, thumb on the safety lock, index finger on the trigger.
Just do it. No one will miss you.
His eyes were shut tight. He tried to block out the memories. His mind replayed videos of blood leaking out of an open wound, a blood stained sink, the relief after the blade first pulled open skin.
People can swear it will get better; it won't and you know it.
The index finger twitched, desperate to flex and end it all. Two tears leaked out of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. They rolled off of his chin and hit the floor.
You can make this all go away, Ian.
Ian became vaguely aware of the sound of Anthony's car pulling into the driveway. It was the only thing keeping him from tugging the trigger and ending everything.
Do it. Do it before he comes in and sees the mess you've made, before he sees how you really feel about your life. Do it and find the peace you've yearned for.
There came the sound of the garage door squeaking as it closed, the sound of Anthony's door as it closed. Blue eyes opened, glancing directly at the computer screen in front of them. Ian looked back at himself through a webcam.
His hair was combed to its normal fashion. His sleeves were rolled up, offering him the view of the various scars that littered his wrist. His blue eyes were bloodshot. Had he rolled down his sleeves and sneezed, he'd look like he always did.
Don't pussy out now, Ian Hecox!
"Ian, I'm home!"
Shit! Fuck! You're screwed now, dumbass!
Ian had never moved so fast. He pushed the safety on, slid open his desk drawer, and put the gun back in its case. He quickly rolled down his shirt sleeve and wiped at his face, clearing the wet spaces and making his eyes shrink from their previously puffy state. He stood, drawing a wrist under his nose.
"Are you even here?"
"Yeah, one second," he called, turning to the computer. He blinked at the video, sighing before hitting the stop button. He stood from his chair and left the room, propping his door open. "Hey, Ant. Did you pick up more sugar?"
Anthony poked his head into the hallway, his teeth flashing in a grin. "Of course. I also picked up some popcorn and – hey, man, are you alright?" he asked, walking fully into the hallway, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I'm just not feeling well. WebMD says it's been going around, so it's completely natural," he lied, his fingers crossing behind his back. Anthony stared at him a moment longer, trying to figure out the truth, the real story. Both stared at one another and Ian swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the chalky taste in his mouth.
"Okay…but, just in case, if something was wrong, you'd tell me, right? You do know that I'm here for you?"
I could tell him everything, Ian reasoned. 'Anthony, I want to kill myself. Help me. Please look at me and see that what I'm about to say is a lie. Please take me swimming so I don't have to wear a shirt and you can see everything and promise me it'll get better. Do anything, Anthony, just please, help me. I need you.
"Yeah, I know. Thanks." Ian flashed his teeth in his usual goofy grin. Anthony lingered for a moment more, unblinking. Something felt off and he knew it. It was like he'd walked in on a hurricane and it just stopped in its tracks. The air in the room felt heavy…unbearably heavy. "What? You're looking at me like I've grown a second head or something."
Anthony cleared his throat, daring the blush to leave his face. "Sorry. It's just been a long day, you know?" He looked Ian over, taking in the way the boy looked perfectly fine. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew something was up. He ran a hand through his hair, clearing his path of vision.
"I know this is a little last minute, but…do you want to go swimming, Ian?"