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Dating Anthony was never something Coy thought of as difficult.
Yeah, Anthony’s mental health was, hell, is concerning to everyone in the house, but Coy really has a strong opinion that it won’t get in the way of their bonding.
Had.
Until today, probably.
Coy woke up with a heavy head, not truly in the mood to edit his own video or even get up from the bed, at very least. Days like this one don’t happen much, but something feels quite wrong. However, he can’t name the exact thing, so he forces himself to sit up and rise from the bed.
His legs make their way to the kitchen, having a natural urge to fill his stomach up with anything edible. Of course, when he enters the room it’s, as always, not empty and free from any staring gazes, even if they’re just caring.
“Morning.” Coy murmurs, not even giving Will or Hanbon a second look, going straight to the coffee machine. Weird not to see Anthony here, he is usually the earliest bird of all of them. Maybe he rose much earlier and already had some breakfast, he thinks. Coy automatically focuses on making himself a cup of black coffee he actually hates, making sure to not let his mind wander to the paths of worrying if Anthony is getting more sleep or currently trying to kill himself for the second time.
“Have you seen Anthony? Knocked twice, he didn’t answer. Thought he was sleeping with you, y’know, all love and horny-” Before Hanbon finishes, Coy is already tense, because the disappearance of Anthony is never nice.
“Don’t use words like this, God. And no, I haven’t seen him.” Coy answers, gaze focused on his cup filling up with coffee. He can’t go spiraling about this just now, he knows it, but can’t stop his mind from it.
“Can you check his room? You’re the only one allowed there.” Hanbon adds, sounding pitifully anxious. Anthony’s depression was only getting worse with every day he tried to skip socializing or even taking his pills, and all of them knew it.
Coy sighs, already forgetting about the caffeine he thought he needed and turns around. He catches a glance from Will, something silent saying “good luck”. While taking a deep breath, he leaves the kitchen, making his way directly to his boyfriend’s room. Being as respectful as always, he knocks first, counts to ten in his head.
Nothing.
The boy opens the door, pushing it lightly to not startle Anthony if he’s there and isn’t feeling like talking today, which isn’t rare to him, honestly.
But the room is empty. Not a soul.
His eyes swiftly go through everything left in the usual places. Something isn’t right, and it’s Anthony’s journal, or more likely to be called, diary. Wide open on his unmade bed. Coy hesitates between rushing to the bathroom or reading at least the opened page before moving any further.
A quiet sigh echoes on the walls and Coy moves closer to the bed. The words on the paper written in fast and messy handwriting burn his chest, salt tears well up in his eyes.
“why cant you come stitch me up? why cant it ever be enough?” The only thing he can see on the page, scribbled so hard that at some of the letters he can see holes. Next words, whatever they were meant to be, were smudged before the ink had time to dry. Has he missed the signs of Anthony getting worse once again? What kind of boyfriend would he be if he did?
Before he can even consider going to the bathroom, his legs are moving. In literal seconds, Coy is there. Not even knocking this time, he pushes the door with urgency he never had.
Anthony.
Anthony, his dear boyfriend, on the tile floor with a pool of blood underneath his hands.
Anthony, the man that laughs the loudest in videos.
Anthony, who always made sure every one of them felt comfortable and cared and seen and-
“Anthony!” Coy is beside his side before he can even register it. Tears are getting hotter and more noticeable in his own eyes. His hands are shaking when he reaches for Anthony’s forearm, looking at the deep cuts there.
His t-shirt has never been taken off that fast. Coy uses it as the fabric to apply the pressure. Maybe he should yell for others to come here and help, but the lump in his throat feels too heavy to try.
Anthony moves, just an inch, but he’s still conscious, which signals that the bleeding is apparently stopping, which is a good sign.
Coy moves medically strictly, making sure to keep his breathing as stable as possible and clean the wounds without getting Anthony an infection. Stop the bleeding, clean it, apply ointment and cover it. Simply enough when it’s nothing more than words, in practice he feels fucking lost.
“Coy..?” Anthony barely chokes out, his ocean eyes—ones that Coy would find absolutely stunning if not the situation—lock up on him.
“I’m here now, I’m here. Can you move? I need to rinse your cuts, Anth.” Coy tries, really, to sound calm, but his voice trembles, his heart beats too fast and his hands shake too obviously. His free hand, left one, raises to his boyfriend’s face, gently but panicky soothing a harsh cheek with stubble on it.
Anthony nods and Coy follows the rules he scratched out on the back of his mind.
—
The next day is, surprisingly, worse than expected.
The kitchen is silent when Coy finds Anthony there late at night.
He knows how much his boyfriend hates to draw attention to his struggles with mental health and “accidents” like yesterday’s make Anthony close in himself even more.
Coy softly makes his way around the kitchen, wanting to do himself a cup of tea. He puts the kettle on the stove, lights it up. Then, he takes a seat in front of the other boy, folds his arms on the counter.
Silence stings.
But before Coy has time to fill the silence up, Anthony is already talking.
“We should break up.” His voice is groggy, better to say hoarse, from not talking.
Suddenly, Coy wishes he never opened his mouth.
“And before you say anything, I’m sorry” Anthony sighs and oh, such a familiar move, rubs his eyes in not even frustration anymore, but defeat. “My head is full of poison, my heart is full of doubt. I got toxins in my bloodstream you tried so hard to suck out. And this feels like medication, and it’s good for me, I’m sure, but it will never be the cure.”
The whispered words are too loud. Coy is too stunned to speak, his head is banging and everything he can think of is Anthony’s words.
Poison. Doubt. Toxins.
The silence that forms is even worse than the previous one.
“Say you’re joking.” Coy states, seriousness is filling the room. Is he really getting broken up with at an ungodly hour, sounds of kettle on and his eyes burning from lack of sleep?
Before Anthony can answer, the light abruptly goes on.
“Am I… interrupting?” Will yawns, his phone in his hand with Instagram opened. He probably doomscrolled for a long time and now wants to eat before bed. Usual Wahony.
“Let’s leave it at that, Coy.” Anthony says and gets up, leaving them both alone.
Not even a minute passes before Coy crashes. Tears are streaming down his face, the sobs are ugly and going deep out from his chest, making him shake with desperation and, most importantly, disbelief.
Will, as a good friend he is, darts to Coy’s side and tugs him in a reassuring and warm hug, the one only he can initiate. His shirt is newly soggy with tears, his hands are stable on his friend’s hips, keeping him floating in this world, grounding in a way he never knew he could.
—
Ghosting never felt worse.
The worst part is the fact that Coy can’t blame Anthony.
He’s depressed. Hurt in the cruelest way possible.
And still, it stings.
Hanbon is passing around. She hasn't stopped since Coy said that Anthony broke up with him and said the most poetic shit imaginable.
The front door opens. Anthony came back from his weekly appointment with a therapist. He denied any of them driving him there as usual, instead did it himself. No one said a word about it, but everyone thought the same thing.
Will comes to the living room from the goffice, crosses his arms and doesn’t hope for the other to just randomly come in here, instead he calls out, “Anthony, come here.”
Both Hanbon and Coy go stiff at the words, too scared of what might happen. Will is, shortly, the mom of their group. Always the one who lectures and stops fights. They appreciate it, of course, because without someone with an open mind on things they all would rip each other apart by now.
But all the readiness to tell the boy off disappears when he actually enters the room.
Anthony looks half-alive, at this point. Eyebags so big they could form another pair of eyes. Hands hidden in his pockets, still visibly trembling. Hair is messing, hairbrush hasn’t touched it in days. Clothes look like they, perhaps, fell out of the closet and were chosen exactly by this method.
“I’m sorry.” He says weakly, falling on the couch beside Coy. His head goes into Coy’s chest. There’s no tears, just quiet seeking of comfort. Before the other boy can even process what happened, his hands instinctively fly up to Anthony’s waist. The pose is too well-known, they slept like this too many times for his body to not react in any way.
Silently, Will and Hanbon follow too, carefully hugging Anthony and making—a kind of uncomfortable for their muscules—circle of unspoken support.
—
Healing is harder than people think.
It takes time, it takes other people to listen and actually understand.
But for the first time in a month, Anthony is smiling—God, laughing without acting.
Coy’s chest is lighter than ever. It blooms just by watching his boyfriend smile and laugh like it’s not something forced. Genuinely having a good time, enjoying the company of his “bunch of friends” once again.
Anthony’s mind is still troubled. Still the same as before, but it gets quieter. And he learned to share it with anyone who’s around. He still thinks ugly things about himself, doubts Coy’s love for him and his love for Coy. But when he says it out loud, he doesn’t feel stupid anymore, now he searches for an anchor. Like his boyfriend. Or his friends and family. Everything slowly but surely does get better.
Loving someone this sickeningly bad is seen as a cliche, basic romance plot. But Coy asks himself, have the people who say it ever felt hopeless before? Ever felt like their lover is deep to the bottom and they can’t swim down to help them?
As long as Coy has an opportunity to love Anthony—without anyone whispering in his ear how banal and common what they have is—he will enjoy every moment possible.
Anthony kisses Coy’s cheek, making him aware that it’s his turn to throw the cube and get out of his head and his train of thoughts.
No matter what comes next, they’re together. They have Hanbon and Will.
And next time? They will be ready.