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If someone asked Coy about moving on, he would storm out of the room at the very start of the question.
A year.
Twelve months.
And still, Coy can’t force himself to take off Anthony’s photo from his polaroid wall. Something deep in his guts hopes for magic to bring them back together and wipe their memory, making them believe it’s the first time.
But magic doesn’t exist, so Coy’s will to forget his ex.
And this wouldn’t be this horrible, if only Will didn’t invite them both to his wedding.
A year and a half ago all four of them logged out of ‘Bunch of Friends’ channel because Will proposed to his girlfriend. Honestly, the proposal helped a lot to leave the house.
Coy found himself a quite cozy apartment in New York and moved out a week after breaking up with Anthony. Sometimes, for rare occasions, he visits the old house to celebrate things with his usual company of friends—or better to say bunch of them—but it always turns out awkward.
Obviously why.
If he really needed to pin out why they broke up it would get messy. The simplest reason to name is Anthony was not stable enough mentally for a relationship, which is understandable.
Doesn’t hurt any less, however.
Looking at himself in the hallway mirror, Coy can only call himself ridiculous. Not in a “I need to change the whole outfit” way, but still bad. He blames it on the changing room mirrors being scientifically proven—maybe not by scientists—to have something weird in them to make everyone look good when trying clothes on in the store.
Sighing, he struggles to tie his tie, grunting and leaving it undone on his shoulders.
Coy takes his phone and sends Will a quick message about being ready and leaves his apartment, almost forgetting the car keys.
—
When he arrives, thank God, Hanbon meets him, shoving him around. Will and his bride did an amazing job at decorating everything. Flowers on arcs and doorways, alleyways looking extra perfect around this place.
“They actually did a good job, I’m surprised.” Coy chuckles, looking at Hanbon who is smiling, rolling her eyes.
“Will is taking this seriously and- oh, look who is here!” She rushes to someone who only exited their car and gives them a bear-like embrace. Coy squints his eyes—cursing his bad eyesight—and freezes.
Anthony.
Anthony Potero.
In flesh.
He watches how Anthony kindly brushes off Hanbon’s compliments and instead arrows them back at her, then he raises his ocean blue eyes and sees Coy, standing still and currently staring at him.
And he has the audacity to smile.
“Hey, Coy.”
“Why are you- I mean, yeah, hi, Anthony.” Coy blinks away his thoughts, forcing a respectful enough smile.
A pause hangs, but Hanbon is quick to read the situation, so she says: “Let’s go inside, should we?” And without waiting for an answer tugs them in by their sleeves.
—
“You intentionally made me sit beside Anthony? Will, the fuck?” Coy gapes at his friend, his hands dropping from air after being too dramatic about the fact that he has to sit next to his ex.
“Just figure it out finally, okay? Talk to him or something!” Will physically has to push Coy out of the bathroom to be able to pee.
Rubbing his eyes, Coy returns to the restaurant hall. The ceremony was incredible, leaving everyone with a happy feeling in their chests, but when he saw the seating plan everything left was pure frustration.
He asked countless people to switch seats, but Will thought everything through and everyone had their dream place except for Coy. And maybe Anthony, he wasn’t sure.
“Hey-” Coy jumps, swiftly turning around to see who startled him. Speak of the devil, they say. “-sorry for scaring you, but are you really this much against sitting beside me?”
“I- what? Who told you that?” Coy tries to laugh it off, looking around for signs of his enemy.
“Coy, I know how we ended things was messy, but let's not do this at Will’s wedding, yeah?” And, for God’s sake, Anthony is always making a good point.
Every time when Anthony turns out to be rationally right, Coy wants to start crying in an attempt to make him feel bad.
He never acts on this urge, though.
“Yeah. We can go to your house after and talk there.” He answers, trying to sound calm and collected about having to talk with ex-boyfriend. In his house. Without any possible escape. Anthony just nods, gives him a smile and goes on with his business.
How calm Anthony was is impressive, he thinks.
It was really impressive.
What? No, not impressive. Actually, Coy should hate him.
It was selfish. In a way.
Coy really should stop with these thoughts.
—
The ride to Anthony’s—well, once and Coy’s—house was silent, full of pure awkwardness and nervousness before the great talk.
At least Coy is a little bit wasted, since Anthony took the drive part on himself. He wasn’t sure if he could do this sober, and losing up on someone’s wedding isn’t so bad after all, is it?
Coy’s gaze runs around, noting how tidy the car is, the alcohol in his system makes his hands wander, touching everything on the surface. The glovebox looked highly appealing in the dim light from streetlamps they’re passing, that is why Coy opened it without any hesitation.
The light inside automatically turned on, and Anthony in the driver’s seat finally noticed Coy’s nosiness.
“Is this a condom? You have a condom in your glovebox?” Coy feels absolutely thrilled about his find, grinning ear to ear while Anthony flushes deep red beside him.
A sigh comes out of his mouth, “Put it back, Coy. Or you wanna use it, hm?” Anthony makes a flirty joke, but it doesn’t land well. The boy on the passenger seat shrugs, slurs some words and puts it back inside, closing the glovebox.
“I mean, you do have a good dick, but I’m not that desperate to fuck with my ex.” Coy remarks, turning his head to the side, fully relaxing and looking at Anthony’s profile.
“Thanks, I guess.”
A pause of familiar silence hangs, the only sounds coming are from the car. Not for long, because drunk Coy can’t force his tongue to stay behind his teeth.
“Would you fuck me if I asked you to?”
The clench of a jaw, knuckles becoming white from a tight grip on the steering wheel. Around ten seconds pass before Anthony gets a grip, breathes out and drives the car into his driveway.
“Not while you’re drunk, Coy. If you asked me to fuck you with a sober head, I would.” Anthony turns off the engine, and makes a slight move to face now sleepy Coy. He raises his hand and with careful gentleness tucked a loose strand of hair behind the other’s ear.
For a whole year this touch was something Coy yearned for. And now, when a tender but slightly rough hand does it again after so long, he might just give in, move back in here and forget whatever they went through. Without thinking—thanks to the wine he drank—Coy leans in, tiredly blinking at Anthony.
In the response, Anthony softly smiles and lands a small peck on Coy’s nose, making him scrunch it.
“Let’s get you tucked in, Coy.”
—
First thing in the morning that happens to Coy is falling to the ground and hitting his already banging head on the bedside table.
A loud and painful groan swirls through the room, while he massages the tip of his head. How much did he drink yesterday? What even happened yesterday? The only real thing he remembers is telling someone that he’s only a little tipsy, while the feeling was close to finishing a singular bottle of wine alone.
Well, the problem is Coy being lightweight, that is no surprise.
But after opening his eyes, he felt a crawl of terror down his spine. A room he woke up in is very fucking familiar, and if he had to name the owner it would definitely land on his ex-boyfriend.
“Oh no.” Coy whispers, sitting up. Headache is fast to be forgotten when he looks down, realizing he isn’t in his suit from the wedding and is, in fact, half naked. Only boxers and a big ass t-shirt which, for sure, belongs to Anthony.
We fucked?
The thing is, Coy can’t recall feeling high from orgasm or even kissing. Maybe it has something to do with him not being able to recall anything, but the bed Coy fell from is clean, and after checking himself he's seemingly even cleaner than the bed.
His clothes lay carefully on a chair in front of a messy desk, and he’s sure it was nothing more than a night's sleep.
Well, he hopes it was.
Coy slowly rises to his feet, using the murderous bedside table—by which he could’ve opened his scalp in a brutal way—to help him find his balance. The only good thing about waking up in this house is knowing his way around after living here for a long time. Opening the door, an intense smell of pancakes attacked his nose.
Anthony never misses with his breakfast choices, and eating pancakes while having a hangover might be a blessing.
Entering the kitchen, Coy can feel his headache coming back with a wave, causing him nausea and loss of earlier “found” balance. He grips the closest counter, firmly shutting his eyes as an unpleasant noise beats in his ears. Something warm touches him, steadying and tilting his head up, making Coy open his eyes and stare directly at this someone, who, of course, turned out to be Anthony.
When Coy gives him his full attention, Anthony finally says, “Do you need to throw up?”
The words make Coy hesitate, not wanting to cause false alarm. But suddenly everything in his stomach rises up and fresh vomit burns his throat, causing him to gag. Before realizing what happened, everything he has eaten at the wedding is plastered all over the kitchen counter.
“’m so sorry. You can be disgusted. ‘m awful” Coy almost breaks down into tears, emotions of being hungover cover him from head to toe. He wipes his mouth with the back of his right palm.
Anthony gently hugs him, kisses his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I will clean up, don’t worry. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
Now openly sobbing into a warm shoulder, Coy mumbles a response. “My head hurts. And I also fell from the bed when I woke up. And now my vomit is all over your counter. And I thought we had sex because I don’t remember anything.”
After a minute of crying, Coy finally calms down and slightly moves away from the gentle touch, ashamed.
“Take a seat, I will clean up.” Anthony repeats, turning the stove off and opening the cabinet with cleaning supplies.
—
“I’m a master of romantics, Anthony.” Coy jokes, eating his overly sweet pancakes after he almost drowned them in the syrup. Anthony is a total opposite, his pancakes only have some blueberries, that’s it. In Coy’s opinion, they look dry and bland.
“Oh, throwing up is now romantic, wanna say?” With this remark Anthony earns a smack on his leg under the table, a dramatic gasp leaving his mouth.
Coy rolls his eyes, gets up and tugs Anthony across the whole table by his yellow shirt’s collar, forcing their lips to meet in a slow kiss. The move makes Anthony rise to his feet too, hands cupping Coy’s face and answering the kiss with similar intentions.
The buzzing of Anthony’s phone draws them apart.
On the screen it says “Hanbon”, which makes both of them sigh. It’s probably nothing good if she randomly calls on a Monday morning—or is it noon already?
Anthony picks up the phone and his poor ear gets violently assaulted with excited screams from the other end. “...How do you know that?” A flash of panic runs through Anthony’s face, and Coy rips the phone from his hand to put Hanbon on speaker.
“-ying and also, Will said you two went home together and apparently you were the one behind the wheel and now when I text Coy he doesn’t answer so he’s definitely still with you! Prove me wrong, Potero!” Hanbon rushes to spill out, and Anthony grunts.
Suddenly, with newly found confidence, Coy takes the lead, “Actually, yeah, I am with him and you interrupted our make out session, so call later. Love you Bon.”
Coy hangs up, mindlessly throwing the phone onto the table, goes around the said table and desperately kisses Anthony, not giving him a chance to comment on what happened.
Anthony leans in, easily lifting him up by his thighs, turning around and placing Coy on the—now brand-new clean—counter, so the boy is a little taller than him. Anthony’s hands find their way under his t-shirt, caressing the skin with a thoughtful touch.
Well, since they didn’t have sex at night, they still can have sex during the day.
—
A soft running of Anthony’s fingers through his hair is the only thing keeping Coy awake.
Naked and sweaty, but utterly satisfied, he raises his head, looking into a well-known pair of blue eyes. Maybe they shouldn’t have broken up at all at this point, he thinks. At least now they don’t have any other choice except getting back together. The thought makes Coy giggle like a high schooler in love.
“What’s so funny?” Anthony lazily arches his eyebrow, looking down at the boy in his arms. His expression is soft but slightly confused, curious about what’s going on inside Coy’s mind.
“We lasted only a year without each other, Ant. That’s pathetic but funny.” Coy smiles, straddling Anthony’s hips and kissing his face all over.
“I mean, I was thinking of a proposal before we broke up.” Anthony says quietly, the words make Coy and him freeze, the problem of not registering the words before voicing them out.
“You what?”
Coy let go of his face, looking down at his lover. Absolute shock takes over, and Anthony underneath him flushes red, hiding it with his palms and loudly groaning.
Shortly after, he mumbles into his skin, “I and Hanbon were planning how to get your ring size since you don’t wear any rings, and the day when we wanted to make it look like she styles you for a video with different rings to find out your size—you backed out, and the next day we broke up.”
Coy stares at him, a few moments of silence pass before a smile forms on his face, he takes Anthony’s palms away from his face and kisses him again, hardly believing in what he hears.
“You seriously wanted to propose. Oh my god, Anthony!” A laugh rolls through Coy’s chest, and the other relaxes, sighing and rolling his eyes in a “it’s not a big deal” manner.
Coy stops, all of the sudden becoming serious. “Would you still propose to me even now? When will we get back together, if we do?”
Anthony fakes a thinking face, not answering to prolong Coy’s doubts, highly enjoying teasing him about questioning Anthony’s feelings. With slow and growing panic Coy tightened his grip on the bed sheet beneath them, looking genuinely scared of the upcoming answer.
“I mean, if only you won’t break up with me the next day this time?” Anthony breaks the facade, grinning.
“Shut up! I was scared you would say no!” Coy embarrassingly rubs his eyes and pushes Anthony deeper into the mattress, muttering a half-angry half-laughing “I hate you” and earning a chuckling “what?” from Anthony.
A second passes, and Anthony adds: “That's a yes, by the way.” He flashes one of his perfect smiles, and Coy kisses him to wipe it away.