When Ian walked back into the room, he looked like a little child. The black t-shirt hung loosely on his frame, revealing his collar bone and hung off one shoulder. The sleeves touched his elbows and the hem reached below his buttocks. He had to keep a hold of the pants he was wearing, that fell past his feet. He'd rolled up the ankles like a bi-sexual idiot. A deep shade covered Ian's pale face. Conor couldn't help but think how adorable the other looked.

"It's a tad too big on you," Conor said with a laugh.

"Shut up before I punch you so hard that you won't be able to see for the next five years," Ian growled, face still hot.

"Someone is a bit fisty." Conor laughed whole-heartedly.

"Be quiet."

"No way. This is too funny."

"I hate you."

"Sure you do."

"You forced me into something I don't want to do. Of course I hate you." Conor pulled out his phone and took a quick photo of the other. "Damn you-" Ian cut himself off as he tripped, landing into Conor's chest. His fingers curled around the fabric of his farm boy aesthetic. Conor's hands rested against the other's chest as to support him. He scrambled away from Conor, his face lighting up the room with shades of red.

Ian continued to scramble backwards while Conor looked on, trying to stifle a laugh and the augmenting urge to stay close to the other. Ian fell backwards against the bed and Conor walked over, extending his hand. Ian curled up, burying his face in his hands. He let out a soft whine.

"C'mon, Ian. It wasn't that bad," Conor laughed and sat down on the bed beside Ian. His feet dangled off the bed as he reached for a chunk of disobeying hair and gently pushed it behind his ear. "I'm over it so you should be as well," he admitted.

"Yeah but – it's all your fault," Ian mumbled.

"What? No it isn't. You agreed to this."

"No I didn't. You forced it on me," he brought his head out of his hands to look at Conor with glassy eyes.

"don't cry, Ian," Conor said and reached his hand out to rub the others shoulder though it was forced away. "It'll be OK," he comforted – well, tried.

"It won't be OK, Conor," he snapped. "I haven't seen my dad in years and when he's finally coming home, he's stuck in this horrible weather. Do you know how worried I've been about losing him? He's been fighting in Iraq for the past two years and has only been allowed to come home." The pain finally left it's coop.

Conor didn't know how to deal with these situations very well, so using his very limited knowledge, he pulled him into a deep hug. His arms wrapped around the others upper back and his head rested gently against his head. Slowly, Ian's hands crept around the others waist and his head inched closer to his chest. They arranged their legs to make it more comfortable for each other.

Conor's mind wouldn't let him rest, not even for a second. Thoughts kept running through his mind. How cliché it would be to kiss Ian at that moment. How he wanted to cure his pain and complete the holes that filled his heart. But the most repeating thoughts were of ones intimate. He tried to fight back the urges but he ultimately gave in, knowing he'd be facing the consequences shortly. He forced their eyes to meet. Ian's fogged black eyes were surrounded by an unruly spectrum of red. Conor stared at the slightly parted red thin lips. He quickly absorbed the raspberry taste of Ian's lips and the feel of their soft baby skin like feel to them. Ian's hands stayed silent at his sides and his eyes showed surprise and shock while he tried to process what had just occurred. Conor knew he messed up as his heart fell from the top of the mountain and splattered on the ground.

Ian finally said something. "What was that about?" but Conor refused to reply. How could he when he knew he'd messed up like purposely letting go of the holds your on as an excuse to rest, even if you're at the second last hold. "Conor? You can't just kiss me and not tell me why."

A phone vibrated from the desk nearby. Conor slowly pushed himself off the bed and walked to the device. He never knew that the feeling of losing someone you loved could lead to this feeling of self-hatred when it occurred because of your misfortunes. He picked up the phone and left the room without any words. He answered the call.

"I've been worried sick, honey boo. Are you alright? Is everything OK? Tell me you're OK. Has the power gone out? What's happening over there? Conor? Conor, stop freaking me out like this," Mum began to become frantic.

"Everything's OK, Mum," Conor mumbled.

"Conor? What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

He repeated what he'd said louder. The other end of the line went silent for some time. Conor stuffed his free hand into his pocket. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off. "Is everything alright, Conor?"

"Yeah. I really need to shower now. Love you Mum. Tell Mama I love her too, alright?" He said and hung up.

Conor couldn't lift the feeling of floating in an abyss. He knew his mistakes but he couldn't admit them to himself. It was at times like this were his mental health made life hard. "I fucking hate having ADHD," he mumbled to himself harshly before walking back into his bedroom and returning his phone to the desk. he didn't dare look at Ian as he finished his short stay and headed down the hall towards the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, turned the shower on and stepped inside once it heated up. Everything felt cold, contradictory to the condensation being committed in the room. Conor felt like the biggest idiot to ever have denied god. He couldn't control the tears that blended in with the running water from falling.

He couldn't begin to explain the pain he felt at that moment. He felt sick with pain worse than when the red cheese went off. He collapsed onto the tiles and the water lightly trickled against his back. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest, leaving him vulnerable and fragile.

***

Conor finally picked as many pieces of himself up and pieced them back together. He put the black pants on and white shirt while walking back towards his room. He opened the door to see that Ian had left and changed clothes. He grabbed the clothes neatly folded on his bed and returned them to his closet. He changed again into pyjamas and crawled into bed.