A Burning Devotion

Wood crackled and collapsed below with deep howls and moans. As the first floor fell victim to the lapping tongue of raging flames, the surface beneath their feet groaned while it struggled to hold.

Theo and Anthony sat on opposite ends of the sofa, and Anthony couldn’t bear to spare the other man a glance. Though Anthony stared straight ahead, he knew Theo’s left leg would be bouncing due to the anxiety that grappled at his chest and wound around his delicate heart. He also knew that there would be a small crease between his thick brows and a light sheen of sweat across the skin of his forehead, drops of it slithering from his hairline and down his straight nose.

The silence between them was tense and suffocating. It was like a beast that breathed down the backs of their necks, waiting to pounce the second either of them made a noise or glanced in the direction of the other. Of course, the raging fire below did nothing to tame the beast or ease Theo’s anxiety. Unfortunately for Anthony, his emotions tended to mirror those of Theo’s, so he found that a sense of dread was tearing at his own rib cage and threatened to burrow inside the valves of his thundering heart.

Anthony wanted to speak, but the beast neared and dragged a tongue of burning ash down the side of his neck. His skin warmed, and he dropped his head so it dipped low between his aching shoulders.

An image of the drawing room being devoured by orange flames flashed in Anthony’s mind each time he blinked. He pictured the sweltering heat pooling beneath the door until it burst open and let the fire in to tear down yellowing wallpaper inch by inch. The fire would then ignite the carpet and burn through it before reaching the bookshelf and sinking its jaws into each of Anthony’s precious novels. It would destroy everything Anthony held dear. Paper and ink would shrivel and die in the maw of chaos.

The destruction was inevitable. All things had to come to an end. Sometimes endings could be peaceful and warm, but theirs would be gruesome and bloody.

Theo was the only person to ever see the ugly parts of Anthony’s soul. Only he was able to pick those jagged edges apart and fit them back together to create something beautiful, something worth admiring. Theo was the artist, and Anthony his muse. It was a shame the world would only see Anthony as an ugly bit of history after tonight, but that meant that he could be Theo’s forever, that only Theo would know the truth.

The world was so disfigured anyway that Anthony couldn’t be bothered to care that his story would end in such agony. It only mattered that they would live together as bleeding ink and fleeting stories, never aging with time. The clocks would tick on, and the world would continue to spin, but their story would stay the same, they would stay the same. Frozen in time, preserved in newspapers, textbooks, and novels, Theo and Anthony would finally be at peace.

When the hairs on the back of Anthony’s neck stood, he allowed himself to steal a glance at the man who had caused all this chaos.

That was when Theo broke the silence.

“How about some music?” Theo suggested, and even with the anxiety that visibly rolled from his shoulders, the man sounded eerily calm.

The moment Theo spoke, the dam holding Anthony’s raging emotions at bay burst at the seams and threatened to tumble from his lips in the fashion of a ragged sob.

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but he was still so afraid. The hot breath at the back of his neck waited for him to slip, to say something that would send himself and Theo into a downward spiral. Anthony couldn’t risk watching his plan unravel before his eyes, so he just bit his lip and focused on his polished shoes.

He couldn’t let himself break just yet. Death was near, but still not near enough.

When Anthony didn’t respond, Theo stood and strode to the record player neatly displayed on an old chess table that had never once seen a single game. Theo thumbed through the bin of records beside the table until he picked something of his liking. 

Though his movements were smooth and precise, a small hunch in Theo’s shoulders gave him away instantly. His usual perfect posture only wavered when he was exhausted. Anthony had grown accustomed to this tell because it always showed when he had finished up at the studio late or woken up after a restless night.

He took the disc from the sleeve and positioned it on the record player, his fingers trembling. Anthony was sure he was the only person in the world who would have noticed the fleeting falter of Theo’s hands. Everything about Theo was so familiar, too familiar. It had become his undoing after all.

An ache bloomed across Anthony’s chest and his heart felt heavy. It was thick and swollen between his ribs, fitting awkwardly between his lungs and pressing against his spine. He wanted to carve it from his chest and hand it to Theo so that perhaps the burden would be lifted from his soul.

Anthony longed to draw Theo back to the sofa and ease the man’s head onto his lap. He wished to savor the dip of the cushions beside him and ease into the closeness that could weave the two back together again. Anything that could help distract Anthony from the destruction below would be a blessing sent from the heavens.

Music crackled to life, and Theo turned. The fire’s roar dulled against the soft edges of music, as did the frantic patter of Anthony’s pulse.

Theo reached for him, a soft look in his eyes. “Come on, Andy,” he whispered. His voice hardly rose above the smooth music. “Dance with me.”

Andy.

Andy.

Andy.

Only Theo called him that. The name only escaped Theo’s lips when he needed something. The nickname served as a cry for help. Oftentimes, Theo used it when he wanted to hear one of Anthony’s stories or when he needed Anthony to sit still for a portrait. Other times, he used it to ask for a moment in which they could both sit in comfortable silence and let their quiet souls carry the weight of the world around them.

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut. But even in the darkness of his mind, Theo’s outline was still there, burned into his eyelids like a brand. Broad shoulders, long legs, and mussed hair. He was all sharp angles on the outside, but the shape of Theo’s soul was soft and kind, not harsh and unforgiving like the world made it out to be.

They were all wrong about Theo. Dark and hellish stories clung to him like a crown of thorns, but Anthony was always there to wipe the blood from his brow. He was done letting the world write Theo’s story, so Anthony decided to make himself the villain instead.

When Anthony gave in and reached for Theo, the other man didn’t spare a second. He captured his fingers in an instant and pulled Anthony to his feet. Theo’s grip was painfully firm, and his fingers were cold, but his presence was grounding.

On a normal day, Theo would have held Anthony gently as if he were a china doll covered in hairline cracks. But today was far from normal. It was far from the flawless reality that the two called home in Anthony’s wild imagination. In his swirling thoughts, they were huddled together on a crisp winter night in front of a warm hearth rather than ignoring the disaster that Anthony had created below. But part of him believed that in another world, the two would find each other and settle into the life Anthony had wished for so badly.

Theo brought Anthony’s hand up so it settled gently on his chest. One of Theo’s hands rested at the dip of Anthony’s shoulder, a single finger tangling with one of his auburn curls. The other rested against his hip with a small squeeze.

Anthony forced himself to meet Theo’s gaze, and in it, he saw an unbearable sadness. His deep brown eyes glimmered in the warmly lit room, and silent tears glistened at his waterline but refused to fall.

Anthony’s brow prickled, and perspiration rose against his skin until it covered the bridge of his crooked nose.

A bead of sweat rolled from Theo’s dark hair and followed the dip of his forehead before trickling down to the corner of his eye. If Anthony hadn’t been paying such close attention, he’d have thought Theo was crying. But as he gazed up at him, Anthony realized he had never once seen the man shed a tear.

Anthony needed desperately to take the pain from Theo’s face and mold it into something more forgiving. He hated to see him like this, in so much pain and agony. The raw emotion written across Theo’s features threatened to tear Anthony limb from limb and leave him to rot.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispered. His throat ached when he spoke, and the words came out broken.

Theo’s full lips quirked up. Anthony reached with his free hand to touch the right side of his mouth that had tugged upward. The skin there was rough with stubble, his lips cracked and dry, but to Anthony, Theo was nothing short of perfect.

Theo leaned into the ghost of a touch. “Don’t be sorry,” he hummed. “I understand, Andy. I’ll always understand you. Everything that you do is for us, how could you be sorry for something like that?”

“I…” He trailed off, at a sudden loss for words.

A cool sensation caressed Anthony’s lower back but it wasn’t Theo’s touch. It was something else entirely.

“How could you not hate me for this?” Anthony asked, his tone helpless.

The man frowned and Anthony immediately missed the hint of a smile that had graced his mouth before.

“I could never hate you.” The music rose and fell dramatically, and for the first time since they’d embraced, Theo began to actually dance. Anthony followed Theo’s steps awkwardly until they swayed beside an open window lined with crimson velvet curtains. “In a world so filled with hate, I could never reduce you to such an ugly feeling.”

A round mirror was mounted on the wall behind Theo and its intricate gold frame reflected the dim lights of the city below. A sliver of flaming gold broke across the side of Theo’s temple and showcased the true color of his tangled hair. It was a deep brown, the color of old, polished wood. Everyone saw it as black, but Anthony knew the truth because the shade had become his favorite. Strands of gray were peppered throughout Theo’s locks despite his young age. The first thing Anthony had wished to do upon discovering them was to pluck the hairs out one by one to preserve Theo forever, and to keep him from growing old.

The two continued to sway to the beat of slow music, and Anthony got lost in the feeling. He imagined the two of them on a rocking boat or a slow swinging hammock, tangled perfectly into each other.

“It hurts to see you like this.” When he spoke, that same sharp bite of cold crept across the small of Anthony’s back, waiting. 

As the grandfather clock at the opposite side of the room continued to tick, Anthony’s skin pulled tightly across his bones. Time was a cruel thing. It slipped away without control, only during the moments Anthony craved to savor the most.

Theo’s hand moved to cup Anthony’s cheek, and he wondered if it was wet with tears yet. His fingers threaded through Anthony’s curls, but all he could think of was Theo’s hands plunging into an endless pit of fire.

“To see me like what?” he inquired, cocking his head to the side. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, somehow still contained.

“Like you’re aching.”

Theo chuckled, but it sounded too dry compared to his typical lush laugh. “I’m a tall man, Andy. I’m not young anymore, either. My joints aren’t kind to me these days.”

Anthony looked away. His back began to burn, and his pulse thrummed there.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Anthony said.

Theo’s hand combed through Anthony’s hair and kept trailing downward until his palm rested against his chest. “I know,” he sighed. Panic had sept into his tone, as did the agony that shone in his eyes. “I know. But I don’t want to think about that, Andy. I just want to think about us, about you. Because you know damn well that no matter what, I–”

“Don’t,” Anthony said quickly. He knew the exact words that had been ready to tumble from Theo’s lips, but he couldn’t bear it. Not with what rested loosely in the waistband of his slacks. Not when his fingers went back to brush against its warm hilt. “If you say things like that, I…” The knife was a living, breathing thing, and its heart beat wildly against Anthony’s palm. Or was that his own heart? When had it fallen from his chest and fused with the weapon? “I won’t be able to see this through if you say things like that,” he finished.

Sirens wailed outside, and Anthony wondered what had taken them so long.

Theo’s confused gaze flickered nervously to the window, and he pulled Anthony out of sight. Theo pressed his back to the wall and let his head fall against it, Adam's apple bobbing. At that moment, he was an angel of death, bathed in the dim glow of Anthony’s flickering lamps. His hands found the curve of Anthony’s waist and rested there, completely oblivious to what went on behind Anthony’s back.

He imagined the knife’s blade glowing orange, not because of the fire’s heat, but because of Anthony's urge to end the madness, to end their story.

“It’s over already, is it not?” The heat had finally gotten to Theo, sweat pressing dark hair to his temples. It curled slightly against his skin and Anthony’s fingers twitched, fighting the urge to brush it away. “That door won’t hold for long. It’ll all be over soon, Andy.”

Anthony shook his head. “No. No, it’s not…I’m not…” The hand behind his back burned. He had to move. He had to–

His chest heaved. The sweltering heat at his back subsided, but something wasn’t right. When Anthony blinked, silver flashed at the corner of his eye.

For the first time that night, shock fell across Theo’s features. Anthony hadn’t even realized that he’d revealed the knife until the other man’s pupils turned to pinpricks and his lips parted. Theo’s focus was glued to the knife where it shook violently in Anthony’s grasp, angled just above his heart.

“Andy, what–”

“I can’t watch you burn,” Anthony blurted. “I can’t watch you suffer, Theo. Please, I’m sorry. I’m so–”

Everything happened too fast. Anthony blinked and the sirens were just outside. He sucked in a breath and cold fingers covered his feverish skin. When voices rang out, and wood splintered, he flinched away. Anthony swallowed hard and heat flooded into the room and licked the floor with a giant roar.

Anthony’s trembling hand was pulled forward, and liquid coated his fist, then trickled down his wrist. Deep red sunk into Anthony’s pale skin and bled through Theo’s coat, darkening the gray fabric.

His vision blurred, and the world tilted. Theo slid down the wall, and Anthony went with him, refusing to pull the dagger free while Theo still held his hand.

There was so much blood.

A grim smile spread across the other man’s face, and his chest heaved. When blood gathered at the corners of his lips, Anthony winced. The terror pounding at his temples told him to dig into Theo’s wound and fish around for his heart so he could rip it free, mend it, and then force it back in.

Words refused to form around Anthony’s trembling lips. There was still a dim light in Theo’s eyes, and he reached for Anthony with his free hand. An icy caress ghosted at his collar and then pulled. Anthony’s forehead pressed against Theo’s lips.

"Theo, why would you–"

“Don’t…” Theo inhaled sharply, and Anthony did everything he could to memorize the feeling of his lips against Anthony’s hot skin. “Don’t apologize, Andy.”

This had always been Anthony's plan, but why did everything hurt so badly? Why did it feel as if Theo had plunged the blade into Anthony's chest and not his own?

“Theo.” Anthony’s voice shattered and the world continued to tip sideways.

“It’s okay,” he rasped.

The flames had filtered into the room, along with more shouting. Anthony could hardly feel the heat that clawed at his clothes.

“I’ll find you again,” Anthony said. He prayed Theo could still hear him over the fire and crackle of dying music. He shifted so his forehead rested against Theo’s. “I’ll find us a place where we can rest, okay?”

Theo nodded once weakly, the movement so slow Anthony hardly caught it.

With a cry, he pulled away to gaze at Theo one last time. Anthony dragged his hand across Theo’s cheek, along his jaw, down his throat, across his shoulder, and eventually to his spasming chest. Theo was so fragile like this, seconds away from crumbling into a heap of ash, but still so very impossibly beautiful.

The knife’s hilt was still hot in Anthony’s grasp as the searing heat spread through his veins. The pain turned his vision white, but through the haze, he spotted a single tear trickling down Theo’s colorless skin before the beast devoured them whole.