#implied??? idk they implied it p heavily enough themselves w/ that fuckin 'my boyfriend' title so idk anymore lolsies

[yarnacle]

its too late at night im having too many gay thoughts about these idiots so. here we are i guess.

It's Ian. No one else is going to fucking caress him. For all the informality of the company's content and general atmosphere, with this video concept especially, he's still their boss. And no one is going to want to, or have the guts to just fucking stroke his face like that. Even as he laughs and asks 'What is this?' he knows what's happening, knows who those hands belong to.

Two fingers drag down the right side of his face, and he feels the chalk that's left behind. It's going to stay for the rest of the video, and there's something to be said about that, he thinks. Something symbolic, something romantic, or even something funny, the last thought being slapped into his head when Ian's hand collides with his face.

It doesn't hurt that much, and immediately after he cracks a joke.

"This person thinks they're hilarious."

And they are, he wants to add. They're ridiculously funny, with a dark, somewhat skewed sense of humour to match his own, and they're brilliant and kind and so many other things, but right now they're making it easy for him.

"Who would caress my face and slap me outta nowhere?"

He, and everyone else in the room, and everyone who's going to watch the video, knows.

"Feels like an Ian move to me- Did you just boop me?"

Ian's locking it in, making sure that it's clear that, yeah, in case you couldn't figure it out already, it's me motherfucker.

"That's the only one you truly needed to get right."

Anthony laughs. He's not wrong - It wouldn't matter if he got everyone else dead wrong [even Angela, after hearing her speak and feeling her entire cast]. So long as he got Ian right, then it would be fine. There's probably also something to be said about how sweet that would be, but after having all the fucking braincells knocked out of his skull from the second person, he's not very poetic.

All that matters is that he guessed Ian correctly, and can still feel the two stripes of chalk on his cheek. [All that matters is that now there's a phantom warmth ghosting across his face, a replication of the gentle, almost loving strokes a distraction from the slight sting from everyone else's hands.]