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“Quit throwing popcorn at me, I’m trying to watch the movie” Ancap sighed frustratedly and nudged Ancom with his foot.
“It’s so boring though, I’m not sure why you even wanted to watch this with me.” Ancom flicked another kernel at the capitalist’s forehead.
“It’s a horror movie! It’s meant to be fun, like romantic I guess,” Ancap leaned over to the remote to pause the television, “I thought it’d be nice.”
“No, love, the idea is great,” Ancom started, “but this is a documentary about the 2008 financial crisis.”
“Yeah, exactly, a horror movie, now hush.” Ancap flicked the documentary back on, reaching over to Ancom’s popcorn bucket and grabbing a handful of pieces.
Ancom wasn’t really watching the documentary, qui spent most of the time watching the other anarchist. Watching as his chest rose and fell as he breathed, watching as his nose twitched involuntarily, presumably as a result of years of cocaine abuse. His slender fingers tapping absent mindedly on the arm of the sofa. His soft brown curls had fallen loosely against his forehead, indicating the beginning stages of possibly needing a haircut. Ancom had always found him rather attractive, despite him being a capitalist and morally dubious, he always seemed to have a soft spot for quem. He bought Ancom nice things and sold quem LSD at “unbeatable discounts”, and he did stand up for quem when the Nazi would make snark comments about quis gender identity- particularly during pride month. Ancom figured it was probably for profitability reasons, but qui appreciated it all the same.
The capitalist had noticed Ancom’s staring, and felt the tips of his ears tinge lightly pink. He reached up to take his glasses off- something he only ever felt comfortable doing around Ancom. It’s not like he was ashamed of his reptilian eyes, but the Nazi always made rude quips about them, and Commie could be especially mean at times. Ancom, however, seemed almost infatuated with them. Sometimes when they got high together, qui would just stare in near adoration into his golden irises, it made Ancap feel nice about himself; something he rarely experienced, not that he’d ever admit it. He felt he had more in common with Ancom than any of the other extremists, but had often worried that qui didn’t feel the same. The leftists had a strong bond, one that Ancap never had with the Nazi, and Commie and Nazi had whatever thing they had going on, so Ancap felt rather alone. He had his married-for-tax-reasons-business-partner the Libertarian, but he didn’t really crave his company like he did Ancom’s. Ancom stood for something, qui fought for what qui believed in. Ancap was a coward, hiding behind recreational nukes, designer suits, and a worsening cocaine habit. He wasn’t proud of any of it, he didn’t even really stand for anything unless it was profitable, and even he knew that was fickle.
But one fateful night, following the centricide, it was Ancom that confessed.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝
Qui knocked on Ancap’s door, he had memorised the jaunty little rhythm that Ancom always knocked with- distinct from the forceful bangs from the authoritarians. Ancap had called a sing-song “come in” from his desk. Ancom timidly entered and shut the door quietly behind quem. Ancap had presumed that qui was after drugs again, but something seemed off. When Ancap dramatically swivelled his chair round and crossed his legs, sporting his signature smuggish grin, Ancom was standing, fiddling with the strings on quis hoodie, staring at the floor.
“What can I do for you, my dear,” Ancap queried, taking his glasses off and setting them aside.
“I need to tell you something.” The leftist practically whispered.
“Are you, like, alright?” Ancap asked, a flash of worry sparked his eyes.
“You know how we spend, like, a lot of time together, and stuff,” Ancom started, not daring to look up from the floor, “and sometimes like, have sex or whatever.”
“Nyes, where is this going?”
“Well, I’d like to spend more time with you, I guess, and like-”
“Well as attractive as you are, I’ll have to start charging for more sex than we have now- I’m a very busy man.” Ancap chuckled.
“No- well yes- but,” Ancom took a deep breath, “I like you. Like, like you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Ancap was uncharacteristically speechless, as if any semblance of the ability to form coherent thoughts had completely escaped him. He liked Ancom, a lot, but he buried that feeling so deep in his core, for a once completely certain knowledge that it would be utterly unrequited. But his heart felt like it had dropped out of him, and all he could do was stare.
“This was stupid, I’m sorry, just forget I ever said anything.” Ancom turned and reached for the ornate brass doorhandle.
“Wait.” Ancap practically lunged out of his seat, grabbing for Ancom’s wrist, “Don’t go.”
“Huh?” the leftist began to question, qui had only just turned around when Ancap crashed his lips into quis. Ancom was still for a moment, still processing what on earth was happening. Qui soon threaded quis fingers behind the capitalist’s head, fingers softly brushing the mahogany curls as the leftist pulled Ancap closer. Ancap gripped Ancom’s waist and pressed into quem, desperate, as if he had capsized and Ancom was the last lifeboat back to shore.
Ancap pulled away first, gasping for air, his mouth still connected to Ancom’s by a sticky twine of saliva. Deep umber eyes met gleaming golden irises, Ancom’s pupils were so blown with admiration that Ancap swore qui could’ve been high, but quis stutter and uncharacteristic nervousness confirmed qui was stone cold sober, intoxicated only on Ancap’s attention.
“We- um- should do dinner, or something.” Ancom was the first to break the silence.
“I’d like that,” Ancap smiled, cascading his hand down the leftist’s arm and linking his fingers with quis, “Libertarian has a gorgeous Italian next to his summer mansion, I suppose I’ll pay.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝
Ancom curled up into Ancap’s side on the sofa, nuzzling quis head into the capitalist’s chest, hearing the gentle thrum of his heartbeat in quis ears. Ancap instinctively wrapped his arm around quem, stroking his thumb on Ancom’s shoulder.
“What’cha thinking about?” Ancom asked, tracing circles into Ancap’s sternum absent mindedly.
“Our first kiss, ‘n when you said you liked me.” Ancap replied, unusually softly.
“You never said you liked me back, y’know,” Ancom teased.
“Was it not implied?”
“Not really.”
“You know I love you.”
“I love you too, even if you are capitalist scum.”
“Kind as ever, Ancom.” Ancap laughed, pressing a gentle kiss into the top of the other anarchist’s head.