In Tongues | Jojian

III

Ian and Eric ate dinner in complete silence. Ian had made them spaghetti, and the whole night he had to try not to think about how he'd make it for Joji when they were having a lazy Friday night and spent the whole time watching weird shows on TV.

But it wasn't that. It was a Wednesday and they'd been productive and had gone out earlier and were now sitting and eating to pass the time.

"I think you should try to quit smoking." Eric broke the silence.

Ian looked down at his half eaten plate. "I can't."

"Yes, you can, if you try hard enough. Why'd you even start anyways?"

"My uh... my old boyfriend got me into the habit. Didn't pressure me into it or anything, he was just smoking one day and offered me one, and now I just kinda use it to cope with stress."

"I think there's more to it than just stress."

Ian put his silverware down and looked up. "What are you trying to say?"

Eric sighed, and reached across the table for one of Ian's hands. "Listen, I know you were in a really bad place because of your last breakup, but enough's enough. There's a lot more than I know going on, and you seem like you have some serious problems—"

"What the fuck!" Ian pulled his hand away as soon as he started speaking. "That's so untrue, you have no idea what you're talking about. The smoking's not even that bad—"

"You're up to a pack and a half a day—"

"And I do not have 'serious problems!'"

Ian stood and threw his plate in the sink— he thought he might've heard something break but he didn't care— then grabbed his keys and wallet. "I'm gonna go out."

"Ian, please, I'm worried about you-"

"There's nothing to be worried about." The door slammed shut and Ian raced down the flights of stairs, not even bothering to wait for the elevator. He reached the street and kept walking, but he didn't know where.

Ian still lives in New York. He even stayed in Brooklyn, because he had grown to like the place in the time spent with Joji. And besides, his piece of shit job was here, he's made a few friends, this is where he met Eric...

These were only excuses though. He knew somewhere in himself that it had nothing to do with his job, or his friends, or his boyfriend. He knew it was because leaving New York behind would mean leaving Joji behind.

Joji.

The name echoed through his mind, and gave him physical pains in his chest. Ian knew he should be over him. Ian knew it was irrational feeling this way.

He didn't even know he was crying until he felt the tears.

What the fuck. I don't love him... I shouldn't love him... I can't love him. Not now. Not ever again. I can't go back to that.

Ian found himself at Max's doorstep, with no idea how he got there. His mind was in ten places at once, and he felt like he was far away on some planet. Ian had actually gotten used to that though, so he wasn't exactly surprised. Although, because he always feels like he's somewhere else, Ian ends up doing things without realizing a lot.

One time he was trying to make a nice dinner for him and Eric, and started chopping the vegetables. At some point Eric walked in because he said Ian looked lonely, but he knew it was just because Eric couldn't be alone for long without getting bored. Ian didn't even know he was bleeding until Eric started shouting at him and dragging him to the ER. Ian still has the scars on his hand from that incident.

Another time he was brainstorming in his small office at work. While looking out the window, he heard a knock on the door and his friend walked in, then pointed out the fact that Ian had written a bunch of sad, romantic bullshit on a sheet of paper until the ink ran out of the pen. He tried to shrug it off as him trailing off and thinking about Eric, but he knew better and immediately shredded the paper, wanting to instantly forget he had ever done rat.

There's still a bad burn on his wrist from the time Ian tried to light a cigarette in the middle of the night, after waking up from yet another bad dream. Eric doesn't usually wake up with Ian, but he was lucky that this was one of the few times. For at least fifteen seconds he held the lighter flame over his wrist, instead of lighting the cigarette in his hand, and didn't snap out of it until Eric opened the door and yelled at him while tending to the burn.

"Ian? The fuck are you doing here— Jesus Christ, you're fuckin' freezin' mate! Get in 'ere." Max yelled at Ian and pulled him inside, closing the door after him.

Ian looked down at his red hands, then suddenly felt the pain from the cold November air. "When did it get so cold out?"

"What? Ian, it's nearly winter! Why the fuck wouldn't it be cold? And why wouldn't you take a fucking jacket with you, dumbass? Didn't you see the rain cunt?"

Ian looked outside at slightly busy street and thought about it. Well, he tried to think about it, but everything was a confusing swirl in his head and it didn't make sense until it was happening.

"Ian, come inside. You're gonna freeze to death. Sit on the couch or some shit, I'll make you some coffee. Use a blanket, there's probably one somewhere over there."

Ian nodded absentmindedly, not fully comprehending what Max said but still following his instructions. He tried to look out the window as the rain continued, but he couldn't see much aside from the rain drops violently attack the window. He was, however, able to observe one of the young trees outside, still needing to wait for more leaves to grow.

"Do you want a dry shirt or something?" Max asked, handing Ian a steaming cup of coffee as he sat next to him.

"My clothes are wet?" He asked, looking down and seeing his soaked shirt. "I'm gonna get your couch wet..." He mumbled the last part.

When he says that he's getting the couch wet, he means more than his rained on clothes letting water seep into the furniture. Ian's not even thinking about the couch at all. He's thinking more about how his problems are going to get Max wet... metaphorically, of course. His emotions are rain. A dark, thundering storm cloud.

"You're obviously fucked up. What happened?" Max asked, handing Ian a dry t-shirt to put on. When had he left the room?

Ian then started crying randomly as he attempted to speak. "I-I'm so fucked Max. I thought I loved Eric, but I still can't get Joji off my mind. And it hurts to even think about him, just his name makes me wanna start crying! Things are so great with Eric but they're so terrible at the same time," Ian interrupted himself with a choked sob before continuing. "He treats me so well but I'm— I just don't love him the way he loves me and I can't keep pretending I do. And now he's trying to make me quit smoking and telling me I have emotional problems or something, and telling me I need help, even though I clearly don't, but I'm scared of what he might do if I don't quit. Because I know how pissed he gets when I won't listen to him and I know it's because he cares, but fuck Max, I can't do this anymore!"

"Ian... I know you're out of your fuckin' mind right now, but I have to ask you an important question. Are you... considering taking back George?" Since the breakup, Max had refused to call Joji by his nickname. It was obvious he entirely sided with Ian, and he made it clear that he hated Joji's guts for what he did.

"Oh my fucking god, don't even ask me that. I would go running back into his arms in an instant."

Max sighed. "Ian, you know you can't do that, That relationship was nothing but shit for you—"

"You think I don't know that?! That's why I can't go back to him. But god do I want to, you have no idea how bad this hurts Max. It feels like my heart is being fuckin' torn apart. I miss him so much..."

Max groaned to himself as Ian started crying again. But then Ian stood and started leaving. "Where the fuck do you think you're going mate?" Max yelled at him.

"Probably to do something irresponsible."