Jonathan: A Fanfiction Novel

September 29

It's kind of lonely in those first waking moments. The ones where I wake up, usually facing the empty bed next to me, but at least it's made, and he remembered to plug in his phone.

I make my tea, sit on the couch, and press play. It's less lonely after that.

"I'm sorry, man. I know how much you wanted to work on that project," John begins. I've talked about it ecstatically in several of my videos to him. "I understand that you're frustrated. I get frustrated too. I know we have our limitations, and that if we didn't, you'd probably have your own architect business by now, a whole career and way too much money that you won't know what to do with, and I could be climbing the Rockies right now," He talks animatedly, arms making wild gestures and his hearty chuckle cutting into his phrases.

"But, if you think about it, if you combined what each of us do in our lifetime, and put them together, we will have accomplished a lot more than most people do. Right?" He looks straight at the camera, which is technically staring me in the eye. It's strange to see my own eyes staring at me in such a way, but he's right for once, and I smile.

"Thank you so much, by the way, for this gelato. It is incredible." Then he puts on a terrible Italian accent. "Thank you for the gelato, Jonathan!" He drops it as quickly as it started, and stares into the camera again. "Feel better, man. Don't worry about it."

In my free time, I put on a French learning program in attempt to become more worldly. That, and the language just interests me. It sounds very fluid and soft. I listen to a lesson while I do the laundry piling up in the hamper. Unlike most things in the house, where there's one thing for me and one for John, we share the same hamper. It's very easy to tell our clothes apart.

For example, these dark jeans that are fraying on the ends definitely do not belong to me. All my clothes are good shape, because I feel that I make a better impression and better reflect my work ethic if my clothes are sharp. 

John hardly ever does the laundry, even when it's his turn. I've thought about just letting them pile up until he's forced to do them because he's run out of clothes, but it's more just inconvenient for me, because the point doesn't really get to him. He also always forgets to check his pockets, and countless times he's ruined laundry by leaving a pen or stick of gum in his pockets. He always leaves it to me to clean up. It kind of irritates me when he does that, but we both know that I would clean everything properly.

I shift through his jeans, checking his many pockets. There's some sort of trash or something in one- a napkin. I pull it out, but my curious brain can't help but peek where it's from.

The Rialto. A bar. John went to a bar, and didn't tell me.

"I did the laundry," I tell John through the camera. "It was your turn, but it was piling up. Your gym clothes stink, by the way. Not anymore, but they did. Have you been using that new deodorant I got for you? I ran into that guy with the gold chain from the second floor on the elevator by the way, but we didn't talk, so you should be okay. But um, I did find this napkin in your jeans." I hold it up to show him.

"The Rialto? A bar? You didn't say anything about going to a bar. Is- is that why we're tired? Are you staying up and going to bars instead of getting your four hours? I just- I would like to know."