Work Text
The first thing Ian saw when he woke up was George squatting on the floor a few inches from his bed. He was staring at his phone, eyes half-lidded, with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He must’ve taken a shower, because his hair was slightly damp, draped in front of his face. The shadows it left contrasted sharply against the afternoon light spilling in from the window. He was dressed in his typical uniform: a random graphic tee and an old lint-covered pair of black sweats. He looked like the patron saint of the modern emo. It made Ian a little uneasy to try and think about how long George had been sitting there. Had he watched Ian sleep? Why didn’t he just wake him up? Ian knew he was a sleep-talker and didn’t want to think about whatever embarrassing thoughts George heard him say. He popped his back from where he lay and extended his arm to the side. Where he should have felt his glasses on the nightstand, he was instead met with a flat, empty surface.
“F-fucking asians, mm, heh.. why do y’all always… uh, sit weird…?” Ian stuttered out, still aimlessly searching for his missing glasses. George's only response was to flip him the bird, not even bothering to look up from whatever he was reading on his phone. Scrolling through someone’s Tumblr? Instagram? Ian couldn’t tell for sure from where he was.
“George?” Ian asked. He was met with a disinterested hum. “Where are my glasses?”
“Max told me to hide ‘em in the house. Said something about
‘making sure you actually leave the bedroom’
and
‘getting sunlight and human interaction.’
Sorry buddy, not my choice. You do gotta admit he has a point, though. You know it’s literally, like, four o clock right? In the afternoon.”
“What a cunt,” Ian said as he tugged away his blanket, standing and stretching, “What’s up with the cig by the way? It’s not even lit. Are you just chewing the stick or something?”
“ No
dickhead
, I'm actually, uh, gonna maybe try and quit again. This is my first one today,” George said, getting quieter as the sentence progressed, still not averting his attention from the screen in front of him. He stood and followed Ian as he pulled on a shirt and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen. Ian grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and checked the time displayed on Max’s microwave: 2:28 pm. Ian pondered the time: He had had a smoke with George before bed last night, around 1 in the morning. 13 hours with no nicotine.
Oh shit,
he thought.
Maybe he’s actually gonna do it this time.
He looked at George, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.
“Oh really? Nice, dude! I'm proud of ya. Really.” George gave a tight smile and a thumbs up. He recognized that tone of voice. It was the tone of voice you hear from a parent when their late bloomer kid finally pisses in the toilet instead of his pants. The one you hear when you draw some shitty traced Dragon Ball Z character and turn it in to your middle school art teacher. The one you hear when the other person is impressed, but knows it’s not really all that impressive. It’s probably the most unintentionally insulting thing on the planet, at least George thinks so. Regardless, he understands; It really isn’t that much of an achievement just to announce it. God knows how many times he already has.
“It’s really not that crazy. I'm just sorta entertaining the idea. Trying to wean myself off rather than biting the bullet and going cold turkey, y’know? I'm getting old, figured I should start unfucking myself.”
“I get it man. You should be happy for yourself though,” Ian said, moving from the kitchen into the living room and grabbing his laptop. “It's a step in the right direction.”
“I guess. Whatever. Hey, aren’t you gonna eat breakfast? Or, lunch, I guess. Max said those frozen waffles he bought are gonna go bad soon, so we should finish ‘em. Or we can go get tacos or something if you want. I saw you didn’t have dinner last night, so, y’know. You should eat.”
“I’m touched that you pay so much attention to me, Georgie, but I have to disagree;
You
should eat actually. My dick, that is.”
“Fuck off.”
“Suck off.”
George turned around and left the room, delivering another flippant middle finger as he went.
“Hey, you still haven’t told me where my glasses are!” he yelled to him.
“Use your eyes dumbass!” he yelled back, and with the sound of a slammed door and a turned lock, he was gone. Ian rolled his eyes. He wasn’t stupid, he knew
why
George was so concerned. But he also couldn’t help but be annoyed by it. It’s none of George’s
business
where and when and what and how often he eats. Ian doesn’t try to micromanage
George’s
life, so Ian assumes it’s only fair that George doesn’t try to micromanage
his
.
But then again… Ian would always listen. He doesn't know what it is about George, but he has such a natural persuasive power. He could convince the Queen of England to give up her crown. All it took was one DM, despite never having talked before, and he had pushed Ian to fly to Australia and eat his own hair. He’s a dangerous man. Ian had to learn how to not listen to him.
He sighed as he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of greek yogurt.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Ian really desperately needs a new laptop. His current one was a graduation gift and it’s falling apart. It’s covered in miscellaneous stains, the battery is basically taped inside it, and it burns him when he leaves it on his lap for too long. Unfortunately, he also really desperately needs to pay bills, so buying one is out of the question. He’s gonna have to sit here on this dirty recliner with his thighs burning and shut his mouth and edit.
He’s got hours of editing ahead of him. Max edited like three ‘Bad Unboxings’ for him last month, so he agreed to undertake a week’s worth of each of his channels to pay him back. Max, being the little bitch that he is, decided to film as much as he fucking could that week to further exploit this reparation. It’s looking like three vlogs, two Pokémon videos, and two main channel videos. On top of that, Ian (very stupidly) offered to do a ‘Japanese 101’ and a ‘Loser Reads Hater Comments’ for George. He’s not even sure why he offered. He knew Max was going to give him a big-ass workload, and that alone would leave him stressed and burnt out, but the suggestion left his mouth before he could even process what he said.
George hasn’t even
done
anything for him lately. Ian has nothing to repay him for. Besides calling each other a flurry of affectionate nicknames (weirdo, skeleton, faggot- you know, very friendly stuff) when they pass each other, the two hadn’t even spoken much recently. Ian supposes it’s more of that mysteriously-compelling superpower he has. What an asshole, using it on Ian just to get him to do work for him. Ian gets it, though. George has a crazy work ethic, he more than likely doesn’t have the time to edit. He’s probably had his nose buried in a journal writing emo lyrics for fangirls to cream themselves to for the past week.
Or fan
boys
. Can’t have any bisexual erasure out here. Damn, George could really have any fucking person he wants. Ian kind of envies that freedom. Maybe being gay is actually a privilege. He wonders if George is seeing anybody right now and if they’re a boy or a girl and if George has a preference or if it fluctuates and what it all means because Ian can’t lie, sometimes he sees tall muscley girls with short hair and thinks they’re cute as fuck but he doesn’t want to be gay because that would cause a lot of problems but that one roommate he had in college was really nice to him and would always leave the last beer in the fridge for Ian and he felt weird in his stomach when he was around him and what the fuck is he talking about and why does his chest hurt and
what was he supposed to be doing again?
Ian swallowed his train of thought like sour medicine, and tried to focus back on the buffering program in front of him. He hated these thoughts, hated that he wasn’t a stranger to them and hated how he knew that the more he ignored them the harder they were to force down. They kept creeping into his head like spiders, their venom sinking into his brain. It was unsettling to him; they had slowed for a while, after moving out of the apartment with the college roommate. For a blissful three years they were overtaken by work; if he focused on his channel, just did his best to grow and develop his career then he wouldn’t ever have to deal with them. That shit didn’t last. They took him over after four days of knowing George. The longer he stayed in this stupid house the more common they were becoming. Ian shook his head. He needed to leave Australia soon.
The boys are probably getting tired of him anyway. He makes a lot of unnecessary messes and never cleans them and takes up a lot of space and he usually takes the only guest bed even though he doesn’t need the sleep all that badly.
God
, he thought,
maybe I should be editing
more
shit for them. There's a lot I need to repay. Do they even like the way I edit? Do the viewers? Those videos don’t perform very well. I wonder how mad they’d all be if I just-
Another train of thought was wrecked by a loud buzzing and
Takyon
playing out of Ian’s phone speaker. Startled, he hopped up from the couch and grabbed his phone, blinking and peering at the screen. A grainy photo of a chihuahua with a cigarette peered back; Max’s contact photo. Sighing, Ian answered.
“Took ye fuckin’ long enough. I'm pulling up to the front yard. You and George come help me carry groceries inside.” Max sounded tired and annoyed. Didn’t get good enough sleep, Ian guessed. He heard a thump early that morning, maybe Max fell off the bed. He was awake before Ian and George. Ian decided it wasn’t worth it to mock him and risk making him even more pissy than he already was,
“I'll go help you, but, ah, I think Georgie's still in the shower, or-” Ian looked back at the microwave clock. 6:49 pm. Shit, how long had he sat there thinking to himself? “Uh, he’s probably taking a nap or something. I haven't heard from him in a few hours.”
“He texted me like, two minutes ago. Don’t let him trick you into doing all the work. If he’s asleep then throw cold water on him or something. Hurry up though.”
With that Max ended the call and Ian got up to go check on George. He hoped Max was right about him being awake already because George was a mean piece of shit when he’s woken from his ‘beauty sleep’. Ian tentatively knocked on the guest room door and felt a wave of relief when he heard a quiet ‘what’ from inside the room.
“Uh, Max wants- he’s pulling up in the driveway and he needs us to help. Groceries,” Ian stuttered through his sentence. Probably should’ve rehearsed that one. Ian cursed himself.
Not even able to talk, Ian? Are you fucking stupid?
He feels like he hasn’t breathed properly since last night.
“Be out in a sec. Gotta get dressed. Go help him.”
Ian heard a loud rapid knock and scurried to the front lawn. He was met with Max leaning against his car and staring at his phone. His friend acknowledged him with a nod and popped the trunk so they could start bringing bags inside. Ian wasn’t very comforted by the fact that half of the bags of food were rotten and expired. He gestured uneasily to the decaying food and grimaced at Max.
“For (HowtoBasic),” he confirmed as he held open the door for Ian. “Got all this shit for free. Quit your worrying, he's gonna pick it up and take it away later. I told him no more Howtobasic in the house.”
“I mean, it’s not like this place is in perfect condition.” A loud creak emanated from the counter as Ian set down a bag. “Case in point.”
“Yeah, but at least that’s mostly from us. If my place is going to be destroyed, I want it to be my doing. That reminds me, you and George need to calm the fuck down with whatever vids you film here. I don’t want the ceiling fan to fall on me while I’m watching TV or something. Quit breaking shit.”
“It’s usually
your
videos where we fuck this place up. Just following orders, director.”
“Well, can you follow them a little bit worse? And do me a favor, slap me upside the head next time I ask you to do some dumb destructive shit.”
“No problemo,” Ian chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. He walked outside and grabbed another two bags. He surveyed the inside: PopTarts, water bottles, and mouse traps. Ian did a double take at the traps, blinking at ‘EXTRA STRENGTH’ printed proudly at the top of the packaging.
So much for not doing destructive shit.
-
Within a few minutes, the last of the groceries had been put away and Ian and Max were lounging on the couch drinking Bud Light and watching some campy action movie from the 70s. Max kept loudly interrupting the movie with stupid jokes and spilling his beer and Ian couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed. He could finally
breathe.
Max was easy. Max was comfy. Max had such a naturally soothing presence. Ian had never had a friend who brought so much comfort to him.. He didn’t expect to be nearly leaning on this kid when he first met him, but Max was such a good nurse. Ian swept himself into crisis often and Max seemed to be the only person able to weather the storm.
Max’s motherly qualities only annoyed Ian when he worried about him. A secret worried glance that lingers a little too long when Ian excuses himself to the restroom. Increasingly frequent
are you alright?
text messages. A disapproving furrowing of his eyebrows when Ian asks him to buy him a pack of smokes or a new toothbrush. The concern made Ian feel gross, almost dirty. Like Ian was nothing but a lab subject that Max had put in a test tube to make sad eyes at and try to feed.
George walked in, wearing that stupid sweatpants-and-t-shirt combo, and Ian felt his chest tighten again. He tried his best to swallow down the flutter that rose to his chest. He didn’t need to feel any grosser. But now George was looking him in the eyes and making those stupid faces that he is
upsettingly
good at making and Ian felt himself get drenched in slime and ooze and muck and all the icky things in the world.
“Aw what, you guys finished putting away groceries without me? Damn, and I was really looking forward to that too. Oh well,” George said cheekily. He drifted over and plopped down to the right of Ian, pulling the blanket he was using over himself as well and resting his head on Ian’s shoulder. The flutter came back, and it didn’t look like it was leaving very soon. Any semblance of Ian falling asleep peacefully tonight was thrown out the window.
“What are y’all even watching?”
Max tilted his head over curiously. He gave Ian that stupid, lingering, concerned look again and seemed to come to a realization. He grinned and without looking at George, he answered:
“To be honest Jo, I have no fucking clue.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
You have
15+
new messages (from Max Stanley, Ian Washburn, +1(587)275…)
Max Stanley
MAX:
ay
MAX:
Where are you
MAX:
piss man
MAX:
WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!111
MAX:
Oops sorry meant pink man.
MAX:
Jk
MAX:
Whenever U see these text me what you want from Maccas
MAX:
check this shit out
MAX:
https://images.app.goo.gl/wAqKUVTZkwYMUSu59
MAX:
he looks like U
George blinked at the slew of messages that woke him from his nap, all sent in under two minutes. It was hardly a nap, moreso laying down with his eyes closed and listening to Soulja Boy. Regardless, he didn’t want to be interrupted. He squinted at the bright screen in the pitch black of Max’s guest room (who the fuck doesn’t have windows in a bedroom?) and typed out a quick response (
10 pc nuggies.call me piss man again im gonna show u what that nickname rlly means. Ready ur nuts. also can u bring me a sprite and a cookie :-) thanks)
and exited the chat to see what Ian had sent him.
Ian Washburn
IAN:
Your lighter is on the counter, you left it on the couch last night
IAN:
And max want s to know what you want from mcdonalds
IAN:
**wants
IAN:
I'm going with him to pick up the food so you can just text me too if you want
IAN:
Also max says we gotta eat quick and then he wants to go to some club
IAN:
He’ll pay (he promises) (please hold him to this I’m broke)
IAN:
also he wants you to put his clothes in the dryer (Please :)!)
IAN:
Sorry for spam texting Lol he’s telling me damn near everything to send
IAN:
Pls respond soon I don’t want to have to wake you up with a phone call 😅 this cunt is screaming down my ear
George heart-reacted the message about Max paying and drudged down the hallway from the bedroom to the laundry room. He observed the general wreckage of the house along the way: dirty clothes lining the hallways, ominous stains scattered across the walls, and an ever-present stench of rotting dairy that George and Max had once spent an entire afternoon trying to get out. Never before and never since had he spent so much money on air freshener. George wrinkled his nose as he walked into a particularly pungent area- he couldn’t stand things not smelling nice. He was raised to believe that the way you smell is a reflection of your character, and he took pride in working hard to smell pleasant. Every time he walks into Max’s house after a long flight he gets a headache from the stink alone. He didn’t know how Max could stand living like this.
To George, It was almost unbelievable how quickly he and his buddies had completely trashed the place. He remembers when he first arrived, how there were a few dishes in the sink and how apologetic Max was that this place he had invited him to was in such a state of disarray. Then he and Max decided to make the most depraved content they could think of (without getting the video getting taken down) and their lives and the house were forever changed.
Such is the life of single dudes in their 20s
. He moved to the kitchen.
He found his lighter underneath a few used napkins. He grabbed it from the counter, turning it over in his hands and staring at it. He ran his fingers along the hard plastic sides, across the scratched-out shitty design of a stoned goldfish that George had been too embarrassed to leave as decoration.
My fault for getting this at a gas station,
he supposes. He decides that he can and probably should wait a few more minutes. Just a few more.
George laid his arms across his face and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't even remember how this smoking thing got so bad. It started with his coworker offering him one after a hard shift when he was 16, then coughing and hacking and having a horrible time, and
swearing
that he would
never
do anything like that. When his mom found out she made him finish an entire pack. He got better at hiding it and within 2 months George was spending upwards of $30 a week on cigarettes.
Ian didn't smoke much before they met each other. George remembers seeing the skinny boy sitting on Max's porch steps, tapping his foot and staring at dead grass. He remembers sitting next to him and grabbing his shoulder and offering him a cigarette, and Ian looking uneasily at the little cancer stick and accepting, then just like George had all those years ago, coughing and hacking and having a horrible time. A few days later he apologized for ‘being cringe,’explaining to George that his grandfather died of lung cancer and because of that his family was hyper-sensitive about cigarettes and he didn't have a lot of smoking experience, but he thought it was nice of George to share with him. George felt bad.
Now Ian was almost as bad as him. They smoked together every night before bed. Never too many with each other, just a few to relax before going to sleep. George usually let Ian go inside then finished the pack by himself. He felt so bad. Ian wasn’t the kind of guy George wanted to ruin.
Thank God Max hadn't followed in the same path. Although George does sometimes resent him for his hypocrisy. He'll have the occasional smoke but still chastise George for his addiction in the same breath he uses to puff. George had gotten used to waking up in the morning with pictures from Max sent to him, images of yellowed teeth and desiccated lungs, old ladies who have to use an electrolarynx to greet their grandkids, cancer patients. George usually just responds with some weird porn he found. Max responds with an ‘lmao’ and shuts up after that.
The worst of all, though, were the
hotlines.
Nothing pissed George off more than seeing a photo of some flyer with phone numbers and websites lined up and down it. Barely-visible images of Jesus overlaid on papers exclaiming that quitting was ‘
easier than you’d think!’
The message was usually followed with two emojis: a red heart and little yellow hands clasped together. Their headers seemed to mock him-
‘You can quit. Call now. Get help today.’
As if George was a child, as if he couldn’t kick this thing himself. He
could,
and he was going to prove it to Max and everyone else no matter what it took.
Jumping at the sound of a slammed car door outside, he focused back on his lighter. One more before dinner wouldn't hurt.
-
Ian sat hunched over, with his knees pulled up to his chest, leaning against the bathtub and trying to slow his breathing. Max was being unreasonably secretive about where exactly they were going. His only instructions were to ‘dress for a nightclub’. Regardless of whatever that fucking means, Ian had decided on a partially unbuttoned dress shirt and some black jeans. He wore the same outfit to his junior prom. And his graduation. And his last eight dates. Ol’ Reliable.
He stood and gritted his teeth in the mirror. Mirror-Ian gritted back. They were yellowed and a little dirty from throwing up a few minutes ago. He wasn’t sick.Well, at least he wasn’t contagious. It wasn't even his fault this time. He asked Max to order a small fry and a plain McDouble. Those were his conditions. Max ordered a fully-topped McDouble and a medium fry. What was Ian going to do, not eat? Look like an ungrateful asshole in front of George? Because of Max, Ian had to shovel everything down his throat as quickly as possible. He didn't want to, but it was there- he had to. And it was Max’s fault. He should’ve known better.
He took a little handful of water from the sink and sloshed it around a bit in his mouth before spitting. His breath still stank, so he stole a little bit of Max’s mouthwash and repeated his previous actions, sloshing and spitting. Ian sighed. His throat hurt a little. His eyes were almost bloodshot. His mouth was dry. Ian and Mirror-Ian scowled at each other. He didn't feel very pretty. He looked like a meth addict. There was a knock at the door and the handle jiggled lightly.
“Um, hey Ian… you okay? You’ve been in there for like… 25 minutes, maybe?. Do you need help? We kinda gotta go so…really, are you alright? I can come in if you need. We don’t have to go out tonight.”
Ian snapped up and stared at the door with Max’s voice softly checking on him. He was being uncharacteristically gentle with his words- he must have heard Ian making himself sick. Fuck. Gross. God damn it. Max was the only one of Ian’s friends who knew about the- the weird food shit. The weird body and brain shit. Ian didn’t like to give it a name, didn’t even like to think about it. He lets it happen and he forgets about it. It’s a good system. Not addressing it is what keeps him sane. The only reason Max knows is because he coaxed it out of him after one too many tequila shots during a late night Skype call a few months ago. It wasn’t either of their favorite conversation pieces.
“No, no, yeah- I’m actually, yeah uh,” Ian wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stumbled into the hallway, shutting the bathroom door behind him and grinning unconvincingly at his worried friend. Max was wearing a short-sleeved button-down with a pattern of miniature Scarlet Macaws and jeans.
Is that ‘nightclub attire?’
“I’m good, yeah, don’t worry. Just- just zoned out on my phone, haha. Sorry. We can go. Don’t worry.”
“It’s okay. Let me know if you need anything. Now come on, George has been stalling our Uber for like, 3 years. You know his royal highness hates waiting.”
"His royal highness can suck it. He's a big boy now, he can handle himself. If anything, I’m gonna take
longer
now."
"You would think that, but I don't know Ian... these new wave Uber drivers are awfully flirtatious. He might get stolen away from us," Max put a supportive hand across Ian's back and pushed him out the door.
"Good, I'm tired of his ass, heh... Been planning on staging an accident of uh, some sort for a while… uh, hey, can I ask you something?" Ian stopped halfway across the lawn and looked in Max’s eyes. Max turned and nodded, signaling him to continue.
"You're not gonna... you haven’t told George what I was doing right? He doesn’t know? He won’t find out?"
"No, of course not! That’s not my place. But if you were... you know, inclined to tell him
yourself
, I’m sure he’d be understanding. You should feel comfortable around him, Joji Boy is quite the standup citizen." Max looked reassuringly at Ian and smiled, giving him another chance of escape, another chance to back out of the evening if he really wasn’t up to it. But Ian wasn’t gonna take that opportunity. He wasn’t gonna be the party pooper that ruined everyone’s night because he can’t get his stomach and his brain to agree.
Ian looked over to the Honda Civic sitting in the driveway. He could see George uneasily laughing at whatever story the driver was telling him. Some foreign guy.
Well
, Ian thought.
Actually two foreign guys. One foreign guy I know. One foreign foreigner.
George finally turned to the two men standing on the grass. They chuckled as they watched his expression turn from gentle amusement to subdued rage.
"I... I just don't want him to think of me as weird or anything. I don’t know. Ignore it. Let's go now, before his impatient ass gets any more bloodlust for us."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The club was, admittedly, fun.
Well, it was fun after Ian had had about five beers and too many shots to count. He felt dizzy, but a warm sort of dizzy. Happy? No, not that. He’s drunk on an upset and empty stomach. That definitely isn’t happy. He’s… floaty. Sick and floaty and numb. His head is throbbing a little more with each minute that passes. This place- what’s it called again? Had Max ever told him where he was? Wherever he was, their speakers were not up to standard.
Anaconda
scratchily blasted through for what felt like the millionth time that night and intermingled with the raucous chatter of the people partying around him. The noise had bothered him when they first walked in and then the alcohol flowed in and made it feel better but now…
“Ohh.. fffuck,” Ian groaned, rolling over and clutching his head. Wait. Rolling over?
Oh Jesus,
he thought.
I’m on the fucking ground. Where are my friends. What the fuck.
Ian lifted his head slightly and weakly called out for Max, scanning the crowd in front of him.
Ohhh God. This is so embarrassing. Please let me die instead. Dear Lord.
He called out for Max again, straining against bright spotlights. He closed his eyes and laid on his back, draping an arm across his face and sighing. He wondered if either Max or George had gotten as humiliatingly fucked as he had. When had they even gotten separated? Ian tried to retrace his steps through the events of the night: He and his boys walked in together, ordered a round of shots, some beers, sat at a table, George saw some blonde girl and walked off, Max brought another round of drinks…and another… and Ian couldn’t remember anything past that.
Ian let out a small groan and turned over on his side, suddenly spotting the backs of the most heavenly familiar pair of grey slip-on sneakers, belonging to his savior. He had found Max right before Max had found him. Ian quickly grasped at Max’s ankle and gently tugged at it, getting his attention. Max jumped, startled, then twisted and squinted down at the man on the floor.
“Fuck! What the- Oh, Jesus Christ, it’s you, I’ve been lookin’ for you- Fuck are ya doin’ down there?”
Ian didn’t answer, just looked up at him and pouted. He whined and extended little grabby hands so that Max would help him up. His face was flushed and sweaty and his hair was a mess. He had drool coating his mouth and chin. He looked like he would throw a tantrum if Max didn’t pick him up within the next twenty seconds. It was a pathetic sight. Max felt a grotesque sort of pity for him.
“Okay, okay, Jesus… Come on, grab my hand and I’ll help you. Christ. Actually no, hold on,” Max dropped Ian’s hand and pulled out his phone, snapping two quick photos. Ian covered his face from the flash of the camera and whined, annoyed.
“Sorry. It’s just, you’re not gonna fuckin’ believe me if I just tell you you did this tomorrow morning.” Max laughed and pulled Ian to his feet. He lightly patted him down, giving him a quick once-over before leading him to the nearest open seat. He brushed Ian’s hair out of his face and peered into his eyes.
“What- what are ya doing? To my eyes. Stop lookin’ at my face.”
“I’m trying to see if you’ve been fucking roofied or something. How did you even get this drunk? I leave you alone for ten minutes and look what happens.”
“Imma grown-ass man, dude. I got drunk because I
drank.
You don’t gotta like… babysit me. And I’m not gonna… M’ not gonna get
roofied
,” Ian whined and mumbled as Max licked his thumbs and wiped underneath his eyes. “Mmph. Stop touching my face. That’s fuckin’ NASTYYY.”
Max told Ian to ‘quit being a faggot’ and continued cleaning the grime from his face, now wiping it with a napkin he pulled out of his pocket. Ian squirmed. Max stood him up again and wrapped an arm around his middle, guiding him to the exit.
“Where arrrreee… Where are we going? Where are you takin’ me huh? Don’t make me fuckin’... use my rape whistle, heh. Maybe YOU roofied me, fucker. As a ploy to embarrass me. Put me down. Put me down or I’ll scream.”
“I’m not even carrying you? Calm the fuck down,” Max grunted. Ian was squirming erratically in his grasp. Max chuckled nervously at the stares they were starting to receive. “I’m taking you back to the house so you can like, drink water and go to sleep. Please don’t pass out or piss yourself or throw up on the way there. I think we’ve both had enough embarrassment for one night.”
“Finnnneee. Where’s uh, where’s George? Georgie Porgie. Jojivlogs. Joeeeeeeeee Geeeeeeee-”
“Shut the fuck up. Please? You’re starting to give me a migraine.”
“Okayyyy. Sorry Maxie. I’m sowwyyy. But where IS he?” Ian craned his neck dramatically behind him, surveying the horde of partiers in the building through the window. “I don’ even- I don’ even SEE him! Wow, there are a lotttt of people in there…”
“He’s not in there. He left like half an hour ago. Went with someone to their apartment ‘
just to talk for a little bit.
’ That’s rich, right? Heh heh. Classic George being a little hoe. He said he’ll be at the house later tonight though, don’t worry about him.”
Ian was silent the rest of the way to the house. He stayed silent as Max laid him on the couch. He stayed silent as Max removed his glasses and shoes. He stayed silent as Max made him finish a glass of water. He stayed silent when Max turned off the light and went upstairs to his room. And he silently fell asleep.
–
George stumbled into the house, wincing as the door slammed shut behind him. He took off his shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen to look for a snack. It was 3:49 AM and he was ravenous, the fast food and alcohol he had filled his belly with not being enough for the night. He pawed into a box of Cheez-Its he found in the back of the cupboard and sat at the counter.
The girl he went home with was pretty nasty. George was usually happy to overlook flaws in the name of some pussy, but this chick was excessive. First of all, her apartment smelled like cat piss, but she swore up and down that she didn’t have a cat. There were empty Monster Energy cans and half-drunk water bottles on every shelf in sight. Her bathroom trash can was overflowing, and she had a pile of clothes on her bed that she made him move to the floor for her. When he asked if they were clean or dirty, she just laughed and said that she wasn’t sure. She was downright
disgusting
.
George still hit though. It was fine. Fun, even. She gave good head. It got the job done for both of them. And she was nice. Her lips tasted like watermelon chapstick.
George thought she would at least have let him take a nap afterwards, but she threw his clothes at him and said he had to get out in a hurry because her roommate was on the way there and she had to clean. No fucking kidding. If George ever saw her again he would offer to buy her some Febreeze. And Mr Clean. And maybe a date with Marie Kondo.
Now here he was in his own dirty house scarfing down a box of Cheez-Its that was more than likely severely expired. George wondered if maybe he just attracted filth. It’s in the name, after all. Despite that, he was proud of himself. He hadn’t smoked since before dinner. She offered him the traditional post-coital cigarette, some cutesy cherry-flavored thing, and he said no. He even rejected her tempting offer of
‘smoking weed and fuckin’ gaming.’
What a good boy he was. He deserved to fill himself with Cheez-Its.
"George?"
George whirled around and smiled softly at the sleepy Ian standing a few feet away from him. He had passed out on the couch a few hours earlier (if the shallow sleep wrinkles across the right side of his face were any indication), and he now stood clinging to a throw blanket with little poinsettias printed on it. The only light that illuminated him was the deep blue emanating from the house’s router on the counter. It made him look younger, if not a little helpless. George could smell the buckets of alcohol coming from his breath.
“Yo, Ian! Did I wake you up? Sorry man, I tried to sneak in, haha. Did you and Max have a good rest of your night? Sorry for dipping out on y’all, I had to- uh, you know how it goes.”
Ian wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and glided past George, sitting in the seat next to his. He clasped his hands together behind his neck and rested his forehead on the counter, taking a deep breath and sighing. He turned his head and gave George a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“To be honest, tonight fuckin’ sucked. And tomorrow’s gonna suck too because I know the hangover I get is gonna be fueled by the wrath of God. It’s already starting. And Max is going to be mad at me too, so yeah. We’re probably not gonna get any work done for the next 20 hours or so. I’m glad you had fun though.”
George blinked. It wasn’t the answer he expected. In all honesty, George thought Ian had had a great time. Five times before he left he had looked over at him, and each time he was dancing, or laughing, or singing, or some combination of the three. From the looks of it, he had made about six new friends on the floor. The storm must’ve come right after he left the building.
“Oh. Uh, sorry, I guess? Can I ask what happened? I thought you were having a good time.”
“I puked.”
“You puked- so you just drank too much and got sick? Ian, come on dude, everyone does that. It’s not the end of the world.”
“No, this was earlier I puked. Right before we got in the car to the place. So I had an empty stomach.
Then
I got too drunk. Ended up on the floor.”
“The floor?”
“The floor. As in the ground. It was dirty as hell. Max had to come pick me up and drag me out of there,” Ian hid his face in his arms. He still hadn’t gotten over that embarrassment.
“That’s… yeah man. Wow. That sucks. Why didn’t you just eat a piece of toast or something before you left? That’s supposed to settle your stomach. Why’d you throw up in the first place? Are you sick or something? Cause if you are, don’t be giving me your germs or nothing. I ain’t been sick in like, 4 months. I’m not tryna break my streak, y’know? Heh. Seriously though, are you okay?”
“We already had you pissed off from waiting too long in the car, if I took any longer to get a slice of bread I think you would’ve actually slit my throat. ”
“You could’ve just explained the situation-”
“It’s fine. For the shit we make, a little spit-up before a night out is nothing. Anyway, I’m home now, it doesn’t matter. Max forced me to drink some water, and I guess he tucked me in? I don’t really remember it all too well. Whatever. You wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
George bit his lip and looked away. He glanced over at the clock. It was going to be five in the morning. That’s almost 8 hours without nicotine for him. He knew he shouldn’t, if not for himself than for Ian. He was clearly ill in some way, and it didn’t sound like he was gonna go to a doctor any time soon. It would probably just upset his stomach more if George agreed to go with him. There is absolutely no benefit that George can think of in the event of his saying yes to Ian’s offer. Not one. Everything he had said to him since he got to the house has just made him more and more concerned. He really shouldn’t be enabling a vice like this.
George looked back over at Ian’s face. He was so ever-anxious. It was cute. He silently pleaded for George to go with him. There was a sad sort of neediness behind his eyes. Whether it was neediness for him or a neediness to have an excuse to smoke with a stomach bug, George didn’t know, but he knew he had a primal urge to fix it. Just to be
with
him.
Fuck it
. He made his decision. George grabbed Ian’s hand- it was uncomfortably cold- and pulled him to the back porch.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hazy
was the only word that could come to George’s mind right now. Thick ribbons of smoke were dancing between the wind in the air, their cool, muddy greys obscuring the deep blue of the universe and cradling the piercing whites of the stars above. Sometimes it was a pain staying at Max’s house- he lived 45 minutes away from the city and it was hard to find, surrounded by a few trees and a few miles of dead grass. But on nights like these, George was glad Max had gotten a big shack in the middle of BumFuck Nowhere™. The stars were a lot clearer here than they were in the city. Their presence comforted him. The stars would always forgive him. Whether he polluted their home with smog or not. Whether he was a hypocrite or not. Whether he was a bad influence or not.
Ian hadn’t spoken since they went outside. George kept trying to initiate conversations with him, something to lighten the mood-
‘So uh, did you see the trailer for that new Mario game? It’s got like, those Rabbid things and shit. Fuckin’ weird, right?’
or even ‘
Man, that girl I went with- let’s just say I need you to be a voice of reason next time, haha.’
- but he was never answered with more than a hum. George didn’t like the way this night was going at
all.
Something was up. He didn’t like that he couldn’t tell what.
Ian didn’t
seem
any different externally, just the same old Ian that he always is. But something was wrong. He was sick with something. He got sick.
Before
drinking
.
So something must be wrong. George knew he shouldn’t be sharing a pack with him. He knew that he should be forcing his stubborn ass into the back of another Uber and walking him into a doctor’s office.
What if all the cancer jokes finally caught up to us?
There could be something seriously wrong with Ian, and George was just sitting on the porch and smoking with him? Not only that, but Ian only had to ask once and he had been willing to throw away all of his own progress from today? What happened to refusing, to having a strong will? How could he say no to the girl from earlier, but not Ian? He was never gonna kick this thing the way he was going. Maybe he underestimated the control that
Ian
had on
him.
God damn it,
he thought. Any hope George had of a relaxing evening with his friend was dashed. He stubs his cigarette out. He realizes he’s a fucking awful friend, but he’s gonna try and fix it, at least.
“Hey, put that thing out and get some shoes on. I’m gonna take you to a doctor,” George stood and reached for Ian to help him stand. Instead of a hand, Ian gave George a bewildered glare.
“What- why? No,” he said, taking another drag. “Why? What happened?”
“Because you’re sick! Come on, I wanna get you checked out. Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”
Ian hesitated, then shook his head and smiled. “It’s just allergies. Sit back down.”
“I think once you’re like, expelling shit out of your mouth then it becomes more than just
allergies,
Ian. Come on. You’re not feeling good, and that’s
fine,
I’m not
mad at you,
you didn’t do anything
wrong,
but you need to let me take care- Woah! What the fuck?! Why would you do that? Ian?”
Ian wiped the ash from the spot on his leg where he had put out his cigarette. He stood and flicked the butt into the grass, then wrapped the (previously discarded on the ground) blanket around his shoulders and stepped up to the door. He grabbed the knob, then hesitated, looking back at George. George’s eyes were wide and his teeth were grit and his eyebrows were furrowed together like two distraught, kissing caterpillars. He stammered at Ian, stunned.
“Relax; I didn’t even feel it. I'm a big boy, y’know?” Ian rolled his eyes. He exhaled with frustration when he looked at George again and only saw his concern worsened. “Oh my God, calm down! I’m fine, Jesus. I was messing around earlier, it’s not as bad as I made it sound. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? You know I won’t be upset if-
“There’s nothing to
be
upset about! Forget about it! Jesus!” Ian laughed and threw his hands up in exasperation. He stepped down again, sitting down next to George and putting an arm around him. He leaned closer to George’s face and poked his nose with his own. George flushed and let out a sound of disbelief. He tried to look further in Ian’s eyes, searching for some kind of… something. All he knew is that he didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to let Ian out of his sight. He said Ian’s name and bumped his nose back. Ian smiled, shook his head, and leaned away. He rubbed his face with his hands violently then looked back at George.
“
Relax
, seriously. I’m gonna go to sleep now, I’ll take the couch. I don’t get the feeling that either of us are down to share the guest bed tonight. Make sure Max doesn’t wake me up tomorrow morning or I’m gonna be a real bitch for like a week. I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I think I’m probably still- still quite intoxicated, honestly. Kinda ruined the moment huh? Sorry. Goodnight.”
Ian loosely saluted to George before turning inside and slamming the door behind him. George did nothing but gape at the emptiness left in Ian’s absence. It felt like hours, sitting on Max’s porch step, staring, blinking, before he pulled his knees up to his chest and let his eyes wander back up to the sky. He didn’t understand what the hell had just happened. Just yesterday, everything was so good. Hell, just a few hours ago, things were good. Ian was normal a few hours ago. He was partying a few hours ago, what the fuck was this random mood swing? Putting the cigarette out on his goddamn skin? George knew better than to think Ian was perfectly fine, per se, but his behavior tonight was so uncharacteristic. George sighed. Maybe he
should
have forced him to go to the ER. He thought it was better to get some sleep rather than ruminate on the fragile state of his friend all night, so George left the burnt out cigarettes and scratchy gas station lighter on the grass and with a heavy sigh, slowly stomped his way
-
Ian wasn’t at the table for breakfast later that day. George and Max were seated at the kitchen counter, silently munching on their cereal. George’s bowl had gotten soggy because he spent like 20 minutes looking for aspirin. He mindlessly swirled the mush around with his spoon. The Aleve he found hadn’t worked very well.
“So…” he started, dropping his spoon in the milk.
Max looked up from his bowl, giving George his full attention. George felt a pang of jealousy at his appearance. As opposed to George’s deep eyebags, throbbing headache, pasty complexion, and pit in his stomach, Max had almost no evidence of how drunk he got last night. The only thing that could tip somebody off was the lingering alcoholic stench on his breath and general grouchiness. George didn’t know how Max did it, getting belligerently drunk almost every night and then bouncing back to normal in a few hours. Maybe it was that purebred Aussie blood running through him, maybe it was his unfair pretty-boy genes, maybe it’s fucking Maybelline for all he cares. George just knew it sucked ass to look at Max and then look in your own reflection in the mirror.
“What?” Max asked.
“What’s up with… you know…” George inclined his head to Ian’s empty seat. Max barely flicked his eyes over before dropping his head and returning to his cereal.
“What do you mean
‘what’s up with him?’”
he asked in a quieter voice.
“Well… for starters, he isn’t sitting here with us-”
“You feel like shit because of your hangover, right? Take that and multiply it by a thousand.
That’s
what Ian’s feeling. I had to half-carry the man home. Let him get his beauty rest.”
“Yeah I get that., but… I don’t know. Did he seem like, weird at all to you last night?”
“Weird how?”
George stared back into his bowl. He picked up the spoon and stirred again. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. How do you explain something you don’t understand yourself? He shrugged. Maybe he shouldn't.
“He’s probably fine. I wouldn’t worry about it. Let’s talk about
you
though,” Max said, rising and throwing his bowl into the trash and his spoon in the sink. “Why are you so freaked out in the first place? Ian that special to you?”
“What are you implying?”
Max smiled. “Nothing, nothing at all! Just, you know… little gay of you to be so obsessed over this. Something special about Ian in particular?”
“If I’m gay for worrying about a friend, then you’re a full-blown flamer,
mom
.”
“Flamer? What year is it again, Joji?”
“Nineteen-ninety suck-my-nuts.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re acting like a child.”
George scoffed, rolled his eyes again, and progressed in eating his breakfast. He scrolled mindlessly through Instagram as Max continued to push the subject- ‘You know, I’m an ally! When have I ever been a homophobe? You know I have your best interests in mind- I think you should shoot your shot! Make a move!’- to no avail. After each interjection he would once again insist that whatever matchmaking scheme- or rather, meaningless hookupmaking scheme- Max was dreaming up, it wasn’t going to work. Not yet. Not now. Not ever. Ian wasn’t like that, at least not externally. And George knew better than to think it would be easy to just… convert Ian to the dark side, for lack of a better term.
“I don’t even think Ian should be thinking about love or sex or whatever right now,” he said, interrupting another Max tangent. “He’s gotta focus on himself.”
“Well
duh,
I agree, but the way you two have been- I don’t think it would
hurt
him to feel loved- to feel
wanted
even
-”
“You and I have both seen the Idubbbz tag on Tumblr- I’m sure he feels plenty ‘
wanted.’”
“Why are y’all talkin’ about me?”
George and Max stopped dead in their tracks and greeted Ian with a surprised “Heyyyy!” before being brought to silence by a tired wave of his hand. He stomped to the refrigerator and grabbed a water bottle before sluggishly plodding over to the table where his friends sat and laid his head down into a pillow of his own arms. George and Max made quick, panicked eye contact at the drone of a muffled ‘What were you guys talking about, seriously?’
“We- Max was just-” George stammered, only to be interrupted by a pained yelp from Ian. He looked up to see Max’s hand on top of Ian’s head, still on the table, but now being rubbed by both of his hands. Max laughed as he apologized and began rubbing Ian in turn. Ian smacked Max’s hands away and turned once again from the harsh light of the kitchen with a whiny growl of, ‘
Why the fuck would you do that, prick?!
’ underneath his breath.
“George was saying you need to get some pussy.”
“I was saying the exact opposite!”
“You were saying he needs to get dick? Wowwwwww George, last I checked, Ian is a heterosexual, get your homo fantasies
away
from-”
“Jesus Christ, no one wants to tell me,
alright…
If it was that important, I trust that you’d say it. My fucking God… that
hurt
, you cunt,” Ian continued. He opened his water bottle and downed half of it in one gulp. “You’re a real asshole, you know?”
“I said I was sorry! Here, let me get you some cereal,” Max said, ignoring a softer
“I don’t-”
from Ian and rising from his chair, practically leaping to the cupboard to grab a cereal bowl. He then dramatically flourished open the cupboard door, displaying his strangely-diverse selection of cereals as a menu to Ian, somewhat akin to how a salesman would show off a parking lot of shitty used cars. “What do you want? I got Frosties, Weet-Bix, Coco Pops, Crunchy Nut, Milo, Raisin Bran with granola, that’s what George and I had, I also have regular-ass Raisin Bran, uhhhh I have chocolate-flavored Nutri-Grain but it’s expired, I got-”
“Just the Weet-Bix is fine, Maxie, thanks. And just a uh, just a good healthy amount, please? And non-dairy milk, I don’t think my tummy can handle any real stuff right now.” Ian interjected, still not raising his head.
“250 grams?”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Look at me.” Max pulled out a measuring cup and demonstrated the amount of cereal that could be held in it. Ian gave him a thumbs-up and proceeded to slam his head back down on the table. Max shrugged and turned back to the cereal bowl.
George pinched Ian’s arm- warmer than last night, he noticed.
Probably a good sign.
He tugged the skin back and forth in an attempt to get Ian’s attention, but his hand was simply smacked away with a whine.
“You alright, buddy?” George chuckled. Ian slowly shook his head, still laying flat on the table. “Yeah, you had a pretty rough night.”
“Fuck, I don’t even
remember
last night. Whatever, don’t even tell me- can’t be rougher than this morning.”
“You’d be surprised. You- ” George was interrupted with a shiver running down the length of his body.
When the hell had it gotten so cold in here?
Weather in Australia was like the Gates of Mordor- he didn’t often get chilly when he was here. He craned his neck backwards to check on Max’s progress making Ian’s breakfast: The fridge door was wide open (
So that’s why the room is so damn cold),
Max crouched in front of the shelves, inspecting a small carton of almond milk. Ian was the only one in the house who drank that shit, so there wasn’t any need to get a big package.
Heh,
George thought.
Big package.
He snorted out loud at the immature thought. Ian lifted his head at the sound and George flushed and tried to avoid eye contact- he knew that Ian would ask him what he was laughing at and George really did not want to explain to his pissy, hungry, hungover friend that he was amused by the mere concept of a large penis. It wasn’t
that
funny.
.
Max hesitantly sniffed the carton and immediately turned away with a twisted expression and a childish ‘
bleh!
’ He slammed the fridge door closed and ran outside, then returned a minute later with the carton emptied. He grabbed the dry cereal he already poured into a bowl and placed it in front of Ian’s face. He shook Ian’s shoulder and emphasized that
‘Breakfast… is served!’
with possibly the worst Transylvanian accent George had ever heard.
Ian looked at Max with a deadpan expression, then back to his cereal with a grimace. A glance at the clock- one o'clock on the dot- led to a indignant grumble about how it was
‘barely breakfast’
and that
‘it was retarded of Max to make cereal for Ian without checking if he had the milk he liked first’
but Max threw a dirty napkin at his head and told him to shut the fuck up and start eating, so he did. They started up a new conversation- something about some show that Max and Ian watch? George couldn’t participate in the conversation. The show, he had never even heard of, and his focus- well, he couldn’t focus. Not on the conversation. Not on the tree branch tapping on the window, not on the fly buzzing around his face, not on anything but Ian All he was focused on was Ian. Completely fine, completely normal, platonic best friend Ian. Ian who didn’t even remember last night.
Anything
from last night? There’s no way Ian didn’t feel the lingering cigarette burn this morning. Would it be rude to ask? Should he try and check?
George attempted to sneak a peek at Ian’s leg as he stood from the table but he wasn’t able to get a good look at it before Ian made eye contact again. George tried to play off his rapid head turn as a sharpened intrigue in the nest of birds that had made their home on Max’s windowsill.
“Hey so, since it’s Spring here, these uh- these eggs should be hatching soon right?” George asked. He was met with two disinterested ‘mm-hmms.’
“Wow, how nice. I’d like to see that, you know? Life is beautiful forreal.” This time he only received one disinterested ‘mm-hmm.’ George put his hands on his hips and looked at his friends. “In fact, I think I’m gonna go get a bird feeder for the mama bird right now. You bitches wanna come with me or what?”
No response. George rolled his eyes and sat back down to put his knockoff Air Force Ones on.
“Whatever, fuck you guys. You’re not real environmentalists. You’re like, evil oil barons in a kids’ movie. The Lorax would
hate
you motherfuckers.”
Max responded with ‘
guess so’
without looking at him. With a huff, George grabbed his wallet and stomped out of the house.
-
“He’s suspicious, you know.”
Ian glanced at Max’s face and picked another grain of cereal from his bowl. He swallowed then took a short but deep breath in and out. He wasn’t as hungover as he might’ve led the others to believe- of fucking
course
remembered last night. Every bit of it. He remembered the booming music of the club as he laid on the floor,
literally
gathering dust and he remembered the ash on his leg and he remembered the inexplicable pit in his stomach he felt when Max told him George had left with some chick. He remembered it
all.
But he didn’t want to. The last thing Ian was up for this morning- or, this afternoon he supposes- was reminiscing on a bad night. But he knew that George would be worried for some reason and want to bring it up so he played it off. Like it never even happened.
Max knew better than that, though. So Ian complied and ate his entire bowl of Weet-Bix so Max wouldn’t give him an itemized list of just how pathetic he was last night.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific. There’s like, a million ‘
he’
s that I know, for one thing, and a million more things about me that someone could be suspicious of. So like, elaborate.”
“You know exactly who I’m talking about. The man who was so uncomfortable sharing a space with you after last night that he made up some bullshit excuse about a
bird feeder
just so he could leave the house,” Max scoffed. “And there’s not like, one specific thing he’s stressing about. It‘s more of a general worry about you that he’s letting run wild in his head because you freaked him out so much. What did you even do?”
“Nunya.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Whatever it was, you freaked him out, so maybe try and act normal for the next few days?” Ian responded with a silent thumbs-up.
“You know…” Max sighed, “I still don’t think it’d be a bad idea to just… tell him. He cares a lot about you, tell him the truth about what’s going on. Maybe he could help somehow.”
“That’s a retarded idea. Besides, I’ve got this under control myself,” Ian said, ignoring the (frankly, insulting) flash of doubt on Max’s face. “Talking about my
feewings
with George would only make things worse.” He dumped the rest of his cereal in his mouth then stood and threw his bowl and the bowl George left on the table in the sink. He twisted his body, letting out a groan at the loud pops that came from his back.
“Anyway, are we done here? I got a lot of work to do.
Your
work, by the way, so if there’s anything else, make it snappy.”
Max tsked and shook his head, looking away.
“Yeah just… have those done soon I guess.”