Helping Ian find matching socks and tucking his shirt tags in most days before he leaves the house

Having petty arguments over whose turn it is to do dishes or take the garbage out (which can result in an array of things, from kisses on the cheek to sweeten one another up to Ian putting an almost pathetic amount of effort into perfecting his debate and presenting valid points)

Ordering takeout so often that the delivery guys knows both your names

Coming to absolutely despise watching movies with Ian, because every time, every fucking time, he will include so much unnecessary commentary and criticism that it ruins the plot and the characters and you become as annoyed with it as he does

Having no sense of personal space; Ian will totally come in and pee in the bathroom while you’re taking a shower or brushing your teeth, he’s shameless and doesn’t care

Adopting puppies omg oMG he loves dogs and you love dogs and there will be dogs and walking dogs and training dogs and feeding dogs and cuddling with dogs and having to make room on the bed so your dogs can climb up in the middle of the night and sleep with you and dogs

Your guys’ closets kind of melding together because you wear so many of his shirts to bed and honestly he kind of likes it, even if it means most of them smell like your perfume and shampoo when he wears them around

Calling out of work to lay around in bed with him all day, sleeping on and off and making out and only getting up to use the bathroom

Having to constantly scold Ian about eating food in bed and getting crumbs lost in your sheets

Having to do the laundry for him constantly because he always fucks it up somehow (it’s pretty straightforward, he probably purposely messes up so you’ll keep doing it)

A/N: here’s something simple that Kat definitely didn’t request 

[Joji x cuddling x talking about the future]

“It’s late,” Joji tells you, “I should go home. You have work in the morning.”

Your boyfriend is sweet and he means well, but there’s absolutely no way you’re going to let him go home tonight. You’ve been working erratic hours lately at the catering company because two girls just quit and now the entire team is down to eight people. Not to mention, Joji has been traveling a lot, to Australia and California and back – rinse and repeat – for the last few months. You rarely see one another and being left to the occasional phone call and skype session is really beginning to eat you and leave you unsatisfied. The last thing you want to do is complain and burden Joji with your frantic thoughts so you do the only thing you feel you can; you grab his hands in a vice grip and beg him to stay for the night.

“Sleep over, then. I won’t mind. I just want to be near you.” 

And it’s true. You just want to be close to him. It seems you’re never close enough, and you don’t like the distance that’s beginning to collect between you guys, between every missed call and cancelled date and rushed goodbye. It’s driving you mad and you’re having a hard time untying the insanity knotting itself together in your mind. All you want is tonight. One night when you don’t have to overthink and worry about the future of your relationship.

“Are you sure?” He raises his eyebrows at you, biting back a smile. 

You don’t feel like doing anything sexual tonight. You want to be close in another way. You want to be comforted. “Yeah. Just to sleep. You can leave in the morning, as early as you need to, but please just stay for tonight.”

“Anything for you.”

You both make your way to your bedroom, where you change into an old, big shirt you like to think is Joji’s – but honestly, it’s just a plain tee shirt and you’ve had it for so long that it could have come from anyone you’ve dated… Though it’s not like you’d tell Joji that – and your heart wrenchingly compliant boyfriend strips down to his boxers before crawling in bed next to you and wrapping his arms protectively around your torso, lips pressed to the back of your head. You feel the body heat of his chest and stomach against your back, only separated by the thin fabric of the anonymously pre-owned tee shirt. His breath hits your hair and things seem easier for a moment. Not so calamitas. 

“I love you so much.” You say.

You hear Joji exhale a little in surprise. “I know, I love you too. Is something up? You seem… Melancholy.” He kisses you reassuringly behind your ear a few times.

You turn around in his arms so that you’re facing him, cuddling into his chest. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just paranoid.”

Joji strokes your hair and your back and your hips very chastely, wanting you to be comfortable enough to share your thoughts with him. He’s always been like this. Joji will never speak a word in question to get you to tell him something, even if it pains him. He’ll just be sweet and nice and painfully obvious about his curiosity. “Paranoid,” He sighs. 

You haven’t really told him much and it’s a little unfair. How can you guys work harder to spend time together when your boyfriend isn’t even aware that you miss him like this? “Yeah. Paranoid about us.”

Joji stops moving. “What about us?”

Oh god, now it’s awkward. Part of you starts to panic because the last thing you want is to offend him. You’re not the only one who has it hard. Joji is just as stressed, if not more so, with his jam-packed schedule and immense workload. You don’t want him to think that your paranoia rests on only his end

. “Well, okay, not like us. We’re fine. I love you so much and I know you love me and you’re perfect and great and I’m happy with you.” You say in a rush, comforting Joji to the best of your ability and as quick as you can before his disappointment sets in.

“So this isn’t about,” he looks up for a second, avoiding eye contact, “you don’t want to…?”

“No!” You snap, snuggling closer to press a billion short, sweet, butterfly kisses on his face. “I definitely don’t want to break up. Ever. I love you so much, Joji, and I always will. No doubt.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Oh, thank god. I love you too. So much. Too much.” He plants a simple kiss on your nose. 

You know he won’t pry so you continue on before any kind of quietude grows in the space between your words. “It’s about something else. I just, I feel…” Joji tightens his arms around you and places his chin on the crown of your head. You know he’s over-thinking before you even feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, pressed against the skin of your cheek. 

“I never see you anymore.”

You’re not quite sure how you were expecting Joji to react but it definitely wasn’t for him to laugh at you. You freeze a little and he starts rubbing your back again. “I’m sorry, it’s just,” he chuckles for another moment, “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you the same thing but it felt silly. Arbitrary.”

“Oh.” You say, feeling a lot of things, but mostly blatant stupidity. 

“I mean, it’s obvious we don’t see each other often,” Joji sighs and continues to rub your back, “but I just wanted you to know that it fucking sucks. I can’t stand it. On top of that, I never know when close is too close.” He kisses you a few times on the crown of your head, seemingly showing affection to apologize for laughing. “You never speak to me about this stuff. I don’t want to spend so much time apart and then smother you when I see you. I don’t know how much of me you want, I don’t know how much of me to give you.”

You throat is dry and it hurts when you try to swallow the panic. By keeping your insecurities to yourself, you unintentionally pushed Joji away and he noticed. 

“I’m sorry.” You say pathetically. “I just, I love you so much. I didn’t want to push you. I figured you’d come to me if you wanted to see me. It sounds stupid now and I’m sorry. I want all of you. All that you’re willing to give, George, because I’m all in.I have been from the beginning.”

Joji kisses you then and things change.

“We’re going to be together forever, y/n, there’s no way you can get away from me now.” He smiles at you, absolutely beaming from your words. 

“Do you really want to be?” You ask, unabashed giggling spilling out of your mouth a little because you’re high on the decadence of these moments. You weren’t sure if he meant it, but you took his words seriously.

“I meant it. We can get married if you want,” George laughs when some kind of happy, astonished sound escapes from the back of your throat, “and we’ll have kids. Lots of them.”

“What will we name them?” You ask, adorning a smile that feels brighter than the sun.

“I don’t know… I always liked Verona for a girl. Like the city? Ronnie for short. Boys names are harder, there’s too many common ones.”

You’re happyhappyhappy and it’s beating in your chest like something alive and real. “You want to be a dad?”

Joji smiles. “Maybe one day, when I’m not such an idiot.”

You kiss him. “Tell me more about our future.”

He laughs and you’re laughing and the energy in the room has changed significantly from what it was before. You’re glad for it. Joji’s ecstatic.

“I’d probably be a deadbeat stay-at-home dad. I could could teach the kiddos ukulele or piano or something. Have fun with them. You’re smart, though. You’d do something with your life, have a career. Quit that dumb food company thing,”

“Catering company.” You correct, still grinning like an idiot.

“Right, of course. Catering company. Because there’s a huge difference.” You hit his shoulder lightly and squeal with laughter even though his words hadn’t been particularly funny. You’re just so happy. Your emotions are running wild and god damn, you love this boy to pieces. 

He smiles too and kisses you again, soft and easy. Joji breaks to continue and you can tell he’s just as into this hypothetical future and you are. “You’d be something cool. You’re into animals, right? You would probably be a veterinarian or dog show host or something, I don’t know. And we might not make that much money, and we might live in a slummy neighborhood for the rest of our lives, but you know what?”

“What?”

Joji smiles and you’ve never seen something so beautiful or heart-warming in your entire life. It’s something you want a picture of, some kind of tangible memory of it to store in your pocket and take out every once in awhile just to remind yourself that beauty like this still exists in the world, and it belongs to you. 

“We’ll have each other. We’ll be happy. We’ll do okay. I know we will.”

A/N: Assuming you and max still lived together…

Ian always calling like ten times before a date to make sure Max wouldn’t be there when he picked you up

If he was there, he’d purposely say awkward things like, “remember to use protection!”  before you guys left

Ian and Max getting annoyed/jealous of one another whenever you rooted for just one of them while filming group videos

Ian helping you in through your window after dropping you off from late dates because he doesn’t want to come in and face Max

You having to beg Max not to storm to Ian’s house whenever you and Ian get into little disputes

Max inviting himself to hang out with guys all the time, partly to remain close to his friend and partly to cockblock you bc you’re his lil sis and he wants you to stay pure forever, especially considering he knows better than anyone how much of a horny weirdo Ian is

Ian sneaking in your room late at night so you guys can avoid interacting with Max and dealing with his interrogations of what you guys are up to

Ian completely losing his mind and freaking out if you got hurt somehow while you guys were out, because he doesn’t want Max to be mad at him

[a/n: basically you and ian cuddling while you try to sleep. enjoy]

You’re teetering on the precarious edge of coherent awareness, your thoughts sleepy and sluggish with exhaustion. The only thing your mind can process at the moment is the loving hand of your boyfriend rubbing your back in slow, circular motions. That and his breath on your forehead, blowing lightly on the stray hairs that have fallen from behind your ear and are now tickling the skin of your face. Some deep recess of your consciousness registers the fact that you two are cuddling, on a couch or bed or something, while everything else lies just outside your field of sentience.

You’ve begun to slip into some kind of groggy, blank, non-dream state when Ian jostles a little below you.

“Stop moving,” you mumble, “you woke me up.”

“Oh, sorry baby.” He presses his words into your forehead and leaves a little kiss there too. It feels warm and you hum contentedly. “You look so pretty when you’re tired.”

You’re drawn a little further away from sleep and things become slightly more comprehensible. You hear a television buzzing. There’s a plush blanket tangled around yours and Ian’s legs.

You groan a bit. “Ssshhhh. Sleep.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, and you feel the rumble in his stomach. “Am I not allowed to tell you you’re pretty? You don’t like that anymore? Tell me, what would you prefer?” Ian swipes the hairs that had been brushing your cheeks and tucks them back behind your ear. His fingertips are a little rough and calloused but you’ve always liked how they feel. “I could be mean. I could call you gross. Or ugly. But those things aren’t true”

“You’re dumb.” You sigh, getting annoyed with Ian’s chattiness. Normally you’d play along, but you’re tired and not in the mood for his goofiness or pointless blabbering. All you want at the moment is peace and quiet and to fall into an undisturbed slumber without your boyfriend pestering you because he’s bored.

Ian ignores you. “And I’d never lie to you. So I guess we’ve reached a bit of a crossroads here, huh?”

“Oh my god.” You blink your eyes open, now almost fully awake due to Ian’s incessant, one-sided banter. You turn your head a bit, perching your chin on his chest and looking him in the eyes. “I really am tired. Please let me sleep?”

Ian looks at you for a moment. “Okay, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You smile a little and give him a chaste peck on the lips before getting comfortable again and closing your eyes.

Ian resumes rubbing your back, this time sneaking his hand up under the back of your nightshirt and lightly dragging his nails up and down the length of your spine. You hum again and you feel him smile against the crown of your head.  

The soft scratches feel nice. Very nice. Especially when he itches lower, toward the small of your back. Yes, like that. It feels better than nice actually. It feels amazing.

Ian’s hand moves lower and lower, his blunt nails never ceasing their gentle scraping. You’re enjoying it and it’s lulling you asleep until-

“Ian!” You yelp hushedly, opening your eyes again, but only to a slight squint. Trying to sleep has never been such a chore.

Ian squeezes where he now has both hands cupping your ass. “What?” He whispers innocently. “Is this distracting you? I’m just trying to help you sleep. I thought that was what you wanted.”

“You’re an asshole.” You say stubbornly, rolling off of him and onto your back to put some space between you two and get some rest once and for all.

But Ian still doesn’t plan on leaving you alone, not just yet. He rolls over as well, so he’s leaning over you, and places his hands firmly on your hips, his face hovering just millimeters above yours. He smiles when you glare. “Don’t be mad, y/n, it’s not my fault you’re such an insomniac.”

Ian kisses you, moving one of his hands up to your chest and kneading the soft flesh there, while the other remains on your hip, tracing circles with his thumb.

You push him away but you’re laughing a little now. “If you were horny, you should have just told me. You didn’t have to be such an annoying prick about it.”

“Who says I’m horny?” Ian smiles. “I just want to change your circadian rhythm.”

“What’s that?”

Your boyfriend sighs and pecks you on the lips. He’s so good at that; making you feel dumb just for asking a question. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so smart and worldly - he could probably run laps around you if he wanted to. “That’s, like, your inner clock. Your natural instincts when it comes to waking up and sleeping. I’m always up so much later than you, and I don’t want to be. I want to be your daytime, I want you to be awake with me. I want your circadian rhythm tuned to me, not to the sun or nighttime or whatever.”

Joji constantly pestering you to stop at all the roadside attractions he sees on the map and giving you the silent treatment when you refuse to

“Taking turns” choosing CD’s and radio stations; really just Joji constantly telling you, “one more song and then it can be your turn”

Joji pretending he doesn’t know how to use stick shift so you’ll spend time teaching him bc he thinks it’s cute

Joji promising he’ll keep on talking to you to keep you awake while you drive and then snoring two minutes later

Softcore road rage Joji; lots of tailgating and honking and muttering, “fucking asshole!” or, “stupid cunt, what does he think he’s doing?”

Joji teasing his hand up your thigh until you have to pull over and take care of each other

Lots and lots and lots of long, intense discussions about the meaning of life and religion during rather long drives between rest stops

Falling asleep in the passenger seat and then waking up to find that Joji had stopped at a drive though at some point and bought you breakfast, anticipating your wake

You two just being casual losers in general who have no idea what they’re doing or where they’re going but are trying to have fun doing it anyway

Max screaming at everyone who merges in front of him

Max screaming at everyone who flips him off. “What are you lookin at, cunt?”

Max screaming at red lights

Max screaming

Falling asleep in the passenger seat and then waking up to find that Max had somehow gotten turned around and has been driving in the wrong direction for like five hours without realizing it

Max complaining that he’s hungry and that you guys should stop for food even though you just stopped half an hour ago

Max talking to himself and rambling on and on about dumb shit like pokemon and video ideas to keep himself awake while he drives

You guys getting really excited together and tugging at each others sleeves and jumping a little in your seats when a good song comes on the radio and then both belting it at the top of your lungs

Max wanting to stop to take a picture whenever he sees anything remotely interesting, like a sunset or an armadillo in the middle of the road or something

Always offering to drive when it’s your turn because he knows how stressed traffic makes you and honestly he loves driving, it makes him feel like the chivalrous man in the relationship

Just being fucking adorable, cliche and high school sweetheart-esque simply because the two of you just are fucking adorable, cliche and high school sweetheart-esque

[a/n: on a plane with joji and also a nearly crippling fear of flying]

“Seriously?” A single awkward chuckle leaves George’s mouth because he’s not sure how to handle it. “I thought you were joking.”

You grit your teeth and beg yourself not to look back out the window. “Why would I lie about something so random? What would I gain from that, Joj?”

He doesn’t reply. Your boyfriend knows that you’re only being snarky because you’re anxious and scared, so he doesn’t take offense to your snapping. You really love him for it, but your headspace isn’t clear enough at the moment to affectionately express it.

Joji grabs your hand and gently rubs circles on the back of your palm with his thumb. “Just, um… Don’t think about it?”

“Oh, hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. Wow, this is great. Now I really don’t have a fear of flying. You cured it, babe. Thanks.”

He scoffs and laughs a bit. This time more purposefully. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t good advice, but calm down a little.”

You close your eyes and tilt your you back against the seat. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Things will be okay. A thousand planes land safely at their destinations every day. This trip will be no different.

Hopefully.

“Listen, y/n,” George says and you open your eyes to look at him. He appears a bit more serious now, shedding his normally lighthearted demeanor as he speaks his next words to you. “I’m right here beside you. I will be the whole time. Focus on me, focus on my voice.” He gives you a reassuring smile and repeats himself. “I’m right here.”

You exhale. “You’re right here.”

“Yep. Right here.”

You calm down for a second, still clutching your boyfriend’s hand in a death grip. He’s still smiling at you though, so maybe he doesn’t feel his bones being crushed.

“If the plane goes down, you won’t be able to stop it.” It’s almost silly that he’s comforting you, really. There’s nothing anyone can do about a plane. As soon as something bad happens, that’s it. You accept your fate and die.

He chuckles again. “Okay, that’s true. But I’ll still be here with you. Holding your hand and loving you every second until we die.”

“That’s not helping!”

George swallows his next round of laughter and attempts to be serious again. “Y/n, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve been on countless planes and each and every time, things have ended up perfectly fine. Look at me now! I’m alive and well and happy and I’ve been through this literally hundreds of times.”

“You were in a plane crash that one time, remember?”

“Of course I do. But guess what? Nobody died and nobody was seriously injured. In fact, over eighty percent of plane crashes result in no deaths and minimal injuries to passengers.”

You know for a fact that that’s some lie he made up off the top of his head, but it comforts you to hold onto it anyway. So you do. You try your hardest to believe him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yup. And like you pointed out, I’m an example.” Joji squeezes your hand and a little part of you resonates with the thought that he is so completely sure everything is going to be okay that he’s spending this much time convincing you of the same thing. In fact, every passenger probably doesn’t think anything will go wrong or else they wouldn’t have bought their ticket and be sitting here in the first place.

[a/n: oh my god i got carried away but i hope you like it,,, it’s basically overdone max fluff]

“You’re taking too long.” Max says, rolling his eyes. “It’s okay, I’ll order for you. I know you too well anyway. Might as well use it to my advantage.”

Knows me too well?

The very thought is almost enough to make you laugh. There’s so much Max doesn’t know. So much, too much, never enough it seems. What Max doesn’t know is growing inside of you, every day, collecting in every crevice he can’t see, under every stone of you he has yet to overturn. Sometimes you want to ask him about it. You want to say, “Max? Max, do you ever notice? Do you ever think about it? Every time you catch me looking or sharing small touches with you, does it ever occur?”

Because it occurs to you. Over and over again, sometimes for days. Sometimes late at night, unspoken thoughts will play over the inside of your eyelids. His lips. His chest. All parts of him. Things you don’t tell people. Things that won’t ever leave the cool side of your pillow.

You don’t say any of that. You keep your thoughts to yourself and go find an empty booth in this crowded ice cream parlor Max decided was perfect for a hot day like this – him and a hundred others – while he orders whatever frozen treat he thinks (knows, really) that you’ll like best.

There’s a tiny half-booth in the corner. Those weird ones, where one side is a booth seat and the other side is just a few chairs. You know Max hates these, the unevenness drives him crazy, and that’s precisely why you sit there.

You’re left to your thoughts, watching Max up at the register. Watching him run a hand through his hair as he ponders what to tell the cashier. Watching him chuckle nervously as he realizes how many people he’s holding up. Watching him speak his order, then whatever he’s decided yours is, and handing a few bills over the counter with a smile. He’s so polite. Always so conscious of others. Conscious of you, too. Conscious enough that he’s confident ordering food for you.

“I know you don’t like dealing with cones so I just got you a cup of chocolate.” Max says as he arrives at the weird booth table.

You smile and take the cup and spoon from him. “Plain chocolate? I mean I guess I’ll eat it.”

“Oh, come on, you know I picked out something good. You can’t fool me.” He says and lets out a strange little laugh, still standing, assessing where to sit at this weird-ass table.

“So you think.” You say without thinking, and then when Max looks at you, you give an enormous fit of uncomfortable giggles permission to leave the back of your throat because, oh my god, could you be any more of an idiot. You take a bite of your ice cream. “Yep. Good. It’s good. You picked good. Thanks.”

“Okay.” He laughs and then you see in his eyes that he’s come to a conclusion. “Now move over. I refuse sit in the chairs. What’s with these things? You think restaurants would figured out how to make a fucking booth by now.”

Your skin feels hot, and you’re hypersensitive to the perspiration on the ice cream cup you’re holding. It’s wet on your burning fingers, fingers you have to keep to yourself and not think about, not think about in relation to Max’s hair or Max’s face or Max’s-

He sighs aloud. “Are you stroking out or something? Move over.”

“Sorry,” you laugh and comply to his demand. He presses into the booth beside you, and even though there’s a good few inches of space in between you guys, your mind overthinks and overanalyzes and it’s almost too much.

“You alright?” Max asks halfheartedly, licking his ice cream cone. It looks like vanilla, but there’s weird chunks of something, like fudge or almonds, speckling his scoop. “You seem a little weird. I mean, you’re always a fucking weirdo, but today it’s a different league of weird.”

It’s a separate universe of weird entirely. A universe Max couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “Maybe you’re the one stroking out, buddy.” You take another bite of your ice cream to occupy yourself.

Max scoffs. “Don’t make me get mushy, but y/n, you know you can tell me stuff.”

“I really can’t.” You say, breaking your cool and collected facade. One that might not have been as cool or collected as you thought, because he seemed to pick up on it pretty quick.

He looks over at you then, his eyes curious among other things, and touches your arm with the hand that isn’t holding his ice cream cone. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Please don’t do that.” You say, inching away from him, from his hand that means more to you that he will ever understand, more than part of you ever will either. If your skin felt hot before, it’s practically boiling now. You’re shaking and his boring eyes are painful across so many levels that it’s overwhelming.

Max looks concerned, confused a little offended. “Why? What’s happening right now?” His oblivious words are almost endearing.

“When you touch me,” you breathe, “I feel it.”

He laughs suddenly. “Yeah, that tends to happen.”

“No,” you say, now desperate for him to understand. Desperate for him to tell you that you’re not the only one who feels it. “Not like that. I feel it more than you do. I feel it in my chest. I feel it and I don’t want it to stop.”

If this is news to Max, his facial expression doesn’t show it. His eyes are hard, analytical, processing your words. “What are you saying?”

You don’t reply. You can’t. It’s been years. Years and this thing, this growing, alive being nurtured inside of you has just finally poked through the floorboards. Max can see it now. He can see the petals and the stem and the leaves and the weeds and it’s like he’s discovering it for the first time. It’s something he’s never seen before, a species he’s never heard of.

You can’t do anything but sit there in silence. Your skin is red, it’s scorching, and you’re trapped between Max and a wall. There’s no escape. Part of you wants to crawl under the table and hide. Most of you wants to run out of the parlor in terror and mortification.

“Y/n,” Max says finally, pieces coming together in his mind. Your name sounds different in his mouth now. It sounds so delicate, so breakable. He’s scared of what he might do to it, scared it might shatter if he says it too quick or too harshly. “Please.”

He puts his hand on you again, tentatively, tugging at your elbow so you’ll look at him. And when you do, his eyes are still analytical and hard you feel like dying. You read somewhere that sometimes the ground opens up, spontaneously, and whole buildings can be swallowed hundreds of feet down into the earth. Sinkholes. You need a sinkhole. You need to be swallowed a hundred feet into the earth, never to be seen again.

Max leans a little closer and his gaze is still so serious, eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly agape. You can feel his breath. “Y/n,” he says again.

You hear a little splat and the realization that Max dropped his ice cream cone on the table is secondhand. He slides that, now empty, hand around the back of your neck and when you two kiss, the growing thing skyrockets like the beanstalk Jack had to climb in some fairy tale somewhere, and it feels like the perfect comparison because this very moment has to be something out of a children’s book, a Disney movie.

Max’s has ice cream on his lips and you can taste it. You wonder if he can taste the chocolate on yours.

Your thoughts do wander now, and not only can you ponder over your fingers in relation to Max, you can now wrap your arms around him and run them through the locks of hair at the base of his neck and hug him and grip his shoulders and touch his back and a million more things you can’t wait for.

Max giggles into your mouth and backs up a little. “This really is a different league of weird.”

You’re stomping on eggshells. “You don’t like it?”

He smiles. “I’m weird too. I’ve been this league of weird for a long time.”

“So it’s good weird?”

[a/n: okay so buckle up and get ready for some cheesy Ian stuff,,, that’s pretty much it. this imagine doesn’t go any deeper than that lol, hope you enjoy]

“Hello?“

The phone had picked up after only two rings. Only two. And it’s three in the morning.

You know he still cares for you, you always have. Even when it was happening. Even when you were hurling those sharp words at each other, like weaponry, so poignant and hurtful. You knew even when jabs were spilling past his gums, escaping the back of his throat, eager to hit oxygen, to snag on a nerve.

It was always there and you always felt it. His concern was ubiquitous, which is why it seemed so out of character that he completely retracted after you two broke up. Never texted, never called, never dropped by. He just slipped away and you let him.

“Hey,” you say, “how are things – your things? Like life and stuff.”

There’s a shaky breath on the other end and you suddenly feel shitty. This is the first time you’ve contacted Ian in months, and it’s when you’re a little inebriated and need something from him. You doubt he appreciates the gesture.

“I think you dialled the wrong number.”

You frown. His words rattle around some empty cavity in your chest and you can feel it all the way to your toes. “No. I know who this is.”

There’s another pause.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Well, kinda. I took the wrong bus a half an hour ago and I’m sorta drunk. I’m outside your apartment.” You laugh a little then, and it feels weighted. The sensation churns your stomach. “I’m sorry. This is so fucked. I just didn’t know what to do. It’s super, very late and I don’t have any more change and if I walked, who knows, it’s a sketchy neighborhood and some guy – or girl, racial equality – could come onto me or something. I was just freaked out I guess, I don’t know, I never know things.”

You ramble until you feel dumb and embarrassed. Your words are messy and only half of them make sense. It truly is in your best interest to shut up and let your ex boyfriend comprehend the small amount of relevant information you blabbered out between nonsense.

The line goes dead and your face grows hot with shame and the realization that maybe Ian slipped away so easily because he really had moved on. Maybe he really didn’t want to see or contact you. Maybe he really had meant all those awful things.

But then the lock of his apartment door rattles and you feel ridiculous for jumping to conclusions. You blame the alcohol.

When the door opens and you see Ian, for the first time in months, you really wish you weren’t so drunk and could think clearly through the emotions that are hitting you.

He’s in boxers, his tee shirt is wrinkled and his hair is pointing in every possible direction, because, oh yeah, most people actually sleep at this time of night.

“Hey,” he breathes out.

“Hey.” You reply awkwardly, glancing around because you don’t want to look directly him.

“Are you alright? What happened? Why are you drunk, do you need a ride home?” Ian peppers you casually with questions, but your head is spinning and you can’t quite take them all in. Seeing him in person is already overwhelming enough. Hearing his voice is that much more intense.

You sigh. “I’m okay. I’m just a mess.”

He sighs too. Things are weird. You expected that but you didn’t expect to be so affected by it.

“Come in,” Ian invites you, backing from the door. You step past him tentatively, glancing around, scared that his apartment may have changed somehow since you last saw it. You don’t know why you’re scared of that idea; maybe because it would mean he’s moved on from who he used to be, maybe it would mean he’s forgotten everything.

You let out a sigh of relief once you’re inside and he’s closed the door behind you. Things are how you’ve remembered them. A little cluttered, but clean for the most part. It still smells like carpet cleaner and sweat, something that you were used to months ago, but really hits you now.

“So what happened?”

You sit on the couch and laugh. “I’m an idiot is what happened. Y/f/n set me up with some guy and the date went sour. He left and I ordered a lot of drinks, like a lot of drinks, Ian,” you hiccup, “several drinks.”

He exhales through his nose dryly, almost amused. “I can see that.” Ian swallows awkwardly and sighs once more. “I, um. I didn’t realize you were dating again.”

Anxiousanxiousanxious is beating through your chest and your hands are sweaty and your fingers are trembling and this conversation is so hard to have, especially while you’re dizzy and partially conscious.

“Well.” You laugh and it’s dumb, but it spilled out before you could stop it. “I’m not, really. I can’t. I was just tired of feeling like this, ya know.”

“Feeling like what?”

“Feeling like shit. About everything. About what happened. About myself. About life in general. It’s all shit right now and I don’t know what else to do about it, Ian.” You laugh yet again and lean against the arm of his couch, unintentionally getting comfortable, just like old times. “Other than getting drunk, of course. That always helps.”

He sits down beside you then, plenty of space between the two of you. Enough room to breath. Enough room to continue to miss him.

He runs his hands up and down his bare knees. “I’m not dating either.”

This genuinely shocks you. You look over at him.

“You’re not?”

He meets your eyes and raises his eyebrows.

“I thought that you were, or that you have been.” You admit. “Since we didn’t really talk at all after things happened. I thought you were really done with it.”

Ian bites his lip and you feel bad for making him uncomfortable but you need to see his reaction, need to hear it. You want him to refute your words, to insist against them.

And he does.

“I was never done with it, y/n. I’m still not.”

Your eyes are watering and you reach forward and out your hand on his arm. When he doesn’t flinch or pull away, you continue.

“Okay, I’m super drunk right now, but I want you to know I mean it when I say that I’m not done either. That I still love you.“

Something in his expression breaks and you need to be closer to him, so close, too close until you’re back to being a single solid mass of akin and bones and characteristics; youandhim instead of you and him. You need to eliminate the spaces.

And so you lean forward and snake your arms around his neck, and he wraps his protectively around you, clutching you right and anchoring you to that spot on the couch, at three in the morning, in an apartment you haven’t seen in months.

“I love you too.” He says, “and I’m sorry.”

You smile into his shoulder, your face smushed against the fabric of his tee shirt.

“Jesus, y/n, you really smell like booze.”

You laugh and back away from him, hiccupping a little. “Sorry.”

He smiles, and it’s a sad one. It’s one that makes your stomach tickle in a nervous way. It’s one that makes you think that maybe this isn’t the reconciliation you thought it was.

“You should spend the night here. And then we can talk about this more in the morning. Get coffee or something.”

You want to reach out and touch him again but the atmosphere has dropped a few degrees and you feel like it isn’t the time. “Okay.”

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.

“What all do you remember?”

Ian is leaning against the doorway of the living room, his lips pressed tightly together, as tight as the clench in his jaw, as tight as the strain in the arms folded stubbornly across his chest.

You finish neatly creasing over the blanket he had lent you for your night on the couch, and then place the folded bunch of fabric next to you.

Your hands wring themselves absentmindedly, as if they are embarrassed for you and the encounter you’re about to have.

“I remember showing up drunk,” you laugh awkwardly, a forced and ungainly sight, like a foul learning to walk. “I remember talking about feelings.”

Ian is silent. Is there something important that you have forgotten? Is he waiting for something more? The migraine riddling your temples refuses to let you ponder any more over the transpiring events from last night.

“I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to impose. I hate that I’ve made things weird.”

Despite having slept in your clothes from last night, and adorning some impressively horrendous bed-head, you want to leave as soon as possible – without even showering. It pains you to think that you had waltzed straight through the middle of Ian’s efforts to get over you, and set the both of your progress back a good millennia or two.

“Things were already weird,” he finally says, “we didn’t leave off on a very righteous foot.”

You sigh, glancing down at your twiddling fingers. “That’s true.”

“And I’ve been thinking.” Ian continues, even though you hadn’t expected him to. “And a lot of it is my fault. I never, um,” he takes a deep breath and you can see that he’s pushing himself at this point, “I was never upfront about things that bothered me. Things I thought in general. I’ve been trying to work on it and…”

Your heart skips one, two, twelve beats. You’re holding your breath, you’re staying completely still. Anticipation is bubbling up under your skin, turning your face red and hot.

“And?” You urge.

“And maybe we can try to pick things up again. If you want to, that is.”

A sudden burst of thrilling happiness sprouts in your chest and you stand up then.

“I’d like that.”

[a/n: okayyy so i’m writing the ones for the other boys soon, i promise they’ll be out asap! also this is pretty much just like fight/make up fluffy angst for Joji. ENJOY!]

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The worst thing about ugly fights like this is that you almost never expect them. They’re sudden, like a car crash, and after things have been set in motion, after certain truths or accusations have been laid out in the open, there’s no stopping the catastrophe that’s sure to follow.

And that’s precisely what happened between you and Joji. A catastrophe.

It started out innocently enough. The two of you were cuddled together on the couch, watching some made-for-tv film with an overdone lifetime plot you couldn’t care less about – but then his hand started inching up your thigh. A previously welcomed action, one that he’s done plenty of times before, one that you’ve encouraged, but during this particular occasion, you just weren’t in the mood.

“Damn it, Joj, quit it.” You had scoffed, swatting his hand away defensively, eyes never leaving the television despite their lack of comprehension.

He had been quick to scoff back. “Sorry for being attracted to you. Jesus.”

Things had built quickly from there; you remember snapping him and shoving him away from you as he yelled, but other than that, things are a messy jumble in your head. There are a few words that remain very sharp and clear in your mind, but those are the things you wish you’d forget. Mean things. Things you’re surprised could have escalated from such a simple touch.

You had run straight to your shared bedroom, like a coward, and climbed into the shower so Joji wouldn’t hear you cry. It seems silly now, but at the time you weren’t thinking clearly and wanted nothing but to spit out your irrational emotions in private.

After calming down and exiting the shower, you found that Joji had fled your apartment to go cool off or rant about it to his friends. Even though you were frustrated and haughty, the fact that he had left made your stomach queasy with guilt and worry for the future of your relationship.

And so you had crawled into bed and slept away the mental exhaustion.

Now, upon waking, you check your phone and find that it has been nearly four and a half hours. It’s late. You feel muggy and gross, and kick the hot blanket off of your legs to lay in the coolness of your room and think about the events that had transpired earlier.

“All you think about is sex, you’re like a fucking fourteen year old! Grow up already!”

“Why are you bitching at me? Any other time you’re fine with it, I can’t read your fucking mind!”

“I’m not asking you to read my damn mind, Joji, jesus. I’m asking that you respect my decisions! Is feeling safe too much to ask?”

That was when Joji had dropped it. The thought makes you squeeze your eyes shut and will away the memory.

“Feel safe? Are you telling me you don’t feel safe?” His voice had been softer, and that made your hands shake, your eyes sting. “Real rich, y/n.”

And then you had run. And now here you are.

You want to wrap yourself in a blanket cocoon and stay there for years, the consequencing emotions are too much to bear. Guilt, embarrassment, regret, shame. They all make you want to tear your hair out. You’re afraid that you won’t be able to recover from this, that Joji will never look at you the same.

You hear the television click on in the living room, so you assume Joji got back – from wherever he had been – not too long ago. Your skin crawls with the thought of your eventual encounter; how awkward things are going to be. Will he side-step away from the topic? Or will he want to talk it out? Oh gosh, will he even want to talk to you at all?

You feel like crying again, but at this point you’re nearly fed up with all of the self-pity and moping. It’s not going to fix anything, and even though it’s all you want to do right now, you know there are certain actions you can easily take to try and break through the awful rift you’ve put between yourself and your boyfriend.

Though you’re trembling a little in anxiousness, you manage to slide out of bed and organize your thoughts as you stand there pondering what to do next.

There’s really nothing you can do except dive straight in; walk into the living room and talk to him about it. Apologize. Beg for forgiveness. Beg him not to break up with you.

As you gather the courage to leave the sanctuary of your bedroom, insecure thoughts creep into your conscious mind like pesky insects. What if he’s already made up his mind? What if he’s already decided to break up with me? What if he’s already moved on, and left the house to go make moves on some other potential partner? What if he only came back to pack up his stuff and leave?

There are so many things you’re afraid of, and you’re having a difficult time untangling the insanity at the forefront of your thoughts. Joji would always roll his eyes at this tendency of yours; the tendency to think irrationally anytime something didn’t go your way, to make absurd conclusions and assume the worst to the point of driving yourself crazy.

Maybe things aren’t so bad. Maybe Joji hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

You’ll never know unless you go out there and talk to him about it.

You inhale and exhale loudly, clearing your mind, and then you do it. You open your bedroom door and you walk into the living room to confront your boyfriend about the ugly catastrophe you caused earlier.

It’s dark and the only light comes from the television, and the kitchen fluorescents Joji must have left on when he went to grab the beer currently clutched in his hand.

He’s sitting on the couch, in the same space he had been when the entire fiasco between you two had started, and he looks up when you hears you come in. You can only stand to look in his eyes for a moment before the shame swallows you and you have look down.

Your face is red and your voice wavers as you speak up, “I’m, uh, I’m glad your home.” You realize you’re swaddled in nothing except for underwear and one of Joji’s oversized shirts – one you had tugged on absentmindedly after your shower. It smells like him because you had snatched it out of the hamper. It probably hasn’t been washed for a week or two. You don’t mind that. However, you do mind how ridiculous you must look, fiddling with them of his shirt, one you put on without asking, trying to apologize for the awful things you said to him not even six hours ago.

The blush runs down your neck now, and even though the lighting is dim, you’re sure he can see how befuddled you are.

He doesn’t reply. You continue quietly.

“I wasn’t right, I was,” you make the mistake of looking back up at him, and his peering eyes, and immediately squeeze yours shut. You can’t look at him when you do this. You can’t see his reaction. His possible disappointment or disgust. “I was an asshole. I just, I love you so much and I shouldn’t have said those things. I wasn’t thinking and I feel so ashamed of myself, I feel really guilty for hurting you.”

Your breaths become shaky and every single fiber of your body is screaming at you to hold back your foolish tears, to give Joji the earnest, heartfelt apology that he deserves and to stay firm and grounded when you deliver it.

The thought that you can’t give him a proper sorry pushes you over the top.

“I just,” your eyes have glossed over and you feel tears gathering precariously in the corners of your lids, on the verge of escaping and trickling down your cheeks, bearing your emotional incapacity to admit your faults. How pathetic, you think to yourself, how sad is it that you can’t even apologize to your boyfriend when you’ve offended him?

It’s all too much and suddenly that worst case scenario becomes a reality; you burst into a tears, a crying sniveling mess, standing right before your boyfriend, in his own shirt asking him to forgive things you can’t even talk about without falling apart.

Joji is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and resting his chin on the crown of your head. “Oh, y/n. It’s okay. I forgive you, I promise.”

His words only make you feel worse. “No, you can’t. What I said was really awful. I didn’t mean it and I shouldn’t have accused you of making me feel unsafe. You really, truly don’t. I love you so much and I have never felt more at home with anyone else in the world.” You talk through your tears like a child, your face smushed against your boyfriend’s chest, tears wetting his shirt.

He rubs your back soothingly, and even though you feel guilty that he’s comforting you over something you did wrong, you don’t want him to stop. “You’re not the only person who needs to apologize. I may not make you feel unsafe, but you even saying that means I’ve at least made you feel uncomfortable before – and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me when that happens.”

Joji backs away from you a little, and clasps your hands lightly in each of his, stepping backwards and tugging you with him until he’s backed into the couch. He puls you down beside him and you cuddle into his side.

You laugh a little as he grabs a throw blanket and wraps it around the two of you. “I legitimately thought you were going to break up with me.” You lay your head on his shoulder and he swipes a few strands of hair away from your face.

“Oh my god, y/n.” He sighs. “You overthink too much. Fights happen. It’s not the end of the world.”

You snake your arms around his torso and just sit there for a moment. “Okay, yeah, it seems kinda dumb now.”

“It’s not dumb.” Joji assures you. “Just… silly? Ridiculous? Completely arbitrary?”

You laugh. “Yeah.”

He laughs too, and rubs your side. You both sit there quietly, thinking to yourselves, no doubt about one another, and toast over everything that’s happened today. You’re emotionally exhausted and very content just sitting and unwinding with your boyfriend on the couch, saying and doing absolutely nothing.

“You tired? It’s like three in the morning.”

“No,” you scoff to yourself, “I just had a really long nap.”

Joji makes one of those cute laugh noises, exhaling out his nose. “Okay so what do you want to do?”

“Let’s find that movie again. I’m actually really curious about what happened to the little boy’s dog.”

“Ugh. Fine. But only because I love you, that movie was awful. Like if I was on a plane, I’d rather it crash and kill me than play that movie.”