More Than Words(Maxian)

Part 6

A/N: The lyrics in this part are from a song called "You Were Meant for Me" by Jewel. Enjoy!

The night went by fairly quickly, and before he knew it, it was seven o'clock in the morning and the sitcom reruns started playing. Ian was tired again, so he turned off the tv and went to his bedroom. He set his glasses on the nightstand and laid down. Within minutes, he fell asleep and didn't wake up until about five in the afternoon. By that time, he'd gotten very hungry, and he knew he didn't really have anything to eat in the kitchen. He groaned and got in the shower because he knew he looked like shit.

The shower was steamy and somewhat relaxing, but not quite relaxing enough to take his mind off of things. In fact, he noticed that he actually started thinking more about it. As he shampooed his hair, he thought about the time he and Max had showered together. It was a strange thing because they were both normally so private. Even when he heard other people talk about it, Ian could never picture himself showering with his partner, but at times it felt like he and Max had merged and became one person.

Goddamnit, he couldn't even take a shower without thinking about the curly-headed Aussie. After about twenty-five more minutes of just standing under the hot stream, he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. Ian walked to to his bedroom and sat down on his bed. Sure, he was cold because he was wet, but he just sat there deep in thought. He ended up sitting there so long that he was dry by the time he got up.

Mechanically, he put on a long sleeve shirt, deodorant, boxers, jeans, and socks. Ian was the kind of person who generally did things quickly. If he went for a walk, it would turn into a speedwalk. If he had to get up in the morning to be somewhere, he would only have to get up about ten minutes before he had to leave. But now, he was doing things like he was ninety and in a nursing home. He thought it was actually quite weird how depression can age people.

After slumping downstairs, he put on a pair of sneakers and headed out the door. The drive to his local diner wasn't very long at all, and when he got there, Ian ordered a hamburger and coffee. The diner itself was pretty classic-looking: red booths, black and white checkered tile, and ceiling lamps. Photos lined the walls and there were no blinds or curtains. Matchbox Twenty could be heard playing lowly, and Ian knew the lyrics but not the title of the song. There were only a few people there, so it was quiet, causing Ian's thoughts to wonder once again.

As he waited for his food, he thought about how his dad used to take him to similar diners when he was a kid and how much he used to love it. Now he only went out to eat when he was on a time crunch or as a last resort when he was travelling. He didn't like the mystery that came with dining out. Since no one really knows exactly what's in in the food or how the employees prepare it, Ian felt it was like reaching his arm into a black hole and eating whatever he came away with. Looking around the diner, he wondered if waitresses really do live off of just tips. He shrugged and set a twenty dollar tip on the other side of the table.

Just as he was thinking of other low-income occupations that could be referred to as second jobs or "side hustles", the waitress walked over with a plate and a paper cup. She gently sat the food in front of Ian and smiled. "There you are, sir."

"Thank you." He found it funny that she looked sort of like Flo from the Progressive advertisements, but he didn't chuckle as he normally would have and instead just looked down at his meal as she made her way to a table of three elderly women. As he ate, he couldn't help but wonder what Jordan was doing and thinking about. Was he sad? Angry? Did he regret the way he treated Ian?

"Does he miss me?" Ian whispered to himself. Truthfully, Ian knew the answers to all of those questions. It hurt to know, so he tried to picture it differently: maybe somewhere deep down, Jordan hated the things he'd done to Ian but just wasn't able to change. There was one question, though, that Ian didn't know the answer to, and that was whether or not Jordan really did love him.

A sigh escaped Ian as he leaned back. He wasn't quite finished with his coffee, so he figured he'd sit back and relax for a few minutes until he did. Sitting quietly, Ian began to listen to the lyrics of the song that was playing. Quiet clinks of the plates and silverware accompanied the music.

"Dreams last for so long, even after you're gone..."

His hand reached for the cup and brought it to his lips. He sipped the fresh coffee as he took in the lyrics. When he was about to set the coffee back down on the table, he realized that he was shaking. The sight took him back and engulfed him in memories. Staring at his hand, he thought of the way Jordan had slapped him; when he called him a dumbass, a slut, and the how hard he shook during the encounter. He was unaware of the fact that he was pretty much panting as he continued to stare off, completely consumed by his thoughts. The way Max looked that day on the park bench kept coming back to him. It was like Max was different than he ever was before when he walked up to him wearing that blank, unreadable expression.

"I know you love me. And soon you will see, you were meant for me. And I was meant for you..."

His breath shuddered as the first tear trickled down his cheek and plopped onto the table. Another landed right next to the first as a whine caught in his throat. A few more tears dripped down, the paper cup oddly enough partially absorbing the liquid. Unable to handle the emotion his memories brought forth and the way the song corresponded with he and Max's relationship, Ian put his head down on the table, his forearm supporting his forehead as he practically curled in on himself. He bit down on his wrist as distressed sobs escaped him, his shoulders shaking with the force of his melancholia.

"It made me miss you oh so bad 'cause dreams last for so long, even after you're gone..."

Ian hurriedly got up from his seat and started for the door, just shy of running. The people staring at him as if he was a mad man didn't matter; he had to do this.