Fix Me (super gay fanfiction)

Gay

       Your chest felt empty as you stepped up onto the doorstep of his house meant for one. You always wondered how you fit into there. Ian's place was always so crowded with fan mail and filming equipment, it seemed like you had to step over something in every room. But that was one of your favorite things about him, he never really cleaned up too well. Your hand shook as you tried to gather the courage to knock on his door as you held a bag of his items in the other. Who would've thought that your stubbornness and his busy life could've ended your ideal relationship? He was a nerdy, intellectual guy and you were practically the same. Why did that end?
       A long drawn out breath left your lips as you softly knocked on the door. No response. You knocked once more, half hoping he would answer, bald hoping he wouldn't. No response. You decided to be brash and ring the doorbell. His heavy footsteps, that you always hated, signed that he was approaching. Ian opened the door, wearing pajamas and looking rougher than ever. "Hey." he said, almost as if you were a stranger. It felt like it. You had a lump in your throat as you tried with everything in you not to cry. "Hey, Ian." Your arm felt weak as you lifted up his bag full of clothes and other items he left at your house that you couldn't bear to look at sitting on your floor. "I washed them for you." You said as a limp smile grew across your face. He barely smirked back. You could tell he was taking it as hard as you. It was eating him alive.
         "Listen, Y/N, can we just," tears welled up in his swollen eyes. "Can we please just talk about this, us, I need to. Please." You couldn't say no to him. You never could. Your heart began to feel heavy and a headache grew in your forehead. You solemnly shook your head as he motioned for you to walk in.
      His house hadn't been cleaned since you left him, you could tell. Dishes were piled in the sink, trash collecting on the floor. The couch had blankets sprawled across it and the tv was on but nothing played on its flat screen. You didn't even want to know what the bedroom looked like. Your OCD kicked in and you felt the urge to clean his house, just like you always did. You sat on the couch while he sat in his, as he called it, "butt imprint spot." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. You could hear YouTube being played in the back in the filming room. "How long have you been watching videos to make fun of?" You joked, trying to make him speak. "I needed inspiration, but that's been hard to come by lately." Ouch. First blow to the gut down. How many more times will he try and make you feel like shit? "All I can ask, Y/N, is," his voice trailed off while his heart went, too. "Why? What did I do to cause you to leave? Where do I go wrong?" Ouch. Second blow. "I don't know what to tell y-" "Yes you fucking do. Don't lie to me. Is there someone else? Did you think I was cheating on you?" He pulled his phone out of his pocket and threw it in your lap. "Look through it; your thumbprint is still in there. I have nothing to hide. I get the occasional weird message from some girl on twitter but I don't reply. Why did you leave?" You looked at his phone. His lock screen was still a picture of you and him. Words had left your brain completely. "Well, come on," he somewhat yelled. "I don't have all day." You felt tears hit your hand as your head was hung. "Ian," you struggled to get words out, "I left you because I was too worried about the way you felt about me compared to everyone else. I constantly worried you didn't love me like you said you did, or you'd meet someone new and I'd be gone and forgotten. It was too stressful. This relationship won't work unless..." your voice lost its power as your shoulders began to shake from crying. Ian didn't know whether or not to hug you. His "fuck it" mentality kicked in. Soon you felt a warm embrace from a long pair of arms that felt like home. You have never cried harder. You wanted him so bad but you know you couldn't do it. After about a minute of hugging, you recollected yourself. "This relationship won't work unless you focus less on YouTube." He seemed appalled. He thought he made time for you? "I'm sorry. I thought, I thought I made time for you. That's my job, Y/N, I can't just focus less on it." Your neck began to burn. Why can't he realize you're more important? You wanted to smart off like you always did but you could tell he was truly hurting. "I still love you." He said in your ear. It sent chills. He's never said it so sincerely. "I love you, too." You replied. It seemed almost automatic. You leaned your head onto his shoulder and kept it there for a while until all the depression was gone. He began to lay back but you knew it was a trap. "You cannot be with him. It's for your own good, right? " These thoughts crowded your mind.
          You grabbed your purse and picked up his hand. "Ian, I love you and I always will, but we can't be. It just won't work. Come find me whenever you have moved on from this." You began to walk out as he called your name once more. You turned around, expecting him to be a mess, but he had a genuine smile on his face. "Thank you for coming and seeing me, make sure to watch my shit, okay? Don't be a faggot about it. " You chuckled at his old, cute humor. Your hand touched the doorknob and the memories of your year long relationship flooded your brain. However, this time it didn't bring pain, it brought happiness and a nostalgic feeling of a time that was good. You knew this wouldn't be the last time you'll see him. For sure.