28 Ian #2
Still, the phone is something. Ian rolls on their back and opens it up.
Password, of course, but Ian still remembers the original password from when they hacked the last phone and types it in.
It works. People are so reliable except when they’re not.
The phone doesn’t have anything on it though, not even email, aside from one app, something Ian has never seen, called Connor-auction , with the icon that usually means the app is broken.
Ian frowns, not sure what that means. But it’s time to leave.
They shimmy back out from under the bed but kick one of the metal pieces as they do.
It makes a sound like a gong, and they freeze in place, only their head and hands out from under the bed.
The voices outside get louder, like someone is walking this way.
Ian contemplates getting back under the bed, but they’ve already searched everywhere.
They have Jon’s phone. And if they’re caught under the bed, it looks a lot weirder than if they’re just in there, like they got lost. So they quickly get out from under the bed, scraping their ankle on the underside as they do so.
The door opens just as they stand up. Jon stands in the door. He’s bigger than Ian remembered, or maybe it’s just the light from the kitchen behind him. He looks large, mean, and suspicious.
“What are you doing in here?” he demands.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ian says, pushing past him, trying to get away and keep the phone hidden, half up their sleeve.
Jon turns to follow them, and Ian walks faster, glancing back, and then feels their foot catch on the rug in the living room.
They focus on hiding the phone, not staying up, and fall with a bit less grace than they’d like.
But the phone stays hidden in their sleeve.
“Whoa!” Nicole shouts from the kitchen. “Do not push my friend!”
“He didn’t push them,” Brandon, also in the kitchen, says. And he’s right; Jon might be scary, but he didn’t push Ian.
“He didn’t—” Ian says, doing their best to rise with some dignity, but the scrape on their leg hurts, and they limp slightly as they step forward.
When they look up, everyone is there: Ollie, Tom, and Safiya watching them from the stairs like Ian is onstage and just fell during a routine.
But Victor is already beside him, heat radiating off his body.
“What is going on?” Victor asks, that sexy fire in his eyes. “Who even is this guy?”
“He’s my—” Brandon says.
“It’s fine,” Jon says, one hand up, smiling at Ian like nothing weird is happening, even though Ian knows it is, has Jon’s phone. “I just found Ian in our room and asked them what they were doing.”
“I just got turned around,” Ian says, shrugging and then hooking their hands in their pockets so they can hide the phone in one.
“Okay,” Ollie says. “So it’s all fine! Let’s go back upstairs and keep playing. You missed the lesbian question, Nicole.”
“No, I want to know what this guy was doing to Ian,” Victor says. He’s in full defensive pit bull mode. It’s hot.
“Victor, relax,” Tom says. “You just said—”
“I look out for my friends,” Victor shouts at him. “And that means protecting them from drug dealers and whatever”—he spins on Jon—“you are.”
“I’m not a drug dealer,” Tom says with a reedy laugh. Hopefully after tonight, he’ll think Ian is insane and Ian won’t have to blow him off anymore.
“And I’m just a guy,” Jon says. “Relax, man.”
“Victor—” Ian puts their hand on Victor’s shoulder and squeezes slightly, starting to tell him to relax, that they just tripped.
But Victor barely seems to register it. “Watch yourself.” He reaches out and shoves Jon’s shoulder slightly, causing his beer to splash up all over his face. Starting a fight.
Ian feels their toes curl. They should not be so into this.
“Fuck,” Jon says, pulling up his tee to wipe his face.
“What the hell, Victor?” Brandon asks, standing between him and Jon. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“He pushed Ian!” Victor shouts back, face turning pink. “I’m not letting this guy hurt anyone.”
“He’s not going to hurt anyone,” Brandon yells back.
Ian tries to put their hand up, but Brandon’s rage vibrates through them, pinning them in place.
He sounds so hurt. And Ian knows why—he loves Jon.
That stupid love you feel after a few right moments.
Ian remembers when they felt it for Victor, remembers what it was like being in love.
They’d respond just like Brandon is. Even if Jon is a spy or a traitor or whatever that woman with the sunglasses said, it doesn’t matter.
Ian could tell Brandon everything, and for Brandon, it wouldn’t change a thing.
Ian feels guilty for a moment, but also jealous. They miss being that in love.
“Just cool down!” Brandon says to Victor, which is way tamer than Ian would have been.
“‘Cool down’?” Victor asks, even louder. “Fuck you, ‘cool down’!”
And then Brandon throws his drink on Victor. Full Real Housewives style. Ian almost wants to applaud.
“Cool down,” Brandon repeats, calmer. Ian feels themself grinning. They know they shouldn’t—this is all very, very bad—but just watching it, it’s kind of a great show.
“Okay,” Ollie says, waving his arms. “Let’s all just relax.”
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Ian says, almost laughing. “What the fuck, Brandon?” They mean it like what the fuck made them go full soap opera , but it sounds like they’re angrier than that.
“He shoved Jon!” Brandon shrieks, the soap opera dialing up to eleven.
“Jon shoved Ian,” Nicole says. “C’mon, Brandon—”
“No, I didn’t,” Jon protests.
“He—” Ian starts to try to make it clear that this is all a big overreaction again.
“Please!” Ollie shouts again, but now Victor is repeating what he saw in a fast voice, Jon speaking over him, saying what actually happened—he found Ian snooping and Ian tripped.
Ian tries to cut in with “yes” and “I tripped,” but no one is listening to anyone now.
So, instead, they look at Victor, face red, sweat on his brow.
If they were still together, they’d be naked by now.
“Why don’t any of you give Jon a chance?” Brandon screams in a quieter moment, and everyone turns to him. Maybe everyone else hears it now, too, the sound of being in love.
Ian tries to smile, to tell Brandon that they get it, but this isn’t healthy, Jon is scary—can’t he just step back from the love for just a moment? But Brandon’s eyes are so hard and cold and filled with a fury that Ian can see their reflection in them, and they look away.
“I really like him,” Brandon says, “and you’re all here snooping”—he points at Ian—“or interrogating”—his hand flies over to Nicole—“or trying to be smart and find stuff out but just embarrassing yourself,” he says, his gesture ending at Ollie and then dropping to his side like he just fired three bullets out of it.
“I’m just trying to solve the case!” Ollie protests, but it sounds weak.
“Case?” Tom asks, but Ian doesn’t want to even try to explain.
“He’s trouble, Brandon,” Nicole says. “Can’t you see that?”
“Oh, like you would know, with your nose in your phone all night. Texting your boss?”
Ouch, that one is rough, especially coming from Brandon.
“Yeah, you want to talk about bad romantic decisions, how about that one? Or you.” Brandon turns on Ian, and Ian shivers. “Bringing the guy you say is ‘too nice’ but is clearly a drug dealer and the ex you were hate stalking until today to the same party?”
That was uncalled for—in front of all of them. Ian feels a rage rising to meet Brandon’s, but all they can manage is “Fuck you.” And then they look at Victor, part of them hoping Victor will be smiling, but he just looks confused. It feels like a slap, and Ian turns away.
Brandon is crying now. “It’s like the moment I find something that makes me happy, and not just the butt of all your jokes, you need to do everything you can to take it away from me,”
“Hey,” Jon says, taking Brandon’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“He’s dangerous,” Nicole says, now her turn to point at Jon. “Look what he did to Ian!”
Ian sighs; they really fucked it all up. They go to say something, but again, they’re too late, as Brandon shoves past them, getting between Jon and Victor.
“Let’s clean you up. I think we’re done for the night.” Brandon pulls Jon back into the den and slams the door.
Ollie laughs, almost manic. “Well, that was dramatic.”
“Oh, shut up, Ollie,” Nicole says, taking a long swig of her beer.
“Are you okay?” Tom and Victor ask Ian, voices overlapping.
Ian smiles a little at the thrill of that.
Even with everything going on, being fought over feels good.
Which is fucked-up, they know. Then Victor backs up, letting Tom step closer to Ian, and Ian feels disappointed.
Even more fucked-up. They really need to make better choices.
“I’m really fine,” Ian says, forcing a laugh. “Victor, you shouldn’t have pushed him. I just tripped. It was all just…a misunderstanding.”
“Was it?” Nicole asks. “Or were you snooping?”
Ian rolls their eyes. “Like you wouldn’t? We’re all doing it. Brandon was right.”
“Because he’s bad news!” Nicole says again. “Are we all forgetting what Ollie and Brandon saw?”
“This is why I was trying to be subtle,” Ollie says.
Nicole throws her head back and cackles. “You think that was subtle? Jesus, Ollie, you were as subtle as a car crash.”
Ian almost gasps. Sure, sometimes—a lot of times—they’re all pretty mean to each other. But tonight it feels like everyone has been cruel. Except them, right? They look up at Tom and Victor, both looking between each other and at Ian. No, they realize. They’ve been cruel, too.
“I didn’t mean—” Nicole says.
“It’s fine,” Ollie interrupts in a numb voice.
“Hey,” Victor says, his dark brown eyes searching Ian’s. “Can we just talk? Privately?”
Ian bites their lower lip and nods. “Yeah, sure. I’m staying in the master bedroom, upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
Ian leads Victor upstairs, almost feeling like they should take his hand, be coquettish.
But that’s not the energy Victor has. The fire in him has faded a little, and when Ian closes the bedroom door behind them, Victor doesn’t make a move toward them.
Instead he just sits down on the bed, puts his head in his hands, and cries.
Ian sits down next to him, not sure what’s going on. Their body tingles with the fight that almost broke out, the theft they committed, Tom and Victor’s sniping, all of it so chaotic and hot, an engine revving up to full speed.
“I’m sorry,” Ian says, not entirely sure what they’re apologizing for. “I don’t know Jon. I didn’t invite him.”
Victor shakes his head. “That’s not it. He’s an asshole, but that’s not—” He stops himself with a deep breath and looks up at Ian. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.”
“Why not?” Ian says, leaning into him slightly. “You’ve been great.”
“I thought we could be friends, you know?” He wipes a tear off his cheek with his hand. “I thought maybe you’d forgive me for what I did.”
Ian shakes their head, confused. “What have I done that makes you think I haven’t?”
Victor smiles a little. Ian loves his smiles. He goes from this slab of muscle and fire to something so soft, and every smile feels like it’s just for Ian. “No, that’s not the problem. The problem is I still feel that…” He rubs his chest. “Between us.”
“Is that bad?” Ian asks, leaning even closer, close enough to smell the gin on Victor’s breath.
Victor stands quickly. “Yes, of course.” He looks at Ian, pleading. “Don’t you get it? Didn’t you see who I became down there? I haven’t been that guy in a year. But us, all that fire, it turns into rage. I just get so angry.”
Ian stands up, moving closer. “I know. It’s a spark between us. It’s special.”
“No.” Victor steps back, shaking his head.
“No, Ian. It’s not a spark. It’s a bomb.
I don’t want to be that guy downstairs who wanted to start a fight.
And you, somehow, always bring that out in me.
” He starts to cry again and wipes away both his tears.
“I care about you. I want to be friends. But this was too much, too soon, I think. I should go.”
“Wait,” Ian says, reaching out, but Victor is faster, out the door like a snuffed candle.
Ian follows him and watches him go down the stairs, and they wait for the rage to swell up in them.
Victor cheated, ended their relationship, and now, just when it’s clear they should be together, that there’s still something between them, he leaves again, abandoning them in a dark hall.
Why is he always leaving Ian? Because something in Ian is broken, they know.
That rage Victor doesn’t want to feel? Ian is addicted to it.
It’s so much better than what they could be feeling otherwise, the flood of sadness that’s always at the edges of them. They hold it off with fire.
So that’s what they do again now: That asshole , they tell themself. That fucking coward. They clench their jaw, and their hands turn to fists, and they march down the hall back into the game room. Ian’s not sad now. Fuck Victor.
Everyone looks up as Ian walks in, but they keep their face steady, neutral. The best rage is the kind that isn’t too obvious. They sit down next to Tom and announce it: “Victor is going home.”
“Oh,” Ollie says. “Well, that’s all right. It was good to see him, right?”
“Sure,” Ian says. That asshole.
“So, Pictionary?” Ollie asks. “Want to make teams? Nicole had said boys versus girls, so Ian, whatever you’re feeling.”
“Whatever,” Ian says. They are totally going to key his car later.
“Be on my team,” Tom says, suddenly taking Ian’s hand.
Ian looks down at their hands meeting and feels nothing. No fire. Just meat.
“Yeah. Boys,” they say.
Safiya and Nicole start, but then there’s the sound of a door slamming downstairs, loud enough that they can all hear it. Everyone stops, looking at each other.
“Victor wouldn’t have done that,” Ian says. “He wasn’t angry.” Asshole.
Everyone clambers downstairs, eager for whatever new drama is unfolding. The front door is closed, but standing in front of it, dripping and in just a towel, is Brandon, who turns as they come down the stairs. His eyes are red with tears.
“He left.”
Ian takes a deep breath, seeing in Brandon everything they’re feeling, too—like they’re naked and wet and abandoned. That’s what they would become if they let the sadness flood them. Better to be fire.