Read the things he doesn't say first.
This one is on the heavier side since it's Ian's POV and his thought process while he's going through a depressive phase.
Nothing serious happens but I thought I would mention it. Otherwise, I truly hope you enjoy as this may be one of my most favourite things I have written & I'm extremely proud.
(the picture above is how i picture ian at one point in this fic, which you'll probably realize too.)
——
You're drowning. You feel like you're six feet under, unable to catch your breath— to find your breath.
But you feel the wind in your hair, maybe you're floating? The wind is swaying your body side to side soothingly but then it's nauseating.
It hurts.
One moment you're on cloud nine and the next you're being suffocated. The pain comes and goes on it's own accords and you can't control it. You're a man of persistence and your work ethic and doing what you put your mind to. So to be in the unknown, in the darkness while everyone is living in the sun- it burns.
You knew this was bound to happen. Things get bad before they get good again but it doesn't mean you need to like it.
Because you don't.
You hate it. You hate knowing things will get bad even when you're not there yet. Your body is living in the now but your mind is preparing for what's to come, the downfall.
The low, low, low.
You wish you were where everyone else is. Physically, mentally, in all aspects; you wish you were anything but this. But laying in bed, alone and cold and fearing your own self.
Sure you asked to be left alone but only because you're tired of looking at everyone's faces. As if you're fragile and broken and inhumane. It breaks your heart to see them like this because of you, of who you are, you wish you could make it better.
You can't.
You can't get out of bed, make yourself whole again, so thinking of anyone else is off the table.
It's straining to think of anyone, of anything.
All you've done for the last hour is look out the window. At the lonesome star shining through the darkness of the sky.
You see it as a sliver of hope, the silver lining as they say. But it's difficult to, when you've been through hell over and over the only silver lining is the brightness of the flame now.
The breeze shakes you away from your thoughts, your toes curl and that's enough hope you need for today. Some days you can't talk or move or even breathe but today you can. Today your feet move under the covers and you shift from your side to your back.
The room spins for a moment but then relief washes your body. You tried and you did and it's a small feat but it's everything to you. It's the first step in the right direction, things will be okay again.
A groan elicits from your throat at the movement, deep and rough. You're unable to recognize your own voice having not talked for the past week. You need water, you shift your head toward the table and see a full glass of water and a sandwich.
You stretch your arm, your muscles ache and everything strains but you reach the glass. There's a straw in it and any other day, you would've hated seeing it -a sign of weakness- but today you don't.
You drink more than half the glass and just as you're about to move it, it spills on you.
You're cold and wet and the sheets are getting wet too and you hate it but- but you also don't.
