Ianto Jones (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} notjusta_teaboy) wrote,@ 2008-01-07 04:43:00 |
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Staring at the Dark Again, You Left Your Silhouette Upon My Pillow ...
The silence is the first thing that gets to him. It's so quiet, the flat shouldn't be quiet. But Dee is out, seems he can stand being stuck in the flat even less in winter than he can usually. And Alex is...gone. Just left. God knows where. He just walked out. And Ianto didn't stop him. He couldn't. Not again, not this time. There were only so many times he could chase after him, ask and plead and make nice until Alex came back.
The past few days have passed in a blur. He's cleaned the entire flat top to bottom. Kitchen. Living room. Bathroom. Bedroom. Their room. Our room. Only his now. He's spread his clothes out so they fill the entire closet. Torn the sheets off the bed (our bed) and washed them until they're crisp white and smell of nothing but laundry soap.
He's in the kitchen now, making coffee, although the ritual, still familiar, is no longer comforting. He thinks for a moment about something stronger. He looks through the cabinets, but the only thing he can find is a bottle of vodka. The same bottle, still half full. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and pours it down the sink without looking. No one to drink it now.
He sets the coffee maker on the counter, gets it going, the soft rumbling sounds it makes seeming to echo the churning thoughts in his head. He's tried not to let himself think about it too much over the past few days, but he can't keep this up, just...going. He has to acknowledge it. Acknowledge his mistake.
That's what it had been, a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake, and no one to blame but himself. Everyone had told him, Alex had told him, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen. Wanted to believe that Alex could change, would change, for him.
And he had tried. God, he had tried so hard. Given him a place to stay, invited him into his house, his room, his bed. And he had been kind and understanding, put up with Alex's coldness and distance, his lack of emotion, his desire not to be touched. He'd left him alone, let him be, been honest, kept his promises.
The coffee maker stops its rumbling, he pours himself a cup. It's hot and bitter, but he drinks it down anyway, not caring that it burns his throat.
He looks around the kitchen. God, always the fucking kitchen. Started and ended here, didn't it? He remembers the very first time, when he had asked Alex to stay for the night. Yeah, well, he turned you down then, didn't he? Should have listened. Remembers Alex in the kitchen, breaking dishes on the floor, then leaving. You never learn, do you? And the night of the Halloween party, when he'd asked Alex to move in with him. He didn't want to, did he? Why didn't you listen? They'd ended up in the kitchen, trading harsh words, before he left for the party. Alone.
That's just the way of things, though, isn't it? He's an idiot not to have seen it before. But he didn't, had to hold on, had to keep hoping that things would be different. When they weren't. When they never would be. Just the same things over and over. He'd just lied to himself, turned a blind eye again and again, until he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face.
He takes another sip of his coffee, barely tasting it. "Should have listened. Should have fucking listened."
It's good that Alex is gone, that's what he tells himself. He can concentrate more on leaving Margate. There's nothing to hold him back now. Nothing worth sticking around for. He'll find out how to get back home. To Cardiff. To Torchwood. To Jack.
Jack. He's missed him so much these past few days that it's almost like a physical ache. This whole...everything has just highlighted everything that Jack is and Alex isn't. Jack never took him for granted, never treated him like he was nothing, never acted like what he wanted wasn't important. He wants him back, wants to be with him again. Wants to be held by him, kissed by him, even hear him ask for a cup of coffee. He loves Jack, and hates that it had to come to this, that he's had to lose him, before he realised it.
He blinks his eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. His coffee's gone cold, and he dumps it down the sink, does the washing up, and puts everything away, not noticing any of it.
He collapses on his bed, still fully clothed, exhausted but not tired. Why didn't you listen? He can't keep having his heart broken like this. Why didn't you listen? He's going to go out tomorrow, to the beach or the cafe, talk to people, see how the New Year is going. Why didn't you listen? The window's open, he should close it, Alex doesn't like the cold. Doesn't matter anymore. Why didn't you listen?
The silence is the first thing that gets to him. It's so quiet, the flat shouldn't be quiet. But Dee is out, seems he can stand being stuck in the flat even less in winter than he can usually. And Alex is...gone. Just left. God knows where. He just walked out. And Ianto didn't stop him. He couldn't. Not again, not this time. There were only so many times he could chase after him, ask and plead and make nice until Alex came back.
The past few days have passed in a blur. He's cleaned the entire flat top to bottom. Kitchen. Living room. Bathroom. Bedroom. Their room. Our room. Only his now. He's spread his clothes out so they fill the entire closet. Torn the sheets off the bed (our bed) and washed them until they're crisp white and smell of nothing but laundry soap.
He's in the kitchen now, making coffee, although the ritual, still familiar, is no longer comforting. He thinks for a moment about something stronger. He looks through the cabinets, but the only thing he can find is a bottle of vodka. The same bottle, still half full. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and pours it down the sink without looking. No one to drink it now.
He sets the coffee maker on the counter, gets it going, the soft rumbling sounds it makes seeming to echo the churning thoughts in his head. He's tried not to let himself think about it too much over the past few days, but he can't keep this up, just...going. He has to acknowledge it. Acknowledge his mistake.
That's what it had been, a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake, and no one to blame but himself. Everyone had told him, Alex had told him, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen. Wanted to believe that Alex could change, would change, for him.
And he had tried. God, he had tried so hard. Given him a place to stay, invited him into his house, his room, his bed. And he had been kind and understanding, put up with Alex's coldness and distance, his lack of emotion, his desire not to be touched. He'd left him alone, let him be, been honest, kept his promises.
The coffee maker stops its rumbling, he pours himself a cup. It's hot and bitter, but he drinks it down anyway, not caring that it burns his throat.
He looks around the kitchen. God, always the fucking kitchen. Started and ended here, didn't it? He remembers the very first time, when he had asked Alex to stay for the night. Yeah, well, he turned you down then, didn't he? Should have listened. Remembers Alex in the kitchen, breaking dishes on the floor, then leaving. You never learn, do you? And the night of the Halloween party, when he'd asked Alex to move in with him. He didn't want to, did he? Why didn't you listen? They'd ended up in the kitchen, trading harsh words, before he left for the party. Alone.
That's just the way of things, though, isn't it? He's an idiot not to have seen it before. But he didn't, had to hold on, had to keep hoping that things would be different. When they weren't. When they never would be. Just the same things over and over. He'd just lied to himself, turned a blind eye again and again, until he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face.
He takes another sip of his coffee, barely tasting it. "Should have listened. Should have fucking listened."
It's good that Alex is gone, that's what he tells himself. He can concentrate more on leaving Margate. There's nothing to hold him back now. Nothing worth sticking around for. He'll find out how to get back home. To Cardiff. To Torchwood. To Jack.
Jack. He's missed him so much these past few days that it's almost like a physical ache. This whole...everything has just highlighted everything that Jack is and Alex isn't. Jack never took him for granted, never treated him like he was nothing, never acted like what he wanted wasn't important. He wants him back, wants to be with him again. Wants to be held by him, kissed by him, even hear him ask for a cup of coffee. He loves Jack, and hates that it had to come to this, that he's had to lose him, before he realised it.
He blinks his eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. His coffee's gone cold, and he dumps it down the sink, does the washing up, and puts everything away, not noticing any of it.
He collapses on his bed, still fully clothed, exhausted but not tired. Why didn't you listen? He can't keep having his heart broken like this. Why didn't you listen? He's going to go out tomorrow, to the beach or the cafe, talk to people, see how the New Year is going. Why didn't you listen? The window's open, he should close it, Alex doesn't like the cold. Doesn't matter anymore. Why didn't you listen?