Ian Spencer | OC
Aug. 17th, 2018 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)

001. | Lost | 002. | Safe | 003. | Hope | 004. | Hide | 005. | Voice |
006. | Drunk | 007. | Heartbeat | 008. | Hands | 009. | Promise | 010. | Stay |
011. | First | 012. | Last | 013. | Mistake | 014. | Chance | 015. | Wait |
016. | History | 017. | Impulsive | 018. | Nervous | 019. | Complicated | 020. | It's not like that |
021. | Awkward | 022. | Tease | 023. | Touch | 024. | Blush | 025. | Kiss |
026. | Accident | 027. | Panic | 028. | By your side | 029. | Protect | 030. | Soft |
031. | Storm | 032. | Cuddle | 033. | Talk | 034. | Cigarette | 035. | Nightmare |
036. | Mirror | 037. | Silence | 038. | Regret | 039. | Numb | 040. | Memory |
041. | Tongue tied | 042. | Bite | 043. | Jealousy | 044. | Argue | 045. | Excuses |
046. | Dream | 047. | Walk | 048. | Caution | 049. | Listen | 050. | Calm |
051. | Time | 052. | Rain | 053. | Anxiety | 054. | Go | 055. | Dawn |
056. | Threat | 057. | Fight | 058. | Bruise | 059. | Unspoken | 060. | Forget |
061. | Sunset | 062. | Peace | 063. | Forest | 064. | Stars | 065. | Run |
066. | Obsession | 067. | Temptation | 068. | Secret | 069. | Turning point | 070. | Choice |
071. | Lunch | 072. | Home | 073. | Sunrise | 074. | Happy | 075. | Tomorrow |
076. | Accent | 077. | Weak | 078. | Camera | 079. | Marker | 080. | Shadow |
081. | Missing | 082. | Here | 083. | Hollow | 084. | Wrong | 085. | Noise |
086. | Alone | 087. | Isolation | 088. | Pain | 089. | Beg | 090. | Gunshot |
091. | Siblings | 092. | Smirk | 093. | Always | 094. | Waterfall | 095. | Lie |
096. | Coffee | 097. | Road trip | 098. | Birthday | 099. | Sick | 100. | Bonfire |
044. Argue
Date: 2018-08-20 03:57 am (UTC)"It was just a question!" Ian held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "And it's not a big deal if you are, Matt. It's not like I'm gonna care, I'm gay."
"Yeah, and I'm not, so fuck off." That deep-rooted Chicago accent of his always got so much worse when he was mad. Sometimes, Ian hated how much he liked it.
He sighed and shook his head, "Fine, you know what, whatever," he waved his hands like he was miming the idea of washing his hands of a situation. "you win. I'm wrong. I don't know what I saw."
"Damn right I win." He mumbled, running his thumb under the edge of his nose and looking properly annoyed about this entire line of conversation.
Except that Ian wasn't convinced Matt won at all, or that he was wrong about what he saw at the party last weekend. Keeping something like that a secret in a small town was nearly impossible, doubly so when a person did things to push that secret out into the public space of a party. Okay, maybe public space is a bit of a stretch-- behind a closed upstairs bedroom door isn't exactly public, but it's close enough in a party situation. Other people needed rooms, too. Which was exactly how Ian had accidentally come across what Matt was so vehemently denying.
At least, until he was sober and remembered it all over again. Ian still wasn't sure what had possessed him to confront Matt about the party, but it had all gone over about as well as he expected it might.
Matt seemed to take Ian's comment as concession to the point and pushed past him to head, probably, literally anywhere else as long as it was far away from Ian right now. Ian dropped his face into his hands and groaned.