Ordinary, chapter 30
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Ian talks to Charlie.
warnings: sadness and foul language.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty
"Hey guys, welcome to another Lunchtime with Smosh!" Ian said enthusiastically to the camera in his hand. He was standing in his living room, Anthony behind him, making a goofy face at the camera.
"Today, we're having spaghetti!" Anthony yelled far too loudly, and Ian faked a look of annoyance. In reality, he was glad to have him there, already feeling calmer and more pleasant than he had yesterday, during his appointment with Marrow. Sometimes, all he needed was his best friend to make everything seem alright, even when he was dying.
"Yeah, we're still master chefs." Ian smiled, and they moved to the kitchen.
"Okay, first we need to boil some water." Anthony grabbed a pot Ian had already taken out, and placed it in the sink. "That's an ugly word, boil."
"That's actually my long lost brother's name." Ian commented as he removed some pasta from the cabinet. It was from the organic food store, of course, and although everything he ate pained him now, pasta or rice was never too bad for his stomach.
"Adrian had a twin?" Anthony looked shocked as he turned off the tap.
"Yeah, but they hated each other. When Boil joined that gang, that was the last straw. They never spoke again." Ian turned on the oven, and Anthony set the pasta on the burner.
"Wow. Did he even attend the funeral?" Anthony was wide-eyed.
"I don't know, I didn't even go. He was such a douchebag." Ian shook his head, uncomfortable thinking of the nonexistent man's death, the man with his face, voice, and mother. It was close to him, too close. How many would attend his own funeral? He pushed the thought from his mind. "Do we need to put salt in this?"
"In boiling water?" Anthony stared into the pot. "Should we?"
"My mom used to put salt in." Ian recalled. "Whatever, let's just do it, nothing bad's gonna happen if we do."
Anthony nodded, grabbing the salt shaker nearby and adding some to the water. "Now we just have to wait for this to get hot enough."
"This is literally the easiest thing to cook, because half the time all you do is wait." Ian said, and Anthony nodded.
"Hey, are you still doing youth counseling at the Y?" Anthony asked suddenly, as if he had only just remembered, and Ian nodded. "You don't mention it much. Only when your mom asks about it." Ian's mother hadn't been around too often, either: he was so scared of her finding out he had cancer, he reduced the amount of videos she appeared in, and pretended he was busy, only communicating through the occasional phone call.
"Well have you heard what I say about it? All the kids are messed up, it's not something I wanna think of too often." Ian said, nervous. He had lied, months ago, and told his mom and Anthony that he was a youth councilor at the local YMCA, when in actuality, he was going to therapy. Telling them about therapy could have caused them to realize he had cancer, and that was a chance he had decided not to take.
"Yeah, I understand." Anthony said, lost in thought for a moment, but returning quickly and changing the subject. "So how awesome do you think this pasta's gonna be?"
"It's gonna be the most awesome pasta ever!" Ian zoomed in on Anthony, who made the most wildly gleeful expression he could manage.
The water boiled, and they added the spaghetti, allowing it to cook for ten minutes. They joked and goofed around, everything seeming normal, but anyone who watched an old lunchtime video, then the new one right after, would see obvious changes. Ian was thinner, paler, his hair had dulled, and he bore dark circles beneath his eyes. He was calm and reserved, moving and speaking less. Anthony was more outgoing now, louder, trying to make up for the lack of words that came from Ian as of late. But the friend only thought it was the low blood pressure doing damage, and did nothing to help. Not knowingly, at least; his presence was enough to cheer Ian up, to make the symptoms less of a bother, and that was worth leaps and bounds to the dying man.
"How do you tell if it's done?" Ian was staring into the pot.
"You throw a noodle at the wall and see if it sticks." Anthony smiled, and rummaged through the draw for a fork. He used it to pull a strand of spaghetti from the pot of frothy water.
"Are you seriously going to throw that at a wall?" Ian looked at him skeptically, and Anthony nodded.
"Yeah, dude, that's how you figure it out." Anthony approached the wall, grabbing the pasta and preparing to throw it.
"Ready?" Anthony looked intensely at the camera, and Ian nodded.
"Go for it, bro. One shot."
Anthony threw the noodle, and they both cheered when it stuck to the wall, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed. Triumphant, Anthony removed the food from the wall, and returned to the kitchen, throwing it away.
"Okay, we have to turn this off." Ian switched off the oven, and the churning water slowed.
"We need to strain it."
"What?"
"Do you have a strainer?"
"A what?"
Anthony rolled his eyes, and they both searched the cabinets, laughing. The search ended unsuccessfully, to the pair's dismay.
"We're going to overcook the noodles if they stay in there." Anthony pointed out.
"Well, what can we use instead of a strainer?" Ian questioned, and Anthony's eyes immediately lit up.
"We have some unused hair nets in the prop room!" He yelled, and before Ian could protest, ran to find one.
With Anthony temporarily gone, Ian set down the camera, no longer able to control his body. He had been cramping for about ten minutes, and was shaking in pain at Anthony's absence. He could feel his whole body shutting down, falling apart.
Anthony returned, and Ian picked up the camera and faked a smile. He laughed lightly when he saw his friend race to the sink, hair net in his hands.
"You pour the stuff out, I'll catch it in the hair net." Anthony said with a wide grin, stretching the net out over the sink. Ian laughed. "Hurry, we're gonna ruin lunch, and I'm starving!"
"Okay, watch your hands." Ian turned and leaned the camera against a nearby book, turning it so he could film their little stunt. With a grunt, he lifted the heavy pot, and started pouring the water and spaghetti out. The pair both laughed wildly as they used their makeshift strainer, which shockingly succeeded in catching the noodles.
"Here, dump it back in." Ian instructed, and Anthony did so, shaking with laughter.
"Master chefs." He murmured, and Ian giggled. They made sure all of the noodles got into the pot, and Ian got the jar of tomato sauce.
"We just pour this in, mix it up, and serve." Ian said, struggling to open the jar. After a moment, he handed it to his smiling friend.
"Oh shit, this is the same sauce." Anthony said. "Remember the pizza last week?"
They both laughed, and Anthony spent the next ten minutes prying the top off the jar.
They ate happily, enjoying their meal, conversation, and Twitter questions. Ian was in pain throughout the evening, but had his best friend, and that eased his pain, giving him the strength to move forward.
***
He found himself ill Friday afternoon. Sitting on the toilet, he sighed when his business was complete, and decided it was best to take a shower. He stood and undressed, wishing silently that stomach cancer wouldn't be so messy. It was uncomfortable, and disgusting.
A hot liquid slid down the back of his leg, and Ian looked down to where the drop stopped, resting on his ankle. Dark red. He turned slowly, and stared, shock freezing him. Blood filled his toilet. He recalled Marrow's words. I guarantee your last few days will be bloody. It was starting.
***
He had spent awhile in the shower, staring into space. He knew it had to happen, he had been preparing for months. And when Marrow talked to him about his looming death on Wednesday, he could no longer feel the shock that overpowered him so often in the past. He, just for a moment, felt empty. Like a shell. Like he wasn't dying, but already dead, now merely a body breaking down.
But he didn't want to lose himself in this way. He didn't want to be a body without a soul. He was hard working, a fighter, and he was not about to let go early. Desperate for an activity, to spur his mind or heart, he traveled aimlessly following his numb moment in the shower, finding himself wandering to his bedroom, and spotting a rustling in the corner of his eye. Charlie was looking up at him through the bars of his cage, beady eyes locked on his.
Ian gave the rodent a small, glum smile, and received only a blank stare. He felt a small stir of affection rise in his chest, and moved toward the cage. Lifting it, he whispered a hello to his pet, and set it on the floor.
He exited the room and returned a few minutes later, small towel in one hand, a dustpan, brush, and garbage bag in the other. He sat on the floor, in front of the cage, and gently lifted his friend. Setting the towel down, he placed Charlie on it, and the pet watched the master as he performed his weekly chore of cleaning his cage.
Ian worked quickly, being accustomed to cleaning the cage and replacing the bedding nearly every week. When his task was complete, he rubbed Charlie's head for awhile, then, exhausted, put him back in his cage.
"I'll give you a bath tomorrow, Charlie, I promise." Ian said softly to his pet. "But I'm tired now, I'm going to sleep."
It was only around six, and he hadn't eaten dinner, but Ian curled into his bed regardless, falling asleep within ten minutes, weak with disease.
***
He kept his promise. The next day, he woke up, ate an apple, and lounged on the sofa awhile, feeling the heat of late June in California, and not doing any yoga. He had stopped almost a week ago, now too weak to flex his decrepit body.
After a period of rest, he gathered his strength, as he had done far too often lately, and pulled himself up off the sofa. Weak, yet determined, he fetched Charlie from his bedroom, and set him down next to the sink in the bathroom. He watched Charlie look around for a moment, mildly interested, nose twitching.
"Gonna give you a bath, Charlie." Ian said sweetly to the creature, and he turned and stared at his owner, not understanding. Ian ran the water, and Charlie, now aware and disgruntled, stepped away from the sink, moving to the opposite end of the counter. Ian made sure the water temperature was fine, before gently lifting his pig and placing him in the sink.
"I don't know if I'm gonna give you any more baths, Charlie." Ian said after a moment of silence. "It's June twenty third, and Doctor Marrow said July, maybe a little longer."
Ian spoke to Charlie differently than he spoke to anything else in his life. His voice was soft, caring, protective. He was gentle when he held him, loving when he pet him. It was similar to a relationship between a large man, and his frail little bride. He, protective, but she so small in his grasp, so easily broken, yet remaining free of damage due to his love.
Charlie only responded by shifting slightly away from the water. Ian continued to wet his fur, reminiscing.
"I remember," he began softly, "I remember when I was a kid, I always wanted a pet. And then this kid in my class, Nick Nieves, showed us all his guinea pig in first grade." he chuckled lightly. "I was so jealous. I begged my mom for years, she never let me have one. I swore to get one the day I moved out. I had a little book on guinea pig care and everything, Ant used to think it was the funniest thing."
He reached for the shampoo, and poured it on his hand, then started to rub Charlie's back. After a moment, he continued his speech. "After Ant and I got the house, I waited until we were settled in to get a pet. But eventually, I did." He looked down at his pet, and smiled, a sad nostalgia surrounding him.
"Do you remember that day, Charlie? You were little, probably not. I went to Petco, looked at all the guinea pigs, and I saw you, and chose you. That girl who worked there thought I was kidding when I said I wanted to buy you, but I did it, I got you, a cage, some bedding, everything you needed, and I took you home."
Charlie squeaked slightly, and looked up at him. Ian smiled sadly back down, pretending for a moment that the creature could actually remember, actually understand. He and Charlie had a bond, as all good owners and pets did, but the pet could never recall such events that the owner did, which may sadden those who think of it, but Ian refused to do so. He was upset he was leaving Charlie, and knew the importance of the bond, more so than the memories, but remembering something always strengthens it.
"Anthony thought I was joking, too, that day, before I left. But I came back with you, and he almost died laughing. He had a big grin on his face all day, do you remember? He held you for like, an hour, when I was setting up your cage. He thought of your name, too, we went through about a million before he said it!"
He rinsed the shampoo from Charlie's fur, the joy in his nostalgia fading fast. "I always wanted a guinea pig, Charlie. You and Smosh, and Anthony, that's all I ever wanted. And I got you, and I got Smosh, and I'm thankful for that."
He paused as unexpected tears came to his eyes. "My whole life, ya know, I just wanted a stupid guinea pig. And then, out of nowhere, a month after I had you, Anthony came up with that video idea, and all that happened. You got a bad accent and an alcohol problem, and all those fans, and a new channel and everything. We stopped it though, remember, because you're getting old."
The pet looked at him, only listening, not understanding. He turned off the water and placed Charlie in a towel, gently rubbing him, tears falling down his face now.
"We didn't want you to die one day, and have nothing to say to our fans. Can you imagine, Charlie, how it felt to know you were near the end? Now look at us, a few months later, and it looks like I'm going to die before you..."
Ian paused now, and sobbed, no longer controlling his tears. Shaking, he looked down at Charlie in his towel with bleary vision. "I don't want to leave you, buddy, I don't want to leave you alone. I-I don't want to leave. I know I have to now, but I wish I could just-just go back in time and, I don't know, spot it earlier, get some surgeries, I-I just don't know, Charlie, but I don't want to leave you."
He spoke through sobs, and was hunched over his pet, shaking, tears falling onto the towel, face red. The guinea pig had gone still, and was staring up at his owner, sensing something was wrong. He cried for several more minutes, slowly getting back in control, as he finished drying off Charlie.
Ian spoke again, throat tight, a minute later, brushing Charlie. "I really did want a guinea pig my whole life. And I promise, I swear to you, that you'll go somewhere safe when I'm gone. You'll get a nice home." He stroked the guinea pig's head, staring in thought for a moment. "Thank you, Charlie." he said seriously. "I love you. You mean so much to me, much more than you'll ever know."
Charlie only blinked, and Ian sighed. This was as close to a goodbye as he would allow, and it hurt. It broke him, but it also made him feel closer to his pet, his friend. Not wanting to think further of it, he picked up his friend, and took him to his room, sitting him on his bed, and spending many minutes in silence, just him and Charlie. It might've seemed ridiculous, but Charlie was an accomplishment, something complete. Charlie was a friend and a pet, Charlie was home. The only thing he would let himself say goodbye to.
A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm now on Twitter! The main purpose of the account is to let you guys know what's happening after Ordinary ends if you don't check the community so often, as I'll still be doing stuff that may or may not pertain to this story (guess you'll just have to wait and see). You can follow me if you like, @jackiestolz.
warnings: sadness and foul language.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty
"Hey guys, welcome to another Lunchtime with Smosh!" Ian said enthusiastically to the camera in his hand. He was standing in his living room, Anthony behind him, making a goofy face at the camera.
"Today, we're having spaghetti!" Anthony yelled far too loudly, and Ian faked a look of annoyance. In reality, he was glad to have him there, already feeling calmer and more pleasant than he had yesterday, during his appointment with Marrow. Sometimes, all he needed was his best friend to make everything seem alright, even when he was dying.
"Yeah, we're still master chefs." Ian smiled, and they moved to the kitchen.
"Okay, first we need to boil some water." Anthony grabbed a pot Ian had already taken out, and placed it in the sink. "That's an ugly word, boil."
"That's actually my long lost brother's name." Ian commented as he removed some pasta from the cabinet. It was from the organic food store, of course, and although everything he ate pained him now, pasta or rice was never too bad for his stomach.
"Adrian had a twin?" Anthony looked shocked as he turned off the tap.
"Yeah, but they hated each other. When Boil joined that gang, that was the last straw. They never spoke again." Ian turned on the oven, and Anthony set the pasta on the burner.
"Wow. Did he even attend the funeral?" Anthony was wide-eyed.
"I don't know, I didn't even go. He was such a douchebag." Ian shook his head, uncomfortable thinking of the nonexistent man's death, the man with his face, voice, and mother. It was close to him, too close. How many would attend his own funeral? He pushed the thought from his mind. "Do we need to put salt in this?"
"In boiling water?" Anthony stared into the pot. "Should we?"
"My mom used to put salt in." Ian recalled. "Whatever, let's just do it, nothing bad's gonna happen if we do."
Anthony nodded, grabbing the salt shaker nearby and adding some to the water. "Now we just have to wait for this to get hot enough."
"This is literally the easiest thing to cook, because half the time all you do is wait." Ian said, and Anthony nodded.
"Hey, are you still doing youth counseling at the Y?" Anthony asked suddenly, as if he had only just remembered, and Ian nodded. "You don't mention it much. Only when your mom asks about it." Ian's mother hadn't been around too often, either: he was so scared of her finding out he had cancer, he reduced the amount of videos she appeared in, and pretended he was busy, only communicating through the occasional phone call.
"Well have you heard what I say about it? All the kids are messed up, it's not something I wanna think of too often." Ian said, nervous. He had lied, months ago, and told his mom and Anthony that he was a youth councilor at the local YMCA, when in actuality, he was going to therapy. Telling them about therapy could have caused them to realize he had cancer, and that was a chance he had decided not to take.
"Yeah, I understand." Anthony said, lost in thought for a moment, but returning quickly and changing the subject. "So how awesome do you think this pasta's gonna be?"
"It's gonna be the most awesome pasta ever!" Ian zoomed in on Anthony, who made the most wildly gleeful expression he could manage.
The water boiled, and they added the spaghetti, allowing it to cook for ten minutes. They joked and goofed around, everything seeming normal, but anyone who watched an old lunchtime video, then the new one right after, would see obvious changes. Ian was thinner, paler, his hair had dulled, and he bore dark circles beneath his eyes. He was calm and reserved, moving and speaking less. Anthony was more outgoing now, louder, trying to make up for the lack of words that came from Ian as of late. But the friend only thought it was the low blood pressure doing damage, and did nothing to help. Not knowingly, at least; his presence was enough to cheer Ian up, to make the symptoms less of a bother, and that was worth leaps and bounds to the dying man.
"How do you tell if it's done?" Ian was staring into the pot.
"You throw a noodle at the wall and see if it sticks." Anthony smiled, and rummaged through the draw for a fork. He used it to pull a strand of spaghetti from the pot of frothy water.
"Are you seriously going to throw that at a wall?" Ian looked at him skeptically, and Anthony nodded.
"Yeah, dude, that's how you figure it out." Anthony approached the wall, grabbing the pasta and preparing to throw it.
"Ready?" Anthony looked intensely at the camera, and Ian nodded.
"Go for it, bro. One shot."
Anthony threw the noodle, and they both cheered when it stuck to the wall, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed. Triumphant, Anthony removed the food from the wall, and returned to the kitchen, throwing it away.
"Okay, we have to turn this off." Ian switched off the oven, and the churning water slowed.
"We need to strain it."
"What?"
"Do you have a strainer?"
"A what?"
Anthony rolled his eyes, and they both searched the cabinets, laughing. The search ended unsuccessfully, to the pair's dismay.
"We're going to overcook the noodles if they stay in there." Anthony pointed out.
"Well, what can we use instead of a strainer?" Ian questioned, and Anthony's eyes immediately lit up.
"We have some unused hair nets in the prop room!" He yelled, and before Ian could protest, ran to find one.
With Anthony temporarily gone, Ian set down the camera, no longer able to control his body. He had been cramping for about ten minutes, and was shaking in pain at Anthony's absence. He could feel his whole body shutting down, falling apart.
Anthony returned, and Ian picked up the camera and faked a smile. He laughed lightly when he saw his friend race to the sink, hair net in his hands.
"You pour the stuff out, I'll catch it in the hair net." Anthony said with a wide grin, stretching the net out over the sink. Ian laughed. "Hurry, we're gonna ruin lunch, and I'm starving!"
"Okay, watch your hands." Ian turned and leaned the camera against a nearby book, turning it so he could film their little stunt. With a grunt, he lifted the heavy pot, and started pouring the water and spaghetti out. The pair both laughed wildly as they used their makeshift strainer, which shockingly succeeded in catching the noodles.
"Here, dump it back in." Ian instructed, and Anthony did so, shaking with laughter.
"Master chefs." He murmured, and Ian giggled. They made sure all of the noodles got into the pot, and Ian got the jar of tomato sauce.
"We just pour this in, mix it up, and serve." Ian said, struggling to open the jar. After a moment, he handed it to his smiling friend.
"Oh shit, this is the same sauce." Anthony said. "Remember the pizza last week?"
They both laughed, and Anthony spent the next ten minutes prying the top off the jar.
They ate happily, enjoying their meal, conversation, and Twitter questions. Ian was in pain throughout the evening, but had his best friend, and that eased his pain, giving him the strength to move forward.
***
He found himself ill Friday afternoon. Sitting on the toilet, he sighed when his business was complete, and decided it was best to take a shower. He stood and undressed, wishing silently that stomach cancer wouldn't be so messy. It was uncomfortable, and disgusting.
A hot liquid slid down the back of his leg, and Ian looked down to where the drop stopped, resting on his ankle. Dark red. He turned slowly, and stared, shock freezing him. Blood filled his toilet. He recalled Marrow's words. I guarantee your last few days will be bloody. It was starting.
***
He had spent awhile in the shower, staring into space. He knew it had to happen, he had been preparing for months. And when Marrow talked to him about his looming death on Wednesday, he could no longer feel the shock that overpowered him so often in the past. He, just for a moment, felt empty. Like a shell. Like he wasn't dying, but already dead, now merely a body breaking down.
But he didn't want to lose himself in this way. He didn't want to be a body without a soul. He was hard working, a fighter, and he was not about to let go early. Desperate for an activity, to spur his mind or heart, he traveled aimlessly following his numb moment in the shower, finding himself wandering to his bedroom, and spotting a rustling in the corner of his eye. Charlie was looking up at him through the bars of his cage, beady eyes locked on his.
Ian gave the rodent a small, glum smile, and received only a blank stare. He felt a small stir of affection rise in his chest, and moved toward the cage. Lifting it, he whispered a hello to his pet, and set it on the floor.
He exited the room and returned a few minutes later, small towel in one hand, a dustpan, brush, and garbage bag in the other. He sat on the floor, in front of the cage, and gently lifted his friend. Setting the towel down, he placed Charlie on it, and the pet watched the master as he performed his weekly chore of cleaning his cage.
Ian worked quickly, being accustomed to cleaning the cage and replacing the bedding nearly every week. When his task was complete, he rubbed Charlie's head for awhile, then, exhausted, put him back in his cage.
"I'll give you a bath tomorrow, Charlie, I promise." Ian said softly to his pet. "But I'm tired now, I'm going to sleep."
It was only around six, and he hadn't eaten dinner, but Ian curled into his bed regardless, falling asleep within ten minutes, weak with disease.
***
He kept his promise. The next day, he woke up, ate an apple, and lounged on the sofa awhile, feeling the heat of late June in California, and not doing any yoga. He had stopped almost a week ago, now too weak to flex his decrepit body.
After a period of rest, he gathered his strength, as he had done far too often lately, and pulled himself up off the sofa. Weak, yet determined, he fetched Charlie from his bedroom, and set him down next to the sink in the bathroom. He watched Charlie look around for a moment, mildly interested, nose twitching.
"Gonna give you a bath, Charlie." Ian said sweetly to the creature, and he turned and stared at his owner, not understanding. Ian ran the water, and Charlie, now aware and disgruntled, stepped away from the sink, moving to the opposite end of the counter. Ian made sure the water temperature was fine, before gently lifting his pig and placing him in the sink.
"I don't know if I'm gonna give you any more baths, Charlie." Ian said after a moment of silence. "It's June twenty third, and Doctor Marrow said July, maybe a little longer."
Ian spoke to Charlie differently than he spoke to anything else in his life. His voice was soft, caring, protective. He was gentle when he held him, loving when he pet him. It was similar to a relationship between a large man, and his frail little bride. He, protective, but she so small in his grasp, so easily broken, yet remaining free of damage due to his love.
Charlie only responded by shifting slightly away from the water. Ian continued to wet his fur, reminiscing.
"I remember," he began softly, "I remember when I was a kid, I always wanted a pet. And then this kid in my class, Nick Nieves, showed us all his guinea pig in first grade." he chuckled lightly. "I was so jealous. I begged my mom for years, she never let me have one. I swore to get one the day I moved out. I had a little book on guinea pig care and everything, Ant used to think it was the funniest thing."
He reached for the shampoo, and poured it on his hand, then started to rub Charlie's back. After a moment, he continued his speech. "After Ant and I got the house, I waited until we were settled in to get a pet. But eventually, I did." He looked down at his pet, and smiled, a sad nostalgia surrounding him.
"Do you remember that day, Charlie? You were little, probably not. I went to Petco, looked at all the guinea pigs, and I saw you, and chose you. That girl who worked there thought I was kidding when I said I wanted to buy you, but I did it, I got you, a cage, some bedding, everything you needed, and I took you home."
Charlie squeaked slightly, and looked up at him. Ian smiled sadly back down, pretending for a moment that the creature could actually remember, actually understand. He and Charlie had a bond, as all good owners and pets did, but the pet could never recall such events that the owner did, which may sadden those who think of it, but Ian refused to do so. He was upset he was leaving Charlie, and knew the importance of the bond, more so than the memories, but remembering something always strengthens it.
"Anthony thought I was joking, too, that day, before I left. But I came back with you, and he almost died laughing. He had a big grin on his face all day, do you remember? He held you for like, an hour, when I was setting up your cage. He thought of your name, too, we went through about a million before he said it!"
He rinsed the shampoo from Charlie's fur, the joy in his nostalgia fading fast. "I always wanted a guinea pig, Charlie. You and Smosh, and Anthony, that's all I ever wanted. And I got you, and I got Smosh, and I'm thankful for that."
He paused as unexpected tears came to his eyes. "My whole life, ya know, I just wanted a stupid guinea pig. And then, out of nowhere, a month after I had you, Anthony came up with that video idea, and all that happened. You got a bad accent and an alcohol problem, and all those fans, and a new channel and everything. We stopped it though, remember, because you're getting old."
The pet looked at him, only listening, not understanding. He turned off the water and placed Charlie in a towel, gently rubbing him, tears falling down his face now.
"We didn't want you to die one day, and have nothing to say to our fans. Can you imagine, Charlie, how it felt to know you were near the end? Now look at us, a few months later, and it looks like I'm going to die before you..."
Ian paused now, and sobbed, no longer controlling his tears. Shaking, he looked down at Charlie in his towel with bleary vision. "I don't want to leave you, buddy, I don't want to leave you alone. I-I don't want to leave. I know I have to now, but I wish I could just-just go back in time and, I don't know, spot it earlier, get some surgeries, I-I just don't know, Charlie, but I don't want to leave you."
He spoke through sobs, and was hunched over his pet, shaking, tears falling onto the towel, face red. The guinea pig had gone still, and was staring up at his owner, sensing something was wrong. He cried for several more minutes, slowly getting back in control, as he finished drying off Charlie.
Ian spoke again, throat tight, a minute later, brushing Charlie. "I really did want a guinea pig my whole life. And I promise, I swear to you, that you'll go somewhere safe when I'm gone. You'll get a nice home." He stroked the guinea pig's head, staring in thought for a moment. "Thank you, Charlie." he said seriously. "I love you. You mean so much to me, much more than you'll ever know."
Charlie only blinked, and Ian sighed. This was as close to a goodbye as he would allow, and it hurt. It broke him, but it also made him feel closer to his pet, his friend. Not wanting to think further of it, he picked up his friend, and took him to his room, sitting him on his bed, and spending many minutes in silence, just him and Charlie. It might've seemed ridiculous, but Charlie was an accomplishment, something complete. Charlie was a friend and a pet, Charlie was home. The only thing he would let himself say goodbye to.
A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm now on Twitter! The main purpose of the account is to let you guys know what's happening after Ordinary ends if you don't check the community so often, as I'll still be doing stuff that may or may not pertain to this story (guess you'll just have to wait and see). You can follow me if you like, @jackiestolz.