For my darling Em (percychased). Hope you enjoy love.
i.
Depression is a great lover.
Oh, it filled him with shame like a swirling smoke. It was so attentive. It had this innate way of making everything about him. Ian, Ian, Ian, Ian, Ian. It pried at his senses and covered his eyes and ears with whispered lies and colourful masks, turning his head to the side as he believed the soft spoken words and malicious grins that he could never figure out were filled with pain. It made him weak. It made him easy to manipulate.
It hurt.
Depression was far from beautiful. Never had it ever been beautiful. Always filling him with pain, always driving him away, always making him belittle himself behind a mask of his own... People called him selfish, self-centered and rude because of it. If only they knew.
(But maybe love was the answer?)
He wasn't sure anymore.
(Sometimes the gun hidden in his drawer looked so tempting when he was alone.)
ii.
He felt like an old computer, slow, out of spark, useless.
People never told him he was, quite the opposite, in fact, but their words meant nothing to him as he continued in his grey world.
In.
Out.
He would smile and laugh like the rest of them. He would playfully fight with Jonah and annoy Natalie and talk to his mother and father with the usual sense of cold indifference, but it just never felt right. He never felt like he belonged. It was futile, he thought, as he moved his black queen to a space near Sinead's white pawn. No matter what, his shoulders would always be pressed down by an invisible weight and he would stare off into space when no one was there.
(Why did he even try anymore?)
iii.
"Goodness, I am so sorry! I-I wasn't looking- Oh no! I spilt my coffee all over you! Jesus, I am so sorry-!"
Ian blinked as he stared at the girl- red hair, bright eyes, freckles, she oddly stood out in the black and white- who kept on apologizing to him, a pink flush on her cheeks, and gave her a charming smile, swooping down to help pick up her books that she had dropped and ignored the sticky feeling off her coffee that had stained his pristine white shirt. "It's not a problem." He assured her, offering her his hand to help her up. "Really, I have a thousand of these at home."
"But-"
"Shush." He replied, grinning despite himself as she let out a sigh and pushed back her bangs. She was cute, he thought.
"A-Alright then. Seriously, though, is there any way I can repay you?"
"A date?" he raised his eyebrow cheekily, and much to his surprise, she let out a loud laugh and winked at him.
"What a charmer. I'm afraid that I don't go on dates with people I barely know, but maybe later."
She walked off, still with her cheeks stained pink, and Ian blinked after her, a warmth filling his stomach that wouldn't leave him even hours later.
(She was different. Happy. Bright. Warm. If only he had gotten her name.)
iv.
"Redhead?" Jonah asked him, amusement filling his voice. "Always pictured you as a blonde type of guy, bro. Eh, at least she'll be feisty."
"Shut up, Wizard." Ian seethed at his cousin. "Do you know anyone like that or not?"
Jonah tapped his finger to his chin and let out a hum, and Ian waited impatiently for his usually un-used mind to filter the information. "Well, we've got our dear Sinead, and that girl who lives in old Grace Cahill's house, but that's about it."
Ian narrowed his eyes. "I thought a boy lived in the mansion?"
"That would be her little brother," Jonah soothed. "No, the babe doesn't come out very often, I hear. I've seen her once, I think. Redhead, freckles, cutie, yep."
"Wizard-"
"Woah, woah, woah." Jonah held up his hands defensively. "No need to get all pushy about your girl to the Wiz, bro."
"She's not my girl-"
"Just one you've happen to take interest in, yep, I got it. You know, I really should mark this occasion on my calendar. People were starting to think that you were gay since you haven't dated anyone in a while, bro."
Ian scoffed. "Just because I haven't dated in a while doesn't mean I'm gay."
Jonah nodded sagely. "Yeah, you'd be bisexual then."
The Englishman sighed. "So, what is this girl's name then?"
"Ah, she's the granddaughter of ol' Grace. Amy Cahill, I think that's what they call her. Her brother's Daniel, although I doubt you care about that."
Ian tuned out the rest of Jonah's ramblings, instead mulling over the information.
Amy, eh?
(He slept soundly for the first time in a year that night.)
v.
He met her about a week later at the coffee shop. She was huddled over in the corner, an ugly but comfortable hat placed on her head, with a mug of coffee and her laptop spread before her. She didn't notice him approaching, but she did jump a little when his smooth voice interrupted her typing.
"Fancy seeing you here, love."
She nearly knocked over her mug, but Ian caught it just in time. Amy blinked a couple times as she stared at him, but soon a small smile tugged at her lips. "Man, you must really like getting coffee spilled on you." She commented. "That was close to being a second time."
"Ha ha," he replied drily, sipping at his own mocha. "I am amazed at your sense of humour."
"And I'm amazed at your way of flirting," she told him, grinning brightly as she motioned for him to join her.
"Well, to each our own." Ian said, sitting down on the opposite side of her. "I believe also that I hadn't gotten your name last time. I'm Ian Kabra, and you are?"
"Kabra?" she tapped her finger to her cheek. "Sounds familiar. I'm Amy Cahill, nice to meet you."
"Please, love, the pleasure is all mine." Ian all but purred.
(The blush that came from Amy's cheeks did not fill him with joy, no matter what others would say.)
(Her eyes were like jade, he noticed, and were so warm unlike the frostiness of the world.)
vi.
They met a couple more times, and every time he saw her Ian felt his heart melt a little because of her smile.
"Depression?" she asked him one day, quietly. They were sitting on a bench with coffee cups in their hands- it had become a ritual, of sorts, and Ian wasn't complaining even though the coffee tasted like dirt on his tongue- and he had blurted it out without thinking. "You have depression?"
He didn't bother answering, just smiling weakly and staring just over her shoulder. Amy gave him a smile back, and much to his shock, placed her coffee cup down and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened, but relaxed once he realized that she wasn't going anywhere. He awkwardly leaned into her touch, and she let out a small giggle as she patted his back. "You'll get through it, Ian." She told him as they pulled back. "I'll help you."
He was frozen, before his mouth opened on its own accord and said simply, "Thank you."
Those words meant almost as much as an 'I love you'.
(But the flush of her cheeks and the look in her eyes told Ian that maybe those words weren't so far away.)
Once again, for Em.
I don't own 39 Clues, sorry if it's out of character.
(Oh my god is there really a third series? Just when I thought I finished it all and could say that I've read every single book? -_- You've got to be kidding me.)