Work Text:
He's quit a lot in his life. Quit figureskating when it was obvious he wasn't good enough. Quit clarinet when he found that it wasn't cool in the grown-up world (frankly it wasn't cool in high school either). Quit hoping for a job he'd enjoy when he realised that nobody gets a job they enjoy. He even managed to quit smoking (Sort of. Almost. Sometimes. Don't tell Phoebe). He's quit plenty of things. But he can't quit her.
Nasal voice. Corkscrew curls. Laugh that makes him feel like she's firing an AK47 at him. Flapping hands and ohhh myyy Goddd. Garish colours and ludicrous leopardprint. She's the rash he can't get rid of, the scab he can't resist picking at. This all sounds dramatic, and there shouldn't be anything dramatic about them. She should be resigned to his history as yet another girl he dated then split up with. Instead, she's turned into both his fix and his accidental stalker. Perhaps he just likes having a "his", someone who kind of belongs to him and who he sort of belongs to back. That belonging feels much better that he'd ever admit (the sex is better than he admits, too). She's...well, she's his girl, you know? And he's starting to think that that matters more than the gunfire laugh and the cat-strangle voice and the clothes so gawdy he needs sunglasses. Because there has to be some reason, hasn't there? Some reason why he could quit the smokes and the skates and the clarinet and the career ambition, but the one unshakeable habit, the one addiction he just cannot quit
is Janice.