Mickey doesn't know what to do. He doesn't understand what his boyfriend is going through. All he can do is be there for Ian, to be that shoulder to cry on, because he knows that is what Ian needs right now, more than ever. He has to be that for Ian. He would do anything to see Ian smile again, it's all that matters anymore, that would be enough for Mickey.
They've been out of touch for quite some time now. It's almost as though they had become strangers and Ian's not surprised, nor does he feel like he should be upset with Mickey, because he doesn't recognize himself either these days. Ian hates it, loathes feeling like his life has spiraled out of control, like there's nothing he can do to fix it. His lack of motivation, his blue mood, how he doesn't want to speak to anyone most days, the way he just feels like isolating himself from the world.
He's not supposed to be stuck in bed, wishing the day away, that he could disappear - or hoping he wouldn't be able to wake up for weeks. He's used to being productive, this is all so unfamiliar. Ian doesn't even know what he's feeling these days, how to even begin describing it. It's more like he feels nothing at all, yet everything at once, so much so that it's numbing. This numbness follows him wherever he goes, chokes him, leaves him senseless to everything but dread. There's the memory of emotions and what his mind somehow expects him to feel, but strangely none of it is actually there. He doesn't know how to wrap his head around that, nothing seems to make sense anymore.
Deep down, he wants to cry, just so he can feel something, the sting of hot tears on streaming down his cheeks, his head pounding, his heart beating rapidly, anything, anything at all. But he just can't, no matter how hard he tries. Nothing.
Ian doesn't see the point in masking his misery, he rather bathe in it, instead of acting like everything is okay, hoping that with time it'll fade away. He figures he has time anyway, with his dream of being a soldier long gone.
Mickey used to open the curtains every sunny morning, but the light has become almost alien for Ian, it's overwhelmingly bright and offers no comfort. It made him feel exposed, out of his element. He just wants to hide away in the dark, where he believes he belongs now.
The mornings were the hardest on him. On occasion he would pull the sheets from his body and sit up, but then he found that he physically couldn't most mornings. One simple step was far too much effort than it should have been and he couldn't help but wonder what was the point in trying. He didn't want to face reality, and the next thing he knew he was throwing the covers over himself once again. He's heavy with exhaustion, so he can't help but feel like he's sinking, and all he's done is wake up. It's the same cycle over and over again, he's going in circles. It takes twice as much time than normal to do the simplest of tasks, and he barely manages to complete them. He used to be able to pick himself up whenever he was down, but now he doesn't even see the point in piecing himself back together only to fall apart again. His mind is restless, a jumbled mess of wandering thoughts. Somehow the days move too slow and too fast while he wastes away doing absolutely nothing. It's like he's frozen, but the world is still moving, everyone is moving, except him. When he does fall asleep, it's only briefly, before his head is racing with everything he was trying so hard to forget in the solace of his slumber.
There's a pain in his chest. Ian wishes he could describe it with words but at times even simply just breathing seems to hurt. He wasn't sure if it tied up his rib-cage and constricted everything in between, or if his chest was actually about to burst, because it was swelling up with this unbearable ache. Either way, there's a pain and it grows and then it fades, but it never truly goes away, it infects his entire body.
Ian just wants to go back to his old self, the person who had big dreams and did whatever he could to achieve them, the person who believed in himself and who people believed in too, but now he just feels like an empty, lifeless shell. He needs things to get better, because he doesn't know how much longer he can live like this. It's all too consuming. This illness takes and takes and takes and he's certain eventually he'll have nothing left but the shadow of his doubts. It's like he's stuck underwater and he can't come up for air. It's like screaming but no can hear you. It's like praying for the sun only to be showered in the gloomy rainfall. It's looking back at your reflection and seeing an unfamiliar face, a face that can hardly look back at you. Hopeless. That's how Ian feels.
He's still waiting for the tears to come, but they won't well up, and it really makes him start to wonder how much control he has left in his life. He's sure that he has none, not anymore. He feels like he's broken beyond repair, that there's no mending the damage he's inflicted upon himself. He doesn't know how he's gotten so off track. He used to know every path to his destination – exactly how to get there, but now he's not even sure where to start, if he even wants to start again.
But what lessens Ian's pain, who he knows he can only count on to be there when he needs him, was his boyfriend Mickey. He gives Ian hope.
They laid together in silence, with Ian's back curled against Mickey's chest, wrapped up in each other, with the light falling dimly through the curtains, warmed by the blanket covering their bodies. It wasn't dark outside yet, but the sky was hung with grey clouds and dusk was creeping up. Ian was vaguely aware of how Mickey didn't do well with silence. But it's okay, for Mickey, because he's with Ian. Ian feels safe, calm, peaceful even, like he's ready to be lulled into a dream, because he's secure in Mickey's arms. Ian's body was stiff, but Mickey doesn't mind. He just held his boyfriend tight, as if he were afraid that Ian would disappear if he didn't.
When Ian is next to Mickey, he's home. At first it wasn't easy for Ian, being so vulnerable, this exposed. But Mickey proved to him just how much he cared, letting him stay at his place, giving him space when his boyfriend needed it, giving him company when he was too afraid to ask for it. Ian realized he could bare his soul to Mickey, and Ian knew that he would love him just the same, it was grounding. Ian wants to say thank you, thank him for everything he's done, but in times of stillness such as this, he doesn't know if he can find the words, to tell Mickey just how much it means to him. He doesn't want to be saved, but he wants Mickey there while he tries to save himself from the demons that have plagued every dark corner in the nightmare that was his mind. He's not at peace, but suddenly, he's calm.
Ian turns around, burying his face against Mickey's neck, takes a deep breath, inhaling his boyfriend's scent, filling his lungs with it. He can hear the sound of Mickey's heartbeat drumming, and it's the most comforting sound. In the dim room, Ian found Mickey's fingers and entwined them together with his own. Ian pressed closer to overcome the distance between them.
And then Mickey lifted his boyfriend's chin up with his free hand so that they were level with one another, their gazes locking and for a while they just explored each other's eyes. His hand moved to the back of his neck and their lips met. It was a soft, delicate brush at first, nothing like their usual heated, frenzied ones. This was different. It was loving, reassuring, tender, everything that Ian could have wanted. Mickey's hand dropped around his waist, pulling Ian closer.
With his tongue he tasted Ian's lips, before they parted and let him in. The kiss was slow and gentle, mouths molding together and becoming one. Mickey's grip tightened on his boyfriend's hand, never wanting to let it go. The taste of salt fell onto his lips and Mickey pulled back. There was tears streaming down both of his cheeks, and Ian's not sure why he's crying, maybe it's because everything Mickey and him have been through, or maybe it's because the boy who used to be his booty call is now spending long nights cuddling with him, making sure he's okay, or maybe it's because he knows the person he needs most, more than ever now, is not going to leave him.
"I fucking love you Ian. I'm not going anywhere, I promise you. You have me, you'll always fucking have me," Mickey told him, a hand combing through his hair before he leaned in again to peck his lips.
"That's fucking cheesy as hell," Ian answered with a small smile, chuckling lightly in response, a short and dry sound in his throat.
"Well it's the best I got, bitch, take it or leave it," Mickey snorted, a grin spreading across his face.
The two settled into a comfortable silence once more and Ian curled tighter around his boyfriend, a brief smile appearing back on his lips when he felt a hand caress his face. He kept it on his cheek, warm and reassuring, letting him know with his presence that he was there for him, that he will always be there for him. There was a great loneliness that often burned in Ian's eyes, and Mickey wanted to chase it away, to see that deep-rooted despondency disappear from them.
Ian glanced back down before he locked eyes with him again, taking a breath. Mickey waited, searching Ian's eyes for a moment, knowing that something was on the tip of his boyfriend's tongue. Ian could feel Mickey's stare upon him, but it wasn't judgmental nor mocking, it's soft and kind, patient. Ian wiped his eyes with a hand while the other held onto Mickey's, he let his breath out, fighting against the lump in his throat, and then took another before he spoke.
"I love you too, Mick," Ian whispered, swallowing thickly before he added, "always have."
Mickey smiled, lifting his hand up to place a kiss upon Ian's knuckle. "Who's the one being fucking cheesy now, Gallagher?" he asked with a laugh, making Ian roll his eyes playfully at that.
Ian pressed kisses just below Mickey's collar bone, a silent thank you while he was much too tired to think straight. It can be difficult to find the words, but Ian still wants Mickey to know just how grateful he is for everything, that Mickey hasn't given up on him when it feels like the others have. Because Ian's not a lost a cause, and Mickey is here to remind him of that. It's a struggle and a process, one that Ian knows he can manage with time.
Ian soundly drifted off to sleep to the sensation of Mickey tracing hearts again and again across the skin on his back. Mickey shifted only to pull the blanket up to fully cover their bodies, relieved when he successfully did without disturbing his boyfriend.
His soothing words and loving touches can't take away the dark days when Ian doesn't have the strength to get up in the morning, or cease the storm in his head, but they do make a difference. Mickey makes a difference. That alone assures Ian he can do this. With Mickey, Ian knows that everything will be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. But Ian is going to take it one day at a time, and Mickey is going to be by his side every step of the way.