Ian sat outside on the pavement, a burning cigarette dangling between his lips, his hands slumped in between his spread-open legs. He was outside of Caleb's apartment—our apartment, he tried to correct himself—when he was struck by a sudden wave of sadness. Like all of his muscles were suddenly drained, like the world was color one second, black and white the next.
He'd been on and off like this since his visit with Mickey.
That was about a week ago, but he'd been thinking about it ever since. He was so close to actually becoming a firefighter, to moving in with Caleb, to moving on with his life. And yet he couldn't focus on any of that, on anything except the look on Mickey's face when he said he loved someone else.
Even with as much shit as they'd been through, as much as they'd put each other through, Ian never wanted to hurt Mickey like that. At the time, he wasn't even sure if he could live through it.
That night, Caleb had tried to get something going, but Ian had brushed it off. When he went to bed, he was a log; he felt the depression coming on and tried to hide it. All he kept picturing was Caleb walking in on Ian not being able to get out of bed, on Ian doing something reckless; in his mind, it always ended with Caleb leaving. He didn't think he would be able to handle it, seeing Ian like that; who could?
Mickey, the one who'd been with him through everything, who seemed like he'd love him no matter what, couldn't even stand by him through it. He did, at first. He tried, so long as Ian took his medication, so long as his crazy was handled.
But as Caleb tried to joke with Ian, rouse him, all he could hear was the last conversation he and Mickey had had before Mick got arrested:
"I hate the meds, you gonna make me take 'em?"
"You get fuckin nuts when you don't."
"You gonna wanna be with me, even if I don't?"
Mickey hadn't said anything. That silence echoed around in Ian's head for months. It's why he broke up with him, moments later. It's why he could hardly see him now.
Ian had loved Mickey so much. So much that he looked past all the fights, the name calling, the red flags that whispered "this isn't healthy." He loved him too much to care. And Mickey loved him; but not enough. Never enough.
It was hard for Ian to believe he was truly lovable, as he is, as he really is. Nobody has the time to love someone who's crazy.
So Ian tries to hide it, from Caleb, like he couldn't hide it from Mickey.
Some days are harder than others, like today.
He'd picked a fight with Caleb, about twenty minutes ago. Ian had been moving sluggishly, all of his limbs trapped in wet concrete. He wasn't down enough to not get out of bed, he had just enough energy to wake up and consider slashing his wrists.
It's not serious, he assured himself, I wouldn't really do it. It's like a joke—I wouldn't really do it.
But, some days, he wasn't sure.
He couldn't handle it when Caleb started trying to talk to him, to have a real conversation, about joining the team, his future, their future. A moment longer and Caleb would've realized Ian wasn't smiling, that he couldn't, that he was a second away from snapping like twig.
So he diverted any possible attention away from his misery and yelled, "Jesus, will you shut the fuck up for two seconds?!"
He and Caleb didn't talk to each other like that, ever. It was something they'd decided on; they were meant to be one of those couples who communicated, who didn't yell, but talked instead. But Ian missed yelling; he hates talking, at least in great length about uncomfortable topics.
Caleb had recoiled, hurt flashing across his face. "What the hell, Ian?" he asked quietly.
What Caleb meant was "What's wrong? Did I do something?"
What Ian heard was "What the hell is wrong with you, Ian?"
I'm crazy! Ian wanted to scream. I'm fucking crazy, okay? Leave me the fuck alone!
Instead, he'd said, "Just leave me the fuck alone." And stormed out.
And now he was on the curb.
He wondered if he had pushed Caleb a little too far away, if he was too harsh. He just couldn't bring himself to care, not then.
He was starting to spiral. He needed to snap out of it.
"Fuck," he whispered, and slowly climbed to his feet, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and squashing the butt into the pavement with his heel.
He needed a drink.
He didn't have a car, not yet. The plan was to get one once he became a firefighter, once he had money. Caleb had a car. It was bright yellow and small; Ian hated it.
Once he stood up, he briefly saw the hood of a dark green car, one that looked insanely familiar. He knew what car . . . it was gone before he could identify it.
He decided to just start walking. He could go to the L, head home, see Fiona and the others. He didn't really have the energy for it, not now. So he kept going.
Ian began pacing outside of the fire house, a tray of cookies in his hands. Things were strained with him and Caleb; they hadn't seen each other since Ian had stormed out the other day. He'd been crashing back at his old house. They'd talked once; Caleb had texted him a few times, and Ian called him.
"Ian?" Caleb had said, and Ian couldn't help but remember similar conversations with Mickey. "Where are you?"
"My place," he responded. "Sorry, about before. Just been a stressful few days, I guess."
"I guess," Caleb had muttered. "You coming back?"
"Yeah," Ian said, and Caleb sighed in relief. "Just wanted some time with my family. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Sure thing, man," he sounded like he was smiling. "Love you."
"You too." It was weird to say.
They hung up at the same time.
Ian hadn't come back the next day. Or the next. He got wrapped up in the family drama; Debbie's baby was sick so Ian had to help with that, Fiona was having problems with her boyfriend, Carl was on the run from some gang-bangers, and Frank was passed out in a puddle on the kitchen floor.
He'd been gone for four days.
Caleb called, texted, left voice messages, even e-mailed trying to get a hold of him.
"It's me, again," one of the voicemails said. Caleb sounded extremely annoyed; Ian couldn't blame him. "Where the hell are you, Ian? All your stuff's here. I miss you." Pause. "Listen, I know how crazy your family can get. You might be really busy. But don't blow off your boyfriend, okay? I'm on your side. Anyway, call me back."
Ian didn't.
Which is why he's outside of the firehouse now, holding a plate of snicker-doodles.
Before Ian can enter, just as he's getting ready to, the door bursts open and four firemen stream out, laughing and playfully shoving each other. He recognizes a couple of them; and then his eyes fall on the last one out, and he smiles.
Caleb looks over, and the smile drips from his face. All the other firemen stop laughing, and glance between the two of the warily.
"Hey," Ian said tentatively.
"Hi," Caleb said slowly. The other firemen slowly drifted off, looking awkward. "Ian, was it?"
"Ha ha," Ian said dryly. "Cute."
Caleb did not look amused.
"Here." Ian extended the cookies. "I made these for you. Well, Debbie made them, mostly, but I helped."
Caleb didn't take them. In fact, he turned the other way and started walking.
"Caleb!" Ian called, hurrying to keep up with him. "You're pissed," he said between breaths, a few steps behind his boyfriend. "I get that."
Caleb whirled around, with an expression that could melt steel. "I left pissed behind three days ago, Ian! You blow up at me for no apparent reason, then don't answer any of my phone calls, my texts. I'm pretty beyond pissed, okay? I was this fucking close to tossing all your shit in the nearest dumpster."
Ian nods stonily. He knows what's coming. "Sorry," he said lamely. "Things get crazy . . ."
"Look," Caleb sighed, "I know how crazy your family is, I get it. But that doesn't mean you can just go AWOL on me. I need you to be stable, to be here."
I'm not stable, Ian thought. He was as far from stable as you could get, really.
"Sorry," Ian said again.
Caleb crossed his arms, and Ian straightened his shoulders, standing a little taller. He knew what came next; Caleb was going to break up with him.
He focused on making his face as neutral as possible, on preparing himself for the blow.
"I love you, Ian. But you can't pick and choose when you want a partner." Here it comes, Ian thought. "I'm here," he breathed, and Ian's eyebrows shot up in shock. "I'm here, and I love you, so please don't push me away."
In two strides, Ian was in front of him, pulling him into a kiss. He wrapped his arms around his neck, and felt weirdly choked up. The kiss was nice, tender; it wasn't the all-consuming fire that his kisses with Mickey were. It was different, but it wasn't worse.
There was a small voice in the back of his head that whispered This is only because he doesn't know. He doesn't know how crazy you are. He wouldn't love you, then.
Ian pulls back first. He puts the cookies in Caleb's hands. "I won't disappear again," he promises. Then, realizing it was a promise he couldn't actually keep, if history was any indicator of future behavior, he amended, "Or at least, I'll try not to. I'll return your calls if I do."
Caleb laughed, a small huff of air, and put his forehead against Ian's. "You gotta make things difficult, don't you, Army?"
Ian recoiled at the mention of Mickey's old nickname for him. Caleb had called him it before, when Ian told him the story of running away to join the army (he'd left out all of the gory details). It sounded wrong coming from him, and it caused a little tear to open in Ian's chest.
When he pulled back, his eyes fell to a line of cars on the other side of the street, and his breathing stopped for a moment.
There it was again. The green car.
This time, he knew why he knew it. IT was the same one he'd tried to drive to Miami, with a screaming baby in the backseat. It was the same one Mickey had had to pay to get our of impound when he got arrested, the same one Ian used to drive to pick up Mickey after the moving truck jobs.
It was the Milkovich car. And someone was inside it.
"What the fuck?" Ian hissed, and started walking toward the car, not bothering to look and see if any other cars were in the road.
"What?" he heard Caleb ask from behind him.
Whoever was in the car—Iggy, it looked like—caught sight of Ian when he was halfway to the car. The engine started and the car skidded to life, quickly spinning away and driving in the opposite direction of Ian.
What the hell had Iggy been doing here? Was he spying on him? Was he spying on Caleb?
Whatever the reason, somebody owed him an answer.