Ian's problem is that when he isn't thinking about how much he can't stand his parents, he's thinking about Mickey. He's starting to seriously creep himself out, because what guy thinks about another guy so much? He's pretty sure the only way to stop will be if he can just figure out what's up with Mickey. Once he solves the mystery of Mickey Milkovich, things will go back to normal.

Plan A. He goes over to Mickey's house again, unannounced.

Burt answers the door and his eyebrows raise in surprise.

Ian blushes, oh god, what had he been thinking? They probably both hate him now after the incident with his mom. "Hi- I. I just wanted to apologize for the other day. At the grocery store," he says, already stepping back onto a lower step of the porch. He should leave.

Burt's expression relaxes into understanding. "Hey, that's okay. You don't gotta apologize."

Ian is a little taken aback. "...Are you sure? Because-"

"Look, kid, it isn't you, y'know? If your mom's got a problem?" He shrugs. "That's her deal."

Ian nods, but admits, "I feel bad. I don't share her opinion."

"I figured." Burt smiles, and Ian feels relieved. "You lookin for Mickey?"

Another nod, a little less timid.

"He's not due home for about another half hour or so. You wanna come in and wait?"

"Uh." Ian smiles tentatively. "Sure."

Burt nods toward the inside of the house and holds the door open for him. He steps inside, smile growing.

"You can watch TV if you want, game's on. Or you can help me make dinner," Burt says with a small laugh, like he knows what Ian's choice will be.

"I'd love to help," Ian says, and that seems to catch Burt's attention.

"Yeah? Ever make quinoa tacos?"

"No, I've...never even heard of that. But I'm a fast learner." Ian follows Burt into the kitchen where dinner is already started.

"Had some heart trouble last year. Kid's got me on a healthy diet, so we use a special recipe book. No salt on anything," Burt sighs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you okay now?" Ian asks.

"Yeah, thanks to Mickey. He's a sweet boy, couldn't ask for better son." Burt talks as he gathers ingredients, pride evident in his voice and on his face. "Gets it from his mother, of course."

"Is she at work?" And damn Ian's penchant for speaking before thinking, leading him to say awkward, stupid things. He regrets it as soon as he sees the look in Burt's eyes.

Burt goes still, staring at the cook book. "She passed away eleven years ago. Mickey was six."

"I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know." Of course you didn't know, idiot. "I'm- That must be hard."

"We get by," Burt says, finally turning to look at him with a smile. "Now, you think you can handle cutting up some cauliflower?"

ooo

"Dad! I'm home!"

Mickey comes running into the dining room, slightly breathless and excited about something. It lasts about two seconds. He stops short, confusion and surprise evident on his face. Ian is sure Mickey probably didn't expect to come home and find him setting the table.

"Hi."

"Did I walk into the wrong house, or..."

Burt pokes his head out of the kitchen. "Hey, you're home. Just in time, dinner's about done."

Mickey looks between Burt and Ian, and slowly backs out of the room. Ian listens to his footsteps ascend the stairs.

Well, that wasn't awkward or anything.

Ian finishes setting the table and Mickey returns, nose in the air, composed. He comes up to Ian, standing close by his side, and whispers near his ear, "Why are you in my house?"

Ian turns his face a little, unnerved. "You said we're friends. Best friends."

Mickey stares. "...You did not think I was being serious."

Ian just smiles.

"You did not."

Of course he hadn't, but it's not like he's going to say, nah I was just curious about how you seem to be two different people, so I decided to come over and get to know you.

"Boys?" Burt carries the taco platter out and sets it on the table. "Care to bring out a dish?"

"Of course," Ian says dutifully, and slips past Mickey and into the kitchen to get the sautéed cauliflower. Mickey follows, bringing out pineapple slices. Ian can feel Mickey's eyes on him, but ignores him and sits down at the table.

"Thanks again for inviting me to dinner, Mr. Milkovich," Ian says after they start eating.

"Burt. And of course. It goes a lot faster having help."

Mickey looks mildly horrified. "You helped make dinner?"

"Yes," Ian says. "How else was I going to get the chance to poison your dinner?"

Mickey opens his mouth, a half-eaten piece of cauliflower falling out. Ian nearly doubles over in laughter.

"That isn't funny," Mickey grinds out, daintily picking up the piece of cauliflower with his napkin and setting it aside.

"It's pretty funny," Ian says, wiping at the corner of his eye.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Boy, Mickey, what got up your butt?" Burt asks, snorting around a bite of food.

Mickey colors and looks down at his plate. He picks up his fork, seeming to come to a decision, and smiles. "Nothing, dad. I'm just sorry I wasn't able to help make dinner, too."

"Gotta get home earlier than six thirty, son," Burt says.

"I was at the library."

They continue to eat, Mickey and his dad talking about the script Mickey's working on for Creative Writing. It's a Western and he has to do research because he doesn't know anything legitimate about horses or surviving in desert climates. Ian listens quietly, mostly watching Mickey. Mickey sounds excited about the story, and even more excited when he brings up that he saw the For Sale sign in the window of a car he wants has been reduced in price by a thousand dollars.

"What kind of car is it?" Ian asks.

Mickey looks over at him. "A 1965 Buick Riviera." His attention returns to his father. "I just think it'd be fun to rebuild before I go to college."

"Except you're forgetting how you should be saving money for college, not some old car," Burt says.

"Yeah, yeah, dad. It's just a nice car. Plus, it'd be nice not having to share your truck."

"We'll see."

Mickey smiles and takes a bite of his taco.

"I have a car," Ian pipes up, "if you ever need a ride somewhere."

Mickey almost chokes, and takes a long drink of milk, staring at Ian over his glass as though trying to gauge if he's messing with him or not.

"You only live maybe five minutes away," Ian adds.

"Sure," Mickey says, catching his breath. "Thanks, Ian."

Ian thinks this is kind of fun, how Mickey has to act nice to him because his dad is around. "No problem. Maybe we can go bowling or something. Or to Cedar Point."

"You are not getting me on a roller coaster," Mickey says immediately.

Burt chuckles. "It's true. Took him on the log ride when he was seven and it just about traumatized him."

"I was soaking wet! Not to mention what they do to your hair, and your stomach." He stabs a pineapple slice, looking prissy. "Never again."

Ian smiles down at his plate. "That's the whole point."

Mickey points the pineapple slice at him. "Never. Again."

Ian put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, no Cedar Point."

"Besides," Mickey says, sucking the juice off the piece of fruit, "are you sure your mother would let you? She seems a bit..." He meets Ian's gaze, challenging. "Uptight."

"Mickey," Burt starts to say.

"No, it's fine. No one is more aware of my mother's behavior than I am," Ian says, looking Mickey right in the eye. "And to answer your question, Mickey, I doubt she would care. Beyond that, I'm sorry about what she said yesterday."

Mickey licks his lip. A long moment passes. He must be unable to come up with a jab to return with. "It's fine. I hope I wasn't too out of line."

"A bit," Burt says.

What his mother did was humiliating, but it was far from the first time. Ian swallows his shame, there is nothing else he can do. "Well, it is the truth."

The conversation relaxes again after that, segueing into a discussion about movies coming out soon. At the end of the meal Burt starts to gather the dishes and Mickey stretches.

"Well, it was nice of you to come over, Ian..."

Ian just smiles.

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow at school?" Mickey concludes.

"Oh. I don't have to go home yet," Ian says, sounding overly happy. "Can I see your room? Do you have an X-Box?"

Mickey freezes.

"Go ahead, boys, I'll take care of clean up this time," Burt says, looking pleased.

Mickey is glaring daggers at him, but stands up. "Sure, let's go." His smile is strained.

"Awesome!" Ian says, and follows Mickey up the stairs.

As soon as they're in Mickey's bedroom, Mickey closes the door and backs Ian up to it. "I could kill you for this," he hisses.

Ian just smiles; he was expecting this sort of reaction. "I'm not scared of you. You said we were friends."

"I said that to piss off your mom," Mickey all but screeches, throwing his hands up. "God, and to think, I actually kind of felt bad for you."

Ian is a little touched by that, honestly. "For me?" Still, he came for a reason. "That's weird, because I feel sorry for you."

Mickey frowns, mouth tight. "What for?"

"Because clearly you're trying very hard to be a good boy for dad. Or maybe you're trying to be a jerk at school. I can't tell."

Mickey looks like he's trying not to blow a gasket.

"I don't get you," Ian says, earnestly. "It's like you're two different people. Which one is the real you?"

"Nothing that I do is any of your business," Mickey snaps.

Ian steps forward, forcing Mickey a step back. "You made it my business when you slushied me on my first day of school."

"That was to warn you to back off—"

"Well it didn't work!"

"What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone? Do I have to sic Karofsky on you? Is that what it'll take—"

Ian inwardly balks at the thought, but crosses his arms and fixes Mickey with a look of defiance. "I'm not afraid of you. I know you're hiding something, I know you're faking something-"

"Really, Ian? Since you're so fucking observant, haven't you noticed?" Mickey flattens a palm against the door next to Ian's head, staring him down. "I'm different, and people who are different, people who stick out at this school? Are tormented."

"By you."

Mickey's hand curls into a fist and bangs into the door. Ian winces, but doesn't move. "You think I started this? I do what I have to do."

"But why are you different?" Ian asks, frowning. "Because you have a high voice?"

Mickey's jaw drops in disbelief and anger. It takes a moment for him to reply. "And I'm skinny, unathletic, and I'm - I used to be short. I used to look very young for my age."

Ian studies Mickey's face. No, there's something else. Mickey seems worried, there is still this look of panic underneath his anger, like a wounded animal, and Ian, the fox. Ian doesn't mean to be, but he shakes his head. Mickey is holding back and he needs to know. "I don't buy it," he says. "That can't be it-"

"Do you need me to spell it out for you, Ian? I'm gay." Mickey says it in a breath, barely pausing to take another. "And I don't want anyone to know."

Ian feels his face heat up without knowing why. He wonders if it shows, if Mickey can tell.

"I- oh."

Mickey can't have noticed, though, because he is slowly backing away. He's even paler than normal and looks like he's about puke. "Oh god," he says, walking backwards until his shoulder hits the wall. He slides down, crouching on the floor. "Why did I just say that..."

The news isn't as shocking for Ian as it apparently is for Mickey. Not that Ian suspected, but it's just not a big deal. He's known a few gay guys at Dalton. Rachel's dads are gay. It's not like he's never met somebody like that before. Still, Ian doesn't know how to respond. Mickey isn't a friend, but he isn't...well, Ian doesn't know what he is.

Ian decides that even if they aren't friends, Mickey looks like he could use one right now, so he edges closer and hesitantly sits down next to him. "I won't tell," he says in a quiet voice. He may not like Mickey, he may have even wanted to give him some crap for the things he's done, but he would never, ever use this against him.

Mickey doesn't say anything, just covers his face with his hands, fingers tangling in his hair.

"I promise, Mickey," Ian says, reaching out to touch Mickey's arm.

Mickey pushes his hand away and looks at him, gaze hard but eyes unmistakably watery. "Stop it, Ian. You don't even like me."

"So?" Ian snaps, clasping his own fingers like Mickey's touch hurt them. "That doesn't mean I'm going to out you."

"Shh! Fuck."

Ian blushes, but lowers his voice. "I'm not that kind of person."

Mickey rubs his hand over his forehead, his eyes, trying to collect himself. He doesn't look at Ian when he speaks up. "No one else knows. Not even my dad."

Only then is Ian hit with the enormity of the situation. He wants to ask, why me? But suspects Mickey won't be able to come up with an answer anyway. It was a mistake, something that has probably been building up and accidentally spilled out. No one has ever shared a secret like this with Ian before, and he doesn't know how to handle it. Afraid he's going to say the wrong thing, he doesn't say anything at all.

"So that's why," Mickey continues, voice raw, "I protect myself. No one's going to mess with me if I'm on the side no one messes with. It's logic, Ian. This is Lima, not New York, or San Francisco, or whatever mythical places exist where people don't care if you're gay." He stares down at his knees. "I just want to get through high school with minimal torture."

Ian is quiet for a long moment. "But don't you get it? You're doing to others exactly what you're afraid will happen to you."

Mickey's whips his head around to look at him. "I don't hurt anyone."

"Because slushies are all in good fun," Ian counters. "Besides, you have shoved me."

"I don't enjoy it!" Mickey exclaims. "I'm sure you won't believe me, but I don't. I don't like being an asshole. I don't like having no friends. But I also don't want to get beat up and have my own ostracization beyond my control. You have no idea-" His hands fist the fabric of his jeans. "I try not to go out of my way to pick on people. It's usually required at the beginning of the year to set a precedent. To remind people to stay away from me. With you..."

The corner of Mickey's mouth turns up just a little, but there's a bitterness to it. "You fought back. So I had to fight harder." The tiny smile disappears. "I'm sorry I shoved you. What Karofsky said hit a little too close to home."

Ian has already forgiven Mickey, and takes his hand. Mickey jerks it from his grasp, eyes flashing that same frightened anger.

"What? You're gay, you don't have the plague." He takes Mickey's hand once more.

There is a faint tint to Mickey's cheeks, his features pinched. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to hit on you?"

Ian lets out a laugh. "Is that what you think people will think?"

Mickey raises his eyebrows.

Ian smiles. "No, I'm not afraid. You don't even like me."

Mickey's mouth twists into a smirk. "True."

"Careful, I think your McKinley alter-ego is rubbing off on you," Ian says.

"No, that's just me," Mickey says, nose upturned. "I may not like being a bully, but I am kind of a bitch."

Ian laughs again, he can't help it.

Mickey smiles and gently sets Ian's hand back down on his own knee, and clears his throat. "Anyway," his voice softens. "Seriously. Thanks. For not freaking out on me."

"It doesn't bother me," Ian says. "I knew a few guys at Dalton who were gay." At Mickey's curious look, he continues. "It's an all-boys private school with a no harassment policy. I know one of them transferred there specifically because he'd been bullied."

Mickey seems to consider this. "Why'd you leave?"

"My dad's job." Ian shrugs, frowning.

"You miss it?"

Ian nods, clasping his fingers together in his lap.

Mickey's eyes linger on Ian's hands. "I'm sorry."

Ian smiles. "It's okay. I made some friends here, it's not so bad."

Mickey's eyebrow arches. "The glee club?"

"How'd you know?"

"I just do." Mickey shrugs a shoulder. "Same way anyone knows anyone else's business at school. It just goes around."

"Oh. Well, yeah. I really like it. Everybody's nice, and I like singing." He peeks over at Mickey. "You should join."

"Glee club?" Mickey's reply positively drips with disdain.

Ian meets Mickey's disdain with sarcasm. "Yeah, glee club. You can sing."

"Never going to happen, it's probably one step below being openly gay."

Ian frowns and feels an unfamiliar ache in his chest. Mickey seems to be denying himself so many things, all for image and reputation. "You can slushie me every day. It'd still be worth it."

Mickey's expression deflates. "You really are something else."

Ian gives a questioning look, and Mickey just shakes his head.

"Well, anyway. We're performing at the pep assembly this Friday," Ian says. "Maybe you'll change your mind when you see how awesome we are. And I have the solo," he says, preening. Solos, he's used to, but he hadn't expected to get one so quickly when he'd just joined the group. Everyone seemed happy to give it to him, they said no one appreciated them at the school assemblies. Ian doesn't care, he just wants to perform.

Mickey groans. "Your funeral. You forget that I've gone here the last three years. Glee club performances have always been...interesting." He perks up. "In fact, I can't wait to see what happens. This is going to be funny."

"...You're excited about my social decline, aren't you?"

"Maybe just a little," Mickey says.

"Rude."

Mickey grins.

"No, really. You're the worst friend ever. Best friend. Worst best friend," Ian adds.

"Oh my god, you know I was just messing with your mom when I said that," Mickey says.

Ian is beaming and tries to put an arm around Mickey. "Nope. It was a confession. A love confession."

Mickey tries to squirm out of his grasp, but Ian just holds on tighter.

"I'll puke, I really will-"

"Best friends forever!"

"-all over you, because of how sick you're making me feel-"

"With love? I'm lovesick, too. I always wanted such a fashion-forward friend. Burberry, Mickey?"

"-I'm going to end you-"

"Can I borrow your Burberry? I'll swap you a Dolce and Gabanna button up," Ian says.

Mickey stops fighting, interest piqued . "...Seriously?"

Ian blinks. "Awww! Friends!" he bursts, and hugs Mickey to him.

Mickey sighs. "I hate you so much, you have no idea."

"Not when I bring you that D&G you won't," he says in a sing-song voice.

"...We'll see."

ooo

Mickey walks Ian to the door. Burt is watching football in the other room, and Ian calls out to thank him for dinner. He turns to Mickey, who is frowning again, worrying his lower lip.

"Promise you won't tell?" Mickey asks in a voice so quiet Ian almost can't hear.

"I promise," Ian says.

Mickey still looks unsure, as though out of the safety of his bedroom, Ian's word suddenly mean nothing. Ian doesn't blame Mickey. They do barely know each other and it isn't like Mickey has much reason to trust him. He isn't Ian, who tends to trust people immediately and automatically.

"You want to pinky swear?" Ian asks.

Mickey looks at him as if he's just spoken some alien language. "Excuse me?"

"Pinky swear." Ian holds up his pinky.

Mickey huffs out a laugh. "Uh. Okay." He holds up his pinky, which Ian clamps onto with his own.

Ian leans in. "Your secret's safe with me," he says, smiling.

Mickey looks up from where he's been staring at their pinkies, a little dazed, and nods.