The thump of feet on the steps outside the Milkovich house dragged Mickey and Ian from their reverie. A few voices were muffled by the door as the two raced to find their clothes and dress again. Ian was the first to be successfully clothed, so he lunged for the TV remote in an attempt to cover-up what they'd just finished doing not ten minutes ago. Mickey followed close behind, zipping up his jeans, and falling onto the couch just as the front door swung open.

"Hey, shithead." Mandy said as she walked past the couch into the kitchen. The two on the couch sat completely still, barely even breathing. Mickey fidgeted and Ian twisted his fingers while he tried to figure out what the fuck kind of channel he had turned on. They sat in silence as Mandy rustled bottles and cans in the fridge and programmed the microwave. "So, I was thinking about what you said yesterday," Mandy called over her shoulder, "asking if I thought Ian likes you. And well, considering the fact that you're head over heels, butt-crazy in lo-" Ian raised an eyebrow at Mickey who was doing everything he could not to look at the boy in question. Only then did Mandy notice the other boy sitting in the living room.

"Ian?" She said. Mickey bit his lip.

"Uh, hi."

She walked slowly back to where the two boys were sitting. "Why're you here?"

"Mickey and I were gonna watch this thing we wanted to see." He lifted his hand in the general direction of the television.

Mandy studied it briefly, "You came over because you both wanted to watch Cooking and Crafting with Sally O'Hara?" She didn't speak for a moment she simply stared at Ian, refusing to break eye-contact. He nodded and her expression seemed to cloud with even more disbelief. Then suddenly, it dawned on her. "Oh, my God..."

Mickey's eyes widened and Mandy smiled, "You two fucked!"

"No! Shut up, Amanda!" Mickey yelled desperately.

"Shove it, Michael! You so did!"

And as if things couldn't get any worse for Ian, Lip opened the front door. "Babe?"

"In here." Mandy answered.

"We're gonna be- Ian?" Lip frowned, "Why're-"

Mickey's head fell into his hands. "Jesus Christ..."

"Mickey and Ian fucked!" Mandy chimed.

"What?" Lip grinned. "Congrats, man!"

Ian glared at them. What a way to ruin a perfect moment.

Lip and Mandy left soon thereafter and with Mickey not being able to come within 10 feet of Ian anymore, Ian decided to leave. Mickey had nodded at him on his way out and Ian was content with that. He knew it meant so much more.

Walking, running, jogging, Ian had always loved to be out in the air, feet hitting the pavement, alone with the world and his thoughts. It had all started as his little kid obsession with being like his totally cool, big sister, but as the years had gone by and he'd grown up, it had become his own. Fiona stopped running as often and he kept it up. It was the only time he really got to figure things out. He was out of the chaos of his house and he could just run things out.

It was no surprise that walking helped him think through what had happened with Mickey. It had been so incredible. He'd never felt anything like it; he just wanted to do it again and again and never let him go. It was hard to think about how much it hurt when Mickey had kept his distance from him.

When he couldn't take it anymore Ian finally called Mandy. She was with Lip and she had that distracted air in her voice. She really did care about what Ian was saying he knew, but when you're with your soulmate and you're that close it's really like a drug, not really in a bad way, but in a can't-focus-giggly-happy way. Ian hung up and chose to call back later, or just find her at home.

Ian had walked for what felt like hours and every time he looked up he saw the Milkovich house. He kept unconsciously walking in that direction. It was maddening. He desperately wanted to know what Mickey was thinking, if he felt the same way, if what Mandy had begun to say in the kitchen earlier was true.

Asshole. He thought. What the fuck was I thinking? Mickey Milkovich? Mandy's just wrong. She must've misinterpreted something he said. This could never work. Why did I think it could?

He felt his foot kick something. He momentarily forgot about it all to look at what he'd hit. In the road at his feet lay a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and just next to it was a jug of orange juice. The liquids had spilled out and mixed together on the street, Ian didn't believe in fate, or chance, or any of that, really. But, just this once, he smirked and silently thanked whatever was out there for sending him a sign. Yes, Mickey Milkovich, dummy. Of course, Mickey Milkovich. Who else?