For several minutes, neither boy said anything. The two of them just stayed where they stood, unable to move as they stared at one another.

Ian thought he'd been able to get over what he'd first felt after Mickey hurt him. But as soon as that door had opened, he felt it all come back. So many times Mickey had said the wrong thing, done the stupid thing, or refused to admit what he was really feeling.

Time after time, Ian forgave him.

Time after time, he pretended it never hurt him in the first place.

But this time, he was done pretending.

Yet as he told himself this, he couldn't help but take in Mickey's messy hair, the fact he was shirtless and staring at him with that flicker of hunger Ian was so used to seeing before Terry Milkovich had ruined what they had. Ian couldn't help but want to pull Mickey close and make up for the weeks they lost.

Mickey didn't avert his gaze from Gallagher's. Aside from the bruise, he'd looked fuckin hot as ever. His lips still full, hair still that gorgeous fire red. He could see the longing that Ian tried so hard to hide. The ex-con understood.

"The bruise doesn't look that bad…" Mickey commented.

Ian's scoffed and sneered. "Yeah, well, it's surprising what a bag of peas and a bunch of tears can do."

Mickey tried to hide a wince. He deserved that. He just hoped Gallagher would forgive.

"Gallagher—"

"No. I came here with Mandy to find you and see if you'll go home or not. I keep telling myself I should fucking hate you for what you did to me. And yet…Yet all I can fucking do is forgive you and act like it's okay." Ian stayed in his spot, eyes watering with the threat of tears.

Mickey slowly walked toward him a few steps, a hand scrubbing through his own hair.

"I know! I-I know. I'm a fuckin asshole for treating you like shit, okay? I know. And I'm…I'm…I'm fuckin sorry, all right, Gallagher?" He spat out, desperate for Ian to see how much he meant it. For Christ's sake he'd actually just apologized for this redhead.

The shock made the anger drain from Gallagher's face. He stood there with wide eyes, staring at Mickey as if he were some fucking unicorn. Rare and never seen. After a moment, Ian spoke.

"Did….Did Mickey Milkovich just…Say he was sorry?"

"Yeah. I did." Mickey couldn't take the intensity of Ian's look, so turned his head away and crossed his arms.

There was a long silence between them, Mickey just wanting Ian to speak while Ian tried to figure out if this was really the same tense Mickey who couldn't even smile.

After another minute or two, Mickey gave in.

"I was hopin you would come. I knew Mandy would drag you out somewhat. I'm not goin the fuck back to Chicago. I'm stayin right here. And you should too."

Ian's hear flipped. It stuttered, even halted. He was one hundred percent sure he'd heard Mickey wrong.

"What did you just say?" he asked.

"Jesus, Gallagher, don't make me say it again." Mickey scowled.

Ian was silent, slowly walking to him. He stared down at the ex-con.

"Why would you want me to stay here with you? Away from my family? Away from Mandy?"

Mickey shifted. "You're coming up here anyway. For fuckin West Point. Might as well get used to this fuckin place. No need to find some expensive ass apartment. And…I want you here."

Ian's hands slowly moved, snaking around Mickey's waist and pulling him closer. The redhead leaned down to get closer.

"You being serious, Mick, or just saying what you know I want to hear?" he whispered.

"What the fuck do you think?" Mickey replied, rising onto his toes, leaving little space between their mouths, their breath hitting against each other.

"I think…I love you." Ian whispered. In response, Mickey welcomes the uniting of their lips instead of pushing away.

They both knew Mickey wasn't going to be able to utter those three words back. Not yet. Especially after what happened before. But what they did do was stand pressed against each other as close as they could, Ian's arms around the ex-con's waist while Mickey's were knotted in the short red hair. They let their teeth and tongues speak for them.

Neither of them held back their conveying emotions in the kiss; just let the desperation and happiness flow on through.

When they finally pulled apart, both boys were breathing hard, close to taking the kissing further. Instead, Mickey and Ian let their lips brush against each other over and over.

"So…?" Mickey whispered.

Ian let his lips quirk into his shit eating grin.

"What the fuck do you think?" He answered back.