Ian wakes up to Mickey trying to climb over him. "What-"
"M'gonna puke," Mickey croaks, finally scaling Ian's body and half falling into the bathroom in his haste. "Oh god..."
Ian winces in sympathy at the sound of retching coming from the other room. He pulls himself out of bed and finds Mickey kneeling over the toilet, looking paler than usual.
"I'm never drinking again," Mickey moans.
Ian sits down next to him, facing the wall instead of the toilet, and gently rubs his back. "You'll feel better once you get it all out."
Mickey just groans, and Ian's eyes squeeze closed at the sound of more vomiting. Ian stands up and scans the room until he finds a cup. Mickey probably uses it to gargle, so he rinses it out and fills it with fresh water.
"Here, wash your mouth out," Ian says, putting the cup between Mickey's hands.
"Thank you," Mickey replies, doing as instructed.
Once Mickey has passed through the worst of it, Ian finds him some aspirin. He makes the room as hangover-proof as possible, drawing the curtains closed, and helps Mickey back into bed. He covers Mickey's forehead with a cool, damp washcloth, sitting close in case Mickey needs anything. Mickey reaches up and wraps his fingers around Ian's wrist, slipping his hand into Ian's. Ian's heart skips a beat.
"You're like a mom," Mickey says with a faint smile, something he must think looks teasing.
Ian returns the smile. "I could always go get your dad."
Mickey groans. "Please, no. He'd kick my ass," he says, letting go. Ian can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed.
"It's okay. I won't tell."
Mickey's quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Ian."
"Why?" Ian asks, startled.
"For calling you like that last night. Making you deal with me. You didn't have to."
"Mickey-"
"I hope I didn't disturb your dance." Mickey finally looks at him. Really looks. "Oh god, you're still in your dress shirt and pants. And they're wrinkled." He looks mildly horrified. Leave it to Mickey to worry about clothes at a time like this.
Ian cracks a smile. "The dance was over, it was no problem. What are friends for, right?" Mickey smiles, and Ian can't resist. His knuckles brush against Mickey's cheek, fingers against his temple under the pretense of adjusting the washcloth. "Sleep, okay? It's still early."
"'Kay," Mickey says, closing his eyes. Ian stays where he is and watches for a few minutes.
It's 8:05am and either his parents aren't up or they just haven't noticed Ian's empty bedroom, because when he checks his phone it has no new messages. He texts his mom to let her know he and some friends are going to IHop, and hopes a text message instead of a note doesn't seem too suspicious.
He goes to Mickey's closet because he can't spend the day in his suit. Mickey has his clothing arranged by color, and Ian can't help a tiny smile. Mickey takes such care, loves these clothes he won't even let himself wear so much. As Ian's looking through the blue shirts, it hits him.
It wasn't the drinking. He likes Mickey.
Really likes him.
And not just now, either. Not with how secretly happy he'd been when Mickey called him from the club. Mickey hadn't called Karofsky or Azimio or whoever, Mickey had called him. Not with the thrill he gets singing to Mickey. Singing with him. Not with the way he lights up every time Mickey texts him out of the blue. Or how pleased he is when Mickey borrows his clothes. Or the way Mickey's eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he leans close when they're studying, the way he-
Not just friends.
Ian has always liked Mickey. Maybe his brain just wouldn't let himself realize it, wouldn't make the connection because he didn't think such a connection was even a possibility, but he likes Mickey. He has for a long time.
Ian rests his forehead against the clothing rail, closing his eyes. Realization wants to feel like a relief, but at the moment he's too scared to let it in. He's out of his depth, confused. This changes him. This means he's...gay. Or bisexual. Or something, something not straight. And here he is, always telling Mickey to have courage, to not hide, to be himself for the world to see. And right now Ian would like nothing more than to hide away, even from himself.
It's not like he thinks there's anything wrong with being gay. He's never had a problem with the idea, he's just never applied it to himself. It's never been personal. What will be different about him? Should he tell someone? Should he tell everyone?
Oh wow. He can't stop thinking it: oh wow.
He doesn't just like Mickey...he's gay.
It explains so much. It feels like all the little cogs and gears of his existence all finally fit together, wound up and ready to go. He has to tell someone. He should tell Mickey. Mickey will know what to do.
But then, no.
Ian thinks about Mickey and the bullying and his dear clothes all hidden away, kept in a safe place waiting for another life.
No, then.
Although, they could be a support. They could help each other. Except, what if Mickey figures out Ian likes him? Ian is one hundred percent sure he isn't ready for that. Because what if Mickey doesn't like him back? Their friendship is so tempestuous, it's all still so new. Besides, Mickey likes handsome jocks like Finn and Puck, not short, preppy guys like him. Right?
It's too much to take in all at once, and Ian forces himself to end that train of thought. He picks clothes that look like they'll fit him and slips as quietly as he can into the bathroom. He takes a nice, hot shower, but it does little to relax him. Mickey's clothes fit, not as well as they fit Mickey, of course, but they'll do. He towel dries his hair and leaves it ungelled, taking a deep breath before returning to the bedroom.
Mickey is snoring softly. Ian takes the washcloth from his forehead and watches him for a minute, hoping Mickey will feel better when he wakes. He doesn't know how long Mickey will sleep, but can't sit here staring the entire morning or he'll go out of his mind. He hates to invade the Milkovich's kitchen without permission, but he just can't stay in this bedroom.
Ian slips downstairs as quietly as possible. He contemplates making breakfast for everyone, wonders if it would be welcome or just intrusive. He's rooting around the fridge to see what they have, when a voice behind him says, "Ian?"
Ian jumps a mile. "Oh my god, Mr. Milkovich- Burt. Jesus, you- I mean. You startled me." He puts his palm to his chest and waits for his heart rate to slow down.
"M'a bit confused myself," Burt says, thankfully in amusement and not annoyance. "I didn't know you were here."
"Some of us went out after the dance last night, so I invited Mickey. It was late, so afterwards he said I could just crash here. I hope you don't mind," Ian plows on. "You were asleep so we didn't want to wake you. I was going to make breakfast..."
Burt chuckles. Probably at how stupid Ian's acting; man, he really sucks at lying. "It's fine, of course you're welcome here."
"Thanks," Ian says, smiling uncertainly. "Um, so, I was going to make scrambled eggs and pancakes, if you like that?"
"Sure, I'll help," Burt says. "We got some turkey bacon or some healthy alternative in there, too."
Ian and Burt start getting things together, working quietly and companionably. Ian starts to feel more comfortable, coming down from his earlier revelation. It's kind of crazy how different Burt is from his own father. Ian isn't sure his father knows how to make anything more complicated than a sandwich, nor would he spend time with Ian like this. When his father isn't working, he's out in the garage with his old cars, fixing them up so they can sit there looking pretty. Every once in a while he takes them out, but never with Ian. It seems to be his only hobby.
Ian's so lost in thought that Burt startles him again when he speaks up.
"So, how was the dance?" Burt asks.
Last night feels like another universe, and the dance, in particular, as if it were months ago. "Um, it was okay. I guess."
"Didja go with somebody?"
"Yeah. Her name is Rachel Berry. She's really nice, we're friends, but. I think she wants to like...you know. Go out." Ian flips a pancake in the pan and blushes from embarrassment at how personal he's being with his friend's dad.
Burt gives him a curious look. "You don't wanna?"
"I like her, it's just..." And here's the first lie. The first of how many, and for how long? Ian stares at the pancakes a moment. "I guess I just don't like her like that."
"Just 'cause she's a girl doesn't mean you're obligated," Burt says, like he's got experience, and huffs a quiet laugh.
"Yeah," Ian agrees, forcing a smile. That statement is true on so many levels. Ian's eyes burn and he blinks them a few times, but it's no good. Soon they're watering over. He quickly digs the heel of his hand against them, trying to be discreet.
"Ian?" Burt sounds surprised. "You okay?"
"I- yeah. The heat from the stove..." But it's no good, the tears keep coming. He is so stupid...
"Hey, hey," Burt says in such a gentle voice it just makes Ian cry harder. "Come on, come on, let's go sit down."
"But the food..."
"It'll hold," Burt says, turning off the burner and guiding Ian by his shoulder into the dining room. He sits Ian down and settles into a chair across from him, not saying anything at first. "You wanna talk about it?"
Ian sniffs and wipes his face with a napkin Burt hands him. He smiles out of nervousness. "I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be. I'm a dad, this is our job," Burt says, smiling warmly.
"Not my dad," Ian says, and realizes too late that he said that out loud. "I mean, I don't know. I'm." He struggles to find the words, and can't. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"
"As long as you aren't in some kinda danger," Burt says. He gives Ian a contemplative look. "Did you get this Rachel girl pregnant?"
Ian knows Burt must have been trying to help by figuring out what was up so Ian wouldn't have to say it, but it's so far off the mark he can't help but laugh. "Oh no, oh my god, I've never even- er..."
"Right," Burt says, looking like he's maybe trying not to laugh, too.
Ian takes a deep breath, but he can't quite meet Burt's eyes. "Okay. I think...I'm pretty sure. I don't like girls at all." His voice lowers, hands digging into the knees of Mickey's jeans. "I think I'm gay."
Burt doesn't say anything at first, and when Ian chances to look up at him he can't read his expression. "Hm," he says at last. "You tell Mickey?"
"Mickey? No. You're the only one. It's kind of- I only just realized it. Like. Yesterday. Rachel kissed me and it was just...nothing. And there's this boy," Ian starts to say, but embarrassment tightens his throat and the words won't come out.
Burt nods. "Well, Ian, I'm gonna tell you right now, it will be okay," he says, looking Ian right in the eyes. "It probably won't be easy, but you're still the same boy, and there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing."
Ian nods, tearing up again. Even though he knew this, he needed to hear someone say it. He needed the assurance, the acceptance.
"And if somebody's got a problem, or somebody messes with you, you can come here," Burt continues. "You understand? No matter what, this is a safe place for you. Okay?"
Ian can only nod again, his throat too tight and eyes too blurry for anything else. He feels so thankful, and loved, and scared.
"You should tell your folks," he adds. "Y'know, they might just surprise you."
Ian wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "I don't want to be a disappointment," he all but whispers.
"You're not," Burt says firmly. "And don't ever let anybody tell you that. You're a good kid, Ian. I've never seen Mickey this happy since you've been coming around."
"Really?" Ian asks, looking up.
"Really. I know my son. He's always been kind of a loner and an introvert. He's had some friends over before, but to tell the truth they weren't anyone I was too impressed with."
Ian tries to imagine Karofsky or Azimio hanging out in the Milkovich house. All his mind can conjure up is awkward.
"He's different with you. You're a," Burt pauses a moment like he's trying to think of the right word, "positive influence."
This gets a smile out of Ian. He doesn't know if he's influencing Mickey, but it feels good to hear that he makes Mickey happy. He must, if Burt notices. "I'm glad we're friends," he says. "I hated leaving my old school."
Burt nods. "Y'know," he says, after a moment. "When you're comfortable, you can tell Mickey. He won't judge you." Ian must look uneasy at that, because he continues. "I know my son, he'll stick with you."
Ian nods a little, knowing he can trust Mickey. Of course he can, especially in this.
Burt stands, giving Ian's knee a pat. "You up for finishing breakfast, kid?"
"Yeah. I am," Ian says, smiles and means it. "Thanks, Burt."
"Sure, kid."
ooo
When breakfast is ready, Ian offers to go get Mickey.
"Why don't you take it up?" Burt says, throwing a bit of everything on a plate, "I gotta eat and run anyway, or my employees'll give me shit about bein' late."
The bedroom is still dim when Ian returns. Mickey's sleeping soundly, he looks so peaceful that Ian kind of hates to wake him. Still, he gently shakes a shoulder. "Mickey? Mickey, wake up…"
Mickey groans and doesn't move.
"Come on, I brought you breakfast. On a tray and everything, mon petit prince," Ian teases.
Mickey opens his eyes halfway. "I didn't impregnate you last night, did I?" Ian takes too long to reply and Mickey props himself up in alarm. "Oh god, I didn't do anything to you, did I?"
"Anything?" Ian echoes. "Oh. No, no, you didn't." He composes himself and smiles. "Just get up before your food gets cold."
Mickey doesn't look convinced, but sits up primly, back resting against his pillows. "Shall you join me?"
"I shall," Ian says, slipping into bed beside Mickey.
"This is good," Mickey says in the middle of eating. "You really made this?"
"Mmhm," Ian hums around a bite of pancake. "Me and your dad."
"Oh my god."
"What?"
"I think I'm supposed to be mortified. He is my dad," Mickey says, eyebrow raised.
"I like him," Ian says.
Mickey rolls his eyes. "Please don't tell me he convinced you to come help in the shop."
"That didn't come up," Ian says, laughing a little. "I told him you came to the IHop with a bunch of us after the dance and I ended up crashing here, by the way. Since I was in your kitchen at eight in the morning in your clothes."
"You make it sound so scandalous," Mickey says.
"We did sleep together."
"I hate you."
"You always say that," Ian says. "But I know the truth."
Mickey is silent, chewing and blushing. Normally Ian would tease him about it, except that it's making him blush. He stuffs his mouth with egg so he isn't expected to speak.
It's Mickey who finally says something. "I have no idea how we got back last night. I remember the club, mostly. And I think I sang to you. Which, embarrassing. Uh, sorry. If I like. Did anything inappropriate. It's not you," Mickey is quick to say. "When I drink, I get pretty loose. It's bad and I am suitably ashamed. I hope you can forgive me." He dares a sideways glance.
It's not you. Somehow, it's all Ian hears. Sticks in his mind like a barbed hook.
Does he really expect Mickey to say it is him, though?
"Of course," Ian says. "There's nothing to forgive. You danced with me, but that's about it." He looks down at his breakfast, pushing it around his plate with his fork. "You were, uh, making out with this guy..."
"I know. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Mickey says, and he sounds so sad that Ian looks over.
"You don't make me uncomfortable," Ian says with more ferocity than is appropriate. "I don't care that you're gay."
Mickey is looking at him, and Ian can't read his expression.
"That guy is too old, though. It's like...illegal," Ian says stupidly.
Mickey smiles. "It isn't like I have many options."
"That doesn't mean you have to settle for him!"
"And you don't have to settle for Rachel Berry," Mickey says, jabbing at his eggs and eating a bite.
"I'm not settling for Rachel Berry," Ian protests.
Mickey turns to look at him. "Then why in the world would you date someone who wears butterfly knee socks? Why, Ian? Did you know she's the president of the Craft Club? They had a fundraiser for new glue guns! They hold surprise locker bedazzlings! Do you know how long it took me to get a giant blinged-out Hello Kitty portrait off my locker door? You can still see the outline of a bow to this day."
Ian frowns and tries to defend his friend, "I think she's sweet."
"Look," Mickey interjects with a sigh, "I just...get lonely, sometimes." He looks away, and Ian desperately wants to touch him, make him look back over. "You wouldn't understand."
Ian's fingers curl around Mickey's wrist before he even realizes his hand has moved. Mickey looks over, bewildered. "I just didn't want him to take advantage of you." And I was jealous.
"Ian..."
"You're my best friend," Ian says, tightening his grip.
Mickey doesn't say anything at first. "You're my best friend, too," he says, barely above a whisper.
Ian knows, but it doesn't stop his chest from aching to hear it from Mickey's mouth.
ooo
Like a cut that doesn't hurt until looked at, now that Ian realizes he likes Mickey he cannot stop thinking about him. It's like Attraction City, population: 1. Ian Gallagher.
He thought he'd liked girls before, but knows now that it was never real because nothing has ever felt like this. This all-consuming need to be around Mickey, the way his stomach flutters with every touch, the stupid, ridiculous daydreams his mind conjures up. The less ridiculous things his mind comes up with at night when he's alone in bed.
Ian's French grade is especially going to suffer, because during class Ian gets distracted staring at the back of Mickey's head (or better yet, when Mickey will turn a little to look at something and Ian can see his profile), and during their tutoring sessions Ian gets distracted because Mickey's sitting so close, speaking so prettily in French.
Unfortunately, Mickey starts to notice.
"Des fois, j'aime porter des sous-vêtements pour femme."
Ian repeats the phrase on autopilot, eliciting a huff of frustration and a pen smacked against the table.
"Ian, are you even paying attention?"
"Huh?" Ian blinks. "...Yes!"
"Really? What did I just say?" Mickey asks, looking pissy.
"Um." Ian thinks back, but mostly all he remembers about the past twenty minutes is Mickey's mouth and the very soft dusting of freckles along his nose. They're so faint he wonders if Mickey even realizes they're there.
"Ian."
"I don't know!" Ian gives up. "Something about women?"
Mickey just shakes his head and closes his book. "Don't blame me when you fail the test."
"What? I'm not-"
"Ian, for the past week you've been in your own world," Mickey says, cutting him off. "What's going on? Is this, like...is it Rachel?"
"Rachel?"
"Your girlfriend?," Mickey supplies, bite in his voice.
Rachel. She's kind of decided they're dating. She has him carry her books between classes, she sits next to him at lunch and they hold hands, and god, he hasn't done a thing to discourage her, not really. He just…he doesn't want to hurt her. He wants to keep this secret just a little while longer.
"No, it's not her. I like someone else," he blurts out, regretting it not two seconds later.
"What? Then why," Mickey says, confused, before closing his mouth tight. When Ian doesn't immediately respond, he continues. "What the hell, Ian. She looks at you like you're the living embodiment of Adonis. Who else is there?"
You. The word is there in his mind, on the tip of his tongue. All he has to do is say it. One little word, three letters, one syllable.
"Finn," Ian says. It just comes out and he doesn't know why, but now Mickey will know, that he's gay, that—
But Mickey looks furious, and stands, slamming his books in a pile to leave. "You know what, screw you, Ian."
"What? I—"
"-You're going to make fun of me for being gay, and you're going to use the subject of my worst humiliation to do it? You can take this friendship andshove it—"
"No, Mickey," Ian says, standing, grabbing at Mickey's wrist because he's trying to leave. "What humiliation? I meant…I meant Rachel likes Finn. Rachel's still in love with Finn. I think she's just trying to distract herself with me, and—"
"You said you like someone."
"I guess I just didn't want to have to tell you Rachel's personal business," Ian lies, feeling horrible, feeling a pit growing in his stomach, bigger and bigger. "I know how you can be about her."
Mickey bristles and shakes Ian's hand off. "You're not a very good liar, Ian."
Ian's face feels like Mickey just took a match to it, his stomach roiling.
Mickey's voice, when it comes, is cold. "I was under the impression you trusted me. I think I was wrong."
Ian may very well throw up from the way Mickey is looking at him. "No—"
"Then you should break up with Rachel." Mickey slings his backpack over his shoulder. "You should be honest with someone."
It's you. It's you, it's you, it's you. It pounds at his head, fills his mouth, won't come out. He can't.
"Mickey…"
But Mickey is already out the door.
ooo
"Rachel…"
They're sitting together in the choir room before anyone's due to show up. He thinks this is probably not a good place to do this, but Mickey was right. He's being a terrible friend by stringing Rachel along, letting her believe something that is nothing but a lie for him to hide behind. He needs to do this now before it goes any further, and if he doesn't get one burden off his shoulders he's going to collapse from all of them.
"Yes, Ian?" Rachel is staring up at him with such large, earnest eyes, all attention on him. God, he doesn't want to do this, would give anything not to have to hurt another person with his carelessness.
He swallows. "I can't be your boyfriend."
Rachel's expression doesn't change. "Why not?"
Here goes. Ian takes a breath, lets it out, but only feels dizzier for it. "I'm gay," he says, wondering why his mouth chooses so well to work now, but won't around Mickey.
Rachel does not look surprised, this is the first thing Ian realizes. She looks downcast, but there's no sign of shock in her expression. "Oh, Ian," she says, sadly. "I thought so."
Ian's eyes go wide. "What?"
"Well, I couldn't be sure, but," Rachel says, needlessly smoothing down her skirt. "I thought so from the moment we met. You insisted otherwise, and you seemed as though you may have been interested in me, so I suppose I'd just hoped…"
"It's—you can tell? I only just figured it out!" Ian sputters, at a loss.
"I have two gay dads, Ian. I'm kind of an expert," Rachel says.
"Jesus…"
Rachel takes his hand, gives it a comforting squeeze. "It's okay, Ian. It is. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."
Ian's face warms, and he just feels so stupid. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. I didn't want to hurt you, I do care about you. Please believe me, I just…I didn't have the courage."
Rachel draws him in and hugs him close, holds him. He feels guilty, he should be the one holding her. She's stronger than he is, and so much sweeter, too. "You'll be a very good boyfriend to someone, someday," she eventually says.
They hold each other until the others start to trickle in. Ian catches Finn looking their way with something like disappointment or disapproval on his face before he sits next to Quinn.
Rachel's too good for Finnand him.
"Alright!" Mr. Schue breaks into their chatter. "Let's talk about unrequited love!"
The entire glee club groans.
ooo
Ian leaves Mickey a voicemail.
"I'm sorry, Mickey. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain."
He ends the message with a mash-up of Sweet And Tender Hooligan by The Smiths and So Sorry by Feist, playing the piano in accompaniment, until the beep cuts him off.
He means it in a funny way.
He means it in a serious way, too.
ooo
Rachel asked if he'd told anyone else, and Ian admitted not really, only a few people (In reality, still only Burt). He may have even hinted that it was okay to tell and that he wanted to be open. Mickey wants him to be honest, so he will be honest in every way possible. He doesn't want to hide, but he doesn't want to make some big announcement, either. So when Ian joins the New Directions' table at lunch the next day he isn't entirely surprised by the pats on the back, the supportive smiles and gentle, teasing jibes. He's glad he wasn't wrong about them having his back, and relief floods through him, makes his eyes burn just a little. This is by far one of the scariest things he's ever done.
Mercedes, Tina, and Rachel are debating which member of the club Ian would be hottest with ("Mike; those abs, Ian's arms, can you just imagine?" "Finn, obviously! The height difference would be so romantic") when Santana saunters over, a smirk on her face, her Cheerios skirt seemingly extra short.
"Hey there, Hottie McHobbit," Santana all but purrs, running her fingers through Ian's hair, ruining the look he had carefully cultivated with so much gel. She drapes herself across his lap, arms winding around his neck. "A little birdie told me you're confused."
Ian gapes.
"I thought I told you not to tell her," Rachel hisses at Mercedes.
"I didn't!" Mercedes insists.
"Then how?" Rachel asks.
They both look at Brittany, who's smiling widely, a plastic spoon between her lips as she watches Santana. They groan.
"Um," Ian says.
"I'd just like to offer you my services," Santana says, close to Ian's ear. "So you won't be so confused anymore."
"I wasn't even aware you liked me, Santana," Ian says helplessly.
"Please. What does like have to do with anything?" she asks, running her hand up his arm. "Sure, my abuelo has a sharper sense of style, you've carved your hair into a helmet, and you're kind of a loser, but I can work with it."
"Thanks. I think." Ian moves her hand away. "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm going to have to decline," he says with absolute sincerity. Even if Santana isn't the nicest person, and even if her motives are truly dubious, it never feels good to be rejected. "I'm gay."
"You can't know if you've never been with a girl," Santana says, mouth a heavy smirk. "And Berry doesn't count."
"Well…you've never had sex with a girl, and you know you aren't a lesbian, right?" Ian tries. That elicits a reaction Ian doesn't expect, an angry clenching of teeth and narrowed eyes.
"Whatever, BlGallagher," she snaps, sliding off his lap. "You just turned down the best offer you'll ever get. Have fun singing about getting some action, 'cause it ain't neva gonna happen."
"Short guys have small dicks, anyway," she calls over her shoulder, making her way over to Mickey's table.
Mickey's table, where Mickey is sitting and looking right at him.
Ian doesn't know what sort of facial expression he's making, probably some form of mortification, but it doesn't matter because Mickey looks away.
There's no way Mickey could have heard anything from their table, he's too far away. Still, if Santana knows he's gay, their whole group will know, especially now that he rejected her. She's bound to ridicule him. Ian doesn't want Mickey to find out about him this way and feels a small flutter of panic at the thought. God, why hadn't he told Mickey sooner? Why hadn't he told Mickey first? It was that stupid fight, and Ian's own cowardice...
He pulls out his cell phone and texts Mickey. Meet me outside?
Ian watches as Mickey checks his phone and glances his way. His reply comes a moment later. Where?
Ian texts Mickey to meet him under the bleachers, and leaves the lunch room, food untouched.
ooo
Mickey shows up about five minutes after Ian, absently twirling a half empty bottle of lemonade. "Santana would kill to take your v-card," he greets. "She loves virgins."
It isn't exactly the hello Ian is expecting, and it takes him a moment to reply. "How do you know I'm a virgin?"
Mickey's expression speaks for itself: bitch, please.
"Whatever," Ian says. "So are you."
Mickey looks smug and leans back against one of the bleacher poles. Ian's mouth parts and jealousy burns a flare through his chest.
"Seriously?"
Mickey just smiles, but eventually rolls his eyes. "Yeah, obviously I am."
Ian's heartbeat slows to normal. He has to remind himself that that doesn't matter, that wouldn't matter, he just- ugh, what is wrong with him? Liking someone is the worst.
"So. Anyway." Ian's words are coming out clipped, awkward. "Are we okay?"
"That song was awfully sweet," Mickey teases. Ian is trying very hard not to let how pleased he is to hear that show, even if Mickey is being sarcastic. "Yeah, we're okay. I mean, really, it should be me apologizing. I overreacted. You aren't obligated to tell me everything."
"You know I wasn't making fun of you, right?" Ian asks, keeping his voice soft.
"I don't understand why you said that," Mickey replies, playing with the cap of his bottle and looking away from Ian. "About Finn."
"I was trying to tell you…I wanted to..."
Mickey waits, watching Ian.
Ian takes a deep breath. If he just doesn't overthink it... "I think I'm gay," he blurts out.
Mickey drops his lemonade bottle. "Excuse me?"
"I've never wanted to have sex with a girl," Ian tries to explain, panicking, heart lodged painfully in his throat.
"That doesn't mean you're gay, that just means all the girls in Ohio are ugly."
"But there's this boy—"
Mickey looks so much paler than normal, which, to be honest, is a feat onto itself. "Oh god," he's saying. "You were serious about Finn. You were, weren't you? Oh my god, Ian, no. No, let me just break it to you now, Finn Hudson is straight. Painfully, decidedly straight. The straightest football player in all of McKinley."
"How do you know?" Ian asks, because there's definitely something Mickey isn't saying.
Mickey slumps down, crouching on the ground with his back pressed to one of the old couches that reside under the bleachers. "Because," he says, bitterness evident in just this one word, "once upon a time, I was in love with him."
Ian doesn't hide his surprise, crouching down next to Mickey.
"It was eighth grade. We'd gone to different Elementary schools, but went to the same Jr. High. Back then I was…different. A little shy. Obviously I wasn't like I am now." Mickey rubs the back of his neck and gives up, sitting with a soft fwump. Ian follows, their shoulders lightly bumping. "And he was just…god, you know. Tall, cute, a football player. He was so dopey, but in a charming way. I tried to get to know him, but he was friends with all the jocks and I was me. I was shorter back then, slightly chubby, as pale as ever, and of course I sounded like a girl. He and his friends liked to throw me in the dumpsters and throw my backpack into trees. Because, you probably won't believe me, but Finn was different back then, too. And I was a joke. But still, I had a stupid crush on him. I even joined the football team to try and get his attention."
"You were on the football team?" Ian doesn't mean to interrupt, but he can't picture it.
"For maybe a month, I was the kicker. It didn't last," Mickey says, glancing over. "Mostly because I tried to tell Finn I liked him. A few times, actually. He's a little dense, and I was scared. In the end I'm not even sure if he realized, but…eventually I just stopped pretending, you know? He was straight and I didn't have a chance. I think I'd kind of been lying to myself, I was fourteen and so hopeful. And god, older teammates, other football players, they harassed me even after I'd joined the team. It didn't even matter that I was one of them. They'd shove me into things, and Finn would be right there, and he did nothing."
Ian takes one of Mickey's hands and holds it between his in a firm grip. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. He's an idiot. He doesn't deserve you, anyway."
"I know," Mickey says, haughtily, but Ian can tell he's using it to hide, to distract from being so open. Mickey hates to appear vulnerable, Ian knows, and is grateful every time Mickey lets his guard down around him. "It's been awhile, I'm over him. I've come to terms with being alone. I can wait."
"You aren't, though," Ian says, giving Mickey's hand a gentle squeeze.
"I meant, like, in a relationship." Mickey rolls his eyes, but smiles a little.
"Oh, well." Ian knows he's blushing, and can't seem to figure out what to say to that.
Mickey laughs, a quiet, breathy sound. "You're so earnest. Where did you come from, Ian Gallagher? I mean, look, you're even holding my hand like it's normal."
Ian's face falls and he tries to jerk his hand away. "Fine—"
"No," Mickey says quickly, holding tight to his hand. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. I just meant…" He shrugs and looks right at Ian. "I didn't know people like you existed."
"Maybe because you never give them the chance," Ian says.
"No, Ian," Mickey says, and he sounds so serious. "It's because there is no one like you."
Ian wants to kiss Mickey, right now. Wants to very badly, but he can't seem to make himself move. His fingers tighten their hold on Mickey's hand and he opens his mouth to say something, but someone cuts him off.
"Well, look at you two lovebirds," comes a bored, female voice. "Move it, that's my couch."
Ian looks up, mortified, and Mickey's hand slips out of his.
"Whatever, Mack," Mickey says, making himself sound just as bored as the girl, "taking a break from the truck stop?"
Mickey stands up, so Ian stands up, too, trying to school his features into something neutral.
"It's no fun during the day," the girl, Mack, replies, lighting up a cigarette.
"Right, because then you actually have to see the beer bellies and receding hairlines," Mickey says, starting to walk away. The girl doesn't even reply, too distracted by smoking and staring at nothing, and Ian chances a worried look at Mickey. He doesn't care that they were caught for himself so much as for Mickey's sake.
"Are you okay?" he asks once they're out of earshot.
"Oh, yeah, it's fine," Mickey says, waving a dismissive hand. "Mack's a Skank. They're disenchanted loners. She won't gossip, she probably doesn't even know my name."
Mickey turns to Ian and leans up against the side of his truck. They seem to have wandered into the parking lot without Ian noticing. "So, Ian, I just made that all about myself. You were telling me some pretty big news, I'm sorry…"
Ian glances around, but school's still actually happening so there is no one else in the parking lot. "Uh." He smiles shyly, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. Well. I pretty much said all that needs to be said."
"You're gay," Mickey says.
Ian looks back up and nods. "I'm gay."
Mickey squints. "You're sure? Like really sure?"
Ian laughs a little, because it's kind of ridiculous how sure he is. "Really sure. One hundred percent."
Mickey looks thoughtful for a long moment and reaches out, hands on Ian's sleeves to tug him close. He hugs Ian, and Ian instinctively hugs back, tucking his face against Mickey's neck.
"Mickey?"
Mickey pulls back with a smile, genuine and warm. "It's just nice…not being the only one anymore."
Ian returns the smile. "You'll have to teach me everything you know."
Mickey laughs and unlocks his truck. "Come on, let's skip and check out Barnes and Noble's international fashion magazine section. You have a lot of catching up to do."
ooo
"Your dad knows," Ian says, a spread of John Galliano's latest collection open on his lap.
Mickey looks up from his own issue of L'uomo Vogue, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"I figured it out after homecoming. Rachel kissed me and I didn't feel anything, and I couldn't figure out why I couldn't like her like that, and—"
"Oh, Ian, I can give you a hundred reasons."
Ian pulls a face. "Your dad helped me make breakfast, and I kind of broke down and told him."
Mickey carefully turns the page of his magazine, studying it as though it holds all the answers of the universe. "Oh?" he asks, like it's nothing. "And how did he react?"
"He was so nice, Mickey," Ian says, willing Mickey to look up. "He was so understanding, and said I was welcome over any time. That if I got into trouble I had a place at your house…he told me I should tell you. That you wouldn't judge me."
Mickey finally looks up, and there's a rawness there Ian hadn't expected. "It's different when it's your son."
"I don't think so, Mickey," Ian murmurs. "I think he would be okay. I think he'll love you no matter what—"
"Look, this is about you, not me," Mickey says firmly. "I'm glad he accepted you."
"I just think you'll feel better if you tell him…"
"Ian, drop it," Mickey says, smacking the magazine closed. "I'm not ready."
"Okay," Ian says gently, and reaches over to take Mickey's hand.
Mickey jerks his hand away. "Can you stop doing that? It's really gay."
Ian raises an eyebrow, and there's a small moment of silence before they both burst out laughing.
