The next morning, Ian unattractively snorted and jolted awake, taking a minute to gather his bearings as he glanced around the motel room through bleary eyes. His sleepy gaze fell on Mickey, who was sleeping in the chair by the window. He eventually allowed himself to relax, letting out an exhale as everything pieced together in his mind.

Mickey Milkovich was there with him, putting his own life on the line to save his. He couldn't wrap his mind around that; none of it made any sense.

He watched Mickey for a few beats, thinking how soft, peaceful, and young he looked while he slept before sitting up, his muscles aching with the movements. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned so wide it cracked his jaw.

"Fuck," he mumbled before rubbing his stubbly chin.

Mickey stirred and opened his eyes, no doubt in the same incapacitated state Ian had been in moments before. He sat forward and rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning," he grumbled, his voice thick and raspy from sleep.

"Morning," Ian said. "Sorry I passed out on you last night. I was fuckin' exhausted."

"It's cool, you don't have to explain shit to me," Mickey muttered as he stood, stretched, and walked to the dresser to retrieve his phone. Sure enough, there were eleven missed calls and even more missed texts from his brothers. He flipped the phone shut and tossed it carelessly onto the dresser, his heart hammering in his throat.

Ian was sitting on the edge of the bed, still shirtless and watching him. "So, I take it they figured out what's goin' on by now?"

Mickey grunted and refused to look in Ian's direction while he wasn't wearing a shirt. The last thing he needed or wanted was for Ian to catch him looking. "I'll deal with 'em later, don't worry about it," he said. "Right now, I wanna get something to eat. I'm fuckin' starving."

"Me too," Ian said before standing and stretching his arms high over his head. "I feel like I could eat a horse right now."

Mickey took a peek at Ian's taut stomach against his better judgment. He glanced away, refusing to believe there was a blush creeping up the back of his neck. "For fuck's sake, can you put on a goddamn shirt? Nobody wants to see that shit."

Ian froze for a beat with his arms in the air before smiling knowingly. "Sure, Mick," he said as he snatched a wrinkled shirt from the floor and pulled the garment on. It smelled like sweat and dirt; he couldn't wait to get his hands on new clothes.

"Let's go get somethin' to eat, buy some new clothes and shit, and then we gotta come back here and come up with a plan," Mickey explained while rubbing tiredly at his eye. "We can't be wastin' time. We'll get this shit done in a couple days and get back as soon as we can. No bullshit."

"Sounds good to me," Ian agreed with a shrug.

Mickey shot him a perturbed look before heading towards the door.

As luck would have it, they found a small diner a few blocks down the road that was serving a breakfast buffet for 5.99 a person, and they were both in heaven. Food had never tasted so good to either of them.

Mickey watched as Ian practically inhaled a heaping pile of scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, hash browns, bacon, and toast. "How can you eat that much and still be that fuckin' skinny?"

"I'm not skinny," Ian retorted as he chewed. "It's all muscle."

Mickey smirked into his coffee mug. "Muscle, my ass."

Ian smiled at him through a mouthful of eggs before going back to eating.

"You're fuckin' gross, you know that?"

"Mm-hm," Ian replied with an exaggerated nod of his head before taking another bite of eggs.

Mickey chuckled into his coffee, forgetting -for only a second- about their fucked up situation.

After they stuffed themselves to capacity, they found a store right down the road and stocked up on shirts, sweatpants, socks, boxers, and all the other necessities.

Once they made their way back, they stopped to grab a deep-dish pie for dinner at a small pizza joint across from the motel before disappearing into their room for the rest of the night. They happily brushed their teeth and changed into new underwear and clothes before relaxing on the bed, preparing to brainstorm.

"Okay," Ian said as he leaned back against the headboard. "Where do we come up with ten grand and fast?"

Mickey sighed. "Fuck if I know, man," he answered, rubbing a hand down his face before throwing out, "We could rob a convenience store? That's always good for some quick cash."

"Maybe," Ian said with narrowed eyes. "That's too risky, though. I wanna save my life, not spend it in prison."

"You got any ideas?" Mickey asked. "I don't hear you spittin' anything out."

Ian gnawed on his bottom lip before answering, "I do, but it's not a very appealing one."

"The hell are you waitin' for?" Mickey groused when Ian hesitated. "Spit it the fuck out."

"Uh, I was thinkin' maybe I could sell myself," Ian said, sneaking a tentative glance in Mickey's direction. "For, you know, for sex."

Mickey was quiet for a few beats before asking, "You mean whore yourself out?" His brows shot up as he waited for confirmation.

Ian shrugged as if it was no big deal to suggest such a thing. "Yeah, why not?"

"Why not?" Mickey retorted. "You wanna whore yourself out? To guys?"

Ian hesitated before answering, already suspecting that Mickey knew about his sexuality. Making out with Kash that first night was a big indicator, he guessed; there was no use in denying it. "Yeah," he said with a shrug, "to guys."

"No fuckin' way," Mickey said quicker than he'd intended to. "No fuckin' way! You ain't whorin' yourself out to pedos. We'll find another way to make money, fuck that."

"There ain't a lot of other options, Mickey," Ian argued. "I could charge five hundred for a fuck, one hundred for a blowjob. Guys will pay that, especially for someone who looks like me. We'd have the money in no time."

Mickey snorted. "Fuckin' conceited much?"

Ian tilted his head and smirked.

"So, what? You're willin' to bang, what?" Mickey did the math in his head, "Twenty different guys for money?" he finished, wondering why the thought was so irritating to him. The thought of pedos touching Ian was sickening to him for obvious reasons, but it felt like there was more to it than that. More he didn't want to admit to himself; more he refused to admit to himself.

"If screwin' a few random guys means savin' my life, then yeah, I am!"

"No way, you ain't doin' that," Mickey spat. "We'll find another way."

"You're bein' a little irrational, Mickey."

"I said we'll find another fuckin' way," Mickey said before standing and pacing the floor. "Fuckin' forget it."

Ian's shoulders dropped as the realization set in. Mickey cared, in whatever small amount it was, he cared. "Why are you so against this?"

"What?" Mickey asked as he kept pacing.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Ian asked. "It's an easy way to make money fast. You wouldn't even have to do anything. I thought you'd be all for it."

"Fuckin'… because."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Because? That's all you got?"

"Because… Because dudes shouldn't be bangin' other dudes, alright? That's why," Mickey snapped, hating the pained expression that crossed Ian's face as the lie came out of his mouth. "I don't want any fuckin' part in it."

"Oh," Ian said, looking down to pick at a thread on his shirt. He swallowed thickly before saying, "I thought it was maybe because you care about who I fuck?"

Mickey stopped pacing and turned to face him, his brows furrowed. "The fuck do you mean by that? Why would I care about who you bang?"

Ian shrugged as he climbed off the bed and stopped a foot away from him. He suddenly realized how much taller he was than Mickey and couldn't help liking it.

"You're off your fuckin' chain, you know that?" Mickey spat, avoiding Ian's eyes and focusing on his chest, thinking maybe that was worse. After a beat, he lifted his eyes to meet Ian's.

"Yeah, maybe," Ian muttered. He didn't think about what he did next. He reached up and cupped Mickey's face with his right hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over the apple of Mickey's cheek. He leaned in and, for a second, he thought Mickey would tilt his head and kiss him back.

"The fuck?" Mickey exclaimed as he pulled back. He pressed his hands against Ian's chest and shoved him back a few steps. "The fuck is wrong with you!"

"I… I don't know! I thought—" Ian stammered, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I thought you wanted me to!"

"What the fuck made you think I wanted you to kiss me?" Mickey exclaimed. "Jesus Christ!"

Ian stared back at him, his shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth to say something -anything- but nothing came out.

Mickey turned his back on Ian and paced a few steps before turning back to face him. "I'm not gay, alright? Let's get that clear right fuckin' now."

"I know," Ian said, hanging his head and rubbing the nape of his neck. "I know you're not."

"Whatever the fuck you thought was happening here, you're wrong, alright?" Mickey snapped, his tone unsteady. "Fuckin' dead wrong."

Ian nodded his head again, still avoiding Mickey's eyes. "I got it. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Just then, Mickey's phone buzzed obnoxiously on the dresser. He roughly brushed past Ian and walked over to snatch it up. He read over the text message with a frown before hastily typing something back. "That was Iggy," he said. "I shot him a text tellin' him we'll have the money for them in a few days." In the next instant, he took the phone and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

"What the fuck, Mickey?" Ian exclaimed.

"It was about to die, anyway, and I don't have the charger," Mickey spat, still avoiding Ian's eyes. "I'll get a new one tomorrow."

Ian sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Mickey, look at me." When Mickey grudgingly looked at him, he continued, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you. I know you're not gay, alright? And I appreciate everything you're doin' for me, I do."

"It was a stupid fuckin' thing to do," Mickey retorted before resuming his pacing.

"I know."

"Beyond stupid," Mickey reiterated. "You're lucky I don't kick your ass right now."

Ian sighed, opening his mouth to respond, but Mickey cut him off.

"Gimme one good reason I shouldn't beat your ass right now," Mickey snarled. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking, alright? It's just… You gave me a look! I thought it meant something else," Ian stuttered. "I don't know!"

"I gave you a look?" Mickey stammered. "The fuck does that even mean?"

"You… I don't know, it was a look!" Ian bellowed. "I'm sorry, alright? Can we forget it happened? You don't have to worry about me tryin' to kiss you again. It won't ever happen again. I promise."

Mickey paced a few more steps before whirling around to face him. Their eyes met and held. Without saying another word, he stepped forward, leaning up the few inches he had to, and pressed his lips against Ian's.

Ian froze, his mind racing to keep up with the bizarre turn of events. Finally, he reciprocated the kiss and wrapped one arm around Mickey's waist, the other around his neck, holding Mickey against him as the kiss slowly escalated. They opened their mouths to each other, and Ian sighed when their tongues touched. He clutched the bottom of Mickey's shirt at the small of his back, and groaned deep in his throat, thinking Mickey tasted even better than he'd expected. He still tasted like syrup and banana pancakes.

Mickey clutched the front of Ian's shirt roughly with his right hand before smoothing that hand up to grip the back of Ian's neck as the kiss deepened, their tongues slowly tangling.

In need of air, Ian was the first to pull away. He pressed his forehead to Mickey's and exhaled before muttering, "Shit, Mickey."

After a few beats, Mickey seemed to melt away from him. In the next instant, he turned away and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ian winced and stared at the spot where Mickey had been standing moments before. His heart thumped miserably in his chest, and his lips still tingled from Mickey's regretful kiss.