Ian rested on the bed over the covers, his left arm bent behind his head, the other draped over his stomach as he stared blankly at the ceiling. It had been almost two hours since Mickey left, and he honestly felt he wouldn't see him again. He really couldn't blame him for walking out.

He was so fucking stupid. In what universe would Mickey Milkovich ever want to kiss him? Still, the little voice in the back of his head pointed out, Mickey had kissed him back. He definitely hadn't imagined Mickey's tongue in his mouth, or that rough tattooed hand gripping the back of his neck, holding him a little closer.

Ian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck he was going to do. He was alone in an unfamiliar town with no money, no car, no anything.

The door to the room opened then, and Mickey slipped inside, bringing the cold in with him.

Ian froze and stared at Mickey's back as he held his breath.

Mickey closed the door and turned around, looking up and halting when he saw Ian lying there watching him. He quickly averted his eyes and rubbed his mouth. "I thought your ass would be sleeping."

"I thought you weren't comin' back," Ian said, his tone uneven.

"Whatever, I'm fuckin' here," Mickey snapped, making his way to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Ian stared up at the ceiling, bitter tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He suddenly realized he hadn't just been scared that Mickey might have left. He felt stupid and humiliated that Mickey didn't seem to feel the same way he did. He obviously didn't feel the connection Ian had been so sure was there. He realized he'd probably fucked up whatever type of weird friendship they'd been forming. Mickey was trying to help him, and Ian had taken advantage of that.

When he heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, he rolled over onto his side and tucked his knees in, eager to get lost in sleep and stop his racing mind.

When Mickey exited the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later, he found Ian curled up on the bed, facing the wall, soft snores falling from his mouth. He relaxed and tossed his dirty clothes in the corner. He walked over to the green chair from hell and sat down.

"You don't have to sleep in that chair, you know?" Ian said, his voice almost inaudible.

"I'm fine," Mickey intoned as he tried to get comfortable.

"I promise I won't try to kiss you again."

"Don't worry about me," Mickey spat. "Go to sleep."

Ian rolled over onto his back and glanced over at him before sitting up with a sigh. "Alright, I kissed you. I misread the situation, I fucked up, I apologized, now get over it and move on. If you can't accept it, maybe you should just go."

"Fuck you," Mickey shot back. "You're lucky I don't kick your pasty ass for pullin' that shit on me."

"Oh, please," Ian retorted. "You can deny it all you want, Mickey, but that second time you kissed me."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," Mickey said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Ian snapped before lying down and turning to face the wall again. "Sleep in that chair for all I care. I hope you get a fuckin' neck cramp."

"Fuck you."

"Kiss my ass."

"Fuck all the way off."

"Go to hell!"

"I'm already fuckin' there!" Mickey yelled back, causing the person in the neighboring room to pound on the wall. "Fuck you too!" he yelled at the stranger.

Ian huffed and clenched his jaw as he stared at the wall, bristling with anger and blinking back bitter tears. After a few beats, he felt the bed dip. He rolled over onto his back with bated breath and suddenly found that Mickey was hovering over him.

Mickey's eyes swept over Ian's face before he muttered unconvincingly, "I'm not gay."

"Okay," Ian breathed, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I'm not," Mickey murmured before leaning down and pressing his mouth softly against Ian's.

Ian kissed him back hesitantly before turning fully and sweeping out his arm, causing Mickey's arm to buckle so he fell on top of Ian with a grunt. He huffed a laugh against Mickey's lips.

"You're a dick," Mickey said before continuing the slow, languid kiss.

Ian gripped the back of Mickey's head and dug his fingers in his hair as the kiss deepened, both boys tentatively exploring each other's mouths slowly and thoroughly.

Mickey pulled back a few inches and stared down at him. "Just for tonight," he said. "You hear me? After tonight, it ain't happenin' again. It fuckin' can't happen again."

Ian swallowed hard and nodded, knowing he wanted Mickey for more than one night, but he decided not to push the issue.

When Mickey leaned down to continue the lazy kissing, Ian happily complied.

The next morning, Ian woke to find that he was alone in bed. He sat up and stretched his arms high above his head before smiling to himself. The events from the night before (the making out that had gone on and on until they'd finally given in and fallen asleep) flooded his mind.

The smile then slipped off his face when he remembered that Mickey had clarified it was a one-time thing. He had a feeling that when Mickey Milkovich said something, he meant it. He had no choice but to accept that.

Ian got out of bed and scratched his balls as he made his way to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder.

The door to the room opened, and Mickey sauntered inside, closing the door behind him. He shivered and shook out of his coat, glancing up when Ian came out of the bathroom.

"Ey, I paid for the room for two more nights," he explained while avoiding eye contact. "I have about two hundred dollars left on me, which won't last, so we better think of something not involvin' pedos quick."

Ian nodded and took the coffee Mickey offered him. "Thanks," he grumbled, wanting to bring up what happened the night before but deciding against it. If Mickey wanted to bring up the kissing, he would bring it up; the ball was in Mickey's court.

"I got a new phone," Mickey continued, dropping the phone on the unmade bed. "If you wanna, uh, call your sister or whatever, go ahead. Just be vague on details. We don't need anyone knowin' where we are right now."

Ian nodded and stared down at the disposable phone. "Thanks."

Mickey finally looked in his direction and rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, trying to think of something to say. "Look, man, about last night…"

Ian glanced up hopefully before deflating immediately when he saw the look on Mickey's face.

"It's just, it can't happen again. We can't do—"

"I know," Ian interjected, nodding curtly. "It was a one-time thing." He lifted his eyes to meet Mickey's. "I get it. It's cool."

Mickey nodded and tore his eyes away. "Uh, I got donuts," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a bunch. Jelly-filled, glazed, some weird fuckin' maple thing—"

"It was only for one night, right? Just so we are on the same page?" Ian said, interrupting him. "Because, I mean, we kissed for almost half an hour last night and it… It kinda felt like maybe you didn't wanna stop."

Mickey looked at him with arched brows before sighing. "Look, man, I dunno what to tell you. I dunno what the hell happened last night. It's prob'ly best if we just let it go and focus on all this other stupid shit."

Ian nodded and turned his back to him. "Alright, got it."

"Hey, look," Mickey called out. "I thought you understood? Nothin' can happen here."

"No, I do understand," Ian said before closing the bathroom door. "I'm gonna take a shower," he called out before leaning back against the cool wood. He ran a hand over his face and blinked back the tears he knew were threatening to spill. He refused to cry. Not about that. Not over him.

When Ian came out of the bathroom several minutes later fully composed, Mickey glanced away from the TV.

"Hey, you cool?" Mickey drawled.

"Yeah, man, all cool," Ian intoned, intent on acting unfazed by the entire situation. It stung that Mickey didn't want him, but he had to get over it. They had much more important shit to deal with, like trying to make sure Mickey's dad didn't kill them. He had to be mature about things. They couldn't afford to get stupid. He finished drying his hair and tossed the damp towel onto the ugly green chair. "I'm gonna go for a walk to clear my head and get some fresh air."

Mickey sat up straight at that news. "The fuck? You think that's a good idea?"

Ian smirked as he put his coat on. "What's gonna happen to me? It's the middle of the afternoon. Your dad has no clue where we are. I'll be fine."

Mickey relaxed a bit at that. "When will you be back?"

Ian shot him a pointed look. "Later. You cool?" he said, using Mickey's own words against him before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

"Fuck," Mickey muttered to himself. He didn't like the fact that Ian was going out by himself, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He also realized he was being irrational, but he still didn't fucking like it.

A little over an hour later, Ian returned, and Mickey acted as if he couldn't care less that he was back, even though all he did was worry and wonder the entire time Ian had been gone.

"Back already?" Mickey asked, not moving from his relaxed position against the headboard.

"Yep," Ian said as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck.

"Where'd you go?"

"Oh, you know," Ian began as he shrugged out of his coat. "I blew a few guys in an alley, fucked someone behind a dumpster, the usual."

Mickey's brows shot up. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Ian said as he sat down on the bed to remove his shoes. "Even if I did that stuff, it's none of your business. You know that, right? You made that clear."

"Jesus Christ, Gallagher."

Ian stood up and shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"What are you expectin' here?" Mickey snapped. "You want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend, 'cause that ain't ever gonna happen."

Ian whirled around and eyed him coldly. "Fuck you, Mickey," he spat. "I want you to admit to me, just this once, that you feel something for me. That last night wasn't some random one-night hookup. That when we kissed, you felt something."

Mickey sneered at that.

Ian stared back at him haughtily. "Admit that whatever this fucked-up connection is I feel towards you, that you feel it too."

Mickey glared back at him before looking away with an aggravated sigh.

"Tell me I'm not just imagining this," Ian continued, motioning between them. "Because for the life of me, I can't fuckin' think of one good reason why you would put yourself at risk, give up everything and go against your dad just to make sure I don't die. It doesn't make any sense!"

"Gallagher," Mickey warned.

"Don't 'Gallagher' me," Ian retorted. "Admit it."

"There's nothin' to fuckin' admit!" Mickey yelled. "I don't feel anything!"

Ian pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't believe you."

Mickey scoffed and arched his brows. "Well, I can't help what you believe."

"Stop doin' that!" Ian spat. "Stop treatin' me like I'm a stupid kid who's imagining things!"

"Look, you—"

"Fuckin' admit it, Mickey!"

"Yes, alright? Jesus!" Mickey yelled back, surprising them both. "I fuckin' admit it! I feel it too, asshole. You happy now? Fuck!"

Ian took in Mickey's words before visibly relaxing.

Mickey stared back at him, every nerve in his body bristling. "You're the most annoying fuckin' person I've ever met in my life, you know that?"

"Am I?" Ian asked, visibly swallowing as he slowly made his way towards the bed.

"So fuckin' annoying," Mickey said, his voice breaking as he watched Ian kneel on the bed and start crawling towards him. He knew he should stop him before he took things too far, but he couldn't find the proper words. "You think you're way hotter than you are."

"So, you're admitting I'm a little hot, then?"

"Fuck no," Mickey blurted as his eyes searched Ian's face, betraying his words. "You and your stupid fuckin' hair and dumbass freckles. Fuckin' alien-looking."

"Oh, okay," Ian said with narrowed eyes and a patronizing nod.

"And," Mickey continued once Ian was straddling him, pushing him back against the headboard with a splayed hand to Mickey's chest. He swallowed visibly as he stared up into Ian's eyes. "Fuck, you chew like a fuckin' cow. It's gross."

"Uh-huh," Ian mumbled as he leaned in and bravely began peppering Mickey's neck with soft kisses.

Mickey's eyes fluttered shut against his will. He shyly placed his hands on Ian's thighs, his thumbs softly brushing over denim fabric. He bit his lower lip, suppressing a moan that was threatening to bubble from his lips. "You talk way too much," he muttered. "I've never met someone who… fuck, someone who talks as much as you do."

"You're the one doin' all the talking," Ian said as he moved to angle his head to the other side of Mickey's neck, nipping and licking at his pulse point.

"Fuck," Mickey moaned, trying to hold on to whatever shred of resistance and dignity he had left, even as he nuzzled his nose in Ian's hair. "You… You're too goddamn optimistic for your own good. It's kinda fuckin' disgusting."

Ian pulled back and bravely looked him right in the eyes, his brows furrowed. "Sorry I disgust you." Before he could say or do anything else, Mickey's fingers gripped the nape of Ian's neck, and he pulled him in, their lips crashing together.

"Like hell you disgust me," Mickey murmured against Ian's lips before angling his head and deepening the kiss.