Three nights later, Mickey came back from his walk to the ATM with their most recent victim and slapped another grand on the table.

"We're up to almost eight grand," he said with a shit-eating grin while shrugging out of his coat. He snuck a glance at Ian, who was blankly staring at the TV. When Ian said nothing, he added, "I paid another two nights for the room too, just in case. After that, we should be good to go."

"'Kay."

"At least the guy you brought back tonight didn't look like a fuckin' serial killer," Mickey continued after a beat, trying to lighten the mood. "That dude you brought back last night looked like he wanted to kill you and eat your liver with some fava beans and a glass of Chianti."

"Uh-huh."

Mickey pushed the sleeves of his sweater up and sighed, wishing he knew what to say to Ian to ease the tension, but he wasn't exactly good with words. Ever since the morning after their midnight handjobs, things between them had been tense. They slept, ate, Ian went out and grabbed a random guy, they robbed the poor fucker, then they went to bed. It had been like that for the past three days. They'd barely said two words to each other. He didn't want to admit it, but he kind of missed Ian's constant talking and lame-ass jokes.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Nothing's wrong with me," Ian mumbled, his eyes still glued to the TV.

"Alright, look," Mickey began. "I know you have some fucked-up crush on me or whatever, but that doesn't mean we can't be—"

"Fuck you, Mickey, you wish," Ian interjected, looking pissed.

Mickey's brows shot up as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

Ian's jaw flexed as he looked back at the TV. "I have a guy back home I've been seeing, so don't flatter yourself." In all honesty, he hadn't thought about Kash much at all, but Mickey didn't need to know that.

Mickey frowned and scratched his temple. "Oh, you gotta guy you been, uh, you been seein'?" he asked. On Ian's nod, he snapped, "I wonder how he'd feel if he found out his little boyfriend jerked my cock the other night?"

"Oh!" Ian exclaimed. "You're finally acknowledgin' it, huh?"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you, Mickey," Ian retorted, his voice shaking with emotion. "Anyway, Kash would forgive me once I told him how small your dick is compared to his."

"Yeah, bullshit," Mickey spat. "No fuckin' way towelhead's dick is bigger than mine."

"Trust me, it is," Ian lied, knowing he was being immature but not caring at the moment.

"Well, fuck you and fuck him."

Ian shot out of bed and bent down to grab his clothes from the floor. "This is ridiculous," he muttered as he tugged his jeans on. "I'm not doin' this with you."

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Puttin' some clothes on and goin' out to find a guy so I can get the rest of the money," Ian exclaimed, visibly shaken. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey stared back at him, feeling like a complete dick. In a matter of three days, he'd somehow reduced Ian from his talkative, rambunctious self into a mean, miserable kid. Before he could think too much about what he was doing, he walked over to Ian and grabbed him by the elbow. "Hey, look…" he started. "Look!"

Ian pulled his arm out of Mickey's grasp and heaved a sigh of frustration as he concentrated on turning his shirt right side out, which was proving to be a daunting task with shaky hands.

"Look at me," Mickey began, his tone light as his eyes skimmed over Ian's face.

"Leave me alone," Ian said, turning his back to him. "You got what you wanted. I know I was too talkative, and told too many jokes, and kept comin' on to you, but you don't have to worry about any of that anymore."

"Ian, will you listen to—"

"Leave me the hell alone, alright?" Ian snapped before spinning to face him. "For the past three days, you've treated me like I'm nothing. You've barely said two words to me. This whole thing is almost over, so why don't we keep it that way?" He tore his shirt down over his head and brushed past Mickey to grab his coat. "I'll bring a guy back tonight, and we'll get the rest of our money so you can go back home and go on pretendin' I don't fuckin' exist."

"Will you wait a fuckin' minute," Mickey said, reaching for Ian's arm again.

Ian was too quick. He slapped Mickey's hand away and pushed Mickey against the wall, causing the air to rush out of his lungs. He gripped Mickey up by the front of his shirt, his face inches from his.

"Look, just because you're confused and don't know what the hell you want, that doesn't mean you get to treat me like shit. I'm not some fuckin' kid who can't handle the truth. You don't want me, fine, but don't take it out on me because you hate yourself." With that, he roughly released the grip he had on Mickey and headed to the door.

Mickey watched dumbfounded and disheveled as Ian left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ian made his way down the street, huddled in his coat against the freezing wind. He walked at a brisk pace, still bristling from his argument with Mickey.

What right did that asshole have, acting like he was some stupid kid with a crush? That was far from what he was. He wasn't a kid, and he knew what he wanted, which was a hell of a lot more than he could say for Mickey fucking Milkovich.

He knew, deep down, that Mickey didn't hate him; he hated himself. Still, it hurt that Mickey had been treating him like a leper for the past three days. He was sick of it. If Mickey didn't want him, he could deal with that. He just wanted to get the whole thing over with so he could go home to his family and forget any of it ever happened.

He looked up when he neared a bar and stopped in his tracks. He'd decided to go somewhere new that night, so he didn't risk being recognized. So far, he and Mickey had tricked five guys, all of them from the same bar, so he had to play it safe in case word had gotten around. The place looked as good as any other, so he took a deep breath and went inside.

No matter what Mickey did to distract himself, he kept glancing at the clock, keeping a mental note on how long Ian had been gone. It'd been almost two hours and, even though he hated the fact, he was getting worried fucking sick. Usually, Ian was out and back within an hour. He kept telling himself to relax, that Ian was only staying out longer to make him mad or blow off steam, and he tried to get lost in the sitcom playing on the TV, but it was no fucking use.

He stood and paced, wishing he'd gotten Ian his own phone so he could at least call him, not that Ian would answer for him, anyway.

"Fuck!" He ran a hand over his mouth and paced a few more times before grabbing his coat and leaving their room.

The guy was hotter and younger than the other guys he'd picked up had been. For a fleeting moment, Ian considered fucking the guy to get his pent-up frustration out before moving on to the next one, but in the end, he knew it was getting late, and he needed to get back to the motel. Even though he was pissed at Mickey, he didn't want him to worry.

After making sex-eyes at each other for several minutes, Ian made his way over to the man. He was in his thirties and had a Bradley Cooper thing going on. Ian could definitely work with that.

"Hi," he said while leaning against the bar and using his best sexy voice to reel the guy in.

"Hey," the man said before coolly taking a sip of his mojito.

Ian discreetly noticed the man wore a wedding band. "You wanna get outta here?" he asked, giving the man a flirty smirk. "I have a room right down the road. We can go have some fun."

The man slyly looked Ian over, his blue eyes taking him all in. Apparently, he liked what he saw. He took another sip of his drink. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know how to give it," Ian murmured without missing a beat. "Or take it, your call."

The man smirked along the rim of his glass before asking, "Is that right?"

"Why don't you come and find out?"

The man seemed to think it over, looking Ian over once more. "You go first. I'll meet you outside."

Ian smiled and brushed past the man to wait out in the parking lot. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the man appeared. "So, where's your car?" he asked, stepping into the man's personal space and gripping the collar of his coat.

The man jerked his head back towards the parking lot, motioning for Ian to follow.

Ian followed him eagerly and felt relieved when he spotted a shiny red Porsche in the corner of the lot.

"Get in," the man said before slipping inside.

Ian looked heavenward and grinned before getting into the car, knowing that he and Mickey had hit the jackpot with that one; Mickey was going to be so fucking impressed.

"What motel are you staying at?"

"Right down the road at the Travelodge," Ian said as he fastened his seatbelt.

"You know, on second thought, how about we do it right here?" the man said after a beat, catching Ian off guard with the unwanted offer. "You can suck my dick here. We don't need a room for that." He reached down and unzipped his pants, his eyes locked on Ian.

Ian tried to play it cool as best he could. He was used to those types of guys; it was a good thing he knew how to be persuasive. He leaned into the man and ran a hand along his inner thigh, stopping before reaching his crotch. "Let's go to my room, it'll be a better time. I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

The man pulled his dick out and stroked himself. "Don't have time for that. I'd rather have my cock sucked right here."

Ian stared back at the guy with a frown, not liking his tone. "Fuck this, I'm out," he said, unfastening his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. Before he could fully register what was happening, the man grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed forward, slamming Ian's forehead against the dashboard.

Everything went black.