After a few minutes, Ian's breathing became less erratic, his sobs subsided, and his body grew softer in Mickey's embrace.

"I won't do it," Mickey murmured against Ian's shoulder, even though he'd already whispered the words nearly a dozen times.

Ian pulled back from Mickey's embrace, his eyes red-rimmed. "Promise me, Mickey. Promise me you won't do anything stupid. Whatever we do, we do it together or not at all."

Mickey didn't like to make promises, mostly because once he gave his word to someone, there was no way in hell he'd back down from it. His word was golden, one of the few things in his life he took seriously. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

Ian nodded his head and looked down, sniffling. "You prob'ly think I'm such a fuckin' kid right now, don't you?"

"You know what I think?" Mickey asked, the words pouring out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I think you're fuckin' brave, that's what I think."

Ian sniffled again and looked into Mickey's eyes before laughing mirthlessly, even though there was nothing funny about any of it. "I'm not brave. I'm cryin' like a little bitch."

Mickey stared back at him, getting the overwhelming urge to kiss him at that moment, but he didn't.

Ian pulled out of Mickey's arms and wiped his face before stepping around him. He bent down to pick up a wrinkled shirt from the floor and sluggishly pulled it on.

Mickey shifted his jaw, rubbed his mouth, and stared at the wall, a mixture of emotions rushing through him; emotions he wasn't used to dealing with. He turned and watched as Ian lazily pulled on a pair of jeans. After a few beats, he blurted, "Why don't we get outta here? Let's go out for the day and forget all this shit and take a day to fuckin'… reset."

Ian sat on the bed as he pulled on socks, seemingly uninterested in Mickey's proposal.

"Fuck, let's go out and see a fuckin' movie or something, get something to eat, get some fresh fuckin' air. We've been holed up in this shithole for too long," Mickey continued, knowing that a day without worrying about anything was something Ian needed. After all, for as strong as Ian was trying to appear to be, he was a sixteen-year-old kid at the end of the day; a kid going through some pretty fucked-up shit. That didn't sit too well with Mickey, not anymore.

Ian stared back at him, saying nothing and almost bringing Mickey to the point of snapping before a smile finally tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You mean like a date?"

Mickey sneered. "No, the fuck? Not like a fuckin' date."

"You said we should see a movie and get food," Ian pointed out with a shrug. "That kinda sounds like a date to me."

"Fuck off is what it sounds like," Mickey grumbled before walking to the dresser to grab his cigarettes.

"You know, you always reach for your cigarettes when you're nervous," Ian teased. "It's one of your weird habits I've picked up on the last couple weeks."

"You think your ass makes me nervous?" Mickey asked in Ian's direction over his shoulder, but he didn't dare look Ian in his eyes.

"I like to think I do."

Mickey caught Ian's eyes with his own, unable to help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You wanna go or not, shithead?"

"Yeah," Ian said, the smile Mickey had missed returning to his face. "I wanna go."

"I ain't holdin' your fuckin' hand or anything," Mickey said to Ian's back as Ian headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "This doesn't mean we're boyfriend and girlfriend, either, you hear me? It's two guys hangin' out, that's it."

"Uh-huh," Ian called back in a patronizing tone. "Sure, Mickey."

"I'm not kidding, Gallagher," Mickey insisted. "This ain't a fuckin' date."

Ian came out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked up to Mickey, clutched his shirt with one hand, and pulled him in for a sweet kiss that knocked the breath out of him. When they broke apart, he muttered, "Got it, not a date."

Mickey remembered how to breathe only after Ian turned his back.

A little while later, Mickey and Ian found themselves at a movie theater a few blocks down the street from their motel room, which was great since they were hoofing it for their 'quasi-date' as Ian was referring to it by, as per Mickey's compromise. They'd both quickly settled on the newest high-speed action movie that had recently been released and, after getting their extra-salted and extra-buttered popcorn and drinks, they plopped down in the plush seats at the back of the nearly empty theater, both of them propping their feet on the backs of the seats in front of them.

Mickey took a sip of his flat pop and snuck a glance over at Ian, watching as he shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, kernels falling all over his chest and lap.

Ian looked over at him, his cheeks puffed out from his popcorn. He asked around his mouthful, "What?"

Mickey couldn't suppress his grin. "You're a fuckin' mess, man."

Ian laughed his goofy laugh. When he turned his attention back towards the screen to watch the previews, Mickey's eyes remained on him as the lights dimmed. Unaware of Mickey's racing heart and internal struggle, Ian leaned into him a bit, his eyes remaining on the screen. "I'm so fuckin' excited to see this movie. Van Damme is the man."

"He's alright," Mickey said, his tongue suddenly feeling thick in his mouth. "Steven Seagal is the man, though. Have you seen that ponytail? That's a powerful fuckin' ponytail. He would totally kick Van Damme's ass."

"Oh, unless! Unless it's Double Impact Van Damme," Ian said, beaming, "'cause that's some Van double damn!"

Without giving it a second thought, Mickey leaned in and pressed his mouth to Ian's.

The kiss was short, sweet, and to the point. When Mickey pulled away, Ian's eyes were still closed with his lips parted slightly.

"Well then, fuck Van Damme," Mickey breathed.

Ian opened his eyes and stared into Mickey's. His shocked features slowly melted into a smile as he relaxed back into his seat.

Mickey cleared his throat and looked away before taking another long sip of his pop.

"Told you this was a date," Ian muttered before shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"Fuck you is what it is."

Halfway through the movie, Mickey bravely reached over and laced his fingers through Ian's.

After the movie (which had been well worth the price of admission, and not just because it was a good fucking movie) Mickey and Ian stepped outside, surprised to see that it was still daylight outside.

"So, what now?" Ian asked with an excited grin.

"You hungry?" Mickey asked, secretly thrilled that he could make Ian smile like that. "We can go grab something to eat."

"I can eat."

"Yeah, that was prob'ly a stupid fuckin' question. You're always hungry." As they walked, Mickey looked at him out of the corner of his eye, happy to see that Ian still had a smile on his face. It was nice to know he could take Ian's mind off shit for at least a little while. "So, what are you in the mood for?" he began. "I was kinda thinkin' about grabbing-"

Ian interrupted him by halting and grabbing his arm. "That's it!"

"What? What the fuck is it?" Mickey asked, glancing around wildly. He then looked in the direction Ian was pointing and frowned. "What? You wanna go to a fuckin' gay bar?"

Across the street, nestled between a clothing shop and a deli, sat The Ramrod. It was an inconspicuous building, except for the hot pink fluorescent sign with the silhouette of a naked man in a cowboy hat on it.

"You're fuckin' kidding me, right?" Mickey mused. "When I said go somewhere to eat, I was thinkin' more along the lines of Chipotle."

Ian looked at him and smirked. "No, asshole, I'm not thinkin' about food. I'm thinkin' lap dances. Stripping."

"You want me to walk in that place and get a fuckin' lap dance?" Mickey exclaimed. "Are you outta your mind?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm not talkin' about you, and I'm not talkin' about now."

"So, what the fuck are you talkin' about?" Mickey exclaimed, causing a mother with her young daughter to dart around them quickly, shooting accusatory stares in Mickey's direction. He smirked at them before turning his attention back to Ian.

"I'm a good dancer," Ian said with a shrug. "I can go in and ask 'em if I can dance for a few nights. Tonight is Friday, so if I dance over the weekend, I can prob'ly bring in a grand, if not more. We can be home by Monday."

Mickey's brows shot up. "You wanna walk in there and ask them to let you dance? Just like that? What the fuck makes you think they'd let you?"

"I'm young, a redhead, and I have a hot body," Ian pointed out. "They'd be stupid to turn me away."

Mickey sighed and ran a shaky hand over his mouth, not liking the idea of Ian dancing half-naked in front of old perverted viagroids. After a few beats, he said, "Nah, come on, man. They'd never let you do it. You gotta be eighteen."

Ian smirked. "You really think they're gonna ask questions? A young, hot guy is comin' in offering to dance for the weekend. Besides, even if the manager says no at first, I know how to be persuasive."

Mickey's anger simmered deep in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how far Ian would go with a stranger to get his way. He shook those thoughts from his head. "Nah, man, come on. Let's get something to eat. I'm fuckin' starving," he said, brushing past Ian, intent on ending the conversation.

"Mickey," Ian said, grabbing his arm before he could walk any farther. "We need the money, and we're kinda runnin' outta options here. It'll be fine. I'll dance for a few nights. You can be there, keepin' an eye on things the whole time. No one will touch me." When Mickey remained silent, he added, "It's safer than what we've been doing!"

Mickey stared back at him, wishing he would let it go, but knowing Ian enough by then to know he wouldn't. He also knew they were running out of options. Safe ones, anyway. He eventually sighed and rubbed his mouth. "Alright, what the fuck ever. If you think it's something you're up for, I can't fuckin' stop you. I ain't your damn keeper."

Ian grinned.

"But don't think for a fuckin' second I'm lettin' you outta my sight. As soon as someone touches you the wrong way, I'm bashin' fuckin' kneecaps," Mickey spat before he could stop himself. He brushed roughly past Ian and continued down the street, suddenly not in the mood to eat.