So this is it. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read, followed, reviewed and favourited this, it has honestly been so great to have people enjoy my writing. I may start another Ian/Mickey fic, but I'm not sure when, only that I have an idea and I'd quite like to write it. Anyway, again, thank you!
Mickey didn't think he deserved happiness, he wasn't worthy of it, never had been in his mind. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy feeling it. Fuck, did he enjoy feeling it. For so long he thought the only way he could find happiness was at the bottom of a bottle of vodka, so drunk and high that he could barely think. Now he knew that that wasn't happiness, wasn't even close. And if it made him the gayest, fucking faggiest person for wanting to thank Ian for having made him so happy, he didn't give a shit. Couldn't.
But then Ian was back at school and perhaps Kiera had been right when she taunted him for being possessive; maybe he was. It made some sort of sense when Mickey thought about it. He'd never had anything all to himself, everything he owned he was forced to share: his brothers would constantly steal his clothes when they were out of clean ones, even Mandy would use his t-shirts as pyjamas sometimes; his room, his own fucking room, was never really his, his dad, brothers even his mom a couple of times, would crash either on his bed or on his couch like they had any right to; phones, cds ,drugs, alcohol, cigarettes all belonging to him have been stolen like they were never his to fucking begin with. All his life things that belonged to Mickey were taken or borrowed, used, and so he learnt that he'd never have anything to himself, that people could come along and take whatever they wanted from him. Ian, though, Ian was his. Ian was his in a way that nothing had ever been his before. Because in return, Mickey was Ian's, it was a mutual belonging and so obviously Mickey would hold onto that with all the strength he could muster.
And yes, he got increasingly jealous whenever Ian talked about his new English teacher, which was a fuck ton. To other people, i.e. Kiera and Mandy, it would seem like Ian was simply enthusiastic about having a cool new teacher who he liked and liked him back but it sparked something inside Mickey. Like smoke rising from a fire until it set off an alarm; it built and built and built until he couldn't stop himself anymore.
"You fuckin' your English teacher?" he asked one evening when Ian had come round his house. Ian had homework to do but that didn't stop him. He simply bought it along and only complained a little when Mickey distracted him. In all fairness, Mickey had planned on wording that question so that it didn't sound like an accusation, but clearly his brain and mouth weren't up to working together that day.
There was a long stretch of silence, the only sound to be heard was the drop of Ian's pen onto the open school books scattered across the coffee table. Slowly, keeping his eyes on his own feet, Ian moved from his position on the floor and sat beside Mickey on the couch. "You honestly think I'd do that?" He sounded broken, beyond hurt that Mickey could question him in such a way and it made Mickey want to punch himself.
He cleared his throat and swallowed. "I don't... I don't know," Mickey mumbled quietly, averting his gaze to his tattooed knuckles that rested on his thighs. "He sounds... better." The "than me" Mickey didn't say because fuck it if he was going to admit to feeling threatened and kind of shitty that Ian found somebody else far more interesting than him. That shit he kept to himself, not even Kiera was going to get him to confess to that.
Ian shuffled closer and gently held one of Mickey's hand, despite knowing that Mickey hated it. "He's better than all my other teachers, Mick, not you," he explained, his voice strained, urgent. "Mickey, hey," he moved his hand to Mickey's cheek so Mickey looked back up at him, "I want you, okay? Besides the guy is like, almost sixty and practically bald."
Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Right, 'cause Jimmy's dad was so young," he teased, knowing how badly Ian wished he never told him about it.
Huffing out an irritated sigh, Ian returned to his spot on the floor, ignoring Mickey's chuckles. "Fuck off, he wasn't that old." Mickey hummed in sarcastic agreement. So maybe Mickey had a tendency to get a little possessive, a little jealous. But it was justified down to his fear - and it was fear, even though he told himself it wasn't - that something else that belonged to him would be taken away. Something that was way more important than anything materialistic he'd ever owned.
However, Mickey quickly let it slide and he realised that Ian no longer spoke about his English teacher in a lot of detail which he mentally thanked him for. So other than the fact that Ian was back at school, things were pretty much the same. Though he felt like everything thing he did was just to fill the time until he got to see Ian again, which was hugely fucking gay. Like work and hanging out with Lip and Louis and messing about with Kiera and his sister: all of it seemed to become a little less important, as though Ian was his main priority or some shit.
So Saturdays soon became Mickey's favourite day because Ian always slept round on Friday nights and Saturday was the only day that both he and Ian had off work so they usually spent most of the day in bed, completely naked and not caring that Mandy would complain about how loud they were or that when Lip was round, he'd make his usual snarky comments. And why would Mickey give a shit when he had Ian all to himself; all of his attention on him?
And why would he answer the door when he had Ian beneath him in only their underwear, sweaty and turned on?
"Mickey," Ian groaned, tugging on his hair so that he lifted his head, his lips leaving Ian's, now very red, neck. "Shouldn't you answer that?"
Mickey grumbled and grinded his hips down against Ian's, both of them half hard. "You want me to?" he asked into Ian's ear before going back to his neck.
There was no response from Ian, just like Mickey knew there wouldn't be. It made him smile into his neck until another knock rattled through the house. Insistent and hugely fucking annoying.
Ian told him to quickly answer it, that it might be important, but Mickey was having none of it. Way too comfortable and content where he was to move so he shouted, probably a little too close to Ian's ear, for Kiera to move her skinny little ass and answer the door.
"Oh, well, unless you want me arrested for indecent exposure, you'd answer it yourself!" she shouted back, in her usual nonchalant tone.
Begrudgingly, Mickey rose from his bed and stormed to the front door, ready to curse at whoever it was who decided to interrupt his Saturday afternoon activity. He swung the door open with so much force that the hinges gave a worrying squeak. "What!" he growled, his fist clenched beside his bare thigh. But when he managed to look through his haze of anger, his mouth fell open and his brows furrowed in equal amounts of shock and confusion. "The fuck?" he breathed out, his words barely audible.
"Milkovich. I see you haven't added to your tattoo collection."
Dr. Harris. Fucking Dr. Harris was stood at his door with that same knowing look that, now he was looking straight at, he could see was scarily similar to Kiera's. Too similar. His mind began to race. Was this like a normal thing that happened? Were all ex inmates visited by the psychologist that they'd been assessed by? Was she here by choice? Those, and about a dozen other questions, whirled around inside his head, yet none of them were leaving his mouth. He couldn't speak through his shock.
She chuckled then ran a hand through her hair. It looked longer and a little more red than Mickey remembered. "Now is the time I'm usually asked if I want to come inside." Her eyebrows were raised slightly and she was playing with a set of keys in one hand.
Mickey stood to the side and she walked in, looking around curiously like she was in museum or something. Mickey followed her into the living room. "So, like, what the fuck is this? You here to visit me?"
She walked up to him, her crazy long legs striding across the room. "I'm here to see-"
"Laura!" Kiera screeched, running into the room and shoving Mickey out-of-the-way to leap onto Dr. Harris. Fucking leapt onto her, flimsy fucking dress flying about giving Mickey a much too close view of her ass.
He was so startled by Kiera's entrance that he hadn't actually taken into account what was going on: Kiera knew Dr. Harris - Laura, whatever - but clearly not how Mickey knew her because he wasn't even on a first name basis with her, let alone a 'jump on you because I'm so pleased to see you' basis.
The two of them stopped hugging but they were still beaming at each other. And that's when Mickey pieced it together. Now that they were stood side by side, their physical similarities were striking: their pale, porcelain skin; their hair, though different colours, was the same mix of wavy and straight; they both had little, ski slope noses and their eyes had that same warmth in them. The only real big difference in how they looked was their heights. Where Dr. Harris could probably be tall enough to model, Kiera could pass as a young teenager.
"Holy shit, you're fucking related?" He didn't know why he whispered that, like it was a dirty secret.
They both nodded, but it was Dr. Harris who spoke. "Yeah, I didn't know she was living with you, our dad and step mom weren't exactly forthcoming in telling me where Kiera was living but I beat it out of Seth." She said that last part to Kiera and they shared a small smile. "So imagine my surprise when he gave me the address and I saw that it was none other than the Milkovich's house."
Mickey looked on in shock, even as Kiera excused herself and went to get her shoes or bag or whatever, Mickey wasn't paying any attention to whatever the fuck she was saying.
"So, how are you doing?" Dr. Harris sat down on the couch and Mickey stood awkwardly beside it, suddenly aware of how much skin he had on show.
"Good, yeah. Haven't had to see you again, so." He smiled at her then. Short and probably not so sweet.
She nodded, her face turning serious. "Yeah, that is good. You got a job, right? Construction work? I'm pleased."
Familiarity flushed through Mickey as they stared at each other. Once again, that knowing, understanding look was back and it made his lungs feel heavy; drowning in the memory of that first meeting, of how it made him feel something he'd never felt before and now, only really felt around Kiera.
Ian shouted something then but Mickey couldn't quite hear it over the pounding of his heart. He knew it must have been something about coming back to bed because he could see Dr. Harris connecting the dots and then she smirked at him.
"Well, you certainly don't fit the stereotype." was all she said and Mickey, for once, really didn't care that yet another person knew about him so he shrugged and looked back over his shoulder at Ian shuffling across the carpet.
It perhaps wasn't the best time for Mickey to be thinking about how fucking good Ian looked, but he did anyway, even when the guy's eyes widened when he realised Mickey wasn't alone and froze.
"Ian, Dr. Harris-"
"Laura."
Rolling his eyes, Mickey carried on. "Ian, Laura, Laura, Ian." He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking too much at their overly polite "hello"s and "how are you"s.
For a moment the three of them just looked at each other, awkward, uncomfortable and clueless as to what to do next. But they were saved when Kiera came bounding back into the room all made up and pretty.
"Oh, Ian, you've met my sister, good." She was so enthusiastic it made Mickey's head hurt. "Well, we're going out now, so see ya later."
Mickey walked with them to the door and Laura waited back until Kiera was in her car. "I'm really happy for you, Milkovich, honestly. You've actually done something not a lot of people who have been to jail or juvie tend to do. You've gotten off your ass and made your life better, into something, I don't know, worth it." She didn't look like she was lying or like she was only saying it for Mickey's benefit. It made feel weird because her words made him feel good. "I'm really proud of you and I hope that you keep your ass out of trouble and live the kind of life you deserve."
To stop himself from thanking her, he scoffed. "Fuck off, you pracitse that speech?"
Her laughter spilled from her like it was a surprise. "No actually, kind of just went with it. Freestyle," she joked.
Kiera began honking the car horn impatiently, no doubt annoying their neighbours so Laura left quickly but not without telling him that she meant every word she'd said. Mickey closed the door and Ian instantly wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, his chin resting on his shoulder. Holding on like he was aware of how weak Mickey felt at that moment, so overwhelmed that he had made someone proud.
They stayed like that for a long time, staring at the closed door, so close together that they ran the risk of over heating. It felt final to them both; complete. Neither of them could explain it nor were they going to but they knew that was it. Just the two of them. So in love that they didn't even know it.