Ian opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the ceiling. He stared for a moment at an old damp patch there and then followed the line of a crack that stretched out from the lampshade above him to the corner of the room. As his gaze shifted lower it fell on Mickey sitting in the chair opposite the couch where he was now obviously lying.

As Mickey noticed Ian stirring, he rocked to his feet, grabbing a glass of water from the table and moving over to Ian.

"Here," he said, adding "From the filter. Promise!" as Ian eyed the glass warily.

Ian smacked his lips a couple of times, finding his mouth drier than he had anticipated. He reached for the water, flinching a little as his and Mickey's fingers touched around the glass.

Mickey snatched his hand back, frowning.

"What happened? Where's Reese?" Ian asked, sitting up.

Mickey sat back on the edge of the chair, looking as if he was set to run. "You passed out. Reese called me when you went down. She went for a nap."

Ian instinctively looked around towards what he assumed was her bedroom door. "Shit! How long have I been out?"

"About twenty minutes," Mickey clarified. "We were worried for a while. Reese wanted to call 911, but you were breathing okay. Guess you must have needed the rest. How do you feel."

"Rested," Ian admitted.

"So," Mickey began after a moment of quiet, "you wanna talk about what the fuck happened?"

It was on the tip of Ian's tongue to spout some bullshit about not eating or something equally innocuous, when he realised that he and Mickey were alone and now was as good a time as any to get things out in the open.

He breathed in and out, then took a sip of the water. He kept his head down, only occasionally glancing up through his lashes, almost worried that Mickey wasn't going to be there.

"These last few weeks," he started, setting the glass back down on the table and scrubbing his hands over his face," have been a bit... I don't know. Exhausting?"

He looked up at Mickey then, who was staring back at him, eyebrows raised, with something almost like disbelief in his eyes.

"No, no. I mean. Fuck." Ian looked away again. "I know you've had a shit time. What I mean is... I think it's all connected. Like we're connected somehow."

Mickey rummaged in his pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes, obviously in need of something to do with his hands. "You wanna explain that?" He asked, lighting one, snapping his lighter shut.

Ian sighed. "I don't know if I can. Hey, can I bum one of those? It started a few weeks ago when I had a dream about you. Out of the blue."

Their hands touched again as Mickey passed the cigarette pack, but this time there was no flinching. In fact, they lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary before Ian took the pack and lit a cigarette. They didn't make eye contact though as Ian continued.

"It was so vivid."

Mickey cleared his throat, "Why was it so weird though? Had you not had a dream about me before?"

"No. Not since about a month after you left me." Ian shook his head vehemently. Then, after a pause, he looked at Mickey. "Why? Do you dream about me?"

Mickey cleared his throat again, nervously this time and rubbed the back of his neck, "Well... yeah."

A tiny smile spread across Ian's face then.

"For fuck's sake, Gallagher. You don't have to look so smug about it. Jesus."

"Sorry! I'm just... just surprised is all." Ian stuttered out.

"Yeah well. Like I said. Fuckin' dumb." Mickey smirked. "Anyway, so this dream?"

"Yours or mine?" Ian joked.

"Yours. Don't be fuckin' funny."

"Okay. Sorry. Yeah like I said, it was weird. Then I found out from Fiona that the store burned down a week before." Ian took in a long suck of smoke. "I didn't know you were in there though. I guess, maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something?"

Sensing there was more, Mickey stayed quiet, nibbling at the skin around what was left of his fingernails.

Ian carried on, "Yeah, so the dreams just kept on coming. Sometimes in the day too while I was awake. And they weren't really dreams either - more like memories."

Mickey was nodding.

"And then I saw you at Lip's which was just such a shock-"

"It was for me too, asshole!" Mickey interrupted, "I had no idea you were even in town. I didn't want the first time you saw me to go down like that. You know?"

"I do. But when I got back and Fiona had no idea you were there, and I couldn't get in touch with Lip, I actually thought I'd just imagined you there."

Mickey suddenly lets out an "Ohhhh!" of realisation.

Ian looks up, inquisitive. "What?"

"Well, I'm guessing you won't remember, but when I found you at the bar the other night, the first thing you said was that you thought you'd passed out. Guess that makes sense now."

Ian blushed. "I'm sorry about that night. I have no idea what I said."

Mickey shook his head. "Don't say you're sorry. You said stuff I've been saying to myself for nearly ten fuckin' years. I just wish I could have explained things."

"Like what?"

"Like... why I said all that shit to you back then and just left you."

"I really don't think you need to. Not after what Reese just told me about your dad and..." Ian swallowed.

"But you didn't know that then did you?" Mickey shrugged.

"True. But all the time you just kept saying your dad would kill you. I just thought you were using it as an excuse to get away from me. That you were being overdramatic."

"I'm a Milkovich," Mickey scoffed, "Milkoviches don't fuckin' do drama."

"Ha!" Ian laughed incredulously, "Seriously? And that day that Frank caught us? You don't call that drama?"

"No, I call that realism. And I was right wasn't I?" Mickey gestured around him to make his point.

"Yeah," Ian felt the air going fuzzy again. "I guess you were."

Mickey suddenly jumped up and starting pacing. "Look I thought killing Frank was a solution. But really I was just fuckin'... buying time, trying to find another solution for us. And there was nothing. Nothing. The only thing I could come up with was to take myself out of your life."

"But that wasn't just your decision to make." Ian said, watching Mickey as he moved.

"Yeah. Actually it was." Mickey stopped to face him. "At that moment, I knew it would hurt more in the long run if I stuck around and couldn't be the person you needed me to be. Shit. That I wanted to be for you. That's why I hit that cop. I didn't want to. But I just. I fuckin' had to."

Ian was silent.

Mickey started gesturing with his arms, "See, you don't get it. I mean, you had me pegged the whole time - you knew how I felt about you. Just because I didn't say - couldn't say it - didn't mean I didn't feel it." He took a deep breath. "You know I used to fantasise all the time about us doin' stuff together? But it was always in the back of my mind like, 'fuck. What if Terry catches us?' I could never seem to get it through that thick fuckin' skull of yours – what it would mean."

"I know. I-"

"You don't." Mickey starting pacing about again. "You don't fuckin' know. My dad carried a gun on him all the time. It fuckin' scared the shit outta me that he would find out about us and kill me. Or worse."

"What's worse than that?"

There was a pause as Mickey stopped pacing. He chewed at his thumbnail for moment, before looking at Ian.

"He could have killed you."

Ian met Mickey's eyes then. And everything that Ian thought he'd left behind almost ten years ago all resurfaced at once, as he realised he had never stopped loving Mickey at all and that he'd just avoided anything that might remind him of how he felt. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Mickey obviously noticed. "Ah, shit Ian. Don't fuckin' cry. Not now, please? There's only enough room for one lot of sap in this house right now and I am reaching my quota for my lifetime as we speak."

Ian let out a juddering laugh, and a tear rolled down his cheek which he wiped away as quickly as he could.

Mickey was serious again now. "That's why I did it. And it's why I didn't come looking for you when I got out. Because whenever I saw you, I always wanted to just push you up against a wall and do stuff to you. I wanted to be able to talk dirty in your ear while we were somewhere public, tell you all the things I wanted to do to you, and make you get hard and have people know it was me having that effect on you. I wanted to... well, not hold your hand because you know I don't do that shit, but fuck. I wanted to kiss you. Every time you gave me that look that said you wanted me to."

Ian sat open-mouthed and his face felt like it was on fire, but he couldn't take his eyes from Mickey's.

Mickey pressed on, "But I couldn't. I couldn't do any of that and it was fuckin' killing me, and I knew it was making you miserable. I just wanted you to have that with someone, so I figured best to just take me out of the equation."

Ian gave a nervous chuckle. "You thought about all of that right before you punched out that cop?!"

Mickey shrugged, "Yeah, you know. Super fast trains of thought and all that shit?"

Another silent moment passed. Ian still felt so hot that the tips of his ears were burning, but he didn't stop himself asking, "So... what kind of things?"

Mickey's eyes met Ian's. "Huh?"

"You said you wanted to tell me the things you wanted to do to me." Ian's skin was burning. "What kind of things?"

Mickey's face split into a wide grin, his eyelids lowering and his voice dropping what seemed like a full octave as he answered. "The kind of things that would make you blush more than you are right now." He watched as Ian's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"Such as?" Ian's question was barely audible.

Mickey licked his lips, putting out the cigarette that he'd forgotten about in the ashtray. "I'd think about pressing up against you. Somewhere where you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Whisper to you about how I wanted to take your cock in my mouth and suck you until you were making those fuckin' whining noises like you couldn't get enough."

Ian stood up suddenly, made a move towards the door. Not trying to escape, but wholly aware that he was rapidly getting turned on and that this little exchange was going to result in something. Something that hadn't happened for a long time – except in his head - and he wasn't sure how ready he was for it. He made it as far as the little dividing wall between the living and dining rooms before Mickey was on his feet and crowding him from behind.

"Don't go, Ian. Not until you tell me you remember those noises I used to get you to make when I sucked your cock."

"Yes I remember." Ian's tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he tried to form the words. He could feel Mickey's dick, already hard in his sweatpants, and he instinctively leaned back against him.

Mickey's hand snaked around the front of Ian's jeans, palming over his erection. "Good. I remember them too. I always hear them when I think about you. They help me get off."

Ian whipped around then, pressing himself back against the wall, and Mickey pushed up even closer, their cocks rubbing together through their clothes, despite the height difference, causing unbelievable friction.

Closing his eyes, Ian lost himself in the sensation. He'd spent so long blocking out all thoughts of Mickey. These last few weeks had hit hard as all the memories had been coming back to him in waves, but now it was like his whole body was waking up and remembering what it had all felt like and was giving Ian reminders. Now the entire surface area of his skin felt as if it was on fire. His stomach was in one big knot, but not the nauseated kind. The kind that appeared right before Mickey would bite into his shoulder, or lick a stripe up the length of his cock, or-

"Look at me, Ian." Mickey's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Ian wasn't ready to open his eyes yet. He screwed them a little tighter closed.

Then he heard, more urgently, "Fuck. Gallagher, look at me. Please."

That got Ian's attention. His lids snapped open and he let out a breath. Mickey's face was right in front of him, eyes searching Ian's.

As they focused their gaze on each other, Mickey's expression suddenly became determined and before Ian could figure out why, Mickey had closed the distance between their mouths and they were kissing.

Their first kiss.