Chapter 3:

It wasn't until Friday night that Mickey decided it was time to call Ian and arrange a meeting. He had finished the book after he had gone home from the library on Wednesday evening, but he didn't want Ian to think he had gone straight home and done exactly as he had instructed. So, he waited it out and after dinner, he excused himself from the table. His mother waved a hand, not even looking in his direction. His father had already disappeared out of the room to make a call in his office. The dinner plates would be in exactly the same place in the morning.

Mickey closed his bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, making a mental note to go back downstairs later and load the plates into the dishwasher. He dialled Ian's number, then pressed his phone to his ear, the dial tone starting up and waited for a long time, listening to the even rings the phone was making. Mickey had almost hung up, deciding Ian was either busy, or simply didn't want to talk to him. He guessed he couldn't blame him, really. Mickey and the guys had bullied him every day this week. Not a day had passed that he didn't get a cup or two of slushie emptied over his perfectly coiffed head. Mickey had even locked him in the janitor's closet on Thursday morning. Apparently, he'd been left there until lunch time.

"Hello?" Ian said, finally answering his phone. Mickey took comfort in the sound of his voice. He didn't know why, didn't even want to know why, because it freaked him out. He didn't want to think about it.

"I finished the book."

"Mickey," Ian said and his voice gave away no emotion. Mickey couldn't tell if he was happy to hear from him or not. He reminded himself that he didn't care either way, then went on talking.

"Yeah," he said. "So, can we meet up tomorrow, or something?"

"Tomorrow," Ian said, thoughtfully.

Mickey wondered what else Ian might have planned for tomorrow. Maybe he was visiting a relative. Or getting some super early Christmas shopping done. Or seeing his boyfriend.

Mickey felt the empty feeling returning to the pit of his stomach. He hadn't experienced it since he had gotten home from school that day and he'd thought it was finally gone, but apparently not. He was going to have to see a doctor soon, fearful that he might be developing an ulcer, because there was no other explanation.

"Yeah, tomorrow's fine," Ian said finally on the other end. "Where?"

Mickey felt a little flustered. He was feeling like that a lot lately. Earlier that day, Quinn had been telling him some 'super important gossip' and he'd blanked on her completely. She was, needless to say, less than amused.

"Uh, wherever," he replied, weakly.

"Wherever," Ian repeated. "We could do it on a bridge? Or maybe we could just sit ourselves on the side of some empty road? Oh, I know! On our way in here, I saw a park with this cute, little sandbox in the centre. Do you think if we asked nicely, the kids would let us borrow it for, like, an hour or so?"

"Yes, God, Gallagher, you're hilarious," Mickey rolled his eyes.

"I am hilarious, actually, but that time I was just being smart, something you obviously wouldn't know anything about," Ian said, in that snooty tone. "You did say wherever, though, so I assumed the location was open for any suggestions and I like to be creative."

Mickey simply groaned because Ian was a frustrating son of a bitch sometimes. He wondered why he had ever felt that tiny twinge of pity for him that first day of school.

"Library, then," Ian stated.

"No."

"No?"

"No," Mickey said, again, feeling himself flushing. Luckily, no one could see him at that moment.

"Why not?"

He had to ask that, didn't he?

"I sort of got—erm, barred."

"You got barred from the public library?"

Mickey nodded, then realised Ian couldn't see him, so he mumbled an affirmative.

"How does one get barred from the public library?"

Mickey felt stupid. He knew he wasn't stupid, just that some pretty stupid things happened to him sometimes, particularly in the last week, he noticed. The truth was that after Ian left him in the library on Wednesday, he'd felt sick to his stomach, for whatever reason. He had no idea, why, he just knew that he needed to get to a bathroom pronto. Except he didn't make it to a bathroom. He'd thrown up right there, in the back corner of the library and the librarian had barred him. It was one of the single most embarrassing things to ever happen to him.

He told Ian, who simply collapsed into fits of laughter. Mickey scowled, hoping Ian could sense his displeasure.

"Oh my God," Ian said, laughter depleting. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm serious."

"Oh, wow," Ian chuckled a little. "What happened? What did you eat?"

It occurred to Mickey then that he was having a phone conversation with Ian Gallagher, like it was the most natural thing in the world, which it most definitely was not.

"I don't know," he shrugged, because he didn't know. He had no idea what had happened. One minute, he was relatively normal, then Ian had begun talking about the future and he got that churning feeling in the pit of his stomach and then Ian was gone and he'd vomited. Maybe he really was getting an ulcer.

"Can they even legally bar you from the public library for bodily malfunctions?"

Mickey grimaced when Ian said the words 'bodily malfunctions'. It made him feel a little sick again.

"Evidently," he deadpanned.

"Well, meet me there tomorrow anyway."

"What? What the hell for?" Mickey asked, in an incredulous tone. Had Ian not heard him the first time, or did he just want to hear him say it again for kicks?

"Tell you what," Ian said, patiently. "I'll even pick you up, okay?"

Mickey groaned as he sat up. He was genuinely confused. It was as if Ian had forgotten everything he had just told him.

"About.. five-ish?"

"Are you trying to ask me out, Gallagher?" Mickey asked and immediately regretted it.

"Of course not," Ian said, brightly. "I'm too good for you."

Mickey snorted at that. Ian was a funny guy if he really believed that. Either funny or really, really dense.

"So, tomorrow at five," Ian finalised.

"You don't even know where I live—"

"I'll ask around."

"Even though I could just tell you?"

Ian chuckled then.

"But then I wouldn't get to have fun finding out all the scandalous stories about you!"

"Right," Mickey muttered, rolling his eyes yet again. "Do you really think you're too good for me?" he asked, because he honestly wanted to know if Ian was being humorous, or was just stark raving bonkers.

"Absolutely," Ian confirmed. "You wear far too much hair gel, your eyebrows look like burnt toast cut into those little triangular segments and your best friend has a Mohawk. Further speculation is not necessary."

Mickey said nothing, because the guy sort of had a point, at least about Iggy.

"Anyway, seeing as how I'm too good for you, I shouldn't be wasting valuable time talking to you when I could be conversing with someone in my own league," Ian said and Mickey could hear the smile in his voice. "So, I'll see you tomorrow."

Ian hung up without another word. Mickey sighed and threw his phone down, then went downstairs to do the dishes.

Mickey was dozing on his bed. His mind had been filled with so many thoughts and worries and things he wished he didn't have to deal with. This was his senior year, he was supposed to enjoy it. Instead, he was experiencing nothing but pressure and stress. His grades needed to stay up, he needed to continue excelling on the football team and he had to deal with his parent's strained relationship, his mother's borderline depression and his father's anger issues. He just wished everything would go away for a while.

And now he was feeling sick practically all the time. His stomach was playing up and there was something badly wrong, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to go to a doctor to have it confirmed. He couldn't eat, but felt hungry all the time. He had made so many self-diagnosis' that he was absolutely sure he was going to die.

Maybe he was just tired, though, tired of everything. He didn't want to have to work to keep up his reputation, didn't want to have to play the perfect son, didn't want to do anything except live life. And now this Gallagher kid was always around and he kind of liked that in some twisted part of his mind, but he also wished he had never met him, because Ian made him want to stop being the tough guy, made him want to just sit back and rest. He needed to do that, to rest and just stop for a while, but he couldn't and something about Ian caused Mickey to feel bad every time he did something to him.

Maybe it wasn't Ian, maybe it was just everything coming to a head. Maybe his body had just given in because it was weary. He drifted into slumber thinking about it and just as he fell into the clutches of sleep, a loud ringing sound clamoured in his ears. Mickey jumped, his heart hammering against his chest, that falling feeling overtaking him. He sat up and blinked, then reached for his phone on his bed side table.

"Hello?"

He wondered if it might be Ian. Ian had been the last person he'd spoken to.

"Hey, baby."

"Quinn," he said, lying back, pushing away the feeling of disappointment rising in his chest. There was no reason for disappointment, not when Quinn Fabray was calling him 'baby'.

"What are you doing?" she enquired in that raspy voice. Mickey thought she feigned that raspiness in an attempt to sound sexy. And she does, he reminded himself.

"Just lying here."

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," she said, her voice filled with faux sadness. Mickey could almost hear her pouting.

"We saw each other at school today," Mickey said, stretching a bit.

"I know," Quinn said. "But I haven't seen you in forever."

Mickey rolled his eyes instinctively, knowing exactly what Quinn meant. She always wanted to 'see him' and if Mickey was honest, sex with Quinn sort of felt like a bit of a chore. Maybe it was because he was so tired all the time.

"I was thinking," she said, almost purring. "My parents will be out all day tomorrow. Wanna come over?"

"I can't," he said. "I've got to work on an English paper."

Mickey felt Quinn's mood darkening, even over the phone.

"You're blowing me off for an English paper?"

Mickey sighed and closed his eyes, wishing she didn't have to be so difficult all the time.

"I'm meeting with my English partner," he explained with as much patience as he could muster. He wanted to hang up so badly and just sleep. "Tomorrow's the only day he's free," he lied.

It was Quinn's turn to sigh then. She seemed to have calmed down, thank God.

"Alright," she said, sadly, then perked up a bit. "You know what you should do?"

"What?" Mickey asked, yawning. He really wasn't getting enough sleep.

"Touch yourself."

His eyes shot open and he choked a little bit.

"Excuse me?"

Quinn's voice got louder, then and way more intense, her voice lower and raspier, words coming slower than before.

"Touch yourself," she repeated and Mickey resisted the urge to hang up immediately. "Come on, we haven't been together in so long. Let me make you feel good."

It was true, she and Mickey hadn't been together like that since June. Quinn and her family had gone on vacation to the Bahamas for the whole of July and August. He probably should do it, to keep her happy.

"Fine," he exhaled and sat up a little. "Whatever you want."

"Good!" Quinn said, chuckling a bit. "Are you touching yourself?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and unbuckled his belt. He pushed the zipper away and slid his hand past the waist band of his underwear. He wrapped his hand around his unaroused member.

"Yes," he replied, simply, pushing away the urge to yawn, eyes watering a bit.

He heard Quinn shifting a bit then settling.

"Pretend it's me there with you, okay?" she breathed and Mickey began to move his hand back and forth, his movements slow, because he wasn't in the mood right now. He was never in the mood any more.

"Pretend it's my hand, Mickey," she purred. "Pretend I'm right there with you, jerking you off."

He tried, he really, really tried, but he couldn't do it. His touch was doing nothing, Quinn's voice was doing nothing, nothing was happening. He sighed a bit.

"Does that feel good, babe?" Quinn asked, voice still low and rugged. "Are you close yet?"

Not by a long shot, he thought, but he couldn't tell Quinn that. He simply grunted in reply and pulled his hand out of his pants. He used his free hand to zip his jeans back up, then he just lay there with his eyes closed, listening to Quinn trying to seduce him over the phone.

"Mickey," Quinn said, after a while, voice louder now. "You're not making much noise."

He opened his eyes and thought hard for a second.

"My parents are home," he made his excuse.

"Oh," Quinn said and Mickey felt relieved that she wasn't going to start bugging him about why he was being quiet. She seemed to get a little excited, then. "That makes it sort of hot, don't you think? That you need to stay quiet?"

"Uh," Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, sure."

Quinn giggled a bit and Mickey felt his eyes rolling, as they so often did when he talked to her. In reality, they were only together because they were expected to be together. Most of the time, Mickey felt like screaming around her, because she was always telling him what to do and saying things that he didn't understand. But Quinn was the girl he had to be with, so he had no choice but to go along with what she wanted. Besides, he was too tired to fight any more.

"Are you almost there?" she asked. "Mickey, pretend that I'm right above you, my hands—"

"Actually, Quinn, my dad's coming, I'm gonna have to go," Mickey said, feigning disappointment. He knew that this was the only way she'd hang up without questioning him.

"Oh, alright," she said.

"I'll see you soon," Mickey said.

"Okay, baby," Quinn went on. "I love you."

Mickey hung up before replying. He flung the phone off to the side and lay back down, closing his eyes. All he needed was to sleep, because when you slept, everything went away, just for a little while.

"I've never seen you out of your letterman jacket before," was the first thing Ian said when he saw Mickey at 5.16 p.m. the following day.

"You're late," Mickey responded.

He climbed into the car in a dark jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans. He was also wearing far less hair gel. He looked better like this, Ian thought. He watched as Mickey clicked his seat belt closed, then started to drive.

"I said you're late," Mickey repeated, shifting his body slightly to look at Ian.

Ian smiled a little. Mickey was sort of—tame sometimes. He was never like this at school. At school, he couldn't go five minutes without threatening someone. Now he was sort of.. approachable, Ian guessed, almost manageable.

"I was busy," Ian provided, as he deviated a corner.

Mickey looked uneasy as he twisted back around to look out the window. Ian couldn't help wondering as they drove in silence what it was that he was hiding, if anything. Maybe he was just strange and had no secrets. Except everyone had secrets. Ian knew that better than anyone.

Mickey's personality seemed to change like lightning. One minute he looked intimidating and angry, the next he looked as if he had the world's worries on his shoulders, as he stared off into nothingness. It was as if he needed to remind himself to be someone else, to be that strong, popular, cruel guy he had built himself up to be, when actually he was just human, just like everyone else; Trying to survive the many obstacles life seemed to throw his way and maybe this was the only way he knew how to do that. Ian was caught between hating him for everything he had done to him and pitying him, because it was fairly evident that he was unhappy.

They rode in silence and it was only when Ian parked the car in the library parking lot that Mickey spoke.

"What part of 'I can't be here' did you not understand?"

"The 'can't' part," Ian said, opening his door. "Come on."

Ian pushed the library door open and walked inside. Mickey followed, reluctantly, it seemed, endless threats spilling out of his mouth. Ian simply smiled and ignored his incessant arguing and walked right up to the main desk. The same lady from the last day sat there. She was a small woman, short and stumpy, a grizzled nest of hair surrounding her round face. A small pair of gold-wire spectacles sat on her pointed nose. She looked up at Ian and then her green eyes went to Mickey. Her eyes flashed and she stood up.

"You can't be here," she said.

Mickey sighed and spun around to head for the door, but Ian reached around and pulled him back by the sleeve. Mickey groaned and came back to stand an inch or two behind Ian.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Ian spoke politely and clearly. "I would like to enquire as to where the rule about vomiting in the library not being allowed is stated."

The librarian scowled at him, but didn't speak.

"It's just that, my friend here," he gestured back at Mickey, who looked more than a little uncomfortable. "Has been ill for the past few days. We have an assignment due soon and since he has been absent from school, we really need to get this done rather speedily. I'm not sure I've heard of this rule where you can't be spontaneously sick. It's not as if he had any control over it, otherwise, I'm sure he would have headed outside."

Ian held the librarian's gaze. He could feel Mickey gaping at him and he wanted to kick him and tell him to stop looking so dumbstruck and play along. The librarian stared at Ian for a couple of heart beats, then sighed.

"Alright, go ahead," she said, sitting back down. "But he does it again and he's cleaning it up."

"Thank you," Ian said and turned around. He pushed Mickey by the shoulders towards an empty table. Mickey shrugged him off. They sat down and took out their books, then.

"Not so goody two shoes, are we?" Mickey asked, studying Ian.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked, pulling a pen from his bag.

"I mean you just lied to a figure of authority."

"Ooh, authority, that's a big word, Milkovich," Ian smirked and Mickey shot him one of his trademark death glares.

"I'm going to strangle you or something some day, Gallagher," Mickey said, sounding exasperated. "You're so God damned frustrating."

Ian smiled, because he wasn't afraid of Mickey, not any more. He wasn't sure when he had made the transition from being absolutely terrified of what he was going to do to him, to feeling sorry for him and kind of wanting him to find some form of happiness in his seemingly miserable life.

"You wouldn't want to do that, Mickey," Ian shook his head. "You've been so dreadfully sick, we wouldn't want a relapse."

Mickey's mouth hung open for a split second, then his mouth developed into a smile and then he was laughing. Ian smiled, then, because it was sort of nice to see a good looking boy laugh and it was even better to know you had been the one to make him laugh, even though he didn't look at Mickey in that way.

The librarian looked over and shushed them, which only caused them to laugh even harder and that was the first time Mickey Milkovich had laughed in the presence of Ian Gallagher.