Chapter 7:

Mickey was avoiding him. Not that Ian minded, particularly, because he was mad at him. And it wasn't just a whim, Ian was really mad at him for allowing what he did in what he claimed was 'his school'. He could have stopped it, Ian knew that. The problem was that he wouldn't stop it and mostly because he believed that he couldn't. Ian could see right through him. He was afraid. He didn't want people to think he was a nice guy, he wanted to be seen as a threat, because that was how he gained respect. It was also the only way he knew how to be.

Ian had spent a lot of time thinking about it. A week passed and Mickey still hadn't spoken to him. During English, they ignored one another. Ian used this time to think. Mickey obviously had some kind of emotional problem, whether it had to do with his parents, or his grades, or whatever else. He also had sexuality issues, obviously. Ian didn't think he was ready to admit that, though. Maybe he never would be. From what Mercedes and the others in glee club told him, Mickey and Quinn had been an item for two years and it looked serious. Ian didn't point out that Mickey , at least, obviously wasn't taking it very seriously if he had cheated on Quinn with him, but he was thinking it all the while.

Ian was angry at Mickey , but try as he did, he didn't hate him—couldn't hate him. It was strange. Ian found himself trying to figure Mickey out and thinking about him far more often than he really should have done. He liked Mickey , in some twisted way. Maybe he was a masochist. He didn't know. Mickey was an asshole and he treated Ian like crap, but Ian couldn't help but think back to how gentle he'd been when he'd first kissed him, how he'd uttered his name so quietly and how his heart had been beating so fast against Ian 's back that night. Ian had tried to push it away, the memory of that night, but he couldn't. It wasn't going to go away, regardless of what he did and he didn't want to think of Mickey like this, he wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to stay away from him, wanted to go to Mrs Flynn and beg her to reassign him a partner, but he couldn't do any of that.

He told himself then that he would make Mickey a sort of project. He wouldn't tell Mickey that, of course, but he would try to work him out and understand why he was the way he was. At least then he might have an excuse for not hating him. Beyond doing that, he wasn't really sure what else he could do. He wouldn't even try to help him, because Mickey clearly didn't want anyone to help him, but he would try to understand. Except Mickey was avoiding him, which left Ian right back at square one. He was far too stubborn to be the first one to break the newly formed ice, so he would have to wait until Mickey got down off his high horse to do anything.

It was exactly a week and three days before that happened.

Mickey didn't understand why he was feeling what he was feeling. He still couldn't rid his stomach of that nagging, empty feeling and he had figured out why. He didn't understand it, but he'd figured it out. It had occurred to him while he was at Quinn's house and she was placing sloppy kisses on his neck. He stared up at the white ceiling and just blanked for a while. He and Quinn hadn't made up following the party incident, instead, Quinn had simply put it behind them and acted as if nothing had ever happened. Mickey didn't argue, because Quinn was the one everyone expected him to be with and on top of that, he hated fighting with her, not because he loved her so much that he never wanted any uneasy feeling between them, but because she was sort of irritating and he didn't need any more nagging than he was already enduring.

It struck him at that moment that the reason all of this was happening was Ian Gallagher . He wasn't sure why exactly, but he had figured out that it had only happened after Ian had arrived at McKinley and most of the time, it got really bad when he was in his presence. He had accepted that he didn't like hurting Ian , he just hadn't figured out why until now and the reason was that he liked him. And Mickey didn't just like Ian , he really liked him and in ways that he had never liked anyone else. Yes, he had a twisted way of showing it, but frankly, that wasn't a bad thing, because he didn't want to show it at all.

Mickey had never had any reason to believe he was gay, nor had he ever given himself any reason to believe he was straight. If he was honest, he had never really been attracted to anyone, not really. Sure, the odd person here and there when he'd been a lot younger, but that hadn't happened in a long time. There had been girls before Quinn, but he'd really only dated them to keep up with the other guys who seemed to have a different girlfriend every other week. The fact was that Mickey had never really addressed his sexuality completely. Of course, like all teenagers, he'd experienced the thought what if I'm gay?, but he had never really and truly thought it out. He'd dismissed it the second he'd thought it, all those years ago, because he couldn't be gay, he was Mickey Milkovich and things like that didn't happen to people like Mickey Milkovich.

Now, with Quinn's body pressed to his, it was a whole new kettle of fish. He'd thought a lot about what had happened between himself and Ian and the more he thought about it, the more the panic seemed to flit away. It was still there, of course, because the idea of being gay, or even bi, was terrifying to him. His father would have a heart attack and he would be instantly considered a social pariah and he couldn't handle either of those things, so he decided the only thing to do was to push it away. That way, it might just go away. Except it didn't and he refused to accept it.

Then he'd started over-thinking it. He couldn't be gay, because things like that didn't happen to people like Mickey . He would grow up, get into a good college, marry Quinn, get a good job and start a family. His future was mapped out for him and Ian Gallagher was obviously just some sort of phase. Perhaps he had mistaken real friendship for something more, simply because the people he called his friends, weren't anything like friends were supposed to be. That had to be it. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

After football practice on Thursday after school, Mickey had walked back to his locker to pick up his books and that was when he bumped into Ian . They had stopped still in the hallway and just stared at each other for a moment and Mickey couldn't help feeling a bit relieved that Ian hadn't simply spun on his heel and walked away. Even if he didn't believe he liked Ian in ways that he shouldn't, he still sort of wanted to be friends with him, or at least go back to the strained friendship they'd had already. Besides, their assignment was suffering. Mrs Flynn had assigned the cultural context paper, just as Mickey had expected, yet he and Ian hadn't even begun yet.

Mickey was the first to speak.

"Hey," was all he said.

Ian just stood there, blue eyes wide. He was wearing really tight pants again and Mickey couldn't help remembering what he'd looked like without those pants. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that image.

"What are you, um, doing here, so late?" Mickey asked.

"Glee club," Ian provided and Mickey nodded. To Mickey 's surprise, Ian went on. "I, um, forgot some things in my locker."

"Oh," Mickey said and instantly felt dumb for not knowing what else to say. He wanted to talk to him, he just didn't know how.

Mickey watched as Ian began to walk towards his locker in silence. Mickey followed.

"So, um, our 'Jane Eyre' paper.." Mickey trailed off, unsure of how he should finish that sentence. He ignored the empty feeling in his stomach as he tried to think of what else to say, but Ian spoke first.

"Yeah," he said, as he began to twist the lock on his locker door. "We should probably get on that, huh?"

"Yeah," Mickey said. He watched Ian for another while, as he twisted his combination lock over and over, sighing every time the locker didn't click open. Finally, he reached across to help, but his hand landed on Ian 's. Ian 's eyes met his and neither of them budged for a long time. Mickey kept his eyes locked with Ian 's baby blues, unable to look away. He could hear his heart beating in his chest and a lump had formed in his throat, leaving him incapable of speech. His hand was still on Ian 's and neither of them had made any move to break contact. Mickey 's mind was spinning because this was what was not supposed to happen, it was something he definitely did not want to happen. But he couldn't pull away, his body wouldn't allow it and at that moment, his mind betrayed him and forgot the difference between right and wrong and all he could do was stand there.

Ian didn't look away, either. He wore a blank expression and Mickey couldn't tell what he was feeling. It was Ian who tried to speak first.

"Mickey , I—"

One minute Ian had been speaking, trying to tell Mickey .. something (he wasn't sure what exactly, but speaking had felt like the right thing to do), and the next minute, Mickey had shoved him up against his locker and pressed his lips against his. Ian gasped when his back hit the cool, hard locker, but then forgot about it, because Mickey 's tongue had shot past his lips and plunged through his teeth and had found a rhythm with his own tongue. Ian didn't know why it was happening, he just knew that, despite the fact that this was Mickey Milkovich, the guy who had been treating him like crap since the first day he'd entered McKinley High, he didn't want it to stop and it frightened him a little bit that he could feel this way about someone who put him through hell.

Then he felt how softly Mickey 's lips were pressing against his own and how gently his hands were clutching his shoulders and he was reminded of the Mickey that had spent the night with him the previous week.

"I'm mad at you," Ian whispered once Mickey had moved back an inch or two.

"Are you?" Mickey asked. Ian caught the small smile dancing on the corners of Mickey 's lips and couldn't resist smiling himself. Mickey inched forward a little so that his lips were brushing Ian 's again. "How mad?" he breathed, breath warm on Ian 's mouth.

"I can't remember," Ian told him, truthfully.

"That's what I thought," Mickey said, succumbing to the smile, before covering Ian 's mouth with his again.

Was this the real Mickey Milkovich? And if so, what did Ian have to do to convince him it was okay to just be himself?

Mickey kissed him again when they met up to work on their paper. He'd kissed him when they left the library and then again when they stopped at a red light on the way home. Neither of them understood it entirely, but they both wanted it, so why stop?

After the fourth time, it began to feel sort of normal. Ian liked this side of Mickey and as much as he hated that it was happening, he was sort of falling for him, against his own better judgment, of course. So, for a while, he didn't dare discuss their little arrangement for fear of it all becoming too real, thus coming to an end.

Except the fact that it was happening kept playing on his mind. Mickey was straight, or at least claimed to be. He had a girlfriend, he was still treating him like crap in front of his friends and every time they kissed, Mickey seemed to act as if it hadn't happened, or like it hadn't meant a thing. Ian felt as if it was time to ask questions, find out what this was.

One day while they were at the library working on their paper, Ian asked him about it.

"Mickey ."

"Hmm?" Mickey asked, as he searched through his book for something, eyebrows furrowed in the centre.

"Do you think you might be gay?"

Mickey 's eyes shot up, then and the book fell from his hands, causing him to lose his page. He didn't look as if he cared about that, though.

"Wh-what?"

"Do you think you might be gay?" Ian repeated.

"Of course not," Mickey shook his head. "Why would I be gay?"

Ian didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and Mickey looked nervous. Ian didn't want to push him because he knew what it was like to be afraid because of who you were.

"What about Quinn?"

He looked distressed now.

"What about her?" he asked, golden eyes darting around.

"You're cheating on her."

"No, I'm no—"

"Mickey ," Ian said, over him. "If you're making out with someone that is not your girlfriend, it means you're cheating on your girlfriend."

This seemed to be news to Mickey . He dropped his chin and stared down at the table. Ian wondered if it would be weird if he leaned across and laid a hand over his, after all, they'd had their tongues in one another's mouths. But he didn't do it, because Mickey was still Mickey and even if he wasn't as bad when it was just the two of them, he was still on the defence most of the time.

"Do you love her?"

"What?" Mickey asked, looking up. He looked a bit stunned.

"Quinn," Ian clarified. "Do you love her?"

Mickey was silent for a while, his eyes back on the table in front of him.

"She's my girlfriend," he muttered with a lazy shrug.

"That's not what I asked," Ian pointed out.

"She.." Mickey trailed off, searching for words. "She's hard to love."

"So, no," Ian nodded.

Mickey didn't argue. It gave Ian an inexplicable thrill to hear him clarify that. He shook his head.

"So, why are you even with her?"

Mickey kept his eyes on the table for a few seconds, his hand clutching a pen. His fist was clenched around it and Ian watched as the pen burst and blue ink exploded all over Mickey 's hand and the table in front of him. He raised his head then. He looked pained.

"Why do you care?" he asked, grimacing down at his ink-covered hands.

"I don't care," Ian sighed, pulling a small packet of tissues from the side pocket of his bag. He handed them to Mickey . "I just thought you could use someone to talk to. It certainly seems like you do," he said, gesturing to the pieces of pen on the table.

Mickey wiped the ink away and left the blotted tissues on the table in front of him.

"If I tell you something about me," Mickey began raising his eyes to Ian 's. "You've got to tell me something about you."

Ian shrugged.

"That's fair."

Mickey nodded and looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds. He had dropped his gaze from Ian 's and he was fidgeting with the pieces of broken pen.

"Quinn is.." he trailed off and shook his head. "I'm supposed to be with Quinn. She.. I mean, we—Quinn and I—we're.."

"The power couple or something, right?"

Mickey nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, something like that. It's like.. I'm Mickey Milkovich, so I'm supposed to be dating Quinn Fabray, you know?"

It was messed up, but Ian understood.

"And if you didn't?"

Mickey looked uncomfortable. He'd looked uncomfortable to begin with, but now he looked like he wanted to cover his head and never come out again.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "My dad wouldn't be happy."

Ian opened his mouth to ask Mickey something, then closed it again.

"What?" Mickey asked.

He eyed him for a moment, then spoke.

"At Puck's party," Ian said. "Quinn said something about.. your dad beating you up."

Mickey nodded and clasped his hands together.

"Oh."

"You don't have to tell me," Ian assured him.

Mickey stayed silent for a while. Ian watched him, tried to work out what he was thinking.

"It's okay," Mickey said, finally. "Yeah, he's done it before."

"For what reasons?" Ian asked, hoping he wasn't going too far.

Mickey was twisting his fingers uncomfortably and he still looked like he was in pain, but Ian wanted to know. He wanted to understand why Mickey was the way he was. He shouldn't have cared, he should have just stayed away from him and ignored him, because Mickey was a jerk most of the time, but he couldn't do that, he simply couldn't.

"Grades, if he thinks I haven't tried hard enough at football, if I come home drunk," he glanced at Ian then, probably looking for a reaction, but Ian just watched him, trying not to show the pity he was feeling. "Just whenever he feels like it, really."

"And your mom?" Ian asked. "She doesn't say anything?"

Mickey looked even more uncomfortable, then, even though Ian didn't think that was possible.

"My mom.. she's on a lot of meds," he explained. "I don't know what she's got, but she was pretty depressed for a while and now she's mostly just out of it."

Ian wasn't sure what he should say to that. Saying he was sorry seemed stupid. They just sat there in silence for a while and for once, it wasn't awkward.

"So, why are you telling me all this?" Ian asked, finally.

Mickey looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Because you asked," he shrugged.

"But you didn't have to tell me," Ian said. "I don't understand you most of the time."

"What do you mean?" Mickey asked, quietly.

"I mean," Ian said. "You're like this sometimes. All straight up and.. vulnerable, I guess. And then you're kissing me," Mickey flinched a bit at that. "And you're sort of.. nice to me, when the others aren't around. Why?"

Mickey didn't say anything. So Ian went on.

"You're still an asshole, Mickey . I mean, you've gotten better, when it's just us, but at school you're an absolute idiot. At the beginning, when we started this partnership, whatever, you were always on the defence, hiding behind these walls you built up around yourself. You've torn them down a little bit, but that doesn't make up for what you do to me—and other kids—at school. I can't decide if I like you or hate you."

"You hate me?" Mickey asked, hazel eyes wide and questioning.

"Should I?" Ian asked, with a shrug.

"Yeah," Mickey sighed, looking down at his hands. "You're supposed to hate me. I'm supposed to hate you. We're supposed to hate each other."

"But?"

"But we don't, do we?" Mickey asked, his face a mask of worry. "I mean, at least I don't think you hate me. Sometimes I think you must. Sometimes when we're at school and you're scowling at me and sending off those 'come-near-me-and-you'll-die' vibes, I think that you do hate me. You have every right to, I guess."

"I do have every right to," Ian agreed. "But I don't hate you."

He wasn't lying, either. He didn't hate Mickey . He hated the things that Mickey did, but he didn't hate Mickey himself.

"You don't?" That seemed to surprise Mickey .

"No," Ian affirmed. "I just think you need to be who you really are, rather than that someone that everyone expects you to be."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Ian told him. "Maybe it'll take a while for you to realise that, but you can."

Mickey gave a small inclination of his head, as he continued to stare down at the table. Then he looked up, like he had remembered he wasn't supposed to get vulnerable.

"You never told me anything about you."

Ian shrugged and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me, I guess."

Ian didn't know where to begin, really. He thought about it for a little while, then decided, basing his decision on the fact that Mickey was still an asshole and although he didn't want to hurt him, exactly, he wanted to make him feel at least a little bit guilty.

"When I was at my old school, I got bullied every day," he watched as Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It started off like it is now, name calling, shoving, getting stuffed in lockers and thrown in dumpsters, but then it got worse."

"How much worse?" Mickey asked in a choked voice. He looked as if he hadn't really wanted to ask, but had forced himself to.

"Like I said before, broken bones, blood, all that," Ian shrugged. "That was pretty bad, but do you want to know what the worst part is?"

Mickey gave a small nod.

"The worst part is when you have to see your dad look at you with piteous eyes because you're a victim," Ian said. "When you see the hurt in his eyes, because he didn't know, because he didn't do anything about it. And then you watch him get mad and you feel like you've done something wrong, when in reality, you haven't. The bullies are in the wrong, not you. But you feel like you are, because you've caused your father to feel all these things."

"Ian , I didn't kno—"

"And then he had heart problems," Ian went on, not caring that there were tears welling in his eyes. This had begun as a means of making Mickey feel bad, but in the process, he was reliving it and hurting himself. "And I know the worry and the stress caused it. Sure, he wasn't eating healthily, or exercising enough, but I know. I know. I know that everything with me made things worse and that's the worst part, Mickey . I can't let that happen again."

Ian watched through blurred vision as Mickey took the packet of tissues and pulled one out, before offering it to Ian . He took it and dabbed at his eyes, cursing himself for crying in front of Mickey Milkovich.

"I'm sorry."

Ian looked up in surprise, his cyan eyes shining and wide.

"Wh—what?" Ian asked, a little stunned.

Mickey folded his arms and looked uneasy. He spoke again, a little louder this time.

"I'm sorry," Mickey repeated and he looked as if he meant it. "I'm sorry that this is happening to you again. I just—I don't know what I can do, Ian . And I want to do something, I do. You don't know what it's like for me. I can't just stand back and not do anything. Everything will fall apart. I can't, I just.."

Mickey trailed off, shaking his head, looking distraught. Ian studied him and he could tell he meant it, that he was internally conflicted and afraid and all of those things he would never admit to being.

"I get it," Ian told him. "I get that you're afraid, Mickey ."

This time, Mickey didn't object or deny that he was afraid. He simply sat still, staring at Ian with those wide, golden orbs.

"I know you're afraid of losing all these things, Mickey and I understand, to an extent," Ian told him. "I just think that you can still succeed in life without all of this," Ian gestured at Mickey sitting there in his letterman jacket, with his gelled hair and his clenched jaw. "You don't have to be this, Mickey . I know you can't see that now, but it's true."

Mickey was staring off into space now, his eyes wide, his mouth set into a tight line. He looked as if he wanted to cry and Ian felt his stomach sinking. Just as it was nice to see a beautiful boy smile, it was heart breaking to watch him cry. Ian waited a minute, then cleared his throat.

"So, um, where did you stop on the question list?" Ian enquired, changing the subject.

"Um," Mickey looked flustered as he looked down at the loose sheets on the table. He rummaged through them and then squinted down at one. "Talk about Rochester's personality," he read.

"So, talk about Rochester's personality," Ian smiled.

"Rochester was a pervert," Mickey said, simply.

"A pervert?" Ian asked. "Why?"

Mickey shook his head and laid the paper down.

"Well, aside from the whole 'secret wife locked in the attic' fiasco," Mickey explained. "He was, like, 20 years older than Jane."

"Just because your love interest is 20 years younger than you, doesn't mean you're a pervert," Ian shook his head.

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey raised a thick brow. "What does it mean, then?"

Ian sighed and sat back in his chair.

"It just means," Ian began. "That you don't get to choose who you fall in love with, it just happens, regardless of how different you are, it just happens and there's nothing you can do about it."

Ian could see Mickey standing a little further away as Karofsky lifted him off his feet. He shot Mickey a look of disapproval, before he was flung inside the dumpster. He climbed to his feet, just as Karofsky walked away laughing to himself. Mickey was still standing there, his mouth down turned and his eyes wide and sad. He gave Ian an apologetic look as he climbed out of the bin. Ian brushed his clothes off and gave Mickey his best scowl, before stalking off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Mickey waited until the halls were completely clear, before he pushed the bathroom door open and walked inside. Ian was standing by the sinks, grimacing at the scarf he was wringing out under the running faucet. He looked up when Mickey walked in and rolled his eyes in response.

"I'm sorry," Mickey told him, truthfully.

He was sorry, too, really sorry, especially since Ian had told him what had happened to him before. He figured there wasn't much point in pretending any more, not when Ian seemed to understand what he was dealing with.

"Yeah, so you keep saying," Ian sighed.

"I mean it, though. I am sorry," he told him, moving closer. Mickey took a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the running water. He raised them and wiped at the large mayonnaise stain on Ian 's forearm. Ian jerked back a bit.

"I can handle this on my own," he said. "I've had enough practice, after all."

Mickey sighed and began to dab at the stain again.

"Look, I'm trying to help you, here," he said and Ian didn't move away this time.

After a long silence, Ian moved away an inch and Mickey dropped his hand. Ian looked at him with those bright, blue-green eyes and sighed, tiredly.

"Thanks, okay?" he muttered.

"You shouldn't be thanking me," Mickey said, throwing the paper towels towards the bin and missing.

"I know," Ian said, bending to pick them up. He threw them into the bin. "I shouldn't be doing a lot of things with you, but I'm still doing them."

Mickey smiled a bit, because, even though he still didn't really understand why Ian was talking to him and not hating him and kissing him—especially kissing him—he still couldn't help how he was around him. Yes, the empty feeling and the dread was still in the pit of his stomach and yes, his head still spun a little every time he was near him, but he still sort of liked Ian , even if he didn't like him in that way. Mickey was straight and these things were happening and he didn't know why, but he didn't know how to stop and sometimes, he didn't even want to stop.

"Are you okay?" Mickey asked, allowing his eyes to sweep over Ian , from his head, down to his combat boots. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Ian shook his head and Mickey smiled when he saw a piece of diced onion stuck in his hair. He reached up and began to untangle it from his sand-brown hair and Ian moved back a little. "What are you—"

"Onion," Mickey told him and Ian stopped moving and allowed Mickey to remove it. He smiled and held it up for Ian to see.

"Ew," Ian shuddered.

Mickey flung it in the bin, not missing this time, then looked back at Ian . They looked at each other for a couple of heart beats, staying silent, then Mickey gave in and leaned across. He pressed his mouth to Ian 's tasting coffee and banana. He felt Ian 's lips developing into a smile against his own as he pushed him gently back against the wall, deepening the kiss. Ian raised his arms, slowly and entwined them around Mickey 's neck, as Mickey 's moved his to encompass Ian 's waist.

Mickey 's heart was beating manically in his chest as he remembered he hadn't locked the door. If someone walked in, he would be ruined. But he couldn't pull away, because it felt so good being so close to Ian , even if he didn't understand why. Or maybe he did understand, he just didn't want to.

Ian pulled back first with a small murmur.

"That's one of those things I shouldn't be doing with you, but I do anyway," he whispered, smiling slightly.

Mickey chuckled. They were still wrapped up in one another.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"I got ketchup on your sleeve," Ian told him. "That's your punishment for letting these bad things happen to me."

Mickey glanced down at the stain on his sleeve, then looked back up into Ian 's cerulean blues.

"Worth it," he exhaled. He hoped Ian hadn't heard him, but he had. Ian smirked and opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey moved forward and closed the gap between their lips, swallowing his words.

"What the hell, Karofsky?" Ian shouted.

One minute he'd been walking down the corridor, minding his own business and the next, he was being shoved inside the janitor's closet, by two giant-sized hands.

"Don't talk back to me, Gallagher !" Karofsky growled, shoving Ian hard against the wall.

The room was dimly lit by a small bulb hanging over head. It was filled with old paint cans and electrical tape and several frayed wires. It smelled like paint fumes and dust. Ian shuddered at the thought of just how filthy his clothes were going to be afterwards.

"I wasn't talking back to you," Ian said. "How could I talk back to you when you hadn't even spoken yet?"

"Do not get smart with me, Gallagher !" Karofsky shouted, his thick fingers moving to grip Ian 's thin arms. He would be covered in finger shaped bruises come night fall.

"I wouldn't have to say anything too clever for you to consider me smart, Karofsky," Ian said and instantly regretted it. Getting smart only meant things would worsen but he was so mad, he couldn't stand back and say nothing. "I mean, you're not exactly the brightest pea in the pod, are you?"

Karofsky made a loud groaning sound as he shoved Ian harder, his left hand gripping Ian 's side and pushing him hard against the wall.

"Why are you like this, huh?" Karofsky asked, eyes narrowed. He looked psychotic and Ian couldn't describe it any other way. "Why are you so gay? Why do you walk around swinging your little girl hips and wearing all this fucking glittery stuff? Why?"

Ian said nothing, because there was something in Karofsky's eyes, something he hadn't seen in the eyes of any of his former bullies before and frankly, it sort of terrified him. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the electrical tape and the wires and he really, really hoped the janitor would get back soon, because right now, Karofsky looked entirely capable of murder and this was probably the perfect location to do it.

"You need to stop doing all that!" Karofsky shouted and Ian flinched a bit. "You need to stop being so gay around me because it makes me crazy! I feel like punching you every single time I see you!"

Ian closed his eyes, then, because he assumed Karofsky was actually going to punch him, but it never came. Instead of a fist, Ian felt Karofsky's breath coming hard and fast against his face and then Karofsky's mouth was crashing against his own, their teeth colliding and Ian pulled back and screamed, because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't scream for long, though, because Karofsky's mouth was back against his again and his large hands were pinning him against the wall and he wasn't strong enough to push him away.

Ian tried to thump on the door with his fist, but he wasn't making much progress. His heart was palpitating in his chest and he felt the warm, salty tears escaping from his eyes even though he told himself he wouldn't cry. Then Karofsky's body was coming closer to his and he felt panic soaring through his veins. He wasn't sure what gave him the strength to do it, whether it was the adrenaline or something else, he didn't know, but he bit down hard on Karofsky's lip, causing him to pull back and curse at him. Ian screamed as loud as he could and Karofsky looked scared, like he didn't know what to do.

"Sh-shut up, Gallagher !" he said, sounding strangled. His eyes were darting around and then he looked as if he'd gotten an idea. He moved forward and covered Ian 's mouth with his again, stifling his scream.

Mickey stopped still. He'd heard it, he wasn't crazy. Someone was screaming and the sound sent chills down his spine. He swung around and listened, trying to decipher where it had come from. The screaming stopped and he strained to hear for it again. Then he heard a shuffling sound coming from his right hand side.

The janitor's closet.

He didn't think, he simply went across the hall and pulled the door open. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

"What the fuck, Karofsky?" Mickey exploded, pulling Karofsky off of a struggling Ian . "What the fuck are you doing?"

Karofsky looked frustrated and angry and Mickey wanted to punch his lights out. Before he had the chance, Karofsky groaned and pushed the door open and ran off down the hallway. Mickey turned to look at Ian , who had slid down the wall and covered his face with his hands.

Mickey fell to his knees and pulled Ian 's hands away gently.

"Ian ," he said, softly. "Ian , I—" he broke off, not sure what to say.

Ian 's face was tear stained and his eyes were wide and filled with terror. His hands were shaking in Mickey 's grasp.

"Ian , I'm sorry," he said, finally, because he didn't know what else to say. "I—he shouldn't have—he had no right to do that—it was wrong—"

"Why?" Ian semi-shouted, his face twisted angrily. "He just did exactly what you've been doing for the past few weeks, Mickey !"

Mickey stared at him as he tore his hands out of his and stood up. Mickey stood, too.

"Don't stand there and tell me what's right and what's wrong, Mickey ," Ian said, voice cracking a bit, tears still coming from his shining blue eyes. "You and him? You're no different. You're exactly the same!"

Ian pushed past him and walked out the door. Mickey followed and shouted after him.

"Ian , you're not in any state to be on your own!" he said, not even thinking about the fact that there were people in class. "I'll come with you and hel—"

"Stay away from me, Mickey ," Ian shouted, not even glancing back at him.

Mickey stood there and watched him go and he felt worse than he had ever felt in all his seventeen years of living.