Chapter 8:
Mickey didn't think he would feel as awful as he did. Somehow, not talking to Ian following the issue with Karofsky was worse than not talking to him before. He hated it. He hated sitting next to him in English and watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if he would look in his direction. He never did. Not unless you counted the scowls he sent him every now and then.
The Karofsky issue was also confusing. Karofsky was easily the most homophobic person Mickey knew, maybe even worse than Mickey's dad. Mickey's mind was working overtime, trying to work everything out. Then he started to think of crazy things. He thought about the fact that he himself had kissed Ian (and there was the other stuff, but he didn't like to think about that) and the fact that Karofsky had kissed Ian , and he wondered if the problem was Ian . Neither he nor Karofsky had ever displayed any signs of being gay before Ian 's arrival.
Then he realised it was a ridiculous theory. It wasn't Ian 's fault. Obviously, Karofsky was hiding something. But did that mean Mickey was hiding something, too?
He pushed that thought aside, because thinking about Ian and their situation made his head hurt. He needed to figure out a way to get Ian to talk to him again, but he had no idea how. He still wasn't sure why he wanted to talk to him so badly. He told himself that it was because he needed him for the assignments and that if he didn't get an A, his dad would be livid. However, he knew, deep down, that that wasn't the reason. He liked Ian , he'd accepted that, to an extent and that was why he wanted to talk to him.
Mickey watched Ian across the lunch room as he laughed with those losers from glee club. Berry was scowling and telling them to quieten down. No one listened, of course. No one ever listened to Berry. Sam Evans had his face twisted and was talking out of the corner of his mouth. The guy was always doing those stupid impressions, even in the locker room after football. Santana Lopez stared blankly at him as Brittany S. Pierce laughed. Mickey didn't remember the rest of their names.
Ian was laughing at something Mercedes Jones was telling him. Mercedes was in Mickey's math class, that was the only reason he knew her name. Mickey scowled and tore his eyes away from Ian and instead, looked down at his lunch. He couldn't eat another bite, just looking at it was making him feel sick. He stood up.
"Where are you going?" Puckerman asked, beside him.
"Bathroom," he shrugged and lifted his tray.
He left it on a trolley and walked out the door and into the empty halls. He turned the corner and Coach Sylvester was standing by the choir room, holding a glue gun.
"You're not supposed to be roaming the halls, Milkovich!" she shouted at him.
"Bathroom," he provided.
"Oh," she said. "Well, you didn't see me here and if you say otherwise I'll deny it and have you tried for treason."
Mickey twisted his face in confusion and looked at what she was doing.
"Are you.. you're gluing the choir room door?" he asked.
"Are you going to stand there stating the obvious, dwarf?" she asked, as she continued to squirt the glue into the crack of the door. "Move it along! I have a glee club to destroy and you have a bladder that's going to explode if you don't get yourself to a toilet!"
Mickey gaped at her for another moment, then shrugged and continued on down the hall. He stopped still when he reached the end of the corridor. Ian was in glee club. Mickey rushed around the corner to the bulletin board and squinted his eyes until he saw it.
NEW DIRECTIONS!
LOOKING FOR NEW MEMBERS!
GLEE, BY ITS VERY DEFINITION, IS ABOUT OPENING YOURSELF UP TO JOY!
AUDITIONS ON TODAY AFTER SCHOOL IN THE CHOIR ROOM!
Mickey stared at it for a long time. The audition list below was empty, as always. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, then he did it. He took the pen in his shaking hands and scribbled his name at the top of the empty sheet of paper.
Mickey Milkovich.
He had no idea what his plan was, but Ian was in glee club and that meant he would have a better chance of him talking to him. He walked away, heart thumping far too quickly against his ribcage and feeling a little bit ill, but he also felt a burst of relief running through his body. Maybe this was a step towards redemption.
"Rachel, calm down," Mr Schuester said, holding up his hands. "It's just glue, we'll have this open in no time!"
"But you said we had a possible new member auditioning! What if this scares them off? We need all the students we can get to sing back up to me!"
"Rachel," Mercedes deadpanned. "Shut up."
"Okay!" Mr Schuester said, voice going an octave higher. "The janitor's here!"
The mention of the janitor brought back images of the incident in the janitor's closet to Ian 's mind. He shivered and tried to push away that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"You know, this had to be Coach Sylvester's doing!" Rachel pointed out and even though everyone knew that was true, they all groaned, because Rachel never knew how to keep her mouth shut. They waited until the janitor had pried the door open, before piling inside and taking their seats.
"Okay!" Mr Schue said, clasping his hands together at the front of the room. "I couldn't actually read the name on the sheet, it looked as if it had been written in a hurry! But—"
"You couldn't read the name?" Rachel exploded standing up out of her seat. "Mr Schuester! What if it was simply someone defacing the sign up sheet! Are there rude words on there?"
"Rachel, sit down," Mr Schue said, patiently. "It's a name, I just had trouble reading it, but—"
There was a light rap on the door and everyone looked towards it. Ian 's eyes widened when he saw the letterman jacket and the gelled hair and the worried eyes. The others started whispering and protesting. Mr Schue quietened the class and turned to look at the boy standing in the doorway.
"Mickey, can I help you with something?"
Mickey looked more uncomfortable than Ian had ever seen him look. Actually that wasn't true. Ian thought back to the morning after Puck's party. That had definitely been the most uncomfortable Ian had ever seen Mickey, this was just a close second.
"Yeah, Mickey, are you lost?" Rachel exclaimed from her seat.
Mickey ignored her and looked at Mr Schue.
"Um, I, uh, signed up for a—um, audition," he said, eyes finding the ground.
The students began whispering again and Mr Schue hushed them. Ian said nothing, just stared at Mickey, trying to figure out if this was some kind of prank. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't, but he couldn't understand what was going on.
"Oh, well, that's great!" Mr Schue grinned, happily.
"Mr Schuester, this is a bad, bad, bad ide—"
"Rachel," Mr Schuester said in a warning tone. "You know we need more students for sectionals! Let's give Mickey a chance!"
It seemed like a lot of people were giving Mickey chances, even if he didn't really deserve them. Maybe it was his face that made people behave the way they did around him.
"Mickey, do you have a song you could sing?"
Ian didn't know why, but it just occurred to him then that Mickey would have to sing. Could Mickey sing?
He watched as Mickey spoke quietly to the band, then walked back to the centre of the room. He smoothened his hair back a little bit as the music started to play. Ian had never heard this song before. Mickey was shifting his feet uncomfortably, his eyes staring off into vacant space. Then he started to sing.
"You know it ain't easy,
For these thoughts here to leave me,
There's no words to describe it,
In French or in English."
Ian widened his eyes, because Mickey could sing. And he couldn't just sort of sing, he could really sing. His voice was sweet and he had good tone and suddenly he wanted to shake Mickey really, really hard and tell him he was doing all the wrong things with his life. How could he waste that voice? Why not showcase it to anyone and everyone?
"Well, diamonds they fade,
And flowers they bloom,
And I'm telling you."
Ian watched as Mickey raised his eyes a little bit. His hazel orbs found Ian 's blue ones and he tilted his head a little bit, as if to say he was sorry. Ian didn't move an inch, just listened to Mickey singing.
"These feelings won't go away,
They've been knockin' me sideways,
They've been knockin' me out lately,
Whenever you come around me."
Ian could feel the atmosphere in the room. It was a cross between tension and wonderment. Ian understood what everyone else was feeling, because this was a real shock. Mickey Milkovich had a beautiful voice and he spent his time slushying people and shoving them against lockers.
On top of that, Mickey was staring at him, like he was singing to him. He couldn't be, obviously, because let's face it, this was Mickey Milkovich. But Ian felt something then and the lyrics triggered something in his mind and mother of God, Mickey Milkovich was singing to him. Or so it seemed.
"These feelings won't go away,
They've been knockin' me sideways,
I keep thinking in a moment that,
Time will take them away."
Mickey tore his eyes away and Ian watched as he dropped his gaze to the ground as he sang the final line.
"But these feelings won't go away."
The music faded out and everyone sat there in complete silence. Mickey kept his eyes on the ground, his hands sliding inside his pockets, awkwardly.
"That was—I mean, that was.." Rachel trialed off, lost for words for what had to be the first time in her entire life.
"Yeah, it was," Finn said, mouth hanging open, next to her.
"I think," Mr Schue said, leaning away from the piano. "That what everyone meant to say was welcome to glee club, Mickey! We're lucky to have you!"
"Um, thanks," Mickey muttered and took a seat in the front row.
Mr Schuester talked about sectionals and Rachel shouted her opinions at him while everyone else groaned in frustration. Ian didn't even pay attention because all he could do was stare at Mickey sitting there, his shoulders squared, his entire body rigid. What was this boy all about? Just when Ian thought he had him all figured out, he'd gone and done something like this.
Mickey Milkovich was a mystery, but he would make it his mission to figure him out.
"Hi."
Mickey turned away from his car and saw Ian standing there after glee club. He was still a bit shaken up from having sung in front of all those people.
"Oh, hey," Mickey said, quickly.
Ian gave small nod then spoke again. "So, um, my dad is fixing my car. Puncture. I told him I'd get a ride home with Mercedes, but I told her I was going to go work on our assignment with you."
"Oh."
"So, are you busy?"
"N-no, but I don't have my notes or anything—"
"That's okay," Ian shook his head. Shadows from the trees were cast all across his hair, making it look a shade darker than it actually was. "I don't, either. I was thinking we could just—talk?" Ian made it a question.
"Oh!" Mickey said, quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"Your house is beautiful," Ian gasped, staring out the car window at what was practically a mansion.
"Um, thanks," Mickey said, quietly as he parked the car.
Mickey's house was huge. It was three storeys high and had a lot of windows. A long winding path lead up to the white door, small bushes on either side. The grass was green and obviously fake. It looked like the perfect house on the outside.
Ian followed Mickey inside, feeling awkward and as if he had to be very careful. Everything in Mickey's house seemed so expensive. Ian followed him upstairs and into what he assumed was Mickey's room.
"Are your parents—"
"My dad's never home," Mickey shook his head. "My mom's probably sleeping."
Ian nodded and sat down on the edge of Mickey's bed. Mickey sat down, too, a little bit away from Ian . His room was incredibly neat and not at all what Ian had expected. It looked like a middle aged man's study. It was all dark browns and bottle greens and gave no clues to the fact that it belonged to a seventeen year old boy.
"So, um," Mickey said, shifting a little on the bed next to Ian . "What did you, uh, want to talk about?"
Mickey felt uncomfortable having Ian in his room. He felt vulnerable and as if he was completely naked in public. He was anxious to know what Ian wanted to talk about and this was the only place he knew he could bring him without the entire population of McKinley High finding out they were hanging out. He felt bad about it, there was no point pretending to himself that he didn't. He didn't necessarily want to hide the fact that they were kind of friends, he just knew that he had no other choice.
"I wanted to apologise," Ian said and Mickey looked up quickly.
"Wh—wait. You are apologising?" Mickey asked in an incredulous tone. "What do you have to apologise for?"
"I said you were exactly the same as Karofsky," Ian explained, frowning a little bit. "You're not, you know."
Mickey hadn't liked that Ian had said he was the same as Karofsky. Karofsky was an asshole and Mickey wasn't denying the fact that he himself was an asshole, he just didn't really want to be tarred with the same stick as him. Mickey hadn't confronted Karofsky about what he'd caught him doing to Ian , yet, because he needed to hear it from Ian first, needed to find out what exactly had occurred.
"Am I not?" Mickey asked, because he had thought long and hard about that. Ian had pointed out that Karofsky had done exactly what Mickey had been doing and he'd wondered if maybe he was right. Maybe they were no better than each other, even if Mickey never wanted to admit that.
"No, not at all," Ian said, those kaleidoscope eyes glittering in the light of Mickey's lamp. "I know that you're confused and afraid and that if I told you to get the hell off me, you'd get the hell off me."
Mickey's pulse began to race then, his stomach sinking.
"Ian , he didn't, like, touch you, or—anything, right?" Mickey asked, voice strained, because as much as he needed to know the answer, he wasn't sure he could handle it.
"Oh, no," Ian shook his head. "But I don't know what might have happened if.. Well. It doesn't matter. The point is, I shouldn't have said you were like him."
Mickey sighed and leaned back against the headboard of his bed.
"I don't know," he told the ceiling. "Either way, I should be the one apologising. I'm, um, sorry—about everything."
"Thanks," Ian said, giving Mickey a small smile. "So, glee club, huh?"
Mickey felt the blush creeping up the back of his neck. He nodded a bit, knowing he couldn't avoid the question that was bound to come next, and it did.
"Why did you join?"
"If I said 'no comment', would you accept that?"
"Not a chance," Ian told him and he sighed in response.
"Fine," he said. "I sort of wanted to talk to you and I didn't know how else I could do that and the sign up sheet was right there, so—I went for it."
Ian gaped at him, then and he wanted to pull his eyes away from his stunned face, but he couldn't.
"You joined glee club because of me?" Ian asked, voice filled with surprise.
Mickey gave a Gallic shrug and chewed on his bottom lip.
"You can sing, you know," Ian told him and it was Mickey's turn to look surprised. "Like, you can really sing."
"Thanks," Mickey said, one corner of his mouth tilting slightly upwards.
"But I need to ask you something."
Mickey shrugged again and waited for Ian to ask, his heart beating too quickly, because whenever someone asked if they could ask you something, it often meant it would be something you wouldn't like.
"The song," Ian said and Mickey's breath caught in his chest. He was afraid that the question would be centred around that topic. "Are you—I mean—why that song?"
Mickey sat up straight and looked at Ian watching him intently. He'd chosen that song because it best described how he'd been feeling. He didn't like that it did, but he'd quickly searched through his iPod after signing up for an audition and that song came on shuffle and although he'd listened to it a hundred times before, it seemed to scream out to him and he knew he had to sing it. He felt it when he listened to it, felt some sort of connection and he wished it would go away, but it didn't and that's what the song described exactly.
"It—" Mickey broke off then, because Ian cut him off.
"Wait," he said and stood up from the bed. He crossed the room and bent to look at Mickey's notice board, over by his desk. Mickey tore his eyes away from Ian 's backside, which was in his immediate line of sight and those pants never left much to the imagination and since Mickey knew exactly what Ian looked like without those pants, staring at them only caused images of what he knew lay beneath to flood his spinning mind.
"I don't understand," Ian breathed out and Mickey stood to see what he was looking at. He fell back down when he saw Ian holding the slushie stained schedule that had belonged to him once in his hands. He'd unpinned it from the board and was studying it, those ocean blue eyes wide and inquisitive.
Mickey was pretty much busted. He'd tried so hard to push it all out of his own mind, but now that Ian was staring at him quizzically, it had all come back and his stomach was dancing and filled with fear and anxiety and dread and all of those bad things that it seemed to be so often filled with these days.
"Sit down?" Mickey asked, quietly. "I can explain."
Ian sat without another word.
"I—I can't explain what I'm going through, Ian ," he said, looking down at his hands as if they held the answers to everything.
"Try harder," Ian urged.
Mickey took a long inhale of air, then exhaled for a long time.
"The first time I saw you, I felt like I needed to talk to you," he admitted. "I didn't understand why—hell, I still don't understand why, but I did. Then the bullying started and—you know where I stand on that, I don't do it because I want to, I do it because I have to and I know you don't think that's true, but I do, Ian . I felt terrible that first day—I've felt terrible every day since. I had Jacob Ben Israel do a little digging on you."
"Digging?" Ian asked, eyebrows furrowing.
"He didn't give me much," Mickey shrugged. "Just pointless little details. I also had him get me a copy of your schedule, which is how you had a brand new one on your first day. I kept the other one—obviously. I don't know why I kept it, I just did."
Mickey inched a bit closer without thinking and he wanted to move back again, but he couldn't now.
"There are so many things I've done since you arrived that I don't understand," Mickey told him, truthfully. His hands were shaking now, but he'd come this far now, he could go on. "It goes against everything I am that I'm even telling you all this. I haven't even accepted most of this myself, but I like you, Ian and I don't know if this is a friendship thing, or what it is, really, I just know that I like who I am when I'm around you and I hardly ever like who I am."
"I like who you are, too," Ian said, smiling. "I should hate you, you know that? I try to hate you every day, but even when you're standing by and letting your friends shove me in lockers, or when you're giving me slushie facials, I still don't hate you. I hate what you do, but I don't hate you."
Mickey nodded, understanding. He felt a bit dizzy from everything.
"And—what about the.. kissing?"
Mickey looked at Ian again and breathed for a while, trying to get his head together.
"I don't know," he said, quietly. He didn't know, either. He didn't even want to know.
"That's okay," Ian said and Mickey felt relief washing over him. "I get it. Kind of, but the night of Puck's party—"
"I don't know about that, either," Mickey interjected. "I was drunk—"
"Not the next morning, you weren't," Ian reminded him. He had a point.
"I don't know," Mickey said in a whisper. "Haven't you ever had things happen to you that you couldn't explain?"
"Oh, every day, Mickey," Ian chuckled. "For example, I keep on forgiving you, when in reality, I shouldn't even want to breathe the same air as you. I don't understand that. I just don't quite think it's the same thing."
"It's exactly the same thing," Mickey informed him, with a shake of his head.
"To an extent, I guess," Ian shrugged. "But I think it's different with you. I can't tell if you're gay and you just don't know it, or if you're straight and just looking for someone to be close to, because you don't really have anyone."
Mickey widened his eyes. He hadn't thought of that, but that had to be it, didn't it?
"I don't know," he found himself saying. Ian gave a knowing nod in response.
"So, why that song?" he asked again.
"I felt like it expressed how I've been feeling lately," he shrugged. There was no point in pretending it wasn't true, not any more.
"All this stuff has been knocking you sideways, huh?" Ian asked, with a smirk.
Mickey shrugged and smiled back.
"I don't know the difference between right and wrong any more," he told Ian , not entirely sure what he had even meant by that.
"Well," Ian sat up and turned so that they were face to face. "What feels right to you?"
"Right now?" Mickey asked.
"Sure, if you want," Ian told him.
"Right now," Mickey began. "Nothing really feels like it's the way it's supposed to be, but lately, the way it's supposed to be has been sucking."
Ian laughed a little at that.
"I don't know what I'm doing any more and I definitely don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, because nothing ever feels right any more—well. There is one thing."
"What's that?"
"I spend every day confused and searching for answers and I never come up with anything," he told Ian , their eyes locked. "But the only time I ever feel like things are just right, like they are going to be okay and like something actually makes sense, is when I'm doing this."
And then Mickey was leaning across the bed and placing the palm of his shaking hand to Ian 's soft cheek. His lips pressed against Ian 's, slowly, until they found a rhythm with one another. Mickey could feel Ian 's heart thumping evenly against his chest and he couldn't dispute that he had meant everything he had just said, because for once, and for the first time in a long, long time, Mickey felt, with this boy's body slotted so perfectly against his own, that his life was steady and in sync with everything around him and maybe he wasn't sure about a lot of things, maybe he wasn't sure why he felt like he did, but he was sure that this was right, for some twisted, crazy, God forsaken reason, this felt right and in that moment, he could not have cared less about everything else in the world.