Chapter 11:
Mickey sighed silently at the loud noises coming from the people he sat with at lunch. He was next to Iggy, who was laughing at something Azimio was saying. Karofsky was scowling at him from across the table, which he ignored and everyone was just being unnecessarily loud. Lately, the footballers and cheerleaders he sat with were driving him crazy. He wanted to lean across and smack Iggy in the head, because he was laughing far too boisterously. He wanted to punch Karofsky again simply because he was an ass and he wanted to tell that red headed cheerleader—what was her name again?—to stop playing dumb, just so that she could gain attention.
He glanced across the room at the glee table. They were talking quietly, some of them laughing. It was really amazing that the members of the one club that spent all their time singing and dancing and performing were so quiet and refined. Ian was sitting there, next to Mercedes, smiling slightly, his pale lips upturned at the corners, his luminous eyes glancing up from his lunch as Mercedes spoke. He blinked and his light lashes fluttered slowly down into the hollows beneath his eyes, then back up again.
Mickey liked to watch Ian when he didn't know he was watching him. He was absently running a thin finger along his jaw line, his elbow rested on the table. He looked like he didn't belong there, amongst the trash cans and the cleaning ladies and the pale, sickly green walls. He stood out a mile sitting there, in his white, long-sleeved shirt and his hair so perfectly styled and his skin so smooth and on the verge of transparency.
The words of the song struck Mickey not for the first time that day.
"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth."
Regardless of what he knew he did or didn't feel when it came to Ian , he could concede that Ian didn't belong here, in this drab, narrow-minded town, full of ignoramuses and uneducated assholes. Ian had told him that first day that he was going to make something of himself and Mickey believed that now. When it came down to the cold, hard facts, Ian was better than all of them, even, Mickey had to admit, better than Mickey himself.
Ian looked up just as Mickey thought this and the feeling that he'd been caught doing something wrong struck him almost instantly, his heart leaping in his chest, mouth parting, eyes widening. But Ian simply smiled, his glistening eyes lighting up and acknowledging Mickey . Mickey returned his smile, because when Ian smiled at him, there were only two things he could do that were appropriate as a response. The first of these was to cover that smile with his lips and since they were in a crowded lunch room, not to mention at least fifteen feet apart, Mickey had to go with the second option, which was to smile back.
Kissing Ian wasn't something he really thought about any more. Actually, that was a lie. He seemed to think about it quite a bit, but he didn't think about it in the sense that it ate away at him, because it was wrong and went against everything that he was. Nowadays, it was just something that was, something he just did, almost daily, because it felt good, even if it didn't make sense.
Ian looked away, glancing back only once, before turning his attention back to Mercedes.
"Hey!"
Mickey almost jumped out of his seat. Quinn slipped onto the bench next to him and followed his gaze, just as Ian glanced across, then quickly looked away. Quinn's lipglossed smile faded and she was frowning. Then she turned to look at Mickey and a grin replaced her frown.
"Guess what?" she enthused.
"Um, what?" Mickey asked, eyes falling down to study the fries on his tray. He couldn't even begin to guess.
"I'm joining glee club!"
Mickey 's entire body went rigid and his head shot up too quickly, his neck twisting and aching instantly.
"You're doing what?" Mickey spluttered.
"I'm joining glee club!" Quinn repeated, smiling sweetly.
"You—you can't join glee club," Mickey shook his head, which was already spinning. "Sectionals is next week, Quinn."
"I know!" Quinn apprised him. "I already talked to Mr Schuester and he said I can start in January! Isn't that great? Now we'll be together all the time!"
"Terrific," Mickey deadpanned. "That's just.. terrific."
"Can Quinn even sing?" Ian asked, when Mickey told him Quinn was joining glee club in January, over the phone. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, music playing quietly from his iPod speakers in the background.
"I have no idea," Mickey replied and he sounded distressed. "I can't go anywhere without her following me, I swear."
Ian frowned. Mickey was such an idiot most of the time. He had brief non-idiot moments, but when it came to the crunch, he was the definition of an idiot.
"Why don't you tell her that?"
"Are you kidding me?" Mickey exploded and Ian could almost see him raising his arms in protest and surprise. "I can't do that! I like my kneecaps where they are, thank you very much!"
Ian rolled his eyes. Trust Mickey to over-dramatize things.
"Mickey , are you going to let her push you around forever?"
"That's the plan," Mickey muttered and Ian was rolling his eyes again.
"Are you serious?" he asked. "You really plan on spending the rest of forever heeding to her every call?"
"Do I have any other option?"
Yes, Ian thought, yes, you do, but he didn't say it out loud, because that would lead to a very awkward silence, followed by a very awkward conversation and then awkward moment after awkward moment would continue to occur for the foreseeable future.
"Mickey , I don't think we—"
"Ian , sorry, I'm gonna have to go," Mickey cut him off and Ian could hear him sitting up. "My mom and dad are fighting again and.. well. I have to go, I don't know, do something, I guess."
Ian wished he knew what to say to that, but he didn't.
"Alright," he answered. "See you at school."
They said their goodbyes and hung up soon after. Ian had almost done it. He'd almost told Mickey that they couldn't do what they were doing any more, whatever it was. Quinn joining glee and hanging around Mickey all the time would drive him crazy and he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of that. Sure, he couldn't turn his feelings off in a blink of an eye, but at least if Mickey wasn't kissing him and letting little terms of endearment slip every now and then, it would be easier for him to handle it.
Ian sighed and lay back against his pillows.
He would tell him tomorrow.
"What happened to your face?"
Mickey sighed, tiredly and turned his head away from his father, although there was no point now, he'd already seen it.
"Crashed into one of the guys at football," he said, quickly.
"Really."
"Yeah," he shrugged.
"Hmm," his dad said, then he stood up and walked out of the room, without another word.
Mickey looked across at his mom on the sofa, her eyes closed, head on her shoulder. He sighed and went to the kitchen to clean the now broken plate his father had thrown at the wall. He swept the shards onto the dust pan and emptied it into the bin, before looking around at his home.
The plate wasn't the only thing in pieces.
The only time Ian got to talk to Mickey at school the next day was during English and he couldn't very well tell him with everyone around like that. He decided he would do it later. He would call him, or ask if he wanted to drive somewhere, or something. Either way, it had to be done. If he didn't do it today, he probably wouldn't consider it again for a long time and getting himself in deeper was the last thing he needed right now.
He called Mickey four times that night and four times it went straight to voice mail. Maybe he was having issues with his parents, or maybe Quinn had forced him into doing something with her. He didn't want to think just what he might be doing with her, so he went to bed early and promised himself he would put things right the next day.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He was dreaming, his mind caught in that void between reality and the subconscious. The world was a cloud of cotton candy and mist. His chest felt constricted and his brain was protesting, his body shifting, turning away from the vexatious
tap
tap
tap.
The taps shattered the humming and buzzing in his ear drums and blood rushed in his head.
Tap.
Tap tap.
Tap.
CRASH.
He slipped from his slumber and sprung up in his bed, his eyes blinking quickly, discarding the sleep from the corners. His heart was racing and his mind felt fuzzy and he didn't know what was going on.
He sat there in unmitigated silence for a couple of heartbeats, before reaching across to check the time on his phone. He clicked a button and the screen came to life, the bright light piercing his eyes momentarily and then he settled his gaze on the numbers on the screen.
2.07A.M., December 15th.
He didn't have time to think before the sound from his dream was sifting through the air once again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Ian turned to look in the direction from which the sound was coming and his eyes rested on the two small rectangular windows at the top of his left wall.
Someone was knocking.
Who on earth was knocking on his window at two o' clock in the morning? His initial thought was that someone was trying to break in, to go through the basement and ransack his house.
Ian possessed many traits that likened him to a cat. For one, he was extremely flexible. Another thing was that he was also far too curious for his own good.
He climbed to his feet and went towards the window, aware of the taps still coming, but they were nowhere near as loud as the tapping sound of his heart in his ears. He gazed up at the window, in the light of the moon and stared for a long time, until he saw movement. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but he reached up and unlatched the lock and pulled the window towards him.
"Mickey ?"
A set of warm, honey coloured eyes filled the small gap to the outside and Ian looked up at the other boy quizzically.
"Hi," Mickey said, sounding a little breathless.
"Mickey , it's after 2 A.M.," Ian hissed. "What are you doing? Are you drunk again?"
"No," Mickey replied and he didn't sound drunk. "Can you get dressed and come outside?"
"What?"
"Please?"
Ian took a deep breath, then exhaled.
"Fine," he said, finally. "Give me 20 minutes—"
"20 minutes?" Mickey cut in. "Just put on some clothes and come outside."
"But my hair—"
"It's only me," Mickey chuckled and it struck Ian that Mickey really had no idea how much he meant to him. "Come on, I'll wait by my car and if you're not out here in 5 minutes, I'll throw more pebbles."
"Fine," Ian said, turning away. He glanced back at the window and Mickey was gone. Ian sighed and went to his closet, pulling out jeans and a shirt. It was way too late for drastic fashion decisions. Why was Mickey doing this to him?
He got dressed and looked in the mirror, his face twisting upon seeing his hair, now sticking up in tufts and flat on the side he'd slept on. Ian groaned as he took a comb and did his best with what little time he had. He sighed and laid the comb down, then snuck upstairs and out the front door, closing it slowly and quietly behind him.
Ian walked cautiously to the end of the driveway, watching his step in the dark. He saw Mickey leaning on the bonnet of his car, arms folded and feet over crossed.
"It's about time," he said, standing up straight, a broad smile on his shadowed face. He was wearing a leather jacket and his hair was unkempt. He looked like a bad influence.
"Why do you look like a criminal?" Ian enquired, though he couldn't deny the fact that Mickey looked pretty hot like this.
"I call it 'inconspicuous-but-still-flattering'," Mickey informed him.
"I call it 'trying-to-look-like-a-badass-but-failing-miserably'," Ian retorted. "Those shoes are all wrong."
Mickey chuckled as he leaned across and opened the passenger door of his car. Then he walked around to the driver's side. "Coming?"
"Where?" Ian asked.
"Live a little, Gallagher," Mickey said, grinning. Ian simply stared at him, a disapproving look on his face. "Are you coming, or am I going to have to forcibly manoeuvre you into the car?"
Ian entertained the idea and conceded it wasn't the worst thing he could think of happening. He remembered then that he was trying to get over Mickey and so, just walked forward and climbed inside the car and shut the door. Mickey climbed in, too and did the same.
"Cheer up, birthday boy," Mickey said, glancing across at a scowling Ian next to him. He turned the keys in the ignition and the car started up with a small purr and Mickey began to drive down the street.
Ian swung around to look at him.
"How did you know it was my birthday?"
"I have my ways," Mickey told him. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know."
"But, seriously," Ian said, gravely. "How did you know?"
"Relax," Mickey chuckled, turning a corner. "I told you I had Lip Ben Israel give me some of your details?" Ian nodded. "Right, well, your date of birth was on there."
"Oh," Ian said. "I tried calling you today."
"I know," Mickey told him. "I was busy."
Ian fought the urge to ask what he had been busy doing, because he didn't want to nag him like Quinn did. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know, especially if he had been 'busy' with Quinn.
"I was busy," Mickey said again. "Planning something."
"Planning something," Ian repeated, slowly.
"Do you remember that first day when we got paired for these assignments?" Mickey asked and Ian nodded, a small smile on his mouth. "And I told you that I was full of surprises?" Ian nodded, again, smile growing. "Well, now you get to see me put words in motion."
Ian smirked. "I thought I already got to see you put words in motion the night of Iggy's party."
Ian watched as Mickey 's jaw dropped and his eyes fell on Ian , filled with surprise, then his mouth relaxed and twisted into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Touché."
"Let me get this straight. You woke me up at 2 A.M.," Ian said, with a sort of contrived patience. "Just so that I could sit in a field with you?"
Ian glanced around at the vast stretch of land around them. They stood in the middle of a field, with only trees lining the edges, which led into forest on all ends, except for one, which opened onto an abandoned parking lot, in which Mickey 's car was now parked. It was empty and cold and the only sound for miles was the wind and the infrequent hoot of an owl in the distance.
"You know what? That is your problem," Mickey said, as he bent to his knees, then lay down so that he was flat on his back in the grass. "You are afraid to get a little dirty."
"Not true," Ian shook his head. "I—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. The night of Iggy's party, which, apparently, I am never going to live down," Mickey said, placing his hands behind his head. "Forget about that for a minute and get down here."
"Not a chance," Ian declared. "It's filthy."
"Like I said, afraid to get a little dirty," Mickey rolled his eyes. "Which is why I came prepared."
Ian watched as Mickey climbed to his feet and began walking back to the car. Ian tried to follow, but Mickey gestured for him to wait where he was, so he did. A minute later, Mickey reappeared holding a blanket.
Ian gaped at him. This was very much out of character for Mickey , or at least it was very much out of character for public Mickey . When they were alone, he sometimes said and did things that surprised Ian , but this was a little far out.
"You.."
"Told you I was busy planning stuff," Mickey smiled, happily, as he spread the blanket down on the grass. He lay back down and patted the blanket for Ian to lay down beside him.
Ian stood for another moment, then shook his head and climbed down to sit next to Mickey .
"So, what's this all about?" Ian asked, looking down at the other boy, who was still smiling, the bright stars reflected in his darker eyes.
"It's your birthday," Mickey provided. Ian looked at him questioningly. "What?"
"It's just.. I wasn't expecting this."
"Duh," Mickey said. "That's the whole point of a surprise."
Ian smiled a little, studying Mickey , his face all shadows and contours in the light of the moon. He looked so peaceful lying there. It was the first time since Ian had met him that he looked truly happy.
"Come on, lie down and look up," Mickey said, reaching across and tugging on Ian 's sleeve. He gave in and lay down next to him and looked up at the velvet sky. Clusters of silver stars were spread over the entire space. The moon was high in the sky, it's glow covering the entire landscape below. It was bright and prominent and the entire sight made Ian feel small and unimportant in comparison.
"I come here sometimes," Mickey said, quietly. "Just to get away."
Ian said nothing, because there's not a lot a person can say to that.
"It puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?" Mickey continued. "I mean, I look up at all of that and I realise everything I consider vital in the world just—isn't. I forget that when I step back into reality, but that's why I like to come here. Because it makes me feel like I can just let go and understand who I am and what I should be doing and just—I don't know. It feels right when I'm here. Is that stupid?"
"Not at all," Ian assured him. "You come here on your own?"
"Yeah."
"Mickey , that's so dangerous," Ian shook his head, his eyes still locked on the sky, the stars' luminosity causing his vision to blur a little. "This is the perfect place to commit a murder."
"Way to ruin my sensitive moment, Gallagher," Mickey joked, sitting up. Ian sat up, too and smiled.
"Sorry."
Mickey sighed, happily.
"Don't you feel like you could do anything here?"
"Like commit a murder?"
Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, the moon reflected in them, bringing out the flecks of orange.
"I'm serious, though," he said. "I feel like I'm not afraid of anything, right now."
"Is that a huge contrast from how you usually feel?" Ian asked, curiously.
"Maybe," Mickey shrugged, head tilted back, eyes raised to the sky.
Ian studied him sitting there, a sad smile on his lips, his eyes literally twinkling in the light of the celestial beings above. Mickey caught him staring when he dropped his gaze. He locked his eyes on Ian 's and smiled at him. A few seconds passed and Mickey shifted his body and leaned his head closer to Ian 's. He didn't do anything for a long time, then closed the space between their lips and kissed him softly. There was no tongue, no hunger, it was just sweet and calm, like it was all he needed, just to feel close to someone.
"What are you so afraid of?" Ian whispered, once they'd pulled apart. Mickey stared at him, his eyes dilated and a shade darker now. His lips were parted and his breath was coming faster, emitting small, white, cloudy puffs of air in the cool night.
"Myself," Mickey uttered, finally and his lips found Ian 's again. His hand rested gently on the side of Ian 's jaw. It was trembling a little and Ian 's skin was tingling at the contact. Ian opened his eyes and looked at Mickey , whose eyes were closed. He was murmuring against his lips and Ian 's blood was humming in his veins and all he wanted to do was to stay like this for as long as humanly possible. He couldn't tell him they weren't doing this any more, not now. He couldn't and he wouldn't and God, he didn't want to.
The pulled away again and Mickey smiled shyly, his face flushed, a sheen of the moon's light all across one side of his face. Ian smiled, too.
"I almost forgot," Mickey cleared his throat and reached inside his jacket. Ian watched him with inquisitive eyes as he produced a small box. He turned back to Ian , his eyes darting around a little.
"This might be the most cheesy thing I've ever done in my entire existence," Mickey laughed a little. "But I just thought—it just felt right, okay? Here."
Ian took the box from Mickey 's shaking hands, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Ian 's heart was beating unusually fast as he tore the striped paper off slowly and carefully. He lifted the lid and stared down into the red tissue paper. A small, rectangular silver plate lay in the middle, with a thin chain extending from either end, disappearing into the red crumpled paper beneath.
Ian took it gently between his fingers, aware of Mickey 's nervous gaze on him and held it up in the light. There were words on the small plate, etched in cursive writing.
"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth."
Ian 's heart stilled in his chest and he raised his ice blue eyes to Mickey , speechless.
"I.. I know it's p-probably tacky a-and stupid and not, like, what you would usually wear, because y-you're so, you know, you," Mickey said, stammering. "But I didn't want t-to get you nothing and the words have been just playing on m-my mind and it just.. I had to do it."
"Mickey , it's.." Ian trailed off, shaking his head, words escaping him.
"It's okay," Mickey said, quickly. "It's perfectly fine if you don't want it, I didn't think you would anyway, I just sort of wanted to, because—"
"Mickey ," Ian said, firmly. "Stop. Stop. It's.. It's perfect. Thank you."
Mickey 's face was frozen and his eyes were wide, but Ian could see he was relieved from the way he allowed his shoulders to slump.
"Y—You like it?"
"How could I not?" he said, smiling and Mickey smiled, too, then. "Thank you," Ian said, again. He leaned across to kiss him again and Mickey let him, a small gasp escaping his lips.
Mickey was the most unpredictable person Ian had ever met. He was an idiot, that was irrefutable, but when he was like this, Ian just wasn't sure. Yeah, he still wasn't acting as he wanted him to in school and stuff, but this Mickey sort of made up for that. Ian felt stupid for feeling what he did, but he couldn't help it. This was real and maybe Mickey couldn't give him everything, but for now, it felt right and it felt enough.
"I don't get you," Ian told him, once they'd broken away.
"Makes two of us," Mickey laughed half-heartedly. "Here," he said, reaching across to grab the bracelet out of Ian 's lap. Ian held out a hand and Mickey closed the bracelet around his thin wrist. They both looked down at it for a long time, then Mickey raised his hazel eyes to Ian 's blue-green ones.
"I don't know what this is—us, I mean, but I... Like I said, I feel like I can do anything when I'm here," Mickey told him, his voice low. "I just—I know how I feel when I'm here, Ian and.. I don't know. I can't say it, not out loud, because of everything that would mean, but I just wanted you to know that—I've never brought anyone else here before. Do you know what I'm saying?"
Mickey was gazing at him with those eyes of his and Ian was trying to keep his head together. He guessed he sort of knew what Mickey was saying. It was confusing and he was speaking in riddles, but he understood that he meant something to him at least.
Ian only nodded.
"And that," Mickey pointed down at the bracelet on Ian 's pale wrist. "That doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."
"What if I do?" Ian asked, boldly, heart racing again.
Mickey eyed him for a while, then smiled a little bit, just the very corners of his mouth tilting upwards an inch.
"Well, in that case," he said. "It means something."
And Ian 's heart stopped and Mickey 's mouth was on his again and he knew there were so many things wrong and that they would go back to the strained friendship they had before, but he just couldn't bring himself to care at that moment. It was his birthday and he would have his fun for this one day, out of the entire year. This was his day.
"I should get you home," Mickey said, looking down at his watch.
"Yeah," Ian sighed, not wanting to move from where they sat. Mickey stood first and offered Ian a hand. He took it, gingerly, then felt Mickey 's warm fingers entwining with his own. They gathered up the blanket and walked back to the car, hand in hand.
"This is so weird," Mickey whispered, but made no attempts to break away.
"Maybe," Ian told him, as he opened the trunk to throw the blanket in. "Why are your clothes in here?"
"Mom and dad had another fight," Mickey frowned. "I'm not going home, so I brought those with me for school tomorrow."
Ian looked at him funnily. He was serious.
"Where are you going to go?"
"I was thinking about coming back here and waiting until morning," he shrugged one shoulder.
Ian swung around to face him, their hands still clasped.
"You can't stay here all night," he informed him.
"I've done it before—"
"That was before you met a very fashionable, talented sucker who would offer to take you in for the night," Ian smiled.
Mickey smiled a little, too.
"You don't have to."
"Yes," Ian told him. "I do. I couldn't live with myself if I knew you'd gotten murdered out here. And on my birthday, too."
"I won't get murdered, Gallagher," Mickey grinned from ear to ear.
"Even still," Ian said, squeezing Mickey 's hand, gently. "You're coming home with me."
"And this isn't just because you think this will be a repeat of the night of Iggy's party?" Mickey smirked.
"Ha-ha, yeah, you wish, Milkovich," Ian snorted. "Come on, let's go."
They broke hands reluctantly and climbed in the car and drove back out onto the roads. It was unusual and felt strange and neither of them understood it. The only thing they did know, was that it felt right and neither of them wanted it to end.