Chapter 18:
"Is that.. Is that what you're wearing?" Ian asked, wide eyes taking in Rachel's outfit. She was wearing a hot pink, short-sleeved, button-up blouse and a knee-length, champagne pink, pleated skirt, complete with baby pink, knee socks and a pair of slip-on, pink, ballet pumps. A pink, bedazzled headband sat on top of her head and Ian shuddered at the sight.
"This," Rachel said, nose high in the air. "Is what I call 'Sexy Schoolgirl Librarian Chic'. It's a Rachel Berry original."
"Rachel," Ian exhaled. "There is a librarian at the local library and she's at least 55 and she dresses better than you. That is definitely not the look of a librarian."
Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I happen to like how I look."
Ian shook his head and gave himself a once-over in his dresser mirror. He smoothed the side of his hair down, then turned to look at Rachel. She was flipping through his CD collection.
"You ready?" he asked.
"I'm very impressed with your musical tastes."
"That wasn't the question," Ian deadpanned.
"What?" Rachel asked, looking up. "Oh. Right. Did you get him anything?"
Ian paused for a second. "No."
Rachel laid the CDs down. "I got him a card with a bear on it that says 'Happy BEAR Day' and a voucher for Build-a-Bear."
Ian choked. "You got Mickey Milkovich a voucher for Build-a-Bear? Are you high?"
Rachel sighed, sounding exasperated. Ian couldn't believe she was serious, but she seemed to be. She rolled her dark eyes and placed a hand on either of her hips.
"Ian, everyone loves Build-a-Bear! It's a well-known fact!"
"Okay, if you say so," Ian smirked, because he could not wait to see the look on Mickey's face when Rachel handed him that. "Let's get going."
"Oh, wow," Mickey said, staring down at the rectangular, red voucher, with the orange bear on it, holding big, yellow, block letters that spelled out 'BEAR BUCK$ $30'. "Um, thanks. No one else has gotten me one of these, believe it or not."
Rachel grinned, happily and nodded. She flicked her dark hair over her pink-clad shoulder and said, "You're very welcome. I know we're not really friends, Mickey Milkovich, but it is your birthday and I hope you're having a good day."
Mickey smiled, then, because this girl, who he had slushied probably every day since freshman year, was being unnecessarily nice to him. He felt his insides warming. "Thanks," he shrugged. "Um, I hope you have a good time."
Rachel nodded, then turned around and walked towards Finn Hudson, who had just entered with Sam Evans and Artie Abrams.
"So, what's the expiry date on that thing?"
Mickey turned around and saw Ian standing there, smiling at him. He was dressed in a dark jacket, with an azure shirt underneath. He was wearing his usual tight pants, but today they were white and showed off his finer assets. Mickey looked back up to Ian's face and smiled.
"I have no idea, but I'll make sure I don't miss it," Mickey told him, placing the card and the voucher inside his mother's glass unit.
"Well, I don't think my gift can beat that, to be honest."
"I told you not to get me anything," Mickey said. A gift from Ian would just be a painful reminder of what he could never have again. The past week had been bad enough. They'd been sort of shy around each other, which was ridiculous, really, but things had changed, Mickey guessed.
"Oh, shut up," Ian smiled and reached into his inside pocket. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying special attention, then produced a small box, wrapped in shining gold paper. "Here," he said, handing it to Mickey. "Open it later, though. When everyone isn't watching."
Mickey looked up at him, eyes questioning. What could it be that he couldn't open it in public?
"It's probably not what you're thinking, Mickey," Ian chuckled. "Because I know how you think."
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were," Ian smirked, eyes lighting up. "But it's just.. People will start assuming things that aren't true—well, that aren't true any more, but.. Yeah. Just open it later, or something."
Mickey nodded and slid the box inside his pocket. "Thanks," he smiled. "So, do you think anyone else from glee will get me a Build-a-Bear voucher?"
"You can only hope," Ian grinned.
"I'm leaving early," Quinn informed Mickey. She was shooting dirty looks across the room at the glee club, who were smiling and laughing in one corner of Mickey's living room.
"Okay," Mickey simply shrugged. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and felt for the box Ian had given him. "I'll be right back. Bathroom," he provided, then pushed his way through the crowds. He greeted a few people as he went, then climbed the stairs.
Mickey unlocked his bedroom door, then went inside and locked it behind him. He switched on a light and went to sit on the bed, then took the box from his pocket and tore the paper off, carefully. For some reason, he felt nervous. He shook his head in an endeavour to get rid of his nerves and tore off the final strip of wrapping paper. Mickey lifted the lid and looked inside.
He felt himself smiling when he saw what was inside. A small, silver plate was staring up at him and he reached in and pulled it out from the purple tissue paper it sat in. It was a bracelet, one that matched the one he had given Ian on his birthday. For a second, he thought it might be the same one, that Ian was returning it because of how things had gone between them, but when he flipped it over, he saw that the words on the plate were different ones.
I keep thinking in a moment time will take them away,
But these feelings won't go away.
Mickey sighed tiredly as he stared down at the words, his insides twirling. When had his life gotten so complicated? And why had he allowed it to get this far? He wondered if it would ever get better, easier, but he simply could not envision that happening. Those words reminded him of exactly how he had felt when he had sang that song in glee. He was confused, lost, afraid of everything.
Now, it was different. He was still confused, still lost and definitely still afraid, but for different reasons. What he felt for Ian was something he couldn't really explain, but it didn't look as if it would go away any time soon and apparently, Ian felt the same. He felt like crap lately, like he wanted to cry and sleep all the time. He didn't cry and rarely slept. He spent most of his time watching old Pokémon episodes. Mickey Milkovich lived a fun-filled life, that was for sure.
He unclasped the bracelet and fastened it around his wrist, his left one, because Ian kept his on his left hand. He looked down at it for a long time and fought to push away thetears stinging at his eyes. He wouldn't cry, not now, not ever. He would get through this, he would come out on top at the end of it all.
At least, that was what he told himself. In reality, he didn't see any possible way that he would ever be truly happy again. He wished he could spend the rest of his life not remembering what he had had with Ian, wished he could take some kind of permanent pill that would wipe away his memory. On the other hand, he had been happy with Ian, at least for the most part. Frequently, his mind had been filled with worries and fears, but when it came down to happiness, Ian gave him that.
Mickey stood up and pushed down his sleeve, then opened the door and put on a smile, before going downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe he couldn't erase his memory permanently with some kind of pill or machine, but for now, there was alcohol and alcohol always made things go away, if just for a little while.
"Oh my God, Mickey, that was so freakin' cool!" Noah Iggyerman was shouting excitedly across the room.
Ian hadn't seen what exactly was 'so freakin' cool', because he had been trying to avoid looking at Mickey the entire party. They had caught little glances of one another by mistake and smiled timidly and Ian had conceded that it was very, very awkward. He wondered how long it would be before making eye contact in the school hallways would become awkward.
A bunch of the jocks were laughing and high-fiving one another. They looked like idiots. Ian rolled his eyes and looked down at his luminous yellow bottle of Mountain Dew. He hated Mountain Dew, he had no idea why he was drinking it. He looked up again when he heard another loud whoop of laughter.
He saw Quinn standing there next to Mickey, smiling. Mickey was downing a can of beer far too quickly. Ian wondered what might happen if he choked. Would it be frowned upon if he ran over and performed first aid? Mouth to mouth? It would be, after all, a life or death situation. Still, he couldn't help thinking that people would make assumptions even at this. Hopefully Mickey wouldn't choke anyway.
Quinn was whispering in Mickey's ear now and he wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He looked neutral, like he had given up on caring. Ian would have been happy for him if giving up on caring didn't entail giving up on caring for Ian, too. Ian stood up and went outside when Quinn's arms wrapped around Mickey's waist. He looked uncomfortable, but didn't make any move to detach himself from her. Ian guessed this would be the norm now. They were, after all, expecting a baby.
It was at times like this that Ian wished he was a chronic alcoholic.
"Well, that could stop traffic," a voice said behind Ian. "Careful, you might cause an accident."
Ian turned around and saw a guy standing there, a guy he didn't recognise. Ian had stepped out onto Mickey's front porch for some air, after having gotten borderline depressed at the sight of Mickey with his girlfriend. He had no right, he knew that, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still hurt.
"Excuse me?"
"You know," the guy said, gesturing at the cars driving by. "A car accident."
He was a tall, muscled, athletic kind of guy. He looked sort of like a surfer from one of those ridiculous daytime sitcoms, with his golden boy looks, except he was dressed in a faded, black, leather jacket and faded blue denim jeans. His hair was a sunkissed blonde and fell across his eyes in wispy tufts. He had a light tan and dark, mysterious eyes. He was, by all accounts, a very attractive guy.
"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," Ian told him, truthfully.
"Your ass."
Ian spluttered, then and gave the boy an incredulous look. "My... Wow. Okay. Who are you?" Ian asked, turning all the way around so that his rear end was not in this guy's immediate line of sight.
"What, you don't know you have a good ass?" he asked, with a mischievous grin. "Are the guys round here just really oblivious, or really dumb?"
"Neither," Ian said.
"Kenneth Iggyerman," the boy provided. "Call me Kenny."
"Iggyerman?" Ian asked, one eyebrow raised. "As in Noah Iggyerman?"
The guy—Kenneth—shrugged. "He's my cousin," he said. "Apparently, I was 'spiralling out of control', so I got sent to live here."
Ian nodded, knowingly. "Iggy's cousin. That would explain the bad pick up lines."
Kenneth laughed, then and Ian was about to excuse himself and head back inside to find Mercedes or Rachel and ask them if they wanted to leave, but Kenneth started talking again.
"Ian Gallagher, right? Rumour has it you're the only other gay kid in town," he said. Ian tilted his head, because that wasn't exactly the whole truth. "Wanna go find an empty room?"
"Um," Ian said, staring at the guy with a stunned look on his face. "No, actually, I don't. I'm just going to go insi—"
"So, Mickey Milkovich."
Ian stopped still. "What?"
Kenneth nodded, still grinning. "Well, I figure you must be friends, or something," he said. "I mean, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"
Ian said nothing, just watched Kenneth through narrowed eyes.
"So, what is it? Football team?"
Ian scoffed. "No," he said. "Mickey and I.. It's a complicated—friendship." He wasn't lying. It was definitely complicated and now it was just a friendship, which, combined, made it a complicated friendship.
"I've never liked Mickey Milkovich," Kenneth told Ian, who simply folded his arms over his chest. "'Guy thinks he's better than everyone."
"Mickey's okay," Ian said, despite the fact that he wanted to say more. Kenneth was Iggy's cousin and anything Ian said might very well get back to Iggy.
"Please," Kenneth laughed. "He's drinking himself half to death in there."
"Mickey's got a lot going on," Ian said, sounding defensive, even to himself.
"What, you got the hots for the guy?" Kenneth smirked, raising his tawny eyebrows.
Ian wavered for a second. "Wh-what? No," he said, quickly. "Not at all."
"I mean, I guess I couldn't blame you if you did," Kenneth went on as if Ian hadn't even spoken. "He's sort of hot, you know, if you're into the short, dark and handsome type of thing. Which I'm totally not. No one wants Prince Charming any more, they want the sexy villain. I have a feeling you are no exception."
"Wrong," Ian informed him. "I'm a hopeless romantic."
"Oh, I wouldn't say hopeless," Kenneth winked.
"Well, with people like you around, Kenny," Ian smiled, walking past him, towards the door. "One would tend to forget that romance even exists."
"Oh, I know how to do romance, Ian Gallagher," Kenneth said, standing up straight. "You just have to give me the chance to show you."
"Not a chance," Ian said and he turned away from Kenneth and continued on his way to the door.
"Damn," Kenneth said loudly behind him. "I know what I'll be thinking about tonight."
Ian tilted his head sideways to see Kenneth ogling his butt.
"It's already tonight," Ian apprised him.
"Exactly," Kenneth grinned from ear to ear, as he brought one of his hands to the zipper on his jeans and started to unzip them, slowly.
Ian hurried inside, face burning wildly.
"Hey, you look bored," Mickey said, stopping next to Ian.
"Drunk?" Ian asked, raising his voice over the music.
"Getting there," Mickey said, holding his can up for Ian to see. He hated that about parties, the fact that you had to over-emphasise everything just so that people knew what you were talking about. Ian rolled his eyes. "So, are you? Bored, I mean."
Ian shrugged. "Nah, I'm fine," he told him. "I'm slightly amused, I must say."
Ian looked around the room at people dancing badly and singing badly. There were various conversations occurring all over the room and all the sounds mingled together to create one large murmur.
"Hey, hot stuff."
Ian turned instantly and saw Kenneth standing there. His skin was smooth and looked more tan in the bright lights of Mickey's mother's chandelier. Mickey looked at Kenneth, too, confusion on his face.
"No one says 'hot stuff' any more, Kenneth," Ian said, rolling his eyes again. "This isn't the nineties."
"Milkovich," Kenneth greeted Mickey, ignoring Ian's remark.
"Ian has a point, you know, Kenny," Mickey said, gravely. "Hot stuff isn't cool any more. In fact, I don't think it was ever cool."
Kenny laughed out loud and laid a hand on Ian's shoulder. Ian took a step back out of his reach. "I suppose you'd know what's cool, wouldn't you, Mickey?" Kenneth grinned. "Or maybe Ian here can get me up to scratch, if you know what I mean."
"Or not," Ian said, face sombre.
"Maybe next time, eh? Well, I'll see you later, Ian," Kenneth smiled, brightly, ignoring Mickey entirely. "I'm going to go mingle."
Ian and Mickey watched him disappear into the crowds, then Mickey turned to look at Ian questioningly.
"What?" Ian asked.
"Nothing," Mickey shrugged. After a minute, he spoke again. "He, um, seems to like you."
Ian smirked, because Mickey was jealous and even though things weren't the same any more and Ian could never have Mickey, it still felt good that he still liked him like that. Of course, later when he thought about it, it would only make him feel worse, but for now it just felt good.
"Well, I am a pretty likeable guy," Ian teased.
"Don't I know it," Mickey murmured and took a long swig from his can. "Empty. Gonna go get another. I'll see you later, okay?"
As he began walking away, his arm brushed Ian's and they exchanged a glance, then frowned. Ian thought about telling Mickey to take it easy on the alcohol, because he didn't want him to do anything dumb, but he didn't because this was how Mickey seemed to cope.
"Are you.. are you okay?" Ian asked, quietly.
"No," Mickey told him. "But let's face it, I never really have been."
"Mickey Milkovich is out of his mind drunk," Mercedes informed Ian, sitting down next to him.
Ian frowned because he knew just why Mickey was making himself so drunk. He wanted to escape, to forget. He remembered what he had said to him the first time he had seen him drunk. Don't you like the feeling of getting away from everything? Just for a little while? Don't you just want everything to fuck off just for a little while? Now, more than ever, Mickey had good reason to want to get far, far away from reality.
"It is his birthday," Ian said. "I guess he's got the right to get drunk out of his mind."
"The boy's going to do himself some damage."
Ian only had a split second to be concerned, because a loud, high-pitched voice sounded then.
"GUYS!"
Ian looked up and saw the neon pink figure that was Rachel Berry coming towards them. "Can you guys do me a favour?"
"No," both Ian and Mercedes said in unison.
"Oh, come on!" Rachel urged. "Pleaseeeee?"
"What do you want, Rachel?" Mercedes sighed. Ian kept his eyes on the ground, because Rachel's outfit was giving him a serious headache. The last thing he needed was a headache on top everything else.
"I've been dying for the bathroom for the past hour, but I've been too scared to go in there in case someone bursts in!"
"That's what the lock is for, Rachel," Ian informed her and he hoped nobody would question him as to how he even knew there was a lock on the bathroom door in Mickey's house. Thankfully, nobody did.
"I'm too afraid to lock the door!" Rachel told them. "What if I get locked in? I've got terrible claustrophobia and I'm not sure I could—"
"Oh, come on," Ian said, standing up, with a sigh, tired of listening to her babbling. "I'll do it if it'll make you stop going on and on and on."
Rachel professed her sincere gratitude and Mercedes said she would come, too. Minutes later, Ian and Mercedes were sitting on the top steps of the staircase in Mickey's house, while Rachel used the toilet.
"This is the quietest place in the entire house," Mercedes said, leaning her head against the wall. She was right, too. Loud music poured through the rest of the house, as well as people laughing and shouting and chatting away. Up there, the music felt distant and the soft murmurs sounded as if they were a million miles away. It was nice to get away from it for a bit.
Rachel came out a few minutes later. She said thank you, then skipped downstairs to find Finn. Ian and Mercedes stayed there.
"So, the Valentine's dance is on in about three and a half weeks," Mercedes said. "You gonna go?"
A Valentine's dance. That was exactly what he needed to remind him of how painfully lonely he was in the romance department.
Ian laughed, quietly. "Not very likely, is it?"
"It could be fun," Mercedes shrugged. "I mean, we'll have to see Mickey Milkovich and Quinn Fabray get crowned Valentine's Prince and Princess, but besides that."
Ian most definitely did not want to see that. He wondered then if Quinn would be crowned Valentine's Princess, because it was possible that her bump would be showing by then. Maybe it would be fun to see her face when she didn't win. Ian scolded himself for being so horrible, then. That was an awful thing to think.
"Nah," he said. "I don't think so."
"Last year Iggyerman set off the fire alarm and coach Sylvester tripped and landed with her face in the punch bowl," Mercedes informed him. "Something ridiculous always happens at these dances. You might be sorry if you don't go."
"I might be sorry if I do go," Ian replied. "Chances are this 'something ridiculous' you speak of will happen to me."
"Well, think about it," Mercedes told him
Ian said nothing, just nodded.
The figures at the top of the stairs were a big, colourful blur of light. He squinted his eyes and climbed the steps, legs wobbling. They were like mountains, these steps. He had to reach the top. When he got there he would shout EUREKA! at the top of his lungs.
The world was beautiful, so fucking magical and beautiful and he just wanted to.. to sing and learn how to fly and catch all 150 Pokémon and take them back to his mom to show her he was the Pokémon master and not that asshole Gary. But first he had to get to the top of this mountain.
He fell to his knees as he made the great endeavour to overcome these large, heavy obstacles. He could do this. He would do this! He clawed his way past the rough rocks and the snowy hills and the crowd was cheering his name.
Mickey!
Mickey!
Mickey!
"Mickey!" Ian exclaimed when he saw him falling down one step. He began crawling then, his face filled with determination like he was conquering Mount Everest and not a flight of stairs in his own home.
"I told you he was going to do himself damage," Mercedes said, tiredly beside Ian.
Ian looked down at him. He was a mess. His eyes were half-lidded and his jaw was clenched and his shirt looked twisted. His hair was stuck to his forehead, stray curls coming loose. Ian shook his head.
"Maybe we should help him," he suggested.
"He's almost there, leave him be!" Mercedes smiled. "He looks like he's competing in the Olympics, look at his face."
Ian didn't want to look at his face. He wanted to get him away from there, away from all of them, because when Mickey was drunk, he revealed so many things and Ian only wanted him to reveal these things to him. It was stupid, because he and Mickey weren't really what one could classify as real friends, or anything else really, but he couldn't help it.
Finally, Mickey arrived at the top of the stairs, grinning lopsidedly.
"Ian," he breathed. "I did it!"
Ian stifled a smile. "Yeah, congrats."
"You did real good, Mickey," Mercedes chuckled.
Mickey continued smiling as he moved to sit down on the step beneath the one Ian and Mercedes were occupying. He sat down and almost fell and they had to reach out and steady him. Mickey looked up then and his eyes were all light and fire.
"Mercedes," Mickey uttered, but he kept his eyes locked with Ian's. "Ian's got blue eyes."
Mercedes bit her bottom lip to control her laughter. "Yes, he does."
"Ian," Mickey said, climbing to his knees. "Your blue shirt matches your blue eyes and now everything is blue."
"Um, okay," Ian said, with a smile.
Mickey looked up at Mercedes then and tilted his head to the side.
"Mercedes," he said again. "Did I show you what Ian got me for my birthday?"
Ian froze, his heart beat speeding up.
"No," Mercedes said, with some amusement.
"It was just a book voucher," Ian said, quickly. "Right, Mickey?" He looked down into Mickey's bright eyes and tried to send a signal, but nothing was registering, obviously.
"No!" Mickey laughed out loud. "No, he got me this!"
Mickey raised his arm as if he was a superhero about to soar off into the clouds. he reached up and tugged his sleeve down lazily to reveal the silver links hanging loosely around his wrist. Ian didn't know what to do. This was bad in every sense of the word.
"I didn't—"
Ian tried to deny it, but Mickey cut him off.
"Look, read the words," he smiled and held it out for Mercedes to see. She glanced at Ian, questioningly, then squinted to look at the bracelet. Ian felt his cheeks heating up. How was he going to get out of this one?
"'I keep thinking in a moment time will take them away'," Mercedes read, slowly, her hand clasped around Mickey's arm. "'But these feelings won't go away'." She looked up at Ian then, sheer horror on her face. "What's goi—"
"Wait!" Mickey said, happily. "You haven't heard the best part, yet!" Ian sat still as Mickey reached over and took his hand. He raised it a little and pushed his sleeve away and then Ian's matching bracelet was on view.
"'I want to take you far from the cynics of this town and kiss you on the mouth'," Mercedes whispered. "Ian, are you—"
"Sometimes Ian and I would go to the field and look at the stars," Mickey said, dreamily. His eyes were half-lidded again and he was smiling, gazing vacantly into nothingness. "One time, we took off all our clothes—"
"Mickey!" Ian said, alarmed. "Mickey, don—"
"And we made love under the stars and it was the best night of my life," Mickey said, now looking up at the ceiling as if the stars were up there. He sighed. "But Ian doesn't want me like that any more."
Ian frowned at that. He didn't know whether he should shake Mickey and tell him he couldn't say these things in front of others, or shake him and tell him that he needed to get it into his head that Ian still wanted him, that he would always want him.
"Ian, what's—"
"Mercedes," Ian said, sounding a little breathless. His stomach was filled with butterflies, all darting around and flirting with one another. "I promise you I will explain everything, just please help me get him inside his room. He can't say anything like that in front of anyone else. Please, Mercedes."
Mercedes looked confused, as she stared back at Ian . Mickey was humming, still smiling at the ceiling. Ian pleaded with Mercedes with his eyes, hoping she would say yes, because if Mickey said anything like that downstairs in front of anyone else, he was finished. His entire life would topple over the cliff and into the fast running water below. Ian couldn't let that happen.
"Please," he said, quietly.
Mercedes nodded. "Okay."
"So, you're sleeping with him," Mercedes said, sounding as if she didn't really believe it. "You're sleeping with Mickey Milkovich."
"No," Ian told her. "I did. Like, once, or twice."
Mercedes didn't need to know the exact number of times anyway.
"Once or twice?" she asked, eyes almost popping. "But how? Mickey... Quinn.. I mean.." She trailed off with a shake of her head.
"He has a lot of issues," Ian informed her, simply.
Which was sort of another understatement, but he didn't really want to share the details of Mickey's issues with anyone without Mickey's go ahead. They sat there on Mickey's stairs in silence for another few minutes, the part still in full swing downstairs.
"I don't understand any of this," Mercedes told him finally.
Ian sighed, because he couldn't explain the entire situation without adding in the little fact that Quinn was having Mickey's baby. He had promised to keep quiet about that and he would, no matter what.
"I don't know what to tell you," Ian frowned. "It's complicated, but it's over, so there's nothing to worry about now."
People kept leaving through the front door and every time they entered the hallways downstairs, Ian and Mercedes stopped speaking immediately. Now, Azimio had come outside and was opening the front door to leave.
"So, what are you going to do now?" Mercedes asked, once Azimio had left the hall.
"I don't know," Ian told her, truthfully. "I guess I should make sure he's okay, right?"
Mercedes just nodded. "Should we tell people to leave?"
"Mayb—"
Iggy and Kenneth walked out into the hall, laughing. Mercedes and Ian froze and watched them. Ian willed them to just leave, but Kenneth somehow managed to spot him.
"Hey, hottie," he shouted.
Ian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not now," he groaned.
"When?" Kenny smirked from the bottom of the stairs. "How about tomorrow night?"
"How about never?" Ian suggested. The guy just didn't know how to take no for an answer.
"Until next time, Gallagher," Kenny said with a wink and then he followed Iggy out the door.
"Who in the—"
"Don't ask."
"Do you like him?" Mercedes said, nudging him with her elbow.
"No."
"But you like Mickey Milkovich?"
Ian paused. "Also no."
"I knew you were crushing on him!" Mercedes said, face suddenly lighting up.
"I said no—"
"I may be tired and I may have a headache, Ian, but I know these things," she said and she grabbed the banister rail and pulled herself to her feet. "I will go get rid of everyone else and I will go home and you can go make sure lover boy is still in one piece."
Ian thought about arguing back, but he was too tired at that stage. He sighed and nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me, Gallagher," Mercedes called back. "I expect a full explanation tomorrow!"
Mickey didn't wake up until the following morning. He sat up, feeling confused and his head was pounding. Then he saw the figure sleeping on the end of his bed.
Ian.
He didn't remember last night, so he couldn't have said what exactly had happened, but he was fully clothed, which was a good thing. It was odd that he felt sort of disappointed about that, though. He shook his head and groaned then forced himself to climb down the end.
He looked down at Ian sleeping, his lips parted and eyes closed. He had watched Ian sleeping so many times before. He wondered if he should leave him alone, let him sleep, but he needed to ask him all the questions that were swimming round in his mind.
Mickey reached out and took Ian's shoulders gently in his hands and shook him softly.
"Ian," he hissed and Ian stirred. It took him a few moments to open his eyes entirely and when he did, he smiled and Mickey smiled back, but then Ian's smile faded to a frown and he sat up quickly.
"What are— Oh. Right," he said, seemingly relieved.
"I know something bad happened," Mickey said with a sigh. "So what was it?"
He could sense it, otherwise, why would Ian even be here?
"Well," Ian began, sitting up and running his fingers through his sand-brown hair. "To put it bluntly, you sort of gave us away in front of Mercedes."
And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, he had gone and done something like that.
"Relax," Ian told Mickey, who seemed to be having some sort of silent panic attack. "Look, if I ask her not to, she won't tell a soul. It'll be okay."
"Okay" Mickey whispered and then they were quiet for a long time.
Ian couldn't stop thinking about what Mickey had said to Mercedes the night before, about the night in the field being the best night of his life, about how he had said Ian didn't want him like that any more. For the millionth time, he wished things were different. He never wished to erase what had happened, because despite the fact that it was a complicated mess and that it had broken his heart, he wouldn't give up how he had felt when he was with Mickey for the world. It was strange, it was the greatest feeling in the world, but sometimes, he couldn't help but hate it because of what it did to him.
"Mickey," Ian said, after a while and Mickey looked up at him with those copper coloured eyes. "I know it's not my place to tell you this and I know you're going through a lot, but I think maybe you should stop with the large amount of alcohol consumption. I know it takes away the pain for a short time and you need that, but it's not doing you any favours. You wake up feeling worse, you barely know what you're doing when you're drunk on it. By trying to make things better, you're making things worse. Just a suggestion."
Mickey sighed. "I know," he said, quietly. "I just need to get away, Ian. I want to run away and never come back, but I could never do that."
Ian nodded. He knew what that was like. When he had been on his old school and had to deal with the extreme bullying, he had spent every day wanting to get away, in whatever way he could, but there was his dad and he couldn't leave his dad.
"I mean, there's this whole baby thing, obviously, but now she wants to promote us for this dumb Valentine's dance. I mean, I think we have bigger things to worry about than that. I can't believe I let this happen."
"I'd like to tell you it's not your fault, but.." Ian trailed off, because he didn't want to rub it in.
"I know, it is," Mickey nodded. "I just.. I wish I could go back, start again. But I don't even know what that means. If I went back to the beginning, what would I do? And where is the beginning, anyway? I still don't know what's going on with me—with you, with Quinn—I just don't know. So, if I went back, I don't know what would happen. I think I would do the exact same thing and then it leaves me right back at square one."
"I know, I think," Ian said, thoughtfully. He understood, to an extent, anyway.
"Sorry," Mickey said, shaking his head. "I'm always moping. Um, thank you, for the, um, bracelet. It's.. Well. It's awesome."
Ian only shrugged and gave Mickey a small smile.
"Can I ask you something?" Mickey said, then, crossing his legs. "I might regret asking this, because it might make things worse, but I have to know."
"Go for it," Ian shrugged, trying to play it cool. He was a bag of nerves every time someone asked if they could ask him something.
"The lyrics on the bracelet," he said, slowly. "Is that.. Is that how you feel?"
Yes.
"I don't know."
"Me neither," Mickey sighed.
He had no idea how it had happened, but Ian's tongue was in his mouth and Mickey had his hand on Ian's left butt cheek. It was strange, Mickey knew that he wanted Ian, but until they were touching, he had no idea to hat extent he wanted him. It turned out that he wanted him quite a lot.
"Okay," Ian said, pushing him off, gently. "Okay, no. You are having a baby."
Mickey frowned and sat back. "As if I could forget."
"Sorry," Ian uttered.
"It's okay," Mickey exhaled heavily. "Thank you for stopping it, because I probably wouldn't have."
"Will power, Milkovich," Ian grinned and Mickey's heart dropped to the ground and then bounced its way back up again. He hated how badly he wanted Ian, hated how he noticed these ridiculous little details, like his slow-motion blinking and his fluid movement and the sparkle he got in his eyes every time he teased Mickey.
"Apparently, I have none."
"Apparently not," Ian chuckled. "Okay, so we need to make sure that doesn't happen again, okay?"
Mickey just nodded. Ian seemed to study him for a long time, that ice blue gaze drinking him in.
"You'll get over this, you know."
"You, you mean?"
Ian shrugged, absently. "Me, if you like."
"Doesn't seem plausible," Mickey told him, truthfully.
"You sleeping with another guy didn't seem plausible a few months ago, either," Ian reminded him. "And look how that turned out."
"Maybe.." Mickey began. "Maybe I don't want to get over you."
Ian shook his head in disapproval. "You have to," he told Mickey. "Look, Mickey. I still don't know what this was, this whole thing with us. I think you do know, deep down, you're just scared to admit it, to me, to yourself, even. In the end, you chose to be the guy you've pretended to be for your whole life and yeah, okay, I get it. It's not necessarily what I would do, but I get it. Circumstances are different and stuff, so yeah, I can accept it. But Mickey, you can't have it both ways. You're either this guy," Ian said and he took Mickey's wrist gently into his hand and pressed his own bracelet to Mickey's. "Or you're this guy," and he bent to pick up Mickey's letterman jacket. "You can't have it both was."
Mickey knew he was right. Ian was always right.
"I know," he said.
"I know that doesn't make it any easier, that you're still going to have to deal with whatever feelings you're experiencing," Ian continued. "But things will get better. They always do, even when you don't think they can."
Mickey chuckled, then. "Every guy needs a Ian Gallagher in his life to guide him in the right direction."
Ian didn't laugh, he smiled sadly. "Actually, Mickey," he said, sounding tired. "You're not really going in the right direction, you're just going in the direction that you think you have to go and because I like you, I'm still going to be here for you."
"Thank you," Mickey said, because he didn't know what else to say.
"No problem," Ian said as he climbed up off the bed and on to his feet. "I'll see you at school, or you can call me if you need to, but only if you need to."
"Alright," Mickey smiled up at him.
"Happy Birthday, Mickey," Ian said giving him a small smile, before he disappeared out the door.
Sure, it was his birthday, but he was far from happy and as far as he could see it, he never would be again.