Chapter 24:

"It's spiked."

Ian looked up from the reddish liquid in the plastic cup Rachel had handed him before she had gone to prepare for her solo, which she would be singing next.

"Um, what?" he asked Mickey, who had sauntered in the side door and was now leaning with his back against the wall.

"The punch," Mickey told him. "Don't drink it. It's spiked."

Ian grimaced down at the cup again, then laid it down on the floor in the corner, where no one would knock it over. He went and stood close to Mickey, but not too close.

"I wasn't going to," he told him loudly, over the sound of Santana singing Adele. "It's Rachel's."

Mickey nodded, then gestured towards the stage. "She sounds good."

Ian agreed and they stood there without saying a word for a few minutes, simply watching Santana performing. People were swaying on the dance floor and the music drifted slowly out of the speakers and through the air and Ian felt calm, at ease.

"This is the least elaborate outfit I've ever seen you wear." Ian turned his head sideways to look at Mickey, who was running his eyes down Ian's simple, black suit. "You look so good," Mickey told him, his golden-brown eyes finding Ian's blue ones.

"Thanks," Ian gave him his best smile, then looked down at Mickey's equally plain, black suit. He had a small red flower pinned to the lapel, probably to match Quinn's dress, which was a walking disaster. He had seen her earlier and wondered what would possess a person to purchase something like that. Ian knew she was trying to conceal her bump, but if he was honest, if he had been in her position, he would have rather had everyone find out than wear something like that. "You look pretty dashing, yourself."

Mickey smiled and looked back at the stage.

"So," Ian said. "When do you get your crown?"

Mickey frowned and turned back to look at Ian with a sigh. "Soon, I think," he told him. "I hope I don't win. Quinn will kill me, but I hope I don't win."

"I'm sure being the king has its perks," Ian teased.

Mickey chuckled. "It's prince, actually," he informed Ian. "Someone complained last year, saying that the king and queen titles should be reserved for prom, or something."

"Oh," Ian said. "Prince Mickey, then. So, if you do win, what does that make me? The prince's bit on the side?"

Mickey looked up at him, face solemn. "No," he uttered. "That still makes you my boyfriend."

"Time to announce the McKinley High Valentine's prince and princess!" Principal Figgins said cheerily into the microphone. "This is exciting! I wonder who it could be!"

Mickey frowned, because everyone knew exactly who it would be. He hoped things would be different this time, that maybe he wouldn't win, that perhaps Iggy or someone could have their turn. He knew better.

The hall was relatively silent and people stared up at Figgins, who was now holding a red envelope.

"And the McKinley High Valentine's prince is," Figgins said in his strong accent. He was silent for a few seconds, in an attempt to create suspense. "Mr Mickey Milkovich!"

Mickey sighed and put on a smile, because that was what he was so used to doing. Quinn gave him a half-hearted hug and then let him go. He made his way to the steps and up on to the stage, the applause now dying down.

"Congratulations, Mickey Milkovich!" Figgins grinned and Mickey gave him a smile. Figgins placed the stupid crown on his head and gestured towards the 'thrones', which were just chairs with red satin material draped over them. Mickey took a seat, still smiling and wished he could be anywhere else in the world.

"Now, to announce the princess!"

Mickey sighed and sank back in his chair. He could spot Quinn instantly in that dress. She was wearing a smug grin as she awaited her name. Everyone was glancing across at her, too. It was pointless doing this, really, they should have just given them the crowns and avoided the entire charade.

"The McKinley High Valentine's princess is," Figgins said, again, pausing for dramatic purposes.

Except this time he paused for longer. Mickey looked up at him as he squinted down at the card, eyebrows furrowing. Mickey wondered if someone had scribbled the name down in illegible hand writing. He thought about standing up and going to see if he could make it out, but Figgins looked up at the silent crowd.

"It's—ah.." Figgins stammered into the mic, his voice echoing around the hall. "It's Ian Gallagher."

Mickey sat forward, unable to believe his ears. What was this? He scanned the crowd looking for Ian, but couldn't find him. He swung his head around when he heard a loud sob, but it was just Quinn, who was walking quickly towards the door. Mickey squinted his eyes, looking for him. He had to be around somewhere.

Then he saw a dark figure pushing its way through the people and heading for the same door. Mickey stood up, took the crown off his head and looked out, seeing Iggy, Karofsky, Kenny and the other footballers laughing hysterically in the back corner. Other people started laughing, too.

Mickey stood up and Figgins gave him a quizzical look.

"I'm going to see if Quinn's okay," he provided, before jogging down the steps and past the laughing crowd.

He pushed the door open and looked around, frantically. There was no sign of either of them. Mickey went left and turned onto a long, narrow hallway. He glanced in every open door as he made his way along the corridor. He turned back when he had reached the end and went the other way, because there was no way Ian could have made it all that way in that short amount of time.

Mickey did the same thing when he turned onto the other hallway and he stopped at the fourth door on the right, because he could hear frantic whispers coming from inside. He pushed the door open and saw Ian pacing back and forth, looking like he had no idea what to do.

"Hey," Mickey said, going closer. "Hey, stop. Stop, Ian."

Ian stopped in front of him, his blue eyes wide and filled with anxiety.

"Take deep breaths," Mickey nodded. "Deep breaths. It'll be okay."

"How?" Ian snapped, suddenly. "How is this okay? How is being humiliated in front of the entire school okay?"

Mickey flicked the light switch, because he couldn't see him in the dark. Ian shielded his eyes and looked away, quickly. Mickey reached out and pulled a chair across.

"Here," he said, laying a hand on Ian's shoulder. "Sit down."

Ian allowed him to push him gently on to the chair. Mickey pulled another chair to face him.

"They're idiots," Mickey uttered, with a quiet groan.

"Who?"

"Football team," Mickey clarified. "And Kenny."

Ian watched him through wide eyes for a couple of heart beats. "Did you know?"

Mickey looked up, eyes wider than Ian's. "What?" he asked, incredulously. "Did I—Are you asking me if I knew they were going to do that?"

Ian only nodded, twice.

"Ian, I would never—I wouldn't," he shook his head. "No. God. Of course, I didn't know."

Ian didn't look convinced, broken, but not convinced. "You were awfully adamant about me coming," he said, quietly.

Mickey gaped at him, then reached across and caught Ian's chin gently between his thumb and fore finger. He tilted his head upwards. "Look at me," Mickey urged and Ian's ocean blue eyes met his. "Never. I would never in a million years do that to you. I can see why you wouldn't trust me, but God, Ian, I—I love you, remember? I only wanted you to come because I always want to be near you. I didn't want you to be sitting at home by yourself watching 'Hairspray'. I wanted you here, with me, even if you couldn't be with me, you would still be there, you know? Maybe that's stupid, I don't know." Mickey sighed. "But I do know that if I had known anything about this, I would have stopped it. I would never have let that happen to you. Not ever."

"I just—I don't get how they could have planned all this without their—what was it Iggy called you that first day?—Oh, yeah, their 'number one guy'. Can you explain that to me, Mickey?" Ian went on before Mickey could reply. "I don't think you can, because the fact is, they don't move without your approval. Little do they know their number one guy is actually a number one gay and is screwing the resident punch bag. And I stress the word 'screwing', Mickey, because if you were in on this—and I'm pretty sure you were—then that's all it's been: Screwing, just for the hell of it."

Mickey shook his head, his heart hammering in his chest. "No," he told him. "No, Ian. No, I lov—"

"No," Ian said, adamantly. "No, you don't. You don't love me, Mickey. Drop the act."

"There is no act!" Mickey groaned in frustration. He needed so desperately for Ian to believe him. "God, I love you! I would never do anything to hurt you, never again! That had nothing to do with me! That was low and cowardly and disgusting and you know what? Maybe you think I'm all those things—I wouldn't blame you if you did, but please, Ian. Don't believe I could do that to you."

Ian looked distraught, his blue eyes dropping to the ground. He buried his head in his hands and sighed as if he just wanted everything to go away.

"Ian," Mickey said, scooting his chair closer to Ian. He reached up and lowered Ian's hands from his face, then held them in his own.

"I want to believe you," Ian said, quietly.

"Believe me," Mickey nodded. "It's never just been screwing, Ian. It's always been more, a lot more, so much more that it kind of scared me sometimes, but I wouldn't give any of it away, not for the world."

Ian didn't look convinced. Mickey took a deep breath, then spoke, "Look," he said. "I'll prove it to you. I'll go in there, I'll walk up on that stage and I'll tell them. I'll tell them all that I'm gay. I'll tell them that I'm in love with you. I'll tell them that none of them know me at all. I'll do it, Ian. I'll prove it to you. I—"

"Wait," Ian said, pulling Mickey back down into the chair. "Don't do that."

"I have to—"

"Remember I told you that I don't want to be the thing that makes you come out against your will? I meant that. I believe you, okay? I do. I believe you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume, I just panicked. I was scared you were using me, scared that you could just hurt me like that. Scared—well. Just scared."

Mickey nodded, knowingly. "It's okay," he whispered. "I get it. I just—I want you to know that I would never hurt you. I'm done with their childish jokes. I'm yours for as long as you want me. They don't mean a thing. Just you."

Ian sighed and he exhaled in broken breaths. Mickey entwined his fingers with Ian's and looked right into his bright eyes. Ian was blinking fast and Mickey could tell from the way he was taking contrived, slow, careful breaths that he was trying to hold back the tears.

"Hey," he said. "You can cry in front of me, you know? I won't judge you." Ian took another shaky breath, then breathed out, a small sob escaping his throat. "I just don't think you should," Mickey finished and Ian looked up at him with questioning eyes, his right eyebrow tilting upwards.

"Wh-what?"

"I don't think you should," Mickey repeated. "I think you should go back in there and show them that they didn't win with this stupid prank—or whatever you want to call it. I think you should go in there and smile, let them know they can't bring you down, that you're stronger than them."

Ian was silent for a second and Mickey saw the tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. A single tear trickled down his face and he made no move to stop it. Mickey reached up and dragged his thumb gently over the wet spot, catching it, killing it, making it disappear.

"I can't do it," Ian said.

"You don't have to," Mickey informed him. "I just think they should know you're not afraid."

"But I am afraid—"

"No," Mickey shook his head. "No, you're not afraid. You're hurt and I'd give anything to make that go away. But for now, all I can tell you to do is to be brave, like I know you are. Go in there, show them Ian Gallagher can't be knocked down by some stupid, childish, high-school prank. Show them the Ian Gallagher that's not afraid of what others think of him. Show them the Ian Gallagher that inspires me every day, because God, I could never be as brave as you are," Mickey prompted. "Show them the Ian Gallagher I fell in love with."

Ian nibbled on his bottom lip, his hands shaking a little in Mickey's grasp. Mickey tightened his grip, hoping it came off as gesture of reassurance.

"I can't," Ian shook his head after a long silence.

"I'll be there with you," Mickey reminded him. "I'll even hold your hand, if you want." Ian shook his head, quickly. "Okay, I won't hold your hand, but I'll still be there and maybe that's not a huge consolation, but I just want you to know I'm there for you."

Ian just stared down at their joined hands for a little while and Mickey watched him taking slow, steady breaths, trying to calm himself down.

"Um," Ian coughed a little. "Won't people be wondering where you are?"

"I said I was going to check on Quinn."

"Oh," Ian nodded. "She must be mad. She should have won."

Mickey gave Ian a small nod. "Maybe," he said. "Can I tell you something?"

Ian gave him another small nod and watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"When I was a kid," Mickey began, stroking Ian's knuckles gently. "My mom would read me these stories. She was fine back then, nothing like she is now. Anyway, she would read me these stories about princes rescuing singing princesses from tall towers and she stopped one day, after I asked her a question."

Ian was watching him intently. He was sniffling a little and his eyes were still shining with the beginning of tears.

"It's funny, because I only just remembered this a few weeks ago and it sort of triggered a lot of things in my mind," Mickey smiled a little. "I asked her what would happen if the prince got to the tower and there was no princess and she said of course, there was a princess, because otherwise, there wouldn't have been any singing. I told her that wasn't what I meant. I told her that what I meant was what if the prince got to the tower and there was another prince up there, somehow. She panicked a little, then. I didn't understand why back then, but I get it now. She told me that that was impossible and if it did happen that there would be something very wrong with both princes—"

"She said that?" Ian asked a little incredulously.

Mickey nodded. "Yep," he confirmed. "When I got with Quinn, my mom asked me if I remembered that story—not the part where I asked the dreaded question that was obviously a sign of my flaming homosexuality," Mickey clarified and Ian smiled a little. "She asked if I remembered the actual story and I told her I kind of did, a little bit. Do you know what she told me, then?" Ian shook his head, no. "She told me that I'd found my princess. No joke, she really said that. She told me Quinn was my princess. She was starting to go at that point, so I could have blamed the medication, but that's actually how my mom is, Ian. She's really not much better than my dad, minus the whole violence thing, I mean.

"The point is, Ian," Mickey continued. "I realised that Quinn is definitely not my princess. I figured out that.. Well. You are."

Ian gaped at him for a split second. "Okay," he said. "Okay, you don't have to rub this princess thing in, Bla—"

"I didn't mean that!" Mickey told him. "I meant that—and just a warning, this might be the cheesiest thing I have ever said in my life—I meant that I got to the top of that tower and I didn't find a princess, just as I expected. I found a prince. You. You're my prince, Ian, as crazy and cliché as that might sound, it's true. It's you, it will always be you."

Ian looked up at him, shaking his head slightly, and he was smiling, his chest quivering a little with trapped laughter. Mickey saw several tears slipping from his eyes and he tried to reach up to wipe them away, but Ian only gripped his hands tighter.

"I'm afraid they whipped you right out of a romance novel, Mickey Milkovich," Ian chuckled, tears still coming. "I don't think I want to put you back in, though."

"Good," Mickey smiled, too. "Good, keep me here with you."

Ian only smiled and looked back at Mickey threw those blue, watering eyes.

"You can do it, you know," Mickey uttered, finally reaching up to catch Ian's tears with the sleeve of his jacket. "I know it was a mess and a sick joke, but when you look at the reality of it all, you should be up there with me."

Ian looked thoughtful for a few heartbeats, then nodded. "I can do this."

"I know you can," Mickey grinned. He leaned across and placed a single kiss to Ian's red, swelling lips. He tasted like salt and strawberries. "I love you."

"You're not supposed to be in here!" Quinn screamed at Mickey when he walked through the door of the girls' bathroom. She was standing by the sink, wiping her black, mascara tears.

"I just came to see if you were okay—"

"Well, I'm not!" Quinn snapped. "You should have saved yourself the trouble."

"If it helps, Ian thinks you should have won," Mickey offered and Quinn groaned.

"Well, that's because I should have won!" she reasoned. "They have obviously figured it out!" She gestured towards her stomach. "I mean, look at me! I look like one of those people on 'The Biggest Loser'!"

Mickey smiled a little. She was far from huge, she was still small, just pregnant.

"I don't know what you're smiling about!" she shot back. "Voting you and him in probably means they know you're fucking him."

Mickey didn't point out that what he and Ian were doing was not 'fucking', because Quinn looked as if she might attack him with something.

"Quinn, look," he sighed. "I know we sort of don't like each other, but honestly, you're not fat and they didn't do this because they know about you, or about me. They did this because it's their idea of a joke, okay? They wanted to hurt him, so they hurt him. End of story. They didn't think past that. They didn't think about you, or about me, or about the possibility of you being pregnant, or me sleeping with Ian. They just think that they're clever."

Quinn groaned and slumped back against the wall as best as she could in the dress. She seemed to have calmed down a little. "I just don't want to be me any more," she told him, quietly. "Do you ever feel like that? That you just want to be someone else, even though you thought you had it all?"

"Every day," Mickey told her. "There are things I wish I could change every day."

"Like loving cock?"

Mickey choked a little. "Um, no," he said, clearing his throat. "Like not being brave enough to tell everyone that I do. Like the world not being accepting enough. Like the hurt I've caused so many people. All of that. What about you?"

"The baby," she said, immediately. "I would never have had sex with Iggyerman. The guy's a tool."

Mickey laughed a little. He decided Quinn was okay, even if she was a huge bitch and a snob. She was just trying to find her way. "Have you told your parents?"

"Do I look dead?" Quinn asked. "Don't answer that."

"We never talked when we were together," Mickey said.

"That's because we hated each other," she informed him. "Did you ever even like me?"

Mickey wavered here. He couldn't tell her flat out that he couldn't stand her. He shrugged. "I—we were never really very alike."

"That's okay," Quinn nodded. "I didn't ever like you. I mean, you're hot, obviously, but I just—Yeah. We were never very alike."

Mickey only nodded. This was the most they had ever talked, their first real conversation and it was when their relationship had ended.

"Do you love him?"

Mickey looked up. He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"You're really having sex with him?" she grimaced.

"Yes," he said again.

"Ew," Quinn said, nose wrinkling around the bridge. Mickey frowned. She stood up straight and wiped her eyes in the mirror. "Okay, whatever. I'm going home."

Mickey watched her as she walked to the door and pulled it open. She turned back.

"The deal still remains, Milkovich," she apprised him, the old Quinn back. "You tell anyone and I'll have your name and the word 'faggot' printed and posted and spray painted every where."

"God, Quinn, you speak so eloquently," Mickey quipped back. "How did they not crown you princess?"

Mickey sat back in the throne, because Figgins had told him to. Mercedes ended her song and the hall went silent, because Ian had pushed the doors open and walked through. All eyes were on him and he looked terrified. Mickey caught his eye and gave him a nod of encouragement, trying to send him a message with his mind.

You can do this.

Ian climbed onto the stage, the entire hall eerily silent. Mickey was sitting in the fake throne, watching him with wide, hazel eyes. The crown was back on his head now. Ian's heart was hammering violently in his chest and he felt light headed and a little sick, but he could do this. He had to do this. It was the only way to show them they hadn't won.

Principle Figgins gave him a sad smile as he placed the tiara on his head. The hall was still painfully silent and he saw his friends looking at him with piteous eyes. He was tired of pity, he could'nt deal with pity any more.

Ian stepped forward and took the microphone stand in his shaky hands. He leaned his head closer and spoke.

"McKinley," he began. "I don't know if you realised it, but you just made me royalty. Which means I reign over all of you. Thanks, guys!" He grinned across at the footballers, who were watching him with their mouths hanging open, then turned, his head held high and took a seat next to Mickey.

The hall remained silent for another couple of seconds, then Figgins spoke into the mic. "Okay! McKinley!" he said. "Proceed with having fun! New Directions, where is the music?"

Tina, Brittany and Rory quickly ran on stage and started to sing a song Ian didn't know. It was a lively number, thankfully. Ian glanced sideways at Mickey, who was smiling.

"That was really brave," Mickey told him.

"I might have to see a doctor about how quickly my heart is thumping," Ian joked.

Mickey laughed a little. "In all seriousness, though," he said. "I'm really proud of you for doing that."

"Thanks," Ian said, smiling. "I'm sorry I accused you of being in cahoots with them. I just lost it a little, I guess. I don't really think you're anything like them."

Mickey sighed a little. "I'm glad you don't," he informed him. "I try my best not to be."

"I don't think you have to try," Ian said, elbow brushing Mickey's. It was strange, being on show like that, up on a platform, with the rest of the world below. "Did Quinn go home?"

Mickey gave an inclination of his head. "Yeah," he said. "She had a bit of a breakdown, then threatened me and left. No different than usual," he shrugged his shoulders.

"You need a ride home?" Ian asked, hopefully.

"Yes, actually. Her dad dropped us off," Mickey told him. "But first, I think I'll have a few words with my good friends Noah, David and Kenneth."

"Mickey," Ian said, warningly. He didn't want Mickey to get in a fight over him. He was tired of fights and disputes and all of the drama. He just wanted to move on from it all. They would be out of there soon enough.

"I said 'a few words', Ian, not that I would 'break a few arms'," Mickey chuckled as Tina began her solo. "Relax."

Ian was unconvinced. He stayed quiet, just listening to the sound of Tina's almost soothing voice.

"I can't just let them get away with it," Mickey said, beside him.

"What's your excuse going to be?" Ian asked and Mickey reacted with a confused expression. "I mean, what explanation can you give for defending the gay kid?" Mickey was quiet and Ian heard him sighing in defeat. He knew, however, that it wasn't very likely that Mickey would let it go. "See?" Ian said. "I don't need you to defend me, even though I very much appreciate it. It's fine. Keep your fists to yourself. We're almost out of here."

"You mean, you are." Ian looked around at him quizzically. This probably wasn't the best time to have that conversation. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that," Mickey shook his head and inched closer to Ian, their arms pressed flush against each other. "I think it's a night for our field, Ian," he sighed, happily.

"Our field?" Ian asked, arching an eyebrow in question. "Since when is your field ours?"

"Since always," Mickey grinned. Ian sat back and nudged his arm closer to Mickey's. He didn't understand, but he decided there was no need for further comment. However, Mickey felt differently. "The field was never just meant for me, it was meant for you, too, because like I told you, it's always been you. It always will be."

Ian smiled, then, his heart skipping a little. "My boyfriend, the romantic," he teased.

"My boyfriend, the cynic," Mickey baited, his knee touching Ian's. Ian looked around. It didn't seem as if anyone was watching. "Your romantic boyfriend loves you, Ian Gallagher," Mickey smiled. Ian still felt awful about not saying he loved him back, but he didn't think the time was right, just yet. He would get there, eventually.

Ian nodded and gave Mickey a smile, then looked out into the crowd and listened to Tina still singing. He whispered, loudly over her voice, "Your cynical boyfriend knows."