Chapter 28:
Mickey blinked himself awake, the light bright and a little too much for his eyes to take. He allowed his eyes to get used to the intense glow, before taking in his surroundings, the frightening reality of everything that had happened the previous day hitting him hard.
Mickey swallowed hard and turned his head to the side to look at Ian, whose lips were parted, his eyes closed, soft snoring sounds drifting from his mouth. Mickey found himself smiling. It had been the first time they had slept together without actually sleeping together. Their clothes were still intact and it felt good, just to be there with Ian, just to have him back in his arms.
Mickey leaned across and flung his arms around Ian, pulling him close and Ian sprang upwards.
"What the—Oh," Ian stopped, eyebrows dropping. "Sorry, I forgot you were there—No. I didn't forget you were there, you just sort of—surprised me."
"Sorry," Mickey told him and tugged gently on his arm, urging him to lay back down. "I just remembered that you love me and I couldn't help myself."
Ian dropped back down to lay on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He smiled at Mickey and Mickey's heart stilled, then sped up.
"I'm so in love with you," Mickey told Ian, without thinking.
"'Makes two of us," Ian said, smile growing.
"You're so in love with you, too?" Mickey teased.
"Is this your way of making me say it?" Ian asked, one eyebrow lifting.
Mickey didn't say anything, just watched him with amused eyes.
"Fine," Ian smirked. "I'm sort of so in love with you, too. Like, so in love with you that I can't even get my head around it."
Mickey smiled, crookedly. "You're sure you're not just trying to get into my pants?"
"You're nervous about going to school," Ian said. "I know because you turned that into sex."
"Maybe," Mickey admitted, falling back into the pillows with a sigh. Mickey shut his eyes, his head spinning. He wished he didn't have to do this.
Mickey felt Ian shifting next to him, then opened his eyes and found him hovering above him, smiling. "I'll be there, you know," Ian told him. "I'll be there with you and you'll get through it, I promise. You'll see."
"Thank you," Mickey uttered, reaching up to pull Ian down, so that their bodies were flush against each other. "There's still my dad, though."
"I'll come with you," Ian told him, entwining his arms around Mickey's neck. "If you want me there, I'll come with you."
Mickey sighed and curled his arms around Ian's slender waist. "No," he said. "No, bad idea. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. It means a lot to me that you would be willing to do that, but.." Mickey trailed off and shook his head. "You don't know what he's like, what he's capable of. I don't even know what he's capable of. I need to do this by myself."
"Okay," Ian frowned, slightly. "God, you had better be okay."
Mickey didn't assure him that he would be. He simply exhaled, then pulled Ian's mouth down to meet his own, because sometimes, Ian made him forget and all he wanted to do was forget.
Blank stares, low whispers, judgmental eyes, unenviable silence, familiar white noise filling his mind, his ears, his head. He felt sick, sick for Mickey, for himself, for every other human being who had ever had to endure this and would have to endure it in the future. The world seemed to tilt in slow motion as they walked the halls in silence, side by side. Ian's legs felt heavy, as if he couldn't move any faster, as if he was walking in a humid climate, the hot air pulling him back, holding him down until he couldn't escape its clutches.
He glanced sideways at Mickey, who looked back at him. Ian couldn't read his expression, it was far too difficult, the world a blur, yet so easy to see at the same time. Ian could see the cluster of red letterman jackets standing by the lockers as they advanced down the halls. He heard Mickey take a deep breath, then exhale slowly and then Ian almost stopped still.
Mickey's warm fingers found his own and curled themselves around them.
"What are you—Are you crazy?" Ian asked, quietly. "Mickey, we're moving targets."
"Screw them," Mickey said. He nodded towards one of the football players kissing his girlfriend to their left. "If they can do it," he said, then nodded to the other side, at Rachel and Finn holding hands, "And they can do it," Mickey went on. "I don't see why we can't do it, too."
"You know exactly why," Ian muttered, but made no move to unlatch his fingers from Mickey's.
"Pull away if you can't do it," Mickey said.
"No, you're right," Ian said, tightening his grip. "We have as much of a right as the rest of them, right?"
"Totally," Mickey smiled, lifted his head and they strode by the footballers, smiling, leaving them to gape after them.
"Faggots!" someone called after them.
Ian felt Mickey's arm curling around his waist as they reached the end of the hall.
"Do you have a death wish?" Ian smiled, glancing at Mickey out of the corner of his eye.
"No, quite the opposite, actually," Mickey informed him. "This is my life and if I want to walk down the hallway holding my boyfriend's hand, I'm going to walk down the hallway holding my boyfriend's hand."
"You make a valid argument," Ian grinned.
"Absolutely," Mickey told him, then smiled. "Besides, we are royalty, after all."
"Mickey Milkovich."
Mickey turned to see Kenneth Iggyerman coming towards him. Mickey rolled his hazel eyes and sighed. He guessed an encounter with Kenny was inevitable.
"I see you're not wearing the jacket any more," Kenny pointed out. Mickey nodded. He had taken it off after having arrived at the field and he had no intentions of putting it back on. He was done with the football team, done with all of them.
"Heard you made quite the confession yesterday," Kenny grinned, once he was within touching distance. "I was devastated when I heard I had missed it."
"Do you want me to repeat it all?" Mickey deadpanned.
"No, I got the gist of it, Milkovich," Kenny shook his head. "I also heard about you and Gallagher. Trouble in paradise?"
"No, we're perfectly fine, thank you," Mickey said. "I didn't know you were that invested in our relationship, but thanks for your concern."
Kenny chuckled a bit.
"How about you?" Mickey smirked. "How goes your blossoming love with David Karofsky?"
Kenny was frowning now, his eyes slitting a little. "It's just sex," he stated. "Which brings me to my proposal."
"You're proposing to Karofsky?" Mickey smiled. "How precious. I would go with a simple, white-gold band, nothing too flashy. He doesn't really seem like the type of guy who's into diamonds, does he?"
"Shut up, Milkovich!" Kenny groaned. "Stop being such an asshole and hear me out."
Mickey rolled his eyes and slammed his locker door shut, then leaned against it, waiting for Kenny to go on.
"So, since things between me and Gallagher didn't work out and since Karofsky fucking sucks," Kenny began. "You and I should totally fuck, or something."
Mickey choked and then burst into laughter. "Are you serious?" Mickey coughed. "Are you—Oh my God, you want to sleep with me? Really?"
"Take it or leave it, Milkovich, I don't have all day."
"I'll leave it," Mickey said, quickly. "Not a chance, Kenny. Not in a million years."
Kenny gave him a half-shrug, then turned on his heel and walked away. Mickey smiled. At least he had gotten a laugh out of today.
"Mickey, sit with us."
Ian looked up from his lunch and saw that Finn had spoken. He turned around, following Finn's gaze and found himself looking at Mickey, who was sitting a table over, by himself.
"Yeah, Mickey, what the hell?" Ian said. "Get over here."
Mickey wore a stunned expression, his cheeks flushing slightly, now that the entire glee club were watching him, waiting for a response.
"I couldn't. I—"
"Mickey," Tina said. "You're part of this club. Come sit with us."
"Yeah, come on, Mickey," Brittany smiled. "I think I figured out how they get the 'm's on the M & Ms! Look, I'll explain it to you!"
Everyone went silent for a split second, then Santana shook her head. "Come on, elf, get over here. I want to ask you about your diet, because I think you need to drink more milk. Makes you taller."
Mickey smiled, crookedly, then looked across at Ian, who smiled back. Mickey stood up and slid in next to Ian and everyone went back to their own conversations.
"Mickey."
They looked up to see Rachel looking across at Mickey.
"Hey, Rachel," Mickey muttered.
"I want you to know we accept you for who you are and that you were really brave yesterday," she nodded. "I have two gay dads."
"Oh," Mickey said. "Oh, um, thanks. Cool."
Ian rolled his eyes and took a sip of his water. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Uh, okay, I guess," Mickey told him. "Someone spray painted my locker."
Ian looked up at him, questioningly. Mickey nodded. "Neon fucking orange," he shook his head.
"What does it say?" Mercedes asked on the other side of Ian. "Or do I even need to ask?"
"I'll give you three guesses," Mickey smiled, slightly. Ian nodded, knowingly. "In other news," Mickey went on. "Kenny Iggyerman asked me to sleep with him."
Ian choked on his water. Mercedes had to pat him on the back several times, until he caught his breath. Ian cleared his throat. "Did—did he really?"
Mickey nodded. "Yes," he smiled. "Be jealous."
Ian chuckled. "Oh, I am," he joked.
"I say you have a threesome," Santana grinned.
"I've lost my appetite," Ian said, pushing his tray away from him.
Mickey was smiling next to him as he picked at his salad. "On the up side, I haven't heard from Quinn," Mickey said.
"Always a good thing," Ian nodded.
Loud laughter erupted through the room then and everyone looked up and over at the door. Iggy, Karofsky, Azimio and Kenny had entered the canteen and were heading for their usual table. Ian felt Mickey go rigid next to him.
"It's okay," Ian whispered, reaching for Mickey's hand under the table. Mickey nodded and looked back down into his food.
Ian looked up and saw that they had disappeared and were probably seated at their table now, but then he heard footsteps behind him. He twisted his neck around and saw Iggyerman standing there, grinning.
"You giving him a handjob under there, Gallagher?"
Ian rolled his eyes and looked away, then he felt, heard and smelled the spray paint. He turned to see Iggy holding out a small can, dripping with neon-orange paint. He was spraying it on Ian's back. Ian jumped up in protest. Iggy was in hysterics laughing and Mickey stood up and looked at Ian's back.
"It's fine," Ian muttered, even though the paint was probably never going to come out.
Before Ian could turn to look at Mickey, he was across the hall and pushing Iggy hard down against someone's table, food trays falling and milk spilling in the process. The spray paint can hit the floor and Mercedes grabbed it and flung it in the bin.
"Dude," Ian heard Iggy saying.
"Mickey, leave it," Ian said. He didn't want him getting in trouble over this. Ian had had way worse things happen to him in the past.
"I'm tired of you," Mickey growled. "I'm sick and fucking tired of you acting like you're better than everyone. "What do you get out of doing this, Noah? Is your life so sad that you have to make yourself feel better by making others feel bad?"
"Milkovich," Iggy choked out as Mickey gripped his shirt hard. "Mickey. Dude, let me go."
"I think you owe my boyfriend an apology."
"Mickey, leave it, it's oka—"
"No, Ian," Mickey shouted back. "No, it's not okay. It's not okay that they think they can get away with doing this. We're not going to sit back and accept abuse just because we like guys instead of girls. No, this stops now, Iggyerman."
Mickey raised his arm and was about to punch Iggy, but Ian moved forward and grabbed his elbow. Mickey looked at him, quizzically.
"This won't solve anything," Ian told Mickey. "It's never going to stop, Mickey and punching him isn't going to make a difference. Punching him isn't going to make him stop being homophobic."
Mickey's face fell and Ian gave him a small nod.
"Come on, don't," Ian said. "Homophobia is always going to be there, you just have to be the better person and try not to let it bother you."
Mickey's face contorted a little and he glanced down at Iggy, then back up at Ian.
"Yeah," Mickey said. "Well, I'm tired of being the better person."
Mickey looked back down at Iggy, angrily. "Come near me, or Ian, or any of the glee club again and you and I are both going to regret it, Iggyerman."
Mickey let Iggy go and Iggy scrambled away, muttering something about him being crazy. Ian sighed and pushed Mickey gently back into his seat. He sat next to him.
"You should have let me punch him," Mickey told Ian.
"He's not worth it," Ian said.
Mickey frowned. "How much was this worth?" He reached up and toyed with the collar of Ian's shirt, the back of it covered in neon-orange spray paint.
"Way more than him," Ian smiled, sadly.
"Hey, Mickey," Artie said on the other side of the table. "That was fierce, yo!"
Mickey gave him a smile and then looked back to Ian. "Did you bring extra clothes?"
"Don't I always?" Ian grinned.
"Let's go get you changed and I can get rid of my anger by kissing you until I can't feel my lips."
"You always say the most romantic things."
"Mickey, the—ungh—Mickey," Ian tried to tilt his head away so that Mickey's lips couldn't reach him, but Mickey was relentless, like a hyper puppy that wanted to play. His hands were taking every inch of Ian's body, his breathing a little laboured. He followed Ian's lips with his own and Ian kept on finding himself giving it and just allowing Mickey a couple more minutes.
Ian sighed as Mickey kissed him frantically, like it was his final day and all he wanted to do was kiss him until his time was up. But Ian didn't want to think about that. He reached up and made a grab for Mickey's hands, which seemed to be exploring various parts of Ian's body over his clothes. Mickey crushed his body to Ian's and Ian tried to speak, but Mickey swallowed his words.
Ian finally took control and turned Mickey around so that he was pressed to the wall instead. Mickey leaned up to catch Ian's mouth with his own again and they kissed briefly and sloppily and then Ian tore his mouth away and held Mickey down by the shoulders.
"We—we should st-stop," he stuttered, breathing heavily.
"No, we shouldn't," Mickey tried to move forward again, but Ian leaned into him, keeping him down. "We should never stop," Mickey breathed.
"You're nuts," Ian smiled a bit.
"What about my nuts?" Mickey raised one eyebrow, then reached down and traced the line of Ian's semi-hard cock through his tight jeans. Ian swallowed hard. "Let me do this," Mickey whispered, eyes darkening. "You can't go to class like this, people will stare and I don't like when people stare at you."
Ian smiled crookedly at his boyfriend. "Cute," he said. "But we still can't. This is a public toilet, not to mention the fact that we're at school."
Mickey's hands found Ian's hips and he rocked him forward so that their crotches were in line.
"Come on, pretty boy," Mickey said into Ian's ear, his hand grazing the back of his thigh, just below the swell of his ass. "You know you want to."
Ian opened his mouth to protest, but all that came was shaky breaths as Mickey's fingers slid up the line of his jeans that was covering the crack of his ass.
"Bl—don't," Ian said in a strangled voice, Mickey's fingers sliding to the underside of his ass and then moving to rest between his thighs, far too close for comfort. "Don't."
"I'd stop if I knew you meant that," Mickey whispered, teeth brushing Ian's neck, slowly. "Tell me you don't want to and I'll stop."
"I.." Ian trailed off, voice breaking because Mickey's erection was against his thigh and Mickey was grinding himself into him. "I—yeah. D-Don't stop. But—mmh—but don't—not here. I only brought one change of p-pants."
Before Ian had even finished that sentence, Mickey was pushing him inside a narrow cubicle and shutting them both inside.
"Mickey, this is—oh, God, what are you—Mickey!"
Ian watched, his blue eyes wide, as Mickey threw his bag down, dropped to his knees, falling to kneel on the bag, and began to undo the button at the top of Ian's jeans.
"Blai—" Ian tried, once his jeans and underwear were around his ankles, but he didn't finish what he had wanted to say, because Mickey had shoved his fingers in his mouth. He began to pull back, but then Mickey was pushing his mouth down over Ian's erection and his left hand was pressed to Ian's ass. He slid one finger to flick over Ian's opening and then Ian knew where this was going, so he sucked Mickey's fingers into his mouth.
"You should see yourself right now," Mickey said, once he had removed his mouth, much to Ian's dismay. "If I had a camera.."
"Mickey, shut up," Ian said, spitting Mickey's fingers out. "Shut up and do what you do best."
Mickey grinned and did as Ian obliged. Ian's parted his feet and then Mickey's wet fingers were working to push inside him, his mouth finding his cock again.
"Wh-what if someone c-comes in?" Ian exhaled.
"Then they'll have the pleasure of listening to you making those sounds," Mickey uttered, looking up at him.
"Sounds?" Ian asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "What s-sound—ahh!"
Mickey's finger was all the way inside him, his body throbbing with both pain and pleasure.
"Those sounds," Mickey smiled, mischievously.
"Fuck you," Ian managed to breathe out.
"Ooh, do you want to?" Mickey grinned, retracting his finger slowly, then pushing back in too quickly. Ian's body spasmed.
"Bastard," Ian mumbled. "Stop being so cocky."
"Ian," Mickey smirked. "Ian, say 'cocky' again."
Ian rolled his eyes and his breath caught as Mickey's fingers worked themselves inside him. He reached down and placed a hand on the back of Mickey's head.
"Stop talking and put your mouth to better use."
"As you wish, my prince."
"Promise me you'll contact me the second you can," Ian said, unlatching his mouth from Mickey's. They were in Ian's car, still in the school parking lot. Everyone else had gone home already.
"Ian," Mickey said, leaning back a bit and running his thumb across Ian's wrist. "I swear to you that if I live through this, I will call you instantly."
"Don't say that," Ian frowned down at him.
Mickey smiled and reached up to lay a hand on Ian's cheek. "Will you stop worrying?" I'll be fine, he wanted to say, but he wasn't about to lie to Ian. He had no idea if he would be fine, in fact, if he had to put money on it, he would predict that he would not be fine, at all, but he didn't want to worry Ian any more than he already had. "Look, what's the worst that can happen?—Actually, forget I asked that.."
"Let me come with you," Ian said. Mickey shook his head. "Mickey, come on, I can't go home knowing something might happen—"
"Ian," Mickey said, firmly. "Ian. Seriously. Don't do this. Don't make me feel guilty for making you worry."
"Oh, like I can just stop worrying in the blink of an eye?" Ian said, voice raising. "Fucking hell, Mickey."
"I know," Mickey said, softly. "I know. I'm sorry. Hey, look at me." Mickey tilted Ian's head so that their eyes met again. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't want you to worry about me. Be strong for both of us, okay?"
Ian sighed and nodded. "You know I'm going to kill you if you let your anger get the better of you and force his hand, right?"
"Are you saying I have anger issues?" Mickey smirked.
"Are you saying you don't?" Ian asked, smiling, but it didn't reach his beautiful eyes. "I'm serious, though, Mickey. And when I text you, you had better reply within two minutes, or I'm coming over."
"What would I do without you?" Mickey smiled, pulling Ian's mouth down over his own again.
Ian pulled back and frowned down at Mickey's crotch against Ian's stomach. "You'd end up in hospital with a severe case of carpal tunnel, methinks," Ian said, then smiled, "Seriously, when are you not horny?"
"Tell me you love me and I promise I'll go away," Mickey said, smiling, slightly. He had to go home and face it all some time.
"But I don't want you to go away," Ian said, smile disappearing.
"Tell me you love me anyway?" Mickey asked, entwining their fingers around each other.
"I love you."
To: Ian at 5.37 P.M.
He doesn't know.
To: Mickey at 5.37 P.M.
Seriously?
To: Ian at 5.38 P.M.
Seriously. I walked right by him when I got in and he smiled at me. SMILED AT ME, Ian. He's having one of his 'act like a responsible husband and father' days. He doesn't know.
To: Mickey at 5.39 P.M.
So.. You're not going to tell him?
To: Ian at 5.40 P.M.
No, I'm still telling him. No more lies, right?
To: Mickey at 5.40 P.M.
Yeah. Yeah, no more lies.
To: Ian at 5.41 P.M.
I can actually FEEL you worrying through text. Go do something to distract yourself. I'll call you afterwards.
To: Mickey at 5.42 P.M.
Few things could distract me from this, Mickey.
To: Ian at 5.43 P.M.
I bet I could give you some interesting suggestions ;)
To: Mickey at 5.44 P.M.
You're doing it again. Okay, go. Do it. I'll be waiting. I love you, okay? Like, a lot.
To: Ian at 5.45 P.M.
Yeah, okay. Try not to worry too much, okay? I love you, too. Like, a lot a lot.
To: Ian at 5.48 P.M.
I love you, Ian.
To: Mickey at 5.48 P.M.
I love you, too, Mickey.
"Mom, dad?" Mickey said, voice shaky, as he walked into the kitchen.
His dad was sitting at the table reading the newspaper and his mom was pressing buttons on the microwave. It started up, that soft buzzing sound filling the air.
"Mickey, honey," his mom said, smiling. "What's wrong?"
"Can I.. Can I talk to you both?" Mickey said, trying to sound confident, but his insides were like jelly.
Mickey's dad looked up, frowning slightly. He folded the paper and laid it down in front of him. His mom came and sat down at the table, so Mickey sat down, too.
"I have something to tell you—"
"Is Quinn pregnant?" his mom asked, looking alarmed.
"Wh-what? No—I mean, yes, she is, but—no, that has nothing to, um, do with me—no."
"What do you mean it has nothing to do with you?" his mom asked. "Mickey, if Quinn is—"
"Mom," Mickey said, firmly. "Mom, Quinn is not having my baby."
Mickey watched his mother's face twisting in confusion, her dark eyes slitting, quizzically.
"Care to explain that, Mickey?"
Mickey turned at the sound of his father's voice. It always sent tremors all through him, shaking him to the core even if he knew there was no reason to be afraid sometimes.
"Um," Mickey said. "She—Quinn—she and Iggy—Noah Iggyerman—they've been, um, seeing one another and—and Quinn is pregnant w-with his baby."
"Oh, Bl—"
Mickey's dad spoke over his mom. "Why did you let that happen?"
"Because I don't care," Mickey said, simply. His parents stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then Mickey cleared his throat. "So, uh, about this thing I wanted to tell you.."
"I'm not sure I want to hear it," Mickey's dad said.
Mickey's heart was beating too quickly. His hands were sweating and he was finding it difficult to breathe. "Regardless, dad," Mickey said. "I need you both to know."
His dad sighed, as if he was bored and his mom simply sat there with her hands folded on the table in front of her. Mickey took a deep breath. This was it. After this, there wouldn't be any more lies. After this, he was free of the dead weight holding him down. He had to do this no matter how hard his hands were shaking. This was it.
"Mom, dad," Mickey said, slowly. "I'm gay."
A millennium of loud silence seemed to pass then, loud because there wasn't a sound, but nothingness seemed to hum annoyingly in his ears. Mickey let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, then looked up at his mother and father. His mom looked stunned. His dad looked angered. Mickey swallowed.
"Say something," he urged, timidly.
"You're not gay, Mickey," his mom shook her head.
"Mom—"
"Mickey," she said, firmly. "You're not gay."
Mickey closed his mouth and just sat there, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Nothing did, at least not for another long period of silence.
"Those rumours David Karofsky apparently spread around about you and that—that boy you're working with for English..They were true?" Mickey's dad asked and Mickey was surprised he wasn't angrier.
"Yeah," Mickey admitted. "Ian—that's his name, the boy, I mean—we—he and I.. He's my b—"
"Don't."
"Dad, I—"
"Mickey," his father said, with a sort of controlled patience. "I said don't."
Mickey stopped and closed his mouth, but then something triggered inside of him. Why shouldn't he? He had every right to speak. Just because he liked boys instead of girls didn't mean he was any less of a person.
"Actually, dad," Mickey spoke up. "I kind of want to talk, get this out in the open."
"You'll do no such thing!" his father said, still rather calm. "We are going to fix this mess, Mickey. No one needs to know that you had this moment of confusion. We'll fi—"
"Moment of confusion?" Mickey asked, not believing he had actually said those words. "Dad, I'm not confused, not any more. I know who I am and I know who I want to be with and you know what? Everyone else knows, too."
"Everyone already... Mickey. What did you do?" his dad demanded, now losing his temper.
"I came out, dad," Mickey told him. "I told them the truth, because I'm sick of lies. I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm not." He turned to look at his mom, who looked a little lost. "You're quiet," he told her.
"You're not gay, Mickey," she told him, adamantly. "You're not."
"Mom," Mickey said, shifting so that he was facing her completely. "Mom, I am. I'm gay. I'm in love with a boy. Ian—he—he's perfect, mom. I—"
"STOP," his mom shouted. "Stop, Mickey. Stop."
Mickey sighed, tiredly. He didn't know what else he could do. "Look, I can just leave, whatever," he said, standing up. "It's not like this is my favourite place in the world anyway.."
"SIT DOWN!"
Mickey sat, on instinct, his father's voice pulsating through his body, making his heart race and his stomach twist painfully.
"Now, we are going to say you made a mistake, Mickey," his dad apprised him. "We're going to talk to the Fabrays about you and Quinn and we can fix this."
"Dad!" Mickey said, loudly. "I don't want to talk to the Fabrays about me and Quinn, okay? There isn't anything to fix! I'm in love with Ian! This is ridiculous!"
Mickey's father's fist came crashing down on the table. Both Mickey and his mom flinched and Mickey couldn't help thinking that had to have hurt. Good, he thought.
"This is your English teacher's fault! If she hadn't paired you with that faggot, you would be perfectly normal!"
"You're blaming a half hour, twice a week in the library discussing the life and trials of Jane Eyre for me being gay?" Mickey asked and he couldn't force back the small, amused smile that was dancing on his lips. "Dad, meeting Ian now has nothing to do with my sexuality. I was going to be gay, regardless. People don't just make you gay, it's just who you are. And I am normal, dad. I'm the exact same person I was before I knew I liked boys."
"It's unnatural, Mickey!"
"Oh, seriously?" Mickey groaned. "Lots of things are unnatural, dad. Freaking hair gel is unnatural, but you still insist on me wearing it every day because it makes me look 'put together'."
"That's not the same thing and you know it!"
"Can we have a civilised conversation without you throwing things and shouting? Please?" Mickey asked. he was sick of trying to shout over his dad.
"Don't y—"
"Dad," Mickey said, loudly. "I can't talk to you if you're going to be like this."
Mickey's dad sat down, his face flushing with anger and frustration. Mickey saw him clenching and unclenching his fists.
"I don't even know where to begin with this," Mickey sighed. "Look, I should hate you, shouldn't I? I mean, let's be honest, I should despise you for everything you've done, but I don't. I don't know why I can't, but I can't and whatever, I can deal with that, but dad, I won't deal with the abuse any more. I'm sick of the bruises and the concussions and the headaches and the years of tears I have shoved down because you didn't deserve my tears."
Mickey's dad opened his mouth, his eyes wild, but Mickey went on.
"So many times I dialled 911, but I hung up the second the operator picked up, because I was too scared. What would happen once you were gone? What would the neighbours think? What would calling the police mean for us as a family? I don't know. I never thought past that, but now, I could do it. I could pick up that phone and I could call the cops, because I don't care what the neighbours think any more, dad. I don't care that you would get put away for this. I don't care what it would do to this family, because this isn't really a family, is it?"
Nobody said anything, so Mickey just took a deep breath and kept going, his heart racing.
"You're supposed to love and care in a family. You don't care about me or mom, all you care about is what other people think. You should be able to love me no matter who I love, but you can't, which makes me think you never really loved me in the first place, which I knew already. But I can't and I won't live in fear of you any more."
Mickey looked back to his mom. "Mom, I know you care too much about people, too, but seriously, they don't matter. I'm happy to tell the world who I am and who I am is a boy who is in love with another boy."
"No, Mickey—"
"Yes, mom," Mickey corrected. "I'll—I'll let you meet him. You'll see."
"No one wants to meet him, Mickey," Mickey's dad spat out. "No one wants to see you holding hands with a fag—"
"Faggot," Mickey said, slowly. "I've had that word flung at me all day, dad and it doesn't really hurt me any more, it's just a word. I've had 'fag' spray painted on my locker, which, whatever, it'll wash off and even if it doesn't, I'm nearly out of there. The thing is, those people who used that word, they're going to keep throwing that insult around, when in actual fact, it just makes them look stupid. Yeah, maybe I'll have to listen to it every day for the rest of my life, or something, but after a while, it tends to get boring. If it doesn't bother me, these people are just wasting their breath, because I don't care. The world is changing, it's time to move with it."
His dad seemed speechless. He sat there scowling, as if he'd just been kicked in the stomach.
"You always said Quinn was perfect for me, but it turns out, she's sort of a bitch," Mickey said. "She went and slept with my best friend, dad. Not so perfect, right? I mean, don't get me wrong, none of us are perfect, but I am so sick of having Quinn this and Quinn that shoved down my throat, when Quinn and I never even liked each other. It's not like that now. I know what it's like to love someone. I never loved Quinn."
"Mickey, Quinn is such a nice girl—"
"Mom," Mickey sighed. "She blackmailed me. She lied to me and told me she was having my baby. She's crazy."
"The Fabrays are a respectable family, Mickey, that's rude," his father told him. He seemed calm again. That was a good thing.
"Okay, sure," Mickey rolled his eyes. "I have something else to tell you."
"Oh, here we go—"
"Yeah, dad, here we go," Mickey nodded. "I didn't apply to any colleges. I hate playing football. I quit the team, I'm done with it. I don't know what I want to do, but I'll figure it out."
"You've thrown your future away?" his dad exploded. So much for being calm, Mickey thought. "All because of a gay boy you met at school?"
"No," Mickey said. "No, this wasn't about Ian. Yeah, he helped me see what I hadn't seen before. He helped me see who I am and what I want and don't want, but I'm glad he did, because I would have wound doing something I hated. It isn't his fault, it's mine. I chose to do this and I'd do it again."
Mickey didn't add the fact that he would have done some research into schools near Ian, because his dad would have rubbed that in his face.
"Anyway, now you know. Everything," Mickey said, standing up. "I'm going to go get some clothes and leave, because clearly this isn't going to work."
"No, you're not," Mickey's dad said. "We're fixing this."
"There isn't anything to—"
"YES, THERE IS, Mickey!" hiss dad shouted, angrily. "EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE FIXED!"
Mickey sighed. He hated this, hated when his dad got like this. "Well, maybe I don't want anything to be 'fixed'! Maybe I just want to go on kissing my boyfriend and being happy, for once in my God damned life."
"Being gay is wrong, Mickey! You're a disgrace to this family! You're disgusting and you need to stop it before it's too late!"
Mickey took slow, even breaths, trying to calm his nerves, his temper. "Disgracing this family was all down to you, dad. You're the violent one. You're the one we all tip-toe around, because we don't want you to have another episode. You're the one sleeping with your secretary, or whoever she is. You're the one that makes this family what it is: A joke. You're the reason mom is the way she is. You're the reason for everything bad that's happened here. I can't handle it any more. I can't pretend like everything is okay when it's really not. I can't pretend I love playing football and that I like girls, just because that's who you think I should be. I like glee, I like boys and I love Ian and I can't change that and I won't hide it."
"Then leave!"
"You realise I just tried to leave twice and you told me to sit back down, right?"
"Don't talk back to me!" his dad all but growled. "You're a disappointment to this family, Mickey! To me and your mother!"
"I kind of hope I am a disappointment to you, dad," Mickey told him. "Because if I've done anything that has lived up to your expectations, then I should be ashamed of myself, because that means I've been a liar. Nothing that you want me to be is who I am, so good. I hope you're disappointed in me."
"It's wrong, you know," his dad told him. "Being with this boy. It's wrong. Your mother told you it was wrong when you were younger, you should have registered that."
Mickey turned and looked at his mom. "That time I asked you about the prince in the tower," Mickey said. "Did you know?"
She didn't say anything, simply looked down at her hands.
"Mom," Mickey said, softly. "Did you? Did you know before I did?"
"Yes," she uttered. "I tried to snap you out of it! I did! I tried my best! And when you started dating Quinn, I thought it had worked. Mickey, please stop this. Stop it for me."
"I can't just stop, mom," he sighed. "I can't. This is who I am and I have to be who I really am. For me. If you don't like it, okay. There's nothing I can do about that. It doesn't mean I'm going to change. I couldn't if I wanted to."
Mickey stood up and took a deep breath.
"Where will you go?" his mom asked, curiously.
"That boy's obviously," his dad spat out, face twisting in disgust.
"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "Yeah, I'll go to Ian's, if his dad will have me and I think he will. He's so supportive of Ian, proud of him, he loves him. I'm glad he has that, because I couldn't bear to see someone I love suffering because of ignorance and anger. So, thanks dad, thanks for making most of my life a misery."
Mickey spun around towards the door and began walking towards it, when he felt himself being shoved a little, as his father stormed by. Mickey lost his balance and tripped. He tried to grab for something, but found only thin air. He hit the ground, his head coming down on the pointed corner of the marble fireplace.
He stayed there, cursing his life for a good ten minutes, his head throbbing painfully. He reached up and his hand came away red. This was great. Mickey pulled himself up and continued on out the door, wobbling a little. He got in his car and the world slipped sideways and he didn't know what to do.
Mickey felt his pocket buzzing then and he took his phone out and blinked down at the screen.
4 MISSED CALLS FROM: Ian.
He hit the green calling button and pressed the phone to his ear, the one on the side of his head that wasn't injured. It only rang once before Ian answered.
"Mickey?"
"Ian," Mickey said.
"Are you okay? You sound.. Mickey?"
"Think you can come over and pick me up?" Mickey asked and it hurt when he opened his mouth to wide.
"I'm on my way," Ian said and Mickey heard him closing doors. "Are you okay?"
"Just dandy," Mickey said.
There was a short pause and Mickey knew that Ian wasn't convinced.
"Give me ten minutes, babe."
"What the.. Mickey?" Ian felt the cold panic sweeping through his body as he pulled Mickey's car door open and saw him sitting there, looking dazed, a large gash on the side of his head. "Wh-what happened?"
"I tripped," Mickey said, groggily.
"Right," Ian said. "Let's get you out of there."
"Ian, seriously, I did. I tripped," Mickey told Ian once they were back at his house. They were in the kitchen and Ian was washing his wound. Mickey kept wincing in agony.
"I don't get why you would lie to me."
"Ian, I'm not lying, I—ow!—he flew past me too quickly when I wasn't expecting it and he hit off me, but I tripped a fell."
"So, you think he just did it by mistake," Ian deadpanned.
"I honestly do."
"Jesus, Mickey," Ian sighed. "Your head is split open."
"Think I need a doctor?"
"I don't know," Ian said, worriedly. "I'm going to call my dad."
"It's sort of deep, but it's just a cut," Frank said, studying Mickey's head. "Should I go ro—"
"No!" Mickey said, quickly, then blushed. "I mean, no. It's okay. He—I just tripped, I promise."
Frank didn't look convinced and Ian groaned, tiredly, but they let it go. "Okay," Ian said. "I'll wrap it up and then we can go downstairs."
Frank nodded. "You want anything?"
"I'm good," Ian said, wrapping a small bandage across Mickey's head. "What about you?" he asked him.
"No, thank you," Mickey said. "I just—Are you sure you don't mind me here?"
"Don't be silly," Frank said. "Whenever you need to stay, stay."
"Thank you," Mickey said again. Frank shrugged and disappeared out of the room. Frank Gallagher was the nicest man he knew. "When I grow up, I want to be your dad, Ian."
Ian scoffed a bit. "That," he told Mickey. "Is all kinds of disturbing."
"Kiss me."
"Mickey," Ian said, warningly. "You're in pain."
"Yeah, but you're beautiful and you should kiss me."
Ian wavered a bit. No one had ever called him beautiful before. Mickey had said it while they were having sex and when he was drunk, but he had never simply looked at him and said it like he meant it.
"I—no one's ever called me that before," he said, quietly.
"What? Beautiful?" Mickey asked, as if he didn't believe him. "Are you crazy? have I never told you that before? Am I crazy?"
Ian smiled and inched closer, so that their shoulders were touching. "I think you're delirious, Mickey." He had taken strong pain killers, they were clearly impacting on him.
"Why won't you kiss me?" Mickey asked. "Is it because I'm homeless? You won't kiss a homeless guy? God. I'm going to have to live under that bridge with that guy... Brett. Or outside the post office with Patches and we can bark at people together. I'm excited."
Ian chuckled and grabbed Mickey's hand. "Brett doesn't live under a bridge, he just smells homeless," Ian pointed out. "And anyway, you're not homeless. You can stay here."
"What good is staying here going to do if you won't even kiss me?" Mickey pouted.
Ian rolled his eyes and leaned across and kissed him. "Happy?"
"You're pretty," Mickey smiled, eyes half lidded, just small glints of gold peeking out from beneath his sallow lids, framed by those dark lashes.
"I should give you painkillers all the time," Ian joked. "So many compliments."
"You deserve to know you're perfect," Mickey smiled. "Plus, I'm not that drugged."
Ian smiled at him. He looked so young lying there, with the white bandage around his head, wearing a pair of Ian's pyjamas, which were too long on him. He looked so adorable.
"Do you feel better?" Ian asked. "That you had it out with them?"
"I'll tell you when I can feel my head again," Mickey grimaced. "I suppose sex is out of the question?" he asked, looking up at Ian hopefully.
"Completely out of the question," Ian said, adamantly.
Mickey sighed and laid his head back on the pillows carefully. He made a small hissing sound when he turned his head.
"Are you okay?" Ian asked, concerned.
"Fine," Mickey nodded. "I can't believe I tripped like that."
Ian rolled his eyes. "Right."
"I know you don't believe me, but I tripped. He moved swiftly by me and I tripped over my own feet."
"Okay," Ian nodded. He reached down and grabbed Mickey's hand that was making its way towards Ian's inner thigh. "Look, you've been through a lot today. Let's just not for tonight. Just be here, sleep, cry, whatever you want to do."
"I won't cry," Mickey told him.
"You can if you want to, you know that, right?"
"I know," Mickey nodded. "But I don't have any reason to cry. It could have gone a million times worse and I expected it to. He doesn't deserve my tears, he never has. All I did was tell the truth and I'm not going to cry because they didn't like it."
"Have I told you I loved you today?" Ian smiled.
"Yes, but I think you should tell me again." Mickey smirked.
"I love you."
"Even though I'm homeless?"
Ian rolled is blue eyes. "Yes, Mickey, even though you're homeless."
"What happens when homeless people are horny?"
"Oh my God, Mickey," Ian breathed.
"I'm serious, though," Mickey reasoned. "It's not like they can just whip it ou—"
"Mickey!"
"You should just like, kiss me again."
"Seems like the only way to shut you up," Ian muttered, as he bent to press his lips to Mickey's again. Ian pulled back and then Mickey was pushing him down. Ian looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"You're going to hurt yourself," he told Mickey.
"Guess what?"
"What?" Ian asked, smiling.
"You called me babe on the phone today."
"Did I?" Ian asked, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I was caught up in the moment, I was worried about you."
Mickey sighed and pulled Ian down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss was deeper, longer, more breath-taking.
"You should stop making excuses," Mickey whispered.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ian smiled, sadly. "You've been through so much over the past couple of days."
"Are you kidding?" Mickey grinned and it appeared to hurt. "I'm finally free!"
Ian felt Mickey's hand resting on the small of his back, then and something kissed his skin where his shirt had slid up. He leaned back and took Mickey's hand to see what had happened. He saw the bracelet then and his smile faded.
"You didn't take it off."
"No," Mickey said. "Why would I?"
"Because I threw mine back at you." He chewed his bottom lip.
"So I can give it back to you," Mickey shrugged, then he was humming. It took Ian a few seconds to figure out what the song was, then he realised it was the song on the bracelet, 'Sideways'. "You know, I kept wishing everything I felt for you would go away," Mickey said, studying his bracelet. "I know they never will. I don't want them to. Ever."
"You want to keep getting knocked sideways for the rest of your life?" Ian smirked.
"Absolutely," Mickey told him. "You know what else we can do sideways, Ian?" Mickey raised an eyebrow mischievously.
"No, Mickey," Ian smiled.
"I was just kidding," Mickey smiled back. "Go put on a movie."
"Okay," Ian said. "What movie?"
"Um," Mickey looked thoughtful. "A horror movie."
"Why?" Ian asked. "Hasn't your day been horrible enough?"
Mickey rolled his eyes, then stopped. "Ouch, I forgot I couldn't do that," he muttered. "Anyway, I was hoping you were kind of scared of horror and would end up having to curl up in my arms.
"You think I need a horror movie to do that?" Ian asked.
"You don't?" Mickey asked and Ian shook his head. "Well, in that case, scrap the movie. Get over here and hold me because my life sucks."
Ian went up closer and encompassed his waist with his arms.
"Well," Mickey said, smiling now. "Not every part of it sucks. At least, not unless I ask nicely."
"Were those paracetamol or Viagra?" Ian chuckled.
"I don't need Viagra to want you, baby."
"Baby, huh?" Ian raised an eyebrow, his heart stammering a little.
"If you get babe, I get baby," Mickey said, his fingers playing with Ian's hair.
"Okay," Ian said, carefully. "In that case, I love you, babe."
"And I love you, baby," Mickey grinned. "See? We make a great team."
"Mickey?"
"What?"
"You are high."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."