Chapter 31:
"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Mercedes asked, sounding sceptical.
Ian sighed. "Mercedes," he said. "I love him and he loves me. Of course, I'm sure."
"Well, okay," Mercedes said. "You still have time to turn him down if you change your mind."
"It's prom, not a wedding," Ian shook his head and pressed the phone to his other ear. "Anyway, he's been turned down by everyone lately; His mom, his dad, life. I'm not going to turn him down, too. Besides, I want to go. Why is it a bad thing that I want to go to prom with the guy I love? Mickey and I don't have forever, we're going to make the most of what little time we do have."
Mercedes was silent for a few seconds, then she sighed. "You're right," she told him. "I just don't want you getting hurt."
"Not possible," Ian assured her, because it was true. He was hurting enough already. Another night with Mickey wasn't going to make it any worse than it already was.
"'Morning, Mickey!" Carole Hudson said, cheerily, when Mickey walked into the kitchen before school. "I hope you slept okay."
Mickey gave Carole a broad smile. Carole had been so welcoming when Finn had convinced Mickey to come and stay over at his house for a while. He could see why Ian's dad would like her and she looked nothing like Finn in a dress, which was comforting.
"I slept really well, actually," he told Carole. "Thanks again for letting me stay here."
Mickey had slept better than he had slept in a long time. The last time he had slept so well was when he had stayed at Ian's. Since then, he had been staying at various members of the glee club's houses, which he was grateful for, but he hadn't really gotten a good night's sleep at any of them.
"No problem," Carole grinned. "Have a seat. What would you like to eat? Or—Yes, I'll just put some different things on the table and you can take whatever you want. That's what I do with Finn. He eats like a horse," she said with a chuckle, as she turned away and opened a cupboard.
Mickey sat down and Finn walked into the room, yawning. "G'mornin'," he said and came and sat down next to Mickey. He looked up at him, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I forgot you were here—not that it's bad that you're here! I just—forgot, is all."
"I get it, Finn," Mickey said, smiling a little.
Carole came back to the table, an ear-to-ear grin spread across her face. She placed a plate piled with pancakes on the centre of the table, then went away and came back with plates, knives, forks and spoons. She walked back into the kitchen once more and came back with bowls and cereal.
"Is there anything else you'd like?" she asked, hands on her hips. "Anything at all?"
It was funny how everyone else's parents could be supportive of Mickey and his right to love whoever the hell he wanted, when his own didn't.
"I'm sick of you gays," Iggy told Ian when he stopped at Ian's locker. "Why are there so many of you?"
Ian rolled his eyes and then turned around to face Iggy, Karofsky and Azimio. "You realise your cousin is gay, don't you, Iggyerman?" Ian pointed out. "I mean, you seem perfectly fine with him being gay, yet everyone else seems to offend you."
Iggy stared at Ian, open-mouthed for a few moments, Karofsky looked uncomfortable and Azimio just looked angry, as usual.
"Th-that's different!" Iggy argued. "I've known Kenny forever!"
"You've known Mickey forever." Iggy was silenced again, then after a few seconds, he began stammering, trying to make his argument convincing, but Ian only sighed and shook his head. "You can't have one rule for one and a separate rule for another, it doesn't work like that. If you want to continue to call me names and toss me in dumpsters, okay, cool, that's great, but Mickey was your friend. You've been friends for years. Don't you feel anything?"
"But he used to like girls and now he likes dick—"
"I've always liked dick, Iggyerman."
Ian turned around and saw Mickey walking towards him, a small smile on his face. Mickey tore his eyes off Iggy and looked at Ian. "Hey," he said, happily. "You look amazing, as always. Are those new jeans? Cute." Ian gaped at him as he turned back to Iggy again. "What were we talking about again?"
When Iggy didn't respond, Mickey looked back at Ian, eyes urging him to speak. "Um," Ian began. "You liking dick, I believe."
Mickey smiled with amusement at Ian's slight blush, then looked back at Iggy. "The thing is, Noah," Mickey started. "I've always been gay, I just wasn't vocal about it and because you didn't know, you were fine with me as a person. What you need to sit back and think about is the fact that I'm still the exact same person now as I was before I came out. Not that I would actually want to be your friend again. I just thought I would point that out."
Ian nodded in agreement. He felt proud of Mickey for being able to stand up and say that. He thought about how he had been at the beginning, how he had been far too afraid to even admit everything to himself, let alone the rest of the world, how he had had these seemingly unbreakable walls built up around himself and wouldn't allow anyone get too close in case they tried to break them down. Now, he was brave, proud, sure about who he was.
Right when Ian was about to leave him.
"Let's get to class," Mickey said, taking Ian's elbow in his hand and steering him away from Iggy, Azimio and Karofsky. "I know those jeans aren't new, by the way," Mickey told him once they were down the hall and around the corner. "Don't think I don't notice."
Ian smiled. "Are you saying I'm an outfit repeater, Mickey Milkovich?"
"Hey, I'm not that brave!"
Ian stopped still outside the girl's changing room. Soft sobs filled the air and he strained to listen, to make sure he had actually heard something. He stood stuck to the spot for another couple of heart beats, then pushed the door open, carefully and walked inside. The changing room was empty, but the sobs grew louder as he advance down the narrow aisles. He stopped at the end of the aisle when he saw Quinn Fabray, curled into the corner of a bench, her face buried in her hands, her blonde hair untidy and coming loose from its band.
"Quinn?" he said.
Quinn looked up and shot him an angry look when she realised who he was. "Go away, Gallagher."
"What's wrong?" Ian sat down, ignoring her demands for him to leave.
"Everything!" she exploded. "I got kicked off the cheerios, kicked out of my house, kicked out of my post at the top of the—the foodchain, I turned my boyfriend gay and I'm pregnant with Iggy's baby! The better and simpler question here is what is right? I could answer that much faster, because nothing is right!"
Ian frowned, his body surging with pity for her. She was awful most of the time, but no one deserved what she was going through. "Quinn," Ian said. "You didn't turn Mickey gay. He's always been gay." He thought it was ironic that that had been pointed out twice today. "I know that's no huge consolation, because you have bigger worries."
"Oh, you think?" she snapped.
Ian sighed, tiredly. "Would you consider coming back to glee club?" he found himself asking. "No one there will judge you, Quinn. If you're nice to us, we'll be nice to you. You've got a lot going on, you could do with some support."
She looked up at Ian, her thin eye brows knitting. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed and her cheeks were tear stained. "You think singing and dancing is going to help me?"
"Maybe not," Ian uttered. "But I think having people around you who aren't going to point and stare will help you. Consider it?"
She was silent for a long time, only small sniffles escaping her lips. "They hate me," she said, finally.
"Only because you hate them."
"I don't even know them."
"And they don't know you," Ian pointed out. "Look, I now you only joined in the first place to keep an eye on Mickey, but come back for you, Quinn. You can actually sing, too, so that's bonus. Nationals is soon and we could do with more singers. What do you say?"
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"Because I know what it's like to feel like no one cares, like you have no one to turn to and what it's like to feel as if you've let a parent down. I know what it's like to be judged for who you are and the mistakes you've made and I know what it's like to lose something you just can't afford to lose."
"Did I make you feel like that?" she asked, timidly.
"No, your insults sucked," Ian said, with a smile and much to his surprise, Quinn smiled back.
"She's back in glee?" Mickey muttered next to Ian, when Quinn walked through the choir room door, her eyes cautious and unsure.
"I may have convinced her to come back," Ian whispered.
"What?" Mickey said, incredulously. "Why?"
Ian shrugged. "She needs people around her. Sometimes, we all do, no matter how often we try to deny it."
Mr Schuester quietened the glee club down after Rachel and Santana were done having a heated discussion about solos for Nationals. Ian sighed, tiredly. While Rachel was irrefutably talented, others deserved a solo, too. Her arguments for why she should be the only soloist were becoming tedious and he wasn't nearly skilled enough at shutting her voice out as he would have liked.
"Mickey," Mr Schue said, then. "You wanted to say something?"
Ian gave Mickey a quizzical stare, which he ignored, as he climbed to his feet and went towards the front of the choir room. He stood by the piano and everyone watched him in silence. Ian had no idea what this could possibly be about.
"I never really got a chance to thank you all, for everything," he began. "Especially for what you've done for me in the past few weeks. I've had nowhere to go." He stopped, eyes lingering on Ian, then went on. "Well, not entirely true, but I had nowhere to go that didn't make things harder than they already were. You've all shown me nothing but kindness and that's amazing to me. Lately, it's been hard. All I've gotten has been abuse and rejection and—a bunch of other negative things, but not here. You've all been so supportive and—well. The only real friends I've got—the only family I've got. I know I've been horrible to each and every one of you before and I'm truly sorry, even though that doesn't begin to make up for every awful thing I've done. You accepted me, even after that and that means the world to me, so just—thank you."
Ian found himself smiling, his head tilted, studying Mickey as he walked awkwardly back to his seat.
"Is he okay?" Mercedes whispered in Ian's ear.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, he's—he's fine, Ian assured her, but he just wasn't sure how true that was.
"Thanks, Mickey," Mr Schuester grinned. "We're lucky to have you."
Mickey gave a small nod and dropped his eyes to his lap. Ian reached across and gave Mickey's shaking hand a squeeze. Mickey raised his copper eyes to Ian's bright blue ones. Ian only smiled harder, which resulted in Mickey smiling back. Ian didn't let his hand go until it was time to go home.
"Is everything okay?" Ian asked Mickey over the phone later that day.
"Yeah," Mickey said. "I mean, other than the very obvious, I'm okay."
"Just okay."
"Just okay," Mickey clarified, which made Ian frown slightly.
"Anything I can do?" Ian asked.
"You have done more than enough for me," Mickey said and Ian could hear him smiling sadly on the other end. "I'll be okay. You just concentrate on getting yourself ready for when you leave and for prom and Nationals, obviously. I'll concentrate on getting myself ready for the same things. Trust me, I'll be okay."
Ian knew he was just trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working. He smiled anyway. "I love you, you know that?"
"I know," Mickey told him. "I love you, too."
"Even though I'm leaving you when you need me most?"
"Especially for that," Mickey said.
"I don't get it," Ian furrowed his eyebrows.
"Maybe not right now," Mickey told him. "But you will."
"Why is he picking you up?" Frank asked. "I mean, I get it when the guy picks the girl up, but what happens when it's two guys? Does that make you the girl? because I don't like that, if he's making you out to be the girl."
"Dad," Ian said, quickly. "It's not like that. He's picking me up because he's the one with the high bank balance."
"Oh."
Ian went back to styling his hair in the mirror. He lifted his hairspray can and held his finger down, before spraying his entire head. His dad coughed a little from the other side of the room.
"You're going to die in your sleep if you keep spraying that stuff."
"I've been using it for years," Ian smiled. "Yet here I stand, still breathing."
"It'll fry your brain," Frank told him, but he was smiling. His smiled faded then. "Are you sure about what you're wearing?"
Ian sighed. His dad had asked him that at least twelve times already that day. He had made his own outfit, complete with a kilt. He loved it, he was proud of it, but his dad was relentless. Ian knew he was just worried about how others would react, but he didn't care. He was out of there soon and he wanted to make an impression, that's what fashion was all about, after all.
"Everything will be fine, dad," Ian assured him. "Trust me."
"I do," Frank informed him. "It's just—not everyone is nice, Ian."
"You think I don't know that?" he asked. "I do remember all those times I ended up in hospital, believe it or not." He stopped then, because he had snapped for no real reason. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just—it's going to be okay. I know you're worried but it will. Mickey and I have got this. We can handle ourselves."
"Okay," Frank said, sounding not at all convinced. "I'll go back upstairs. I'll shout down when Mickey gets here."
Ian nodded. "Okay, thanks."
Frank lingered there for another moment. "You look good, kid," he said. "I—have a good time, okay?"
Ian turned to face his dad and smiled a broad, full-toothed smile. "I will."
Mickey rapped on the front door of Ian's house and waited. For some reason, his heart was beating wildly in his chest. It shouldn't have been. He had been at Ian's house several times and he had met Frank just as many times. He shouldn't have been nervous at all.
It felt like a life time before the door opened and Frank stood there, holding his cap in his hands. "Oh, hey, Mickey," he said and stood back to let Mickey in. Mickey walked inside and Frank shut the door. "Ian's downstairs, still getting ready, if you wanna go on down."
"Thanks," Mickey grinned, then headed for the stairs to Ian's room. He walked slowly down the steps, still inexplicably nervous.
When he reached the bottom, he stopped in the doorway. Ian was studying himself in the mirror, his nose scrunching up a bit as he tweaked his hair. Mickey's eyes roved over him and stopped when he realised what he was wearing.
"Is that—you're wearing.."
Ian shot around, quickly. "How long have you been standing there?"
Mickey walked inside, eyes still locked on Ian's lower half. "You're wearing a.."
"Kilt, Mickey," Ian clarified. "Not a skirt, or a dress, or whatever you were going to say. It's a kilt."
Mickey gave a slow nod. "I know," he told him. "I just meant that—you look good. Better than good. Amazing. Better than amazing." He paused. "What's better than amazing?"
"Um," Ian thought for a moment. "I don't know. What's better than amazing?"
"You," Mickey joked. "But honestly, you look gorgeous."
Ian blushed a little and Mickey fought the urge to roll his eyes, because it never ceased to amaze him how Ian had no idea how perfect he was.
"So do you," Ian told him, coming closer. Mickey swallowed. "Is this a bad idea?" Ian asked.
"Definitely," Mickey said, eyes falling down to Ian's legs. "Definitely a bad idea."
"Why?"
"Because we're supposed to be broken up," Mickey informed him. "Yet all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you..." he trailed off and his voice dropped. "Among other things.."
"I wouldn't stop you," Ian said, coming closer still. "If you kissed me." He was within touching distance now. "Among other things.." he added, with a small smirk.
"This suit is rented," Mickey told him. "I wouldn't want to have to pay for any damage done to the pants."
"Guess I'll have to resist the urge to tear them off, then," Ian chuckled. "Are we going to go, or are you going to stay here all day ogling me?"
"Is that an option?"
"You wore the red tipped yellow rose," Ian beamed, eyes locked on the rose pinned to Mickey's lapel.
"Of course," Mickey smiled "You did, too."
"Obviously. Come on," Ian smiled and slipped his hand in Mickey's. Mickey's skin danced at his touch. "Let's go show you off."
"This is a bad idea," Mickey uttered as he followed Ian up the stairs. He slowed down, wondering what Ian had on under that kilt.
"Only if you keep doing that," Ian said.
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes," Ian nodded. "It's entirely your fault," he smiled.
They had reached the top of the stairs now. "I'm not the one that wore an outfit that made my butt look like the hottest thing since—ever."
Ian turned and looked at him, his ice blue gaze running slowly over him, making him shiver all over. He raised his blue eyes to his and gave him a slow smile.
"I beg to differ."