Chapter 36:

"Dad," Ian said, once Frank had picked up the phone.

"Hey, Ian," Frank said, happily. "How's it going?"

"Fine," he said. "Where is he?"

Frank sighed. "In your room."

"Does he ever come out?"

Every time Ian called, Frank told him Mickey was in his room. He refused to speak to him, never picked up the phone and Ian hadn't heard a word from him since he had left two weeks earlier.

"When he gets hungry," Frank said. "And when he goes to work."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Can't you trick him out? Make him think someone else is on the phone and then he'll be forced to talk to me?"

"Ian," Frank said in a warning tone.

"Please, dad?" Ian begged. "I just need to know he's okay."

"He's fine, I told you," Frank assured him. "Stop worrying."

"Just try for me," Ian urged. "It's important."

Ian had tried texting Mickey, telling him needed desperately to speak with him, but it was like Mickey knew. He'd gotten no reply.

"Fine," Frank sighed, tiredly, then shouted. "Mickey! Phone!"

A few minutes later, Ian heard Mickey's muffled voice on the other end.

"I know it's him," he said. "I won't talk to him."

"Dad, put me on loud speaker."

Frank put him on loud speaker and Ian suddenly felt nervous, but he had to talk to Mickey. He needed to.

"You asshole," were the first words he said. "Do you know what date it is?"

"I'll just leave you guys alone," Frank said, quietly and Ian heard a shuffling sound, then a door closing. Now it was just him and Mickey.

"I know what date it is," Mickey said, flatly. It was good to hear his voice again. "Which is why I'm hanging up and going back downstairs."

"Don't you dare!" Ian said, quickly. "I've been calling you every single day since I left."

"And I told you I wasn't going to pick up."

"You said you'd pick up if I said I needed you," Ian pointed out.

"Yeah, but I knew why you needed to talk to me so badly today," Mickey shot back. "And I don't want to talk to you."

"You're being ridiculous," Ian told him.

"Maybe," he mumbled. "But it's better this way."

There was complete silence for a few seconds, then Ian spoke, "It doesn't feel like a year, does it?"

"Yes and no," Mickey said, quietly. "I feel like I just met you yesterday, but sometimes I feel like I've known you forever."

Ian smiled, sadly. He had missed this, the way Mickey spoke, the things he said that Ian never expected to hear him say. He wished he wouldn't shut him out, wished he would give in and talk to him again.

"Talk to me for today?" Ian asked. "In celebration of us knowing each other a whole year?"

"I don't thi—"

"Please, Mickey?" Ian said. "Please pick up the phone."

There was silence again, then Ian heard more shuffling, a loud bleeping sound, followed by the faint sound of breathing.

"I'm listening."

"I miss you."

"Don't say that," Mickey said.

Ian sat back on his bed with a sigh. "Why not?" he asked. "It's true."

"What's it like out there?" Mickey asked, as if Ian hadn't even spoken. "I mean, are you getting on okay?"

"Yeah," Ian nodded, forgetting that Mickey couldn't see him. "It's different to high school, obviously, but I'm doing okay. What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Really."

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Look, after this, can you just not call me any more? I know that sounds horrible, but I can't—Ian, I just can't, okay?"

Ian realised it was the first time he had said his name, the word sounding so different coming from his lips, to how it sounded when others said it.

"I'm hurting, too, you know," Ian said, quietly. "I know you think this is all about you, Mickey and I know you're going through a lot, but this is far from easy for me. So, stop acting like you're the only one affected by this."

Mickey was quiet, then said, "I'm sorry." Ian said nothing, hoping he would go on. "I just think we're better off like this," he told Ian. "I just don't think it's a good idea to hold on to something that just—just doesn't mean anything any more."

Ian felt his heart breaking into tiny pieces inside his chest. He was caught between wanting to bury his head in his pillows and sob and wanting to pick up the ugly lamp that he kept meaning to get rid of, which had been left in the apartment and flinging it at the wall.

"Doesn't mean any.. Okay," he said. "Okay, fine, Mickey. Fuck you, too."

And then he hung up.

And instantly regretted it.

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Ian.

I'm sorry. Don't shut me out, not today.

Mickey groaned and threw his phone to the side, then grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. It was useless, it smelled like Ian. Every where he looked, it reminded him of Ian and all he wanted to do at this point was forget, because even though that was awful and a really stupid thing to do, it would be much easier.

He wished he could just go back to the beginning and change everything, because his entire life seemed to have fallen down around him and there was no fixing that, even if it had all been consequences of him doing the right thing.

The fact was that doing the right thing sucked sometimes.

Ian didn't hear from Mickey until a week before Christmas (technically untrue, because he had gotten a simple 'Happy Birthday' on his birthday, but nothing more than that), though it wasn't for the want of trying. Ian had called him almost every day, to no avail. His heart leapt inside his chest when he saw Mickey's name showing up on his phone with 'incoming call' above it.

"Mickey," he said, a little too eagerly, but he didn't care, Mickey was calling.

"Don't," Mickey said, quietly. "I just want to know if you're coming home for winter break, so that I can make arrangements to be some place else."

Ian's heart sank and he frowned. "Are you serious?"

He had been counting on winter break as a means of getting Mickey to speak to him. He had planned it out in his mind. If Mickey saw him face to face, maybe he would change his mind, realise he still loved him. Apparently that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Yes," was all Mickey said.

"I.." Ian paused. "I'll stay here."

"Don't stay there because of me."

"I'm not." He was.

"Okay," Mickey said, obviously not wanting to have to talk to Ian any longer than was necessary. He paused and Ian wondered if he had hung up, but he hadn't. "Are you... How have you, um, been?"

"Okay," Ian said, calmly, ignoring the urge to shout at him for not speaking to him for months. "I.. You? Are you okay?"

"I guess."

"Mickey—"

"Don't," Mickey said, sounding weary. Ian wondered if he was getting enough sleep.

Ian didn't want to get mad and have Mickey hang up on him, because it was possible he would wait another three months to speak to him again and that was the last thing he needed.

"There was a time when you loved me, you know," Ian uttered.

He heard Mickey sigh and he knew he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just hung up.

Ten minutes later, Ian's phone vibrated on the coffee table.

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey.

I still do.

"Mickey!"

Mickey sat up and rubbed his eyes. He shuffled off of Ian's bed and climbed the stairs, like they were some huge obstacle that he could barely manage. When he reached the top, he found Frank standing there.

"Hey, kid," he said. "Dinner."

Mickey gave him a half-smile. He felt awful being such a burden on Frank, who was supposed to be enjoying his alone time. He had offered to pay rent, but Frank wouldn't allow it. He said he was happy to do it. It amazed Mickey that there were people like this in the world, good people who expected nothing in return for their kindness. The world needed far more Frank Gallaghers.

They sat down at the table and began eating and Frank was watching him carefully.

"So, Mickey," he said after a while. "Have you heard from Ian?"

"No."

"He said he called you."

"He did," Mickey affirmed. "A few times." A couple hundred, at least. "I just—I can't..."

"No, I understand," Frank said, taking a sip from his glass of water. "I just don't think you're doing yourself any favours not talkin' to him."

Mickey didn't say anything, just moved his peas around his plate with his fork.

"Have you spoken to your parents?"

Mickey looked up at that. "No," he said, truthfully. "I haven't heard from them."

"Don't you think you should contact them? Let them know you're okay?" Frank asked. "I bet they're worried about you."

"You think.. No," Mickey shook his head. "No, if they were worried they would have found me by now."

"Sometimes people are too stubborn to go looking," Frank shrugged. "Maybe you should put your own stubbornness aside and work things out."

Mickey stared down at his mashed potato and had a strong feeling that Frank wasn't only referring to the situation with his parents.

"Ian, put the phone down," Rachel said, walking into his apartment.

Ian looked up at her and frowned at her for coming in unannounced and then for how she was dressed. Her white sweater had a pink deer silhouette on it and he looked away before he could analyse her lower half.

"Where's Finn?"

"Upstairs," she said, sitting down. She grabbed a magazine off the table and flicked through it. "He's in the shower."

Ian nodded and hit the green button on his phone again, redialling Mickey's number.

"He won't pick up, you know."

"Shut up, Rachel."

"Don't take it out on me!"

"I can if I like, you're in my apartment," Ian retorted.

Rachel smiled. "You're too uptight," she said. "Go out and find a nice boy who'll answer your calls, Ian."

He wondered at what point he was going to have to give up and do just that. Ian rolled his eyes and redialled.

He wasn't giving up on him, not yet.

Mickey hung up his Lima Bean apron and said goodbye to the girl who had just started her shift (Mickey thought her name might be Sandra, but he wasn't certain). He pulled the front door opened and walked out into the brisk January air. He pulled his jacket across his chest and shivered, before turning to walk towards his car, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Mickey watched as his dad stopped his car across the parking lot, then turned to the person next to him, said something, then got out of the car. Mickey walked quickly away from the coffee shop, so that his dad couldn't see him and watched as he went inside the Lima Bean. Mickey looked over at his dad's car, hoping to see his mom sitting there, but he knew in his heart that it was going to be someone else, of the female sex and probably someone he did not know. He was right. The woman sitting in the passenger's seat was younger than his mom, maybe late twenties, early thirties. She had red hair and beyond that, Mickey couldn't see much more. He felt his blood boiling, because although he had been aware for a long time that his dad was sleeping around, he had never actually seen it firsthand. He wanted to run inside and scream at his dad, tell him to go home to his wife, but Mickey figured he would get fired and his job was the only thing that really got him out of the house any more. Instead, he clenched his fists, bit his tongue and went to his car. He got inside and drove back to Ian's house.

When he got there, he found a note on the fridge from Frank, saying he had to stay late at the garage, but to eat whatever was there. Mickey made a sandwich, ate half of it, then went back down to Ian's room and lay on the bed for a half an hour. Ian called twice during that thirty minutes, Mickey didn't pick up. He started to get restless then, because he kept replaying all the bad things over and over in his head. Finally, he got up, groaned and left the house.

Mickey felt a little dizzy sitting there, at the back of Breadstix. It was freezing out, he really should have just gone home and slept. He sat there, sipping his second (at least he thought it was his second) can of beer, ignoring the employees who stared at him with disapproval when they came out to put out the garbage.

"Don't you have a home to go to?" one of the guys asked.

Mickey sat back against the wall and sighed. He couldn't really remember. "Have you ever lost something you could never get back?" he slurred. The guy raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really. Have you?"

"I.." the guy looked confused. "I lost my keys this morning?" He made it a question.

"Love is like.." Mickey's head was pounding. What was he even saying any more? "Like.. Yeah. Love is like garbage, man."

"Okay.. I've got to g—"

"I mean, it doesn't start out like garbage," Mickey rambled on. "It starts out good, y'know? Then it's gone. It ends up in a bin and then it's crushed and it just—just rots away."

The guy looked at Mickey as if he had three heads.

"Well," Mickey said thoughtfully, taking another sip of his can. "Maybe it's not really like garbage.."

"Alrighty then," the guy said, slowly. "I'll be going. Have a good life, bro." And with that he disappeared back inside the restaurant. Mickey laughed to himself. He didn't need company. He needed more alcohol and maybe some jelly beans. Jelly beans would be good right now.

"Milkovich?"

Mickey turned and saw a familiar face staring at him. "Go.. Go home, Kenny. I don't like you." He hated Kenny. He wanted to stand up and empty his beer over his head, but that would be a waste of beer.

"Dude, you're a mess."

"Screw you."

"I offered to let you and you turned me down," Kenny smirked. "The offer no longer stands. Besides, you're too short for me, it would never work out. What are you doing anyway?"

"Having a party," Mickey smiled to himself. This was the best party he had ever thrown. People were so overrated. Solo parties. Why hadn't he thought of this years ago? "It's my birthday."

"Oh. Well, happy birthday, then. Mickey," Kenny said, sitting down next to him on the cold, hard concrete. "Dude, go home."

"I don't have a home."

"I thought you were staying at Gallagher's."

"I am?" Mickey asked, grinning. "Cool. I should say thanks to Frank for letting me stay, right? He's, like, the nicest guy alive, seriously. Have you met him? Man's a saint. Hey, do you have any jelly beans?"

"Uh, no," Kenny said, looking amused. "I was just picking up some lasagne for Iggy's mom. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I lost my bike. And my dad didn't take off the back wheels yet!"

"He didn't take off the.. Okay." Kenny shook his head. "Wow. How much have you had?"

"Oh!" Mickey sat up straight. "My phone's ringing! Where.. Ah, here it is! Hello? Helloooooo?"

"Mickey?" Ian said, in surprise. He hadn't expected him to pick up. "Are you.. Is everything okay? You sound sort of—"

"Ian!" Mickey said, excitedly. "Ian, is that you? Ian, please come home. I don't want to sleep alone any more. It's too cold."

He was drunk. Ian sighed and fell back against the couch. He had been hoping Mickey was staying away from alcohol, because it would get him into trouble. Also, he had hoped Mickey had picked up because he wanted to, not because him being drunk made him forget he was ignoring Ian.

"Mickey, where are you?"

"In the Hundred Acre Wood, Christopher Robin!" Mickey told him.

Ian would have laughed had circumstances been different, but he was far too concerned for that. "Mickey," Ian said, trying to remain calm. "What do you see around you?"

"Walls," Mickey told him, happily. "Walls and—garbage. So much garbage. It smells really bad. I wish you were here."

Ian couldn't think where Mickey might be, because that didn't give much away. "Um, okay," he said, carefully. "Mickey, what else do you see?"

"Kenny," Mickey said and Ian widened his eyes. "Go away, Kenny! Ian and I don't want you here!"

Ian heard a muffled voice on the other end. "Mickey," he said, then. "Can you hand the phone to Kenny for a second?"

"No," Mickey said, sounding uppity. "I want to talk to you."

"It's only for a minute, okay?" Ian soothed. "Give the phone to Kenny and we can talk again in a sec, okay?"

"Fine."

There was a shuffling sound, then Kenny spoke, "Hey, Gallagher," he said and Ian could picture his smirking face, his dark eyes filled with amusement.

"Where are you guys?" Ian asked, ignoring his flirty tone.

"I found your boy outside Breadstix, sitting amongst the garbage cans. Out of his mind drunk," Kenny chuckled. "He probably doesn't even know his own name right now."

"Fuck," Ian whispered. "Can you take him back to my house?"

"I've got to get home, Humm—"

"You sort of owe me a favour, Kenneth," Ian pointed out. "I had bruised ribs for weeks because of you. Now pick him up, put him in your car and take him to my house."

"God, fine, Gallagher," Kenny groaned.

"Put him back on once you've got him in the car."

Ian waited then and it was about five minutes later that he heard Mickey's voice on the other end of the phone. He heard a door slamming and a car starting up.

"Ian?" Mickey said, sounding sleepy. "Ian, are you there? Ian?"

"Shh," Ian said, quietly. "I'm here, Mickey. I'm here."

"Ian, I miss you," Mickey told him and he didn't sound excited any more. He sounded tired and sad. "I just—I want you to come home and love me again."

Ian frowned and he felt his chest aching a little. "I miss you, too," Ian told him. "I miss you every single day."

"I just love you so much, baby," Mickey told him, emphasising the 'o' sound in 'so'. "I just—I love you and I can't stop. Why don't you love me any more?"

"Jesus Christ, Milkovich," Ian heard Kenny say. He rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"Mickey," Ian said, softly. He felt as if his heart was breaking inside his chest. "I do love you. I do, I promise."

"Then why are you so far away?" Mickey asked, with a sigh.

"I have to be," Ian told him. "Mickey, look—"

"What the fuck, Milkovich?" Kenny said, loudly. "Are you crying?"

Ian felt helpless, because he wanted to pick Mickey up in his arms and hold him until he was okay again. He didn't know what to do.

"No! Shut up, Kenny!" Mickey said.

"Ignore him, Mickey," Ian said. "Ignore him and talk to me, okay?"

"I miss your eyes, Ian," Mickey said, sadly. "I miss holding your hand and looking at the stars with you and kissing you and making you laugh."

"I miss all that, too," Ian told him. "Hey, happy birthday, by the way. I tried calling earlier today."

"Remember last year on my birthday Rachel gave me a Build-a-Bear voucher?" Mickey said, sounding a little brighter. "I never used that..."

"I remember," Ian smiled a bit. "I told you not to let the date expire on that thing."

"I know," Mickey said. "Silly me." Ian laughed a bit. "Hey, Ian?"

"Hmm?"

"You really still love me?"

"More than ever," Ian told him, truthfully. "You're kind of breaking my heart, here, Mickey. I wish you'd answer my calls."

"I want to."

"You should," Ian urged. "It hurts not talking to you."

"It hurts me, too," Mickey told him. "I love you, baby."

"Love you, too, babe," Ian smiled, but he felt like his heart was being torn from his chest.

"Love you so much," Mickey told him, voice slurred. "When do I get to see you again?"

"You'd want to see me again?" Ian asked. He knew it was the drink talking, but it still meant something. It had to.

"You're all I ever want to see."

"Good God," Ian heard Kenny say, then, "Ouch! Jesus, Milkovich! Your elbows are pointy! Jeez!"

Ian smiled. "Serves him right," he said. "Hey, Mickey?"

"Yeah?" Mickey said. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know," Ian nodded again. "I love you, too. Listen, when you go home you go straight to bed, okay? I'll give you a call tomorrow. Will you pick up?"

"Yeah," Mickey told him. "My neighbour has a pick up truck."

Ian scoffed a little. "That's great, Mickey," he told him. "Are you almost home?"

"Kenny, that's Ian's house!"

"No, it's the next one," Kenny told Mickey. "Now will you stop tugging on my sleeve?"

"Ian. We're at your house now," Mickey told him and Ian heard the engine dying. "Kenny, let me go! I don't want your filthy mitts on me! I have a boyfriend, stop that!"

"Mickey, he's just going to take you inside, okay?" Ian told Mickey, secretly marvelling in the fact that he was still referring to him as his boyfriend. "Relax."

A few minutes later, Mickey was talking again. "Hi, pretty boy."

"Hey, Mickey," Ian smiled, his heart doing a little flip. He had missed Mickey calling him that. "Where are you?"

"In your room," Mickey apprised him. "I'm on your bed and it smells like you. I wish you were here."

"I wish I was there, too," Ian said and he meant it, because as much as he liked New York, Mickey was still very much home to him. "Get into bed and I'll stay on until you go asleep, okay?"

Ian waited until the shuffling sounds had ended and Mickey was breathing on the other end again, before he spoke. "In bed?"

"Mm hmm."

"Close your eyes."

"I did."

"Good," Ian smiled. "You don't have to say anything, just listen to me, all right?"

"Mm hmm," Mickey said, again. "Ian."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to be like this forever," he said, quietly.

"Like what?"

"Lonely," Mickey said, voice sounding a bit choked. "My mom and dad think there's something wrong with me. Maybe there is. Is there something wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Mickey," Ian assured him. "Trust me."

"Okay," Mickey said. "But no one cares about me. I'm nothing."

"I care," Ian said, quickly. "You're everything to me."

"I love you."

"And I love you," Ian told him, feeling sick. Mickey sounded as if he was just giving up.

"What happens when you stop?"

"I'm not going to stop."

"Yes, you will," Mickey said. "Everyone does."

"Not me," Ian said, feeling a bit panicked. "Mickey, are you—"

"I love you," Mickey said, softly and within seconds he was snoring quietly. Ian listened to him there for a long time, before he felt his own eyes closing.

"I love you, too," he whispered, finally, then hung up and went to bed, unsure of just how he should be feeling. For one, he had finally spoken to Mickey and he still loved him, but Mickey was breaking and he couldn't do anything about it.

Mickey was torn and Ian was helpless, but they loved each other and that had to count for something, didn't it? Ian hoped so.

"Hi," Ian said on the other end of the phone.

It had taken Mickey half the day to pluck up the courage and call him to apologise for the night before.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm, um, sorry about last night."

"I'm not," Ian said. "It's the first time you've talked to me properly since I left."

"I was drunk."

"Which means you were telling the truth," Ian pointed out.

"It doesn't change anything," Mickey said. "I still don't want to talk to you."

"That's a lie," Ian said and Mickey sighed. "You can cut the crap. I know what you're doing. Not picking up my calls doesn't mean how you feel is going to go away." Mickey didn't say anything, because Ian was right. Ian was always right. "Why can't you just admit you still love me and talk to me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm scared that if we talk daily, you'll eventually find someone else and then you won't want to talk to me any more and then it'll just hurt," Mickey admitted. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my life isn't exactly fun and games at the moment. It hasn't been for almost a year now. I'm done getting myself into situations that leave me stranded. So this is the final call. If you're in severe trouble, by all means, call me, I'll be here. I always will, but other than that, I can't do it. I can't."

"So, what, you're just going to hang up on me now?" Mickey stayed silent, because he had been about to hang up. "It's hilarious how you claim you love me so much, yet the second I tell you how I feel, you just hang up like it means nothing to you. Go ahead, Mickey, hang up on me. Run away. That's what you've been doing for years, isn't it?"

Mickey didn't say anything.

"Sorry," Ian said, after a few seconds. "That wasn't fair. I just.. I miss you, okay? I miss talking to you and I understand your concerns, I really do, but I need you to understand how much this hurts me, okay? I don't know what to do, Mickey. I want to talk to you. Okay, if you really don't want to talk to me, then don't, I'll respect that and I won't call any more, but if it hurts you as much as it hurts me, then just pick up the phone, okay?"

"I can't," Mickey groaned. "Can we just leave it now? I just want to move on with my life."

"So, that's it?" Ian asked and Mickey wished he could just go climb into bed and sleep. He couldn't deal with this any more.

"Ian," Mickey said, carefully. "I'm not as strong as you. I don't know how to deal with this. I just need time, okay?"

"Okay," Ian said and his voice had softened. "I'm sorry. I just.. I miss you."

"Me, too," Mickey told him. "But I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Fine," Ian sighed. "Before you go, I love you. I just need you to know that. You can hang up now."

Mickey paused, his stomach whirling. "I love you, too."

He hung up and closed his eyes, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. But then his phone rang again. He looked down at the screen and his eyes widened as round as saucers when e saw the caller I.D.

Incoming call: Dad.

Mickey took a deep breath and pressed the receive button. He raised the phone to his ear and spoke, voice a little hoarse.

"Hello?"