Chapter 17
Ian fell asleep soon after Mickey retreated to the kitchen, or perhaps he just pretended to be asleep, to avoid any more conflict. It was probably easier that way for him, not having to deal with Mickey and having an excuse to avoid him. Mickey forced himself to ignore the painful clench of his heart at Ian's rejection, and reminded himself to focus on why he was here: to take care of Ian.
Once Nayla was fed, she sat by the front door and whined, desperate for a bathroom break, because she hadn't been out for a walk since the previous night. He bit his lip uncertainly – he definitely didn't want to leave Ian, but he also didn't want his dog to explode. Nayla was well-trained and she would do her absolute best to hold it until Mickey could take her outside.
Mickey approached the couch carefully and leaned over Ian, deciding that he actually seemed to be asleep again. Considering how drained he'd looked while they were talking, he wasn't surprised. Maybe he could quickly take Nayla around the block. It would only take ten minutes and Ian would probably still be asleep when he came back…
Gently, Mickey brushed back Ian's hair from his forehead, thinking how young and vulnerable he looked lying there sleeping on the couch. He hesitated for a moment, then carefully placed a kiss on his temple, murmuring to him softly, "I'll be right back, sweetheart."
He grabbed the leash from where he had dropped it the previous night, next to the front door and hooked it on Nayla's collar, double-checking that he had the key with him so he could get back in.
"Come on, girl."
He took one last look over his shoulder at Ian before closing the door, hating to leave him, even when he knew he would be back in ten minutes. Now that he had found him, he wanted to always be close enough, to take care of him if Ian needed him.
Nayla pulled on the leash, eager to explore and stretch her legs. It was a beautiful spring day, the sun was bright and the sky was a gentle shade of blue. Mickey looked around the neighborhood, and saw an old woman from the opposite building watering her flowers on a balcony, and a group of teenagers listening to music, as they passed around a bottle of soda. They walked past the group of boys just as a young girl approached from the opposite direction, clutching her purse tight to her side, and heard them whistle and call after her obnoxiously, making the girl walk faster.
It made Mickey's stomach churn with anxiety when he thought of how frightened Ian must have felt coming home late at night, when he encountered those gangs. He didn't want Ian to stay here anymore, but what would Mickey do? He would barely speak to him, how could he convince him he could have a more positive future, if he would only accept a little help from him? The attack should be a wake-up call, but Mickey wasn't sure if Ian would close off even more, if he tried to have this conversation now.
Mickey stopped at a line of trees the next street over, so Nayla could sniff around and do her thing, and decided to give his parents a call to reassure them that Ian was improving. His mother would pass on the message to his dad, who should be at work by now.
"Mickey, darling, oh my god, I'm so glad you called. How's Ian? Is everything okay? Do you need me to…?" She said all in one breath, as soon as she picked up.
"Hey, hey, Mom. Calm down. Everything's okay," he said gently. "I just wanted to let you know we're doing okay. He's still in pain, of course, but he seems to be out of danger. Dad was amazing last night. I don't know what I would've done without him…"
"You did the right thing by calling him, Mickey," Grace muttered with a sigh of relief. "I was so worried after your call…"
"I think he's past the worst now," Mickey pointed out, hoping with all his heart that his words were true. "Ian is the strongest person I know."
His mother's voice softened. "He is, but everyone needs someone, so he is also lucky to have you…"
Mickey swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on Nayla. "It's not like that… I don't think he wants to… you know, I don't even mind. As long as he's okay…"
"You're being too much of a gentleman again, my dear. There's nothing wrong in admitting you want someone in your life. There's nothing wrong in hoping that by being his knight in shining armor, he'll see the light and choose to be with you…"
"I didn't help him so he would be with me. I helped him because he needed someone to be there for him…" Mickey replied dejectedly. He could really use one of her fantastic hugs right now.
"I know that. But it's okay to hope, when you care deeply for someone, sweetie," Mickey was sure his mother was smiling in that warm way of hers. He had seen her just a few days ago, and already missed her.
"My hopes are going to end in disappointment, though," Mickey said sadly. "He doesn't want me, Mom. I'm certain that he doesn't want me. Not even an hour ago he begged me to go away and leave him alone. I told him I wouldn't leave until he's better, but I know for a fact he doesn't want me here with him…"
"Mickey, I've seen that boy around you and I truly don't believe it was all an act. He does care about you – when he looks at you his whole face brightens. He's got every right to be scared, after… everything," Grace said tenderly. "But you'll see… sooner or later he'll realize that he has an opportunity for happiness standing right in front of him, and he'll take it."
Mickey thanked her and said goodbye, asking his mother to let his father know he would call again by the end of the day with an update on Ian's status. Grace's words sounded as confident as a promise, but he wasn't sure he believed in promises anymore. They were broken so easily – he had broken the most important of them all – and he had been hurt by broken promises too often. Mickey preferred to believe that there was nothing there for him, than allow himself to hope, and risk more heartbreak later on.
Nayla followed him back to Ian's apartment, wagging her tail happily as they climbed the stairs. Mickey unlocked the door, and his heart plummeted to the floor, when he saw the couch was empty.
"Ian?" He called anxiously, closing the door and dropping Nayla's leash, without bothering to unhook it from her collar. "Ian?"
He rushed further into the apartment, knowing there was no point in shouting – Ian would easily hear him easily from any corner of his tiny place. Mickey took a few steps towards the bathroom and exhaled in relief when he saw Ian was there, holding himself against the sink.
"Calm the fuck down, I just needed to use the bathroom," Ian said a little breathlessly. Mickey noticed he was pale and sweaty, so evidently the effort had been too much for him.
"You scared me," Mickey murmured, his heart still beating wildly, adrenaline and dread running through his veins at the thought of Ian running away from the apartment in his state, just to avoid him.
Ian must have seen something of his alarm in Mickey's face because his eyes softened a little and his tone wasn't as biting when he spoke again. "I'm fine. Just… a little stuck."
"If you're done here, let me help you back to the couch," Mickey extended a hand towards him hesitantly, not sure if Ian would be okay with the contact.
Ian must have really been desperate, because he accepted Mickey's help quietly, leaning against his side and allowing Mickey to put a supportive arm around him. Mickey's heart began pounding harder for a very different reason, and he prayed that Ian couldn't feel it.
"I thought you'd left," Ian commented casually. Mickey could swear there was a slight quivering in his voice, probably terrified that he was on his own again, when he couldn't even get back to the couch on his own.
"Of course not," Mickey answered soothingly. "Nayla needed a quick walk around the block."
"Oh." Ian nodded jerkily, then cringed in pain as Mickey helped him sit on the couch again. He gasped as he twisted to get comfortable, probably putting a bit more of a strain on his bruised ribs. "Fuck."
"Try not to twist so much," Mickey said calmly. "How's your head? Does it hurt too?"
"A bit. Though the pain in my ribs is a pretty good distraction from it," Ian replied dryly, closing his eyes as he waited for the pain to subside.
"You should be feeling a lot better in a week or two," Mickey explained, going to the kitchen to get more ice to put on Ian's side again. "Oh, and by the way, mom sends her best. She hopes you'll get better soon and is really sorry this happened…"
Ian's eyes snapped open suddenly. "Your mom? How does she know about this?"
Mickey sat on the coffee table, facing Ian, and carefully pressed the ice to his side. "You were being extremely stubborn and wouldn't let me take you to a hospital…"
"I hate hospitals," Ian muttered under his breath.
"… and I was so worried that you were badly hurt. I had no idea what else to do, so I called my dad," Mickey continued calmly, allowing Ian to take over holding the ice in place, when he swatted his hand away lazily. "He's a pediatrician, so he was the best I could get."
"You made your dad drive all the way from Westerville at whatever hour of the night you found me?" Ian asked, shocked. Mickey felt as if he was drowning in his wide blue eyes.
"Yes, I did. You needed a doctor, but you can be very thick-headed, even when you're pretty much unconscious…" Mickey rolled his eyes, trying to lighten his terrifying memory of the situation.
"I…" Ian hesitated, looked away, then snapped his mouth shut. Whatever he had been about to say was silenced.
Mickey cleared his throat, pretending not to be disappointed, and kept his smile friendly and casual. "What about some lunch? Are you hungry?"
Mickey was sure he was going to say no, even though it was obvious that Ian was half-starved. They had only had breakfast just a little while ago, but the last decent meal before that had probably been at the Milkovichs'.
"I could eat," he said instead, glancing at him quickly, his cheeks reddening.
Mickey had never wanted to kiss him as much as he did right then.
Ian slept most of the day, between eating small meals every few hours. While he napped, Mickey walked Nayla around the block again before it got dark outside, then prepared their dinner. Ian wasn't very chatty and fell asleep again soon after Mickey cleared the dishes, once his pain pills kicked in again. As soon as he was sure Ian was out like a light, he slipped out to the hallway and called his Dad to let him know how his patient was doing.
It wasn't until he returned to find Ian's breathing the only sound filling it, that he realized just how exhausted he was, too worried to notice it before. He decided to slip into the shower and think about where he was going to sleep afterwards.
He let the lukewarm water pour down his back, massaging and soothing away the knots from his muscles. He washed his hair, relishing the sweet flower scent of Ian's shampoo, until his pleasure ended abruptly when the water turned to freezing. He reluctantly slipped into his clothes, disgusted after wearing them for so long, but he didn't feel comfortable wearing something of Ian's without asking. Things were already tense – he didn't want to make things worse.
Mickey was too exhausted to stay awake any longer so he used one of two old blankets he found in Ian's closet as a pillow and lay on the hard cold floor under the other. He would be sore when he woke up, but he didn't want to go home, in case Ian needed him.
But it didn't matter how uncomfortable he was, because Mickey was asleep within seconds, too tired to care.
Ian was awakened in the middle of the night by the pain shooting up his side, probably from moving in his sleep and putting pressure on his ribs. He shifted carefully as to lie on his other side, to hopefully find some relief.
The apartment was so dark and quiet, that for a moment, Ian suspected Mickey had gone home, but then he heard a long sigh. Ian struggled to turn on his lamp and found Mickey was sleeping on the floor, looking terribly uncomfortable. Nayla was snuggling next to him, hogging most of the blanket he had tried to cover himself with, and the blanket he had tried to make himself a pillow from had come undone, so now his head was mostly on the floor.
Ian bit his lip. Mickey had stayed, in spite of his hostile reception. He had said he wasn't going anywhere, and he really meant it.
Very slowly, Ian eased himself to his feet. His entire body hurt – from his head to his ribs, to his knees and calves, most of his body covered in darkening bruises. Ian had two pillows on the couch – Mickey had put one of them beside him to cushion the hard back of the couch. With great effort, he kneeled next to Mickey and slipped the pillow under his head.
Mickey didn't even stir, completely worn-out.
A sad, nostalgic smile thinned Ian's lips. Mickey was simply breathtakingly beautiful, even with two days of scruff. If things had been different, Ian would've been so proud to call him his…
He ran his fingers through his soft curls – ungelled, for once – looking down at him fondly in the faint light coming from the window behind them. He stayed like that until his side hurt too much to stand it, so he went back to the couch, breathless and feeling as tired as if he had run a marathon.
He lay down again there in the dark and watched Mickey's outline, thinking that maybe, maybe this man really did care about him.
Mickey woke in the morning with a Dalmatian lying across him, pinning his sore back to the floor. He groaned in discomfort and tried to sit up, earning an annoyed look from Nayla.
"Sorry, girl," he mumbled sleepily. He stretched his arms over his head, hearing his muscles pop, and caught sight of Ian who was sitting in the couch with the blanket wrapped around him. "Hey. Good morning."
"Hi," Ian replied in a quiet voice. "You could've gone home, instead of sleeping on the bare floor…"
"You know I couldn't just leave you alone here," Mickey muttered, scratching behind Nayla's ears. He noticed there was a pillow next to him, and knew it hadn't been there the night before. Ian bit his lip and avoided his questioning gaze, as if he was embarrassed. Mickey's heart thumped against his ribcage, but he decided to let it slide, for now. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"I… I actually really need to go to the bathroom," Ian answered, his cheeks reddening instantly. "I tried getting up on my own, but…"
"Oh! Of course, of course. Don't get up on your own," Mickey scrambled to his feet to help him, ignoring his stiff muscles. "How's your side? Does it hurt?"
"Quite a lot," Ian admitted reluctantly. He let Mickey put one arm around him to pull him up gently.
"I'll get you some more ice after breakfast," Mickey said, letting Ian put most of his weight (which wasn't much at all) against him, while they walked to the bathroom with slow careful steps. Then there was an awkward pause. "Uhm. Do you need my help with the actual…?"
"No," Ian cut him off immediately. "I can do it. Thank you."
"Okay," Mickey left him in the bathroom, grateful to be able to leave him some dignity. "I'll be in the kitchen. Yell when you're done and I'll come get you."
Mickey patiently listened to Ian complaining about how sick he was of being stuck on the couch, while he finished up breakfast, then sat next to him, handing him a plate with crepes and a cup of coffee. Mickey poured himself a second cup before joining him, because he badly needed it.
"You look really tired," Ian commented out of nowhere, and Mickey was surprised to find him watching him.
"I'm okay," Mickey brushed it off and smiled. "Is your coffee okay? Does it need more sugar or milk, maybe?"
"Mickey," Ian said firmly, knowing he was just trying to distract him. "You're exhausted. Go home and get some rest. I promise I'll be here if you want to come back to check on me…"
"Ian, we've talked about this. I'm not leaving," Mickey said stubbornly, before he took a sip of his coffee. "Don't worry about me."
"You work. There's nowhere for you to sleep here. You have to…"
Mickey leaned closer, silencing Ian with his sudden proximity. "I can take care of myself. You only need to worry about getting better."
"You're being unreasonable. You need…" Ian protested, only to be interrupted again.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be than here with you. I'd sleep on the floor for the next decade if it meant I'm here, when you need me," Mickey's voice was soft and his eyes were honest. "I wouldn't get any rest at home anyway, worrying about you…"
Ian picked at his crepes thoughtfully. Sometimes when Mickey spoke like that… it felt like those dusty dead dreams inside of him for so many years were trying to wake up. He'd had a quick glimpse at Mickey's parents' house, of what a life with him could be, and Ian knew that kind of relationship would fulfill every single one of the expectations he had once had, before his life had gone all to hell. But Ian couldn't afford to hope again, though, and let his dreams revive. Every time he risked his heart, he ended up hurt again, and he was too tired to just keep getting up after every fall.
Mickey cleared his throat awkwardly. "We could… if you wanted… we could go to my apartment."
Ian blinked in confusion. "Your apartment?"
"Yes. I mean, we'd be a lot more comfortable there. Both of us. You could sleep in an actual bed, and I have a bathtub, which would help you a lot, since you can't really be on your feet long enough for a shower and I…" Mickey paused when he saw the look on Ian's face. He seemed insecure, scared almost. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I really believe it would be better for you, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way…"
"You'd want me to stay at your apartment?" Ian asked, sounding almost bewildered.
Mickey frowned, because from the way Ian had phrased that question, it seemed as if he couldn't understand why someone would genuinely want him at their home. Knowing Ian the way he did, Mickey was sure he wasn't far from the truth.
"I'm going to be a hundred percent honest with you right now, Ian," Mickey said, throwing caution out the window. If he wanted Ian to trust him, he needed to be completely open. "I want, more than anything, to keep you safe. Finding you the other night, beaten and bleeding… that's one of the most terrifying things that has ever happened to me. I've been told more than once that I'm a little obsessed with taking care of others – the word they used was clingy. Well, I can admit I am, if that means you'll be okay, that nothing bad will ever happen to you again, then fine, I'll be clingy and needy and whatever else people want to call me." Ian looked a little overwhelmed, but Mickey couldn't stop now. "Do I think you'd be a lot better off at my apartment? Yes. This neighborhood is terrible and the people living in it are even worse. I don't want to go back to my apartment to sleep and come back in the morning to find they've hurt you again, because you're so vulnerable right now. I'm scared for you and you can mock me for it all you want, but I don't ever want to see you hurt again."
Mickey paused, but Ian didn't say anything. Silence fell on them like a thick blanket.
"The offer stands, until you're ready to take it. I get it, if you're not comfortable going home with me, if you'd rather stay here because this is your home," Mickey continued, wishing he could reach for Ian's hand right now. "It's totally okay. We can continue to stay here, if this is where you'd rather be, and we…"
"This isn't my home," Ian murmured so quietly that Mickey almost missed it. "I hate this place. You probably can't understand how I could live in a place like this, considering how fantastic your parents' house is…"
"Ian, it's not about that…" Mickey said earnestly, hoping Ian hadn't gotten the wrong idea. He wasn't judging Ian's apartment – he just thought it wasn't the best place for him.
"It's a shithole," Ian shrugged and winced when that made his side hurt. "I just never really cared where I lived – it's all I can afford, and it's not like living somewhere else would make things any better…"
God, Mickey ached for him. How could everything in Ian's life be filled with such misery?
"Ian, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or anything…" Mickey said, a little desperately.
"I'm not upset," Ian replied levelly, as his blue eyes fixed on Mickey's. "But when you say those things… Mickey, I'm actually more used to my neighbors calling me names when I walk down the streets or nursing a couple of bruised ribs than people saying they care about me. I don't know what to do or what to say when you do stuff like that."
If only Mickey could wrap his arms around him… he would never let him go, until he got accustomed to being loved again. "You just need to say yes or no. That would be more than enough."
Ian visibly hesitated. It was obvious to Mickey that he was struggling to come to a decision. Mickey waited patiently, not wanting to push him either way. He finished his breakfast silently and then washed the dishes, as Ian continued to pick idly at his crepes, lost in thought.
Mickey walked Nayla again, giving Ian some much needed time alone. To be completely honest, he needed a few minutes for himself as well. He had laid his heart on the line for Ian, short of saying the three magic words that would have spooked him forever, and he was feeling vulnerable and raw. He had been badly hurt before by rejection, but a rejection from Ian had the potential to destroy him.
Why Ian's decision mattered to him so much, Mickey didn't know. He would still need to walk away once Ian was healed. Ian didn't want him around.
When he returned to the apartment, Ian was rummaging through the drawer where Mickey had found his family pictures. Mickey immediately unhooked Nayla's leash and walked to him.
"What are you doing? I leave you alone for five minutes and you are already doing exactly what you shouldn't be doing!" Mickey scolded him, putting a supportive arm around him. "I'll get whatever you're looking for, for you."
"I'm packing," Ian answered in a soft voice. It was only then that Mickey noticed the duffel bag on the couch. Ian walked carefully back to it and slipped the photographs into it, burying them under a few layers of folded clothes.
"I… packing?" Mickey asked as his eyes went wide.
"We can go when I'm done," Ian looked at him, his gaze searching for signs of something Mickey couldn't decipher, in his own hazel eyes.
He was saying yes. Ian was saying yes. Mickey's heart picked up speed as a smile found its way onto his lips.
"I've heard packing is a lot more fun when you have some help," Mickey muttered, grabbing a small pile of clothes from the coffee table, where Ian had obviously left them to be folded and packed.
Ian smiled. It wasn't a real smile by any means; it lacked warmth and sincerity, and it didn't reach Ian's eyes, nor did it hide the vestiges of fear and doubts swimming there – but it was the first smile Mickey had seen in his face in what seemed like forever, so he wouldn't complain.
Maybe, before it was over, Mickey would be able to make him smile for real.
Maybe, before it was over, Mickey would find a way to make Ian want to stay forever.