Chapter 18
Watching Ian inch cautiously into his apartment was like watching Bambi learning to walk. He had his arms wrapped anxiously around himself and his blue eyes were wide, as he took everything in.
They had taken Ian's car – an old Navigator that definitely needed some work – and during the ride to Mickey's apartment, Ian had been completely silent. Mickey was afraid he might be regretting his decision. He didn't want Ian to ever return to that sad little apartment, but once Ian was healed he was free to choose his own path, regardless of what Mickey wanted.
"The bedroom and the bathroom are down the hall," he said, to break the uncomfortable silence, as he set Ian's bag on the couch. "You're welcome to grab whatever you want from the kitchen, whenever you're hungry or thirsty. If there's something you'd like that I don't have, just let me know and I'll pick it up at the grocery store for you."
"Thank you," Ian murmured quietly, as he looked over the living room and open plan kitchen. He stopped at the bookcase and looked at the pictures of Mickey's family displayed there. "Your apartment is really nice."
Mickey smiled at him. "I hope you'll be comfortable here. It'll probably take at least a couple of weeks for you to recuperate, so… if you get bored or something, I have plenty of books and movies."
Ian nodded absently and headed toward the couch with slow steps, exhausted just from the trip there, and carefully lowered himself until he was sitting on the end of the couch.
"I'll put your medicines on the kitchen counter so they'll be convenient. I'm gonna have to go back to work on Monday, so I'll try to leave whatever you might need easily accessible," Mickey poured Ian a glass of water, to ensure he stayed hydrated, in accordance with his father's instructions. "I'll show you the rest of the apartment later, but I think you should rest for a little now."
"I feel like I've been sleeping for ages," Ian protested weakly, as he accepted the glass from Mickey and took a sip.
"That's because your body needs it, to recover," Mickey replied solicitously, hazel eyes shifting to the dark marks under Ian's, still so noticeable. "Another little nap won't hurt…"
Ian hugged a throw pillow against his chest, blinking sleepily already. "I guess…"
"Would you like to lie down on my bed, instead? Maybe you'll be more comfortable there…" Mickey suggested, looking down the hall, trying to remember when he had last changed the sheets. "Or I could draw you a bath first, so you could… oh."
He turned to see Ian was already fast asleep, cuddling the pillow and looking far more peaceful than Mickey had seen him before. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as he moved to remove the duffel bag from the couch to make more room, and carefully maneuvered him into a horizontal position, avoiding any pressure on his ribs. He slipped another pillow under his head, and covered him with the quilt from the back of the couch, resisting the urge to plant a tender little kiss to his hair.
Mickey was chopping some vegetables – it had started to rain, the perfect weather for a warm, comforting soup – when Ian accidentally pressed his side against the back of the couch in his sleep, and woke with a soft cry of pain.
"Are you okay?" Mickey called from the kitchen, frowning in concern.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Ian said groggily. "What time is it?"
"Almost two," Mickey replied, wiping his hands in a kitchen cloth and walking towards him. "I thought we could have a late lunch and maybe you'd like to take a bath afterwards?"
"I would love that," Ian murmured, delighted at the thought of a bath.
Mickey smiled at him softly. "No problem. Let me finish with this first, so we can eat." He heard some shuffling after he resumed his work, and turned to find Ian was making his way with difficulty into the kitchen as well. "What are you doing in here?"
"Can I help? I feel useless. I won't get any worse if I help you…" He leaned gingerly against the counter next to him, glancing around as if looking for something helpful to do.
"I'm almost done. And my dad said you should be resting…" Mickey said, doubtfully.
"Mickey, please. I've just napped for like two hours." Mickey watched Ian rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, and his heart soared with happiness, because in that fleeting second, Ian was completely unguarded and natural again. "Let me do something."
Mickey kept a wary eye on Ian as they worked together, watching him for any signs of discomfort or pain. He seemed to be doing okay, though, so Mickey allowed himself to relax and simply enjoy his company. Things felt a lot less awkward and tense than they had until now. Maybe it had been a good idea to get Ian out of his sad apartment.
Once the soup was cooking, filling the apartment with a lovely homey scent, Ian sat at the kitchen table to rest a bit – frustrated that he got tired so easily from merely cooking for a few minutes – and watched as Mickey cut a few slices of crusty French bread, and set out for two soup bowls.
Ian realized how domestic they felt, simply by making a meal together. He had never had someone to share domestic moments like this, at least not since his dad had died, and even before that, Frank Gallagher had avoided spending time in the kitchen, especially since Ian frequently shooed him away because his father had always been a terrible cook.
Ian didn't notice a small smile had appeared on his face until Mickey sat in front of him, studying him curiously as he slid a bowl of soup towards him.
"What are you thinking about?" Mickey asked.
Ian broke off a little piece of bread and dipped it in the broth. "My dad."
Mickey seemed shocked at his honest response. "Oh?"
"I never allowed him in the kitchen when I was cooking," Ian murmured, lost in memories. "Especially after his first heart attack. He constantly tried to sneak more salt into everything I made." He chuckled as another memory revived. "God, he was so… he was always looking for some way to bond with me, to connect with me, because we never had many things in common. He was football fan, a beer-drinker, a mechanic… and I was all about fashion and show tunes. It was hard for him to find a way to relate to me, but he did his best…"
Mickey's eyes filled with tears as he listened to Ian's voice, full of love and tenderness. These were his favorite memories and he was sharing them with Mickey willingly. It felt huge.
"He tried once to convince me to give him cooking lessons, as a nice way to spend time together and get me to talk about school and everything else…" He shook his head fondly. "I should've started with something easier, but he wanted to make soufflé. God, it turned out more like a pancake, but we had fun…"
"I bet he would've gladly tried anything, just to spend some quality time with you," Mickey commented softly.
"Yeah," Ian's tiny smile was still in place, agreeing with him. He looked at Mickey, like he was remembering he was actually there with him. But instead of freaking out, he said firmly: "He would've liked you. He would've respected you."
Mickey felt breathless with those words, because he knew how important Ian's dad had been to him. He didn't know how to respond. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You know, I don't believe in God, saints, and angels and all that crap," Ian rolled his eyes at those foolish notions. "I don't even think there are actually places like heaven or hell. But I like to think both he and my mom are somewhere. And if they were looking down at us now… I think he'd be very grateful for what you've done for me. What you're doing for me."
Mickey felt overwhelmed with emotion. That comment meant more to him than any compliment he had ever received in his entire life, than any word of kindness. This… this was everything. "Ian…"
At the sound of his name, Ian seemed to startle back to normal. He looked down and sunk his spoon into his soup. "This is really good. Where did you get this recipe?"
Just like that, this magical moment they had shared was, vanished. They were just Ian and Mickey again – the broken man who had struggled to survive for too long and the lonely man who wanted to save him, knowing he would be left behind at the end.
Maybe it had been fleeting – but it was a moment Mickey would treasure forever.
They ate the rest of their lunch in silence.
For the next two days, nothing very extraordinary happened. Ian rested, between helping him cook every now and then, and watching movies and reading books, admitting he hadn't had time or energy to enjoy either of those pastimes in years. Mickey allowed him his own space and tried to carry on with his life as normally as possible with Ian's presence filling the apartment (and Mickey) with a new vibe.
Of course, he was more than a little nervous about leaving him alone when he returned to work. What if he needed him? What if he was in pain and couldn't get to his meds? What if ventured out on his own and something terrible happened to him? Mickey knew he was overcompensating, and he needed to relax and stop worrying so much. Ian was a grown man who could make his own decisions, but Mickey still couldn't help imagining the worst case scenarios. Fortunately, his dad called right on cue to say he would like to drop by to check on Ian.
"You have the most fantastic timing," Mickey muttered with relief, and arranged to have his father stop by his apartment that afternoon.
Mickey had tried several times to talk Ian into going into a hospital just to make sure he was okay, but had gotten such a hostile response that he decided to just forget it unless his condition deteriorated again. He didn't know what he would have done without his dad being willing to make house calls.
Ian was reading on the couch when Mickey heard the knock on the door that announced his father's arrival. But it wasn't his father he first saw when he opened the door…
"Mom?" He was immediately pulled into her arms for one of her amazing hugs, before he could even process what was happening. "What are you doing here?"
"She insisted on coming along, to see with her own two eyes that Ian's doing alright. She's been fretting about him non-stop, since the attack," Terry replied from behind her.
"That poor boy," Grace said sadly, releasing her son. "Where is he?"
"In the living room," Mickey answered. "He's reading. But… don't scare him, Mom."
"I'm not going to scare him," Grace almost pouted, incensed at the very idea of Ian enduring any more anxiety. Mickey couldn't believe how adorable his mother could be.
Mickey still didn't want to take any risk of alarming Ian, and hurried to be the first one to enter the living room and announce their visitors. "Ian? My parents are here."
Ian peeked over the back of the couch, not prepared at all for company. His hair was sticking out in every direction, but he looked a lot better than he'd looked before. At least the dark marks under his eyes were pretty much gone now, and he wasn't as gaunt and pallid.
"Hi," he said timidly, obviously nervous. The last time he had seen them, he was still pretending to be someone he wasn't, accepting their hospitality under false pretenses.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Grace asked with a gentle smile.
"Okay," Ian replied tersely. It seemed it wasn't going to be easy to convince him he didn't need to be uncomfortable.
"I wanted to check in on you," Terry said calmly. "Mickey has kept me updated, but I'd like to check your ribs, if you're okay with that."
Ian looked terribly uncomfortable but nodded, feeling obligated to cooperate.
"We should make some tea," Grace suggested, already moving towards the kitchen. "So we can have a cup once the doctor finishes with his patient."
Mickey smiled gratefully at her. "That sounds good. Ian, do you want me to stay with you or…?"
"I'm fine," Ian assured him.
Mickey watched him for a second, but Ian seemed to be alright, already turning all of his attention to Terry, who had started asking him questions. Mickey followed his mother into the kitchen and found her filling the kettle with water.
"You look a little tired, Mickey, dear," she commented. "How are you holding up?"
Mickey grinned at her easily and retrieved four cups from the cupboard. "I'm alright, Mom. Don't worry about me…"
"Oh, but that's exactly what mothers do. Humor me," Grace leaned on the counter to look at her son. "Have you been sleeping? Eating? I know how you get when you're worried about something. Or someone."
"I've been eating very well. I join Ian eating nutritious meals every four hours," Mickey replied, knowing it was better to appease her. "And I'm getting enough sleep as well. I let Ian have my bed, but the couch is very comfortable…"
"We could bring another bed for you, if you're not comfortable," Grace said readily. "You could put it in that closet you call office, if we remove some of the boxes and shift the desk…"
"No thanks Mom. I appreciate your concern, but that won't be necessary. Really," he insisted when he saw she was about to protest. "Ian's doing wonderfully. He'll probably go back to his own apartment in a couple more weeks. There's no need to go to all that trouble…"
She knew him better than anyone. Something in his eyes must have alerted her to how he felt about Ian leaving, because she placed her hand in his and squeezed it gently.
"Mickey…" Her smile was gentle and she spoke in a quiet whisper. "Darling, who says he should ever leave?"
"Mom, please. We all know he will leave as soon as he can. And it's alright. If he wants to leave, then so be it." Those words were bitter in Mickey's mouth, but he knew that Ian wouldn't risk trusting him again. "As long as he's safe, I'll be happy. Even if he never wants to see me again…"
"I'm pretty sure he would, if you…" Grace started, but Mickey interrupted her softly.
"He doesn't want this. Me. Us. He asked me to leave him alone on that first day," Mickey murmured, careful that Ian couldn't overhear from the living room. "He wants me out of his hair, and I'll do whatever he wants me to do. I don't want to make him even more miserable…"
Grace sighed and shook her head fondly. "You know, Mickey… you've always been such a smart boy… but when it comes to love, you're so blind."
"Mom…" Mickey began to protest, but it was her turn to cut him off.
"Do you have any honey, dear? I would love some with my tea."
It was endearingly frustrating, how stubborn Grace Milkovich could be.
Terry informed all of them with a smile that Ian seemed to be progressing quickly towards full recovery, and congratulated Mickey on his caregiving efforts. He warned his patient that would still be a little sore for at least a couple more weeks, but he could begin to resume normal activities over the next week. Ian was visibly relieved and so was Mickey. They all had tea in the living room, filling the room with polite and amicable conversation.
Ian had never felt comfortable around the Milkovichs, but now he felt completely humiliated, because they knew about his background and how he had been hurt. They seemed sincerely interested in his well-being, Ian was never able to shake off the sense of shame, incapable of meeting their eyes over their tea.
Eventually, Ian started feeling drained by the stress of pretending everything was fine. He yawned, and though he tried to hide it, all eyes went to him immediately. He apologized, upset by how often his body needed rest. He knew he needed this idleness to recover, but he would have to go back to his life at some point, and it was going to be hard to get back on his feet after all this.
But, Ian couldn't help wondering what kind of life that was going to be.
Mickey put his cup down, seeing the signs that Ian needed to rest. "You need some sleep. I'll help you to the bedroom."
"Let me do it," Grace said with a bright smile and placing a hand on her son's arm to still him before he got up. "You finish your tea and continue to tell your father about the book you've been reading. I don't want the end spoiled anyway, for when I read it."
"Mom…" Mickey murmured, uncertainly.
"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of walking Ian to bed. I've raised two sons, and I've taken care of you and Iggy when you were sick plenty of times…"
"But…"
"Mickey, let her," Terry urged softly, as if only his son could hear.
Ian's eyes flew to Mickey, wide and alarmed. Mickey gave him a comforting smile and a slight nod. To reassure him, trusting his mother wouldn't do anything to upset Ian.
Ian just stared awkwardly at the ceiling as Grace insisted on tucking him in like a child, expecting her to saying 'see you later' or 'get some rest' or something else appropriate in situations like these. He definitely didn't expect her to close the door and sit on the edge of the bed next to him, and gaze at him intently.
"I would like to talk to you privately for a moment, Ian, if you don't mind," Grace said sweetly.
Ian's mind immediately ran wild. There were only a handful of reasons why she would want to talk to him. He swallowed, prepared to apologize abjectly for his fraudulent behaviour. And then he realized… he didn't need to hear it. He had dealt with enough already. "You don't have to say anything. I understand."
Grace arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, really?"
"You want me to leave Mickey alone. You want me to walk away as soon as I can and never see him again. You want me stay as far away as possible from your son," Ian said in a tired voice. Of course that was what she wanted. It was so obvious. "I completely understand, of course. Why should a nice man like Mickey be involved with a disgusting little slut like me? I'm sure you don't want to…"
"Ian, dear, no," Grace interrupted, looking horrified. "I don't want that, at all!"
Ian frowned, absolutely baffled. "I… I'm sorry? Then what would you possibly…?"
"Well I must say, I'd like quite the opposite," she said, squeezing his hand gently. "I think you're a very remarkable young man, who's made my son's life so much brighter. I've never seen Mickey smile the way he smiles around you!"
Ian's eyes widened, at a loss. "I'm not following."
"Ian, I liked you from the moment you stepped into my house. My opinion of you hasn't changed because of what you have had to do in order to survive," Grace looked straight into his eyes. "In fact, now I know what a brave, strong man you are. I could never despise you for what life has made of you. Everyone has a cross to bear, Ian. Unfortunately, yours has been heavier than most of ours."
"Mrs. Milkovich, I'm a prostitute," Ian replied firmly, incapable of believing what this woman was saying. "You can't just gloss over that with beautiful words."
"I'm not glossing over anything," Grace shook her head. "I'm just trying to show you that it doesn't matter what you've had to do… what matters is who you are. You can always change your job, but you can't change your heart. And I can see your heart is good, Ian Gallagher."
Ian could feel his eyes brimming with tears. No one had ever talked to him this way. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because my son wouldn't fall in love with someone whose heart wasn't good," Grace answered calmly. Ian's heart began racing in his chest.
"W-what…?"
"Oh, you heard me, sweetheart," Grace smiled at him. "You have to be blind not to see it. Mickey has always worn his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but that's my son."
"He can't… I'm not…" Ian babbled, unable to form coherent words.
"He can and he is," Grace said gently but firmly. "I know my son, Ian. I changed his diapers, taught him how to walk, took him to school every morning, and I've watched him get his heart broken about a million times, because he cares too deeply… but I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you." She smoothed the blanket, even though it wasn't necessary. "I think you might feel the same, if you'd stop worrying about whether you're good enough for him or not. Again, I'm his mother, I would know what's good for him or not… and I think you're not good enough."
Ian had started feeling lighter as Grace spoke, his burden of guilt lifting from his shoulders, but suddenly, his entire world seemed to fall and crumble into ruins again.
"You're more than just good enough. I think you're absolutely perfect."
Ian had to fight the urge to cry, a lump growing in his throat. "Mrs. Milkovich…"
"I should let you rest now," she leaned to kiss his forehead, warming Ian by the gesture. "But… I want you to think carefully about what I said."
Ian nodded jerkily. "I will."
"Good," she turned and walked towards the door, stopping when she was almost completely out of the room. "Oh, and Ian? When you decide you're ready for a change of career, give me a call. I'm sure we can come up with something, regardless of what happens between you and Mickey. I could definitely use your kind of talent."
Ian didn't have time to respond. Grace was gone before he could even finish processing her words.
The next few days were quiet. There was something unsaid hanging in the air between them, but neither had the courage to address it.
Mickey insisted that he only wanted Ian to get better. Ian wasn't sure if that meant he wanted to get rid of him, or if it was just Mickey's wonderful caring nature reaching the surface.
Either way, Ian had a great deal to think about. The storm of his life seemed to be coming to an end, and he needed to decide what he was going to do once the calm had arrived.
Mickey went back to work the following Monday, but spent most of the day glancing at his clock and worrying. Even his kids noticed something was wrong. He just couldn't stop thinking about Ian. Things had been strangely quiet and tense between them lately, and Mickey wasn't sure if leaving him alone hadn't been a mistake. What if Ian did something stupid, like escape from the apartment while Mickey was gone? It had only been mere chance that he had found Ian after the attack. Mickey didn't even want to think about what could possibly happen to him, if he chose to disappear again…
Would he ever manage to find him?
But his worries had been completely unnecessary. Mickey arrived home later that day, practically running through the front door, only to see Ian curled up in the couch watching reruns of Friends.
He tried to ignore the rush of pleasure and warmth at coming home to Ian. He didn't need to deal with the feelings that would bring, when he was no longer there.
The climax of all that tension happened a few nights later. Ian was already in bed, but Mickey stayed up late, catching up with his DVR recorded shows in the living room. He was already in his sleeping clothes, some loose sweatpants and a softly worn old t-shirt. He was eating a piece of cheesecake he had gotten on his way home from work, for Ian. He loved the way Ian's eyes lit up when he saw the dessert, how he devoured his particularly large piece avidly, sucking the jam from the tips of his fingers when he was done, as if he couldn't get enough. For the very first time, Mickey actually witnessed him completely enjoying something.
Mickey was half watching the TV and half thinking about Ian when he heard a truly terrified scream from his bedroom. It would've been quite difficult to miss, since it pierced the silence and froze the blood running through his veins.
Mickey was on his feet and rushing towards Ian in a second, heart already thumping against his ribcage in panic. Had something happened? It didn't sound like the pained squeals Ian let out every now and then when he accidentally rolled onto his bad side at night. It sounded like something entirely different – something born from horror.
Mickey pushed the door open and turned the lamp on. Before him, Ian was thrashing on the bed, tear tracks down his cheeks and holding onto the pillow so tightly that his knuckles were white, sobbing and letting out distressed little noises. Mickey knelt on the floor next to the bed, ready to wake him, but then he recognized some of the sounds he was making, finding the words hidden in them.
"P-please, p-please don't hurt me! I-I'll do anything… anything…" Ian sobbed harder. "Stop, stop, please!"
Unable to listen to Ian's distraught words any longer, Mickey put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He had expected it would be a lot harder to actually get him to wake, but Ian's eyes snapped open abruptly and he screamed again, looking at Mickey with utter terror in his blue gaze.
"Ssh, ssh, it's me," Mickey murmured as calmly as he could. "It's me, sweetheart. You're safe. You're home. You're okay. Ssh…"
Ian tried to push him away, using the arm on his bad side and instantly crying out in pain.
"Careful. Don't be scared, Ian. Everything's fine…" Mickey had the feeling those words would never be anything but a lie. How could Ian ever be fine? He was hurt beyond repair. His past would always haunt him and no matter how much Mickey tried to shield him from the memories, they would always come back.
"Mickey?" Ian asked in a choked voice.
"Yeah, it's me, sweetheart," Mickey did his best to smile reassuringly. He slowly reached for Ian's hand, giving him the chance to pull away if the contact wasn't welcomed. "Are you okay? Bad dream?"
"It was… it was…" Ian sobbed, shaking his head as if to will the images away. "It was that night. AT-the night you found me. B-but this time he wouldn't stop hitting me…"
"Oh Ian," Mickey felt his eyes filling with tears. "You're safe now. That bastard will never touch you again. I promise."
"You can't promise that," Ian replied, with his lower lip quivering. "There will always be someone touching me, hurting me…"
"Not anymore," Mickey said firmly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Ian. If you don't want to go back to the street and let another stranger touch you, then that's that. It won't happen ever again…" He squeezed his hand. "And if anyone ever does something to you that you don't want… I will rip that person apart. I swear I will keep you safe."
Ian used his free hand to cover his face, as if he was trying to shield his eyes from the sight of this cruel world. Mickey knew he couldn't imagine a better world than the dark place he inhabited – not yet, at least. But he was willing to do whatever it took to get Ian to see a ray of sunlight peering through the darkness.
"Do you want me to track down the guy who did this to you? I didn't dare ask about him before now, because I wasn't sure what you wanted to do… but I could still call the police. If you could identify him…" Mickey said, but Ian was already shaking his head.
"I don't remember his face. I'm not sure I even saw him," Ian murmured tiredly. "It was a… a very difficult night. It's not that I need him to be in jail to feel safe, Mickey. I'm not safe because this… this poison is inside of me. I should've been smarter, I should've been stronger… but I let all of this go too far… I let this thing become my life…"
"You were just a kid when you started, Ian. And you were vulnerable after your dad died…" Mickey replied, desperate to help but not knowing how.
"I could've stopped," Ian said vehemently. "When I went to college. I had the perfect opportunity to start over, to leave everything behind… and I didn't know how. As soon as things go tough, I started over."
"Exactly – you didn't know how," Mickey grabbed both his hands in his and leaned closer so their eyes would meet. "Ian, you were damaged. Your whole life fell to pieces in front of you. You were just trying to find some way to survive…"
"Spreading my legs for random bastards didn't get me very far…" Ian said, his voice tainted with self-hatred.
"It got you to a point where you know you want your life to be different," Mickey answered quietly. "You could've just spiraled down into this, got yourself even deeper in this shit… but you don't want it, Ian. You want to break free."
Ian's eyes filled with tears. "I-I do, but I just don't know if I can."
"I'll help you," Mickey assured him, smiling at him gently. "We'll get through this together."
Ian looked down at their joined hands and frowned, confused. "Why would you want to help me? Why are you doing all this?"
"Because I love you," Mickey said simply and watched Ian freeze at his words. "Because I've seen right through all these horrible experiences you've been through and I've found a man worth fighting for. And I don't even care if you don't ever love me back – I don't expect anything from you, Ian. But I want you to be safe, because I don't want to see you being pushed to an edge you can't step back from. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I can't imagine living in a world without you – and I don't want to have to."
Ian gaped incredulously at him. Mickey knew he had trouble believing that other people cared that much about him – he had seen him doubt that too many times. "You…"
"You don't have to say anything," Mickey interrupted, because even though he didn't need Ian to say he loved him back, even though he had already decided that he could live without Ian by his side, as painful as that idea was, it would still tear him apart not to hear the right reply to those words. He needed more time. Maybe he would eventually learn how to be in love with someone who didn't want him back. "It's okay, really. I just want you to let me be there for you."
Ian bit his lip and looked away, but nodded jerkily. The corners of Mickey's mouth curled up slightly. This would have to be enough.
Mickey cleared his throat. "Good. So… do you feel better now? Do you want to go back to sleep?"
Ian blinked and hesitated for a moment, before saying: "Would you stay with me for a while? Until I fall asleep?"
"Of course," Mickey said immediately, even though his knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the floor.
"Would you please… hold me?" Ian asked in the quietest of voices, shyly.
Mickey couldn't deny Ian's request had surprised him. He had thought Ian wouldn't want him or anyone to ever touch him intimately again. "I… sure, yeah."
Mickey climbed under the blankets and Ian immediately rolled towards him, careful not to put pressure on his ribs, and put his head on his shoulder. Mickey slid an arm around him and held him close, feeling Ian's heartbeat against his side.
Ian fell asleep soon after, all traces of distress gone from his face as he clung to Mickey in dreams. He was peaceful during the rest of the night, but Mickey couldn't sleep. He stared up at the dark ceiling and wondered if he wasn't about to cure Ian's heartbreak with a heartbreak of his own.
And then he decided it would be well worth any price, as long as Ian was safe and happy.