Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

“You're messing up your lines, Gallagher.” Ian heard a harsh, bitter female voice coming from his side. His attention eventually landed on the elderly woman with fair skin that carried a faint rosy blush. She had fiery red hair with natural curls, falling in waves around her shoulders. He could see the wrinkles on her face, which she was undoubtedly attempting to conceal with a variety of balms and other cosmetics. 

The hand was holding up her chin, and one of her fingers had a ring, indicating that she was married. 

Her stern, irritated, and annoyed gaze swept across all the members on stage, finally coming to rest on Ian, the tallest of them all. He wasn't truly surprised.

Throughout the preceding few days, it appeared that the woman cherished venting her rage on the innocent man who was doing his best to satisfy her. 

“I'm sorry, ma'am.” He responded quickly, tightening his grip on the paper with all the lines. His nervous stare fell on it, and he noticed a few phrases highlighted, some scribbles on the edges, and his own notes on what he was supposed to do when saying them aloud. 

The professor sighed and laid her palms on her hips. She stepped closer to the man, and the person standing in front of him: a young woman with chestnut brown hair cascading in loose waves down to her shoulders, framing a face with warm, olive-toned skin. Her deep brown eyes were almond-shaped, with a hint of mischief in their gaze. She had a slender, graceful stature, and her smile radiated both confidence and kindness.

“There's not much time left for us; the spectacle is right around the corner, and you keep on repeating the same mistakes.” She stated, and her stare became firm and serious, one Ian had never seen before. Her comment sounded like she meant every word twice as much as she always did. It caused him to take a deep breath and fix his worried gaze on her unimpressed expression. “If you keep on doing it, I might need to change the main character.” 

The man was startled; he had been trying to play the main role since the day he started college, and the prospect of losing it made his stomach turn over. 

“Ma'am, Ian is incredibly good. He's the best pick for this role.” The woman in front of Ian spoke up, forcing him to ignore his distracting thoughts and concentrate on her. Her name was Juana, and Ian found it humorous since her name and nationality indicated she was Spanish, but she couldn't speak any of it. Juana was the first person he met after enrolling in college; they sat next to each other in their first acting classes and eventually became friends. 

The older one, standing near the two performers, gave them a puzzled and unsure glance, as if she were about to complain about Juana's comment. However, the woman Ian was working with was not to be criticized; she was incredibly skilled at memorizing her lines and her acting was outstanding; no one could argue with that. Obviously, her viewpoint was very important to their director, who would not have chosen to put on a show if Juana had not agreed to play the lead role on stage. 

“Okay, then.” She answered quietly, taking a step back to her old position and crossing her arms. Ian observed her closely, intrigued by the rapid change in attitude. “Go on, try again.”

He shifted his sight to the woman in front of him and noticed a cheeky grin. It wasn't the first time that Juana had saved him from trouble. He owed her his entire life by that moment. 

“Yes, ma'am.” Ian nodded, cleared his throat, and glanced at the lines once more. After that, he hid the paper behind his back, dropped to one knee, and extended his arm in the air, offering a hand to the other actress. Ian's demeanor turned worried, and his brow furrowed, but it was all part of the play. 

The director fixed her attention on him, and Juana prepared to begin acting in a few seconds. 

“Fair Princess, how doth my heart yearn for thee, like a lone star seeking solace in the vast expanse of the night sky.” He began with a reserved, yet elegant tone of voice, causing all the performers to turn around and watch the green-eyed with interest, “Thy beauty, a radiant beacon that doth illuminate even the darkest corners of my soul. Each glance, each smile bestowed upon me—” 

“Stop.” The severe voice boomed across the large stage once more, interrupting Ian's words and making both performers lift their eyebrows at the woman. The man was surprised; he thought his speech was well-spoken aloud, he didn't make a single error, and he couldn't comprehend what further criticism his professor would level at his output. “First of all, raise your chin; you are supposed to speak to Princess Cordelia's face. Second, the sentence breaks are too short; no viewer will grasp a single word you say.”

Ian did not answer, and he slowly rose himself from one knee; his entire countenance was displeased, and he had no idea what to do to appease the woman anymore.

No matter what he did, said, or carried out, she would always do her best to find a flaw to present in front of the entire cast.

“Can I try again?” he asked, as if confident that the woman would not find any mistakes in his speech if he tried once more.

“We've wasted enough time,” she claimed sternly, nodding off at the clock on the wall, signaling that it had already passed the given time when the class was due to end. “All right, that's enough for me, we're ending it for today.” She waved her hand in the air and signaled for everyone on stage to return to the changing room. Ian drew a deep breath, and all he wanted to do was tear the paper with his lines apart, toss it away, or burn it in the fire, but he couldn't. The job he was given was his opportunity to succeed, to be seen and admired by others, but there was one person who continued to stand in his way. 

“I need you to get better, Gallagher. This isn't a playground,” she reminded the man, and with each unsatisfied word she pointed out, Ian began to believe that he needed to start putting more effort into his acting. “I'll see you both in the next class. Keep on repeating the lines.” 

Then they both watched as the woman carefully went away in her high heels, wiping the dust from her sleeves. 

Juana shifted her sparkling eyes towards Ian and came closer to him, stating, “Don't listen to her. You're doing amazing.” She placed her palm on his shoulder and gently massaged it.

Ian admired the woman's concern and care, yet it was easy for her to say it as she has been everyone's favorite since they started playing on stage. It was very different for Ian; even though he was chosen for an important role, the professor blamed everything on him and his performance. It became overwhelming over time. 

“Thanks,” he replied, breathing out an empty breath as he headed towards the stairs off the stage. Juana followed him shortly after, maintaining an anxious expression throughout. 

“Look, Collins is an old woman who is going through menopause. It's normal for her to act like that.” She shrugged, attempting to explain the woman's odd behavior.

“And I'm a student thirty years younger than her.” He squinted but tried not to raise his voice, even if he was desperate for it. “It has been months and I haven't heard a single compliment from her. What'm I doing wrong?”

Juana frowned and crossed her arms, walking alongside Ian the entire time. She despised how he continued blaming himself for every warning from their professor; most of the complaints came out of nowhere, and it appeared that the woman was merely trying to get the man to resign from his role. 

“C'mon, Ian. Everyone else likes you; she is the only one who has a problem. Ignore her, trust me.” She made the man focus on her with her reply. 

Ian exhaled a frustrated breath; he'd grown accustomed to hearing the same conversation every day, and it hadn't changed his mind yet.

His green, mournful eyes met the dark, dazzling ones, and he couldn't tell if Juana was worried about losing a partner on stage or about Ian's wellbeing anymore.

“They like me, but not my acting. What's the sense of doing something if my own professor doesn't like it?” His voice weakened, and the woman knew it wasn't the right time to assure him everything was going to be fine and to start being honest. 

“Then, I guess what's left for you is to convince her you're a good actor.”

The man stopped walking and stood still, raising his brow. Juana's advice seemed so clear; it had been a thing he had been trying to do for the past few months. 

“How?” he asked, observing as the woman looked aside, as if searching for a solution in the distance. 

“What if you need another person to accompany you?” she suggested, and Ian immediately wanted to avoid and dismiss the idea. 

“I do the same thing on stage almost every day,” he hoped Juana would come up with a better plan. 

“No, I wasn't referring to us. I mean… Someone who hasn't seen you act on stage.” she explained calmly, and Ian held his stare for a moment. 

He hadn't considered having others see him act, and it wasn't like he could: his entire family was hundreds of miles away, and during the few months he'd been in New Jersey, he hadn't met anyone other than students from college. The most of the blame fell on him for being at home the majority of the time and only attending classes. The days were monotonous, but he couldn't concentrate on anything else when the spectacle wasn't far away. 

“I don't know,” he exhaled, still trying to think of something more effective, but his mind went blank. He couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or simply fed up with his professor's complaints.

“I used to act in front of my mom.” She smiled warmly as she recalled, “She would pretend she was my audience, and I was performing in front of a large crowd. It worked for me.”

Ian immediately imagined younger Juana in the long gowns and awful make-up, rushing across the living room and reciting the made-up lines aloud. It melted his heart, and he wished he'd known her before they met at college. Perhaps he wouldn't be so terrified of his lifelong desire of becoming an actor. 

“I don't have a family here, you know.” He shrugged, locking a look of sadness in the brown eyes in front of him. “And it's not like I have friends, either.”

That was uncomfortable to confess, but Ian was aware that Juana was well-versed in his personal life. She noted that the man had been spending the most of his leisure time at home, memorizing lines, or at college, trying to impress his professor. 

“Then it's up to you to find them,” she replied kindly, as if it was the easiest task to carry out. Juana was very different from Ian; she was easygoing. The woman could approach anyone she had never spoken to before and become friends after five minutes of talking. Ian couldn't do it; he still wasn't able to comprehend he'd had a chance to meet Juana in the first place.

“There is a pub not far from here. They do sporadic gigs. We could go there together.” Ian furrowed his eyebrows at the unexpected idea, although he wasn't sure about it. He still wanted to thoroughly prepare for the performance, and going out would not help him do that. 

Juana observed the hesitant expression on his pale face and stepped closer to him, forcing the green eyes to meet hers. “I get that you need to be perfect,” she stated, nodding to the paper with Ian's lines. “But even perfect people need to rest every now and then.”

Ian shifted his face in the direction at which Juana looked and raised the paper, locking his eyes on all the unnecessarily long and difficult-to-spell words. True, he was fatigued, and part of him was sick of memorizing the same easily forgotten phrases over and again, but the other half of him was telling him not to quit since it would only make matters worse at that point. 

When he attempted to respond to Juana, one of the actors appeared right next to the two of them. It was August; he played a background character, and Ian hasn't had much time to get to know him. 

He only knew he was from Germany, and he disliked anyone who mentioned it aloud, for whatever reason it was. Ian once heard that August fled his home country as soon as he turned eighteen, desperate to let go of anything that tied him to it. He hesitated to question it openly, but a part of him found it intriguing. He's never seen somebody with such disdain for their own state. 

“Hey, guys. Great job today.” He grinned broadly, displaying his striking white teeth and flashing the two of them. Then he shifted his attention to Juana and was met with a warm, welcoming stare. “Can I talk to you for a second, Juana?”

The woman glanced at Ian as if she were shooting him with a questioning glare. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. I can handle myself.” He chuckled uneasily and stroked his arm before swiftly reverting to his usual seriousness. 

“Think about my suggestion, okay?” she asked, pointing a finger at the man, and Ian was compelled to nod, despite the fact that his entire pose expressed how much he preferred staying at home. “I'll see you tomorrow.” 

Then he observed as the woman turned around and started walking away, with August by her side, who instantly began gesticulating and explaining things using extreme expressiveness. 

Ian pulled out a deep breath before turning around and gently walking towards the exit. Then, he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out, peering at the bright, shining screen. 

It was his older sister calling: Fiona.

He peeked at the call for a few seconds before forcing himself to take a breath and grin, bringing the object close to his ear. 

“Hey, little brother.” Her voice was warm and passionate, and Ian has often wondered how she managed to maintain that attitude toward him for nearly his whole life. “Oh, shit. I didn't look at the time; am I interrupting your classes?”

“No, I've just finished them.” He responded calmly, shoving the paper in his pocket and edging closer to the door, “I'm going home now.”

“You're finishing them really late. Aren't you tired?” Fiona questioned with concern in her voice, and Ian couldn't deny that with each passing day, his body wasn't excellent at suppressing the urge for sleep. 

But he forced himself to lie to his sister to prevent her worrying and educating him that college wasn't a smart choice after all, “I'm okay. I like it here.” 

“I trust you.” She muttered, but she didn't sound convinced, whilst she didn't want to push the issue any further. 

Ian pushed the exit door with his free arm and proceeded outside, down to the first floor of the building.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask if you'd want to come back to the South Side on Christmas break.” Fiona offered, expecting her brother to moan about having so many things to work on, “The kids miss you. I do too.” 

Ian paused for a second, remained silent, and carefully departed the college building, staring around at the other students outside, smoking and joking together. 

“I think I could.” He eventually reacted. Ian missed his siblings, as well as the daily turmoil, mess, and Fiona's support. Life seemed easier back then. “I have a performance after the break. You should come over and watch it.”

Even though he didn't see it, he could sense Fiona smiling from ear to ear. “Already? It looks like my brother will become a star soon.”

The man strolled down the street, raising his head to view the beautiful stars in the sky; he hadn't realized how late it was. When he was concentrated on anything, time seemed to pass quickly. 

“I don't think so, but you can fantasize,” he chuckled, despite his intense desire to be acknowledged as an actor. He wanted everyone to watch and appreciate him. However, it felt like a foolish dream to begin with.

After a second, Ian heard noises on the other end of the phone: the children shrieking and slamming, followed by Fiona's loud, tired grunt. 

“They're messing around again, I have to go.” She muttered, and Ian's smaller siblings screamed again, prompting him to smile impulsively. That was the aspect he missed the most; since he began living alone in a new apartment, the entire space had been utterly quiet. He had to switch on the television or music at times, since his thoughts would go absolutely blank in the horrible silence. 

“Tell them I'll bring them a lot of candies if they behave,” he claimed with a sly smirk. Who wouldn't fall for such a tempting trap?

“Carl goes crazy when he eats anything sweet, remember?” It was a hilarious but truthful remark. When his younger brother ate more candy, he couldn't sit still for hours and would stay up late, making sounds and claiming he wasn't tired. 

“I know, I know. I'll bring him a smaller portion, then.” He shrugged and could feel Fiona roll her eyes in response. “All right, I need to go catch a bus, so I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure, talk to you later, Ian.” She responded enthusiastically, and the call ended after a few seconds. 

Ian removed the phone from his ear and peered at the bright screen for a few more seconds before dropping it into his pocket and walking towards the empty bus stop nearby. 

The streets were strangely quiet, and the only sources of light were the lamps placed a few meters apart and the moon gleaming in the sky. 

Ian shifted closer to the bench and sat down, sighing heavily. He was certain he was late for the bus, but it seems that he had also managed to find some quiet time to contemplate. 

He put his palms against the two sides of his thighs on the wooden bench, staring down at his shoelaces and waving his feet slowly. 

A surge of chilly air hit him in the face, and he closed his eyes, relishing the solitude for once. His crimson strands of hair fell over his forehead, and he briefly regretted not bringing an extra jacket to conceal himself. The winter was approaching, and the temperature began to drop with each passing day. 

Ian took a deep breath and leaned back against the glass-framed wall behind him, crossed his fingers. 

Just as he was immersing himself in his thoughts, he heard footsteps and a loud voice not far from the bus stop, causing his head to elevate. 

“Yes, aunt. I get it.” He heard a harsh, low, and exhausted masculine voice. It was dark, so his eyes couldn't see the man's complete form, but he knew he was nearing the bus stop. 

It took him a few more steps to get closer, and Ian tried to hide his intrigued gaze as it swept across the stranger's shape. 

He expected to see an older person, but his dark pupils expanded when he saw a young man with black as the night hair slicked back, even if a single strand fell right on his forehead. His eyes were blue, and the color shone through the surrounding blackness. The man had long, thick eyelashes and flushed cheeks from the cold. 

He wore a leather, black jacket with spikes on the shoulders and several patches on the front. There was a visible black t-shirt, but Ian paid little attention to it. 

His focus was drawn to the pants, which were fastened with metallic chains that made a distinct sound with each stride the man took. 

Finally, his boots, which reached halfway to the knee, raised Ian's eyebrows in surprise at the length of shoelaces. He would not have the energy to knot them all in the morning. 

When the man approached the bench, Ian noticed that he was holding an instrument in the large, dark case suit: a guitar, most likely an electric one.

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” He blew out a nervous breath before laying the instrument on the bench and sitting next to it, saying, “Yeah, see you.” 

Then Ian noticed the man pull the phone away from his ear and end the call, dropping it in his jacket pocket. 

Ian hurriedly looked down at his shoes again, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. However, he heard the other man slipping his hand into his pockets and eventually bringing out a pack of cigarettes, followed by a small lighter. The emerald eyes slowly rose to meet him, but he seemed to be unconcerned. 

The other one took out a single cigarette and put it between his lips before concealing the package and delicately guiding his mouth to the raised palm holding a lighter. He attempted to light it several times but failed. 

“For fuck's sake.” He groaned loudly and tried again, but it didn't work. 

He clenched his jaw and threw the lighter back to its previous spot, disappointed. He maintained a cigarette between his lips and looked around, eventually focusing on Ian, and their gazes connected for a fleeting second before the green-eyed stared away in a hurry. 

“Hey, you.” He heard the same stern and confident male voice address him as he removed the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his two fingers. Ian froze for a second before swallowing and turning his head to face the other. Their stares locked once more, and as the man got closer to Ian, he noticed many more characteristics on his face than before.

For example, his eyes were nearly totally swallowed by the dark pupils, leaving an empty sense behind. Yet, Ian felt there were many secrets hidden under his cold and solemn expression. 

His silver earrings gleamed on the sides of his head, capturing Ian's attention for a brief moment with their exceptional shine. 

“Got a lighter?” His tone of voice was considerably calmer, and the expression in his eyes was asking, as if he didn't intend to create any more arguments. 

Ian blinked a few times, as if attempting to figure out if the question was directed at him, but there was no one else in the area. The other man waited patiently before raising his thick black eyebrows and waving his fingers in front of the emerald eyes. “You there, buddy?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I think I do.” He responded swiftly, then turned his face to the pocket in his jeans and took out a little lighter. He wanted to give it to the other person, but the dark-haired man drew closer and leaned in. 

He pushed the cigarette back between his puffy, pink lips and directed it toward the lighter. Ian cautiously raised it and, in one swift motion, lighted the cigarette. 

The redhead could detect a variety of scents on the man's body, from the numerous colognes strewn on his neck to the aroma of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. It made him understand that he was not going to forget the aroma anytime soon. 

The other man cautiously drove away and inhaled the smoke, taking it away from his lips and exhaling through his nostrils with a relaxed breath. “Thanks, man. You're saving my life.” 

Ian examined him with wonder, and a faint smile appeared on his mouth, “I'm not really saving it, am I?”

The blue, dazzling eyes rested on the freckled face, and the stranger gave a witty grin. Ian saw his nose slightly scrunched when he did so, and two dimples appeared on his cheeks. It almost astounded him that such a scary-looking guy could have such a flattering smile. 

“Quite hypocritical of you.” He replied, pushing the cigarette back to his lips and inhaling the smoke while maintaining the lock on Ian's gaze, “The lighter is yours. You're a smoker yourself.”

Ian did not respond; the answer was clear as day. He had been attempting to quit smoking for a few months, but it became impossible after he started taking college classes. 

When he was stressed, which happened frequently in the last several months, he would pull out a pack of cigarettes and relax. It wasn't a good coping method, but he wasn't thinking clearly in those moments. 

The stranger saw how quiet he was and separated his lips to blow out the smoke, pressing his eyebrows together. “Unless you're an arsonist. Am I in danger?” 

Ian frowned, but seeing the other's serious expression caused him to chuckle. However, he decided to play along and lifted his arms in surrender, saying, “You caught me. I burn houses down with the smallest lighter that exists.” 

“Knew it.” The man replied, shaking his head, but he couldn't stop laughing. 

Then Ian lowered his arms to his knees. He exhaled deeply, and the two of them fell silent once more. He had no idea why he was talking to the stranger, but he couldn't lie; he hadn't had a chance to laugh properly in the last few weeks. 

As the seconds passed, Ian only heard the wind blowing, the stranger tapping his boot against the ground, and his chains rubbing across the bench, until he decided to break the silence: “You look stressed.”

Ian blinked in surprise at the comment and switched his stare directly at him, finding the calm stare on him and the smoke blowing right into his face. 

He squinted his nose and pushed the smoke away from his face. “I'm not stressed, I just…” He inhaled and turned aside, losing touch with the searing glare on him. “I didn't have a good day, to be honest.” 

Ian thought that expressing his emotions, even if it was to a stranger, could have helped him. 

He couldn't think of another day when he felt entirely satisfied, and as each one passed, he began to question if moving to New Jersey was a mistake. 

The man then cleared his throat, forcing Ian's focus back to him and down to his hand, where he was holding a cigarette between his fingers and offering it to him. 

Ian swallowed, wondering if what he wanted to do was a smart idea, but the persuasive blue eyes pushed him forward. 

“Go on; if it was poisoned, I'd be dead by now.” He snorted, eliciting a feeble smile from Ian, who delicately removed the cigarette from the other's grip and raised it to his own lips, inhaling deeply. 

The man observed him with interest, and Ian noticed how the cold wind forced his slicked back hair to form a haphazard shape, which somehow didn't make him appear worse. 

“So? What happened, freckles?” He nodded, laying his elbows on his knees and maintaining a cheeky stare. 

Freckles. Ian hasn't heard the nickname from anyone, although he's heard a lot of it, largely because of his hair color. 

“I feel like my professor hates me, you know? And I'm not saying she gave me a low grade once, but, fuck…” He became lost in the words, but the other one remained silent, patient. “She's making me go crazier with each class.”

“I've been through that.” The stranger answered by kicking a rock on the ground. Ian found it intriguing that a person he had no idea about could understand him considerably better than any other one he'd encountered. “Then, I dropped out of college. No studying equals no problems. It's an easy life.”

“I wish I could do that.” He raised the corners of his mouth in a feeble smile. Then he held out his hand and returned the cigarette to the man, saying, “If I have, I could forget about any of my dreams.”

“What's your dream, then?” The dark-haired asked, and Ian paused for a moment, wondering how such a man could care at all about an unknown person's life. They hadn't met before, and their encounter was utterly unexpected. Still, for the past few months, he had been the only person ready to listen to Ian without passing judgment. 

“I'm studying to be an actor.” Ian blurted out, for the first time not experiencing a rush of pride coursing through his veins at the mention of his desired career. He expected the stranger to laugh and point at him, mocking him for how absurd it sounded. Yet none of that happened. 

“Sounds cool,” he replied, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette, and his response stunned Ian: “I like movies; I've always wondered how it feels to be on the big screen.”

“It feels amazing, I'm sure of it.” Ian laid his back against the glass wall, engrossed in his imagined thoughts, “Everyone watches you, admires you. It's perfect.”

The stranger maintained an enthralled stare at Ian and rose his lips to a delicate smile.

The green eyes followed the pale face, and he held his gaze on the smile for an extra second. His brain was able to save it in his memory, and the view caused him to become distracted and lose track of what was happening around him. 

He couldn't remember the last time someone grinned at him so warmly and gently when he spoke about his passions. Most people rolled their eyes and pretended to listen, but not him; he actually did. He didn't find Ian irritating or childish. And that caused Ian's eyes to glow brighter and his heart to beat faster. 

“And yours? What's your dream?” He stopped talking about himself and decided to question him.

The blue-eyed did not respond right away; his gaze shifted forward, and instead of a warm stare, it became cold. Ian grimaced at the view, but he remained silent, stroking his leg anxiously. 

“I want to be remembered.” The guy responded quietly, and Ian paused for a moment. His pupils became wider, and he couldn't take his attention away from the man for a second. His comment seemed simple, yet profound, and significant. He predicted to hear a thing regarding the guitar he had by his side, but instead he heard something unrelated to it. 

It piqued his interest in the man's thoughts and emotions. 

Just as he opened his lips to respond, the black-haired man sprang from the bench and grabbed the case suit containing the instrument, “My bus's here.” He nodded off as a nearby bus approached. Ian examined it with disappointment, wanting to discuss more, but he didn't say anything. 

Before going away, the blue-eyed man showed Ian the cigarette, as if to ask whether he wanted to finish it himself, but the other one shook his head and the stranger dropped it on the ground, then stepped on it with his heavy boot to put it down. 

The bus neared the bus stop and came to a halt, forcing the man to approach it; but, before he entered, he turned to Ian once more, “Thanks for the talk, stranger.”

And then he vanished inside the vehicle, as the door closed and the bus began to drive away. 

Ian peered into the void and felt a flood of emotions struck his mind and chest. 

Instead of asking the man for his name, phone number, or any other information that could be used to contact him, Ian let him drive away in the bus. Juana would undoubtedly be disappointed in him if she learned about it.

He gazed down at the small lighter in his hand and ignited it, watching as the flames were extinguished as soon as it encountered the chilly breeze. 

That was the strangest, most unexpected, but also the most soothing chat he had in a long time. 

Chapter Text

“I'm home!” The feminine voice of an older woman spread through the apartment, causing Mickey to raise his head slowly to peer at the closed door of his own room.

It was his aunt returning from work, a 47-year-old woman employed as a cashier in a neighborhood bookshop for an average salary. Mickey has only been there once, and it wasn't because he wanted to; he came to bring his aunt what she had asked for — at the time, it was a forgotten meal from home. 

Nataliya was Terry's sister, but Mickey had never seen her while his father was still alive. He never stated that his children had an aunt or that he had any siblings. 

It just served to confirm Mickey's suspicion that their relationship had never been good. Nonetheless, Nataliya was an intriguing and appealing woman. 

She had well-defined facial features, with a symmetrical face and high cheekbones. Her eyes were expressive, conveying depth and expertise gained over the years. Her hair formed to suit her personality, short and functional. She had a charming smile that lit up her face, indicating friendliness and confidence. Although, not in Mickey's eyes. 

He crawled up to the bed, crossed his legs, pressed his guitar on his thighs, and leaned in to observe the strings. 

His pale, skinny fingers touched the bottom of the black guitar, checking to see if every detail was in shape. 

A few days before, while barely conscious, he shoved the instrument, causing it to strike the ground with great force, and he only understood what he had done the next morning. The sound became entirely blurred, and he has been trying to fix it since then.

When he was staying focused, he heard a knock on the door, and the woman, without waiting for his response, grabbed the doorknob and opened it, leaning against the door frame to check on her nephew. 

“Now even a ‘hello’?” She grimaced and crossed her arms. Mickey took a hushed breath but didn't look at his aunt's face, instead remaining focused on the instrument. 

“Hello, aunt.” He murmured, but his response didn't satisfy the woman. It sounded contrived and without enthusiasm. Yet, she did not react as she did not want to start another argument between them. 

“Working on that guitar again?” The woman inspected the object in Mickey's arms with a keen eye, noticing little flaws and scrapes; the instrument was not new, therefore it was not unexpected to see it gradually fall apart. “Are you going out tonight too?”

“I've got a gig in a pub.” He replied, but his brief mention disappointed his aunt. 

She sighed loudly and gazed at the floor, noticing some clothes and records lying there. Nataliya pressed her nails to her arms and chewed on her tongue, wondering how to keep the discussion going and avoid the two of them drifting apart due to the short amount of time they spent together. 

“I hoped you'd stay for dinner. We could eat together.” She proposed, and a glimmer of hope appeared in her heart; she intended that after a few tries, Mickey wouldn't refuse and opt to stay at home. 

“Aunt, I can't. It's my band.” Finally, the man let go of the strings with his fingers and peered up at her.

“I know, Mickey, but you barely spend time at home anymore.” She pulled her eyebrows together and suddenly remembered how she raised Mickey like her own child. He was only six when she adopted him, after his parents died and all of his siblings were taken into custody. Since then, they've lived together in New Jersey, and not once have they acknowledged Mickey's parents' deaths or the fact that he was the only sibling taken in by his aunt. 

Nataliya has been trying tirelessly to raise him, but it hasn't been easy. There was a persistent barrier between them. 

Mickey couldn't bring himself to treat Nataliya with warmth or affection. 

The man exhaled heavily before pushing the instrument off his legs and placing it next to himself on the bed. Then his gaze fixed on his aunt's, and the blue eyes showed a mix of annoyance and drowsiness. 

“I pay half of the bills, I buy groceries, I clean most of the damn house.” He frowned, and the woman quickly recognized that the conversation was heading in an unexpected direction. “Can't I have my own life too?”

“I'm not saying that, Mickey.” She sighed, and her worry creases were visible on her skin. “I just wish we could spend time together. You're really important to me.”

“I'm not your son.” Mickey stated in a serious tone, gritting his teeth and slightly scrunching his nose in frustration. “Don't treat me like one.” 

Nataliya remained silent, breathing slowly through her nostrils. Her eyes were focused on Mickey's face, but the man soon turned away. 

She understood what he meant, and she knew he wasn't her child, but she hoped that over the seventeen years they spent together, Mickey would attempt to treat her better.

“I know, Mickey.” She glanced at the ground, and let go of holding her arms. “I still love you.” 

Mickey didn't respond; instead, his blue eyes dropped on his crossed legs on the bed, and the two of them remained silent. 

He felt horrible; a part of him wanted to say something back, but the other chose to stay quiet. 

Nataliya was his aunt, but that was all they could ever share. She wasn't his mother or friend, and he couldn't treat her differently. 

After all, she decided to isolate him from his siblings and never sought to explain why. He couldn't forgive her for that. 

The aunt waited briefly, but when she noticed Mickey was not going to answer, she turned around and grasped the doorknob, "I'll leave the dinner for you in the fridge." 

Then she exited the room and closed the door behind herself. 

Mickey immediately lowered his elbows to his knees and rested his forehead on his open palms. 

He was an adult, but with each passing day, he began to act more childishly, just because he couldn't control his emotions. When he was younger, he didn't care much about his family members, but as time passed, he began to worry and ponder about the ones closest to him who had been taken away from him. Mickey hasn't heard a thing about his sister or other brothers in seventeen years. He had no idea if they were still alive, which concerned him the most.

He forced his eyes shut, and the same sensation returned: a rush of intrusive thoughts, a chilly wave running through his body, and his heart racing like mad. 

It used to happen frequently, especially when he was nervous and unable to control the situation. 

Mickey wiped his cheeks and quickly extended his arm to reach for a pack of cigarettes on the shelf beside the bed. He grasped it, and just as he was going to draw out one cigarette, he remembered that he hadn't had a chance to buy a new lighter since the previous evening. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” He mumbled to himself, with his attention fixed on the four white smokes in the pack. 

As he stared at it for a longer period of time, he began recalling the man he had met at the bus stop. The freckled, green-eyed redhead with exceptionally long fingers and a charming smile. 

What surprised him the most was Mickey's willingness to strike up a discussion with him, despite the fact that he preferred not to talk to strangers. He did, however, find a thing about the man intriguing. 

Mickey could only picture the piercing stare, large black pupils, and fluttering eyelashes when their gazes met. It piqued his interest, and he wondered what made the freckled one stand out. 

He'd never given much thought to the people he'd met, but the man he visited the day before couldn't get out of his mind. 

Their chat was short but devoted, prompting Mickey to reveal the truth about his honest dream. He couldn't recall the last time he had a truthful, profound conversation with someone else. It felt much simpler with the man who shared a lighter with him. 

Mickey blinked a few times, recognizing how lost he had become in his thoughts about the stranger, before reaching on his side to grab a notebook with all the phrases to his band's songs written inside. He swiped through the pages till he came on the empty one near the end.

He seized the pen from the other side, pulled the cap with his teeth, and spat it in the opposite direction. Then, Mickey leaned over the notebook and thought for a moment before placing his pen on the paper and scribbled in big characters in the center of the page:

❝ REDHEAD. FRECKLES. GREEN DAMN EYES. 

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? ❞

Then he took a deeper breath and shifted slightly away from the page, peering at it with wide eyes. 

They were unlikely to meet again; after all, the only thing they had in common was that they both lived in the same, uninteresting state. 

That's why Mickey decided to write down what he recalled about his physical features, in case he ever ran across the man again. 

Yet, he seemed like a teenage girl trying to interact with a few years older boy she had a crush on, which really embarrassed him. 

However, Mickey lacked friends with whom he could talk, open up, and be understood, whereas the stranger at the bus stop made him feel fully at ease. 

He hesitated for a second and pushed the pen to the page again, instead doodling on the side in little letters: 

 ❝ future actor ❞

After a moment, he tightened his jaw, realizing that was a childish thing to do, and Mickey could easily make friends if he wanted to, so there was no point in pondering about the stranger. He lowered his hand and decided to cross the sentences with his pen, when his phone buzzed, interrupting him. 

He paused and dropped the object, grabbing for his phone in his pocket and taking it out, only to notice a message from his band's group chat. 

[4:32 P.M.] Dylan to Crimson Riot: 5:30 P.M. Make sure to be there, guys. 

[4:33 P.M.] Dylan: Mickey, don't be late again, please. 

Mickey rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he couldn't deny that he has been arriving later than expected in recent meetings. It was his fault for oversleeping the nights he spent with his eyes wide open, learning to play the tunes on the guitar. 

[4:35 P.M.] Mickey: if you buy me a round, i won't be 

[4:35 P.M.] Dylan: Fuck off. 

[4:37 P.M.] Dylan: All right, fine. Just don't be late. Today's important. 

Dylan had a habit of telling his band that each gig was the most important one, but every single one was the same, except for the audience changing and swarming towards the four of them for autographs in case they became more renowned and began performing on larger venues. 

They were set to perform in one of the local bars that day, but it was not as horrible as it sounded. The tavern was popular since it was close to the nearby college. 

Most of the students rushed there on weekdays to relax, drink, and party, providing an ideal opportunity for Crimson Riot to showcase their abilities in front of others their age. 

Mickey locked his phone and threw it on the pillow, then leaned against the wall and stared at the location in front of him. 

It sounded like an exhausting day for him.

Later that day, Mickey kneeled down to tie the shoelaces on his long, black boots. 

Once he had done so, he rose from the ground and reached for the case suit containing his guitar before leaving his room. 

When he did, his eyes met Nataliya's, who was sitting on a couch with a book in her hands. Her bright blue eyes met the man's, and her thick brows rose, wrinkling her pale forehead. 

“Leaving?” she asked, and Mickey found it odd that she wasn't angry with him; even better, she appeared as if their prior talk had never happened. “Have you eaten anything?”

“I'll get something on the way, aunt.” He answered quickly, clamping his palm on the case suit and clenching his jaw. He felt horrible simply gazing into the woman's eyes, and the more he did it, the heavier his heart felt. 

“If you say so.” She smiled warmly, returning her focus to the letters on the pages of her book. “The dinner's made if you change your mind.” 

“Thanks.” He nodded and began to move away, but something inside him stopped him, freezing him in place. He closed his eyes and focused on the ground. 

The aunt saw his unusual behavior and raised her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's just…” He took a deep breath and opened his eyelids so he could peer at her. “I'm sorry, aunt. For today. I didn't mean to—”

“It's okay.” Nataliya's corners of her lips raised to an even larger grin, and Mickey knew it was a genuine one. “Just go, and have fun there.” 

“Okay, cool.” Mickey rubbed his arm and nodded slowly; it was simpler than he expected. He turned around, and the woman could hear his loud, heavy footsteps towards the exit door. After grabbing the doorknob, he paused for a moment before turning his head to the side again, “Love you.” 

“I love you too, Mick.” She answered passionately, and his unexpected sentence plainly warmed her chest, causing her to lose focus on her book. 

Mickey gave a faint smile and finally left the apartment, directing himself to the mentioned pub. 

“Mikhailo Milkovich! What a pleasant sight!” Axl yelled, surprising the other two members sitting near the wall and cleaning their instruments. Mickey rolled his eyes and entered the changing area, leaving his guitar beside the wall and stepping closer to the mirrors. “Five minutes earlier. Is everything okay?” 

The man didn't respond at first, but he could feel the penetrating gaze on his body as he focused on adjusting his hair placement in his reflection. 

“You gotta work on your accent, man.” He responded strongly, leaning into the mirror to check that the dark eyeliner beneath his eyes hadn't been ruined. 

Axl put away the microphone he was holding and came closer to Mickey near the counter. 

His brown eyes swept over Mickey's entire body, leaving a pleased smirk on his face. 

“Cool clothes. Is there going to be a special guest?” he taunted, pushing his palm to the cold counter and watched the blue, irritated, and fatigued eyes fall on him. 

“That's how I always dress, if you haven't noticed.” Mickey exhaled and stepped away from the mirror, going towards the other two band members. 

“Yeah, but you never wear eyeliner.” Axl pointed out, extending his finger at the man and making him freeze for a moment. “Though, you do look really good in it.”

Dylan wiped his drumsticks with a tissue and sighed loudly enough for both men to focus their attention on him. “Less flirting, more work, okay? We have a job here, in case you hadn't noticed.”

Dylan was probably the only member in the band who was reasonable enough to lead them, arrange activities, and organize meetings. Anyone other than the four of them could easily refer to him as a figure of authority, and Mickey would readily agree. He was only three years younger than Dylan, but on some days, he felt like He was more like his father than a close friend or band member. 

“We ain't flirting.” Mickey stated harshly while frowning. “He's the one who can't keep a dick in his pants.” 

“Oh, come on. I'm only complimenting you. There's no need to get upset.” He grinned, dismissing both of the men's motives for their words, and stepped nearer to Mickey. He wrapped his arm around the guy's shoulders in one fast motion and heard a faint exhale. Yet, he disregarded it and his brownish eyes landed on the seated in front of them, Dylan, observing the two of them with a dull stare. “Go on, boss. What do we do now?”

Axl was two years younger than Mickey, and the age difference made him feel like he was dealing with a child rather than an adult. Axl was the polar opposite of Dylan; he was arrogant and infantile, but more importantly, the audience appreciated him the most on stage. He was the one beaming broadly at the crowd, promising them another return to the bar soon and offering photos and autographs. Mickey couldn't tolerate having him around for some reason, especially when he began to flirt with him after accidentally learning his sexuality. 

However, the other two members didn't mind him at all, believing that he was an excellent singer who increased the band's popularity.

“Mickey, did you bring the notebook with our songs?” He gestured to the shorter man, and Mickey quickly shifted his head to the side, spotting the thing behind the guitar against the wall. 

“Yeah, it's near my guitar.” 

“All right, we need to choose a few songs to play for tonight.” Dylan rose up from his chair and proceeded to the specified wall, but he was instantly intercepted by Axl. 

“I'll choose them.” He proposed with a friendly smile that no one could refuse. The man promptly approached the notebook and snatched it up, immediately opening it in the middle and swiping pages in search of a specific song. 

His fingers were leading through the written words as his eyes analyzed them. 

But when he opened the notebook to the last page, his light brows rose up high, and a sneer developed on his lips. 

“Redhead, freckles, green damn eyes. Who the fuck are you?” Axl quoted the phrases Mickey failed to erase by scratching on them with his pen, which instantly piqued his interest: “Oh, and he's a future actor. Pretty interesting.”

Mickey hissed an impatient breath, and as soon as he felt the two other members' eyes on him, he walked over to Axl and snatched the notepad from his grasp, guilt on his face. 

“Is that your new guy?” Axl crossed his arms, yet a sly smirk never left his face. 

“It's not. Mind your own business.” Mickey spat back, opening the notebook to the last page and ripping out the one containing his scribbles about the stranger from the day before. Then he stuffed the paper into his pocket and handed Dylan the notebook, as he appeared to be the only rational person to select the right songs. 

Mickey wanted to palm himself in the face because he knew Axl would not stop bombarding him with millions of questions about the mysterious man who deserved to be written down. 

“Relationship?” Axl drew closer and murmured into Mickey's ear, causing him to take a step back, taken aback.

“I don't do relationships.” He stated clearly, and Axl stopped pushing the issue further, silently shifting away from the man. 

Mickey disliked the concept of a relationship; being connected to another person, not being able to meet anybody else, and constantly feeling stuck wasn't appealing to him. He was free, and doing whatever he wanted with whomever he wished was all he required in his life. No one got to hear him whisper sweet phrases like “I love you” or feel his fingers curl into theirs as they walked through the dark park. 

Mickey only needed sex to enjoy physical intimacy with other men. It was enough for him. 

“All right, we really don't care who's Mickey sleeping with.” Kurt rolled his eyes in tiredness and observed their conversation in quiet for a while. “Can we bring the instruments on stage now?” 

Kurt was the only man among the three who Mickey felt he could truly talk to without feeling like he was talking to a father figure or a teenager going through puberty. He was Mickey's age, only a few months older, and unexpectedly, he was the only one who came from a stable, full-fledged household that included both his mother and father. Some days, Mickey felt envious that he couldn't experience it. 

“Yeah, I think we can.” Dylan agreed and stretched his arms in the air. “Oh, and we're playing “Chaos Boulevard”, and…”

“Chaos Boulevard?” Axl lifted his eyebrows and grimaced. Mickey examined him with a disgruntled expression, “Boring.”

“I wrote it, asshole.” The shortest one pointed out, squinting and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Oh,” he reacted slowly, bowing his head, “Sorry, it's good. I've changed my mind.”

“Do you have a thing for Milkovich, or what?” Kurt broke out laughing, but Mickey simply turned his furious stare to his face, instantly calming him down and returning to seriousness. 

“Not at all.” He smiled warmly and childishly, “I'm just supporting my band members.” 

Kurt stepped up from his seat and took up his own instrument, but gave both men standing around a look of suspicion. “Especially Mickey,” he mumbled beneath his nose, but Mickey caught on. 

Still, he didn't react and simply ignored it. The last thing he wanted was for rumors to spread throughout town, so he chose not to get involved and let Axl have fun on his own.  

“That's a… Nice place.” Ian nodded hesitantly, unsure of the pub Juana had chosen for him. It was filled with groups of students he had seen in the building during the day, the most of them were holding alcohol-filled glasses. 

Ian was not used to places like that; he rarely went to clubs or other settings to get drunk, and he couldn't recall how he ended up with a stranger beside him in the morning. 

“It's not nice, obviously. Which is why,” with a small smile, she commented, “That's a perfect spot for Crimson Riot to showcase their songs.” Ian soon guessed it wasn't her first visit there. 

“Crimson Riot?” He raised an eyebrow, gazing around the gloomy area as they went. Juana led them both to the counter, where the most of the seats were empty, providing Ian with an ideal opportunity to avoid engaging in discusses with strangers. 

“That's the band's name.” Juana explained, but tilted her head to the side, giving Ian a puzzled look. “Really, you've never heard of them? You've been here for months.” 

“That's my first time in any pub in New Jersey.” Ian gave a faint, culpable smile, and Juana chuckled at the remark. 

“You need to enjoy life more.” She grumbled, and they strolled to the chairs, where they sat close to each other. “It's not only about acting.” 

“Yeah, right.” He exhaled heavily, losing concentration on the people on the dance floor. “I wonder what Collins will say tomorrow.”

“Ignore it for now, okay?” Juana placed her hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm him down. “Have a good time for once.” 

Then he watched as the woman waved her fingers at the bartender, who came closer and took her order. Ian's eyes widened when he realized she had requested alcohol for both of them. “Uh, no, I don't think I want to drink.” 

“One time won't hurt.” She grinned warmly, making it impossible to say no. The bartender walked away to the different area and began pouring drinks into the glasses.

Ian merely watched as people began to gather, with many more entering the club and some sitting near the counter. 

He stated quietly, as if Juana couldn't see it for herself, “There's a lot of people.” The bartender returned to them and set the two liquid-filled glasses on the table, then passed them to the pair. 

“Thank you.” The woman bowed her head gently and grabbed the glasses, passing one to Ian. He wasn't sure about it, but he chose to take it from her fingers and hold it in his own. “More people means more chance of finding a new friend, right?”

“Finding a new friend? Here? Are you kidding—”

Ian's remark was cut short halfway through as shouts and screams filled the pub, alerting the two of them to the band's arrival on stage. The two sets of eyes focused on it, and they calmly watched as four members emerged on it. One of them stepped closer to the long metal stick, where he positioned his microphone and greeted the audience. When the crowd heard his voice, they began to shout anew. 

Juana brought her chair nearer to Ian and pressed it to his ear to make him hear, “People are crazy about them here.” 

Ian didn't dispute it; based on what he'd seen up to that point, they all looked cool in black, and he could guess their music was even better. Even if he wasn't strictly in the Rock/Punk genre. 

His gaze shifted between the four men, eventually landing on the one kneeling and connecting his guitar to the cables. Ian examined him, and when the man stood up, he froze and felt his heartbeat halt for a long second. 

Ian recognized the face, the charming, baby blue eyes from a distance, the black as a crow slicked back hair, and the shining, silver earrings that he could see from a few meters away. 

It was the stranger from the previous evening; he was wearing the same thick boots with lengthy shoelaces, but he was not wearing a jacket. He wore a black tank top, revealing his tattooed arms, and gripped the guitar strings with his pale fingers. 

Ian lost how to breathe for a while; he was convinced that they would never meet again, yet they did, and even the next day. 

Seeing the stranger in full light, with no tiredness on his face, was even better than their first encounter. 

Ian didn't realize how long he'd been staring at the man until the singer in the front paused his monologue and stepped back.

He announced the name of the song they were about to play, but Ian couldn't even focus on it. He was utterly overtaken by the short, black-haired man, who started flexing his fingers across the strings, entirely focused on the tune and careful not to make any mistakes. Ian wasn't aware if his lips were slightly apart in amazement at how easy the man changed the melody with a simple tilt of his hand. 

The drummer then began using his drumsticks on an instrument, but he remained outside of Ian's focus zone. 

He saw the blue-eyed man raise his head slightly, and he bit on his lower lip, sucking in air and showing off his clenching on the guitar muscles. 

“I like the drummer the most.” Juana beamed broadly and pointed to the band on stage, her brown eyes gleaming with desire. “What about you?”

Ian remained still for a minute, listening to the loud music emanating from the guitars, drums, and the lead singer's voice. He almost couldn't hear his own thoughts as the audience cheered. 

“The guitarist.” He confessed gently, hoping the woman would not hear him, but to his surprise, she gave him a perplexed but proud look. It was almost as if a mother was watching her child interact with someone of the opposite gender for the first time.

Ian kept his gaze fixed, but he slowly raised his hand with a glass to drink.

He swallowed the whiskey and pinched his nose at the taste, clearly unaccustomed to drinking alcohol. When he put it down again, his eyes focused on the stranger, and his entire body almost melted when he realized the blue eyes were already on him. They were a little surprised, as if he hadn't expected to meet the man in such a location. 

Then, as their glances closed, Ian noticed a grin form on the pink lips and swallowed nervously. 

His fingernails grasped his jeans, and for a few seconds, he seemed to forget how to breathe correctly. 

The man averted his attention away, but he could clearly feel the green-eyed man's piercing gaze on his body from a distance. 

Ian couldn't tell what it was, but something made his body weaker as their gazes collided. The blue eyes were full of mystery, and Ian could feel his pupils dilate as he peered into another pair of eyes. 

When the first song concluded and the audience shouted again, he let out a deep breath and asked the bartender for another drink. Juana raised an eyebrow in curiosity at his sudden change of state of mind, but she couldn't resist smiling at the prospect of Ian finally being able to relax. 

Ian dragged out a couple bucks and placed them on the counter; the bartender passed him the drink and took the money. 

He grabbed the glass and swallowed the entire contents in one rapid stroke. 

During the short interval before the following song, the lead singer began speaking to the audience through his microphone, and Ian noticed the short guitarist keeping a close eye on him, but once their gazes locked, he quickly glanced away and claimed to be concentrating on something else. 

“The music's working on you?” Juana nodded at the empty glass he was holding, a smile growing over her lips. 

“I guess so.” He responded with a feeble grin, despite the fact that the answer was completely different.

Ian sat through the entire gig, appreciating the man's skills on stage and listening to the strong music, particularly the guitar part. 

After the band had finished playing five songs, he noticed the man raising his palm to wipe the sweat from his face, his lips parted, and breathing heavily. Ian noticed his chest moving swiftly, struggling to catch a breath, as he slowly slipped the black strands of hair back to the top of his head. 

As another speech began, he observed the blue eyes on him, as if he was checking to ensure that Ian had not disappeared over time. 

The redhead set down his drink and stood up from the chair, pushing his brown eyes to focus on himself. “I'm going to the bathroom.”

“Better be quick.” Juana smiled sweetly, but she appeared to be intent on seducing the bartender with her stunning appearance. 

He nodded and pushed past the large crowd in the middle of the tavern, hoping to reach the end. 

When he got closer, he noticed a few people smoking at the door and couldn't figure out why they didn't go outside. 

He scowled at the smell, grabbed the doorknob, and entered the restroom. The green-eyed man took a hesitant stride towards the three mirrors, then laid his open palms on the porcelain sink. 

He frowned as he looked up at his own, a reflection. Ian had no idea what he was doing, why he was so inquisitive about the stranger, or why he wanted to get to know him more. Half of him excused it by stating Juana was correct, and he needed friends more than he realized. The second half presumed that the man was unique — he wasn't like everyone else, and that drove him insane. 

When he exhaled, he heard someone else enter the restroom, and his gaze immediately shifted to the door. His pupils widened as he observed the dark-haired man, wiping the sweat from his face with a tissue. 

The loud stepping drew Ian's attention to the tattooed arms or the trickle of sweat dripping down his throat. 

“Didn't expect to see you here, freckles.” His body froze for a second when he heard the same deep, confident voice. The guy threw the tissue in the trash bin and leaned his hips on one of the sinks beside the other. 

“Neither have I.” Ian replied, a small smile emerging on his lips. He couldn't help but let his stare control him as he swept his eyes around his entire body, admiring a handful of accessories all around him. The sparkling rings, necklaces, and chains attached to his pants. 

“How'd you like the gig?” The question compelled Ian to raise his gaze to the pale face.

“I, uh… I liked it, yeah.” Ian nodded, but the other man laughed gently at his uncertain and perplexing tone of speech. “What's so funny?”

“You're not into this music.” He commented, which was not entirely false, but Ian couldn't admit he didn't like it; he simply hadn't experienced it before. “You really don't need to lie to me, man. If it was bad, I get it.”

“No, seriously, it wasn't.” Ian swiftly responded, startling the blue-eyed. “You were really good out there. I mean… The whole band was.”

The shorter man crossed his arms across his chest, showing muscle arms once again, and softly tilted his head to get a better view of Ian.

“Thanks.” He reciprocated the small smile, and Ian had to take a deeper breath in as his dimples showed. “I never know if people are pretending to like it or not. Either way, those shitty gigs mean a lot to me.”

“Well, you surely deserve to perform in front of a bigger crowd.” Ian pointed out with a bashful grin on his lips, and his comment caused the other one to entirely focus his supple stare on the green eyes. His pupils expanded, and the redhead saw how vibrant they were when he drew closer to him. 

“Anyway,” Ian shook his head, nervously pressing his nails into the sink. “Believe it or not, I'm not familiar with rock music.”

“I believe it.” He giggled, glancing down at Ian and lifting his eyebrows. The way the man was dressed suggested that he was more into jazz music than rock. “I could show you a few songs.”

Ian blinked, unsure how it was supposed to turn out.

“I work in a music store. You could come over after your classes, if you want to.” He shrugged, and the prospect of visiting such a place piqued Ian's interest. 

“Really?” The green eyes glittered with eagerness. “That'd be great.”

The man raised his hand and began fiddling with his metallic a necklace, nonetheless grinning warmly; despite his frightening appearance, Ian couldn't get enough of him smiling. 

“Cool, but it'd be good to get to know your name, freckles.” He continued, and Ian could feel his cheeks warm and scarlet with embarrassment. They've been talking for a while, and he hasn't even managed to claim his name aloud. 

He cleared his throat, “Right, sorry. I'm Ian, Ian Gallagher.” 

The blue-eyed nodded slowly, as if digesting and storing the name in his mind, “Mickey Milkovich.”

“Mickey?” Ian lifted an eyebrow and squinted his eyes in perplexity. 

He expected to hear a Rockstar's standard name, which would make his appearance even more terrifying, but what he heard made him even more appealing than he had previously believed. 

“Doesn't suit me, huh?” Mickey scoffed without amusement in his voice. 

“No, it's just… Is this your full name?”

“Mikhailo, but people call me Mickey.” He responded, and the Russian accent he added to the one, effortless sentence weakened Ian's legs. “It doesn't sound any better.”

“I like it.” Ian asserted quietly, attacking his bottom lip with his captivating teeth, prompting Mickey to lift his eyebrows in wonder. “It sounds much better than any Rockstar’s name. It's unique.” 

Mickey stared at him, his pupils wide, biting the inside of his cheek, and feeling a tightness in his chest that wrapped around his pure heart. 

For the first time in his 23-year existence, he has heard another man admire his name rather than his bodily parts, or offered him a few dollars to explore his bedroom with Mickey's company. 

It didn't turn him off; instead, Mickey felt an even bigger tangle in his head, as well as his left leg grinding against the right. 

He wanted to learn more about the intriguing Ian, and figure out what made him so special and deserving of Mickey's attention among all the other men he'd met.

Mickey stopped observing as he saw a few guys enter the bathroom, laughing loudly, but too drunk to see the two men near the sinks. 

He ignored them and dug into his pocket, but did not find his phone. 

The blue-eyed sighed loudly and extended his palm in front of Ian, saying, “Give me your phone for a second. I left mine in the changing room.”

Ian pulled his brows together before reaching for his phone and unlocking it with a swift move. He placed it on Mickey's hand and watched as the pale fingers, encased in rings, began touching buttons on the screen. 

“What are you doing?” The freckled one questioned cautiously, leaning in to observe him. 

“Making sure you won't forget me.” Mickey responded with a slick grin, typed in his number, and quickly returned the phone to Ian's hands. The other one gave it a cursory look, taken aback by the rapid motion, but finally returned his focus to the pale face. 

“I need to go, or they'll fucking kill me.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance, motioning with his thumb to the exit door, plainly indicating the other band members who must have been waiting for him. “Text me when you have a free time, and I'll send you the address to the store.” 

Ian remained mute, holding the phone unlocked in his hands and keeping his green, wide eyes locked on the blue ones for a few seconds before Mickey stepped back toward the door. 

“I'll see you around, freckles.” He raised his palm in the air, lightly waving it, and a cheeky smile remained on his pink lips as he left the bathroom. 

Ian sucked a deep breath and glanced down at the screen, which displayed his number and the nickname he had assigned himself directly above it: “Favorite Rockstar”. 

Ian smirked childishly at the screen before recalling he was still in public, locking the phone and hiding it in his pocket. He managed to keep a smile on his face, despite the fact that the entire chat he had just had completely turned his mood around. Perhaps what he needed most was someone who understood him, even if just in the slightest degree. 

Mickey walked into the changing room and spotted all three band members hiding their instruments in the case suits. Their gazes focused on the man, who simply disregarded them while directing himself to the free table. 

“A round with a fan in bathroom stalls?” Axl exhaled heavily, pretending to be dissatisfied, and placed his palms on his hips. “Naughty, naughty.”

Mickey just lifted his middle finger in the air, aimed at the fair-haired man, who chuckled in response.

“Axl, pack your shit faster, please.” Dylan complained, zipping his own bag. 

Instead of packing, Mickey sat down beside the table and removed the ripped page from his pocket, peering at the previously written sentences. 

He paused for a moment before reaching for any available pen in the area and pushing it once more onto the same, tortured piece of paper: 

  ❝ Ian Galager

Ian Galagger

Ian Galagher

FUCK

I don’t even know how to spell your name. ❞

Chapter Text

Mickey leaned against the lavatory stall, huge, warm hands dragging themselves towards his pallid midriff. Another mouth on his neck, nibbling and brushing at his skin, leaving red, swelling imprints. 

“Fuck…” He rested his head back, contacting the frigid wall, squinting his eyes and pressing his teeth together to block any noises from coming. 

The second man's hands proceeded to Mickey's belt, gradually unbuttoning it and dipping his lengthy fingers into the black trousers. 

“Wait.” Mickey murmured hurriedly, breathing heavily while pushing his hand against the man's shoulder. The blonde one raised his eyebrows, curiosity blossoming across his face. “Condom?”

A wicked smile emerged over his fuller lips as he guided one of his bare hands to the pocket in the back of his pants, pulling out a fully enclosed condom and ripping it open with his teeth. 

Mickey arched his back and began working on his own zipper, eventually tugging it down. The man in front of him pushed in closer to his face and shut his eyes, preparing to press their lips together. Although, Mickey quickly put his palm over his mouth, forcing the other's pupils to completely widen in suprise, stating, “No kissing.”

The taller one in front of him raised his eyebrows, and his curly hair fell on top of his forehead, somewhat obscuring it. A tiny grin appeared on his lips, and his palms pressed on the two sides of Mickey's hips, drawing their bodies together. They only had a few centimeters between their faces, yet it was enough to keep their lips apart. 

Mickey dropped his palm and quietly glanced at the warm brown eyes that glowed with excitement. 

“You're up for banging, but too afraid to kiss me?” he asked quietly, allowing Mickey to feel the hot breath on his own face. 

The shorter man gently unbuttoned the other's zipper. “Are you here for an interview?”

The blonde turned his focus to Mickey's smaller hand, which was working on his closure and tormenting him with its languid movements. He couldn't keep the delighted sneer off his lips any longer, pulling his bottom lip with his teeth and eventually consenting not to kiss him. “As you wish.” 

The man then swung Mickey over with a violent move, practically pressing his back against his own chest. One of his hands reached his spine and roughly pressed him downward, causing the blue-eyed one to lean on the toilet seat, which was not the most pleasant position. 

Yet, Mickey was used to it and did not protest over time. 

Then he began to feel prolonged sensations near his back, and subsequently in his abdomen. 

Right when the other man was supposed to pull his pants down, they both felt vibrations in Mickey's pocket. 

“Someone enjoys interrupting.” He murmured and chose to ignore it, but the shorter man did not back down. His mind strayed to it being a message from his aunt or band, and he didn't want to deal with difficulties later. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, bringing it up to his face. 

“Seriously, man? We're in the middle of something here.” The blonde man grimaced, evidently feeling an aggravation surge through his mind as he watched the bright screen shine across the pale face. 

“Three seconds won't make your cock fall down.” Mickey answered ignorantly, gazing at the phone, which revealed that it was a message from Ian rather than what he had expected. Two messages, to be precise. 

Mickey's eyes shone as he read the lines, and he had no idea how embarrassingly he was beaming while staring at the words. He didn't expect the man to text him or simply remove his phone number, but the fact that he thought of him enough to message him was satisfying. 

[6:33 P.M.] Unknown: Hey, about the music store - tomorrow works for me. Do you think I could come over? 

[6:35 P.M.] Unknown: It's Ian, btw.

He stared at the phrases for a few more seconds before hearing a loud exhalation coming from his backside and rolling his eyes in frustration. 

Obviously, if he had the chance, he'd rather talk to a geeky college student he met on the bus stop than an impatient sex addict. 

He ultimately put the phone back in his pocket and pressed his elbows against the toilet seat. 

“Finally.” Mickey overheard a quiet statement but merely dismissed it, eventually feeling as the blonde one began to carry on. 

Ian gazed at his phone for a few minutes, reviewing the texts he'd sent to Mickey and wondering if he should delete them. 

He noticed the man had read them, but he didn't respond, leaving Ian with a jungle in his mind. He immediately felt as if he was pushing himself onto the man he'd met twice, and he must have been joking about going to his job the day before. Still, Ian's lonely heart fell for it in the hopes of gaining a new friend. 

It didn't seem like it was going to work anyway. 

“What're you doing?” He raised his head slightly as he heard a female, soothing voice behind him and noticed Juana's interested stare. 

Ian hurriedly locked his phone with his thumb and watched the woman proceed down to sit alongside him on the stairs. Their gazes held for a brief moment before the man turned aside, a gasp departing his lips: “I, uh…” He stuttered, attempting to create a story for the woman. Ian knew it wasn't right to lie to his friends, but he didn't want Juana to find out about the situation from the previous evening. She would get excited and possibly beg him to arrange a meeting for her and Mickey, since she was one of Crimson Riot's most devoted fans. “Nothing. I'm just repeating the lines.”

“Again?” She lifted her brow, wrinkled her forehead, and a look of frustration appeared on her face. Ian instantly regretted saying it aloud. “You're doing well, Ian. Today was great.”

“I don't know…” he exclaimed, glancing down at his shoes. “Collins doesn't seem to be happy.”

“She's never happy.” Ian gave out a breathless giggle as Juana added, “I think she has stopped taking her antidepressants. The whole world has gone miserable and awful, which is why, she needs to vent her rage on someone else.”

“Antidepressants?” Ian grimaced; that obviously sounded like personal information, “How do you know about it?”

“I don't.” Juana shook her head, a small smile on her lips, “But she does seem depressed, don't you think?”

It wasn't entirely false; Mrs. Collins seemed to have more bad days than good, and when she wasn't blaming Ian, she criticized any other actor. 

However, they couldn't have done anything about it; their professor was a highly recommended teacher, one of the most respected directors in New Jersey, and was admired by every person who worked at their college. 

Ian's only alternative was to transfer schools, but he had already rented an apartment close to his college and studied hard to get accepted in the first place. Giving up effortlessly was unusual for him.

“I guess so.” Ian let out an expansive sigh, slightly leaning backwards and positioned his elbows on the upper stairs. “Still, I'm fucking nervous about the performance. What if I mess up there?” 

Juana tilted her head to the side, and her ensemble turned reassuring, as if she were wrapping her arms around the green-eyed, “We have two months left. You'll be just fine, Ian.”

“Yeah, thanks.” he showed a slight, doubtful smile. On the other hand, he was aware that the only person who had complained about his acting was Mrs. Collins, and the problem could have been with her, not with his abilities. 

“Anyway…” Juana began, directing Ian's attention back to her. “How'd you like yesterday?”

Ian's thoughts turned back to Crimson Riot, the four men on stage, and, in particular, the brunette with piercing blue eyes. Mickey has been on Ian's mind since he exited the restroom the day before, leaving him dumbfounded and startled. Ian couldn't help but stare at his contact name and phone number for a while during the night, probably memorizing the numbers precisely. 

Despite his nervousness, he was able to text him once the classes ended the next day. 

“It was good.” He responded with a slight nod and an attempt to appear unbothered. 

“Really?” Juana squinted, resting her palm on her knee and casting an attentive gaze upon the other man. 

“Yeah, I mean… Rock isn't my thing, but the band was good. They're all great, especially Mick—” Ian stopped himself and cleared his throat, recognizing he was going to say the man's name aloud: “The guitarist.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes, evidently detecting something in Ian's abrupt interruption of his own phrase, but she chose not to question it. “Which one? There are two of them.”

Ian pressed his palms together and remembered Mickey's distinctive tattoos, accessories, and the piercing glare beneath the thick eyelashes; there were many features he could recall to describe him. Yet, he didn't want Juana to become suspicious, “The one with a black guitar.”

“Oh,” her lips curled into a grin, “Mickey.”

“You talked to him?” He pinched his brows, but it wasn't the most difficult aspect to believe; after all, Mickey appeared to be someone who didn't have trouble getting along with others. 

“I haven't.” She shook her head with a forlorn grin, “But everyone in town knows about him. Before he joined a band, he was a true rebel, believe me. Police officers were more likely to see him than anyone else.”

If Ian was being honest, it wasn't a major surprise to him. Mickey seemed to be unconcerned about rules or laws, and he lived his life to the utmost. “What was he doing?”

“You know… Stealing, vandalizing, smoking and drinking.” Juana shrugged her arms as if it were entirely normal.

“Shit.” Ian let out a loud giggle, his eyes widening in disbelief and appreciation, “How'd he get accepted into the band?” 

“Come on, Ian.” Juana gave him a direct glare, “All four of them have a troubled background. It's not just Mickey.” 

Ian nibbled on his tongue while also reflecting on the guitarist's past, how he came to be who he was after what he did as a youth. It was certainly impressive. 

“One of them tried to burn his house down.” The woman murmured, and the other one was taken aback by the abrupt openness. Stealing and vandalism were one thing, but forcing himself into such risky situations was something entirely different. “He was only sixteen, and everyone in the town heard about it.”

“Sounds scary.” Ian responded calmly, although he had no idea how to react. His inner self was astonished, despite the fact that he used to live on the South Side and experienced similar things on a daily basis.

“I guess so, but it's the past.” Juana sighed and rose from the stairs. It looked that she knew a lot about the four men. “Although, people keep telling to stay away from them.” 

“Well, they're still pretty popular, aren't they?” Ian folded his fingers together, “I mean… Judging by the amount of people in the pub yesterday.”

“Among people our age, yeah.” She leaned against the wall, “But the ones above the thirties despise them. My mom keeps telling me to find a different band to obsess over.” 

“You don't seem to be listening to her.” Ian chuckled cheekily, but Juana struggled to conceal the toothy grin on her lips. 

“I don't really care about her opinion on this matter.” She responded with an attitude, and Ian realized yet again how much she admired Juana's personality, 

“Of course you don't.” He answered with a cocky tone and received a light kick to the leg from Juana's foot. “I'm not complaining, though.” 

“Yeah, right.” The woman rolled her eyes while maintaining a slight smile on her face. “Come on now. Let's go back, White Knight.”

“Sure thing, Princess.” 

Mickey pulled up his pants and quickly zipped his closure. He heard a satisfied sigh from his side and turned over to see the curly-haired guy leaning his back against the restroom stall, wearing a grin on his face. His chest pumped slowly, taking deep breaths while staring at Mickey with half-closed eyes. 

“That was fucking amazing.” He exhaled heavily and slowly pulled up his trousers.

Mickey didn't respond and instead fixed his clothes before exiting the bathroom stall. He strolled closer to the sink and poured water onto his hands. 

The second man followed him outside and approached Mickey's neck, allowing him to feel the hot breath on his skin. 

“Can I get your number, mysterious boy?” He teased, placing his fingertips against the basin next to Mickey, and his lip remained bitten. 

The blue-eyed simply gave him an absurd glance before wiping his hands on the paper towel, “Don't get ahead of yourself. We're done here.” 

“Come on, seriously?” He groaned with disappointment, “We both enjoyed it. Why can't we do it again some time?” 

Mickey refrained from simply dismissing the man and exiting the bathroom, instead pulling out a pack of cigarettes and pressing one between his lips, “One time is enough. Find another bitch to please you.” 

The brown-eyed one then spotted Mickey pull out his lighter and take a stride toward the doorway.

“Rude.” With a short smirk, he muttered beneath his nose, but did not press it any further, allowing Mickey to leave. 

The shorter man exited the bathroom and strolled through the club where they had met. He could feel some people's curious searches on him, but he ignored them and lit his cigarette as soon as he arrived near the exit door. 

The smoke flew in his face, and with one swift movement, he grasped the doorknob and sprang outside. 

The chilly wind blasted over his hair, and he felt a wave of coolness flow down his body. 

Mickey went closer to the building's sidewalls, entering a dark alleyway, and pulled out his phone, flashing the bright screen into his face. 

He slumped against the wall while grabbing the cigarette from his lips, expelling smoke and holding it between his two fingers. 

Mickey went through the messages and opened the conversation with Ian, glancing at the two texts for a moment. 

He hadn't expected to see his name appear on his screen, but it did, and it made him feel a lot better about his boring day. He now had something to look forward to.

Mickey could feel himself beaming and hurriedly bit his lower lip to stop himself from doing so. Then he started tapping on the screen and typed the response. 

[6:58 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: sounds good

Then Mickey pressed the location icon and gave him directions to the music store where he worked. 

[7:00 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: try to be there between 5-6, less clients 

“Hey, man. Want to go out for a drink after we're done?” August stepped nearer to Ian, who was holding a paper with his lines scribbled on it. The taller man gradually shifted his head toward the standing man next to him. “I think Juana is going with us too, so…”

Ian turned his focus to the side, noticing the woman he mentioned monitoring the two of them, and he promptly concluded it was her idea to get him involved in partying or chatting with others. 

“I'm busy today, but thanks.” Ian's lips curled into a pleasant smile, reminding himself of his scheduled rendezvous with Mickey later that day. 

August grimaced and wrinkled his forehead. “Come on, one beer.”

It found out that Ian's associates were aware that he used “being busy” as an excuse to avoid attending any sort of event. 

“Maybe another time.” Ian lowered his chin a bit, returning his attention to the phrases on the page, and heard August let out a faint gasp. The shorter man slowly approached to Juana alongside the wall. 

Ian wanted to prove to her that he could care for himself, but he was too preoccupied with the planned meet. 

Mickey was intriguing; there were many secrets hidden behind the glistening eyes that he wished to learn about. 

Ian couldn't stop thinking about the statement the man spoke at the bus stop.

“I want to be remembered.”

It left him with dozens of unanswered questions. The abrupt change in tone in his voice, the frigid glare, or the immediate shift in subject once he blurted it out. 

The redhead wished he could have asked him about it, since his curiosity was eating him from the inside out. 

Ian gradually raised his head and stared at both August and Juana, enjoying their conversation and the opportunity to spend time alone. The man took out his phone and began searching for “Crimson Riot” on the internet, and examples of their songs surfaced. Ian had no idea if there was a single one reflecting in his vision that he had heard during the gig, given that he hadn't concentrated on them. 

Mickey was the center of his attention. 

It prompted Ian to click on the social media links, and when the Instagram app opened, he noticed dozens of photographs of the aforementioned band. 

Most of them included their main singer, who greeted and conversed with the audience throughout the performance. 

Ian didn't mind him, and instead continued scrolling in pursuit of the alluring brunette. 

He then paused his thumb at one of the images for a time, and his pupils expanded when he observed Mickey seated on a couch with his legs crossed, and multicolored socks reflecting in Ian's eyes. He was holding the black guitar and softly brushing his fingertips against its thin strings. 

The shot appeared to be old, as his haircut was somewhat longer on top and a few black strands of hair were falling on his forehead. 

Ian saw his lengthy eyelashes and a pinched pair of puckered lips. 

The lack of rings on his fingers drew his attention, and he was able to recognize the tattoo on practically each one — save the thumbs. On seven of them, there was a single letter, while one had a horizontal line. The tattoos spelled “FUCK U-UP,” and Ian grinned to himself at the thought of the younger Mickey choosing such an intimidating design. 

His nails were scrawled with black nail paint, and he was flexing his hands to show off the bursting veins.

Overall, Mickey looked quite terrific.

Ian had no idea how long he had been staring at the picture until he raised his gaze to the hour at the top of the screen and realized it had been five minutes. 

He took a deep breath and peered at the picture's caption: “Our future Rockstar in his own world 🤘. #CrimsonRiot”.

Another band member looked to have taken and shared a photo, and Ian was disappointed to see how few pictures of Mickey were on their band's page. Even though he was clearly photogenic, it seemed that the man disliked taking shots of himself. 

Then he decided to close the app and lock the phone before bringing it to his pocket. 

Ian inhaled and directed his interest to the highlighted lines on the paper, which he began to read again. Yet, a part of him was preoccupied with thinking about the brunette, which prevented him from focusing. 

It seemed like the last two days had been difficult to think about anything other than Mickey and his unique ability to create great melodies from such a simple instrument. 

When his classes concluded, Ian tried not to become distracted by speaking with Juana or grumbling about his performance, and hurried out of the building. 

He was hurrying across the streets, holding an unlocked phone in his right hand, and occasionally glanced at the directions to the music store. 

It was now ten minutes past six, and he wanted to slap himself in the face for getting so caught up in his play that he forgot to take a peek at the clock for a moment. 

He was a little distance away from the shop when he noticed the large, gleaming sign, and his eyes dilated. Ian slowed his steps and took deep breaths, attempting to appear nonchalant. 

He stood in front of the entryway for a time, clutching his palm to the strap of his bag and clearing his throat. The light was on, and the sign on the door indicated that it had been opened, making Ian relieved that he hadn't arrived too late. 

Then he grabbed for the doorknob and stepped inside, the faint bell informing the employee that a client had arrived. 

The green eyes were immediately met with hundreds of CDs, vinyls, guitars, and other instruments scattered over the area. It appeared to be an ideal place for a musician, so he was not surprised that Mickey chose it. 

His gaze then shifted to the side, revealing a desk where the man he was seeking for was seated. The brunette kept his head low, staring at the phone screen, unconcerned about anyone who entered. 

Ian lifted his eyebrows and smiled, amazed that he had not noticed him. He headed quietly approaching the desk, “May I get your help, sir?” he asked in a mocking tone, prompting Mickey to instinctively raise his face to the redhead. 

The blue eyes glittered at the sight, and Ian noticed his pupils dilate, and a delicate grin develop on the pink lips. He could not get enough of the squished nose and dimples.

Mickey set his phone down and planted his elbows on the desk, crossed his fingers and raised his eyebrows. “It'd be my pleasure.”

Ian smirked with his teeth at the other man who was playing along, and stepped directly in front of him, with only the desk separating them. 

“I'm looking for a guitarist who promised me to get me into the world of Rock.” The green-eyed narrowed his eyebrows as he noticed the other's grin become even wider. 

“I could surely take his place.” Mickey offered in a friendly tone before rising from his chair and walking past Ian, guiding himself to the exit door. 

The redhead pierced him with a puzzled yet nice glare. 

Mickey then flipped the sign on the glass door to the opposite side, exposing the “Closed” notice for the view outdoors. 

“You can do that?” Ian inquired, pointing his finger to the door. 

“Not really.” The shorter one shrugged his shoulders, stepped away from the entrance, and directed himself toward Ian. He was compelled to elevate his head slightly in order to link his eyes with the green ones, and Ian felt a shock of electricity run down his body as their gazes connected together so closely. “But my boss is not here, and we don't have any cameras. It doesn't matter.”

“Smart.” Ian responded with a sly smile, unable to look away from the big blue eyes. 

“Come with me.” He ultimately stepped back, went towards the wall, and switched off the lights. Ian struggled to see him in the darkness, but eventually followed him, and the two of them entered the equipment room as soon as Mickey unlocked it. 

He lit up the small room, and his green eyes were confronted by a plethora of posters, CDs, a familiar black guitar, and a variety of other items. 

Mickey cautiously guided himself to the table with two chairs beside it, pulling one to the back and sitting on it. 

“How do you like it, freckles?” He asked with a kind smile, noticing the glitter in Ian's eyes. 

“Do you live in here?” He questioned in a scornful tone before taking the other free chair. He sat alongside Mickey after dropping his bag to the floor. 

The other man scoffed: “No, but I spend a lot of time here.” He explained, directing his focus to the walls adorned with accessories, “The boss is my friend's father, and I get to do whatever I want for most of the time.”

“Can't you do the same at home?” Ian laid his back on the chair, his curious gaze fixed on the pale face. 

Mickey inhaled sharply, definitely not the topic he wanted to talk about, “My aunt is a religious woman who thinks the music I listen to is a form of worshiping Satan.”

Ian gave a breathless but uncomfortable giggle, bringing his brows together, “Shit.” 

“Exactly.” Mickey replied with a sigh, as if he hoped he didn't have to deal with such things. “She's trying to be fuckin’ supportive, but I don't want to be a bother.”

“That's nice of you.” Ian responded, and the amazed glow on Mickey's face pushed him to clear his throat and do his best to hide his embarrassment. “Anyway, show me what you've got.”

Mickey chose to ignore the previous sentence and stood up from the chair, directing himself to the CDs neatly organized on one of the shelves. Ian kept a tight eye on him, listening to the noises of accessories on his body. 

Mickey began selecting the CDs, clearly analyzing each one with his glance, “I didn't think you'd actually come.”

Ian blinked, attempting to figure out if he had misheard something. He placed his fingertips against the wooden table and pinched his brows together, “Why wouldn't I?”

Mickey remained silent for a bit, assuring Ian that he had a more pressing concern at the time: “You know… Lots of rumors spread around the town.”

Ian immediately believed Mickey was referring to the actions he had done in the past, the ones Juana had recounted to him, and felt a heaviness in his chest when he realized the man thought he wouldn't come by because of them. 

“What if I've heard them before I met you?” he wondered. 

“You haven't.” Mickey snorted quietly, preoccupied with selecting the proper songs. Ian arched his eyebrows at a statement made with seriousness and undeniable sincerity: “You're not from here.” 

“How do you know that?” Ian pushed his fingers to his chin and studied Mickey's back, gradually lifting his gaze to the top and expanding his pupils as it landed on the pale neck. He noticed a red, slightly enlarged mark on his skin, which surprised him. Ian didn't anticipate Mickey to have a girlfriend; he didn't know him well enough to make that assumption, yet the man didn't appear to be the sort to engage in affectionate actions. 

Ian was taken aback by the reddish bruise on his otherwise flawless skin. 

“You barely know the town, freckles.” Mickey stated with a weak giggle, and Ian hastily glanced away, realizing he had been staring at the spot on the man's neck for an unusually long time. 

“You've got me. I'm not from New Jersey.” Ian released a little chuckle, as if he had committed a crime. Although he calmed down after a second and returned to seriousness, keeping his stare fixed on Mickey throughout the time, “I'm not bothered with your past, if you're wondering.”

Mickey did not react right away; there was a brief pause between them, but Ian understood it was necessary. As he gazed at him for longer, he could see his body relax and his breathing return to normal, “Good.” The response was short, but calm and soothing, as if he genuinely cared about Ian's impression of him. 

They were strangers, yet Ian began to have an effect on Mickey, and he had no idea how to manage it. Instead, he preferred to leave all of it on its own and lose himself in the fleeting idea of having someone listen to him for a bit. 

After a few seconds, he heard a low moan from the other's mouth, and Mickey pressed his nails to the shelf, annoyed, “Fuck, I've left my favorite ones at home.” 

The redhead chewed on his tongue, and he noticed the black guitar out of the corner of his eye. He had an impulsive thought: “Screw it. Play a song for me.”

“What?” Mickey cocked his head to the side, eventually focusing his gaze on Ian's and wrinkling his brow. 

“I want to hear your song.” He crossed his fingers over his stomach, unable to fathom how suddenly confident he had become. “Try to convince me with your own guitar.”

Chapter Text

Mickey turned completely around, crossed his arms over his chest, and rested his waist on the shelf, his gaze fixed upon the other man. 

Ian sat still beside the table, remaining mute, but gently tilted his head and sucked on his lip in a suggestive way. He promptly regretted requesting, as Mickey appeared unimpressed with the concept, so he tried to play it off by letting out a faint giggle and scratching his neck, “I'm kidding. You don't have to.” 

“You really want me to?” He arched his eyebrows high, and the query brought Ian's gaze back to his face. The redhead attempted to conceal a tiny grin emerging on his mouth.

“Why wouldn't I?” Ian asked silently, his gentle and sincere tone of voice stealing Mickey's breath away for a few seconds, leaving his chest stiff and painfully warm. “You were amazing on the stage.” 

Mickey let out a dismayed groan and went towards the guitar against the wall, “Come on, man. The entire band was playing; you could barely hear my part.”

“That's not true.” Ian shook his head, watching as the pale, tattooed hands seized the instrument and raised it from the ground. “You were really outstanding there, you know? People adored you.” 

Mickey remained motionless for a time, swallowing and wiping away the speck of dust off the guitar, “They were focused on Axl, not me.”

Ian promptly assumed that Axl was the lead musician that each person applauded for when he spoke up into the microphone. His voice was quite remarkable, as he was able to easily alter its tone and fit with the tune playing in the background. 

Ian couldn't disagree; he was amazing, but he wasn't the redhead's main focus. His thoughts concentrated mostly on Mickey. 

“Well, I was focused on you,” he replied, noticing the kind stare come up to him and his black pupils enlarge. Their gazes met for a few seconds before Mickey turned away and sat in the chair. 

“You're damn weird.” Mickey murmured, but he couldn't hide a satisfied grin on his lips.

Ian grinned back, a sense of relaxation escaping his body as soon as he saw the scowl on the other's face. 

His gaze shifted to Mickey's palms as he clutched the guitar tighter and put it against his knees, gently extending his legs and guiding his fingers to the chords. “Never played in front of one person.” 

The green-eyed man raised his eyebrows high and cracked his lips in wonder. It seemed like an important achievement for Ian to be the first to witness it. “Should I feel special?”

Mickey raised his stare to the freckled face, a smirk spreading over his mouth. “Do you?”

Ian bit his tongue so hard that it nearly bled; Mickey's glittering eyes, cozy but cocky grin, and overall intriguing attitude caused his heart rate to quicken. Ian enjoyed the lively talks that revealed Mickey's true personality. 

The redhead's attention dropped to the instrument, drawing in a breath at the sight of tattooed knuckles, “You'll have to prove to me that I should.”

Mickey clearly admired Ian's haughty attitude, as he pulled himself away on the swivel chair so as not to deafen him with the abrupt, loud noise; after all, he didn't appear to have any expertise with such instruments.

Ian remained mute, but his pupils kept motionless, fixated on Mickey's steady but gradual strokes on the strings. His slender, delicate fingers began to scrape their fingertips on the chords, producing a familiar sound that Ian recognized straightaway. 

It was part of the song Crimson Riot performed on stage, and the brunette's leaning in indicated that he was completely intent on not making any mistakes. It appeared that he didn't lie about not having played for anyone else previously. 

The sound coming from the guitar was much more gentle than on stage, and he wasn't hurrying or grasping the instrument as if his life depended on it.

Ian relaxed on the chair, and while he appreciated the diligent tunes coming from the guitar, he was mostly focused on Mickey's posture. He was openly biting his lower lip, allowing the mess on top of his head to fall onto his forehead, and displaying his muscled arms while wearing a tank top. 

The blue eyes eventually peeked into Ian's face, and when the shorter man observed how concentrated the redhead was, he let out a faint grin, which he tried to keep hidden by lowering his chin back to the tool. Ian, on the other hand, captured it in his mind, and his heart skipped a beat at the image that pierced his thoughts. 

Mickey was completely focused on playing the music, but he could feel periodic creeps on his body and the heart in his chest becoming hotter and heavier to bear. He was relieved that the guitar was loud enough that Ian would not notice. 

It was humiliating since he was so eager, his cheeks were warming up, and his fingers almost slipped and made a mistake due to nerves. Suddenly, performing in front of one person who had his whole attention on him was far more difficult than playing in front of the entire pub full of college students. They were all fixated on Axl, and Mickey was merely a background element. 

Yet, Ian was unlike any other Crimson Riot’s fan. It piqued Mickey's interest to the point where he let the redhead watch him play, which he rarely did. 

Mickey gradually began running his fingers quicker over the guitar strings, humming the song's beat beneath his nose and producing a metallic sound. 

Ian smiled when he heard the tiny noise departing his throat. The redhead pressed his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his hand, paying close attention to the blue-eyed man play the tune he had heard in the pub. 

He believed Mickey wrote it himself, given it was so different from the others, and the melody caused Ian's fingers to begin tapping against his knee in time with it. 

Mickey began tapping his heavy boots against the floor, and his increased motions suggested that he was getting near the middle of the song. In comparison to his performance on stage, he wasn't sweating, hadn't blinked in the last thirty seconds, and had his head gently inclined to the side, displaying the breathtaking jawline that had immediately piqued Ian's interest. 

Ian's attention was drawn to Mickey's astounding appearance. He resembled a porcelain doll, but with more frightening themes; a doll sold in a Halloween store. It made Ian smirk to himself, but he instantly lost it to avoid raising Mickey's suspicions.

Mickey eventually finished with a few more scratches on the strings before Ian realized it. He was so preoccupied with the man's appearance and the tune exiting the guitar that he didn't realize how long he had been staring at the guy. 

The green-eyed man slightly straightened his back, adjusted his hand to relieve the numbness caused by the weight he was putting on it, and the two of them shared a brief moment of silence. 

Mickey didn't say anything, but Ian could tell by his expression how sure of himself he was, which made him feel better. 

“How was it?” He finally asked, sliding his fingers against the instrument and slowly raising his striking gaze to Ian. 

“I think I need your autograph.” The redhead expressed cautiously, with complete sincerity in his voice, albeit a brief smile appeared on his lips. “You're fuckin’ amazing, Mickey.” 

That was the first time Mickey had heard Ian curse in their three previous meetings, and it further strengthened his case. He flashed a dazzling, broad grin, trying to hide it by peering down at the guitar. 

“Shut up.” Mickey mumbled, and while it went off juvenile, he was truly thrilled that someone who knew nothing about the rock genre could enjoy it that much. 

“Ever thought of singing?” Ian suggested, and Mickey raised his chin, ready to laugh it off, but the other one remained solemn. 

“What else? Should I start ballet too?” He joked, but it didn't appear that Ian had intentions of making fun of the man. He genuinely enjoyed Mickey's quiet humming, and it seemed he had no idea he was doing it aloud. 

“I like your voice.” Mickey bit his tongue in response to the redhead's complement. He wasn't used to hearing such things, and it caused his stomach to churn in nervousness. 

Suddenly, all jokes vanished beneath the ground, and he could feel the tension between the two of them becoming stiffer and more challenging to bear. 

Mickey clasped his fingers to the guitar and tried to ignore the pounding heart in his chest, but every second they made eye contact, it became harder. 

“You're fucking strange, you know?” Mickey muttered, and Ian responded with a sneaky smile, his freckles sparkling in the blue eyes and the gleaming white teeth nearly blinding him. 

“I'm honest.” Ian reacted in a cheeky tone, which Mickey particularly enjoyed. They knew very little about one other, yet the brunette could point out which aspects of Ian he liked the most. 

Mickey pushed himself back to the table from the chair and set the guitar on the ground. Then he positioned his legs on the wooden desk and positioned his fingers on his stomach, giving Ian a puzzled look, “So… What's your deal, freckles?”

“My deal?” Ian frowned, then switched his gaze to the heavy boots on the table, followed by the familiar grimace on the pale face. 

“Yeah, I mean, why the fuck are you here out of all the places?” he chuckled, but the other one didn't get what he was saying. His forehead wrinkled, and he squinted idly. “You could be anywhere, living your college's student life, and you're… At the music store.”

Ian arched his eyebrows and started to grin at the comment, but he stopped himself just in time. “Living my college's student life? You mean, sitting at home and reading the lines repeatedly?”

“Shit.” Mickey responded with an impressed smirk, “Back in college, all I did was party, so…”

The redhead smiled delicately, “I'm not into parties.”

“Why'd you come to the pub, then?” Mickey cocked his head to the side and sucked his lower lip. His tense, piercing gaze turned Ian into a melting ice, unable to express anything. 

“Actually, I was forced to, uh… Look for a friend, I guess.” Ian grumbled, despite a wave of humiliation running across his face. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Mickey's beam widening: “Don't laugh.”

“Uh-huh, let me think it over.” The brunette squinted and bowed his head, as if lost in meditation. Then he began waving with his hand in the air to further explain his points of view, “Instead of making an actual friend, you decided to get along with me — out of all the people.”

The redhead lifted his eyebrows and grew comically offended — Mickey altered the situation to make it seem as if he was following the musician in order to interact with him. 

“I'm really sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't planning on seeing you in the bathroom.” He responded in a taunting tone that was appreciated by the other guy. 

When Ian was ready to speak further, Mickey removed his boots from the table and pulled himself less distant from Ian in one rapid movement. They sat in front of each other, their knees separated by only a few centimeters, their stares locked. 

Ian felt paralyzed by the quick motion, but he didn't hesitate and maintained eye contact for as long as he could. 

“Damn it, and I was hoping I'd get to catch you in that bathroom.” He spoke quietly, but his voice deepened, causing Ian to gulp nervously. 

“Why?” The redhead asked gently, feeling the steaming breath on his face and staring into the penetrating baby blue eyes in front of him. He felt as if the ground under him was falling with each passing second. 

Mickey grinned again, and Ian swears he was able to gaze at it for a long time. “You weren't afraid to talk to me.” 

“Is that an achievement?” The green-eyed scoffed quietly, but given Mickey's overall appearance, it wasn't a big surprise. 

“More or less.” He shook his head, and for a brief minute, Ian felt their knees come into contact, forcing him to take a deeper breath and do his best to remain calm. “I'm glad I didn't scare you off.”

“I'm not easily scared.” Ian mumbled, biting his tongue before swallowing. He was trying hard to appear unconcerned, but on the inside, his entire body was tense, and watching Mickey closer than usual made it worse. 

“Really?” The brunette bent his head, allowing the light to reflect on his earrings, “That's good, then.”

Then, Mickey drew himself away from Ian, returned to the table, and began discussing another topic. Still, Ian's mind remained focused on the view in front of his face, his soothing tone of voice, or the mild but alluring glance. He started losing himself around the stranger.

Heavy breathing. 

Ian felt a weight on his lap, his head pushed back, and smaller, gentle hands sliding themselves around his torso. 

He had his eyes shut down, unconcerned about who it was, and solely focused on the irreplaceable waves of pleasure. 

Ian then sensed the other man's lips creep nearer to the crook of his neck. He cocked his chin to the side, creating more room for him. 

Tender and smooth lips found their way onto his neck, leaving delicate yet dominant kisses all over his skin up to his jawline. The man came to a halt at his ear, and Ian could hear gentle breathing from his mouth, causing his entire body to stiffen up. 

“Touch me.” When he heard a very recognizable, manly voice, he felt a wave of shock run down his body. 

It was Mickey. He could identify such a distinctive accent anywhere. 

Ian drew a deeper breath, felt Mickey lay his entire body mass on top of him, and his mouth returned to the redhead's jawline, caressing tenderly. 

Ian's hand slipped lightly beneath the brunette's shirt, stroking his delicate, silky skin and noting how warm it felt. 

Mickey pushed his knee across Ian's, and his palm crept up onto Ian's chest, tracing with his fingers through the stiff muscles. 

The blue-eyed man softly pulled his face away, and Ian squinted at the image in front of him. 

Ian recognized Mickey's directed features, but his face was distorted. He had no idea if his vision was off or if he had drank too much to see anything. 

Still, he chose to ignore it and breathed, as the brunette pushed in closer to him, one of his hands sliding up Ian's jaw. Mickey brushed his thumb on the redhead's cheek, and Ian spotted that his face became blurred. He tried blinking a few times to fix it, but nothing changed. 

Then he felt the shorter guy lean in to his face, and they both sighed quietly before Mickey stretched to bring their mouths together. 

Ian's eyes opened rapidly, panting, and his gaze fell to the blank ceiling. 

He glanced around, comprehending he was in his own apartment, Mickey was not around, and the hour on the clock indicated that it was fairly early. 

It seemed like a strange dream, and Ian was embarrassed to even think about it. 

He hadn't gotten laid in a long, and it showed. 

The redhead sat up slowly and massaged his face. He had no idea how he would face Mickey again after what he had dreamed about. 

He acted like a teenager throughout his puberty. 

He took a peek down at his crotch and let out an annoyed sigh, “Oh, fuck me.” Ian felt he needed to deal with the matter in his underwear.

He flattened one palm against the mattress and groped for his phone with the other. 

For some reason, he was hoping to see Mickey's phone number appear on his screen, but instead there were only a few unread messages from his theatrical group chat. 

Ian and Mickey hadn't spoken since he left the music store, and they hadn't scheduled the next meeting, so the redhead began to wonder whether there would be one. 

For the time being, he chose to suppress any thoughts of Mickey as they his entire body tightened. He resolved to assume that an incident during his sleep had never occurred. 

It might have been anyone; Mickey appearing in his dream wasn't surprising given that they had spent the previous few days meeting. 

Still, it wasn't the type of dream Ian expected to have with a stranger. 

He still had forty minutes till his courses began, and the notion of meeting his professor made him want to stay at home instead. 

He cautiously stood up and peered around the bedroom; after all, Ian was only a college student who did not work. Despite that, he was able to rent such an apartment thanks to his mother, who lived in another state. 

Fiona was obviously upset that her brother had contacted their mother in the first place, but she eventually let it go, realizing that it had been Ian's goal to attend such a prestigious university. 

He grabbed a couple of clothing from the wardrobe and put them on in one fast sweep. Then Ian took a step closer to the exit door, but his attention was drawn to the calendar on the wall. 

He squinted and noticed that the present day was marked, and he knew immediately what that meant. 

The redhead exhaled and shut his eyes. 

It was the first time in class that the actors were required to wear their costumes. Ian instinctively disliked the idea, knowing how absurd he would appear in a sixteenth-century outfit. 

“What do you think?” One of the stylists asked, pushing the mirror towards Ian and allowing him to see himself in the reflection. 

“Well… It's something.” The redhead exhaled, feeling the tight outfit on his skin and the entire weight of the accessories. It wasn't the best sensation.

He wore a navy-blue coat, its fabric rich and adorned with gold fringes at the edges, catching the light with every movement. The coat's brass buttons gleamed, and intricate gold cords draped across his chest. Beneath, a crisp white shirt featured meticulous ruffles cascading down the front and flaring elegantly at the cuffs. The black trousers were impeccably tailored, their simplicity providing a stark contrast to the ornate upper half. 

“You should become a model.”

“What?” Ian blinked, unsure whether he should take it as a joke. Before the other one replied, he started swinging his arms around to ensure that the costume suited him correctly and would not rip on stage unexpectedly. Despite how tight and uncomfortable it was, he couldn't deny that his reflection looked appealing. It almost appeared that he had fled the kingdom. 

“You're really in shape, Ian, you know that.” She shifted her chin to the side, lifting her brow and sweeping her gaze across Ian's entire body. He swallowed, obviously embarrassed by such a statement. “And you have an outstanding facial bone structure. I think they'd pick you to be on the front of the magazines right away.”

“I agree.” When Ian heard a familiar voice, he tilted his head to the side and saw Juana sitting in an armchair in front of one of the mirrors, with the other hairdresser handling her curls. “But if he chose a different career, I wouldn't have a buddy, right?”

The redhead grinned at the remark and eventually shifted nearer to the brown-eyed woman, resting against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are we doing all of this anyway?”

“You mean… Dressing up as characters from cartoons?” Juana gave Ian a sneaky grin as she peeked up at him, “We're actors. Dressing up is part of our job.” 

“I know, but there's still time to get ready for the performance.” 

“Remember about the Christmas break.” One of the stylists Ian was speaking with spoke loudly enough for both of them to hear: “No one's going to stay here to direct you, trust me.”

Ian wasn't keen to stay in New Jersey, especially since his professor, Mrs. Collins, kept making his life worse. 

“Exactly.” Juana exhaled and returned her attention to her reflection, “I guess Collins wants to know if we can also act in the costumes.” 

Ian gazed upon the woman's gleaming, darker complexion before returning his sight to the ground, disgruntled 

It made no difference to their professor whether Ian wore a costume or not; she'd find a way to criticize him regardless. 

“Anyway,” he began, laying one of his palms on the counter and suddenly feeling his heartbeat quicken at the thought of what he was about to ask: “Do you know when Crimson Riot's next gig is?”

Juana's pupils widened, and she flashed Ian an odd glance, as if she was trying to make fun or insult him. “Why? You liked them so much?”

He did enjoy the music, but the actual cause was considerably more intense: a particular brunette who had been on his mind since their first meeting. 

“You could say that.” Ian threw Juana an awkward look, but she only smiled warmly yet contentedly. It was quite as if she had found a person to accompany her to her favorite band's shows. 

“Well, they usually do them once every two weeks,” she explained, and the redhead creased his eyebrows in awe. He expected a few days at most, but two weeks seemed like quite a while. Especially if he spent the last few days meeting Mickey. 

“Once every… Two weeks?” He responded hesitantly. 

“They're all working, Ian.” Juana jerked her head, expressing dissatisfaction in her tone, “Are you that eager to see them again?”

“What? No.” Ian shook his head uneasily, despite the fact that just thinking about Mickey made him feel hotter. He had no idea what was going on with him, but the morning encounter worsened the matter, and he couldn't think of anything else. 

Yet, he was too terrified to arrange another meet. Making any eye contact after what transpired would cause him to melt down instantly. 

“I know you like them, and your birthday's coming.” Ian noted with a cheesy grin despite the fact that he was well aware that he had accidentally mentioned Juana's birthday, which had nothing to do with his desire to see Crimson Riot. 

“Oh? Should I expect a gift?” Juana raised her brows in delight, and Ian's stare softened as he noticed the corner of her lips twitch into an excited smile. He realized he couldn't refuse her at that point and planned something special for her. 

“You'll see,” he responded slyly, and the woman returned her gaze to the mirror with a satisfied expression. 

Soon, both of them heard Mrs. Collins' severe voice outside the changing room and exchanged a familiar, fatigued glance. 

“I better go,” he said, rubbing Juana's shoulder as he stepped away from the exit door. 

He didn't seem as stressed as he usually was.  

It appeared that keeping his mind occupied with Mickey helped, even though it was not his preferred option. 

“Hey, asswipe.” Kurt hurled a roll of paper at Mickey, striking him on the forehead, causing him to squint in frustration. “Are you even listening to us?”

“Not really.” He responded quietly, hoping that the other band members wouldn't hear it. He continued to hurl the tennis ball above his head, catching it an inch or two from his face. 

Axl approached the brunette, hopped onto the bed adjacent to where the man was laying, and grabbed the ball before Mickey could retrieve it. 

“Seriously?” He barely raised his head, and yet sighed in disinterest. 

“What's up with you, lover boy?” Axl taunted with a wide sneer on his mouth. 

“Right, you're acting differently. Wanna talk?” Dylan's voice drew Mickey's attention to his caring expression. Fuck, him and his fatherly conversations. Mickey tried to express his feelings to him once and decided not to do it again. Ongoing teachings about life were unnecessary, especially since Dylan was only two years older than Mickey. 

“I'm fine. Keep talking.” The brunette breathed and kicked Axl in the thigh, forcing him to pass the ball back to the man. 

“All right, then,” Dylan wasn't persuaded, but forcing Mickey to talk about his thoughts wasn't easy, so he preferred to focus on what was most essential for their band currently. “So…”

As Dylan began speaking, Mickey gave up listening and became lost in his thoughts once more. His mind turned to the freckled redhead with whom he had spent the previous evening. 

They didn't speak to each other after that. Mickey waited for Ian to send him a message, but nothing happened. 

He clearly wished to see him again, but he didn't want to come out as insistent. 

When Mickey recalled the chuckles and smiles they had while peering into the other's eyes, his entire body stiffened. 

Mickey couldn't lie: redheads weren't his type, and they didn't look well in his imagination; but, Ian was different. 

His red, combed back hair enhanced his appearance, not to mention the freckles that stood out stronger beneath the light and pierced Mickey's mind. Ian had an inviting grin that people couldn't forget, the sparkling teeth shining against the darkness and pink lips. 

Yet, what drew his attention the most were the lengthy, pale hands with visible veins. Ian looked good, maybe too good for someone who appeared to be Irish. 

Mickey had no idea why he was picturing the redhead like a teenager girl, but it seemed that he had grown tired of the types of men he chose to have sex with over time. 

Ian was one-of-a-kind, and the blue-eyed man was drawn to him like a rope wound around his torso. 

Mickey craved experience, and meeting Ian was a blessing, and he had to take use of it. 

“… A gig near the college we passed—” 

“College?” Mickey rose to a sitting position and interrupted Dylan with a brief question. The three sets of eyes landed on him, all perplexed by his unexpected reaction.

“Yeah, the last time was near the college.” Kurt nodded politely, keeping an eye on the brunette. 

“Damn, are we heading to the same bar again? I don't like it there.” Axl muttered in frustration, but everyone was aware that the location didn't matter as much as the people screaming for him. 

“Not really. There's an open-air festival, and we've been invited to perform.” Dylan corrected, and Mickey now understood why he was so keen to set up their gathering in one apartment. 

Appearing at a festival sounded like a great way to get more people to hear about their band, as well as a chance to see Ian again; after all, he seemed interested in the music Mickey had played to him the evening before. He only had to suggest for him to come over. 

“We're definitely doing it.” Mickey replied boldly.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this? You know, it's a festival… Quite a big event.” Dylan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, pouting. 

Mickey arched an eyebrow; he glanced around at the other three band members, and none of them seemed as persuaded as he expected. He let go of the thought about Ian and settled at the edge of the bed, chuckling uncomfortably, “What's going on with y'all? We're fine with big events.” 

“Mickey, it's not fifty people like always; it's around one thousand and more.” Kurt explained, and his reply troubled the brunette the most; he expected the man to be the most eager to join in such an occasion. 

“So what? Guys, come on.” Mickey eventually rose up from the bed, flung the tennis ball into the corner, and positioned himself in the center of the room, drawing all of the attention to himself. “It's our chance for more people to know about us! We can't waste it!”

“I don't know, man. I'm… I'm not sure if I want to be popular or anything. What we are doing right now is enough.” Kurt scowled, causing Mickey's muscles to stiffen and a dissatisfied look to develop on his face. “No one complained about it.”

“Enough?” The blue-eyed repeated slowly, unable to believe the man's abrupt resignation. 

“I'm with Mickey in this.” Axl stated, directing the entire group's focus to himself. The blue-eyed gazed upon the man unexpectedly but was relieved that at least one person sided with him. 

“You're always with Mickey.” Kurt rolled his eyes and slumped against his chair. 

“That's not the reason,” he shook his head, but disregarded the sentence. “Mickey's right: if we get on that stage, the entire town will hear about us.”

“Axl, have you forgotten that some of us work? I can't just take a day off on any given day, and being recognized and invited to events makes it necessary.” Kurt clinched his fist, clearly irritated at the time. 

Mickey was aware that Kurt had every right to be upset about Axl's suggestions for taking days off for gigs; after all, he was the only one of the four not working and receiving monthly checks from his wealthy parents who lived in another state. 

“Okay, guys, let's calm down, huh?” Dylan finally stepped in, settling the two men's dissatisfied gazes on each other. “We have time to talk about it, so instead of arguing, let's do it.”

“I want to take a part in this festival, all right?” Mickey did not sound frustrated, but rather confident and certain. “I work too, Kurt. It's not easy for me, but trust me; that's our chance.”

Kurt met Mickey's stare for a split second before turning to the side and expelling a sigh, leaving the shorter guitarist with no response.

Mickey felt his friend was hiding a thing from him; it wasn't just needing to take time off from work, but a far bigger secret. 

However, he chose not to question it at the time and instead tried to persuade them that his idea was right. 

“All right, we need to practice for the next gig in the pub, so pick up your instruments and get going.” Dylan broke the tense silence between the two men by waving his finger towards the tools positioned on the ground. 

The brunette turned to face the black guitar, picked it up, and sat down next to Axl on the mattress. 

He put the instrument against his thighs and sensed the fair-haired one lean in closer, clutching a microphone in his left palm. 

“Who's Ian Gallagher?” he muttered into Mickey's ear, surprising him and shifting his puzzled attention to Axl as the name was pronounced aloud. 

“Who?” He attempted to play it off by seeming oblivious, but a slight smile on Axl's lips revealed that he was not buying the ruse. 

The man followed by taking a folded piece of paper from his jersey pocket and passed it to Mickey. The brunette arched his eyebrows as he gradually stretched it to expose his own notes. 

He immediately recognized the scrap of paper on which he had written about Ian. 

“I found it at the entrance. It seems like you've lost it.” Axl pointed, leaning in to peer at the paper, but Mickey spotted and folded it using his grip. 

“Do you ever mind your own fuckin' business?” He ranted, but humiliation and irritation filled his expression rather than rage. 

“I'm just curious; you've been head in the clouds lately.” The man shrugged, slowly shifting aside, and Mickey's gaze softened. 

“I can agree.” Dylan discreetly commented, even though he was the last one interested in the other's relationships. “You haven't come to the meeting yesterday, and you never miss them, Mickey.”

Mickey quickly realized that he had spent the entire evening with Ian, and for the first time in a long time, he had not picked up his phone during the few hours with the redhead. He ended up skipping one of his band's practices as a result, but he had no regrets about it. 

“Something came up.” Mickey answered swiftly to avoid having to explain himself, “Are we done talking about my life now?”

Axl nodded, examining the brunette's look for a few more seconds until an appealing grin appeared on his lips. 

“Good idea.” Kurt observed, taking up the lyrics from one of the songs on the shelf.

Mickey tried to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing at the moment, but his mind remained fixed on the freckled man who hadn't left his thoughts since the day they met. 

He was convinced it was his fault for attempting to lure Ian into his own bed, having a fresh experience with a man he'd never had the opportunity to be with. 

On the other hand, Ian was the only person who had actually listened to him in a long time, and the thought of using him made Mickey's chest tighten. 

Still, he was merely a stranger the brunette met a few days ago. Mickey had no reason to be concerned about their personal relationship, since they hadn't shared it. He only cared about his own pleasure. 

Mickey stepped out of the building after their practice, accompanied by Kurt. Despite it, he carried a phone in his hand and paid little attention to the other guy. 

The brunette was about to turn the opposite way, heading for his own flat, but was suddenly stopped by the other guitarist. “Mickey, wait.” Kurt took a deep breath and stepped nearer to Mickey, who ultimately turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. Their gazes met for a longer second before the taller man turned away, saying, “Look, I don't want you to think I'm against you or anything.”

“Come on, we're in a one band.” Mickey grimaced as he clutched the case suit. “Why would I think that?”

“Yeah, I get it, but you should really give it a thought, you know?” Kurt recommended, and Mickey pushed his brows together, not expecting the man to bring up the matter again, but there he was. “I don't think a festival is what we need right now.”

The brunette refused to accept Kurt repeating the same remark again and over without establishing himself, so he licked his lower lip and completely focused his attention on the other guy. “Getting recognized isn't what we need? Kurt, what the fuck are you talking about? What's going on with you?”

Kurt appeared to be taken aback by the sudden whirl of frustration, but he quickly cooled down. “I'm fine, Mickey. Just think it over once more, okay?”

Kurt waited a few seconds before turning around, leading himself down a different direction, leaving Mickey baffled and alone in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Half of him wanted to follow his bandmate, eager to learn more about what he meant and why he was so opposed to the festival concept. 

The other half drove him to remain in one place, watching as his friend concealed secrets from him and distrusted him enough to share what was going on.

In any case, he desired to go on a larger stage and watch others appreciate him, but the situation in the apartment caused him to reconsider.  

Instead of being enthused about the festival, his thoughts were consumed with Kurt. 

Mickey was sitting on his couch, holding a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He didn't like combining the two, but he was too preoccupied with other things to care. 

He concentrated on the whitish ceiling, puffing smoke from his nostrils and ultimately closing his eyes. 

One of the speakers was playing loud music, which filled the apartment's utter silence. 

Nataliya chose to leave to her friend for a few days, freeing up a whole place for Mickey.

As good as it sounded, the brunette felt as though having no one else around was beginning to irritate him. 

Obviously, he could seek support from one of his band members, but they were too close to him to speak about Kurt or any other issue that was upsetting him. 

Mickey placed the cigarette back to his lips when Ian came to mind; he had spent the entire evening with the man, but he had no idea how to ensure they would meet again. Still, was meeting Ian worthwhile?

Mickey has been meeting with strangers only once, and it was only for a brief moment of pleasure; they would never cross paths again. 

However, he had already had a few of encounters with Ian, and their relationship was becoming more like a friendship, which began to bother him. 

He wasn't typically friendly with the guys he'd slept with before, but the more he and Ian chatted, Mickey felt like the man was inserting a safe code into his soul. If it wasn't plain enough, Mickey disliked losing control, and it happened whenever they were together. 

Three meetings, and each one made him want more, while also making him regret acting like a teenager in search of a friend. 

Mickey eventually stopped contemplating, left the empty can on the couch, and stood up, directing himself to the refrigerator. He held a cigarette between his lips and sought for a stronger liquor. He didn't drink vodka or anything other than beer on a regular basis; the most of it was saved for parties or when he brought people around. Still, his thoughts were preoccupied with not only Kurt, but also Ian, who was not meant to be there at all. 

Mickey grabbed a clean glass, poured the drink into it, and made his way to the living room table, sitting on the chair and leaned against it. 

He glanced at the drink before quickly sipping it. 

He frowned, not comfortable with the taste, but gradually settled down and closed his eyes, attempting to relax for a few moments.

“And then he poured hot coffee on her! I nearly thought she'd die.” The short, curly-haired woman was finished explaining a single problem for the last ten minutes. Ian pretended to be intrigued by something, shaking his head in amazement, and tried to figure out how to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“No way, how did she survive?” Juana set her glass down, evidently engrossed in a made-up story, which was quite usual of her.

Ian understood right away that attending a meeting for his class's students was a bad idea, but he was persuaded by Juana to go nevertheless. 

Still, it wasn't until fifteen minutes in that he recognized how out of place he felt. People around him were talkative, easily entertained, and freely expressing their feelings, yet all he did was stand by the counter and watch each person passing by. 

That was the first time Ian wanted to be anyplace other than such a setting, and it demonstrated how bad he was with others. He let out a loud, exhausted sigh and then felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Ian glanced at Juana, wondering if she was too focused on the other woman to see him using his phone at a gathering. 

Then he pulled it out and narrowed his eyes when he noticed multiple messages from Mickey all at once. 

[9:21 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: wnaa come over

[9:21 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: aunts gone

[9:21 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: il send u the adress

Ian lifted his eyebrows in surprise; he had been waiting for a response from Mickey for practically the entire day, and when he texted him, it was about going over to his apartment. The redhead would be dishonest if he didn't admit that the unexpected offer had his heart skip a beat. 

Still, he found it odd that Mickey chose to invite him so abruptly and late, not to mention his strange spelling errors. 

[9:22 P.M.] Ian: Now? 

Instead of responding to Ian's question, Mickey quickly messaged him the address to his residence, and it took the younger one more than a second to figure out which street he meant due to the typos in the phrases. 

Ian wasn't sure; he wanted to leave the spot, but he knew Juana would be upset if he suddenly vanished. 

Then another text arrived, directing Ian's attention back to his phone's screen. 

[9:24 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: please

The last one had him clutch his phone, and it didn't take long for him to be convinced. The redhead inserted the phone back into his pocket and strolled towards Juana, engaging in the conversation. 

“Hey, uh, I gotta go.” Ian interrupted the women's discussion, and his unexpected statement changed Juana's smile into a scowl. 

“Why? What happened?” 

“I'll tell you tomorrow, I promise.” Ian assured, raising his hand to caress her shoulder before turning back and heading out of the building without answering any further questions. 

Ian took a while to arrive at the indicated building, but once there, he walked up the stairs and double-checked on his phone to ensure he was standing in front of the right door. 

Then he knocked on the side, but there was no response. He repeated the action, but there was not any noise from another person's footsteps. 

Ian scowled, then moved his hand to the doorknob, grabbed it, and unexpectedly pulled the door open. He hadn't expected it to be unlocked, but he flicked his gaze across the flat quickly before quietly entering it. 

“Mickey?” His words echoed across the thin walls as he closed the door behind him. 

The lack of responses alarmed him, so he shifted a few steps ahead into a living room, where he saw a brunette laying on the table, his arms beneath his cheek. Ian noticed an empty glass beside the man, as well as a half-empty bottle of booze. 

Suddenly, the spelling mistakes clarified everything. 

Ian navigated himself nearer Mickey, and as he approached, his sight fell on the scarlet cheeks, swollen lips, and closed eyelids. He must have fallen asleep while awaiting Ian's arrival. 

The redhead kneeled before the man, pushed the dark threads of hair away from his forehead, and examined his big eyelashes. 

“Hey, Mickey; you texted me, remember?” Ian asked gently, but loud enough for Mickey to hear. Instead of responding, the other man whispered a few incomprehensible words beneath his nose while keeping his eyes closed. 

It was practically speaking to an unconscious person. 

“Come on, you should lay down.” Ian extended his hand up to the brunette's back, massaging it, but when he realized what he was doing, he hastily removed it. 

“Yeah…” was all he heard Mickey say, along with a faint humming and muttering. Ian drew himself back on his legs. 

“I'll help you get to the bed, okay?” He suggested, but there was little coworking from the other side.

“Fine, then.” The redhead exhaled and placed his bag on the ground, “But don't get angry with me when you wake up halfway through it.”

Then Ian bent down, one arm appearing beneath Mickey's legs and the other grasping around his waist. Ian yanked the man off the chair and carried him in the air in a single rapid, strong movement. 

He was a lot lighter than he imagined, and the numerous accessories on his body had undoubtedly contributed a few pounds to his weight. 

Surprisingly, Mickey remained motionless, resting his cheek against Ian's shoulder. 

The freckled man felt his scorching breath on his skin and swallowed anxiously, trying not to let his mind wander. 

Ian turned around and headed towards one of the doors with a few posters on it, indicating that it was Mickey's bedroom. 

He clenched his grasp on his knees and slowly pushed the door open with his hip, only to be confronted by an overwhelming quantity of decorations, equipment, and anything else a Rockstar could place in his room. 

Despite it, he let go of staring at it and instead shifted towards the bed, carefully releasing Mickey and laying him on the mattress.

The brunette hadn't opened his eyes for a split second, but he could feel the velvety texture of the pillow and eased his body against it. 

Ian lowered himself down beside him and examined the pale face for a bit without speaking anything. Mickey appeared peaceful, and being so close to him at that moment made Ian realize how stunning he was. 

Yet, his thoughts shifted as he began to consider how much alcohol he had consumed and why. He'd never been so concerned for someone he hardly knew. Still, the circumstances made it seem as if they had known each other years. 

“Why'd you text me out of all the people?” Ian asked quietly, as if expecting an answer from the drunk man. Still, the unanswered question caused the redhead to frown; Mickey could have contacted anybody else, but he selected a stranger he had met a few times. Where did the level of trust originate from?

Ian blinked a few times before returning to reality and deciding it was best to pour water for the man in case he'd wake up.

He stood up and took a final peek at the laying brunette before turning around, but right as he was about to guide himself to the door, he felt a grip on his hand.

Ian's attention swiftly shifted to Mickey, whose eyelids were barely open, as if he were battling not to fall asleep at any moment, but he managed to murmur, “Stay.”

It took Mickey almost ten minutes to assure Ian that he had fallen back into a deep sleep, even snoring quietly. 

Ian prepared a glass of water on the shelf next to the bed and ultimately decided not to stay the night. He didn't want to leave Mickey alone for the night, but he preferred not to have any conflicts in the morning. Ian was confident that the other man wouldn't recall a single word from the evening, and seeing a redhead in his own flat would be an unexpected sight. 

So, Ian lightly opened a shelf and searched for a pen and a piece of paper to leave him a note on. 

He pulled out the pen and notebook, but his eyes were met by scrambled paper beneath it. Ian scowled, and as he retrieved it, he saw his own name written incorrectly several times, as well as a description of his appearance on the other side.

Ian's lips curved into an amused grin as he cast a brief glance at the sleeping Mickey. He had no idea the man wanted to see him again so badly to the point of scribbling it down. It somehow created a warm sensation on Ian's chest.

He bit his lower lip as he pressed the pen to the paper, writing a characteristic remark on the piece of material that read: “It's spelled Gallagher”. 

Chapter Text

Mickey woke up with a severe headache that ran down every inch of his body and forced him to squint as soon as he opened his eyes. He could feel his cheeks scorching from the heat of the pile of clothing he had fallen asleep in. The sunlight was shining brightly through the windows, irritating the man even more. 

Mickey gradually rose to a sitting position on the mattress, brushing dark strands of hair from his forehead to the top of his head and rubbing the corners of his eyes with his fist. 

He turned to the side and grabbed a cup of what he suspected was water, consuming the entire drink. 

He set it down on the nightstand and pressed his palm to his forehead, as if it would relieve the ache. 

He couldn't remember much from the previous evening; all he knew was that he had drank a little too much and had never considered punching himself so badly for it. 

It was Saturday, he was meant to be working, and instead he was writhing in agony in his own bed. What the hell gave him the idea to take out any drinks? 

Mickey eventually went for his phone, picking it up to check the time, and when he did, he was irate to say the least.

It was ten a.m., exactly an hour after his shift at the music store was scheduled to begin. 

Mickey narrowed his eyes in annoyance, evidently contemplating whether he should start rushing after the nearest bus or take a day off, which could result in his being fired. 

Still, he decided it was better to arrive late than never. 

Mickey was going to return the phone to its previous spot when his attention was drawn to a piece of paper next to the cup with handwritten scribbles on it. It was clearly not his writing; it was too good for him. 

The man reached for it, squinting his eyes to read the words. 

“I hope you're doing okay, Mickey. 

Take the pills and drink some water, I bet your head hurts. 

P.S. Sorry for leaving, Ian.”

“Ian?” When Mickey repeated the name, he lifted his brow in wonder. Did he really invite the redhead to his place? Is that why he woke up with a glass of water by his side? 

Mickey stared at the paper for a longer second, unsure why he had asked Ian over, and even worse, he wasn't sure whether they had done anything else, such as on the mattress Mickey was currently sitting on. 

‘What a damn mess,’ he thought to himself, turning the mangled paper around and shrinking his pupils again. 

The same wording appeared in the corner of the paper, saying “It's spelled Ian Gallagher”. Mickey wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or be irritated over Ian knocking into his notes written about him. 

Clearly, he was humiliated, and the very thought of Ian seeing Mickey as an obsessed teenager girl made his stomach turn. Still, he lightly brushed his thumb against the redhead's name, and a tiny, involuntary grin formed on his lips.

“Two L’s, how fuckin’ lame.” Mickey cracked a smile, but he swiftly ceased when he realized how much he was grinning. 

He tossed the piece of paper on the shelf and decided to leave the room. 

When he did, he noticed a couple of empty beer cans on the couch and a half-full bottle of booze beside the table. Mickey's throbbing headache suddenly made sense, and he'd never been happier that his aunt was away for a bit. If she spotted it, Mickey would be likely to say goodbye to living under the same roof as her. 

The brunette elected to clean up the mess and search the shelves for any medicines that could help him get through the day at work. Living with an aunt in her late 40s has several advantages: she had a large supply of pills for painful sobriety the next day.

Mickey stood on tiptoes to reach one box, and as he did so, he accidentally bumped against another thing, causing it to fall down. He squinted at the sound and eventually peered down at what appeared to be a framed picture. 

The brunette bent down and snatched it up, squinting at the sight. He and Mandy were five or six years old, and he couldn't remember that day. His sister smiled widely, but so did Mickey. They both appeared innocent and soothing next to one another. It was a shame they didn't realize what was coming their way soon. 

Mickey sighed and returned the picture to the shelf, wondering why Nataliya would keep it hidden.

He wished the woman would speak to him about his siblings. She knew something but chose to hide it from him. 

Mickey hastily picked out a single pill and gulped it, examining the clock and wondering if he'd make it to the next bus. With only ten minutes remaining, he dashed to his room to change clothes and retrieve his stuff. 

“Thanks, man. You're saving my life.” Mickey gradually removed his jacket, displaying tattooed arms and heavy necklaces draped over his neck. 

“Don't worry, Pops is out of town for a while. I'm taking care of this shithole for the time being.” Austin, the son of the owner of the music store where Mickey worked, claimed in a weary tone. It appeared that the two men didn't share the same interest in the career path. Austin's father was a true rock star; music ran through his blood, and if he wasn't in his fifties, Mickey would undoubtedly have his hands on him. Nonetheless, his son was the polar opposite.

Austin wasn't into music; he avoided it and didn't play any instruments, so working at a music store made no sense. That was another reason to hire Mickey; they'd been friends since college, but the brunette dropped out in her second year and never returned, whereas Austin stayed and finished. 

“You don't look too good.” The blonde pointed out, scrutinizing the pale face, and frowned slightly with concern. Fuck, Mickey could go on about how much he disliked people feeling pity for him or being concerned about him in any way. 

“I'm fine. Sorry for keeping you here; drank too much yesterday.” Mickey kept it calm and stepped behind the counter. 

“Drinking on the work day? That's new.” Austin joked, but as he observed Mickey struggle to stay aware after sitting in the chair, his grin faded. “Anyway, I'll be leaving. I need to finish my stuff at home. Take care here.”

“Sure, man. Thanks again.” Mickey directed his focus to the man and smiled weakly, as he would much rather sleep all day than sit behind the counter and do tedious work. 

He watched Austin grab his bag, throw the keys at him, and leave the store without saying anything else. 

Mickey sighed heavily, slumped against the chair, and let his gaze fall to the ceiling.

The medicine he took in the morning helped a little, but the pain on the sides of his head persisted, and he was holding back from blowing the whole place up since it was so uncomfortable. 

His thoughts ultimately turned to the evening, and he attempted to remember what had transpired and whether he and Ian had done anything together. Still, it was pitch black, as if someone had scratched the situation out of his head with a rubber. 

Mickey closed his eyes, immersed in the serene sounds emanating from the speakers and the absence of any bothersome voices. 

His thinking led him to one hand wrapped over his legs and the other around his waist. 

Mickey furrowed his forehead at the vision, but remained motionless and kept his eyes shut. 

Then he noticed a freckled palm tightening against his body and footsteps in the background. Was that Ian's hand? After all, he was the only redhead Mickey had ever been with. 

The brunette couldn't see it, but he could detect an intense smell in his nostrils as he noticed his cheek resting on the man's shoulder. His mouth was near to the other's neck, breathing hot air onto his skin and seeing it shiver as he got closer. 

Just as the blue-eyed man raised his chin to see who was holding him, he heard a ringing door in the background of the store. 

Mickey soon released his thoughts, opened his eyes, and adjusted his posture on the seat. His stare was fixed on the young man, a customer, approaching him with a friendly smile. The blue-eyed man put a grin on his lips as well, but his mind was still preoccupied with the thoughts that had just occurred to him. 

Was it a strange dream or whatever that happened the previous evening? He wasn't sure, but he was on the verge of flushing darkly due to shame. The idea of letting Ian see him in such a state made him anxious. 

“So… You're telling me you're having trouble learning to dance?” Fiona laughed, but Ian simply covered both of his eyes with a hand, humiliation growing across his cheeks. He realized it wasn't a good idea to inform his sister about it. “Is it because of your gorgeous partner?”

The redhead squeezed his eyebrows together and scanned Fiona on the screen of his laptop, baffled. “She's gorgeous, but not my type.”

“Right, do you even have a type?” Fiona cocked an eyebrow, swinging the spoon inside a bowl as if cooking a meal. 

“I do.” Did he, though? Fiona had no idea about his preference for guys over women.

He used to meet with men three times his age without his sister's knowledge. Still, Ian wouldn't classify them as his type. The majority of the meetings he attended with the men were for financial benefit, and aside from them, no one else had piqued his interest. Except for… Mickey, who Fiona didn't have to be aware of for the time being. 

“If you say so.” She shrugged, not really convinced, but her brother chose to ignore it and carry on, “Why does a knight need to learn how to dance, anyway?”

“There's a prom scene. An old-fashioned prom, I guess.” 

“Well, damn, I can't wait to watch it.” Fiona urged, a large grin growing over her lips.

Ian felt like he was twelve again, when he saw his older sister watching him perform on stage. She was the only one who kept him motivated to pursue his acting career, and Ian was grateful. Their mother left from their lives when they were children, and their father was not someone they could depend on. As a result, the older sister handled certain parental duties. 

“You will, Fi.” Ian grinned briefly before getting startled by a buzzing sound on his desk. His attention was drawn to his phone's glowing screen, which displayed Mickey's name. 

Fiona felt his focus drifting away, so she snuggled in to her own laptop. “Everything good, Ian?”

“Uh, yeah…” Ian lost sight of his sister, his pupils gleaming as he read a few words from Mickey. He was expecting Mickey to contact him in some way, but he wasn't prepared for him to message him in so little time. Ian's mind was suddenly transported back to the previous evening, where he could still feel Mickey's warmth on his arms, smell him, and watch his peacefully sleeping face. His stomach twisted over with the thought. 

[6:23 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: sorry for making you come over yesterday

[6:24 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: u up for a drink?

[6:24 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: im paying

His lips curled into a grin, and he bit his tongue, staring at the texts for a little longer. What happened the day before let Ian realize how desperately he wanted to see the brunette again. He was scared at first, of course; the dream he shared with the man made it difficult to picture their meeting. Ian couldn't stop thinking about the drowsy Mickey setting his cheek against his shoulder, blowing warm air into the crook of his neck and sending thrills down his spine. 

“Am I seeing you smile?” Fiona asked suddenly, causing Ian to nearly toss his phone to the floor as he returned his attention to the laptop's screen.

“What? No.” Ian giggled uneasily, but he sensed his cheeks turning vibrant red. He hadn't realized he was grinning at his phone until Fiona mentioned it. 

“Yeah, right.” His sister gradually lowered her chin to the bowl she was holding, absolutely refusing to believe the redhead. “So, do you have any plans for the weekend? Or are you going to stay at home like you always do?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the second inquiry; Fiona must have been the second person in his life, after Juana, who kept pestering him about expanding his circle of friends. 

“I do, actually.” Ian looked at his phone's screen again, suddenly aiming to go out rather than stay at home.

And meeting Mickey again was something Ian really wanted to do, even if it meant missing out on the two free days he had to learn lines at her place. 

“Oh, really? Surprising.” Fiona murmured, but she seemed very enthusiastic about Ian breaking out of his humdrum routine for once. “Where are you headed off to?”

Ian redirected his focus to Fiona's optimistic face and turned off his phone, deciding to text Mickey later and spend a part of his attention to his sibling. 

Ian's gaze ran across Mickey's entire body; he didn't appear any different, but every time he saw him, he had to take a deep breath. He stood out amid all the uninteresting people.

He was seated on one of the chairs along the counter, directly next to Ian. The redhead couldn't help but let his gaze take him, and he lowered it, pausing for a longer second to admire his clenched arms, bracelets, and black pants that, for some odd reason, looked good on his legs.

“What can I get you two?” The bartender approached the two of them, causing Ian to raise his eyes. He first peered at the brunette, wondering what he intended to do. 

“Nothin’ strong for me.” Mickey spoke in a raspy tone, definitely experiencing the effects of the previous evening's drinking. “You?”

“Oh, uh, one mojito, please.” Ian instantly gave a nod, drawing the other's attention to himself.  

“Mojito?” Mickey cocked an eyebrow, and a sly smile crept on his mouth. The sight of the gleaming white teeth and plump lips churned Ian's stomach, and the sensation began to bother him. “You're not a drinker, are you?”

“You're talking to someone who avoids partying.” Ian joked, and the brunette chuckled in response. It seemed as if his fatigued pose had vanished beneath the comforting joyful one. “Are you a drinker?”

Mickey sighed calmly and shook his head, “I don't like it, but it helps occasionally.”

Ian's smile faded, and he pressed his fingertips against the counter, gradually pushing nearer to the other one. “Like yesterday?”

Mickey didn't react right away, as they were interrupted once the bartender served the drinks close to them. 

He watched the brunette hold the glass and rub his slender fingers across it. Mickey avoided drinking right away, instead carefully shaking the glass and keeping a tight eye on the dark liquid. 

“Sorry for, you know… Texting you then.” He soon broke the silence, but he was too embarrassed to raise his gaze to meet Ian's. “I’ve no fuckin’ idea why I texted you out of all the people.”

Ian nodded weakly, expecting Mickey would message him; yet, he was wrong. It wasn't as they'd known each other long enough to invite the other to their own places, so it wasn't a huge surprise.

“It's fine, Mickey.” Ian replied, clutching his own glass, “What happened, though?”

The brunette eventually lifted his chin, and snorted faintly, before swallowing his drink, “The fuck do I know? I don't remember shit.”

“You don't?” Ian questioned with a despairing tone. He continued thinking about what happened the day before, the one thing Mickey spoke to him, and how he eased his body. He couldn't even recall it. Fuck, Ian was acting like a teenage girl. 

Mickey shook his head: “Did I do something stupid?”

“No.” Ian reacted swiftly, but the brunette noted how rapidly his tone of voice changed. “You were asleep when I came over.”

“That's fuckin’ embarrassing.” Mickey massaged the corners of his eyes, but a slight grin spread across his mouth. 

Ian felt better after seeing Mickey smile; he sipped his drink and pinched his nose at the taste. 

“Yeah, you're definitely not a drinker.” Mickey chuckled, and the redhead could feel his cheeks flush as embarrassment crept over them. 

“Shut up.” He mumbled and tried his hardest to swallow the entire beverage, even though his throat began to burn. Once finished, he exhaled and returned the glass to the counter, while Mickey extended his palms and began humbly clapping with a grin growing on his lips.

Ian kept his eyes on the blue ones for a longer period of time, admiring how brightly they shone and how strangely he was drawn to them.

“Anyway, I saw your note.” Mickey forced Ian to return to reality with his voice, their knees pressed against one other, and the redhead hastily cleared his throat at the feeling, “I asked you to stay for the night, huh?”

Ian blinked, and then he recalled that he had apologized for leaving in the note he left for Mickey, “Uh, yeah, but… I didn't really want to make you feel weird when you wake up.”

“You should've stayed.” Mickey replied, baffling the other man. His voice seemed genuine, and he was surely not making fun of him right then.

Ian could feel his heart contracting and his chest warming. He couldn't describe the sensation, but staring at Mickey so close paralyzed his entire body. 

The redhead leaned in to the man, his fist gripped on his thigh. Ian was prepared to respond, saying something that would comfort Mickey or reassure him that Ian cared about him, even though they hadn't known each other for a long time.

Yet, their conversation was cut short when they heard another person speaking nearby. 

“Evening, gorgeous.” Mickey shifted his gaze to the side when he heard a male, older voice suggest to him. The man wore elegant clothes, grinned warmly, and was undoubtedly aging. 

“You're talking to me?” The brunette twitched an eyebrow, and Ian spotted the older man's stare at Mickey. 

He could see the burning desire in his eyes, and he was clearly not engaging in a conversation for no further reason. Ian clinched his teeth and pulled his brows together, sensing an unusual sensation in his stomach. 

“I surely am.” He answered by grinning widely and displaying his facial wrinkles. Ian was able to smell the awfully selected fragrances all over his body, despite the fact that he was seated next to Mickey. Each perfume almost made him throw up. “Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Mickey sat still for a moment, as if he was thinking about it, before peeking at Ian with a sneer.

The redhead didn't understand, so he only observed the blue-eyed one relax on the seat and return his gaze to the older man. 

“Glasses would be good for you, old man.” He noted, and Ian's pupils expanded in wonder as he did the reverse of what he expected. “Don't you see the redhead beside me?”

Mickey pointed with his thumb at Ian, and the taller man halted for a moment, seeing the stranger's indifferent glance at him. 

“I certainly do. Is that stopping us?” He leaned his arm over the counter and eyed Mickey down. Ian was annoyed by the older man's treatment of the brunette. 

“Yeah, it definitely fuckin’ does when you're hitting on someone who's taken.” Mickey snarled at him, and Ian's lips spread before he quickly sealed it and gulped. 

Taken? Did he hear it correctly? 

Was Mickey genuine, or was he just attempting to annoy the elder man? Even though it was most likely the second part, Ian admitted that his muscles stiffened right away, and witnessing Mickey choose him over the other one warmed his chest.

“Get lost, asswipe. Try to bang someone your age.” Mickey spat, angry, and turned around, ignoring the gray-haired man. 

The man appeared stunned, but he soon realized how badly he had been rejected and sprang up from the chair, upset.

“Goddamn bitch.” He cursed loudly enough for the brunette to pick up on it, but Mickey responded by raising his hand and pointing a middle finger at him, and they heard footsteps walking away. 

Ian bit on his lip uncomfortably and caught Mickey's sneaky smirk, which he attempted to cover with his palm. It lifted his spirits to see him not feel upset over the name. 

“Gross dude.” Ian mumbled, but once Mickey's eyes met his and their stares held for a few long seconds, he could sense a similar desire in his that he did in the older man. Yet, it was far less filthy and more intriguing.

Ian wasn't a drinker, as he mentioned, so he wasn't sure if the booze had begun to have an effect on him, or if there was a part of Mickey that drove him insane with how much he was attracting the redhead to himself. 

The brunette drew in to Ian, and he detected the lingering odor of cigarettes and perfumes. Fuck, something about it made his legs weak. 

“Sorry for using you to make him go away, freckles.” Mickey gave a playful smile and, without waiting for Ian's reaction, shifted his jaw nearer to the other's ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

Ian pushed his teeth together, and as Mickey returned to his chair, he gently nodded, sensing a rush of thrill pass through his body. 

“So, uh… You get that a lot?” Ian rubbed his neck as he stepped out of the pub alongside Mickey, feeling a surge of chilly air on his skin. The brunette pulled out a cigarette and offered it to the redhead, but he refused. 

“What? Old dudes trying to get into my pants?” Mickey chuckled, sparking the smoke and setting it between his plump lips. “Pretty much. I don't really care about them, though.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Ian shoved his hands in his pockets while they strolled down an empty street, which was only illuminated by a few lamps. He inhaled the smell of smoke from the cigarette Mickey had been carrying, and the scent didn't bother him since his entire attention was on the man. 

“It's fine, freckles.” Mickey groaned, but his tone sounded less believable. Still, it didn't appear that the brunette was happily engaged in the subject, so Ian decided to save it for another day. 

“Hey, uh… Do you remember anything from yesterday?” He asked abruptly, casting an intrigued gaze at himself. 

“I don't know, should I?” Mickey taunted with a slight smirk on his lips.

Ian recognized Mickey's lack of interest to the situation from a few minutes earlier, and instead turned the vibe back to interesting. The redhead decided to do likewise. 

“Maybe,” he replied, pausing in the middle of the path. Mickey examined him, then drew closer and pushed the cigarette between his lips once more, drawing Ian's attention to them. 

“Tell me.” The brunette exhaled smoke through his nostrils, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the taller one. 

“Not much happened, just had to carry you back to your room.” Ian noticed how little space there was between the two of them, and his body stiffened at the thought. 

Mickey's mouth turned up into a cocky grin and replied, “Well, thanks a lot, freckles. Do you want a reward?”

Ian sighed deeply, eyes half-closed but still focused on the face in front of him. He bit on his tongue, unsure whether the rush of electricity running down his body was caused by the chilly air or Mickey standing directly in front of him. 

“I wouldn't complain about one.” Ian responded quietly, but to his surprise, the answer appeared to work well for Mickey. The shorter man remained silent for a few seconds, even though his pupils widened, and the cigarette almost slipped out of his mouth in the stillness. 

Then he jerked out of it, pulled out the cigarette, and peered around the silent neighborhood. “Let's get somewhere else, huh?”

When the two of them arrived at Ian's place, the taller man could barely turn on the light or lock the door, since his mouth was fixed on the crook of Mickey's neck. He was pressing his lips against his skin, leaving delicate kisses, and the brunette was sighing pleasantly in response. 

The smaller, tattooed fingers worked on Ian's belt, straining for a second to unbuckle it before pushing Ian onto the bed behind them.

The redhead collapsed on his back, and he couldn't suppress his excitement as he observed Mickey crawl on top.

Mickey pushed in lower, his whole weight on Ian's hips, his own lips brushing against Ian's jaw, and one of his hands dragging itself across the taller man's chest beneath his t-shirt. A brief grin appeared on the brunette's mouth as soon as he sensed the flexed body contact his flesh, and Ian chewed his own tongue at the sensation of the other's kisses against his body. 

Mickey backed away hurriedly, and with a single firm move, he pulled up Ian's t-shirt and removed it. The redhead watched him, carefully rotating his hands to the man's thighs and wrapping his almost entire palm around them. 

Mickey directed his hand to the back of his pants pocket and pulled out a single, packaged condom, which he placed between his teeth. Ian had his entire body paralyzed at the sight, and he was able to feel himself raise at the same time. 

“Ready, Gallagher?” Mickey asked seductively, grinning slyly and leading to his own belt. 

Chapter Text

Mickey felt the penetrating, fire-filled gaze all over his body. He hadn't managed to pull his clothing off yet, but he began to sense a bulge in Ian's pants from accidently rubbing against them. 

The redhead was staring at him, waiting for his next move, despite the fact that he was clearly flushed and nervous. 

Mickey clamped his teeth together, grasping the condom in his mouth, and reached for the ends of his t-shirt, tugging it off hurriedly. 

Ian drew a deep breath, his green eyes resisting the urge to peer at the pale chest. 

Mickey flashed a cocky smirk as he watched Ian's freckles mixing with the reddish tint. He dropped the packet onto his open palm, “What? Never been with a man before?”

Ian pulled on his elbows, sliding his tongue over his back teeth. It was too uncomfortable to explain that the college had been taking his chances of getting laid, so he chose to play along with Mickey's game instead: “I bet I'm more experienced than you are, Mickey.”

The redhead's pronunciation of his name sent a shockwave down his spine, causing his dick to twitch at the sound. 

“I guess we'll check it out.” 

Ian's heart skipped a beat at Mickey's sudden control and confidence in his voice; the brunette wielded strange power over him, making him feel like a jelly with a few words. 

Mickey lowered his chin, clutching the condom between his teeth, and gazed down at Ian with half-closed, blazingly yearning eyes. One of his pallid hands toyed with Ian's pants waistband, expecting him to become irritated with time. 

Still, the brunette must've noticed how hard Ian got over the seconds, and his lower half pressing against his clothed cock didn't help. Ian was too excited to wait any longer at that point. 

His long, pale fingers crawled up to Mickey's naked hips, where he pressed his nails against the man's flesh, drawing a faint sigh in return. 

Then, in one rapid, strong movement, Ian switched places, pushing Mickey beneath him and emerging a few inches above the surprised face. 

The brunette's eyebrows rose, but then an attractive smile appeared on his lips, “Was I boring you?”

Ian took a deep breath, his gaze resting on the other's features, noticing how different he appeared with practically any clothes on. It was nearly another person. 

“No, but you were definitely toying with me.” Ian responded briefly, then backed away, spreading Mickey's thighs with his hands. 

Mickey only smirked in return, keeping his gaze fixed on the freckled, veiny arms that groped for his pants. The quick, warm contact on the sides caused the brunette to take a deeper breath, as if it were his first time having sex with another man. 

“Raise up your hips, Mickey.” Ian muttered, and the confidence in his voice caused the other one to obey instantly, as he pushed his abdomen upwards and sensed the redhead grasp the waistband of his jeans and rapidly pull it down. Mickey felt the chilly air tickle his bare legs, while Ian peered down at him with wide pupils, as if he were watching a work of art.

“What are you doing, freckles?” Mickey pulled his brows together, but he couldn't keep a grin from his face. Something about the penetrating green eyes staring at him from all over his body made Mickey's heart race. 

Ian raised his chin slightly before carefully leaning in to the blue-eyed's face, appearing barely a few inches above it and witnessing the blazing excitement in Mickey's gaze. “You're really pretty.”

“Shut the hell up.” Mickey chuckled, but the unexpected remark made his gut twist around. Why the fuck was he acting that way? It caused a surge of humiliation to flow up into his mind as he sought to shake it off. “Can we just fuck?”

“Not yet.” Ian responded quietly, bringing his mouth to Mickey's ear and allowing him to listen to the relaxed breathing. One of the pale arms grasped for the brunette's covered lower half, sliding one of his fingers beneath his boxers and forcing Mickey to take a deep breath in response. “I want you to remember it.”

Fuck, did Mickey just become uncomfortably hard from one short sentence? Obviously. It sounded amusing, but the way Ian spoke it in a husky voice made Mickey's skin shake, and if he wasn't already excited, he was after hearing it.

Ian noticed the hardening cock in Mickey's underwear and peered down, wearing a pleasant grin on his lips, humiliating the other man even more.

He seized the sides of Mickey's underwear and pulled them down, only to be faced with a slightly leaking cock that immediately raised in delight at his freedom. 

That was the first time Mickey had allowed another man observe his body while having sex; usually, he was bent over one of the toilets or sinks, unable to get a proper look at the guy who was sticking his dick inside of him. 

Now he let the redhead examine his entirely naked build, and to his surprise, Ian was not rushing at all. He didn't appear to be trying to have quick fun and hoping Mickey would leave as fast as possible.

“You're really something, Mickey.” Ian muttered, then clutched his palm around the curve of the other's cock, prompting a sudden groan. 

“You… Really don't need to fuckin’ jerk… Me off.” Mickey gulped in rapid gasps, attempting to recover his breath as he felt Ian's larger fingers slip down through his entire base. He had barely jerked himself off or allowed a man to touch his cock in a while, so the touch was utterly unexpected, and his sensitive body reacted instantly. 

“Well, someone's asking for it.” Ian tilted his head to the side, softly fisting Mickey's cock and getting muffled grunts in return. 

The redhead began thrusting his hand faster, relishing the view beneath him. 

Mickey placed on his back, his legs spread wide, his chest pumping swiftly, and his lower lip bit to prevent any noises from exiting his mouth. Ian from a few days earlier would be skeptical. 

While his palm progressively tightened around his cock, he sensed Mickey's hand stretch for it, and his thinner, tattooed fingers wrapped around Ian's. 

Ian raised his eyebrows, eyes locked on the blue ones, and spotted a drop of sweat dripping down his forehead. “Faster,” Mickey grumbled.

Who was Ian to not obey such an order, after all? He was confident that no one could resist Mickey.

The redhead tightened his grip, watching as the brunette leaned his head back, revealing a pale neck and allowing tiny groans to leave his lips. Ian was even more aroused by how much he was enjoying himself. 

He didn't stop thrusting his hand, but instead came in closer to Mickey and buried his lips into the crook of his neck. He replaced the hickey with his own bite marks in the exact same region where he had first noticed it. 

Mickey growled at the sensation, driving his nails into the mattress and curling his toes in pleasure. “Fuck, I'm gonna…”

“Come?” Ian asked hypnotically, but he didn't require a proper reply to realize it. Mickey's rock-hard cock was already soaking Ian's fingers with precome.

Mickey parted his lips, as if attempting to speak, but all he could produce were muted noises. His voice turned imploring, and he continued to avoid meeting Ian's gaze. 

The redhead clenched his teeth together, feeling another surge of ecstasy rush through him, wondering how much more he could take. 

Then he gently opted to release his grasp on Mickey's attention-demanding cock and drew his fingers away. The brunette immediately shot him a perplexed and irritated glance, “I was fuckin’ close, man…” 

Ian gave him a small smile before repositioning himself between Mickey's thighs and quickly tugging the remainder of his own clothes down.

Mickey regulated his breathing, despite the fact that his erection was becoming painful, and watching the freckled man strip himself was not helping. He carefully raised his elbows watching Ian pull down his boxers, and his heart nearly stopped pounding. His black brows rose high, and his cheeks flushed deep red at the sight of Ian's cock, which stroked against his bare leg. He hasn't felt so ashamed about his own size in decades as he has recently, with his entire body burning. 

Ian noticed his stare and stretched his arm to seize the condom wrapper, “I want you to come with me, Mickey.”

Mickey carefully raised his eyes to meet Ian's piercing green ones, felt every emotion leave them. He was messing with his thoughts, and the temptation to let the man do anything he wanted with his body overpowered him. 

“Just do it.” He whispered, embarrassed about throwing such words aloud since he had never done so before. 

Then he watched Ian rip the condom packet open and slide the rubber onto his erected cock while lowering his chin down. One of his pale hands wrapped around the shaft, guiding the tip to Mickey's hole. The brunette inhaled an abrupt, unsteady breath, driving his nails into the mattress of the bed.

“You don't look so sure about it.” Ian brushed his thumb against Mickey's hips. It irritated him. Why was he being so sweet and gentle? Any other man would take the opportunity to screw Mickey and leave before anyone caught them. Yet, Ian was ensuring all of it was satisfying for both of them. It made Mickey feel as if someone had put their arms around his body; it was definitely a new sensation.

“I'm sure, just…” He took a brief peek at Ian's attention-seeking cock before exhaling a lengthy breath. “Fuck me.” 

“Tell me if it hurts.” Ian murmured, glided one of his open palms to Mickey's waist, and slowly inserted the tip of his dick inside.

He was embraced with warmth and wetness around his cock, eliciting a quick gasp from his mouth. Ian stretched his palm to grip Mickey's thigh, allowing his eyes to follow up to the blue ones, barely holding them open. 

The brunette grunted quietly, attempting to appear tough. 

Ian offered him a reassuring look before carefully sinking deeper within the man and resting both palms against the sides of his shoulders. 

“Fuck, Mickey…” He gasped, realizing he wouldn't last long if the brunette kept clamping so hard around the base of his cock. “Relax… A little.”

“Why?” Mickey exhaled, glancing at the freckled face above him. “Giving up?”

Ian remained in the posture for a longer second, and the confidence in Mickey's voice prompted a sly on his lips. “Me? Giving up? You can dream about it.”

With that said, Ian pressed his nails lower to Mickey's hips, eager to show him how great he could make him feel. Better than any other guy he's slept with. 

The redhead pounded into the man with a stern, forceful move, not waiting for any remarks from his side. 

Mickey groaned deeply, clamping his fingers into the bed's surface. 

Ian stared down at the sweaty man, inhaling fast and suppressing any pleasurable sounds. “What? Giving up?”

Mickey caught a spark in Ian's green eyes, signaling how intently he was messing with him. For some reason, he wasn't growing irritated, but rather his heart beat even faster. 

Though, he knew exactly how to make a man lose confidence. 

He tightened his legs around Ian's waist and pressed him closer to himself, prompting an unexpected groan from the friction. He couldn't think properly himself, but seeing Ian pant above him was far more enjoyable. 

“I might if you keep on treating me like a little, soft bitch.” Mickey muttered to Ian's face, and the pale cheeks turned pink at the words. His pupils expanded, and the brunette felt his cock harden inside him.

Mickey leaned his head back, letting out a moan, but then he sensed another man's lips approach his jaw. 

“You're so fucking stubborn.” He muttered, but Mickey spotted he was grinning even before he glanced at the redhead. 

Ian gently drew his pelvis away from Mickey, then pounded into him again, sending a rush of electricity down his body. 

The brunette swiftly turned into a jumble of suppressed moans, sweat, and longing gazes. 

Ian increased his hip movements with each passing second, pushing his nails into the man's body and creating red lines on his pale skin. 

“Fuck, yeah, right there…” Mickey whined through clamped teeth as Ian reached his sensitive spot.

The green-eyed man smiled toothily as he inhaled the unmistakable scent near Mickey's neck, felt his cock melt into him, and let his arms sink within the coziness of his body. 

He felt like he was in seventh heaven. 

He pushed his eyes shut, grunting quietly into Mickey's ear before biting it. 

The brunette was no longer reducing his pleasured groans, allowing them to resound throughout the room, as one of his arms emerged on Ian's back, digging his claws into his flesh. 

Ian didn't mind the pain, instead focusing on thrusting his hips further and hitting the same area inside the man.

The other tattooed hand slid to the back of Ian's head, grasping his red hair and yanking it while every part of him shook with delight. 

Ian couldn't get enough of the mutters close his ear, or the touch on his skin. He could do it endlessly.

Ian gently hung over Mickey's face, continually driving his cock deep within his hole, while his emerald eyes pierced Mickey's sweaty, pleasure-filled expression. 

The dark, longer on top threads of hair stuck to his damp forehead, and the split lips, breathing out faint groans, contributed to his filthy appearance. 

The redhead was just a few inches away from his skin, his focus shifted to his mouth, and Mickey understood what he was about to do. He wanted to kiss him. The flare in the green eyes spoke to him. 

Mickey couldn't do it. As fantastic as the sex was, his entire body was yearning for more, but kissing was not part of it. 

He lifted his other palm and dug his claws into Ian's shoulder, forcing him to grunt softly. 

“Is that all… You can do?” Mickey teased, despite the fact that he was hardly able to contain his pleasure. Nonetheless, witnessing the freckled nose wrinkle with a playful smirk on his lips was rather enjoyable.

Ian appeared to take the question as a challenge, rising from Mickey's face and slowing his hip movements. The brunette bit his tongue fiercely, knowing full well that keeping up the pace for a while of time would not end well. 

Ian clasped Mickey's leg and abruptly stretched it to rest on his shoulder.

“You really want to keep on doubting me?” Ian asked breathlessly, his palm curling around Mickey's ankle as he hammered into him harder than usual. The position allowed him to go deeper and feel the complete warmth on his cock. 

Mickey moaned loudly, forcing his eyes shut and slamming his hands against the bedsheets, “Fuck!”

Ian gave a tiny grin and began to move gently, one hand rubbing his leg and the other driving to the brunette's waist. 

He looked great from that perspective, begging with his eyes and panting with every movement. There were so little, yet so many words leaving his body.

Ian comprehended each one perfectly. Mickey liked it—no, he loved it.

Yet, from Mickey's point of view, Ian was a lot to talk about. 

When his blue eyes fluttered carefully, and he saw the nude, well-built body, muscled arm gripping his knee, or teeth pulling his lip as he continued to thrust his cock inside of him, his stomach suddenly flipped over. 

Mickey was never concerned with looks, preferring to focus on his own pleasure during sex, but resting in front of the redhead made him realize that, in fact, redheads weren't so awful after all. At least that redhead wasn't. 

Ian realized he wasn't far from releasing, so he reached for Mickey's straining cock and abruptly curled his fingers around his base. 

Mickey sighed with pleasure, but he did nothing to stop Ian. It felt good. His entire body was paralyzed, and both sides were filled with ecstasy. 

Ian was really good at it; perhaps he was right in claiming to have more experience than Mickey. Still, the brunette didn't fight it and allowed himself to enjoy it for a time. 

Ian began gradually stroking his dick while continuing to shove inside his hole. The room immediately filled with echoing moans and the sound of skins slapping against one another.

“I'm… Close, fuck… Don't stop.” Mickey grunted, his breathing quickened, and his teeth clenched. 

Ian appeared to be reaching his peak as he pressed his nails into Mickey's flesh, thrusting faster and deeper. 

His fist squeezed around Mickey's cock, and after a few seconds, he felt a shock of electricity all over his body. 

“Fuck, Mickey…” He shouted out, feeling himself come inside the condom, and the brunette spilled white fluids on top of his stomach a few seconds later with a trembling grunt. 

Ian slowed his motions, attempting to collect his breath while keeping an eager watch on Mickey.

His eyes were half-closed, his fingertips stroked against his abdomen, and his chest pounded rapidly. 

“Goddammit, Gallagher.” Mickey murmured, yet a tiny smile developed on his lips over time. Ian saw that and couldn't help but grin. 

He softly drew out of Mickey, removing the condom from his cock, and dropped onto the bedsheets.

His glance slid to the side, revealing Mickey's heated cheeks, parted lips, and joyous eyes. 

Fuck, it's been a long time since he was able to gaze at another man resting by his side after having sex. It was a far greater sight than anything he had seen recently. 

“You're not bad at it.” Mickey chuckled breathlessly before fixing his gaze on Ian's. They exchanged a deep, intimate glance, as if a flood of adrenaline was rushing right back into their lower bodies. 

Ian smacked his lower lip, and his focus shifted to Mickey's stomach, which was covered in his own sperm, making him warm once more. The redhead drew closer, craving to taste the man all over again, inspecting every inch of his skin.

Nonetheless, Mickey suddenly sprang up, stretched his arms and grasping for any available tissue to wipe himself down. 

Ian was confronted with his pale back, muscles in his face, and the side of his neck, which was ready to be covered in marks and bite traces. 

Mickey looked good, no matter which side Ian was staring at. Gazing at his back, he seemed to be the image of a Renaissance panting model. 

His mulling was cut short as Mickey tilted his chin to the right and his fatigued eyes met Ian's again, “I better get going.”

“What?” Ian squinted and right away peered out the window; it was the middle of the night, and the moon was visible in the sky. He didn't want Mickey to leave. Not at that hour. “It's late. Stay over for the night.”

“I've stuff to do, freckles.” Mickey mumbled and pulled his boxers up to his abdomen. He didn't want to get out, but staying wasn't a good option. He couldn't let himself fall into his own traps. “And I don't really want to bother you.”

Ian grimaced as he gently situated and adjusted his hips towards the other man. He remained focused on the messy face next to him, “You're not bothering me. I want you to stay.”

Mickey swallowed at the words, his fist clutched on the mattress, unsure how to answer. 

His heart tightened, realizing that the longer the quiet lasted, the more awkward it seemed. 

“You didn't stay when I asked you to.” Mickey snorted poorly, remembering the time he got drunk and texted Ian. It was still an embarrassing recall, but it was appropriate for that situation. 

“You're right, but… We're both sober now, and I know what I'm talking about.” He asserted smoothly, and the tone in his voice warmed Mickey's heart. He couldn't resist the compassionate, green eyes or the gentle touch of his palm on the brunette's exposed knee. 

Mickey turned to the side, noticing how late it had become.

He could stay overnight and forget about it the next morning. 

Nothing prevented him from doing so. 

“Fine.” Mickey exhaled, and Ian gave a small smile. He was too fatigued to fight, so he chose to enjoy the moment. 

Mickey woke up as he felt the sun on his skin; his eyelids opened gradually, and he noticed Ian sleeping at his side. The man directly realized what they had done that night and how he hadn't gone home. 

Mickey extended his arms and raised them, quickly grabbing the clothing from the floor. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.

When he dressed up, he gazed upon Ian again, studying his innocent, resting face on the pillow.

Mickey felt a sudden heaviness in his chest after seeing his freckles gleam in the sunlight, and grumbling quietly when he heard the noise. 

It was the first time he felt awful about leaving another man's stay without a word. 

Ian, though, was not like any other man Mickey had been with. He was different, as he defined with a sudden surge of unpleasant emotions. 

After a few while, Mickey blinked away, grabbed the remainder of his belongings, including his phone, and dashed out of the building.  

Mickey was seated on the stairs, leaning against the metal fence on the side while grasping a phone. 

The screen displayed a single text from Ian, at which Mickey had been staring for at least the last five minutes. 

[1:23 P.M.] Ian: I didn't expect for you to leave so soon. Want to meet later?

The brunette wanted to respond back, accepting the offer, but something was holding him back. He couldn't make himself do it. 

Mickey had slept with Ian once, and by his logic, they weren't supposed to see each other ever again. At least it was what he continued to do with any other man. Quick round, and they would remain strangers for the rest of their lives. 

Yet, it was strange to picture with Ian. Mickey disliked the idea of treating him like a piece of meat.

While he was lost in his thoughts, he overheard another person leave the house, closing the door behind them. 

Mickey lifted his gaze to meet Kurt's, who slowly descended the steps and settled beside the other man. He was holding two bottles of beer and handed one to Mickey, who bowed in thanks. 

“What're you doing outside?” Kurt asked, stroking his arms as he felt a cool blast of air rush past them. 

“Axl is fuckin’ noisy. Wanted to spend some time alone.” Mickey responded quietly, opening the beer can before taking a quick sip. 

“You all right?” Kurt drew Mickey's attention to his face with the question. 

“Dylan sent you, or what?” 

“I'm just worried. You haven't said a word today.” 

Mickey snorted weakly, slipping the phone into his pocket and staring off into the distance, “I'm not a singer; don't really need to.”

Kurt kicked him in the ankle, causing the blue-eyed to pinch his brows and hiss angrily, “Mickey, come on.” jerking a bottle of his own beer, he muttered, “I'm your friend; talk to me. Is this about the festival? We can still talk about—”

“It's not.” Mickey interrupted, focusing his gaze on the ground and allowing a peaceful hush arise between the two of them. He wasn't sure if mentioning Ian was a smart idea, but as time passed, he became increasingly consumed by his own thoughts. 

Perhaps it was time to express some of his emotions for once. 

“I slept with a guy yesterday.” 

Kurt cocked his chin, “That's not surprising, is it?”

“It's just…” Mickey inhaled, attempting to find the right words, “He's different to anyone else I've been with. He's, you know, kind and fuckin’ patient.”

“And?” Kurt pinched his eyebrows. “You're not into soft bitches?”

Mickey rolled his eyes; “I thought I wasn't.” He sipped his beer and remarked, “But the sex felt like seventh heaven.”

The second man chuckled and rested his elbows on the upper stairs. “That's good, then. What's the problem?”

Mickey hesitated for a moment, biting his tongue and contemplating every thought: “He's not like me.” Kurt seemed to want to utter a thing, but he was quickly cut off when the brunette continued, “He's a goddamn college student with a bright future, and I'm… No one, really. No plans, living in a shithole, and doing things that won't make me money.”

Kurt remained silent, clearly understanding the meaning behind Mickey's words. They've never discussed their future ambitions or goals; all that mattered were the gigs. Yet, when he mentioned it out, it made both of them understand how trapped they were in a society where musicians had little chance against businesspeople or other wealthy people.

“I don't think who you are counts when it comes to having sex.”

Mickey carefully shook his beer bottle, watching the drink swirl inside. “I don't want him to get near my point.” He responded, “The least I can do is not fuck his life up.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes; the fact that Mickey cared about any of the people he'd been sleeping with surprised him significantly. It undoubtedly piqued his interest. “He is not a child, is he? I bet he knows what he's getting himself into, Mickey. Lookin’ at you is enough.”

Mickey threw a gentle punch on Kurt's shoulder and grinned faintly. “Fuck you, asshole.”

The other one laughed as he brushed his arm and exhaled. “Seriously, though, just enjoy the sex while you still can, man.”

Mickey cast a glance at him; perhaps he was right, and all he needed to do was let go and stop troubling himself with worthless thoughts. Still, he couldn't help but think about all the people he'd had a “bad impact” on, and he worried that spending time with Ian would turn out the same. He didn't deserve it, despite Mickey's wish to slip back into his bed and explore his body once more. 

Kurt noticed how quiet he became and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him nearer to himself, “Don't tell Axl about him, he'll get jealous.”

“Shut up.” Mickey exhaled an annoyed breath.

As ludicrous as it seemed, Axl was arguably the closest person to figuring out who the mysterious Ian Gallagher was. The recent events of his learning his full name and the way he looked didn't help Mickey keep it quiet. 

“Let's go inside, okay?” Kurt nodded, finished his beer, and exhaled heavily, “We have shit to do. You want to do well at the festival, right?”

Mickey's eyes dilated with surprise, and he nearly spilled his own drink. “Wait, we're performing there?”

“I haven't seen you smile in a while.” Kurt shrugged, “If that's what it takes, I'm ready.”

Mickey clenched his jaw, saying, “Seriously, man, I need you to want to do—”

“I want to.” Kurt interrupted, his tone of voice becoming stern. “How about you stop whining, and start preparing, huh?”

Chapter Text

“Kiss… Scene?” Ian swallowed carefully and pressed his eyebrows downward. He flattened both of his palms against the table, his entire attention focused on Juana next to him. 

The woman gently bowed while she scanned the scrip under her nose: “White Knight and Princess kiss, embracing each other's bodies, and drowning in the passion.” Ian stiffened as she quoted the written content from the document she was carrying. 

He had no clue how to react; certainly, an actor's duty was to perform what they were instructed, but that would have been the first time he'd kiss someone on stage. Not to add, it was Juana, his closest friend at the time. 

“What's that reaction, prick?” Juana gently shoved his arms while pouting and seeming to be offended. 

The lecturer then peered their direction, as if to warn them not to disrupt the class. Once he turned around to face the chalkboard, he snatched the pen and pretended to scrawl all the notes into his notebook. 

“It's been a while since I've kissed anyone, you know.” He mumbled, keeping his gaze fixed on the page, as he could feel his cheeks flush with shame at the mention. 

It was ridiculous that he admitted to sleeping with another man two days before but didn't even get to kiss him. Ian plainly wished to, but when he tried, Mickey disregarded him and directed his focus elsewhere. He pondered if the brunette didn't want to kiss him, or if that was a part of his charm - no kissing on first “dates”. He didn't know what to call their night together; it may have been a one-night stand, but Ian prayed it wasn't the end. 

“Yeah, but it's me. I wouldn't laugh at you.” Juana soothed him, but then she exhaled: “Well, maybe I would, but not in front of everyone.”

“Shut up, I'm good at kissing.” Ian pulled his brows together, but a small grin appeared on his lips. It was a lot to claim for someone who hadn't slept with or kissed anyone in months.

“Right, we'll find out about that.” Juana hummed as she pushed the script into her bag and pulled out her phone. The screen shone on her face, and she swiftly presented it to the other man, who had to squint to read the little characters. “It's this Friday.”

It was an announcement on some sort of website informing people about the approaching gig at another bar, which was still close to their university. 

Once more, it was Crimson Riot's performance, and Ian was pleased to have another chance to make up an excuse to see Mickey. 

“That's cool.” He reacted casually, attempting not to appear very impressed, but his response only resulted in a scowl on her face. 

“Come on, read the lower part.” She sighed, pointing with her finger. 

Ian leaned up closer, raising his eyebrows as he finished reading the final sentence. 

They stated that they planned to invite volunteering fans to join them on stage to sing along, which sounded like a good idea overall. But as he returned his gaze to Juana's, he could tell by her facial expression that she wished to be the picked one.

“Oh, you're not…”

“Yes, I am, Gallagher.” Juana flashed a confident grin. Ian drew a deep breath and forced his fingertips to the desk; he couldn't lie: she had an incredible voice and would be spectacular on stage. Not only that, but she would undoubtedly attract the band members' attention. Still, Ian was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his current situation with Mickey. Especially when Juana started pushing the issue, mentioning the band frequently, performing their songs, and proposing to go to their shows together. 

Ian desperately wanted to tell her, but his mind kept reminding him that it was only one night with Mickey, and it didn't matter. He could have been anyone else.

“Well, I hope they pick you.” Ian whispered with a faint smile as he witnessed Juana's face light up with joy. Part of it improved his mood; she certainly knew how to ensure that others feel at ease around her. 

“I hope you come with me.” Juana delicately bent her chin, and her brown eyes glittered at the green ones, quickly changing into a begging, puppy stare. “I'm sorry for making you do all of it, but you're my best friend, and no one else here is into their music.” 

The redhead gave a warm grin and stroked his hand over her shoulder. “Hey, everything's fine. You're not making me do anything. I like them, too.” Or, at the very least, he liked the specific guitarist. 

“Thanks.” She murmured, dazzling her sharp teeth and gradually shifting her focus away from Ian to write down the notes from the whiteboard. 

Ian intended to do the same thing, but his curiosity wouldn't let him, so he pulled out his phone and rapidly scrolled through his texts and conversation with Mickey. 

The redhead wished to see him again after he left in the morning, but all Mickey sent back was a brief “sorry” and that he was busy later, which sounded like a direct rejection. 

He hadn't texted him since then, and Ian groaned, shutting his phone and laying his cheek on his hand. 

If he wished, he could sleep with any guy he met on the street, and yet, Ian was dwelling about him like a teenage girl. It began to annoy him. 

Mickey didn't normally spend his spare Sundays laying in bed and skimming through the TV channels. 

Instead, he'd practice playing the same tunes until he lost feeling in his fingers and gave up. However, not at that time. 

He glanced at the black guitar positioned against the wall near the exit of his room, ready to be used and shining at blue eyes. 

Yet, Mickey lacked the strength to even pick it up. 

His attention was focused solely on the night with Ian. He left him the next morning and did his best to avoid any meetings. 

Why was he thinking about it?

He had never spent his free time pondering a man before, but the freckled guy who wasn't even his type consumed his thoughts. 

Mickey kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his mind drifting to the huge, freckled palms gripping his torso as if he were about to melt away. The soft groaning and breathing in his ear, or the sweaty chest staring at him. He's never met a more attractive redhead. 

He closed his eyes and remembered Ian setting one of his legs over his own shoulder, pounding into him at the perfect position, and doing everything to make him shatter with pleasure. Did that guy have any flaws at all?

“Fuckin’ Gallagher.” Mickey groaned to himself, realizing that Ian had each thing people searched for: he was tall, gorgeous, and good in bed. He knew exactly how to make a man fall for him. 

Mickey's thoughts switched to the controlling words coming out of the redhead's mouth, the demands that the brunette immediately obeyed, or him ensuring Mickey felt good in all aspects. It was so frustrating, yet… Mickey felt himself getting hard at the recall. 

He took a brief peek at his crotch and sighed strongly, knowing he wasn't going to look for another man to fuck him at that time. He needed to help himself on his own.

Mickey chewed his bottom lip before sliding on his stomach and gently rising his hips into the air. He hesitantly slipped his pants and boxers down to his knees, only to be hit with an unexpected erection pressing against his stomach. 

Mickey whined painfully, pressing his forehead against one of his arms on the cushion and reaching for his groin with the other, curling his tattooed fingers around the shaft. 

He gasped silently, his breath rattling and his legs trembling. It was a good thing his aunt had not returned home yet. 

The brunette pushed his eyes shut while gradually squeezing his palm against the entire base of his cock, letting out tiny sighs into the pillow. 

His cheeks rapidly grew scarlet, and he began thrusting his hips into the air, seeking more. 

Mickey's thoughts returned to Ian, his delicate lips on his neck, and his violent hip movements, each of which touched the brunette's sensitive area. 

“Fuck…” Mickey sighed, clamping his fist into his cock, but he tried to dismiss the thought by envisioning another man. 

He attempted to force his mind to return to all the men he enjoyed having sex with, their bodies or features, but his brain refused and kept visualizing the redhead above him. 

Mickey allowed his thoughts to wander, pumping his leaking cock faster with each second and groaning into the cushion.

He desperately wanted Ian to touch him again, to make him melt beneath his eyes and fill him completely. Fuck, Mickey had no idea what made him so exceptional, but he couldn't think about it at the time.

All he could picture was Ian slowly leaning in to his ear, their skins touching, and his hand heading up his thigh. “It's not enough, is it?” The redhead muttered in the brunette's head. 

Mickey knew that wasn't enough; he needed more, to be stuffed and pounded like there was no tomorrow. 

He removed his other free hand and, while pressing his forehead to the pillow, arched his arm and pushed two fingers into his entrance.

A faint groan escaped from his lips as he began to shove his fingers while working on his cock with the other fist. It felt good, but not what he desired. 

“Oh, fuck, Ian…” Mickey growled, his voice wavering and his hips jerking with every stroke. His fingers were slipping in quicker and harder, unconcerned by how humiliated he appeared at the time. His entire face was flushed with pleasure, drool falling from his lips and hair strands clinging to his wet forehead. But all he could think of was Ian and how incredibly fantastic he made him feel.

“I could help you.” Another charming tone resonated through Mickey's thoughts. 

He knew it. The phone was right next to him on the shelf, so all he had to do was call Ian's number. But he did not. He would never ask another man to have sex with him. One time was enough, and he attempted to justify it by claiming that Ian was good in bed, which was the only reason his body remembered the sensation. 

“You're close, huh?” Ian's voice pushed Mickey to squint his eyes, breathe deeply, and pump both wrists harder, “Think about me when you come.”

Mickey's entire body froze; there was something about the deep, tender, but yet charming tone of voice that made him shiver with delight.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Mickey hissed as his fingers rapidly inside him and squished his fist on the tip of his cock. 

It took him a few more thrusts and finger movements to reach his climax, where he came into his open palm with a loud, echoing groan escaping his lips. 

Mickey was exhausted, so he carefully drew his fingers out and collapsed onto his stomach, breathing deeply and shaking off the waves of pleasure that swept through his body. 

Drops of sweat were streaming off his brow, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. 

Still, he eventually calmed down and realized what he had done. 

He tilted his chin slightly and inhaled deeply as he peered at the come dripping from his hand. He was messed up. It was the first time in a long time that he had jerked off to any of the men with whom he had slept. Especially to someone who didn't even fit within his type. 

Mickey felt humiliated, but his body, as well as his lips and tongue, really wanted to feel Ian's hands on them again. 

Refusing to do so wasn't easy, as Ian was like an awaiting snack to munch on, but Mickey tried as hard as he could to avoid biting into it.

Mickey sat in the chair behind the desk in the music store, his knees propped up on the desk while scrolling through his phone. 

The day was flying by, and it wasn't long until he'd be able to close the business and head home. Only a few minutes left of staring at his phone's plain screen. 

Yet, things didn't turn out as intended. 

After a bit, he heard a customer enter the building and quickly pulled his legs down to watch them. His pupils expanded, and he gulped when he saw only Ian, dressed in a long coat with a black turtleneck underneath. 

Their gazes connected, and Mickey felt an incredible feeling of humiliation as he recalled him of what he had done the other day. Despite that, he did his best to ignore his hammering heart and focus on the redhead. 

“Hey.” Ian muttered, edging closer to the desk; he was definitely not in the mood to fool about. Mickey wondered why he came to the music store in the first place. 

“Yo.” Mickey responded, and when his nostrils were filled with the same, exceptional perfume he smelt while they were having sex, he fiercely bit his tongue and pressed his legs together. Yet, he attempted to treat Ian as any other customer.

“I, uh… I'm here to buy an album.” He gazed around, but eventually returned to the blue eyes, which were purely filled with interest. 

Album? Seriously? 

That sounded like a lame excuse; Ian was the last person Mickey would mention who was eager to buy albums. He seemed to prefer music streaming platforms. 

He'd much rather hear him say he came to the store for Mickey. 

“That's why you came here? Out of all the places?” Mickey curved his eyebrows; certainly, as a cashier, he was obliged to ensure that the customer chose to purchase the products, but Ian was not an ordinary music fan. “It's not because you wanted to see me, is it?”

The redhead breathed, drew another step closer to the wooden desk, and his gaze traveled across Mickey's entire body. The brunette appeared to be studying and judging every inch with his glance. 

“Maybe it was, but it doesn't really matter.” Ian pushed his hands into his pockets, and his confession astounded Mickey. He abruptly became so chilly that he was no longer recognizable as Ian from the first time they met. “You weren't really keen on seeing me again, so I guess it's one-sided.”

Fuck. If only he knew what had happened the day before, and how his mind refused to let him live with how much he was consuming his thoughts.

Mickey could feel his heart throbbing so loudly that it was driving him insane; the serious and confident eyes on him were doing nothing to help, and it was even weakening his leg. 

The brunette pushed his nails on the armrests, drawing himself nearer to the desk and focusing his entire attention on the freckled face. “Do you know what a “one-night stand” means?" 

Ian nibbled on the inside of his cheek, obviously understanding what he meant, but still refusing to give up. 

He knew Mickey was having a good time, and the moans and whines filling the room were genuine. He enjoyed it and couldn't lie about it.

“Do you want it to be just a “one-night stand”?” The redhead whispered so near to the other's lips that Mickey imagined jumping over the desk and becoming lost in their kiss. 

Obviously, the answer was right in front of him; it was almost as if a tiny Milkovich was waving his hand on his shoulder, attempting to yell a loud “No!” while his mind refused to acknowledge his true feelings. 

He craved to see him in different positions, watching his body, and allowing him to take charge each time. But, shit, he's never done that before. Mickey wasn't sure whether he could. 

He inhaled awkwardly, “What album were you looking for?”

Ian was plainly upset with the response he received, but he tried not to show it, simply stepping back significantly and keeping a steady gaze on the brunette. 

“Room On Fire.” He quickly replied, “The Strokes.”

Mickey raised his brow, and his pupils expanded like coins. He found it hilarious that Ian turned out to be a fan of classics, and imagined him choosing songs by Harry Styles or Taylor Swift rather than ones that people weren't into anymore. 

Still, he stood up from the chair and proceeded past the redhead, directing him to the designated place, “Come with me.” 

Ian wasn't even interested in shopping anymore, preferring to return home instead, but he eventually followed Mickey.

When they came to the record section, Mickey pointed with his fingers to his preferred albums, which piqued Ian's interest. 

The redhead bowed in thanks before navigating his slim fingers through the shelf, fully ignoring Mickey's presence next to him. 

However, the brunette remained motionless, quietly watching him and crossing his arms over his chest. 

He wished Ian could see how much he wanted to do it again, but he was too weak to put it into words, and it appeared like the redhead was uninterested in anything else. 

Mickey drew a calm breath and peered down at his boots, “Will I see you on Friday?”

The redhead was surprised by the question, as he tilted his chin to the side and observed Mickey's uncomfortable expression. 

He certainly wanted Ian to appear at his event, even if he didn't say so. 

“You want to?” Ian chose to remain cheeky and witty because he craved Mickey's honesty. He was frustrated with the games they were playing: first enjoying a few good meetings, then having sex, and finally avoiding each other. They weren't teenagers anymore. 

Mickey bit on his lip; even though he wanted to say yes, there was a barrier holding him back: “Do whatever you want.”

Ian exhaled, took hold of the album he had come for, and locked his focus on Mickey's for the final time. If he could simply strive to be honest about his feelings, everything would be easier. “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

FRIDAY

Loud music echoed between the large walls, bright lights shone and floated between the crowd gathered on the dancefloor, and the scent of alcohol and cigarettes lingered in the air. Anything a standard part could have had. 

Ian placed one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone, staring at the screen and waiting for Juana's message. 

It came out that she had vanished into the audience, excitedly waiting for the band to go on stage and invite her to join them in singing. 

In the end, Ian was left alone in the middle of a group of strangers, and he was almost certain that there were twice as many people as in the last bar. The event appeared to capture the interest of others. 

His bored glance went to the platform in the distance, not seeing the band yet, and he was thankful for not catching Mickey's stare.

Yes, he wanted to see him, but their last meeting didn't go as planned. He imagined Mickey to wrap his arms around his neck and asking to do it again. Nonetheless, he received a scathing rejection. Why did he even decide to attend his gig? He felt like a desperate teenage girl. 

After a moment of stillness, he noticed a message from Juana, telling him that she was standing by the scene and that he should approach her. 

Ian chose to do so since being alone among the dangerous-looking people wasn't very pleasant. 

He breathed and pushed his way through the crowd, repeating “excuse me” loudly every two seconds.

Once he eventually made it through, he noticed Juana's bright, coffee-colored irises and large smile as she waved her hand at him. It undoubtedly lifted his spirits. 

Ian flashed her a half-grin as well and stepped closer, gazing around himself. He'd never been that near to a musical stage, and witnessing instruments on the wooden platform above him was incredible from that perspective. He instantly understood why Juana wished to be in the front row so badly. 

“Pretty loud, isn't it?” Juana giggled, spotting Ian try to hide a scowl on his dull face. Anyone could see he didn't enjoy social gatherings, especially loud ones. 

“You'll be deaf by the thirties,” he quipped, earning an eye roll.

“Yeah, at least I'll know how life tastes like by then.” Juana spoke with a confident look, clearly aiming the comment at Ian in an attempt to persuade him to enjoy the time with her. Still, he disregarded it and claimed not to hear. “Anyway, I'll get us a drink. What do you want?”

Ian immediately returned his attention to her sparkling in the spotlights face, and protested against it. “No, it's fine. You should stay here and wait for your boy band. I'll get it.” He undoubtedly wasn't ready to be left alone in front of Mickey as he climbed up the stage; the thought made Ian want to bury himself. Their last meeting didn't cease distressing him. 

“You sure?” She asked, and Ian hastily nodded, “All right, then. Get me something sweet.” 

The redhead gave her a slight smile before turning around and steering himself through the crowds to the counter on the opposite side of the pub. 

He thought he had pushed past until he sensed someone's arm brush against his and spotted a sudden moisture on his shirt. Ian lowered his sight down and noticed a growing stain with the odor of alcohol. 

“Oh, shit, I'm so sorry.” He heard a male, airy voice right in front of him and lifted his gaze to the blonde, curly-haired man with a worried expression on his face. 

He was somewhat shorter than Ian, prompting him to lower his chin so they could connect their eyes. 

The blonde was clutching a glass of half-spilled beer, and Ian could feel his blood boiling, along with a sudden desire to leave the place. 

The stranger began checking his pockets, pulling out his wallet, and the redhead grimaced as he awkwardly dug his fingers in. “I will pay you for it. How much was it?”

“What?” Ian squinted, not sure whether he was serious, but his cheeks were flushed from humiliation. “Hey, chill out; I'm fine. It's only a beer.”

“No, I think—”

Ian placed his hand over his wallet and pushed it down, seemingly declining the offer. He couldn't charge another person money for simply soaking his clothes. Washing machines existed for a reason. “Just make sure to look where you're going, all right?”

The blonde halted, as if captivated by the redhead's delicate and patient tone of voice, gulping while rubbing his fingers against the glass. Ian noticed how ashamed and flushed the man was, and he felt awful for him. It couldn't have been his first experience. People in the area would beat a helpless man up merely for giving them an odd glance, not to mention pouring a drink on them.

“You'd better wipe it down with a tissue. You don't want to smell like a cheap beer, right?” The man asked, letting his nervousness sink deep inside him and a sweet grin appear on his lips. Ian took a quick check at his t-shirt and let out a soft sigh, understanding he was correct. “Can I buy you a drink, at least?”

The redhead lifted his chin again, raising his brows and pondering the question for a time. He cast a brief glance at Juana, who had already been given a drink by a stranger with a pleasant smile and didn't seem to be attempting to avoid it. What did Ian have to lose?

He didn't want Mickey to feel satisfied by spending the entire performance starring at him, even though the brunette was the major reason he came to the pub. 

“If you're offering.” Ian finally responded, causing the blonde to smile even more broadly. 

When they were sitting near the counter, Ian noticed the man swinging his leg and occasionally biting his lower lip. The small blush on his cheeks just confirmed his suspicion that he was not straight. And he probably didn't offer Ian a drink for no reason. But he didn't mind it. 

To be honest, Ian wasn't particularly fond of blondes. 

But the man wasn't unattractive either, and was a great speaker. Despite that, he didn't let Ian say anything since he buried his shame and began telling all of the unusual stories from his life. 

The redhead continued to smile and nod gently, but he couldn't help but let his gaze stray as Crimson Riot took the stage. The crowd cheered, and his pupils widened as he spotted Mickey strolling forward, clutching a guitar with his muscled arm. 

The slight eyebags beneath his eyes piqued Ian's interest; it didn't appear that he got much sleep, and he wondered whether practice was what dragged the hours away. 

Yet, he tried to dismiss the thought, figuring it was too dumb to worry about. 

The main singer stepped to the microphone, addressing the audience and saying dull crap that only female fans were interested in. Then they started with the first song, inviting one of the women to the platform, and she couldn't help but smile widely and proudly. 

Ian scoffed at her reaction, then locked eyes with Mickey for a long second. He didn't want to gaze away; the depths of the blue irises made him want to drown in them. 

When Mickey realized Ian had come over, he grinned briefly before hurriedly staring away to ensure he didn't see. But Ian did. 

Mickey's grin was always pure and sweet. He was a scary-looking man with an assertive attitude, but when his lips curved into a smile, the threat vanished. Ian could stare at it for several hours. 

He felt himself clutching the glass, and his concentration was disturbed when the stranger next him dealt a light kick to his leg. 

“You okay?” He spoke softly, and Ian found it intriguing that he was one of the few people who were uninterested in the band on stage. His full focus was on the baffled redhead. “You like ‘em this much?”

Ian snorted and shook his head. “I came here with a friend. She's a huge fan.”

“You don't say. Me too, actually.” The blonde man gestured with his finger at the woman who was clapping her hands to the beat of the music, beaming widely and clearly enjoying herself. “Guess we both left our friends to enjoy themselves on their own.”

Ian grinned in answer, trying hard not to glance at Mickey in the distance. He wanted to peer at him, but he realized he couldn't behave like an obsessed maniac. Their final talk made it plain that he was expected to forget about shooting another shot with Mickey so close. 

“So, uh…” The stranger brought up the topic he had previously discussed, drawing Ian's focus back to himself. 

The redhead decided to do his best to ignore the brunette and tell himself that the only reason he came to the pub was for Juana. 

Mickey wiped his brow with a hand; it had been a few songs, and his fingers were gradually going out, but the number of admirers clamoring to get up on stage was endless. 

He watched as Axl tried to select out one woman without eliminating the others from singing along with them, but his sight was drawn elsewhere at the time. 

Mickey halted and grimaced as he noticed a blonde-haired, short man sitting beside Ian. He'd seen him previously, but this time they were really into their conversation.

Ian was beaming broadly, his gaze fixed on the other man, and he was laughing as he showed his appealing white teeth. It really irritated Mickey for some reason. 

The redhead didn't even pay attention to the concert; he refused to glance at Mickey or observe him with admirable gaze as he had before. He felt totally ignored.

Not to mention, Ian appeared to be enjoying his company as well, and Mickey was half-assuring himself that they weren't far from jumping for each other's throats and undressing right there. 

Obviously, Ian could sleep with anybody he wanted, but seeing him flirt with another man in public made Mickey's fury boil. He couldn't tell why, whether it was because he wasn't paying attention to his job or because he was frightened Ian would take his “fuckboy” status in town. No, that sounded stupidly funny. 

Still, Mickey couldn't explain the gut-wrenching feeling he had every time his eyes met the redhead's bright smile given to the blonde man. It was frustrating.

Mickey grasped his guitar and clinched his teeth. 

He wasn't sure why, but he experienced an urgent desire to draw the redhead's focus on himself. He needed to make the blonde leave so he could view the vibrant green, glittering irises again. 

“Oh, you! Right—”

Mickey softly pulled Axl to the side and grabbed the microphone, interrupting his speech. The rest of the band members examined him strangely, but did not budge an inch. 

“All right, everyone. Chaos Boulevard will be our last song for today.” The audience roared, and Mickey eventually noticed Ian's stare at himself. It appeared that hearing his voice abruptly was enough to break their awkward silence. “I'll let myself pick a fan for this one, and I've chosen you. Come up here, lady.”

The gazes focused on the short woman, who initially froze before sprinting towards the stage stairs. 

Mickey drew a step back as she arrived at stage, and the audience applauded. The brunette heard Ian's clapping becoming unusually loud, and it appeared that he was obviously rooting for the woman. 

Was she close to him? Her skin color clearly indicated that she wasn't a family member. Perhaps a friend or a colleague. Though, Mickey pretended to not care much about it. 

Still, seeing Ian's stare fixated on the woman and filled with enthusiasm reassured Mickey that it was a good choice. 

The rest of the band members greeted the woman, and it wasn't long before they began pounding and tapping their fingers against their instruments, lost in the echoing chaos.  

When the last song completed and Ian noticed Juana going off the side steps, he excused himself from the stranger and rushed to his friend.

The blonde even offered to give Ian his phone number, but the redhead merely crumpled the paper and threw it into his pocket. He didn't want further contact with the guy, especially while Mickey kept consuming his thoughts. 

Yet, it was undoubtedly mutual. Throughout the performance, Ian sensed Mickey's penetrating gaze on himself, and he fought hard to keep his pounding heart from winning. 

“You were amazing, Juana.” Ian agreed with a slight grin, offering a glass to the woman, who still had a faint blush on her cheeks. 

She was visibly thrilled about it, which was why Ian was pleased he came to the pub. 

“I was sweating and shaking.” She chuckled nervously, “I wonder what other people thought.”

“They surely thought your voice is outstanding.” Ian positioned his hip against the counter, soothing the woman with an affectionate tone of voice and a caring gaze in his eyes. “You should've chosen different studies.”

“Shut up.” Juana giggled quietly, delivering a little poke to Ian's arm, “I'm glad I did that.”

Ian remained quiet, despite the pleasant smile on his face. Juana seemed to adore Crimson Riot, and he was willing to accompany her to every gig.

“Thanks for cheering for me, Ian.” The woman claimed hesitantly, clearly highlighting the time when Ian was holding back from shouting once she headed on stage, “Thanks for coming overall.”

“You don't need to thank me for that.” Ian placed his hand on her shoulder and gently touched it. 

“Anyway,” she shook her head, bringing confidence back to her face, “Who was that blonde guy you were with?”

So she noticed them together.

“Just a stranger who spilled his beer on me.” Ian sighed, pointing to the fading stain on his t-shirt: “Do I smell like shit?”

“Like an alcoholic, sure.” Juana giggled, then turned to the side and pulled out a perfume bottle.

“Take it.”

Ian grabbed it and glanced at the words on the bottle: “Strawberries? Really?”

“That's the only one I've got right now, don't complain.”

The redhead shrugged and took a deep breath as he sprinkled perfume all over himself, masking the unpleasant odor of the alcohol. Then he handed it back to Juana and uttered the amusing question, “How is it now?”

“Not bad.” Juana cracked a smile. 

Ian intended to speak more, but then he sensed his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and arched his eyebrows at Mickey's message. He honestly didn't expect him to reach out to him. 

[5:34 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: come outside, backdoor

Ian paused for a second; he wished to meet him alone, but following Mickey like a lost dog was awkward.

Then again, he couldn't deny his skipping heartbeats and a tightening sensation around his chest. He needed to see him, even though his thoughts warned him not to. 

“I'll go to the bathroom and see you here in a moment, all right?” Ian placed his phone into his pocket and asked Juana, who sipped her drink and nodded gently. 

“Better be quick.” 

Ian opened the backdoor to find freezing air and a blowing wind. It wasn't completely black, but it was dark enough to make the distant buildings difficult to see. 

“Hey.” He heard Mickey's voice and shifted his gaze to the brunette leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips.

Ian's eyes were met with milky white skin, the wind blowing the dark hair to different sides, and, of course, the powerful smell that nothing could replace. The cigarettes combined with the heavy cologne, fuck, Ian had to hold his breath to keep his legs from melting at the scent. 

“Hey.” He replied gently, locking the door behind himself and taking a step towards Mickey. The discomfort between them was palpable, and a part of Ian wanted to start the discussion and talk about unrelated topics like they had before. Then again, he attempted to appear as casual and unconcerned as possible. Maybe that could change Mickey's mind. 

Mickey tilted his chin to the side, puffing smoke into Ian's face, and their stares locked for a long second. “No “You were good out there”?” he smiled, recalling the meeting in the music store where Ian would shower him with compliments. 

The redhead lowered his gaze to the ground and kicked a tiny rock. “You know it yourself.”

“Wouldn't mind hearing it from you.” 

Ian lifted his chin again, felt a stinging clutch on his heart from an unknown force. Mickey was clearly teasing him, but the way he sounded made Ian pause. 

“You were good, Mickey.” Ian asserted, feeling a gentle flush form on his cheeks despite his efforts to deny it.

Mickey gave him a small smile, knowing that even if Ian didn't express it on his face, the redhead meant it. Hearing it had always served as a source of motivation for him. 

Mickey groaned as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils. “I saw you and that blonde twink by the bar. You found a bitch for yourself?”

Ian pinched his nose, wondering where the abrupt question had come from. He was intrigued by the fact that Mickey had fixed his gaze on them for long enough to recall the other guy. “Blonde twink? You really know how to name someone, don't you?”

“Come on; he was flirting with you. I'm betting my life on it.” Mickey laughed, and the green-eyed scanned at him with intrigued pupils.

“He wasn't flirting; just spilled a drink on me and asked to buy me one.” Ian scowled, but Mickey's reaction intrigued him. Why would he mention it? 

The brunette stepped away from the wall, removing a cigarette from his mouth and standing near the other's face. The redhead was compelled to lower his chin in order to hold their gaze, and he immediately felt as if the air surrounding them was suffocating. Fuck, Mickey worked on Ian like a magic wand, barely doing anything to turn him into a melting mess.

“Sounds like flirting to me.” Mickey replied mockingly, with a small smirk on his lips, knowing full well how he impacted on the taller man. 

Ian's attention rested on Mickey's deep blue eyes, and he was nearly willing to grasp his body again; he was so close to him, but a barrier was keeping them apart. 

“Why do you care?” He finally asked, expecting to upset the brunette in some way, but Mickey only chuckled calmly. He pushed one step nearer to Ian, grasping his jaw with his free hand and directing him towards himself. Ian witnessed his body heating from the swift touch. 

“I know I could make you feel better than him.” Mickey muttered into his face, wrenching Ian's gut and twisting his insides. “After all, you came here instead of staying with him, didn't you?”

Mickey let go of Ian's face and was about to go for the pub until he heard Ian's voice once more: “I thought you wanted a one-night stand only.”

The shorter man swung around, a cheeky smile on his lips as he put the cigarette down and exhaled smoke from his mouth. “You can still leave with that twink if you want to, no one's forcing you.”

Ian clinched his teeth and felt an unpleasant wave of heated blood rush down his body. 

Mickey promised never to do it again a few days ago, but suddenly he wanted to. Fuck, he was toying with Ian's head, and agreeing to the offer was a bad choice. 

On the other hand, Mickey's charm was far too strong for Ian's little intellect. 

He tightened his fist while taking a long breath. “Where?”

Mickey wore a proud look, as if he had accomplished something he knew he would, “You've already been to my place. Come over later.”

Then Ian observed as Mickey entirely turned around and entered the pub again, closing the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Ian entered Mickey's room by his side, seeing the brunette remove his jacket along the way. He focused his gaze on the pale neck, which was only waiting for him to cover it with marks. 

Then his attention turned to all the band posters on the walls that he hadn't had a chance to look at properly before. Ian's pupils widened, and he unconsciously parted his lips in curiosity. 

“What's up, freckles?” Mickey grinned at his reaction as he jumped on his bed and exhaled heavily. “You've been to my room, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn't get to take a look at those… Posters.” The redhead peered about, and the brunette found his flashing eyes amusing. 

“Looks like an angry teenager's room, but I never had the energy to change it.” Mickey slowly took off his boots, still giving the redhead delighted glances. 

Ian cocked his chin to the side and giggled, “You definitely act like an angry teenager. It suits you.” 

“Fuck you, Mr. Perfect.” Mickey chuckled as the redhead gently removed his coat and dropped it on the chair. Once he did, the other man was confronted with the aroma that drove him insane. Mickey sank his nails into the mattress and tried to act calm. 

Ian settled right beside him, staring at Mickey, until he interrupted the uneasy silence with, “What's up with you?”

The brunette tilted his jaw to the side, wondering. “Me?”

“Yeah, I mean… Why did you change your mind?” Ian asked calmly, but he slowly brought his wrist towards Mickey's, pressing their fingers against one another. 

Even if he didn't confess it, the blue-eyed could tell how much he wanted to lose himself in the momentary pleasure. 

Mickey sighed, shifted in to the other, and dropped his palm down Ian's thigh, receiving a sudden lengthy breath in response. “Do you always ask stupid questions?”

The redhead smacked his bottom lip, their gazes connected passionately, and he cupped Mickey's chin with one hand. 

The shorter man drew a deep breath, his pupils expanding in response to the abrupt touch, but his attention was drawn to the wide, emerald irises and thick eyelashes fluttering before him. He sensed his gut flip over and the rhythm of his heart increase. 

“I'm just curious.” Ian mumbled, and with a free hand grasped Mickey's, who was resting on top of the redhead's leg. What the hell was he doing with him? A little touch has driven him insane. Mickey was humiliated, but he wasn't ready to Ian to take grip of his hand or face. He missed the touch. 

“Curiosity killed the cat.” The brunette responded mockingly, trying not to show off how steamy his skin was becoming. 

Ian's gaze fell to the swollen lips in front of him; he'd be lying if he claimed he didn't want to feel them for himself. The redhead leaned in, anxious to reach the other's mouth, but Mickey remained still, confusing Ian even more. 

“You're really hard to deal with, you know that?” Ian muttered, pressing his thumb against Mickey's pointed jawline, spotting how hot he became. 

The brunette grabbed Ian's wrist and drove it away from his face, “Yet, you're here.”

Ian bit the tip of his tongue. “Yet, I'm here.”

Then Mickey grinned, carefully sliding himself onto the cushions and pulling Ian up by his t-shirt. 

They didn't waste any more time: Ian reached for Mickey's neck, nibbling and licking his delicate skin, leaving subtle imprints. He imagined the other one to chastise him for it, but Mickey didn't say anything, just cocked his head to the rear, allowing the second one more room. 

The brunette chewed his lip, shutting his eyes, and lost himself in the warmth and sensitivity of the tender kisses on his neck. One of his arms rushed down, catching the end of Ian's t-shirt and yanking it off in one rapid motion, leaving the green-eyed half bare.

Ian was aware of the huge, eager eyes on his upper body, and he couldn't wait any longer.

“Don't make me fuckin’ beg, freckles.” Mickey grumbled, letting his fingers work on releasing his belt despite his inability to aim without looking. 

Ian grinned and chose to assist him, removing the strap and unzipping his pants. 

Then, just as the brunette assumed they'd get to the point, Ian proceeded to slump close to Mickey's face and stun him with his intense stare. 

“You won't let me kiss you.” Ian muttered, purposely pressing his knee against the other's thickening manhood. Mickey let out a small gasp, which he attempted to stifle by pushing his teeth together. “Is there a reason for it?”

Mickey strained at the question. 

Fuck, what was with guys and their obsession with kissing?

The brunette placed his leg over Ian's waist, drawing him closer to himself; he was already too aroused to think about little matters like that. 

“Can you just fuck me, or am I supposed to do it myself?” Mickey grumbled, eliciting a faint from Ian as he pushed away to start on his belt. Even still, the brunette could see the disappointment in the dark pupils. Was he really that willing to kiss him? For what? Kissing was merely a waste of spit trade, at least for Mickey. He didn't understand it. 

Just as Ian was ready for his pants down, both men heard someone else unlock the main door to the apartment and jumped away from each other. 

Ian hastily went for the t-shirt and slipped it on, giving Mickey a puzzled glance, “Were you expecting someone?”

The brunette sighed, his motions slower than Ian's; he wasn't panicked, and he only slightly lifted his hips to draw the pants up to his hips. 

“It's my aunt.” Mickey mumbled, getting out of bed and using his fingers to straighten the mess on top of his head, “Didn't think she'd be back so soon.”

Ian huffed quietly, then laughed uncomfortably, “Should I start running away?”

Mickey gave him a curious look, but witnessing the redhead's nervousness had him grin somewhat, “It's not her first time seeing a stranger in my bed. You'll be fine.”

Ian lifted his eyebrows, and he noticed his heart pounding harder. Did Mickey admit to having a lot more men visiting at his place? Yes, Ian wasn't entirely surprised, but a part of him sensed an unfamiliar feeling inside his chest. It was difficult to accept that anyone else could have witnessed what he had done. 

He was disturbed from his thoughts when both of them heard a knock on the door, which was eventually opened.

Nataliya rested against the door frame, elevating the corners of her lips into a pleasant smile as her nephew sighed, “Hey, Micke— Oh, good evening.” She spoke once as her eyes met Ian's. 

“Oh, uh, right—” The redhead swiftly walked nearer to the elder woman and raised a palm in welcome, “Good evening, Miss Milkovich.” 

Mickey and his aunt exchanged amused gazes, but the woman was undoubtedly greeted warmly. She grasped Ian's hand with a wide beam on her lips, “Call me Nataliya.”

“Of course.” Ian nodded. 

Nataliya tilted her chin to the side and peered at the brunette, “Is that your…?”

“We're friends.” Mickey rapidly interrupted her, directing Ian's focus to his face. Friends was a strong word to describe their relationship, but it was sufficient for Nataliya; pulling her into what they were doing alone was unnecessary. “You need something, aunt?”

“Um, actually… I have to bring my stuff from the car here. Could you help me?” 

Mickey wasn't happy with the concept, knowing how fired up he was and how much he'd prefer to tear Ian's clothes off. 

The redhead noticed it and decided to respond in his place, “I could help.”

Mickey flashed him a look of confusion and the aunt scowled, “Are you sure? They're quite heavy.”

“Not a problem.” Ian offered her a friendly smile.

Mickey wanted to say something, but instead he stood stiff and mute, completely paralyzed. 

Why the hell was Ian so keen to help his aunt? 

The majority of the guys Mickey had slept with fled as soon as she noticed them, and the redhead not only stayed but acted like a good person. 

The brunette noticed light sparkles in his aunt's eyes, signaling that she was genuinely pleased with the offer. At the very least, Mickey knew he wouldn't be having another discussion about bringing home men. 

“Okay, then. Come with me.” Nataliya spoke, before turning around and exited the room. Before Ian did so, he cast a quick glance at Mickey, the confident and cocky one. What an asshole.

Ian was doing it on purpose, leaving Mickey all heated up while being kind to his aunt. Even yet, the brunette didn't mind it as much as he thought he did, and he tried to suppress the slight smile that formed on his lips when Ian exited the room as well. 

“So… You're studying to become an actor?” Nataliya questioned, striking the inside of her cup with a spoon to stir the coffee. “That's a lot of work.”

Ian groaned, agreeing: “It is. But I really want to.”

Mickey had his legs sprawled under the table, one ankle on top of the other, quietly observing the green-eyed man as he discussed his future profession. 

“That's good to hear.” Nataliya replied, smiling gently and peeking at Mickey. “A lot of the friends he brings home are… Well, you can answer that yourself.”

“Aunt.” Mickey tightened his teeth and gave her a dissatisfied expression. He didn't understand why they were bringing it up, or why they were sitting with her in the first place. 

“Right, he's short-tempered.” The woman sipped her coffee, forcing a fatigued eye roll on the brunette's face, while Ian simply suppressed an amused smile. Somehow, not being criticized by Mickey's aunt got him some bonus points. He didn't dislike it. “Anyway, do you live with your parents?”

Mickey raised his brow, unsure what his aunt was driving at with her unexpected questioning. She had never interviewed any of the men Mickey had at his apartment, so it came as a surprise. 

“No, I actually rented an apartment not long ago. I live by myself.” Ian replied, and Mickey noticed an odd grin on his lips, almost as if the mention of his parents wasn't so good after all. Still, Nataliya appeared to be too engrossed with inspecting the redhead to detect the difficulty in his tone. 

“That's an accomplishment for someone your age.” Mickey sensed her piercing glare on his face, and he knew exactly what she meant. 

Above her head, he could see the large lettering, “MOVE OUT”. It wasn't that Mickey didn't want to; in fact, he'd been dreaming of having his own place, but working in a music store wouldn't be enough to rent an apartment in such a state. He was forced to suffer it till he had enough money. 

Ian did not respond, instead raising the corners of his lips in a tiny grin and swirling his spoon in the cup. The brunette spotted that the other's posture changed; was it due to the mention of his parents? He couldn't tell, but it worried him. 

“What do your parents do, then?” Nataliya questioned after a moment of silence, drawing the two pairs of eyes to herself. 

“I, uh, they're…” Ian faltered and turned away uneasily. 

Mickey recognized it and couldn't take all the unpleasant questions anymore. 

He rose up from the chair, drawing attention to himself as he cleaned the dust off his boots, “We have to go, aunt. It's pretty late.” 

Ian's eyes sparkled, almost as if he was thanking the other man for saving him. 

“Oh, right.” Nataliya checked her wristwatch, “Don't you want to stay for the night, Ian?”

“I should go, but thank you for the offer.” Ian gave her a friendly grin as he stood up from his seat and grabbed the coat hanging on it. 

Nataliya nodded in agreement and continued gripping the cup with her slender fingers, peering over at the redhead. “I hope I'll see you again.”

Ian turned to Mickey, who feigned to ignore the two of them despite the fact that the taller one knew exactly what he was thinking. Would there be another time? “Yeah, me too.”

Mickey held a cigarette between his lips as they walked down the street toward the nearby bus station, and an unsettling silence enveloped the two of them. Only their footsteps, passing cars, and a gust of wind disturbed it. 

Yet, the brunette eventually broke the stillness by meekly saying, “Sorry about her.”

“What?” Ian cocked his chin to the side, unsure whether what he'd heard was correct. 

“Look, whatever's going on with your parents isn't my or her business. She shouldn't have asked you about it.” Mickey pushed his hands into his pockets, and the redhead could feel his pulse speed and his entire body become excessively hot. Did Mickey care enough to notice that? Being aware of that made Ian feel even more humiliated than he already felt. 

“It's fine. It's just that when people learn about my parents, they tend to walk away, you know.” The redhead murmured and dropped his attention to the ground. 

“You can't suprise someone like me.” Mickey chuckled, and the sound of his laughter was exactly what Ian needed to hear.

“Well, they are, uh… Addicts. Serious addicts.” Ian mumbled, hoping that Mickey would not hear it. Obviously, he understood that building friendships required being honest with one another, but discussing his family issues was never easy. Especially if another person had a positive relationship with their own parents. Ian often felt judged by the entire world for being born to people who were not ready for children. 

Mickey remained silent for a minute, but as they approached the bus stop, he paused and focused his entire attention on the pale face illuminated by the lamp's light. The blue eyes were filled with concern, a sight Ian rarely saw on people's faces. 

“You turned out better than them, then.” 

Ian took a long breath and wrapped himself closer in his coat, pretending it was chilly, but in reality, he could hear his heart hammering so hard that he was afraid Mickey would hear it. 

That was the first time he had not been compared to any of his parents, but rather told that he was not like them at all. True, Mickey had no idea who they were and had never met them, but hearing it made Ian feel like he was dreaming. 

“I don't want to be like them.” Ian responded quietly, feeling a flood of humiliation wash over his face, but his thoughts disregarded it. 

“You're the last person on earth I'd assume to get addicted to anything, freckles.” Mickey smirked as he stroked Ian's chest, comforting him, “Just keep going where you're headed.”

Ian couldn't deny that Mickey's comments had calmed him considerably; watching the blue-eyed man become so tolerant and sympathetic was surprising. The redhead expected him to turn around and leave, but he stayed. That was more than most people did. 

“Thanks, Mickey.” Ian responded hesitantly, and he was grateful that it was dark enough so that the other one wasn't aware of his cheeks growing red. “I like your aunt, by the way.”

“You've got a weird taste, then.” Mickey grimaced, and the redhead grinned toothily at the comment. 

There was another short silence between them, but this time it was considerably more breathtaking and grasping at their hearts. 

Mickey stared down at his boots, releasing smoke through his nostrils and kicking a small pebble on the ground. “So, uh…” He began slowly, capturing Ian's attention. “You want to do it again?”

Ian bit his lip at the question; he didn't expect Mickey to offer it, but he was thrilled. 

“Get interrupted by your aunt?” He grinned, but it caused the brunette to elevate his chin and roll his eyes out of exhaustion. “I mean, if you're asking…”

“I ain't asking. You're doing it or not.” Mickey reacted, evidently embarrassed, but Ian did not mind.

He was aware of Mickey's thoughts and feelings on the inside. The brunette wished to see Ian again, even if he wasn't the ideal person to describe it in words.

“I have classes tomorrow, but…” Ian began, bringing his sparkling blue eyes to his. “I have a break between them. You could recompense me if you came.” 

Mickey raised an eyebrow and snorted, “Wait, you want me to come to your college?”

Ian nodded warily. 

“And, what? Are we supposed to fuck on your professor's desk?” 

“I'll figure something out.” Ian puffed, surprising Mickey with his confidence: “You don't have to come, you know.”

Mickey nibbled his lip, as if reconsidering the proposition. 

After a few seconds, Ian noticed an approaching bus and made a step back towards it, but Mickey swiftly stopped him, “All right.”

“All right what?” Ian questioned, intending to annoy him even more. 

“I'll come.” Mickey groaned. “Just tell me when.”

Chapter Text

Ian ran his lengthy fingers through his slicked back, red hair, forming an appealing chaos of it. He cautiously undid the buttons on the top of his shirt and groaned heavily while resting against the counter. 

He saw Juana enter a changing room, her eyes beaming brightly as they met Ian's. 

“Here's your water, Romeo.” The woman flung a bottle at the redhead, who caught it just in time, and then opened the can of her juice. “We have twenty minutes, and you aren't repeating your lines? Is there something wrong?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the ironic question, sipping the water and attempting to escape the subject. 

Ian kept thinking about Mickey, their previous meeting, and what the brunette had promised him. He assured the redhead that he'd come by, and Ian's arousal increased. 

He continued grasping his phone, peering at it every few seconds, waiting for a message from the other man. Ian could barely concentrate on their performance since everything that had happened between him and Mickey, every conversation, the tight gazes exchanged, was interfering with his thoughts and emotions. 

True, he understood Mickey's desire was only sex, but Ian sought it as well. He wasn't sure if he craved the brunette or the pleasure he'd received. 

“Anyway,” Juana spoke again, feeling the silent and uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding them. Ian ceased contemplating and lifted his chin to meet the other's brown irises, “Christmas break is soon. Any plans?”

Ian nodded, “I'll visit my family. Haven't seen them in a while.”

Juana's pupils widened due to the response, and the redhead was pretty certain they shone as well. “Oh, right! Damn, I wish I could meet your sister! She sounds really fun.”

Ian grinned faintly, aware that Fiona was anything but “fun”. Having an overly protective older sibling was not as appealing as it sounded. “She'll come here for the performance. I mean… I hope she will.”

Juana beamed in response, but then a frown came on her face, indicating concern for Ian. She leaned close to the redhead so that no one in the room could hear her, “Are you going to invite any of your parents?” 

Ian sensed his heart pause for a few seconds, his mind descending into quiet chaos, and his fingertips gripping the plastic water bottle. When his parents were mentioned, he felt the ground collapse beneath him once more. 

Why was it so difficult to speak about them? They weren't much, save for junkies. 

“I don't know.” Ian lowered his attention to the floor, and the atmosphere between them thickened. “Probably not.”

The dark-haired woman scowled and then laid her palm on Ian's shoulder, massaging it, “Don't do anything against your will, okay?” 

Juana was the only person who learned of Ian's family situation. How bad his parents were, and how little he saw them after moving out of Chicago. The only interaction he had with his mother was that she sent him monthly payments. 

Mickey was also aware of the problem, albeit not the entirety of it — Ian Gallagher came from a family where addictions were passed down through generations. 

He wondered why the brunette didn't turn away and leave right then; he had a cause to. 

“Yeah, and you stop worrying. I'm twenty-one, not fifteen.” Ian mustered a smile, but was met with a sisterly punch on the arm. “Ouch, what did I do?” Juana chuckled as he groaned in feigned pain. 

Then both of them were stopped as Ian sensed his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw a message from none other than Mickey. 

[3:21 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: right in front of your palace sir

The redhead's heart raced twice as fast; he hadn't expected Mickey to visit his college. Ian gazed upon the hour on the screen; he only had seventeen minutes left, which wasn't much, but he didn't want to pass up such a good opportunity.

“Hey, uh… I think I left my notebook in the classroom.” Ian raised his chin, stunning Juana with the unexpected statement, “I better go for it before anyone locks the door.”

Then, without waiting, Ian stopped leaning on the counter and dashed for the exit. He ignored what the woman was saying and focused solely on getting out of college to see Mickey. 

“Ian, wait—” Juana began something, but she was cut off when the redhead left the changing room. She scowled and turned to the chair where Ian's bag with all of his notebooks was. There must have been another motive for his quick leaving. 

“Is he all right?” One of the stylists asked quietly, stepping towards Juana. 

She couldn't really answer the question; the prior several days had been too chaotic for her to notice any shift in Ian's behavior. Yet, there was one aspect of it that piqued her interest: he wasn't as concentrated on the performance as he had previously been. He spent his leisure time memorizing the lines, and during the final few breaks, he was lost in contemplation or staring at the screen. 

“I'm not sure…” She replied while caressing her own arm. Juana sensed a rush of concern run down her body. Spending time with Ian made her feel like his elder sister, who was expected to care for him. 

Ian noticed Mickey lounging against the building's wall, cigarette between his lips and phone in hand. He looked different — not much, given that his clothing were mostly black, but more appealing. 

Mickey didn't appear to notice Ian's exit from the building, so the redhead took advantage of the situation and quietly approached him. 

“Waitin’ for someone?” Ian finally asked, stepping directly in front of the blue-eyed. Mickey almost dropped his phone in response to the startling question, taking a deep breath. 

“For fuck's sake, you want me to get a heart attack?” Mickey wrinkled his nose in the way Ian adored and gently shoved his shoulder, prompting a grin from the redhead. 

The brunette paused for a while, his gaze falling over Ian's entire torso and his pupils enlarging in surprise. “What the fuck are you wearing?” 

Ian realized he hadn't changed out of his performance outfit, and he stood outdoors in magnificent attire, as if he had just departed a kingdom's palace. 

His face heated, and he anxiously scratched his neck, “Well, it's for my acting classes. I'm supposed to wear it during the performance.”

Mickey inhaled, and Ian expected him to laugh, but instead an arrogant grin came on his lips, “Who are you playin' as?”

Ian glanced aside, unable to hide his scarlet cheeks any longer. “Uh, White Knight.”

Mickey raised his hand and clutched Ian's shirt collar, drawing him closer to himself. Ian swallowed at the sudden touch, anxious about other people being nearby, but the streets were strangely silent. 

“Are you going to show me your hidden place, White Knight?” Mickey muttered flirtatiously, knowing exactly how well that worked on the taller one. Ian nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the blue ones. 

It didn't take long for them to arrive in one of the restrooms, with Ian quickly removing his blueish jacket.

Mickey stared at him, biting his tongue to keep himself from drooling. He never imagined a redhead in a suit would turn him on so much. 

“Not much of a fan of doing it in bathrooms, but—” Mickey was pulled to one of the lavatory stalls before he could continue his sentence. It wasn't small; two people could fit in there, but it wasn't the nicest spot to have sex. 

Nonetheless, the view in front of him was well worth it. 

Mickey was pushed against the wall, so close to Ian that he could feel his hot breath on his face. The shy and hesitant eyes turned into bold, desire-filled ones. 

“You can still leave if you want to.” Ian mumbled, but the tone in his voice paralyzed Mickey. He sounded really seductive, locking the brunette's legs in one spot. 

“You didn't let me finish, asswipe.” Mickey muttered back, laying his head against the chilly wall and lost himself in the wide, emerald eyes in front of him: “I ain't leaving, but… You're not afraid of someone walking in?”

Ian paused for a while before raising his hand and putting his thumb against the brunette's lower lip, slightly splitting his lips, “Guess you'll have to be quiet.”

Mickey arched his brow, loving the control in Ian's words. He had other intentions for their encounter, though: “Oh, no, freckles; you're the one who's got to keep quiet.”

The redhead scowled and replied, “What?”

Mickey didn't respond; instead, he withdrew away from Ian and shoved him to settle on the toilet's desk. 

The green eyes widened in wonder at the unexpected action, but before he could respond, Mickey appeared between his parted legs. Ian had no idea how much he wanted to see Mickey from below. 

“Woah, what are we doing?” Ian chuckled, but he could feel the air thickening as Mickey bowed down and leaned in closer to his jaw and ear. 

“Don't want to get your fancy clothes dirty.” He mumbled and rubbed his finger against the exquisite shirt. After that, he kneeled between Ian's legs, placing his palms on top of the man's thighs and guiding them upward. 

Ian froze; his entire confidence evaporated, and he turned into a flustered mess immediately. 

“Mickey, I—” Ian breathed uncomfortably, feeling himself start to become aroused as Mickey worked on his belt, rapidly removing it. 

“Stay quiet.” Mickey tightened his grip on Ian's leg and raised his gaze to the green ones, eagerly hoping for something to happen. 

The redhead must have understood what Mickey meant by the move, as he lifted his hips slightly and enabled the brunette to pull his pants down to his knees. 

One of Mickey's fingers slipped delicately beneath Ian's underwear, forcing him to take a trembling breath. Ian's thin fingers shifted to clasp the other's wrist and stroke his thumb against the pale skin. 

“Mickey, stop teasing…” Ian blurted out, feeling himself harden more and more.

Mickey was conscious that they didn't have much time left, and Ian's desperate attitude was only flipping his stomach, not helping. 

He grabbed Ian's boxer's waistband and pulled them down, only to be faced with a half-hard cock in front of his face. The brunette's eyes widened as she noticed how readily Ian became thrilled, and wondered what was causing it. 

Ian, on the other hand, averted his sight, embarrassed but hopeful that the aching erection would subside soon. 

Mickey wrapped a fist around his base, eliciting a weak moan from Ian, which he quickly quieted as he realized they were still in public. 

Mickey brought his mouth closer to Ian's erected cock, placing his thumb on a tip and squeezing it down. 

“You better hurry up, freckles.” Mickey murmured with an arrogant grin before pressing his lips over Ian's shaft, eliciting a stifled groan between his teeth. 

The redhead leaned his head back, feeling the warmth of Mickey's mouth gradually wrap around him, the wet tongue beginning to brush against the top of his base and tattooed knuckles stroking the end of his cock. Fuck, if that wasn't what heaven looked like, Ian had no idea what did.

Then, filled with desire, he returned his focus to the brunette, who gently dropped his head down, taking half of Ian's size in his mouth. 

Ian was straining to keep any sounds from leaving his lips; he could feel himself sweating and his legs twitching. 

He brought his arm closer to Mickey, pushing a hand against his shoulder and gripping it tightly, but it did not deter the brunette. Instead, the shorter man bent his head even deeper, taking in the entirety of Ian's cock between his swollen lips, and nearly choked on it. 

The weight of it on his tongue was driving him insane, but he knew he wasn't alone when he lifted his gaze to the redhead, whose cheeks were flushed and his chest was pounding.

Mickey never imagined that sucking someone else's cock for free would be so enjoyable. 

“Fuck, Mickey, wait…” Ian muttered in a weak voice, attempting to adjust to the pleasure, but Mickey did not wait at all. He drew away from the erected cock and pushed back in without waiting another second, feeling the tip of it strike the back of his throat. 

He blinked his eyes, realizing how painful it was, but the groan that released Ian's mouth was worth it. 

The redhead sank his claws into Mickey's skin, which the other one took as a sign to keep going. 

The brunette then began adjusting his jaw in subtle movements, his tongue inspecting every inch of Ian's cock.

Ian maintained his eyes closed the entire time, only opening his lips to take deep breaths. But then he widened them halfway, facing Mickey's large pupils, which spoke far too many words. 

Ian's hand slid up, and he placed his palm on the other man's scarlet cheek, sensing how warm it was. Mickey froze moving for a time, his heart rate quickening at the unexpected touch. Most of the time, the guy would pull his hair without caring whether it hurt or not, but Ian didn't. His gaze was soft, and the brunette nearly melted beneath his touch. 

He soon blinked and continued pushing his lips further.

Ian bit his bottom lip to stop himself from making any noises. The flood of pleasure flowed down his body, and he continued to watch Mickey's jaw flex in rhythmic, tight movements. Two of his fingers reached up to the brunette's ear, stroking against the earring and touching his skin. 

Mickey, on the other hand, expected to last only a short time. He had no idea what was going on with him, but the smooth and delicate touch near his face made his heart race like crazy. It was fortunate that Ian was too engrossed with the pleasure to notice it. 

Mickey could feel his jaw hurting and his lips swelling, but he didn't stop. Not for one second.

He couldn't believe how good it felt to hear the muffled grunts, feel the delicate touch on himself, and sense Ian growing inside his mouth, veins bursting. 

One of the redhead's arms slid to the top of Mickey's head, twisting his fingers between the black strands and gently pulling his hair. The brunette was never into it, but Ian made it much better. 

The man began to press his mouth faster and faster, until his jaw nearly gave out. 

“Mickey… Jesus Christ…” Ian strained to form a statement while clutching onto the man and seeing the brunette's lips slide on his cock. Shit, viewing him from above was far better. 

It took Mickey a moment to realize Ian was so close; his weak breathing and trembling knees told him so. 

The brunette fixed Ian with his blue, wide-eyed gaze. The redhead was panting, trying not to make any noise, and watching Mickey's face with half-closed eyes. 

Mickey grasped Ian's thighs, his tongue circling along the base's length, sucking on a tip and dropping drool down the erected cock. He was moving quickly with his mouth, licking every inch of Ian's dick and sucking on a tip; he understood just how to make a man shake with delight. 

Ian was breathing heavily, “Wait, I'm gonna—” He was too overwhelmed by pleasure to finish.

Then, Mickey dropped his head down, and Ian came inside his mouth with a muffled grunt, sinking his nails into the other's shoulder. 

He began to breathe heavily, attempting to calm himself down, as Mickey gradually moved his swollen lips away from his cock, spitting his sperm over his open palm. 

Ian realized what he had done and shook himself out of the euphoric state: “Fuck, I'm so sorry, Mickey… I didn't mean to—”

“You liked it?” Mickey raised his eyebrows suggestively, slowing his rapid breathing. The brunette didn't like having to taste someone else's come, but he wasn't upset when Ian came on his tongue. A part of him was turned on.

Ian gave a faint, weary grin as he slowly stood up to pull his underwear and pants up. “Fuck, yeah.” 

They were once again standing very close together, prompting Mickey to elevate his chin in order to maintain eye contact. The air thickened, and for the first time in a long time, the brunette did not want to go right away. He wished they could do more, like take off their clothing and sink in the pleasure, but they were still at university, and Ian's courses would begin soon. 

“Don't you need some help?” Ian asked quietly, nodding at Mickey's lower body. 

“Go study, White Knight.” He cleaned his dirty fingers and pulled for a cigarette from his pocket. “I can wait.”

Ian's eyes widened at hearing the sentence. Did Mickey intend to have another meeting? 

The redhead would be lying if he said his heart didn't race at the unexpected mention. 

He saw the brunette about to leave the cabin and stopped him by placing his palm on his shoulder, “When will I see you again?”

Mickey stopped briefly, nibbling his bottom lip, “You know where I live.” 

After the brunette went, Ian could only hear footsteps until everything quieted down. The fatigued redhead exhaled, went for his phone, and realized there were only two minutes till his acting classes resumed. 

Ian hurriedly adjusted his belt, straightened his shirt, and pulled on the jacket, attempting to blend in. Then, just as he was about to leave, he noticed a shiny item on the floor. 

Ian bowed down and picked it up: it was one of Mickey's rings, which he could identify anywhere. 

The man must have dropped it while standing up from the floor. 

Ian grabbed it in his fist and dashed out of the bathroom, only to find the brunette nowhere around. He has already left. 

The redhead took a second glance at the ring, stroking his thumb against it; at least he had a reason to meet Mickey again.

Chapter Text

Ian paused for a while, standing in front of Mickey's apartment and questioning whether bringing him the missing ring was a smart idea after all. 

They hadn't texted or contacted each other since their meeting in the bathroom, and the memory made Ian's heart race twice as quickly and his skin heat up. 

However, he rubbed the ring between his two fingers and decided to knock on the door regardless. He didn't go all the way to his place only to return without saying anything. 

Ian waited for a few seconds before hearing footsteps leading to the door and a rapid unlocking. 

The door opened, and Mickey appeared on the doorstep. He was certainly right after taking a shower, with damp strands of black hair adhering to his forehead and drops of water trickling down his neck and arms. 

That was the first time Ian had seen him without any accessories, just an oversized t-shirt and loose shorts up to his knees. 

Ian drew a deep breath when he noticed the man's rosy lips forming a tiny but smug grin. 

“Hey.” Mickey spoke while leaning against the door frame. He stared Ian down, not trying to hide how closely he examined every inch of his body. “Missed me already?”

Ian couldn't exactly disagree with the question, but he jerked the thoughts as he spotted a subtle blush rising on his cheeks. 

He lifted his palm, revealing a ring, “You left it yesterday, and I, uh… I was nearby and decided to give it back to you.” 

Mickey squinted and reached for a small, shiny item, which he held between his own two fingers. “Shit, I didn't even notice it was gone.”

Ian pulled the corners of his lips into a sympathetic smile, “Yeah, I guess you were in a rush.”

Mickey couldn't stop grinning, and his gaze filled with warmth. Somehow, meeting Ian again seemed more worthwhile than retrieving the ring. “That's it, freckles?”

Ian squeezed his brows together, as if he hadn't expected the question. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Then he noticed Mickey's confident grin widen and his posture turn provocative. “So, you came here to give me my ring back only, huh?”

Ian understood what the man was saying, but he remained silent, as he could feel humiliation developing on his cheeks in the form of a flush. True, it seemed ironic that Ian had gone so far merely to return a basic ring. 

Mickey noted his uneasiness and retreated away from the door, disappearing in the entryway of his apartment. 

Ian examined him attentively through the opening of the open door, then scowled when he realized the brunette had left the door cracked. 

The redhead inhaled and attempted to shake off the tension in his mind. What was happening to him? He hasn't acted so strangely in a long time. Being around Mickey made him feel like a teen again. 

Ian grabbed the doorknob and eventually entered the room, closing the door behind him. His gaze was immediately drawn to a disorderly area, with the aroma of cigarettes and durable cologne filling the air.

Then, before he could take off his coat, Mickey emerged in the living room, dressed differently and more adequately to his style.

He slipped on the ring Ian had given him and drew forward, a confident grin on his lips. Ian could detect the scent of freshly used soap as he approached. 

Mickey pushed the wet hair from his forehead and jumped onto the couch, keeping a close eye on Ian. 

“It wasn't just for the ring, was it?” Mickey leaned back, motioning with his fingers for Ian to come closer, and the other one reacted almost instantly. He left his coat on the hook and followed the brunette onto the couch. 

“Well, you did invite me.” Ian grumbled as he sat down, sharing a tiny space with the blue-eyed. 

“Right,” Mickey began, arched his arm to reach for the beer bottles on the couch and handed one to Ian, “It'd be a waste if you came over for nothing.”

Ian grabbed the bottle, but his cheeks warmed up again at the sentence. Was Mickey preparing something for the two of them? He'd be lying if he said he didn't find it exciting in some way. 

Mickey sipped his beer, shifted his head to the side, and then stopped for a careful glance at the redhead's freckles and thick eyelashes before deciding to ask, “How's your acting going?”

Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise. It seemed odd that someone like Mickey would care about Ian's passion. “I mean, I still haven't lost the main role.”

“So it's bad.” 

Ian didn't reply, instead shifting his gaze aside and holding his thoughts in one piece. True, his performance in recent days wasn't at his peak. He had a habit of forgetting lines or performing the incorrect mimic at the wrong time. Furthermore, his professor wouldn't tolerate such minor mistakes. The entire outcome had to be excellent. 

“I'm not sure if I should be there.” Ian finally spoke in a gentle, honest tone while gazing down at his bottle. He felt Mickey's attention on him, but he didn't bother to glance back. “I want to, but, I don't know, maybe I'm just not ready.”

“You think I'm ready when I'm standing on the damn stage?” Mickey scoffed, directing Ian's attention back to his face. “I'm fucking terrified every time, man. Anyone can see my mistakes and talk about them for the next few weeks.”

Ian nibbled his bottom lip and leaned nearer to the brunette, their knees coming into contact, “You've never seemed scared.”

“That's called masking, my guy.” Mickey faked a grin, even if the redhead knew it was a phony one. “You're an actor, aren't you supposed to know that?”

Ian blew a breath out and turned aside. “Well, not an actor yet.”

Mickey gave him a short glance before taking another sip of the beer and placing it on the table in front of them. 

Suddenly, he was eager to remove that scowl from the freckled face. Mickey couldn't explain why, but every time Ian stared blankly at the ground, he felt a bothersome weight on his chest and was ready to get rid of it. 

He positioned himself sideways, putting his knees on the bed, and concentrated entirely on the green-eyed, “All right, then; give me your bag.”

Ian pinched his brow in interest, but he didn't have much to hide, so he grabbed for the bag's strap and tugged it toward the brunette. He watched Mickey plunge his hand inside and then pull out a little pile of documents. Those were Ian's lines.

He rubbed his fingers against it, flipping over the pages and reading each word as if his life depended on it. 

Ian still didn't understand why he was so interested in the script of the play, so he just watched him calmly, interlocking his fingers together. 

“So, White Knight…” Mickey began with an amused smile, raising Ian's spirits with a single facial expression: “That's the most boring thing I've ever seen. Is this meant to be watched by fucking Shakespeare fangirls?”

Ian grinned, knowing full well that Mickey wasn't entirely lying; after reading the lines, the entire performance sounded ridiculously absurd. Still, Ian realized that it was his only chance to be seen. 

“I think it's based on Romeo and Juliet, actually.” Ian sneered at the idea, telling himself how much easier it would be to recite Shakespeare's story instead. However, he was certain that Romeo was not a redhead, which effectively disqualified him from the role. “Some people like it, mostly old women.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Mickey giggled quietly while flicking pages. 

“Uh-huh, you're the one's talking. Have you ever even been to a theater?” Ian mocked him on purpose. 

The brunette lifted his chin, squeezed his brows together, and wrinkled his forehead. “Why the fuck would I?” The response didn't strike Ian at all. “Trust me, I don't think I even own a single white shirt.”

Ian smiled gently, taking advantage of the moment when Mickey returned his attention to the pages and inspected his face intently. The drops were delicately dripping from his hair, soaking his face. 

Ian leaned in and was able to count all of Mickey's thick eyelashes. 

“I could lend you one.” Ian eventually spoke, drawing a small chuckle from Mickey. It pushed him to blink and back away from where he was sitting. “Would you come to my performance if I asked you to?”

Mickey's gaze immediately shifted to Ian's, his entire face lit up with wonder and surprise at the unexpected question. Not to mention, he sensed an odd sensation inside his gut, like if something was drilling it from the inside out.

“If I see you in the costume from yesterday, fuck yeah, I will.” Mickey grinned arrogantly, recalling Ian sitting in front of him, his knees apart and his lips separated. Instead, he may make an outstanding turn in an adult movie. 

Ian flushed a little, expecting Mickey to mock him for the outfit, but he didn't anticipate the brunette to like it.

“So, uh… You want to test your skills?” Mickey asked, dropping his head back to the pages.

“What?” Ian blinked uncomfortably. 

“You could show me a bit of your performance, huh?” Mickey returned Ian's script and arched his eyebrows suggestively. Ian stared at him silently, eyes wide and mouth partially open. 

He reminded vividly how Juana had asked him to perform with a stranger, someone who wasn't working with him on the play, and when he got the opportunity to do so, he felt as if nervousness was ready to consume him whole. 

“Well, uh, okay, I can try.” Ian cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed, and his heart raced. He had never felt so uneasy on stage before, and acting in front of Mickey sounded like a disaster. He didn't want to make a single mistake. 

Mickey sensed his unease and grinned, “Let me help you, freckles.”

“Help me how?” 

“I'll be the, uh…” The brunette scanned the lines, placing his finger over the words, “Right, Princess.”

“Princess?” Ian laughed at his decision, while Mickey rolled his eyes in frustration, “Well, you surely do look like a princess.”

“Shut up; it's the only role that shows up in almost every scene. Except for yours”. He indicated by gesturing with his fingers to the stage directions whenever the Princess appeared. “Just pretend I'm a Prince for a moment.”

“Okay, then.” Ian agreed, but couldn't resist beaming. He suddenly felt calmer and eventually stood up from the bed. He set the bottle of beer down and handed the screenplay to Mickey, situating himself in front of the brunette. Ian sensed the intense attention on himself, but he attempted to ignore his nerves and concentrate on demonstrating his abilities. 

In a matter of seconds, Ian's calm and neutral demeanor changed to one of imploring and worry. 

He swiftly drove himself to his knees, crouching in front of Mickey, stunning the other man with the unexpected movement. 

Ian reached for one of Mickey's hands and wrapped it with both of his, sharing warmth between their bodies. The brunette peered down, his heart racing as he noticed Ian's palms on his, but he attempted to stay focused. 

“My dearest Princess, I can no longer face the thought of you being bound to another. We must depart tonight, under cover of darkness. My love for you is too strong to contain.” Ian started, his voice weakening and entirely lost in the role of the White Knight.

Mickey was taken aback by how prepared he was to play the role in front of him, but he cleared his throat and reached for the script. His gaze rapidly followed the specified line, and he sprang up from the bed, still with his fingers wrapped around Ian's. The redhead's soft yet concerned stare tracked him up to his face. 

Mickey shoved his thoughts away and vowed to give his all to the performance. Ian earned it, at least. 

He read the lines, then imitated a weak pout, turned his chin to the side, and exhaled heavily, “Sir Knight, your words fill my heart with joy, but I am terrified. My parents have set up my marriage to a man I do not love. How can we defy them and escape?”

Ian tried to disguise a small grin that appeared on his lips as he saw Mickey's acting develop. However, he chose to go along with it. 

The redhead rose from his knees, going closer to the blue-eyed and elevating their intertwined fingers in the air. 

Mickey glanced across at their fingers pressed together, their skins brushing, and the warmth spreading around his torso. Shit, that was merely a normal hand grasp; what the fuck was he thinking? 

Then he cocked his head back to the front, locking his gaze on Ian's, and he could read thousands of emotions in them. He was extremely adept at masking his emotions, including anguish, pleading, and yearning. 

“We don't have a choice, my love. Your happiness is what matters most. Together, we can shape our own future. I swear to protect you with my life.” Ian continued, much softer than before, nearly whispering. His face was quite near to Mickey's, forcing the brunette to feel the warm breath on his own face.

Mickey inhaled, his heart about to explode out of his chest and his cheeks growing blush-colored. Was it because Ian was so near, or because of what he named the brunette? My love. It sounded outrageously attractive coming from his lips, and Mickey was almost certain he had never heard anyone call him that before. True, it was only a play, but his mind wouldn't let go of it. 

The brunette swallowed and returned his eyes to the script, mentally repeating the next sentence before easing his hand free of the clasp. He turned around and drew a few steps away from Ian. 

He inhaled, concentrating on making his remarks sound genuine: “But what if they find us? What happens if they bring us back? The dishonor it would bring to my family… I can't handle the notion of it.” 

Truly, Mickey hadn't experienced such an embarrassment in his life; using the words he'd never ever seen and claiming to be a Princess in love with the White Knight. He was pleased his back was turned to Ian, so he couldn't see how dangerously heated his face had become. 

Yet, Ian quickly placed his palm on Mickey's shoulder and gently shifted him around, locking their gazes once more. 

Fuck, his eyes were so emotional; thousands of words were engraved in the green irises, speaking to Mickey. The brunette couldn't deny that Ian was a great actor; for a moment, Mickey felt as if it wasn't a performance at all, and he believed each phrase he uttered. 

Ian's palm moved up to the side of Mickey's neck, stroking his thumb against the man's jaw and pulling them closer together. Mickey had no idea if it was still part of the plot or if the situation had progressed faster than he expected. 

Even so, he raised his own palm and placed his fingers on Ian's wrist.

“Let them search and try. We'll be gone before they even notice. We will locate a spot where no one recognizes us, where we can live in peace and love freely.” Ian muttered, his voice so enticing that Mickey's legs trembled like jelly. The brunette couldn't stop staring into the other's pupils, feeling as if the man was about to swallow him whole at any moment. “Trust me, my beloved.”

Mickey remained motionless; he noticed Ian gazing across at his lips but didn't move. The shorter man gulped, then glanced at the script, understanding there was a kiss scene immediately following it. His heart began beating twice as fast. 

“Well, uh, we can…” Mickey scraped his arm uncomfortably as Ian took away his hand. The redhead was plainly dissatisfied, but he attempted to remain in character and dismiss it. 

They were both distracted when a knock on the door echoed throughout the apartment. Both men looked at the entryway, and Mickey placed the script on the couch. 

“Is that your aunt?” Ian inquired, his attention following Mickey's posture as the brunette approached to unlock the door. 

“Nope, she's at work.” He sighed, knowing just who it was. When he opened the door, he saw Axl standing there with a broad smile on his face. “I think you know him by now, don't you?”

Ian noticed a blonde man, somewhat taller than Mickey, entering the flat. He was dressed in black, with a style similar to Mickey's but not as striking. 

It was one of the band members, but Ian couldn't remember which one because he hadn't paid any attention to the other three. 

“Mikhailo, my dear boy!” Axl shouted, putting his arms around Mickey's neck and dragging him into an uncomfortable embrace on the other side. “I missed you, little guy.” 

“All right, cool down.” Mickey slipped out of the hug and locked the door behind the blonde, “We saw each other a few days ago.”

“That's a lot—Woah, hold up.” Axl stopped himself when his gaze fell on the awkwardly standing redhead.

“Oh, yeah, Axl this is Ian, Ian this is Axl.” Mickey gestured with his hand to both of them, and the blonde's eyes shone brightly at the freckled face. He drew a quick step towards Ian, attacking him with an extraordinarily intimidating grin. 

“Nice to meet ya’.” Ian smiled faintly, missing the moment when he and Mickey were polishing their acting skills. 

The brunette approached the two of them, keeping an eye on Ian and nipping the inside of his cheek. 

“Wait, aren't you…” Axl squinted, examining Ian's entire body and remembering the scribbles in Mickey's notebook. The red hair, green eyes, and freckles — each part matched perfectly. “You're that guy Mickey wrote—”

He was interrupted when Mickey kicked him in the leg, eliciting a small hiss from Ian, who was watching the two of them with curiosity. 

Axl interpreted it as a request to quiet down, therefore he failed to finish his remark. 

“Anyway, I'll bring you the guitar.” Mickey released the tension in the air and strolled past the two men, directing himself to his own room. 

“You fixed it quickly.” Axl pointed out, sliding his body onto the couch while keeping a tight eye on the redhead. Ian wasn't fond of how Mickey left the two of them alone after he entered his own room. 

The door closed behind the brunette, and Axl squinted to examine Ian's face. 

“So, uh, Ian…” Axl began, directing the redhead's focus on himself. Fuck, Ian desperately wanted to leave the embarrassing situation. “You his new boy toy?”

The taller man squeezed his brows together. “Boy… What?”

Axl gave Ian a smug, slight grin, which left him with even more questions. The blonde peered at Mickey's room door, and when he spotted it was definitely closed, he crawled onto a couch closer to the other man. 

“Look, you don't seem like the type of guy who's surrounding himself with tons of men.” Axl crosses his arms across his chest, “No offense.”

Ian chewed his lower lip, attempting to comprehend what the other man was saying, but his thoughts went blank. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm just saying you shouldn't get your hopes up.” Axl sighed, and Ian held his breath for a few seconds. 

Get his hopes up for what? 

Why did his friend warn him about Mickey?

Ian sank his nails into the sofa's mattress, attempting to think reasonably and argue that his connection with Mickey wasn't going anywhere other than friends. Friends with benefits: more likely. 

But Ian still couldn't. He remained mute, as if acknowledging that he was just one of the numerous men Mickey had sex with, spent his leisure time with, and enjoyed himself with. 

Ian was nothing exceptional. 

He cocked his chin to the side, gazing at the blonde. “Do you warn each guy he sleeps with?”

Axl scoffed, sensed Ian's mood plummet, and his face became pale. Bingo. He caught him in his trap. “No, just the decent ones. You seem normal, so stay cautious around him.”

Ian desperately wanted to respond, to convince Axl that what he and Mickey had was plenty, but a barrier stood in his way. 

What the fuck was going through his mind? 

Then they saw Mickey leave his room, brandishing a red electric guitar that shone brightly at Axl. The brunette stepped forward and handed the instrument to the other man. 

“I changed the strings, it should be good by now.” Mickey mumbled, and Axl's expression lightened up.

“Shit, thanks a lot, Mick.” Axl grabbed the guitar, gazing all over it and smiling toothily at it. Ian regarded him with caution. He must have been very close to the brunette, based on how he addressed him. That meant he didn't have any reason to lie about what he stated previously. Ian felt an unpleasant pressure on his chest and wanted to get out of the flat as quickly as possible. “When I found it in my basement, I thought it belonged to the trash can, I ain't gonna lie.”

Mickey smiled gently at the blonde, the same one he had sent Ian only a few minutes ago. “You don't throw away instruments, dude. They're always useful.”

“All right, thanks again, man.” Axl clutched the guitar hard as he guided himself to the escape door. He threw Ian a troubled look before leaving, but brushed it off with a grin. “I'll see you on the practice.”

“Sure.” Mickey waved, and Axl walked out, leaving Ian and the shorter man alone again. The brunette turned back and smiled weakly at the freckled face, “So, uh, you want to keep going?”

Ian wanted to. He wanted to experience the electricity he felt when they were so near to one other. Yet, his mind was against him. He needed to leave. “It's pretty late. I've got some things to do.”

Mickey scowled, evidently upset with the response, but he didn't complain and instead offered an understanding nod to the redhead. “Yeah, okay. But, uh, you don't want to stay over for the night?”

Ian arched his brow at the proposal, and his heartbeat quickened. He was about to accept, but his thoughts replayed the chat he had with Axl a moment before. It was pointless; he needed some time alone to contemplate everything. “I'll better get going, but thanks.”

Mickey grimaced, placing his fingers on his hips and watching as Ian began packing his belongings into the bag. He was acting differently: colder and more distant. The brunette wondered what had caused it and gazed towards the exit door. 

He pondered if it wasn't Axl's fault. He was the type of person who spoke more and thought less. 

“You all right?” Mickey inquired, his voice becoming calm and curious. He would much rather stay with Ian than stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. 

Ian nodded but said nothing. He picked up his bag and directed himself to the coat on the hook. Mickey followed him and finally said, “You're, uh… Really good at acting.”

The redhead locked eyes with Mickey for a few seconds, as if ready to spring into his arms rather than leave, but he stopped himself. “Thanks for helping me out.”

Mickey knew how drastically the mood had shifted between the two of them, and Ian chose to leave the flat before he could respond. He didn't say goodbye, ask for the next meeting, or anything else — he simply departed. 

Mickey stood there for a minute, staring at the closed door and reflecting on their time together. Did he really have to mess up every meeting?

Chapter Text

Ian sat on the ledge, flicking the coin between his fingers and being lost in his own thoughts. 

The weather was cold, a breeze blew through his red hair, and the clouds spoke of an impending storm. Ian was meant to be in class, but he lingered outside instead. 

He had never skipped a class since coming to college, but one short conversation with Mickey's friend turned him into another person entirely.

It's been two days since he had last seen Mickey, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the sparkling, blueish eyes that gleamed at him. 

Mickey sent a few messages since then, but Ian disregarded them all. 

Yet, every time he picked up his phone, he felt compelled to call the brunette and resolve the remaining tension between the two of them. Still, he hasn't. 

Ian had no idea why he was acting the way he was, why his heart clenched every time he thought about Mickey, or how upset he was when he realized he was nothing more than a passing by man looking for sex. He thought he had made a connection with the man, at least. 

The redhead reached for his phone and briefly gazed at Mickey's nickname before exiting the conversation and dialing Fiona's number. There were several signs before someone answered the phone. 

“Hey, Ian!” He heard a younger girl's voice and immediately recognized it as Debbie's. He squinted, wondering why he was the one picking up the phone. 

“Hey, Debs. Where's Fiona?” 

Ian could hear Carl shouting and Liam giggling in the background. He genuinely missed his home, the hectic yet loving atmosphere. 

“Oh, um… She's at the store, and I think she forgot her phone.” Debbie responded unsurely; part of it was true, with the Gallaghers leaving the house without informing anyone where they were going. 

Ian scowled, “Make sure Carl doesn't give Liam candies, okay? We don't want him to choke or anything.”

“Sure, don't worry.” He could sense the girl's smile on the other side. “But, uh… Ian?”

“Yeah?” 

“Are you alright?” Debbie asked hesitantly, likely for the first time in her life. Ian was unsure if he had heard it correctly. “You sound sad.”

The redhead remained muted for a few seconds, the tangle in his head becoming larger and his heart ready to burst. 

Debbie hadn't seen his face, but she knew it wasn't the Ian she'd spoken to before. Unluckily, Ian could agree. 

Since his previous meeting with Mickey, he had sensed a vast, dark cloud above him, ready to rain and storm at any minute. 

Although he wanted to communicate his thoughts, he didn't want to bother his younger sister, of all people. 

“I'm fine, Debbie. Really… It's just, uh…” Ian attempted to make up an excuse that would cause the girl to lose attention on her brother's well-being. He knew Debbie would never give up on someone she cared about. She was still young, but her heart was incredibly huge and welcoming to everyone. “I'm nervous about my performance.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be perfect. Carl is really happy about you being the White Knight!” Debbie yelled into the phone, making Ian squint. At least he was able to divert her interest away from the bothersome thoughts. 

“Is he?” Ian narrowed his eyebrows and cracked a foolish grin, figuring who was more excited. “Aren't you talking about yourself?"

“Well, maybe!” Debbie tried to remain calm, even though Ian could hear her excitement: “Can I see your friend in the Princess dress? Pretty please!”

The redhead chuckled; his sister had a charming way of making others feel better. 

He sighed, “You have to wait till the performance, okay? I can't spoil you anything.”

Debbie wasn't convinced; she was about to start begging, but instead groaned in despair, “Okay, okay…”

Ian was well aware of Debbie's obsession with the concept of the Kingdom, Princesses, and everything associated with it. She shouted with happiness for the next half-hour after learning that he would be participating in such a show.

Debbie has been asking her brother thousands of questions about the performance ever since. 

Ian lifted his chin and spotted Juana approaching him, waving her hand in the air. 

“Hey, Debs, I'll call back later, okay?” Ian spoke back to the phone, “I need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah. Have fun.” Debbie answered the phone, then hung up a few seconds later. 

Ian placed his phone back into his pocket, right as Juana appeared next to him. 

She was breathing deeply, as if she were rushing to the redhead, and wiping her brow with effort, “You want to enlighten me what the hell are you doing here?”

Ian raised his eyes to the woman, pursing his eyebrows and posing a faint, troubled smile. “Good to see you too, mom.”

Juana sighed, placed her bag on the ledge, and settled near to the redhead. Ian sensed the atmosphere between them become oppressive, as if he was going to be inundated with bad news. 

“I'm serious, we're in the middle of the class, asshole. You can't just leave like it's nothing.” 

Ian clinched his jaw, “It's one class, you need to calm down.”

Juana scowled, her stare turning a blend of harshness and anxiety. “No, Ian, you have to tell me what's going on. Everyone's concerned about you.”

“What?” Ian snorted, but Juana's gaze remained severe and concerned. He began to wonder what happened to provoke such a reaction from the woman. “I've no idea what you're talking about, but I'm perfectly all right.”

Juana noticed the redhead turning his chin to the side, straight up lying and avoiding the matter, as he always did. “Is it about the performance?”

“No, Juana, seriously—” 

“Parents, then?” She persuaded, and Ian grew frustrated. What was going on with everyone suddenly stressing about him? “Look, I noticed you've been acting strange, you know, lost in thoughts all the time, staring at your phone.”

“So, what?” Ian tilted his head back toward the woman, his pupils flashing with annoyance. “I'm sorry for not socializing as much as you do.”

Juana realized she had addressed the light subject, and the blazing flame inside Ian's thoughts erupted into a massive, growing fire. 

“It's not about you socializing or not, it's just…” She sighed, attempting to find words that would not scare the man away: “I'm worried about you. I've never seen you ignore the performance and concentrate on whatever you're doing.”

Fuck. Ian understood precisely what she was talking about: him spending long too much time with Mickey. It wouldn't be too bad if he hadn't neglected nearly all of his college work during the last few days. But all he needed was a friend, and his relationship with Mickey was far worse than that. 

He desperately wanted to speak with Juana, to tell her about what had been hurting him for the past two weeks since meeting Mickey, but he couldn't. It was too risky to inform his closest friend that he had been sleeping with one of her idols. Not to mention how absurd it sounded. 

“I don't need your help.” Ian claimed in a firm tone, fixing his eyes on the brown ones, sensed a wave of sorrow in them. “Collins isn't complaining, so you shouldn't either. I'm fine.”

“Ian, please…” Juana attempted to persuade him to express his feelings, but the frustration developing inside his mind prevented him from doing so. 

He raised himself off the ledge, grabbed the bag, and was prepared to make his way back to the building, ignoring the other people around. “Is it about a man?”

Ian came to a halt, fixed his sight on one of the random objects, and noticed his heart pounding painfully loudly inside his chest. A wave of heat rushed through his body, and he hastily thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

He was nearly ready to agree, to turn back to Juana and explain to her how helpless he was and how he wasn't sure what to do with Mickey or with himself. But he didn't. 

“No.” He replied quietly, but Juana caught it. 

She didn't say anything else, only watched the redhead go toward the building's entrance, leaving her alone outside. It was the first time she thought she had messed up in her friendship with Ian, and it was not easy to get rid of the bothersome weight on her chest. 

Mickey was seated on the chair, resting against it and occasionally picking up his phone. 

He couldn't deny it; he was nervous, Ian hadn't spoken to him since the day they were practicing his lines, and Mickey was left with a massive tangle inside his head. He had no idea what he had done, or whether he had said something without thinking twice. 

The one thing he was certain of was that Ian was a sensitive man, and it was easy to hurt his feelings, as he proved once, though not fully sincere. 

“All right, three, two, one!” Dylan yelled, his fingers preparing to smash the drumsticks against the drums. 

The entire band began pushing their fingers against their instruments, only to learn that one of the members had not played his part. 

The three sets of eyes went to Mickey, who, instead of focusing on the rhythm, was clutching a phone and not bothering to pick up the guitar from the floor. 

The music quieted down, and Dylan frowned, throwing a piece of paper at the brunette. “Hey, are we bothering you?”

Mickey lifted his chin and glanced at the man, realizing they had begun practicing. “Sorry.”

Axl scoffed, his gaze sweeping over the blue-eyed's the upper body. “Are we texting our boy toy?”

Mickey pinched his forehead, clenched his jaw, and switched his severe glance to the blonde, foolishly grinning man. 

“Boy toy?” He asked, trying to stay as collected as possible, but the bothersome situation with Ian wasn't helping him keep his cool. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Axl's eyes lost their sparkle as he noticed how tense the situation had become, but he tried to act like himself anyway, resulting in an even larger grin, “I'm talking about your redhead. Isn't he sweet and innocent? Not my type, but we could share a bite.”

That was water poured into a raging fire. 

Mickey rose from the chair, edging towards the blonde. Axl grew noticeably nervous, but he remained composed and kept his eyes on the blue ones. 

“What the hell did you tell him?” Mickey questioned angrily, reasoning that leaving Ian and Axl alone in the same room wasn't the best plan after all. 

“Why? Has he changed his mind about you?” Axl scoffed, but Mickey only grasped the cloth of his t-shirt to emphasize how serious he was about it. Dylan and Kurt's eyebrows raised in surprise at the action, and the older one attempted to interrupt and come between them, only to be shoved away. 

“Stay back, Dylan.” Mickey warned: “What the hell is your deal with me? He won't talk to me, and it's all because you said bullshit about me.”

Axl pulled himself away from the brunette, dropping his grin. “Bullshit?” He lifted a sarcastic brow, “So, you banging dudes and leaving them begging hopelessly to get you to date them is bullshit?”

Mickey's pupils shrank, and he became quiet, acknowledging why Ian avoided him. The redhead assumed he would be exploited like any other guy Mickey met: sleep with him, then dump him when he got bored. Fuck. 

Axl observed the silence and seized a deep breath, “I'm sorry for not wanting to witness another guy begging whether you could see him again.” 

Mickey knew it was his fault, but then again, Axl had no right to step into his life.

He raised his pointing finger and placed it on Axl's chest, aggressively staring him in the eyes. “It's my life, and I'll do whatever the fuck I want with whoever I want, so stay the hell out of it.” 

The blonde man sucked his front teeth and gazed away, recognizing how pointless the conversation was and how Mickey was unwilling to change his views. 

“You should let that kid find someone else.” He continued after a time, observing as the blue eyes softened, and his eyebrows were drawn together, “There are many dudes out there who are willing to fuck you, so leave him be.”

Mickey lowered his arm and glanced at the ground, attempting to position his thoughts correctly. 

That was the first time he felt horrible for any of the men he had slept with. 

Ian was a decent person, not a low-life vulgar thug like Mickey; he had a future, a good education, and a dream. Mickey was different. 

He couldn't bear seeing the redhead lose himself for someone he hardly knew. 

Nonetheless, Mickey desired to see him again. 

The brunette groaned and turned away, moving to the guitar and scooping it up off the ground, “I'm leaving, continue without me.”

“Mickey, come on, don't listen to Axl—” Kurt sprang up from his chair, pleading for Mickey to stay, but the brunette refused, stomping to the exit door and slamming it as she left the apartment. 

Kurt drew a deep breath, clenched his hands, and glared at the blonde man. “Axl, what the fuck are you doing? Can't you stop butting into other people's business for a second?”

Axl's lips evolved into a line as he sensed Mickey and Kurt's frustration with him. Did he really screw up so badly? “I was only trying to help. You would do the same if you—”

“No, I wouldn't, because I don't give a shit about who Mickey sleeps with, all right?” Kurt became enraged and began collecting his belongings into his bag, declaring that the practice would not be happening anytime soon. “Just be his friend for once.”

Kurt remained motionless, casting his look to Dylan, as if seeking assistance, but the oldest man merely shook his head, plainly displeased with the situation. 

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

Large, warm hands settled on Mickey's waist, digging nails into his sensitive skin; lips proceeded down his neck and nibbled on his calves, placing gentle kisses against his exposed chest. 

His head was bent to the back, his eyes were forced to shut, and his lip had been bitten so hard that it was nearly bleeding. He wished for it to end as quickly as possible. 

The man in front of him messed with his jeans’ waistline, eventually tugging it down. Mickey brushed his fingertips against the shelf, peering at the clock in the gloom, and realized it was still early.

He still had a long way to go till the man became bored. 

Mickey enjoyed having sex, but that day, his stomach couldn't tolerate it. 

The massive jumble in his head, the thoughts about Ian, and the quarrel he carried with Axl two days earlier. It was all leading him to lose concentration on the harsh touch, particularly the man he came across by chance in one of the clubs. 

The stranger dropped himself to his knees, crouching before Mickey's groin and raising an eager gaze to the brunette. 

Mickey peered down, met the man's glance, and… he saw Ian. The redhead stared at him with those green, gentle eyes, as if waiting for a permission.

Ian started unzipping Mickey's pants, and his touch was much gentler than the previous man's. He was making certain that each step pleased the brunette. Well, until Mickey blinked, and his respiration quickened as he noticed the prior stranger releasing his belt. 

Shit, his heartbeat raced. He couldn't do it. 

Mickey jerked out from the man's hands just as he was about to pull his pants down. The shorter one began zipping them without paying attention to his surroundings. 

“What's going on?” The stranger pressed his brows together, perplexed by the rapid action. He climbed back on his feet, plainly annoyed by how they were nearly removing their clothes themselves.

Mickey wiped his face and seized the pack of cigarettes he previously placed on the nightstand, proceeding himself towards the exit of the room. “Nothin’, I just don't feel like it anymore.” 

The brunette emerged, and reached for his jacket, pulling it on himself, and while he was about to head out, he was stopped by a larger palm on his wrist. “Dude, you can't fucking leave like it's nothing. We were in the middle of something here.” 

Mickey wrenched his wrist away from the clasp, peering at the bigger man with frustrated pupils, “I'm out.”

He was able to see the man straining his jaw and clutching his fist, almost as if he was getting ready to fight. 

Mickey huffed a breath, then placed a cigarette between his lips, stepping towards the irritated man, recognizing how his arrogance annoyed him furthermore. 

“I wonder if your wife knows what you're doing behind her back.” Mickey scoffed pompously; yet, as rashly comical as it sounded, he did have an opportunity to see the stranger sharing a long kiss with another woman before approaching him, assuming it was his lover. He didn't pity her. 

The guy froze for a second, and Mickey right away noticed he hit the bright point, completely spoiling his deadly aura. “What?”

The brunette didn't respond, instead lighting up his cigarette, puffing smoke through his nostrils, and proceeding to the exit of the apartment.

“You forgot to hide your ring, Mister.” Mickey called out, pointing his finger at the man's hand, which he immediately lifted, and his eyes widened, like shining coins. The brunette was aware of his inexperience. 

He grabbed the doorknob, but before departing, he tilted his chin to the side again, “I ain't sleepin’ with married dudes.” 

He then exited the place, guiding himself outside. The stranger didn't follow him; he must have realized how ignorant the entire thing was, particularly his actions.

The fact was that Mickey didn't care if the man he was about to have sex with was in a relationship or not, but it was the only excuse he could think of in that flat.

He couldn't explain how the redhead he slept with once changed his life, and all he could think about was him rather than the other man. 

Mickey breathed the smoke through his mouth, burying his hands in his pockets and desperately ignoring how chilly it was. He was only wearing a thin jacket, while his other pair remained at home. Fuck, he had to finally listen to his aunt. 

He elevated his chin and noticed that he wasn't far from the bus station where he met Ian. He couldn't see much from that far away, but he decided to take a chance and see if he could spot the redhead.

He made a few steps toward the spot, and as he came closer, he groaned in despair, understanding that it was yet another useless thought. Ian wasn't there; the bus stop was empty. 

As Mickey held still, he sensed his phone vibrate, and so he dug into his pocket and pulled it out, hoping it was Ian's message. Again, it wasn't. 

[6:29 P.M.] Dylan: Hey, Mickey. You mind stepping by? I made a few changes on the tune you mentioned, we should play it at the festival. 

Mickey exhaled loudly enough that the cars passing by were certainly able to hear him. It was late, and instead of unwinding, he had to dash to his bandmate's home. He was quite bored, but chose not to test Dylan's politeness and eventually worked his way to the location.

Mickey pushed his frigid hands back into his pockets, attempting to warm himself by pulling a jacket over himself, but it wasn't helping much. Winter's signals were obvious. 

The brunette swallowed and dashed towards the specified spot, exhaling out chilly air mixed with smoke from cigarettes and avoiding the sharp looks of some men he passed on the street. Then he turned towards the alley to use a shortcut. 

He bowed his head and kicked a tiny rock before returning to the main street and attempting to bring out his phone to call Dylan. However, he was stopped. 

Another person ran into him, causing him to drop his phone on the ground. 

“Watch where you're going, man.” Mickey snarled as he leaned down to pick it up, but the stranger's hand picked up the brunette's phone instead. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't…” Mickey cast a peek at the man and noticed Ian. The redhead's pupils enlarged at the sight of Mickey, and he nearly froze for a few moments. They haven't seen each other in quite some time. Mickey's heart began to beat rapidly; he was about to start fighting about why Ian ignored him, but he didn't. He remained motionless, the blue irises locking onto the green ones. “Notice you.”

Ian then exhaled, appearing to be in a hurry, and returned the phone to the brunette, which Mickey accepted.

“I have to go.” Ian murmured, suddenly losing innocence and growing upset. Mickey sensed a poke in the heart for some reason; they hadn't seen one other in a few days, and Ian's initial reaction was to try to find a way to get away from the brunette. 

He wished the redhead would share the empathetic stare with him again, allowing them to chat as if they had known each other for years. Fuck, he needed to relieve the tension between them. 

Before Ian was able to move away, Mickey clutched his wrist and was given an uneasy glance, as if all the displeasure had merged. The redhead drew his eyebrows together, but didn't try to force his way out of the clasp. “Wait.”

“Gallagher, come here.” Mrs. Collins announced sufficiently loudly, getting off the platform to stare at the script in both of her hands. 

Ian unfastened his shirt and sensed Juana's penetrating yet concerned gaze on him, but he ignored it. The redhead guided towards the elder woman, attempting to calm himself down along the way and praying that it wouldn't be another time he was scolded. 

“Yes, ma'am?” 

The director lifted her chin, adjusting her glasses while taking a deeper breath before speaking, which worried Ian even more. “You're improving.”

Ian blinked, and his pupils enlarged dramatically; he could almost feel his heart sinking to his gut. Did he hear it correctly? That was the first compliment over the months in the college. 

“Today's performance was good.” She agreed, returning her attention to the screenplay and flipping the page. “Did someone work with you?”

Ian hesitated, remembering his meeting with Mickey in his apartment, where they repeated phrases and exchanged tight gazes. He truthfully believed that the entire acting process was imaginary and that every detail they expressed to each other was true. 

The redhead sighed, shrugging off her thoughts and blinking away. It wasn't simple to keep Mickey out of his thoughts, especially since they hadn't spoken in a while. “Yes, I practiced with my friend.”

“Great.” Mrs. Collins responded, reverting to her stern and unconcerned face, “Continue training with them. You'll shine on the stage.”

Ian chewed on his tongue, recognizing that training with “them” meant practicing with Mickey, and he didn't want to talk to the man right then. Nonetheless, it drew his director's attention to his abilities rather than his blunders. 

“Thank you, ma'am.” Ian lowered his chin, attempting to appear as grateful and disinterested as possible. Despite that, the director could detect an uneasiness in his pupils. Regardless, she made no mention of it. “I'll try my best.”

“Gain confidence, Gallagher. Innocence won't get you far.” Mrs. Collins commented before leaving the redhead's space and leading to the changing room. Ian followed her eyes, contemplating her idea and how sincere she sounded. 

Out of all the people in the world, it had to be Mickey who earned an appreciation for Ian. He did wish they could try it again; the thrill he had when staring at Mickey with a script in his hand was unmatched. 

Still, he'd rather practice alone than be a toy that will eventually be discarded. 

Ian began removing his accessories on his way to the dressing room, trying to avoid Juana's stare for as long as possible. It was evident that she was waiting for the proper moment to speak with the redhead, but he wasn't in the best of positions to converse with anyone. Especially a woman who would teach him countless lessons instead of acting supportive.

Ian fled out of the college building, heading to the bus stop and checking his phone in the darkness; he had only five minutes left. Changing clothes took him far too long. 

He grasped the strap of his bag and let his sight travel across the area. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to take a shortcut, entering into the lonely lane that didn't seem to be engaged with its appearance. In any case, he didn't want to walk home on his feet. 

Ian hurried down the alley, and then he smacked another person's arm, causing the other one to drop whatever they were holding to the ground. He immediately turned back and was hit with furious words: “Watch where you're going, man.”

Ian swallowed uneasily and kneeled down before picking up the phone himself, “I'm sorry, I didn't…” Then he lifted his chin to meet the well-known blue irises, which gleamed in the dim light. Mickey's lips split at the view of the redhead, ready to mutter something, while Ian's heartbeat pounded furiously, desperate to escape his confined chest. He shook off his thoughts and stood up. “Notice you.”

The redhead swiftly passed the phone to the brunette, allowing the man to grab it. “I have to go.”

Ian was about to turn around and ignore Mickey while navigating himself to the bus stop, but he was stopped. A smaller, tattooed hand landed on his wrist and gripped it fiercely, “Wait.”

He tilted his chin back and centered his gaze on Mickey's, detecting thousands of unspoken emotions in the expanded pupils. 

“What's going on with you?” Mickey questioned awkwardly, relaxing his grip on Ian's wrist and attempting to maintain eye contact. “You've been fucking ignoring me for days now.”

Ian tensed as he glimpsed his watch, realizing it was now too late to race for the bus. Yet, he wasn't keen to discuss his sentiments with Mickey. 

“I'm going to be late, Mickey.” Ian's gaze fell to the ground, but instead of losing interest, the brunette was persuaded. 

He heard Mickey draw lengthy breaths, scratching his neck and clinching his teeth.

“It's about what Axl said, huh?” Ian didn't answer, but the assumption struck him in the heart like a cupid's arrow, except in reverse and full of sorrow. “Fuck, dude… Do you really think I would spend time with you if I was going to throw you away? Whatever the fuck does that mean?”

Ian pushed his eyebrows together, eventually getting the bravery to approach the brunette, forcing the blue-eyed to elevate his chin. “I have no idea what you're planning, Mickey. I'm not fifteen anymore; I don't want to play your stupid games.”

“You liked it.” Mickey commented, causing Ian to lose all of his confidence and his heart to sink to his gut, “You liked fucking, you liked the damn meetings we had; what's wrong with that?”

Ian became buried in his thoughts: was there anything wrong with enjoying life on the edge? He desperately tried to convince himself that he was far too mature to go around having sex with random strangers, but he couldn't. Standing in front of Mickey, his heart was thumping twice as quickly, giving it away. 

Mickey sensed the uneasy stillness between them, he shoved his hands in his pockets, jerked from coldness, but still attempted to stay cool. “You're different, right? If I were to kick you in the ass, I would have done so by now.”

Ian shifted his focus to Mickey's; his voice was persuasive and genuine, almost softening the redhead completely.

Instead of responding, Ian noticed how his arms trembled, despite the brunette's attempts to hide it. The redhead hid his fingers in his bag and pulled out a blouse, which was not particularly cozy but adequate for the shivering Mickey. 

He passed on the clothing to the blue-eyed, who simply frowned his brow, unsure what to do. “What's that?”

“My blouse. I bring a spare change when I perform.” Ian answered by shoving the blouse towards the brunette, not even allowing him to reply, “Take it. You're going to get sick.”

Mickey's blown pupils slid down to the clothing, then back up to the redhead, who clearly tried to remain unconcerned, “So, uh… This means I'll see you again? Gotta to return it.”

“I guess you will.” 

Mickey didn't say anything else, merely clenched his fingers on the blouse, as the redhead turned around and continued to where he was originally going. The brunette didn't stop him, instead observing the tall figure go from the alley. 

Mickey inhaled heavily, releasing out the anxiousness through his airways before swallowing. He had no idea if Ian wanted to continue meeting with him or if this would be their final one, but it still pleased Mickey that he was able to persuade the redhead. He couldn't stand much longer without seeing the man.

Then he returned his gaze to the grayish blouse, gradually pulling it on top of himself and quickly encountering the familiar fragrances. The aroma made his legs tremble. 

Mickey paused for a bit, warming up in the clothing he had gotten, before strolling back toward the direction of Dylan's apartment.

Chapter Text

“You took your time.” Dylan cocked his chin to the side, noticing Mickey enter the flat and steadily approaching him. The brunette was brushing his hands, attempting to warm up. 

“Yeah, read your text late.” Mickey grumbled as he sat on the couch, grabbing Dylan's laptop from his lap. He immediately brought it to himself and let his gaze wander across the screen. 

Before Dylan applied the tune, he surveyed Mickey's chest with a steady, inquisitive glance, “That is not your blouse.”

Mickey shifted his attention to the other, suddenly realizing he was still dressed in Ian's clothing; he had become so comfortable in it that he had entirely forgotten about it. 

“You know my closet?” Mickey scoffed as sought to push the subject aside.

Dylan inhaled, noticing Mickey's attempt to move on and recklessly focus his attention on the screen of the laptop, “Well, I haven't seen you in non-black clothes even once.” 

Mickey groaned and seized the blouse aside, despite the fact that his body had begun to lack the comfort and aroma flowing around him, “Better?” Dylan didn't react, but instead stared at the blue-eyed with an attentive, doubtful eye, “Can I listen to the tune now?”

“All right.” The older one sighed, pushing a few keys on the keyboard and displaying a plethora of folders on the display. Then he selected a specific one and awaited for Mickey's reaction as the music resonated through the silent flat.

Mickey listened intently, peeking out each instrument in the background, his fingers lightly tapping against his thigh in time with the melody. Dylan noticed the brunette's appear softening, as if he was lost in the music and forgotten about his worries. It was extremely pleasant to observe another person be so fascinated by a sound, especially someone who was usually cranky and offended. 

“How is it?” Dylan eventually questioned when the tune halted in the middle; he still hadn't finished it, leaving Mickey with a faint sigh of gloom. 

Mickey responded over time, chewing his bottom lip and setting the laptop aside, “Why'd you text me to come out of everyone?”

Dylan sighed and reclined on the couch. He then remembered the fight that had taken place a few days before, which caused Mickey to storm out of his apartment: “Kurt's been working a lot lately, and Axl, well… He hasn't answered my phone since what happened.”

Mickey would have been concerned in any other situation, but not on that specific day. After all, Axl triggered the unexpected schism between Mickey and Ian, despite the fact that they were previously on good terms. 

The brunette refused to respond; he could tell Dylan was anticipating a reaction, a word, or two to show Mickey wasn't furious with his bandmate. It wasn't true, though. 

“That guy's important to you, isn't he?”

Mickey scoffed, acting carefree, despite the fact that he couldn't go a day without thinking about Ian. He began to question if it was a form of lust steering his mind. 

“He's a cool guy.” Mickey responded, being aware that he could come up with other adjectives to characterize the redhead; he was far more than just “cool”. “I like spending time with him, you know… But he's a sensitive dude, man, and fuck, Axl had to butt in for no reason.”

Dylan heard the mounting hostility in Mickey's voice, and it was clear how much the brunette craved the unknown man. Dylan flashed a faint grin. 

“What's so special about him?”

Mickey tilted his chin toward the other man, his pupils expanding in response to the question and an unanticipated constriction in his chest. 

What made Ian special? That was a fair question, one that consumed Mickey's thoughts for a long enough. 

He's met attractive, good-in-bed men before, so it wasn't the case.

Mickey licked his bottom lip and breathed out, “He listens to me.”

“What?”

Dylan's reaction led his cheeks to get painfully pink, despite the fact that he pretended to remain calm altogether. “What what?”

Dylan curved his eyebrows, his lips spreading into a larger beam, “I didn't expect it.”

“Whaddya expect?” 

“That he has a face sculpted by Greek Gods, or a huge dick… Anything but what you said.” Mickey couldn't disagree with any of the two listed things, but he wouldn't dare admit it out loud. When he thought about it, it sounded strange and unnatural coming from his lips; he'd never considered personality when it came to having sex, and it was completely different with Ian. 

“That was pretty romantic, you know.” Dylan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, only receiving a collective sigh and an eye roll from the other man. “You shouldn't give up on him, then.”

Mickey's pupils filtered at the remark, and once again, he sensed an ache in his heart. An extremely uncomfortable one. 

“It's his blouse, isn't it?” Dylan motioned to the clothing on the other side of the couch, directing Mickey's interest back to himself. 

“How did you—”

“Come on, you wouldn't borrow clothes from anyone; especially a stranger you slept with once.” Dylan explained, and it was true: Mickey sought to maintain as much distance as possible from each man with whom he had sex. Fuck, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd done far more with Ian than with the other guys. He was clearly not an ordinary sex partner. 

Mickey sighed, “Is that why you invited me?”

Dylan offered a suave grin, “In some ways, yes. I was wondering what's been going on in your head recently.”

“Dylan, you're not my dad, and I can handle myself.”

“I know, but…” He drew a deep breath, “I think it's time to get over with meeting with strangers for a one-night-stand, don't you think?”

Mickey didn't respond; he simply glanced aside, lost in thought. If another person had made such a suggestion to him, he would have argued and let the flame grow into a fire. But not with Dylan; on certain days, the man seemed more like an absent father figure, despite their age gap being scarcely discernible. He couldn't get upset at him. 

“We should get back to the festival.” Mickey carried on, repositioning the laptop on his lap and causing Dylan to become even more inquisitive about the whole situation.

Yet, the man elected not to bring up the matter again, given the fact that it had such a significant impact on his state of mind and thinking. 

THE NEXT DAY 

Was Ian heading to the music store where Mickey worked? Yes. 

Was that a good idea? He couldn't provide a good response. 

Did he get dressed the moment he received a message from Mickey? Also, yes. 

Ian wasn't sure what went into him, but the last chat he and Mickey had, made him reconsider their relationship. He couldn't disagree on one point: he cherished spending time with the brunette, and he constantly felt at ease around the man. That was why, the next day, the redhead chose to visit Mickey again with an excuse: he wanted his blouse back.

Ian strolled into the music store and immediately searched around for a specific brunette, but instead he noticed another employee behind the desk. 

“Morning.” The blonde man drew Ian's attention to himself by offering a large, welcoming grin. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, I was supposed to meet another worker here; Mickey.” Ian put his hands into his pockets and watched as the stranger's welcoming stare changed into an unconcerned expression. Suddenly, the redhead felt an overpowering sense of humiliation throughout his body. 

“He's at the back.” The man nodded to the storage area before returning to browsing through his phone, seemingly unbothered about the customer's presence. Ian gazed towards the mentioned room, the one where Mickey once played for him on the guitar.

“Thanks.” Ian led the way to the opposite side of the store, wandering through the passageways, but before he could touch the handle on the door, he was interrupted. 

“Aye, don't try to sneak anything inside your pocket, pretty face!” The employee alarmed Ian, who briefly drew both of his hands out of pockets to prove that they were empty. “I'm keeping an eye on you.” 

The redhead nodded unsurely before reaching the storage room and was met by Mickey. The brunette was sorting CDs with his back to Ian, and based on the way his chin bopped, he was clearly listening to music with his earphones on. 

Ian peered around and shut the door, stepping toward Mickey, but the blue-eyed man remained unconscious of his arrival.

The redhead was only a couple feet away from Mickey's back, and his nostrils were suddenly blasted with the pungent, well-known aroma of cigarettes and mingled cologne. Ian claimed he could inhale it for the rest of his days. 

After a brief pause, he reached for Mickey's shoulder and tapped it with a finger. The brunette spun around immediately, his eyes expansive and his palm pushed against his chest. When he spotted Ian, he sighed extensively before pulling out his earbud, “Fuck, don't scare me like that.”

Ian fought himself to suppress a grin from his mouth, attempting to remain unconcerned about their meeting.

He hoped it would elicit a reaction from Mickey; it was all Ian cared about, being aware Mickey missed him as much as him. 

“Came for the blouse.” Ian carried on, and Mickey blinked, unsure if he had heard accurately. There was an evident faith in his broad pupils, hoping Ian to return to his workplace for another purpose. 

“Right.” Mickey proceeded to the specified spot, seizing the grayish blouse, and right away passing it to Ian. “I washed it, so don't worry about it.”

Ian tugged on the clothing, sensing a stinging burn in his chest as he envisioned Mickey wearing it. He wondered if it left his scent on the brunette, or if it matched him well. 

Fuck, Ian's thinking has really become uncontrollable. 

He shook off his thoughts and slipped the blouse into his bag, “Thanks.”

Ian was about to head back and depart the storage room without issue, and yet, Mickey interrupted him once more. 

“I want to see you again.” Mickey claimed, and it wasn't a request or a question; it came out as a demand, revealing how fatigued he was from playing a game of cat and mouse with the redhead. 

Ian froze for a second, and his heart began to beat twice as rapidly, making his skin hot and red. The single statement made his stomach turn. 

Nonetheless, he remained calm, smacked his bottom lip, and inhaled, “Yeah? Which bathroom should we fuck in next?”

Mickey leaned against one of the shelves; the irony in Ian's remark was playing on his nerves, but he knew he needed to remain cool so as not to scare the redhead away again. 

“No fucking. Let's just… Be friends, or whatever.” 

Ian warily curved his eyebrows, his pupils widened, and for several seconds, he detected an unsettling quiet surrounding the two of them. 

“You want to be friends? With me?” Ian motioned with his finger to himself, “No benefits?”

Mickey inhaled, his cheeks warming from the number of embarrassing questions; he'd never needed to ask to be friends with anyone before — it felt humiliating. “If it means you won't ignore me, then yeah.”

Ian assumed he'd readily agree to the offer; after all, hadn't he only sought a friend since landing in New Jersey? True, but Mickey was not a friend, especially not a regular one. He couldn't disagree; every time they touched and were about to kiss, it felt like seventh heaven. 

Yet, Ian didn't want to be a backup option in case Mickey became bored. Perhaps staying as friends would be the best choice, even if it sounded foolish. 

“Okay.” Ian nodded, still skeptical of the whole concept, but Mickey was plainly surprised at how quickly he consented to it. Still, a tiny smile formed on his lips. “So… No touching, fucking, etcetera from now on.” 

Mickey licked his front teeth and put both of his palms against the shelf, keeping his eyes fixed on the green ones. 

Did he like the idea? Fuck, no. 

The only men he's ever considered friends were his bandmates, and any other one was a transitory pleasure, while he was willing to give it all up merely to be with Ian. 

“I guess so.” Mickey responded quietly, noticing a reluctant glitter in Ian's gaze, as if he was prepared to protest and explain why it wouldn't work. But he didn't. The redhead drew a step forward, about a foot or two away from the brunette's face. 

“What do you want us to do?” 

“Whatever friends do.” 

Ian hesitated on his response before cracking an arrogant grin, which immediately drew Mickey's attention: “Like… Going to the movies together? Maybe picnics?”

“Yeah, all right, I've never seen friends pick fuckin’ flowers together.” Mickey grimaced, even though the concept of Ian crafting a crown made of flowers was undoubtedly causing him practically burst out laughing. “You're far too into your acting, freckles. Friendship in real life is far less artistic.”

Ian scoffed, peering down at his shoes, before choosing to open up. “It's been a long since I had a friend. A male friend.”

Mickey studied him silently, crossing his arms over his chest, “Glad to be the chosen one, then.”

The emerald irises returned to the pale face in front of him, and the smug smile on his face reminded Ian how desperately he desired to be alongside Mickey again. 

“Yeah, uh…” Ian glanced at his wristwatch, scrutinizing the hour, “I should get going. Still have classes later.”

Mickey was ready to persuade Ian to stay for longer, so they could converse and laugh once more, but he didn't. Friends didn't act such way. 

“Sure, hurry up, Mister.” Mickey flashed a slight grin, which Ian returned, “So? Can I see you again, then?”

“I still know your address. Not afraid of your aunt.” Ian claimed, “Yet.”

A FEW DAYS LATER

“I'm exhausted.” Ian groaned, stretching his arms in the air and leaning his back on one of Mickey's bed pillows. 

That's correct: Mickey's bed, Mickey's room, and Mickey's apartment. It's been a few days since they “made up”. Ian was unsure whether their relationship had deteriorated or improved since then. True, they were conversing, meeting, and spending time together, but neither of them made a move towards the other. By “made a move”, Ian meant simple gestures such as touching, sitting close without worrying about their legs contacting, or at the very least intertwining their fingers. Sex wasn't even worth considering; it appeared that brunette had completely forgotten what they had done and was only concerned with what they became after it.

In the end, that's what Ian wanted, right? To not be considered as an option anytime Mickey becomes aroused. 

Still, the redhead sensed the lack of contact from what they had done every time they met. Ian enjoyed spending time with the other man, but he missed the affection. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since he had been so intimate with someone. He attempted to convince himself that it was true. 

Mickey bowed down and grabbed the stack of folders from Ian's hands, then placed them on the shelf, “Relax, man. You've spent the last two hours reading this garbage.”

Ian shifted his sight to Mickey's face; it was probably the first time he'd seen Mickey with an untidy hairstyle, loose clothes, and mild circles under his eyes. It shocked him how comfortable Mickey appeared around Ian. 

“Yeah, guess you're right.” Ian yawned, diverting his gaze to the window and observing as the sky gradually faded into complete darkness. The only aspect that helped him notice anything outside was the snow, which softly struck the glass and covered the yard in white powder. “I gotta go.”

Mickey grimaced, “Go? Come on, you're staying. I ain't letting you freeze on the way back.”

“Mickey—”

The brunette lifted his arms in surrender, giving a faint, naive grin, “Don't worry, I won't be sleeping with you.” Mickey declared, as if having two men on one bed was a federal crime, “I'll bring the mattress over here. Sleep on my bed.”

“What?” Ian squeezed his eyebrows together; he'd much prefer to have them forget about their little 'promise' than watch Mickey voluntarily sleep on the ground. “No, I shouldn't. It's your room.”

Mickey sighed, “It's my room, and it's my choice.” He signaled with his finger for Ian to remain in bed and cease complaining, “Aunt is not coming for the night. You'll be fine.”

The redhead wasn't wholeheartedly convinced, but didn't are willing to throw any other word away. 

He couldn't understand it, though: they'd already slept together once, and now Mickey was acting like a teenager guy who recently found out that one of his best friends is gay. Ian tried to tell himself that it was what he intended, but with each passing day, it became more difficult. 

Mickey entered the closet, searching for clothes to change into after taking a shower. Ian studied his back closely, almost drilling a hole with his gaze. 

“Your festival's soon, isn't it?” 

Mickey tilted his chin to the side, briefly meditating on the reminder, “One week.”

“Right before the winter break.” Ian peered down at his feet, not feeling excited about his time away from college and New Jersey. 

Mickey noticed the redhead's unusual silence and the melancholy filling up the room. “What's up, freckles?”

Ian paused before answering the question; he buried his fingers into the bed's mattress, “I'm leaving to my hometown in two weeks.”

“Oh,” Mickey responded, pushing away from the wardrobe. His expression indicated that he hadn't expected it, but he also tried not to show how unhappy it made him to hear it. “Whole Christmas break?”

“Yeah, haven't seen my family in a while.” 

Mickey nodded, unable to disagree; he assumed that Ian's two weeks off from college would allow the two of them to do more together than simply hang around at each other's places.

“Good for ya'.” Ian followed Mickey's position as the brunette lead himself out of the room without speaking anything else. He certainly didn't sound joyful, nor did he applaud for Ian. The redhead knew exactly why, and felt lousy about not being able to meet his family and remain with Mickey. It was terrible. “I'm gonna take a shower. Need anything?”

“I'm good.” Ian responded, and Mickey eagerly exited his room, shutting the door behind himself. The redhead sighed deeply and slid his body on top of the bed, his head resting against the pillows. 

He hoped his reconnection with Mickey would solve everything, but it only continued to play with his head.

Ian stared at the ceiling in the dark. 

He's been trying to fall asleep for an hour and a half but hasn't succeeded. Not only were there bothersome thoughts, but there was also a strong odor on the bedsheets. Fuck, he could smell Mickey everywhere, almost melting in the fiercely sweet aroma. 

He swallowed, then arched on the bed, peering down at Mickey, who was lying nearby, his body sideways, “You asleep?”

Mickey was silent, and Ian could hear soft snoring, which answered his query. 

He examined the brunette's pale, sleeping face, his mouth parted and his hands gripping the blanket as if it was about to vanish. It prompted Ian to break out an intimate grin. 

He extended his arm and delicately ran his slender fingers through the tangle on top of Mickey's head. The black, silky strands of hair stood out between Ian's pallid fingertips. 

The redhead smoothed his hair back, noticing Mickey emit a relaxed sigh at the contact, which caused his heart to start throbbing unexpectedly. Ian swallowed anxiously, but he couldn't stop himself from lowering his palm to Mickey's warm face and caressing his thumb against it. He expected the man to wake up at any moment, but he didn't; Mickey napped deeply and would probably be unaware of an earthquake if it occurred. 

Ian's fingers grazed against Mickey's bottom lip unexpectedly, and he froze breathing for a moment, realizing how much he wanted to feel them on himself. 

Suddenly, Mickey whispered something inaudible beneath his nose and turned to the opposite side, still asleep. It scared Ian away. 

He immediately drew back on the bed and laid still, panting heavily and quickly, his entire body becoming hot and his face scorching and burning red. Fuck, was the promise even worthwhile?

Chapter Text

Ian flipped to the other side, silently winking and reaching with his fist to wipe his eyes. He yawned, lifted his head, and recalled he was still in Mickey's, not his apartment. It was the first time he had fallen asleep at that place. It was a strange, but not awful, experience. 

The green eyes soon met Mickey's bare back, as the brunette reached for his clothes in the wardrobe. Ian spent more time than necessary examining his stiff muscles, inspecting every inch of his skin from his neck to his pelvic. 

That was undoubtedly an appealing scene to wake up to. 

But he was interrupted in his contemplation when Mickey swung around, carrying a t-shirt, before slipping it on. 

The brunette's stare encountered Ian's, and he viewed a tiny grin split on his rose-colored lips, “Mornin’, freckles.”

“Hey.” Ian's voice was raspy, so he coughed, attempting to fend it off, but only sounding like he had been about to suffocate. Mickey giggled as he groped for a bottle of water beside the bed and threw it at the redhead. 

Ian caught it and nodded thanks before removing the bottle's cap. Before he sipped, he examined the water and realized Mickey had drank from it before.

If they were going to use the same bottle, his teenage self would be overjoyed at the prospect of an almost kiss. Perhaps even his 21-year-old self. 

Ian cautiously sipped the water, watching Mickey put on the hefty, shiny accessories on his wrists, then his fingers. The rings gleamed and reflected in the green eyes. 

“You've got plans for today?” Ian focused Mickey's attention on his face. He refused to state it out loud, but because it was Sunday and neither of them had a job or college classes, he truly longed to spend the day with the brunette. Even basic conversation and fooling around was worthwhile. 

“Yeah, got band's meeting.” Mickey reacted quietly, as if he wasn't too thrilled with the news. He slipped the necklace around his neck, hiding it behind his t-shirt, and Ian found it odd that he hadn't noticed it earlier. Based on how promptly Mickey covered it, Ian chose not to question about it. “But, uh, if you're free in the evening…”

For some reason, Ian expected a subtext from the remark, as if Mickey was suggesting they breach the only rule they'd agreed on. Well, he had his hopes up. 

“I might show you my spot.” 

Ian cocked his eyebrows. “Your spot? Is there some kind of basement in this building?”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Mickey rolled his eyes, but a sly smirk spread across his lips: “You don't have to come if you don't want to.” 

Ian smacked his bottom lip, shoved the blanket away, and perched at the edge of the bed. The answer was obvious: Mickey didn't need to ask Ian to accompany him anyplace. Yet, the redhead needed to know if Mickey felt the same way about him. 

“Do you want me to come?” 

The brunette tipped his chin to the side, catching Ian's inquisitive stare and nearly swooning on the spot at how well the man worked on him. Mickey brushed off his thoughts and inhaled, “I do.”

Ian did his hardest to keep the beam away from his mouth, but he failed. Mickey admitted it, and he was very certain it was the first time since they'd met. At the very least, he realized he could not give up on the brunette. 

The blue-eyed sensed the searing glare all over him and turned away, evidently uncomfortable. Ian genuinely wished to tease him more, but he didn't want Mickey to change his mind unexpectedly. 

The redhead sprang from the bed and extended his arms in the air. He went past the brunette, whose head was bent downward as he searched the shelf, and the man's spine met Ian's face. The taller one paused for a second after inhaling the scent and cigarettes.

He might have become addicted to it by that point. 

Ian's gaze shifted to the rear of Mickey's neck, where light and smooth skin reflected in his pupils. It was waiting for the redhead to bite into it, or at least stroke it with his fingers. 

But then Mickey pulled a step back, knocking Ian with his shoulder and prompting the redhead to regain awareness in a couple of seconds. “What are you standing like a pole for?”

Ian sensed his cheeks burn and promptly blinked away. His mind was wandering recently, especially since he and Mickey had denied any type of physical contact. Perhaps it was time for him to start seeing someone; his libido was insane. Or, at least, he blamed it on his libido. 

“I'm going to take a shower.” Ian blurted out quickly, leading himself out of the room, as Mickey threw a strange glance at him. 

“Sure.” He responded, but Ian didn't hear anything, since he right away fled the bedroom. 

Mickey frowned and examined the chair next to his bed; Ian's t-shirt was there, and he hadn't seen him carry any more clothes to the bathroom. 

What caused the dramatic shift in his behavior? 

Mickey couldn't answer, but it surely turned him intrigued. 

Yet, he grabbed the t-shirt and raced out of the room, “Wait up, freckles!”

Ian dragged a few steps forward, peering around and attempting to figure out the location. He blinked, unsure where he landed up, but based on the directions on his phone, he was in the right place. 

The sky had already darkened, it was cold, and snow began to fall on the ground. Ian had been standing in front of the wide fence, noting a court behind it and bleachers on both sides. It appeared to be school property, which piqued his interest in why Mickey had told him to come there. 

He scratched his arms and glanced at his phone to check if the brunette had messaged him, but he hadn't.

But suddenly he lifted his head, tucked the phone into his pocket and exhaled a frigid cloud of icy air. 

“Boo.” He heard a whisper from his side and right away turned to the opposite direction, springing back. Ian's respiration quickened, but once he spotted Mickey, it cooled down. “Got ya'.”

“Fuck you.” Ian murmured, but meeting Mickey was well worth the heart attack. He flashed a brief smile and switched his glance to the fence. “That's your spot?”

“Yeah, over there.” Mickey gestured to the bleachers away from them before sliding a step towards the barrier. He was very proficient at climbing for someone so little. The brunette placed his feet through the gate and hopped over effortlessly.

Ian watched him, impressed and wide-eyed, as Mickey cleaned his pants. 

His white fangs flashed against the ground that was frozen. “Come on; you ain't scared, right?”

“I'm not.” Ian hissed in frustration and threw his bag to the opposite side, mirroring Mickey's gestures. He jumped close to the brunette, who applauded quietly in sardonic approval. 

Ian grabbed his bag from the ground and peered at the site; there was a structure nearby, which he believed was a school. “Isn't this a private property?”

“I guess.” Mickey shrugged as if it didn't affect him, then hustled his way towards the benches not far from them both. “That's my high school over there.”

“You attended high school?” Ian quipped, but Mickey responded with an indirect punch on the arm. “Ouch.”

“I told you that I went to college. Remember?” The brunette recalled with pride echoing through his voice. Sure, Ian remembered each thing he had told him. Still, Mickey appeared to be the last person he'd anticipate to be interested in going to university. “Almost graduated.”

“Yeah? Why didn't you finish it?”

Mickey remained silent for a few seconds, causing Ian to reflect about it and become even more intrigued. The brunette buried his hands in his pockets and exhaled coldly, “I like what I'm doing right now. It's better than spending the rest of my life behind a desk in a boring job.”

Ian couldn't envision Mickey wearing an exquisite white shirt and drumming his fingers on the computer keyboard rather than the guitar strings. 

“What was your major?” 

Mickey tilted his chin to the side and cast an unusual glance at Ian, wondering what had piqued the man's interest in his background. Nonetheless, the vibrant green eyes sparkling against the pitch-black sky persuaded him to pour out a few things. 

They arrived at the bleachers, and Mickey stepped on one of the benches, clearing out the snow with his foot to provide a seat for the two of them, “Engineering.”

Ian paused, his pupils dilated dramatically, “What?” A part of him refused to embrace it; after all, they were talking about Mickey, not a mathematician. “Engineering? You?”

Mickey snorted, “I'm not as stupid as you take me for, freckles.”

The redhead's cheeks turned bright red right away; he was afraid for Mickey to believe he was superior to the man. “No, I didn't mean to, it's just…”

“Engineering was my aunt's dream, mostly.” The brunette sighed and slumped onto the bench, “I guess she wanted me to be rich, buy a nice house, and have children.”

Ian remained silent; his confidence had vanished when he learned about Mickey's troubles. He settled down alongside the man, “I'm glad you're doing what you want to do.”

Mickey flashed a tiny grin, attaching his stare to Ian's and remaining there for a moment; close to one another and silent.

But then Mickey ruined the moment, reaching into his pocket for a lighter and a cigarette. 

Ian cleared his throat, hoping to slow down the surge of heated waves when he realized how intense the few beats were. “So, uh… Out of all places, you come to your high school's bleachers?”

Mickey shoved the cigarette between his rosy lips and chuckled; the sound that Ian admired, “It's quiet at night. Nobody comes here.”

“You like quiet?” Ian scowled as the brunette blew smoke in his face, forcing him to squint. 

“Are you interviewing me?” 

The redhead scoffed, peering into Mickey's crystal blue eyes and reached for a cigarette from his mouth, witnessing as the man completely enabled him to do so. 

“That's what friends do, right?” Ian ingested the smoke, and Mickey recognized the cynicism in his tone. The redhead was openly mocking their pledge, since remaining friends after what had happened between them sounded absurd. “They get to know each other.”

“Yeah, all right, smartass.” Mickey retrieved the cigarette, diverting his gaze elsewhere. He left Ian with an arrogant smirk on his lips as the redhead rose from the bench. 

The shorter man expelled nicotine through his nostrils and glanced at the court in front of him, paying no attention to Ian. “You know, why don't you tell me—”

Mickey was halted as a light snowball struck his face, causing the brunette to stop and blink cautiously.

He extended his two fingers to wipe off the snow and flashed Ian a death stare as he stood still with a wide beam and hands covered in white powder. Mickey threw the cigarette on the ground and pressed his boot against it. 

“You know a lot about me.” Ian concurred with a nod and bowed down to make another snowball. 

“Oh, you're fucking dead.” Mickey scoffed, rising from the bench and immediately going for the surrounding snow, rolling it into a ball. Ian giggled and straight away hid behind a pole, prompting Mickey to miss his shot. 

The brunette snarled and failed to say anything else after the redhead smashed him in the chest. “You need to work on your aim.”

“Really, now?” Mickey's lips twisted into a sly smirk, and as Ian concentrated on his face, the brunette managed to smack him with a snowball that landed directly in his face. Ian coughed on the ground, wiping away the icy cold flakes with his sleeve. For a minute, the brunette was ready to see if he was alright and had not accidentally wounded the redhead. 

But he didn't, once the encouraging grin appeared on Ian's lips. “That was pretty impressive.”

“I am fuckin’ impressive, I know—” Another snowball was thrown at Mickey, causing him to stop mid-sentence. 

He observed as the redhead leapt on the upper benches, collecting any snow in the region and preparing for a ‘war’.

“Are you sure you're twenty-one?” Mickey angled his chin to the side and found himself chuckling silently. When he glimpsed Ian toss a snowball at him, he shifted his body to the opposite way, not allowing it to strike him. 

“Oh, come on.” Ian whimpered as his hands began to freeze and turn red from the amount of snow he was gripping. “I'm not going to stop, so you either join me, or get buried in the damn snow.”

That swiftly convinced Mickey, as did Ian's smile. He saw a young version of him in the adult body and did not want to ruin it. 

“All right, as you wish.” Mickey rose from the bench and began to polish snowballs, placing them close himself.

Then the fun began, as they ran around, leaping on various benches, and hitting one other with snowballs. 

“One point for Mr. Gallagher.” Ian gasped, watching Mickey wipe the snow off his jacket, whereby the brunette responded with a scowl. 

“We're playing with points now?” 

“Yeah, and I'm sure as hell winning.” Ian grinned broadly, and before Mickey could respond in time, another snowball smashed on his chest. “Two points. Someone's losing.” 

Mickey folded up his sleeves, “Oh, I'll show you who's going to lose.” 

Following that, snow fell on the two of them, covering their top clothing and freezing their bare palms. 

The game lasted approximately ten minutes till one of them started panting and waved his hand to end it. 

Mickey's grin deepened, “Well, I think it's clear who has won.” His confidence was palpable in his voice as he walked off the top benches and turned towards the redhead. He cleaned off the snow and settled next to Ian, who was clearly fatigued from his constant running around. 

“All right, I admit it.” Ian breathed hard, concealing his hands in his pockets to keep them warm while maintaining his attention on Mickey. “You're good.”

“Thanks a lot, freckles.” Mickey responded with a cheeky grin, which rapidly faded when he noticed Ian's scarlet nose and cheeks. “You look like a Rudolph.”

Ian smiled slightly at the comment, “Yeah, I get sick easily.”

“What?” Mickey's eyes widened, “Wait, you're telling me this now? After I tossed lots of snowballs at you?”

“You wouldn't have done that if I told you.” Ian smirked, and Mickey answered with a slight smack on his shoulder, visibly concerned. “I'm okay. It was fun.” 

Mickey groaned, unwilling to argue: “I'm gonna kill you one day, I swear.” But then his eyes lifted to Ian's red hair, which was currently covered in white powder and was soaking with each passing second. 

The brunette stretched his arm and let his fingers stroke the strands of his hair to the back, cleaning the snow and, most importantly, shocking Ian. 

He utterly froze, staring at Mickey's pale complexion and delicate lips while thin fingers ran through his hair. That was perhaps the first touch they'd had in a few days; the true touch. Ian's face grew crimson, and his pupils were expanding by the second. 

Once again, they were extremely close, but there was a barrier between them. The barrier that they both established for themselves. 

Mickey caught Ian's piercing gaze and studied him like a picture in a museum. His fingertips brushed over the back of the redhead's neck, massaging his skin and blowing hot air onto each other's faces. 

Ian's heart began to beat loudly, preparing to flee his chest. 

He leaned over to Mickey's face, his gaze falling to the open lips. 

He was ready to lose it all, close their mouths, and get what he had desired since meeting the man for the first time. 

But he didn't. 

When Mickey realized how near they were and how awkward the situation had become, he swiftly backed away from the redhead, clearing his throat nervously. “You should warm up. Don't want ya' to get sick.” 

Ian stiffened; a rush of humiliation washed over him. He looked aside, pushing his fingertips into the bench and straining his jaw. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” 

Mickey didn't respond; he simply pulled up and reached for another cigarette, lighting it up right away. 

Ian remained silent, sensing fire build up in his stomach. 

Did he make a fool of himself? Very likely. 

Did he hope they'd break their rule? He did. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have put himself in such a position. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment in his gut, hoping it would pass quickly. 

Chapter Text

Mickey sighed, resting his palms against the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. 

He tried to organize his thoughts, but they were constantly disturbed by Ian's presence in his mind. 

Did he mess up? In fact, he did. He was aware of it. 

Mickey wasn't ignorant. He noticed with sufficient speed that the redhead had attempted to kiss him on the bleachers, and if the shorter man hadn't adjusted in time, he would have done so. 

The brunette was embarrassed to express it to Ian, but kissing felt intimate. It's something you do with the person you love, who you intend to spend the rest of your life with. 

It was significantly more emotional than having sex. 

That's why Mickey hadn't kissed a single man he'd slept with in a long time. 

He couldn't understand why he was constantly worrying and concentrating on Ian. The redhead appeared to be genuinely eager to do it. Mickey, for a little period, wanted to go along in. Perhaps he still did. He didn't know the answer. All he knew was that he dreaded touching Ian and witnessing his penetrating green eyes darken with passion. He missed the ridiculous chuckle and even more ridiculous spark in his pupils. 

Goddammit, Ian actually began to control his thoughts without any permission. 

Mickey scowled, straining his jaw, and remained motionless for a few more seconds.

Perhaps it was time to let go of his preconceived ideas about kissing and try something new with Ian. Especially considering he has done far more with him than with any of the other men he has slept with. 

Ian was seated behind a desk in a large classroom; the professor was monotonously explaining the subject to the students, but no one listened. Several people were peering out the window at the snowflakes striking the glass, while others pretended to take notes or spent their time on their phones, wishing for a Christmas break already. 

Ian was the last party, even though he was unsure whether he wanted the time off. Obviously, staying away from college sounded fantastic, but it also implied not seeing Mickey for a while.

In any case, it was approaching quickly, and there was also a festival to look forward to. Somehow, the prospect of witnessing Mickey on a vast stage warmed his heart. He surely earned such an opportunity. 

Ian's fingers wandered over Instagram until he saw a new post from Mickey's band appear on his screen. He'd probably skip it, but it was a photo of Mickey. The man held a fluffy, dark cat in his arms and smiled broadly. It was likely one of the few pictures of him posted in a while. 

Ian didn't even notice when his lips curved into a grin as he stared at the pearly white teeth and shining eyes on the screen.

The caption read: “Our new furry Crimson Riot member!” which made Ian's grin even wider. 

Something about Mickey's grin warmed and melted his heart; the delicate dimples, the smile lines… Well, the brunette was really beautiful. 

Ian tapped the like button on the picture, and just as he was about to comment, he heard a bundle of notebooks pushed on the seat next to him.

His glance lifted and met Juana's, but she was clearly fatigued and had raced to college. The redhead promptly locked his phone and placed it into his pocket.

Juana settled down, and they shared an awkward quiet for a few seconds.

That was, until Juana spoke up: “Hey.” 

It was unusually quiet for her, but she clearly did not want to make any additional interaction, instead focusing her attention on the notes scribbled all over the pages. 

“Hey.” Ian answered, and even though they lost contact for a few days, he was concerned about Juana's overall well-being. “What's up with you?”

“We're talking now?” Obviously, there would undoubtedly be unneeded saltiness. It was Juana, after all. 

“Alright, fine. I'm sorry.” Ian muttered, well aware of the progressively lifting, sharp glare at him: “I'm sorry for treating you that way then. I was… Not being myself.”

“I could see that.” Juana scoffed: “I was worried about you.”

“I didn't mean to worry you. I'm okay.”

Ian appeared calm and believable, and he nearly had Juana. Yet, the woman was doubtful of his words; on the day they ‘argued’, he didn't seem to be in the finest of mental health. 

Juana peered around to check whether those around them were paying attention to their chat before pulling out a piece of paper and beginning to write on it. Ian stared at her in amusement and astonishment till the woman handed him the folded paper. 

The text said: “Was it about a guy you're meeting?” 

Ian scowled, breathing out, given that Juana had always been right, even if he didn't want to accept it. “What guy am I meeting?”

“Shhh, do you want everyone to know about it?” Juana whisper-shouted, pushing her palm against Ian's to prevent him from making any further words. 

Ian turned sideways to look at the other people, spotting that none of them were concerned about their conversation. 

“You're reacting way too much. Nobody cares if I like dicks or not.” Ian grumbled, straight away pretending to be unduly interested in the professor's diatribe and pressing his pen to the notebook pages. 

The woman breathed heavily, “You're still not out, are you? It would be better if you came out the right away, amigo.”

“Alright, cool. Can we quit talking about me right now? I said I was fine.”

“Well, okay.” Juana hummed, even though she was hesitant about dropping the subject. On the other hand, she didn't want the two of them to get into another conflict. 

Her focus slid towards the freckled face again, watching him in silence. “So, uh… Are we good now?”

Ian smiled faintly, “I don't think I'm able to find a better friend out here.” 

“Out everywhere.” She corrected him, “I'm the best friend you could wish for.”

The redhead maintained an inviting grin on his mouth until he sensed his phone vibrate in his pocket. He noticed Juana's focus returning to the notebook, so he took advantage of the opportunity to bring out the phone once more. 

His screen flashed with a text from Mickey. 

[3:45 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: wanna see you

Ian's heartbeat quickened, and he seized the phone tightly. Somehow, the one line sounded more like a demand than a request. 

Mickey wanted to see him, and he wasn't hiding with it any longer. Ian's cheeks warmed up, but straight away he remembered he was in the middle of the class, he disguised part of his face with a palm. 

Ian, calm down; friends don't act like that. 

His body appeared to have a different take on that. 

[3:47 P.M.] Ian: Why? Something happened?

Mickey required a moment to answer, and the passing seconds were agonizing, almost devouring Ian with each one. 

[3:49 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: nah, just need to play you my new song

A... song? 

Ian couldn't disagree that he expected a different response. Still, he adored Mickey's guitar skills and was willing to do whatever it required to see him. 

[3:50 P.M.] Ian: I'm in the class right now. Want to come over in the evening?

[3:50 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: aight see ya

So, in the end, he handled a tense argument with Juana and was able to schedule another meeting with Mickey. Maybe things weren't as horrible as he believed. Ian, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about the previous day's time dedicated on the bleachers with the brunette, and how close he came to kissing him for the first time. He couldn't stop fantasizing about it. 

He seemed to be compelled to give up on a few aspects of his relationship with Mickey.

Mickey crossed his knees on Ian's bed, pushed a guitar against his thighs, and carefully adjusted a few strings. 

Ian observed him silently, clutching a bottle of beer in one hand and taking occasional sips. 

Mickey seemed different that day; Ian couldn't pinpoint why, but he was certain that the man was calmer than normal. His fingers were gliding with ease, not a care in the world. 

But what drew Ian's attention the most was his serene expression, entirely centered on the instrument. The thick eyelashes or the firm lips, fuck, Ian gazed at him like a painting in the middle of the museum. 

“Look, uh… It's not perfect, I'm still not sure about the melody, but…” Mickey paused, sheepishly dropping his gaze. He once again demonstrated Ian's point about avoiding playing in front of a single person. Nonetheless, he opted to do it for Ian… It felt special. “Just don't judge until you hear the full version.”

“Go on.” Ian offered Mickey a kind grin, which increased her confidence. There was something about the freckled redhead that inspired him to keep going. He did it because he wanted to, not because he had to. He had a reason for doing so.

Mickey gradually relaxed and positioned his fingers on the guitar, eventually starting to play the melody.

It was distinctive, something Ian had never heard before. The tone was less harsh and loud than the previous ones, and it almost portrayed Mickey's actual feelings to Ian. 

Yet, it wasn't long before he became distracted by something else: Mickey's focused gaze, or the gradually flexing arms that appeared much too good in his tank top. Ian glanced at Mickey's parted lips and the dark strands of hair that landed on his brow. He was barely able to remain still as his heart began to pound more violently the longer he stared at the man. 

He tried to get rid of it by forcefully focusing solely on the tune, but he continued to get sidetracked by the earrings, the smudged paint on the nails, and the messy hair.

Well, at least until Mickey suddenly stop, not even in the middle of the melody. 

Ian instinctively arched his brows, attentively peering at the brunette. “Something's wrong?”

“Someone ain't focusing.” Mickey mentioned with a feeble grin, clutching the bottle of beer and causing the redhead stiffen his muscles fearfully. 

“Sorry, Mickey… I guess I'm just…” He attempted every possible excuse except telling the truth. After all, how could he justify the admiration for each part of Mickey's body? That sounded awkwardly immature. “I don't know. You can keep going.”

Yet, Mickey didn't. 

He slid the guitar away and licked his lower lip, “Yesterday… You were acting weird on the way back.”

Ian snorted with an audible discomfort in his tone, “Yeah? I guess you exhausted me.”

“You know what I mean.” Mickey sipped the drink and returned the bottle to the shelf. Then he crept nearer to the redhead, their knees brushing, and their gazes unavoidably hooked on each other. 

Ian stiffened; he couldn't conceal his flushed cheeks, quickened breathing, or dry throat. He could barely maintain eye contact, either. 

Mickey's fragrance and determined glare were destroying him, twisting him into an unstable bundle of nerves. 

“I, yeah, well, maybe…” He started stuttering. “Wait, uh, I'll go to the bathroom—”

“No excuses, freckles.” Mickey gripped the redhead's wrist firmly, pinning him in place.

Ian was drawn closer, but he didn't insist and simply tried to utter a word — the unease was eating him up. 

Mickey let go of the redhead's wrist and eased his hand up, right on his neck, noticing how warm it had become. 

Ian inhaled a trembling breath and dug his nails into the mattress. 

“You wanted to kiss me, huh?” Mickey considered, but the question forced Ian to lower his head and remain mute. 

The brunette studied the freckled face, which turned crimson and warm from embarrassment, and the red hair matched it. Mickey bit his tongue; he'd never felt so compelled to do anything the man asked of him.

Mickey lifted Ian's chin with two fingers, his focus falling to the lips in front of him. 

Something about the man caused his stomach to swirl, and his body prepared to let go of it all and get entangled at the moment. 

The green, sharp eyes attached to him, conveying feelings without actually speaking them. 

Mickey decided to stop scrutinizing each detail and enjoy the brief moment. 

“C'mere.” He muttered, bringing Ian's face further by grasping his t-shirt. The redhead crept closer, and Mickey forced his lips against Ian's before he realized what was happening. 

Ian tensed straight away, but as soon as Mickey shut his eyes, he buried himself in the kiss alongside the man.

Mickey angled his chin to the side, and the kiss swiftly devolved into a fierce power struggle. Ian's heart began hammering rapidly as he felt Mickey's tongue on his own. 

One of his arms drew to the brunette's waist, bringing the man closer to himself. 

He swore he could do it all day; Mickey's lips were delicious, and he was virtually addicted to the taste straight soon. 

Mickey intensified the kiss, absorbing Ian gasp for air inside his mouth, wishing it would never end. 

The brunette then drew away, leaving a line of saliva between them, and Ian instinctively craved the sensation in his mouth back. 

Mickey wiped his chin while flashing a faint smile, “That's what you wanted, huh?”

Ian couldn't disagree; he'd been waiting for this time to arrive. 

Yet, he refused to fall in to Mickey's games and chose another path. 

His gaze shifted to the brunette, who was only a few centimeters away from his lips, preparing to repeat the intense motion. “You wanted it too.”

Mickey breathed sharply and bit his tongue, unable to express how much he admired Ian's abrupt change in attitude and rising confidence. Sneaky bastard. 

He knew exactly how to drive Mickey crazy with a few words. 

Ian did not have to wait long for a reaction; he drew to reconnect their mouths, only to be halted by Mickey's two fingertips on his lips.

“I don't think that's what friends do, freckles.” Mickey claimed with an evident sarcastic tone, but Ian was too preoccupied with his lips to be concerned about their rules. 

“Just shut up.” Ian groaned as he avoided Mickey's fingers and pressed their mouths together for another intense kiss. 

Mickey nearly melted on the spot, an arrogant grin cracking on his lips, and one of his hands crawling up Ian's back. 

Their tongues danced, and none of them came close to breaking the embrace. 

Ian, not interrupting his jaw motions, grabbed Mickey's hips and pressed the brunette onto the cushion, and appeared above him. 

Mickey's breath hitched as the two of them separated for a few seconds to glare into each other's eyes.

“Promise me you won't fucking ignore me again.” Mickey murmured, and promises were not his thing, as he rarely kept them. He genuinely meant it on that particular day. The prospect of the redhead avoiding him once again, simply because they breached the single rule they'd ever shared, was hurting him from within. 

Ian placed one palm near to Mickey's head, while the other guided to the man's lips and parted them with a thumb. Mickey obeyed him, didn't move an inch, and merely stared at him with searing oceanic eyes, scorching him from the inside out. 

“I won't.” Ian answered quietly, grazing his lips against Mickey's, prompting the brunette to sigh in disappointment that there would be no kiss. “I want to feel you, Mickey.”

Mickey raised himself on his elbows, the unexpected claim turning his stomach over, even if he feigned to be unconcerned. 

He hadn't had sex with anyone since his previous session with Ian, and the signs were clear as he stroked his thigh against the redhead's leg. 

He legitimately missed seeing at the sweating, brimming face above him. 

Mickey went for the back of Ian's neck and drew him in for another, more severe kiss. The taller man's fingers began to slide down Mickey's torso, eventually went underneath the top and studied his chest. 

Mickey whimpered against Ian's mouth, finally grunting, “Just fucking get on me, Gallagher.”

Chapter Text

Mickey's fingers slid to the end of Ian's t-shirt, grasped it quickly, and pulled it off the redhead. His attention was met with a heavily moving chest and evident, strained muscles. 

The brunette breathed sharply, feeling a rush of heat wash over him as he soaked in the view. 

Ian caught the intense glare and flashed an arrogant smile on his lips. Then he crushed his mouth into Mickey's, sharing another passionate, messy kiss while both of his palms crept to his own zipper. Yet, he was soon interrupted. 

“Wait.” Mickey murmured, and the redhead raised his chin and eyebrows in curiosity, but also worry. “Let's take it slow, huh?”

Ian's heart rate increased by two times when he heard Mickey's suggestion, despite the fact that it sounded odd. 

The redhead drew his mouth further to the man's jawline, tenderly kissing his pale neck. “You want to take it slow? Do you even know how to do that?”

“Fuck you.” Mickey mumbled, but he couldn't stop the rush of pleasure that washed down his body each time Ian nibbled on his skin. He truly had a knack of making the man shiver. “I just… Lemme enjoy it for more than five minutes.”

Ian lifted his head, and the claim that Mickey intended it to last longer, for him to feel the redhead on top of him for more time, sent a wave of excitement down his body.

“I don't know if I can last long when you're acting like that.” Ian whispered, lowering his lips and tenderly kissing the man's calves. 

Mickey began to breathe extensively, widening his legs to provide Ian more space, his half-closed eyes analyzing each movement of the redhead. 

“You can.” Mickey replied with a weak grin, which was promptly ceased when he sensed Ian's tongue scrape over one of his nipples. The brunette groaned and rested his head back, allowing one of his hands to fall to Ian's shoulders. 

The redhead swirled his tongue over Mickey's nipple, listening to his faint panting as he struggled to hold himself back. 

His mouth slid lower, until he reached Mickey's stomach, nibbling on his flesh and, without a doubt, leaving traces that would darken over time. He hoped Mickey wouldn't mind, however. 

The brunette glanced lower, raising himself on his elbows and twitching his hips impatiently as he noticed Ian's lips below his belly button. The man was purposely teasing him with his tongue, scanning every inch of his light skin and watching it turn scarlet with time.

Ian's mouth crept to Mickey's zipper, releasing his pants and elevating his own body to help the brunette out. “Lift your hips.”

Mickey did as he was ordered, watching Ian take his incredibly tight jeans off and throw them on the floor. 

The shorter one's arousal was already obvious through the thin material of his underwear, and his cheeks flushed as he realized it. Yet, the redhead ignored the thickening bulge in front of him and pressed his lips against Mickey's thigh. Both pairs of eyes fixed on one another, communicating each other's emotions without using a single word. 

Ian slipped lower, leaving a trail of reddish stains behind him and getting closer to the brunette's crotch. Watching the small imprints on Mickey's body piqued his enjoyment; some part of the brunette belonged to him. 

Ian chose to play a bit less, grabbing the waistband of Mickey's underwear and eventually pulling it down, showing a painful erection in front of him. 

Mickey turned his attention to his dripping cock, trying not to reach for it and ease himself over. Nonetheless, the penetrating stare managed to remain steady. 

The redhead rubbed his lips against the base, prompting a desperate gasp in response. Mickey threw him an inquisitive but aroused glance, “What are you doing?”

Ian flashed a slight grin, pressing his tongue against the tip of Mickey's cock before sliding it down. The brunette clenched his fists on the pillows, breathing furiously. 

“Repay.” 

Mickey remembered their brief encounter in one of the university's restrooms, when he was on his knees between Ian's spread thighs. His entire being begun to boil with heat. 

“Fuck, you don't—” Ian curled his cherry lips over Mickey's tip, interrupting him before he could continue his phrase. The brunette let out a sensible groan, but once he realized what he'd done, he clenched his jaw, suppressing the sounds. 

However, Ian was aware of it and grew to miss the noises. 

He dropped his head, taking in the entire size of Mickey on his tongue, and observing how the legs beside his ears shivered with ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck…” Mickey exhaled, and repressing groans was no longer an option. He returned his eyes to the freckled face, gradually sliding his jaw onto Mickey's cock. He was going at a deliberate pace, relishing every moment of the torment.

Mickey was a couple inches smaller than Ian, but it didn't make it any less addictive. The redhead never imagined himself being so thrilled about devouring another man's cock. 

The drool streaked down the entire base, Mickey's moist cock shining as Ian climbed higher with his lips. 

“Please…” Mickey started pleading, and on any other day, he would beat himself up for it, but not anymore. Not while his entire body was quivering with anticipation.

Ian flashed a confident grin without pausing for a single second. His gaze stayed fixated on Mickey's rapidly breathing chest, the perspiration drops pouring down his neck, and the pulsing cock between his lips. 

Mickey seemed different that day. More sensitive. 

He was no longer ashamed to make echoing sounds, which was a stark contrast to their initial encounter. 

It piqued Ian's curiosity. 

The redhead grasped Mickey's thigh with one hand, solely focused on pleasing the brunette, sliding his tongue all over his cock. 

Mickey's cheeks grew scarlet, and he was unable to emit anything other than an audible grumble, while Ian admired each sound he heard.

“I'm going to—” Mickey whimpered, but Ian was aware of the fact the excitement in his cock was about to explode. He dug his nails into the man's body, sucking and licking from top to bottom, knowing exactly where and how to make Mickey shake with ecstasy. 

One of Mickey's smaller hands crawled to Ian's head, yanking his red hair and forcing his eyes shut. Ian had never imagined that feeling another person's fingers wrap between his locks would make him thrilled, even if they were a total mess in front of him. 

It didn't take long for Mickey to land on Ian's tongue, eliciting a loud groan and causing his feet tremble with delight. 

Ian gave a confident grin, drawing his mouth away from the softening cock and feeling a trickle of sperm drip down his chin. 

He lifted his hand to wipe it off, but Mickey noticed the nasty mouth between his thighs. Fuck, his heart was beating twice as fast. 

He felt a surge of embarrassment rush through his body, “Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to…”

Ian disregarded his line and gulped down the come, breathing heavily. His attention was fixed on Mickey's, and he couldn't recall ever being more aroused. 

The man climbed above Mickey, examining his astonished expression and enlarged pupils. He was absolutely stunning, especially when he was lying completely naked beneath Ian. 

“You came pretty soon. Feels odd.” Ian responded with a grin, simply to taunt the brunette. Their faces drew closer, feeling each other's breath on their skins. 

“Shut up.” Mickey glanced to the side, his cheeks turning even redder if possible. “I haven't been with anyone since, uh… Since what we did in the bathroom.”

Ian's eyebrows raised, and he refrained from opening his lips in uncertainty and surprise. He couldn't tell if Mickey didn't want to do it or if he was saving it for Ian. 

In any case, it let him pucker up. 

“Really now?” Ian teased Mickey, setting a brief kiss on his neck and inhaling deeply. 

One of his arms went to his own zipper, struggling to pull the pants down for a few seconds. Mickey swallowed; he'd never felt more exposed than he did at the time. Most of the men he's been with wouldn't even consider seeing his entire body naked; simply removing his jeans to his knees was sufficient. Nonetheless, Ian felt compelled to examine every inch of the pale physique for some reason. 

Mickey eventually switched his attention to the redhead, who was attempting to remove his boxers with muscular arms.

There was a beast hidden beneath the reticence. Mickey pondered who had given him such a body. 

“There's a lube in the drawer on the right.” Ian murmured as he pulled his last piece of clothing down. 

Mickey glanced at Ian's swelling cock and sensed another wave of heat rush through him. Take deep breaths, Mickey. 

“You got a lube now?” 

The redhead threw Mickey an appealing grin as he reached for the strawberry-scented gel from the drawer. It certainly suited Ian. 

The taller man snatched the item from Mickey, leaning towards his face and staring at him intently. The brunette believed he was prepared to pierce a hole in his skin. 

“Maybe I hoped to break our rule.”

The words went straight to Mickey's crotch, as if he had completely forgotten he had come just a few minutes before and was becoming excited all over again. 

Ian noticed it as he purposefully massaged his knee against Mickey's cock, eliciting a trembling groan in response. He wanted to taunt Mickey even more, but his erection became increasingly painful with each passing second. 

“I'll relax you a bit, okay?” Ian proposed, but instead of waiting for an answer, he hurriedly spilled a large amount of lubrication onto his two fingers. Then he positioned them between Mickey's legs, near the hole. 

The brunette breathed a hesitant breath, apparently ashamed, “I'm fine with a little pain, freckles.”

“Well, I'm not.” Ian claimed, enticing Mickey with his severity, “I want you to feel good.”

The brunette gulped and did her best to escape Ian's gaze. It was odd. Having another man be so concerned about him while having sex was unusual. Yet, it was reassuring at times. 

Before Mickey could speak any more protests, Ian pushed one of his fingers inside the guy, prompting the brunette to throw his head back and whine in delight. 

Ian pressed his finger deeper, and once fully inserted, he began moving it slowly. The redhead leaned closer to the brunette, pulling his lips against the man's neck and listening to his soft sighing. 

Then Ian added one more finger, scissoring Mickey and moving them in rhythmic, quicker patterns. 

Mickey moaned with pleasure, hooking one of his legs to Ian's waist and dragging him closer. Their lips ultimately connected, tongues danced, and drool spilled down Mickey's chin. 

The redhead quickened his strokes, listening to Mickey gasp between kisses, and the brunette eventually bit his tongue. 

Ian pulled away with a slick sneer on his lips, his gaze fixed on the sweating and gasping man under him. 

“Just fuckin’ get inside me…” Mickey moaned, his toes curling with ecstasy as the hard cock rubbed against Ian's stomach. 

Ian couldn't take the pleading any longer, so he removed two of his fingers from Mickey and repositioned himself between his thighs. 

The brunette maintained a concentrated stare at the redhead, stretching his legs even more and breathing heavily. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” Ian murmured as he poured lotion on his cock, holding a fist over it. Then he placed it to Mickey's throbbing hole before carefully entering the man. 

Both he and Mickey gasped in delight as the tight walls clenched around his tip, and Ian couldn't agree more — he missed the feeling so much. 

Mickey squeezed his hand against the cushion, and Ian stayed motionless for a few seconds to help the brunette acclimate. Nonetheless, the shorter man wasn't a fan of it. 

The shorter man placed another leg over Ian's waist and dragged him towards himself, allowing the entire size to enter him. 

Ian moaned silently, while Mickey arched his back with pleasure, letting low murmurs escape his lips. 

The redhead laughed at his impatience and hung above his face, a few dark strands of hair falling to the back. The blue eyes were forced to meet the green ones, and Mickey, for once, did not want to look away. 

“C'mere.” Ian repeated Mickey's previous line, gripping his chin and uniting their lips in a passionate kiss. Mickey gave in right away, with a faint moan escaping his mouth as his gushing cock touched Ian's muscles once again. 

“Move.” Mickey groaned into Ian's mouth, which came across more as an order than a plea. 

Ian obliged, gradually pulling out of his cock and then pushing it even more. Mickey whimpered, and his legs clutched Ian's waist as if he were about to vanish. 

Ian studied Mickey's face intently, thrusting his hips cautiously, breathing extensively, and watching as the brunette devolved into a tangled mass in front of him.

“Look at me.” Ian instructed, and Mickey wasn't convinced, but he complied, eventually locking his gaze on the redhead's. 

Ian's hand reached for one of Mickey's, which was squeezing the pillow. He connected their fingers and immediately sensed the man's strong grip. 

Mickey's other hand reached behind Ian's neck, bringing him nearer, “Fuck me like you mean it, asshole.”

Ian chewed his lip, and a hesitant, smug grin spread across his rosy lips. Mickey was well-informed on how to make the redhead obey him. 

“You're really needy today, aren't you?” Ian chuckled, but instead of waiting for a response, he situated himself between Mickey's thighs, freeing the men's hands from their tight grasp. 

The brunette grimaced at the sudden lack of touch, but chose not to discuss it. 

Ian put his hands against the man's hips, holding his body firmly, before ramming inside of him with a greater force. 

Mickey groaned, but then bit his tongue. 

Ian groaned at the tightness wrapped around his cock, but he couldn't help but smile when he saw Mickey's reaction: “My neighbors are going to hate you.”

The redhead drew out again and pounded into the brunette with his entire cock, eliciting even louder gasps in response. 

“Me? We're both—” Mickey was unable to finish when Ian interrupted him with another thrust, leading the brunette to become lost in trembling moans.

“You're the one who's loud.” Ian muttered seductively, “And I fucking love it.”

Mickey's face flushed with shyness at the remark, but he assumed Ian would blame it on the surrounding heat. 

Ian's hold tightened, and his movements quickened; the skins slammed against one other, and the room filled with echoing pleads and gasps. 

The redhead slicked his hair back, feeling the piercing stare on his sweaty chest, which drove him to smile arrogantly. Mickey had no idea how to hide with it. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, right there…” Mickey sighed as Ian hit his prostate and shut his eyes, pressing his fists into the cushion. 

Ian sucked his lower lip and brought one of Mickey's legs over his shoulder, gaining a better angle to pound the man. 

Mickey devolved into a whimpering mess, straining to say anything at times — taking in the entire nine inches wasn't for the weak.

“You feel so good, Mickey.” 

Ian pronounced his name with a deep sigh, which made Mickey's cock throb. 

He gasped and reached for it, only to have his hand slapped away. 

“I want you to come untouched.” Ian whispered, driving inside the man without pausing for a second. “Can you do that for me?”

Mickey hesitated; he'd never felt so subservient to another guy, and yet, there he was, Ian fucking Gallagher, causing his legs to quake with the sheer sound of a voice. 

He didn't respond, but the look in his eyes confirmed it, prompting Ian to smile even wider. 

Mickey's moans echoed across the room, and he couldn't concentrate on anything but the pleasure Ian was giving him. 

The blue eyes gradually settled on the freckled, sweaty face before dropping to his red, open lips. He's never felt such a deep want to feel them on himself again. 

Yet, asking for a kiss was far too strange for him. 

“Fuck, Ian…” Mickey arched his back and let out a shuddering gasp every time Ian struck his sensitive spot, “Faster…”

Ian's pupils flashed as he heard his name groaned out in such a way. His cock swelled inside Mickey, causing the brunette to nibble on his bottom lip roughly.

He's done what he was ordered to do: draw Mickey's waist closer and pound into him with repetitive, tight motions. 

The brunette began breathing severely, his toes curved again, and Ian realized it wouldn't be long until he finished. 

The redhead leaned against the face beneath him, pushing Mickey's jaw towards himself and locking lips in an urgent kiss. Mickey was straining to keep up, overwhelmed by pleasure on all sides. 

Both of his arms migrated to Ian's back, burrowing and scratching his nails into the pale skin. Ian, on the other hand, was unconcerned about the pain and focused solely on swallowing Mickey with his tongue. 

Mickey's thighs gripped around Ian's waist, and he was moaning into the man's mouth while grasping him hard. 

Then he felt a flood of heat run down his body and realized what the sign indicated. He drew away from the redhead and moaned, “I'm close…”

“Me too.” Ian muttered, burying his head into the crook of Mickey's neck, straining his hips uncontrollably and holding the man as if he were about to disappear. 

It didn't take long for the brunette to come on top of his stomach with a loud groan, and Ian was able to pull his cock out in time to release his semen on top of Mickey. They have been mixed together. 

Ian sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow and sinking onto the bed next to Mickey. 

The brunette, on the other hand, could barely keep his eyes open, his lips parted, and his cheeks turned scarlet. No one could deny that he enjoyed every moment of it. 

“Fuck, that was…” Mickey exhaled, a slight grin curved on his lips as he turned to face the redhead. “Are you some fucking playboy?”

Ian chuckled, laying on the pillow: “I liked it too.” 

Mickey bit his lip and glanced down at his filthy stomach. “I should take a shower.”

“No, wait,” Ian reached for the drawer on his side, grasping a pack of damp tissues and offering them to the brunette.

“Wipe yourself down. We'll wash up later.”

Mickey clutched the tissues, ultimately pulling one out and cleaning his stomach. “We?”

Ian smirked, “Less water used.”

“Goddamn prick.”

It's been about half an hour since they had sex. Both men were lying on the bed underneath the cover. 

Ian watched as Mickey struggled to stay up, visibly weary and ready to collapse into the pillow. 

“It's strange.” Mickey murmured deeply as Ian's delicate fingers touched his back, “I'm not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“You know,” he sighed, blinking heavily, “Staying in bed after fucking, or… Fucking in bed at all.”

Ian glared, and his fingers crept upward, burrowing themselves between the black hair. “They don't know what they're losing.”

Mickey flashed a harmless drained grin, which Ian adored much more than he thought, “You're weird.”

“Seems like you like weird.”

Mickey smacked his lower lip before elevating his attention to the emerald eyes and studied them for a few seconds. “Guess I do.”

Chapter Text

Ian sat on the toilet seat, examining Mickey in front of him, who was peering directly into the mirror. 

“Never knew you were the make-up type.” Ian laughed as he spotted Mickey grimace while setting an eyeliner on his skin. 

“I'm not the make-up type. That's just for show.” 

Ian nibbled his lower lip, lowering his focus to Mickey's exposed muscled arms and the waistband of his pants. He was about to draw the brunette towards himself, unable to resist such a body, but decided against it to avoid ruining the job on his face.

Mickey eventually dropped his arm and turned to face the redhead, asking, “How does it look?”

The redhead examined Mickey's eyes and the black eyeliner beneath them, which accentuated the shining, ocean-colored irises. 

The man's disheveled hair, rosy cheeks, and curled eyebrows all contributed to his overall appearance. 

Ian sucked in an uneasy breath, “You look like a slut.” 

He expected Mickey to be outraged, but the brunette's lips twisted into a smug grin: “You like it.” 

He couldn't disagree; “I do.”

Mickey chewed his tongue, resisting the urge to fling his arms at Ian and let the sensation swallow both of them. “You want to try?”

“Try what?”

Mickey rested his palm on Ian's chin, elevating his head and urging them to stare at each other. The brunette's fingers slid to Ian's jawline, and his thumb stroked his warm cheek. 

Ian was immediately mesmerized by the tender, baby blue eyes studying his freckled face and the delicate pressure on his skin, which triggered an electric surge through his body. 

“Don't move.” Mickey added, advancing nearer and setting the tip of the eyeliner beneath one of Ian's eyes. 

The redhead fought himself to remain cool, despite the fact that their posture wasn't suitable for it. Mickey was quite near to his face, allowing Ian to smell his perfume and shift his attention to the partially parted lips.

Mickey shifted to the other eye and applied eyeliner to his fair skin. 

After he finished, he pulled away from Ian, causing the redhead to groan with disappointment. Mickey laid the cosmetic on the sink, casting a smug look at Ian and admiring his face. 

“I guess a pretty face can't look bad in anything.” Mickey stated, prompting Ian to swallow and become agitated at the compliment. 

He stood up and approached the mirror, raising his eyebrows in amazement when he noticed the black lines outlining his emerald eyes. 

“You're talented.” Ian grinned, noticing Mickey nibbling his bottom lip in the reflection and nearly piercing Ian's body with his centered stare.

“I don't think it suits me as much as you.” 

Mickey scoffed, leaning over the door frame: “A couple more black clothes, and you'd look like a true Rockstar.”

Ian returned to the brunette, taking a step forward and looming over the shorter man, “I like you as a Rockstar much more.”

Mickey grinned weakly; he clearly favored the praises, even if he refused to admit it. 

“You're an awful flirt.”

“You're falling for it.” Ian insisted, bending towards the other face, and witnessed Mickey's focus shift to the rosy lips in front of him. The redhead's heart raced in response to the brunette's seductive gaze.

Yeah, Ian was well aware of Mickey's weaknesses. 

When the redhead leaned in for a kiss, Mickey decided to toy a bit more and backed away from the man, “See you before the show?”

Ian threw Mickey a dissatisfied observe, but declined to complain, saying, “Sure.” 

“I'll text you later.” 

After that, Mickey exited the bathroom, providing Ian false hope for an additional kiss. 

They haven't kissed anywhere other than bed in the last few days; they only did so when they were going to have sex. Mickey didn't appear to be comfortable doing it someplace else, but Ian wished they had tried.

The redhead groaned and returned his attention to the mirror, studying the heavy eyeliner under his eyes once more. 

His chest grew warm as he remembered Mickey calling him pretty. It sounded incredibly immature, but it also brought a slight grin to Ian's lips. 

But when he realized it, he promptly dropped it. 

Ian wished he knew the type of relationship he and Mickey had. It was too much to continue as friends, but it was far from a close relationship.

Wait… relationship? What was Ian thinking about? He couldn't even represent Mickey in a relationship, let alone with the redhead. Fuck, the entire situation had to be causing him mental distress.

“Hey.” Kurt switched his gaze to Mickey, who had entered the dressing room. His expression indicated that he was racing to the spot. “You all right?”

The brunette began removing his jacket, “Where are the others?”

“Dylan is speaking with the festival's manager, and Axl is… No idea. He'll probably be late.”

“All right.” Mickey sighed, recalling how he and Axl hadn't talked since their dispute. Obviously, they practiced before the festival, but none of them cared to glance at each other. 

At first, Mickey was irritated with the man for interfering in his life, but Axl wasn't wholly lying about what he had told Ian. 

Mickey's background revolved solely with temporary sex. But Ian was different. Mickey was certain that he wasn't temporary. 

“You nervous?” Kurt asked abruptly, setting the drumsticks on the shelf. 

“Not much.” Mickey positioned his hips against the counter, “That's our chance.”

Kurt grinned faintly, aware of Mickey's desire to demonstrate his abilities in front of a larger audience. Kurt was never able to determine when the brunette was stressed or if he was telling the truth. Similar to that time, Mickey appeared calm and steady, but there was definitely something else on his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted when another person entered the room. Both pairs of eyes fell on Axl, whose hair was a mess due to the strong wind outdoors. 

Once Mickey and Axl's gazes met, the younger man browsed away and proceeded forward to the empty seat near the wall. 

“Hello to you too.” Kurt mocked the man's ignorance of his bandmates.

“Hey.” 

Mickey grumbled at his quietness; he'd rather deal with an obnoxious and boisterous Axl, as he always did. It wasn't the same person. 

“You can stop being mad at me.”

“What?” Axl focused his interest on the brunette: “I thought you were the one—”

“Calm Axl is boring. Doesn't suit you.” Mickey interrupted, ignoring Axl's statement. Yet, a tiny grin appeared on the man's face. 

“I thought you didn't like it when I was loud.” 

“He always disagrees with himself.” Kurt observed, smiling, as his two bandmates gradually reconnected. 

“Shut up, I don't.” Mickey rolled his eyes, “Just don't butt in my business, and it'll be fine.”

“I'm sorry.” Axl murmured, visibly displeased at the conflict they shared. Even if Mickey wanted to, he couldn't stay upset with Axl for very long. The man seemed like his younger brother at times, and while dealing with him wasn't easy, he had to.

“Prepare for the show.” Mickey moved on, reaching for his own guitar and connecting the connections to it. Axl studied him intently while keeping an uneasy gaze on the brunette. 

“Are we good?” 

“Yeah, sure, we are.” Mickey sighed, but couldn't resist a sluggish grin once he spotted Axl beaming broadly He resembled a delighted puppy, waving its tail to either side. 

“How sweet. Are we in a middle of a rom-com?” Kurt interjected, eliciting grunts from both other males. The drummer chuckled, “All right, sorry, boys. Let's get back to work.”

“Hey, handsome.” Juana rushed Ian from behind, roughly slapping his back—damn, that woman had a lot of strength for someone so short and thin. 

“Hey.” Ian grinned briefly: “You're early.”

“Yeah, I heard there's a chance to talk to the members before the concert starts.” Her voice was full of enthusiasm, which inspired Ian as well. If she knew Ian interacted with one of them virtually every day, she would collapse right there. “I need their autographs.”

“I'll help you get one.” 

“You?” 

Ian was prepared to palm himself at the question; it nearly appeared as if he knew the band members better, and he didn't want the woman to find out anything.

“I mean… We could find them together.” Ian cleared his throat, uneasily. It appeared that his planned rendezvous with Mickey was not going to happen, at least not with both of them alone. 

“Great!” Juana shouted excitedly, seizing Ian's hand and interlocking their fingers, “Let's go, I don't want to wait an hour.”

Ian wasn't sure about it, especially since he had no idea how Mickey would react or if he would utter something that would reveal their little secret to the rest of the world. 

“What's up?” Juana glanced to him, and her apprehensive tone quickly changed to one of curiosity and wonder. “Oh my God, are you wearing an eyeliner?”

Ian remembered failing to wipe off the slight make-up, and his thoughts returned to Mickey carefully applying it to him. 

“I, uh, I just wanted to match the vibe, you know.” Ian slipped his hand away, tossing both into his pockets. His cheeks turned scarlet, but Juana paid little heed. 

“You look great, but… Did someone help you? I have never seen you touch any cosmetics before.”

Ian inhaled heavily, trying to find a way out of an untenable situation. “I looked it up on YouTube.”

“Well, you're a quick learner.” Juana seemed to fall for a slight untruth, flashing a tender smile at the redhead. Ian sighed with relief before being drawn to find the band.

While Juana guided the two of them to the band, Ian pulled out his phone and decided to text Mickey instead. 

[6:23 P.M.] Ian: My friend wants to get autographs from the band. Can we see you?

To his surprise, the brunette responded immediately, as if waiting for his message. 

[6:23 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: im alone in the changing room, that a problem?

[6:24 P.M.] Ian: Not at all, we'll come over soon. Thanks, Mick. 

“Hey, Juana.” Ian abruptly brought the woman to a halt: “What if we go backstage? I heard there are changing rooms there.”

Juana's pupils brightened up at the proposal, “You think they'll let us go there?”

They would, since Ian knew Mickey, but she didn't need to be aware of the details. “We can try.”

“Great idea.” Juana cracked up heartily and dashedWhen they arrived at the location, Ian blew an anxious breath and pretended to be preparing for battle. 

Juana excitedly knocked on the door, and they both heard gentle steps until they were met by Mickey after he unlocked it. 

Ian's attention stayed concentrated on the brunette as he studied his outfit, which was considerably more roomy than the one he had seen him in previously. 

“Uh, hello. I hope we are not bothering you. We stopped by to meet you. I'm a huge fan of your band, and you're an incredible guitarist! The songs you write are lovely; I could listen to them all day without getting bored. Your voice is also— ”

“Hey, breathe, lady.” Mickey snorted, “It's just me for now; the rest of the group has left. I hope it's not too bad.”

“What? Of course not!” Juana stated, eagerly sinking her nails into her bag to pull out Crimson Riot's record and a marker, I brought an album. “Do you mind signing it for me?”

Mickey smirked briefly, and Ian could tell he was pleased of himself for signing his own signatures. 

“Tell me your name first, gorgeous.” Ian grimaced; hearing Mickey intentionally flirt with a woman sounded terrible. It wasn't because he was poor at it; it just didn't suit him. Despite that, he realized exactly how to cause a woman's legs quiver with a few words.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Juana.” She stretched her arm to shake hands with Mickey. “This is Ian.” 

Mickey turned his focus to the redhead, who had been silently eyeing him the entire time. The brunette raised his brow, and he must have recognized Juana had no idea the two guys knew each other, so he decided to play along for Ian. 

“Ian... I think I've seen you before.” Mickey squinted on purpose, not able to keep an arrogant grin off his lips. 

Ian tightened his teeth, realizing how unpleasant the situation had become. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Don't be shy, Ian!” Juana whacked the redhead on the arm lightly. “Sorry, Mickey, he's not easy with people.”

“He's not?” Mickey cast a provocative glance at the redhead, noting his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I hope you're a fan, at least.”

Ian was holding back from revealing the two of them to Juana, since Mickey's teasing was far too horrible to bear. 

“I am, actually.” The redhead soon relaxed, “I didn't come here for no reason.”

Mickey grinned snugly and withdrew with it after grabbing the album and a marker from Juana. He promptly signed the item and offered it back to the woman. 

Juana's face brightened up, and Ian had never seen her as thrilled before. “Thank you so much; this means a lot to me. I bet all my friends will be jealous!”

“Wait a few more months and we'll be more famous. It'll be an antic.” 

“I'm never selling it!” Juana positioned her arms around the album, shielding it from anybody else. 

Mickey smiled confidently, but his attention was drawn to the redhead, who didn't look away for a second. Fuck, Mickey was certain he would make a hole in his body. 

“Nice eyeliner.” Mickey mentioned, and Ian gulped and licked his front teeth. The redhead was well aware of the objective of Mickey's brazen words, but he found it fascinating that Mickey was fooling with him in public. 

“Oh, right. Yours look similar.” Juana scowled, switching her focus from one guy to another, noting the little creases beneath their eyes. 

“Hey, uh, I think we better go now.” Ian coughed tensely, casting a short glance at the brunette who struck him with his wide sneer.

Juana took a brief glance at her wristwatch and realized the length of time it had taken them to collect a single autograph. 

“Yeah, we don't want to be late.” 

“Well, I hope to see the both of you on the show.” Mickey gestured toward the pair, but his main focus was on Ian. The redhead understood what he meant; after all, they had agreed to meet before the show. It was a shame Juana arrived earlier than intended. 

“Thank you once again,” Juana went for Mickey's arm and squeezed in a grateful motion. “We'll be waiting for you in the crowd.”

Ian bowed and eventually spun around to leave the place as soon as possible, but before that, he was stopped. 

“You don't need an autograph, freckles?” Mickey asked, prompting Ian to pause and swivel back to face the brunette. His eyebrows curled obliquely, and the redhead glimpsed Mickey chewing on his lower lip eagerly. 

“I, um… I don't have anything on me.” Ian grinned uneasily, which was not a lie, but it was also a way to get out of the awkward position. In truth, he'd want to spend his spare time before the show with Mickey, but his mind erased those ideas when he caught Juana's searing stare at him. 

“C'mere.” Ian stepped nearer, examining Mickey's reaction as he rolled up the sleeve of his coat and signed the inner side of his arm. 

Ian inhaled a strong smell as Mickey bowed to hide the writing with his body. 

The brunette then pulled away, returning the marker to Juana, who had been silently studying the two of them. 

Ian examined his arm, and instead of Mickey's autograph, the phrase read “meet me after the show”. He met Mickey's gaze and detected fun in his brilliant irises. He definitely knew how to play with Ian. 

The redhead covered his arm beneath the coat, keeping it hidden from Juana, and after a brief goodbye, the two of them twisted around and lead back to where they had met previously. 

Juana breathed heavily. “Wow,” she strained to form a phrase, “I can't believe we've just talked to him.”

“Hopefully not for the last time.” Ian responded with a feeble grin, even though his entire body had been scorching for the last few minutes. “Let's go.”

Chapter Text

Ian and Juana realized they should have arrived to the scene earlier, given the enormous crowd and very loud people surrounding them. 

The line was long, with dozens of people waiting impatiently to pass through the barrier and verify their tickets. 

“Oh my God, I'm going to fall asleep in here.” Juana sighed, resting her forehead against Ian's chest and snoring gently into his t-shirt. 

Ian grinned, despite the fact that he was fatigued while the line was scarcely progressing. “You like sleeping to loud people screaming?”

“I live with siblings, Ian.” 

In fact, Ian was well aware of the ongoing upheaval in the house; he had been a victim of it.

Ian's focus switched to the backstage room, where they had met Mickey, and he could still feel the overwhelming warm wave in his stomach. He did make Ian sense that he was about to collapse on the spot. 

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Ian's stare was drawn to Juana's contemplating face as she suddenly drew away. 

“Who? Mickey?” Ian coughed nervously, unsure whether the woman noticed any distinction in the two men's relationship. “Yeah, no way—he was simply being nice.”

“That's not how nice people look at you. He was eating you up with his eyes.”

The redhead sensed his cheeks growing terribly red, but he tried his hardest to hide it. He couldn't let her perceive anything odd. 

“You're overreacting. Not all men who look at me are gay.”

“Imagine dating a Rockstar, that sounds so cool.” Juana persuaded, leaning her head to one side.

Ian froze; were he and Mickey so obvious? Juana, on the other hand, had a tendency to be overly reactive, and there was a potential she would try to find a man for Ian. 

Ian calmed after a second thought; it was fine for now; he still had the opportunity to discuss it with Mickey. 

“Juana, you can date a Rockstar yourself.” Ian offered a quick grin, hoping to throw the issue aside while simultaneously sounding as unbothered as possible. 

“I'd love to, but he doesn't seem straight to me.” 

“Yeah, okay, you're way too judgmental.” Ian snorted, but tried to push away from the situation. He didn't need to listen to assumptions about Mickey when he was already aware of the facts. “Come on, we're going to enter soon.” 

Juana examined Ian with skepticism for a few seconds, not understanding his sudden eagerness to proceed on to the next subject, but she preferred not to question him and surrendered without complaint. 

Ian breathed a sigh of relief when he witnessed how readily Juana gave in; at least he didn't have to come up with an excuse for the time being. 

As Ian and Juana finally made their way into the venue, the noise level grew, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. They were navigating through the packed crowd, trying to find a decent spot with a view of the stage when suddenly, Ian felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was greeted by a familiar face—the blonde stranger he's met in once of the pubs before.

It had been a random encounter, one that Ian hadn’t thought much of at the time, but now, seeing the guy again in the middle of this chaotic crowd, he felt a jolt of unease. The blonde guy grinned, clearly remembering Ian as well. 

“Hey, man! Didn’t think I’d see you here.” His voice was loud enough to cut through the surrounding noise, but there was an edge to it that made Ian uneasy.

“Yeah, small world,” Ian replied, trying to keep his tone light. Juana looked between the two of them, her curiosity piqued.

“Who’s this?” she asked, nudging Ian with her elbow.

“This is uh…” Ian trailed off, realizing he didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“Jason,” the blonde supplied, his grin widening. “We met at O’Leary’s a couple of weeks back. Had a few drinks together, right?” Ian nodded, though he barely remembered the details. Back then, all he could focus on was Mickey performing on the pub stage, and he barely paid any attention to the stranger who spilled a drink on him. 

“Yeah, I didn't think I'd see you again,” Ian mustered a grin, fully comprehending that it was his fault they hadn't seen again since then. After all, the redhead was the one who dumped the scrap of paper containing Jason's number and never peeked at it again. “You're alone?”

“Uh-huh, I'm free this time.” Jason smiled, a huge smirk spreading across his glossy lips, while Juana threw him a dubious, confused glance. “I had no idea I'd get to meet a cute redhead in such a big place.”

Ian bit his tongue—Joshua was clearly flirting with him. Despite the fact that the man was not unattractive, Ian couldn't flirt back. Jason wasn't unattractive; he purely wasn't Mickey, and every second spent with him felt like a waste of time. 

Ian nodded stiffly, trying to brush off Jason’s comment, but he couldn’t shake the unease creeping up his spine. The last thing he wanted was any distractions tonight—especially not with Mickey already in the back of his mind. Juana handed him a drink, oblivious to the undercurrents between him and the guy who had suddenly reappeared in his life.

“You want to grab a drink afterwards?” Jason bit on his bottom lip, practically piercing Ian's face with his focused gaze. 

The redhead inhaled frantically, reaching out to Juana for assistance, but the woman clearly avoided disrupting their conversation. 

It sounded absurd, but Ian was unable to meet with the blonde while his thoughts centered on the specific guitarist. Mickey has had a significant impact on his life. 

When Ian opened his mouth to respond, the venue lights dimmed and the crowd’s noise surged in excitement. Crimson Riot was about to take the stage, and though he tried to act casual, a deep anticipation gnawed at him. No one knew the depth of his connection with Mickey—not even Juana, and certainly not Jason. They all thought he was just another fan in the crowd.

Suddenly, the stage lit up, and there Mickey was—center stage, looking effortlessly cool as always. His eyes swept the crowd, and Ian’s pulse quickened when Mickey’s gaze lingered on him. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Ian felt it—the flicker of recognition that no one else could see. 

He swallowed hard, hoping no one had noticed how his posture stiffened, or how he was suddenly hyper-aware of his every movement. Next to him, Jason seemed clueless, his attention focused entirely on the band.

The music started, loud and electric, vibrating through the crowd, and for a moment, Ian thought he was safe. 

Ian’s breath hitched as his eyes found Mickey on stage. He’d seen him perform before, but there was something about this moment that felt different—maybe it was the electric energy in the room, or maybe it was the way Mickey’s gaze seemed to sweep across the crowd, almost as if he was searching for someone. 

For him.

As Mickey began to play, the raw power of his performance washed over the crowd, and Ian was completely captivated. Mickey commanded the stage effortlessly, his presence magnetic and his music raw and emotional. Every strum of his guitar seemed to vibrate through Ian’s chest, and he felt that familiar pull—an undeniable connection that made his heart race.

And then it happened—Mickey’s eyes found him in the crowd.

For a split second, everything stopped. The music, the noise, the crowd—it all faded into the background as Mickey locked eyes with Ian. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Mickey’s lips, and Ian’s pulse quickened. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his heart thudding loudly in his chest as the connection between them crackled like electricity in the air.

The moment didn’t last long, but it was enough. Mickey’s gaze lingered for just a beat longer before he tore his eyes away and continued to play, pouring himself back into the music. But Ian was left breathless, feeling like he’d just been caught in something far bigger than himself.

The intensity between him and Mickey would be lost in the noise, drowned out by the screaming fans and flashing lights. But Mickey’s presence was magnetic, pulling his attention relentlessly. Ian couldn’t help it; every glance, every note seemed to hit differently when he knew the person behind the performance so intimately.

As the show went on, Ian could feel Mickey’s gaze finding him in the crowd more often than it should. There was a tension building, a silent exchange only they were aware of. It was subtle enough that no one else would catch it—Juana was busy shouting along to the lyrics, and Jason was preoccupied with the atmosphere—but for Ian, it was like the whole room had narrowed down to just him and Mickey.

There was an intimacy in the way Mickey performed tonight, a kind of raw emotion that Ian knew wasn’t meant for the crowd at large but specifically for him.

Juana, meanwhile, was too engrossed in the show to notice the subtle tension. She was dancing along to the music, shouting lyrics, and generally soaking up the atmosphere, completely unaware of the silent battle playing out just a few feet away.

Then, during a particularly soulful ballad, Ian noticed a change in Mickey’s demeanor. The guitarist’s eyes lingered on him longer than before, his expression more intense. It was like Mickey was sending him a message, something beyond the lyrics. Ian’s throat tightened as he realized just how personal this was becoming, right in front of everyone, but hidden in plain sight.

He tried to focus on the music, on the energy of the crowd, but every fiber of his being was drawn to the man on stage. The longer the show went on, the more difficult it became to keep his composure.

As Mickey's final song came to a close, the crowd erupted in applause, but Ian felt like he was drowning in the weight of the unspoken connection between him and the guitarist. Mickey gave a small nod towards Ian’s direction, so subtle that no one else would catch it, but to Ian, it was a signal—a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between them that night.

Ian examined his arm, rolled up the sleeve of his coat, and peered at Mickey's scrawled note on his skin. 

The redhead's breath caught as the consuming thoughts combined with the extremely loud sound emanating from the instruments carried by the band's four members. 

Two whole weeks without Mickey. 

It sounded dreadful.

Ian needed to see him before leaving; it wasn't a desire anymore; his heart and uneasy stares craved it. 

As the final notes of the show faded and the band left the stage, Ian’s mind was still spinning from the charged moments he’d shared with Mickey across the sea of screaming fans. His chest felt tight, a mix of excitement and dread.

Juana was still buzzing from the concert, completely unaware of Ian's inner turmoil. She turned to him with a wide grin. “That was amazing! Did you see the way Mickey played during that second song? Ugh, I could die happy now.”

Ian forced a smile, nodding in agreement, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Juana didn’t notice the tension in his expression as she continued raving about the show. His eyes flicked to the crowd as people began to filter out of the venue, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t leave without seeing Mickey. Not now.

“I’m going to hit the restroom before we head out,” Ian said, raising his voice to be heard over the remaining crowd. Juana nodded absentmindedly, still humming along to the final song, clearly not suspecting anything.

“Hey, wait up, man—” Jason shouted from behind, but Ian ignored him, not wanting to exchange any further word with him. 

As Ian slipped away, he made a beeline toward the back, heart pounding in his chest. The crowd was thinning out, but he managed to weave his way through unnoticed, heading toward the backstage area. 

His hands were shaking slightly as he texted Mickey.

[9:12 P.M.] Ian: I'm coming to see you. Meet me outside in a few?

He hovered by the side door, his breath quickening as he waited for a response. The minutes felt like hours, but then his phone buzzed.

[9:13 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: give me 5 minutes, don’t get caught, freckles ;)

A shiver of anticipation ran through Ian. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then ducked into the shadowed area by the door, heart racing. It felt surreal—the secrecy, the rush of adrenaline—but it was also everything he wanted. The thought of seeing Mickey again, of feeling his touch, was too overwhelming to ignore.

After what felt like an eternity, the side door cracked open, and Mickey stepped out, dressed casually but still with that effortless rockstar aura. His eyes immediately found Ian, and the familiar, teasing smirk tugged at his lips.

Mickey checked to both sides to ensure he hadn't left any traces, and there weren't many people in the vicinity. 

Then he took a stride towards Ian and grabbed the redhead by his coat, slamming him against the wall before sealing their lips. 

Ian hardly caught up, but as soon as he tasted Mickey's tongue, his hands slid to the brunette's neck, bringing him even closer. 

The kiss was powerful, covered in spit and roughness as the seconds passed. They simply heard the sound of lips smacking against one another.

Until Mickey drew back and inhaled deeply, concentrating on the freckled, scorching face.

“How was the show?” 

Ian inspected Mickey's charming eyes before lifting his hand to wipe away the black smudge of eyeliner beneath one of them. Mickey's cheeks went awkwardly warm in response to the eager touch, but he did not resist. 

“People loved you.” Ian groaned, flashing a feeble grin at the question, “What's next? World tour?”

Mickey flashed a faint smile, nibbling his lower lip to acquire a taste of Ian's. “Dunno, maybe. Did you love me?”

Ian was aware it was a simple, unsuspecting inquiry, but it struck his heart right through his chest. “You're asking? That was the best concert I've attended.”

Mickey's lips curved into a larger grin, “You'd get a better view up close.”

Ian sneered. “Oh, yeah? The view on what? Your guitar, or you specifically?”

“That's up to you.” Mickey shrugged, toying with Ian's mind even more. “I'm glad you came, though.”

Ian remained motionless, analyzing every detail on the sweaty, weary face in front of him. He was grateful to himself for choosing to come. The view was unreplaceable.

Mickey's phone vibrated, and he glanced at it, checking the message from his band's group chat. 

A low groan escaped his mouth, “I better go back soon. They'll need the autographs.”

“You're a true celebrity now, aren't you?” Ian teased, but he was delighted about Mickey's eyes enlarging and gleaming whenever he mentioned the performance, “I guess I was lucky to get my own private concert, huh?”

Mickey chuckled, but a wave of sudden guilt appeared on his face, and he returned to his hard severity, “I saw you with that blonde guy from before.”

Ian's heart skipped a beat as he awaited for Mickey to bring up the stranger, “Jason.”

“You know his name now?” 

The redhead chewed on his lower lip, identifying a shift in Mickey's tone of voice. “You're jealous?”

“He doesn't seem like a good guy.” Mickey effortlessly reacted, but Ian wasn't satisfied. 

“You didn't answer me.”

The brunette's gaze ran over Ian's lips, up to his green irises, while they both held their breaths and maintained their bodies inches from each other.

“I don't like sharing.” Mickey whispered, leaving only a little gap between their mouths. 

The answer assured Ian of one thing: Mickey was jealous, and he wasn't adept at concealing his feelings. For some reason, it made Ian much more thrilled than he expected.

“Well,” Ian mumbled, almost disturbing the silence, “I have to share you.”

Mickey tightened his pupils, mindful of where the game was headed. 

He chose not to play along and seized a step back, earning a dissatisfied frown from the redhead. 

“Your friend's waiting, ain't she?” Mickey peered to the side, into the alleyway, from where he could view the path where Juana was waiting. “You should get back to her.”

Ian's lips formed an arch, and the rapid heartbeat decreased to a calm, hushed one. “I won't be here for two weeks.”

“I know.” Mickey nodded, but there was an apparent melancholy in his voice that Ian couldn't quite identify. “You deserve a break, don't you?”

“You won't miss me?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey scoffed with a faint eye roll, but he rapidly figured out Ian meant it and it wasn't an irony. “I'll be busy.”

Ian couldn't help but smile at Mickey’s attempt to downplay his feelings. He knew Mickey too well now—the tough exterior, the effortless charm—it was all a facade, especially when it came to moments like this.

“I’ll miss you too,” Ian said softly, ignoring the way Mickey was trying to brush it off. Mickey’s smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something more genuine—something vulnerable. He quickly masked it, shaking his head with a mock exasperation.

“You’re such a sap, man,” Mickey muttered, though there was no bite in his words. 

“You’re not the only one who hates sharing, you know,” he whispered, his breath warm against Mickey’s neck.

The brunette’s lips twitched into a small smirk, “Really now?” 

Ian only nodded, too preoccupied with the dark blue eyes in front of him to continue anything further. 

He leaned in again, pressing one last, lingering kiss to Ian’s lips, softer this time, as if he was saying goodbye. Ian savored the moment, trying to commit the feeling of Mickey’s lips, his warmth, to memory.

This wasn’t just a kiss of passion or want—it was something deeper, something that made Ian’s chest tighten in the best way possible. 

When they finally pulled apart, Mickey drew a hesitant step back, his breathing a little unsteady. “Two weeks,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the venue. “Don’t forget me, asshole.”

Ian grinned, the warmth of Mickey’s words settling deep in his chest. “Like I ever could.”

Chapter Text

“Ian!” Debbie yelled, startling every person in the house and drawing their attention to the unlocked front door. The redheaded girl dashed to the entryway, her lips cracking into a broad grin as she noticed her elder brother carrying a heavy bag over his shoulder. 

Debbie right away set her arms around Ian's waist, burying her cheek into his stomach and not allowing the man to take any further steps. “I missed you.” 

Ian flashed a faint grin, evidently fatigued after his flight back to Chicago. He put a hand on top of the girl's head and combed his fingers through her fiery locks. “What are they feeding you? You've grown a lot since I last saw you.”

“Vegetables, mostly.” Fiona smirked as she strolled out of the living room. “Your little sister became a cheerleader and doesn't want to eat anything else.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ian arched his eyebrows and threw the hefty bag to the floor. After that, he bowed down and brought out a clear bag filled with treats. Debbie was instantly drawn to the candy, but her keen eye remained reluctant. “I brought all of this for you not to eat it? I think cheerleaders deserve a reward, right?”

“I can eat it!” Carl yelled and stormed down the stairs, practically as if he had detected the sweets from upstairs.

Ian delighted when his younger brother wrapped his tender arms around Ian's legs as an introduction. He gradually pushed away from the two siblings and was about to share the snacks with them when Fiona swiped the bag from him. 

The three sets of perplexed eyes fell on the oldest woman, who marched into the kitchen and buried the back behind the highest shelf, preventing either of the two siblings from reaching it. 

“I told you not to bring a lot of candy, didn't I?” Fiona wrinkled her forehead, but the look of disappointment on Carl's and Debbie's faces led her to decide to pull out two Snickers bars and offer them to the children. “Fine, but no treats before the dinner.” 

When the two children started devouring the sweets, Ian began removing his coat and hanging it on the hook next to the doorway. 

Fiona approached him and observed his pale face with a tint on his cheeks. “I missed you, asshole.”

The woman threw her arms around Ian's neck, drawing him closer and exchanging the soothing warmth of her body. 

Ian rested his palm on her back and smiled faintly. “Yeah, me too. It's good to be back here.”

Fiona pulled away, staring into Ian's verdant eyes and stroking her thumb on his skin. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.” Ian scoffed, despite the fact that they meant two distinct things. Fiona assumed her brother was fatigued after the flight back to Chicago, but Ian was worn out from the previous day's concert. 

His thoughts were focused on Mickey, the passionate kiss they shared, and how clearly Ian could tell he was envious of the redhead. 

They hadn't spoken since the evening, and Ian sincerely yearned to catch his voice. 

“What if you go take a nap, huh?” Fiona suggested, picking up Ian's suitcase from the floor and placing it on the table, “I'll prepare dinner in the meantime. You should get some rest.”

Ian hummed in return, massaging his eye and heading up the stairs to the room above. 

“Ian! You promised to play with me when you get back!” Debbie grimaced, her mouth full of chocolate. Ian gazed upon his younger sister before venturing another step and scoffed quietly. 

“I promise I will.” He assured her, even though the redheaded sister was dissatisfied with a promise, “All right, fine, I'll allow you to do my make-up.”

Debbie's face brightened up, while her freckles and dazzling teeth sparkled with enthusiasm. “Are you serious?!”

Ian winced; there was no escaping it anymore. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I'll remember that.” 

He flashed an earnest smile as Debbie fled to the living room. Fiona planted her palms on her hips and carefully studied the two of them. “She could test her skills on my face.”

“Yeah, I don't think so.” Ian scoffed, lounging against the wall, to which the older sister responded with an uneasy eyebrow lift: “You're way too critical and talkative.”

“Oh, come on! I am not!” Fiona objected, plainly insulted, but Ian merely shrugged and swung around to head upstairs. “Since when are you into make-up anyway?!”

Ian instinctively recalled Mickey's black eyeliner beneath his eyes, which had been drawn by a specialist. Goddammit, he truly started missing him. “Since my sister's into it!”

Then, he didn't catch what Fiona muttered and proceeded tiredly into the room. 

Ian approached the door and was promptly confronted with a continuous chaos: clothes strewn over the room, toys, and books. When he and Lip left, the room must have been disheveled. 

Ian exhaled and stepped nearer to the abandoned crib on the side, staring down inside as if expecting to find his little brother there. Yet, he did not. Lip brought Liam with him when he relocated away, probably to ensure he had a more serene and safer life than the other Gallaghers. 

Ian missed the two of them, though. For some reason, he expected to see his older brother in their bedroom, as he used to.

The redhead eventually backed away and headed over to the bed he used to sleep in when he was younger. He removed the clothes and immediately collapsed his fatigued body upon the relaxing mattress. 

He buried his face in the cushion and let out a quiet growl. He missed it. The area brought back a lot of memories. Then his thoughts turned back to Mickey and how desperately he wished to see the brunette. 

It wasn't even a full day, yet Ian longed to feel his lips on his own. He entirely flipped his world around. 

Ian blinked a few times before realizing his eyes were shut while his arms were tucked beneath the cozy pillow.

He soon forgot about his worries in life and fell asleep on the ancient mattress. 

“Mickey! My boy!” Axl exclaimed, noticing the brunette steadily nearing the counter in one of the surrounding taverns. Mickey extended his arm to gesture at the man, but before he could reach the chair, Axl stood up and placed his arms around the man's body in an inviting embrace. 

Mickey grimaced, but lightly stroked Axl's back. “Already drunk?”

“He was drunk before he even came here.” Dylan observed, placing a soothing grip on Mickey's shoulder and offering him a glass of liquor. The brunette took it, and as Axl backed away, he sipped the fluid. 

“I'm not drunk! Just glad to see all of you.” Axl offered a humid, contented grin.

“Uh-huh, happy to see us, or a girl you met in the bathroom?” Kurt yanked Axl's shirt down, revealing a maze of hickeys and bite marks on his shoulder. It made him smirk naively while glancing away to pretend he wasn't upset. 

She begged me to do something! “Who could refuse a pleading girl?” 

The two other pairs of eyes rested on Mickey, curving their eyebrows suggestively, and the brunette responded with a drained eye roll. 

“I get you, don't worry.” Mickey sneered at Axl: “I mean, not exactly girls, but you know.”

Axl remained still for a time, and Mickey could swear he witnessed the man's pupils relax.

“Obviously.” Axl smirked and leaned towards Mickey, allowing the brunette to inhale the powerful scent that was all over his body. Did he pour the entire bottle on himself? “How's things going with the redhead?”

“Hey,” Kurt swatted the youngest one on the shoulder, bringing his attention to himself with a hushed hiss, “I think we had a talk about minding your own business, huh?”

“It's fine.” Mickey interrupted; he didn't have anything to hide anymore, did he? “He left for his hometown for two weeks.”

“Shit, two weeks?!” 

“Could you keep your voice down?” Dylan flinched as Axl shouted. 

“You're not planning to stay clean for two weeks, are you?” Axl cooled down, practically sobering up at the statement.

'Clean…' Mickey thought it was an odd way to describe not having sex. After all, he was anything but clean by that point. 

“We're not together.” Mickey claimed, but the three men's dubious stares at him were not satisfied with his response, “What? It's true.”

“Well, Mickey…” Dylan began coughing nervously while barely managing to convey what he intended to express: “Do friends kiss and fuck?”

Mickey grimaced. Kiss? How could they know both he and Ian had kissed? 

However, they weren't very discreet the day before, and one of them could have accidentally glanced out of the building and spotted them. 

"Friends with benefits, yeah.”

“Come on, such a thing doesn't even exist.” Kurt grumbled and ordered yet another drink. Mickey threw him an uncertain glance but remained mute, hoping to find a way to avoid the subject. “I thought you were going to fuck him once, maybe a couple more, but it's been going off for quite some time.”

“And?”

“And… You need to be honest with yourself, pretty boy.” Axl tapped him with his finger, blinking heavily, before returning to his stupor. 

Mickey switched his focus from one face to another, unable to understand what they were implying. He and Ian…together? 

Mickey wrinkled his nose at the concept. It's been a while since he was in a relationship.

Despite the fact that it had not been a complete twenty-four hours since they had last seen each other, he already missed Ian. 

“Aye,” Axl interrupted Mickey's pondering. “We came here to drink and celebrate our best show.” 

Mickey paused for a second, but then a tiny smile spread across his lips as he pushed the glass further to fill it with booze again. 

“Right, I think I got us a manager.” Dylan spoke out, completely immersed in the festival discussion. 

Three other men bent their brows in surprise and uncertainty. “Manager?”

“I think we're good without a manager.” Kurt added, dissatisfied with the concept of giving money to a stranger.

“No, guys, it's like a… Person that'll help us reach a larger audience.” Dylan exclaimed, overly thrilled for such a simple thing, “We're going to be invited to bigger stages.”

“Bigger stage?” Kurt huffed, wrapping his finger over the glass. “We played in front of hundreds of people yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I want to do it again.” Dylan claimed, “It was fun. We should try it.” 

“I want to be on the magazines' covers.” Axl dreamed with a fist gripping his chin. 

“Yeah, that's too far, I think.” Kurt scowled at the youngest member's childishness, adding, “Let's stick with playing concerts for now.”

Mickey took another sip of his drink, tuning out Dylan’s excited chatter about the supposed manager. The noise of the bar grew louder, but his thoughts were elsewhere—mainly on Ian. It was stupid, really, to miss someone this much after just one day. He wasn't the clingy type. Hell, he’d barely admitted to himself that what he felt for Ian was more than just casual. And now, with Ian back in Chicago for two whole weeks? It was messing with his head.

He glanced at his phone, the screen dark on the bar counter beside his drink. Should he text him? Call him? That would make him look weak, like he couldn’t go a few hours without hearing from Ian. But then again, why should he care what it looked like? His friends already had their suspicions about his relationship with Ian, and at this point, hiding it was pointless. Still, the thought of being the first one to reach out made Mickey bristle. He wasn’t that guy, was he?

Mickey's fingers hovered over his phone, his thumb itching to type something. Just a quick text, nothing too mushy. Maybe ask if Ian made it home okay, or if he was already missing New Jersey. That wouldn't seem clingy, right? Just checking in, being friendly.

“You're thinking about him again, aren't you?” Axl’s voice broke through Mickey’s internal debate, and the brunette shot him a glare.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey muttered, swirling the remaining liquor in his glass before downing it in one gulp. Axl just chuckled, giving him a knowing look.

“There's an exit door at the back. Nobody goes there; it will be silent.” Axl mumbled, appearing unconcerned and tentatively slurping on yet another drink. 

Mickey's gaze softened, and he focused his attention on the accessible door at the back of the pub, which was practically empty. 

He breathed and grabbed the phone from the counter, rising up from his chair. “Thanks.”

“Where is he going?” Kurt grimaced as Mickey led himself away from the pub and towards the aforementioned location. 

“Give him a few minutes.” Axl puffed as he watched the brunette surge through the crowd. “He misses his not-boyfriend.”

Mickey pushed the doorknob and stepped out, only to be greeted with a frigid surge of wind. Regardless, he disregarded it and leaned against the wall, unlocking his phone. 

Ian woke up to the soft buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It took a moment for his sleep-addled brain to register the sound, but when he did, he groggily reached for the device, blinking at the bright screen.

Mickey's name flashed across the display.

A wave of relief washed over Ian, momentarily chasing away the fog of exhaustion that still clung to him. He swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear and rolling onto his back, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hey…” Ian's voice was barely above a whisper, but the smile it carried was unmistakable.

“Look who's alive.” Mickey's voice came through the line, sharp but laced with that familiar edge of affection. “Thought you'd forgotten all about me, Red.”

“Yeah, like that could ever happen.” Ian chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think you'd call.”

There was a pause on Mickey's end, the faint sound of music and laughter in the background. Ian imagined Mickey leaning against bar counter, drink in hand, his dark eyes watching everything with that cool, unbothered expression he always wore in crowds.

“Don't get used to it.” Mickey rolled his eyes at the statement; the last thing he wanted was for Ian to think he was a softie. “I wanted to check if you're alive.”

“Lucky for you, I am.” Ian hummed with amusement, leading the brunette to smile slightly. Mickey was lucky there wasn't anyone else around to see it.

“So, how's home?” Mickey's voice was more subdued now, almost casual, but Ian knew him well enough to catch the undercurrent of curiosity. Maybe even jealousy.

Ian shifted in bed, feeling the warmth of the old mattress beneath him. “It's… good. Just saw my sisters and a brother. You know how they are. Debbie's still roping me into playing her games, Carl's already trying to snag my candy.” He paused, a soft laugh escaping. “Fiona, the oldest one, stole it from me anyway.”

Mickey snorted. “Figures. You’re too soft on ‘em.”

“Yeah, well… maybe.” Ian couldn't deny it. It felt good to be back with his family, even with all the chaos that came with it.

There was a brief silence on the line, and Ian could hear the distant hum of voices around Mickey, probably his bandmates. He thought about bringing up the concert, asking how it went, but something told him that wasn't what Mickey wanted to talk about right now.

“You miss me yet?” Mickey's voice broke the quiet, and though he tried to sound nonchalant, Ian could hear the real question beneath the surface.

A warmth spread through Ian’s chest, a familiar ache that he had been trying to ignore since he stepped off the plane. “More than you know,” he admitted, voice soft and honest.

Mickey scoffed, attempting to appear unconcerned despite the fact that he was boiling on the inside. “Do you or does your dick?”

“Shut up.” Ian chuckled softly, “Me. I miss you. Do you?”

Mickey kicked a small pebble on the ground, feeling his own heartbeat quicken. “It's just empty without your freckled ass bothering me.”

Ian’s heart clenched at the rare admission from Mickey, his usual bravado cracking just a little. He wished he could be there with him, instead of lying in his old room, surrounded by childhood memories that felt too distant and too close all at once.

Ian smiled at Mickey’s words, savoring the rare moment of vulnerability from him. He knew Mickey wasn’t one for emotional claims, and that made every small slip even more meaningful.

“Well, don't get too comfortable without me,” Ian replied, voice low and teasing. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Mickey let out a soft grunt in response, clearly trying to play it off like it didn’t matter. But Ian could hear the quiet exhale, the slight shift in Mickey’s tone. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet when you come crawling back.”

“Crawling?” Ian laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll probably walk back in like I own the place. Maybe with a bit of glitter from my sister’s makeup experiments.”

“Glitter? Jesus Christ, Ian…” Mickey groaned, though there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “You better keep that shit far away from me. I don’t need to be sparkling.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ian teased, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion from his trip and their conversation began to settle over him. He could picture Mickey standing outside that bar, probably rolling his eyes but secretly smiling.

“Spend time with them, Red,” Mickey muttered after a beat. “They surely missed you.”

“Yeah…” Ian yawned, covering his mouth as he snuggled deeper into the pillow. “You better call me tomorrow.”

“Don’t push your luck, Gallagher.” But there was no bite to Mickey’s words. In fact, it sounded almost like a promise.

Ian chuckled, letting the sound of Mickey’s voice wash over him one last time before he closed his eyes fully. “See you, Mick.”

There was a pause, and Ian thought maybe Mickey had already hung up, but then he heard a quiet, gruff, “See ya’, freckles.”

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Ian with a soft smile as he placed the phone on the stool. Meanwhile, outside the bar, Mickey stood for a moment longer, staring at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket. He gave the door one last glance, then turned around, heading back inside to rejoin his bandmates. But the thought of Ian lingered, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Chapter Text

“Don't move!” Debbie snapped at Ian, yanking his hair tighter and encouraging her brother to whine cruelly. 

“Ouch! Be a little gentler with me.” Ian squinted, but Debbie disregarded it as she braided the delicate threads of his hair to the back. The redhead grunted, but he forced himself not to make a move and concentrated on the video game in front of him. He let his little sister ruin his hairstyle, even though it was the most excruciating experience he'd ever had. 

“You're losing!” Carl roared from the side, pressing his tiny fingers against the console's buttons. 

“You're cheating.” Ian grumbled bitterly; the truth was that he was allowing his younger brother to beat him in a game he had memorized up to this point. 

Debbie tugged again, and Ian flinched, doing his best to stay focused on the screen in front of him. “I'm not cheating! You're just slow,” Carl shot back, his tongue poking out in concentration as his character narrowly dodged Ian's attack.

Ian sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.” He barely moved his thumb, pretending to struggle as Carl's character delivered a finishing blow.

Debbie hummed in approval, tightening the final braid with a little more force than necessary. “Done! And you look fabulous.”

Ian rolled his eyes, wincing at the tightness. “Great, now I look like a warrior who's lost every battle.”

Debbie smirked, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture before Ian could stop her. “Oh, come on, don’t be so dramatic. You look cute,” she teased, waving her phone at him before pocketing it.

“You always say that,” Ian muttered, rubbing the back of his head where his hair was pulled tight. “Next time, maybe you could try not pulling my hair out.”

“You’ll survive,” Debbie replied, clearly unbothered.

Ian tossed the controller onto the couch beside him, his interest in the game long gone. “Alright, Carl, I’m done. Go find someone else to crush your dreams.”

Carl beamed, clearly riding the high of his supposed victory. “Told you I’d win! You’re too slow, Ian.”

“Uh-huh, right,” Ian muttered, leaning back into the couch and pulling out his phone. His mind was wandering elsewhere, far away from the living room chaos and back to the person he’d been thinking about since he landed in Chicago a few days ago.

Mickey.

He hadn’t heard from him since yesterday, and Ian couldn’t stop himself from wondering what Mickey was up to right now. It was supposed to be a fun two-week break with his family, but honestly, being apart from Mickey felt...wrong.

His fingers itched to send a message, to check in, to feel connected again, even if just through a screen. But he hesitated, glancing at the last text Mickey had sent him the previous day.

[10:32 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: goodnight, red

Ian smirked, feeling warmth spread through his chest at the simple words. Mickey was never one for flowery sentiments or long-winded messages, but somehow, the simplicity of it always hit harder.

He stared at the message for a second longer, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, before finally typing:

[5:32 P.M.] Ian: How’s Jersey?

He barely had time to set his phone down before it buzzed with a reply.

[5:33 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: boring, been sittin’ on my ass all day

[5:34 P.M.] Ian: I miss your ass.

Ian stiffened on the couch and adjusted his posture. How could he develop such a burning desire for Mickey? He was prepared to express any profound feelings he had to the brunette.

[5:36 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: of course you do, can’t blame ya

Ian bit his lip, his heart doing that familiar flip it always did whenever he texted Mickey. He glanced up briefly to make sure Carl and Debbie weren’t paying attention, then quickly typed back:

[5:37 P.M.] Ian: Can’t wait to see you again. Two weeks feels like forever.

He knew it might come off as a little needy, but Ian didn’t care. Mickey wasn’t exactly the type to send sappy messages, but Ian had learned that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it too.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.

[5:38 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: yeah, well, you better hurry up, or i’ll forget what you look like

Ian chuckled softly. Mickey’s way of saying I miss you too. It was always wrapped up in some snark, but Ian could read between the lines. He typed back:

[5:39 P.M.] Ian: Like you could ever forget this face.

He attached a selfie of his annoyed expression, his hair still tight in Debbie’s braids. Mickey was quick to respond.

[5:40 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: you look like a pissed-off schoolgirl

Ian rolled his eyes, unable to stop the grin forming on his lips. He typed back one last message before slipping his phone into his pocket.

[5:41 P.M.] Ian: Yeah, yeah. I’ll make you eat those words when I get back.

With his phone safely stashed away, Ian allowed himself a moment to exhale. Being with his family was great, but Mickey... Mickey was something else entirely. And no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, his thoughts always drifted back to him.

“Alright, I’m done being your mannequin,” Ian said, rising from the couch and stretching. “I need some air.”

Fiona peeked from the kitchen. “Don’t forget, we’re watching a movie later!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come down,” Ian said, waving her off as he headed toward the stairs. His mind was already a few miles away, thinking of the next time he’d get to be with Mickey again.

Mickey sat on the worn couch of the small, dimly lit greenroom, his legs kicked up on the coffee table. The faint hum of guitars being tuned and muffled voices echoed from the stage beyond the walls, but he wasn’t paying much attention. His phone buzzed in his hand, Ian’s selfie still open on the screen. He smirked at the sight of the redhead's tight braids and the annoyed scowl Ian had sent. Mickey could practically hear him grumbling under his breath.

“Pissed-off schoolgirl,” he muttered to himself with a chuckle.

He leaned his head back against the couch, tapping his fingers absently on the armrest. He loved the gigs, the crowds, the adrenaline that came with being on stage, but lately, everything felt a little… off. Jersey wasn’t doing it for him anymore, and it had nothing to do with the place.

It was Ian.

That idiot had a way of getting under his skin, and no matter how much Mickey tried to focus on the band, his thoughts kept drifting back to that redhead in Chicago.

He swiped back to their messages and stared at the last one, a small laugh escaping his throat.

[5:41 P.M.] Ian: Yeah, yeah. I’ll make you eat those words when I get back.

Cocky bastard, Mickey thought, his lips curling into a smirk. He was already looking forward to that challenge. The break had only just started, but it felt like months had passed since they last saw each other. He hated that he missed Ian this much. It wasn’t like Mickey to get all wrapped up in someone, but Ian? He was different. It wasn’t just the sex, though that was part of it. There was something else about the way Ian looked at him, like he wasn’t judging him, like he was really seeing Mickey.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send something back or leave it there. He didn’t want to come off as too soft. Mickey wasn’t that guy, but Ian had a way of making him want to be.

He started typing before he could stop himself.

[5:44 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: can’t wait to see you either, red

The second it was sent, he rolled his eyes, cringing a bit. What the hell’s wrong with me? He was getting too soft.

Nonetheless, he detected a building smile on his lips, but as soon as it had taken shape, he flung the phone on the bed and exhaled deeply. What was Ian's deal with occupying the entire place in Mickey's mind?

EARLIER

Mickey slouched on the chair, browsing through his phone while listening to the tranquil rock band music playing in the background of the music store. 

The day floated by in the same way it regularly does, and Mickey retained on monitoring the clock every five minutes to check if an hour had passed.

At least until he heard a ring, indicating that a customer had entered the building.

Mickey cocked his head and spotted a woman with an inviting grin on her lips. He's seen her before... Wait, that was the woman he had seen Ian with, Juana. 

The brunette instinctively stretched in the chair, and when the two sets of eyes connected, Mickey flashed a slight, encouraging smile. 

“Mickey?” Juana's pupils lit up at the sight of the man. She hurried to the counter, far too pleased to see him. “I had no clue I'd meet you here! I mean…” Juana cleared her throat. “I heard rumors, but I wanted to check them myself, I guess.”

“Rumors?” Mickey scoffed, “Am I an ancient beast now?”

Juana laughed, shaking her head. “No, but you're definitely a rockstar, and rockstars come with rumors.” She leaned on the counter, still smiling. “I just didn’t think I’d actually run into you here.”

Mickey chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, I’m not on stage 24/7. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

Juana tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. “I thought you'd be living off fame by now.”

“Nah,” Mickey shrugged. “Not my style. Besides, I like this place. It’s quiet.”

“Quiet?” Juana raised an eyebrow, amused. “You, quiet? That’s hard to picture.”

Mickey smirked, but didn’t say anything, instead tapping his fingers on the counter. There was a brief silence before Juana broke it.

“I'm without my redheaded friend, if you've noticed.” Juana's teeth gleamed as she purposefully searched for Ian. “He's actually gone for two weeks. You know, family stuff.”

It seemed strange since Mickey was aware of the reason and where Ian was currently, but Juana was completely clueless of their tight relationship. 

“I'm sure you remember him. Ian's not easy to forget.” Juana winked, as if hinting a thing to Mickey, but he frowned, not fully grasping the concealed message. 

“I do. Pretty cute, ain't he?” Mickey agreed, and Juana's jaw dropped, as if she had been immobilized with one sentence. The brunette peered at the woman with one eyebrow curved, his expression filled with uncertainty.

Juana’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, her voice full of triumph.

Mickey blinked, clearly confused. “Knew... what?”

Before Juana could respond, the sound of the door chime interrupted them, and they both turned to see another customer entering the shop. The moment passed, and Juana coughed, trying to regain her composure.

“I’m, uh, looking for guitar strings for my younger brother,” she said quickly, shifting the topic. “Any recommendations?”

Mickey, still a bit thrown off by the sudden change in conversation, stood up from his chair and gestured for her to follow. “Yeah, come with me,” he said, leading her toward the back of the store.

Mickey walked ahead, the slight creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots filling the silence. Juana followed, her eyes flicking around the shop, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. She still couldn’t believe Mickey had just confirmed what she’d been suspecting, but the sudden interruption left her hanging.

Mickey stopped by a rack of guitar strings and gestured to them. “Depends on what he plays,” he said, running his fingers over the different packs. “Electric, acoustic, what style of music?”

Juana blinked, trying to refocus on the question. “Oh, uh… acoustic. He’s into more mellow stuff. You know, the typical teenage phase where everything’s deep and emotional.”

Mickey smirked, pulling a pack from the rack. “Yeah, I remember that phase. These should do the trick,” he said, handing them to her.

“Thanks.”

He stared at Juana, who was casually inspecting the guitar strings near the counter, but he could tell there was more going on in her mind. What does she know? Mickey wondered. He wasn’t one to pry into Ian’s friendships, but something about this felt... different.

Mickey narrowed his eyes, debating for a moment, before he finally broke the silence. “So, uh… you and Ian been friends for long?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing to mask his curiosity.

Juana looked up from the guitar strings, a hint of pride in her voice. “No, not long, actually. Just a couple of months... but we’re definitely best friends. Why?”

Mickey leaned against the counter, trying to play it cool. “Just curious. Seems like he means a lot to you.”

“Yeah, he really does,” Juana replied, her smile widening. “He’s been there for me through some tough times. I guess we just clicked right away.”

Mickey nodded, feeling a twinge of something—jealousy, maybe?

Juana raised an eyebrow at Mickey’s sudden interest. “Why are you asking?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Mickey shrugged, keeping his tone light, though the sarcasm was dripping from his words. “No reason. You two just looked like a couple, honestly.”

Juana burst out laughing, shaking her head. “A couple? Hell no! I could never imagine holding hands with him romantically.”

Mickey scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “And why’s that?”

She crossed her arms, clearly amused by the idea. “Look at him! Anyone could tell he’s gay. I doubt he’s ever kissed a woman.”

Mickey’s smirk deepened, a knowing glint in his eye as he leaned forward slightly. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong about that,” he muttered under his breath, though Juana didn’t seem to catch the meaning behind his words.

Juana’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, leaning in slightly as she asked, “And you?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “What about me?”

“Men or women?” Juana pressed, clearly intrigued.

Mickey’s lips curved into a teasing smirk as he shrugged casually. “I’ll leave it for you to figure out yourself.”

Juana playfully narrowed her eyes. “Mysterious, huh? Alright, I’ll keep guessing,” she replied, still eyeing him as if trying to decode the riddle Mickey had just laid out.

Before he could respond, the customer who had entered earlier approached the counter, interrupting their conversation.

“Excuse me?” the man said, holding a guitar strap in one hand.

Mickey turned his attention to him, his usual cool demeanor in place. “Yes?”

“Could you help me here? I’m looking for something a bit sturdier.”

Mickey gave a nod, motioning for the man to wait a moment. “Sure, give me a second, sir.” He then glanced back at Juana, his tone casual but with a hint of something else. “Wanna give me your number? We could meet up one day.”

Juana raised an eyebrow, surprised by the request, but before she could question his intentions, Mickey added, “You know, just to hang. Talk more.”

She smirked, clearly intrigued by the idea. “Yeah, why not?” She quickly scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it over. “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

Mickey pocketed the number, flashing her a small, grateful grin before turning back to assist the waiting customer.

Mickey tapped the FaceTime button, waiting as the familiar ringing sound echoed through his phone. When Ian’s face finally appeared on the screen, Mickey was immediately greeted by the sight of him fresh out of the shower, his hair dripping wet, skin glistening.

Mickey smirked, trying to keep his composure. “Hey, freckles,” he greeted, his voice low, doing his best not to comment on how good Ian looked right now.

Ian grinned, leaning closer to the camera. “Hey, Mick. Missed your face.”

Mickey felt his cheeks heat up, and he quickly rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he muttered, a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat, then quickly shifted the conversation. “Anyway, I met your friend today.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, brushing some of the wet hair out of his eyes. “Juana?”

“Yeah,” Mickey confirmed, leaning back against the headboard. “She came over to the store.”

Ian giggled, shaking his head in amusement. “Damn, she must’ve fainted from excitement—you’re her idol, after all.”

Mickey chuckled, his fingers tapping the edge of his phone. “I’m not that famous,” he said with a smirk, though his tone was playful. “But, uh… you told her about us?”

Ian tilted his head, wiping a drop of water off his brow. “Should I tell her I’ve been sleeping with her favorite guitarist?” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Mickey’s smirk faltered for a second, and he let out a groan. “Oh, come on… I mean, did you tell her we’ve met long before the festival?”

Ian flushed, trying to downplay the heat rising to his cheeks. “She doesn’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his wet hair. “And when she finds out, she’s going to kill me for not telling her earlier.”

Mickey grinned, leaning back against the bed with a lazy expression. “You should tell her. It’s not like I’m great at keeping secrets, especially when I’ve seen way more of you than she ever will.”

Ian groaned, feeling his face heat up even more as he tried to stifle a laugh. “Jesus, Mick, you’re making this worse.”

“Just saying,” Mickey replied, his grin widening. “She’s your best friend, right? You might as well rip off the band-aid.”

Ian sighed, already dreading the inevitable conversation. “Yeah, but she’s going to freak out. And then freak out again because I didn’t tell her sooner.”

Mickey shrugged, looking completely unfazed. “Eh, if she gives you too much shit, I’ll help bury the body. Won’t even break a sweat.”

Ian snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re a real knight in shining armor.”

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head at Ian's comment. “More like a knight in a leather jacket.”

Ian smiled, leaning back on the pillows of his bed. “Yeah, well, either way, you're going to have to help me deal with her when I finally break the news. She's gonna lose it.”

“I'll manage.”

Ian chuckled softly, sinking further into his pillows as he continued to take in Mickey's familiar face on the screen. The quiet between them was easy, almost too easy, and Ian found himself staring a bit too long, enjoying the way Mickey's smirk tugged at his lips and how his dark hair shined in the light, combed to the back.

Mickey eventually raised an eyebrow, pulling Ian from his thoughts. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly before blurting out, “You been with anyone since I left?”

Mickey blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt question. “What?” he asked, his grin fading just a little.

Ian hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. “You know what I mean…”

Mickey’s smile returned, more playful this time. He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Why? Can’t I?”

Ian felt a knot tighten in his stomach, though he knew Mickey was only messing with him. He tried to brush it off casually, but the idea gnawed at him more than he wanted to admit. “I mean, you could… if you wanted to.”

Mickey tilted his head slightly, his grin growing more mischievous as he watched Ian fidget. “So, you think I have been?” he teased, his voice dropping in a way that dared Ian to push further.

Ian sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m just asking,” he muttered, avoiding the screen as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You can do whatever you want.”

Mickey’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the teasing edge was gone from his voice. “Chill, Red,” he said, his tone more genuine. “Ain’t been with anyone else since you left.”

Ian felt a wave of relief wash over him at Mickey’s words, though he worked to keep his expression neutral. He settled back onto his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Good,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, some of the tension and insecurity melting away.

Ian shifted slightly on his bed, trying to ease the awkward tension he’d created. He wasn’t sure why he asked Mickey such a vulnerable question—it wasn’t like him to dig into personal stuff like that. But something about being apart, about missing Mickey, made Ian want to know more. Maybe it was just his way of feeling closer when they couldn’t physically be together.

He took a deep breath, his fingers nervously tapping on the edge of his phone before he spoke again. “So, uh… you wanna tell me about your first time?”

Mickey blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. He raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily unsure. “First… time?” he repeated, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why’d you wanna know about it, freckles?”

Ian shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way his heart raced. “Just curious. I wanna learn more about you, Mick. You know… beyond the whole rockstar thing.”

Mickey hesitated, his fingers brushing through his hair as he mulled over Ian’s request. It wasn’t like him to share personal stuff, especially something as intimate as that. He usually kept his walls up. But this was Ian, and something about the way he asked made Mickey pause. Maybe he felt like he could trust him with this. Finally, after a beat of silence, Mickey gave a small smirk, but his voice was cautious. “Tell you what… if you say it first.”

Ian blinked, his breath hitching slightly. “What, me? Why do I have to go first?”

Mickey leaned back, his eyes narrowing teasingly. “’Cause you’re the one asking, genius. I ain’t spilling anything unless you go first.”

Ian chuckled nervously, shifting his position on the bed again. “Alright, fine…” he muttered, feeling his face flush slightly as he thought back to his own first time. He wasn’t sure why it felt so awkward to talk about it, but with Mickey staring at him through the screen, it was suddenly much more difficult than he thought.

He cleared his throat, finally deciding to rip the band-aid off. “Okay, uh… it was this guy, obviously,” Ian began, his voice a little hesitant. “I was, like, eighteen? He was much older, and it was… nothing special. Kinda awkward, honestly.” Ian chuckled softly at the memory, feeling a little more at ease as he talked. “I think we both just wanted to get it over with, you know? It wasn’t some big romantic thing.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Much older? Didn’t see that coming.”

Ian rolled his eyes, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Come on, I was just a kid. It doesn’t matter anymore… I want to hear about yours.”

Mickey chuckled, his expression shifting. “Honestly, it wasn’t anything special either. I was sixteen and drunk—barely remember a thing from that night.”

Ian leaned in, curiosity piqued. “Really? You don’t recall any of it? How does that happen?”

Mickey shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s just say I was more caught up in the party than the… specifics. It was all a blur, and I ended up regretting a lot of things. I remember getting kicked out of his apartment at 3 AM. Not exactly the best experience.”

“Shit, I’m sorry… you were so young,” Ian muttered, feeling a pang of empathy.

“Yeah, and stupid... I don’t like talking about it,” Mickey replied, his tone more serious now.

“But you did tell me,” Ian said softly. “I appreciate it, Mick.”

A quiet pause settled between them as they studied each other. Then Mickey broke the silence, his voice a bit hesitant. “You’re different than the guys I’ve been with before.”

“Different?” Ian raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Gentler and shit. I’ve no damn idea what makes me so special,” Mickey chuckled nervously, glancing away for a moment.

Ian felt a warmth spread through him at Mickey's words, a flutter of something deeper sparking in his chest. He searched Mickey's expression, looking for the vulnerability beneath that playful exterior. The admission hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“That means better?” Ian asked, tilting his head slightly.

Mickey grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “That means whatever you think it does.”

Before Ian could respond, the door swung open, and Debbie stormed into the room, her face flushed with urgency. “Ian! Dinner’s ready! Fiona's been calling for you for hours!”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming...” Ian replied, rolling his eyes playfully. He shot Mickey an apologetic look as Debbie nodded and slipped out of the room.

“I have to go; they’ll kill me if I don’t,” Ian groaned, turning his attention back to Mickey.

“It’s fine. Get some rest from me, freckles,” Mickey replied, leaning back against the headboard with a teasing smile.

“I’m well-rested when I’m with you,” Ian shot back, unable to suppress the grin spreading across his face.

“Alright, enough of this sweetness. I’m hanging up,” Mickey said, feigning annoyance but unable to hide his amusement.

“Thanks for the chat, Mick,” Ian uttered softly, warmth blooming in his chest.

“See you,” Mickey replied, his tone a blend of playful and genuine.

“Yeah...” Ian murmured, his smile lingering even after the call ended.

As the screen went dark, Ian felt an ache settle in his chest. He stared at the blank display, the image of Mickey’s face still vivid in his mind—the way his dark hair fell just so, the spark in his eyes when he laughed. Ian missed him more than he realized. The distance felt heavier now, each moment apart stretching endlessly. He leaned back against his pillows, wishing he could just reach out and pull Mickey into his arms, feeling the warmth and energy that always surrounded him.

With a sigh, Ian closed his eyes, replaying their conversation, reminding himself that this connection, even from afar, was worth the wait.

Chapter Text

Ian peered at the soup on the gleaming dish in front of him, one fist supporting his jaw up and the other clutching the spoon carelessly. 

His two younger siblings were consuming dinner and not concerned about their older brother or anything else. Carl, as usual, stained his entire t-shirt, and Fiona couldn't bear looking at him, understanding she had to launder his clothes again. 

“So…” Fiona ultimately spoke, drawing three pairs of eager eyes to her face: “Are you planning on bringing someone here?”

“What?” Ian scowled, realizing that this was going to be another chat about his romantic life. What an excellent way to begin dinner.

Fiona’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression one of gentle probing, though Ian knew better than to think she’d drop the subject easily.

“I mean, you’ve been... distracted,” she continued, twirling her fork in the air before setting it down. “More than usual. You’re not sneaking around seeing someone, are you?”

Carl, always interested in any potential drama, perked up. “Yeah, who is it? You’re acting weird lately.”

Ian sighed, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he set it down. “I’m not sneaking around, Fiona.”

“Right, because you’ve been staring at your phone like it’s a lifeline since you came here,” she pressed, her voice soft but persistent.

He grimaced. It wasn’t like he could explain Mickey to them—at least, not yet. “I’ve just been busy, okay? College's been a lot.”

Fiona raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but didn’t push further for now. Instead, she picked at her food, eyeing Ian from the corner of her eye. “Okay, but if you are seeing someone... it’s fine to bring them here. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian muttered, feeling the weight of Mickey’s absence more heavily now. He missed him—missed the sound of his voice, the easy banter they shared. His mind wandered back to their last video call, how Mickey’s blue eyes had softened just before hanging up. It wasn’t just anyone he was missing. It was Mickey, and that complicated everything.

Carl’s voice cut through his thoughts. “So, no girlfriend?”

Ian snorted. “Not a girlfriend.”

Fiona’s fork paused mid-air, her eyes widening slightly before she spoke, her voice careful. “Wait... are you...?”

Ian didn’t hesitate. “I don’t like girls.”

Carl, ever the blunt one, chimed in without missing a beat. “Me neither, girls are gross.”

Debbie, who had been quietly munching on her food, suddenly sat up straighter, her face scrunching up in offense. “We’re not!”

Ian chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I like girls, Carl. I just don’t... like-like them.”

Carl scrunched his nose in confusion, trying to piece it together. “Like... kissing and stuff?”

Fiona watched Ian with an understanding expression, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Can’t say I didn’t expect that,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You’re not surprised?”

Fiona shrugged, pushing her plate away. “I mean, you were never exactly chasing after girls. You always seemed more comfortable just being yourself. Plus, you’ve been all secretive lately—so I kinda figured.”

Carl seemed more interested in the logistics. “So... you like kissing dudes?”

Ian almost laughed at the straightforwardness of Carl’s question, but he kept his expression calm. “Yeah, something like that.”

Debbie huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “Boys are still gross.”

Carl leaned back in his chair, grinning mischievously. “You’re gross!”

Debbie, her voice high-pitched with indignation, crossed her arms. “No way! You’re the grossest! You don’t even wash your hands before dinner.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Like you’re any better.”

Fiona sighed, shaking her head. “Hey, no one's gross, all right? Let’s just focus.” She turned her attention back to Ian, her tone softening. “So, Ian... did you meet some guy in Jersey?”

Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could feel Debbie’s curious eyes on him as she kicked her legs under the table. “I did,” Ian admitted, his voice careful. “But, uh, we’re friends.”

Debbie, not fully understanding but eager to be involved, leaned forward on her elbows. “What kinda friend? Like a best friend? Do you do fun stuff together?”

Carl, ever the opportunist, smirked. “Yeah, like a best-best friend, huh?”

Ian groaned. “Guys, it’s not like that.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “But you do like him, right?”

Debbie wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Do you hold hands with him? Like how people do in movies?”

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at her innocent question. “No, Debs, we’re just friends. It's... complicated.”

Debbie tilted her head, clearly confused. “How come it’s always complicated with grown-ups?”

Fiona smiled, her voice patient. “Because feelings can be tricky sometimes. But Ian, if you like this guy—whether you're just friends or more—you know we’re here for you. You don’t have to hide it.”

Carl, still not letting up, chimed in again. “So, you do want to kiss him, right?”

Debbie scrunched up her face. “Ew, all boys do is kissing. Yuck!”

Ian rolled his eyes, laughing at how seriously she said it. “Trust me, Debs, it’s not that yucky.”

Carl snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

Fiona watched her siblings bicker, a warm smile tugging at her lips as she turned her gaze back to Ian. “So, what about this guy? You’re not just avoiding it for nothing, are you?”

Ian sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I don't know, Fi... it’s just complicated. There’s a lot going on, and I’m still figuring things out.”

Carl was still grinning mischievously. “You mean like figuring out how to kiss him?”

Ian rolled his eyes again but chuckled despite himself. “Not everything’s about kissing, Carl.”

Debbie, ever the curious one, wasn’t done yet. “But you said he’s your friend. Friends do stuff together. Do you hang out a lot?”

Ian’s heart gave a small lurch at that. He hadn’t seen Mickey in a while, and he was missing him more than he cared to admit. “Pretty often.”

Fiona nodded, sensing there was more Ian wasn’t ready to say just yet. She leaned over and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Whatever it is, we’ve got your back. You don’t have to figure it all out alone.”

Ian offered her a small, grateful smile, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Fi. That means a lot.”

Carl, still munching on his food, muttered between bites, “Yeah, yeah, all that sappy stuff. Can we go back to talking about kissing now?”

Debbie threw a crumpled napkin at him. “You’re so gross!”

Ian couldn’t help but laugh at the way the conversation shifted back to its usual chaos. For the first time in a while, sitting at that table didn’t feel so heavy.

Fiona leaned forward slightly, her interest piqued. “Anyway, is he from your college?”

Ian hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “No, well... he's a rockstar, actually.”

Debbie blinked, clearly puzzled. “What's a rockstar?”

Carl furrowed his brows. “Sounds like a rock in the shape of a star.”

Debbie wrinkled her nose. “That sounds dumb.”

Fiona gave them both a pointed look. “Quiet, kids.” She turned back to Ian, her tone more curious than before. “Is he a singer?”

Ian shook his head, feeling the slightest tinge of nerves. “No, he's a lead guitarist.”

Carl's interest was piqued once again. “So... what's a rockstar then?”

Fiona smiled, turning to Carl. “He's a famous guitarist. And ‘rock’ is a genre of music—it's loud, with guitars and drums and all that.”

Carl looked impressed. “So, like, he's super famous?”

Ian shrugged. “I mean... yeah, he’s known in his scene. He just had a big festival a few days ago.”

Debbie, still trying to grasp the concept, asked, “So, do rockstars wear capes? Like superheroes?”

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “Not exactly, Debs. More like leather jackets and a lot of attitude.”

Carl’s eyes widened. “That’s awesome! Do you get to go to his shows?”

Ian smiled, feeling a warm rush at the thought of Mickey on stage. “I’ve been to a few. It’s... pretty amazing.”

Fiona gave him a knowing look. “Sounds like you're pretty into this guy.”

Ian shifted in his chair, feeling a bit defensive as he responded, “We’re friends, Fiona. Just friends.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Friends who go to each other’s shows and make you all distracted at dinner?”

Ian sighed, rubbing his temple. “Look, it’s not that simple, okay? We’ve been spending time together, but I don’t even know where it’s going yet.”

Fiona leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. “It's fine, Ian. Breathe,” she said gently. “I'd love to meet him one day, though.”

Ian blinked, surprised by her calm acceptance. He had expected more prying, maybe even some judgment, but Fiona seemed genuine. He took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant.

“Of course,” Fiona replied, smiling warmly. “You know I just want you to be happy. If he's important to you, I'd like to know the guy who's making my brother smile so much lately.”

Ian felt his cheeks flush slightly, the weight of her words sinking in. Mickey had become important to him, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to label their relationship yet. It wasn’t just physical; there was something deeper, something that kept him thinking about Mickey long after their last text or call.

Carl, as usual, couldn’t resist chiming in. “So, does that mean we’ll get to meet him too? Does he bring guitars with him everywhere?”

Ian chuckled. “Not everywhere, Carl.”

Debbie scrunched up her nose. “But... if he’s a rockstar, doesn’t he have to play music all the time?”

“Not all the time, Debs,” Ian replied, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s not always on stage.”

Carl leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When he comes over, can he teach me to play guitar? I wanna be cool like him.”

Fiona smirked, shaking her head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ian’s not even sure where things are yet.”

Ian nodded, grateful for her support but feeling a little uneasy at the thought of Mickey meeting his family. “Yeah, it’s still... complicated.”

Fiona reached across the table, squeezing Ian’s hand. “It doesn’t have to be, you know. Whenever you're ready, we’ll be here.”

Ian glanced around the table, taking in the sight of his siblings—Carl’s eager grin, Debbie’s curious expression, and Fiona’s reassuring smile. He realized just how lucky he was to have them, and a part of him did want to share Mickey with them. But for now, he wasn’t quite there yet.

“Thanks, Fi,” Ian said softly. “I appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” Fiona replied, her eyes kind. “Just don’t keep us in the dark forever, okay?”

“I won’t,” Ian promised, feeling a sense of relief. For the first time in a while, he felt like he didn’t have to hide. Maybe one day, when things with Mickey were a little less complicated, he could bring him here. But for now, he’d take it one step at a time.

Mickey leaned against the worn bar counter, his fingers drumming idly against his drink. The dim lighting of the Jersey gay bar cast a warm, moody glow over the crowd, a mix of loud laughter, dancing bodies, and familiar faces blending into the background noise. It wasn’t his usual scene—he preferred a quieter place or a rooftop spot where he could smoke without being hassled. But tonight, he needed the distraction. Needed to forget about everything weighing on his mind.

He took a long sip from his glass, the burn of whiskey sharp on his tongue as he watched the people around him. The music thudded through the room, some pop track everyone seemed to know except him. He didn’t really care. His head was elsewhere, thinking about Ian, about the space that had grown between them since the festival. He’d been busy, sure, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about not seeing Ian every day that left an ache in him he couldn’t shake off.

“Rough night?” The bartender, a tall guy with a shaved head and tattoos creeping up his neck, leaned in, breaking Mickey’s thoughts.

Mickey shrugged, offering a nonchalant smile. “Something like that.”

The bartender gave him a knowing look but didn’t pry. Instead, he refilled Mickey’s drink without being asked. “On the house, rockstar.”

Mickey smirked, though the title felt hollow right now. “Thanks, man.”

He glanced around the room again, catching sight of a few guys eyeing him, maybe recognizing him from the festival or just checking him out. Normally, he wouldn’t mind the attention—it was part of the gig, part of who he was. But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to flirt, to play the role of the rockstar who could have anyone he wanted.

He just wanted Ian.

With a sigh, Mickey ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the weight of it, the heaviness of everything unsaid between him and Ian. He hadn’t texted Ian much lately, not wanting to come off as too eager or too clingy. But now, after a few drinks, the urge to reach out was gnawing at him. He pulled out his phone, staring at Ian’s name in his messages. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating what to say.

“Hey, stranger.”

A guy, tall and confident, leaned against the bar beside him, his eyes tracing Mickey in a way that made the intent clear. He had that smooth, cocky smile—probably the kind of guy used to getting what he wanted. Mickey glanced at him, offering a small nod, but didn’t reciprocate the energy.

“Not really looking for company tonight,” Mickey muttered, his voice low, hoping to nip the conversation in the bud.

The guy chuckled, undeterred. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been staring into that drink like it’s about to give you answers.” He raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. “Thought maybe you could use some better distraction.”

Mickey took another sip of his drink, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Normally, a flirty comment like that might have piqued his interest—maybe even pulled him into some casual conversation. But tonight? The guy could’ve been anyone, and it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t the one Mickey wanted to see or talk to.

“Appreciate the offer,” Mickey replied, voice a little more clipped now, “but I’m good.”

The guy didn't move, clearly not deterred by Mickey’s dismissal. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if he was putting something together.

“Wait a second... aren’t you that guy who played at the festival a couple of days ago?”

Mickey glanced up, his expression still neutral, but the guy’s recognition sparked a bit of curiosity in him. “Maybe I am,” he answered, voice still even, “why?”

The stranger’s smile widened as if he’d won some sort of prize. “Knew it. I was there—saw you play. You killed it on guitar, man. You and your band have this... energy. Raw and intense. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

Mickey nodded slightly, not surprised that his face was starting to get recognized more in certain circles. He took another sip of his drink. “Yeah? Glad you liked the show.”

The guy leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Liked it? I couldn’t take my eyes off you. There’s something about the way you perform... it’s magnetic.”

Mickey set his glass down, the edges of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smirks. He was used to flattery, especially from guys who tried to get closer once they realized who he was. But right now, it wasn’t doing much for him.

“Thanks,” Mickey said, his voice still casual.

The guy grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I'm Jack, and you're... something with an ‘M’, right?”

Mickey sighed softly, barely hiding his irritation. “Uh-huh, pretty close.”

Jack snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. “Mickey! Right, I remember it now. You’ve got that badass stage presence.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow but didn’t give him much more. “Yeah, that's me.”

Jack leaned a little closer, clearly not getting the hint. “So, Mickey... what brings you to a place like this? You look like someone who’d be swarmed by fans at some fancy club, not hanging out alone in a dive like this.”

Mickey shrugged, his eyes drifting to the nearly empty bar. “Just needed a quiet place to think, that’s all.”

“Quiet?” Jack laughed, gesturing to the loud music and crowd around them. “You sure about that?”

Mickey shot him a sideways glance, his patience thinning. “Compared to my usual spots, this is practically a library.”

Jack chuckled again, but this time there was a bit of a pause. He was trying to find a way in, and Mickey knew it. He sighed, setting his drink down and finally meeting Jack's eyes directly.

“Look, man,” Mickey started, his voice lower but firm, “I get it—you recognize me, and that's cool. But I'm not looking for company tonight.”

Jack leaned in even closer, flashing Mickey a grin that was beginning to feel more like an intrusion than a flirtation. “Come on, man, you can’t expect not to get hit on in a gay bar,” he claimed, his tone dropping to something more suggestive. He tilted his head toward the bartender. “Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Mickey tensed, his fingers tightening around the glass in front of him. The last thing he needed was some pushy guy trying to muscle his way in. “I’m good,” Mickey replied, his voice sharp, a clear signal for Jack to back off.

But Jack wasn’t getting the hint—or worse, he didn’t care. He slid even closer, his arm casually brushing against Mickey’s. “Hey, no harm in a drink, right? I promise, I don’t bite... unless you’re into that.”

Mickey’s jaw clenched. Normally, he could shrug off unwanted attention. He was used to people crossing lines, mistaking his laid-back attitude for an open invitation. But tonight? He didn’t have the patience. His thoughts were too crowded with Ian—missing him, worrying about what was happening between them. And this guy? He was the last thing Mickey needed right now.

He straightened up, his dark eyes meeting Jack’s with an edge of warning. “I said I’m good. Find someone else to buy a drink for.”

Jack’s smile faltered slightly, but he kept up the charm, his tone turning slick. “Come on, no need to get defensive. We’re just talking, right? Don’t have to be so serious.”

Mickey pushed his drink away, his hand resting on the bar as he locked eyes with Jack. “Yeah, well, I’m serious. So why don’t you back off before I test out my lack of patience on your teeth?”

For a moment, there was a tense silence between them, the sounds of the bar fading into the background. Jack’s cocky facade wavered, and he took a small step back, sizing Mickey up. “Alright, man,” Jack muttered, holding up his hands in surrender, though his tone was still smug. “No need to get hostile. I was just offering.”

Mickey didn’t respond. He watched as Jack shrugged, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the crowd. The moment felt heavy, but as soon as the stranger was gone, Mickey exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hhair

He took a deep breath, feeling the tension finally drain from his shoulders as he leaned back against the bar. The bartender, still polishing glasses, gave him a knowing look.

“That guy was persistent,” he said, shaking his head. "Didn't seem to get the message."

Mickey smirked. “Glad someone noticed. I thought I was laying it on a bit thick.”

The bartender chuckled, sliding Mickey a fresh drink. “Isn’t he your type, though? I figured you’d start undressing just from the way he looked at you.” His tone was playful, a grin creeping across his face.

Mickey rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Yeah, if my type is the kind who doesn’t know how to back off. I like a little intrigue, not someone who’s that damn obvious.”

The bartender leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So, you’re more about the mystery, huh? Sounds like you’re into the chase, not the catch.”

Mickey shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe. It’s... complicated. There’s someone else on my mind.” He paused, glancing at the bartender. “But it ain't really simple.”

The bartender studied Mickey's expression, noting the tension etched into his features as the lights flickered across his face. “You're not exactly simple yourself, mister,” he said with a smirk, earning a frustrated groan from Mickey. “Why come to a gay club if there's already someone else on your mind?”

Mickey hesitated, as if he were trying to find the right words. The bartender noticed but stayed quiet, waiting for his response.

“I don't belong to anyone,” Mickey finally muttered, his voice low and uncertain, like even he wasn't convinced. “We're just friends, and he's out of town, so…”

“So, you figured you'd have some fun while he's gone.” The bartender finished the thought for him, raising an eyebrow. “But threatening to knock someone's teeth out? Not the best way to start.”

Mickey exhaled, not able to figure out the explanation for his outburst. Not long ago, a guy like Jack would’ve been exactly Mickey's type—easygoing, good-looking, nothing complicated. Yet now, the idea of hooking up with him didn’t sit right. All his thoughts were tangled up with someone else, someone back in Chicago, with freckles and messy red hair.

“Shit, man,” Mickey muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “He's not even my type. Or at least… I thought he wasn’t.”

The bartender chuckled, noticing something off in Mickey's demeanor. “Maybe it's time to leave the wild life behind, huh?”

Mickey forced a smirk. “I’m still young.”

“Sure, but it doesn’t seem like this life fits you anymore.”

Mickey didn’t reply, his eyes fixated on the bartender. His grip tightened around the glass as if resisting the urge to smash it. He wanted to steer the conversation away, but the weight of throwing his life off track gnawed at him.

“Anyway, I’ve got other customers to take care of. Glad you stopped by, Mickey.” The bartender flashed a quick smile before moving on to the next patron.

Mickey nodded, taking another sip of his drink. The burn of the whiskey settled him a bit, but his thoughts drifted back to Ian. It wasn’t about distractions or flirtations—he just wanted something real, something that made sense even when it didn’t. He fished his phone out of his pocket again, staring at Ian's name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button.

He hadn’t spoken to Ian since the night before, and he’d missed Ian’s last call because of work. Damn, he craved hearing Ian's voice more than he realized.

Mickey sighed, pulled a few dollars from his pocket, tossed them on the counter beside his empty glass, and walked out of the club without a word. On his way to the exit, one of the strippers brushed past him, a cocky grin spreading across his face when his eyes landed on the brunette. He muttered something low, probably trying to convince Mickey to stay, but the brunette barely noticed, his mind consumed by thoughts of the one person who wasn’t even in the same state.

Mickey strolled to the far end of the club, leaning against the rough brick wall as he pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. He lit the smoke, savoring the taste, and exhaled slowly through his nostrils before reaching for his phone. After a brief hesitation, he searched for Ian's number and pressed the call button. A strong urge to see the obnoxious redhead washed over him; it had been over a week since they last met, and Mickey couldn’t remember ever feeling this upset about being apart from a ‘friend’ before. The ringing echoed in his ear, but after a few tones, Ian hung up, leaving Mickey feeling puzzled and disappointed on the other end.

Ian's message pinged on Mickey's phone within seconds. He glanced at it immediately.

[7:28 P.M.] Ian: Sorry, can’t pick up. My siblings are torturing me right now.

Attached was a photo of Ian’s face, smeared with markers and glitter, a testament to his younger siblings’ creative chaos. Mickey couldn't help but smile at the sight, though he quickly stifled it, the weight of his longing pressing down on him.

He craved Ian's voice more than he realized, and it felt like an ache gnawing at him. The other guys who had shown interest in him lately faded into the background; he couldn’t even muster the same enthusiasm he once had. It was clear that his fixation on Ian had intensified to the point of consuming him, making him feel like a stranger to himself. Maybe he needed a break from it all, to sort through the tangled emotions that had taken root in his heart.

As Mickey stepped into the apartment, he caught sight of his aunt Nataliya in the kitchen.

He offered her a half-hearted smile before hanging up his jacket and peeling off his heavy boots. Every muscle in his body ached from the countless steps he had taken that day, making him feel as though he could barely move.

“You look tired, hun,” Nataliya remarked, her grin shifting to a concerned frown as she noticed him approaching the counter.

Mickey leaned against it, exhaling a heavy breath, but before he could respond, his gaze landed on her, particularly the way she was dressed.

Nataliya was dressed in a dark crimson dress that fell just to her knees, silver bracelets adorning her wrists, with matching earrings swaying from her ears. Her hair was swept up into a messy yet charming bun, with a few loose strands framing her face.

If Mickey hadn’t known her all his life, he might’ve mistaken her for someone in her early thirties. She looked radiant, and it sparked his curiosity.

“Heading out somewhere?” Mickey smirked, suspecting she had a date lined up.

“Yeah, actually, I am,” Nataliya replied, her face lighting up. “I met a nice guy not long ago.”

Mickey had intended to be cheeky, as he usually was, but seeing his aunt’s beaming smile melted that plan. He couldn’t bring himself to tease her this time.

“Hope he doesn’t turn out to be an asshole,” Mickey said with a half-hearted grin, already shifting to leave for his room. But before he could make his escape, Nataliya called after him.

“And you? Any dates lined up?”

Mickey snorted, brushing off her suggestion like it was nothing. “Dates aren't really my thing.”

A quiet pause hung between them before Nataliya broke it with a knowing smile. “Is Ian your thing?”

The question hit Mickey harder than he expected, freezing him in place for a moment.

“Ian's just my friend, Aunt,” Mickey said, though the words felt hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. “Why'd you bring him up?”

Nataliya shrugged, her lips forming a small, disappointed sigh. “I haven't seen him around in a while. Are you two okay?”

“He's in Chicago with his family,” Mickey replied, trying to sound casual. “We're good.”

But even as he said it, the phrase felt unfinished, uncertain. What did ‘we're good’ really mean? That they hadn’t argued? Or that their relationship hadn’t changed? Mickey couldn't fully convince himself of either. Lately, his mind had been a whirlpool of questions, doubts about what exactly they were to each other.

“I hope he visits after he gets back,” Nataliya said, breaking his thoughts.

“He probably will,” Mickey scoffed, his tone caught somewhere between serious and joking.

Nataliya studied him for a moment, her eyes soft with that familiar maternal concern. Mickey could feel her gaze, like she was peeling back layers he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“You know,” she began cautiously, “you don’t always have to hide things from me. I can see when something’s eating at you.”

Mickey chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair, trying to shake off the tension building inside him. “It’s not like that, Aunt,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “I'm just tired.”

She didn’t push any further, sensing his reluctance. Instead, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Just don’t shut yourself off, alright? Ian or not, you deserve to talk about what’s on your mind.”

Mickey nodded but said nothing, feeling the weight of her words settle over him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Nataliya finally said, picking up her purse. “Enjoy the quiet while you can. I’ll be back later.”

“Good luck on your date,” Mickey smirked as she headed for the door.

“Thanks, hun. And don’t wait up,” she teased, winking as she disappeared out the door.

Once alone, Mickey leaned back against the counter, staring blankly at the empty space she left behind. His mind drifted, as it often did lately, straight back to Ian. It wasn’t just that Ian was away—it was the absence that gnawed at him. The routine texts and casual conversations had become more than just habit. They were his tether, keeping him grounded, even when he didn’t want to admit it.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, pulling him out of his thoughts. He didn’t have to check to know it wasn’t Ian. Mickey sighed, pushing away from the counter and heading to his room. As he lay down on his bed, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him, one thought lingered, heavier than the rest.

What if Ian was more than just a friend?

Chapter Text

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Fiona whispered, tugging on Ian's t-shirt as he groggily blinked his eyes open. “We’re close.”

Ian groaned, his first instinct being to sink deeper into sleep. But before he could, a sharp punch landed on his shoulder. “Ow,” he muttered.

“You’re not dreaming, Ian!” Carl’s voice pierced the quiet, high-pitched, and impatient. Ian frowned, forcing himself to sit up straighter in the seat. “We’re in Jersey. Open your eyes!”

Ian squinted out the window, his eyes adjusting to the blinding snow that covered the ground. A few familiar buildings came into view, signaling that they weren’t far from his apartment. His exhausted mind, still reeling from a sleepless night, struggled to focus. He sighed, feeling the weight of weariness press down on him, but the sight of home nudged him awake.

“Wow, so much snow…” Debbie gasped, her eyes wide, as she watched the flurries swirl against the window.

Ian stretched, arms reaching high above his head, and as the realization hit that he was back in Jersey, his heart raced. The thought of Mickey waiting for him made his skin buzz with anticipation, heat rising under his collar. He quickly dug into his pocket for his phone, checking the last message from Mickey: ‘will be waiting for ya’. Ian's stomach flipped as he imagined their reunion.

“‘Favorite Rockstar’, huh?” Fiona teased, glancing over at Ian’s screen with a knowing grin.

Ian shot her a glare and turned his phone away. “Focus on the road, will you?”

Fiona scoffed, clearly amused. “Is that Mickey?”

“Oh? That guitarist you mentioned?” Carl piped up from the backseat, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of Ian’s phone but failing.

Ian’s face flushed with embarrassment, his pulse quickening even more. “No… I mean, maybe. Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, turning his gaze out the window, desperately trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

Fiona smiled to herself, deciding to let the subject drop as she watched Ian’s flushed reaction. She had always known when to push and when to give him space.

A few minutes later, she parked in front of Ian's apartment building, its tall structure looming over them. “All right, we're here,” she said with a nod to the kids in the backseat. Carl and Debbie leapt out immediately, eager to dive into the snow, before heading inside.

Ian stepped out slowly, wrapping his coat tighter around him as the biting cold hit his face. He exhaled, watching his breath fog up in the air, his body still heavy with exhaustion.

“Nervous?” Fiona asked, stepping beside him.

“About what?” he replied, trying to sound casual.

“Tomorrow. The performance.”

Oh, right. Ian had almost forgotten. Tomorrow was a big day—the day. He was set to play the lead role in front of a crowd filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. It felt like a make-or-break moment. Either his performance would catch the eye of the right people—directors, agents—or it would end up being a mistake, leaving him questioning why he bothered going to college in the first place.

The weight of it all crept back, tightening his chest. How could so much rest on one night? It frustrated him to no end.

“I’m okay,” Ian claimed, his voice carrying just enough conviction to get Fiona off his back. He wasn’t, but he needed to believe he could be. Fiona raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, sensing the tension.

Fiona nodded and patted Ian’s shoulder, sensing his need for space. “Well, you’ll crush it, Ian. You always do,” she reassured him before stepping away to join Carl and Debbie.

Ian lingered by the car for a moment longer, staring at the building ahead, feeling the weight of both the snowstorm and the impending performance looming over him. The thought of walking through the door, seeing Mickey again, made his chest tighten for a whole different reason. He took a deep breath and trudged through the snow toward the entrance, his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears.

Mickey sat on the stool, his fingers moving smoothly across the guitar strings, the rhythm coursing through him as he listened intently. He didn’t look up, despite the laughter and banter from his bandmates. All his attention was on the soft sound of the music... and, well, Ian.

It had been two weeks since he'd last seen the redhead he couldn't stop thinking about, and now that the day had finally come, Ian was all he could focus on.

Mickey had hoped they’d meet sooner, but he quickly realized Ian hadn’t come alone—his family had arrived in New Jersey with him. With an upcoming performance, the chaos of the Gallaghers, and college classes piling up, Mickey wondered if he'd even get a chance to steal a moment with Ian anytime soon.

“Aye, sweetheart!” Axl called out to Mickey, breaking his focus from the guitar. “You good?”

Mickey glanced up, trying to find a quick excuse that didn’t involve Ian. “Yeah, just... didn’t sleep much.”

“Do you ever sleep, vampire?” Dylan chimed in with a laugh, gesturing toward the dark circles under Mickey's eyes. He wasn’t wrong. The past few days had been brutal—between work, band practice, and cramming to learn the new tune, rest had been the last thing on Mickey’s mind.

Mickey ignored the joke, placing his guitar on the floor and getting up from the chair. “I need a smoke,” he muttered.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, he headed for the balcony, avoiding the curious looks from his bandmates. The others, sensing his mood shift, wisely dropped the subject and returned to their instruments as Mickey stepped outside, the cold air hitting his face like a wake-up call.

Mickey lit his cigarette, taking a slow drag as he leaned against the balcony railing. He exhaled heavily, the smoke curling into the cold winter air. Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky, blanketing the ground below where a couple of kids were building snowmen, their laughter echoing faintly.

Mickey watched them, his heart pounding in his chest, his thoughts spiraling back to Ian. It wasn’t just about missing him anymore; it was the conversation he’d had with his aunt and others that gnawed at him. Leave this life behind, start fresh. That was the refrain that kept replaying in his mind. Most people his age were starting families, settling down. And Mickey? He still felt like the reckless teenager he'd been, drifting without direction.

The thought of a serious relationship twisted his stomach in knots. He didn’t even know if he could picture himself in that kind of life. The idea of it felt too big, too unfamiliar, and it scared him more than he'd ever admit.

Suddenly, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Mickey twitched in surprise.

“Relax, it's just me,” Kurt’s voice came with a chuckle.

Mickey puffed out a cloud of smoke through his nostrils, steadying his pulse. “What’s up?”

Kurt leaned against the railing beside him, nudging Mickey’s arm playfully. “That redhead on your mind again?”

Mickey shot him a sidelong glance, rolling his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. What else?”

“He’s coming back today, right?” Kurt asked, catching Mickey off guard. Mickey hadn’t expected him to remember that two weeks had passed since Ian left. “You should go see him.”

Should. Mickey wanted to see him—no, he needed to. It felt like an invisible force was pulling him toward Ian, like there was a rope wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer.

“He’s with his family,” Mickey muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Don’t wanna get in the way.”

Kurt scoffed, snatching a cigarette from Mickey's pack. “He’s been with them for two weeks, hasn’t he? Let them play in the snow or whatever. Steal him for an hour, max. You look like you haven’t gotten laid in ages.”

Mickey shot him a sharp glare, but deep down, he knew Kurt wasn’t wrong. The last time he’d been with Ian was before he left, and since then, Mickey hadn’t even thought about being with anyone else. It wasn’t like he was actively holding back—he just didn’t feel the need. Other guys had started to blur into the background, as if they didn’t matter anymore.

It was Ian or nothing.

Mickey exhaled slowly, staring down at the kids building snowmen. Maybe Kurt had a point. Maybe one hour wouldn’t hurt.

“Oh, so I’m supposed to call him and ask if he wants a quick fuck, huh?” Mickey chuckled, the irony thick in his voice. The thought of him—Mickey Milkovich—begging anyone for sex, let alone Ian, felt ridiculous.

“Why the hell not?” Kurt replied, lighting his own cigarette and blowing the smoke in Mickey’s direction. Mickey wrinkled his nose at the smell but said nothing. “One word from you, and he’ll probably sprint to your doorstep.”

Mickey frowned. Normally, he would’ve laughed off a comment like that, but this time it struck a nerve. The idea of treating Ian like a quick hookup—just someone to satisfy his own needs—felt wrong. He didn’t want Ian to feel like he was just some guy who’d drop everything to come running to Mickey whenever he snapped his fingers.

There was something deeper with Ian, something that made Mickey want to know more. It wasn’t just about the sex anymore—it was about figuring out what Ian liked, who he really was, and, for once, putting someone else first.

What the hell is going on with me? Mickey wondered. The thought of caring this much about someone, of actually prioritizing someone other than himself, was foreign. And terrifying.

“I’ll call him,” Mickey said finally, more to get Kurt off his back than anything else. But the truth was, he was going to call Ian—just not for the reasons Kurt thought. Not anymore.

“Good. Enjoy it before it disappears,” Kurt shot back with a quick grin, leaving Mickey with a feeling that gnawed at him, making him question his whole approach to life.

“Yeah, all right,” Mickey mumbled, cigarette between his lips, fishing his phone from his back pocket. “You gonna survive an hour without your best guitarist?”

Kurt scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Uh-huh, someone's ego's getting real big now. We'll manage. Don’t worry your pretty head.”

Mickey exhaled a long breath, realizing he’d been holding it in. He stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Ian’s contact. Calling felt too direct, but texting suddenly felt weird too. What the hell was he supposed to say? Hey, wanna hang out like it’s nothing? Or, worse, should he try to meet Ian’s family? No, that was way too serious, too soon.

After a moment of indecision, Mickey started typing, erasing, and retyping before settling on something casual, but not too casual. His fingers finally moved across the screen, typing out:

[3:42 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: made it to jersey?

Mickey stared at the message on his screen for a few seconds, the weight of the question lingering. Just as he was about to relax, he felt a breath on the back of his neck. He turned around, spotting Kurt leaning in with a curious grin plastered on his face, eyes locked onto Mickey’s phone.

“Seriously?” Kurt smirked, clearly amused by Mickey’s softer side. “Since when did you start acting like a softie?”

“I haven’t,” Mickey shot back, rolling his eyes as he angled the phone away, hiding it from Kurt’s nosy gaze. He paused, his voice lowering a little. “I can’t just ask him for sex like it’s nothing.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Is it something now?”

Mickey didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let Kurt’s question hang in the air. It was something, wasn't it? Something more than just hooking up or killing time. Mickey had known that for a while now but admitting it—out loud—was something else entirely.

“I don't know, maybe,” Mickey huffed, trying to brush off the conversation without making it too obvious. But Kurt’s expression shifted, giving him a more curious look. Mickey could feel the weight of the question hanging between them.

“He’s not... temporary,” Mickey finally admitted, surprising even himself with how honest he sounded. “At least, I don’t want him to be.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows, nearly choking on his cigarette smoke but managing to cough it out. “Oh, damn. It is serious, huh?”

Mickey tensed, pressing his lips together, his fingers nervously scratching at his arm. “What do you mean?”

Kurt leaned in, a knowing glint in his eye. “I mean... are there any deeper feelings?”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably at the question. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it—hell, he'd been thinking about it more than he wanted to admit—but the idea of putting those feelings into words made his chest tighten. Feelings were messy, unpredictable, and Mickey had never been good at dealing with them.

“Maybe,” Mickey muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Kurt to hear. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh, shit, man,” Kurt’s eyes widened, that familiar ironic grin creeping onto his face. “I had no idea you were that serious about this dude.”

Mickey’s gaze shifted to a random object on the ground, his body heating up at the weight of what he’d just admitted. He wasn’t used to opening up like this, especially about Ian. The thing was, he didn’t even fully understand what he and Ian were. They’d crossed a line that friends didn’t, but he wasn’t sure how to define anything beyond that. It was uncharted territory.

Sensing the silence, Kurt stepped forward and plucked the dying cigarette from Mickey’s mouth, tossing it over the balcony. Mickey’s blue eyes shot up, watching Kurt with quiet curiosity.

“Go meet him. Sex or not, doesn’t matter,” Kurt said, his tone softening a bit. “Seems like you missed him.”

And Mickey had. He couldn’t lie to himself about that anymore. Ian had been on his mind non-stop for the past two weeks, and the craving to see him again had only grown stronger. Mickey nodded, the decision settling in his chest. Whatever happened, he couldn’t just keep waiting.

“I'm gonna head back to the guys,” Kurt said, gesturing toward the living room where the bandmates were playing. Mickey nodded distractedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Before leaving, Kurt gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself.”

Mickey let out a slow breath, managing a small smile in return. Once Kurt was gone, he pulled out his phone again, his heart picking up speed as Ian’s latest message lit up the screen. It was ridiculous how much a simple text from Ian could get to him.

[3:44 P.M.] Ian: Yeah, my siblings are wearing me out. Why?

Mickey hesitated, debating his next move. Normally, he’d play it cool—act like it wasn’t a big deal. But this time? He wasn’t in the mood for pretending.

[3:45 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: i wanna see you

A quick reply followed.

[3:45 P.M.] Ian: Right now? Pretty sure you don’t wanna meet the little trolls yet.

Mickey grinned, amused by Ian’s response. A part of him wondered what it would be like to meet Ian’s siblings, but today wasn’t about that.

[3:46 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: just an hour

[3:46 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: i promise, you won’t regret it

He hit send and stared out at the falling snow, feeling the tension ease just a little. Mickey had spent two weeks thinking about Ian—he wasn't about to waste any more time waiting.

Mickey didn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzed just moments later, and he smirked as he read Ian's response.

[3:47 P.M.] Ian: Okay, I'll try to keep them busy for a while. Where?

[3:47 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: bleachers, be there in 20

Satisfied, Mickey locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. He glanced down at the kids still running through the snow below before turning back inside. As he entered the living room, he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Instantly, all three pairs of eyes from his bandmates landed on him, and the look on Kurt’s face was more suggestive than Mickey cared to acknowledge.

“Hey, uh... I gotta head out for a bit. You guys cool with that?” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of their stares. The three men exchanged glances, smirking before they all turned back to him.

Kurt leaned in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Take condoms with you.” Axl immediately broke into a laugh, trying to hide it behind his hand.

Mickey frowned, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Of course Kurt had told the others about Ian—it was Kurt, after all.

“Worry about your own ass,” Mickey grumbled, swatting Kurt on the back of his head, earning a playful grunt in return. Without further comment, Mickey moved toward the coat rack, grabbing his jacket. He wasn’t going to let them get under his skin, not today. He had better things waiting.

“Are you coming back?” Dylan called out from the couch, his eyes fixed on Mickey as he shrugged into his leather jacket.

“Yeah, give me an hour or so,” Mickey replied, tugging the collar up. He kept his tone casual, but there was an underlying urgency in his movements, his mind already halfway to the bleachers.

Dylan gave a nod and leaned back, clearly amused. “We’ll hold it down until you’re back.”

Mickey threw one last glance at the group before heading out the door, his heart beating a little faster with each step, knowing Ian would be waiting for him soon.

Mickey sat on the cold bench, his boots buried in the snow as he shoved his hands deeper into his fingerless gloves. The chill bit at him, but it barely registered. His mind was focused on the wait—on Ian. It didn’t take long before he felt a hand on his shoulder, the sudden touch startling him. Mickey turned, his pupils widening as he saw Ian standing there, a warm grin lighting up his pale face. His red hair stood out against the snow, gleaming in the soft light.

“Did I make you wait long?” Ian asked, tilting his head slightly. Before Mickey could respond, Ian casually brushed the snow off the bench and sat down beside him, their shoulders almost touching.

Mickey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Nah, just got here,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. Seeing Ian so close, the cold seemed to fade into the background.

Ian stayed silent for a moment, his breath catching at the sight of Mickey so close. The usual sharpness in Mickey’s features was softened by the cold, his pale cheeks and nose tinged red, making him seem far less intimidating than usual. Ian couldn't help but notice how different he looked like this—almost vulnerable.

“How’ve you been?” Ian asked softly, but Mickey only scoffed in response. Their knees touched, and Mickey leaned in closer, the distance between them disappearing. Ian could feel the warmth radiating off him, the familiar scent of Mickey washing over him, something he'd missed more than he realized.

“I ain't into small talk, freckles,” Mickey murmured, his warm breath brushing against Ian’s face, freezing him in place. The closeness, the way Mickey looked at him, made Ian’s pulse race, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“Yeah?” Ian finally whispered, his voice barely above a breath, eyes locking with Mickey's. The intensity in Mickey’s gaze made his stomach twist, a blend of excitement and nerves. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he knew whatever it was, he wanted it.

Mickey leaned in closer, his lips dangerously near Ian's ear. “You’ve been on my mind for two weeks, man,” he muttered, his voice deep, filled with something darker—something more than casual banter. He wasn’t playing around, and it sent a shiver down Ian's spine, though it had nothing to do with the cold. Mickey’s hand found its way to Ian’s thigh, his touch firm, possessive.

Ian swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest. He could feel Mickey’s breath, hot against his neck, as he spoke. “Missed ya’,” Mickey admitted, his voice quieter now, rawer. His fingers gripped tighter as though afraid Ian might disappear again if he let go.

Ian shifted, his breath catching again as Mickey’s hand moved, the touch igniting a warmth deep inside. “I missed you too,” Ian confessed, barely able to find his voice. The words came out almost on their own, the truth of them undeniable.

Mickey’s eyes flicked to Ian’s lips, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, without hesitation, he closed the distance between them, capturing Ian’s lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, intense—like all the weeks apart had finally crashed down on them at once.

Ian responded instantly, his hand gripping Mickey's jacket as he kissed back with equal intensity. The cold was forgotten, the snow beneath their feet irrelevant. All that mattered was the heat between them, the electric connection that sparked with every movement, every breath they shared.

Mickey pulled Ian closer, his hands now sliding around his waist, pulling him in as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss deepened, their bodies pressed together, and for that moment, nothing else existed. It was just them—no distance, no interruptions, just raw, unspoken need between them.

Ian's mind went blank as Mickey kissed him, the raw intensity of it overwhelming his senses. There was no room for hesitation or overthinking, just the feeling of Mickey's lips moving against his, rough but eager, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as Ian had. His body responded instinctively, pressing closer, his fingers gripping the leather of Mickey's jacket like a lifeline.

When they finally pulled back, both of them breathless, Ian's forehead rested against Mickey's. He could feel Mickey’s ragged breath against his skin, their chests heaving as they tried to steady themselves. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Mickey’s hands still clung to Ian's waist, like he wasn’t ready to let go, and Ian wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

Mickey swallowed, his blue eyes searching Ian's face as though trying to read his thoughts, to figure out what the hell to say after a kiss like that. “You good?” he asked, his voice gruff but soft, almost vulnerable.

Ian let out a breathy laugh, still feeling the tingling sensation on his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes flickering up to meet Mickey's. There was a question in them—something deeper, more uncertain. “You?”

Mickey gave a small nod, his fingers flexing slightly on Ian’s waist as though he was reassuring himself that Ian was still there, still close. “I’m better now,” he said quietly, his usual bravado stripped away. For a moment, they weren’t the tough guys they usually tried to be; they were just two people trying to make sense of whatever was happening between them.

Eventually, Mickey's hand drifted up to Ian's head, his fingers threading through the unruly red hair and tugging it gently. “You need a haircut, man,” Mickey teased, though the longer strands actually added to Ian's appeal.

“I don’t trust barbers,” Ian muttered, recalling his last disastrous trip to the salon. He wasn’t eager for a repeat.

“You trust me?”

Ian’s eyes widened, the soft touch, Mickey's gentle look, and the warmth in his voice almost making him melt on the spot. God, he really missed him. Two weeks apart had shown him just how much.

“Yeah, I do.”

Mickey’s lips curved into a faint grin as he pulled his hand away. “I'll take care of it before your show.”

“You know what you’re doing?” Ian scrunched his nose, though the smirk playing at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

“I’ve been to a hairstylist maybe once or twice,” Mickey admitted. Ian raised a brow, hardly convinced, especially with Mickey’s hair looking like a perfectly disheveled masterpiece. The glossy strands fell just right on either side of his forehead, while the rest was slicked effortlessly back. “Someone needs to take care of it.”

“You're really full of talents, huh?” Ian teased, tilting his head with a wide grin spreading across his face. Mickey, avoiding the attention, shifted his eyes away, trying to shrug off the compliment.

“Yeah, well, don't get used to it,” he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, but the slight flush creeping onto his cheeks gave him away.

The brief silence broke when Ian leaned in toward Mickey. Mickey half-expected another kiss, but Ian stopped just short, their eyes locking instead. Mickey’s stomach flipped. What the hell was it about Ian that made him feel like a lovesick teenager?

“I don’t have much time, but, uh…” Ian hesitated, tugging at his sleeves awkwardly. “Can we go to your place?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion before a sly grin spread across his face. “Looks like you got your confidence back in Chicago.”

“Shut up.” Ian exhaled sharply, his cheeks flushing as he looked away. “It’s freezing out here, and I just want to hang out with you before my family drives me nuts.”

Mickey chuckled, hopping off the bench and clapping a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Relax, we can go. My aunt’s probably not home anyway.” Ian’s face brightened at the prospect, but Mickey couldn’t resist pushing his luck. “You’re getting kinda romantic, though.”

Ian gave a sideways glance at Mickey, lips twitching as if holding something back. “You’re really pushing it, huh?”

Mickey shrugged, that familiar cocky grin flashing. “Can’t help it if you’re making it easy.”

Ian shook his head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through. “You always know how to run your mouth.”

Mickey's grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah, but you love it."

Ian rolled his eyes, but the smile he’d been fighting finally broke through. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.” Mickey wiped the snow off his boots, giving Ian a quick once-over. “Come on, before you start getting all sentimental.”

Ian snorted, standing up beside him. “Me? Sentimental? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Shut up,” Mickey shot back, though his tone was light, his shoulder brushing against Ian's as they started walking. “Let’s just get to my place before you freeze your ass off.”

As they walked side by side, the crunch of snow beneath their boots filled the quiet spaces between their casual conversation. Mickey kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, but every now and then his shoulder would brush against Ian's, and neither of them pulled away. The streets were nearly empty, with only the occasional car passing by, their breath visible in the cold night air.

Mickey’s place wasn’t far, but the short walk felt longer than it should have—charged with a sort of unspoken anticipation. Ian couldn’t help glancing over at Mickey every few steps, as if he needed to reassure himself that this was real, that they were still here together.

When they finally arrived, Mickey unlocked the door with a smooth motion, pushing it open to reveal the small apartment. It was modest, a little messy, but it had a warmth to it. Mickey tossed his keys onto the table with a clatter, shrugging off his jacket and motioning for Ian to do the same.

“So, uh…” Mickey began, wandering off to the kitchen and opening one of the shelves in search of coffee. Ian watched him with curiosity, wondering why he wasn’t already wrapping his arms around him. “You want coffee, or… my aunt’s got some weird teas, but I’m not sure if you’d want to try—”

“Mickey.” Ian interrupted, taking a few calm but firm steps toward the brunette, causing Mickey to turn and face him.

“Yeah?” Mickey raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to meet Ian’s gaze. The redhead stood inches away, the proximity igniting something electric between them. Ian’s demeanor had shifted, radiating confidence and a certain intensity that was hard to ignore.

Mickey instinctively rested his hands on the counter behind him, fingers curling around the edge as he struggled to calm the rapid beating of his heart. There was something about the way Ian looked at him, something that both excited and unnerved him.

Ian glanced to the side, making sure Mickey's aunt wasn’t around, then stepped even closer, narrowing the space between them. Mickey felt a rush of anticipation mixed with uncertainty. Before he could form a coherent thought, Ian’s hand moved to grasp his jaw, tilting his face up, and he closed the distance with a searing kiss.

Mickey's initial surprise quickly melted away, and he found himself responding eagerly. Their lips moved together with a natural rhythm, each kiss igniting something deeper. As their tongues danced together, a rush of heat spread through him, leaving them both breathless and craving more. 

Ian's hand slid around Mickey's waist, pulling him in until their bodies were pressed tightly together. Mickey let out a soft moan into Ian’s mouth, his arm wrapping around Ian’s neck as he pulled him closer.

Ian's fingers slipped beneath Mickey’s t-shirt, brushing against his skin, igniting a fire that made it hard for Mickey to think straight. He could feel his defenses slipping, but he fought to maintain a sense of control. Their lips finally broke apart, both of them gasping for air.

“I thought you said you didn’t have much time,” Mickey panted, trying to catch his breath.

“I don’t,” Ian replied, his voice low and heavy, the heat radiating from him palpable. “But I need to make up for being gone for two weeks.”

Mickey caught the intense look in Ian’s eyes, a promise of things to come that sent a thrill through him, making it clear that they were only getting started.

“Yeah? How exactly?” Mickey teased, his gaze drifting back to Ian's slightly parted lips, aching to close the distance once more. Just as he leaned in, he felt Ian’s hand gently pressing against his chest, urging him back against the counter.

“You’ll see,” Ian whispered, his voice laced with a promise that sent a shiver down Mickey's spine.

Slowly, Ian sank to his knees in front of the brunette, and Mickey’s breath hitched at the sight. The implication of Ian kneeling before him was clear, and it made his heart race.

“Look, man, you don’t have to—” Mickey stammered, his voice faltering, but Ian’s fingers were already curling around the waistband of his jeans, a confident smirk playing on his lips.

“You don’t want me to?” Ian asked, his eyes locking onto Mickey’s with a mix of challenge and desire.

Mickey's pulse quickened, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. He was torn between the desire to resist and the undeniable pull toward Ian’s intentions.

“Course I do,” Mickey breathed, his fingers gripping the countertop, the sharp edge digging into his palms as he tried to keep steady.

Ian’s smile was playful, his confidence radiating as he worked on unbuckling Mickey’s belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. The two weeks apart had been long, and Mickey had definitely fantasized about this moment—seeing Ian on his knees before him—but he hadn’t anticipated it would come to life so quickly.

As Ian’s fingers lingered over the zipper of Mickey’s jeans, he deliberately moved slowly, savoring the tension in the air.

“You sure your aunt won’t just waltz in here?” Ian asked, his tone teasing, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes.

Mickey’s face burned, heart racing as he struggled to keep his composure under Ian’s gaze. “If she’s gone, she won’t be back for hours,” he replied, though the thought of getting caught added an intoxicating thrill to the moment.

“Good,” Ian said, a hint of mischief in his tone as he lifted Mickey’s t-shirt, exposing the taut skin of his abdomen. He watched with a smirk as Mickey’s muscles tightened at the sudden attention. “Hold it up.”

Mickey obeyed, lifting his shirt higher without thinking. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what Ian was up to, he felt the warmth of Ian’s lips against his hips, trailing soft kisses along his skin that ignited a spark in Mickey’s core.

“What are you doing?” Mickey chuckled nervously, though a flush crept across his cheeks at the unexpected pleasure.

Ian’s lips moved lower, hovering just above the waistband of Mickey’s jeans. He glanced up, his green eyes locking onto Mickey’s with a playful intensity. “Did you do this with anyone else while I was gone?”

Mickey’s smile faded, and he looked away, the question catching him off guard. Heat surged through him, not just from Ian’s closeness but from the sudden wave of embarrassment. “No, I… I was too busy, I guess,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he felt the weight of Ian’s gaze.

Ian’s confidence glimmered as he focused on Mickey, and though he didn’t say a word, Mickey could sense every thought coursing through him.

With a deliberate motion, Ian pulled down Mickey's jeans, letting them drop to his ankles. He traced a slow path along Mickey’s thigh, his touch igniting a heat that spread through Mickey’s body.

“Hey, just relax. I’ll take care of you,” Ian murmured, his voice low and enticing. Mickey couldn’t help but feel a mix of annoyance and excitement at how easily Ian navigated these intimate moments. Each time they ventured into this territory, Mickey felt exposed and vulnerable, like jelly melting under Ian's warm gaze. It was wild to think that this was the same guy who had once shied away from even a simple kiss.

With deliberate slowness, Ian reached out, fingers brushing against Mickey’s skin. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through him. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” Ian murmured, his voice low and inviting.

Mickey nodded, breath hitching in his throat as Ian’s hand wrapped firmly around him, eliciting a groan that echoed through the quiet kitchen. Heat pooled in his core, and he felt a desperate need building inside him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Ian commanded, his gaze intense and unyielding. Mickey’s heart raced, but he fought the urge to look away. He met Ian's fierce green eyes, feeling utterly exposed yet exhilarated.

As Ian began to stroke him, his grip firm and skilled, Mickey’s body responded instinctively, arching closer to Ian’s touch. A rush of pleasure coursed through him, almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ian’s—those eyes igniting a fire within him.

“Just like that,” Ian encouraged, his voice husky with desire. Mickey could barely contain the sounds escaping his lips, a mix of pleasure and need that filled the space between them. Each stroke intensified the hunger growing inside him, and he found himself lost in the rhythm Ian was creating.

One of Mickey's hands gripped Ian's shoulder, his nails digging into the firm muscle as he silently urged him on. “Impatient, huh?” Ian shot him a cocky grin, his fingers expertly stroking the base of Mickey's arousal with deliberate slowness.

Mickey let out a quiet whine, a sound that betrayed just how desperately he craved more. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly, breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Every flick of Ian's wrist sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for too long.

“Fuckin’ two weeks, man…” Mickey breathed, his voice strained with need, the pent-up frustration finally boiling over.

Ian smirked, leaning in closer, his breath warm against Mickey’s skin. “Guess you really missed me,” he taunted, his strokes growing more confident, more deliberate. Mickey's body responded instinctively, arching toward Ian's touch, every nerve ending on fire.

“Yeah, I did,” Mickey admitted, his voice low and desperate. He felt himself teetering on the edge, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every movement. “Now stop teasing me.”

Ian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Mickey’s skin, before he leaned in, bringing his mouth to the tip of Mickey’s arousal. He pressed his lips against it, earning a desperate moan that reverberated through the small kitchen. The nails digging into his shoulder would surely leave marks, but Ian welcomed the pain, reveling in the way it fueled his desire.

With a teasing flick of his tongue, Ian wrapped his lips around the tip, savoring the taste before cautiously lowering his head further, the weight of Mickey’s cock resting heavily on his tongue. He could feel the heat radiating from Mickey’s body, the tension coiling tighter as he took him deeper.

“Fuck,” Mickey whimpered, his legs trembling at the sudden sensation, his head falling back against the counter as waves of pleasure surged through him. Each movement was deliberate, each flick of Ian's tongue sending him spiraling closer to the edge. The kitchen was filled with the intoxicating sound of Mickey’s breathy gasps, urging Ian on, begging for more.

Ian’s grip on Mickey's thighs tightened as he teasingly ran his tongue along the length, moving with slow, deliberate precision that had Mickey’s breath catching in his throat. Ian’s jaw moved in careful, controlled motions, his eyes flicking up to study Mickey’s reaction.

“Y-You’re doing it on purpose, asshole,” Mickey whimpered, his voice cracking with need. His hands shakily crawled up to Ian’s jaw, lifting his chin so he could meet his gaze. The sight of Ian, his red hair tousled, lips wet from teasing him, was almost too much for Mickey. He never would’ve guessed that something like this would have him falling apart so easily.

Ian’s lips curved into a knowing grin, and with a calculated slowness, he pulled Mickey’s cock from his mouth, not wanting to lose the sound of Mickey’s breathy, desperate pants. His fingers never stopped stroking, keeping the tension building between them. Then, with a confident glint in his eyes, Ian reached up, grasping Mickey’s hand and guiding it to the top of his head.

“Control it yourself,” Ian whispered, his voice dripping with seduction. The challenge in his tone made Mickey’s pulse quicken. His hand trembled as it found its way into Ian’s hair, ruffling the soft strands while the other gripped the counter for stability. Mickey’s breath came in sharp gasps, his heart racing, every nerve on fire as he took control, feeling the power shift between them.

Ian took Mickey’s cock back into his mouth, the warmth and pressure drawing a sharp, desperate gasp from Mickey’s lips. His head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as he waited, barely moving, his tongue teasing at the sensitive underside. It was clear he was leaving control in Mickey’s hands, and that realization made the man’s pulse race even more.

Mickey's breath came in ragged, uneven pants, his face flushed a deep red. His fingers tightened instinctively in Ian's hair, the weight of the moment hitting him harder than expected. He hadn't been in control like this in a long time. For a second, he hesitated, feeling the unfamiliar power shift between them. But Ian didn't seem to mind; in fact, the subtle tension in his posture suggested he was waiting for it, wanting it.

Swallowing hard, Mickey inhaled a shaky breath, then cautiously guided Ian’s head forward, watching as he took him deeper. The motion wasn’t forceful—it didn’t need to be. Ian’s willing movements sent a shock of pleasure through Mickey’s body, and his toes curled as he felt the pressure and heat intensify.

Ian’s hands rested firmly on Mickey’s thighs, giving Mickey silent encouragement, making it clear that he was enjoying every second of it. Mickey’s control was tentative, but with each careful motion, he felt himself sink deeper into the moment, pushing aside any doubts.

Mickey's breathing was ragged, each gasp and moan coming louder as he abandoned any attempt to hold back. His fingers tangled tighter in Ian’s hair, the sensation of Ian taking his full size into his mouth driving him closer to the edge. He could barely stay upright, his legs trembling as Ian’s grip on his thighs kept him steady. The sight of Ian on his knees, drool slipping down his chin, and those wide, admiring eyes looking up at him—it was almost too much.

“You sure you weren't… practicing back there?” Mickey’s voice was hoarse, broken up by panting and the constant stream of pleasure coursing through him. His teasing was thin now, more out of habit than anything. Ian didn’t answer—his eyes said it all. He wasn’t just doing this; he wanted it, fully present in every moment, his gaze never leaving Mickey’s face as he worked him over.

Ian’s tongue swirled expertly, sending electric shocks through Mickey’s body with every motion. Mickey’s hand guided him, but he couldn’t bring himself to use force. It didn’t feel right, even if every instinct screamed for more. The tension in his body built rapidly, his moans spilling out uncontrollably as Ian’s lips became swollen, and his grip on Mickey’s thighs left red imprints.

“I ain’t gonna last long…” Mickey managed to choke out, the words half lost in a desperate moan. His chest heaved as his body trembled with the impending release, every muscle taut as Ian’s relentless pace brought him to the brink. The heat, the pressure, and Ian’s unwavering gaze—it was all about to break him.

Ian kept his mouth locked around Mickey as the tension in Mickey’s body reached its peak. His tongue worked with skilled precision, swirling and dragging along Mickey's length, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Mickey’s gasps grew louder, more desperate, each exhale catching in his throat as the pressure in his abdomen coiled impossibly tight.

“God, Ian… fuck—” Mickey's voice was hoarse, his control slipping with each passing second. His fingers were buried deep in Ian's hair, tugging without meaning to, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His whole body seemed to hum with a dangerous, electric need that was just moments from snapping.

Ian, sensing Mickey was close, only doubled down. His jaw ached, but the raw sound of Mickey losing himself, the tremble in his legs, fueled him to push further. Ian hollowed his cheeks and quickened the rhythm, his hands digging harder into Mickey’s thighs to keep him steady as his mouth worked over every inch, lips tight, tongue teasing, relentless.

Mickey's hips jerked uncontrollably forward, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as pleasure shot through him. His body was no longer his own, his every nerve alive and on fire, all of it converging in the low burn in his core. His hand slipped from Ian’s hair to grip the edge of the counter behind him, the other still clutching Ian’s shoulder for dear life.

“Ian, fuck, I’m—” Mickey’s warning was cut off by a strangled moan, his head falling back, eyes screwed shut as the fire in his stomach exploded. His body convulsed, and with one last helpless thrust, he came hard, spilling into Ian’s mouth. Every muscle in his body locked up as the intensity of his orgasm ripped through him, leaving him trembling and breathless.

Ian felt it—felt the hot rush fill his mouth, heard Mickey’s helpless cries above him, and held on tight, riding out the wave with him. He swallowed without hesitation, his grip on Mickey's legs tightening as the brunette’s body shook violently. Ian could feel the tremors in Mickey’s thighs, his pulse racing under his fingers.

Mickey could barely stand, his legs weak and shaking as the aftershocks of pleasure racked his body. His breaths came in heavy gasps, each one shaky as he tried to catch his breath. He looked down at Ian, eyes wide, his heart still racing in his chest.

Ian slowly pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood, his lips swollen and his eyes dark with the same intensity Mickey felt. Mickey swallowed hard, his head spinning, barely able to process the moment, his hand still gripping the counter for support.

“Jesus, Red,” Mickey muttered, voice ragged, barely able to form the words.

Ian just smirked, that confident grin breaking through. He wiped a stray drop from his lips before meeting Mickey’s gaze, his voice low and steady. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

Mickey let out a breathless laugh, leaning back against the counter as his legs finally gave way, the intensity of what had just happened still coursing through him. “Yeah… you sure did.” His chest heaved, and his eyes softened, locking onto Ian’s. Despite the haze of pleasure still clouding his mind, there was something else there now, something unspoken.

Ian reached up, brushing a thumb over Mickey’s flushed cheek, his touch gentle now. Neither of them said anything for a moment, but they didn’t need to.

Mickey’s breath came in shaky, uneven bursts as he tried to collect himself. “So, uh… you staying, or…?” His voice wavered slightly, and he cursed himself for how wrecked he still sounded.

Ian couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips as he took in the sight in front of him—Mickey looking utterly undone, hair sticking to his damp forehead, his flushed face and pink lips slightly parted as he struggled to recover. Ian felt a surge of pride at the thought that he’d been the one to do this to him.

“I mean...” Ian glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at Mickey, his grin only growing. “I could go for some coffee. And maybe you should, y’know, put some clothes back on.” His tone was teasing, but there was no denying the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Mickey, still catching his breath, glanced down at his pants on the floor and flushed deeper, muttering, “You sure you don’t need help with that?”

Ian’s grin turned devilish as he leaned in a little closer. “Nah. Consider it payback for that time in the bathroom,” he said, his words sending Mickey’s mind spinning back to that particular memory—of him on his knees, and Ian in the exact same state Mickey was in now.

“Don’t worry,” Ian added with a low chuckle. “We’ll have plenty of time for more later.”

Mickey swallowed hard, still reeling from everything that had just happened, and the promise in Ian’s voice sent a rush of heat through him all over again.

Mickey’s breath hitched, and he gave a weak laugh, trying to regain some composure. “Yeah, well, you’re real considerate,” he muttered, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he glanced at the pile of clothes on the floor. His legs were still wobbly, and his mind was fogged, but Ian’s words—smooth and teasing—brought him back down to earth.

Ian leaned back casually, arms folding over his chest as he watched Mickey, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You need a minute?” He teased, knowing full well the effect he’d had on Mickey. His gaze swept over Mickey’s half-dressed state, lingering on his disheveled appearance with something close to pride.

Mickey scowled playfully, bending down to grab his pants off the floor. “Don’t get cocky. I’ll get you back for this,” he warned, though the heat on his face betrayed the sharpness of his words. He couldn't quite meet Ian’s eyes—still too aware of how Ian had just wrecked him.

“I’m counting on it,” Ian shot back, his grin widening as he pushed off the counter. He made his way toward the shelves, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he casually added, “Now, get dressed before your aunt actually shows up. I’ll make the coffee.”

Mickey grumbled under his breath, pulling on his jeans and giving Ian a sideways look. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Ian laughed, opening the cabinet and grabbing the coffee. “Oh, I’m hilarious. You’re just too busy trying to remember how to breathe.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, finally managing to pull his shirt back on as he stepped toward Ian. His body still tingled from the intensity of it all, but his usual cocky demeanor was creeping back. “You keep talking like that, and I might just have to wipe that smug grin off your face.”

Ian smirked, setting the coffee pot down with a clink. “Like I said,” he leaned closer, voice lowering to a husky whisper, “We’ll have plenty of time for that.”

Mickey’s pulse quickened again, the promise in Ian’s voice sending a fresh wave of heat through him. He opened his mouth to retort, but the look in Ian’s eyes stopped him. There was something dangerous in that grin—something that told Mickey this was just the beginning.

“Whatever, man,” Mickey muttered, feigning nonchalance as he leaned against the counter, watching Ian with a smirk of his own. “Just make the damn coffee.”

Ian chuckled, pouring the water into the machine, the sound of brewing filling the room. He glanced up at Mickey once more, his gaze lingering. “Yeah, sure. But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Mickey’s stomach flipped at the intensity in Ian’s voice, his mind already racing with the possibilities. “Good,” he replied, his own grin matching Ian’s. “Neither am I.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, get ready for a life-changing experience,” Mickey smirked, bringing the scissors dangerously close to Ian’s head. Ian glanced nervously at the mirror, uncertain if this was such a great idea after all. But seeing the excitement in Mickey’s eyes made him crack a small smile.

“If you screw this up, I’m suing,” Ian joked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

Mickey’s warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Relax, you’ll be fine. Now sit up straight.”

Ian obeyed, settling back in the chair, his eyes meeting Mickey’s in the reflection. There was something about the way Mickey looked at him—confident, steady—that made him trust the brunette a little more.

Mickey’s fingers began working through Ian’s hair with surprising care, the sharp edge of the scissors hovering just inches away from his scalp. Ian tensed, but Mickey caught the shift immediately, pausing to give him a sideways glance.

“You’re still nervous?” Mickey teased, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

Ian let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “A little. Just don’t make me look like a twelve-year-old, alright?”

Mickey barked a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m giving you the best damn haircut you’ve ever had. You’ll be thanking me for this.”

Snip after snip, the silence between them felt oddly comfortable. Ian kept sneaking glances at Mickey through the mirror, watching as the usual rough edges of his personality softened in the careful precision of what he was doing. It wasn’t just about the haircut—it was Mickey taking care of him in his own way.

After a while, Mickey leaned back, studying his work with a satisfied nod. “There,” he said, stepping aside so Ian could get a full look at himself. “What do you think?”

Ian blinked at his reflection, his fingers running through the freshly cut hair. It felt different, lighter, but in a good way. He tilted his head, examining it from different angles before finally breaking into a grin. “Damn, Mickey, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Mickey crossed his arms, a smug expression plastered on his face. “Told you I wasn’t gonna screw it up. You doubted me for nothing.”

Ian stood up from the chair, still running his hand through his hair as if to double-check it was real. “Yeah, okay, you win this round,” he admitted, his smile lingering. “But don’t let it go to your head. I’m still not convinced you’re a pro.”

Mickey scoffed, leaning casually against the counter. “Please, if I wasn’t a pro, you wouldn’t be standing there admiring yourself right now.”

Ian shot him a playful glare, but the teasing warmth between them was unmistakable. “Alright, maybe you’re not completely useless with scissors,” Ian teased back, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll give you that.”

Mickey’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he crossed his arms, watching Ian gather his things. “Well, anyway, you owe me now, mister,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Ian paused mid-reach for his jacket, turning to Mickey with an amused smirk. “Oh yeah? How much?”

Mickey stepped closer, shrugging casually. “I don’t want your money.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going but playing along. “Then what do you want?”

Mickey’s grin widened as he watched Ian fluster under his teasing. “I’ve got a few ideas, but... what’s your offer, precious?” The nickname came out smooth, that familiar cocky tone layered with amusement.

Caught off-guard, Ian ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, trying to play it cool. “I dunno,” he shrugged, meeting Mickey’s gaze. “Maybe I’ll take you out somewhere, after I deal with all this crap I’ve got going on.”

Mickey arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Take me out? Like a... date?” His voice was casual, but there was something playful in his eyes that made Ian’s heart race just a little faster.

Ian’s cheeks warmed, and he let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, I mean—treat it however you want. We could just... hang out, do something outside. You don’t have to—”

“Whoa, relax, freckles,” Mickey cut in with a smirk, stepping in closer until their shoulders nearly brushed. “I’m just messing with you. You wanna take me out? Fine. But don’t expect me to get all dressed up or anything.”

Ian chuckled, his nerves fading as he caught Mickey’s teasing look. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Mickey’s smirk softened as he leaned back slightly, his voice dropping a notch. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not into that wine-and-dine crap.”

Ian couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips. “Yeah, I figured that about you.” He took a moment, letting the comfortable tension between them simmer. The air felt charged with something unspoken, something that made Ian’s pulse quicken the longer Mickey stood close.

Although, Ian then glanced at his phone, his eyes widening in panic. “Shit, I can’t be late. Juana’s gonna kill me.” He scrambled to grab his jacket, already in a rush. “Sorry, Mick.”

Mickey chuckled, completely unbothered, as he leaned against the counter. “Relax, Red. You’re always in such a damn hurry.” His smirk softened a bit, more amused than annoyed. 

Ian paused, taking a second to calm down as he adjusted his collar. His eyes flicked back to Mickey with a small, hopeful smile. “Uh, will I see you at the performance?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. “You mean that artsy crap you’re doing?” But before Ian could react, Mickey’s familiar grin crept back, his eyes twinkling with a touch of warmth. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ian felt the tension leave his shoulders, his smile widening just a bit. “Good. I’ll look out for you.”

Mickey shrugged casually, but there was something deeper in his gaze. “You better. Maybe I’ll grab a front-row seat, make sure I get the best view.”

Ian chuckled, shaking his head as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, you do that,” he said, trying to sound casual, though there was a subtle warmth behind his words. The thought of Mickey being there, watching him perform, stirred something in him that he didn’t want to analyze too deeply. Not yet, anyway.

He paused at the door, glancing back for a moment. “Thanks, by the way,” Ian added, his voice softer now, like he was testing the waters of sincerity.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, his smirk still hanging on but less sharp, more curious. “For what?”

Ian’s eyes flickered to the mirror where his freshly cut hair framed his face, then back to Mickey. “For this... and, y'know, everything else,” he mumbled, as if he was trying not to make it a big deal but couldn’t hide the weight of it.

Mickey shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here before Juana chews your ass for being late.”

Ian let out a quick laugh, shaking his head as he gave Mickey a final look. “I’ll see you later,” he said, disappearing out the door with a lingering smile.

Once the door clicked shut, Mickey stood there for a moment, the usual bravado slipping away. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and frustration as he stared at the spot where Ian had just been. That easy, sarcastic banter they had—he could handle that. But this? The weight behind Ian’s gratitude, the way things felt more... real—it was messing with his head.

He glanced at the mirror, meeting his own eyes, a mix of exhaustion and something unspoken lurking behind them. “What the hell am I doing?” he muttered, barely above a whisper. Yet, despite the turmoil, the tiniest hint of a smile played on his lips.

Ian hustled into the college’s performing arts building, his mind still half on the conversation with Mickey. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors as students and staff rushed past, carrying costumes and instruments. The chaos of preparation filled the air, but Ian’s thoughts lingered on Mickey’s teasing smirk and the unexpected softness in his voice. He shook his head, trying to focus. Not the time for that.

He made his way backstage, where his fellow performers were already gathering. The familiar buzz of nerves and excitement filled the air, a blend of energy that always hit right before a show. Ian slipped past a group adjusting their outfits, making a beeline for his dressing area. His phone buzzed with a notification, but he ignored it, his mind too full of everything happening tonight—his performance, the crowd, the pressure to get it all right. And Mickey. Would he actually show up?

Ian pushed the thought aside as he set down his bag, pulling out his costume for the evening. A few other performers greeted him with quick smiles and nods, too wrapped up in their own nerves to say much. He changed in silence, adjusting the fitted shirt and straightening his jacket, stealing glances at the mirror. He looked good, better than he expected, especially with his fresh haircut. Mickey’s work, once again, flashed in his mind. Goddammit, focus, Ian.

As Ian finished getting dressed, one of the stylists approached, carrying a makeup palette in her hands. Ian sighed internally; he knew exactly what was coming. He never particularly enjoyed the process of having makeup applied, but he dutifully settled into the chair in front of the wide mirror. The stylist wasted no time, stepping in front of him with a practiced eye, scanning his face before starting to dust his skin with powder. She carefully worked to soften his freckles, blending them into a smoother, more polished look.

The quiet hum of the dressing room was suddenly broken by the sound of Juana bursting through the door. She was out of breath, her hurried entrance turning heads. Her long, flowing dress trailed behind her as she rushed in, a bundle of energy. “Hey, everyone! Sorry for being late—had a ton of crap to handle,” she panted, trying to regain her composure.

The room greeted her with scattered waves and smiles, but Ian just smirked to himself. “Thought I was the one running late,” he remarked, his voice laced with playful arrogance. His moment of smugness was cut short, though, as the stylist gently tilted his chin upward, correcting the angle for her brush strokes. He bit back another comment, letting her work, while Juana hurriedly got to her station.

Ian caught a glance of himself in the mirror as the stylist worked, feeling the odd weight of the performance looming closer. It wasn’t just the makeup or the costume—it was the stakes, the feeling that tonight had more riding on it than usual. And in the back of his mind, he knew exactly why.

“Ha-ha, hilarious. I’m never late—it’s a one-time thing,” Juana shot back, running a hand through her hair as she untied her tight ponytail. Her dark, curly hair spilled over her shoulders, turning into a wild, yet beautiful mess.

Before she could even adjust it, another stylist appeared behind her, fingers instantly working through the heavy curls with practiced ease, shaping them into a more refined, but effortless-looking style.

Ian glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Juana’s tired expression, but his attention was pulled back by the gentle yet firm nudge of the stylist. “Eyes on the mirror, okay?” she reminded him, her tone soft but insistent.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ian mumbled, his gaze flicking back to the mirror. As he stared at his reflection, the makeup nearly complete, an unexpected wave of nervousness washed over him. His heart pounded in his chest, faster and harder than before, the weight of the upcoming performance suddenly pressing down on him. He swallowed, trying to shake it off, but the feeling lingered, intensifying with each passing second.

As the stylist moved to finish the last few touches, Ian caught Juana’s reflection in the mirror. She was standing now, her dress flowing elegantly as she adjusted the final details of her outfit, her earlier rush replaced by her usual calm confidence. She caught his eye in the mirror and gave him a playful smirk.

“Look at you, all dolled up. Nervous?”

Ian scoffed, but his laugh lacked its usual bite. “Not at all. Just making sure I look better than you out there.”

Juana chuckled, tossing her hair back dramatically. “Good luck with that. I always steal the show.” Her teasing was light, but her eyes softened as she stepped closer. “You’re gonna be great, Ian. You always are.”

He nodded, grateful for the reassurance, but the knot in his stomach didn’t quite loosen. His phone buzzed again on the counter, pulling his attention. He glanced down, half-expecting another reminder from the stage manager, but instead, it was a message from Mickey.

[1:23 P.M.] Favorite Rockstar: break a leg, red. dont screw up ;)

Ian couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. He quickly typed a reply.

[1:24 P.M.] Ian: Thanks, Mick. See you out there.

As he set the phone down, Ian took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and excitement churn within him. This was it. The moment he'd been working toward, rehearsing for, stressing over for weeks. But beyond the performance itself, there was something else—something he couldn't quite put into words—that made tonight feel more significant. Maybe it was Mickey. Maybe it was the weight of everything happening all at once. Whatever it was, Ian couldn’t shake the sense that tonight was the beginning of something bigger.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the stage manager called from the hallway, the sound of her voice cutting through the noise.

Juana winked at Ian, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder before moving toward the stage. “See you out there, starboy.”

Ian stood, his pulse quickening as the reality of the performance set in. He smoothed his jacket, squared his shoulders, and took one last glance in the mirror. For a split second, his nerves flared again, but then he remembered Mickey’s words, the easy confidence behind them. Don’t screw it up. A simple tease, but somehow, it helped steady him.

As he made his way toward the stage, the bright lights already starting to flood the space, Ian took a deep breath. This was his moment. The crowd, the performance, the chance to prove himself—to everyone, and maybe even to Mickey. He could do this.

The curtain lifted, and with it, the weight of the night unfolded. All that mattered now was the performance, and Ian was ready to give it everything he had.

EARLIER

“Wow, it's huge!” Debbie gasped in awe, settling into her seat and kicking her legs excitedly. Fiona flashed an innocent grin at her sister before sliding into the seat next to Carl, close to the edge of the row.

More people started filing in, some looking distinguished and wealthy, while others seemed like friends and family of the performers. The stage was expansive, framed by a deep crimson curtain, with spotlights casting a warm glow across the room. Fiona could barely contain her excitement, eager for the moment her brother would step onto the stage.

Fiona cleared her throat, leaning in slightly toward the man beside her. "Excuse me, sir, are you... Mickey, perhaps?"

The stranger glanced at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, his pupils narrowing. For a second, Fiona feared she’d made a mistake. But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, easing her nerves.

“I am. Why?” Mickey leaned back in his seat, curious, though before Fiona could answer, his attention shifted to the two children beside her, their eyes wide with fascination. He instantly recognized who they were, and a flicker of pride flashed across his face.

“Are you Ian’s family?” he asked.

“Yes!” Debbie blurted out, only for Fiona to gently press a finger to her lips, reminding her of where they were. “I mean, yes, sir. Ian talked about you a lot.”

Mickey’s smile widened, amusement and a hint of something softer playing in his eyes. “Did he, now?”

“He said you play guitar! Can you play for us too?” Carl blurted out, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he locked eyes with Mickey.

Fiona shot her brother a disapproving glance. “Carl, you can’t just ask people that. We’ve only just met Mickey,” she scolded, her frown deepening as she saw the disappointment cloud Carl’s face.

Mickey chuckled softly, leaning in closer to make sure Carl could hear him. “Tell you what, kid. I’ll play whatever you want before you leave. Deal?”

Carl’s face lit up, his fists clenched in excitement. “Yes!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing with happiness.

Fiona let out a small sigh but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Thanks, Mickey. They don’t get to meet a musician every day.”

Mickey grinned, his expression softening at the mention of Ian. “Well, I used to not see an actor every day either, and look where we are now.” His eyes flicked toward the stage, pride evident in his voice. He was starting to like Ian’s family more than he expected—the kids were sweet, and Fiona, with her nurturing presence, felt like the heart of it all.

The connection between them felt easy, natural, and as Mickey leaned back in his seat, he realized just how much he was enjoying this moment—being here, with Ian’s family, waiting to watch him shine.

As the curtain lifted, Ian took center stage, his costume fitting perfectly with the elegant yet understated set behind him. The theater was quiet, a charged silence filled with anticipation as the scene unfolded. Ian, fully in character, drew in a deep breath, letting his nerves dissolve into the role. His face was set with determination, but beneath it all, there was a quiet vulnerability that immediately drew the audience in.

His lines came naturally, delivered with a raw intensity that felt authentic and powerful. The dialogue between him and the other actors was smooth, filled with tension and emotion that kept the audience on edge. Ian’s voice carried effortlessly through the theater, every word clear and deliberate, but more than just the words—it was the weight behind them that captured everyone’s attention. He wasn’t just saying lines; he was living them, embodying the struggle and triumph of his character in a way that felt deeply personal.

Mickey sat near the front, arms crossed but his gaze never wavering from the stage. There was no smirk this time—just quiet focus. He’d seen Ian rehearse a few times, but this? This was different. This was Ian in his element, owning the space, his presence filling the entire stage. Mickey’s pride was unmistakable, though he kept his expression casual, not wanting to give anything away.

Fiona and the kids watched with equal admiration, Debbie leaning forward in her seat, completely mesmerized by her brother’s performance. Carl, though quieter, had his eyes locked on Ian, a rare look of respect in his gaze. Fiona smiled softly, sensing how much this moment meant for Ian—and for Mickey, who sat beside her, watching Ian with a depth of care she hadn’t expected.

As the scene reached its emotional peak, Ian’s character was caught in a moment of internal conflict. The weight of the decision his character faced was palpable, and the entire audience held its breath as Ian delivered a heart-wrenching monologue. His voice cracked just slightly at the perfect moment, his emotions spilling out in a way that was so genuine, so real, that you could feel the collective shift in the theater. The audience was with him, hanging on his every word, immersed in his struggle.

For Ian, this was more than just a performance—it was an outlet. He had poured so much of himself into this role, and now, under the bright lights, in front of a live audience, he felt it all come together. He wasn’t thinking about Mickey in that moment or even his family. He was lost in the character, in the story, and it felt freeing.

When the climactic moment ended, and the scene transitioned to its quieter resolution, Ian’s character found peace, and so did Ian. His final lines were delivered with a soft, heartfelt tone, his expression filled with a mix of hope and resolve. The scene ended, and the audience burst into applause, the sound filling the theater like a tidal wave.

Ian blinked, the applause catching him off guard for a moment before he smiled, bowing alongside his fellow cast members. His heart raced, the adrenaline from the performance still pumping through him as the crowd clapped and cheered. He glanced toward the audience, searching. His eyes landed on Mickey, who met his gaze with a proud nod, a small but sincere smile tugging at his lips.

Fiona, Debbie, and Carl stood, clapping wildly, their excitement almost overwhelming as they cheered for Ian. Debbie was practically bouncing in her seat, and Carl looked like he’d just seen his favorite superhero. Fiona clapped steadily, her eyes filled with pride. Ian couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth at the sight of his family so excited for him.

As the applause finally started to die down, the curtain lowered, and Ian stepped off the stage, his heart still pounding with the rush of the performance. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to calm the excitement that buzzed under his skin. The performance had gone better than he’d imagined, and now, with the show over, the reality of it all was starting to sink in. He had done it. He had given everything, and it had worked.

Backstage was a whirlwind of activity, the cast and crew buzzing with the usual post-show energy. People congratulated one another, hugs and high-fives were exchanged, but Ian was only half-present, his mind still replaying the moments on stage. His thoughts kept drifting back to Mickey, wondering what he thought, if he was impressed, or if—

“Ian!” Juana’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts as she rushed over, her face lit up with excitement. “That was amazing! You killed it out there!”

Ian smiled, letting her pull him into a tight hug. “Thanks, Juana. You were incredible too.”

She stepped back, giving him a playful smack on the arm. “Don’t be humble, Red. You had the whole theater in the palm of your hand. Seriously, I’m so proud of you.”

Ian lifted his lips into a warm smile. “I didn't think I'd make it through that. It was a lot.”

Juana grinned widely, the pride evident in her expression. “You're one step ahead now, aren’t you?” Even though Ian knew she’d been just as incredible on stage—if not more—her support felt amazing. “Collins is probably in shock.”

Ian chuckled, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “Yeah, I bet she is.”

Juana glanced toward the entrance of the changing room and her grin widened. “Looks like you’ve got some fans waiting. Go on, we’ll celebrate another day.”

Ian turned and spotted his younger siblings, their faces glowing with excitement, and his older sister, who had never looked prouder. But there was no sign of Mickey, and Ian’s heart sank just a little. As he started toward the door, Fiona caught the flicker of disappointment on his face.

“Looking for Mickey?” she asked knowingly.

"Uh, you... met him?" Ian's eyes widened in surprise, glancing around as if expecting to see Mickey pop up somewhere.

“Of course we did,” Fiona scoffed, nodding toward Carl and Debbie, who were now completely distracted by the flashy costumes hanging around the changing room. “These two fell in love with him instantly.”

Ian smirked, already picturing Mickey effortlessly charming his siblings. “Right. So... has he left yet?”

Fiona rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with a grin. “No way, White Knight. Your Cinderella's waiting outside.” She watched as Ian's face lit up at the mention of Mickey, and then added, “He even promised to put on a little show for us, so get moving. We’ll talk about your star performance on the way home.”

Ian couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Mickey waiting outside? That was all he needed to hear. 

"Give me a second," Ian said, his voice steady despite the excitement bubbling under his skin. Fiona nodded, backing away with Carl and Debbie in tow, giving him the space to change out of his costume.

Ian wasted no time, quickly stripping off the stage clothes and wiping the makeup from his face with barely a glance in the mirror. His mind was already elsewhere—focused on the moment waiting for him outside. After exchanging quick goodbyes with his fellow actors and thanking the stylists, he rushed out of the building, barely aware of the cool evening air hitting his face as he stepped outside.

There, in front of him, stood his family, and next to them, Mickey. Debbie was engrossed in inspecting the leather bracelets on Mickey’s wrist, her small fingers curiously tracing the details while Mickey, in typical fashion, stood there unfazed, a smug smile playing on his lips.

Ian’s breath hitched for a moment as nerves tightened his chest, but he quickly shook it off, stepping toward the group. “Hey,” Ian muttered, his voice low but carrying enough weight to draw everyone’s attention. His eyes, however, stayed on Mickey’s.

Mickey glanced up, his smirk widening. “Good to see you here, Mick,” Ian spoke, a warmth spreading through his voice despite his attempt to keep it casual.

“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Mickey shrugged, the cocky grin never leaving his face.

Fiona, ever the observant one, narrowed her eyes at the two of them, smirking knowingly. “Alright, we’ll head to the car. You two can have your little chat.”

Ian nodded, grateful for the space. “Thanks, Fi. We’ll be right there.”

With that, Fiona guided Carl and Debbie toward the car, leaving Ian and Mickey alone under the dimming sky. The moment hung between them for a beat, unspoken words filling the space.

“So,” Ian started, breaking the silence with a half-grin. “How'd you like it?”

“You sure you're gay? That was an intense kiss.” Mickey snickered, a playful glint in his eyes as he referred to the scene between Ian and Juana. The kiss had taken everyone by surprise, including Ian, but somehow they had pulled it off perfectly.

Ian immediately felt his face flush with embarrassment, heat creeping up his neck. “That's called acting, Mickey,” he shot back, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the pink tinge coloring his cheeks.

“Kidding. You did good. Really good,” Mickey remarked, his casual tone carrying a weight that twisted Ian's stomach in the best way. “You didn’t seem as nervous as when you were practicing with me.”

Ian scoffed, feeling the tension in his body melt away. “That’s because I was waiting for you to crack up the whole time.”

“Me? Laugh? Never,” Mickey said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock sincerity, though his smirk betrayed him as a quiet laugh slipped out.

Ian smiled, the tension between them easing into something familiar and comfortable. He kicked a small rock on the ground, watching it roll away. “Thanks for doing it with me,” he muttered, glancing up at Mickey. "You really helped. If that wasn’t obvious."

"You'll thank me another time. Wanna go join them?" Mickey nodded toward the car, waving at Debbie, who was peeking out the window.

“Yeah, okay,” Ian muttered, but before Mickey could walk away, the redhead lightly grabbed his shoulder. “Mick, I, uh... I'm glad you came. It means a lot to me.”

Mickey turned back to face him, his usual cocky grin softening into something more genuine. For a moment, the tough guy front melted away.

“I wanted to come, freckles.” Mickey replied, his voice quieter, more sincere.

Ian’s eyes widened a little, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he just nodded, letting the moment hang between them.

Mickey’s fingers strummed the guitar strings one last time, producing an electric, echoing hum that hung in the air. With a final flick, he let his hand hover above the instrument, signaling the end of his impromptu performance.

He lifted his chin, only to be greeted by the sound of enthusiastic clapping from the kids, their faces lit up with excitement. Fiona joined in, smiling proudly.

“Told y’all he’s great,” Ian teased as he strolled over, holding two cups of hot chocolate for the kids. They rushed toward him the second they spotted the drinks.

“Shut up,” Mickey groaned, clearly embarrassed, as he looked around, trying to find something else to focus on.

“You are, Mickey. That was great,” Fiona said, leaning back on the couch with a grin.

Mickey’s lips curled into an unintentional smile, one that he didn’t seem to notice. But Ian did, and it sent a warmth spreading through his chest.

Resting a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, Ian spoke, “C’mon, help me out in the kitchen.”

Mickey lifted his head, frowning slightly as if unsure Ian was talking to him. But when he caught the glint in Ian’s eyes, he couldn’t resist. “Yeah, right. Comin’,” he said, playing along with a smirk.

Fiona didn’t say a word, but she could feel the sweet tension between the two men and decided not to intrude.

Mickey set his guitar down and followed Ian into the nearby kitchen, sending him a puzzled look. “What’s up?” he asked.

Ian rummaged through the shelves, pretending to look for something. “Nothing. Just wanted to spend some time with you,” he replied, casual but intentional.

Mickey scoffed, leaning his hips against the counter. “You’re terrible at flirting.”

Ian couldn’t suppress the smirk creeping onto his face as he pulled out a bowl, getting ready to make dinner. “You still haven’t left, though.”

Mickey’s lips softened into a smile, and he moved closer to Ian, watching him more carefully. “Your family’s cool. The kids are… something.”

Ian’s smile widened at the thought. It had been a while since he’d seen his siblings so genuinely happy. “They like you. A lot,” he said softly.

Mickey bit his lower lip, resting his arm against the counter as his eyes momentarily lingered on Ian’s mouth. He took a slow breath, his voice turning a little more playful. “Does their hot brother like me?”

Ian’s heart skipped a beat at Mickey's boldness. He held Mickey’s gaze, his smirk turning into something softer. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Mickey's gaze lingered on Ian, the mix of emotions swirling inside him—pride and something close to jealousy. Seeing Ian being admired by so many earlier had stirred something in him he couldn’t quite place, but it left a knot in his chest. Still, he couldn't deny how proud he felt watching the redhead shine.

He hopped onto the counter, gripping the edges as he silently observed Ian chopping vegetables, his fingers working with a kind of precision that drew Mickey’s attention. His breath hitched, and all he could think about was how much he wanted them to be alone.

Ian noticed Mickey’s stare and raised an eyebrow, “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Mickey leaned closer, his breath warm against Ian’s neck as he whispered, “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

Ian’s heart raced at the words, a flutter in his chest. He set the knife down and turned toward Mickey, their faces inches apart. “Well, I’m right here, aren’t I?”

Mickey smirked at Ian’s sudden boldness, savoring how easily the redhead could switch from shy to daring. “You know what I mean,” he muttered, his voice thick with the tension between them.

Their lips hovered close, the air charged with anticipation. Ian’s gaze flickered to Mickey’s mouth before he spoke, his voice low, “We’ve got all of tomorrow.”

Mickey’s grin widened, about to close the distance between them when Ian suddenly pulled back, turning his head toward the doorway.

“I see you, Debs.”

Mickey tensed slightly at the interruption, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward where Ian was looking. Sure enough, Debbie was standing in the doorway, poorly concealing a mischievous grin as she peeked in on them.

“Busted,” she giggled, folding her arms, clearly pleased with herself. “Just wanted to see if you guys needed help. Or, you know, a moment alone.”

Ian shook his head, unable to hide his smile. “Go hang out with Carl, Debs. We’ve got this.”

Debbie rolled her eyes but obliged, skipping back toward the living room. Mickey, still perched on the counter, exhaled sharply, clearly irritated but also amused. “Kids,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Ian returned to chopping vegetables, but the tension between them remained electric. Mickey hopped down from the counter and stepped closer, his voice low, “So... tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied softly, his lips tugging into a small smile. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Mickey pulled his jacket tighter as they stood outside an old, half-abandoned warehouse. The wind whipped through the narrow alley, biting at his skin, and he glanced over at Ian with a raised eyebrow. “You seriously dragged me out here?” Mickey asked, his breath fogging in the cold. “Didn’t know you had a place like this in mind.”

Ian smirked, his breath steady as if the cold hadn’t fazed him. “What, surprised?” he asked, leaning against the rusted metal door. “Figured you’d be up for something different.”

“Different, huh?” Mickey gave a dry chuckle, still trying to figure out what the hell they were doing there. He knew Ian wasn’t one for pointless outings, but this? A sketchy, frozen-back alley on a night like this? Mickey hadn't expected this from Ian, and honestly, that intrigued him.

Ian pushed open the door, the hinges creaking like they hadn't been used in ages. “Come on.” Ian nodded toward the dark stairwell, his eyes gleaming with that rare mix of determination and excitement. “I promise you won't forget it.”

Mickey hesitated, just for a second, before following Ian into the shadows, his curiosity getting the better of him. The place smelled like rust and forgotten things, but it had a weird charm—an edge to it that made his heart race just a bit. As they made their way up the narrow staircase, Mickey couldn't help but throw Ian a sideways glance.

“Didn’t think you had this in you, Gallagher. Thought you’d drag me to some bar, not—whatever this is.”

Ian's lips twitched into a grin, though he didn’t look back. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Mickey couldn’t argue with that.

They reached the top of the stairs, stepping into a wide, open space that was nothing like the dingy entrance below. It was still cold, the chill from the outside creeping through the cracked windows, but the room itself had character. Dusty old furniture was scattered around, and in the middle of the floor was a fire pit that had clearly been used before, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. The walls were lined with old, graffitied art in bold colors that seemed out of place against the broken-down backdrop.

Mickey’s eyes widened, taking it all in. “What the hell is this place?” he asked, genuine surprise lacing his voice. He hadn’t expected something like this—definitely not from Ian.

Ian shrugged, kicking at a loose piece of debris before heading toward the fire pit. “Found it a while ago. Not many people come here anymore, but it's got a vibe, don’t you think?” He knelt down and started messing with some old wood stacked nearby, clearly intending to start a fire.

Mickey couldn’t help but laugh, still a little thrown. “I thought you were the uptight one, man. What’s with the underground hideout vibe?”

Ian shot him a sideways grin, striking a match and tossing it into the pit. “Told you, I'm full of surprises.”

As the fire started to crackle, Mickey leaned against a pillar, crossing his arms. “So, you bring anyone else here, or is this some special thing?”

Ian glanced up at him, the flickering light of the fire dancing in his green eyes. “Nah. Just you.” His voice was casual, but the weight behind the words wasn’t lost on Mickey.

Mickey felt a slow grin spread across his face, that familiar swagger creeping back into his tone. “What, you trying to impress me or something, Gallagher?”

Ian stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands, and stepped closer to Mickey, that smirk still playing on his lips. “Maybe.” He kept his eyes locked on Mickey's, the tension between them building in the cold, fire-lit room.

Mickey scoffed at Ian’s sudden boldness, turning his attention to the crackling fire in front of them. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the biting cold of the winter night. He stretched out his hands toward the flames. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Ian stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes. “Used to go camping a lot as a kid—survival camps and all that.”

Mickey glanced over, genuinely impressed, though he hid it behind a smirk. He hadn't figured Ian for the outdoorsy type, but it made sense. That body didn’t just come from gym sessions, apparently. “So, not just an actor, huh?” he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

Ian ignored the comment, stepping around the fire, his boots echoing lightly on the floor as he moved toward the creaky staircase leading up to the rest of the decaying building. “Leave the fire for now. C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

Mickey kicked at a piece of loose wood, nodding toward the firepit. “You sure? Feels pretty cozy down here. Kind of a vibe, if you ask me.”

Ian turned, shooting him a crooked grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll come back. What I’ve got upstairs is worth it.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes but pushed off the wall, his curiosity piqued. “Better be good, Red.”

Mickey followed Ian up the stairs, the worn wood creaking under their weight. When they reached the top, Ian pushed open a rusted door, revealing a snow-dusted rooftop. Mickey’s eyes widened, taking it all in. The place was clearly old and neglected, with faded signs of people having been here before. But what grabbed his attention wasn’t the rooftop itself—it was the view. The streets below were lit up, cars passing through the snow-covered roads, trees wrapped in glowing lights.

“Holy shit,” Mickey muttered, walking toward the edge. He looked down, realizing just how high they were. Up here, the whole city looked smaller, like they were towering over the world below.

Ian smiled, stepping up beside him. “Pretty decent view, huh?”

“Dude, this is crazy,” Mickey laughed, kicking some snow aside before plopping down on the edge. “I can see everything from up here. How’d you even find this place?”

Ian couldn’t hide the satisfaction at Mickey’s reaction, a small grin tugging at his lips as he settled next to him. “Honestly? Just got bored. Didn’t really have anyone around, so I’d wander the city, find places like this. It was after I moved here, before I met Juana… kind of spent a lot of time on my own.”

Mickey shot him a sidelong glance, nodding. “Guess being a loner pays off sometimes, huh? This spot’s sick.”

Ian shrugged, but the faint smile stayed on his face. “Yeah, I guess so. Beats sitting in my apartment, staring at the ceiling. Figured this was a better view.”

Mickey nodded, his eyes drifting back to the city below them. “You’re not wrong. This place is… something else.” From up here, everything looked calmer, almost peaceful. The snow-coated streets seemed worlds away from the chaos they usually faced, with the city lights bouncing off the snow-covered trees and parked cars. It didn’t feel real.

Ian kicked his feet over the edge, the sound soft against the snowy rooftop. “Glad you think so. I figured you’d get a kick out of seeing things from up here.”

Mickey smirked, glancing at him. “You always think you know me so well, huh?”

Ian leaned back on his hands, grinning wider. “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey muttered, but there was something warmer in his voice. He took a deep breath, the cool air stinging his lungs but not bothering him much. Up here, with Ian beside him, it felt like time had slowed down for a bit.

Ian leaned back, his eyes lifting to the wide expanse of night sky above them. The stars were scattered across the inky blackness like silver pinpricks, and he squinted, as if trying to pick out a few constellations. “You see that one?” Ian pointed upward, his finger tracing an invisible line. “That’s Orion. The three stars in a row, that’s his belt.”

Mickey glanced up, barely registering the stars before his gaze drifted back to Ian. The way the firelight from the distant rooftop flickered on Ian’s skin, casting warm shadows against the pale backdrop of his face—it was impossible to ignore. Ian’s green eyes, bright with excitement, were so focused on the stars, and Mickey found himself caught up not in the sky but in the way Ian spoke about it, like it mattered. Like every flicker of light up there had its own story.

“And over there,” Ian continued, completely unaware of the scrutiny he was under. “That’s the Big Dipper. Kind of hard to miss, right? It’s part of Ursa Major, the great bear.”

Mickey shifted, propping an elbow on his knee, watching the way Ian’s breath fogged in the cold air as he talked. He didn’t give a damn about stars—not in the way Ian did. But right now, with Ian’s focus on the sky and his words soft, filled with awe, Mickey felt like he could listen forever. There was something almost innocent in the way Ian looked up, as if the stars were a temporary escape from all the crap in their lives.

Mickey’s eyes trailed over Ian’s features—his sharp jawline, the freckles dusting his cheeks, the way his hair, still slightly mussed from the cold wind, framed his face. The way his lips quirked into that small smile when he found another constellation, like he was sharing some secret with the universe.

“Yeah, I see it,” Mickey whispered, though he hadn’t bothered to look. He wasn’t going to admit that he hadn’t been paying attention to a single thing Ian had pointed out. Instead, his focus had stayed locked on Ian, as if watching him so deeply might uncover some hidden part of him that Mickey didn’t already know.

Ian glanced over, catching Mickey’s expression—softened, more open than usual. “You listening, or what?” he teased, nudging him lightly.

Mickey blinked, snapping back to the moment, and he felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m listening,” he muttered, trying to cover the fact that he’d been caught staring. “Never knew you were into stargazing.”

Ian chuckled, his eyes still twinkling as he glanced back up at the sky. “It’s not something I really talk about much,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Just kind of… grounds me, you know? Makes everything else seem less overwhelming.”

Mickey shifted beside him, his gaze trailing over Ian’s profile again. The way the firelight from below played off the sharp angles of his face made Ian seem even more intense, like the world around them was spinning slower just for this moment. Mickey wasn’t used to seeing him like this—calm, reflective. It made something twist in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Mickey said, his voice quieter than usual. “Not everyone needs the stars to feel grounded. Some of us just need… different things.” His words were vague, but his eyes never left Ian’s face.

Ian tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking toward Mickey as if catching the undercurrent in his words. He smirked, but it wasn’t teasing—just soft, almost understanding. “Different things, huh?” he asked, leaning back on his hands and looking at Mickey more fully now. “Like what?”

Mickey felt his pulse quicken under Ian’s steady gaze, and for once, the usual banter didn’t come as easily. He cleared his throat, glancing away briefly, his eyes skimming the rooftop before they landed back on Ian’s face. “Like this, maybe,” he said, quieter now, but the meaning was clear in his tone. “Being up here, with you. This… feels pretty grounded to me.”

Ian’s smirk faded slightly, replaced with something more serious, something more real. His eyes stayed locked on Mickey’s, the playful tension from earlier giving way to a deeper understanding. He shifted a little closer, just enough for Mickey to feel the warmth of his presence in the cold night air.

“You know, you’re kind of sweet when you’re not pretending to be tough all the time.”

“Shut up. Forget it.” Mickey turned his head, cheeks warming, his fingers gripping the edge of the rooftop a little tighter.

Ian smirked but let it slide. He reached into his bag and pulled out two beer bottles, handing one over. Mickey raised an eyebrow as he twisted the cap off.

“Beer? Didn’t think you’d come prepared,” Mickey scoffed, taking a swig. Ian’s eyes drifted to Mickey’s mouth, watching as a drop of beer clung to the corner of his lips before sliding down.

Ian bit the inside of his cheek, his gaze lingering on Mickey’s throat as he swallowed the beer. God, Mickey had no idea how effortlessly he affected Ian, drawing him in without even trying.

“What?” Mickey caught Ian’s stare. “Stop looking at me. You’ve got a view right in front of you.”

Ian chuckled softly, then reached out, his fingers brushing against Mickey’s chin to wipe away the droplet of beer. “You’re the best view up here.”

Mickey froze at Ian's words, a rush of surprise coursing through him. He hadn’t expected that kind of honesty, especially not now, not here. His heart raced, and he struggled to maintain his composure, a smirk fighting to break through his facade. “You’re full of shit, Gallagher.” he deflected, turning back to the view.

Ian’s smirk only widened at Mickey’s reaction. “Am I? Or maybe you just can’t handle a compliment.” He leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the moment more than he should. The space between them felt charged, and Mickey was hyper-aware of Ian’s closeness.

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered, trying to maintain his tough-guy demeanor. But inside, his stomach twisted in a way that was both uncomfortable and thrilling. He took another swig of beer, letting the cold liquid cool the warmth creeping into his cheeks. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I want to know you, Mick,” Ian said, his fingers inching between Mickey’s. The gentle touch sent a shiver down Mickey’s spine.

But as much as he longed to stay close to Ian, an instinctive defense mechanism kicked in, and he pulled his hand away. “I think you know enough,” he replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

Ian immediately withdrew, resting his hand on his thigh while the other tightened around the bottle. “What are we?” he asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

Mickey lifted his chin defiantly, his pupils narrowing, and he felt his lower lip twitch at the weight of Ian’s words. God, he didn’t want to answer that.

“Friends,” Mickey said, the uncertainty creeping into his voice. “But you don’t need to know my whole life to be my friend.”

“Right,” Ian replied quietly, the sudden chill settling heavily between them. He felt the weight of disappointment tugging at his heart, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected turn. Why did it feel so strangely sad to hear Mickey admit they were just friends? Friends didn’t sleep together and go on dates, did they?

“Fuck, all right, fine.” Mickey finally broke the silence, his voice sharper than intended. “What do you want to know?”

Ian paused, a small smile creeping onto his face at Mickey's willingness to engage. It was like a wall had cracked, allowing a glimpse into the real him. “You’ve never told me about your family.”

“You know my aunt,” Mickey countered, crossing his arms defensively.

“No, I mean… your parents. Where are they?” Ian pressed gently, his tone coaxing rather than confrontational.

Mickey fell silent, a tension settling over him as he hesitated. Talking about his parents wasn’t easy; it was the one topic he always skirted around. Yet, the tenderness in Ian's voice stirred something inside him, an urge to open up despite the fear that clung to him.

“I… I don’t really talk about them,” Mickey admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. He could feel Ian’s gaze on him, steady and encouraging. It was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind.

“Why not?” Ian asked, genuinely curious.

Mickey swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“They… They died when I was five in a car crash,” Mickey replied, his voice trembling slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions at bay. Ian felt a pang of regret wash over him at the sight of Mickey’s face contorting into a mix of despair and sorrow. Great job, Ian.

“Nataliya adopted me back then, but, uh… my siblings weren’t so lucky,” Mickey continued, the words heavy on his tongue.

“Your… siblings?” Ian echoed, his heart aching at the thought.

“Yeah, they got taken away by strangers to another state. Last time I saw them.” Mickey sighed, taking a sip of his beer, trying to drown out the hurt that threatened to bubble over. He pretended the painful urge in his throat didn’t exist.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Mick. I had no idea. I shouldn’t have—” Ian started, feeling like he had stepped on a landmine.

“You wanted to know,” Mickey interrupted, meeting Ian’s gaze with a stern but sad expression. It was a look that made Ian’s stomach twist uncomfortably. He hated seeing Mickey like this, vulnerable and wounded.

“I’m fine, seriously,” Mickey insisted, though the tremor in his voice suggested otherwise. “I just don’t mention it often, so it ain’t the easiest.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Ian said, flashing a weak, innocent grin that felt almost shy. Mickey couldn’t help but mirror it, the heaviness in the air lifting, if only slightly.

“Whatever, man. I’d rather listen to you yapping about stars than crying over the past,” Mickey snapped playfully, nudging Ian’s shoulder with his own, which earned a quiet chuckle from the redhead.

“All right then, so…” Ian began again, pointing to the sky as he started naming a few stars for Mickey. Though Mickey tried to focus, his attention kept drifting back to Ian’s face, the way the moonlight illuminated his features and the excitement dancing in his green eyes.

Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he had opened up about his family to anyone. Yet here he was, doing it with someone he’d known for such a short time. Still, there was an undeniable connection to Ian—one he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge but felt stronger than anything he’d experienced before.

As Ian continued to talk, Mickey found himself inching closer, their knees brushing against each other. He shifted again, allowing their hands to rest on top of one another. Ian shivered at the touch, and Mickey noticed him glance down at their joined hands. He shot Ian a confused, unbothered look. “What? I’m listening.”

Ian smiled tenderly, his gaze softening as he returned his attention to the stars above. Mickey’s heart raced as their fingers began to intertwine, a simple gesture that felt profound in the quiet of the night. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to savor the warmth of their connection, the intimacy blooming between them.

After a while on the rooftop, talking and enjoying the quiet, Mickey and Ian finally gave in to the cold. The chill had gotten too much, even with the fire keeping them company. Reluctantly, they left the abandoned building and made their way to Ian’s apartment.

As Ian unlocked the door, Mickey walked in first, already pulling off his jacket as the warmth of the place hit him. He let out a small sigh of relief, feeling the heat wrap around him like a cozy blanket.

“Where are the kids?” Mickey asked, glancing around the now-quiet apartment.

Ian shut the door behind them, taking off his coat and shoes. “Fiona took them this morning. They still have school.”

“Oh, right,” Mickey muttered, a touch of disappointment in his voice. “Didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Ian smirked as he moved toward the couch, eyeing Mickey with amusement. “I’ll tell them their favorite rockstar is all broken up about it next time Fiona calls.”

Mickey rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a small grin. He kicked off his boots and joined Ian on the couch, sinking into the cushions as Ian watched him with a teasing look.

“So,” Ian started, “movie?”

Mickey shot him a look, somewhere between disbelief and mock offense. “You’ve got an empty place, and that’s what you want to do? Watch a movie?”

Ian shrugged, still smirking. “Unless you’re hungry. I could whip something up.”

Mickey scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “I’m not hungry for food, Red.” He gave Ian a sideways glance, the implication clear.

Ian's smirk widened, catching the playful tone in Mickey's voice. He shifted a little closer on the couch, his knee brushing against Mickey's. “Oh yeah?” Ian teased, his voice low, but laced with warmth. “Then what are you hungry for?”

Mickey didn't answer right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He leaned in, closing the distance between them as he grabbed Ian's shirt, pulling him just close enough for their breaths to mingle. “Take a wild guess,” Mickey muttered, his lips almost brushing Ian's.

Ian's heart raced, the teasing between them quickly shifting into something more heated. He chuckled softly before giving in, closing the gap completely. Their lips met in a slow but deep kiss, one that spoke of the comfort and familiarity they'd built between them over the years.

Mickey’s hands slid up Ian’s chest as the kiss deepened, neither in a rush, just savoring the moment. The world outside, the cold, the conversations—they all faded into the background as they got lost in each other.

His lips never left Ian’s as he shifted onto his lap, straddling him with easy confidence. Ian froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, but soon his hands slid down to Mickey’s waist, fingers trailing up under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. The touch was careful at first, as though Ian was rediscovering something familiar yet precious.

Mickey pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, his lips swollen and cheeks flushed. “Take it off,” he muttered, nodding toward Ian’s t-shirt. Without hesitation, Ian tugged it off, tossing it aside.

Mickey’s eyes immediately took in Ian's pale chest, freckled along the shoulders, his muscles defined but not overwhelming. A grin played on his lips as his hands roamed over Ian's torso, as though he couldn’t resist tracing every inch of it. Then he leaned in, pressing his mouth to the crook of Ian’s neck, biting softly before soothing the spot with his tongue.

Ian’s head fell back, giving Mickey more access, his hands gripping Mickey's hips tighter. “Mickey...” Ian breathed, his voice rough and low, filled with something between a plea and a warning.

Mickey pulled back slightly, his breath hot against Ian’s skin, smirking as he continued to explore Ian’s body. “Yeah?” he teased, voice thick with desire, though his gaze was intense, as if checking to see if Ian was still with him.

“Don’t want to take it to the bedroom? I’m sure it’s way more comfortable than this,” Ian suggested, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. But instead of getting off his lap, Mickey ground against Ian’s thigh, purposefully igniting the tension between them.

“No,” Mickey replied, his voice low and confident. He grasped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off in one swift motion, revealing his pale chest, defined muscles subtly visible beneath the surface. “I like it here.”

Ian froze, his gaze locked onto the smooth, milky skin before him. He felt an intense urge to taste every inch of it, to map out the contours of Mickey’s body with his mouth.

“You can touch me, you know,” Mickey huffed, catching Ian’s intense gaze roaming over his body. There was something endearing about the way Ian couldn’t hide his desire. “I won’t bite.”

“You’re really cocky for someone who climbed on my lap first,” Ian shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.

Mickey snorted in amusement, then grasped Ian’s wrist, guiding his larger hand to his thigh and then to his ass cheek. Ian inhaled sharply, struggling to keep his eyes locked with Mickey’s as heat surged through him.

“I didn’t come here for you to drool over me,” Mickey whispered, his voice thick and enticing against Ian’s skin. “Do what you’re supposed to.”

Ian scoffed, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. Mickey’s arrogance and raw desire made his manhood twitch uncomfortably in his pants—something he’d never expected.

Licking his lower lip, Ian gave Mickey’s ass cheek a teasing squeeze before he turned his attention to Mickey’s belt. Mickey watched him, his gaze steady and hungry, as Ian’s pale fingers brushed over him, gentle yet eager.

“Wait,” Mickey murmured just as Ian unzipped his pants. He reached for something in his back pocket, and Ian’s curiosity piqued. Then Mickey pressed a pack of condoms between Ian’s teeth. “Hold it there, cowboy.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, both surprised and amused, his heart racing at the unexpected twist. The pack felt warm against his lips, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”

“Treat it however you want,” Mickey mumbled teasingly as he lifted himself off Ian’s lap, pulling his pants down and revealing himself in nothing but his underwear in front of the half-naked redhead.

Ian instinctively spread his legs apart, barely managing to conceal his erection through the fabric of his pants. The tension in the room crackled as Mickey’s presence filled the space.

Mickey’s fingers found their way to Ian’s zipper, but Ian’s instinct to take control was halted when Mickey placed a hand on his. “Let me.”

Ian complied without hesitation, lifting his hands in surrender as Mickey unzipped his pants. With a subtle lift of his hips, Ian helped Mickey pull the clothing down to his ankles, exposing the tantalizing outline of his boxers.

Mickey settled back onto Ian’s lap, pulling the condom from Ian’s mouth with a smirk. “You’re really obedient for someone who’s supposed to fuck me.”

Ian bit his lower lip, unable to suppress the growing evidence of his arousal any longer—not with just his boxers separating them. His hands gripped Mickey’s hips, and with a firm tug, he pulled the brunette even closer. Their crotches rubbed against each other, sending a wave of sensation through both of them. Mickey sighed softly, the friction igniting a fire between them, and Ian reveled in the heat of the moment, every instinct urging him to take things further.

His gaze locked onto Mickey's blue eyes, and Ian's fingers began to leave faint reddish marks on the pale skin beneath them. “You like that,” he remarked, a playful challenge in his tone.

Mickey grinned, his hand sliding up to Ian's jaw, his thumb brushing across the redhead's lips. “Yeah, I do.”

Their mouths met again, but this time with a fierce intensity that ignited the space between them. Ian's hands abandoned Mickey's hips, trailing down to grasp his ass, squeezing firmly. Mickey let out a soft sigh against Ian's mouth, instinctively arching his back as Ian's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear.

With gentle curiosity, Ian’s fingertips roamed Mickey's skin, nearing his entrance, but Mickey abruptly pulled away from the kiss, breathless. He caught Ian's wrist, pulling it out of his underwear. “No, don’t. I can’t handle any more teasing.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” Ian replied, a note of concern threading through his voice.

“I’m ready. Just… ready.”

“Ready? So you were planning—”

“Just shut up,” Mickey interrupted, capturing Ian’s lips with urgency. He lifted his hips, tugging his boxers down further. “You talk too damn much.”

Ian smiled against Mickey's lips as their bodies pressed together, feeling the heat radiate between them. A leaking, half-hard erection brushed against his stomach, and without thinking, he reached down, wrapping his fingers around it. The response was immediate—a shuddering gasp escaped Mickey’s lips.

“No, wait, fuck, I don’t want to come… not yet,” he murmured, his breath coming in quick, heavy bursts as he shifted again, determined to pull down Ian's boxers.

When they finally slipped free, Ian's hard length sprang into view, and Mickey's eyes widened with desire. Their bodies slid together, their lengths rubbing against one another, and Mickey bit his lip, trying to stifle any sounds that threatened to escape. But Ian craved every noise, wanting to hear how much Mickey enjoyed this.

Deciding to stop teasing, Mickey positioned himself directly above Ian’s erection, taking a moment to study the eager expression on his face.

“Need help?” Ian asked, his grip tightening on Mickey’s thigh.

“Stay… fucking still,” Mickey gasped, feigning annoyance at Ian's concern, but in truth, his heart raced at the thought of Ian’s care and attention.

Ian complied, his body tense with anticipation as Mickey guided the tip of Ian’s erection to his entrance. It took a moment, but finally, the head of Ian’s cock sank inside him.

Ian tilted his head back, a shuddering gasp escaping his lips at the sudden tightness enveloping him. Mickey trembled above him, a muffled moan escaping through gritted teeth as they began to connect in ways that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming.

“Fuck, Mickey… you’re so tight…” Ian gasped, pleasure coursing through him as his fingertips dug into Mickey's thighs.

Mickey’s hand found its way to Ian’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as he focused on lowering himself onto Ian’s length. With each inch, he fought to adjust, the sensation overwhelming yet intoxicating. As half of Ian’s cock sank inside him, a pleasured moan escaped Mickey’s lips, echoing in the room and igniting Ian's desire even further.

God, Mickey felt incredible—too incredible. His walls constricted around Ian, enveloping him completely and making it hard for Ian to think of anything else. It was as if their bodies were made for this moment, perfectly fit together.

“God…” Mickey groaned, finally sinking down fully onto Ian’s hips, breathing heavily as he settled against him.

Ian swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. The overwhelming sensations left him breathless, each pulse of his body harmonizing with the tight warmth surrounding him. He could feel the heat radiating from Mickey, and it drove him wild, making him crave more than he ever thought possible.

“You okay?” Ian asked, his voice a mix of concern and desire.

Mickey lifted his gaze to meet Ian's intense blue eyes, swirling with a myriad of emotions. There was an insatiable hunger in them that made his stomach flip.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Mickey gasped, struggling to adjust to Ian’s size. “Who the fuck gave you this thing?”

Ian flashed a cocky grin, inching closer to Mickey and brushing his lips against his neck. “It fits you, and that’s what matters.”

A soft, involuntary noise escaped Mickey’s lips, and he fought to suppress it. He lifted his hips slowly, cautiously, feeling Ian’s arms wrap protectively around his waist. Breathing heavily, Mickey dropped himself down again, a louder moan escaping him this time.

Ian’s grip tightened as he whispered, “Jesus fucking Christ,” his breath hot against Mickey’s skin.

Mickey adjusted to Ian's size, doing his best to find a rhythm atop him. Each movement brought a new wave of pleasure, filling him entirely one moment and leaving him craving more the next. His moans deepened, and he dug his nails into Ian's back, desperately seeking something to hold onto.

Ian pressed his lips to Mickey's shoulder, sucking and leaving reddish marks on his pale skin. The pleasure coursing through them both was almost overwhelming. “You’re so fucking hot, Mickey…” Ian groaned, trailing his mouth down to Mickey’s chest. When Ian’s lips wrapped around his nipple, Mickey threw his head back, surrendering completely to the sensations washing over him.

Mickey's back arched at the sensation, the heat radiating from Ian's mouth sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout his body. Ian’s tongue flicked against his sensitive nipple, and Mickey gasped, every nerve ending alight with need.

“God, don’t stop,” Mickey panted, his voice strained with desire. His hips rolled instinctively, seeking that perfect friction against Ian’s length, feeling every inch of him pressed tightly against his walls.

Ian’s hands explored Mickey’s body, moving from his waist to his back, pulling him closer. “You like that?” he murmured, the words vibrating against Mickey’s skin.

“Yeah,” Mickey breathed, his voice almost a whimper. “Just… keep going.”

With renewed vigor, Ian’s lips traveled back up to Mickey’s neck, planting soft kisses along the way. As Mickey’s breath quickened, he began to move faster, riding Ian with urgency, chasing that building pressure deep within him. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with their heavy breaths and muffled moans.

“Mickey…” Ian groaned, the pleasure evident in his voice. “You feel incredible.”

Ian's hands roamed over Mickey's body, finally settling at his ass, where he spread him apart and lost himself in the tightness that enveloped him. Mickey quickened his movements, breathless and slick with sweat from the exertion.

With each thrust, Mickey felt a rush of heat coursing through him, his body instinctively responding to the pleasure building within. He leaned back slightly, allowing Ian deeper access, relishing the way their bodies melded together. The feeling of Ian filling him, stretching him, sent waves of ecstasy rippling through him.

“Mmm, just like that,” Mickey gasped, his voice shaky as he dug his nails into Ian’s shoulders, urging him on. Ian’s grip on his waist tightened, guiding him as he moved in and out, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through Mickey’s body. The heat of Ian’s skin against his was intoxicating, fueling his desire.

Ian couldn’t get enough of the sight before him: Mickey, lost in bliss, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted in a breathy sigh. It drove him wild. “You feel so fucking good,” Ian murmured, pressing kisses along Mickey’s neck, each one igniting a fire within him. He could feel himself getting lost in the moment, the world outside fading away as he focused solely on Mickey.

Mickey tilted his head back, surrendering to the sensations washing over him. The way Ian filled him, the slick sound of skin against skin—it was all too much, and yet, he craved more. He pushed himself down harder, urging Ian to go deeper, chase that peak of pleasure that seemed just out of reach.

“Please, Ian,” Mickey gasped, his voice thick with urgency. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

Ian’s breath hitched at Mickey’s words, and he obliged, thrusting deeper and faster, his body moving instinctively in tune with Mickey’s desires. “You’ve got it, Mick,” he whispered, his voice a low growl as he reveled in the feeling of Mickey’s tightness around him.

Mickey moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the apartment, lost in the rhythm they had created together. He felt the tension building within him, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, each thrust sending electric shocks through his body. “Yes, just like that,” he encouraged, his hands exploring Ian’s back, tracing the muscles as he pulled him closer.

Ian couldn’t help but smile at Mickey’s enthusiasm. “You’re incredible,” he said breathlessly, and the sincerity in his voice made Mickey’s heart flutter. He leaned down, capturing Mickey’s lips in a heated kiss, their tongues dancing together as they lost themselves in the moment.

Mickey broke the kiss, panting heavily, the intensity of their connection nearly overwhelming him. “Ian, I—” His words were cut off by a particularly deep thrust that had him seeing stars. “Don’t stop!” he cried out, his voice filled with desperation.

Ian obliged, his thrusts becoming more fervent, matching the rhythm of Mickey’s desperate movements. He could feel Mickey tightening around him, a sure sign that they were both nearing the edge. “Let go for me, Mickey,” Ian urged, his voice low and sultry. “I want to feel you come.”

“Not yet,” Mickey gasped, surprising himself with his own determination. He lifted himself slightly, adjusting the angle, and began to move against Ian, taking control. “I want to feel you too,” he said, his voice thick with desire. He gripped Ian’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his rhythm, their bodies a tangle of heat and need.

Mickey began to rise and fall, taking Ian fully with each motion, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He could feel Ian’s length filling him deeper, and the friction sent sparks of pleasure coursing through him.

“Fuck, Mickey…” Ian groaned, his hands gripping Mickey’s waist tighter, guiding him as he pushed up into him. “You’re amazing.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Mickey taunted, his breath coming in quick bursts as he increased his pace, riding Ian with a newfound fervor. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with their heavy breaths and muffled moans.

Ian couldn’t contain the pleasure coursing through him, and he began to thrust up to meet Mickey’s movements, his body responding to the rhythm. He could feel the tension building, the familiar tightness coiling low in his stomach. “You’re so gorgeous,” he gasped, lost in the moment.

With a sudden surge of desire, Ian flipped them over, taking control and pinning Mickey beneath him. He held Mickey’s hips firmly as he began to thrust into him, deeper and harder. “How’s this?” Ian asked, his voice gruff with lust.

Mickey gasped, the change in position adding a new dimension to their pleasure. “So good,” he moaned, his back arching as Ian found a rhythm that sent him soaring. “Just like that, Red. Don’t stop!”

Ian’s heart raced as he pushed deeper, each thrust met with the delicious tightness of Mickey’s body. He watched Mickey’s face, each expression of pleasure driving him wild. “You’re beautiful when you’re like this,” he murmured, leaning down to capture Mickey’s lips in another passionate kiss.

Their mouths moved together as Ian’s thrusts grew more urgent, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the apartment. Mickey’s hands tangled in Ian’s hair, pulling him closer as the pleasure continued to build. “I’m so close,” Mickey gasped, feeling the tension mount higher and higher.

“Let go, I want to feel you come,” Ian urged, his voice barely above a whisper as he pressed deeper into Mickey, their bodies slick with sweat and desire.

With one final thrust, Mickey felt the world tilt beneath him. “Ian! I can’t—” he cried out, pleasure crashing over him like a wave, washing away everything else as he surrendered to the sensation.

Ian’s grip on Mickey tightened as he felt the warmth of Mickey’s release around him, the sensation pushing him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he let go, filling Mickey completely as he rode out his orgasm, the two of them lost in the throes of ecstasy.

They collapsed against each other, panting and spent, their bodies still intertwined as they basked in the afterglow. Ian held Mickey close, their foreheads resting against each other as they caught their breath, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.

As the tension from their bodies gradually faded, Ian collapsed forward, bracing himself on his forearms so as not to crush Mickey beneath him. Their chests rose and fell together, still catching their breath, the air heavy with the lingering heat of their passion. Ian's face was inches from Mickey’s, their eyes half-lidded but locked on each other, both men completely drained yet unwilling to pull away.

Ian blinked as he came back to his senses, his weight still pressing Mickey gently into the sofa cushions. His breathing slowed, and with it, came a realization. He pressed his forehead to Mickey’s, his voice a soft, exhausted murmur. “The condom... Hold on.”

Mickey, lying beneath him, gave a breathless chuckle, his chest rising and falling against Ian’s. “You really care about that right now?” he teased, though his voice was just as winded. He ran a hand lazily over Ian’s back, feeling the muscles there relax.

“Yeah... I care.” Ian huffed softly, still a little breathless. He carefully lifted himself off Mickey, trying not to disrupt the closeness between them too much, and reached down to remove the condom, being cautious with it. Mickey watched him with a lazy smirk, amused by how serious Ian looked in the afterglow.

Once the condom was discarded, Ian returned to Mickey’s side, flipping them back around so they were lying together on the sofa. Ian pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch, covering both of them as he draped an arm around Mickey’s waist. The soft fabric felt cool against their heated skin, and it sent a small shiver down Mickey’s spine.

“Better?” Mickey teased, shifting a little as he cuddled closer into Ian’s chest, appreciating the warmth and the solidness of Ian’s body against his own.

Ian grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to Mickey’s temple. “Much.” His voice was a low, satisfied rumble, his hand moving gently up and down Mickey’s back in soothing strokes. He felt the brunette relax against him, and a sense of peace washed over them both.

For a few minutes, they simply lay there in the silence, listening to the muffled sounds of the city outside, the distant hum of cars passing by and the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. The warmth from their bodies combined with the blanket created a small, intimate world on that sofa, where nothing else mattered but the comfort they found in each other.

“You alright?” Ian asked softly after a moment, his lips close to Mickey’s ear as he pressed a kiss there. “Not too sore?”

Mickey gave a quiet snort, though there was a softness in his eyes as he looked up at Ian. “I'm fine. Better than fine,” he admitted, his voice a bit hoarse but filled with contentment. “Don’t start getting all soft on me now, Red.” Despite the teasing tone, Mickey’s hand drifted up to cup Ian’s cheek, brushing a thumb along his jaw in an unspoken gesture of gratitude.

Ian smiled at that, his heart swelling with affection. “I’m just making sure,” he murmured, leaning into the touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he soaked in the closeness. “That was... incredible.”

Mickey smirked. “Yeah, I know. I’m amazing,” he muttered, though his cockiness was softened by the quiet satisfaction in his voice. His fingers slid into Ian's hair, lazily playing with it as they lay together.

Ian chuckled, leaning down to capture Mickey’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss. This kiss was different—slower, tender, filled with an intimacy that wasn’t about heat or passion but about connection and care. Mickey responded to it, his free hand running down Ian’s side, holding him close.

After breaking the kiss, Ian shifted to lie more comfortably beside Mickey, their legs tangling together under the blanket. “How about we take a shower after this?” Ian suggested, his fingers now tracing slow, lazy circles on Mickey’s hip.

Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, already feeling the post-sex haze pulling him into a light doze. “You and your showers,” he muttered, half-joking but clearly too comfortable to move just yet. “Can’t we just lie here a bit longer?”

Ian smiled softly, pressing another kiss to Mickey's temple. “Yeah, we can,” he murmured, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Mickey and pulling him closer. “No rush.”

They lay there for a while longer, their breathing synced, hearts gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. Mickey rested his head on Ian’s chest, listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat. Ian, in turn, ran his fingers lazily through Mickey’s dark hair, letting the quiet settle around them. The exhaustion from their session caught up with them both, but neither wanted to fully fall asleep just yet.

“Ian...” Mickey’s voice broke the silence after a few moments, quieter now, as if the weight of the moment was finally sinking in.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” The word hung in the air, heavier than it sounded, as Mickey shifted slightly to look up at Ian. His eyes softened, a rare vulnerability showing in the way he spoke, in the way he held Ian’s gaze.

Ian’s heart fluttered at the simple word, but he knew it carried more meaning than Mickey let on. “For what?”

“For... I dunno. For giving a shit,” Mickey muttered, trying to brush it off casually, but the sincerity behind it was clear. He wasn’t good at expressing it, but in this quiet moment, he wanted Ian to know.

Ian’s chest tightened with affection, and he gently kissed Mickey’s forehead once again. “I’ll always give a shit about you, Mick.” His voice was soft, steady, and filled with the weight of his feelings.

Mickey didn’t respond right away, but he nestled closer into Ian’s embrace, his body relaxing completely against him. The words didn’t need to be said aloud—Mickey understood. He always did.

After a few more quiet minutes, Ian gently nudged Mickey. “C'mon, let’s get cleaned up before we fall asleep here.” His voice was soft, but there was a playful undertone to it. “You can’t tell me you want to sleep all sweaty.”

Mickey grumbled but eventually relented, pushing himself off Ian and grabbing the blanket to wrap around himself. “Alright, but you’re doing the heavy lifting.” He stood, still a little wobbly on his feet, and Ian got up beside him, pulling him nearer by the waist to keep the man steady.

Once inside, Ian turned on the shower, letting the warm water steam up the small space. Mickey leaned against the sink, watching Ian with a half-smile, appreciating the way Ian cared for him in these small moments.

They stepped under the water together, Ian’s hands immediately reaching for the soap. He lathered it up in his hands and then began to gently wash Mickey’s body, his touch soft and deliberate. Mickey closed his eyes, letting Ian take care of him, enjoying the feel of Ian’s hands massaging away the tension in his muscles.

“You take this whole aftercare thing seriously, don’t you?” Mickey mumbled, though there was no bite to his words—just quiet appreciation.

Ian chuckled, his fingers tracing along Mickey’s back. “You deserve it.”

Mickey didn’t argue, instead leaning back into Ian’s touch, allowing himself to be taken care of, even if just for a little while. When they finished washing, Ian grabbed a towel, wrapping Mickey up in it first before drying himself off.

Back in the living room, they curled up together on the sofa again, this time under the comfort of fresh blankets. Mickey was tucked securely against Ian’s chest, the weight of the day and their intense session pulling him into the comfort of sleep.

“Mickey?” Ian whispered.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded softly, his hand gently running through Ian’s hair.

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?”

Mickey smiled, even though he tried to conceal it. “I will.”

With that, they drifted off into a peaceful sleep, still tangled in each other’s warmth, knowing they were exactly where they belonged.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered into the room, soft and muted as it kissed Ian’s eyelids. He stirred beneath the tangled sheets, his limbs heavy with the satisfying ache of the night before. For a brief, blissful moment, he lay in the haze of sleep, the warmth of the previous night’s passion still lingering in his muscles. But as his eyes blinked open, that warmth was quickly replaced by a cold dread that settled in his chest.

The other side of the bed was empty.

Ian’s heart sank. The sheets were cool to the touch, confirming what he already suspected. Mickey was gone. Ian’s stomach twisted as the familiar disappointment crept in—the kind he hadn’t wanted to admit he was still bracing for, even after everything they’d shared. Last night had been intense, intimate even, and Mickey had stayed after... but maybe it hadn’t been enough. Maybe Mickey was always going to be the guy who couldn’t stick around, no matter how real things felt in the moment.

Ian sighed, running a hand through his disheveled red hair as he stared at the empty space beside him. He should’ve known better. Mickey had warned him, hadn’t he? And yet, Ian had let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, Mickey was starting to change, that he wanted more than just sex.

The feeling of rejection stung harder than it should’ve. Ian sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room felt too quiet now, the distant sounds of life outside only amplifying the loneliness that suddenly crept in. He hadn’t even heard Mickey leave. Ian glanced around, noticing that Mickey’s clothes were gone from the floor. He was really gone.

For a moment, Ian considered just laying back down, hiding under the covers until the disappointment faded. But he couldn’t—there was something about this time that felt different, that felt like maybe Mickey had wanted to stay but just didn’t know how.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ian muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles. It wasn’t the first time Mickey had left without a word, but last night had felt like a turning point. Ian had let himself believe it had been something more than just another hookup. Maybe he’d just read too much into it, let himself get too attached.

As he padded towards the small bathroom to splash some water on his face, he noticed something odd—the faint smell of something cooking. Bacon? Eggs?

Ian frowned, his confusion growing as he stepped out into the hallway and followed the scent. His dorm room wasn’t big, so it didn’t take long before he reached the kitchen area. He froze at the sight in front of him.

Mickey, clad in his pants loosely hanging on his hips, was standing at the stove. His hair was still messy, sticking up in every direction, and he had a concentrated look on his face as he moved a spatula around in a pan, the smell of sizzling bacon filling the room. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast was already set on the small table by the window, a cup of coffee steaming beside it.

Ian blinked, momentarily stunned into silence.

Mickey looked up at that moment, his gaze flicking to Ian as he stood there, dumbfounded in the doorway. For a second, Mickey’s expression hardened, like he was waiting for some smartass comment. But then he shrugged, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Figured you’d be hungry,” Mickey muttered, turning back to the stove to flip the bacon.

Ian just stood there, staring at him, his brain trying to catch up with what was happening. Mickey. Cooking. In his kitchen. The same Mickey who would usually bolt right after sex. The same Mickey who pretended he didn’t care about anything beyond the physical.

“I... uh...” Ian struggled to find the words, still processing the fact that Mickey hadn’t left. He wasn’t sure what to say, but the knot that had formed in his chest when he thought Mickey had left was quickly unraveling. “I didn’t expect this.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow without looking back. “What? Thought I’d just take off, huh?” His voice was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something vulnerable, though Mickey tried to hide it.

Ian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “I mean... yeah. You wanted to last time.”

Mickey let out a low snort, finally turning around to face Ian. “Well, maybe I’m full of surprises, freckles. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like dealing with your sad puppy face this morning.”

Ian couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, though there was still a flicker of disbelief in his chest. He stepped closer, leaning against the counter as he watched Mickey pour the cooked bacon onto a plate. “Seriously though,” Ian said more softly, his tone sincere, “I didn’t think you’d stay.”

Mickey glanced at him, his expression guarded but not as closed-off as usual. He wiped his hands on a dish towel before sitting down at the small table, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Yeah, well. Here I am.”

The simplicity of the statement hit Ian harder than he expected. He was still getting used to Mickey showing up in ways that weren’t just about sex. Sitting down across from Mickey, Ian reached for the toast, still watching him closely, like he was afraid this was all some kind of dream.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the sound of utensils against plates filling the small space. Mickey kept his head down, focused on his food, and Ian could tell he wasn’t used to this kind of domesticity—this kind of intimacy outside of the bedroom. It was awkward, but not in a bad way. More like they were both figuring out what the hell this was, together.

Finally, Ian couldn’t take it anymore. He set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on Mickey. “You know you didn’t have to do this, right?”

Mickey looked up from his plate, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I know,” he said gruffly, stabbing at his eggs. “I just... wanted to.”

Ian’s heart skipped a beat at the quiet admission. He could see how much effort it took for Mickey to stay, to do something as simple as making breakfast after a night like the one they’d had. It was Mickey’s way of saying something he couldn’t quite bring himself to say out loud yet—his way of telling Ian that he was trying. That he wanted this, too.

“Thanks,” Ian said softly, his voice filled with more meaning than just gratitude for the food.

Mickey shrugged like it was no big deal, but Ian didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed just a little, like some of the tension had eased. “Don’t get used to it,” Mickey muttered, though the edge in his voice was softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Ian grinned, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into his chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They continued eating in silence, but the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t awkward anymore—just quiet. Comfortable. Ian wasn’t sure where they were going with this, but he knew one thing: this was something. It wasn’t just casual, not anymore.

Ian glanced over at Mickey, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

Mickey looked up from his plate, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Ian cleared his throat, trying to be casual but failing miserably. “I mean... you good? After last night? Y’know... down there?”

Mickey snorted, smirking at Ian’s awkwardness. “Legs are sore as hell, but I’m good,” he said with a shrug. “Not my first time walking it off.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why?”

Mickey chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. “’Cause I usually don’t fuck in beds,” he replied nonchalantly. “Most of the time it’s in bar bathrooms. Not exactly built for comfort, but I’ve managed.”

Ian blinked, taken aback by Mickey's casual admission. He tried to process it, glancing at the now-empty spot next to him on the sofa. “Bar bathrooms, huh?” he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Classy.”

Mickey shrugged again, not the least bit fazed. “Hey, you work with what you’ve got.”

There was a beat of silence as Ian studied him, taking in Mickey’s relaxed posture, the way he spoke so nonchalantly about something that felt intimate. Ian couldn't help but feel a pang of... what was it? Protectiveness? Jealousy? Maybe it was just the desire for something more, something Mickey clearly wasn’t used to.

“Well, you deserve better than that,” Ian finally said, his voice low but sincere.

Mickey paused mid-bite, giving Ian a skeptical glance. “You seriously trying to get sentimental on me right now?”

Ian raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Sentimental? Nah, just saying you don’t have to spend your life hooking up in places that smell like piss.”

“Should I be spending my time making breakfast for a soon-to-be actor?” Mickey scoffed, taking a bite of bacon.

Ian smiled to himself, lowering his gaze to avoid Mickey’s eyes. “I can treat you better than any of them ever could.”

Mickey’s chewing slowed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Ian across the table. “You’re so full of yourself,” he muttered, though his tone held something different—almost like he didn’t hate the idea.

Ian met Mickey’s stare, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Just telling it like it is. You know I’m right.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You really think you’re some kind of upgrade, huh?”

Ian shrugged, leaning forward on the table. “Not just an upgrade. The best offer you’re gonna get.”

Mickey let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I didn’t,” Ian shot back, his tone playful but his gaze steady. There was a challenge in the air, one they both recognized but didn’t need to put into words.

“Yeah, alright.” Mickey scoffed, finishing off the last bite of his breakfast. He pushed back his chair and stood, grabbing his plate. “You got plans today?”

“Late classes,” Ian replied, watching Mickey as he wandered over to the kitchen sink. “What about you?”

“Work,” Mickey muttered, rinsing off the plate. “Unfortunately, ‘too tired after sex’ doesn’t exactly cut it as an excuse.”

“We should’ve done this on a weekday,” Ian said with a smirk, eyeing Mickey’s slightly wobbly legs from across the room. The sight definitely boosted his confidence.

Mickey shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not scar your little siblings for life,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Ian laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Fair enough. Guess we’ll have to be careful then.”

Mickey snorted, rinsing his plate in the sink. “Careful? With you? Not holding my breath, freckles.”

Ian’s grin widened as he stood up, stretching lazily. “You love it though.”

Mickey turned, giving him a mock glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But there was a flicker of something in Mickey’s eyes—something Ian couldn’t quite place but knew was there. It wasn’t the usual guarded look, and it wasn’t indifference either. Maybe Mickey didn’t want to admit it, but things were different. And for once, Ian didn’t feel like pushing him.

“Well,” Ian said, walking over and grabbing his own plate, “we'll see how long you can keep pretending.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, tossing the dish towel at him. “Go get ready for class before your head gets too big to fit through the door.”

Mickey strolled over to the couch, picking up his blouse from the floor and slipping it on. Ian watched him quietly, pretending to focus on his breakfast, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice casual but tinged with hesitation. “I’m thinking of telling Juana about us.”

“Yeah?” Mickey tilted his head slightly, but the comment didn’t seem to faze him. “Go ahead, then.”

“You don’t mind?” Ian asked, glancing at him.

Mickey scoffed, sitting down to pull on his boots and lazily tying the long laces. “Why would I care? Pretty sure she’s already figured out I’m not exactly into women.”

Ian chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, she’s good at reading people.”

He dragged his fork across the plate absentmindedly, the soft scraping sound catching Mickey’s attention. Ian’s movements were subtle, but there was a certain uncertainty in the air. Mickey paused, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Ian lifted his head, finally looking Mickey in the eye. “Do you ever… I don’t know… want something more serious? Like, stop messing around with random guys?”

Mickey’s brow furrowed slightly, but a light, playful smirk soon tugged at his lips. He stood, grabbing his jacket from the hanger. “Why? You interested?”

Ian’s eyes widened, and he coughed, clearly flustered. “No, I mean… I’m just asking. I think about that sometimes, you know?” His voice was quieter now, unsure, but still sincere.

Mickey paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame as he shrugged into his jacket, his expression hardening ever so slightly. His smirk lingered, but there was something guarded about it now, like he was throwing up a wall between them. He tilted his head, regarding Ian with a mixture of amusement and something more difficult to read.

“Serious, huh?” Mickey's tone was casual, dismissive even, like Ian had just asked him if he wanted fries with his meal. “What's with the deep questions, freckles? Thought we were just having some fun.”

Ian frowned, feeling a little sting at Mickey’s response, but he didn’t back down. He knew Mickey's tendency to deflect, to throw up his defenses whenever things got too real, too close to something that could actually matter.

Ian straightened up, holding Mickey’s gaze, refusing to let the tension fizzle out in awkward avoidance. “Yeah, we are. But I’m not talking about right now—I'm talking in general. Don’t you ever think about it?”

Mickey paused at the door, the air between them thick with the weight of unspoken things. He didn’t move, didn’t shift his expression, but something flickered in his eyes—something like hesitation, maybe even fear. He let out a low breath through his nose, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like it was just another question that didn’t need an answer.

“I don’t think about the future, man,” Mickey muttered, his voice quieter now, like the question had poked at something he wasn’t ready to touch. “Never really had the luxury to.”

Ian felt the weight of those words settle over them, the casual dismissal laced with the truth Mickey was always trying to hide. He wanted to push, wanted to tell Mickey that he didn’t have to live that way anymore, but he knew better than to push too hard. Not with Mickey.

“Yeah, well,” Ian said, a softness creeping into his tone as he moved toward the door, standing close enough that Mickey had to meet his eyes, “maybe you do now. Things are different, Mick. You’re different.”

Mickey’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave Ian a long, searching look, something unreadable in his gaze. For a second, Ian thought Mickey might actually say something, something real. But then the mask slipped back into place, and Mickey let out a short, humorless chuckle.

“Don’t get all soft on me, Gallagher. You’re gonna ruin my tough-guy image.”

Ian huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that felt like it could shift into something important if either of them let it. But Mickey broke it, glancing at the time on his phone before pushing off the doorframe.

“I gotta go to work,” he muttered, sliding past Ian and out into the hallway. He paused just before the stairwell, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it, yeah? We’re good.”

Ian nodded, though a part of him still ached with the desire for more, for some kind of clarity. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Mickey gave him one last look—something softer, maybe even grateful—before he disappeared down the stairs.

As the door clicked shut, Ian stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where Mickey had been. He knew Mickey well enough to know that the guy wasn’t ready for any deep conversations about the future, but there was something comforting in the fact that he hadn’t run off like before. Mickey was staying longer, showing up in ways Ian hadn’t expected.

Maybe it was a start to deepen their relationship, or at least, Ian hoped so.

The morning passed in a blur, and soon enough, evening classes rolled around, guiding Ian back to campus. As he walked through the familiar halls, he caught a few nods of approval from professors who seemed impressed by his recent work, though he hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere.

Finally, he reached his classroom, pausing just outside. Instead of going in, he leaned back against the wall and pulled out his phone, hoping a scroll through the screen might keep his thoughts in check. But before he knew it, his thumb hovered over the messages app, and there they were—his texts with Mickey. He ached to message him, to explain away his worries from that morning, to make sure everything between them was fine. But he held back. Mickey had told him not to overthink, and Ian knew he was right. So he let the message linger, unread and unsent, while he took a steadying breath and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Ian’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by two arms tackling him from behind, squeezing him in a bear hug. He turned, catching sight of Juana’s familiar grin lighting up her face.

“Hey, handsome,” she greeted, tilting her head toward the classroom door, where students were trickling in. “Why aren’t you going in?”

“Waiting for you,” Ian replied with a smirk, though he kept his real answer tucked away. As he looked into her warm, chocolate-brown eyes, the reminder hit him—he was supposed to tell her the truth about him and Mickey. The weight of it settled in his chest, uncomfortable but unavoidable. He knew he wasn’t ready, but he also knew he couldn’t keep it to himself forever.

“I need to tell you something,” he began, his voice soft but earnest.

Juana raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, but she glanced down the hall, where Professor Collins was striding toward the classroom with her usual determined pace.

“Tell me later,” she whispered, nudging him toward the door. “We’re already pushing it for Collins’ class, Red.”

They slipped into the classroom just in time, grabbing seats near the back as Professor Collins began his lecture. Ian’s mind, though, was only half in the room; the rest of him was preoccupied with the secret he’d been carrying around for weeks. He kept glancing sideways at Juana, waiting for a chance to tell her, but every time he opened his mouth, he second-guessed himself.

She was scribbling notes with her usual focus, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration. Ian knew he had to tell her eventually, but how? How was he supposed to say he was seeing Mickey, the same guy who'd been just a name on the edges of their conversations until recently?

Finally, Collins’ voice broke through his thoughts, calling for a break. Students began to stretch and chat, and Ian saw his moment. He took a breath, steadying himself.

“Okay, Ian,,” she said, nudging him playfully. “Spill. You’ve been weird all class.”

“It’s about Mickey.”

“Mickey?” Juana’s eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. “What about him? Is he okay? Is he… leaving the band?”

“Calm down,” Ian said with a slight smile, though his expression grew serious. “It’s actually about me and Mickey.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… We met before the festival. In person.”

“Wait—what? Where did this happen?”

“At the bus stop.” Ian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a wave of nerves. “But that’s just part of it. We’ve been seeing each other… a lot.”

Juana froze, her eyebrows raised in shock. “Seeing each other?”

“Not just that,” Ian admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve been... sleeping with each other, for a while now.”

“Hold up.” Juana’s voice wavered as she tried to process what Ian had just told her. She waited, almost expecting him to crack a smile and say it was a joke, but he stayed serious. “You… and Mickey? That Mickey? So, you lied about knowing him?”

Ian let out a long breath, guilt clear in his expression. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry, Juana. I just… I didn’t know how you’d react—especially since it’s been going on this long.”

Juana’s eyes narrowed as the realization hit. “So that’s why he came to our show?”

“Uh... You noticed him?” Ian asked, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Of course, I noticed! It's Mickey we’re talking about!” Juana shot back, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. But as the weight of the revelation sank in, her tone softened, and she glanced around, remembering they were still in a public space. “So, he was part of your little secret from me too?”

“I didn’t make him do it,” Ian said, looking down at his shoes, fidgeting with his hands. “He chose to keep it from you… for my sake.”

Juana fell silent for a moment, studying him intently. Her mind raced with thoughts, struggling to find the right way to express her shock. Finally, she broke the silence with a wry smile. “Well, you both clearly need to work on your poker faces.”

Ian lifted his head, locking eyes with Juana's gentle yet inquisitive expression. “I’m really sorry, Juana. I didn’t mean to deceive you.”

“Let’s just put that aside for now,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. The idea that she had fallen for both Ian’s and Mickey’s stories felt absurd. “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you two are… you know. I mean, Mickey always seemed a bit off when it came to women, but wow.”

A grin crept onto Ian's face as he fought back laughter. The idea of him and Mickey felt like something out of a sci-fi novel. They were so different. “I never planned for this to happen, but… I honestly can’t say I regret it.”

“So, you’re a dirty little secret keeper after all,” Juana teased, giving Ian a playful shove. He felt a warm flush creep up his neck, making him self-conscious. “I need to know everything.”

“Alright, then,” Ian said, leaning in closer to Juana, noticing the disbelief still lingering on her face but choosing to ignore it. “Just... don’t go telling everyone, yeah? The last thing I need is the girls looking at me like I’m some kind of competition.”

Juana laughed. “Lucky it’s not Dylan—we’d be having a whole different conversation if you were into drummers.”

Ian smirked. “Good thing for you, drummers aren’t my type.”

“Oh, so guitarists are, huh? Noted,” she replied, grinning.

Ian smirked, rolling his eyes. “Right, because I totally look like the kind of guy who goes around sleeping with guitarists.”

Juana raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Well, you are right now, aren’t you?”

The two of them fell into laughter, the easy, teasing silence between them feeling just like old times—until Juana’s face lit up with an idea. “You know what? Let’s all hang out sometime. I want to see you two together.”

Ian let out a breathless laugh, caught off guard. “All right, but don't get any ideas. We're just friends.”

Juana shrugged, her smile playful but her eyes still curious. “Friends who sleep together. Not exactly an everyday thing.”

Ian couldn’t deny it—what he had with Mickey was different. It wasn’t a relationship, but it wasn’t nothing, either. It was a connection he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Guess it’s a first time for everything,” he finally said, brushing off the thought as he regained his usual composure. “So, you still want to hear the rest, or are you done with the questioning?”

She grinned, leaning back in her seat. “Go ahead, I’m listening, Romeo.”

Later that evening, Ian found himself outside Mickey’s place, hands shoved into his pockets as he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling the bite of the crisp night air. He barely had a chance to knock before the door swung open, revealing Mickey, who was leaning casually in the doorway, his smirk already greeting Ian.

“Took your sweet time,” Mickey teased, giving Ian a once-over before stepping aside to let him in.

Ian shrugged, stepping into the warmth. “Well, I was busy having a… heart-to-heart with Juana. She knows about us now.”

Mickey’s eyebrows lifted, the smirk evolving into a grin. “Seriously? About time. Thought she’d catch on ages ago.”

Ian laughed softly as he shrugged off his jacket. “Yeah, well, maybe we’re better at hiding it than we thought. Or worse.”

They both chuckled, and Ian followed Mickey to the couch, feeling an odd sense of ease settle over him, like slipping on a familiar, worn-in jacket. The two of them fell into casual conversation, sharing snippets of their day. Mickey complained about work, throwing in a few colorful impressions of his boss, which had Ian snorting. Ian shared his frustrations about school, mostly the deadlines and professors who, as Mickey put it, seemed to have an unholy talent for making things unbearable.

Somewhere in the middle of it, they fell quiet, but it was the good kind of quiet, an easy one. Ian glanced around Mickey’s place, taking in the clutter of guitar gear and sketches tossed around, as if creativity had just exploded and left its marks all over the room.

“So,” Mickey said eventually, leaning back and stretching his legs out on the coffee table. “Since you’re apparently spilling secrets tonight… got any others you’re hiding from me?”

Ian smirked, shaking his head. “I think that was the big one. Though, Juana’s already planning a meet-up. Probably wants to see if we’re legit.”

“Is she gonna interrogate me?” Mickey raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh, she’s definitely planning to get answers.” Ian rolled his eyes with a grin. “She was giving me the third degree as soon as I mentioned it.”

They laughed, and Mickey reached over to grab something under the coffee table. He came up holding an almost-empty pack of cigarettes, tossing it from hand to hand as he seemed to debate something.

Ian watched him for a second, curious. “You still on those?” he asked, gesturing to the pack.

Mickey shrugged. “Not as much as I used to. Got something better, though.” He held out his other hand, revealing a half-used joint he’d pulled from somewhere under the table, his grin turning a little more mischievous. “Ever tried?”

Ian’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity flickering across his face. He’d thought about it once or twice, but never actually went through with it. “Uh… no. Never really had the chance,” he admitted, trying to sound casual but feeling a little uncertain.

“Well, consider this your chance,” Mickey said, waving the joint a little like he was offering a piece of candy. “I mean, first time for everything, right?”

Ian hesitated, glancing at the joint, then back at Mickey’s expectant face. There was a part of him that wanted to say no, that this wasn’t really his thing—but another part of him, maybe the same part that had been drawn into this strange, thrilling friendship with Mickey, was kind of tempted.

“Won’t your aunt kill you for this?” Ian frowned, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

Mickey shrugged, unfazed. “I’ll just douse the place in perfume if I have to. Besides, she likes you—maybe you can save my ass if things go south.”

“Alright,” Ian said finally, reaching out and taking the joint from Mickey’s hand, his fingers brushing Mickey’s, sending a tiny spark through him. Mickey smirked, clearly a little amused, and leaned in to show him how to light it properly.

Ian took a small drag, immediately feeling the warmth hit the back of his throat. He coughed, eyes watering slightly, and Mickey laughed, patting his back in an almost proud way.

“Not bad for a newbie,” Mickey chuckled, leaning back and watching Ian, clearly enjoying himself.

Ian managed to laugh through the coughing, a warmth spreading through him—not just from the joint, but from the whole moment, the strange, unexpected feeling of being here, with Mickey, doing something he never would’ve imagined himself doing.

Ian took another tentative drag, trying to play it cool this time. The smoke hit him smoother, and he didn’t cough, which he counted as a small victory. Mickey leaned back beside him, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Look at you, already a pro,” Mickey teased, giving him a playful nudge. “Next thing you know, you’ll be signing up for skydiving lessons.”

Ian chuckled, feeling warmth spreading through his limbs, a light buzz settling in that made everything seem softer, easier. “Yeah, let’s not push it,” he replied, sinking deeper into the couch, which felt absurdly comfortable now.

Mickey’s smirk widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, come on! What other firsts can I ruin for you tonight?”

“Ruin?” Ian rolled his eyes, a smile creeping onto his face. “I’m pretty sure you’re already demolishing my innocence.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, giving him another playful shove. “You? Innocent? Never bought that for a second.”

Their laughter echoed in the cozy space, and Ian took another drag, starting to feel bolder, like some invisible weight had lifted. He shifted a little closer to Mickey, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t move away.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Mickey asked, nodding toward the joint still resting in Ian’s fingers.

Ian shrugged, a smirk forming. “Not bad. A little stronger than I expected, but I can handle it.”

Mickey laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, yeah? Just wait until it fully hits you. You’ll be begging me for snacks in no time.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have iron willpower,” Ian shot back, straightening up a bit, though the buzz was clearly getting to him, making the room feel warmer, cozier.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Mickey said, leaning in slightly, his gaze lingering on Ian's face. Ian felt a rush of heat creeping up his neck, both from the weed and the way Mickey’s attention felt intense and oddly intimate. He glanced away, laughing to break the tension. “Careful, I don’t think you’re ready to see me at full power.”

Mickey chuckled, stretching out on the couch and feigning admiration. “Wow, look at you, tough guy. Guess you’re officially a bad influence on yourself.”

Ian laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a while. “Hey, maybe I’m corrupting you. Ever think of that?”

Mickey snorted, rolling his eyes again, but there was a softness to his grin that suggested he didn’t mind. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder.”

“Oh, I will,” Ian said, raising the joint in a mock toast, his eyes dancing with mischief. “To being a terrible influence.”

“To terrible influences,” Mickey echoed, clinking his imaginary glass with Ian’s.

They both burst out laughing, the buzz amplifying the humor of it all. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, and Ian realized he’d let his head rest against the back of the couch, the warmth of Mickey beside him feeling almost electric. For a moment, it felt like they were in their own little world, the outside noise fading away.

“So,” Mickey finally said, his voice softer, almost contemplative. “Did Juana freak out when you told her?”

Ian turned his head, meeting Mickey’s curious gaze. “Sort of. She took it pretty well, though. Said she always had a hunch about you.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. “Oh really? What exactly gave me away?”

Ian laughed, feeling a bit bolder now. “Maybe it’s the way you look at me.”

Mickey didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe it’s the way you look at me.”

The teasing tone made Ian’s cheeks warm, and he looked away, trying not to smile. He could feel Mickey watching him, the air between them charged with something unspoken but palpable.

Mickey nudged him again, the touch lingering a bit longer. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now. I thought you were the one with all the willpower?”

Ian grinned, letting the challenge linger in the air as he turned to face Mickey. “Maybe I’m just giving you a head start.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” Mickey said, leaning closer, his face just a few inches from Ian’s. For a split second, Ian thought Mickey might actually close the gap, and the thrill of it sent his pulse racing.

Ian held his breath, the space between them crackling with an intensity that made his heart race. The teasing glint in Mickey's eyes was almost magnetic, drawing him in. Ian could feel the warmth radiating off Mickey, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away—the sounds of the city outside, the flickering light of the TV.

Just as Ian felt the tension reach its peak, Mickey pulled back slightly, laughing, as if he had been playing a game all along. “See? That’s the thing about you, Gallagher. You always act tough until it counts.”

“Act tough?” Ian shot back, trying to keep his voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline. “I’m not acting. I’m just… strategic.”

“Strategic, huh?” Mickey raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You sure you’re not just trying to cover up how badly you want to lean in?”

Ian felt his cheeks heat, but he didn’t back down. “Maybe I am, but you’re not making it easy.”

Mickey’s expression shifted slightly, something more genuine peeking through the playfulness. “Well, what if I am? You know, leaning in can be a good strategy too.”

The air felt thick as Ian processed Mickey’s words. The light banter had transformed into something much more charged, the kind of chemistry that was impossible to ignore. He glanced at Mickey, taking in the way the dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curled in that teasing smile that made Ian’s stomach flip.

“You know... you’re really pretty from this angle.” Ian tilted his head, studying Mickey’s face as an amused grin spread across his lips, warming Ian’s chest.

“This angle?” Mickey replied, feigning innocence.

“Every angle,” Ian countered, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Mickey snatched the joint from Ian and pressed it between his own lips, his gaze steady on the redhead. “So being high makes you even flirter? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ian leaned in closer, the sweet scent of the smoke intertwining with Mickey’s warmth, intoxicating him further. “Are you falling for it?” he teased, mischief sparking in his eyes.

Mickey scoffed, nibbling on his lower lip, his expression playful yet intrigued. “Already have, Prince Charming. What’s next?”

Ian hesitated, feeling the weight of his words settle in the charged silence. His heart raced, each beat echoing in the space between them. His eyelids felt heavy, and his breath stuttered. “Making me yours.”

Mickey’s pupils dilated, captivated by Ian’s admission. He couldn’t help but notice the way Ian’s cheeks flushed, unsure whether it was from the confession or the heat enveloping them. Mickey swallowed nervously, drawn into Ian’s emerald gaze, which shimmered with the effects of the joint.

“Good stuff, huh? Already making you talk like a lovesick teenager,” Mickey teased, inhaling from the joint again. But Ian’s expression shifted, the playful facade fading away.

“No, Mickey, I...” Ian stuttered, shifting even closer on the couch, his hot breath grazing Mickey’s jaw. “Let me be yours.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Ian's words hanging in the air like a tangible presence. Mickey’s heartbeat quickened as he turned slightly, locking onto the earnestness in Ian’s eyes. It was a vulnerability that stirred something deep within him, making his stomach twist with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Mickey froze, watching as Ian leaned in, their lips almost touching. Normally, he would have embraced the moment, but at that second, he felt different.

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching in his throat. With an effort, he looked away, passing the joint back to Ian. “I, uh... I gotta take a leak,” he muttered, standing up from the couch.

Ian’s confusion was palpable. “Now?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

Mickey didn’t answer; he simply turned and walked toward the bathroom, acutely aware of Ian’s gaze burning into his back. He could feel the weight of the unspoken tension lingering in the air, making his skin prickle.

As the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, Mickey leaned against it for a moment, trying to steady his racing heart. The moment he had just fled played on a loop in his mind. Ian’s boldness had taken him by surprise, and now he was grappling with the reality of what had nearly happened.

Meanwhile, Ian sat on the couch, the reality of his words crashing over him like a cold wave. “God, fucking, dammit,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in. The heat from the high coursing through his veins felt like a mix of exhilaration and dread.

He pressed his hands against his face, willing the blush to fade. The admission he’d just blurted out hung heavy in the silence. What had possessed him to say something so vulnerable, so raw? The laughter and teasing had felt safe, but this was territory he hadn’t expected to traverse.

“Why did I say that?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The weight of uncertainty settled over him like a thick fog. Did he really want to let Mickey in, or was he just riding the high?

The minutes ticked by as he replayed the moment in his mind, oscillating between embarrassment and a glimmer of hope. He wanted to be brave, to confront whatever this was between them, but fear gnawed at him. Would Mickey see him differently now? Would he want to pull back, retreating from the vulnerability Ian had exposed?

Ian took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. This could change everything. But maybe, just maybe, it could also lead to something deeper.

Chapter Text

Ian woke to sunlight streaming through the window, warming his face and forcing him to squint. Groaning, he turned away, but something felt off. The familiar scent lingering around him wasn’t his own.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings—he was in Mickey’s room. Memories of the previous night surfaced, recalling the hazy hours spent with Mickey, passing a joint back and forth. But now, alone in Mickey’s bed, he felt a pang of loneliness.

As he sat up, a pounding headache struck, reminding him exactly why he’d never ventured into smoking before.

Ian grimaced, bowing his head and pressing two fingers to his temples as the throbbing pain intensified. Memories from the night before flickered through his mind—a haze of laughter, the warmth of Mickey's presence, and the intoxicating thrill of breaking boundaries.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, letting his feet hit the floor with a soft thud. The world around him felt surreal, and he couldn't shake the feeling of longing that crept in. Where was Mickey?

Pushing through the discomfort, Ian forced himself to stand, swaying slightly as he steadied himself. Ian reached for his phone on the shelf and squinted at the screen, realizing it was already past 9 a.m. Classes were starting soon, and he groaned, longing to sink back into the comfort of bed instead of facing the day. He pushed himself up, noting the absence of Mickey’s usual clutter—the rings, cigarettes, and phone were all missing.

As he approached the door, a piece of sticky paper caught his eye. Scrawled in messy handwriting was a note: “Had to go to work. Placed the keys underneath the mat, so lock the door when you leave. —Mickey.”

A twinge of disappointment mixed with relief washed over him. At least Mickey hadn’t left without a word. 

Ian tucked the note into his pocket and started gathering his clothes from the floor, each motion sending a fresh wave of pain through his head. He winced, wondering if accepting that joint last night had been a mistake—but being with Mickey had made it worth it.

As he thought back on the night, a memory surfaced, and his cheeks warmed. He’d said something to Mickey—something big—and the brunette had shut himself in the bathroom afterward, avoiding him. Ian's heart thudded as he tried to piece together what happened after, but his mind drew a blank, clouded by the lingering effects of last night’s haze. The question hung heavily: Had he pushed Mickey away, despite all his efforts not to?

Ian sighed as he finished gathering his things, making his way out of the empty apartment. The silence felt colder, lonelier without Mickey around, reminding him of how his own place often felt.

He reached under the mat for the key, slipping on his coat and shoes before stepping outside and locking the door behind him. An urge to text Mickey gnawed at him—to ask if things were okay, if he’d crossed a line. But a heavy sense of regret held him back, whispering that he should’ve kept his feelings in check.

Despite his pounding headache and shaky legs, Ian pushed himself forward, heading home to grab his things for class.

As the shop door swung shut, Mickey let out a deep breath and leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. The workday was barely underway, but it already felt long, his thoughts drifting to Ian with every quiet moment. Ian’s words from the night before echoed in his mind, words that left Mickey shaken. He tried to tell himself Ian was just high, that he hadn’t meant it. But the sincerity in Ian’s gaze wouldn’t let him forget, lingering in a way that made Mickey feel oddly exposed.

He remembered the moment he hid in the bathroom afterward, too unsettled to face what he’d heard. By the time he’d come out, Ian was sound asleep on the couch, looking entirely unbothered. Mickey had carried him to bed in silence, but now, sitting alone in the shop, he couldn’t shake the memory—or the uneasy feeling that maybe he’d been running from his own feelings.

Mickey huffed, shaking his head. He knew he was acting foolish, but facing the depth of someone else’s feelings, especially when he couldn’t yet understand his own, wasn’t something he was used to.

Mickey’s thoughts snapped back to reality as the next customer walked in—a man a bit older than him, looking polished and refined, wearing a long dark coat. The man approached, greeting Mickey with a polite “Mornin’” as he scanned the shop.

“Do you need any help?” Mickey asked, meeting the stranger's gaze.

“Yeah, actually, I…” The man hesitated, then continued, “I’m looking for a gift for my... husband.” Mickey’s brows lifted in surprise at the word, noticing the subtle ring on the man’s finger. It was rare to meet someone so openly mentioning a husband, especially in this area.

Something about it piqued Mickey's curiosity, drawing him to pay closer attention.

“Oh, uh, sure, what exactly?” Mickey cleared his throat, still surprised but pleased. It wasn’t common for someone to casually mention a husband around here, especially when entering his store, and somehow, that honesty felt refreshing.

“CDs, I think. He’s a huge metal fan.” The man grinned fondly, and Mickey caught a glimpse of pride in his smile that reminded him of someone… like Ian, maybe. He shook the thought from his head.

“Great idea,” Mickey replied, standing up. “Follow me—I’ll show you some of my favorites.”

The customer nodded, trailing behind him as Mickey led him over to a section of CDs, all sorted by genre, with a few of his personal favorites tucked away.

Mickey pulled a few CDs from the shelf, glancing back as the man studied the options thoughtfully. The guy seemed genuinely excited, which somehow lightened the mood, giving Mickey a slight break from his restless thoughts about Ian.

“So, how long have you two been married?” Mickey asked, partly curious and partly trying to distract himself.

“Almost five years now,” the man replied, a bit of pride in his tone. "Feels like yesterday.”

Mickey gave a small nod, trying to keep his expression neutral, though something about that answer stirred a pang of envy he hadn’t expected. Five years—commitment like that sounded foreign, yet part of him couldn't help but wonder what it'd be like to feel that kind of stability with someone.

“How is it?” Mickey asked, glancing at the man, noticing the proud smile on his face. A small, tight feeling tugged at Mickey’s chest—maybe something close to envy.

The man shifted his gaze to Mickey and let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s… chaotic, mostly. But honestly, I think every good relationship needs a bit of chaos to keep things real, you know?” He paused, as if savoring the thought, then added, “We balance each other out—that’s what matters. And, well… I love him. That’s the part that makes it all worth it.”

“Seems like you two have something really solid,” Mickey murmured, trying to keep his tone casual.

The man grinned. “Yeah, it’s been a hell of a ride, but worth every second. Finding someone you want to share your life with? Not easy, but nothing’s ever felt as right.”

Mickey swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat he hadn’t expected. Could something like that ever be right for him and Ian? He’d always kept things light, drawing lines to make sure feelings didn’t get in the way. But now, it felt different. Ian had crossed that line last night, cracked open a door Mickey wasn’t sure he wanted to close anymore.

He cleared his throat. “Sounds... nice.”

The man nodded, smiling as he picked up a CD. “I hope you find it too. I can tell—there’s someone on your mind, isn’t there?”

Caught off guard, Mickey felt his face heat up. “I don’t know, maybe.” He shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the man’s words lingered, pulling at thoughts he couldn’t quite shake.

As the man paid and left the shop, Mickey stood there, watching the door close behind him. A lingering silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the stereo he’d left running in the background. The man’s words hung in the air, too—there’s someone on your mind, isn’t there? It was ridiculous, really, the way he’d read Mickey so easily. Maybe it was obvious, maybe Mickey was more transparent than he’d thought, or maybe his defenses were slipping, bit by bit.

He tried to shove the thought away, to focus on organizing the shop, but the memory of Ian’s face kept intruding, breaking through his attempts to distract himself. The softness in Ian’s expression, the words he’d said—ones Mickey hadn’t been ready to hear. Words that had left him feeling exposed and more vulnerable than he’d ever let himself feel.

Ian sat on the bench outside his classroom, his fingers nervously scrolling through his phone. The screen remained stubbornly blank, devoid of any messages from Mickey. He had wavered on whether to reach out himself, maybe asking if he needed the key back, but the thought of receiving no response sent a wave of anxiety through him.

His brooding was interrupted when someone plopped down beside him. He glanced over, half-expecting to see Juana, but it was August, the guy from his class.

“Hey, got notes?” August asked, tilting his head in a friendly manner.

“Yeah, sure,” Ian replied, pulling the notebook from his bag.

August fished out his wallet. “How much?”

“What? No, you don’t need to pay me,” Ian frowned, realizing August thought he was trying to sell them.

“C’mon, I can’t just take your work for free.”

“Seriously, it’s not that much,” Ian insisted, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Alright, then,” August sighed in mock defeat, “How about we grab a beer later? My way of thanking you.”

Ian hesitated for a moment, glancing from his phone to August. The offer surprised him, but maybe a distraction was exactly what he needed right now. Mickey hadn’t texted back, and instead of stewing in his thoughts, maybe it was time to let someone else pull him out of this spiraling loneliness.

“Sure,” Ian replied, managing a small smile as he handed over the notes. “Beer sounds good.”

August gave a nod, relief and excitement evident in his expression. As they talked, Ian found himself relaxing just a bit, grateful for the unexpected company, even if it didn’t stop his mind from drifting back to Mickey now and then.

“Tomorrow after classes?” August suggested, his tone light and inviting. For a moment, Ian wondered why this guy, who he barely knew, was being so kind. They hadn’t talked much since the semester started, yet politeness won out over his hesitations.

“Yeah, okay,” Ian agreed, nodding shyly as he handed over the notebook. August began flipping through the pages, clearly trying to absorb the information. Ian’s thoughts drifted back to Mickey. What would he think of August? Would he approve, or would he shoot him a disapproving glare?

Ian shook his head, frustrated with himself. Why was he obsessing over Mickey so much? The comparisons were relentless, each thought spiraling deeper into a maze of uncertainty. He had tried to push it all aside, but the echoes of their shared night kept surfacing, making everything feel heavier.

He focused on the sounds around him—the chatter of students, the rustle of papers, and the distant music wafting through the hall. It was just a simple beer with August, yet somehow it felt like a betrayal to Mickey, even if there was no real reason to feel that way.

Mickey huffed out an exhausted breath, gathering his things as he prepared to leave the store. He exchanged quick pleasantries with the coworker arriving for the next shift, then stepped outside, only to realize Ian was approaching.

His heart raced at the thought of their impending conversation. As much as he wanted to discuss what happened, he hesitated, unsure if he was ready for the weight of their unspoken feelings. But he wouldn’t run away. Mickey never backed down.

As Ian neared, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “Hey, I brought it back,” Ian said, offering a half-hearted smile. “Thanks for letting me stay. Can’t remember much from yesterday.”

Mickey took the key, struggling to maintain a smile of his own. “Much?” he asked, eyebrow raised as he focused on the key.

“Well, you know,” Ian started, embarrassment creeping into his voice, “I do remember what I said, and I’m sorry for throwing myself at you like that.”

“It’s not that, I was just—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Ian interrupted, sighing. “You don’t do relationships, and we’re just friends. I know.”

“God, Red, it’s... I’m not like that,” Mickey replied, trying to explain, but the weight on his heart made it hard to find the right words.

“Right,” Ian said, his voice flat. Mickey could sense the disappointment hanging in the air. “So, how does it work for you then? Do you sleep and go on dates with your other friends too?”

The question struck Mickey hard, leaving him momentarily speechless. He could feel Ian's frustration and hurt, and the accusation stung more than he expected.

“For fuck’s sake, you know I don’t,” Mickey groaned, the frustration rising in his throat. If they weren’t in a public space, he might have shouted it. “I can’t remember the last time I slept with someone who wasn’t you.”

“Then what’s wrong with being something more?” Ian countered, his voice trembling as he took a step closer. Mickey noticed the hurt swelling in his eyes, and it twisted something in him. “I don’t like sharing you, Mickey... Can’t it just be the two of us?”

Mickey avoided Ian’s gaze, feeling the weight of frustration coil tightly in his stomach. He wanted to understand Ian’s feelings, but his own were a tangled mess. “I’m not into relationships, you know that.”

Ian scoffed, frustration leaking from him as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a step back, creating space between them. “That’s just an excuse to fuck around with anyone you meet.”

“Excuse me?” Mickey snapped, feeling the heat rise in his chest. “You’re the only person I’ve ever...”

“Then why can’t you see what’s right in front of you?” Ian interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. “I care about you, Mickey. I’m not asking for a fucking wedding; I just want to know that it’s more than just sex for you.”

Mickey clenched his fists, feeling the walls he had built around himself begin to crack. “It’s not that simple,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t know how to be what you want.”

Ian’s eyes flashed with pain, and for a moment, Mickey felt as if he were standing at the edge of a cliff, teetering between the desire to leap forward into something new and the instinct to pull back and stay safe. “Maybe it’s time you figured it out,” Ian replied, his voice barely above a whisper, turning away as if the weight of his words had physically pushed him back.

Mickey watched him go, feeling a hollow ache settle in his chest. The possibility of losing Ian felt more daunting than the fear of stepping into the unknown.

Mickey sat on one of the benches nearby, cigarette in hand, staring at the gloomy sky. He felt the weight of their recent conversation pressing down on him. Despite his attempts to convince himself that it didn’t matter, watching Ian walk away had hurt more than he expected. Deep feelings were tangled in their relationship, and he struggled to comprehend them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Lifting his head, he hoped to see Ian, but instead, it was Juana. “Mickey?” she called, tilting her head, her lips curving into a warm grin as their eyes met.

Though he hadn’t planned to engage with anyone, perhaps confiding in someone who knew Ian could help him make sense of the chaos inside.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Mickey cleared his throat, making room on the bench for her, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. “Sorry about the smoke—hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Juana smiled as she settled beside him, though her expression quickly turned concerned when she saw his face. “You okay? It’s pretty late for you to be out here.”

“Just needed some air,” Mickey replied, avoiding her gaze. “You?”

“Coming back from classes.” She nodded toward the road leading to campus. Then, her tone shifted as she looked down at her shoes, gently swinging her legs. “Ian told me about… you two.”

Mickey shot her a wary glance. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Juana said with a soft chuckle. “Not exactly what I expected. Ian’s my best friend, and you… well, you’re basically my favorite musician.”

Mickey let Juana's words settle as he studied her face, wondering if she was as taken aback as she seemed. Juana was clearly curious, her gaze both hesitant and sincere, but it wasn’t exactly prying. It was odd hearing it said out loud, especially in Juana’s voice, which somehow made it feel more real than he was used to.

“Yeah, well… it’s complicated,” Mickey said, exhaling softly and watching his breath disappear into the cool night air.

“Did… something happen?” Juana asked gently, catching the hint of sadness in Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. Maybe opening up would help. “Ian wants something serious, and I… I’ve never really done that before.”

“Never done what, exactly?”

Mickey exhaled, a nervous laugh escaping. “I’ve never been in a real relationship.”

Juana’s eyes widened, genuine surprise crossing her face. “Wait—seriously?”

Mickey forced a half-smile, shrugging as if to brush it off. “Not what you expected, huh?”

Juana shook her head with an understanding smile. “I get it, actually. You’re… well, you’re Mickey. You’ve got this whole independent, closed-off vibe. I figured you’d been in serious relationships before.”

Mickey chuckled, a trace of bitterness in his laugh. “Nah, ‘complicated’ is more my style.” He took a drag from his cigarette, eyes on the dimly lit street. “Thing is… I don’t know if I can give Ian what he’s looking for. Hell, I’m not even sure I know how.”

Juana studied him thoughtfully, her voice gentle. “The fact that you’re even considering it, Mickey, that says a lot.”

“Does it?” he muttered, glancing at her, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. “Feels like I’m just setting him up to get hurt.”

She hesitated, sensing the worry behind his words. “Look, Ian wouldn’t be asking for something serious with you if he didn’t see something real there.”

Mickey’s fingers drummed against the bench as he let Juana’s words sink in, every beat tapping out a different doubt. Maybe he wanted to believe what she was saying, that Ian saw something real in him. But believing it, acting on it—that was a different thing entirely.

“Maybe he does,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “But what if I can’t be what he wants? I’m not… good at this.”

Juana leaned in, her tone warm and steady. “No one’s expecting you to be perfect, Mickey. Just… honest.”

He let her words linger, feeling a rare calm settle over him. The cigarette was burning down to the filter, and he flicked it away, watching the ember as it rolled along the pavement. Somewhere, beneath the mess of doubts and fears, he knew Juana was right.

Mickey glanced over at Juana, noting the softened look on her face. “Didn’t expect you’d be this cool about it.”

Juana laughed lightly, a shrug accompanying her smile. “Well, it’s still surprising, I won’t lie. But honestly? I haven’t seen Ian like this, ever. Usually, he’s buried in his books, obsessed with college. I think… you bring out a different side of him.”

Mickey managed a half-smile, but the weight of her words pressed into him. Could he actually live up to whatever it was Ian saw in him?

Juana’s words settled heavily on Mickey, mingling with his doubts. He looked away, speaking softly, almost to himself. “We, uh… argued earlier.”

Concern crossed Juana’s face. “About… commitment?”

“Yeah. I kind of freaked out,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “Ian wants more, but… I don’t even know what I want.”

Juana pressed her fingers against the bench, exhaling as she stared at the ground. Mickey could tell she was at a loss for words, and he couldn’t blame her—it wasn’t every day you met someone so afraid of commitment.

After a moment, she looked up, her voice gentle but steady. “Maybe it’s not about having everything figured out, Mickey. Sometimes… it’s just about being willing to figure it out together.”

Her words lingered, offering a flicker of hope Mickey hadn’t allowed himself to feel before.

“You know him well, don’t you?” Mickey tilted his head toward Juana, his voice steady, yet there was a warmth to it.

Juana let out a heavy sigh, a nervous edge to her tone. “Look, I know him enough to say his past isn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine, alright? Maybe… maybe what he needs is that feeling—knowing he can rely on someone completely.”

Mickey’s heart pounded, unsteady but deep.

“He’d never force anything on you, Mickey. He’d rather walk away than push you. That’s just who he is.”

Mickey couldn’t deny it—not once had Ian pushed him for more, tried to force something deeper between them. In truth, it was always Mickey who held them back, while Ian just hinted at possibilities. No wonder he eventually walked away.

“Explains why he left so quickly.”

Juana nodded, a gentle silence falling as snowflakes drifted around them. Finally, she spoke softly, “Don’t do anything you’re not ready for with Ian. I don’t know everything about you two, but it’s clear you care about each other, and he’d never want you to be unhappy.”

“I know.” Mickey pressed his lips together as things started to click. Ian’s feelings had been there for a while—through all their time together, the date he’d suggested, the moments none of Mickey’s casual hookups ever reached.

Ian had feelings for him. Mickey couldn’t be sure how deep they ran, but it was clear they were beyond friendship. They couldn’t just be “friends” anymore, and while that scared him, it also pulled him in. The thought of losing Ian—the redhead he was so drawn to—was unbearable. He wanted to see him, touch him, kiss him. Maybe this wasn’t just about filling a temporary void anymore.

Ian swirled the glass, watching the dark liquid ripple as he exhaled a heavy breath, bringing it to his lips for a long sip.

“You good, man?” August’s voice cut through the hum of music and overlapping conversations. Ian glanced up, focusing on the shorter man seated across from him, his gaze filled with mild concern.

“That’s your third drink tonight, not counting the beer we started with,” August pointed out. Ian vaguely recalled their original plan to just grab a beer—not lose himself in cheap whiskey. “I thought it might help you unwind. Sorry if it didn’t do the trick.”

“No, it’s fine,” Ian shook his head, feeling the warmth of the alcohol muddle his senses but trying not to let it show. It was a shock to his system, unused to drinking this much. “Glad we came here. It’s helped me loosen up, at least a bit.”

“You don’t seem like it,” August claimed, eyeing him thoughtfully as he took a sip of his beer. “Got something on your mind?”

“Maybe.” Ian leaned back, feeling the alcohol’s weight settle in his head. “Do you… have someone special?”

August raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, but he could tell Ian was serious. “Nah. And not into guys, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What? No,” Ian flushed, realizing how suggestive it sounded. “Just… thinking.”

“Relationship problems?”

Ian sighed. “Can’t even call it a relationship. It’s… complicated.”

“Friends-but-not-quite?”

“Yeah,” Ian admitted quietly. “He just sees me as a friend. I don’t.”

“He?” August raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, Ian braced himself for an awkward turn in the conversation. But August only shook his head with a knowing smirk. “Double trouble, huh?”

Ian chuckled nervously, relieved. “Yeah. He’s open about it, been with a lot of guys, but for me... he’s the only one since I moved here.”

August gave him a sympathetic nod, understanding in his gaze. “Sounds like he means a lot to you.”

Ian looked down, feeling the warmth of the drinks and his face growing pink. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want him to leave. But it’s probably me who’ll end up walking away.”

August paused, studying him. Sensing a deeper story there, he raised his hand to signal for another drink, settling in as Ian’s shoulders sank, the weight of it all spilling over in quiet words.

For over an hour, Ian and August sat in the dim bar, their conversation weaving between banter and deeper topics that Ian didn’t often share. Drink after drink, Ian let more slip about his complicated relationship with Mickey—how it felt too strong to be just friendship, yet too fragile to call a relationship. August listened, absorbing the story of a man torn between staying close or risking everything for a chance at something real.

As the evening wore on, the drinks finally took their toll on Ian. His eyelids grew heavy, his speech slowed, and before long, he slumped forward, falling into a light, unbothered sleep right on the table. August watched him for a moment, a bit lost—he didn’t know where Ian lived, and his own apartment wasn’t fit for two. Just as he considered his options, Ian mumbled Mickey’s name, fumbling for his phone before handing it to August in a half-conscious daze.

August found Mickey’s number, dialing with some reluctance, uncertain how Ian might feel about it later. When Mickey picked up, he sounded surprised, maybe even disappointed it wasn’t Ian himself, but he didn’t hesitate. As soon as August mentioned the address, Mickey was on his way.

When he arrived, Mickey’s first look was for Ian, who was still slumped on the table, oblivious to the world. He stepped close, crouching down to shake Ian’s shoulder gently. “Hey, Red, time to head home.” Ian stirred, letting out a soft groan but barely lifting his head. Mickey glanced up at August with a small nod of gratitude, though he seemed preoccupied.

“You need a hand?” August offered.

“Nah, I got him,” Mickey said, though the task looked challenging as he pulled Ian upright, helping him slip an arm around his neck. Ian leaned in heavily, mumbling as he squinted against the lights and noise. Mickey kept him steady, his hand firm at Ian’s waist, guiding him out carefully.

August watched them for a moment, noting Mickey’s protective hold and the familiar way Ian leaned into him even in his inebriated state. “Thanks for calling, man,” Mickey muttered, pulling his attention back to August, who studied him curiously, squinting as if trying to place him.

“Have I seen you somewhere before?” August asked, sensing something vaguely familiar.

Mickey just gave a polite, but forced smile. “Probably got me mixed up with someone else,” he replied. Then, securing his grip on Ian, he led him gently toward the door, guiding him out into the cold night air. August stayed behind, watching the pair disappear, left with a sense that he’d witnessed something private, and maybe even sacred.

Outside in the cold, Mickey steadied Ian against the wall and quickly dialed for a cab, glancing over at him in case he swayed or stumbled. Ian’s muttered words were barely audible, his eyes heavy, struggling to stay aware. Though he had questions of his own—why Ian drank so much, who he was with, and why Mickey was the one called—Mickey decided now wasn’t the time. He’d get Ian home first and worry about the details later.

In the cab, Ian stirred, blinking around in confusion. His gaze eventually settled on Mickey, looking both puzzled and relieved. “Where am I? Where’s August?”

Mickey’s expression softened. “I’m taking you home. August called me to pick you up.”

Ian relaxed, though he still looked dazed. “Why did you come for me?”

Mickey met his gaze. “Wouldn’t you?” Ian stayed silent. “I wouldn’t leave you there, even if you hated me.”

Ian’s silence spoke louder than words, as he took in Mickey’s response. Knowing Mickey had come out of choice, not obligation, settled something in him—a reassurance he hadn’t known he needed.

Once home, Mickey carefully led Ian to his apartment, unlocking the door and guiding him inside. Ian sank into the couch, his gaze following Mickey in quiet anticipation, as if waiting for something more. Mickey retrieved a glass of water, handing it to Ian with a soft sigh.

“Drink up,” he murmured, sitting beside him, though there was a tension neither could ignore. The silence hung heavy between them until Ian finally broke it.

Ian sipped the water, feeling it slowly pull him back from the haze of alcohol, though not entirely. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“I should go.” Mickey’s voice was low, a sigh slipping from his lips. Ian’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden finality. Maybe he’d let himself hope they’d work through this.

“You should sleep it off. It’ll help,” Mickey added, turning toward the door.

But Ian couldn’t let him leave—not yet. His chest ached, and the need for clarity burned in his throat. “Mickey, if you don’t feel the same, tell me now.”

Mickey froze, eyes closing briefly, swallowing hard. Could he really handle this? Even after talking with Juana, he still felt uncertain.

“Ian, you know I—”

“I don’t,” Ian interrupted, his voice hard, “I don’t know anything, Mickey. Every time we try to talk about this, you run.”

“Because I don’t know how to talk about it,” Mickey confessed, voice faltering, his gaze softening despite the tension in the room. But Ian’s eyes remained sharp, full of desperation.

“Just tell me the truth.”

Mickey couldn’t answer. The silence stretched endlessly. His fingers clenched, his lip trembling as he fought against the weight of the moment. Every passing second felt like a blade.

The silence grew heavier. Ian rose unsteadily from the couch, the alcohol still thick in his limbs. “You know what? Forget it. You can go. I won’t stop you.”

Mickey’s heart sank. “What?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Mickey,” Ian said, his voice breaking, eyes no longer meeting his. “I can’t keep going like this. Whatever this is... it’s not working. I think it’s better if we end it here.”

Each word felt like a stone sinking deeper into Mickey’s chest. The room grew cold, and he felt more lost than ever.

Mickey stood frozen, every word Ian said seeming to hit him like a cold wave. His body didn’t respond—he couldn’t process it. Ian, avoiding his gaze, broke the silence, his voice steady but distant. “It’s probably best if you leave,” he said, before turning away, heading toward the bedroom.

Mickey stood still, his breath shallow, as Ian’s words hung in the air, sharp and final. The request was clear, but it felt impossible to accept. Mickey had never been good at facing things like this, and even now, the thought of leaving seemed foreign. His gaze followed Ian’s retreating form as the redhead made his way to the bedroom, his shoulders sagging under the weight of emotions Mickey couldn’t quite articulate.

Ian’s words kept circling in Mickey’s mind, the finality of it all gnawing at him. It’s probably best if you leave.

But Mickey couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t. Not like this.

A few more seconds passed. Mickey’s fingers traced the door handle, but his feet refused to leave the exit. Instead, he undid the clasp on his jacket, pulling it off slowly as if he had all the time in the world, though every minute stretched painfully longer. His boots followed suit, the weight of them almost grounding him, holding him in place as his mind raced with doubt, frustration, and a knot in his stomach he couldn’t shake.

He took one more glance at the door before stepping past it, letting himself into the quiet of the apartment. He didn’t stop to consider whether he should—he just moved, driven by an impulse he couldn’t ignore. He crossed the threshold into Ian’s bedroom, the dim light spilling across the room, soft and gentle, contrasting sharply with the storm inside him.

Ian lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the silence stretching on. His thoughts were a tangled mess—why hadn’t Mickey left? He had been clear, hadn’t he? His words had carried the weight of finality, of a decision made, yet Mickey hadn’t budged.

A soft rustling broke the silence, followed by the creak of the bedroom door. Ian’s heart skipped. 

But instead of footsteps retreating, he heard quiet movement, and then, before Ian could process it, Mickey crawled into bed beside him. The warmth of his presence was undeniable, a stark contrast to the distance Ian had tried to establish.

Mickey didn’t say a word. Neither did Ian. Only the soft sound of their breathing filled the space between them. Mickey lay there, close, yet far in ways Ian couldn’t explain. The air was thick with unspoken things, but neither of them dared to break it.

Mickey rested quietly beside Ian, the space between them charged with an unspoken tension. Ian shifted, unsure of what to say or do. He could feel Mickey’s presence, close but guarded, the weight of everything unresolved hanging in the air.

Mickey’s chest tightened as Ian’s voice broke through the stillness. “I thought you were leaving.”

The words hung in the air, fragile yet heavy, as if Ian’s quiet admission had cracked open something they’d both been avoiding. Mickey didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted closer, the warmth of his body pressing against Ian’s, grounding him.

“I don’t know how to leave,” Mickey finally murmured, his voice barely a breath. Ian’s heart skipped again, caught between relief and confusion. Mickey’s presence was like a weight—comforting, yet impossible to ignore.

Ian’s fingers curled into the sheets, his mind racing. “You’re messing with my head, Mickey.”

Mickey shifted, avoiding Ian’s gaze for a moment. “I’m not good at this... the whole feelings thing. But I can’t fuckin’ lose you because of it.”

A silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Ian spoke again, quieter but resolute. “I want to help you. It’s not that hard once you stop making it so complicated.”

Mickey’s gaze met Ian’s, his expression softening just slightly, the weight of Ian’s words settling between them.

Mickey’s fingers brushed through Ian’s hair, pushing stray strands from his face, their gazes unwavering. Ian’s eyes, locked on Mickey’s, seemed to study him like a piece of art, an unspoken admiration in his stare.

“You should sleep,” Mickey said, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Ian moved closer, his body gravitating toward Mickey’s with a quiet urgency. “I won’t leave unless you tell me to,” Mickey added softly.

Ian pressed his face into the crook of Mickey's neck, inhaling the familiar scent. His voice barely a whisper: “Don’t. I trust you.”

Chapter Text

Ian blinked awake, wincing as the sunlight filtered through the window, forcing him from sleep. Instinctively, he tightened his hold around what he assumed was just another blanket—until he registered the warmth and solid presence against him. Mickey.

Realization dawned, and Ian’s eyes widened as he took in Mickey lying peacefully beside him, head nestled against the pillow, one hand resting lightly on Ian's. Relief and quiet joy replaced Ian’s initial surprise; Mickey hadn’t left. He’d stayed.

Gently, Ian drew Mickey closer, letting his breath warm Mickey’s neck, savoring this rare, unexpected closeness.

Mickey grumbled as he slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the morning light. He loosened Ian’s grip, muttering, “You’re gonna suffocate me here, man.”

Ian smiled at Mickey’s gruff, sleepy voice, barely managing to stifle his amusement. It was endearing, but there was something serious he needed to talk about before getting lost in the moment. “Good morning to you too,” he murmured, giving Mickey a little more space as he adjusted.

Mickey turned over, still groggy but managing to meet Ian’s gaze. “What time is it?” he asked, blinking.

Ian reached for his phone, checking the time. “Just after eight.”

Mickey groaned, pressing a hand to his face, clearly frustrated. “Already?”

Ian’s heart sank at the tone in Mickey’s voice, the hint of something he couldn’t quite place stirring in his chest. “Work?” he asked, disappointment creeping into his words. He had hoped for more—more time, more clarity, before Mickey had to leave again.

“Nah, got band practice soon.” Mickey turned to look at Ian, watching the redhead’s shoulders relax as he processed the news. “I want you to come to the gig.”

Ian’s eyes lit up, and a shy smile crept onto his face, which he tried to hide behind his arm. “You want me to come?”

Mickey leaned closer, making Ian’s heart skip a beat. “You need me to repeat myself?”

“God, Mickey,” Ian sighed, sitting up and stretching like a cat. He leaned closer, his tone softening. “I really need us to talk.”

Mickey’s gaze shifted, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Talk about what?” he asked, his voice dropping just slightly, guarded but curious.

Ian took a breath, searching Mickey’s eyes. “About us. About… yesterday.”

For a moment, Mickey seemed to falter, the confident exterior softening. “You really want to go there now?” he murmured, half-joking but aware of the weight in Ian’s tone.

Ian nodded, the intensity of the moment hanging in the air between them. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

Mickey held Ian’s gaze for a long moment, his usual defenses cracking. “Alright,” he said finally, voice low and unguarded. “Let’s talk.”

Ian’s heart thudded against his chest, his nerves tightening like a spring ready to snap. “I just…” His voice faltered as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean anything.”

Mickey’s gaze sharpened, his head tilting as he studied Ian. “Who said it doesn’t?” His tone was calm, but there was a crack of something unspoken beneath the surface, a vulnerability Ian hadn’t anticipated.

“You’ve never said it does either,” Ian pressed, his voice low but firm. “I need to know what this is. If I’m wasting my time, tell me.”

Mickey’s brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced away for a moment before locking eyes with Ian. “You’re not wasting your time,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a softness that caught Ian off guard. “I wouldn’t be here if you were.”

Ian blinked, stunned at the quiet admission from Mickey. The tension in his chest eased, replaced with a warmth that spread through him. “So you stayed because you want this,” Ian said softly, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice, as if daring Mickey to say more.

Mickey shrugged, his usual bravado sneaking back in. “Maybe I just like your bed.”

Ian smirked, leaning closer. “You mean you like me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mickey muttered, but the faintest blush betrayed him.

Ian scoffed, shifting positions with deliberate ease until he hovered above Mickey, his hands pressed firmly on either side of Mickey’s head against the mattress. Mickey didn’t move, his grin widening at the sudden change in dynamic.

He lifted himself slightly, their faces mere inches apart, aiming to close the distance, but Ian pulled back just before their lips met.

“So, what are we?” Ian murmured, his voice low, teasing, as his lips hovered tantalizingly close.

Mickey’s eyes flicked to Ian’s mouth, desire pooling in their dark depths. “Whatever you want us to be,” he replied, voice steady but edged with tension.

“All right, but do you want us to be something more?” Ian pressed, his tone soft but insistent.

Mickey’s heart thundered, betraying his outward calm. He hesitated, locking eyes with Ian’s earnest green gaze, so full of hope it made his chest ache. Finally, his voice dropped to a near whisper, vulnerable and unguarded. “I want to try.”

Ian’s breath hitched, Mickey’s words sinking in, raw and earnest. For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of the confession filling the space between them.

“You’re serious,” Ian said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, searching Mickey’s face for any sign of doubt.

Mickey’s lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. “Dead serious. But don’t go getting all mushy on me, alright?”

Ian chuckled, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against Mickey’s, slow and deliberate. “Too late,” he murmured, before capturing Mickey’s mouth in a kiss that spoke louder than words ever could.

One of Mickey's hands slid beneath Ian's shirt, the touch slow and deliberate, sending shivers through Ian as their lips met in a feverish kiss. But just as Mickey's nails scraped across Ian's back, causing the redhead to moan at the mix of pleasure and pain, the moment was shattered by the buzzing of Mickey’s phone on the shelf next to the bed.

Mickey pulled away reluctantly, his lips leaving Ian’s with a frustrated sigh. Ian glanced at the flashing phone, irritation rising in his chest.

“Seriously?” he muttered, but forced himself to move to the other side of the bed, letting Mickey grab the phone. The frustration simmered inside him, though he kept it hidden.

Mickey glanced at the phone, his brow furrowing as he read the message. “It's the band,” he muttered, clearly torn between duty and the warmth that had just been interrupted. He slid the phone back onto the shelf, turning his attention back to Ian.

“You're leaving?” Ian asked, his voice carrying an undercurrent of hope he couldn’t fully hide, though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

Mickey sat up, stretching and groaning as he straightened his back. “Yeah, got to head out soon,” he muttered, sounding far less enthusiastic than usual. “And I gotta shower at home first.”

“You can shower here,” Ian suggested, moving closer and inhaling Mickey’s scent, one he’d grown to love. He pressed a gentle kiss to Mickey’s neck, feeling the shiver it caused.

Mickey shook his head. “Don’t have any spare clothes.”

“I’ll lend you mine,” Ian whispered, his breath warm against Mickey’s skin, nearly melting him where he stood.

Mickey scoffed but couldn't hide the blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, you're just looking for an excuse to keep me here, freckles.”

Ian grinned, sliding even closer to Mickey, his hands skimming over the sides of his shirt. “Maybe,” he teased, his lips brushing against Mickey’s jaw, “but you like it when I keep you here.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, his expression playful despite the tinge of pink on his cheeks. “You’re pushing it, man.”

Ian chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of Mickey’s face. “So, are you staying, or are you really going?”

Mickey sighed, his resistance faltering as he leaned into Ian’s touch. “You’re fuckin’ impossible, you know that?” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Ian couldn’t help but smile at Mickey’s words, the playful deflection masking the tension that still lingered in the air. “I know,” Ian murmured, his lips grazing Mickey’s neck once more as he leaned in.

The redhead grinned, savoring the moment as he traced light circles on Mickey’s back with his fingers. The weight of their conversation still lingered, but so did the quiet intimacy between them.

“You’re staying,” Ian repeated softly, more a statement than a question this time.

Mickey sighed, letting his forehead rest against Ian’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he mumbled, the word laced with resignation and warmth. “But just for a bit. Don’t get used to it.”

Ian chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to Mickey’s temple. “I already have.”

“Whatever—mind if I use your shower, smartass?” Mickey asked, his tone edged with mockery. Ian didn’t take the bait; instead, his smirk grew wider.

“Go ahead,” Ian said, pulling back to give him room. “I’ll grab you some clothes.”

Mickey stretched as he stood, heading toward the bedroom door. With one hand on the knob, he glanced back. “You seriously expect me to wear your stuff?”

“You’ve done it before,” Ian shot back with a shrug, earning an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine, I’ll grab something darker for you.”

Mickey sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t make it cheesy.”

“I would never,” Ian raised his hand in a dramatic surrender, but Mickey merely scoffed and walked out of the room. Left alone, Ian sank into the quiet of the bedroom, his mind racing. Was this real? Had they just crossed into something more? Mickey’s words echoed in his head, but it still felt surreal. Not long ago, Ian had been unsure whether to cut ties, afraid of how deeply his feelings ran. Now, his heart was full—uncertain, but hopeful. Maybe it was time to let himself breathe, to enjoy what was unfolding between them.

Ian shook off his thoughts, hearing the shower running, and rose to find something for Mickey to wear. His fingers skimmed through his wardrobe—too bright, too cozy, not Mickey’s style—until he found an oversized black t-shirt and some old black jeans. Hopefully, Mickey wouldn’t complain.

Ian grabbed the clothes and headed for the bathroom. He knocked once, but the sound of the shower drowned it out. Taking a breath, he decided to just go for it, covering his eyes as he opened the unlocked door. After placing the clothes on the washing machine, he turned to leave, but Mickey’s voice stopped him.

“Can’t hold your horses, huh?” Mickey’s eyebrow arched from behind the shower curtain.

“Sorry, you just... didn’t seem to hear me knocking.” Ian flushed, slowly lowering his hand and taking in the sight of water droplets trailing down Mickey’s neck and collarbones. Yeah, he could definitely get used to that view.

“It’s fine,” Mickey smirked, clearly enjoying Ian’s discomfort. “You look like you’re after more than just dropping off clothes.”

Ian’s face burned, and he quickly exhaled. “I’m just gonna leave.” Without another word, he slipped out of the bathroom, pressing his back against the wall once the door clicked shut. Calm down, Ian, he told himself. You’ve seen him naked enough by now.

Easier said than done when his heart was hammering like a teenager experiencing love for the first time.

Ian couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable warmth whenever Mickey was around. Something about him made the world feel calmer, less rushed. With Mickey, things felt unspoken yet understood—a kind of connection Ian hadn’t dared to believe he could have with anyone.

The sound of the bathroom door opening broke Ian from his thoughts. Mickey stepped out, clad in the oversized clothes Ian had lent him. His damp hair clung messily to his forehead, and he was rubbing a towel lazily over it. Ian’s lips quirked into an involuntary grin.

Mickey caught the look and groaned. “Don’t even start.”

“What?” Ian asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise. He leaned back against the bed frame, letting his gaze wander shamelessly. “Just saying. You look... cozy.”

Mickey snorted, pulling at the hem of the too-big hoodie. “I look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good,” Ian countered, his grin widening.

Mickey shot him a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he moved toward the shelf where his phone was charging, glancing at the screen. “Once my hair dries, I’m heading out. Gotta be there soon.”

Ian’s smile dimmed slightly, though he tried to play it off. He knew Mickey had his own life, but selfishly, he wanted more time. Wanted to stretch this moment just a little longer.

“Mickey…” Ian started, his voice soft but carrying an edge of vulnerability. “That means you won’t be... sleeping with anyone else, right?”

Mickey froze mid-motion, his eyes flicking up to meet Ian’s. The question hung in the air, heavy but unmistakable. A sly grin tugged at Mickey’s lips, though his expression softened around the edges.

“Jealous much?” he teased, cocking an eyebrow.

Ian shifted awkwardly, the faintest hint of color creeping into his cheeks. He crossed his arms defensively. “I’m just asking.”

Mickey took a step closer, the playful smirk still on his face, though his voice softened. “Relax, Red. I can’t even remember the last time I slept with anyone else.”

Ian blinked, his surprise evident. “Wait. Really?”

Mickey shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “Yeah. And trust me, I’m not exactly the expert here. Never really did the whole... relationship thing.”

Ian’s jaw dropped slightly. “You’ve never been in a relationship?”

Mickey smirked at Ian’s reaction but didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence draw out. Finally, he shrugged again, his tone more serious now. “Guess not. Didn’t think I was the type. I mean, look at me.” He gestured vaguely to himself, as if his tough exterior explained everything.

Ian’s heart twisted at the quiet vulnerability in Mickey’s voice. “Mickey, that’s not—”

Before Ian could finish, Mickey cut him off with a wry chuckle. “Juana reacted the same way, you know.”

Ian’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you told Juana?” He straightened, his voice tinged with both surprise and annoyance. “How did she find out before me?”

Mickey smirked, enjoying Ian’s reaction more than he’d admit. “You were mad at me, remember? Stormed off all dramatic. Ran into her after, and it just... came up.”

Ian stared at him, trying to process the casual way Mickey said it. “Came up?” he echoed, disbelief creeping into his voice.

“What?” Mickey said, his smirk deepening. “She’s your best friend. Thought she’d get it.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “So, what did you tell her, exactly?”

Mickey straightened, his teasing expression fading just a little. He met Ian’s gaze directly, his voice quieter now but steady. “Told her I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Ian’s breath caught at the honesty in Mickey’s tone. For a guy who pretended to have all the walls up, Mickey had a way of tearing Ian’s down without even trying.

“Wow, Mick,” Ian said softly, a hint of surprise in his voice. He studied Mickey’s expression, realizing the guy actually meant what he’d said. “You do realize you’ve just set me up for weeks of Juana grilling me about this, right?”

Mickey smirked, shrugging as though it was nothing. “Ain’t my fault you’re into all this,” he shot back, gesturing to himself with a crooked grin. “Guess you like a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” Ian replied, his voice firm but gentle. Reaching out, he caught Mickey’s hand and tugged him closer, guiding him to stand between his legs. Ian tilted his head back slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You’re... you. And I wouldn’t want you any other way—not ‘normal’ or whatever that even means.”

Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes like Ian was ridiculous, but the flush creeping up his neck gave him away. Compliments—especially real ones like that—weren’t something he knew how to take. Sure, he’d had drunk guys slurring sweet nothings in his ear, but nothing like this. The way Ian said it, like he really saw him and still wanted him, hit Mickey harder than he wanted to admit.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird,” Mickey muttered, his voice gruff as he looked away. “Probably a masochist, too.”

Ian let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a teasing smile. “Haven’t exactly tried that one yet,” he quipped, his tone full of playful suggestion.

Mickey rolled his eyes again, but this time there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He stepped back, breaking the moment before it got too intense for his comfort. He grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket with a familiar, casual ease. “You wanna meet up later?”

Ian raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his eagerness. “Depends,” he said, smirking. “You gonna be hard to find?”

Mickey chuckled, low and rough, “You know where I live.” 

His expression softened, and he rubbed the towel across his damp hair again, clearly stalling.

“You’re just gonna sit there watching me dry my hair like a creep?” he asked, smirking as he ruffled the towel lazily, his damp locks sticking up at odd angles.

Ian leaned back on his hands, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe. It’s not every day I see you looking like this.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Ian tilted his head, his grin widening. “Soft. Relaxed.”

Mickey scoffed, dropping the towel onto the chair by the window. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words.

Ian stood and closed the small gap between them, resting a hand lightly on Mickey’s arm. “Why not? I like seeing this side of you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas. I still don’t do that cuddly, talk-about-your-feelings bullshit.”

Ian chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Sure you don’t,” he teased, stepping closer until their foreheads almost touched. “Except when you do.”

Mickey huffed, feigning annoyance, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Ian’s grin turned smug, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth. “You think I’m cute?”

Mickey groaned, shoving Ian’s chest lightly but not enough to create any real distance. “Don’t push it, Red.”

Ian laughed, catching Mickey’s wrist before he could pull away completely. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He paused, his voice softening. “But seriously... stay a little longer?”

Mickey hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall and then back to Ian. “I can’t stay all day, you know,” he said gruffly, though his resolve was clearly wavering.

“I’m not asking for all day,” Ian replied, his tone earnest. “Just... a little longer. I like having you here.”

Mickey let out a long breath, his defenses crumbling as he took in Ian’s hopeful expression. “Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But only ‘cause I don’t feel like heading out yet.”

Ian’s face lit up, and he stepped back, grabbing Mickey’s towel from the chair. “Good. Now, sit down. I’ll help you dry your hair.”

Mickey stared at him, deadpan. “What are you, my mom?”

“Nope,” Ian quipped, holding the towel out with a playful grin. “Just someone who wants to spoil you a little.”

Mickey shook his head, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he dropped into the chair. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop Ian from standing behind him and gently toweling off his hair.

Ian worked in silence for a moment, his fingers brushing lightly against Mickey’s scalp as he dried the dark strands. It felt oddly intimate, and for once, Mickey didn’t crack a joke or push him away.

“You know,” Ian said after a while, his voice quiet, “I think this is nice. Just... being here with you like this.”

Mickey tilted his head slightly to glance up at Ian, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

Ian nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah.”

Mickey hummed, turning his gaze back to the floor. “Guess it’s not so bad,” he muttered, the admission so quiet Ian almost didn’t catch it.

Ian chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of Mickey’s head. “Glad you think so.”

Mickey groaned, reaching up to swat at Ian’s arm. “Alright, enough of the cheesy stuff. My hair’s dry, isn’t it?”

Ian stepped back, holding up the towel like a prize. “Done. You’re good to go.”

Mickey stood, running a hand through his now mostly-dry hair. “Finally,” he muttered, though the small smile on his face betrayed his annoyance.

Ian watched him, his chest tightening with warmth. “Thanks for staying,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

Mickey shrugged, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. But next time, you’re making breakfast.”

Ian grinned. “No problem.”

Mickey nodded, a small, almost shy smile flickering across his lips. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Ian standing there with the ghost of Mickey’s warmth still clinging to his skin.

Ian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a quiet laugh bubbling up as he flopped back onto the bed. It felt surreal, the way everything had shifted between them in such a short time. He could still feel the echo of Mickey’s words, the softness that lay beneath his rough exterior. It made Ian’s heart ache in the best way.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, thudding rhythm beneath his palm. Maybe he was a sap, maybe he was in way over his head, but for the first time in a long time, Ian felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Chapter Text

It had been four days since Ian and Mickey had settled into their relationship. Yet, it still felt strange for them to call each other “boyfriend” after all the time they’d spent just as “friends”. Even so, Ian couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relieved.

The main issue was that, in those few days, they hadn’t had much time together. While Ian was busy catching up on college assignments, Mickey was preparing for a gig and spent most of his time working. The only time they managed to see each other was when Ian squeezed in a quick visit to the music store during a break between classes. But even then, customers kept coming in, cutting their time short to barely five minutes.

Ian missed Mickey, as much as he hated to admit it out loud. It had only been four days, but after everything they had gone through in Ian’s apartment, it felt like an eternity. He couldn’t help but wonder constantly about Mickey—his feelings, whether he felt the same spark that Ian did after that night. Those few days apart made it clear just how much Ian actually liked Mickey, making him realize that the past few months had been nothing but a front, pretending he didn’t care. Hopefully, Mickey felt the same way.

Ian’s spiraling thoughts were finally disrupted when Friday came. He found himself in the bathroom of a nearby bar, and there was Mickey, pressed against the stall wall. Mickey’s smaller hand was gripping the back of Ian’s neck tightly, pulling him closer, like he couldn’t stand the distance any longer either.

Ian savored the warmth of Mickey’s lips, his hands gripping the man’s waist as their bodies pressed together with an almost desperate urgency. Mickey’s sharp intake of breath broke the rhythm for just a moment, his fingers digging into Ian’s shoulders at the unexpected friction. A quiet, breathy gasp escaped him, and Ian couldn’t help but smirk at the sound, though he never let his mouth stop moving against Mickey’s.

But it was Mickey who eventually broke the kiss, yanking Ian’s head back by his hair with a frustrated growl, gulping in air like he’d just surfaced from underwater. “Jesus, Gallagher,” Mickey muttered, his voice husky and strained, “you’re insatiable.”

Ian chuckled, his breath as ragged as Mickey’s but his grin unstoppable. “Haven’t seen you in days,” he murmured, the words soft yet tinged with teasing. “Can you blame me?”

Mickey scoffed, lifting a hand to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, next time, try not to swallow my soul, huh?”

The playful sarcasm only made Ian’s smile grow, his heart still pounding as if it hadn’t quite caught up to reality yet.

Then, Mickey pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time with a groan. “Shit. Gotta go. Fifteen minutes.” His tone was clipped, irritation flickering beneath the surface.

“Already?” Ian frowned, disappointment etched across his face. Mickey caught the look and couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips.

“What, you got separation anxiety now?” he teased, but Ian’s embarrassed sigh and averted gaze only made Mickey’s grin widen. “Don’t be such a sad puppy, Red. I’ll catch you later.”

Ian stepped back, pulling the stall door open. “Yeah, if your fangirls let you. Bigger pub tonight, after all.”

Mickey trailed Ian out of the stall, adjusting his jacket as the metal spikes caught the bathroom’s dim light. He paused at the mirror, catching his reflection, and for a moment, his smirk softened into something unguarded. “Lucky for you, I’ve already got my favorite fan,” he said, his voice playful but lined with something real.

Ian chuckled as he leaned over the sink, letting the cold water rush over his hands. “You know I’ll be watching.”

Mickey turned, his gaze steady, and his reply came without hesitation. “I’ll be waiting.” He hummed playfully, “Just don’t scream too loud when you see me.”

Ian snorted, pushing off the sink as Mickey turned toward the door. “I’ll save the screaming for later,” he called after him.

Mickey paused, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He didn’t look back as he replied, “You better.” And with that, he was gone, leaving Ian alone in the dimly lit bathroom, already counting the minutes until he’d see him again.

It wasn’t long before Ian emerged from the bathroom, navigating his way through the crowded bar to the counter. He slid onto the seat next to Juana, who immediately raised an eyebrow at him with a playful grin.

“Well, look who’s finally back,” she said, swishing her drink idly, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Ian shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, was I gone too long?”

Juana eyed him with exaggerated scrutiny, taking in his tousled hair and half-unbuttoned shirt. “You went in ten minutes ago, came back looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

Ian flushed a deep shade of red, glancing down at his shirt as he quickly fumbled to button it up. “I… uh…”

Juana’s laughter filled the space between them, her gaze turning amused. “Don’t even try to hide it, Ian.”

He sighed, hands lifted in a half-apology. “Okay, okay, you got me. I missed him, alright?”

Juana’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and mock disapproval flashing across her face. “Four days, Ian? And you're acting like he’s been gone for a month.”

“I’m not used to being away from him,” Ian said quietly, his fingers tapping on the counter as he gestured for the bartender. “We’ve spent so much time together lately, it just feels… wrong not to be around him.”

Juana chuckled, the corner of her mouth lifting in a knowing smile at the soft edge in Ian’s voice. “Sounds like you’re obsessed.”

Ian shot her a playful glare, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “Oh yeah? When was the last time you went on a date, huh?” he shot back, earning her a dramatic eye roll and a middle finger aimed in his direction. “I just need to show him I’m serious about this.”

“I think he already knows that,” Juana replied, taking a slow sip from her drink. Her gaze sharpened slightly, her eyes tracing Ian’s expression with a hint of curiosity. “So… are you two actually a thing now?”

“I think so, yeah,” Ian admitted quietly, his gaze drifting over the growing crowd, all eagerly awaiting Crimson Riot to take the stage. His fingers toyed with the edge of his glass, his thoughts visibly tangled. “I mean, we’re still figuring this out, but…”

“It’s going in the right direction,” Juana finished for him, pulling his attention back to her. Her tone was soft, her knowing smile nudging him toward clarity.

“I thought we’d finish college before you actually got laid,” Juana teased, her grin sharp and unapologetic.

“Shut up—I’d do just as good without it,” Ian shot back, though the unconvincing tone in his voice made her raise an eyebrow.

“Sure you would,” Juana said, her disbelief evident as she gave him an exaggerated once-over. “Funny how, the moment he showed up, that dark cloud of yours that screamed ‘leave me alone, I’m studying’ suddenly vanished.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “He’s not some magic cure, Juana. I was fine before.”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, drawing out the words with a teasing lilt. “Fine enough to make everyone think you were married to your textbooks. Now look at you—practically glowing. It’s like someone flipped your switch.”

Ian snorted, taking a sip of his drink to hide his smirk. “Well, maybe he just knows how to push the right buttons.”

Juana groaned, covering her face with her hand. “Please, no innuendos while I’m drinking.” She peeked at him through her fingers, a grin slipping through despite herself. “But seriously, Ian, I’ve never seen you like this. It’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Ian echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like… human.” Her teasing softened, her grin fading into something more genuine. “He’s good for you. I can see that.”

Ian paused, her words settling into his chest like a comforting weight. “He is,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “I just hope I’m good for him, too.”

Before Juana could respond, the lights in the bar dimmed, and a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd as the stage lit up. Ian’s heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of Mickey stepping into view, guitar slung casually over his shoulder, his presence commanding even before he played a single note.

“There’s your guy,” Juana said, nudging him with her elbow. “Better keep your screaming to a minimum, Red.”

Mickey wasn’t wearing his usual extravagant outfit that day, but somehow, he looked even better. His eyes were accentuated with a smudge of eyeliner that made his gaze sharper, more intense, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms that Ian couldn’t stop staring at. He could probably ramble for hours about every detail he loved about Mickey, from the smallest freckle on his skin to the confident way he carried himself.

Three other band members followed Mickey onto the stage, and the crowd erupted into cheers when the lead singer stepped up to the mic. The room vibrated with excitement as the spotlight focused on him. But Ian didn’t even bother sparing him a glance.

His focus remained steady on Mickey, standing slightly behind the others. Mickey pulled the guitar strap over his shoulder, his movements natural and fluid as he adjusted it. He swept his fingers lightly across the strings, testing the sound with a quick strum that made Ian’s chest tighten. It wasn’t even music yet—just a warm-up—but it was enough to make Ian feel like the rest of the world had disappeared.

The lead singer greeted the crowd, his voice loud and booming, but Ian barely registered it. Mickey, with his head slightly tilted as he tuned the guitar, was all Ian could see. He was a quiet force on that stage, commanding Ian’s full attention without even trying. Every detail—the way his biceps flexed as he adjusted the tuning pegs, the faint smirk on his lips as the crowd roared—made Ian’s heart race.

Mickey glanced briefly at Ian in the crowd, and for a split second, their eyes met. Ian’s breath hitched. The faint smirk on Mickey’s lips widened just enough to let him know he’d been caught staring.

Ian didn’t look away. Not for a second.

As the band launched into their opening song, the energy in the room surged. The bass thrummed in Ian’s chest, and the electric riffs from Mickey’s guitar reverberated through the space, filling every corner with a raw, vibrant sound. Mickey’s fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, his focus locked onto his instrument. Ian watched, captivated, as the man he’d kissed breathless in a dingy bathroom just moments ago transformed into someone untouchable—a star in his own right.

Juana nudged him again, pulling him out of his trance. “You’re staring like a lovesick fool,” she teased, her voice barely audible over the music.

Ian glanced at her, smirking. “Can you blame me?”

“Not really,” she admitted, her tone unusually soft as she followed his gaze back to Mickey. “But you should try blinking once in a while.”

Ian shook his head, his smile lingering as he returned his attention to the stage. Mickey was immersed in the music, his body moving instinctively with the rhythm. It was mesmerizing to watch him so in his element, completely at ease yet brimming with intensity. Ian found himself wondering how Mickey could make something as simple as playing guitar look so... intimate.

The second song was slower, almost sultry, with a melody that seemed to wrap itself around the crowd. The lead singer’s voice carried the lyrics, but it was Mickey’s solo halfway through that stole the spotlight. His fingers danced across the fretboard, each note deliberate, sharp, and full of emotion. Ian’s breath hitched again, his heart pounding in sync with the music.

Mickey looked up then, his eyes scanning the crowd briefly before landing on Ian. The connection was instant, like a bolt of electricity.

The room seemed to blur around Ian, the music muffling to a dull hum as their gazes locked. Mickey’s lips quirked into a subtle smile—not the cocky, teasing one he usually wore, but something softer, almost shy. It was a fleeting moment, but it sent Ian’s stomach into free fall.

And then Mickey turned away, breaking the spell as his focus returned to the strings beneath his fingertips. The moment was gone, but the warmth it left behind lingered, settling deep in Ian’s chest.

“You’re a goner,” Juana said, her voice cutting through the haze like a sharp needle. Ian didn’t even bother denying it.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice soft, almost reverent. “I think I am.”

The band finished the song, and the crowd erupted in cheers, but Ian barely noticed. He was still caught in the memory of Mickey’s smile, the way it had felt like a secret meant just for him.

As the set progressed, Ian’s admiration only grew. Mickey wasn’t just playing music—he was living it, breathing it, pouring himself into every chord and rhythm. It was a side of him Ian had never seen up close, and it left him in awe.

By the time the final song rolled around, the energy in the bar was electric. The lead singer thanked the crowd, promising another show soon, and the band launched into an explosive closing number. Mickey’s guitar ripped through the air like a storm, each note hitting Ian like a pulse of lightning.

The band wrapped up their set and made their way offstage, leaving behind a crowd that buzzed with excitement. Ian noticed how more and more people gravitated toward them with each show. A small swarm rushed toward the backstage entrance, eager for photos or autographs.

Ian hung back, his eyes scanning the crowd for one person in particular. Mickey. But the brunette was nowhere to be seen.

“Shouldn’t you head back there?” Juana asked, nodding toward the alley leading to the backstage area.

“I’ll let him come to me,” Ian replied with a teasing grin. It sounded confident, but in truth, he was hoping—maybe even needing—Mickey to choose him over the fans clamoring for his attention.

Juana arched a brow, quietly impressed. “He’s really starting to blow up, isn’t he? Every show seems to pull in a bigger crowd.”

It was undeniable. Ian had seen it firsthand. A few days ago, when he’d gone to visit Mickey at the music store, two excited fans had burst in, thrilled to have tracked him down. They’d stolen every second of Mickey’s attention, cutting Ian out of the conversation entirely.

“Yeah, I’m happy for him,” Ian said with a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Juana, sharp as ever, caught the hesitation. “You don’t sound happy.”

“I am,” Ian insisted, clearing his throat. “It’s just... I’m not the only one who’s going to have my eyes on him anymore.”

Juana’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She never thought she’d find Ian Gallagher in love adorable, but here they were. “Hate to break it to you, Red, but you were never the only one. I mean, even I had a tiny crush on him before I realized he wasn’t into girls.”

Ian huffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

He traced the rim of his glass with a finger, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the words he didn’t want to say. “It’s his first relationship, you know? What if he gets bored? What if he starts missing hooking up with other guys? How the hell am I supposed to stop that from happening?”

Juana’s smile softened, her gaze steady as she leaned closer, resting her elbow on the counter. “Ian, he’s a grown man. Yeah, maybe he’s still figuring things out, but think about it—you’re the first person to get this close to him in twenty-three years. That’s not something he’s going to take lightly. It’s not something anyone would.”

Ian stared down at his drink, Juana’s words echoing in his head. The truth was, he knew Mickey wasn’t like anyone else he’d been with. He just didn’t know if that made him feel more secure—or more scared of losing him.

“You think I’m making too much of this?” Ian asked, his voice low, almost lost in the hum of the bar.

Juana gave him a look, equal parts sympathy and sass. “Oh, absolutely. But isn’t that what love does? Messes with your head. Makes you think you’re not enough, even when you’re exactly what they want.”

Ian let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if he’d call it love yet.”

Juana raised a brow, her lips quirking. “Would you?”

The question hit like a sucker punch, and Ian stilled. Love. The word felt too big, too complicated. But then, so was Mickey. Ian thought about the way Mickey had looked at him on stage, like nothing else mattered. The way Mickey kissed him, hungry and raw, like Ian was the air he needed to breathe.

“Yeah,” Ian murmured, his voice rough, but there was no hesitation. “I think I would.”

Juana’s expression softened, a rare warmth slipping through her usual snark. “Then maybe stop stressing about what might go wrong and just... let it be. He’s here, Ian. With you. That’s gotta mean something.”

Before Ian could reply, the sound of boots on the worn wooden floor pulled his attention. He looked up to see Mickey striding toward them, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. His hair was a mess, damp and sticking up from the heat of the lights, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. But that smirk—the one he saved just for Ian—was still firmly in place.

Juana gave Ian a pointed look, leaning back with a smirk of her own. “Speak of the devil. Guess that’s my cue. Try not to screw this up, Red.”

Ian shot her a wry grin. “No promises.”

“Figures.” Juana slid off her stool and turned to Mickey with a playful wink. “Good set. He’s all yours.”

Mickey’s smirk deepened as Juana walked away, and he turned back to Ian, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “Miss me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Ian leaned back against the counter, his own smirk tugging at his lips. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to shake off the mob,” Mickey said with a shrug, stepping closer until Ian could feel the faint brush of his arm. “They don’t give up easy.”

“Guess that’s the price of fame, huh?” Ian teased, his tone light but with a flicker of something warmer beneath. “Big rockstar now.”

Mickey snorted, shaking his head as he leaned against the bar beside Ian. “Yeah, right. Big rockstar who still has to stock shelves at the music store to make rent.” He glanced sideways at Ian, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usual bravado. “But it’s nice to feel like I’m finally getting somewhere, you know?”

Ian nodded, his teasing fading into something more genuine. “You are, Mick. You killed it up there. The crowd couldn’t get enough of you.”

“Well, what about you?” Mickey raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp and playful. Ian blinked, his breath catching for a split second. The question lingered between them, heavier than it seemed. Mickey didn’t care about the fans flocking to him. What mattered more was whether Ian was enjoying himself. That simple truth settled deep in Ian’s chest, and for the first time in a while, he felt a flicker of reassurance. Maybe Juana was right after all.

“You know, the lighting really suited you,” Ian teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he watched Mickey chuckle, his dimples making an appearance. Ian couldn’t help but linger on the sound—it was one of those things he secretly loved too much.

“You're fuckin’ annoying,” Mickey shot back, shaking his head. “I was talkin’ about my show. Not the lights.”

“I know,” Ian replied, his grin softening but not fading. “Your show was incredible. I mean, your fingers... watching you play like that—it’s insane how fast they move.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, the compliment catching him off guard. His smirk returned, sharp and teasing. “Outta everything, you focused on my fingers? Jesus, Gallagher, should I be worried about what was goin’ through your head? Or your pants?”

Ian rolled his eyes, but the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. “In your dreams, Mick.” He leaned back against the counter, trying for casual. “Maybe I just have an appreciation for talent. Your hands... they’re something else. Whether it’s a guitar or—”

“Watch it, freckles.” Mickey cut him off, his grin sharp as he leaned in just enough to close the space between them. “You’re about two seconds away from stroking my ego. Or something else.”

Ian snorted, but his gaze stayed fixed on Mickey, unyielding. “You don’t need me for that. You’re perfectly capable of inflating your own ego.” His smirk softened, the playful tone giving way to something quieter, more sincere. “But yeah, I noticed your hands. They’ve got...character. You can tell how much you’ve put into the things you care about. They tell your story, in a way.”

For a moment, Mickey’s cocky grin faltered, his expression shifting into something unguarded. He cleared his throat, glancing away as if to shake off the weight of Ian’s words. “Christ, Red. What’s next? A fuckin’ love sonnet?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Ian shot back, his grin teasing but his voice low. “Though, if I were gonna write about you, your hands wouldn’t be the first thing I’d focus on.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, but the faint pink blooming on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re such a fuckin’ sap,” he muttered, the insult half-hearted, his lips twitching with a reluctant smile.

They stayed like that for a moment, the bar’s noise fading into the background. Mickey’s presence was grounding, a steady pulse that Ian couldn’t ignore. He wanted to say something, anything, but before he could, Mickey leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let's get out of here,” Mickey said, his tone light but purposeful. Ian immediately agreed, a smile tugging at his lips as he nodded. “I'll grab my stuff and meet you in a minute.”

Mickey pushed himself off the stool, ready to head out, but just as Ian moved to do the same, they were interrupted.

A woman, tall and long-haired, appeared at Ian's side, casually leaning against the counter. Her eyes locked onto him, and a playful smirk danced on her lips. “Hey, cutie.”

Ian blinked, caught off guard. “What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. He met her gaze, then glanced at Mickey, wondering if the comment was aimed at him instead.

The woman didn’t break her gaze, a playful smirk curling at the corner of her lips. Ian blinked, still unsure if she was talking to him. “Yeah, you,” she said, her voice low and confident. “You’re not gonna leave without giving me your name, are you?”

Mickey locked his jaw, inhaling deeply, trying to mask his annoyance, though Ian could sense the raw frustration beneath the surface. Mickey wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to his feelings, and Ian was all too aware of it.

Ian stood up from the stool, ready to politely decline and get on with their exit. But before he could say anything, Mickey beat him to it.

“He's taken.” Mickey's voice was firm, the words almost cutting through the air with their bluntness. The casual declaration of their relationship—still very much in its early stages—almost made Ian’s jaw hit the floor. Mickey had just made it public, and Ian wasn't sure what to do with that sudden shift.

The woman blinked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Taken?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief, as if she was about to dismiss the statement as a joke. But when her eyes flicked to Mickey, and she saw his hand firmly squeezing Ian's shoulder, her expression shifted. Her eyes widened with realization. “Oh. Oh my God, I'm so... Look, I had no idea. I’m sorry—I'll just go.”

She backed off quickly, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment, and Ian watched her retreat, a little stunned at how quickly everything unfolded. Mickey’s protective gesture was unspoken, but it spoke volumes.

“Wow,” Ian breathed out, finally turning his focus back to Mickey, who still wore a frown that seemed to dare anyone to challenge him. “That was... Did you just say that about us to a stranger?”

Mickey shrugged, his expression as nonchalant as ever, though the tension in his shoulders suggested otherwise. “I didn't lie, did I?” His voice was laced with the faintest edge of frustration, like he was still trying to process the interaction.

Ian couldn't help but laugh, though there was a hint of disbelief in his tone. “No, you didn’t. But damn, that was... intense.”

“I said I don't like sharing,” Mickey muttered quietly, his voice almost a low growl, as if confirming just how much he yearned for Ian to be the only one in his life. He gave a quick glance back at Ian, who was still frozen in place, then added, “Anyway... Be right back.”

Ian stayed silent, the words hanging in the air. He didn't respond, still processing what had just happened, his mind caught between disbelief and something else—something that made his pulse quicken. His gaze followed Mickey as he walked away, heading toward the backstage area.

Did he just witness a wave of jealousy from Mickey? Surely he did. The tightness in Mickey’s expression, the way his hand had almost instinctively grasped Ian’s shoulder, it was unmistakable. And the realization sent a pleasant shock rippling through Ian’s stomach, a fluttering heat spreading across his chest.

Ian exhaled slowly, his lips twitching into a small, amused smile as he leaned back against the counter. Mickey was never one to wear his emotions on his sleeve—not in words, anyway. But actions? That was a different story. And what had just unfolded wasn’t subtle at all.

The memory of Mickey’s firm grip on his shoulder and the low possessiveness in his voice played on repeat in Ian’s mind. He hadn’t thought Mickey had it in him to be so... obvious, let alone admit anything resembling a claim on him.

“Taken,” Ian muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. The word felt foreign but oddly fitting, and the way Mickey had said it lingered, making Ian’s heart race a little faster than he cared to admit.

When Mickey returned, he acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His usual confident stride carried him back to Ian’s side, and he grabbed his jacket from the bar.

“All good,” Mickey said casually, glancing at Ian before gesturing toward the door. “Ready to get outta here?”

Ian didn’t move right away, his curiosity bubbling over. “You’re not gonna mention what just happened?”

Mickey raised a brow. “What? The part where some random chick tried to hit on you?”

Ian smirked, leaning in slightly. “The part where you told her I was taken. Sounded pretty official.”

Mickey’s jaw twitched as he shrugged, his nonchalant demeanor betraying a hint of defensiveness. “Yeah? So what? She needed to hear it.”

“Oh, she definitely heard it,” Ian teased, his grin widening. “But I didn’t realize you’d gotten so territorial.”

“Territorial?” Mickey scoffed, crossing his arms. “I just don’t like people thinking they can move in on what’s—” He stopped himself, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You know what? Forget it.”

Ian’s brow lifted. “What’s what?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned toward the door. “Let’s go, Red.”

Ian followed, biting back a laugh. Mickey’s jealousy might’ve been unexpected, but Ian couldn’t deny how much it stirred something warm and possessive in himself too. Whatever this was between them, it was becoming more real every day—and he didn’t mind it one bit.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Mickey lit a cigarette and shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket, falling into step beside Ian.

“So,” Mickey started casually, exhaling a puff of smoke into the cold night air, “the guys are throwing a little celebration soon. You wanna join?”

Ian blinked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “What? I don’t think I’d fit in there.”

Mickey flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the snowy ground, his eyes still on Ian. “Why not? If you’re still pissed at Axl, he’ll apologize. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not that…” Ian stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, looking away. “I just don’t want to embarrass you, man.”

Mickey stopped walking, clearly taken aback. He turned to face Ian, frustration mixed with surprise on his face. “Embarrass me? Seriously? They’ve been asking about you non-stop.”

Ian mirrored Mickey’s movement, stopping in front of him, his gaze softening. “So you want me to come?”

Mickey exhaled sharply, pressing the cigarette to his lips before glancing away, trying to hide the small tug at the corner of his mouth. “I’d get bored without your freckled ass hanging around, anyway.”

Ian snorted, amused by Mickey’s roundabout way of answering. “You really can’t just say ‘yes,’ can you?”

Mickey shrugged, his lips curling into a faint smile despite his best efforts to hide it. “Guess not.”

Ian’s grin spread as he nodded. “Alright, I’ll come.”

Mickey’s smile was almost imperceptible, but Ian saw it, and it made his chest feel warmer than the night air. “Good,” He muttered. 

Ian stayed silent, his gaze lingering on Mickey, until his eyes lifted to the messy dark hair, now speckled with white snow. He reached out, gently running his fingers through the strands, pushing the snowflakes away. “White looks good on you.”

Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. I’d rather die than wear white.” But despite his words, he relaxed under Ian’s touch—always so gentle, like Ian was handling something fragile.

“At least I can have my imagination,” Ian whispered with a teasing smirk, his fingers sliding down to Mickey’s jaw, tracing the pale skin of his cheek.

Mickey froze at the sudden touch, his skin heating under Ian’s fingers. He tried to keep up his usual act, rolling his shoulders and muttering, “Yeah, alright. Lots of things are happening in that imagination of yours, and I’ll leave it at that.”

“You don’t wanna know some?” Ian tilted his head, his voice softening, just enough to make Mickey’s body feel like it was unraveling.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “I bet it’s wild.”

Ian chuckled quietly, then took the cigarette from Mickey’s lips, holding it down as he met his eyes. “Look at that—Saint Mikhailo himself speaking.”

Mickey’s smirk widened, but there was a flicker in his gaze, like maybe Ian was more right than he cared to admit.

Mickey’s gaze dropped to Ian’s lips, and he lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the warmth of Ian’s hand on his skin and the snowflakes dusting their clothes envelop him.

Ian caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a breath escaping him as he glanced up, his eyes meeting Mickey’s. “Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, voice tentative.

Mickey raised an eyebrow at the question. “You’re asking?”

Ian’s gaze flickered around them, taking in the few people walking by, the cars passing, and the streetlights casting their glow on the cold night. He stepped back slightly, his cheeks flushing with uncertainty. “I don’t know... I just... I don’t want to scare you off or make it weird. I—”

Before he could finish, Mickey’s hand moved quickly, gripping Ian’s coat and tugging him closer. He didn’t say a word as he lowered Ian down slightly to meet his lips.

The kiss was cool at first, the chill of the night air mingling with the warmth of their lips, but it quickly deepened, the heat between them building in the quiet of the street. Mickey’s grip tightened around Ian, pulling him even closer, as if he didn’t want to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, it was with shared breaths and a quiet intimacy hanging between them.

Mickey rested his forehead against Ian’s, both of them breathing heavily, the night air cold on their flushed faces. Ian’s heart was pounding in his chest, but there was a warmth settling inside him that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Mickey pulled back just enough to look into Ian’s eyes, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer, something that felt a lot like care. “You’re overthinking it, Red,” he muttered, his voice rough but tender.

Ian chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “You always say that.”

Mickey smirked, brushing a strand of hair from Ian’s forehead. “Maybe because you always do.”

Ian leaned in again, his lips barely brushing Mickey’s. “I just—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mickey interrupted, pressing a quick kiss to Ian’s lips, cutting off the words before they could form. “I get it.”

Ian smiled into the kiss, the gentle pressure of Mickey’s lips a quiet promise of something more, something deeper. When they finally pulled away, it was with a shared understanding between them, unspoken but clear.

Mickey took a step back, “C’mon, let’s go before you freeze your ass off.”

Ian laughed softly, following Mickey as they walked down the street, the cold air around them no match for the warmth building between them. He couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his chest, knowing that this—whatever it was—was real.

Chapter Text

Ian’s teeth sank into Mickey’s shoulder, the sharp bite drawing a low groan from him. His grip around Mickey tightened, nails digging into the pale skin, leaving marks that barely registered on Ian’s mind as he chased the growing pleasure.

Mickey exhaled sharply, trying to hold back the sounds that threatened to escape him, but in the end, he couldn’t. A shiver ran through him as he scratched Ian’s back instinctively, his longer nails digging into the skin, probably leaving bruises, though Ian was too consumed by the moment to notice.

“Fuck, Mickey...” Ian breathed, his voice shaky, lips brushing against Mickey’s ear as his hips quickened, the rhythm unrelenting. Mickey trembled under him, each thrust sending waves of sensation crashing through him, but he never once loosened his hold on Ian. He clung to him like he was afraid Ian would vanish at any moment.

Mickey’s lips hovered near Ian’s ear, breath ragged, and though the pleasure had him on the edge of speechlessness, he managed to whisper, “Look at me.”

Ian’s pulse quickened at the command, and he lifted his head, locking eyes with Mickey. The intensity between them was palpable, each of their breaths syncing in the charged silence that hung between them. Mickey’s gaze was unwavering, darkened with desire, and Ian couldn’t help but get lost in it, his heart racing with every beat.

Mickey’s fingers brushed against Ian’s cheek, the touch soft yet possessive, grounding him in the moment. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation, swallowed up by the space between them. Ian could feel his own body trembling, but it was the way Mickey held him—so tightly, so desperately—that anchored him, made him feel like he was the only one that mattered.

“I need you,” Mickey’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of something deeper, something raw. His hand slid lower, gripping Ian’s waist, urging him to move faster, to push them both to the brink.

Ian’s hands found Mickey’s chest, fingers splaying across the soft skin, as he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. Their breaths mixed, urgent, and desperate, as if the world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just them—caught in the undeniable pull of each other, surrendering to the feeling of being wanted, of needing each other more than either of them could ever put into words.

Ian’s movements faltered for a split second, a rush of emotion crashing over him so suddenly it almost knocked the breath from his lungs. He stared down at Mickey, his heart pounding harder than it ever had before, not just from the heat between them, but from something deeper—something terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His lips parted, the words sitting heavy on his tongue, aching to be spoken. I love you.

But they wouldn’t come out. His breath caught in his throat, and instead, all that emerged was a shaky, “Mick, I—” He froze, his voice breaking, the vulnerability of the moment paralyzing him.

Mickey’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of curiosity breaking through the haze of pleasure. “What?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent, his fingers gripping Ian’s sides like he was anchoring him.

Ian’s chest heaved as he tried to find the courage to say it, but the intensity of Mickey’s eyes on him made him falter again. He shook his head slightly, leaning down instead to press their foreheads together. His lips brushed against Mickey’s, the kiss slow and searching, a silent expression of the feelings he couldn’t put into words.

Mickey let out a low, approving hum, his hands sliding up Ian’s back. “Whatever it is, just say it,” he whispered, his voice gentler now, like he could sense Ian’s hesitation.

But Ian couldn’t. Not yet. The fear of what it might mean, of how it might change things, was too much. So instead, he let his actions speak for him—every touch, every kiss, every movement filled with the unspoken confession he couldn’t yet bring himself to say.

Ian’s hesitation lingered in the air for a brief moment, but Mickey didn’t press. Instead, his fingers tightened on Ian’s waist, pulling him closer, grounding them both in the heat of the moment. Whatever Ian had almost said was drowned out by the rhythm of their bodies, the raw need that consumed them both.

Mickey tilted his head back, his breaths sharp and uneven as Ian’s hips moved in relentless, perfect sync with his. The world outside their connection dissolved entirely. Mickey didn’t want to think—he didn’t want to wonder or question. He just wanted Ian, every part of him, every heartbeat, every sound, every shiver.

“Fuck, Ian…” Mickey groaned, his voice trembling as he clung to him, nails digging into Ian’s back. Ian responded with a deeper thrust, his own body trembling with the effort to hold back as the tension between them coiled tighter and tighter. Mickey’s head spun, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all, until the pleasure finally shattered through him, raw and consuming.

Ian followed moments later, his body locking up before he collapsed against Mickey, their sweat-slicked skin pressed together as they both gasped for air. Mickey’s arms remained locked around Ian, holding him close as if afraid to let go, the room falling into a heavy, charged silence.

Ian let out a long sigh, his breath still shaky from the intensity, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he glanced over at Mickey. “God,” he breathed, still feeling the rush, “You good?”

Mickey shot him a sly look, his chest heaving with the aftermath, and scoffed. “Better than good.”

Ian shifted, resting his head on Mickey’s chest, the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat steadying him. His fingers absently traced idle patterns on Mickey’s side as he closed his eyes. “I used to sleep like this with Fiona when I was younger,” he admitted softly, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them.

Mickey’s fingers slipped into Ian’s hair, brushing through the damp strands in slow, soothing strokes. He smirked, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Yeah, I can tell you were a clingy kid.”

Ian groaned, swatting lightly at Mickey’s side without lifting his head. “Shut up. Am I annoying you with this?” His voice dipped, quieter now, betraying the vulnerability beneath his playful tone.

“Hell no,” Mickey replied without hesitation, his hand pausing for a beat before resuming its gentle motion through Ian’s hair. “You think I’d let you stay here if you were annoying me?”

Ian snorted softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a weird way of showing affection, you know that?”

Mickey huffed a laugh, his free hand coming to rest on Ian’s back, his touch grounding. “You complaining?”

“Not really,” Ian murmured, the words muffled against Mickey’s chest. He let out a content sigh, his body relaxing fully against Mickey’s. “Feels... safe.”

Mickey’s fingers stilled for a moment, the weight of Ian’s words sinking in. He swallowed hard, his voice softer when he spoke again. “You are safe. You know that, right?”

Ian lifted his head slightly, enough to meet Mickey’s gaze. His eyes searched Mickey’s face, the sincerity in his words washing over him like a balm. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Mickey’s hand stilled in Ian’s hair, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied the redhead’s face. “What were you gonna say?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a quiet insistence that wouldn’t let Ian off the hook.

A flush crept up Ian’s neck, staining his cheeks a deep red. He ducked his head, his fingers tracing distracted patterns across Mickey’s chest in an effort to deflect. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice low, guarded. “Doesn’t matter.”

Mickey tilted his head, a faint scoff escaping him as his fingers resumed their lazy strokes through Ian’s hair. “Bullshit,” he said simply, his tone laced with both irritation and patience. “C’mon, Gallagher. You think I’m just gonna let it go?”

Ian exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if the words were stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat. His teeth tugged at his bottom lip, the nervous habit betraying his struggle to speak. Mickey’s gaze stayed locked on him, unwavering, the weight of it a reminder that there was no running from this moment.

“Forget it,” Ian finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid.”

Ian slowly pulled himself out of Mickey’s embrace, sitting up on the edge of the mattress. His gaze flitted around the room, landing on random objects—his phone, the discarded clothes on the floor—but it was clear he wasn’t really looking for anything.

Mickey’s brows furrowed as he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes fixed on Ian. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he said, his voice low but laced with concern.

Ian swallowed hard, his hands resting tensely on his thighs. He hesitated before glancing back at Mickey, his expression conflicted. “I do,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.

Mickey’s frown deepened at Ian’s tone, the words too soft to carry the conviction they usually did. Something was eating at him, and Mickey wasn’t about to let it slide.

Mickey sat up fully, leaning forward so his chin hovered just above Ian’s shoulder. His hand came to rest lightly against Ian’s back, his touch firm yet careful, like he was trying to coax him out of whatever shell he was retreating into.

“Don’t give me that half-assed answer,” Mickey said, his voice softer now but no less persistent. “What’s goin’ on in that big, ginger head of yours? Tell me.”

Ian’s shoulders tensed under Mickey’s hand, his posture rigid as if he could ward off the weight of Mickey’s words. He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. “It’s nothin’, Mick. I’m just… overthinkin’.”

“You always are,” Mickey said with a huff of laughter, resting his chin on Ian’s shoulder. His lips grazed the side of Ian’s neck, lingering there with a teasing warmth. “We’re not strangers, you know.”

Ian shivered at the gentle touch, instinctively tilting his head back to give Mickey more access. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, his voice low. “Mick, I... It’s just—“

The sudden trill of Ian’s phone cut through the moment, making him flinch slightly. Relief flickered across his face as he glanced at the screen, grateful for the interruption. “It’s Juana,” he said, reading the name on the display.

Mickey exhaled, his disappointment subtle but tangible in the way his shoulders dropped slightly. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, pulling back. He flopped onto the bed, rolling onto his side and tugging the blanket over himself. “Tell her I said hi or something.”

Ian hesitated, watching Mickey for a moment. His boyfriend had already turned his back, one hand gripping his phone as he started scrolling with feigned indifference. The tension between them hung in the air, unspoken and unresolved, but Ian pushed it aside, forcing his attention to the call as he swiped to answer.

Ian pressed the phone to his ear, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Juana, hey.”

“Hey, Red—shit, it’s early. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Juana’s voice was warm but laced with concern.

Ian chuckled, glancing at Mickey sprawled across the bed, absorbed in his phone. “Nah, you’re good. Been up for a while.”

“Good, good,” Juana replied, a hint of relief in her voice. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I need you here. There’s some paperwork for you to sign—we’ve got another show lined up.”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Another one already?”

“Right?” Juana laughed, her excitement evident. “I couldn’t believe it either. Apparently, some director caught our last show and wants us to perform at a theater. It’s not a huge venue, but it’s still a solid opportunity.”

Ian let out a slow exhale, processing the news. “That’s amazing… you signed us up, right?”

“Hell yeah, I did,” Juana replied, sounding almost smug. “That’s why you need to get over here and sign a few things.”

Ian nodded, feeling the buzz of excitement in his chest. “Alright, I’ll be there soon. Give me a few.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Juana’s voice softened. “Oh, and you can bring Mickey if you want.”

Ian glanced over at Mickey, who was still lounging on the bed, pretending to be absorbed in his phone but clearly listening in. “I’ll ask him.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon, Red. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” Ian replied with a light laugh before hanging up. 

He ended the call and set his phone down, turning his attention back to Mickey. The other man hadn’t moved, still scrolling through his phone as if he hadn’t heard a word of the conversation. Ian shifted closer, resting a hand on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Juana says hi back,” Ian said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against Mickey’s skin. “She also said I should bring you along.”

Mickey finally glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Yeah? What’s goin’ on?”

“Got a suggestion for a new show,” Ian replied with a shrug. “Apparently, I need to sign up a few things to agree to it.”

Mickey huffed a laugh, though it lacked his usual energy. “Guess that’ll make you the popular one now, huh?”

Ian frowned, his hand sliding down to grip Mickey’s arm gently. “You wanna come? It might be good to get out for a bit. Clear your head.”

Mickey hesitated, his eyes flicking back to his phone. “Nah,” he said after a moment, his voice casual. “You go. I’ll just hang out here.”

Ian’s chest tightened at the subtle distance in Mickey’s tone. He wanted to push, to tell Mickey they needed to talk, but he also didn’t want to force it. Instead, he nodded, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the back of Mickey’s neck.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ian murmured, his lips lingering for a moment. “Don’t go too far, alright?”

Mickey smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Where the hell am I gonna go?”

Ian straightened, grabbing his clothes and dressing quickly. As he left the room, he cast one last glance at Mickey, silently promising himself they’d finish this conversation. They had to.

“I think he's mad at me,” Ian admitted, his fingers tightening around the coffee cup as if it might anchor him. He barely noticed the way it threatened to tip, his mind too preoccupied.

Juana glanced up from the stack of papers in front of her, her curiosity instantly piqued. “Who?”

Ian gave her a look that said it all, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Mickey,” he muttered, his voice tinged with guilt.

She set the documents aside, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, what happened?”

Ian exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he avoided her gaze. “I tried to tell him something... but I froze. I think he’s upset because I couldn’t go through with it.”

Juana studied him carefully, her interest sharpening. “And what exactly were you trying to tell him?”

Ian hesitated, his grip loosening on the cup as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze darted everywhere but toward her, his discomfort evident. “That I love him,” he said softly, the words almost disappearing into the air between them.

Juana’s eyebrows shot up, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “So, let me get this straight—you almost told Mickey you love him, but chickened out halfway?”

Ian winced at her bluntness, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, basically.”

Juana let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Red, you’re a mess. Mickey’s probably not mad, you know. He’s just confused. You’re lucky he hasn’t dragged it out of you yet.”

Ian frowned, his brows knitting together. “You don’t get it, Juana. It’s... complicated. It’s only been a week since we started being together. I can’t tell if it’s too soon for such confessions.”

Juana raised an eyebrow, her sly smile softening into something more empathetic. “Ian, love isn’t something you put on a timer. If you feel it, you feel it. Besides, Mickey’s not exactly the patient type. If you keep holding back, he’ll probably push you until you spill.”

Ian sighed, slouching further in his chair. “You’re making it sound easy. It’s not. I don’t even know if he feels the same way.”

Juana tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “Have you ever seen the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon or something? Trust me, he feels something, Ian. You just need to stop overthinking and take a leap.”

Ian glanced at her, doubt flickering in his eyes. “What if I’m wrong? What if I ruin everything?”

Juana leaned forward, her gaze steady and serious now. “And what if you don’t? What if this is the start of something incredible, and you’re too scared to let it happen? Life’s full of risks, Ian. But this... this sounds worth it.”

He stared into his coffee cup, her words sinking in. The truth was, he knew she was right. He’d spent so much time second-guessing himself that he’d pushed Mickey away in the process.

After a long pause, he looked up at Juana, determination replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. “You’re right. I need to tell him.”

Ian grabbed his jacket and prepared to leave Juana's place, his thoughts preoccupied with how he’d finally tell Mickey the truth. Juana had returned to her stack of papers but kept a watchful eye on him as he stood by the door, his phone in hand.

“You gonna do it?” she asked without looking up, though her tone carried a teasing edge.

“Yeah,” Ian said, his voice firm. “I will.”

Just as he opened the door, his phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together as he read the message from Mickey:

“heading to practice. keys under the mat. catch you later.”

Ian stared at the text for a moment, a mix of irritation and worry creeping in. Mickey rarely went anywhere without letting Ian know ahead of time, and this sudden departure felt deliberate—like Mickey was putting distance between them on purpose.

Juana noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

Ian turned the phone to show her the message. “He left for practice. Didn’t say anything before I left this morning.”

Juana leaned back in her chair, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. “Sounds like someone’s playing hard to get.”

Ian huffed, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Or he’s pissed off at me.”

“Or,” Juana said, her tone laced with amusement, “he’s trying to give you space to figure your shit out. Either way, you should wait till he comes back. Do the speech right.”

Ian sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered Juana’s words. “Maybe you're right,” he admitted reluctantly. “Rushing into this isn’t going to help anything.”

Juana tilted her head, clearly pleased with herself. “See? I am good for something.”

He shook his head with a faint smirk. “You’re good for annoying me, that’s for sure.”

She laughed lightly, her gaze softening. “Just give it a little time, Ian. When he’s back, say what you need to say. No distractions, no running around trying to find him.”

Ian slipped his phone back into his pocket and nodded. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

“Good,” Juana said, her focus already returning to her papers. “He’ll come back when he’s ready. You’ll know when to strike.”

Ian gave her a small wave before stepping out into the crisp air, her words lingering in his mind. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but he knew she was right—this had to be done properly. For Mickey, and for himself.

Mickey’s fingers moved over the guitar strings, but the sound that came out was harsh, grating against his nerves like it didn’t belong. He grimaced and adjusted the guitar, trying a different angle.

“Again,” he muttered under his breath, his frustration seeping into every word.

The band exchanged irritated glances, and Axl, slouched in his chair with exhaustion, groaned dramatically. “Again? We’ve been playing this damn riff for an hour.”

“Yeah, and we keep messing it up,” Mickey snapped, tightening his grip on the neck of his guitar. The tension in his hands was visible, and the others took notice, their patience running thin. “People aren’t gonna like it if we keep fucking it up, so cut the complaints.”

Kurt leaned back, setting his own instrument down with a sigh. His eyes narrowed, shifting from the strings of Mickey’s guitar to the frustrated look on his face. “What’s going on? You seem pissed.”

“I’m not,” Mickey growled, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

“Relationship trouble?” Axl teased, a smirk tugging at his lips, but when Mickey shot him a venomous glare, Axl’s smirk faded into realization. “Oh. So you’re already fighting, huh? That was quick.”

“We’re not fighting, dipshit,” Mickey shot back, his voice sharp. But the flicker of something deeper, something more complicated, was in his eyes—Axl had hit a nerve.

Axl raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, no need to get all defensive.” His smile faded eventually, “Look, I’m not good at relationships, but I have dozens of advices ready, so spit it out.”

Mickey hesitated, his fingers frozen over the strings of his guitar. The tension in his chest was too much to bear, and finally, he set the instrument aside with a heavy sigh. “He wanted to tell me something, but when I tried to ask him about it, he just started dodging the subject all morning,” Mickey muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know it was something important. I can feel it, alright?”

Kurt tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “What do you think it was?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Mickey groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if I did something wrong—I'm no expert when it comes to this stuff.”

Axl, who had been lounging in his chair, suddenly grew serious. His usual cocky demeanor faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. “Or... maybe it was something good.”

Mickey shot him a pointed look. “Then why the hell would he hide it?”

Axl’s lips pressed together, his expression blank. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come.

Finally, after a long silence, Dylan, who had been observing quietly, leaned forward, speaking with a calmness that contrasted the tension in the room. “Maybe you should give him some space to explain it in his own time.”

Mickey shot him a quick glance, his frown deepening. “I’m not exactly good at waiting around,” he admitted, his voice edged with impatience.

Dylan shrugged, the quiet confidence in his voice unshaken. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. You can’t rush someone into talking about something they’re not ready to share.”

Mickey leaned back, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I get that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I don’t like not knowing.”

Axl sat up a little straighter, eyeing Mickey. “You’re in your head too much. Trust me, stressing about it isn’t gonna help.”

Mickey shot him a dark look. “Yeah, thanks for the advice, Einstein.”

Kurt, sensing the tension in the air, quickly intervened, trying to lighten the mood. “Look, all we’re saying is… sometimes it’s better to just let things play out. You can’t fix it if you don’t know what’s broken.”

Mickey let out a breath, staring at the floor. He knew they were right, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. His thoughts kept circling back to Ian—what was he hiding? And why was it so hard for him to just say it?

“I’ll figure it out,” Mickey muttered, but even to himself, it didn’t sound convincing.

Dylan, who had been quiet again for a moment, leaned back and spoke softly, “You will. Just… give him some time. And yourself, too.”

Mickey didn’t respond at first, lost in his thoughts. But as the silence lingered, he nodded slowly, knowing they weren’t wrong. Maybe he could wait, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

Mickey stood at the door to Ian's apartment, his hand hovering over the handle. It had been a long day—band practice had dragged on longer than expected, and his mind hadn't stopped racing since the moment he left Ian's earlier that morning. The uncertainty still gnawed at him, but as much as it bothered him, he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.

He exhaled slowly, giving himself a moment to steady his nerves. Whatever this conversation was going to be, he had to face it head-on. He pushed the door open quietly, his boots scraping lightly against the floor as he stepped inside.

The apartment was dim, only a few lights on. Ian was sprawled out on the couch, his back to the door, the soft hum of his music drifting through the air. Mickey took a step further in, trying to gauge Ian’s mood, but the tension in the room was palpable. Ian didn’t even turn around.

“I’m back,” Mickey said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Ian shifted slightly, but still didn’t look up. “Long practice?”

“Yeah.” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Ian finally turned his head, eyes flicking over Mickey before resting on the guitar case slung over his shoulder. His lips parted as if to say something, but then he closed his mouth again, his gaze falling back to the couch.

Mickey couldn’t stand the silence. It was worse than the tension. Worse than the uncertainty. His patience was fraying with every second Ian spent avoiding his gaze. He finally dropped onto the couch beside him, the movement sharp enough to make Ian flinch.

“Look, Red…” Mickey started, his voice low but edged with frustration. “If I messed something up, just tell me, alright? Don’t sit there acting all weird.”

Ian blinked, his brows furrowing as he processed the words. “Messed… something up?” he echoed, tilting his head in confusion. But when his eyes met Mickey’s—saw the worry carved deep into his features—his heart clenched. He hated seeing Mickey like this, especially knowing he was the reason. “Mick, it’s not that.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Mickey shot back, his tone sharper now, though the concern behind it was obvious. His leg bounced with restless energy, and his hands flexed as though trying to grab hold of something solid. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

Ian hesitated, the weight of Mickey’s gaze pinning him in place. He dropped his own eyes, bringing a hand to his cheek to rub at the tension there. His chest felt tight, like every breath came with a struggle. But he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

With a deep sigh, he finally met Mickey’s eyes again. His heart pounded, his mind raced with a thousand what-ifs, but the truth slipped past his lips before he could second-guess it.

“I love you.” The words were soft, barely above a whisper, but they hit the space between them like a thunderclap. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

For a moment, Mickey just stared. His lips parted slightly, his eyes wide as if he hadn’t heard right. Time stretched unbearably long between them, and Ian was sure he’d made a mistake. Then Mickey’s brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly, like he was trying to make sense of something that didn’t quite compute.

“Why the hell didn’t you just say it, asshole?” Mickey finally asked, but his voice lacked the usual bite. It was rough around the edges, almost hoarse, as if the confession had punched the air out of him.

Ian let out a nervous laugh, his hand dropping from his face to rest against his knee. “I… I guess I was scared.”

Mickey’s chest tightened at that, his heart sinking into his stomach. “Scared of what?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though the tension in his posture hadn’t eased.

Ian hesitated again, his eyes dropping to his hands. “Of your reaction,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how you’d take it. I thought maybe it was too soon, or… or maybe you wouldn’t feel the same.”

Mickey leaned back against the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. The confession rattled him, cracked something open inside he hadn’t even realized he’d been guarding. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Christ, Ian,” he muttered. “You really think I’d freak out over something like that?”

Ian shrugged, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I didn’t know what to expect. You’re not exactly predictable, Mick.”

Mickey smirked at that, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair enough.”

The silence fell again, but this time it was different—thick with unspoken words, emotions neither of them was sure how to handle. Mickey’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. Finally, he sighed, his gaze flicking up to Ian’s.

“Look, I’m not good at this shit,” Mickey said, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “But… I think I love you too, okay? I wasn’t sure how to say it, or even if I should, but there it is. So don’t go thinking this is one-sided or some crap like that.”

Ian’s breath hitched, his chest tightening in a way that was both painful and exhilarating. He stared at Mickey, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he reached out, his hand sliding over Mickey’s on the couch.

Mickey glanced down at their hands, his eyebrows lifting as a smirk played at his lips. “So, this is a thing now? Holding hands like a couple of saps?”

Ian snorted, shaking his head. “You’re the one holding onto me, Mick.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Mickey shot back, though he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, his thumb brushing once—just once—against Ian’s knuckles. “I’m not about to start writing you love letters or whatever.”

Ian leaned back against the couch, clearly amused. “You’re safe. I’d be more worried about you trying to spell out ‘love’ without screwing it up.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of a grin behind his scowl. “Cute. Real cute. Guess I’ll stop holding your damn hand then.”

He made a move to pull away, but Ian caught his wrist before he could, his grip firm but casual. “Nah, you’re good where you are.”

Both of them laughed, the sound light and easy, like a weight had been lifted. When the laughter faded, their gazes lingered, locking in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. Mickey tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “You scared the shit out of me, dude.”

Ian’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter but steady. “I’ve never said I love you to anyone before.”

Mickey blinked, his pupils dilating as the words settled in. He didn’t look surprised, not really, but there was something in his expression—pride, maybe, or satisfaction. “Guess we both got our first-times outta the way, huh?”

Ian snorted softly, leaning a little closer, the couch creaking under his shifting weight. His fingers moved to brush a stray strand of hair from Mickey’s forehead. “God, I love you,” he said again, the words coming out in a near-whisper as he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Mickey’s lips.

When Ian pulled back, Mickey raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna say that every ten seconds now?”

“Probably,” Ian teased, his grin widening as he settled back into his seat. “Gotta make up for lost time.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. “Great. Can’t wait to hear it on repeat.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Ian quipped, leaning his shoulder into Mickey’s, his tone playful but affectionate.

Mickey huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ian said, bumping his shoulder back, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey let his head rest against the couch, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

“Guess so,” Ian replied, his voice light but filled with quiet certainty.

“Not complaining.”