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The thick, dark blue curtains were blocking the light of the sun as Ian laid in his bed. The lights were out, the windows were closed, and the only sound was the occasional sob from the miserable red head.
Many of the Gallagher's have attempted to get Ian to respond in some way, but the most they got was him turning over to face the wall when he found the energy.
His body felt like lead, his head was swimming, and his lungs were threatening to collapse under the weight he felt.
It's been a week since he last got out of the bed, his body completely giving up as he laid in his bed with the door closed, lights out, and a torn comforter wrapped securely around his frame.
He hasn't ate, showered, or anything in a week.
He couldn't even find the energy to speak a word.
He was currently facing the wall, blankly staring into the darkness as he absentmindedly pulled at the loose stings of the comforter wrapped around his waist.
He missed Mickey.
The right hook to the face that busted his lip, and the bruising kicks to his ribs couldn't damped his affection for the man.
Mickey was a lover cowering behind a fighter.
The rough and wild Mickey wasn't who he really was, and Ian knew that.
Ever since the day Mickey beat the shit out of him and Ian managed to stumble home alive, he's been bed ridden since.
His face was still covered in blood in some spots, his ribs hurt like a bitch, and his lip was busted.
After a few hours he vaguely registers his bedroom door swinging open and light footsteps entering the room.
He figures it's Fiona ready to bitch about how he hasn't moved, spoke, or ate in a week or more, but to his surprise no words are said.
He can hear the other person's breath quicken like they're nervous as he stays facing the wall, wishing whoever is standing behind him to turn around and walk away.
"Gallagher?"
Ian feels a small spark flicker deep within his chest at the voice, but he can't bring himself to move or respond in anyway.
He hears Mickey take a deep breath before is feet are shuffling and the bed dips with added weight.
Cold arms wrap themselves around Ian's waist as quick breaths hit the back of his neck.
Ian doesn't have to turn around to know Mickey is trying to hold back tears.
"Fiona told me you haven't moved or ate in a week, you have to get up you ginger haired freak."
Mickey's voice was hoarse from holding back tears as he attempted to hide his emotions.
Ian felt the tears on the back of his neck as Mickey nuzzled into his neck and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Ian. I'm so fucking sorry. I'd rather be a lover than a fighter, because all my life I've been fighting. I've never known what real love looks like, and I didn't even know it exited until you showed up with your stupid red hair and dozens of fucking freckles."
Mickey was now drawing shapes along Ian's arms as he continued talking.
"I've never had one person to myself, I've always had hook ups to keep up my reputation, but never had someone to share myself with."
Mickey was spilling his heart out, and Ian wished he had the energy to reply, but Mickey seemed like he needed the silence.
"I've been quiet for too long, and I think it's time the whole fucking world knows I'm gay. I'll fucking tell the world that I take it up the ass because you're worth it," Mickey mumbled as he poked Ian harder in the chest.
"You're worth everything, firecrotch."
Ian managed to get enough energy to roll over on his side to face Mickey, his blue eyes shining like broken glass in the dark room.
"I'm in need of a savior, but I'm not asking for favors. I hate fucking owing people, but you don't make me feel like I owe you shit, but I do. I own you every goddamn thing I can, but you deserve the whole fucking world. My whole life, I've felt like a burden. I think too much, and I hate it. I'm so used to being in the wrong, I'm tired of caring. Loving never gave me a home, but you did. Come back to me Gallagher. I fucking need you, Freckles."
Ian couldn't will this feeling away, but Mickey's presence made him feel a little less broken and numb inside.
A small flicker of hope ignited deep within his bones, a warm sensation coming from the cold, rough hands holding him close.
Their tears mixed and created a sticky, gross feeling between the two, but with Mickey's soft breathing muffled by his neck and hands holding him tightly enough to keep his chipping pieces together, he managed a small smile that lasted a few seconds.
"I love you, Ian."
Ian couldn't do anything more than smile and mumble, "I love you too, Mick."
They found peace in their violence, and with entangled limbs, shared breaths, and dried tears, they knew they were going to be okay.