Work Text:
I Missed You
Mickey had been sitting on the floor of the hallway with his back pressed against the wall behind him for the last thirty minutes. His thumb was raw, nail bitten down to the quick, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to nervously chew at any edge his teeth could grab a hold of.
After a week of his boyfriend not speaking to anyone, the first thing Ian asked for was for Mickey to get Fiona. So he did the only thing he could do: he ran to the Gallagher house, found Ian’s older sister and dragged her over, not even letting her stop to grab a coat.
But then Fiona had asked him to wait outside, and Ian had nodded his agreement… and Mickey had been forced to wait outside of his own fucking room until they finished their chat. And how the fuck was that fair? He’d been the one force-feeding Ian for the last week, making sure the younger boy wouldn’t hurt himself, making sure he drank water and got up to go to the bathroom and wasn’t alone and that he stayed alive.
Fiona finally opened the door, fucking finally, and motioned for Mickey to come back in. As Mickey entered the room, the betrayal he’d been feeling instantly vanished because there he was! Ian was sitting up against the headboard, drinking from the glass of water Mickey had left on the table before leaving.
As he searched his lover’s face, Mickey took notice of the fact that Ian’s cheeks were wet but his eyes weren’t red anymore. Fiona took the glass from Ian and put it back on the table, but no one spoke. Mickey waited for someone to tell him what the fuck was going on.
Fiona was the one to break the silence. “Ian’s agreed to go to the clinic,” she declared, watching Mickey carefully as if she was gauging his reaction to her words. “We’ll get him checked out, see if this is what we think it is. If it is… if he is bipolar like Monica, then they’ll know what to do next. They’ll know how to get him balanced.”
“And if it’s not?” Mickey asked, voice hoarse from lack of use. He cleared his throat then tried again, ignoring the part of him that was telling him his wishful thinking was a waste of everyone’s damn time. “It might not be that. What if it’s something else?”
Fiona gave him a small, hopeful smile, but Mickey could tell it was fake. He felt his stomach drop at how forced it was‒at how her pessimism couldn’t even be hidden under her positive, bullshit-soaked words. “It might not be… but whatever it is, we’ll figure out. Right kiddo?” she said, putting a reassuring hand on Ian’s shoulder.
She eventually left, telling them she would be back first thing in the morning to go with Ian to the clinic.
Mickey stood at the foot of his bed, not sure what to do with himself. Was he really that useless that Ian couldn’t have told him that? They watched each other for a long time, neither one moving or talking or anything. It was driving Mickey crazy.
Ian shifted ever-so-slightly, the change in position breaking the tension that had built up in the air since Fiona had closed the door behind her. It was like that small movement made the air flow again; it unfroze Mickey so that he was able to rush forward, towards the bed, towards Ian.
He reached for his boyfriend, hands searching for any contact with Ian’s body. His arm, his chest, his waist, his shoulders, his neck, his face. Mickey cupped Ian’s face, caressing his cheeks gently with his fingertips, Ian’s sharp jaw falling right in the center of Mickey’s palms.
“I missed you,” Mickey admitted, the words pouring out of him without his permission, but at this point, he didn’t give a fuck. “It was worse than before, when you left… You were here, but you weren’t here…”
“Fuck,” Mickey bit out, letting go for a second to wipe at his own eyes. “I… I can’t lose you just when I’ve gotten you back. Not when things are finally okay…” They stared at each other intensely, but now that Mickey had started spilling his guts out, it was impossible to reign in the words.
“We’ll get you whatever fucking help you need. I’m not gonna lose you ever again. Never again.” He closed his eyes and pushed his lips against Ian’s and was relieved when the younger boy didn’t turn away.
They both sighed, deep and low, Mickey resting his forehead against Ian’s after ending the kiss. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting the relief of the moment to end. He felt Ian put his arms around his neck‒felt the weight of them, as if they were too heavy to hold. He knew that things weren’t back to being sunshine and fucking rainbows. He could tell by the fact that Ian hadn’t even spoken a word to him that he still wasn’t himself.
...but it was a start...