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“Mick?” he heard through the darkness.
Mickey’s eyes snapped open. He’d been resting his eyes for a few minutes, never able to fully fall asleep since Ian’s depressive episode had started. He turned over in bed to face Ian, who had the blankets wrapped tightly around him as though they could protect him from anything. The only part of Ian’s body he could see were from his nose to his forehead. Mickey wiped the sleep from his eyes and sat up slightly.
“Ian? You okay?” He waited for a few moments in the silence, having learned quickly that it took Ian longer to form sentences when he was like this. He reached forward, brushing this thumb against Ian’s temple softly while he waited.
“I’m scared,” Ian croaked, his voice raspy from disuse. Mickey froze. He heard Ian sniffle quietly and quickly scooted closer to his boyfriend.
“You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He wiped a tear off Ian’s cheek.
“You should,” Ian whispered. “I’m not worth staying.”
Mickey felt the panic rising in him similar to how it did every time he felt Ian slipping out of his life. “Fuck that,” he snapped. “Don’t try and convince me to go, because it’s not fucking happening.”
“I’m just making you miserable.”
Mickey scoffed. “You make me miserable when you’re gone, too, asshole. At least with you here, I get to see your stupid face.” He held onto Ian tighter, despite the fact that Ian was half-heartedly trying to escape his grasp.
He heard a sob trying to force its way out of Ian’s throat. “You should’ve just left me at the club that night. Or let Fiona have me committed to the nut house.”
“Ian, stop,” he said, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
“Mick—”
He shook his head. “Stop! Listen to me, okay? Are you listening? I didn’t bring you back from the club or tell everyone I was a fag or fucking force your sister into letting you stay here just so you can try to get rid of me. Don’t tell me you’re not worth me staying, because you’ve stuck around plenty when I wasn’t worth it either.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with all this. It’s not your problem.”
“Yea? Well I’m making it my problem. I don’t give a fuck if you’re off your rocker right now, or if you haven’t gotten out of bed for over a week. You’re—fuck!” he yells, pushing his hands against his eyes to try to stop the tears from coming out. “Fucking Christ, Ian, you don’t even fucking get it. After the last few months, you should know by now that I’m in this. I’m yours, okay? You’ve always wanted declarations and sappy romantic shit, and I’m giving it to you. I’m trying. Those few weeks without you after the wedding were hell. And now I’ve got you back, and I’m not just leaving because you’re fucking depressed or some shit.”
He sees Ian shaking beneath the blanket, tears sliding down his face. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Ian into him so his head is resting on Mickey’s chest.
“What the fuck do you think I’m gonna do without you, huh?” he asked Ian. “I want to take care of you.”
“But you don’t have to,” Ian whispered.
“I know. Fuck, even depressed, you’re still dragging all this gay shit out of me.” He pulled Ian’s chin up so that he was looking at Mickey. “You’ve been trying to get me to be your boyfriend for years. Well here I am. I came out of the fucking closet for you. And I told a fucking bar full of people, plus half the Chicago PD, that I love sucking your dick and taking it up the ass. And now I’m here, taking care of you the best I can. How many more grand gestures do you want?”
“I don’t want you to regret it all. Regret saving me and taking care of me even though I can’t be fixed.”
Mickey shook his head. “Yea you can. Just….look, I’m the first one to admit that doctors and shrinks are a fucking waste of time and money, and if you don’t want to see one, fine, I’m not gonna force you. I’ll still be here to take care of you, whether you’re barely sleeping at all or barely awake at all. But if you think that taking some pills and talking to some douchebag can help, and that you can be better than what everyone tells me your mom is like, then tell me, and I’ll call every doctor in the city until I find one that will help you. But either way, I’m not fucking giving up on you…or on us.”
“I don’t want to be like Monica,” he whispered after a minute or two. Mickey exhaled heavily and let Ian rest more comfortably on top of him.
“Okay. Then I’ll start calling around tomorrow.”
Ian didn’t respond, and Mickey didn’t need him to. Ian had stuck with him through everything for the last few years, even when Mickey was the biggest asshole he could possibly be. The least Mickey could do is repay the favor. He hadn’t realized how much he cared about Ian until he’d left to join the Army, and he’d be damned if he let Ian go again. The world had thrown them plenty of curveballs before. They could get through this too.