Chapter Text
“It’s only two days,” Ian said, crossing the bedroom to stand next to Mickey. He opened their dresser (well, Mickey’s dresser until a few weeks ago, when Ian’s clothes started magically appearing in the drawers. Mickey wasn’t complaining) and pulled out a few shirts and some jeans and threw them in the open duffel bag on the bed.
(Ian was going to Michigan to see some specialist with Fiona, someone who was good at dealing with cases of bipolar disorder on an individual basis and worked with people that couldn’t afford super expensive doctors, and Kev was letting them borrow the truck for the weekend, but Mickey had promised Svetlana that he’d watch Yevgeny for a couple days, so he was stuck behind in Chicago. He knew they’d be fine without him though, and Fiona and Ian had some much needed catching up to do.)
“I know,” Mickey sighed. “I just wish I could come with you.”
Ian smiled, wide and open, the kind of smile that left Mickey feeling a little breathless. Everything about Ian took his breath away sometimes, but his stupid fucking smiles did it the most.
“You’re gonna miss me,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with something Mickey couldn’t quite name.
“Never fucking said that,” muttered Mickey.
“Okay,” Ian said. “Sure. That means I don’t have to call you tonight when I get there, right?”
Mickey glared at him. “You better fucking call me. And you better call me after the appointment, too. You gotta tell me all the fucking doctor mumbo-jumbo shit.”
Ian smiled again. Mickey knew he was so fucking obvious, knew that Ian could see right through him, he was completely transparent when it came to this kid, but it didn’t scare Mickey anymore. Of course he was gonna fucking miss Ian, he was gonna worry about him, he was gonna hope with everything he had that this doctor had something helpful for Ian, but he didn’t have to say it out loud for Ian to know. He just did.
They both jumped when Fiona rapped on the bedroom door, calling their names. Mickey had been so wrapped up in Ian’s stupidly dopey smile that he hadn’t even heard her come in the house. Jesus. He was gonna get robbed blind sometime, all because his dumb eyes couldn’t stay off Ian, because he couldn’t get Ian out of his head, and he used to be so careful about this kind of shit, until that night at the Alibi when he threw it all out the window, when he decided to say fuck it, and he traded his father’s hatred and his blood so that he could touch Ian’s hand in public, so he could smile at him and not be afraid.
“Boys,” Fiona called. “You two better not be fooling around in there. Ian, you better be packed, or we’re going to be late.”
“Jesus, Fiona,” Ian yelled back, right in Mickey’s fucking ear, and Mickey reached up to cover Ian’s mouth with his hand to save his ears from permanent damage inflicted by Ian’s goddamn vocal cords.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Mickey hissed. “Gonna fucking burst my eardrum.”
Ian laughed into Mickey’s hand. “One second,” he yelled again, his voice muffled by Mickey’s fingers. Mickey removed his hand and stepped back, giving Ian a dirty look the whole time.
Ian launched himself forward and kissed the frown right off Mickey’s face, the soft press of his lips making Mickey’s stomach do fucking gymnastics. He used to hate that shit, the stupid fluttery butterflies, until they made him run back into that van all those years ago and kiss Ian, and he’d like to say that he’d kept running and never looked back, but he hadn’t. Things got terrible and complicated and they started running in two different directions, except that didn’t really matter anymore, because everything had changed and Mickey decided not to hate those butterflies and he was kissing Ian now, in their goddamn bedroom.
“Gonna miss you,” Ian admitted quietly, tracing his thumb over Mickey’s skin, where his fingers were hooked around Mickey’s ear. He always held Mickey’s face in his hands when they kissed, always held him steady, and that was a good thing, because otherwise Mickey would probably fall.
Mickey bit his lip, holding in words he didn’t know how to say, but he did let out a tiny smile. He pointed towards the door. “Get out there. Or Fiona’s gonna be pissed.” Mickey’s voice didn’t sound as casual as he wanted it to be, it cracked a little, because Ian was gonna miss him and he could just say that shit out loud.
Ian nodded and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. He opened the door and Mickey followed him out, saying hello to Fiona in unison and walking outside to the truck. Ian stuck his stuff in the backseat and Fiona climbed into the driver’s seat.
“You have your license, right?” Mickey asked Fiona.
“Oh my fucking god,” Fiona laughed. “I’m a good driver. He’s gonna be fine.”
Mickey mumbled some half-ass excuse under his breath about why he wanted to know, but he knew he wasn’t fooling them. Ian smirked at him, his face lit up in the early morning sunshine. Ian was like Mickey’s own fucking miniature sun, and Christ, that was a dumb thing to think about, but Mickey’s brain didn’t exactly cooperate when it came to Ian.
Ian wound his way around the truck to the passenger side and Mickey stood on the sidewalk, restless and unsure, tapping his finger against his arm. He was bad at goodbyes. Even if it was only two days.
Fuck it, Mickey thought.
“Give me a fucking hug,” he said, stepping across the pavement to the curb of the sidewalk, watching Ian’s face get even brighter, if that was possible. He looked surprised for a moment, his eyes searching Mickey’s face, like he was making sure that Mickey was serious.
Mickey decided to show him how serious he was. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders, crushing their chests together and burying his head in Ian’s neck. The way Ian’s arms felt around his body was warm and strong and wonderful, but there was also something indescribable about it, like his world was tilting on its axis, except it was righting itself, like everything before it had been wrong and this was how the world was supposed to be.
God, Ian’s arms around him. It was intoxicating, but Mickey figured there were worse things to be addicted to. Mickey’s life had been prison, for a long time. Hell, he’d actually been locked up in juvie twice, but even that had been a breeze compared to the chains his father had him in, chains he’d been in until Ian helped him get free.
“I’m gonna miss you,” Mickey muttered into Ian’s neck, his words barely above a whisper and muffled by the fabric of Ian’s jacket.
Ian heard him, anyways, he probably had a fucking spidey sense that detected whenever Mickey felt like a total sap.
He didn’t say anything, but he pulled Mickey a bit closer and dropped a kiss into his hair.
Mickey heard Fiona groan from the front seat, and he’d almost forgotten she was there, and there was still some cautious instinct inside him that told him to pull away from Ian. He ignored it.
“Enough with the feelings crap,” she called. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
They untangled themselves then, but Mickey kept his eyes glued to Ian’s face.
“Two days,” Ian said. “I’ll call.”
“Okay,” replied Mickey, nudging his toe against a weed creeping up through the broken sidewalk to distract himself. “That doctor better know what the fuck she’s talking about.”
Ian laughed, a quick little huff of breath that was impossible not to smile at. “I’m sure she does.”
He lifted his hand up in goodbye and Mickey mirrored him. Ian turned towards the truck and wrenched the passenger door open, and he started to say something to Fiona.
Mickey cut him off. He darted forward and spun Ian around by the shoulder, sealing their mouths together on his own goddamn street, in broad daylight, and he didn’t regret it for an instant.
He was gonna miss Ian, even if it was just a weekend, but he knew he was always gonna come back. He was some goddamn version of a boomerang and Mickey thanked his lucky stars for that everyday.