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Mickey runs a hand over his face, exhausted. It's 4 a.m. He's spent all night hiding every shaving blade in the house from Ian, who has spent a week and a half in bed, mostly sleeping and occasionally sobbing for Mickey, begging him to hold him and end it all. Mickey hopes Ian hasn't felt the tears that fell on his face in those moments. Ian needs someone strong to keep him grounded, but it's hard not to break down when all Ian wants is to die.
Thankfully now, Ian is sleeping, hopefully peacefully, and Mickey feels too wired to go to bed, so he flops onto the couch and turns on the TV. After flipping through many channels, he stops on a rerun of Sherlock,which -he would never admit- always managed to calm him down and put him to sleep.
At 4.20, he is on the brink on sleep, when he jolts awake at the sound of padding feet on the floor.
He sits up, and looks over to the hallway where Ian is standing, huddled up in Mickey's blanket, and looking groggy as ever.
"You're up," Mickey means to ask, but it comes out as more of a statement.
"Yep," Ian croaks. "It's cold in there."
"Course it is,it's winter." Mickey says warily. "You want me to cook you something?"
Ian shakes his head, and walks around to the couch, then plops down on it, yawns and shivers, all the while followed by Mickey's gaze. Mickey can't believe Ian is out of bed, and so nonchalant. He wants to touch him, hold him, make sure he's okay, get him food and more blankets, but he doesn't. Ian needs whatever dignity he has left.
"I'm not going to break, you know." Ian's voice tears Mickey from his thoughts, and he realises he's been blatantly staring for a while. He looks away, and stammers,
"You feelin' better?"
Ian yawns again, then nods,
"Yeah, just really sleepy."
Mickey immediately stands up,
"Y-you wanna go back to bed? I'll get us some more blankets."
Ian looks at Mickey, frowning, blinking to keep himself from falling back asleep,
"No, it's too dark in there. I like having just the TV screen on. Let's stay in here."
Mickey squints at the redhead, sceptical but not refusing.
"Alright, how do you wanna sleep?"
Ian pats the spot on the couch next to him, and Mickey sits down. Ian lies Mickey down on his back, crawls on top of him, and places the blanket over the both of them. Mickey blushes as Ian places his head on his chest, feeling this gesture more intensely than he usually does, but after a week and a half,he is more than content for the intimate position they are in. He brings his arms around Ian's waist, and holds him, feeling Ian's shivers subside. As they lie quietly in the dark, with only the occasional flash from the TV screen, Ian speaks up,
"Hey Mickey?"
"Yeah?"
"You know, when I was gone, after I left for basics?"
Mickey looks away? He knows too well of that time. He tries not to think of that part of his life, of his pathetic misery and downwards spiral. He hums a response.
"I was allowed my phone," Ian says. "And I heard your messages, all five of them."
Mickey sucks in a breath.The drunken, hopeless messages he thought had never been heard.
"You did?...I thought-"
Ian cuts him off,
"Would you really have waited three more years,Mickey?"
Mickey feels Ian shift, he's probably looking up at him. He manages to say in a slightly broken voice,
"In a heartbeat." He looks back at Ian, who is staring at him with an unfathomable intensity, something Mickey could convince himself is love, and tries to pretend he isn't blinking back tears. They fall down his cheeks as Ian pushes himself up and kisses him with a weak softness. Mickey kisses back, and though he isn't used to being all sappy and shit, the squeeze in his chest tells him he wouldn't have minded much waiting three or thirty years for Ian.
They settle, and fall asleep in the dark of the living room, with only the TV screen lighting up the room.