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Ian’s nervous.
He’s not sure why, he’s said stuff like this to Mickey a million times before, but right now he has a knot in his stomach that is so thick, so tangled, he can barely stand the weight of it. He can feel that his hands have grown clammy and his ears are starting to ring.
He keeps opening his mouth and closing it, over and over, unsure how to get the words out. In truth, he’s not even sure what he’s going to say. He has an idea, of course, but he hasn’t really rehearsed it in his head ahead of time. He didn’t get a chance. It felt like he blinked and it was happening, and suddenly he was there, staring straight ahead.
Ian takes a long, shaky breath. He tries to ground himself in his surroundings - listens to the way the wind rustles the leaves of the oak tree beside him, feels the way the breeze touches his face, inhales the smell of fried food drifting over from a nearby cafe. He allows himself to take a moment to just breathe, to steady himself. He counts down, just like his therapist had taught him.
God, he really does feel stupid.
He should be able to do this. He knows Mickey, he knows him in all of the ways one human being can come to understand another. He’s memorized every inch of Mickey’s body - every line, curve, dimple, scar, and imperfection. He’s memorized it so well that even when he’s by himself he can close his eyes and feel the shadow of Mickey against him, fitting perfectly into Ian’s side.
He knows Mickey’s favourite things, his pet peeves, and his greatest fears. He knows what keeps him up at night and what helps him sleep. He knows what’s important to him, knows his past, knows exactly who he was and who he has become. Hell, he knows Mickey so well that half the time he can predict whichever smart-ass remark is about to come out of his mouth before he even opens it to speak.
The point is, Ian has never been scared of Mickey before, and he has no idea why he is now - especially now.
He’s aware that the tiny box in his pocket - which feels like it might burn a hole right through the fabric - might have something to do with it. It should have something to do with it, and maybe it would, in normal circumstances, but Ian and Mickey have always been anything but normal. The ring is far from being the scariest part of all of this. In fact, Ian thinks that it might be the least scary part.
Ian takes another breath to steady himself. He feels the way his shoulders rise, and then fall. He tries to ignore the fact that he is starting to feel dizzy. In, and out.
He has to do this. He has to do this for Mick. Mickey had always shown up for him, no matter what, no matter how gruesome, or terrible, or miserable Ian had become. He always showed up. It was Ian’s turn to show up for him.
In and out. Finally, the words come.
“Mickey,” Ian says, and he’s surprised that his voice doesn’t crack. He swallows.
“I know you hate speeches, so I promise that I’m going to keep this short and sweet,” Ian pauses, and smiles. “The first thing you need to know is that I love you, and that I’m sorry, because I should have done this sooner.”
Ian feels his eyes start to burn, and then they fill. God damn it. He didn’t want to cry.
“Ever since I was 14 years old, I knew that you were it for me. Maybe I didn’t really know it then, because I couldn’t understand it back when we were kids. Maybe I was scared and maybe you were too. Deep down, though… I knew. No matter what else happened, I knew I was never going to be able to let you go. The funny thing was, you couldn’t let go of me either, and even when I said otherwise, I never wanted you to.”
Ian comes to a stop for a moment, and clears his throat. He smiles again and looks down at the ground. Mickey, of course, says nothing.
“I bought this ring a couple of months ago,” Ian pulls out the box and holds it in his hand. The maroon velvet seems to itch against his palms. “Honestly, I had no idea what I was looking for when I got it. I wasn’t even going to buy one that day, but then I saw it in the store, and it was like, wow, okay. It reminded me so much of you and I… I had to buy it. I hid it for weeks in the floorboards.”
Ian laughs at this. “It sucked. I was terrified you were going to find it. Every time you called my name from the kitchen I was like, oh shit, this is it… but you never did.”
Ian lets out another shaky sigh. His chest tightens, and for a moment he fears he can’t breathe.
“Anyways, Mick, I guess I should get to the point,” Ian holds the box out in front of him. “Mickey Milkovich… I am so in love with you, and I always will be. I could never stop loving you. I know that I was a dick about proposing to you and I have never regretted something more in my life. You deserve a proposal, and a nice wedding, and all the things we never thought we could have. I just wish I could have seen that sooner. This is me asking, now, though, if that’s okay? I love you. Will you marry me?”
Ian sits with the silence for a moment, his stomach twisting so painfully he thinks he might throw up. The ringing hasn’t left his ears.
The sun is peeking in and out through the clouds that are rolling across the city. Ian feels the warmth touch him for a moment, and then disappear, and it’s almost comforting. He wants so badly for Mickey to say something back, for him to saunter right up to Ian in that overconfident way of his and reach up and grab the back of Ian’s neck and kiss him. He wants to kiss him, slowly, in a way that they’ve never really kissed before. He wants to hear that yes more than anything in the entire world. He wants it so badly that it makes his entire body ache.
The silence goes on. It goes on, for so long, that he feels his knees buckle, and finally, he drops to the ground.
Ian can feel the grass against his hands, can feel the tears that are finally spilling over and wetting his face, and when he looks up, he can see himself partially reflected in the black granite of the headstone. Ian’s face is distorted in between the stark white letters, appearing in between the M and the I.
I’m so sorry I was too late, Ian wants to say, but he’s silent. He can’t speak, and the quiet echoes back at him. He can hear a car horn, someone shouting in the distance, and the steady rumble of traffic out on the street. He can hear a bird calling out above him. He can hear the music coming from a passing car, can hear someone a few rows over speaking out loud, just as he had moments ago.
Somewhere in it all, though, he thinks he can hear Mickey say yes.