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“Where the fuck have you been?”
He’s back. He’s back he’s back he’s back.
“Staying with my mom.” Ian’s voice was thick, like he had been crying.
“Ian, you can’t just take off like that,” Mickey said shakily, desperately wanting to move closer to the boy on the steps but not daring.
“I know,” Ian replied, finally turning his head to look at Mickey. “It’s just— in the prison, all of my siblings were talking about me and saying I was crazy, and—” He sucked in a deep breath. “—and calling me Monica. Like I wasn’t sitting right there. Talking about how she made their lives a living hell, and how I was just like her. I couldn’t go back home to that, Mickey.”
“I know,” Mickey said. “Ian, I know. I know that you aren’t your mom, I’m not fucking Frank, and your siblings think if they’ve seen it once they’ve seen it all. Ian, please. Just… come home. What the fuck is anyone in this house doing for you anyway? But you need to take your meds, Ian. It’s… it’s really not something I’m gonna negotiate. You need to get stable. I just want you to be fucking healthy, Ian, so stop acting like I don’t—” He cut off abruptly, glancing away. “Don’t act like I don’t love you no matter what you do. I’m in this for the fuckin’ long haul, Ian, so stop running away and stop pushing me away and just let me help us get our shit straight. That’s all I want, Ian. I want you.”
Ian was openly crying now, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “I think I’ve been waiting for you to say ‘I love you’ since you got out of juvie the second time.”
Mickey huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, I fucking said it. I love you, Ian. I love you, and I wanna be with you, and I want you to be healthy. There. It’s all on the fucking table. You got anything to say?”
Ian nodded, sitting up on the steps. “Yeah, I do.” He looked Mickey dead in the eye, uncaring about the way his wet eyelashes sometimes clumped when he blinked. “I love you.” He stood up, clearing the bottom two steps in one long stride. “I want to be with you.” He continued to approach Mickey, bottom lip trembling slightly. “And I…” He trailed off, becoming silent but maintaining eye contact. Mickey reached out hesitantly, grabbing one of Ian’s hands and squeezing it gently. It had been too long since he had last touched Ian. “And I want to get better.”
Mickey let out a long breath and nodded, reaching up to cradle Ian’s face. He felt his own eyes begin to well up, but it didn’t compare to wave of relief and emotion swelling in his chest.
Ian was the one to close the distance, and they stood kissing gently for a few moments before Mickey pulled away slowly, dropping the hand on Ian’s face but keeping his other one interlaced with Ian’s.
“Let’s go home, Ian.”
Ian nodded in agreement. It had been too long since he had seen the inside of the Milkovich house.
His house.
“Mickey,” Ian said when they were about halfway there. Mickey slowed, turning his face to look at Ian quizzically. “I know that we got a lot of shit to work out, but…. We take care of each other, right?”
Mickey smiled, unable to resist going in for another quick kiss. “Yeah, Ian,” Mickey replied. “That’s what boyfriends do, right?”
Ian let out a surprised laugh at the sudden change of tone in their conversation, but he appreciated it anyway. They had plenty of time to talk about the shitstorm that their lives had recently become, but until then he was just fine with going home and holding his boyfriend for a while.
They were quiet again until they reached the front door when Ian suddenly remembered.
“And we’re going on that fucking date!”