Archive of Our Own

There are those blissful couple of moments between sleeping and waking up. The ones where you become aware of your surroundings while your eyes are still closed and your entire body feels so comfortable in whatever position you're lying in that not a single muscle twitches. And then you lazily blink your eyes open, yawn a little, stretch under the fluffy blanket like a lazy cat in the sun, slowly lick your lips, maybe even smack them a couple of times… It's a whole ritual. And it may look different from one person to the next but the gist is always the same: smoothly crossing the bridge from dreamland to the real world.

Ian usually ticks all of the above-mentioned items. No rush in getting out of bed - the first five minutes are his and his alone, to gather all his thoughts and peacefully slip into active mode. Except this only works when there's no alarm set to pull him, somewhat violently, back to reality. So, during weekends and days off.

Today is neither. It's a workday. And not just any workday, it's the first day on a new job, so the alarm is vital. All he needs to do is actually hear it. Which he doesn't. Which in turn leads to the current scene: a bedroom that looks like it's survived a tornado, an impressive stream of curse words and Ian himself running around like a headless chicken with his shirt unbuttoned, toothbrush in one hand and toothpaste in the other while trying to locate his keys and wallet.

Sat at the kitchen table, daintily sipping from his mug of coffee, Lip's enjoying the show, both eyebrows and corners of his mouth lifted in an amused smile. He chuckles under his breath as he watches Ian victoriously pull his keys out of a random jacket's pocket, only to frown afterwards when he accidentally squeezes some toothpaste on the floor.

'Son of a bitch!'

'Great start to the day, huh?' Lip asks innocently and then promptly bursts into laughter when Ian yelps and whirls around, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

'What the fuck, Lip, you almost gave me a heart attack!'

Lip just shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee.

'Your wallet's on the coffee table.'

'Thanks,' Ian grumbles as he makes his way to the living-room. 'What’re you still doing home?' he calls out.

'M'off today, remember?'

'You're off?' Ian asks as he barrels back into view. 'Oh, thank God! Can I please take the car?'

'C'mon, man, I told you I have shit to take care of today, that's why I took the fucking day off!'

'Please, Lip! I'll make it up to you. I'll cook for a month. Do the dishes for another three. Whatever you want, just, please!'

'You said you were gonna take the bus!

'I know-'

'The fuck am I supposed to do without the car? I have like, three places I need to get to today and they're all in opposite directions!'

'You can come get it from my workplace,' Ian pleads, eyes now as wide as saucers. 'I can't be late, Lip, it's my first day and I missed the stupid alarm!'

'You know you can just call them to say you're running-'

'No. Fucking. Way! It's all about the first impression so please, I'm begging you, let me take the car and you can come pick it up whenever you want after I get to work.'

Lip looks at him for a veeeery long moment. Just looks at him with this unreadable expression and Ian's millimetres away from dropping to his knees to grovel some more, when finally…

'Fine, you can take the damn car!'

'Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!' he cries, scrambling towards Lip to press a sloppy kiss to his forehead.

'Get off me!' Lip laughs, waving his arms around as if trying to bat away a mosquito. 'Now get your fucking wallet and move already!'

'Yes, sir!'

---

There's a very good reason Ian doesn't usually drive this car and that is because it's a literal piece of shit. It never starts upon first try, the steering wheel requires serious coaxing to fucking turn and the radio only catches three stations, two of which exclusively play country music. All in all, it's not the most pleasant experience but the circumstances are dire today and Ian can't afford to be picky. Nor can he afford a taxi or an uber, so the relic will have to do.

And it does do the job, the poor thing! Forty minutes later Ian has the office building in sight and he feels such a relief that he could literally cry. Granted, he's sure he's violated at least five traffic rules and run at least three red lights but as long as there's no cop car chasing him, he'll consider it a win.

So he heads for the parking lot, giddy that he still has ten minutes till he has to meet his future line manager at the reception and mentally patting himself on the back for avoiding a catastrophe. And then his phone buzzes on the passenger seat, insistently. So naturally, he reaches for it. Not a second later he crosses over a speed bump.

The following events happen pretty much in the blink of an eye: he drops his phone on the car floor, between his legs; he blindly feels for it with his right hand; he can't find it, so he takes his eyes off the road for all of two seconds; he comes to a forced stop when he bumps into the car in front of him; the phone remains forgotten on the floor.

The first thought he has is oh, shit.

The second is thank god I was going three miles an hour.

The third is I should probably get out of the car, prompted by the other driver already having stepped out of his and looking positively murderous.

'What the fuck, asshole?' the guy barks before Ian can so much as open his mouth. 'Where'd you learn to drive, a fuckin' farm in the middle of nowhere? The fuck happened to keepin' a distance from the car in front of you? That goes for fuckin' parkin' lots, too, not just roads, although if you're used to drivin' on dirt ones and bein' the only car at any given moment, no wonder you're a shitty ass driver!'

It's all delivered in a single breath and Ian would actually be impressed if the guy weren't fuming and looking ready to strangle him. As it is, he just blinks, all coherent thought apparently vanished into thin air.

'Yo, you deaf or somethin'? You don't speak English? What?'

'No, I-'

'Oh, he speaks! You'd better not have dented my baby or you're in serious fuckin' trouble!' the guy threatens, pointing a tattooed finger at Ian.

'Baby?' Ian snorts. Who the fuck calls their car baby ?

'Got a problem with that?' the guy growls while taking a step closer, eyebrows raised challengingly.

'No, I-'

'Good! Now shut the fuck up before I decide to stick my fist down your throat and rearrange all your bowels!' he grits before turning his attention towards his car.

And now that his focus is all on assessing the damage - of which there is none because, again, three miles an hour! - Ian has a chance to really look at him. And boy, is he a sight to behold! Dark, carefully styled hair, pale skin, tattooed knuckles. A distressed leather jacket that literally hugs his shoulders and arms. Black jeans that are so tight Ian has no idea how the fuck he managed to get into them. Yeah, he's dangerously close to drooling. And then the guy bends over to closely inspect the left tail light and the view becomes a million times more enticing. For a fleeting moment Ian contemplates asking him if he works for the same company because he sure as hell wouldn't mind seeing him again under more pleasant circumstances.

'Take a fuckin' picture, it'll last longer!' the guy mutters from the same position and Ian realises he's been caught staring like a child seeing fireworks for the first time.

'I-'

'Save it. You're lucky you were drivin' like a snail on sedatives, otherwise you'd be fuckin' dead!'

'Look, man, I'm sorry!' Ian says in a rush, hoping that this time the dude will let him get out more than two words. 'I really am! It's my first day on the job and I was in-'

'Do I look like I fuckin' care?'

Wow, charming personality! Why is it that all the hot dudes are total douchebags? Ian sighs, dragging his right hand across his face.

'Your car's fine, right? Can I go now?'

The guy fixes him with a hard stare, long enough for Ian to marvel at the bluest blue he's ever seen, before his features soften the tiniest bit.

'Better be careful, Gingersnap, next time I might not be in such a good mood,' he says, then turns on his heels, gets back in his car and drives away with a little screech of the wheels.

And Ian is left staring blankly ahead, wondering what his bad moods look like. 

---

He's only five minutes late, for which he apologises profusely but his line manager - Amanda, a chick with wavy blonde hair and a cute gap between her front teeth - waves him off with a little eye-roll.

'While I do appreciate your professionalism, Ian, I really don't want you to be stressed about the schedule,' she says smiling. 'Over here we're more interested in people delivering rather than keeping an eye on what time they come in and how many times they go to the restroom,' she carries on with a little chuckle.

'Got it,' Ian smiles back and fuck, looks like he's lucky and he ended up in a place that actually values their employees' sanity.

'Now, let me give you a quick tour, introduce you to the team and then I'll take you to your onboarding session.'

From then on it's smooth sailing. The building looks just as cool on the inside as it does on the outside, he is greeted with surprising enthusiasm by his colleagues and the onboarding session is interesting and unexpectedly fun. All in all, it's shaping up to be a very good first day on the job, despite how it started and Ian almost forgets about his hectic morning and the lovely encounter in the parking lot. He doesn't forget about the guy, though because let's be real, how could he forget?

As he's leaving the kitchen with a mug of fresh coffee, Ian realises he's rarely used the word "beautiful" to refer to another man but this time he feels like no other adjective would work. Because the guy was beautiful, especially those full lips and those dreamy eyes. Beautiful and hot, which kind of sounds redundant but actually isn't. Ian has met a couple of beautiful guys who did absolutely nothing for him, just like he's met - and fucked - hot guys who were just... hot. And the attitude... Self-assured, feisty, uninhibited. Not to mention the fact that he clearly caught Ian drooling over his ass and didn't even bat an eye. Fuck, he should've said something. Maybe ask for a name or a phone number or-

He's pulled out of his musings rather abruptly when he takes a sudden left around a corner and he runs straight into another body. 

Now, walking around with your head in the clouds in an open plan office where everyone is constantly moving about is not a good idea as it is. Doing it with a mug full of coffee is a recipe for disaster. Good thing he prefers his coffee cold because upon impact half of it ends up on his shirt. His favourite shirt, no less, the one he splurged on in a moment of self-indulgence and which, he's been told, really brings out his hair and freckles. And now it's ruined, sporting a huge stain and several smaller ones that Jackson Pollock himself would look at admiringly. So much for this day turning out to be a good one. And then…

'You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!'

Ian's head snaps up and surprise, surprise, it's the blue-eyed Adonis from the parking lot, the one he was just daydreaming about while paying zero attention to his surroundings and what are the fucking odds?

'Guess you're as clumsy on two legs as you are on wheels, Gingersnap,' the guy says but thankfully, he doesn't look like he's about to commit murder.

On the contrary, he seems to be caught somewhere between amusement and mild exasperation, as if he hasn't decided yet whether to laugh his ass off at Ian's misfortune or facepalm at having run into him again. And Ian just looks at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, desperately scrambling for something to say.

'You look like a Jackson Pollock painting,' the guy beats him to it, chuckling under his breath and Ian could swear his eyes actually twinkle a little when he smiles.

Fuck, how can he be so smitten already? Must be the Pollock reference.

And then reality hits: it's his first day and he was supposed to make a good impression and not only was he late, now he has to walk around with a stained shirt for the rest of the day because of course he has no spare one, who the hell carries a spare shirt with them at all times? Moreover, he can't even be thrilled about the guy indeed working for the same company because he's managed to make an ass out of himself not once, but twice and there's no chance in hell he can ever turn things around and-

'Yo, Red, you okay, man? You look like you're havin’ a meltdown!'

Shit, was his internal spiralling that obvious?

'Yeah, I'm fine,' he says unconvincingly and prays the guy buys it. Of course he doesn't.

'You don't look fine!'

'Not really excited about having to walk around like this for the rest of the day,' Ian points at himself with a deep sigh.

'Right, first day, makin' a good impression and all that shit,' the guy rolls his eyes but it makes Ian's stomach flip that he actually remembered. 'You know no one here gives a shit about what you're wearin', right?'

'I do!'

He sounds like a toddler, he knows it and it makes the guy roll his eyes even harder but at the same time, the corners of his mouth twitch a little.

''Course you do,' he mutters before grabbing Ian's wrist and dragging him to the nearest restroom. 'Take off your shirt and wait here, be right back.'

'Excuse me?!'

'Come on, Gingersnap, look lively,' the guy snaps his fingers and heads out the door, leaving Ian to wonder whether he's somehow fallen into a parallel universe.

He doesn’t have too much time to decide whether he should actually undress or whether it’s all some sort of elaborate hoax and the guy will burst through the door with a phone in his hand, ready to film him half-naked in the company restroom because the door opens and in comes Adonis himself, holding a bunched up… hoodie?

‘Didn’t I tell you to take that shit off?’ he asks seriously but there’s a hint of playfulness in his tone that makes Ian snort and go for a joke.

‘I usually get a guy’s name first before I start stripping for him.’

And nope, bad idea. The guy’s features morph instantly: narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, jaw clenched tightly.

‘The fuck you just say?’

‘I, uhm-’

‘Jesus, Red, relax! M’just fuckin’ with you. You always so wound up?’ the guy snickers and Ian laughs weakly in reply. ‘Name’s Mickey.’

Mickey. Yeah, it suits him, for reasons Ian can’t actually explain.

‘Ian.’

‘Ian,’ the gu- Mickey says, as if testing the way it sounds. ‘Yeah, no, think I’m gonna stick to Gingersnap,’ he grins. ‘Anyways, will you take that fuckin’ shirt off now?’

‘And then what?’

‘And then you put this on,’ he says with a duh tone, handing Ian what is indeed a hoodie.

And it’s Ian’s turn to frown, except in his case it’s in utter confusion. Who is this guy and what happened to the grouch in the parking lot?

‘I keep a spare at the office,’ Mickey says somewhat defensively. ‘And since you care so damn much about what everyone else thinks - although I’m tellin’ you, they really don’t give a shit…’ he trails off.

‘But I can’t just-’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, for starters, I don’t think it’ll fit.’

‘Okay, John Cena, you need to turn around and look in that mirror cause you ain’t as buff as you think you are.’

‘I meant the sleeves,’ Ian rolls his eyes but it’s getting harder and harder to conceal the giddiness because shit, Mickey really is offering to lend him one of his hoodies.

‘You ain’t that much taller either but you can roll them, genius.’

‘Still-’ he tries, only to be cut off, again.

‘Look, man, it’s either this hoodie or that abstract painting you call a shirt, so your choice. Can’t say I care too much either way,’ he shrugs but Ian has always prided himself in being quite perceptive and there’s a very vague undertone of hurt in Mickey’s voice.

So he reaches for the hoodie with the warmest smile he can muster, the one that always melts even the grumpiest of people and lo and behold, it works on Mickey too because he smiles back, a genuine, soft one, before he schools his features into something more impassive.

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Mickey shrugs again.

‘Why are you so nice to me, though?’ Ian blurts and then winces at how tactless it sounded. ‘I mean, you were ready to kick my ass this morning in the parking lot,’ he rushes to explain.

‘Told you, I’m in a good mood today,’ he replies with yet another shrug and a cheeky smirk. ‘Now, it may be your first day but it ain’t mine and I got shit to do,’ he adds before opening the restroom door.

‘Wait!’ Ian calls. ‘Uhm… can I buy you a drink after work? You know, as thanks?’ he asks hopefully.

Mickey cocks his head to the left, pensively chewing on his lower lip. He’s also taking his sweet time to answer, so much so that Ian feels himself slowly heating up and not in a pleasant way.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he finally replies vaguely and then disappears out the door.

---

He's starting to feel like a schoolgirl with a crush but every couple of minutes he remembers that he's wearing Mickey's hoodie and he honest-to-god struggles to stifle a giggle. Mickey, who's brash and smart and confident and has a twisted sense of humour that Ian really digs and-

And then he realises he's only spoken to the guy twice. Once, if you actually think about it, because Ian's input in the parking lot had been almost nonexistent and so it makes no sense for him to be swooning this badly. Still, all his instincts - which he normally doesn't trust that much because they've screwed him over a million times before - are yelling at him to pay attention because there's something about this guy.

He should've insisted a bit more on drinks after work. Or maybe asked for a phone number. Just so that he'd have a way to reach him tomorrow to return the hoodie. Because it's a big building, there have to be about two hundred people on this floor alone and who says Mickey even works on this one? Now that he's really thinking about it, how is he going to find Mickey tomorrow? So fucking complicated!

Ian lets out a deep breath, something between a sigh and a huff and lets his head fall on his crossed arms on the desk. And it hits him again. He's wearing Mickey's hoodie and it's so soft and comfortable. Granted, the sleeves are indeed a bit too short because Ian's got a good couple of inches on him but other than that it fits him perfectly.

And it smells divine! Of something fruity and a hint of sandalwood. Maybe his body wash, maybe his cologne. Either way, it's mouthwatering. He could stay like this forever, just inhaling the delicious smell but he's also acutely aware his colleagues will think he's an absolute weirdo, so he takes another deep breath and lifts his head from his forearms.

And once again, the universe seems to be conspiring to make things happen for him because the first thing he sees is Mickey, animatedly chatting with his line manager as they're both making their way towards him.

'Ian!' she greets enthusiastically, as if genuinely delighted to see him again. 'How was the onboarding session?'

'Very compelling,' he smiles, mentally patting himself on the back for the smooth reply. 'I enjoyed every moment of it.'

Behind Amanda Mickey rolls his eyes and mouths something that looks suspiciously like ass kisser and Ian has to work very hard not to snort.

'I'm glad to hear that,' she says. 'I've always thought it's not just the employee that should make a good first impression, the company needs to do that too. Anyway, I just wanted to introduce you to Mickey here,' she carries on. 'He's one of our senior Business Analysts and he'll be in charge of your training over the next month.'

'Nice to meet you, man, welcome,' the asshole smirks and extends his right hand for Ian to shake.

Completely taken aback, Ian blinks once, twice, then quickly snaps out of it, grins widely and reaches out with his own right hand, squeezing just a little too tightly because he too can be an asshole.

'Thanks, nice to meet you too!'

'Right. I'll let Mickey walk you through the training plan. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate, okay? Mickey loves inquisitive minds,' Amanda grins.

'Duly noted,' Ian grins back.

'You're in good hands,' she winks before turning on her heels and heading for her desk several rows down.

He has no doubt about it, as far as his future training is concerned. But right now he's having a hard time moving beyond the literal sense of the saying because he'd really like to be in Mickey's hands, you know? In all possible ways. Which is the last thing he should be thinking about at work, so he shakes his head a bit to clear the fog of horniness and for the millionth time today, desperately searches for something to say that's at least half as smooth as he knows he can be. And yet again, Mickey beats him to it.

'Small world, huh?' he smirks, reaching for an empty chair, dragging it to Ian's desk and sitting down in a single fluid motion.

'Maybe it's a sign,' Ian shrugs with a small smile, sitting down as well.

Mickey just raises his eyebrows, eyes roaming all over Ian's face. For a long moment he doesn't say anything, just chews lightly on his bottom lip and god, he's so gorgeous Ian can barely think straight. 

'Maybe,' he finally says, then clears his voice a little. 'Anyway, won't keep you too long now, just a brief overview of what's gonna happen over the next couple of weeks, okay?' he says and the shift from playful and flirty to serious and professional is both fascinating and extremely arousing. 'So, you'll be handling Western Europe, right? All six Business Units?'

Ian's reply is just a vague noise that comes off as some sort of assent but apparently it's enough for Mickey to plow on.

'Got it. So we'll start with a high-level description of the main points of focus and leave the deep-dive for the following week. I'll show you all the tools and systems we use- You're familiar with Power BI, if I remember correctly?'

Another noise, this one dangerously close to sounding like a moan, so Ian coughs a little to clear his throat and tries again.

'Yeah, I worked with it in my previous company.'

'Good, so we won't start from scratch. I'll show you all the databases and we'll go into detail on the metrics, especially the performance and sales ones. I'll also forward you a series of recurring meetings that you'll need to join from now on. Obviously, the first few times will be more for you to observe and get to know the Project Managers and vice versa. There'll also be weekly assessments on Fridays, just a couple of questions to gauge the progress but don't freak out, no one's gonna cut your head off if the scores aren't perfect. They're just a way for me to know whether I should insist on something or adjust my methods, okay?' he ends with a chuckle.

And by this point, Ian is totally mesmerised and completely unable to utter a single word even if his life depended on it.

'Any questions?'

Will you marry me?

'Uhm-'

'S'ok,' Mickey chuckles, 'sprung quite a lot of info on you in one go. Don't worry, I'll send you a detailed training plan via email but I thought it would be a good idea to have a little chat at first too,' he says while getting up. 'Show you I don't bite,' he adds with a naughty wink.

It's official, he's a fucking goner! Chin-propped-on-one-hand, dreamy-look-in-his-eyes, sighs-bubbling-up-from-his-chest goner.

And then Mickey leans a little into his space and there's that fruity sandalwood scent again messing with his head and sending unwanted signals to various parts of his body.

'Close your mouth, Gingersnap, gonna catch flies,' he murmurs before sauntering away.

---

As the day comes to a close, Ian still doesn't know what to do with the hoodie. Would it be rude to just go home with it and return it to Mickey tomorrow? After all, he did say it's a spare that he keeps at the office just in case but it feels rude to assume. What if he wants it back today? Shouldn't he wash it, though, before giving it back? Again, why is everything so damn complicated?

In the end, he decides to let the man in question decide and it's not like Ian wasn't looking for an excuse to talk to him again anyway. So he asks one of his teammates where his desk is.

'Take the first left and then turn right, just before the kitchen,' a curly-haired chick called Gina helpfully provides. 'But why don't you just write to him on Teams?'

Yeah, Ian, why don't you do that?

'He's not replying,' he lies between his teeth with a huge, fake smile.

The floor plan is more convoluted than it would appear but he manages to reach his destination without getting lost. Sadly, there's no Mickey in sight. All the desks are empty, their owners clearly having left already, with the exception of a dude wearing huge headphones who seems thoroughly immersed in his excel spreadsheet. Ian almost feels bad for interrupting him. Almost.

'Hey,' he says, lightly tapping the guy on the shoulder. 

He jumps a little at the contact, but smiles nonetheless and takes off his headphones, out of which a cacophony of sounds erupts.

'Thought I was the only one still listening to dubstep,' Ian grins.

'Nah, man, shit's too good to just let it die, don't you think?'

'Definitely. Uhm, I'm looking for Mickey?'

'He left a couple of minutes ago. Can I help with anything?'

'No, I'm good. Thanks, though.'

'No problem,' the guy smiles before putting his headphones back on and returning to his excel file.

And Ian can't help but feel a little disappointed. He'd honestly expected to find Mickey. Chat with him some more, maybe even flirt a little but in hindsight, he'd based his expectations on absolutely nothing. Mickey had said he'd think about his invitation but other than that, he hadn't given any other hint that they'd talk again by the end of the day, let alone that he'd be interested in having a drink with him. Maybe it's just too soon? Ian sighs and focuses on tamping down his dejection.

On his way back to his desk, he runs into his line manager.

'Ian, what are you still doing here?' she lightly chides with her usual bright smile. 'Go home!'

'In five minutes,' he replies with a warm smile of his own. 'Was just looking for Mickey.'

'Oh. Anything urgent? Want me to call him?' she asks, already reaching for the phone in her back pocket.

'No, no, that's okay. It can wait till tomorrow.'

'You sure?' she checks.

'Positive.'

'Alright, then. Have a good evening and I'll see you tomorrow morning!'

'Thanks, you too!'

He's not sure how good of an evening it will be and perhaps he's just being overdramatic but it's not like he can control the way he's feeling and right now he's not really in high spirits. Not to mention the fact that he has to take the bus home because Lip had indeed come to pick up the car a little before noon. He's probably on the other side of the city now, banging one of his fuck buddies, something Ian and his dry spell are totally not jealous of.

All in all, he's not really looking forward to packing his stuff and doing the ten-minute trek to the bus stop but such is life and there's nothing he can do about it.

The cherry on top? Once he makes it to the building lobby a couple of minutes later he discovers it's pouring outside. And of course he has no umbrella, it didn't even cross his mind to take it this morning because he was running late and coming by car. Absolutely wonderful!

Ian mutters a couple of choice words under his breath, pulls the hood of his jacket over his head - thank god he went for this jacket, it's the only one with a hood - and steps out into the rain.

In less than a minute he's drenched to the bone. Looks like he's coming full circle, a shitty end to a day whose start sucked, then became gradually better as it progressed, only for things to go downhill as it started coming to an end. It could have been a lot worse, obviously, from various points of view but as already established, he's not really in the mood for counting his blessings so he’s going to sulk all the way to the bus stop and then for the entire ride home.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the car crawling at a snail's pace - his pace, as he's trudging along in the downpour - until he hears several short honks. When he turns his head to look at it, the passenger window rolls down and a familiar face comes into view.

'Get in, Gingersnap!'

Ian freezes on the spot, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

'Today, please!' Mickey urges, so Ian quickly opens the door and jumps in.

And yet again, he finds himself tongue-tied. What is it with his guy that he keeps short-circuiting Ian's brain?

'You look like a wet rat,' Mickey chuckles, reaching to push the hoodie off Ian's head.

'Gee, thanks!'

'The fuck happened to your car? Did it die in the parkin' lot? Cause it sure as hell looked like it was on its last legs.'

'Funny,' Ian mock-smiles, although that car is indeed seconds away from crumbling into dust. 'My brother came to pick it up, he needed it today.'

'That sucks!'

'Wouldn't have minded the walk to the bus stop if it wasn't raining cats and dogs,' Ian shrugs. 'Speaking of, it should come up right now,' he adds, once again struggling to stifle his disappointment at having to part ways so soon.

Except Mickey doesn't seem to be slowing down. Quite the opposite.

'You missed it,' Ian chuckles, praying that Mickey will choose to drive him to the next one instead of turning around.

'Nah, I ignored it,' he says simply and there's a shift in the air that Ian's almost afraid to disturb with his next question. His instincts, though, are yelling at him to go for it.

'Why?'

'Didn't you say somethin' about grabbin' a drink?'

A thrilled smile slowly starts spreading across Ian's face and soon enough he's grinning with all his teeth.

'I did, yeah.'

'Cool,' Mickey takes his eyes off the road for a brief moment to grin back at him. 'So, where to?'

'I dunno,' Ian laughs, excitement coursing wildly through his veins. He doesn't really care as long as gets to spend more time with Mickey. 'You pick.'

'Kay. I know just the place.'