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"Gallagher!"
A hushed, yet frantic voice calls out, falling on deaf ears. The boys sighs, looking around for something to climb up on. Grabbing onto some random piece of wood hanging off, He scales the house to the second floor, peering inside. There lies his boyfriend, still fast asleep. And not even close to waking up. He curses to himself, looking around. He could break in, sure, but it would be a massive pain in the ass. Especially with all the precautions they've added to prevent their deadbeat alcoholic of a father from breaking in every night. He tries his luck again, knocking on the window again and raising his voice.
"Hey, Red! Get the fuck up!"
This seems to work as his eyes flutter open, blearily looking around, rubbing his eyes to try and focus better. He raises an eyebrow as he spots his boyfriend hanging onto the windowsill outside, slowly sitting up and moving over to him. "Mick? What are you doing here?"
"We can talk about it once you let me inside. Preferably before my arms give out and I break my neck?" Ian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he opens the window and Mickey crawls through. "Yeah, nice to see you too." As Mickey makes himself comfortable in Ian's bed, who immediately goes to pull Mickey into his arms, he presses a quick, barely-there kiss to his lips. Ian could barely even feel it. "Hey, since when are you one for gentle kisses?" He leans forward, pressing their lips together far more roughly, but pulls back just as fast when he hears a sharp hiss of pain. "Mick? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's fuckin' wrong, red. I'm fine."
Ian sighs, trying to get a better look at his lips, but it's impossible with how Mickey keeps angling his face away from him. "Mickey, come on. Let me help you." He grabs onto the sides of his head, forcing him to look forward, staring straight into his impossibly blue eyes. "Please." Mickey grumbles to himself, but obliges, letting Ian inspect the wound. Still, even without Mickey fighting against him, he still can't see much. He thinks about just turning on the light, but his eyes flicker over to Carl, quickly deciding against it.
He fumbles for his phone, fishing it out of the blankets and sheets that are scattered around on the floor, using the soft glow of the screen to finally properly see Mickey's face. Ian frowns seeing an angry, swollen cut right on his lip, plus a nasty black eye. "What the fuck happened to you?" His mood shifts, avoiding Ian's eyes as he asks the question. They sit in silence for a few moments like that, Mickey closely inspecting the sheets as Ian continues looking for any other cuts or bruises on his face, the only sounds being Carl's soft snores and a box fan. When he finally answers, it makes his heart drop.
"It was my dad."
He leaves it at that, and Ian doesn't prod. Nothing more needs to be said. Still, he can feel his heart shatter as Mickey's eyes start to tear up. "Shit, ok, hold on Mick. I'll be right back." He hops out of bed, running to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Leaving Mickey to sit alone in the dark bedroom, his thoughts wander, with nobody to distract him. He's weak. That's his first thought. He can't even fight back against his old man, who's twice his age? Who gave him a black eye and split lip? How PATHETIC. Before he can spiral further, Ian's back, already opening up the little red box. With no warning, Ian takes a wet wipe to it, but Mickey doesn't even react. A sense of unease rises in Ian. Mickey always spits out a cuss at him when he does that, and he never gives a warning. After a few moments of wiping, the blood is gone, but the swelling has gotten worse. He puts the supplies down, scooting closer to Mickey on the bed, practically sitting in his lap. "Mick, what's wrong? Talk to me." They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, before Mickey finally speaks again. "I'm gonna kill my dad, Ian. I'm gonna put a bullet right through his fucking brain!" He spits the words out like poison, his hands clenches into fists as Ian grabs them, gently rubbing his fingers along his knuckles. His eyes tear up again, but they still don't spill over. Ian sighs, pulling Mickey into a hug, pushing his face into the crook of his neck and slowly rubbing circles into his back. "It's ok to cry Mick." He sniffles, broken hiccups spilling out of his mouth as he finally lets himself cry. Ian simply holds him, whispering softly as his boyfriend lets out the most guttural, heart-wrenching sobs. It's a rare sight to see Mickey cry, but damn if it doesn't nearly kill the redhead. Eventually, the cries and hiccups die down, but Mickey doesn't move, leaving his head tucked into Ian's neck.
"Hey... red?"
Ian lets out a small hum, running his hand through Mickey's hair.
"Do you, uh... mind if I stay here a couple days?"
"Do you even have to ask, Mick?"