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A knock on the door of the safehouse had Mickey scrambling for his gun.
No one was supposed to know he was here. Even the bosses were giving him relative freedom on this job, given it was more than just the standard drops he’d been doing for them these past few months. Apparently he had finally proved himself, whatever that meant, and now he was being given responsibility for one of the cartel’s more high-profile clients.
Truthfully, he hated it.
Because it meant he was good at his job, and that he was never going to be good enough to do anything else. He was stuck in Mexico, on the run from the feds in the United States and doomed to live out the remainder of his life alone. Not that he thought that life would be very long. He figured he had at most three years left. Five if he was being generous. The better he was at his job with the cartel, the more protection he would probably be able to barter for, but the bigger the target on his back would be as well.
The knocking got more insistent, so Mickey crept across the room and peered out the peephole he’d drilled into the door when he’d first got here.
“Motherfuck–”
He opened the door quickly and Luis stumbled inside, a tight grip on his stomach. Mickey aimed the gun towards the yard, scanning to make sure the other boy hadn’t been followed. When he was satisfied they were in the clear, he shut the door and bolt-locked it before turning around to find Luis slumped over on the floor.
“Fuck, hey, Luis!”
Mickey rushed to the other boy’s side, heart sinking when he saw the blood soaking through Luis’s shirt. Gently, so as not to hurt him any further, Mickey reached out a hand and shook his shoulder.
“Wake up, man.”
Luis’s eyes fluttered open and met Mickey’s gaze.
“What the fuck happened?”
Luis opened his mouth to speak but blood dribbled down his chin and he couldn’t form words.
“Jesus Christ, Lu.” Mickey retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, running it briefly under the faucet before returning to the other boy and beginning to wipe away the blood from his face. Luis didn’t move but there was awareness behind his eyes when his gaze met Mickey’s.
Mickey barely managed to hold in his sigh of relief. He had already had enough experience with vacant expressions to last him a lifetime. Being in Mexico he should be forgetting about the boy with fiery-red locks and focusing on the one in front of him, but he couldn’t help his thoughts straying back to Chicago every now and then. Especially when faced with something like this.
“Mick?”
Luis groaned, and Mickey heard the unmistakable sounds of squelching coming from where the other boy was pressing his hands hard against his stomach. Blood coated his hands and was squeezing out from between his fingers, his shirt already soaked through. Mickey didn’t need an imagination to know that whatever wound Luis was covering was going to be bad. Hopefully not so bad he wouldn’t be able to patch it up. His heart gave a painful twinge at the thought of Luis dying, and he quickly stamped down on those emotions, not ready to face what they might mean.
“Gotta let me have a look at that, man,” he said instead, going to pull Luis’s hand away from his stomach.
Luis protested softly, but clearly his energy was flagging because he was barely able to stop Mickey from grasping his wrist and moving it away.
“Fuuuuck,” breathed Mickey, lifting up Luis’s shirt and laying eyes on the wound for the first time. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the other boy had been stabbed. Fairly deeply from the looks of things. Mickey hoped it hadn’t pierced anything important, but he had no way of knowing, and getting Luis to a hospital or even to a doctor was out of the question. Hell, Mickey would’ve taken a vet if he thought he could’ve gotten away with it.
“Who stabbed you?” he asked, applying pressure on the wound and getting Luis to lay flat on the floor.
“Don’t know,” groaned Luis, his eyes slipping shut. There was blood everywhere, and it wasn’t hard for Mickey to see just how much blood was seeping through the bandage Luis or someone had haphazardly slapped on the wound, although it was barely covering it at all. “But whoever it was clearly has some anger issues.”
“No shit,” replied Mickey, biting his lip as he cleaned away the blood, trying not to stress over how pale Luis was. He had no idea how far the other boy had walked, or how long he’d been injured, but it was clear he had lost a lot of blood.
“That’s not good, is it?” asked Luis, and Mickey could hear the worry in his voice. He was trying to hide it, but was doing a shitty job.
“I either gotta sew this up or cauterize the hell out of it. Your choice, man.”
Luis laughed breathlessly, his hand reaching out to grab onto Mickey’s bicep.
“Not really much of a choice, is it?” he asked.
Mickey squeezed the other boy’s hand and threw him an apologetic look. He directed Luis to apply pressure on the wound before making his way to the kitchen and grabbing a kitchen knife, pouring tequila on it from the open bottle he’d been downing the night before when thoughts of Ian had become too much. He kept one eye on Luis as he held the blade over the stove, making sure the boy wasn’t about to bleed out on him.
“Just hang on, Lu.” Mickey hurried back to his side and grit his teeth. This was going to hurt like a motherfucker, and he wished he had some sort of painkiller to lessen the other boy’s pain. “Look at me, yeah?” He waited until Luis’s gaze met his and gave the boy a tense smile. When Luis smiled back, Mickey poured a little of the tequila directly on the wound, causing a cry to escape the other boy’s lips.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” said Mickey. “I promise it’ll be over soon.” He lifted the bottle to Luis’s lips, encouraging him to take a sip. Luis took the tequila from Mickey, taking a hefty swig. His breathing quickened as he tried to steel himself for what was to come.
Deciding not to bother with any sort of countdown, Mickey pressed the blade down hard on the stab wound, using his other hand to hold Luis down as the boy started screaming and writhing in pain.
“Almost done.” Mickey tried to ignore the scent of sizzling flesh filling the room, suddenly struck by how similar this situation was to one they’d experienced only a few months ago, when Mickey had been the one bleeding out and Luis was patching him up. He tried to push the memory from his mind, not wanting to dwell too much on how the rest of that night had gone.
He pulled the blade away from the wound and poured more alcohol on it, wiping away the rest of the blood. Thankfully, the cauterization seemed to have worked, and the wound was no longer bleeding.
Luis had passed out at some point, and Mickey took the opportunity to wipe away the sweat from the other boy’s forehead, pulling his hand away quickly when he realized what he’d done. Shaking his head, he finished cleaning up the wound, wrapping it in a fresh bandage he’d taken from the first aid kit in the bathroom.
He wanted to move Luis somewhere more comfortable, but settled for slipping a pillow from the couch under his head, unwilling to move him until he woke up. While the other boy slept, Mickey busied himself with clearing up the blood and disposing of the old bandage. When he was done, he settled on the couch with a beer, staring at Luis and watching as his chest rose and fell with every breath. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he couldn’t stand the thought of the other boy dying. Luis had taken up a large portion of his thoughts since the night he’d dug a bullet out of Mickey’s leg and they’d slept in the same bed, not fucking, but simply taking comfort in the other’s presence. He didn’t think he could handle watching a friend die.
Mickey was on his third beer when he heard Luis stir. Immediately, he was off the couch and kneeling beside the boy, hand hovering over his forehead, wanting but not daring to touch him. Luis pried his eyes open and looked directly into Mickey’s.
“Ouch,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Probably an under-reaction given you were fucking stabbed, man,” replied Mickey, the hint of a smile on his face. A warmth had been spreading through his chest since the moment Luis first began to stir, and he tried desperately to stamp them down. Living in Mexico was dangerous at the best of times, and he couldn’t afford to get too personal with anyone. He had to look out for himself, the way he always had. The one time he’d ever put someone else first… the thought trailed off, but not before an image of a vacant-eyed Ian flooded his vision.
“You okay, Mick?”
Mickey felt a hand on his arm, and looked down to see Luis staring at him with worried eyes.
“You’re the one who got stabbed, bitch,” replied Mickey, throwing off Luis’s grip. “What you worried about me for?”
Luis shrugged the best he could from his position still laying on the floor.
“I had the easy job,” he said. “You’re the one who had to deal with it.”
Mickey laughed, sticking out a hand to help Luis to his feet. It was slow going, and the other boy’s face contorted in pain, but before long Mickey had got him up and on the couch. He brought Luis a glass of water, silently asking the boy to drink it.
Luis did so without argument, keeping his eyes trained on Mickey, who was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.
“So,” started Mickey, leaning back and placing his arm on the back of the couch behind Luis’s head, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
“I got stabbed,” Luis shrugged, sinking further down into the cushions. “Drop went wrong, mark got tetchy, and he plunged a knife into my gut to get out of holding up his end of the bargain.”
“Fucker,” said Mickey, allowing his fingers to brush over Luis’s shoulder gently and trying to ignore his rising heartrate.
“Yeah, well…” Luis trailed off, and the two sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Mickey finished his third beer, making a move to grab another from the kitchen when Luis’s hand on his thigh stopped him.
“Thank you, Mick,” said Luis, holding Mickey’s gaze.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” It had been nagging him since he’d realized Luis was going to be okay. No one was supposed to know he would be at this safehouse, and yet the other boy had found him regardless.
“I didn’t,” whispered Luis, his thumb beginning to rub circles into Mickey’s thigh. “Just took an educated guess and got lucky I suppose.”
A warmth was spreading through Mickey’s body from where Luis was touching him. He tried to ignore it, to focus on what the boy was saying, but he couldn’t.
“Bullshit,” Mickey replied, just as quietly. The tension in the room was thick, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Luis was a good guy, the best he’d met since crossing the border. It didn’t hurt that he was also a good fuck, but Mickey was struck by the fact that he didn’t want to jump the other boy’s bones right now, he just wanted to know that he was okay.
He found himself wanting to take care of him. The way he used to care for someone else.
“Could’ve been worse,” continued Luis, shifting ever so slightly so his head was resting against Mickey’s arm where it still lay on the back of the couch. “It could’ve been Santiago who answered the door.”
“Or no one.” Mickey’s heart gave a painful twinge when he realized just how close Luis had come to death. If he hadn’t been there, if Luis had knocked on the door of some other safehouse, it was likely he would have already succumbed to his injuries. As it was, the sheen of sweat coating the other boy’s forehead told Mickey that they weren’t out of the woods yet. It would be a miracle if the wound didn’t get infected.
“I’m really glad you’re not dead, Lu,” whispered Mickey, unable to look Luis in the eye.
The room was silent, until Mickey felt a hand under his chin, lifting his head up until they were face to face. Luis cupped his chin, rubbing his thumb beneath Mickey’s eye.
“I’m really glad, too.”
Mickey closed his eyes as Luis gently touched their lips together. Every fiber in his body was telling him to push the other boy away, that he couldn’t get involved. But he knew it was useless. He allowed himself to deepen the kiss, trying to ignore his tears as they slipped down his cheek. He felt as Luis brushed them away, and a heavy feeling settled deep in his gut. Without meaning to, he was beginning to fall for the other boy.
And that scared the absolute shit out of him.