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Ian was alone at home right now, Fiona had to leave for work an hour early to do some assistant manager work or whatever, Ian hadn’t really been listening. He unfortunately did hear his pill bottle rattle slightly when Fiona picked it up to check it. Always checking if he took his meds, as if she can’t trust him to do so, as if he’s a child, as if he can’t take care of himself. Ian painfully remembered when Fiona said she thought Ian couldn’t sometimes. He’s taking his meds, like he should. But instead of feeling nothing like usual, he woke up feeling sad. Not normal sad, he felt guilty, horrible, depressed sad. He thought the meds were supposed to stop the episodes, but he feels awful again. Like he did the first time after Mickey came out. So he tried to go back to sleep. Not caring about getting to work on time. Or at all. He stared at the empty wall beside him, trying to fall back asleep.
When Ian was an hour late for his shift, Fiona knew he wasn’t coming at all and immediately got worried. She paced around everywhere, unsure if she should ask Sean to cover her tables and go check on him or go ask someone else to do it. Then the right person came to mind; Mickey. Mickey should go check on Ian. He was always there for Ian. She quickly texts him “Hey, Ian didn’t come to work today. Mind checking on him?” and just a few seconds later her phone lights up with a text back, saying “yeah thanks for telling me.” A bit of a relief washed over her immediately, knowing that if something’s wrong that Mickey will be there taking care of him.
Ian gives up on trying to sleep, he’s just staring at the wall now. Thinking. Thinking about how Fiona’s probably worried by now. Thinking about how guilty he feels for worrying her, for worrying his family, for worrying Mickey, all Ian's fault. Thinking about how they’d all be better off without him. Thinking about how he’s just wasting space in a house that’s already full of people. Thinking about when the last time he actually felt something was.
Ian remembers. At the shitty diner, at his shitty job that his sister got for him. He’s grateful for everything Fiona’s done for him, really. This job just isn’t what he really had in mind for his future when he was younger and still full of dreams. His past, younger, happier self is down the drain anyways. Ian keeps thinking. He doesn’t think he’s really felt anything since he purposefully burned his hand at the diner’s stupid stove. It hurt, but it felt good. His brain quickly sent endorphins to his hand to help the pain. Gave him relief from the emptiness and the pain was just proof he was still human despite it all. Ian yearns for that kind of relief from his head again. He thinks. And an Idea comes to mind. No, he shouldn’t. But it would make him feel better.
Ian swallows softly as he finally gets enough energy to get up and walk to the bathroom. He opens one of the cabinets and rummages through it until he finds what he’s looking for. Shaving supplies. He isn’t sure anymore if they’re Fiona’s or Lip’s or whoever's, it doesn't really matter. He carefully takes out one of the razor blades that he’s sure haven’t been used yet and sits down on the toilet.
He carefully inspects the blade, feeling a little relieved to know he’s about to feel better. He carefully lifts up the small sleeve of his t-shirt and drags the razor across the arm, wincing a little at the pain. Then he does it again, and again, and again, and again. He watches the little red lines connecting with more red. He knows deeper cuts take longer to heal and leave more noticeable marks, so he tends to avoid going deep. Saves him from people finding out and bothering him about this.
Feeling satisfied for now, he sets the razor blade on the sink carefully and takes a bunch of toilet paper, pressing it onto his arm. He sits like that for a minute or two, enjoying the quiet silence of his house now that his brain isn't screaming about everything. He flushes the bloody toilet paper and lazily wraps a gauze around his arm, just to make sure blood won’t get on his bed sheets. He walks back to his room and slips back into bed, just where he belongs. This time, he peacefully falls back asleep.
A voice saying “Ian, wake up,” unfortunately does wake him up. Ugh, wasn’t he supposed to be alone? Ian audibly sighs and pulls his blanket up, hoping whoever's trying to wake him will take it as a hint to leave him alone. A hand suddenly and very softly runs fingers through his hair, accompanied with a familiar voice repeating, “Ian?”
Ian’s eyes open instantly. Mickey’s here. Oh god, why is Mickey here. All Ian does is worry others. They really would be better off without him. Why is he still here, worrying Mickey, Mickey deserves so much better than-
“Ian, I can see you’re stuck in your head.” and a soft kiss to his head rips Ian out of his train of thought. He immediately turns his body the other way so he can actually look at Mickey. Mickey’s actually here. Mickey somehow knows something’s wrong and came to check on him. Ian feels a little warm inside.
“Hi, Mickey” he whispers while looking into his eyes. Mickey notices Ian’s eyes look dark, sad and empty again, like they did before. Mickey’s not gonna leave his side anytime soon. He climbs on the bed beside Ian and softly wraps his arms around the redhead. Ian takes a minute processing it, and ends up clutching his arms around Mickey, like he’s scared he’s gonna leave if he won’t. Mickey rubs soft circles into Ian’s back in an attempt to ground him.
“I’m here, I got you. What’s wrong, Ian?” Mickey keeps moving his hands to make sure Ian can feel him there. To make sure he knows he’s not alone and he’s right there for him.
“I dunno. Woke up feeling like… like how I used to sometimes.” Ian answers. Guilt settling over him for wasting everyone’s time getting meds just for them to not work. Guilt for making Mickey come all the way here just for him.
“Oh, Ian.” Mickey says softly while gently placing his hand on his cheek. Ian hates it when Mickey says it like that. Not really. It flusters Ian into a headspace that turns him into a puddle in Mickey's hands. So he leans into the hand on his cheek. “It’s okay, I’m here now honey.” Mickey adds and they hug each other a bit tighter.
“Thank you, Mick” Ian whispers. They lay there for a moment, just cuddling each other. Not saying anything because they don’t have to. Mickey being there is communicating more than enough. Mickey cared about Ian. He cared about the fact that Ian doesn’t feel well, not if Ian has taken his meds or if he should get other meds. His priority was making sure Ian was alright right now.
After a while, Mickey decides it’s time for them to go eat something and asks “You hungry? Because I’m hungry.” It wasn’t really a question. Both of them knew. Ian still shook his head, not wanting to get up. “Well, that’s too bad!” He says while getting up and scooping up Ian bridal style before walking downstairs. He gently sets Ian down on the couch and walks into the kitchen, preparing them some sandwiches.
When he’s done he walks back to Ian, their eyes fixated on each other. “What’cha looking at, handsome?” Mickey asks, gently setting their sandwiches on the table for a minute.
“I love you.” Ian mumbles.
“I love you too, may I?” Mickey gently asks, lifting the sleeve lightly, meaning the gauze underneath. Oh. Ian looks away and nods quietly. Mickey lifts the sleeve up fully and kisses the gauze gently. He kisses, kisses, kisses, kisses. Ian feels like he might explode. He lets the sleeve fall again and sits besides Ian, taking their sandwiches from the table and handing Ian his.
“Come on now, eat up.” Mickey says. They both eat their sandwich while Ian lays his head on Mickey's shoulder and Mickey leans into the touch. When Ian’s done with his food, he gently takes Mickey's hand and wraps his fingers around it. Mickey takes a little longer to finish his sandwich.
“Should get my meds checked..” Ian whispers, happy to be the one to bring it up at his own time instead of it being the first thing on the other’s mind. Mickey’s also glad he knows he should get his meds checked and brought it up himself.
“We probably should. Do you wanna go tomorrow or another day?” Mickey questions, letting Ian decide when it would be best for him to go instead of forcing him to spontaneously. Ian notices that he didn’t say ‘I’ or ‘We’, but Mickey immediately said ‘we’, communicating that he will be with him and will not leave his side. Ian is so lucky to have Mickey.
“Tomorrow’s fine. I love you Mick,” Ian answers. Mickey wraps his arms around Ian and pulls him in close, cuddling him.
“I love you too, Ian.”