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"I'm starting to think you could have a pretty lucrative career in the tabloid business," Mickey said casually, as he kept his eyes on the bags of grapes he was appraising.
Ian looked up from the two peaches he'd been comparing. He was confused and a little scared. The fruit hadn't spoken to him. At least not about his potential future anyway. Mostly objects were rude to him...in his mind anyway. He'd decided to keep it to himself, though, for the time being. He blinked a few times just to be sure. His meds had been messing with him lately and he was dreading the new cocktail his therapist was sure to prescribe when he had his appointment later that week.
He looked around and noticed the man standing next to him, apparently waiting for his response. He had on a baseball cap and shades, looking very plain in a gray shirt and jeans. He had some scruff he could've been working on for a few weeks. He was shorter than him, but that wasn't what clued him into the fact that this was really happening. The man looked around then turned to him and smiled. He pulled the corner of his glasses down and winked a bright blue eye at him. Ian was frozen for a second, realizing that Mickey Milkovich was standing next to him and he hadn't even noticed. He stood there holding his peaches.
Mickey cleared his throat and blushed. "I realize now how creepy this must seem, but honestly it's getting a bit weird for me too." He placed his selected bag of grapes into a plastic bag then set them in his cart. "You'd give those scumbags a run for their money, I mean...with how often we find each other."
Ian finally came back down to the living world. "I'm shit with a camera," he said, smiling slightly.
Mickey chuckled, "So that's what's stopping you."
Ian looked fake-scandalized. "You think I'm a sleazeball, huh?"
Mickey shrugged, eyeing him. He took out his headphones and wrapped them around his neck. He didn't need George Michaels blasting in his ear when Ian's voice was relaxing enough. He had on a striped shirt and sweats, and no socks, and just looked all around cute and disheveled. Mickey had immediately recognized him when he saw him disappear down the frozen food isle. And maybe his pattern around the store happened to follow him to this point, whole time wondering how he hadn't spotted him. He'd been so obvious trailing behind him, watching his butt. He bit his lip at the sight of the more than average bulge in his sweats. Fuck if he didn't feel bad enough practically stalking him. It had started off harmless enough, but Ian looked like he'd been working out since the last time he saw him. He'd slid up next to him at the fruit, taking his chance to just be in his presence before saying anything. Now he was watching his long fingers rub the soft fuzz of the peaches in his hands.
"I think you might have an agenda," he teased. He watched Ian's arms flex as he bagged his fruit and dropped them in his hand-basket.
Ian nodded, beginning to move to the vegetables. "Yeah, I wasn't just minding my own business. I was hoping to steal your grocery list and post it on twitter. Then I was going to see if you were really lying about hating peaches." Ian kept his pace slow, allowing Mickey to stroll beside him with his basket. It was early evening, so the store was busy, but people remained blissfully ignorant of Mickey's celebrity presence.
"You watched that interview?" Mickey asks, eyebrows actually raising in surprise.
Ian stops and turns red around his ears. He looks at Mickey's dark shades and imagines his brilliant eyes behind them. "I might have. You know, for research."
Mickey grinned, nodding slowly. "Uhuh."
They kept walking. Whether either of them were still shopping was a mystery, but they were content. Ian actually felt kind of good just talking with Mickey. Sure, he watched every single interview, soundbite, blurb and liked every social media post, but something about having Mickey this close to him was more comforting than just looking at a screen. It wasn't an obsession, it was more like he was falling in love...with how Mickey made him feel. Stuff wasn't so overwhelming when they were together.
"Do you like doing those type of things?" he asked.
Mickey thought about it for a minute, watching Ian pick out which pasta he wanted and remembering he hadn't grabbed anything for dinner in his distraction. "Um, I'd rather have my voice heard over the made-up garbage that passes as news."
Ian nodded. "Mmh. Bowties or elbows?"
Mickey was caught off guard. He'd expected a follow up question. He was so trained, it was disgusting sometimes. He couldn't help but feign intense thought, though. He rubbed at his excuse for a beard, making Ian smile in amusement.
"Ever had tortellini?"
"No. Is it good?"
"It is when I make it."
Ian looked at him and felt his stomach dip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had an agenda."
"That's the kind of quick wit the magazines need, Ian."
Ian snorted, blushing despite himself. "I'll consider it."
Mickey nodded then felt the urge to do something. "Ever been to a wrap party?"
Ian's eyes went wide and he shook his head.
"Want to? Saturday night? You can say no," Mickey held his hands up and stepped back, hoping Ian wouldn't actually refuse but giving him the option. He'd already been weird enough around him.
"Uh...um, yeah? I mean, yeah. I'd actually...that'd be really cool. Is it okay?"
Mickey tried to hide his happiness, but failed miserably. "People bring guests all the time. As long as you don't spill the beans about the season finale."
Ian zipped his mouth shut, making Mickey laugh.
"Great. Well, see you around." Mickey took his shades off and winked at Ian again.
Which was a huge mistake because it only took a second for his impenetrable Clark Kent illusion to shatter.
"Mickey Milkovich! Oh my God! I love you!"
Ian felt bad, he really did, but he also stood by and smiled as Mickey was surrounded by his adoring fans.
Him being one of them.