Reckless Harmony

Rescued

The abrupt impact of Ian meeting the ground seamlessly transitions into the comforting embrace of soft sheets. Gradually, he regains consciousness, his eyes fluttering open, and his muscles slowly reclaiming their strength. He tries to sit up, but a relentless throb pulses through his head, hindering his movements. Where the fuck is he? Who's room is this? Had he gone home with someone the night before? He looks at the wall decor. Posters of old punk and grunge bands, a drum set in the corner, weapons. He groans as the pounding continues, but he manages to make it to his feet. Ian stumbles out of the room, desperate to find an explanation.

The sharp light from the morning sun beams through the windows in the kitchen and Ian can almost see a figure sitting by the table.

"Hey."

Ian rubs his eyes, "Where am I?"

The man's expression is a mix of nonchalance and curiosity. "You're at my place. Took you in last night. You were getting jumped in the alley."

Ian's eyes widen in realization as he touches the bruise on his face, "Shit, thanks..."

The man nods, "No problem. You needed help. My sister's here too, by the way. Figured you'd wanna know."

Ian blinks, taking in the information. "Right. Thanks again. I... don't really remember much after that."

"Rough night, huh? Sit down, I'll make you coffee."

Ian hesitates for a moment before taking a seat. He winces, the tip of his fingers instinctively reaching for his temples to rub at them. The aroma of coffee fills the air as he tries to piece together the events of the previous night. As the sun hides behind the blinds Ian regains full control of his eyes and he looks at the man by the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee. Black-haired with tattoos on his knuckles, in a tank top.

"Did we fuck?" Ian asks loudly, just casually since he's so used to it.

The man looks at him for the first time with a clear face and shakes his head. Ian looks directly into his eyes for a minute. Isn't it the man from the club? "Do I know you?"

"Depends on where you've seen me, I guess."

Ian's realization dawns, "You're that drummer... Mickey!" he exclaims. "No wonder you seemed so familiar back at the club."

Mickey raises an eyebrow, a touch of pride in his eyes. "Been to one of our shows?"

Ian grins, memories of the lively performance surfacing. "Yeah, once. Was that really you?"

Mickey nods, "Yup." He glances around the empty living room, contemplating. "Kurtis your real name?"

"Just a stage name. I'm Ian. Gallagher."

Mickey raises both eyebrows, "Gallagher? Any relation to Frank?"

Ian's expression shifts slightly. "Unfortunately, yeah. He's my old man."

"Tough break. That bastard still owes us for the E."

Ian chuckles, "Guess I owe you more than just my thanks."

"Nah, it's fine." Mickey shakes his head, taking another sip of his black coffee.

"Come on, let me buy you a drink or something."

Mickey looks at Ian, a grin playing on his lips. "Sure." He nods.

Ian glances around the room, searching for something to write on. He spots a notepad on the coffee table, snatches it, and quickly scribbles down his number.

"Here," Ian says, handing the notepad to Mickey. "In case you ever need a favor in return or just want to grab that drink."

Mickey raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his face. "Smooth. I'll keep that in mind, Ian."

With a nod, Ian heads towards the door. "See you around, Mickey."

As the door closes behind Ian, he can't shake the feeling that this chance encounter might lead to something more than just a fleeting rescue in a dark alley.