Reckless Harmony

An Attempt

When Ian hears the doorknob turn for what feels like the umpteenth time, he's on the brink of breaking. He's done, utterly spent. After this customer, he swears he's calling it quits, somehow. Maybe OD? That's the mantra echoing in his head as he braces himself against the wall.

A forced smile flickers across Ian's face as the door swings open, but it fades in an instant when he spots the last person he expected. "Mick..."

The door clicks shut behind Mickey as he enters, and without a word, he strides over to Ian, his expression filled with concern, determination. Mickey's eyes search Ian's face, taking in the exhaustion and despair etched into his features. "Ian," he begins, his voice low and urgent.

Ian's heart skips a beat at the sound of Mickey's voice, a glimmer of hope igniting within him. "Shhh," he hushes, his eyes darting to the hallway outside the door where the faint murmur of voices can be heard. They pass by the room and without hesitation, Ian reaches out and places a hand over Mickey's mouth, pulling him close. A tense moment passes between them, the air fucking warm and tight around them as they pull apart.

"I'm... I am so sorry, Ian," Mickey finally manages, his voice breaking with remorse. He reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes against Ian's, seeking forgiveness in the touch.

Ian's gaze meets Mickey's, his eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions - pain, longing, and a flicker of forgiveness amidst the chaos. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion, "I'm... I'm so tired, Micke-."

Before he can finish his sentence, Mickey pulls him into a tight embrace, and Ian doesn't resist. The warmth of Mickey's embrace washes over him like a wave of liberation. It's a feeling of freedom he hasn't experienced in far too long, and it brings an unexpected lump to his throat.

"How... Why? Why'd you come back?" Ian's voice is hoarse against Mickey's shoulder as his tears threaten to spill over.

Mickey cups Ian's face, his eyes intense. "This is all on me. I'm getting you out of here."

With a surge of determination, Ian nods. They're in this together now. The door creaks open, revealing the chaotic scene beyond - a blur of lights and bodies. Ian's heart pounds in his chest as they move with urgency towards the backdoor. Is this it? Is Ian finally getting out of here?

"Hey! Stop right there!" A harsh voice pierces the air from behind, sending a shiver down Ian's spine as they grasp the door handle.

They break into a run, their hearts pounding in sync with the rhythm of their steps. But their efforts are futile, as they're captured by the strong grip of looming figures. Ian's cry of resistance mingles with Mickey's shout of frustration as they're forcibly guided into a secluded chamber.

Mickey notices Ian's silence, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. They're roughly thrown to the ground as the heavy door slams shut behind them.

"Thought you went back to Chicago, Milkovich." Gabriel's voice cuts through the tense silence, dripping with malice as he casually cleans a gun, his gaze fixated on the weapon.

Mickey squares his shoulders, his jaw clenched in defiance as he meets Gabriel's gaze. "Change of plans."

"To run away with a little twink? Never would I think I'd see a pole-smoking Milkovich boy in my life, but here we are." Gabriel's gaze flickers to Ian, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "And what do we have here?" he purrs, his tone sending a shiver down Ian's spine. "A lost lamb returned to the slaughter."

Ian doesn't bother to look Gabriel in the eye. His voice is barely over a whisper as he pleads. "Please... let me go."

Gabriel's laughter echoes through the room, chilling Ian to the bone. "Go?" he taunts, "You know that won't happen, Ian."

"Fuck you! Let him go!" Mickey shouts.

Gabriel's laughter rings out again. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" he jeers, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. "You two have entertained me for far too long. It's time for a little punishment, I think."

Ian's breath catches in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin as Gabriel's words sink in. He glances at Mickey, his eyes pleading for some sort of reassurance as he hears the unbuckling of pants around him. Mickey starts flinging his arms, trying to break free.

"Don't fucking touch him, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" Mickey struggles against restraints but to no avail.

Gabriel's laughter fills the room, a chilling echo of the danger that surrounds them. "Oh, I'm counting on it," he taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.

Ian's heart sinks as he prepares himself for what's about to come. But just as all hope seems lost, Mickey launches himself at Gabriel with a primal scream of rage and desperation. The room erupts into fucking chaos as the struggle ensues, a symphony of shouts and grunts echoing off the walls. Mickey fights with everything he has, driven by a fierce determination to protect the one he loves from Gabriel, from everything.

Mickey gets the hold of one of the guard's guns. He holds it up and clicks the safety off, making everyone stop in their tracks. A beat of silence, of frustration is shared between everyone.

"What's it gonna be, fuckhead? We get the fuck outta here or I empty the mag and we get the fuck outta here?" Mickey breathes heavily.

Gabriel assesses the situation, a flicker of uncertainty on his face. His eyes narrow, a calculating gleam entering his gaze as he considers Mickey's ultimatum.

"You think you can just waltz in here and shoot me, ese?" Gabriel's voice is low, dangerous, but beneath the bravado, there's a hint of hesitation.

Mickey's grip tightens on the gun, his knuckles white with tension. "Wanna find out?"

Ian watches the standoff unfold, his heart pounding in his chest as he clings to the sliver of hope. Gabriel's gaze flickers between Mickey and Ian, his mind undoubtedly racing as he weighs his options. In a sudden movement, he raises his hands in surrender, a glimmer of defeat crossing his features.

Mickey's grip on the gun tightens as he watches Gabriel warily, his eyes filled with distrust. "Open the fucking door," he orders, his voice firm.

With a resigned sigh, Gabriel nods to one of his lackeys, who rushes to comply, unlocking the heavy door and stepping aside to allow them passage. "This ain't over, Milkovich."

The cool night air of New York hits Ian's face like a tsunami, washing away the stench of fear and despair that clung to him in the den. They stop running as they hit an alleyway. Their breathing is heavy and unmatched. Mickey runs a hand from his forehead into his hair, watching Ian slumped against the brick wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Let's get the fuck outta NYC, Ian."