Reckless Harmony

Thank You

"He still asleep?"

"Yeah, been out all day. And night."

"...What happened in New York, Mickey?"

"I can't just... It's not for me to tell, Lip."

Ian lays in bed, facing the wall as he listens to their hushed conversation through the accordion door. He can still remember the quietness as Mickey had driven them home in a stolen car. None of them had anything to say, just silent glances thrown back and forth, the occasional smile at one another. Then the chaos of their arrival at the Gallagher house.

"You can't just run away like that!"

Fiona had said.

"Where were you? We were all so worried!"

Debbie had said.

Lip and Carl had stood silently by, their faces a mixture of relief and anxiety. Then Mickey had guided him up to the bedroom, and Ian had crashed. The next morning, he couldn't get out of bed. He wouldn't. Not that he could control it, he can't.

Mickey has been staying over, which has been nice. He's been sleeping in the same bed, comforting Ian, holding Ian against his chest when Ian wakes up in cold sweats and whenever he cries. He'd be lying facing Ian, holding one hand on his cheek, brushing away tears and kissing his face.

Mandy had checked in on them a few times, warning Mickey about Terry being pissed about something that has to do with money. The most recent conversation between the Milkovich siblings had been about Svetlana's impending labor which had Mickey acting all defensive and "So what?" about it. Mandy had thought it was real douchey of him, even though she knows he's gay and just wants to be with Ian.

But guilt gnaws at Ian's conscience, twisting in his stomach like a knot of barbed wire. It's his fault—everything with Mickey, the chaos in New York, even Svetlana and their soon-to-be fucking child. Mickey's kid. Fuck.

The conversation between Mickey and Lip fades into the background as Ian's mind drifts back to the events in New York. He can still feel the weight of those days, hands, pressing down on him, the memories haunting him like ghosts in the darkness of his mind. It's all a blur of fear, anxiety.

The sound of the accordion door sliding open pulls him back to the present, and Ian feels Mickey slip into the space beside him on the bed. He's enveloped in warmth and exhaustion, the tiredness seeping into his bones like a slow-moving tide. With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes, longing for the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

***

The lack of Terry's menacing presence feels almost eerie, leaving Mickey to wonder why his father hasn't made a move against him yet. It's a silence that speaks volumes, fueling Mickey's uncertainty as to what lies ahead. A beating? Fuck no, if we're talking about Terry punishing his gay son whom he forced marriage upon, only to run away to be with a man again, we're talking about being buried alive as punishment.

As Ian shifts in his sleep, a soft groan escaping his lips, Mickey's heart clenches with a mixture of worry and longing. He's been by Ian's side through it all, watching helplessly as Ian battles his demons. But even in Ian's moments like these, there's a raw beauty that draws Mickey in like a moth to a flame. Mickey gazes at Ian, now awake and peering at the ceiling.

"Thirsty?" Mickey offers with his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving Ian's face. Ian nods, his movements sluggish. Mickey hands him the water bottle and his medication. Ian takes a few swallows, washes down the pills and sets the bottle aside.

"How you feelin'?" Mickey asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern as he moves closer to Ian, their breath mingling in the quiet space between them.

Ian shrugs, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet Mickey's with uncertainty. "You know..."

Mickey reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cups Ian's cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of Ian's jawline with a feather-light touch. Ian's breath hitches at Mickey's touch, the warmth sending a surge of electricity coursing through him. Ian leans into Mickey's touch, his eyes fluttering close as he sighs.

"I wish I could make it easier for you, man," he says quietly, his voice laced with regret.

Ian's heart swells with gratitude, a lump forming in his throat as he struggles to find the words to express his emotions. "Having you here helps," he admits, swallowing.

Mickey's gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he brushes his thumb gently across Ian's cheek. "Good, 'cause I ain't going nowhere."

Ian's breath catches at Mickey's words, a mix of gratitude and longing flooding through him. "I know, Mick," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I just... I don't know how to make it stop."

Mickey's gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he brushes his thumb gently across Ian's cheek. "You don't gotta have all the answers right now," he assures him. "Just take it one day at a time, yeah? We'll figure it out together."

Ian nods as a tear slips down his cheek, leaning into Mickey's touch. Their eyes meet, a silent exchange of emotions passing between them before Mickey leans in and presses a soft kiss to Ian's lips. It's a gentle, lingering kiss, filled with tenderness and longing.

As they pull away, Ian's eyes flutter closed, his breath hitching unevenly as tears start streaming down his face. "Thank you." He whispers as they lay down again, holding each other impossibly tight.