The room was silent beside the quietly beeping machines that were linked to Mickey. It was a certain kind of silence, a kind that made him want to flee because it conveyed the feeling of pure despair. Mickey was laying in the bed staring out of the window. Ian stepped closer. Slowly, afraid, fucking scared of what he would see. What look would be on Mickey's face. And then Mickey turned his head and their eyes met.
Four years since he had seen these eyes. Four years since his heart had been pounding so hard. Four fucking years since he had felt so alive.
"Hey, Mick."
"Get the fuck out."
"Let me just..."
"GET OUT!"
"Please, Mick..."
"Leave me the fuck alone!"
He knew he deserved that. But that didn't make it hurt less.
He visited every afternoon after he was done with his shift and went into his room. Talked to him, apologized, explained, told him about his family, about Yev, asked about him. Mickey never responded. Never said a word which drove him fucking crazy because he had expected everything except silence. Silence meant hatred and Ian was sure Mickey hated him, but there was a small part of him, that was still hoping. That part made him come back every fucking day.
And one day, Mickey replied.
"Hey."
"Hey." Mickey's voice was raspy and quiet. Hurt.
"I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry." Ian said for what felt like the millionth time during the last three days.
"What for?" Now he sounded depreciative.
"For leaving." Ian answered, "For not getting my shit together, for listening to my mom, for lying to you, for being a giant piece of trash, for wallowing in self-pity." He paused. " I just wanted to tell you that."
"That all?"
"Yeah."
"So you gonna leave now?"
"No." He sat down on the bed. "No, I'm not gonna leave." Ian reached for his hand but he flinched. He tried again, grabbed Mickey's hand tightly. Refused to let him take it away.
Neither of them spoke, they just sat there in silence. Ian felt how the atmosphere in the room slowly changed from desperate to hopeful. He leaned closer to Mickey. Their foreheads touched and they stayed in this position, eyes closed, breathing in each others smells. Mickey smelled like sweat and hospital but also a hint of cigarettes, obviously he wasn't allowed to smoke in here, and something that was just Mickey.
"I love you." Ian whispered. And then he kissed him.
At first Ian thought Mickey would turn his head away, yell at him or punch him. But he didn't.
Ian cupped the back of Mickey's neck, his other hand interwining their fingers, holding them tightly. And then Mickey kissed him back. It was slow and hesitant, scared. Ian wanted to reassure him, show him that it was okay that he would never leave again. He tried to put this message into the kiss, put all his feelings in. Because he needed Mickey. God he needed him so much.
He didn't know how much time had passed when they let go of each other. It could be minutes. Or hours. It didn't matter.
"You really wanna fuck this? A fucking cripple?" Mickey's voice was dry. He didn't look at Ian, stared to the ceiling instead.
"You really think I give a shit about the wheelchair?"
He didn't respond, just kept glaring at the ceiling. Ian felt a sting in his heart. Mickey looked so weak, eaten away by self-hatred, broken. Ian leaned closer to him again and wrapped both his hands around his head forcing him to look at him. "Mick I love you. I don't know why it took me so goddam long to say it but I love you. You remember what you said to me when I came back from my trip with Monica? 'Thick and thin, good times bad, sickness health all that shit.' You stayed with me despite my bipolar, although I was being a complete asshole. You stayed. And I left. And I'm so fucking sorry because you were right. You are right. I don't care that you can't walk. To be honest I think we're both pretty fucked up even without our diagnoses." As he said the last sentence Mickey smiled a little. He actually smiled. Ian's felt tears of relief burning in his eyes and his vision became blurry.
