Chapter Eight

As Ian left the gym, he heard the door close behind him and then footsteps. Running.

Suddenly, he was being tackled to the grass.

What?

Ian turned to see what had happened, and an angry looking Mickey was on top of him.

"Fuck you," was whispered in to Ian's ear.

"You okay, Mickey?" Ian asked, unsure of whether Mickey was angry or fucking with him. He knew that acting rationally, having unstable emotions, was something that Mickey's illness made him prone to. He also knew that he had pushed Mickey, had prodded at him when he clearly didn't want to talk, and, even though he hadn't known Mickey long, Ian knew it was about as safe as skipping through a mine field.

Mickey looked him dead in the eye and almost growled out a 'no' as he was standing up, pulling Ian along with a strength he did not expect and smashing their lips together. Ian responded to the kiss with an equally eager force. It was a hungry kiss. Almost a battle. Both of them fought for dominance of the kiss, and that only made it better. Mickey suddenly pulled back, looking at Ian and saying "That was fuckin' cruel in there," before walking away from Ian, going back towards the gym but not entering it. Ian followed after him, his fists clenched, his breathing still heavy from the kiss. Suddenly, Mickey had disappeared. Ian turned a corner, and hands were on him.

Blue eyes met his own as he was pulled flush to Mickey's chest, "No, that was," Ian replied before leaning in to press his lips to Mickey's. His arms went around Mickey's neck as he was kissing him harder, feeling Mickey's hands reaching down to pull off his shirt.

"No fair for just me to be shirtless," Mickey mumbled out as he pulled Ian's shirt up over his head and threw it on to the floor, only now noticing the scar on his left pectoral. He brushed a thumb over it before leaning down to kiss along the length of the scar, running his tongue along it, causing a shiver to traverse Ian's spine. And then his lips were moving upwards, his teeth dragging across Ian's pale skin as he mumbled "How'd you get it?" He stopped at Ian's neck, scraping his teeth across his pulse point lightly before pressing a kiss to it.

Ian's head had been hung back the whole time as he replied "Time I thought I could fly," his voice breathy and ragged, trying not to indulge in the memory too much.

Mickey hummed lightly as his teeth grazed on the lobe of Ian's ear, his hand rubbing circles low on Ian's hips, pushing at the boundaries of his pants. Ian's hips began to roll against Mickey's as he exhaled long and loud, his hands reaching down for the curve of his butt, squeezing when Mickey reached his lips again and began to kiss him with such a force it made Ian moan in to the other boy's mouth. Mickey was turning them around and pressing Ian against the wall, letting his fingers hang against the waistband of Ian's pants, slowly tugging at them as he ravished the redhead's lips.

Ian felt painfully hard as Mickey teased the waistband of his boxers. "Ughh," he moaned as Mickey pulled Ian's boxers down a little, beginning to trail his way down his chest, his tongue dragging across his abs. Ian's head was falling back against the wall as Mickey's lips were on his hips, his teeth more active this time. And then Ian felt a shiver go up his spine as Mickey took him in to his mouth, his back arching as his hands sat in Mickey's hair, gripping on to the pleasure that he was feeling. If Mickey didn't look perfect on his knees, his hands now gripping on to Ian's butt cheeks, his nails occasionally scratching, causing Ian's hips to buck.

Fuck me, Mickey is good at this! Ian thought, unable to think of anything else apart from how perfect and how right having Mickey's mouth around his cock felt.

Mickey continued to work his mouth perfectly, a final flick of his tongue causing Ian to come with a stifled groan as his hands sat at the nape of Mickey's neck, his nails gently digging in.

Mickey pulled off, wiping a hand across his mouth, and stood back up, pulling Ian's boxers with him and saying "I needed that after the gym and skipping lunch," before going in to kiss Ian again. Mickey hummed against Ian's lips as Ian slipped a bandaged hand in to his boxers. He wasn't long in coming, what with how Ian had been before. Mickey came in to Ian's hand, his hands gripping on to Ian's shoulder hard as he did.

"I… I'm sorry I couldn't, uh…" Ian mumbled, looking down as he pulled his pants up and turned away to retrieve his t-shirt.

Mickey caught his hand and pulled him back towards him, looking him in the eye and saying "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," before letting go of Ian's hand. "Besides, it's all learnin' and experience," he said as Ian pulled his shirt back on.

As the pair made their way back towards the main building, neither of them knowing the time, Mickey looked to Ian and said "Thanks."

"For what? That? 'Cause I mean, if we're thanking, I think I should be the one doin-" Ian mumbled out, Mickey cutting him off.

"No, ya' fuckin' idiot. Although the bandage did feel surprisingly good." Mickey laughed gently to himself. "I meant… I needed that. I… I was feelin' kinda' shitty, and I… well, I guess it was nice… you know. You comin' to find me, that," Mickey chuckled shortly, "kinda'… makes me feel like you actually care about me. Like… I dunno', I… I end up seemin' kinda' needy, 'cause of my, err, yeah, and it-"

Ian then stopped Mickey mid-sentence to say "You don't have to explain it to me. I'm messed up, too, and you've put up with me, so… kind of makes us even," he smiled softly.

"Thanks!" Mickey scoffed, punching Ian playfully in the shoulder as he laughed.

Ian laughed with Mickey, asking "So… what… shitty thoughts?"

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah. Just loadsa' negative shit, doubt, crap like that. It happens," Mickey replied dismissively.

Ian smiled, winking at Mickey as he dashed up the stairs ahead of the dark-haired boy.

As Ian went up the stairs, Mickey couldn't help but watch how nicely his butt was shaped by his pants as he took each step.

Mickey followed Ian in to their room, looking through the piles of fresh laundry and fishing out his clean clothes. He put Ian's on his bed, along with his fresh sheets, and said softly "Damn, your ass looked fuckin' good comin' up those stairs."

Bet it'd look fuckin' better comin' up my ass, he thought to himself, a half-smile crossing his lips.

Ian smiled back at Mickey, "Thanks. I'm still liking the shirtless look you've got going on there."

Mickey laughed to himself, "Fuck, I left my t-shirt in the gym. That's why you shouldn't distract me, I forget my shit."

"Good to know," Ian mumbled to himself as he started putting the clean sheets on his bed.

Mickey looked to Ian before opening one of his drawers, "You need a hand with that?" Ian shook his head. "Okay, I'm gonna' go for a shower."

Nodding, Ian said "Okay, I'll probably see you in there in a minute." Ian laughed, "Wow, that sounded gayer than it was meant to."

"I'm hoping so!" Mickey called behind him with a sharp, loud laugh as he headed for the shower room.

He heard Ian laughing, but couldn't hear what he had said afterwards.

In the shower, Mickey stood facing away from the spray, his head hung back as he attempted to let the self-doubt, the shame, the anxiety, the negative thoughts, all of it just wash away down the drain. Ian was only a distraction, he wasn't a cure, and Mickey knew that. How he wished Ian was a cure, but a distraction was all he could ever be. At the end of the day, Mickey knew that he would always have to settle for a distraction, because a cure was not a possibility, and that always left a slight bitterness within Mickey. There was the fact that Ian was a reminder as well – a perfectly painful reminder.

"I love you," Jake cried out as he came at the same time as Mickey, his hands gripping hard on to the dark-haired boy's hips.

"I… I love you, too," Mickey replied, turning to gently kiss his boyfriend, running a hand through the red hair that Mickey loved about him.

The door slammed open, "Over my fuckin' dead body, do ya'!" Terry Milkovich was the epitome of rage. He was flying in to the room, his arms looking like something of a windmill, not stopping with each hit they dealt. Mickey tried his hardest to defend Jake, but he didn't stand a chance against Terry Milkovich. Many a time had Mickey received a concussion, or a broken bone from his father, and this time was no different from the last. Mickey was knocked out pretty much instantly, hardly able to get a hit in with his dad clearly only seeing red – literally and metaphorically.

Mickey woke up to find himself in an ambulance, disorientated and in pain. He looked to his side to see Jake bloody and beaten. If he wasn't being held down by the paramedic, he would have jumped to Jake's side and held his hand so tightly.

The next day Mickey was discharged from hospital. He didn't leave though. Jake wasn't discharged. Jake was never discharged until it was on a gurney to the mortuary, and then to his funeral. The day of Jake's 'discharge' was the day that Ian made his second attempt at suicide.

Mickey had not realised he was crying until he felt his eyes stinging after a moment. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, his fists clenched tightly. Ian was terrible and at the same time absolutely amazing for him. He brought back so many painful memories that Mickey had tried so hard to fight back, but then… looking after Ian… it almost gave a Mickey a little satisfaction. He hadn't been able to take care of Jake, but he could still take care of Ian. And taking care of his own perfect little distraction was the nearest to a cure Mickey would ever get. The nearest to penance and forgiveness to himself.

Ian walked in to the shower room a little later, setting his things down on the work surface so he could take the bandages off of his knuckles. He left the bandages on his thigh to hopefully keep the stitches a little drier than if he didn't wear them. The bruises on his knuckles were now a deep purple, but the swelling had gone down and the cuts were scabbed over and on their way to healing. He stripped down, going for a shower and quickly washing off before heading back in to his room. He saw Mickey was laying on his bed as he entered in his towel.

"Jesus Christ, Ian, if you're planning on giving Mickey a show, at least give us a warning, so we know when to leave," Jared laughed, jumping down from his bunk. "Come on, James, let's give them some space. Besides, I need to get my pills before dinner. Changed my meds, so I have to go before I eat. Saves queueing though," Jared said with a shrug, gesturing for James to follow him.

"See you at dinner?" James asked before leaving. He sent a smile to the pair left in the room when they nodded a yes to him.

"You okay?" Ian asked Mickey, who seemed quiet. He received a nod. "Where did you put the spare bandages from the nurse?"

"In your drawer. You might've put your fresh clothes on top of 'em," Mickey said, looking over Ian's copy of Great Expectations at the redhead.

Ian looked where directed and found the fresh bandages and gauze. He took them out, along with a fresh pair of boxers, and slipped them on before dropping his towel. As he rolled up the leg of his boxers, he saw Mickey watching him from the corner of his eye.

"I kinda' wanna' watch the struggle of you tryna' do that, but then at the same time I just can't. I know that struggle all too well," Mickey mentioned when he realised he had been noticed. He hopped down from his bed and went towards his roommate, moving his hands away as he unrolled the damp bandages and removed the gauze from Ian's leg.

Ian didn't say anything, and just let Mickey do what he was. He saw the slight sadness in Mickey's eyes as the stitched-up cuts beneath the bandages were revealed.

"Hold this, will ya'?" Mickey asked once he had positioned the gauze. Ian did as he was asked, smiling down at Mickey softly who was on his knees and beginning to wrap the bandage around Ian's upper thigh. Ian found it mesmerising to watch those strong, intimidating hands (yes, hands could be intimidating when they had FUCK U-UP tattooed across the knuckles and scars from beatings which had been dished out), be so surprisingly gentle. Ian chuckled to himself lightly. "What?" Mickey demanded.

"This is the second time you've been on your knees for me today," Ian laughed.

"The fuckin' things I do for you, Ian," Mickey said as he finished tying off the bandage. He looked up to the boy whose leg he had been wrapping and pressed a gentle kiss on to the spot where the gauze had been before rolling down his boxers and standing back up. "Good as new," he smiled gently. "Now, get dressed before someone decides to jump you," Mickey joked, slapping Ian playfully on the shoulder.

"Is that someone gonna' be you?" Ian retorted.

"If you don't put some clothes on, yeah. And you know I'm a perfect fuckin' gentleman, so don't tempt me." Mickey winked at Ian before throwing a pair of pants at him.