Work Text:
The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans hit his nostrils, while the sound of whirring machines hit his ears, both instantly rousing him. With a slow yawn, he approached the counter, awaiting his turn, though at this point it was hardly necessary.
“Morning, Ian”.
Familiar blue eyes fluttered his way, dark lashes and pale skin complimenting them perfectly. Unfortunately for Mandy, she wasn't exactly his type. But he didn't mind her flirtations and appreciated her attention, considering she always prioritised his order.
“Hey, Mandy, looking especially pretty today,” he answered with a genuine smile, “Usual please”.
The brunette blushed a little, before quickly preparing his Americana with almond milk and a touch of vanilla syrup. And like usual, she finished with a light dusting of cinnamon, which apparently reminded her of his freckles. At least, that's what Mandy had teased him about, the first time they met. But the taste grew on him, much like she had.
Having frequented the on-campus shop for months, Ian had eventually befriended Mandy, finding her dry humor and sassiness both comforting and entertaining. They occasionally bumped into each other and texted intermittently but as Ian was preoccupied with his studies, they didn't hang out as much as he would like. Considering his natural confidence and out-going nature, Ian was surprisingly lacking in social activities. But he loved what he was doing, recently discovering a deep love for photography.
He had always considered himself a creative type and hoped to find a future in the arts, in some respect. But now, his path seemed clearer. The technology, the angles, the lighting; he appreciated the skill and craft that went into taking that perfect image. A camera could capture a moment in an instant and tell an entire story in just one frame. Or maybe Ian was simply a deep thinker, like his older brother Lip would say, in his typically snarky and slightly teasing way.
But whatever the reason, this form of art now consumed his life and most of his free time, which wasn't much, in between attending classes, studying and working part-time at a photography studio.
He tapped his card on the machine, nodding his thanks and flashing Mandy one last smile.
“Don't be a stranger, handsome”.
Ian offered a half-wave, telling himself that he needed to make more of an effort, wondering if it was healthy to spend such a substantial amount of time alone. Sure, he could admire the world through a lens, but maybe it was about time he looked up and around instead. His work and his studies offered some connection to the world, of course.
He met people in passing, in his lectures or through the bookings at the studio, but they were fleeting. Sometimes, he longed to have someone to talk to about his day or someone he could proudly show his latest pictures to. Preferably, someone who got it, who understood his passion and how it fills him up and inspires him.
His coffee was still a touch too hot, and he cursed, upon burning his tongue stupidly. He loitered outside, while hungrily devouring his usual muffin (lemon and poppyseed) before stepping towards the large trash can outside.
“Huh”
He leaned down, upon noticing some papers sticking out of it, hand drawn sketches and drawings catching his eye. As he pulled them out, he carefully unfolded them, thinking they looked good, great even. But then, something else caught his eye, a canvas that was propped up behind the trashcan, leaning against the wall. This was a painting, using watercolors as opposed to charcoal or pencils and unlike the others that had been discarded so crudely, this work appeared to be in mint condition.
Ian momentarily wondered if it had been a conscious decision, that the person had abandoned it with more consideration for some reason. Perhaps they had been conflicted, he thought. But still he frowned, his eyes taking it in properly and appreciating the abstract design, that looked like a deconstructed face. What stood out the most to him, was a pair of soulful blue eyes, not as dark as Mandy’s, but reminiscent of a stormy sea. There was sadness there but also, hope, reflected in the bursts of bright colors in the background.
With that, his decision was made, and he scooped up the piece, pleased to find it damage free. Checking his watch, he figured he had a few minutes to spare, thanks to Mandy’s attentive service, so he padded off in the direction of the dorms to deposit his lucky find. When he returned, after his last class, he found a spot for it, right above the head of his bed.
Ian chuckled a little as he glanced around, the two sides of the room complete opposites. On his side, were framed photographs and pretty pieces of art. On his roommates, sports memorabilia and trophys, considering he was an athlete, and football was his entire life. The guy was nice enough though and never gave Ian a hard time. But more importantly, he was rarely there, his days spent training, playing or partying.
Ian lay back on his bed, fingers strumming absently on his stomach as he imagined the artist, wondered who they were and what had happened for them to part with such an accomplished and beautiful piece of art. Not that he was an expert, but to him it was. But he supposed that was the thing about art, in any form. It was subjective and wasn't there a famous saying about beauty being in the eye of the beholder?
----
“Fuuuuck!”
Mickey balled up another piece of paper and tossed it across the room, almost hitting his roommate who turned and glared at him. The guy was a total nerd, always tapping away on his laptop with his huge headphones covering most of his head. The frustrated artist flashed him a ‘so what?’ look, knowing he would simply turn back around or flee, like usual. Maybe if he pissed him off even more, a threat here and there, or messed with his stuff, then maybe Mickey might finally be offered his own room.
Because he desperately needed space and privacy. He could barely concentrate in that claustrophobic room, with the constant click-clacking of chubby fingers or irritating munching of Dorito's. While Mickey was all too aware that he likely harbored murderous tendencies (courtesy of his Milkovich genes), his ability to hold back was decreasing the more he struggled with his latest project. What the fuck did the professor mean by “Rebirth” anyway.
Mickey had absolutely no desire to “look inside” or “look to the past”. That’s why he chose to paint and draw objects or landscapes, things he saw around him. Because inside, well that was a hot mess, a dark mess. Ironically, due to his traumatic past. Once he (shockingly) discovered he had been offered a full scholarship, Mickey had made a pact with himself to never look back. Only look forward, to the future, to brighter and better things. Which wouldn't be difficult, seen as he grew up surrounded by poverty and neglect, abuse even.
But now his professor was pushing them to “look inward” and “project their true self” or some shit. And Mickey was both utterly stuck and terrified. Because he was starting to worry that he had nothing to offer, nothing of substance on the inside. And ultimately, he wasn't sure who the fuck he was. Apart from Mickey Milkovich, son of notorious homophobe and Nazi criminal Terry Milkovich. Survivor of the South Side, sure, but that wasn't something to brag about and he was hardly special because he had scars, both mental and physical. It just was. It had happened and it was over.
Mickey never let himself dwell on it or think about it at all, in fact. His fucked-up childhood. The memories hurt too goddamn much, and it dragged up too many emotions. Regret, anger, sadness, resentment. His younger sister suggested he needed “therapy” once and he snorted in amusement at her joke, only to discover she wasn't entirely joking. But talking wasn't one of his strengths and the idea of reopening those old wounds in front of a total stranger seemed entirely ludicrous. Crazy. But he supposed that's why “crazy” people went to therapy. And Mickey wasn't like those people; he wasn't weak and needy and depressed. He was pretty damn content. Well, most of the time.
When he wasn't stressed out, angry or annoyed with some asshole or another. Or hungry. Or tired. Or horny for that matter. Shit, had it been that long? Since he’d touched another man? Maybe that's all he needed, a quick handy or a blowie to clear the head and release his pent-up tension. He remembered his sister mentioning a party in the dorms that weekend and mulled it over. Though she didn't attend the University, Mandy worked on site, in one of their bougie coffee shops. Being such a friendly person, and by friendly he really meant “flirty”, she was privy to campus gossip and information.
She too had been suggesting he badly needed to “get laid” and “chill the fuck out”. Even going as far as to attempt to set him up on a blind date but fuck that. It sounded like hell, not knowing what they looked like, what they were about, what they liked or disliked. But if Mickey was truthful with himself (and Mandy) it wasn't just the idea of dating that repelled him but getting to know someone, having to open himself up to questions and potential judgments. Or worse, disappointments.
For him, a quick and anonymous hook up was fine, sufficient. Besides, his time was precious and right now, he needed to figure out what kind of artist he was. What he “wanted to say”.
And fast.
----
It was nearing the end of his shift and Ian yawned, a loud and obvious thing that he struggled to contain with his hand. His boss, shot him an unimpressed look, and he blushed lightly, nodding apologetically. He had been slower today, the late nights of study and early morning starts catching up.
Thankfully the customers never seemed to notice, too preoccupied with posing for family portraits or pre wedding shots or anniversary keepsakes. Those were his favourite pictures to assist on, the old couples who were married for decades and came in to take pictures in celebration of their marriage.
Call him soft, but Ian thought there was nothing more romantic than finding someone you could love like that, someone you could stand to be around, for an eternity. The way these couples gazed adoringly at each other and moved so comfortably together. He felt a real sense of privilege to be part of that love, even if just for a moment.
As he left the studio, just after 6, he checked his phone, noticing another text from Mandy. He smiled fondly down at his phone, his eyelids already feeling a little heavy. It would be the sensible and easier thing to hit the books and then have an early night. Sleep was calling him, evidently, as his free hand stifled yet another escaping yawn. But as he entered his quiet dorm room and looked around he was suddenly struck with the image of an older couple from a photo shoot that day.
Then his eyes landed on the painting. The one from the unknown artist. The one whose eyes looked like they were searching for something, trying to say something. A heavy sigh left his mouth and he laughed. He spent his days capturing joyous and loving moments in strangers lives. Yet he wasn’t really living a life of his own, not really.
There had to be a line, between work and play and so, Ian decided to draw that line. A few hours off from notebooks and projects wouldn’t kill him. If he didn’t drink too much or stay out unreasonably late, then he could wake up refreshed and ready to face the day.
Having taken his time getting ready and grabbing some take out on the way, Ian arrived at the party which was already in full swing. The entire floor was hopping and he noticed some of the footballers knocking back shots in celebration of their win. His roommate, Kyle, being one of them.
The tall quarterback with blonde floppy hair flashed him a surprised grin and waved his way, beckoning him over.
“Gallagher, you’re out, in the wild, can’t believe it”.
A chuckle left his lips and fine, he deserved that ribbing. He grabbed a beer, toasting Kyle and his teammates.
“Congrats. Figured I should finally get the full University experience. Only live once, right”.
Kyle, clearly already on his way to being drunk, slapped his back energetically, almost causing him to spit out his beer.
“That’s the spirit. And well, there’s plenty of gay guys around here, if you’re going all in”.
With a wink, the footballer scouted around, as if he was playing wing man. But Ian had no intentions of hooking up. Not tonight at least. Besides, he came to hang out with one person in particular.
“Iaaaan”
Mandy barreled towards him, pink drink in her hand, embracing him so tightly the cocktail spilled everywhere.
“Ooh you look nice,” she offered, eyeing him from head to toe.
“Yeah, you too,” he replied with a soft chuckle and he meant it. She looked beautiful out of her work uniform, wearing a black mini dress, chunky boots and dark burgundy-red leather jacket. Her dark brown (almost black) hair was perfectly straightened, her make up light but enhancing her eyes and lips, the former smoky and the latter painted a deep red.
“Who's your friend?” she asked, when she finally released him and noticed his companion.
“Kyle, my roommate. This is Mandy, my friend”.
It was the first time he’d used that term out loud but Mandy seemed to preen and accept it happily, before her eyes were once again drawn back to the footballer.
Kyle appeared equally interested and offered to grab her a fresh drink, eventually steering her away from Ian. But he didn’t mind, they had plenty of time to catch up. His eyes flickered around the room, head starting to bob in time with the music and he felt relaxed, surprisingly at ease.
Its not like he hadn’t attended a party before, in fact, he had spent many summers clubbing and partying, when he was far too young to be doing so. Its probably why the scene wasn’t his priority anymore. He had other interests and other hobbies. Other priorities.
But for now, he was happy to soak up the atmosphere and let loose. Likely due to his condition and his wild upbringing, he thrived on stability and routine. But he was starting to realise that he was largely cut off from people and other experiences.
A wide grin stretched across his face as he watched Mandy and Kyle chat and giggle and flirt. Already he cared for her, despite not knowing her too intimately. But he could tell she was a good person with a big heart. And though Kyle was a total jock, he wasn’t a dick. And he was actually pretty smart too, Ian had discovered.
He finished his beer, deciding on one more, but as he absently made to grab a bottle, his hand collided with another.
“Oh shit, sorry man”
When he looked up, he found a pair of striking blue eyes blinking back at him. Dark, angry looking eyebrows arched his way. Tattooed fingers quickly pulling back. The raven-haired man looked vaguely familiar. And also, uncomfortable and fidgety.
“I know you from somewhere?” Ian pondered, the strangers eyes darting away as if he was scanning for an exit. “ah, yeah that’s it. We share a couple of classes. I’m Ian”.
He stuck his hand out, awkwardly, the other man simply eyeing it suspiciously before choosing to ignore it. And yeah, that was him alright. The quiet, weird and grumpy student who never talked to anyone else and occasionally gave the professors shit.
“Alright then,” he whispered to himself, as a strange tension surrounded them.
A few more seconds passed, the guy standing there in silence, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. Yet he didn’t budge.
“Mickey”
The voice was small, scratchy, barely audible. Ian turned his head, lips curving up at the corners. For some reason it felt like a win. And he had absolutely no idea why.
----
Jesus. His heart was thumping out of his chest. He’d warned Mandy that this was a bad idea. That he’d likely humiliate himself. And where was that bitch anyway? Abandoned him the second she sniffed out a new guy to fuck. Traitorous bitch.
And now he was stuck here listening to some ginger fuck yammering on about photography or some other nerdy shit. Though, if he was honest, the guy (Ian) was pretty nice to look at. Especially the way his green-blue eyes sparkled when he got all passionate and the way his pink full lips curved and twitched when he smiled or laughed.
Shit. And now he was staring at him, expectantly, curiously. Probably asked him a question and Mickey had completely zoned out. Now Ian was laughing and Mickey blushed with embarrassment but also, felt angry, irrationally so.
“It’s OK, Mick. I get it. Not really my scene either. I get overwhelmed too. Only here cos my friend kept pestering me and I guess she had a point”.
Mickey eyed him, letting the casual nickname go, kind of liking it actually. Liking how it sounded coming from Ian anyway.
“Point?”
Ian cocked his head and Mickey really was struggling to keep his shit together. He was breathtaking. Sort of alien looking but in the most spectacular way. Copper red hair. Freckles. Pale smooth skin. Tall. Broad. Athletic. Strong. And those eyes. Holy shit, Mickey wanted to paint him. Especially those eyes.
“Yeah, she was saying how I never really interact with anyone. Don’t date, go out. All work and no play makes Ian a dull boy or whatever”.
Mickey snorted out a laugh and swiped at his nose, “sounds like my sister. Bitch dragged my ass out too. Same shit. Worried about my anti social ass or whatever the fuck. Been trying to set me up on blind dates,” he laughed, genuinely, enjoying how easy it was to talk to Ian who listened intently. “She even tried to set me up with some guy she barely knows. Could be a nut job for all I know”.
A sweet but hearty laugh came from Ian and Mickey enjoyed the sound, enjoyed that he was the cause of it.
“So, gay, huh?”
Mickey arched his eyebrow at Ian, “Yeah, that a problem Firecrotch?”.
Fuck. Why the nickname? Idiot.
“No, course not,” Ian replied with a chuckle, “seen as I’m gay too”.
He cursed his pink cheeks for giving him away. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d meet a guy he actually liked at this party, let alone one he found attractive. And who was gay.
Their eyes studied each other for a moment, Ian’s grin turning into a smirk. Mickey blushing again but grinning right back.
“Oh, you two met. Great”
Mickey didn’t even hear his sister creep up, jerking a little as she wrapped her arms around both him and Ian.
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, this is the guy I wanted to set you up with but you were being a pussy”
Ian caught his eye, seemingly as surprised as he was. “This is your brother?”
“Yeah, the artist. Figured you guys have a lot in common. Oh, and thanks for introducing me to Kyle, fuck he’s gorgeous”.
Mandy batted her eyelids across the room, where some blonde asshole was eye fucking his little sister. Whatever, she was a grown woman now and no longer his responsibility. Least that’s what she kept telling him.
With that, Mandy planted a big kiss on both their cheeks. Whispering something in Ian’s ear on the pull back. Then whispering in his own.
“Be nice, Mick. He’s a good one”.
He nodded, a faint scowl on his face, before flipping her off. Predictably, she flipped him off in return, as she sashayed back towards her latest piece of ass. Or maybe this one would last. Bound to eventually.
“So, you’re the brother. Wow. Small world. Guess I see the resemblance now”.
“Fuck off. Bitch wishes she looked this good”.
Suddenly, Mickey was brimming with confidence and, shockingly, he might even be flirting. It was easy though, especially when Ian looked at him like that. Like he was thinking the exact same (filthy) shit as he was.
Ian’s eyes scanned him from head to toe, taking in his form. And Mickey wondered if he should have worn a smarter shirt, one with buttons like Mandy suggested, instead of the black Metallica t-shirt and flannel combination he stuck with.
“You do look good, Mick. Real good”.
They locked eyes, this unexpected heat building between them. Mickey hadn’t felt that kind of spark in a long time. Maybe ever. He wasn’t unfocused around Ian, he was engaged, in the moment and actually enjoying himself. Not lost in his head or worrying about school or projects or grades. He was entirely wrapped up in this red-headed photographer.
“Not so bad yourself, Red”.
----
As much as Ian had desired Mickey from the second he laid eyes on him, neither man made a move that night. Instead, they hung out, getting to know each other, playing stupid party games with Kyle and Mandy and generally just laughing the night away.
With Mickey being pretty drunk by the end and Ian relatively sober, it just didn’t feel right. Kyle and Mandy wandered off, thankfully not to Ians dorm room he later discovered. So, he walked Mickey back to his place, hesitating by his door, wanting so much to push him inside and rid him of his clothes.
And in the past, he would have. With someone else, he would have. But he liked Mickey. A lot. Liked his sister too. And figured he might have not one but two friends now. So he wasn’t about to fuck it up, by thinking with his dick instead of his….his heart? Or his head? Maybe both, he mused.
Mickey had looked devastatingly sexy though, cute too, adorable even. With his bright eyes and flushed face. Up close, Ian noticed the delicate freckles dotted across his cheeks and nose, which softened his features. Those tattooed hands, the ones with “fuck u up” intriguingly inked across the knuckles, tugged at Ian’s collar, a mischievous smirk breaking out.
But Ian figured Mickey might not even remember it the next day, should he give in and go inside. And something about that made his insides turn, made him feel sad. So, he took his hands, holding them a moment, and locked eyes with him. Ensuring he understood. It wasn’t a rejection but a rain check.
Then, he kissed his cheek and told him to drink some water before passing out. Earning him a raised middle finger, a gesture he was fast growing to love. A gesture that felt endearing and affectionate coming from Mickey.
“See ya, Firecrotch”
Was the last thing he heard before he closed over the door, leaving Ian shaking his head and grinning wildly.
They hadn’t specifically agreed to see each other again but had swapped numbers, so Ian figured it was a good sign.
“Jesus, you alright Mandy?” he teased, upon walking up to the counter and finding her a little rougher around the edges than usual.
For a Sunday morning, Ian had quite a bit of energy, unlike Mandy apparently, who rolled her eyes and groaned in annoyance.
Then he laughed out loud, and pointed to her neck, which sported a rather large hickey.
“Fuck off,” she grunted, pulling her shirt collar up, a hint of a smile emerging.
“Late night then?”
With a nod and a knowing grin she starting making his coffee, “Very. Didn’t get much sleep”.
A chuckle, “nice. He stayed at your place then?”
“Yeah, I live a few blocks away, studio. Small but all mine”
Mandy beamed with pride and he understood. And, he was genuinely happy for her.
“Poor guy said he had training or something,” she shrugged with a dry laugh.
“Yeah, he never gets time off. Cost of being a star athlete. So, you like him?”
Mandy blushed and passed him his fragrant coffee, “You like my brother?”
Another chuckle, his own cheeks flushing with colour, his own shoulders shrugging. “Maybe, yeah. Fuck, I do. A lot”
Her face lit up as she slid another coffee cup towards him, her lips now formed into a devious grin.
“He likes you too. I can tell. He never talks to anyone, let alone takes them home”.
“Well, nothing happened. He was drunk, I walked him back. Made sure he was OK. Then I left. Sorry to burst your bubble”.
“So, you know where his dorm room is. That’s good”.
Ian continued to eye the extra coffee cup, then the bag of muffins she handed him. She waved off his card, surprising him once again.
“On the house. For the delivery service”.
“Huh?”
“For Mickey. Texted him earlier and he’s worse than I am. But some caffeine and sugar should help”
She winked as she over exaggerated the word “sugar” causing him to laugh, slightly more nervously than intended.
“Mandy, c’mon, I can’t just turn up at his place. That’s kinda creepy. We only met last night. Don’t wana, like, freak him out”.
“Oh, aren’t you cute,” she teased, before pulling out her phone and shoving it in his face.
“What am I looking at?”
He scrolled back and forth, the conversation between the two siblings from that morning becoming clearer.
“Oh,” he whispered, cheeks burning.
“Yeah, oh”
At first the pair teased and joked, in their usual way. But then Ian's eyes widened as Mandy managed to pull some truths from Mickey. Maybe his hungover, sleepy brain couldn’t contain his thoughts but they were there for Ian to see. Like how he called Ian “hot as fuck” and liked his “stupid freckles” even though they made him look like a “total dumbass”. And Mickey even agreed she had been right, to try and set them up, confessing he liked him.
“A lot”.
But then he frowned a little, when Mickey expressed his fear to Mandy that Ian didn’t like him back, that Ian was “too good” for him, that he didn’t fancy him because he didn’t try to fuck him. At reading that, Ian rolled his eyes and looked up at Mandy.
“He’s a fucking idiot if he thinks I don’t want to fuck him”.
Mandy snorted and arched an eyebrow at him, “Mickey’s a delicate creature in some ways. He’s never had a boyfriend. Hell, I’m not sure he’s ever kissed anyone, properly anyway. Or gone on a proper date. And he deserves that. Even if he’s an asshole”.
Ian smiled and nodded, in total agreement.
“That’s why I left. He was drunk. He wouldn’t have even remembered it, Mandy. And I want to do things right with him. You’re right, he deserves it,” a pause, “me too”.
Mandy gestured at the cooling coffees and muffins, then caught his eye, smiling softer now, the type of smile that reached right up to her eyes.
“No time like the present, Ian”.
Inhaling deeply, he nodded faintly and gathered up the items, locking eyes with his new friend.
“If he murders me, it’s on you Mands”.
“I promise to cry at your funeral,” she shouted after him, causing him to relax a little, as he picked up the pace. Urging his body forward, across campus, before his brain could catch up. No, his heart was leading him, was in control. And it felt good. Freeing.
----
Mickey must have drifted off again, after finally ordering his sister to “fuck off and leave me alone”. Shit, it was coming back, all the stuff he said about Ian, what he had confessed to her in his half-asleep hazy state. He stirred and sat up against his headboard, rubbing a hand down his face.
Predictably, his roommate, Stuart or Steve or something, had his back to him, while playing a video game. His mouth was dry as fuck and his stomach rumbled. He’d rather not go out, preferring to curl back up in bed and sleep off the booze but he needed supplies. So he begrudgingly pulled on some sweatpants and a hoody, before a knock at the door caught him by surprise.
Mumbling, he padded over, assuming his nerdy roommate must have friends in real life after all.
“Ian, what the…what are you doing here?”
Mickey instantly wanted to brush his teeth and smooth down his hair. But Ian simply smiled back at him, with noticeably less confidence than the night before he thought. From what he could remember anyway.
“Mandy thought you might appreciate these”.
Mickey gratefully took the coffee cup, relishing the smell and warmth on his tongue, “She thought fucking right. Thanks man, but you didn’t have to come all the way up here”.
“Its hardly out of my way, Mick,” Ian paused, cheeks slightly pink, eyes studying Mickey carefully. “I, uh, wanted to see you again. Wondered if you wanted to hang out”.
Mickey spluttered a little on his drink, “hang out? Today? You not got other shit to do?”
“Nothing that can’t wait ‘til later. Was hoping I could take you out, like on a date?”
A laugh of disbelief puffed out and he glanced around, nope, not asleep.
“A date? I dunno man, I’m not the dating type and I’m not exactly dressed for that shit”
He peered down at his grey outfit, thrown on, from where he picked it up off the floor.
“Mick, for what it’s worth you like fine to me. Better than fine,” a confident grin this time, “was just thinking we could go for a walk or something, drink our coffee, eat whatever Mandy put in that bag. Nothing fancy. Not exactly the dating type over here either. But I want to be. Want to try anyway, with you”.
More heat crept up his cheeks and he was forced to glance away, “you’re low maintenance huh?” he joked, attempting to ease his nerves.
“Wouldn’t say that,” Ian laughed in response, “but I just want to get to know you, spend more time with you. Don’t really care where and figured you might feel the same way”.
Mickey could tell Ian really meant to say “hoped” because it was written all over his handsome face and in those puppy dog eyes. How could Mickey say no. Especially when the answer was yes, had been ever since he opened the door. He was pretty sure he’d say yes to whatever Ian asked of him.
“Fine, lemme find some shoes”
Ian hovered just inside the door, goofily offering what’s his name a half-wave, when he turned away from his computer screen for a brief moment. Likely alerted to the presence of another person in the room.
“Don’t mind him, not sure the guy even speaks English”
“I do,” came the voice, a rarity, “just don’t like speaking to you, Milkovich”.
The tone was dry, ballsy, humorous even. And for a split second Mickey believed the guy might not be so bad after all.
“Well the feelings entirely fucking mutual. Try not to get jizz all over the place while you jack off to that lame ass anime or whatever the fuck you nerds are into these days”.
Mickey snorted out a chuckle when a chubby finger was raised in his direction, without the guy even turning back around. Then, he decided to pull off his hoody, instead throwing on another flannel, over his plain black t shirt. A heavier shirt, more like a jacket. He wanted to change his bottoms too, but not while Ian was standing there. Looking at him like that. Head cocked to side, bright eyes, playful curve on those tempting lips.
“What? We going on this fucking date or what, freckles?”
“So, art…”
“Got a question in there, Red?”.
Ian laughed sweetly and Mickey could never possibly grow tired of that sound.
They were stretched out on the grass. Coffees finished, muffins demolished. Lemon and poppy seed for Ian, chocolate chip for Mickey. Sunshine on their skin, relative privacy as the campus was pretty quiet, with very little activity. Mickey felt energised, a hint of a headache still there but it was fast evaporating.
“Meant what’s the story there, how’d you get into it or whatever?”
“Dunno how to answer that,” he admitted, truthfully, “always liked it since I was kid but wasn’t encouraged or whatever, wasn’t really allowed to like express myself. But then my dad died and I felt free, to do what I wanted, be who I wanted”.
He shrugged, knowing it was far more complex but now wasn’t the time to get into the gory and depressing details. Ian nodded though, seemingly content with his answer.
“South Side bullshit,” Ian offered and they both smiled and nodded.
“How about you, photography or whatever”
“Similar story in some ways, sort of had to bring myself up, never had parents around. Was always creative I guess, probably trying to escape and block out shit. Writing, drawing, whatever I could. But only really got into photography when I started here. Now I love it. Its my thing, you know”.
“That’s good, that you found it. You got anything on there?”
He gestured at Ian’s phone which lay next to him on the grass. But strangely, he blushed and hesitated, appearing embarrassed. Mickey sensed something and playfully snatched it out of his hand. Now he could see why, when his eyes landed on the last picture Ian had taken.
“Sneaky bastard,” he joked, his own face warming up. He looked good, natural, smiling, the sunlight catching him just right. Ian must have taken it just a few minutes ago, while Mickey wasn’t paying attention.
“Sorry. I can delete it if you want”.
“Nah, it’s cool. You got skills alright. Made me look good”.
He rubbed at this nose awkwardly and passed Ian the phone, who scooted up close, as close as he could get.
“I did nothing. You look good all by yourself”.
They locked eyes for a moment, just smiling, before they both laughed at their silliness. Then Ian opened up his gallery and yeah, he really did have skills.
“Ian, these are great, really beautiful. Cool too”.
“I like urban stuff and trying to capture the beauty in ordinary things and unexpected places. All about angles and perspective. Kinda think there’s beauty in everything”.
Ian shrugged, his observation honest and humble, but not boastful. Another thing Mickey appreciated about him. His ability to be confident and sure of himself without being arrogant or cocky.
“I get that. Maybe it’s cos of where we grew up or something. Like the ghetto is fucked up, but it’s not all bad. Guess there’s beauty there, even on the South Side”.
As Ian watched him, eyes flickering over his face, Mickey swallowed thickly. Thinking he was absolutely right in that observation, because Ian came from there. And he was just about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his nineteen years on earth.
And then he was reaching out to Mickey, fingers grazing his cheek. His breath caught in his chest. Leaning in. Meeting Ian. And their lips were almost touching.
“Fuck”
The heavens opened up. Just at that moment. When Mickey was about to experience his first kiss. With a guy at least. But as annoyed as he was at the interruption, he enjoyed how the raindrops landed on Ian’s porcelain skin and highlighted his pretty freckles.
“C’mon”
Ian dragged him to his feet and they ducked for cover, under a nearby tree. But it was coming down heavy, a scattering of grey cloud rolling in.
“My room is close, could make a run for it. Might have something that will fit you. Probably be too big though”.
Ian grinned cheekily and Mickey raised his eyebrow at him, but chewed on his lip anxiously. His room. Just the two of them. Alone.
“Funny guy huh?” he replied in jest, an attempt at distracting himself from the flutters in his stomach and his chest.
“Yeah, but really, I just want to see you wearing my clothes,” Ian leaned in, his hot mouth dangerously close to his ear. “think you’d look fucking hot”.
“That so,” he challenged, smirking right back, despite his lingering nerves, “then lead the way, Firecrotch”
----
Ian was panting by the time he opened the door to his room, having sprinted up the stairs, towing Mickey along at his side.
“Jesus Christ, Red. You forget your tall ass has longer legs than me? I’m dying here”.
With a cheerful laugh, Ian tossed Mickey a towel, while attempting to deal with his damp mess of curls.
“So, he’s not due back?”
Mickey eyed the other bed, Kyle’s bed, before his gaze landed back on Ian.
“Nah, hardly ever here. Which works out well for me”.
Feeling a boost of confidence, in how Mickey’s eyes were roaming up and down his body, Ian stepped forward, closing any distance between them.
“Don’t want you catching a cold, Mick”.
He smirked, before slipping the wet shirt down his arms, noticing Mickey’s breath hitch a little as he did.
“Oh, concerned about me, huh”.
“Yeah, course, Mandy scares me”.
Mickey huffed out a sweet little chuckle, a pleasant sound, one that had him reaching out. To his hair now, sweeping some stray wet strands back. Then they crept down, over his cheeks, until Ian was gently holding his face in his hands.
But Mickey swallowed again, clearly nervous. Perhaps Mandy wasn’t joking about his inexperience. Maybe this was a much bigger deal to him. Even though, it felt pretty significant to Ian too.
“You gonna take your own shirt off, pretty wet too, Firecrotch”.
And there it was, humour. Hiding his true feelings, his vulnerability, his nervousness.
So, Ian simply smiled and tugged off his shirt, quickly followed by his t-shirt, savouring Mickey’s reaction. How his eyes widened, how he absently licked his lips, how his cheeks flushed a sexy shade of pink.
Ian took a moment, allowing him the space and time. And then Mickey reached out, tattooed fingers tracing lines across his chest and down to his stomach.
“How the fuck are you so ripped. You’re a fucking nerd, man”.
“I like to run, clears my head, work out sometimes too. Its good for me, keeps me…level”.
Mickey caught his eye, hands stilling, “Level?”
With a sharp intake of breath, Ian held his hands in his, “I’m bipolar, Mick. Do you know what that is?”
A slow nod, “yeah, think so, read about it before. Highs and lows, yeah?”.
“Pretty much but I take meds, every day. For life. Helps keep me stable. Exercise and routine helps. Therapy too”.
“Fuck, like a shrink? Mandy figures I need to get one of those, they’d probably have a field day with me”
Ian cocked his head, surprised by Mickey’s casual response.
“So, you’re OK with all that, with my illness?”
Now Mickey cocked his head, a smile breaking out, a dark eyebrow arched dramatically.
“Why, wouldn’t I be? Not like you can help it. If you were fucking diabetic or some shit I wouldn’t care. Everybody’s got something, Red. Trust me. There’s a lot going on in here too”
Mickey pulled his hands free, gesturing to all of him, from his head to his toes.
“I know,” he replied softly, shifting his body closer, “and I can’t wait to discover it all, Mick. Good, bad, whatever. Doesn’t matter to me either”.
Mickey seemed to mull something over, before Ian thought he heard him mutter ‘fuck it’ under his breath. And then his hands were on Ian, tugging him forward, until his lips were pressed against Mickey’s. It was simple, slow, exploratory, Ian letting him take control.
Eventually they parted, chests heaving up and down. Mickey’s hands left his face, but only so he could peel off his own wet t shirt.
“Fuck”
The word just came out and Mickey seemed pleased, bashful too.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Mick. Seriously”
And it was true. Ian could barely take his eyes off his luminous pale skin and the curves of his chest and stomach. Firm but soft enough to grab onto. Perfect.
“Shut up, idiot”.
And they were kissing again. More hungrily, greedily, messily. Mickey opened up more, allowing Ian's tongue to probe and seek out his. Hands gripped necks and faces. Harsh breaths and pants filled the otherwise silent room.
Then Mickey was walking him backwards, until he met the bed and was pushed down.
Ian smiled into their kisses, slow again, indulgent, sensual. One hand slid through Mickey’s dark, glossy hair. The other, gripped his waist, holding him steady on top.
They were both hard now and starting to rut impatiently, seeking more, seeking release.
“Get these off,” Mickey muttered, and Ian laughed at how frustrated he sounded. But also, he was enjoying this side of him, in control, passionate, open.
Any nerves he had previously exhibited were gone, that apparent internal battle, gone. Mickey was powering through and Ian was entirely on board with his decision.
They giggled as they struggled with the rest of their clothes. Mickey cursing as he whipped Ian’s belt off, the metal buckle colliding loudly with the wall.
“Shit, sorry man”
Then Mickey paused, his eyes fixed above, big and blue and startled.
“What’s wrong, Mick?”
“Where did you….how….”
Ian sat up, following his gaze, “oh that, found it. Right by the coffee shop actually”.
The Mickey found his eyes again, “you kept it?”
“Uh, yeah. Thought it was nice, good I mean. Why?”.
It took him a second, Mickey’s eyes shinier somehow, glassy even. Those familiar blue eyes. His own eyes flickered back to the painting, then to Mickey, who remained uncharacteristically speechless.
“Nooooo. No way. Its yours?”
A slow nod, “Fuck. You have it. On your wall. All this time”.
Mickey still straddled him, but sat back, voice small and soft. Ian felt a flash of warmth ripple across his chest, his hands sliding up and down his back. Equally as stunned.
“I thought it was beautiful. Felt like it spoke to me, like I was meant to find it”.
“Fuck”
The word came out in a sharp exhale of breath, quickly swallowed up by another kiss, as Mickey leaned down. But Ian needed to see him, see those eyes. He cupped his face but held him there.
“I thought it was crap,” Mickey whispered, “it was dad’s anniversary. I was drunk. Had it in my bag when I went to see Mandy. I was a dick. We argued. Said some stuff. Guess I was just feeling sorry for myself. Ever since I came here, I felt out of place, not good enough,” Mickey took in a deep but shaky breath, “so I dumped it all. Figured it was trash, just like me”.
Now it was Ian’s eyes which started to fill up and he brushed his thumbs across those freckled cheeks, then placed a kiss against his forehead.
“No, Mick. You got it so wrong. You are so good enough. And you’re talented and smart and fucking beautiful. Just like that painting. Its why I saved it. Because it didn’t deserve that. It didn’t belong there”.
A faint smile, eyes lifting up, “you saying it belonged here, with you? Wait, is this one of those metaphor things, like I’m the painting, and now you’re saving me too?”
Ian snorted and cocked his head, “way to ruin the moment, dick. I thought I was being fucking romantic”.
A sweet sounding chuckle, “Nah, you were. And I’m glad you found it”. Mickey looked up again, smiling wider as he gazed at the painting, “looks good there”.
“Like it belongs, huh?” he joked, squeezing Mickey around the hips.
“Yeah, OK. Fuck, you’re gonna be a handful, aren’t you? Gonna go on about how this is fate or some shit, gonna be a giant pain in my ass”.
“Oh, you have no idea, Mick. You sure you’re up to the challenge?”
He smirked, Mickey smirking right back before he swooped down to capture his lips with his.
“I can handle anything you got, Firecrotch, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it”.
With mutual laughter, they picked up where they had left off. Right there underneath that painting. Once discarded, now reclaimed. Now loved and appreciated for what it was. Equally, for what it wasn’t. And Ian thought there was something beautiful in that.
But then again, he liked to think there was beauty to be found in all things. After all, wasn’t that how the old saying went, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And yeah, maybe there was a metaphor in there and maybe Mickey did once feel like that painting. But Ian saw the beauty in that canvas. And now, he saw the beauty in the artist.
In the man.
In Mickey.