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“Fuck I missed you.”
Mickey’s voice hung thick in the air. Ian wasn’t quite sure how to respond. How does one put into words the intense feelings he felt for the man laying opposite of him? The cycle of mourning, missing, and guilt that had been on endless repeat since the day Mickey had been ripped away from him- albeit by himself. His words were futile devices.
“I missed you too.” It was all he could think to say. It wasn’t enough, he knew this.
“It hurt, you know.” The moon shined on the brunette’s seafoam eyes, giving life to his nostalgic expression. It pained Ian to see him in such a vulnerable state. He looked away.
“What did?” It was a stupid question given the previous topic of conversation, more of a formality so as not to assume incorrectly. The pang of regret burning through Ian’s shirt that had been burgeoning since he had first laid eyes on Mickey again a few days ago under the bleachers was now threatening to spill over, much like the tears in his lover’s eyes.
“Being alone in there. You- you hurt me… my feelings,” Ian winced at the crack in his voice. Just knowing he caused that… he wanted to wrap Mickey up in his arms and never let go. He sounded like a fussing child who’d been teased on the playground- ‘You hurt my feelings’. Ian had seen him in more fragile states than anyone else had, but never to that extent. It was a blessing and a curse. “You know, I had this routine in prison. Well I mean- of course I had a routine,” he laughed, trying to cover up the pain in his voice, “But not just the one forced on me. Nah- I had my own routine too. You know me, man- I ain’t no good Christian. Fuck, I don’t even know if I believe in God. And maybe that makes me a sinner for doing this but… but every night before I slept, I prayed. I prayed the next day, they’d tell me I had a visitor, that when I’d go to the booth I’d see your fucking red ass hair,” he ruffled Ian’s locks for emphasis, “that you’d tell me… that you’d tell me you missed me. Or hell, you’d tell me to fuck off. Tell me anything, as long as it was coming out of your mouth, I didn’t care. But then, when a few months had passed with no word from you, I started just praying that you were okay. That your new guy was treating you right. I guess… I guess that’s when I started my plans to escape. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to treat you right. I just had to try yano? Even if you didn’t come with me… I just had to try. I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. You’re the fucking love of my life, man. You’re it for me.” Only then did Ian rip his gaze from the sky and back onto the man beside him. Mickey had said he loved him before, but those words, they carried a whole new weight.
“Is that true?”
“What, that I prayed? Yeah, I know, right? Mickey fucking Milkovich Southside’s thuggiest thug on his knees talking to the good ol’ Lord- quite the image. But it’s true,” he teased.
“No… the last part… about… about me being the love of your life.”
“Oh.” Mickey’s expression softened again as he turned his face back to Ian’s. “Yeah. Yes, of course it’s true.”
They were laying face to face now, and Ian took the opportunity while he had it. Green met blue in an intense stare from the both of them, noses and lips brushing against the other ever so lightly. A freckled hand on a pale face. “I love you, too, you know? You have to know that. I love you. I have never, ever loved someone as much as I love you. I don’t know if I ever will.”
With the confession dangling between them, Mickey finally let the tears fall from his eyes. Ian moved his thumb to swipe them away. They both knew he didn’t have to say anything in response to show the impact that had had. This was enough. “And I’m sorry,” he whispered, replacing his thumb with his mouth, kissing away each tear as it fell, trying to make up for all the pain between them, the lost time, the idea that had been poking at the back of his head since he got into the car, that, ironically enough, he was even more sure of now than ever. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over, until it became a mantra, until it was so quiet he was no longer speaking anymore, merely mouthing against white skin, until the man that skin belonged to had long since drifted off into a place more peaceful and deserving of him than himself, Ian’s lanky arms now draped over his sleeping form. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, now realizing he was the one crying, his tears falling onto Mickey’s cheeks and mixing with the other’s, merging to become one, much how Ian wished they could be forever if only reality never had to set back in. If only they could stay there, snuggled under the stars eternally until they burned out and were replaced with new stars, and even then, their love would remain.
But life had been unkind to them, and tomorrow would be no different. The world would keep spinning, the stars would watch over someone else, and Ian would forever be half of a man. There was nothing left to do except lay there until the sun came up and burned through Mickey’s dreams, nothing left to say except, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you. And I’m sorry I have to do it again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”