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"Look at me."
The command was gentle, but it made Ian's breath hitch and his watering eyes shut tightly. "I-I - "
"Please." Mickey's breath was warm against his neck, and the way the tips of his fingers traced the small of Ian's back had the redhead swallowing a sore lump down his throat.
"Please, Gallagher, look at me."
Again, that voice - so fucking calm, so low; but no matter the intention of love he was attempting to give, it wasn't working, because the heavy tugging at Ian's heart made it nearly impossible to even hear his ex-boyfriend's soothing voice.
He couldn't look that fucking monster in the eyes, yet here he was, being stroked by him, being breathed on by him - and each puff of air that settled on Ian's skin was like a promise of countless lies.
Mickey was a monster - a selfish hypocritical bastard that was good at one single thing - lying. But the lies he told were beautiful; just like he himself was. They were absolutely worth believing even if none of them were ever going to be true. They were something to hold onto; even if they were as fake as the way he said he loved him.
"Ian, please," Mickey whimpered into Ian's ear. It was so broken. So torn. "Fuck, man, I-I'm trying."
And all Ian could do was feel. Feel the way Mickey's fingers brushed so softly against his skin. Feel the way his five o'clock shadow tickled his neck. Feel how Mickey was trying - because he was - so damn hard... But all Ian could do, was feel.
"I-I need you," he whispered, grasping him even tighter. "I want you."
Ian flinched when he felt Mickey's hand travel down further in his waistband. "Don't," he said, his voice cracking. The same thing Mickey told him before he left.
Don't.
It hurt. God, it hurt so fucking bad.
"I love you, Gallagher," he whispered hoarsely. He wrapped his hands around the redhead's waist, pulling him in closer. "You can't leave me, man," he said, so softly, so brokenly. "Not again. Not ever."
Ian turned away.
"I know you're scared."
He felt a tear roll down his cheek.
"I'm scared too."
A sob rose in his chest.
"But please..."
A sore lump formed in his throat.
"Don't. Fucking. Leave."
Ian looked up, a waterfall of tears flooding his eyes and mouth slightly open. "You... " he began, that empty feeling in his stomach again. "You fucking hate me." The words spat out harsher than he intended, but he didn't care. He was looking Mickey in the eye for the first time in weeks; maybe even months. He was looking this disgusting, awful, lying, beautiful boy that he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. And he never recovered. He still loved him as much as he did before, if not more.
Mickey snatched Ian's hands, staring at him directly into the eyes. "I fucking love you." A sob escaped his lips, and he guided Ian's hands to his chest. "Please," he said, the tears falling freely down his face. "Please, Ian, t-touch me."
Ian felt warm tears run down his cheeks, and his hands crept up Mickey's face. He just wanted to hold him, he wanted to kiss him; tell him everything was going to be alright but it just wasn't. And he didn't want to lie to him the same as Mickey did to him.
Mickey's face crumbled into a sob, and he stared at Ian. "Please, Ian," he sobbed. "Forgive me."
Ian couldn't.