Still, our hearts beat.

Hold my heart

Saturday 12th / 1609 words

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The hands on the clock the wall adjacent to him seem to be echoing in his ears, that tick tick tick, and honestly, he wants to rip the time teller off and smash it to pieces against the goddamn window. There are other people in the open room, all making noise dressed in sweats and gross mustard shirts; but it's the clock that is on his nerves.

Counting down the seconds until he sees Ian again. Since he rubbed his back and kissed the side of his head and painfully watched him walk lethargically through the wire.

Here Mickey sits, in a chair too familiar for his liking, waiting for Ian to show through the doors. His head is held up by his hand, fingers scratching idly at his temple as his heart pounds in his throat and his lungs feel constricted - because how have they ended up here again?

"Mickey." Lip gains his attention, nudging his boot against the toe of his, "Settle the fuck down."

Mickey glances up and meets him with a glare he halfheartedly wishes could pierce through his skull. How the fuck he is supposed to settle down? Does Lip even remember why they're here? Does he remember what the fuck happened? Was he not listening when he explained what he walked into yesterday?

It's ten seconds later when they finally hear the swinging doors across the room. Lip's had his eyes set on them the whole eight minutes they've been seated, so of course he is the first to stand, drawing a large breath and fixing his crumpled jacket as he immediately starts his walk.

When Mickey looks over, his heart drops to his fucking stomach. There Ian is, inching through the doors across the linoleum floor. His hands are fiddling with each other at the waist and his eyes are downcast. Before Mickey realises he's been spinning circles in his mind at the sight, Lip's gathered him in a hug.

He takes a breath, stands up and heads over. His hands involentarily shake as Lip steps back and Ian meets Mickey's eyes. Wide and tired and sorry. He greets him with a smile,

"Hey, E."

And inches closer as Ian mirrors his actions. The hug is like a breath of fresh air compared to what the last twenty four hours have been. Ian's arms wrapped loosely around Mickey's waist and his head dipped into the crook of his shoulder. But it's over before Mickey would like.

Being the first break, he runs his hands gently up to Ian's face, wiping his thumbs under his closed eyes and heavy under bags, smoothing the soft freckles of his cheeks, sporting him a small, bittersweet smile. It cracks his heart in two, right down the middle, the edges piercing at the ribs and organs surrounding the sharp points. But Ian's here. Ian's alive. So it makes all the pain worth it.

He travels his hand to Ian's back, rubbing gingerly against the yellow fabric as he shifts on his feet.

"Why don't we sit down, yeah?" Lip breaks the silence, already stepping towards the space him and Mickey were occupying a minute prior.

Ian lowers into a seat under the window, with Mickey falling down on the edge of the seat adjacent to him, and rubs his hand over Ian's knee, peering over at Lip who brings a loose chair from the other wall over to sit across from them, frantically giving his eyes something to focus on.

This is Ian. Ian. Ian! His fucking husband, and right now Mickey feels like he's going to explode and burst into space at just the eye contact with him. It hurts, more so than getting shot (and he would know, that's happened twice.)

Lucky for Mickey, once Lip sits down backwards on the chair, he works on starting a conversation, 'light and upbeat' as encouraged.

"So, we brought you some M&M's, it was the first bag we saw at the shops, you don't have to eat 'em if you don't wanna just thought you'd like a treat that isn't the shit they probably serve here."