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The silky sky dripped lilac onto the buildings of Chicago, impending dusk crunching under the shoes of strangers. The air was warm, light breezes twirling through trees with a hush. Ian hurried through the streets of the Southside, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed with his husband after a long and boring day at work. His mind always drifted amongst the boxes, thoughts having nowhere to go and ending up in the walls of the building he worked in. He sometimes feared his thoughts when he was alone; it had been a long time since he’d trusted his own mind.
Ian pushed through the front door, quickly nodding at Debbie, who smiled at him over the cartoons Franny watched on TV. He climbed up the stairs, each step more arduous than the last, and sighed when he entered his and Mickey’s room.
Mickey sat on the bed, phone in hand, grunting with effort at some game. His battered tank top wrinkled over his stomach, the tiniest sliver of skin showing between the hem of his shirt and his sweatpants. Ian longed to put his fingers there, to feel the warmth of Mickey’s skin. So that’s exactly what he did.
He laid down beside Mickey, who suddenly grinned and dropped his phone beside him. Ian tucked his head under his husband’s arm and snuck his hand underneath his shirt, comforted at the softness of Mickey’s stomach. Mickey looked down at him, smiling warmly, his blue eyes bright with love and kindness.
“What’s with you, Cuddles?” Mickey whispered, gently running his fingers through Ian’s hair.
“Missed you today,” he replied, and finally smiled himself. All of the tension from the day, all of the boredom, drifted away. And he was happy, held gently in the arms of his husband.
When he was a kid, he dreamed of getting out. Of escaping to a foreign country to run away from his problems, his family, everything. He never thought he could dream of this. He never thought he could even wish to be so in love.
Mickey leaned down and kissed Ian, placing his hand on his neck as he did so. When they broke apart, Mickey lingered above him, just relishing in the closeness of their faces. They were about to kiss again when Ian’s phone buzzed.
Ian groaned and sat up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. When he saw the contact name, his heart stopped.
“It’s Linda,” Ian choked out.
The phone kept buzzing, the caller ID still shining her name at him.
“Linda, like, from the Kash n’ Grab?”
“Yeah,” Ian whispered, and he realized he had to answer it. There was nothing else he could do.
Linda’s voice was quiet and shuddering. Older, too. He wouldn’t be able to explain it if he tried, but Ian could hear the way the years had worn her down. She told him simply, matter-of-fact. She said she thought he should know, that he deserved to know. And before he could say anything, even a condolence, she told Ian that she was sorry. She wished she would have done something. It wasn’t his fault, she said.
“Uh, sorry,” Ian finally said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Sorry for your loss.” He hung up the phone.
Mickey, having noticed how shaken his husband was, moved beside him and tried to meet his eyes. Ian didn’t look at him. Mickey asked why she called, and what happened. Ian didn’t answer him.
Ian let himself fall back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. Little bumps covered it like freckles. His heart squeezed and hurt as he forced himself to wonder why ceilings are textured, then how they’re textured. His body remembered those youthful, painful days as his ears muffled Mickey’s voice. Part of him, some quiet part of his brain, told him to listen to Mickey, to talk to Mickey, to look at Mickey. But his body didn’t comply. His body did nothing but remember. Remember, remember, remember.
He vaguely heard Mickey running out of the room, yelling for Debbie, but it didn’t fully register. He felt like he was floating outside of his body, his spirit levitating above himself, watching tears run down his blurry, disfigured face. His limbs were weak and unmoving. He looked terrible. He wanted to go back in his body, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how, and where was Mickey?
All at once, he slammed back into consciousness. His heart pounded against his chest, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. When Mickey ran back in, worry straining his face, Ian stood and walked to meet him in the middle of the room.
“Ian, what the fuck? You checked out, man, what the hell was that?” He searched his face for signs, for sadness, for anything he could fix.
“Uh, Kash died.”
Mickey blinked. “Linda’s husband? That’s what this is?”
Ian nodded.
“Well, don’t expect me to cry over that motherfucker. I’ll be dancing on his grave.” Mickey scoffed.
Ian brushed past Mickey as he went to stand in the doorway. “Why would you say that? That’s heartless.” He felt the beginnings of a sob build in his chest.
“Heartless? I’m the one who’s heartless?” Mickey laughed coldly. “Kash was heartless, Ian. He raped you when you were fifteen, and I’m supposed to mourn him?”
Ian shook his head, baffled. He leaned against the door, eyes shifting back and forth. He collected himself and looked Mickey in the eye. “He didn’t rape me. I fucked him, remember?”
Mickey stepped forward slowly, carefully making his way toward Ian. His face softened. He quickly ran his hands through his hair, searching for words. The pain he felt for Ian bubbled up inside him, quickly turning to rage. Kash. Ned. A number of guys from the club, impossible to know how many. All of these assholes who hurt Ian when he wasn’t able to protect him.
“Ian. You were a kid. You were his employee. He was in his fucking thirties, a full grown man.” He took another step cautiously, watching Ian fidget with agitation. “He took advantage of you.”
“Stop it,” Ian said. He threw his hand behind him, hitting the wall with a bang. Emotions overwhelmed him. Anger at Mickey. Sadness for Kash and Linda. Anger at Kash and Linda. But mostly, what consumed him was fear. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know where it came from, but all he felt was afraid. He hadn’t thought of Kash in years, he had pushed those memories away from him as far as possible, same as he did for Ned, for the men he threw himself to, for the men who drugged him. But remembering Kash felt like hell.
Ian crumpled to the floor, leaning against the wall and holding his head in his hands. Mickey quickly followed, one hand on the back of Ian’s head and the other on his knee.
“I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. I was happy then, you know?” Ian looked at Mickey, tears in his eyes. He sniffed. “I wanted to. I thought- I thought I wanted to.”
Mickey put his hand on Ian’s cheek. He wished he could take all of Ian’s pain. He would rather live with it all than have Ian suffer through any of it. He whispered as he told him, “You were too young. Kash was a pedophile. I’m sorry.”
Ian felt the sobs come before he could stop them. He wrapped his arms around his legs and dropped his head, wishing the fear would go away. Somehow, he felt like Kash was right there, watching him, telling him to go to the freezer to fuck him. And quickly, guilt tore inside of him. He realized that even now, even with his husband here, he would say yes to Kash. Kash could make him do anything. And he hated himself for that.
“I’m sorry,” Ian choked out through sobs. Mickey whispered reassurances in his ear, holding him close. He told him he had nothing to be sorry for. He told him it wasn’t his fault. Mickey hated not knowing what to say, not knowing how to make it better. He wished he knew back then. He wished he knew then that he loved Ian, and he wished he knew then how to love him as best as he could. He wished he would’ve killed Kash the second he met him. He would give up his entire free life to save Ian from him.
Ian’s fear and anguish diminished slowly. He reminded himself that he was with Mickey and that Kash was dead. Ned was probably dead, too. And those dicks from the club probably wouldn’t even recognize him. He tried to tell himself that he was safe. He tried to tell himself it was all okay. But the only thing that really helped was focusing on Mickey. Mickey, who held him softly and told him he loved him.
When Ian finally calmed down, he led Mickey to bed. They sat against the headboard and just leaned into each other, breathing together, thinking together.
Eventually, after an amount of time neither of them could guess, Ian spoke.
“I started to work for Kash when I was almost fourteen. I was old enough to hold down a real job. Support the family, you know?”
Mickey turned to him, watching silently.
“He offered the job to me on the spot. Which I thought was weird, but you know. Money’s money.” Ian laughed. He didn’t know why he laughed, but he laughed. “The first time he, uh.” Ian tried again. “The first time he touched me, I was stocking shelves. I was using the stepstool because I hadn’t quite hit the growth spurt that let me reach the top shelves of the freezer. Anyway, he kinda just came up behind me and put his hand on the back of my thigh. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept stocking the shelves. He was my boss. I was thirteen.”
Mickey felt tears in his eyes, but he didn’t let himself cry. He wouldn’t cry. He had to be there for Ian.
“I think that was the problem,” Ian continued. “I think if I would’ve freaked out that first time, maybe the rest of it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone farther, or at least maybe he would’ve fired me.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Ian,” Mickey said, immediately wishing he could have said something more eloquent, more comforting than the empty phrase that he knew meant next to nothing.
Ian kept telling the story, explaining how Kash got to him. How it started slowly, how Kash confided in Ian about his own experience as a gay youth, how Ian felt camradarie with him. When Kash started giving him gifts, he couldn’t say no to anything he asked. So while it started small, just with Kash touching and Ian imagining it wasn’t happening, it just got worse and worse. And Ian convinced himself that he liked it. That they were in a relationship. That Kash loved him.
“But he didn’t,” Ian said. “He didn’t love me, and I didn’t love him. He was just a fucking cheater who made me feel wanted.”
Mickey leaned his forehead against Ian’s temple and caressed his cheek. Ian sighed. He turned his face to kiss Mickey’s palm, then turned back to kiss his lips. It was soft, chaste. A reminder of what love is and should be. They waited together for the heartache to subside, gentle touches and kisses making the room safe and loving again.
“All it took was one look from you to make me end it.” Ian smiled, and Mickey smiled back.
“Yeah, I know the whole psycho-murderer thing made you hot for me,” Mickey replied, and they both chuckled.
“I feel like every time something shitty happens to me, whether it’s a disgusting boss, mania, whatever… you always save me.”
Mickey kissed Ian’s cheek, then he held his lips there as he spoke. “Yeah, well, you save me too.”