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Ian woke to Fiona barging into the room, yelling, “Get up, get up, get up!”
He yawned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Lip grumbled from his spot on the top bunk, barely shifting in his sleep. Carl wrestled with the covers as Fiona tried to pull them off of him.
“Up!” she exclaimed. “You’re late.”
“Five more minutes,” Lip grumbled.
“School. Now.”
Fiona started grabbing clothes off the floor and throwing them at the boys. Ian caught the grey t-shirt in his hands and sleepily pulled it over his head before getting to his feet and searching the floor for his jeans. Finding them, he pulled them on and then hit the back rails of the top bunk. Lip groaned.
“We gotta go,” Ian yawned.
“Who the fuck even cares?” Lip asked. “I’ll be late.”
“It’s important to Fi,” he countered, stepping back as Carl ran past him into the hallway. He waited another moment before sighing and saying, “Fine. But when she gets the call from school, just remember there’ll be hell to pay.”
Lip snorted and rolled his face back into his pillow.
Shaking his head, Ian headed out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. As soon as he hit the kitchen floor, Fiona shoved his backpack at him and then ushered him towards the door. “Where’s Lip?” she asked.
“He’s decided to let his attendance record take another hit,” he replied.
He had just enough time to hear her curse before being shoved out the backdoor. He pushed Carl before him and the two of them set off at a run down the sidewalk. Ian imagined he could hear Fiona yelling Lips name, shaking him out of the bed, and forcing him to set after them at a sprint.
Carl reached the bus stop first and hopped on the bright yellow school bus. Ian picked up the pace, just barely hitting the doors of the city bus before the driver closed them. He gave the man his best smile, hoping his mess of red hair and innocent smile would make up for his lateness. The driver grunted and let him on without really looking at him.
Finally taking a moment to breathe, Ian covered yet another yawn with his hand as the bus lurched forward. He slumped down into the nearest seat, glancing towards the kid beside him who was engrossed with choosing a song on his iPod. Ian stared past him out the window and watched the street disappear behind him.
They were out of the neighbourhood when Ian realized something.
Something potentially very, very bad.
He looked down at the shirt he was wearing, noticing the loose folds of the fabric. It was a touch too big for him and the cotton itched. He took a deep breath and tried not to panic. It could still be Lip’s. It could very easily be Lip’s.
Pulling up the collar of the shirt, he sniffed. And his heart sunk as Mickey’s addictive scent flooded his senses. Cigarettes and Jack Daniels mixed with a touch of rotten Axe body spray. He took another deep breath before letting the collar drop from his face and staring back out at the street.
There was no way he was going to be able to get off the bus now, run all the way back to the house, and then make it to school on time. Not without Fiona killing him as soon as he came back through the door. He wondered absently if she had gotten Lip out of bed before focussing back on the issue at hand.
He was just going to have to hope that Mickey wouldn’t even notice.
And why would he notice? He was barely ever at school anyways. And when he was, he certainly didn’t pay any attention to Ian or what he was wearing. And no one else was going to notice, because it wasn’t like everyone had an inventory of all the t-shirts Ian owned cross-referenced with all the t-shirts Mickey owned and it wasn’t like they weren’t allowed to own the same t-shirt. And if anyone noticed it fit badly, they’d chalk it up to awful hand-me-downs.
There was no problem. No problem at all.
Ian forced himself to breathe, catching whiffs of Mickey’s scent as he did so. He cursed himself silently. Maybe it wasn’t going to be a problem for anyone else, but it was going to be damn distracting for him.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of the school and he got up, shifting restlessly as people slowly squeezed out of the bus. He stepped out onto the pavement and headed into the school, waving at the few people who called greetings to him. Not stopping when his friends called him over, but acknowledging them with a nod of his head instead.
He got to his locker and opened it, shoving all his books inside. Tapping his fingers against the open door, he glanced to his left. Towards Mickey’s locker. Mickey’s empty, perpetually open, graffitied locker across the hall. Thankfully, Mickey wasn’t standing in front of it with a bunch of his cronies like he sometimes was, lighting up in the hallway, for once asking to get expelled instead of locked up.
Ian breathed a sigh of relief and closed his locker, heading back to where his friends were. None of them commented on the shirt. None of them even looked at it twice. But Ian felt awkward in it and he shifted his weight more often than he normally did. He adjusted to the assault of Mickey’s scent, but still felt like he was somehow inside of the other boy’s skin.
A feeling he hated with every fibre of his being. Because he had spent so long looking at their relationship from Mickey’s point of view. Just sex. Nothing else. Not even friends with benefits, because that would require the two of them being friends. And Mickey seemed to hate him whenever he was wearing clothes. And feeling Mickey so close to him, doing something as seemingly intimate as wearing his clothes to school, made Ian go back to the early days when he used to hope Mickey would get the fuck over himself and just kiss him already.
He got through his first two classes without incident, unless he counted when Mandy had asked him if he had a tick or something. She didn’t seem to recognize her brother’s shirt though, just the discomfort that flooded Ian. Discomfort that came mainly from how comfortable he was in Mickey’s t-shirt. From how calming it was to smell him whenever he got nervous.
He discarded his swirling thoughts as the lunch bell rang and walked towards the table he normally sat at with Mandy. The two of them ate in silence until the moment that Mickey slipped into the seat beside his sister, nearly knocking her off the bench.
“Move over, faggots,” he said.
Ian’s heart stopped as he looked at him. His black hair stuck up all over the place and he had a thin layer of dirt caked over his skin. The muscles of his arms bulged, uncovered by the white muscle shirt he was wearing. His whole body twisted as he fought with his sister, reaching for half her sandwich, and got away with it.
Chewing the sandwich and sliding away from Mandy, he finally looked up at Ian. And for a split second, Ian could’ve sworn that there was a smile in Mickey’s eyes. That is, until his eyes dipped from Ian’s, and towards the shirt Ian was wearing. Then his jaw froze, his fingers shaking against the concrete table top.
Mickey forced himself to swallow. Wiping at his face, he said, “Hey, Ian. Speak to you for a second?”
“Don’t beat up my boyfriend,” Mandy warned.
Snorting, Mickey stood up from the table and swatted at the back of her head. She punched him in the side and he grunted. Looking back at Ian, he gestured for him to follow and Ian stood reluctantly.
“If I’m not back in thirty minutes, call the cops?” he whispered to Mandy.
She gave him a look of mock pity. “Milkoviches don’t rat on family.”
He smiled, trying to play off his semi-serious request as a joke, and followed Mickey across the courtyard. Mickey only paused once he was at the door, holding it open with three fingers as he waited for Ian to reach it and then dropping it just before Ian grabbed it. Ian swallowed the slight, breathing deeply, and shuddered at how easily alcohol and cigarettes could calm him.
Even when the source of his panic was the same boy whose scent he smelled.
They turned the corner into one of the badly built school’s many dead ends. Mickey shot the couple making out in the corner a look and they scrambled. Ian readied himself to jump into an explanation but had no time to do so before the breath was knocked out of him.
Mickey had shoved him up against the concrete wall, his elbow digging into the middle of Ian’s stomach. He stepped close, his mixed vices hot against his sweaty skin, and his blue eyes pierced Ian with an icy glare.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
Ian swallowed, unable to find the words.
Mickey tugged at the collar of the shirt. “This is mine. My shirt. Do you have any idea-” He cut himself off, cursing, and took a step back from Ian. He turned in a circle, his hands going to the back of his neck, and shook his head. “The fuck were you thinking?”
“It’s not my fault.”
“What? Your mommy dress you this mornin’?”
He closed his eyes and took a step away from the wall. He could still feel the pressure of Mickey’s hands against him and knew that his stomach would be bruised in the morning. “My sister,” he said. Then, when Mickey gave him a look, he added, “She didn’t dress me. But we all slept through our alarms and she was throwing clothes and I guess your shirt was on the floor and- ” He swallowed as Mickey cursed. “I’m sorry.”
Mickey laughed bitterly. His eyes met Ian’s again as he shook his head. “I knew this was a mistake. From the very first moment, I knew this was a fucking mistake.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick-”
Mickey held up a hand to stop him and Ian swallowed his words. He waited in the rumbling silence as Mickey started to pace again, using the small space to his advantage as he turned in endless circles. Then he looked up at Ian.
“Give me the shirt.”
“What?”
“You fuckin’ deaf?”
Ian blinked, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he remembered how to close it. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m not giving you my fucking shirt.”
“It’s my fucking shirt,” Mickey corrected, taking a step away from him, “and you’ll give it the fuck back right now.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll take it from you.”
Ian couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow suggestively, but that only seemed to anger Mickey more. He took a step back towards the wall, holding his hands up to keep Mickey away from him.
Breathing steadily, he said, “You’re being ridiculous. No one knows this is your shirt.”
“Mandy knows.”
“She doesn’t.”
Mickey shifted his jaw and shook his head. He moved his leg as if to start pacing again, but stopped himself. Making a “gimme” motion with his hands, he said, “Just hand it over.”
“And do what? Go through the rest of my classes shirtless?”
He shrugged.
“Come the fuck on.”
“Go the fuck home or somethin’. I don’t care. I just don’t want you wearin’ that around the fucking school like we’re boyfriends with matching fucking sweaters,” he snapped. He held out his hand expectantly, staring Ian down.
And for a moment, reminded of the boy who came to kill him for touching his sister, Ian almost gave in. But fear sparked in Mickey’s blue eyes. A vulnerability closer to the look in his eyes when he rolled over in bed to look at Ian, the edges of an easy smirk crossing his lips as his entire body relaxed.
Ian swallowed and said, “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Mickey sighed. “Just fucking do it.”
“Oh, that’s convincing.”
Footsteps sounded down the hall and the two of them glanced to the side to see another couple approaching. Mickey gave them a look and they turned down a different hall quickly. Looking back at Ian, he said, “I don’t have fuckin’ time for this.”
Ian stood his ground. “Worried you’ll be late for class?”
“You want me to call my buddies and we’ll turn this into some fuckin’ ridiculous prank on a lowerclassmen?” he threatened. He took a step back towards Ian and the wall behind his eyes broke down a bit. “Because if I do that, we’re not just gonna take your shirt. We’ll take all your clothes and duct tape you to the fuckin’ flag pole. So make this easier on yourself and just hand over the goddamned shirt.”
Ian licked his lips, trying not to let his heart skip a beat when Mickey’s eyes dipped to watch the line of his tongue. He breathed heavily and asked, “This really bug you that much? It’s just a shirt, Mick.”
“How the fuck did I even leave it there?”
Ian shrugged. “You probably grabbed mine when you left.”
Mickey flinched, as if the idea that he had one of Ian’s shirts lying in his dresser or his hamper or on the floor of his room was repulsive. But before Ian had the time to be offended, he saw the sheer terror flashing through Mickey’s eyes, and he ached to just close the space between them and kiss him to let him know everything was going to be all right.
But he was pretty damn fond of his tongue.
Taking a deep breath, Ian said, “It’s just a shirt.”
Mickey gave him a look like he didn’t quite believe that.
And Ian, on impulse, reached out to take Mickey’s hand. Mickey flinched but didn’t pull back when Ian squeezed his fingers tightly. Licking his lips, he said, “Everything’s gonna be okay.” He paused. “You believe me?”
“No.”
“Try to?”
“I’m not your fucking girlfriend,” Mickey spat, pulling out of Ian’s grasp. He stepped away from him, already pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He paused for a second before heading down the hall and asked, “You comin’ over tonight?”
“Kash n’ Grab?” Ian suggested.
Mickey nodded and then disappeared down the hallway.
Sighing, Ian leaned back against the wall, breathing in the ghost of Mickey’s scent that was all around him. He pulled the collar of the shirt back up to his nose and smiled, a little proud of himself for winning the argument.
Especially since it meant he got to keep the shirt.