Second Chances [BxB]

five

"I'm sorry for just showing up like this." Mickey said, nervously scanning Declan's studio apartment. His gaze lingered on the forgotten takeaway boxes, and the dishes piling up in the sink. He frowned at the closed curtains, and unmade bed. "Dec-"

"I know." Declan grumbled, "It's not... I promise it's not like last time, Mickey."

Last time. When Declan spiralled out of control. When he stopped eating, and stopped getting up, and stopped finding any purpose in life at all. When he stopped showering, and stopped brushing his teeth, and stopped calling Mickey. When he was so lonely that he convinced himself that he had turned invisible to those around him.

Mickey was the one to save him. He slept on Declan's floor for a week, refusing to leave his side, letting Declan slowly open up about all the things he was feeling inside.

When Declan dropped out of university, Mickey was there to help him pack up his stuff. Mickey was there to help him move back home. Mickey was there to help him get back on his skateboard for the first time in months. Mickey was there to remind him that he wasn't alone, no matter how lonely he felt.

And when it became apparent that living at home was making Declan miserable, Mickey found him a studio apartment, and paid for the first month's rent.

And here he was again, ready to save him one more time.

"I'll make you something to eat while you hop in the shower, okay?" Mickey offered. It wasn't a command. It wasn't an order. Mickey never pushed. Never.

Declan nodded, and trudged into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth first, slowly and lazily, for the first time in two days. He didn't have a lot of energy. When he showered, he sat on the floor, let the water roll over him, and wondered whether if he stayed there for long enough, the water would drown him. Eventually, he did manage to pick up the bottle of shampoo, then conditioner, then soap. When he got out, he realised he didn't have any clean towels, so, still dripping wet, he pulled his pyjamas back on. He really needed to do some laundry.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he froze. His bed had been stripped, and the mountain of dirty clothes on his floor had been loaded into his laundry basket. The empty takeaway boxes were gone, and the bin was sitting by the front door, waiting to be taken out. Mickey was standing at the sink, wearing a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and scrubbing at the dishes which had been piling up.

"You don't have any food." Mickey called over his shoulder, "I'm taking you for lunch. Then, I'm taking you grocery shopping. And then, we're going to do your laundry." He said it like it was nothing. Like it was an easy fix. Like Declan hadn't been rotting away in this room for the past few weeks.

Declan nodded, trying to swallow all the horrible emotions climbing up his throat.

"Hey." Mickey sighed, taking off his gloves, and crossing the room. He placed a hand on Declan's shoulder, and gave it a squeeze, "I know it's hard. Well, it's...it's awful, really. But it's also not permanent." And Declan had to believe him, because unfortunately, Mickey did know. He knew better than anyone. "You'll feel better after you eat. We'll talk then, alright?"

Declan didn't want to believe him, but he also didn't want to argue.

Mickey took out the bin whilst Declan changed into a pair of baggy jeans, and an equally baggy jumper. He pulled a beanie down past his wet hair, then walked downstairs to meet Mickey outside his apartment block.

They ended up at a pizza place around the corner. Mickey ordered for both of them, and they sat in silence for a while, both unsure how to approach a subject that was so big, and so sensitive, and so explosive.

"How long?" Mickey eventually asked.

"A few weeks." Declan replied, leaning back on the bench he was sat on. They were in a booth, tucked away in a quiet corner where no one could see them. "I thought I could fight it on my own this time."

Mickey sighed, his eyes warm and soft, "Dec." He said gently, "You never have to fight this alone. You always have me."

"I don't want you to resent me." He knew that he shouldn't have said that out loud. He knew that that was careless. He knew that that would hurt Mickey.

"I'm sorry." Mickey said quickly, "I'm so sorry you feel like that, Dec. I never meant to make you feel like that. I promise I will never-"

"No." Declan cut him off, "You've done everything right. You've always done everything right." He sighed, "I just worry that one day it will be too much for you."

Mickey shook his head, "Never-"

"I don't want to make you miserable-"

"But you're happy to make yourself miserable?" Mickey rose his brows expectantly, "You have to be nicer to yourself, Dec-"

"No offence, Mickey, but that's some of the worst advice you've ever given me-"

"I mean it." Mickey said firmly, "You always beat yourself up for feeling the way that you do, but you shouldn't. You can't help it."

Declan let his eyes fall shut, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He was so tired, and so frustrated, and so pointlessly angry. He wanted to hit something, but he didn't have the energy. He wanted to have a nap, but he knew that sleep would just evade him.

"Is work alright?" Mickey asked cautiously.

Declan dropped his hands, and blinked his eyes back into focus. He hated the way Mickey was looking at him. "It's fine."

Mickey didn't believe him.

"Really." Declan said, picking up a slice of forgotten pizza, and stuffing it into his mouth, "Everyone's nice. There's this guy - Evan - he took me to a gay club once."

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey smiled, "What was that like?"

Declan shrugged, "Fun, I guess."

"You guess?"

Declan rolled his eyes, "Will you stop interrogating me?"

Mickey sighed, "Sorry. I just-"

"How's River?"

Mickey hesitated. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Declan. "He's good."

Declan nodded. He didn't want to pry.

"You could talk to him yourself." Mickey offered, "I know that he'd appreciate a call from you."

Declan snorted, "You're kidding, right?"

"No." Mickey shook his head. He was so painfully honest sometimes. "I think he misses you."

"You think?"

"He won't say - you know what he's like. But I know that he...well, he always asks about you."

Declan nodded in acknowledgment. He didn't like himself very much right now. He wasn't being nice. He couldn't help it. When he was feeling like this, he acted awfully. Mickey deserved better.

"Can we go now?" Declan pleaded.

Mickey obliged.

Ten minutes later, they were zigzagging through a supermarket, a trolley rolling in front of them as Mickey carelessly threw things into it.

When they reached the fruit and veg aisle, Declan froze, because stood in the middle of it, was Sebastian.