blue ; gallavich

6

IAN

I look down to see Mickey's dark hair softly tickling my chin and his pale face in a calm sleep. His cheeks are rosey from the cold air nipping at him, their color burning brightly against his silky, porcelain skin. His cheeks were just as red last night, but for extremely different reasons. Of course, being typical Mickey Milkovich he tried to hide his sadness but I knew he was a sob fest. -Last night. Jesus Christ, I forgot about that. We kissed and we wrestled and, of course, got a bit too sexual for our own damn good. It was just like old times.

But this isn't old times, this is now. And now I'm with Caleb. Now I have total control over my life and I can't mess that up by letting some past experiences and new-found feelings get in my way. Of course, my feelings aren't for Mickey.

My feelings are for Caleb.

Not for Mickey.

I sit on the damp grass and take Mickey's flannel off, sadly staring at it. How did it get to this point? Where I'm here again, hiding my feelings. It's sad how upset I'd get when he'd do as much as he secretive about us, but we've come full circle. Now I'm the one hiding. Hiding how I feel from him. From my family (though they're not blind, they've probably caught on by now). From myself. I move my focus onto the sleeping boy, as calm as a baby in dreamland slumber. Stop Ian, you're with Caleb. I can't help myself. I run one hand through his hair and stroke his muscular chest with the other.

It's as if I have to force myself into thinking about Caleb, which most likely means that our relationship is taking an unhealthy but inevitable turn. God only knows how that will turn out.

________________________________

I first met Mickey when we were in fourth grade - a few weeks before he pissed on the field in protest during my baseball game - and he had transferred to my school because it was cheaper. He sat next to me and his hair was raggedly spiked up; I remember him bragging about how he did it himself.

I had this strange feeling about him. Not a suspicious or gut-wrenching one, but it gave me a tingling sensation. I went on to realize that not only did I feel this way about Mickey, but I felt this way about guys in general. It was the same way that Lip felt about girls, and my feelings for boys didn't change. As much as I hoped it was, it wasn't a phase, and I was screwed every time I saw a hot guy. But especially Mickey. When I was around him, my heart would beat the hardest and the butterflies in my stomach would be the strongest. The feelings haven't changed a bit, but only intensified.

At the time, I thought it would be funny to show off and pants him, so I grabbed the hem of his jeans and yanked his worn-out Levi's down. He looked embarrassed at first, and I felt a wave of guilt overcome me like a gust of wind. Well, that was until he pulled down the back of his ripped, baggy jeans to reveal his bare ass, sticking his tongue out towards me tauntingly. He then turned around to look at me, and before I could say anything relatively mocking, he punched me in the nose.

Normally, I would've cried like a baby and over-exaggerated, treating the situation in the same way that people do when their body parts are being dismembered. But, in an attempt to be as cool as I could, I stood still in shock and blinked a few times, seemingly unaffected by the blow to the face. Mickey looked at me in confusion as he lightly hit me again, his only goal at this point being to make me cry. I wasn't going to let him win this one. I held onto my pain for dear life, trying my hardest not to break down then and there. He knew exactly what I was doing, and he smiled at me dopily as a small chuckle escaped his plump, chapped lips.

"You're somethin' else Gallagher." He smirked, smacking me upside the head before defiantly being sent to the principal's office. I smiled like a dork and went back to my macaroni necklace, finishing Mickey's for him.