Chapter Text
After the police had taken Ian’s and Julia’s statements and Marla had been driven away in the squad car, one of the girls had called the therapist.
Dr. Fenner arrived shortly after, spoke calmly with the girls, and took care of them.
She also talked to Julia about Mickey, the other girl, and everything that had happened. She admitted she had had suspicions, but knew nothing of the extent of the cruelty and manipulation. She assured them that the girls would now be well looked after.
Ian had asked Mickey if, despite everything that had happened, he still wanted to stay here. But Mickey had just shaken his head and looked at Ian questioningly.
Julia then took care of gathering Mickey’s things.
She went upstairs with Juno and stuffed his few clothes, his book, the pencils, and the iPod into his backpack before placing it on the passenger seat.
During that time, Ian had stayed in the car with Mickey. They sat in the backseat with the doors closed to escape the commotion outside the house.
Mickey had leaned against his shoulder and closed his eyes, his breathing calm and steady, as if nothing terrible had happened and Ian was the safest place in the world.
Mickey had smelled like caramel—a scent Ian thought he’d never smell again. Mixed with damp leaves, a faint hint of vanilla, and Ian’s own scent of summer rain, had filled the car and burned itself into Ian’s memory. It had been a special moment, just the two of them sitting in the car while outside, the police and the girls bustled and chaos unfolded.
By the time Julia finally pulled out of the driveway, dusk had already settled. The streets were wet with fog, and a bluish-gray light lay over the houses.
At some point, Mickey had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and Ian stared out through the tinted window, wondering whether Mickey would ever truly be okay.
Whether he’d ever be able to process everything he’d been through. Whether he’d ever be able to trust again.
He wondered whether Marla had acted out of malice—or whether she was a victim herself. A victim of her own past.
He knew he wouldn’t get answers to any of these questions anytime soon, but they still haunted his thoughts until they finally got home.
He had tried to gently wake Mickey, but he had flinched and for a moment seemed not to know where he was.
Ian brought him upstairs and briefly showed him the apartment.
Now Mickey sat on the edge of the guest bed in Ian’s oversized T-shirt, and Ian stood in the doorway.
He looked exhausted and tired—but not afraid. The terror in his eyes was gone, replaced by deep fatigue.
He had washed his face and the damp black hair clung to his forehead.
“I’ve got something for you,” Ian said quietly and stepped further into the room.
Mickey looked up from the floor, his eyes landing on the beige bundle in Ian’s hands.
“I didn’t have time to wash it, so… it might smell a bit like me,” he scratched his neck awkwardly. “If you don’t want it—”
“No. It’s fine.” Mickey interrupted him and met Ian’s gaze for just a split second before quickly looking away.
Ian stepped closer and handed it to him.
Mickey took it, and the scents in the narrow space between them were filled with vanilla—and something entirely new, a note Ian hadn’t smelled on Mickey before. It was something like roasted hazelnuts or nut cake.
Ian smiled and tried to memorize that warm scent.
“You hungry?” he asked softly.
Mickey shook his head. “I think I just want to sleep.”
“Okay. Then—” Ian stepped back again. “Good night, Mickey.”
“Good night,” Mickey replied quietly, and Ian left, closing the door behind him.
He took a deep breath, turned, and slowly made his way toward the living room.
It still looked exactly like it had that morning. Papers and folders were scattered across the dining table, and two half-empty coffee cups sat on the counter.
A jumbled mosaic of desperation, resignation, and research. And now it was over. Just like that.
He had found Mickey.
He no longer needed the DeltaTech articles and the financial records of the safehouses.
Sighing, he stepped to the table and began closing the folders, stacking the papers into a pile.
He gathered everything up, pushed it into a box, and stashed it on a shelf.
He paused for a moment.
It was really over.
At least the immediate danger was.
He knew DeltaTech still existed somewhere underground and they were probably responsible for the drug on the streets, but Mickey was safe. Here. With him.
He turned to the sink, picked up a kitchen towel and some glass cleaner, then leaned over Julia’s mind map and slowly began wiping away the black marker. Emma, Marla, DeltaTech, safehouse, funding.
It was over. Really over.
He grabbed the two coffee cups from the counter and carried them to the kitchen.
He placed them in the sink, let the warm water run, added dish soap, grabbed a sponge, and began to wash them.
Once everything was clean and tidy, he turned to the large windows. The sun had long since set, and the streetlights reflected in the glass.
He still couldn’t quite believe that Mickey was really sleeping in the room next door.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Julia.
“Yeah?” she answered shortly.
“Will he be okay?” he asked without preamble.
It was a question that had been with him ever since he had found that scared boy on the floor between the hospital bed and cabinet, eyes full of fear.
“I dunno,” she replied, sighing.
Ian had always appreciated Julia’s honesty, but in that moment, he hated her for it.
“Can’t you just lie to me?” It would’ve been easier. A bit of hope. A brighter outlook.
“I haven’t gotten Dr. Fenner’s report yet. I don’t know what they’ve worked on or what progress he’s made.” Something rustled in the background. “All I see is a traumatized Omega.”
Ian nodded, though she couldn’t see it.
He knew that. He knew Mickey had probably experienced a more subtle form of psychological violence. No blatant insults or yelling—that wasn’t Marla’s style.
She had likely manipulated him, slowly taking away his ability to trust or listen to his own instincts.
It was something that crept in gradually.
But he’d only been there a few days.
Ian hoped that wasn’t enough time for her to cause lasting damage.
And he hoped that Dr. Fenner’s work had left more positive than negative marks.
“How- how should I-”
“Really? You’re asking how to deal with him?” she sighed. “If I were being cruel, I’d say don’t lock him up. That’s probably already better than what he’s used to. But seriously, Ian. Be kind. Avoid triggers. Make him feel safe. But watch the emotional distance.”
“What do you mean?”
“God, we really should’ve talked about this before,” she sighed again. “Mickey isn’t ready for an emotional relationship. He’s just starting to learn to trust again. But he needs to learn that trust has to come from within. That love isn’t something he has to earn. He spent years locked up and abused, Ian. It takes time to relearn all of that. You have to hold back. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall right back into dependency or worse.”
Ian nodded and pressed his lips together.
“I know you want this, Ian. And you more than deserve to be happy. But Mickey needs time to figure himself out before he can love someone else.”
He leaned his forehead against the fridge.
“I’m just scared I’ll mess it up,” he swallowed. “That I’ll make it worse.”
“Yeah. I know,” she sighed. “I’ll come by around noon tomorrow and we’ll talk together, okay?”
“Thanks, Julia,” he said.
“See you tomorrow, Ian,” she replied and hung up.
---
Soft.
The bed was soft.
And warm.
He usually didn’t like soft.
But this was different.
This smelled good.
Like Ian.
Like home.
He had the blanket again.
The one from Ian’s mom.
He liked it.
He thought about the day she picked him up.
Marla.
He didn’t know why.
He just thought of her.
She had smiled.
Been kind.
Always kind.
And then not anymore.
She’d screamed.
Hurt him.
Just like him.
She’d dragged him to the basement.
Just like he had.
The basement had been different from... home.
Still, it was a basement.
No windows.
Maybe that made it worse.
And then Ian was there.
Had opened the door.
Not like the first time.
The first time had been different.
He saw her.
Marla.
The handcuffs.
The flashing lights.
The cop.
Another Alpha.
But he hadn’t been afraid.
Strange.
Marla had always smiled.
Been kind.
Then not anymore.
Not to him.
Not to the others.
She had sold him.
Or tried to.
Now she was gone.
And that felt good.
That she was gone.
And at the same time… not.
Somehow wrong.
Marla had wanted to help.
Mickey had trusted her.
And Juno.
She was gone too.
Had stayed at the safehouse.
With Dr. Fenner and the others.
She would be okay.
Juno had packed his things.
Gone upstairs with... Julia?
Was this her name?
His book, his shirt, the iPod.
She had stuffed everything into the backpack.
He had waited.
In the car.
Next to Ian.
Barely moved.
Just leaned on him.
Smelled him.
His scent.
Warm summer rain.
Musk.
And then they drove.
Slowly.
Through the woods first.
Then through the city.
Outside everything had been gray and dark.
The streets wet.
The windows fogged up.
He’d dozed off.
It had felt safe.
Next to Ian.
Wrapped in that scent.
Safer than anything else.
Now he lay here.
In this bed.
With this blanket.
In this shirt.
Ian had been kind.
Gentle.
Had woken him when they arrived.
Showed him the apartment.
The bathroom was big.
Corner tub and shower, big sink.
Open kitchen with an island and dining table.
Cozy.
Spacious and clean.
Ian’s room in dark green.
The guest room had dark blue walls.
Big bed.
Soft mattress.
Mickey liked it.
It was clean.
Warm light on the nightstand.
A small clock.
A dresser.
He turned to the side.
Pulled the backpack close.
Opened it.
The sketchbook lay on top.
He wanted to draw.
But his gaze fell on the phone.
Marla had taken it from him.
Juno must have gotten it.
From the office.
When she was upstairs.
He picked it up carefully.
Pressed the power button.
The screen lit up.
Battery almost dead.
Twenty-seven missed calls.
All from Ian.
Every day.
Multiple times.
Something tightened in his chest.
Then turned warm.
Ian had called.
The whole time.
Every day.
He had thought of him.
He smiled.
Then opened the one message.
A number he didn’t know.
> Hey! This is Juno. I saved your number. Hope that’s okay? How are you?
> It’s okay. Good. You?
He replied.
He smiled again.
He liked her.
Then he set the phone aside.
Picked up the sketchbook.
The metal box with the pencils.
Flipped to a new page.
Blank.
Empty.
He reached for the dark blue pencil.
Started at the top.
Space.
Again.
He didn’t know why he always drew it.
Maybe because it was far away.
Or endless.
Or because it had no walls.
Was quiet.
He drew a planet.
Orange.
To one side.
A few stars.
Then he started with the rocket.
On the other side.
It was different from the last one.
Bigger.
He wanted a few red stripes.
Not silver.
It was gray.
He didn’t have silver.
He had drawn the outline.
But his eyes were heavy.
He was tired.
So tired.
He yawned.
Put the pencils back in the box.
Set the book on the nightstand.
Slid down and turned to the side.
Pulled the blanket up.
His hip hurt.
Not badly.
Not as bad as before.
Or when Marla had dragged him.
But it hurt.
He had Ian’s scent in his nose.
Musk.
Summer rain.
And then he fell asleep.
---
The coffee burbled quietly as it ran through the machine. Ian leaned against the kitchen island, waiting for the last drops to fall into the pot.
He didn’t have much in the fridge and couldn’t make a big breakfast, but everything he could find was now on the table. Toast, butter, peanut butter, a half-used jar of jam.
The second place setting felt strange. Good, but unfamiliar.
He was used to being alone.
Silence and solitude had been his constants ever since he’d moved into this apartment nearly ten years ago, and the only times someone had stayed over were during his college years—Omegas during the occasional rut.
He looked at the closed door to the guest room and sighed.
Mickey was still asleep. At least, Ian hadn’t heard anything to suggest otherwise.
He didn’t want to wake him. Mickey had looked so exhausted last night that Ian had decided to let him sleep and moved more quietly than usual around the apartment. He’d set the table and prepared breakfast silently and hadn’t even taken a shower yet, afraid the sound of the water might wake him.
Maybe it was silly, and Mickey was a heavy sleeper—or maybe he was already awake, sitting on the bed unsure if he was allowed to come out.
Ian debated whether to knock but decided against it.
The coffee was ready, and he took the pot and sat down.
He poured himself a cup, spread some jam on a toast, and took small bites. The coffee was strong and hot and felt good after a restless night.
He hadn’t slept much, worrying not just about Mickey and everything that had happened to him in the last few days, but also about himself. His rut was scheduled to begin in five days, and last time, just a whiff of Mickey’s scent had triggered it.
If it happened again while Mickey was nearby...
He shook the thought away and took another sip.
Then he heard it.
A door.
Moments later, the bathroom door.
A few seconds after that, the toilet flushing.
Then silence.
The bathroom door opened again, and someone came padding barefoot down the hallway.
Slowly, uncertainly.
Ian’s hands stayed wrapped around his mug as he listened.
The steps came closer. Hesitated.
He must be standing right at the end of the hallway now, just out of Ian’s line of sight. A hint of vanilla and a light note of lemon reached Ian’s nose.
Was it fear? Or was it just the uncertainty he was picking up on?
Ian’s heart skipped a beat. It should’ve been the most normal thing in the world, someone moving around in his apartment—but it wasn’t.
It was new and exciting, and Ian liked it.
He leaned to the side to peek into the hallway and saw a tousled tuft of black hair and half an elbow.
He smiled.
“Good morning,” he said gently, leaning back and taking another sip of coffee.
He heard Mickey snort, then take a step forward.
Now he was standing uncertainly in the kitchen doorway, messy black hair, the Nirvana T-shirt far too big, hanging loosely on his bony frame and reaching down over his boxers.
Ian smiled.
“Morning,” Mickey mumbled.
His voice was raspy and sleepy, his face scrunched from sleep.
“Have a seat if you want,” Ian said.
Mickey nodded and stepped closer, then hesitated again. He looked at the plate and mug across from Ian’s seat.
“Is that my place?”
The question caught Ian off guard a little, but he nodded.
“If you want it to be. You can sit somewhere else if you prefer.” Ian smiled.
Mickey shook his head, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
“Coffee?” Ian asked, lifting the pot.
A shake of the head. Ian remembered that Mickey had also declined coffee in the hospital.
“Toast? Jam?”
This time, a slight nod.
Almost shy and reserved, but Ian saw a tiny smile at the corner of his lips. The vanilla gave way once more to Mickey’s earthy and sweet base scent.
But there it was again—that hint of hazelnuts, which Ian still couldn’t quite place.
He pushed the basket with the already toasted bread toward him.
“There’s not much. I need to go grocery shopping today. If you need… or want anything… there’s a list on the fridge. You can just write it down.” Ian nodded toward the fridge, and Mickey followed his gaze.
He nodded and took a piece of toast. Then he spread it thick with jam and took a bite.
They ate in silence, and although Ian didn’t watch him directly, he caught glimpses from the corner of his eye—how Mickey occasionally looked up, glanced at him, how his lips curled into a tiny smile when Ian poured more coffee, how he looked around the room and took in every detail.
It felt good to have Mickey here.
Right.
He knew it would still take some time until they got to the place Ian wanted to be with him, but he had hope that they’d get there eventually.
If Mickey wanted that too, of course.
“Julia’s coming by later,” Ian said as they were finishing up.
Mickey looked up briefly and swallowed.
“The woman from yesterday?”
Ian nodded. “Is that okay?”
“Who… who exactly is she?”
Ian looked at him. There was a bit of suspicion in his voice, but also curiosity.
They hadn’t had time last night to properly introduce themselves or talk, which was why Julia had suggested coming by today.
“She’s… a therapist. And a friend.”
Mickey nodded slowly, as if weighing that, but kept his gaze on his plate. A pungent, chemical smell reached Ian, something like nail polish remover, acetone.
“Your girlfriend?” he asked quietly.
Ian chuckled. Was he jealous? Of Julia? Of course he’d think that. It would only be logical. After all Ian was an successful Alpha in his early thirties without a mate. But Ian thought Mickey would know that he… that he was… gay?
He shook his head. “No. A friend. Not my girlfriend.”
Mickey nodded again, blinked up at him for a split second, then stared back at his plate. The acetone faded and vanilla remained with a hint of caramel.
Ian just smiled and drank the last sip of lukewarm coffee.
He got up and carried the plates and mugs to the kitchen.
Mickey stayed seated, watching him. Then he pushed back his chair, stood, and followed into the kitchen.
He stood near the fridge, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Should I help?”
The words came out soft. Cautious. Almost like he was afraid of Ian’s reaction.
Ian glanced at him as water flowed into the sink, then shook his head.
“You don’t have to. It’s not much.”
Mickey nodded.
But he stayed.
Ian began wiping the two plates and his mug while Mickey watched. When he dried them and put everything back into the cabinets, Mickey was still standing there, near the fridge.
Ian smiled as he folded the dish towel and hung it on the drawer handle. “I’m gonna take a shower now. Feel free to look around a bit,” he suggested.
Mickey nodded.
Ian smiled again and went into his bedroom to grab a fresh pair of boxers and a shirt.
On his way to the bathroom, he saw Mickey standing in his room, looking out the window.
He hesitated, unsure whether he should even go in—but when he caught the scent of fear and uncertainty, he couldn’t hold himself back.
“Everything okay?” Ian asked, pausing in the doorway.
Mickey looked distracted. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s okay,” he said with a sigh. “I… I’m just—” he trailed off and clenched his hands into fists again. Smells mixed into a cocktail of fear, insecurity, shame and something that Ian couldn't yet define.
“Hm?” Ian asked gently, stepping a little closer.
Mickey shook his head and looked back out the window. “It’s okay.”
Ian frowned and nodded. He didn't want to force Mickey to talk, so he let him, even though it didn't feel good. “Okay. I’ll be in the bathroom, yeah?”
Mickey nodded without looking at him.
In the bathroom, he left the door ajar, peeled off his clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and let the water run warm before stepping in.
It felt good to wash away the days of worry and fear, and the warm water loosened his broad, tense shoulders.
He let it run over his face, washed his hair and chest, upper arms, ribs, and stomach—moved lower.
It wasn’t like being in rut, but it was definitely warm in his groin.
He felt the pull even before the images entered his mind. Mickey.
His scent.
New scents he wanted to explore.
This body he wanted to-
His hand reached for the knob and turned the water to cold.
He couldn’t.
He mustn’t.
He wasn’t allowed to think about Mickey like that.
Not yet. It was too soon.
He gasped as the cold water ran down his body and quickly shut it off.
He grabbed the towel from the hook and dried off.
He smiled when he saw the other towel hanging there—the one he’d left out for Mickey last night.
It was just like the second place setting on the table. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
Ian wiped the steam off the mirror and wondered if he’d ever get used to this.
The second place at the dining table, the second towel on the hook, the second toothbrush in the cabinet—and at the same time, he hoped they’d share a few firsts together.
Sometime.