[Mickey shakes his head hastily and wipes at his eyes when he feels Cassel's arm going around his shoulders: no, no, I'm fine. At some point he stopped caring quite so much about people seeing him cry -- at some point, hell, it was checking Ian in the hospital, bawling quietly into his shoulder until the nurse came to take him away -- but his father is still fresh on his mind, hard to shake. Terry's influence is tempered, though, by the fact that Mickey can't quite seem to speak yet. He presses his lips tight together and hides his face in his hand, shoulders shaking silently.
He doesn't even really know why he's crying. He's never felt relief like this before. He's never had a reason to. What he knows is that the entire shape of the future has suddenly changed; it feels like they can have one now. Something like it was for those brief few months he was madly, deliriously happy with his life, before real madness got in the way.
It doesn't last all that long. It's really only a minute or so before he stills, then takes a few slow, deep breaths and swallows back the salt on his lips. He wipes his face on the shoulder of his shirt and flashes Cassel an apologetic look.]
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He doesn't even really know why he's crying. He's never felt relief like this before. He's never had a reason to. What he knows is that the entire shape of the future has suddenly changed; it feels like they can have one now. Something like it was for those brief few months he was madly, deliriously happy with his life, before real madness got in the way.
It doesn't last all that long. It's really only a minute or so before he stills, then takes a few slow, deep breaths and swallows back the salt on his lips. He wipes his face on the shoulder of his shirt and flashes Cassel an apologetic look.]
I'm okay.