Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ian stared around his living room in trepidation. It was covered in boxes labelled with various siblings' handwriting: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom etc. It had been a family affair, driving everything over and getting the boxes, if not unpacked, then at least in the right room. Fiona had asked everyone in the neighbourhood for any unwanted furniture in addition to looking around for anything dumped on the side of the road, which was mostly helpful, but also disgusting. It was the Southside way, however. You could take the man out of the Southside, but not the Southside out of the man, it seemed.

It was starting to feel real now that Ian was actually there alone. He wasn’t living at home anymore. No more having to physically fight anyone for the remaining hot water in the mornings. He wouldn’t have to eat with one eye on his surroundings in case someone tried to steal his food. It should have felt great, but it didn’t. 

The fact that he’d even been able to afford this house was a miracle. For whatever reason, it had been rented a lot more cheaply than the surrounding houses. The estate agent had been tight-lipped about it, but there hadn’t been any murders committed in the house, and it wasn’t built on a graveyard. Ian had checked. Maybe life was cutting him some slack at last - he could only hope.

His job as an EMT meant that he was actually stable enough that he could think about moving out, and really, it meant one less mouth to feed in the house. A bit less stress for Fiona. So he had looked around for an apartment to rent, but when he had found a house that was within his budget, he jumped at the chance. It was kind of pathetic, but Ian hoped that he wouldn’t be single for much longer. Maybe this house would end up being the house that he made a family in - he could hope, at least.

He slumped in his newly bought chair, the only thing apart from the mattress and bed frame that he had bought himself, and stared at the living room. There was potential there, and he certainly had enough work to be getting on with. But instead of doing any of that, Ian decided to order a pizza and vegetate for the rest of the evening. He had his laptop, so he could watch Netflix on that. He’d get a TV with his next pay cheque even if it was just a shitty thing; it would make the house feel more like his own. 

An hour and a phone call later, Ian was slumped in his only current chair as he rested his pizza box on a moving box marked ‘fragile contents’ as he balanced his laptop on his knee. His ex had introduced him to Queer Eye , and while he had only watched because of how hot Anthoni and Karamo were, he soon began to find the wholesome stories honestly uplifting. Now he watched the show whenever he needed a pick-me-up, which he certainly did tonight. Because all of the Gallagher siblings shared one Netflix account, Ian often got teased for liking Queer Eye , but he didn’t care.

“Could do with Anthoni coming over here to cook me something,” Ian muttered to himself as he watched him cooking, the camera on a close-up of his forearms. “Maybe I could get him to stay the night? He seems like a top, but I bet I could get him to bend over…” 

He would have continued speaking, except his laptop screen went blank for no goddamn reason. It had been charging, so there was no way that it could have been with the battery. Ian grumbled to himself and tried over and over again to get the laptop to start up again, to no avail. 

“Fucking fine!” He grumbled to himself. “I’ll just go to bed, then.”

Well, ‘go to bed’ was a bit of a misnomer as he only had his mattress on the floor for the time being. Ian should have set his bed up, but he had never been the type of person to have his priorities straight. As he changed into his sleeping sweatpants, Ian had the most off-putting feeling of being watched. It was enough that he poked his hand through the blinds to have a look outside, but there was nothing that he could see. 

“This place can’t be haunted, it's a new build,” Ian said to himself as he pulled his duvet up over his ears. 

Still, he didn’t sleep well that night. Things kept creaking in the house, and no matter how much Ian tried to tell himself that it was normal, he couldn’t relax. He had the most intense feeling of being watched, of not being alone in the house. He almost texted Lip about it but decided against it because he knew he’d never live it down.

Ian woke up that morning with a crick in his neck and a bad feeling in his gut. He made his way down to the kitchen and set about taking his coffee maker, a housewarming gift from Vee, out of its box and plugging it in. He had an afternoon shift today, so he wasn’t in a rush to get ready, but he still felt an odd pressure to leave the house. 

He set his phone on the counter and put his Spotify on shuffle. Ian smiled to himself as he rooted around for something to eat. There was no one to complain about his music taste, no one to change the song or sing obnoxiously loudly over it. It was nice. But just as ‘Old Town Road’ came on and was getting to the chorus, it skipped past it. Ian huffed, and put it back on - he liked that song, and his phone wasn’t going to take that away from him. 

“The fuck?” Ian muttered to himself as he watched his phone skip forward yet again. The button even darkened as if there was someone pressing on it. 

“Fuck you,” he said to no one in particular as he skipped back to ‘Old Town Road’ yet again. 

He waited for a second to see if his phone was going to glitch out again, but it didn’t. After a few moments, Ian turned and took a toaster out from the same box that the coffee maker had been in and set it up. It wasn’t until he was on the other side of the kitchen plugging the toaster in that the song changed again. 

Ian let out an annoyed groan. “Fuck this.”

The next song to play was one that he liked but wasn’t in the mood to listen to right then. It was too slow-paced to really get him up and going, especially since he hadn’t slept well the night before. When ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’ by Bon Jovi came on as he was buttering his toast, Ian expected it to be switched off since his phone seemed to have an issue with any music referencing cowboys, but it didn’t. 

Ian laughed to himself. “Ah, so you like Bon Jovi, do you, phone?”

As more of a joke to himself, he queued ‘ It’s My Life’, ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ and ‘You Give Love A Bad Name’ to play and settled back to eat his toast. Ian had just begun to forget about the weirdness with his phone before when Britney Spears came on, leftover from a late night party with Debbie, and the phone switched itself off. 

Ian ate the last of his toast in one bite and picked up his phone to inspect it. The screen was completely black. 

“Ugh, fine. I’ll put Bon Jovi back on,” he grumbled. “Happy now, phone?”

The phone came on again, and true to his word, despite being alone, Ian searched up Bon Jovi and put ‘Stick To Your Guns’ on and began to sing along as he washed his single plate and knife that he had used. Normally, he would have just left it for later, but he was feeling particularly motivated. New house, new Ian. He only hoped that he could keep it up.

“Stick to your guns!” Ian belted out as he rinsed off his plate. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you, baby! You can go for the trigger, but only if you have to!”

Ian found himself grinning to himself as he sang along. He didn’t usually like Bon Jovi, but there was something about the atmosphere in the room. It was like when he was surrounded by people all talking and laughing, that type of infectious energy. 

“So you wanna be a cowboy,” Ian sang as he slowly started to wind down as the song came to an end. “Well, you know it’s more than just a ride. Guess you got to know the real thing if you’re gonna know the other side.”

Once the song had finished, and Ian turned, slightly out of breath, he found himself feeling like there should be someone with him and not in the usual way. No, it wasn’t a feeling of loneliness. Ian felt as if there was someone with him, and the fact that there wasn’t put him on edge like they were hiding. 

He sighed. “Party’s over. Gotta get ready for work.”

Ian shook his head after that, he felt like a character in a fucking kid’s TV show, narrating everything he was doing. He never used to do it, but then, there had always been someone to overhear him before. And he still couldn’t get over the feeling that there was someone watching him and that he needed to explain himself to.

He had woken up fairly late that morning, so he didn’t have as much time, as usual, to get ready for work. Ian also wanted to give himself extra time to get there since he wasn’t sure about his new commute. Google Maps said it was only twenty minutes, but he was unsure, so he doubled that time in his head. After everything with his last depressive episode, Ian felt the need to keep on his best behaviour at work - always there half an hour early, always picking up shifts when needed, always staying late. 

As he left the house, Ian fought the urge to say goodbye. He really was cracking, he thought to himself as he drove over to work. Luckily for him, Google Maps had been right, and even with a bit of traffic, he had still made it in plenty of time. That gave him time to have a cup of coffee and have a proper chat with his coworkers before shit really started to hit the fan. Usually, there would be two or more in there, but they’d all left bar one, but it was Ian’s favourite coworker, so he didn’t mind in the least.

“How’s the house?” Tamara, her afro pulled back into a harsh bun, asked as she flopped into her chair exhaustedly. Tamara was his self-proclaimed ‘work mom’, and he cared about her more than he liked to admit.

“It’s nice. I’m not used to being by myself, you know? I keep feeling like I’m not alone,” he said. 

She frowned. “In a ‘there’s a guy outside of my house’ way or a ‘there’s a ghost inside my house’ kinda way?”

Ian shrugged. “The second one kinda. I mean, I don’t think I believe in ghosts. My phone and laptop have been fucking up, though.”

“Must be 'cause it’s all new builds out there, the cable must still be fucked up or something,” Tamara replied easily, stealing his coffee and taking a sip.

Ian smiled, happy for her to have the coffee since she obviously needed it more than him. He was also more than happy to latch onto the excuse that she had given him. 

“That must be it! I mean, it never happens outside of the house, so it must be location specific. Still, I wish the estate agent had mentioned it.” He said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she blinked owlishly at him. “Sorry. Bad shift?”

It was Tamara’s turn to shrug. “Lots of ODs, you know how it is. God, nothing ever changes as much as it stays the same, does it?”

“Yeah,” Ian said, already beginning to identify with her world-weary attitude despite only having been in the job for a fraction of the time that she had. 

“Not my problem now, though. I’ve got to pick Jasmine up from ballet, and then I’m doing nothing else for the rest of the day,” she said, leaning back in her chair. 

“Oh?” Ian asked, smiling wide. He loved hearing about her life - her family being so much more normal than his, not that that was hard. 

“Yup,” she confirmed, popping the ‘p’, “John’s cooking dinner tonight.”

“I wish I had someone at home to do that for me,” Ian grumbled, only half-joking. 

“You could get a boyfriend like that,” Tamara admonished, clicking her fingers to illustrate her point. “You just don’t want to put yourself out there.”

“I also happen to have a very demanding job,” he pointed out, gesturing around them. “Doesn’t give me much time to trawl OkCupid or whatever you want me to do.”

“I keep saying John’s cousin, Cody, is gay, and he’s a very nice man. You should let me set you up,” she wheedled. 

Ian sighed. This was a familiar conversation. “Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean we’re automatically going to get along, you know?”

“Doesn’t mean that you automatically won’t either,” she countered. 

“I’ll think about it, ok?” He said, already planning on getting another cup of coffee since Tamara had stolen his. She had his designated mug, but Jenna was on maternity leave, so she wouldn’t mind him using hers, right? Well, he would wash it to within an inch of its life after he used it, just in case. 

“Well, let me know when you decide to try and be happy, Ian,” she said, just a hint of frustration in her voice. “You have my number.”

Ian winced as went about making his third coffee of the day. Tamara was right, really. He complained about being single a lot and yet wouldn’t do anything to try and change it. The busyness of his job was a crutch, and they both knew it. Ian had been hurt by his break-up with Caleb and his cheating, and he had been single for so long now that he could barely remember what a relationship felt like. The bad seemed to outweigh the good in his memories. Not even hookups seemed to have the draw for him that they used to - work often leaving him so exhausted that he practically fell into bed until he was time to roll out again in time for his next shift. 

Luckily for Ian’s sanity, work started soon enough, and he was racing around the streets of Chicago picking people up off of street corners and saving them from death. There were a few duds as well, which never failed to rankle Ian. Why the fuck would they call an ambulance for a fucking broken ankle? They could just drive themselves over to the hospital. Still, if they wanted to use their fancy Northside health insurance on it, Ian was in no place to stop them. They were his patients all the same. It couldn’t stop him from complaining, though. 

“No more like that this shift,” Ian muttered to himself as he packed everything ready for their next job. 

Their patient was being taken through for an x-ray and was being pretty belligerent about the whole process, and Ian had been eager to get all of the paperwork done as soon as humanly possible so he could get out of there. Ian hated the feeling of wasting time, of idling when there were always more people to save.

His partner, blonde, 5’2”, and deceptively innocent-looking with her big blue eyes, Val, barked out a laugh. “You want a three-car pile-up instead?”

“Yes,” Ian said before catching himself. “No. But…well, I want us to be on standby if there is one.”

“Ok, hot shot,” she retorted, eyeing him with amusement, “phrase it how you want. I know you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

Ian smiled ruefully. “Better than the other types of junkie out there.”

Val knew enough about his history to know the significance of his comment so she thankfully let the topic drop. It didn’t matter in any case as another job came through. Thirteen-year-old boy having a severe asthma attack. Ian flicked on their siren, and they were off. 

When Ian got back in the early hours of the morning, he didn’t get more than three steps through the door before he was struck with the most disconcerting feeling. Everything in the living room was off. Every single moving box had been…well, moved. Nothing that he could really pin down, but everything had been moved around. 

Ian’s heart hammered in his chest as he pulled out his phone.

“The fuck, man?” Lip said by way of greeting, his voice rough with sleep.

“Someone has been in the house,” Ian said bluntly, eyeing the room around him and keeping his back to the wall - the last thing he needed was to be surprised. 

Ian could hear the sound of Lip sitting up in bed. “Ok, did you call the cops?”

“Not yet,” he replied. 

“Did they trash the place or something? What did they take?” He asked, and Ian could hear the sound of his brain working away. 

Ian frowned, feeling hot shame coursing through him. “Nah, nothing like that, but…nothing is where I left it.”

Lip sighed. “Have you been taking your meds?”

“What the fuck, Lip?” Ian spluttered hotly. “Of course, I’ve been taking my fucking meds. Why is your first fucking assumption that I haven’t been? I’ve been good for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, you’re only good up until you’re not,” he said simply. 

“Fuck you for that,” he replied, grimacing to himself and hoping that his brother couldn’t hear how much his words hurt. 

“Look,” Lip said placatingly, “this is a big time in your life. Lots of change, lots of new things. If your brain gets you a bit anxious, makes you feel like shit has been moved when it hasn’t…well, that shit is just something you’re gonna have to deal with.”

He winced. “Yeah, you’re right. I just…I really didn’t leave my shit like this this morning.”

His brother sighed. “Well, it’s not like anywhere has a set place yet. You could have easily just forgotten where you left it. Don’t work yourself up, Ian.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ian replied, voice carefully blank.

“If you want, I can come down and look through the house with you. Just give me ten to get ready, and I’ll drive over,” he said, and Ian could hear him rustling around as he sat up. 

“No, no!” Ian said quickly, wishing that he hadn’t called in the first place. “You’re right. I’m under a lot of stress right now. All the shit with the move and the house and work was stressful. I’m just overreacting.”

“If you’re sure,” Lip replied, but seemed happy enough to let it go. 

“Yeah, of course, man,” he said. “I’ll go now. Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be. You know you can talk to us whenever. All of us,” he said, all big brother mode which never failed to make Ian feel guilty. 

“I know that. Thanks. Um, goodnight. Sorry for calling,” he said gingerly. 

“Fuck off with the ‘sorry’ shit,” Lip admonished. “But I’ve gotta be up at seven, so I’m gonna hang up now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Ian said again for lack of anything else to say. 

Ian held the phone up to his ear for a good twenty seconds after Lip had hung up. He let his coat fall to the floor, too tired to hang it up as he slunk off to bed. He didn’t look around him, didn’t want to notice everything that was wrong. When he got to his room, he half expected it to be in a state, but it wasn’t. The mattress was, however, on the complete other side of the room. 

Ian shuddered as he stripped his uniform off, kicking it to a corner as he searched for pyjamas. “Not haunted, not haunted, not haunted.”

That horrible feeling of being watched made him shiver and hurry to get dressed again. “The house isn’t haunted, and there is no stalker,” he muttered to himself like a mantra as he settled down to sleep. “Better to be going crazy than be in danger. You’re just going crazy, Ian. Everything is fine.”

He swore he could hear laughter on the breeze immediately after he spoke, but like everything else since he had gotten back to the house, Ian ignored it.

Chapter Text

Weeks went by as Ian slowly began to lose his footing in reality. It seemed that the second he entered his house from work, it was like stepping into the Twilight zone, or some fucked up parallel universe where he had decided to put his chair in a totally different corner of the room. 

Ian had searched the house top to bottom multiple times but found nothing, so chances were there wasn’t anyone living in his attic. That didn’t change the fact that he always left the house with the chair facing his TV and away from the window, so he wouldn’t get the sun in his face and when he would come back the chair would be in the other corner and facing the window. 

“Not again,” Ian huffed as he dragged himself through the door after a particularly tough shift. “I might be crazy, but I didn’t leave that fucking chair there.” 

But like Lip had said, Ian’s mind did like to play tricks on him and if he was finally cracking completely, he’d rather not end up in the psych ward again. The fact that he’d watched The Shining recently didn’t help either. So he grimaced and moved the chair back to where it was before going to bed. He was so tired that night that he didn’t even bother thinking about ghosts or creepy men in his attic or whatever else. His boss had put him in for a six day week as it was and had convinced him to pick up an extra two shifts. But Ian hadn’t minded, really. He had lots of stuff to buy for the house, and any money helped. Besides, the more he was at work, the less he could think about how pathetic his life was.

Ian rolled out of bed that morning with a groan. It felt like he had barely closed his eyes before the alarm went off again. He sat up in bed and stretched his arms above his head, his muscles protesting. Time to get a shower in now, Ian thought to himself grimly. He wanted to be asleep again, but he was doing a double shift today which meant sixteen hours so if he was going to shower it had to be now. 

He put on his Spotify and stepped into the shower ready to have the quickest shower of his life. Ian had just stepped under the water when the song changed from some old school Lauren Hill to Bon Jovi. Ian frowned, a shudder going through him. That wasn’t even in his queue. He poked his head out around the curtain and saw his phone clearly displaying ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ . 

“Fucking phone,” Ian muttered as he set about washing his hair and trying not to feel like he was in the movie Psycho . 

He wasn’t about to step out of the shower to change the song once he was under the spray. Plus he was naked. Ian shook his head. He was by himself, what was his fucking problem about being naked in the privacy of his own home all of a sudden?

“I always feel like somebody’s watching me,” Ian sang to himself, hoping the irony of the Rockwell song would chase off some of his unease. “Tell me, is it just a dream?”

Ian stepped out of the shower, took one look at his bathroom mirror and decided to quickly unsee what he had seen. ‘Red rum’ was written out in the condensation. Or, well, Ian could have sworn that was what it was. But then, he had just seen ‘The Shining’ not too long ago and his mind seemed to want to scare him at the moment. But Ian had bigger fish to fry, so he wiped the condensation away with his forearm and set about brushing his teeth with perhaps a little more vigor than was strictly necessary.

The rest of the morning went by relatively uneventfully, apart from his coffee falling to the floor yet again. Ian was convinced that his countertop was on a slant or something because whenever he put something down on it, no matter how far away from the edge it was, it tended to end up on the floor. Especially if it was any sort of liquid. It had gotten to the point where Ian now kept his coffee in a thermos as four of his mugs had been broken already. The thermos still ended up on the ground, but as he usually remembered to keep the lid tightly screwed on it wasn’t much of an issue. 

Ian sighed in relief as he left his house, casting a glance back at it and hurriedly looking away as he went towards his car. The sun hadn’t even fully come up yet and he was making his way to work. Two hours of sleep felt worse than no sleep at all, Ian decided as he drove to work. And he was in for an entire day and knowing his luck it was going to be busy, so he would need to have his wits about him. 

Tamara was waiting for him in the staff room when he stumbled in. She also had a coffee waiting for him which he inhaled greedily. 

“Rough night?” She asked, voice laced with obvious concern.

“Just didn’t get much sleep. I got back from work at like, three o’clock, but then I had to be up at five thirty to be here by seven so…” he trailed off, stifling a yawn. He didn’t bother mentioning the horror movie that was his house. 

“Why the hell did you agree to this, Ian?” She admonished, pulling out a granola bar and pushing it towards him.

“I had breakfast,” Ian protested quickly. “I’m fine.”

She huffed. “No, you didn’t. I know you don’t like to eat so early in the morning, but you’re eating now. I brought it in especially for you. And seriously, why did you agree to this? You know it’s not a good idea.”

Ian frowned, knowing she was right but hating it all the same. They both knew about Ian’s bipolar disorder, and they both knew that stress could set him off and work stress had done that before. 

“I have stuff to pay for, Tam,” he said unconvincingly. “It’s only two long days and then I have my afternoon shift, then I have four days off. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you just want to feel useful, idiot,” Tamara retorted and he had to admit defeat on that one. “You forget you already do plenty.”

“Yeah well, it’s not like I have a boyfriend or husband or kids or anything. I can afford to pick up some extra shifts,” Ian replied, the excuse feeling hollow. 

She shrugged. “You can make bad decisions if you want to, but I’m still gonna bust your ass over them.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he snorted. “Let’s get going.”

“Oh, I’m raring to go because I got my full eight hours of beauty sleep,” Tamara teased.

Ian flipped her the bird without looking with one hand as he picked up their empty coffee cups with the other. He just shoved some water in them, not bothering to wash them. Knowing his coworkers, they’d be there when he got back, anyway. Tamara shoved the granola bar into his hand as she passed him, and Ian wolfed it down gratefully. He barely tasted it, but he knew that he would need the energy. 

Tamara offered to drive the ambulance this shift and Ian took her up on the offer readily. He knew he wouldn’t exactly catch a power nap before their first job, but he needed to close his eyes for a second. He had barely gotten himself in his seat when Tamara was shaking him. 

“Come on, we’ve got a job,” she said bruskly as she started to peel out of the station and drive at speed. 

Ian groaned and sat up in his seat, shaking off the drowsiness for the time being. “Hit me.”

“RTC. Looks like a drunk trying to get home after a night out hit a commuter going to work,” Tamara explained clinically. 

Ian nodded to himself. “God, I hate this time of day for this reason. The scum of the night wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting people of the day.”

Tamara laughed. “You’re in an odd mood today. Come on, get your shit together before we get there. I need a partner not dead weight.”

Though her tone was joking, Ian felt the weight of her words anyway. He blinked rapidly and sat up straighter in his seat. Perhaps it was the coffee starting to work its magic, or perhaps the call they were speeding their way towards, but Ian was starting to feel much more awake. 

There was already an emergency vehicle there when they got there. The Rapid Response Vehicle was already there, and the woman who was clearly on her way to work was sitting on the roadside and staring into space as the paramedic tried to ask her questions. 

Ian and Tamara both rushed over to the other car. It seemed like the bonnet had crumpled like it was meant to do and had taken the brunt of the damage. The guy was still in the driver's seat and was looking around him aimlessly. Tamara started to list off the usual questions to try and assess what sort of state he was in, but he grew increasingly more agitated. 

“I’m fine, I’m in a taxi. I don’t know what you two are doing,” he said, his words so slurred that Ian didn’t need a breathalyser to know he was over the limit. The fact that his breath stunk almost as badly as Frank’s was a good indicator as well. 

“You have just been in a car crash,” Ian said in his most matter-of-fact voice. 

“What? Are you sure?” He asked, looking genuinely confused. 

Ian almost laughed. Almost. “Look around you, sir,” he said. 

The man did as he was told and his eyes widened. “There’s a lot of glass.”

Tamara nodded. “There is. We’re hoping to get you out of this car so we can have a good look at you. Do you think you can do that?”

He seemed to consider this. “Sure,” he paused for a long moment. “And you’re sure I’m not in a taxi right now?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Ian muttered to himself. 

In the end, the man had broken his leg but hadn’t felt it which was lucky for him. Still, they had to put blocks all around him just in case and cart him off to hospital. Then he’d be someone else’s problem. 

“And you’re telling me that I crashed the car,” he said for the fifth time. 

Ian sighed, looking up from his paperwork momentarily. “That’s what happened, sir.”

“Well shit,” he muttered, falling mercifully silent. 

Ian smirked. “I agree.”

The police were there when they got to hospital, but the man seemed to have sobered up and realised the error of his ways as he seemed pretty meek as they wheeled him in. Ian made eye contact with one of the officers who walked over to them. 

“This him?” The police officer asked. A stern-looking man in his late 50’s. He would have been just Ian’s type at one point, but no, not anymore.

“Yes. I don’t know what treatment he’s going to need, but feel free to talk to him. I’ve got to go talk to the receptionist,” Ian said, eyes flicking down to the man. Ian did know his name, he just didn’t care to remember it - he wasn’t worth it. “You be good for these officers, alright?”

The man nodded solemnly, or as much as the collar keeping his neck still would allow. 

Ian didn’t even bother admonishing him for moving, instead he strode over to the receptionist. He knew her face, and they exchanged a few pleasantries while he filled her in. It didn’t take long to get everything done, and soon they were on to the next job. 

The rest of the shift seemed to go by like that. Barely any time between jobs and all of them with some level of real emergency. It was the whole reason he loved the job, truthfully. Where else could he get this sort of adrenaline hit? Legally, at least. 

The last job of the shift left him drained, though. It was a baby. The mother had noticed she wasn’t breathing and had been amazing, calling an ambulance and doing CPR. Still, it wasn’t guaranteed that they could save her. Ian had grabbed the bags that they needed and sprinted to the house. The husband had the door open and Ian didn’t even bother to speak, instead pushing past him quickly. He would let Tamara make the introductions. 

The mother looked up at him with rabid fear in her eyes and he was momentarily stunned by it. But Ian knew he had a job to do, and he took over from her easily. Performing CPR on a baby was never easy, but Ian knew better than to be squeamish about it. 

It didn’t take long to get the baby and mother onto the ambulance with the father following behind, and they raced all the way to the hospital, Ian continuing to do CPR as they went. They should have switched over, he knew that. He should have taken a break from the CPR and let Tamara take over, but he just couldn’t do it and she knew better than to ask him to. 

“Come on,” Tamara called out to him as soon as they were finished with the handover to the emergency department. “It's the end of shift in a few minutes anyway,” she said, holding out a pack of cigarettes. 

Ian had been toying with the idea of quitting smoking for months, had all but stopped smoking when he was alone, but he didn’t hesitate in taking one. They weren’t meant to smoke on hospital grounds so they walked out to the main road and smoked there. Ian watched everyone go by, a lot of them giving him and Tamara dirty looks for daring to be medical professionals who also smoked. It was odd, their lives were so normal. They didn’t know about the three month old fighting for her life in the hospital they were passing, but Ian’s hands still felt her tiny body under his hands. 

“We did everything right, Ian,” Tamara said once Ian had stubbed out the cigarette she had given him and was reaching for one of his own. “You did everything right.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” He said, voice breaking. 

“Hey, stop it!” She said, grabbing his arm tightly. “We do what we can and that’s it. You do what you can and you can’t ask for any more than that. Every call you go to will make you a better EMT, and you’re already a damn good EMT.”

He sniffed, hating himself for not being able to keep it together. “What if she dies? The little girl.”

Tamara’s face scrunched up. She had three children and Ian knew it would have to be affecting her too. 

“You can’t think about that,” she said simply. 

“But-” Ian began to reply, but she cut him off. 

“No, that’s how you lose your fucking soul to this job. Take it from someone who knows, ok?” Tamara said fiercely. 

Ian nodded weakly. “You’re right.”

They both went back to the staff room after Ian finished his second cigarette, and Tamara hugged him tight enough to hurt before she left. Val came in not long after, so luckily he didn’t have too much time to ruminate. Their eyes met for a moment and Val sighed, long and loud.

“That bad, huh?” She asked. 

“Bit of a bad one today, yeah,” Ian said, aiming for nonchalance. 

“Coffee?” She asked. “I’m making myself one..”

“Nah, I haven’t washed my cup yet from this morning,” he said, resting his head on his arm for a moment. 

Ian could have sworn that he only closed his eyes for a second, but when he opened them, Val was sitting across from him with two cups of steaming coffee - Val having obviously washed and dried his cup. He blinked a few times and forced himself to sit upright. 

“Shit! I’m sorry, how long was I out?” He asked, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall quickly. 

Val eyed him carefully. “Only as long as it took me to make those coffees. Seriously, how are you holding up?”

Ian shrugged. “I’ll be fine once I get out there. It’s this sitting around that’s getting me tired.”

“Oh, totally,” she agreed sardonically. “Nothing to do with you doubling back onto a long day. Seriously, Ian? And you’re working with me tomorrow afternoon as well.”

He avoided her gaze, choosing to drink his coffee instead. Val had always been too astute for Ian’s good.

“What are you hiding?” Val asked and Ian could practically feel the weight of her narrowed blue eyes on him without having to look. 

“I may have agreed to do another long day tomorrow,” he said, almost under his breath. 

Val let out a huff of discontentment. “You’re a fucking idiot. Better you than me, I guess. I don’t want to hear you complaining tomorrow.”

“Not even a little?” He wheedled. 

She rolled her eyes. “One time only, alright?”

“Sure thing,” he replied, focusing his attention back on his coffee as he wondered if it would be too rude for him to ask her to make him another one before they left - Val always made great coffee. “The Starbucks of the world are missing out,” he said, only voicing the end of his thought.

She frowned in confusion. “The fuck?”

“Cause you’re so good at making coffee,” he explained. 

“Oh, yeah I guess,” Val replied. “What? Are you angling for another one?”

Ian chuckled. “I think we have time for another cup, don’t you?”

“Are you gonna get the jitters if you have it?” She asked. 

“Nah, of course, not,” Ian replied quickly although in truth, this would be his fifth cup of coffee of the day and it wasn’t even 2pm yet, so it really could get his anxiety, or jitters as Val called it, going. 

“Your funeral,” Val replied as she got up to make another cup. 

Ian rummaged around in his bag and handed his thermos over to her so he could take it with him in the ambulance. Since the thermos was so big, it probably counted as two cups, but Ian wasn’t going to focus on technicalities. Val snorted, but took the thermos from him without complaint. 

“I have a good feeling about today,” Val said as they settled themselves into the ambulance, Ian driving this time. 

“Yeah?” He asked, flicking the switch to let control know that they were ready for more calls. 

“Yeah,” she said confidently.

He didn’t even get to finish his coffee in the end. Ian and Val had been so busy that he had barely had time to drink half in hurried sips before promptly forgetting all about its existence. Six overdoses, a heart attack, a man having fallen from a ladder - that one was worse than it sounded. 

Val rushed around the side of the house, Ian hot on her heels as the sound of a hysterical child filled the air and set Ian’s teeth on edge. As far as they knew, a nice Northside family was having a conservatory put in, when one of the builders had fallen off of the ladder. Control had, however, forgotten to mention the fact that he had dropped a brick through the window sending showers of glass over the father and four year old boy that lived there. 

“They’re through there,” the builder said, clutching his back and looking pale. 

Ian turned the corner and saw a man looking like he was staring in a slasher film - cuts covering his body as he bled all over the garden. He widened his eyes, already thinking over his plan for getting things sorted. The man looked bad, but Ian was confident that most of the cuts were surface wounds, and that he would be able to control the situation.

“They’re through there,” the man said, and his voice was so worried that Ian didn’t even question him. 

So he moved through the glass-strewn conservatory and into the kitchen and nearly froze at what he saw. A little boy was curled up in his mothers arms and violently sobbing. Ian noted that the father must have taken the brunt of the glass, but the little boy was covered in cuts. His face, arms, legs, any visible skin was cut to hell. 

Val managed to ply the little boy with liquid painkillers as Ian assessed the father. The man was agitated and moving around with no issue, but clearly seriously hurt. Ian got both father and son into the ambulance, with the mother saying that she would follow along behind. The builder said that his coworkers would drive him to hospital, but the determined look in his eye led Ian to doubt it. But could Ian blame him? He had known what it was like to have no health insurance. Waiting and seeing if it killed you seemed a lot more preferable to a hospital bill. Ian knew that it would take surgery to fix all the damage that the glass had caused the father and son.

Things calmed down a little after that, until the radio began to crackle. 

“We have a man, approximately late teens, in a car park,” the dispatcher said.

Ian’s throat clenched, a jumper? 

“The man is jumping from car to car and totalling them all,” he continued and Ian sighed in relief. 

They got there and true to the dispatcher’s word, there was a boy, probably seventeen or eighteen jumping from car to car and laughing to himself as two people who looked to be his parents followed behind meekly. Clearly, they had long since given up on trying to talk sense into him. 

The lady who turned out to indeed be his mother, saw them and rushed over. 

“That’s my son, Jacob! He’s got bipolar, was diagnosed a few months ago, but I’ve never seen him like this before,” she said fitfully.

Ian nodded, biting back a grimace. The boy even looked like him, it was unnerving. Same shade of red hair, same glint in his eye. In the back of his mind, Ian wondered if it would be fun to jump from car to car like that, destroying them so easily. It probably would be. He shook his head, he had work to do. 

“Are you ok?” Val asked, resting a hand on his arm on his shoulder as they sat in the ambulance after dropping Jacob off at the hospital - it was all that they could do. 

Ian eyed the radio warily, waiting for another job to come through. 

“Ian,” she continued, an edge in her voice, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m fine, Val. That boy is in the best place for him. Maybe they can get his meds adjusted or something and he’ll be fine,” he said, avoiding her gaze. 

Val sighed. “We both know that job was more than just a job to you. Ian, I’m here if you need to-”

But her words were thankfully cut off by the radio as blared to life as he wouldn’t have known how to reply. Ian smiled grimly to himself as he revved the engine as Val talked to the dispatcher. His thermos sat there, untouched.

The next few hours went by at a crawl, but soon it was time for Ian to go home. He was tired right down to his bones. He was technically meant to finish at two in the morning, but they’d managed to find cover in time for him to leave at ten. Still, a fifteen hour shift had taken it out of him. His replacement slid into the ambulance with Val and they were off in no time, leaving Ian to himself. 

Ian just had time to remember that he had left his thermos in the ambulance and to shoot a text to Val to leave it in the staff room for him when he let out a long yawn. Time to get home before he fell asleep at the wheel. Luckily, Ian didn’t need to worry about falling asleep as the second he got into the car he felt his eyes welling up with tears. 

He had meant to ask about that baby, but hadn’t had the time. What sort of person did that make him? He should have gone and asked instead of having his lunch, he should have. The thing that pushed him over the edge was when ‘How To Save A Life’ by The Fray came on. 

Tears rolled down his face as he sang along, voice cracking. Fuck Scrubs for making that song so fucking emotional for him. Ian waited until he had finished crying before going into the house. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to cry in the house for whatever reason. 

“Leaving the house before the sun has come up and getting back after it’s gone down,” Ian grumbled to himself as he shuffled through the door. “I’m never agreeing to this shit again,” he said, knowing it wasn’t true. 

He looked over to where the chair had been moved, and moved it back out of habit than anything else. Ian couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Ian managed to get himself changed into his pyjamas, but nothing else. Usually, after a bad shift like the one he had just had he liked to decompress somehow but there really was no time. He didn’t think that he could keep his eyes open for much longer.

Just like the night before, Ian felt as if he had hardly closed his eyes before his alarm was going off again. Ian forced himself to sit up, forced himself to shower and forced himself to have a cup of coffee. He was aware that his mug didn’t fall on the floor like it usually did. He had left his thermos at work, so he had been forced to use a mug. Ian could only be thankful for the small mercy.

In fact, the house had been oddly normal that morning. No weird writing in the condensation of the mirror while he showered, no cups being knocked over, the chair was where he had left it. 

“Thanks for cutting me some slack,” Ian muttered to no one in particular. “I’ll play some Bon Jovi for you before I have to go.”

He knew it was the lack of sleep, but Ian had been toying with the idea that there was a ghost in the house. New build or no new build, everything seemed to point in that direction. Ian had a ghost in the house and the ghost was fucking with him. That, or he really was going crazy again. 

Regardless of any of that, Ian put a Bon Jovi playlist on shuffle and stood around drinking his coffee until it was time to go. He didn’t trust himself to sit down without falling asleep. The time went by all too quickly and Ian groaned, honestly dreading what the day had in store for him. If it was as bad as his last shift, he wasn’t sure that he was going to make it.

Ian grabbed his phone, aware of a slight disappointment in the air when he switched the music off. 

“Be good while I’m gone,” Ian called out to no one, too tired to care that he was losing his grip on reality. 

Ian hated driving when he was this tired. He knew the statistics all too well, and knew how dangerous it was. But his bosses had deemed the risk to be acceptable and that was that. He often wondered if it wouldn’t be better to have shorter shifts so the EMTs and paramedics that the public saw would be fresh-faced and ready to go and not walking zombies like Ian so often was by the end of a shift.

“You look like shit,” Tamara said as soon as Ian got through the door into the staff room. 

“Tough shift yesterday,” Ian explained, not bothering to fight it when Tamara handed him a tub filled with scrambled eggs.

“They’re leftovers from my breakfast, they were going to go in the trash if you didn’t eat them,” she said when he looked at her questioningly. 

The fact that there was a full serving of eggs in the tub and obviously weren’t leftovers didn’t pass Ian by, but he swallowed against the emotion that it conjured up. They were cold, but they were filling and Ian knew that he needed the energy. 

“Are you going to be ok today, Ian?” Tamara asked seriously. “If you have to go home they will just have to replace you, ok?”

Ian shook his head quickly. “I’m fine. Seriously, don’t worry. I’ll drive today.”

“Want to talk about your shift yesterday?” She asked, her face open and kind.

Ian winced. “No thanks.” 

Tamara shrugged. “I’m here when you need me.” 

Ian could only be grateful that, while the calls came in at a fast pace, none of them were overly serious. He was so rushed off of his feet that it hardly even occurred to him to be tired. He and Tamara worked well together, as they had from their very first shift, and he found himself getting into the swing of things.

By the time the end of shift rolled around, there didn’t seem to be any lapse in the calls. Ian knew that he would only have time for a quick smoke between shifts, or maybe a cup of coffee. But he knew which one he’d pick out of the two of them.

“See you later, Ian. Good shift,” Tamara said, hugging him tightly, not seeming to mind that he had gotten ash on her uniform. 

Ian laughed. “Good shift. Tell Val to meet me at the ambulance.”

“Will do,” she replied, flashing him a smile before turning the corner into the station. 

Ian took a moment to himself, then. Leaning against the wall as he smoked. Just eight more hours to go and then he’d be free. He could sleep in tomorrow as well. Ian smiled to himself at the thought. He could sleep in till about midday if he wanted to, and nothing sounded better. 

His phone was ringing in his pocket, but Ian couldn’t be bothered to even check it. It was probably one of his siblings checking up on him, but if he answered he would have to answer their questions and he really didn’t want to do that. If any of them caught wind of the amount that he was working, Ian was sure that they would stage some sort of intervention. It had happened before. He didn’t put it past his siblings to fake an emergency to get Ian over there so they could force him to stop working.

Val came out not long after and they got into the ambulance they were using for the shift, a different one to the one Ian had driven that morning. It had been cleaned and set up for them. Tamara told him that it used to be that the EMTs and paramedics would do that themselves. They used to have the time years ago. Now, Ian was lucky to have enough time for a cigarette between shifts, he thought to himself. 

When he got home that night at nearly eleven o’clock, Ian was too exhausted for words. The second shift had been tolerable, nothing too taxing just like the first one but it was getting to him. Just being awake for that long was starting to get to Ian. He opened the door and saw that the chair had been moved.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Ian cried out, feeling tears of frustration prick at his eyes.

Ian stomped over to the chair and tried to move it. Tried and failed. It should have been easy but he was so tired and his arms were like jelly. Instead, Ian flopped into the chair and closed his eyes. The light was still on, but Ian knew that wasn’t going to stop him from falling asleep. He also still had his uniform on, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The chair was so comfortable. Why hadn’t Ian noticed that before? He stretched out, settling his head down and closing his eyes properly. 

“Just a little nap,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ll go up to bed in a minute.”

Sleep took him quickly, and Ian found himself waking up again with a start in that way that you did when you were sleeping somewhere that you shouldn’t be. He knew instinctively that it was very late at night. The light was switched off and he had a blanket draped over him. Had he gone and gotten it? It had been on his bed, Ian knew that it had. Ian frowned and sat up a little, barely able to move with how tired he was. 

“Get some sleep, Red.”

The voice seemed to ring through his head, carrying on the wind. Ian could swear he heard it. He had to be losing his shit. But why would his mind produce the voice of a man with a southern accent? If it had been the voice of someone he knew, Ian could have understood it. 

Ian didn’t have time to think it over any more before he was asleep, however.

He was awoken in the morning by the sun glaring into his eyes. Ian groaned deep in his throat and forced himself to sit up. 

“What?” He muttered to himself, looking at the blanket that was resting over him. Did he really go all the way upstairs just to get his blanket and come back? He didn’t remember it, but he must have done it.

He checked his phone and groaned, the battery was nearly dead and it was eleven in the morning. Ian had slept for a solid twelve hours and he still felt horrendous. The fact that he had spent those twelve hours in a chair most likely didn’t help. 

Ian shook himself awake and dragged himself for a shower while he put his phone on charge. He didn’t want to, but he was always sweaty after work and having slept in his uniform didn’t help either. And maybe a shower would make him feel a little bit more human. Maybe, maybe not. 

His phone was ringing when he stepped out of the shower. He groaned and went over to check it. Five missed calls, all from Fiona. Ian called her back and she picked up on the second ring.

“Ian! Jesus Christ!” His older sister admonished. 

“Hey,” he replied for lack of anything else to say. 

“Where the hell have you been for the past few days?” Fiona asked, anger tinging her tone. 

“At work,” Ian replied calmly, hoping to avoid a fight. 

“All the time?” She countered and Ian fought the urge to say ‘Pretty much, yeah’ as that would only worry her.

“I mean I’ve had shit to sort with the new house and stuff as well, you know?” 

Fiona sighed. “I get that, but that doesn’t mean that you can just drop off of the face of the earth. I was worried.”

“I’ve been taking my meds,” Ian replied, getting it out of the way.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. 

“Anyway, I’ve got to get ready for work,” he said, and it was only partially a lie. 

“Come over for dinner one of these days, alright?” Fiona said fondly. 

“Yeah, of course. Bye,” he said, already dreading the idea of having to go on his day off tomorrow. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Bye, Ian,” she said and Ian grimaced to himself as he hung up.

Time seemed to drag as he pottered around for the time leading up to him leaving for work. Ian had had the time to talk to Fiona properly, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t wanted to. There had been no fight, nothing for him to feel bad about other than working too much which in Gallagher-land was nothing. 

Ian sighed as he put his phone to charge on the kitchen counter as he made himself something to eat. He had been trying to find more music that…well, the phone didn’t hate. Ian refused to think there was anything more to it than his phone gaining sentience when he was at home. He didn’t listen to that sort of music as a rule, but since his phone seemed to like cowboy music as long as it wasn’t Lil Naz X Ian decided to look up a suitable playlist to put on while he cooked. 

It was the oddest thing. ‘Big Iron’ by Marty Robbins ended up playing three times in a row as the phone kept skipping back, but when ‘Tall Handsome Stranger’ by the same artist got to the bit about killing his brother, the phone skipped forward. Ian huffed, but wasn’t overly invested in any case, it was only that ‘the phone’ seemed to know whether it liked a song or not pretty quickly and didn’t skip in the middle.

“Fine, but I’m putting my music on now,” he said to the empty room. 

He ate quickly, shoving the rest in a tupperware box to take with him. Ian chuckled to himself at how much of an adult he had become in the last few weeks. It seemed to have crept up on him all at once. Ian got dressed and looked himself over in the mirror. He wasn’t looking his best, he had to admit. His skin was sallow and the dark circles under his eyes were vaguely concerning. It was just lucky for him that Fiona hadn’t facetimed him. 

Once his uniform was on, Ian felt the weight of the incoming shift hit him all at once. He didn’t want to go. He really didn’t want to go. It wasn’t the end of the world, though. He would be working with Val who was his usual partner, and Ian was confident in their ability to work together. Then he’d have the next four days off to fuck around with the house. 

Ian’s good luck with the house seemed to come to an end when his car keys weren’t on the hook that he usually kept them on. He rushed up to his bedroom and fumbled through his uniform that he had worn the day before and found nothing, he searched the chair he had slept on with the same result.

“Fuck!” Ian cried out, stress creeping into his voice. Something in him snapped, he was stressed and even if it was insane behaviour, it wasn’t like there was anyone there to commit him over it. “I really need to go to work. I don’t know what’s happened to my keys or…I don’t fucking know!”

He stopped talking, waiting for something he wasn’t sure of to happen. Nothing did. An odd feeling of worry came over him, different to the stress he was feeling. Like so much during his time in his new house, he couldn’t explain it. It was a worry for himself, somehow. For his health.

He sighed. “Look, I have to go to work and then I have four days off but I can’t just not go. My coworkers need me, the people out there need me, ok?”

A jingle as something hit the ground behind him. Ian whipped around and saw his keys lying on the floor as innocently as anything. His heart thumped in his chest as he grabbed them and rushed out of the door, though not without thanking whatever it was that had given his keys back to him. 

“Val,” Ian said seriously as the two of them drank their usual pre-shift coffee, “I think my house is haunted.”

If anyone was going to believe him, it would be Val. She was into the paranormal in a major way, always watching those stupid ghost hunting shows and telling him about it ad nauseum. 

She leaned back, smirking at him. “Tell auntie Val all about it,” she said despite being his own age. 

So Ian did. He told her about the strange goings on, his phone and the coffee cups getting knocked over, about the writing in the condensation in his shower, waking up with a blanket that he didn’t remember getting and then finally, the events of that morning. 

“Yeah, I looked everywhere for those fucking keys,” he said animatedly. “And then they fell out of my jacket. But get this, I didn’t wear that jacket yesterday. And they fell out when I practically begged for…whatever it was to give me back the keys.”

Val looked at him for a long moment, eyes wide and unspeaking. “So…this is some serious shit, right?”

Ian nodded. “I mean, you know I don’t really believe in this shit but come on this is pretty fucked up. I can only blame my phone being a piece of shit or the counter being on a slant for so long, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” she said placatingly. “Have you ever tried contacting it?”

“Contacting it?” Ian echoed, his brows furrowing together. 

“The spirit in your house,” Val clarified.

“I knew what you were referring to. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do that shit,” he huffed.

Val’s expression took on a fresh amusement, clearly thinking all of her Christmases had come at once and that she’d be able to use her hard-won ghost hunting information that she had learnt while watching TV.

“Well,” she said consideringly, “it’s not like you have the proper equipment and that shit is expensive. Believe me - I’ve looked,” she said and Ian groaned and eyed her, hoping to communicate ‘you think I’m going to spend my money on that shit?’ without needing to speak. Val then brightened and suggested, “You could always get a ouija board! They’re not that expensive.”

“You want me to get possessed by a demon?” He asked, affronted. 

Val sighed. “I thought you were a sceptic. And anyway, it’s fine as long as you take the right precautions. It’s like going online or whatever, you have to be careful who you talk to but it’s generally fine.”

Ian didn’t feel comforted by that in the least. “Creepy old men online can’t possess me.”

“And you’d know,” she joked, holding her hands up when Ian moved to throw a stale cookie from someone’s birthday at her. “Sorry, sorry! You know I meant it with love.”

“You play a dangerous game,” he replied, laughing. 

“Anyway, we’d better go,” she said, standing up. 

“You just want to get away from the cookies,” he teased. “You know I’ve got good aim. I’d get you right between the eyes.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, rolling her eyes. 

“Hey! I was a crack shot at ROTC,” Ian complained, though there was no heat in it. 

Soon they were in the ambulance screaming around Chicago on blue lights. It was Ian’s favourite place, truly. Val kept peppering him with ghost-related advice throughout the shift, and Ian quickly regretted telling her anything. The fact that she was taking his concerns so seriously was, well, concerning. Ian ignored it and focused on his shift. His creepy house and potential ghost roommate could wait.

Chapter Text

Ian did get a ouija board in the end. He had deliberated about doing it for days, weighing the pros and cons carefully. He didn’t want to think about what it meant for his mental health. Then again, Val was, as far as he knew, mentally well and she believed in ghosts so surely it wouldn’t be so bad for him to look into it just a little. It wasn’t the Gay Jesus thing again, Ian truly did believe that. Still, he wasn’t going to be telling his family about it that was for sure. He could just imagine what his siblings would say.

So, one Saturday, Ian had gotten the ouija board out as well as a few candles and carefully set everything up. He hadn’t really had a real idea of what the candles were meant to do apart from to set the scene but Val had mentioned something about it so he wasn’t going to overlook them. Ian had done it in daylight, though. He didn’t need things to be any creepier than they already were, thank you very much. 

“Um, hello,” Ian said, feeling foolish. 

He had taken to talking out loud as if there was someone listening most of the time over the last few days. Usually telling whatever it was to fuck off. Talking with the expectation of an actual reply was different. 

“If there is anyone here who wishes to speak to me, please use this board. You can move the little…ah, what did Val call it? Planchette? The wooden thing I have my fingers on,” Ian continued uncertainly.

He waited, scanning the room for any sign of movement between bouts of staring at the ouija board until his eyes itched. Nothing happened. 

“Is there anyone here who wants to talk to me?” Ian asked, waiting with bated breath. 

Then, as if by magic, the planchette began to move on its own. Ian screamed and dropped it, scooting away from the board quickly. The planchette didn’t move with a cinematic slowness like in horror movies. No, it moved like an actual person had moved it - quick and with purpose. 

‘NO’

“There is obviously someone here so you can’t just pretend there isn’t!” Ian shouted before realisation dawned. “Oh, I said ‘Is there anyone here who wants to talk to me?’ and you don’t want to talk to me. Is that it?”

The planchette moved over to the ‘YES’ option. 

“Well, don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” Ian huffed, annoyance trumping his fear for the moment. “I mean we have been living together for all of this time.”

‘NO’ 

“No, you don’t have anything to say to me or no, you do have something you want to say to me,” he said, eyeing the board carefully. 

The planchette began to move with sardonic slowness, spelling out ‘FUCK OFF’ . 

Ian looked around the room, hoping to see something, anything. But there wasn’t. Or, well, not in this plane as Val would say. 

“What? You want me to leave my own fucking house?” Ian was angry, he wanted to snap the stupid board over his knee and have done with it.

‘YES’ 

“Fuck you!” Ian cried out to the room at large before realising what he was doing and grabbing the board, proper closing technique be damned, and shoving it in the trash. “Last time I ever talk to you, asshole. This is my house, I pay rent and you don’t.”

Five minutes passed, and then ten and all the while Ian was waiting for something to happen and yet it never did. The ghost had meant it when he had said that he didn’t want to talk to Ian. The fact that he was reacting so calmly was also worrying to Ian. He had enough of a feeling for the temperament of the ghost to know that it was only a matter of time before it broke something, and who knows? Now that Ian knew for certain that they existed, the ghost might try to hurt him, he couldn’t rule it out despite the gut feeling that he had that he didn’t have to worry about that.

He needed to get out of the house. More than that, he needed to get laid. Tamara had kept bothering him about going out with her husband’s cousin and Ian had agreed to shut her up, but the thought of that potential action had gotten him thinking of just how much of a dry spell he had had lately. 

“Fuck it,” he murmered to himself as he opened up Grindr . 

He hadn’t used the app in months, so there were plenty of messages waiting for him but he ignored all of those. Instead, he scrolled until he found someone vaguely appealing and messaged him. The dude, Ian didn’t even pay much attention to his name, seemed down and had invited Ian over within ten minutes of talking. 

Out of force of habit, he sent the dude’s address over to Lip with the instructions to call the police if Ian hadn’t texted him again within two hours. Ian vaguely wondered if the ghost was reading his texts over his shoulder and the idea made him vaguely nervous but really, the ghost hated him already so hating him for being gay would hardly even factor in. He hoped that was the case, anyway. 

Ian considered saying something along the lines of ‘getting my dick wet, if the house is fucked up when I come back I’m getting an exorsist’ but refrained. It probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonise the ghost in his house, especially when he knew that it could move shit. 

His hands were shaking as he drove the ten minutes to this dude’s house. He’d stopped off to get condoms and lube on his way since he hadn’t actually asked the guy if he had any. Ian sighed, he was so fucking boring now. He then shook himself out of his funk. He had been lucky to escape his teenage years with nothing more than chlamydia and he wasn’t about to fuck that up now.  

The sex was mediocre which wasn’t the guy’s fault per se, but Ian was really over mindless hookups and wouldn’t have done it without the odd combination of haunted house and approaching date putting him in just the wrong frame of mind. Still, they both got their rocks off and the guy, Ian hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, didn’t seem to give a shit that Ian left right away. Mutual disinterest, Ian thought to himself as he got back into his car twenty-five minutes later, god he was so tired of it. 

Ian expected the house to be in disarray when he got back but, other than the chair having been moved yet again, nothing had changed. 

“Look,” Ian said to the air around him, “we need to figure out how to live together, alright? ‘Cause I’m not leaving, and I’m assuming you aren’t either.”

Utter silence though Ian didn’t know what he was expecting, really. Writing on the wall? Creepy singing from the attic? Basically, all the shit he’d seen in movies, he supposed. 

“Should I get the ouija board out again?” He asked, shuffling awkwardly. “Fuck it, I’m getting it out. If you tell me to fuck off again well…I don’t know, I’m not as annoyed as I was,” he said before chuckling and adding. “Getting out of the house did me some good.”

Still buoyed by his orgasm and full of an unwarranted optimism, Ian fished the ouija board out of the trash and set it back up how it had been on the floor before, sans the candles.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “Talk to me. I must be the only one you see. I’m not such bad company, honest. Plus, you can tell me what songs you want on and stuff and I know you have strong opinions.”

Before his eyes, the planchette began to move. Ian could almost have written the events earlier on in the day off, but there was no denying it now. And, despite his best wishes, Ian really didn’t think he was hallucinating. 

‘YES’ 

“As in…yes, you’ll talk to me?”

The planchette moved away slightly and then back to yes. ‘YES’

“Ah, cool, man! I mean, are you a man? I don’t want to presume anything.”

The same again. ‘YES’

“Are you only gonna answer yes or no questions? I mean, can you read and write?” Ian asked, not wanting to come off as rude, but feeling that it was an important question anyway.

With a deliberate slowness, the planchette spelled out: ‘what do you think?’ 

Ian sighed. “Should have seen that coming.” Then, an unfortunate realisation came to mind. “Did you…see what I was saying to that guy?”

‘YES’

Ian made a face. “Well, shit. Um, is that going to be an…issue?” 

God, the last thing he needed was a homophobic ghost for a roommate. 

‘NO’ and then a much longer message, and Ian had to grab a piece of paper and write the letters down to keep track of what this mysterious he-ghost was spelling, ‘already knew idiot I saw those one reelers you watch’

“One reelers?” Ian repeated, frowning in confusion before realisation dawned and he blushed right to his hairline. “You mean the porn I-oh shit!” 

‘Not subtle’ 

Ian huffed, embarrassment still coursing through him. “It’s my house and I thought I was alone until recently so…”

Ian had taken the time to christen nearly every room in the house when he had moved in. After all, he didn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on him. Or well, he had thought that but clearly he had been terribly mistaken. He stared at the floor in horror, cheeks burning, for a long moment before he could even contemplate looking at the ouija board again.

‘Oh sure’ and the words, spelled out via fucking ouija board as they were, dripped with sarcasm. 

“Yeah, well, I thought I was going insane before. Not that there was an actual fucking ghost in here,” he said, heart racing at the surprisingly normal conversation he was having. “You are a ghost, right?”

‘YES’ 

Ian sighed in relief. “Good, not a demon or anything.”

‘Idiot’ came the reply and Ian glared at the board. 

“Can’t believe I’m being insulted in my own damn house by a fucking ghost,” he muttered darkly. “Anyway, I should introduce myself. I’m Ian Gallagher. I mean, I’m sure you know plenty about me but…yeah.”

The planchette began to move too quickly for Ian to parse then and he huffed. 

“Slow your fucking horses,” he said, waving his hand in the air ineffectually before picking up his pen again. “Let’s try that again.” 

‘My name is Mickey idiot’ 

“I’m not an idiot,” Ian pouted. “Nice to meet you, Mickey.” 

He waited for a reply but got none. 

“Not good to meet me, then?” He added, feeling oddly petulant. 

The planchette didn’t need to complete its journey before Ian replied to the familiar message. 

“Fuck you too! I get the feeling I’m not gonna get to sit down and play twenty questions with you, right?”

The planchette hovered over the question mark. 

“Like, um, you ask me a question then I ask you one back and forth until we’ve both asked twenty. Or until we’ve both asked ten and it adds up to twenty. Either works,” he explained gingerly. 

‘Fuck that’ 

Ian sighed loudly. “Should’ve expected that one. Let me think…” he pondered for a long while, eyes still on the board in case Mickey decided to say anything. “I got it!” He said suddenly, sitting up straight. “So, how about I play a song and you say either yes or no. We can make you a playlist. Come on, it’ll be nice. I can put it on when I’m cooking and we don’t need to fight over music anymore.”

‘You’re mighty strange’ 

He chuckled. Memories of that voice with the southern accent coming to him unbidden. “Guess so. But it’s a good idea. Come on, let’s do it.”

‘Sure’ 

Ian grinned broadly, pulling up Spotify on his phone. He already knew a few songs that Mickey liked so he added those to a new playlist called ‘Mickey’ followed by a ghost emoji before pondering for a moment. 

“You might like The Police. I don’t know, you seem to like older music. Do you like that band?” Ian waited. “Do you not know if you do?”

‘NO’ 

“Oh,” Ian let out a breath. “God, how old are you?”

No reply. So Ian just put on ‘Every Breath You Take’ and waited.

“Do you like it?” Ian asked with bated breath. 

Mickey seemed to wait until the song was nearly over before moving the planchette over to ‘YES’ . 

“Score!” Ian cried out, punching the air. 

They went on like this for some time. Mickey’s taste tended to run towards rock music which wasn’t Ian’s usual thing, but he didn’t mind. It suited this idea of Mickey that he had in his mind. ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’ was a very enthusiastic favourite since he replayed it twice, and Mickey liked Fleetwood Mac as well. Ian stared at his phone, giggling away at the idea of an invisible Mickey putting the song back on because he liked it - it was cute. An odd discovery was that Mickey seemed to really like ‘The Prodigy’ and soon ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ , ‘Omen’ and ‘Firestarter’ were added to the playlist. 

Once the playlist had about thirty songs, Ian grew bored with the exercise for the time being and hoped that Mickey would be down to answer a few more questions. 

“Seriously, how old are you? ‘Cause, you don’t even know stuff from the 70’s even if that’s all you seem to like so…I mean, you could be a very recent ghost who just doesn’t know about classic music but I don’t know,” Ian was rambling, but without the immediate physical reply of another person, it was difficult not to. 

‘I’m old’ 

Ian rolled his eyes. “Would be nice to have a fucking hint, you know? Fine, if you don’t want to answer that, um, how old were you when you died?”

‘24’

Ian gasped, an odd sensation going through him. He had been kind of imagining that he had been speaking to some old man of a ghost, but twenty-four? That was only a year older than he was. A shiver went through him. 

“What…” he gulped, “what do you look like?” Maybe ‘what did you look like?’ would be more apt.

‘Fuck off’ 

Ian let out a sigh of frustration. “I mean, you know what I look like so it's only fair.”

Ian was ready when the planchette began to move rapidly across the board this time, paper and pen in hand. 

‘Black hair blue eyes why do you care? Are you trying to draw a sketch for a wanted poster or what?’ 

Ian looked at the message written in his messy ‘not looking at what I’m writing’ handwriting for a moment before bursting into laughter. He ignored the fact that Mickey seemed like just his type, and if that had been his profile description of Grindr , that Ian would have been very interested in getting a photo.

“You sound like a real cowboy, Mickey,” Ian teased. 

‘Might be’ 

His jaw dropped. “You’re fucking with me?” A pause, the planchette didn’t move. “You…you aren’t fucking with me?”

‘Shut up’ 

“That explains why you hated ‘ Old Town Road ’ so much,” Ian giggled. “God, you know I’m gonna play so much cowboy themed music from now on, right?”

‘I can break your telephone’ 

“Telephone?” Ian repeated teasingly. “God, you really are an old man. How did I not see it before?”

The planchette rested on the ‘F’ warningly, Mickey didn’t need to move it any more than that.

“Are you just going to insult me all the time?” He snarked. 

‘Belvidere’ came the reply, spelled out slowly so Ian could parse it. 

He frowned. “Is that an insult?”

‘YES’ 

“I’m going to Google it,” Ian said, reaching for his phone. But before he could, Mickey fucked with it and turned it off and nothing Ian could do would make it turn on again. “Alright, alright! I won’t look it up. Christ!” 

It took a long moment, but the phone turned back on again. 

“Jesus, for someone who died before phones existed, you’re good at fucking with mine,” Ian complained. 

‘Alright Miss Nancy’ Mickey replied quickly. 

Ian scoffed. “I know that one. And fuck you. Just cause I fuck men doesn’t mean I’m the one taking it, alright?”

Mickey didn’t reply, and Ian could feel an odd tension in the air. A kind of…flustered embarrassment. Ian wondered if Mickey knew that he seemed to leech his emotions into the room around him. When Ian hadn’t known that Mickey was there, it had been yet another reason to check himself into the psych ward, but now it was a much-needed insight into Mickey’s mind since he couldn’t, you know, see his face or anything like that. Ian had succeeded in embarrassing the ghost, that was for sure. 

The conversation came to a natural halt after that, though Ian was very aware that Mickey could be anywhere in the house at any time. Ian had made him promise to stay out of his bedroom which the ghost had agreed to, and Ian found himself inclined to believe that he wouldn’t break that promise. 

Ian finally got around to Googling the meaning of that odd insult that Mickey had called him three days later when he was on break. He had shoved the piece of paper with it written down in his bag just in case, and Mickey hadn’t destroyed it so it was on him if Ian finally got the chance to learn what it meant. 

“Belvidere,” Ian muttered to himself, bent over his phone in a way that made his back protest, “a handsome man,” he paused. “A handsome man? What?” 

He looked around himself nervously, glad that Marcus was in the toilet at that moment and wasn’t there to see his face. Ian didn’t know how to react to that. It certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting. Maybe Mickey had meant it in an insulting way, a reference to his sexuality in the way that some people had sometimes called him a ‘pretty boy’ when he was younger. Ian didn’t think so, though. He didn’t know what he did think, but he didn’t think that.

Chapter Text

Things with Mickey became normal for Ian worryingly quickly. He didn’t mention his breakthrough to Val, not wanting to deal with the barrage of questions that he would no doubt get if he did. She’d want to come round and talk to Mickey and, well, that wasn’t ever going to happen. That particular collision of worlds would just be too weird to be tolerated for a moment. 

It wasn’t as if Ian had the ouija board out all of the time to talk to Mickey, but he didn’t need to. They had their own ways of communicating. 

“Anyway, so we finally get this guy into the ambulance - fucking pisses himself while he’s passed out, by the way,” Ian said, having long since gotten over the embarrassment of talking to thin air. “So, yeah, he’s pissed himself and then he wakes up and all he wants to know is why he isn’t going to his usual hospital. Obviously, he was only going to swear at the nurses or whatever the fuck if we take him there, but he was really worked up about it.”

Ian snorted to himself at the memory, and Mickey waggled the cushion next to him in a way that had come to mean ‘I’m not actively annoyed by you right now’, so Ian continued. 

“So he gets out his phone and calls for another ambulance, right? And he’s shouting down the phone that he needs an ambulance right that second, and I’m there next to him shouting that he’s already in one. So, the dispatcher asks him to hand the phone to me and for whatever reason he does. The dispatcher was laughing his ass off about it. God, my job is the weirdest thing sometimes.” 

The cushion waggled again and this time, Ian chose to take it as Mickey laughing - he didn’t care whether it was true or not. 

“You should tell me about your life sometime. I mean, only stuff you want to tell me but I do want to know. I’m sure you were badass,” Ian said nervously. 

The planchette on the ouija board, which now lived permanently on the coffee table, began to tap - catching Ian’s attention. 

‘Would take too long’

Ian sighed, not needing to write it down to parse that. “Yeah, I get that but, um…have you ever tried writing with a pen and paper?”

‘NO’

“Come on, then! It’s worth a try, then,” he said excitedly. “Let me go grab some stuff.”

In the end, Ian said that he would leave Mickey to himself for a while with his phone playing Mickey’s playlist while he watched TV on his laptop. He didn’t want to be hovering by as he watched Mickey write. At first, it had been a novelty to watch him move things, but now it was his everyday life.

Two episodes of Queer Eye later, Ian padded his way back to the living room and took a look at the notebook that he had left on the coffee table next to the ouija board. The page was nearly completely full. Ian stared at the handwriting, hardly comprehending it at first. It was a neat, flowing script, and horrendously dated. So dated that it was odd seeing it on a piece of paper that wasn’t yellowed with age. Not the sort of writing that he would have associated with Mickey, but then, they had probably all written like that back when he was alive, whenever that was. Ian sat on the sofa and picked up the notebook. 

“I’m just gonna read this now,” Ian said, not even sure if Mickey was there to hear him or not. 

‘My name is Mickey as you know, though I wasn’t called that much. Mickey ‘One Shot’ Milkovich is a name that more would have known. One Shot, or Shot even more so. I died in 1892 at the age of 24, and I wasn’t missed. I never was a good man, Ian,’ 

Ian had to stop reading for a moment. Seeing his own name written out in Mickey’s handwriting was almost too much. 

“You never told me you had a fucking super cool nickname!” He blurted out. The cushion next to him rustled and Ian sighed, not needing a translation. “Right, back to reading.”

‘I was a regular outlaw for a long time, bull nurse, cowboy, whatever you chose to call it but my ill gotten gains got me lower than snakes in the end. I could have done more legitimate work. I was a bronc buster, a man who could tame any wild horse you saw fit to put in front of me. But I trod on the wrong toes, if you get my meaning and that got me killed. There isn’t much to tell about my life other than the obvious. If you know the story of one sorry son of a bitch riding out west then you know them all, and you certainly know mine.’

The writing took on a slightly more jagged affect, then. And Ian leant forward to read it, having gotten used to the odd script by that point. 

‘When you moved in I was mad as a hornet about it. Rotten enough having people coming here with their machines making all sorts of ruckus for months on end. Then you show up and ruin all hope of a quiet death. But you ain’t so bad, I suppose. For all that you’re a regular molly despite the look of you. I wanted you gone for a long time, reckon I still do most of these days but you ain’t so bad. Can’t see that anyone to replace you would be any better. 

In any case, we know I can write just fine with a pen and paper now. Reckon I could get used to it. Never had much reason to move anything since I passed my chips in, but my attempt to run you out of the house has been the practice I needed.’ 

It ends abruptly, then, and Ian found himself disappointed by it. He could imagine Mickey’s voice as he read, and he found that he didn’t want to give it up. But then, he wasn’t about to ask the ghost to write anymore as Mickey wasn’t the sort that you generally asked to do things. Ian knew that much. 

More days passed, and soon Ian had a range of ways that he communicated with Mickey. First and foremost were the random things that Mickey would move around to get Ian’s attention - Ian’s version of this was to simply call out ‘Mickey!’ at the top of his lungs and assume that the ghost would show up. Second to that was the notebook and pen that he kept in the living room, which Mickey used most of the time since it was easier than the ouija board, which had fallen out of use quickly, though Ian kept it out because it made him laugh to look at it. Third was the notes app on his phone. Mickey was very interested in Ian’s phone and all of the things that it could do, but he generally preferred to write things down physically. Still, Ian was happy to let him putz about on Spotify to find new music. 

“Let me show you the wonders of Google ,” Ian said one day when he had just gotten back from work and had flopped down on the sofa in his pyjamas, eager to leave his shift behind him. 

Ian should have guessed that the first thing that Mickey would do would be to Google himself. But Ian was honestly shocked when a fucking Wikipedia page came up.

“Wikipedia is basically like a massive collaborative atlas, I guess,” Ian explained, preempting Mickey’s question before he could finish picking up the pen to write it down. “People all put information on there so it has pretty much everything you could want to know, but Jesus. You said you were just some outlaw. Seems like you were a bit more than that if you’re still remembered.” 

The cushion next to him smacked into the sofa in an annoyed fashion. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian replied, “I’ll open the page for you.”

The page took a second to load, and Ian found his heart racing as he waited for it. Ian didn’t even bother reading the words at first, far more interested in the picture on the right of the screen. 

“Fuck me,” Ian breathed, not even aware that he was speaking out loud, “you’re hot as hell.”

And God, he really was. Ian was so used to looking at pictures of people from the past and wondering how they could have had so many kids if they were all so ugly. That was definitely not the case with Mickey ‘One Shot’ Milkovich. He was downright pretty. Ian knew he’d never hear the end of it if he said so, but he was. 

It was a very obviously posed photo with some sort of nature scene as a background and Mickey sitting on a chair, rifle leaning up against his knee. Ian hadn’t known that he found that sort of thing sexy, but apparently, he did. As he looked, he noticed the full lips, an intense gaze and a face that was perfectly proportioned and yet with a set to the jaw that spoke of stubbornness and a foul temper. Yep, that was his Mickey alright. 

He was still staring slack-jawed at the photo when Mickey tapped the pen against the table roughly to get Ian’s attention. 

“Oh, shit! Sorry,” he said quickly. “Here, you have the phone,” he added, setting it on the table next to the notebook. 

He checked the notebook out of habit and was surprised to see that Mickey had actually written something. 

‘Stop staring, might be enough to make a feller think you had a hankering for me’ 

Ian flushed. He knew Mickey didn’t have an express problem with him being gay, but he wasn’t about to let him go around thinking that Ian had a crush on him either. He had experience with navigating friendships with straight men, and the biggest thing was to never let on that you felt any attraction towards them. Better yet, make them believe that you find them off putting instead, it was the safest way. They might accept your sexuality, but only when it isn’t directed towards them.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a date tomorrow, anyway. Both you and your picture are safe from my…hankering,” he said, a little more hotly than he meant it to come out. 

‘Date?’ The pen moved quickly, the writing a little less legible than usual.

Ian shrugged. “Well, yeah. I can’t spend all my time at work or with you, you know,” he felt a little guilty for this, but he didn’t want to come off like he actually had a crush on his ghostly roommate. He didn’t even know what he looked like, except now he did and…wow. The idea of that hot of a man looking at him all the time was more than enough to make him a little flustered. 

‘You going to be pirooting?’ 

He rolled his eyes. “You say this shit on purpose so I look like an idiot. Plain English, please?”

‘You don’t need my help to look like an idiot, Red. Pirooting means sex.’ 

“Oh…” Ian said weakly, staring at the paper. Seeing it written out like that was…well, it was weirdly hot, but Ian was never going to admit that. Why was he now weirdly attracted to the handwriting of this literal fucking ghost now that he knew that he used to be hot when he was alive? It was ridiculous. 

“I mean,” he began, feeling watched, “if I like him enough. He’s the cousin of the husband of my coworker so I was kind of made to go out with him, you know? I mean, she showed me photos and,” Ian looked at his knees, avoiding a gaze that he couldn’t see, “he’s pretty hot but also he could be the most boring motherfucker ever since he’s an office worker type. Tamara called him stable. Stable. That isn’t me.”

‘Pretty hot, huh?’ The pen stayed hovering at the paper as if he was going to write something else before he simply circled something that he had written before. ‘Stop staring, might be enough to make a feller think you had a hankering for me’

Ian remembered what he had said to make Mickey write that and shifted uncomfortably. Mickey was obviously mocking him by pointing out that he obviously knew that Ian thought Mickey was hotter than this guy. Ian supposed it was a good sign that he wasn’t going to get into shit with Mickey about being gay; he still wasn’t fully comfortable with Mickey knowing. After all, they weren’t known for their forward-thinking in the 1800s. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Ian laughed. “You wanna be the most important man in my life, is that it?” 

He waited for Mickey to reply with bated breath. He had wanted to put Mickey on the back foot. 

‘Don’t have to want a goddamn thing. I already am. Don’t see many gentleman callers here’ 

For some reason, Ian rankled at that. He didn’t let it show, but the idea of this ghost thinking that he was that pathetic was just…no, he couldn’t have it. Ian supposed he should be lucky that the ghost wasn’t writing ‘faggot’ in blood or whatever, but being constantly mocked for his sexuality was beginning to get to him. Especially now that Ian knew that Mickey was, or had been, gorgeous. And Mickey knew that Ian thought that. He had shown his hand, and it was time to get some control back. 

“Hey, I’ll bring him back just for that. You’d better hide if you don’t wanna get an eyeful,” his words were teasing, but there was a slight edge in his tone. 

Ian knew it was a bad idea to make his mind up to fuck a guy that he had never met purely to piss someone off. It was the sort of thing that Lip would have kicked his ass for doing, especially now that he was supposed to have his shit together. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

Mickey took the bait. 

‘In my house? Don’t you dare.’ 

Ian scoffed. “Last time I checked, you don’t pay rent. You’re just a squatter here.”

Mickey just underlined the last line of what he had previously written hard enough to rip the paper slightly. 

“No!” Ian cried out, frustration making his muscles tighten. “I get that this stuff isn’t something that you were ok with in life or whatever, but I can do what I want. I’m not going to not have sex in my own house because you’re being weird about it. I’ll keep it to my room, so you can avoid it entirely, alright?”

Mickey underlined his previous words again, the paper ripping even more. 

“We have to see if he even wants to fuck me first. But believe me, you’d better get used to the idea of me bringing people back,” Ian said, eyes narrowed. “Bringing men back,” he added just to be petty. 

‘Try it’ 

Two words. Only two words, and yet they were more than enough to set Ian off. 

“I will! Fuck you,” he said, launching himself from the sofa and up to his room. 

Things were icy between them after that. Mickey’s bad mood seemed to fill the entire house. The next day rolled around, and when Ian got out of the shower, he found an honestly impressive drawing of a middle finger greeting him. 

“Stop perving on me, asshole!” He called out. 

Then, as Ian was getting dressed for his date, he could see Mickey moving his nice shoes under the bed in the mirror while he was adjusting the sleeves of his green button-up. He leapt for the shoes, fighting with Mickey for them. Ian hated that despite everything, he couldn’t help but think that the ghost was strong. Strong and able to manipulate things. He had thought about the possibilities of that one far too much. 

Eventually, he got the shoes back and shoved them on quickly, not caring that they weren’t the ones that he had originally planned on wearing. Ian left the house without a backwards glance, though he heard the sound of the chair scraping against the floor before he closed the door. In a fit of rage, Ian stormed back in and moved the chair back. They had stopped with that petty fight once they had started becoming friendly, but clearly, that accord was on hold for the time being. 

“If you move that chair, you will regret it,” Ian bit out. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way.”

Chapter Text

John’s cousin, Cody, was nice, Ian decided by the time they were ordering their food. He was Ian’s age with tan skin and dark curly hair with wide brown eyes. He looked nothing like Mickey, and Ian was grateful for it - he didn’t want to be accused of having a type. 

Cody was nice and obviously very into him. He was asking all sorts of questions about his job and generally mooning over him. It was flattering, but Ian was still tense from his argument with Mickey earlier. While the way he had gone about saying it had been wrong, Ian still agreed with what he had said. He wasn’t going to pretend he was celibate just because Mickey couldn’t get over the idea of him being gay. Mickey was just like any other roommate, except he didn’t pay rent and didn’t exist on the physical plane, and if he had been any other roommate, Ian wouldn’t have given a fuck if he didn’t like it when he brought men back. 

“I had such a lovely time tonight,” Cody sighed as they stood outside of the restaurant, looking up at him with wide and expressive eyes. 

Ian felt a pang of guilt at the fact that he wasn’t a fraction as into him as Cody seemed to be into Ian, but that didn’t strictly matter. They were going to go on a second date, and Ian would try his hardest to like this man. He was a good guy and good-looking - what more could Ian want? 

“Tonight doesn’t have to end,” Ian said, leaning close. “Come back with me.”

“I would love that,” he replied eagerly, and Ian smiled to himself - it was on. 

They had both driven there, so Cody followed behind Ian in his car and the whole drive home, Ian found himself tapping nervously on his steering wheel. When ‘Big Iron’ came on, Ian switched it over quickly - he didn’t need the reminder of what he was going home to. 

Cody pulled up behind him in the tiny porch and was out of the car quickly. Ian was ready for him when the other man kissed him. He already had his keys in his hand, so it wasn’t too difficult to get the door unlocked - Ian had had plenty of practice doing that, after all. 

As soon as they entered, Ian noticed that the house had an oppressive energy hanging over it, and clearly, Ian wasn’t the only one to feel it as Cody pulled away and looked around a little, his expression slightly nervous. 

“You said you lived alone, right?” Cody asked, still pressed right up against Ian. 

He nodded. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

Cody shook his head slightly. “It’s just…well, I don’t know. I keep getting the feeling that your jealous boyfriend is going to show up with a gun or something.”

Ian chuckled at the image. He could certainly imagine Mickey toting a gun, but the jealous part not so much. 

“Definitely single and definitely living alone,” he replied, hoping to distract Cody. “Come on,” he added, pulling his date along. 

He entered the living room and groaned. The fucking chair had been moved again. Ian marched over and moved it back. 

“Um, are you into feng shui or something?” Cody asked, eyeing Ian carefully. 

Ian considered what to say for a moment. The truth was definitely not an option. “Something like that,” then an idea occurred to him. “Wanted to move the chair out of the way so I could blow you in it.”

Cody’s jaw dropped before he got with the programme. “You’re a real freak, you know that?”

“I’ve been told once or twice, yeah,” he replied, smirking.

Cody followed him over to the chair and Ian pushed him back into it. He could see Mickey waving one of Ian’s mugs in the air and Ian narrowed his eyes, a wordless ‘try me, bitch’ in his gaze as he dropped hard to his knees. Mickey dropped the mug and Cody nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Ian sighed. “Mug fell off of the counter, I saw it. I’ll clean it up later. But right now,” he said. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

Cody eyed him carefully, but sat back and let Ian get to it. While Ian wasn’t hard yet, Cody was, which was all that mattered. Ian heard the sound of a book being knocked off of the bookcase behind him. He only kept old medical textbooks there anyway, but he didn’t need Mickey scaring Cody off. He tensed under Ian, but now that Ian had his hands on the guy’s pants, he seemed a lot less nervous. 

Ian undid the button of Cody’s trousers. Another book got knocked over. 

Ian started to pull the zipper down. What sounded like two books being knocked over, and Cody jumped.

Ian had just been about to actually get his cock out, when Mickey clearly upped his game and flipped the coffee table over. Cody was out of his seat immediately, knocking Ian back a little. 

“Your house is fucking haunted! Fuck this!” He shouted, running to the door. 

Ian didn’t even bother getting up, didn’t bother going after him or trying to explain himself. After all, the fact that Mickey had literally flipped a table over in front of his eyes wasn’t something that Ian could deny or explain away. A minute later, he heard the sound of Cody’s car starting and peeling out of the driveway quickly, the sound of tyres burning as they turned too quickly. Fuck, he’d have fucking tyre marks to try and get off of his driveway too. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ian cried out, wishing that he could know where Mickey was so he could flip him off. 

“What’s my problem? You’re whoring yourself out in my fucking house!” Came a shout, and though Ian couldn’t quite place the direction that it had come from, he had definitely heard it. 

“Mickey?” He asked, though he hardly needed to. 

He waited for a reply, but none came. 

“Fuck! If we’re going to argue, can you at least fucking talk to me? I mean, I don’t know how you managed it just then, but can you do it again?” He asked, unable to keep his anger up properly. 

The notebook, which had been flung to the floor when the table had been flipped over, lifted into the air along with what Ian referred to as Mickey’s pen as the ghost began to write. The pen moved in jagged motions, anger radiating from each movement. 

‘I can’t. I don’t know what I did to make you hear me before. All I know was I was about ready to kill you and I shouted. I don’t talk to you cause I know you won’t hear me but I was so goddamn mad’ 

“Oh, um, try shouting again? What made that time different?”

‘I reckon I really wanted you to hear what I had to say’ 

Ian sighed. “Well, can you try again? I’ll listen carefully.”

“You’re a real goddamn asshole,” came the reply, though not a shout this time. 

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and despite himself, Ian found himself grinning. “You’re a bigger asshole.”

“Guess I must really want to pitch a fit, huh? You do need to be taken down a peg or two, I reckon. If I’ve gotta do it from beyond the grave. Well, them’s just the cards,” Mickey replied, amusement tinging his tone. 

Ian felt his heart thump in his chest. He’d never found southern accents sexy before, but there was something about Mickey’s Texan drawl that got him.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t have just stayed out of my way,” Ian grumbled. 

“I don’t see why you insist on fellating a man that you barely know and rubbing it in my face,” Mickey replied, his voice sounding more and more solid every time that he spoke. Ian could almost close his eyes and pretend that Mickey was a real, alive person there with him. Or maybe that they were on the phone or something. 

“I wasn’t rubbing it in your face!” Ian protested before sighing. “Alright, I’m sorry. I should have taken it to my room.”

“It wasn’t that,” he replied and Ian could have sworn that he heard a sigh, or was it the wind? “I just don’t appreciate what I can’t have anymore being waved in front of me, is all.” 

“Oh,” Ian let out a puff of air, “I should have thought of that. But wait!” He sat up, not able to keep his expression anywhere close to neutral. “Does that mean you’re…”

“I said I didn’t mind you being a sodomite, didn’t I?” Mickey’s voice seemed to be close to his ear and Ian shivered. 

“We use the term gay now, you know,” Ian replied, trying to keep calm. “Also, you really have to stop looking at me in the shower now I know you’re a big old gay, you know that?”

“I ain’t been looking at your freckly ass,” Mickey replied guardedly. 

Ian snorted. “How would you know my ass is freckled if you haven’t been looking?” Mickey didn't reply. “Got you there,” he continued, fighting not to blush. 

“Don’t need to look to know,” he replied gruffly. “The rest of you is freckly as all get out.”

The argument between them was forgotten as soon as the room was put to rights and the broken mug had been cleared up. Ian didn’t feel like he was missing out with Cody. Sure, Tamara would have plenty to say to him next time that he saw her, but really, she couldn’t have expected too much from the date. She should feel lucky that he even went on the date in the first place.

“Sure,” Ian said to Mickey as Sons Of Anarchy began to play, “he was alright but I didn’t like him or anything. So, I’m not too mad about you messing stuff up with him.”

Mickey sighed and it was like a gust of wind against his ear. “You said I’d like this show. Now quit your yammerin’ or I’ll never know if I do or not.”

Ian laughed, but settled back to watch the show. It was oddly domestic for something that could have been ripped straight from a horror movie. Ian knew that Mickey was there. Mickey had said once that he usually sat next to Ian when they were talking and things as it wasn’t like he could manipulate objects with his mind. He had to use his, albeit incorporeal, body to do so. Ian also knew in the short time of hearing Mickey's voice that it didn’t carry very far, so he knew Mickey must be close. 

If they were two regular people, Ian would be able to look at his expression to see if he liked the show or not. As it was, Ian took the fact that Mickey hadn’t turned the TV off as a good sign, though. He tried to imagine what Mickey would look like for a moment. It was difficult since the only photo that he had ever seen of Mickey had been very posed and uptight, but he could just about do it and it made his stomach clench.

“You know,” Ian said after the third episode as he stifled a yawn, “I could leave the TV on for you when I’m at work or asleep or whatever.”

“I’d like that, Ian. Thank you kindly,” he said, voice calm. 

“Yeah, I’ve already seen this show before so it doesn’t matter to me if you watch it without me,” Ian replied. 

So that was what they did. Ian would put the TV on with Netflix loaded up for Mickey to watch. Ian had asked Mickey how he manipulated stuff like his phone and the TV, but the ghost didn’t seem to know himself claiming it was all energy and not really something that he could explain. 

Lip: Tell me why you’ve started watching history documentaries 

Lip texted him one day while he was at and Ian chuckled at the idea of Mickey sitting there watching educational content - he would have pinned him as more of a South Park guy. 

Ian: what’s wrong with me trying to expand my mind?

Lip: dunno nothing I guess

Ian: that’s what I thought bitch 

Ian: and STOP LOOKING AT MY NETFLIX!!!! 

Mickey watched TV even while Ian was at home, sometimes. He was happy to let the ghost use the TV since it made him feel a bit better about ditching him in favour of calling his family. Ian really was trying to stay in touch, but he had so many siblings that it was tough for one or more of them to not slip through the cracks. 

“Can I come over to stay the night?” Liam had asked him the moment that Ian had called.

“What? Why?” Ian replied, caught off guard.

“Carl’s bringing this girl over tonight and it’s going to be disgusting. Don’t make me listen to that shit,” he said, sounding genuinely distressed.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “One night.”

“Yes, yes! Thank you! You’re the best brother ever,” Liam shouted, making Ian need to hold his phone away from his ear for a moment. “Come pick me up in an hour.”

Ian huffed. “Sure. But you’re still going to school tomorrow, so I’ll drop you off, ok?”

Liam hung up then and Ian groaned. A family member of his had managed to get one over on him yet again. At least with Liam he could be confident that he would actually only be there for one night. If it had been Carl then all bets were off. 

“Mickey!” Ian shouted, glad that the house was detached so he didn’t have to worry about his neighbours hearing him. 

“What in blazes?” Mickey grumbled a moment later. “What’re you hollerin’ about now?” 

“My brother is staying the night so…um…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Don’t scare ‘im?” Mickey asked, chuckling in that way that seemed to make Ian’s hair stand on end. 

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that,” Ian replied, swallowing hard. 

“It’ll be like I’m not there. Don’t you worry your ginger head over it,” he teased. 

“Alright, that’s good. I’ll get ready to go get him, then. Sorry you won’t be able to watch your documentaries, by the way. Still don’t know why you like them,” he said, looking around for his shoes. 

“Your shoes are in that corner, idiot,” Mickey replied, wiggling one of the shoes so Ian saw. 

“Thanks!” He replied, grabbing them. 

“And I like those documentaries because I would actually like to learn about what has been going on in the world since my death. ‘Cause, funnily enough, there weren’t many newspapers blowing around in the land where I died,” he replied sardonically. 

Ian winced, he hated thinking about all the years that Mickey was there alone. Stuck on the land with no escape and nothing to occupy his time. “Sorry, I should’ve guessed that.”

“Well, Red,” Mickey said, his voice seeming to tickle the back of Ian’s neck. “No one woulda mistaken you for a fella with much brains. Astuteness really didn’t give you a look in, huh?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ian huffed, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

Chapter Text

It was odd for Ian to drive up to his old house. It felt different somehow, or maybe it was him that had changed. The neighbourhood was in a constant state of upheaval, but its fabric of it remained the same. Liam was standing outside of the house waiting for him when Ian arrived. 

“Ian!” Fiona called from inside the house. “Come in for a moment, sweet face.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Ian said to an annoyed-looking Liam. “I’ll try not to be too long.”

Ian walked through to the kitchen and saw Fiona scrutinising the calendar carefully, post-it notes still cluttering up the page. She turned to look at him and before he knew it, Ian was being pulled into a tight hug. He groaned under the strain, but hugged her back just as tightly. 

“God,” Fiona said, pulling back and taking a long look at him, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much,” Ian said guiltily. 

She sighed. “I get that work must be kicking your ass, but I do worry, you know?”

Ian nodded. “Sorry.”

“I know you hate this question, but have you been taking your meds?” She asked and it was Ian’s turn to sigh.

“Yep, taking them religiously. I’m doing well, honestly. Work is tough, but I’m happy, you know?” He said, trying to force as much conviction into his tone as could be managed.

“Good,” she said seriously. “Don’t be a stranger, sweet face. I can and will go over there and drag you back kicking and screaming if need be.”

He laughed, though he knew that it wasn’t a joke - at least, not completely. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Fi.”

“Alright, go take Liam back to your place. I can hear him groaning in frustration from here,” she said, waving him off as she turned back to the calendar. 

As Ian walked out, he made a mental note to send Fiona some money. He had been saving up for a new hoover, but that could wait. He heard Debbie shouting at Carl as he closed the door and he smiled to himself, glad to get to leave. 

“Hey, Liam. Told you I wouldn’t be long,” Ian said, rubbing the top of his littlest brother’s head with his knuckles. 

“As long as you get me out of here. I need a break from this madhouse,” he said, falling into step with Ian easily. 

He laughed. “Why do you think I moved out?”

“Do you need a roommate?” Liam joked. 

Ian almost said, ‘Already got one’ but he stopped himself just in time. “When you get a job and can pay your half of the rent then sure.”

“You’re mean,” he replied, pouting. 

Ian snorted, having grown immune to puppy dog eyes from his younger siblings many years before. 

“Just get in the damn car before I change my mind about you coming over.”

On the way there, Ian found himself worrying about if Mickey was going to behave himself. The last thing that Ian needed was for Liam to be terrified and for it to get back to Fiona that he was living in a haunted house. Ian really did believe that she would drag him back to the family home kicking and screaming if she felt that she had to - she was a tough woman and he didn’t like his chances against her. But then, Mickey had said that he wouldn’t do anything and Ian just had to take him at his word. 

Ian managed to get Liam talking about school on the drive to his house. He was glad to hear that he seemed to be doing well and actually had friends. It was a relief. Ian had worried about Liam. Everyone had tried so hard to give him a better life than they had been given, and it seemed to be working. Maybe not perfectly, but it was. 

“Your house is big!” Liam exclaimed when they hopped out.

“You saw it when we were unpacking everything,” Ian pointed out, not hiding his grin. 

“Yeah, but we all thought you’d get evicted within three months and you’ve made it longer than that so…congratulations,” he replied, bounding up to the door. 

Ian followed behind him, keys in hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m all up to date on my rent and everything.”

“Yeah?” Liam asked, looking up at him with no small amount of awe. “You know Fiona’s gonna be asking for money off of you all the time now.”

“No, she won’t,” Ian retorted, knowing that there was no way that she would do that unless she were desperate. “I’d kinda prefer it if she did, actually.”

He unlocked the door, and Liam rushed through, presumably in search of the TV. Ian was sure that if Liam had any homework he would have done it already - that was just the sort of kid that he was. He chuckled to himself, wondering where he had gotten that from in the clusterfuck that was the Gallagher family genetics. 

True to form, Liam posted himself on the couch and had Netflix up in record time. Ian put Liam’s backpack in a corner out of the way before stopping for a moment, and he felt oddly awkward as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Having siblings around had been his entire life up until a few months ago, and now it was as if he had forgotten how to do it completely. 

“You want something to eat?” He asked hesitantly. 

Liam didn’t look away from the screen. “Pizza!”

Ian sighed. “I’m not ordering food.”

“You’re no fun,” Liam grumbled. 

“Mac n cheese ok?” He ventured. 

“Yeah!” He called back.

“Alright, good,” Ian said mostly to himself. 

“You got the fancy boxes?” Liam asked, turning to look at Ian questioningly. 

He laughed. “I’ll be making it from scratch.”

“What the hell has happened to you, Ian?” He said with his hand clamped to his mouth in mock surprise.

Ian shrugged. “Got bougie, what can I say?” 

Ian had made his own mac n cheese a few times before, and it had turned out fine, so he was relatively sure that he could do it this time. And, since it didn’t include any vegetables, Ian couldn’t be accused of being lame by trying to make his littlest brother eat healthily. 

He put his phone on the counter, setting it on Spotify so that he wouldn’t have to listen to whatever it was that Liam was watching on TV while he cooked. Ian smiled to himself when the song switched from ‘Gasoline’ by Halsey to ‘Go Your Own Way’by Fleetwood Mac. It was Mickey’s new song of the moment. 

“How are you handling having Liam here?” Ian asked under his breath, aware that Liam would be able to both see and hear him talking ostensibly to himself if he was too obvious about it. 

“Your brother looks nothing like you,” Mickey commented from somewhere behind Ian’s shoulder. 

“Long story, I’ll tell you some other time,” he replied as he set the pasta to boil. 

“You should learn to cook properly,” he teased, this time behind Ian’s other shoulder and he could just imagine Mickey poking his head over Ian’s shoulder to see what he was doing. Was Mickey shorter than him? He’d have to ask sometime. 

“Well,” Ian huffed, feeling like he was working a ventriloquist's dummy with the way he was trying to keep his mouth shut, “I know how to cook the basics which is enough for me. Besides, I bet you only ate tinned food anyway.”

Ian got the distinct feeling that Mickey was shrugging, although he couldn’t pinpoint how he knew - it was a feeling. 

“Yeah, well last time I checked, we ain’t out in the wilderness, Red,” he teased. 

Ian swallowed, hating what the nickname did to him. “Can you go out in the garden?” Ian asked before he could stop himself. 

“Uh, sure. Why?” Mickey replied, sounding nonplussed. 

Ian shrugged as he continued to grate cheese in massive quantities. “Well, maybe we can go camping.”

Mickey scoffed. “Had about as much outdoor livin’ as any man could want, and a lot more besides. You go campin’ if it suits ya, but you won’t see me out there.”

“Oh, but we could watch the stars,” he replied, pouting playfully. 

 “Why must you-” but Mickey’s words were interrupted by Liam.

“Whatcha doing?” He asked, elongating his words.

Ian panicked. “Singing.”

Liam snorted. “Looked like you were talking to yourself.”

“You gonna take a page out of Fiona’s book and ask me if I’ve been taking my meds next?” Ian asked, only half-joking. 

Liam shrugged. “Nah, you seem sane enough to me.”

“Sane enough,” he echoed. “Guess that’ll have to do.”

“To be fair to your brother, you are actin’ mighty strange, Gallagher,” Mickey whispered. 

Ian shushed him and got back to cooking. 

By the time the mac n cheese was ready, both Ian and Liam’s stomachs were growling. Ian would have insisted that they eat at the table, but since he didn’t have one that was a bit of a moot point. He had an island that he ate on in his kitchen, but he didn’t have more than one stool for it. 

“Here you go,” Ian said, handing his brother a plate. “If you hate it, don’t tell me, ok?”

Liam snorted. “Sure. What do you want to watch?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Stranger Things ?”

“I’ve already seen it,” he said bluntly. 

“Yeah, well I haven’t so unless you want to watch Queer Eye or spend forever scrolling trying to find something, that’s your only option,” Ian said, sitting down next to him and beginning to dig into his food without preamble. 

“I said I’ve seen it, not that I won’t watch it again,” Liam said, the ‘idiot’ was implied. 

They were on the second episode when Ian saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the notebook floating behind Liam’s head with ‘I’m bored’ written across it in large letters. Ian knew better than to let it lie for too long as Mickey wasn’t the most patient. 

“You keep watching, I’m going out for a smoke,” Ian said, grabbing their plates quickly and getting up from the couch.

“But I’ve seen it and you haven’t,” Liam whined. 

He sighed. “Then watch something else for a bit.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, and Ian pushed down a pang of guilt, but it was better to leave for a bit rather than Mickey do something to make himself known. 

Ian shoved the plates in the sink, resolving to wash them later, before grabbing his cigarettes and a jacket and heading out into the garden. Ian hadn’t bought any furniture for the garden, but he had napped a shitty old plastic chair from a corner in his old neighbourhood, and he sat on it now as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. 

“I sure do miss smokin’,” Mickey commented, and to Ian’s credit, he only jumped a little. 

“I’m trying to quit,” Ian replied, taking another long drag and watching the smoke as it floated up into the night air. 

“Why’s that?” He asked, seeming to have settled down on Ian’s right - he could almost imagine them sitting together. 

“They’re not good for you,” he explained. “Waste of money too.”

Mickey chuckled. “Are they not? Suppose a medical man like you should know. Still, I would give just about anything for one of them cigarettes right now.”

Neither man spoke for a while. Ian puffed away on his cigarette, making an effort to savour it for Mickey’s sake, and Mickey was…well, Ian wasn’t sure what he was doing. He could have gone back in for all he knew. 

“Hey Mick,” Ian said, partly to make conversation and partly to make sure that he was still there.

“What is it now, Red?” He replied fondly. 

Ian smiled to himself at the nickname. Only Mickey ever called him that and he found that he liked it a lot.

“Do you think we would have been friends if I had known you when you were alive?” He asked, not sure where the question had come from. 

Mickey laughed, long and hard. “I would’ve eaten you alive.”

Ian gulped, feeling hot even with the cool night air around him. He could feel the ghost close to him, it was a sort of electrical feeling. It always made his hair stand on end. Despite everything that Mickey could do, he had never actually touched Ian before. It wasn’t the sort of thing that he could comment on, after all. He couldn’t exactly ask for Mickey to touch him, even if he was curious about how it would feel.

“I don’t know about that,” Ian forced himself to reply nonchalantly. “I bet I’m taller than you.”

“Might be true that you’re taller, but I’m a damn sight meaner,” he replied easily. 

Ian stubbed out his cigarette and lit a second one. He never usually chain-smoked nowadays, but he didn’t want their conversation to end. 

“You woulda been useless out on the trail, exceptin’ your medical skills, but I think I woulda liked ya all the same,” Mickey continued.

“I appreciate that,” Ian said, focusing on smoking his cigarette. 

“Can I hold it?” The ghost asked gingerly. 

It took a moment for Ian to understand what he meant, but he dutifully held the cigarette out. He watched in fascination at the end of the cigarette lit up in a brighter orange as if Mickey was truly taking a drag. The smoke seemed to curl around the filter oddly as if it had been moved, but there was nowhere for it to go. 

Mickey scoffed. “Take it back. It’s not the same. I can't taste the damn thing, and I ain’t got any lungs anyhow.”

Ian took it and finished it off in three quick drags, forcing down a cough as he didn’t want Mickey to see that he had smoked too quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” Ian said as he stood up to head back in. 

“What for?” He asked, his voice sounding guarded. 

“I wish you could smoke a cigarette like normal, or have something to eat or any of the other things I’m sure you miss,” he replied, hoping that he didn’t come off as too emotional as he knew that Mickey didn’t like that.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he replied bluntly. 

Ian didn’t bother saying anything to that, instead he simply walked back in and flung himself back next to Liam. They watched a few episodes of She-Ra before Ian managed to convince his little brother to go to bed. He didn’t have a guest room, but Liam was small enough that he didn’t feel too bad about making him sleep on the couch. 

Liam was up before Ian was the next day and already making breakfast. Ian shooed him away and took over, though. Today was going to be one day where Liam wouldn’t have to be more mature than his age. 

“Are eggs and bacon ok?” Ian asked, already getting them out.

“Yeah, sounds great!” Liam enthused, sitting at the kitchen counter and looking at him eagerly.

As he cooked, Ian wondered what Mickey was doing right then. Usually he would be watching TV with the volume down well into the night, but he obviously couldn’t do that now. He had contemplated saying goodnight to Mickey, but that would be making the assumption that the ghost was currently in the room with him. At first, Ian had found the idea of having a potential onlooker at all times beyond freaky, but now he found it oddly comforting. 

He had slept well that night. Having people in the house with him seemed to help, even if he couldn’t hear Liam’s snores from upstairs. Ian had woken up to a piece of paper on the pillow next to him, but instead of it having any writing on it, it had a drawing. Ian picked up the paper reverently, tracing his finger over the lines. 

It was a drawing of Ian and Mickey sitting out in the garden, though Mickey had clearly taken some creative licences with it as they were both smoking. It was a good drawing, very good. The idea of Mickey focusing on capturing the lines of smoke as they curled up made his chest clench. For whatever reason, Ian hadn’t imagined that Mickey was the sort of person with a creative bone in his body, but he was clearly very wrong. The care and attention in the drawing was intricate, and Ian wished that he knew what it meant. That Mickey had gotten bored in the night without his usual documentaries to watch probably. 

Ian sat up in bed and looked at the drawing for a little longer. In the privacy of his own mind, Ian marvelled at how good they looked next to each other. He put the drawing safely on his bedside table and got up, trying not to let his face show his feelings about the drawing in case Mickey was there. 

He managed to forget the drawing as Ian corralled Liam into the shower and got him breakfast and generally did a passable job of pretending to be Fiona. Liam was groggy and obviously hadn’t slept that well on the couch, but he seemed to be grateful for the break from the house all the same as well as the prospect of a ride to school instead of getting the bus. 

“Be good at school,” Ian said as he pulled up. 

Liam rolled his eyes but nodded dutifully. “I’ll tell Fiona you fed me lots of vegetables and I was in bed by ten.”

He laughed. “Thanks, buddy. I will come over to the house again soon, I promise.”

“Sure, make sure to bring some of that mac n cheese you made, it was good,” he said before hopping out of the car.

Ian watched him go, his chest twisting at seeing just how big he’d gotten. Ian remembered holding him in his arms, a tiny and delicate thing. Now, he had his own group of friends that were clapping him on the back as he made his way over to them by the gate. He was just about to pull out without waiting for a goodbye when Liam stuck his arm up and waved at him. He grinned wide and waved back. Liam was a good kid. 

There was a few hours before he had to be at work, so Ian stopped off at Target before heading back home. He hadn’t gone there with anything specific in mind so he ended up leaving with mostly snacks, but he needed those for after bad shifts. 

“I need to go back to the gym or start running again or something,” Ian muttered to himself as he looked at the bags of food in his backseats. 

He wasn’t worried about his weight, but he didn’t want to feel unfit. He knew that was a bit of a losing battle with his smoking habit and his shitty Gallagher genes, but he might as well try and keep as healthy as possible. The quitting smoking thing was looking less likely, Ian realised with a jolt. He knew deep in his gut that as long as him smoking brought Mickey some sort of joy, then he would continue to do it. The fact that he was considering buying the ghost some proper drawing supplies was also a bad sign. 

‘Arabella’ by The Arctic Monkeys came on, and Ian knew he was fucked. 

“She’s got a helter-skelter wrapped around her little finger and I ride it endlessly,” Ian sang along, hating how true the lyrics were. 

If Mickey wanted him to, he would spend all of his spare money on art supplies and cigarettes. He’d smoke until he couldn’t breathe if it made him happy to watch him do so. And he wouldn’t even have to ask, because Ian would just do it. 

“My days end best when the sunset gets itself behind the little lady sittin’ on the passenger side,” he continued, and how much he would give for Mickey to be able to be in the car with him. 

It wouldn’t even matter if he could see Mickey or not, though in his imagination he would be able to. No, it would be enough for him to know that Mickey was with him. And more than that, he wanted Mickey to have more than just the confines of the house. He had been a cowboy once, he had travelled the US with nothing more than his horse and his wits. Ian had read the Wikipedia article, he knew that Mickey had gone around the West taking on sporadic bounties and occasionally holding up banks. He had played whatever side of the law suited him, had gone wherever he wanted. To think that a soul like that was now trapped within such a small space was intolerable.

Ian had been trying to avoid the fact that he was infatuated with Mickey for a while. Had convinced himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. After all, what was there to like? But he couldn’t kid himself anymore. It was useless to pretend that he didn’t find Mickey’s personality sexy, that his humour didn’t make Ian’s stomach flutter, that the very sound of his voice or the electric feeling of his presence didn’t do more for him than any living, breathing man ever had. No, it was useless to keep trying to kid himself. 

When Ian pulled up outside his house, he didn’t get out of the car right away. He had milk that needed to go in the fridge right away, but he didn’t care. The feelings that had been building up for so long had struck him all at once, and Ian found himself unable to handle it. It was useless even thinking about it, nothing could ever come of it. Even if Mickey did like him back, which it didn’t seem like he did, there was a whole laundry list of reasons why it wouldn’t work. He thumped his head against the steering wheel hard, hoping to knock some sense into himself before stepping out of the car.

He’d left his phone on charge in the kitchen for Mickey’s benefit, and he smiled to himself as he heard ‘Omen’ blaring through the house. Ian closed the door loudly, knowing that it would be more than enough to get Mickey’s attention. The music paused, and he felt a gust of cold air by his cheek. 

“Hey, Mick,” he said weakly, his heart hurting in his chest. “Sorry about having Liam over. Must’ve been boring as hell for you.”

“Ey, it wasn’t as bad as all that. Your brother happens to be a mighty interestin’ fella even if his taste in entertainment ain’t up to snuff,” he replied. 

Ian walked through to the kitchen, shopping bags in hand. “Have you been spying on my brother?”

He laughed. “You make me out to be a bad guy, Red.”

“You don’t need my help for that,” Ian retorted easily as he began to unpack the food and put it away.

Like something out of Matilda , the food seemingly began to float and put itself away as Mickey helped. Secretly, Ian liked to pretend that he was the one doing it sometimes like he was magic or something like that. Not that he would ever tell Mickey that. 

“You wound me,” Mickey replied dramatically. 

Ian smiled broadly. The fact that Mickey had started to show off his silly side made him inordinately happy. The only photo he’d seen of Mickey showed him looking pretty serious, so he couldn’t really imagine him smiling, but he knew it was there just from the sound of his voice. 

“I’ve gotta get ready for work,” Ian said once they’d finished putting the food away, already moving up to the bedroom, but not before putting his coffee cup under his coffee making ready to put it on when he got back.

He didn’t have time for a shower, so he just made himself as presentable as possible and threw his uniform on. Ian looked at himself in the mirror appraisingly. His dark circles had mostly faded, but he knew that they wouldn’t go completely without some decent time off which wasn’t going to happen any time soon. His hair was a little flat, but it wasn’t too noticeable. All in all, he looked ok. 

Ian sighed, shaking himself out of his thoughts roughly. It didn’t matter how he looked. He was going to work and there was no one that he wanted to impress there. Mickey was not a factor, either. There was no point whatsoever in trying to impress the ghost that lived in his house - that was so beyond pathetic that it didn’t even bear thinking about. 

As he walked down the stairs, the smell of fresh coffee wafted up to him, and Ian frowned in confusion before the obvious occurred to him.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that for me, Mick,” Ian said as he reached over and took it, taking a grateful sip. 

“Least I can do, Red,” he replied easily. 

“I liked your drawing,” he said, hoping to convey the correct amount of interest. “Thanks for showing it to me.”

A slight air of embarrassment that Ian knew to be Mickey rose up between them, and Ian wished that he could look him in the eye to try and comfort him. 

“I got bored in the night. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” Mickey replied offhandedly, obviously eager to drop the topic.

“No!” Ian said quickly, shocked at his own vehemence. “You’re really good. Really good. You should draw more.”

“Draw what exactly?” The ghost retorted, and the atmosphere of self-consciousness thickened until it was syrupy-thick. 

“Anything you want,” he said, a little breathless. “I want to see anything you do, Mick.”

“Then you’ve got worse taste than I thought,” Mickey replied gruffly. “And I saw that pathetic excuse for a man you brought back.”

Ian snorted. His stomach clenched at Mickey’s words and how easily they could be construed as jealousy - his mind had become a treacherous thing when it came to Mickey, it seemed to take everything and twist it in just the perfect way so that it both tantalised and tormented him. 

“Just cause he’s not your type doesn’t mean he’s pathetic, you know,” Ian pointed out.

“Oh?” Mickey replied, sounding awfully cocky. “Pathetic excuses for men are your type, then?”

He shrugged. “Not anymore,” he almost told Mickey about the older men in his past, but didn’t - he liked that the ghost didn’t know, that his perception of Ian wasn’t tainted by it.

“You’ll have to find out when I bring someone back again. I’ll make sure to pick someone hot next time,” he said, knowing that he was toeing the line.

“You do that, Red,” Mickey drawled. “Just keep in mind that I ain’t afraid to flip another table.” 

Ian swallowed hard. “Want to smoke with me?” 

It was a very obvious and abrupt change of topic, but thankfully, Mickey didn’t comment on it.

“Mighty kind of you to let me watch while you flaunt your cigarettes in my face, I’m sure,” he replied sardonically.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he replied, knowing what would come next. 

“I didn’t say that. Lead the way,” Mickey replied from Ian’s other side. 

As Ian walked through to the back porch, putting his pack of cigarettes away safely in his uniform for later, he handed the cigarette and lighter to Mickey. Or, well, held them both in the air and waited for Mickey to grab them.

“What? You want me to light your damn cigarettes now?” Mickey huffed. “You’re worse than any dame.”

Ian shrugged. “Thought I’d let you do the honours.”

Despite Mickey’s protests, the ghost lit the cigarette easily, seeming to take quickly to Ian’s lighter - much quicker than he himself had as a kid when he had first started smoking. He then took a ‘drag’, the end flashing brightly for a moment. The cigarette moved towards Ian’s mouth, and he only just had time to realise that Mickey was about to put it in his mouth for him when the filter made contact with his mouth. He closed his lips around it on reflex. Though Ian almost dropped the cigarette when he felt a slight brush against his lower lip. It was cold, like a concentrated gust of wind against wet skin, but Ian had never felt more on fire in his life. 

Mickey had touched him for the first time.

Chapter Text

Ian got to work a little before Marcus, his crewmate for the day, so he had a little time to look for something for Mickey. Marcus Lopez wasn’t someone that Ian worked with often, so they were by no means close, but he was a nice enough guy. Originally from LA, he said he had moved to Chicago to get away from the people there, though Ian didn’t see how the people of Chicago were any better. 

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked when he arrived a few minutes later. 

Ian didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “Looking for art supplies.”

“You do art?” He asked, sounding shocked.

“No,” he then realised he’d need some sort of reason to be looking. Luckily he had five potential reasons in the form of his siblings, “but my brother does, so I’m looking for him.”

“That’s nice of you,” Marcus replied. 

“Yeah, I’ll just grab him some pencils or something, then we can head over to the truck,” Ian said, focusing his attention back on the myriad options in front of him.

He ended up buying some drawing pencils that were more expensive than he had originally planned as well as some colouring pencils to go with them and a sketchbook so he’d have something to draw on. Ian was already thinking of ways that he could play it off as not a big deal, but he knew that Mickey would never admit if he wanted that sort of thing or not so he couldn’t say that Mickey had been hinting or anything. No, the longer that he thought about it, the more out of character it was for Mickey to give him that drawing. Or show it to him, whichever it had been. 

It played on his mind for the first few jobs of the shift. That was until a particularly interesting one came through. 

“Female aged approximately twenty-eight fainted in an art gallery. Doctor on the scene says she has an elevated pulse,” the dispatcher relayed. 

Marcus and Ian looked at each other for a long moment. 

“What the fuck is an art gallery doing open this late?” He wondered as it was nearly nine o’clock at night by that point. 

“Eh, I guess we’ll find out,” Marcus replied, stepping on the gas. 

It wasn’t a long journey, and as the two men got out of the ambulance, Ian couldn’t help but notice that everyone was dressed very nicely indeed. The men were in dark suits and the women all in low-cut dresses. Not your typical art gallery attire, no matter the time of day. He shook it off, though, as he made his way into the gallery. 

The doctor, a woman in her thirties in a similarly low-cut dress, waved them over. The woman was awake by this point and looked ready to run away. She was dressed similarly to the others, and realisation dawned on Ian all at once as he took in the lashes that he could see on her back. They weren’t heavy marks, but there were lots of them. 

Marcus already had the dressings kit out and was tending to her back with a carefully blank expression as Ian spoke to the woman. 

“Have you ever fainted like this before?” He asked, all professionalism. 

She nodded sheepishly. “Yes, when I’ve been exercising hard.”

He raised his eyebrows for a moment despite himself. “And would you say that your pulse has been raised tonight?”

“Um, yes. You could say that,” she replied, not meeting his eye.

“I think it would be a good idea to not do anything like this that will get your heart rate elevated again, don’t you think?” Ian found himself less and less able to control his amusement as he spoke, the fact that Marcus’ shoulders were shaking from behind the woman made it worse. 

“Oh yes!” She said quickly, nodding. “I definitely won’t be doing anything…like that again.”

Ian nodded, pressing his lips together tightly. “Let’s get you to the ER for a checkover just in case.”

She nodded and tried to stand, but sat back harshly. In the end, both Ian and Marcus had to help her to her feet and into the ambulance, the other patrons of the evening looking on with unmasked curiosity. The conversation switched to the weather easily once in the ambulance, and luckily for Ian, Marcus offered to stay in the back and do the paperwork while Ian drove them to the hospital. In truth, Marcus was much better at keeping a straight face than he was. 

Once the woman was safely in the care of the capable staff of the hospital, Ian and Marcus took their time in cleaning the truck ready for the next job. 

“Did you see that massive fucking cross thing in the corner?” Marcus asked, wiping tears from his eyes as he straightened up from where he had been bent double. 

“The St Andrew’s cross?” Ian asked sagely. “I did spot it.”

Marcus stared at him, fresh giggles bubbling up. “Don’t tell me you’re into that shit too? Why are all my coworkers weird?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I know a thing or two.” 

“Oh really?” Marcus replied, eyeing him disbelievingly. 

Ian put his hands up. “I didn’t know they did that sort of shit in art galleries after they closed, though! I’ll never be able to look at one the same way ever again.”

“You never went to any art galleries, man. Who the fuck are you trying to fool?” Marcus retorted. 

Ian snorted. “You don’t know me.”

“Clearly not,” he said, finally seeming to get his laughter under control even as he gripped his stomach for support. “I didn’t think you were some Christian Grey type either.”

Ian flicked a discarded pen lid that he had found at Marcus, who dodged it easily. They were about to start a full-on ‘ambulance junk’ war when the radio crackled to life. 

“Onto the next one,” Ian sighed, stepping out and around to the front of the ambulance. 

By the time the rest of the shift was finished, Ian felt that he could count Marcus as a friend. That was the thing about the job, he supposed. It brought you together. It was probably trauma bonding or whatever, but Ian didn’t care. Coming from such a big and dysfunctional family meant that he took any group of people brought together through circumstance instead of choice as his main form of support. It wasn’t healthy, but it was all that he knew. 

When Ian got home that night, he found himself not ready to go to bed. He had the next day off, so he figured that he would stay up a little bit with Mickey, especially since they hadn’t been able to talk much what with Liam being there.

“Honestly, when I walked in there I had no idea that I’d end up seeing a woman who’d fainted cause she’d been whipped too hard,” Ian said, chuckling to himself. “That’s the funny thing about my job. You never know what you’re walking into.”

Mickey tsked. “I don’t rightly see how that’s funny.”

“I mean, she had agreed to it! It wasn’t like she was being punished or anything. People do it for lots of reasons,” Ian explained quickly, aware that he must’ve looked like an asshole just then. 

“Why on earth-?” Mickey began to say before cutting himself off. “Apologies, I’m sure you were about to explain.”

Ian found himself blushing, and he looked fixedly at the floor before continuing to speak. He and Mickey didn’t speak about sexual things very often. Ian always avoided anything even vaguely sexual if he could help it, and the ghost certainly didn’t bring it up. No avoiding it now, however. 

“Well, I’m no expert despite what Marcus thinks, but,” he trailed off, collecting himself. “Some people do it for sexual reasons, they get off on it. Both doing it and having it done, you know? Um, for other people, it’s not like that, it’s more emotional. Or it could be a mix of both.”

“That is…the queerest thing I’ve ever heard,” Mickey replied after a long pause. 

Ian laughed weakly. “Everyone’s different. I’ve never done it myself, but I wouldn’t say no if I was able to know I was being safe, you know?”

“The world has changed so much,” the ghost huffed. “I hate it.”

“Oh, so you’re just vanilla, is that it?” Ian teased, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“Is this your idea of gettin’ me back for my slang talking before?” Mickey retorted. 

Ian grinned. “Yeah,” he said before making his best approximation of Mickey’s accent, “I reckon it is.”

“Damn yankee,” he huffed, though there was no heat in his words. 

Ian felt a sudden craving for a cigarette, and knew that it wasn’t his own. He never mentioned that he could often tell what Mickey was feeling because he seemed to project it outwards. At first, Ian had been sure that he was doing it on purpose, but now he was almost certain that he had no idea about it. He didn’t want to tell Mickey in case he figured out a way to control it, Ian found the periodic insights into his emotional state inordinately helpful, especially since he couldn’t see his facial expressions or body language. 

“I’m going out for a cigarette,” Ian said, quickly getting up and backing his way out to the back porch. 

“Don’t know why you don’t just smoke indoors, Red,” Mickey replied easily, clearly following behind him.

“One, I don’t actually own this house and two, I don’t want the walls to be yellow and stink of smoke,” he replied, sitting down carefully in the plastic seat. He really needed to invest in some proper garden furniture soon. 

He held out the pack of cigarettes in the direction that he assumed Mickey was. The ghost took out one of the cigarettes as well as the lighter Ian offered him. While Mickey couldn’t properly smoke, Ian was happy to let him light his cigarettes for him. It might be the wrong sort of tantalising for Mickey, but it was as much as Ian could do for him. The fact that Mickey put the cigarette in Ian’s mouth for him was also a good reason for him to want the ghost to light all of his cigarettes going forward.

“I had a reason for being so puzzled about your story back there, Red,” Mickey said when Ian was halfway through his cigarette. 

“Oh?” He asked, trying to play it cool. “Do you…wanna talk about it?”

“Reckon you deserve to hear about me some since I know you so well,” he said seriously, though adding a more joking, “Though not through my own will, I assure you.”

“Well, I don’t want to force you to do anything, but I’m happy to listen,” Ian replied nervously.

“Shut your trap and let me talk, will you?” Mickey grumbled, and Ian obligingly shut up, focusing on his cigarette. “My father wasn’t a nice man. I don’t like talkin’ bout him, but I gotta for this so… When I was growin’ up, if I ever stepped outta line, he was more than happy to whack me a good one and yeah, everyone did to their children - spare the rod and spoil the child. But my father never did stop when the stoppin’ was good. He would whip me if I was real bad, but I mostly took whippings in place of my sister cause…well, I had to.”

Ian breathed long and deep. There was no point in getting angry over a man who must’ve died nearly a hundred and thirty years ago - he still was, though. Ian easily conjured the photo of Mickey to mind, and he had the image practically soldered into his brain, after all. He imagined that young man, younger even than in the photo. Ian could do it so easily, and it was ripping his damn heart apart to do so. 

“I always tried to keep quiet,” Mickey continued, clearly not wanting to speak now that he had started. “I didn’t wanna give the bastard the satisfaction of seein’ that he was hurtin’ me. Mandy would beg for me to just cry out, to ask him to stop, but I wouldn’t. I knew better. I had to show my pa that I was a man and that I wasn’t gonna back down so I didn’t. Damn near passed out a few times.”

“Shit…Mickey,” Ian said, throat choked with unshed tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago even before I died. I got outta there at sixteen after Mandy died,” he said, voice carefully blank even as waves of Mickey’s grief made Ian’s body threaten to curl in on itself. 

“You didn’t deserve it, Mick,” Ian said with conviction. “Neither did you sister. You were kids.”

That sensation that Ian assumed to be Mickey shrugging washed over him. “I reckon so, Red. But the world doesn’t often see fit to give a man what he deserves, either for right or for wrong. If it did, then my pa woulda died long before he did.”

“Did you…kill him?” He asked hesitantly. 

“Nah, I should have, but I didn’t. Mandy made me promise not to. Damn girl, even when she was nearly delirious with scarlet fever, she knew me well enough to make me promise her that cause she knew I don’t break a promise,” he said, sounding infinitely tired. 

Ian stared at his pack of cigarettes for a long moment before deciding that he didn’t care about cutting down at that moment - not when Mickey needed him. He took another one out of the pack, but before he could reach for his lighter, Mickey had picked it up. 

“Need a light, Red?” Mickey asked, voice low.

Ian nodded, swallowing sharply. Mickey lit the cigarette quickly, and Ian took a quick puff, hoping that his blush wasn’t too obvious - this really wasn’t the time, after all. 

“How did he die, then?” Ian asked before quickly backtracking. “Only if you want to tell me.”

Mickey laughed. “Old fuck drank himself to death. Or some of his enemies caught up with him, I’m not sure. All I know is that when I came back to Dallas to kill him, I found his grave instead,” he said, and Ian could hear the grim smile in his tone. “Gives me mighty great satisfaction to know that I outlived him even if I didn’t get to do the killin’ myself. I woulda paid him back for the scars he put on my back in kind, I know that for damn sure.”

“I’m glad he got what was coming to him in the end,” Ian said, meaning it without needing to have met Mickey’s father. 

“Yeah, well, I reckon he got his own back on me before it was all through in his own way,” the ghost replied bitterly.

Ian looked over to where Mickey must have been sitting and frowned. He hated not being able to see the ghost at times like this. It would have made everything so much easier if he could just see his face, or the set of his shoulders - anything at all would have been better than this. He wasn’t sure if he should continue pushing Mickey to speak or not. It seemed that his past was a prickly topic and for good reason. Mickey seemed more than happy to continue speaking, however. Ian had never heard him speak so much in one go before.

“While I was coolin’ my heels in Dallas, I found myself growing restless. Ended up what I always did when I found myself with time on my hands and no gainful employment - I found myself a place to rob. I had decided on a train station that time as I had heard that they had some bonds waiting to be loaded onto a train to New York. Got the bonds, but I never got to fence them,” Mickey chuckled ruefully. 

“The law got wind of it, they knew me from my other misdeeds, and they were on me, then. The other things I had done had landed me on the wrong side of the bars more’un a few times, but this was different. I knew if they caught me that I wouldn’t be getting out of the hangman’s noose,” Mickey paused, and Ian waited with bated breath. “So I ran. I got all the way to Illinois. All the way here, pretty much exactly. I died at the end of the yard,” he pointed vaguely, and Ian suppressed a shiver. “There had been a big tree there at one point.”

“Well,” the ghost continued, winding down his story, “I had decided that if they were gonna get me, then I wasn’t gonna make it easy for them, and I sure didn’t. Took down six of ‘em before they got me. They didn’t get the damn bonds either. I made sure of that,” he said, pride evident in his tone - every inch the outlaw that Ian imagined him to have been. It was enough to make his heart race.

“You should have lived longer, Mick,” Ian said before he could stop himself, his heart clenching at how honest his words were. “You shouldn’t have died the way you did.”

Mickey luckily didn’t seem to realise the real feelings behind his words. “Eight years in the life I had wasn’t bad going, Red. Sure, I had more life in me, but I’m not rightly sure what I woulda done with it.”

Ian frowned at the finality of the ghost’s words. He knew that it didn’t matter now, but he didn’t like it all the same. 

“What was your dream? Did you have one?” He asked. 

Mickey chuckled. “Oh, sure! All us cowpokes had the dream of buying land and having our own ranch. That was common.”

“But did you want it?” Ian pressed.

Mickey seemed to consider this for a long moment as Ian focused on his cigarette. 

“Like I said, I ain’t rightly sure what I woulda done with more life, but a ranch wouldn’ta been a bad way to end up. Could quite fancy myself playing lord of the manor with the farmhands and the like,” he replied eventually.

“Oh, I can see that too,” Ian chuckled. “You’d have been such a grumpy old man.” 

“Now listen here, if I’d’ve lived long enough to be a grumpy old man then I woulda earnt the right to it,” Mickey replied, taking to Ian’s more jovial tone easily. 

“I’m not doubting that,” the redhead replied placatingly even as he giggled away. “I just know that no one would have messed with you. You’d have been getting into fights right up until the end.” 

“And you’d patch me up, I’m sure,” Mickey replied easily.

Ian froze in place, hardly able to believe what he had heard. “You’d…want me there? With you?”

“Ey, if I’m miraculously living another four decades, then I can have you on the ranch with me, don’t you think?” The ghost replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ian spluttered for a moment, playing it off as coughing on his cigarette before stubbing it out quickly.

“Sure, I’d patch you up, Mick,” he said, voice soft. 

“‘Sides, it woulda been the best plan for a molly like you,” Mickey continued, his good mood contagious. “It was known that ‘confirmed bachelors’ often settled down to ranchin’ if they got lucky enough to.”

Ian frowned. “Confirmed bachelor? I’m guessing I’m missing something here.”

Mickey laughed, long and hard and oddly carefree despite their previous topic of conversation. “It was our way of callin’...what did you say before? Gay?”

Ian nodded.

“It was our way of callin’ a man gay. Being a confirmed bachelor was sayin’ that you’d never marry a woman - what’s gayer’un that?” He said before adding in a saucier tone, “I was a confirmed bachelor, of course.”

“Alright, I see your point,” Ian snorted. “Kinda glad two men can get married now, though.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Mickey said quickly.

“I’m really not!” Ian replied, jumping up from his seat. “Come on, I’ll show you. Two men or two women can get married and it’s all legal - equal with the regular sort of marriage. I mean, it happened in my lifetime, so it’s new but…yeah.”

“So…you gonna marry some fella someday?” Mickey asked, sounding a lot more subdued than he had done before.

Ian shrugged. “If I find the right one, sure. Don’t see the point of marriage, and if you’d have met my parents you’d see why I say that. But yeah, if the right guy ever came along and he wanted to get married, then yeah, I’d do it.”

“Well, I…” Mickey began to speak, but stopped abruptly, “I hope you find the right man, then, Red. I really do.”

Chapter Text

Ian woke up the next morning after a night of fretful and unclear dreams. There had been gunshots and the sound of hooves against dirt, but Ian couldn’t pinpoint anything that had happened exactly. The dreams had faded completely from his mind by the time that he brushed his teeth and got ready for his day of doing nothing. 

He had promised to phone Fiona, but other than that, there were no real calls on his time. If Ian listened hard, he could hear the TV from downstairs. Having it on during the night didn’t do his electricity bill any favours, but Ian would never ask Mickey to stop. 

After the tough conversation the night before, Ian wasn’t sure what sort of mood Mickey was going to be in. If Ian had been the one to air out his dirty laundry surrounding his father as well as his own death, he had a feeling that he would hide from the world for a bit. So as he made his way downstairs, he resolved not to take it personally if Mickey didn’t talk to him.

“Morning, Mickey,” Ian said all the same as he riffled through his cupboards for some cereal.

“Morning, Red,” Mickey said from directly behind him. 

Ian jumped harshly. Most of the time, he was used to the disembodied voice of his ghostly roommate, but he honestly hadn’t expected Mickey to reply, and especially not to be so close. While Mickey’s actual touch felt like a freezing wind over wet skin, Ian never really felt cold in his presence, so he didn’t have a warning if he was close by. 

“I’m just going to be watching this show Val suggested to me, so…I don’t know, do whatever you want, I guess,” he said awkwardly as he got the milk out of the fridge. 

“Do you want me to make myself scarce?” The ghost asked. 

Ian frowned. “No! Just…I don’t know,” he sighed, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to talk to me if you’d prefer to be alone, that’s all.”

“And I’d prefer to be alone?” Mickey asked in that same tone, slightly unsure and just a little teasing. 

“I would if I’d have said what you did last night,” Ian replied. “I am so grateful you trusted me with it, and I don’t want to make you talk to me if you don’t want to. If you’d prefer to be alone, then I get it.”

“Well,” he drawled, “I reckon when a man has had as long as I’ve had to be alone with his thoughts, he gets mighty tired of it. I was that sort of a man when I was alive. I never spoke about what was going on inside, never had anyone to say it to, I suppose. But death does change a fella.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, a pang of fresh guilt at assuming Mickey’s feelings blooming in his chest. “Well, I’m gonna be eating my cereal then watching the show for a bit. Val made me promise to keep her updated on my thoughts,” Ian said, putting his phone on the counter. “You pick the music.”

Mickey obliged and actually picked up the phone instead of just tapping on it while it was on the counter like he usually did. Before long, a familiar song caught Ian’s attention. 

“Did you see that movie Ghost ?” He asked. “You know, with the guy that dies and gets this woman to talk to his wife for him.”

“I did,” Mickey replied, sounding a little bashful. “You’re at work a lot, and I have to entertain myself somehow.”

“It’s fine,” Ian replied, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “It’s just…well, I am just imagining you only watching it because it had the word ‘ghost’ in it, which is pretty funny.”

Just then, Ian’s mirth died away as the lyrics to the song seemed to tug painfully at his heart. 

‘Oh, my love, my darling

I’ve hungered, hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time’ 

“It’s a good song,” Ian added briskly, digging into his cereal with a fresh energy so he could get out of there as soon as possible. 

‘Unchained Melody’ seemed to be Mickey’s new song of the moment, as he had it on repeat. Ian winced as he washed his bowl perfunctorily.  Ian left the phone behind for Mickey as he made his way over to the living room, though not before grabbing a family-sized bag of Doritos . One of the good things about having Mickey around was that Ian wasn’t nearly as attached to his phone as he used to be. Though he had yet to tell the ghost about mobile games since he did want his phone back eventually. 

Ian had only just put the first episode of Heartstopper on when he heard the music from the kitchen stop. Not long later, his phone was unceremoniously dropped onto the couch next to him. 

“What’re we watchin’?” Mickey asked.

“Oh, it’s this British show called Heartstopper. Val said I’d like it ‘cause it’s very gay,” Ian explained as he settled back to watch it.

The ghost hummed in consideration but didn’t say anything further. 

Ian ended up watching the entire show in one go, and Mickey didn’t seem to get bored for once. Neither of them spoke much during the show, though Ian kept texting Val with a running update on his feelings. All too soon, the show was over, and Ian was left bereft, an ache in his heart that he couldn’t explain.

“God,” Ian sighed, “what I wouldn’t give to have had it that easy as a gay kid growing up.”

“I know what you mean,” Mickey agreed.

Ian winced. “Shit! Sorry. I didn’t mean to come off like I had it worse than you or anything.”

“Shut up, Red,” the ghost replied fondly. “I suppose I had it to my advantage that no one was thinkin’ that people actually were gay back then. It was a sin, but not something people did in God-fearing Dallas, you know?”

He laughed humourlessly. “I get that. And no, people did know that I was gay. Got my ass handed to me many, many times over it.”

Mickey chuckled. “Always knew you couldn’t fight.”

“Fuck off! It was usually more of them than me anyway,” Ian said, and he would have left it there, but he felt the need to share after their heart-to-heart the night before. “The worst was the last time it happened. I was seventeen and going home after work. There were six of them, and I ended up in hospital. They broke almost every rib I had, and the doctors thought I’d go blind in my right eye from when they hit my head on the sidewalk but…well, I proved them wrong.” 

Mickey didn’t speak for a long while, long enough that Ian began to feel nervous at having shared such a painful moment of his life. He definitely wasn’t going to mention that the work that he had been going home from was a gay club where he had been a gogo dancer. Ian didn’t know if he was ever going to tell Mickey about that but now wasn’t the time. 

“I’d kill ‘em if I could,” he said finally.

Ian smiled. “I appreciate that.”

“No,” Mickey said with conviction, “I mean it. A bullet would be too good for ‘em, but I have my ways…”

The fact that he found Mickey’s words sexy instead of scary said a lot about him that Ian wasn’t going to touch any time soon. Instead, he leapt up from the couch and rushed outside with a quick ‘Forgot to check the mail!’ thrown behind him. Ian grinned as he grabbed the package from the mailbox. Mickey was going to love it, he was sure. The art supplies that he had gotten for Mickey had taken forever to arrive, but he didn’t care - they were here now, which was all that mattered.

Ian could feel Mickey’s curiosity in the air as he brought the package back in and took it through to the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors to open it with. He searched and searched for them but gave up on looking and took out a knife instead.

“You fixin’ to open that package or stab it to death?” Mickey teased. 

“Christ!” Ian cried out, gripping the knife tighter in fear. “I’d put a fucking bell on you if I could.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he replied. “Do you know what’s in there?”

Ian smiled. “I do as it happens.”

“Are you…going to tell me what it is or…?” Mickey asked, sounding nonplussed. 

“Wait and see,” the redhead replied before beginning to cut open the tape.

Ian frowned and put a bit more effort into opening the package. The box was covered in an honestly excessive amount of tape, and it was thick stuff, too. He let out a short grunt as he finally got a bit of purchase and was able to bring the knife gliding through the tape at speed. 

“Jesus Christ!” Mickey cried out, and suddenly, Ian’s hand was suffused in coldness.

Mickey had grabbed the handle of the knife, going through Ian’s hand as he did so. Ian froze in place. It was the oddest sensation that he had ever experienced, and yet he didn’t want it to end. Ian let out a shuddering breath and waited for Mickey to speak. It took a short while, but the cowboy soon obliged him.

“What were you thinking?” He chastised Ian hotly, still gripping the knife as was Ian. “Cutting towards yourself like a fool. You’d have ended up with a knife in the belly as likely as not.” 

“It would’ve been fine,” Ian replied, finally dropping the knife.

“Not taking that chance, Red,” Mickey muttered as he cut the rest of the tape himself, carefully cutting away from Ian. 

Ian watched on, feeling oddly guilty as he did so. Sure, he knew logically not to do stuff like that. Fiona had told him enough times, but no one had ever actually cared in a long time. Fiona had done her best by them all, but Ian certainly hadn’t had anything approaching a normal childhood. 

“Wait! Let me get the stuff out,” Ian said quickly, not wanting the surprise to be ruined. “Um, turn around.”

“What?” Mickey replied, dumbfounded. 

“Turn around so you can’t see it. I’ll tell you when to turn back around,” he said. 

“But you can’t even see if I’m turned around or not,” the ghost protested. 

Ian crossed his arms defiantly. “Well, I know you wouldn’t lie. So turn around.”

“I happen to be a man who lies a great deal,” Mickey grumbled, but Ian didn’t budge. “Fine! I’ll turn around. Christ, save me from Yankee molly boys and their ways.” 

Ian snorted as he ripped open the packaging and set out the drawing and colouring pencils next to each other, along with the sketchbook. He then shoved the cardboard box in the bin haphazardly so as to make things look neater. It took him a moment to get up the courage to ask Mickey to turn back around. What if he didn’t like the gift? Or took it for what it really was? Ian didn’t think that he could handle it if Mickey saw the realities of his untenable feelings. It was too late to back out now, though.

“Alright, you can turn around now,” Ian said, forcing the tremor from his voice.

Ian stood there for a long moment as he waited for a reaction, but none was forthcoming. He began to wring his hands together nervously as he just stood there staring at nothing. 

“Um, some sort of reaction would be nice, Mick,” he said gingerly. “If you don’t want them, it’s ok.”

“Shut up, Red,” Mickey said quickly. “I…no one has ever gotten me anything…before,” he started to say before stopping abruptly, and Ian could almost have sworn that he heard the ghost’s jaw click shut. “It’s a mighty fine gift, and I don’t deserve it, but…well, if you see fit to give something to me, then why should I turn it down?” 

Ian let out a relieved puff of air. “Thought you hated it for a second. I just…wanted you to have your own stuff, you know? Something that isn’t mine as well. You deserve your own things and…you’re really fucking good at drawing, and you should do it more.”

“You’re a goddamn sap, you know that?” He replied, his voice rough. “Thank you, Ian.”

He laughed. “Didn’t know that you knew my name. Thought you called me Red, so you didn’t have to ask.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey paused. “I kinda want to hear a song you like. We listen to my choice all the time.”

“Oh,” Ian considered for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting that. Well, there’s a song I found the other day that I can show you.”

Ian opened up Spotify and put on ‘Far Away’ by Yebba . He waited awkwardly as the song began to play. He was used to fighting for his choice of song with his siblings, and essentially having no music taste of his own until he moved out. This song was the sort of thing that he might listen to with Lip while they got high - no need for conversation when they knew each other so well. 

“It’s a good song,” Mickey said when it had finished. “Put it on my playlist.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked, feeling an entirely unwarranted pride. 

“I like it,” he confirmed. “Not like anything I’ve ever heard before.”

“Remind me to show you dance music sometime,” he replied, trying to imagine how the ghost would react to it. 

“Maybe some other time. I think I’ve experienced enough for one day,” Mickey replied. 

The rest of the day went by too quickly for Ian’s taste. Time with Mickey always seemed to be that way. He noticed that when he came downstairs that morning that the coffee table in his living room had been commandeered for Mickey’s art. They were short sketches of things around the house, and Ian could tell that it was Mickey trying to get a feel for drawing again. They then graduated to sketches of landscapes and buildings that Ian hadn’t seen anywhere other than in movies. 

“Wow,” he muttered to himself as he flicked through them. “Mickey,” Ian asked, knowing that the ghost must be close by, “have you been to those places?”

“Oh sure,” Mickey replied. “I went to many places on my travels, but some just stick in my mind.”

“I bet,” Ian breathed. “I haven’t been far at all, really. Never had the chance.”

“Well,” he said in an obvious attempt to make Ian feel better, “I went to most of those places because I was on the run from the law. I wasn’t taking extended sojourns to tour the countryside.”

Ian smiled, Mickey had a way of making him feel better without really needing to try. 

“And you’ll travel eventually if you want to,” the ghost continued. 

“Yeah?” Ian asked. “I do want to go somewhere far away. Have you ever left America, Mick?”

Mickey seemed to consider this. “My travels took me down to Mexico a few times, but I was never in polite society if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”

“Canada?” Ian prompted. 

“Never got that far. If the law hadn’t caught up with me here, I wanted to go there and make a real fresh start,” he said wistfully. 

The redhead winced. He hated being reminded of all that Mickey didn’t get to do. It was an odd set of emotions, in truth. Part of him was grateful for the mysterious and miraculous set of circumstances that led to him ever having the chance to befriend the surly cowboy. But the more right-thinking part of himself mourned all that life had taken from Mickey long before he died. 

Ian tried to imagine for a moment what it would have been like if they had met in a more normal way. Perhaps if Mickey had been from the Southside too. Maybe things would have been easier for them. But then, what ‘things’ was Ian thinking of? Like he had said to Tamara, just because two men were both gay didn’t mean that they would automatically get along or be attracted to each other or anything like that. Maybe they would have been two gay men in the Southside, but Mickey wouldn’t have given Ian the time of day - that was as likely as anything else.

Ian’s thoughts remained clouded and heavy right up until he got to work. Tamara was waiting for him in the staff room and eyeing him purposely. By rights, she should have left for home by now as Ian was a little late in coming in, but there she was. Clearly waiting for him. 

“Why is Cody telling me your house is haunted?” She asked bluntly.

Ian’s eyes widened. “It is.”

“Haunted?” Tamara repeated. “Like some poltergeist shit?”

“Um…yes,” he said gingerly. “I’m fine, honestly. The, um, the ghost isn’t so bad once you get to know him.”

“Not so bad!” She sputtered. “You’re insane, actually insane.”

Ian pressed his lips together. “You and my psychiatrist should really get coffee sometime because I’m sure you’d get along great.”

Tamara sighed, long and loud. “Not like that, idiot. But you’re telling me that a ghost lives in your house, and it’s just…fine with you?”

“Yes,” Ian said, wishing that there was some way to come off as less unhinged than he currently was. “It’s fine.”

“Cody said the date went well, it was just the bit with the ghost that he didn’t like,” she said, implication heavy in her tone.

“Yeah, he was a nice guy, but…” he sighed. He couldn’t very well say that it would be fair to him to try and date him because he had a crush on the ghost in his house, so he had to lie. “I’m not really ready for another relationship yet, you know?”

“No one is ever really ready,” she said fondly. “But sure, take your time. When you meet the right one, you’ll just know, and then you won’t have to worry about being ready or not.”

Ian smiled sadly, unable to meet her eye. “Yeah, the right one will come along eventually.”

“It is a shame, though. You two would have made a great couple,” Tamara said, flashing him one last glum glance. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Who are you with today?”

“Val!” He said, smiling at the thought of seeing his pint-sized friend again. Ian had long since given up on the distinction between coworker and friend.  

“You two work together too much,” she joked. “You’re slowly starting to become one person - it’s freaky. Especially now you’re into all that paranormal stuff too.”

“To my credit, I’m only ‘into it’ because there’s a ghost in my house. I wouldn’t be otherwise,” Ian felt the need to defend himself.

“Oh sure,” she drawled as she collected her things. “Because that makes it so much better.”

Val arrived not long after Tamara left, which was for the best as Ian didn’t want to have too much time to himself to think about things as his mind was starting to betray him. The more time that he spent either with Mickey or thinking about Mickey, the more that Ian liked him. The more that he liked him, the more that the fact that it was fundamentally impossible for anything to happen got to him. It was starting to bring him down. Ian could feel it. He knew that if he told Fiona how he was feeling, she would make him get in touch with his psychiatrist, and that would probably be the right thing to do, but he simply didn’t want to. That in itself wasn’t a good sign either.

The shift went by at a drag, and it didn’t take long for Val to realise that there was something wrong with Ian. She tried throughout the entire shift to get him to talk about it, but he simply couldn’t. There was no way to even approach the truth without outing himself as the most pathetic idiot loser in Chicago, if not the entire state of Illinois. Not even work was enough to truly distract him from his thoughts which was never a good sign.

By the time he got home, Ian couldn’t avoid the fact that this was a depressive episode. Ian knew what he should do. He should call his doctor and ask for a consultation, and then he should call his family and let them know what was going on. Instead, he dragged himself to his bed and went to sleep immediately. He didn’t even take his uniform off. He only vaguely had time to wonder what Mickey was doing before sleep took him.

Ian woke up the next day with no idea what the time was, only that the sun was brighter than it usually was when he woke up. He could see his phone on the bedside table next to him, and he watched it brighten and dim as the notifications came in. It was almost hypnotic, though Ian knew that it meant that someone must be trying to get in touch with him. 

Eventually, he managed to reach for his phone to check it. It was nearly five in the evening, which meant that he had slept for at least fifteen hours and that he was late for work. There were at least eight missed calls as well. How had he not heard them?

Val: Ian where the fuck are you? Are you stuck in traffic? 

Val: seriously, where the fuck are you we start soon

Val: Ian???

Ian scanned the texts listlessly. He knew that he should be running around to get ready and out of the house as soon as possible, but he just couldn’t. Another text had come in not long ago, which made a vague pang of guilt run through him.

Val: They got someone in to replace you

Ian: shit I’m sorry Val bipolar shit alright? Tell work I can’t come in please 

It’s a show of how worried Val must have been that she replied almost right away. Ian knew for a fact that she never took her phone with her while she was working, so she must have had it on her then for the express purpose of not missing his text whenever he did decide to reply. 

Val: Well shit…

Val: I thought it would have been that, you were really off yesterday. I’ll tell work don’t worry it’s fine. Take care of yourself, alright? Call your family. I’ll be checking in with you, ok?

Ian forced himself to send back a thumbs-up emoji before letting the phone fall back onto the mattress. He rolled over to face the other way and closed his eyes. He wasn’t asleep exactly, but he definitely didn’t feel awake. Was this what it was like to be dead? He should ask Mickey. Ian wondered what Mickey was doing at that moment. He wanted to call out for the ghost, but then, he wasn’t good company right then. Also, the idea of making a single noise at the moment made his throat close up. 

The sun had almost set, and his bladder was hurting before Ian finally opened his eyes again. It took a herculean effort to sit up and make himself go to the bathroom, but he managed it in the end. Ian could hear the TV playing downstairs, and the evidence that Mickey was around and doing things made Ian’s chest ache. He could go downstairs once he was finished, he knew that. But he didn’t. Mickey probably didn’t want to talk to him, anyway. 

He shuffled back to his room, kicking off his boots which he still hadn’t taken off as he did so. Ian managed to strip to his underwear, leaving the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor, before falling back into bed. 

When he came to again, it was fully nighttime, and Ian could hear an incessant knocking on his door. 

Ian let out a groan but made no move to speak. He didn’t know what he would say anyway.

“Ian?” Mickey said, sounding unsure. He called him Ian, too. Not Red. That distinction made Ian curl more tightly on himself. 

“What?” Ian replied after a long moment. 

“Can I come in? I know you don’t want me in your room, but…” he trailed off.

“What do you want?” He retorted as he pulled the comforter over himself more tightly. 

“Fuck you, I’m worried,” Mickey huffed. 

The door opened seemingly by itself like something out of a horror movie, though Ian wasn’t scared by it. He closed his eyes as he waited for Mickey to speak again. Who knows what he would say now that he was seeing the real him?

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked, voice unbearably gentle. 

“Leave me alone,” Ian mumbled, not certain if he meant it. 

Mickey sighed. “Not happenin’. So you’d better tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fuck you,” he retorted, though he couldn’t summon much energy behind the words. 

“I’ll just wait for you to talk, then,” the ghost said resolutely.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

Mickey didn’t reply, and that left Ian to himself. The two of them sat in silence for what must have been fifteen minutes before Ian spoke again. The silence between them had become simply too awkward to tolerate.

“I have bipolar disorder,” he said, the words familiar. He had to adjust this slightly for Mickey, though. “They used to call it manic depression or something. I’ve got it, and this is me, and you should leave.”

“Alright,” Mickey said, obviously taking in the information. “I don’t have a clue what that is, but it’s to do with you stayin’ in bed all day, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian sighed, hating how much energy even one syllable took.

“So how do you fix it?” He asked. “There’s all this new medicine you keep telling me about. They’ve got to have something for you.”

The pure innocence of Mickey’s remark was enough to make Ian want to smile, though his face remained blank. This was the worst part, the phantom feeling of all of the things that he should be feeling but that were unable to make their way to the surface. It was more proof of all of the ways that he was fucked up. 

“Doesn’t work like that, Mick. It’ll blow over at some point,” he said before adding. “Or not.” 

“Not good enough,” the ghost replied frustratedly. “Your phone won’t come on.”

Ian closed his eyes. “It probably died.”

“Died?” Mickey repeated incredulously. 

“Yeah,” he replied, growing annoyed. “You have to fucking charge it if you want it on. I don’t give a shit. Now fuck off.”

There was a long silence before Mickey replied with a resolute. “Fine.”

The phone began to float away, and Ian wondered what Mickey was going to do with it, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he took the reprieve from being spoken to in order to get some more sleep. If he was asleep, then he wasn’t able to think about how shitty his life was, which was a plus.

It was light again when Ian opened his eyes. What he saw was definitely not what he had expected. Mickey had laid out every single medicine in his cabinet, from aspirin to Dayquil to his bipolar medication, on his bedside table along with a glass of water. 

“Mickey?” He groaned, not sure if the ghost would hear him.

Clearly, he must have been close by since it wasn’t long before he was pushing the door open again. 

“I didn’t know what you needed, so I got you everything,” Mickey said, sounding a little nervous. 

Ian felt a pang go through him at the care that he was being shown in that moment. It was a long way from the poltergeist that had been trying to get him to leave when he had first moved in. 

“Thanks, Mick,” he forced himself to sit up. “I will take my meds, but, um, don’t expect much else.”

Mickey sighed. “I don’t, Red. I don’t.”

The unidentified pain of Mickey’s overt care and attention bloomed in his chest yet again. Ian took his tablets, hating how they clogged his throat as he swallowed them, before lying back in bed. The sheets felt muggy, and he really needed to change into something else and probably have a shower. Those things got added to his mental to-do list, a list that he wasn’t even close to being prepared to touch. 

The next two days passed like that. With Ian sleeping and Mickey periodically waking him up to take his meds and to ply him with water. Mickey also brought him food, but it was only things like fruit or a random tin. Ian was secretly glad for it as he didn’t want the ghost trying to use any of his appliances and burning the house down in the process. 

Eventually, Fiona started to phone him. Ian would watch his phone ring with dread, hoping against hope that she would give up, but he knew better. Eventually, Mickey made him pick up, claiming that he was getting annoyed with hearing it ring all of the time. 

“It’s ruining my damn - what do you call it? Zen? Focus? Whatever the fuck it is, it’s ruinin’ it, Red. Answer ya damn sister,” he had said huffily before presumably leaving the room as he hadn’t replied to Ian after that. 

So Ian picked up the phone, feeling like it might literally bite his ear off as he called Fiona back. She picked up on the first ring. 

“Ian, what the fuck?” she said immediately. 

“Hi, Fi,” Ian replied, forcing as much energy into his voice as he could. 

“We haven’t heard from you in days,” Fiona carried on, ignoring his greeting. 

He sighed. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m sick, ok?”

“Sick?” she replied, sounding tense. “Have you been taking your meds?”

“Yes,” Ian replied, and thanks to Mickey, it was the truth. “It’s not like that. I just think I’m working too much, I’m feeling under the weather, is all.”

If Fiona didn’t believe him, she thankfully kept it to herself. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” she asked - his older sister and guardian even now. 

“I’m fine. I don’t want you to get sick too. I’ll be ok soon, I promise,” Ian said with conviction. 

Fiona seemed to consider this for a moment. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said quickly.

The conversation ended quickly after that. Ian didn’t have to fake how tired he sounded or how rough his voice was. The room felt heavy after his sister had hung up. At one point, Ian would have known for certain that Fiona would have been at his house within thirty minutes, making sure that he was ok. As it was, she took him at his word, and he knew that he would be left alone. Ian didn’t know how to cope with the cocktail of conflicting emotions that the realisation galvanised within him. 

Fiona trusted him to be ok and to be able to take care of himself. Ian should be happy about that, and he was, or he knew that he had been at one point. As it was, he was alone in a house that was too big for him with only a ghost that he had an impossible crush on for company. He felt like the most pathetic person to ever walk the planet. Only Ian Gallagher would end up being unhappy in a way that defied the logic of the universe. Supernaturally unhappy seemed to be the order of his life. 

It wasn’t until the next day that Ian dragged himself to have a shower. He ended up standing there until the water ran cold, and he left shivering. Ian could hear the TV on in his living room, and he idly wondered what Mickey was watching. He knew that he could go down and look, of course, but the thought seemed almost impossible.

It was all Ian’s fault for showing up in the house that Mickey was forced to haunt. Like always, he was forcing himself on people. It was obvious why the only people in his life were his family, his coworkers and a ghost that was tied to the house that he lived in. They all had one thing in common - they couldn’t leave. Anything other than that, and it was a countdown until they got bored of his body and what it could offer to them. 

Ian collapsed into his rumpled bed gratefully. Sleep wouldn’t take him, but once his eyes were closed, they wouldn’t open again. He wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed when he heard the door open. Mickey wasn’t giving up on him, which was simultaneously heartening and guilt-inducing.

“Ian, please open your eyes, so I know you’re not dead,” Mickey said, sounding pained.

It took a long moment, but Ian managed it. His eyes weren’t focused, there was nothing worth looking at in any case, but he felt as though he wouldn’t be able to focus them even if he wanted to, which was probably not a good sign. 

“You’re…kinda starin’ right through me, Red,” he murmured, and he must have gotten right up next to the edge of the bed as his voice was low, but Ian could hear him well all the same. 

“There’s no ‘you’ to stare through. If I can’t see you, are you really there?” Ian said without thinking. 

Mickey didn’t reply, and Ian frowned to himself, knowing that he was being a terrible person. Again. He could never stop it when he got like that, could only watch as he hurt the people closest to him. 

“I wish you could look at me,” Mickey admitted eventually, voice small. “I really do.”

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, though he knew that it wasn’t for the same reason. 

Ian wished that he could see Mickey near-constantly. It was a physical ache sometimes. The thought of Mickey lounging on the sofa as he watched TV or bent over the table drawing was enough to make his chest hurt like it was being squeezed by ruthless hands. It was unfair that he couldn’t see or touch Mickey, the person that he wanted to see and touch the most. 

“God, I don’t know why I want you to see me so damn bad,” the ghost huffed, frustration lacing his tone, and Ian wondered what his face would look like at that moment. “I spent my life avoiding bein’ looked at most of the time, avoidin’ the law and whatnot. I got real good at it, too. Could walk through a town with my wanted posters up with no issue, ‘cause no one ever gave me any mind.”

The redhead frowned. “I would have noticed you,” he said, and he knew it was true. There was no way that he could have seen Mickey and not paid attention, not when he had looked the way that he had.

Mickey chuckled low in his throat, and things felt oddly intimate between them all of a sudden, if Ian closed his eyes, he could imagine that they were two ordinary men lying in bed together. Boyfriend or hookup or whatever, Ian found that he didn’t care. Just the idea of him really being physically there with him would have been enough, he was sure of it. Ian wished that he had taken the time to appreciate the human warmth of his various hookups enough to be able to reproduce it in his mind’s eye. 

“You look like your mind is wandering there, Red,” Mickey pointed out, sounding amused. 

Ian shrugged listlessly. “Wasn’t thinking about much.”

The ghost didn’t ask Ian what he had been thinking about, which Ian was immensely grateful for. 

“I want you to see me,” he said again and the conviction that Mickey said the words made Ian’s pulse stutter. Mickey let out a quiet growl of frustration. “I don’t know if I can do it or how I would and-” he cut himself off. “It’s not like the other stuff. I reckon it must be like me speaking, I must just need to want it enough, but I… I do want it.”

Ian swallowed hard. “It’s ok, Mick.”

“It damn well ain’t!” Mickey cried out, and Ian would have flinched at the loud noise if he hadn’t been raised in the house that he had been. “You’re just lyin’ there like you’re on your damn deathbed, and I can’t do a damn thing about it and…”

“You’re helping me,” he said, trying his best to comfort the agitated ghost. 

Ian forced himself to sit up, though his muscles groaned in protest at moving after so long. He shuffled back until he was pressed against the headboard and turned to look where the sound of Mickey’s voice was coming from. There was nothing there to look at, of course, but it seemed odd to just stare off into the ether while talking to someone regardless of if he could see them or not. 

“You are helping me,” he repeated more forcefully.

“I’m useless to you, Red. Don’t spare me,” Mickey replied forlornly. 

Ian frowned. “Seriously. You’ve been so good about everything, and that makes it tough cause I don’t feel like I deserve it. I mean, you never got a choice about me being here or anything.”

The ghost sighed, and Ian wished that he could see his face to gauge how annoyed he was. 

“Stop thinkin’ you don’t deserve things,” he said eventually, and Ian could feel himself blushing, damn traitorous body. “I reckon you’re just about the only person I could stand to have livin’ here, just for the record.” 

What was going on? Ian could feel his heart damn near beating out of his chest just from a few words. No one had ever affected him this way before in his life. 

“It’s not fair that I can’t see you,” Ian said, the old topic of conversation feeling more comfortable somehow. 

“What? Cause I can see you?” Mickey replied, amusement tinging his tone. 

The redhead sighed, the urge to be dangerously honest beginning to grow. It was a self-destructive urge, one that he was intimately familiar with. The urge to destroy what he cared about most because it was all he deserved. 

“I just want to look at you,” Ian said after a while, he tried to stop himself from saying anything more incriminating, but then he had never been very good at that. “I think you’d be nice to look at.”

“Oh,” the ghost replied, “I…” 

Ian blushed, hurrying to smooth things over. “Sorry, that was weird.”

“Well,” he replied, seemingly not put off by Ian’s strangeness, “you are definitely mighty fine to look at, Red.”

His eyes widened, and despite not being able to see Mickey, he had to look away from where he knew the ghost was, instead focusing his attention on his covers. His cheeks were burning, and his mind was spinning in an attempt to figure out what was going on. Ian was usually adept at flirting and everything that went along with it, but Mickey had succeeded in putting him on the back foot for the first time in a long time. 

Ian eventually settled on laughing, the sound was a little forced, but it was all that he could think of to do. 

“You’d better figure out how to become visible then to make things even,” he replied before unwisely adding. “Especially since I know you’ve been staring at me in the shower. Fuck you for the 'redrum’ thing, by the way.”

“I told you, I wasn’t staring,” Mickey protested hotly. 

“Likely fucking story.” Ian laughed, the sound genuine this time. 

“I mean, sure, I’ve looked but not for any extended period of time,” he admitted gingerly, and Ian could have sworn that he saw a slight wisp of blushing cheeks, though he chalked it up to his overactive imagination.

Ian’s heart clenched in excitement as he thought about what that could mean, but then, he knew full well that people liked his body without liking him - that wasn’t news to him. And Mickey didn’t have any other men to look at either. 

“I don’t begrudge you looking, it’s not like you’ve got many choices around here,” he replied easily, sitting up a little straighter in bed.

“Yes,” Mickey said, voice tight. “Not got options here, Red.”

Ian tilted his head back and closed his eyes tightly. The conversation was filling him with nervous energy that should have been a good sign. For the first time in a few days, Ian actually wanted to move. Namely, he wanted to run from the house and away from his ghostly roommate entirely. It was as if every word he said was exposing his true feelings more and more, and that just couldn’t happen. It was one thing to be living with a ghost, it was another thing to have a crush on said ghost, it was entirely unacceptable for that ghost to know about it. It was just too fucking weird.

Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, and Ian screwed his eyes shut to keep them contained. None of this was fucking fair. Mickey shouldn’t have been killed the way that he had been, and he shouldn’t have been forced to spend all of those decades alone. Ian shouldn’t have had the bad luck to end up liking him either. They never should have met. Maybe Ian would have stumbled across his Wikipedia page or heard his name in a documentary, and that would have been it.  

“Jesus, Ian,” the object of Ian’s thoughts said imploringly. “Stop looking like that.”

Ian sucked in a harsh breath, not opening his eyes since the tears were still stinging in an attempt to be let free. “Looking like what?”

“Like you’re going to cry,” Mickey explained, his voice growing closer to Ian’s ear. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry over me.”

“I’m not crying,” Ian denied. “Fuck off.”

The ghost chuckled, though there was little humour in the sound. “Open your eyes, then.”

He sighed, reaching up and wiping a hand across his face roughly. “I just really want to see you,” Ian admitted. “I don’t know why I’m crying about it, though.”

“Fuck…” Mickey sighed like he had been punched in the gut. “I’m so fucking sorry, Red.”

“Don’t be.”

And then Ian opened his eyes. 

Mickey was on his knees, bent over the bed and staring at him with wide and concerned eyes. They were so blue. Ian felt the tears spilling over his cheeks as he stared in mute wonder as everything seemed to come to a halt. Mickey was there and was looking at him, and he was so beautiful - so fucking gorgeous. 

If Ian had seen him in public, he would have definitely given him a second glance, might have even tried asking him out if he had felt confident in his chances of not getting beaten up. As it was, though, with the history between them, it was as if his beauty was magnified to an almost unbearable degree. 

Ian had heard somewhere that people became better looking to you the better that you knew them, their flaws would become less apparent, and their positive qualities would be enhanced. Now, though, he couldn’t help but feel as if all of the time that he had spent getting to know Mickey was hitting him all at once. How else could he find someone’s face, no matter how good-looking, so compelling? His expression only added to his charm, his face at rest bore the distinct impression of mischief and wit, and it drew Ian in immediately.

The ghost was beginning to grow uncomfortable with Ian’s blank stare, obviously not aware that Ian could actually see him. Mickey wasn’t quite there in the way that everything else was, but he was hardly see-through either. He was just muted somehow. His tattered clothes and eyes that shone brightly despite the rest of him not seeming to. 

“At the risk of repeating myself,” Mickey began to say, biting his lower lip and Ian’s eyes couldn’t help but attach to the small movement, “but you’re kinda starin’ right through me.”

“ Mickey ,” Ian cried out, his voice cracking.

Mickey furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“I can…I can see you,” he replied, staring at the beautiful man like his face was the only thing in existence.

Chapter Text

Mickey stared in amazement, his blue eyes seeming to shine.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He said, holding his hand up quickly.

Ian chuckled. “Three. I’m not fucking with you, Mick.”

“Good,” the ghost replied, smiling shyly. 

And god, Ian physically felt himself like Mickey more at that moment than he had remembered doing before.

“You have a nice smile, Mick,” Ian said before he could think better of it. “You weren’t smiling in the photo I saw.”

Mickey shrugged, and Ian filed the gesture away in his memory, every small movement of his body seeming to be a blessing after so long without it. 

“We just didn’t smile in photos then, would have been a pain in the ass to sit there grinnin’ for that long,” he replied.

He snorted. “You did look pretty badass with your gun and everything.”

“Is that a good thing?” Mickey asked, and when Ian nodded, he smiled, small and shy. “I don’t think anyone else in my family ever had a photograph taken. I got a bit of money and wanted to do it just to say that I had.”

Ian felt a swell of affection for the man in front of him. He could imagine Mickey walking into the photography studio, probably feeling like he shouldn’t be there. It was a situation that Ian had experienced many times, being from the Southside like he was. Feeling out of place had become normal for him long ago. 

“I’m glad you got to have that,” he replied genuinely. 

Ian didn’t mention how often he had looked at that photo, how he had studied it. Ian had memorised Mickey’s face long before he ever saw it in person. The comfort that it had given him was immeasurable. Ian had looked at it while he was on shift sometimes just to remember that he had someone at home who wanted to see him when he got back. It also helped him to imagine what Mickey might look like as he spoke, though he wouldn’t have to imagine anymore. 

“You’re just glad you got to ogle that photograph on that phone of yours,” Mickey teased. 

Ian rolled his eyes but didn’t bother denying it. “I think I’m going to get up now,” he said instead.

The ghost’s face brightened considerably. “You sure, Red?”

“Very sure,” he replied, smirking a little. “I really need to shower and change my bedsheets for a start. They smell like sadness.”

“Are you…better?” He asked hesitantly. 

“No,” Ian said honestly, smiling sadly. “I’m not even out of my depressive episode, honestly.”

“Oh,” Mickey sighed, his face falling, “shouldn’ta expected so much from you. Just do what you can.” 

“Yeah, thanks. Well, you go down and do whatever it is you do. Can’t promise I’ll, um, come down or anything, but I will be smelling better, so…” the redhead said gingerly.

Mickey snorted. “Sure. I’ll leave ya to your ablutions then.”

Ian watched Mickey walking away carefully. He had an endearingly swaggering gait, and Ian had to bite his lip to suppress a chuckle. While he hadn’t been lying when he had said that his depressive episode wasn’t over, seeing Mickey for the first time had jolted something in his brain that had given him a bit more energy, at least for the time being.

Just as Mickey had turned the corner, he poked his head around the doorway again. Ian felt his eyes crinkle as he smiled without consciously deciding to. 

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Red,” Mickey said seriously. 

Ian opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

“I know you don’t feel like it’s true, but it is,” the ghost continued before seeming to come to his senses and blushing fiercely and turning the corner for good.

Ian sat there on the bed, frozen in shock, for a good few minutes. His racing heart wanted to think that it meant that Mickey felt the same, but eventually, he decided that couldn’t possibly be the case. Ian would simply have to be happy with having the cowboy as an unlikely friend. That was all there was to it.

In the end, Ian managed to shower, change his sheets and put some clothes in to wash before going downstairs to vegetate on the sofa. In truth, he wanted to go back to bed, but he knew that Mickey would be worrying about him, so he went downstairs. 

When he entered the room and saw Mickey curled up watching TV and stopped in his tracks. It was so like how he had imagined, and yet his mind couldn’t have come close to doing it justice. Mickey had his feet propped on the coffee table like he owned the place as he watched the documentary with an intent gaze like he was going to be quizzed at the end of it.

Ian coughed gently to grab Mickey’s attention, and the ghost smiled gently upon seeing him.

“Good to see you in the land of the living, if you’ll pardon the pun,” he said jovially.

He snorted, flopping onto the sofa with a huff. “I’ll ignore it entirely, actually.”

Ian tried to watch the documentary, he really did but he honestly didn’t know what it was about. Having Mickey there next to him was too much of a temptation. In the end, he ended up shifting his position so as to stare at the ghost more easily. Mickey put up with it for a solid ten minutes before narrowing his eyes and glaring at Ian. 

“If you don’t watch the goddamn documentary and stop eyeballin’ me I’ll figure out how to turn invisible again, I really will,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sorry,” Ian hissed, focusing his gaze on the TV. 

“Just don’t see what the big deal is, is all,” Mickey replied a little while later, sounding genuinely confused. 

The redhead smiled sadly to himself. He knew very well that Mickey didn’t think much of himself, and it wasn’t like he could attempt to change his mind without revealing too much of how he felt. So he said nothing, and he tried his best to keep his blatant staring to a minimum. At least for now, he had the novelty of Mickey’s newly visible form as an excuse, he dreaded to think about when that excuse ran out, because he knew that he would most likely still be staring exactly the same. 

Ian called his boss later that day saying that he would be ready to head back to work whenever, figuring that it would be better to throw himself back into work as soon as possible. There was still a good chance that the depressive episode was going to get worse before it got better, but it wasn’t as if he could afford to have all of these days off. His pay cheque this month was going to be pretty pathetic, he knew that much.

He groaned to himself as soon as he hung up the phone. Mickey looked over to him questioningly and Ian secretly revelled in being able to communicate with him without words. 

“I have to go back to work tomorrow,” Ian explained. 

“It’ll do you good, I think,” Mickey replied. 

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Work is good for the mind,” the ghost intoned seriously, though there was amusement shining in his eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” Ian said teasingly. “Being an outlaw was good for your mind, was it?” 

Mickey laughed. “Sure it was. I was a mighty fine outlaw, as you well know, Red. Does a man good to do what he’s good at.”

“So doing work you’re good at is doubly good?” the redhead ventured, sniggering to himself. 

“Got it in one,” he replied, still smiling. 

The atmosphere between them was buoyed by Mickey’s amusement which was sitting around Ian like a cloud of smoke. It truly felt like he was hotboxing happiness, and he never wanted to be anywhere else. Who needed medication when he had this? When he had Mickey. 

“I think I’d be a good cowboy,” Ian said in a bid to keep the atmosphere going. 

“You’d make for a lousy cowboy and make no mistake,” he replied easily, eyeing Ian sceptically as if to silently question his reasoning for coming to such a conclusion. 

Ian sniffed in faux-outrage. “And why’s that?”

“You’re too tall,” Mickey retorted quickly. 

“Too tall?” 

He was confused by the seeming non sequitur that Mickey had made. 

“Yes,” he replied as if it was obvious.

The redhead rolled his eyes. “Can I get a damn vowel or something here, Mick?”

The ghost frowned. “Now you’re not making any sense.”

“Fuck it,” Ian sighed. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“Cowboys,” Mickey began, leaning back in his seat, “and I mean actual cowboys, not those fellas in those movies you showed me, they have to be…compact.”

“Short,” Ian cut in, grinning.

“Sturdy,” the ghost resolutely continued. “You can’t be all gangly like you and be a decent bull nurse, thems just facts.”

Ian huffed. “You’re just saying that because you’re short.”

“Not short,” he replied haughtily, “compact.” 

“That’s a funny way to pronounce vertically challenged,” the redhead replied, eager to keep the banter going.

Mickey groaned. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Well, it’s not like you can leave, so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” he said, fixing his eyes on the TV in the hope that not looking at Mickey would help with the blush colouring his cheeks. 

“Like I needed remindin’, Red,” the ghost said, and Ian couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Ian pushed down the guilt at bringing the topic up and focused on the programme, not bothering with replying. 

Eventually, boredom won out, and Ian took out his phone. He shot a quick text to Val.

Ian: I’m alive. Not out of the woods yet but I’m back in work tomorrow! 

Val replied almost instantly and it took Ian a while to realise that it must be her day off.

Val: YAY!!!!!! You have no idea how fucking boring it’s been here without you

Ian: Really? Have all the drunks been waiting for me?

Val: Seems like it lol

Ian: Lucky bitch 

They chatted for a while longer before the conversation naturally petered out. The documentary seemed nowhere near done, but Ian didn’t want to leave and he certainly didn’t watch to stop Mickey from finishing his programme, especially when he seemed to be enjoying it so much.

A thought occurred to him, and Ian pulled up his search history for his browser and had a scroll and what he saw made him sorely wish that he could give Mickey a hug. 

‘By polar’

‘Manic depression’

‘What is bipolar?’

‘How to help someone with bipolar?’

The idea of Mickey using Ian’s phone while he was practically comatose upstairs made him a little too emotional. Ian looked over to Mickey, who seemed completely at ease, the last thing he wanted to do was to ruin it. Still, Ian felt like he had to say something. He did wait until the credits were rolling, and Netflix was suggesting something else for them to watch before speaking, however.

“Thank you for looking after me, Mick,” he said, the weight of his words seeming to sit heavily in the air between them.

The ghost sighed. ”You don’t need to fucking thank me.”

“Still,” Ian continued, not sure what he was going to say, “I want to. It can’t have been easy for you. I, um, I will have times like that again, and times where I have so much energy that I don’t know what to do with myself. But I really do trust you to help me, which…yeah, it’s a big deal for me.”

“Goddamn sap,” Mickey huffed fondly. 

He shrugged, avoiding Mickey’s eyes, for the time being, instead choosing to focus on the ghost’s hands and how he was wringing his fingers together. Ian didn’t want to make Mickey uncomfortable, but he felt like he’d burst if he didn’t speak at least a little of what was on his mind. 

“I mean it. Thank you,” Ian reiterated forcefully. 

“Sure, if it makes you feel better to say it, Red,” he replied after a moment. 

Ian let the topic go after that, but it remained on his mind for the rest of the night. The idea of work the next day left him nervous and sleep illusive, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that it would do him some good. Even just getting out of the house for a while would give him a little bit of perspective on the situation. 

Now that he was able to see Mickey, it set his infatuation on centre stage in his mind. Ian couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t push it aside and what he was left with was the unfortunate realisation that he would simply have to get over it. Normally, Ian tended to follow any attraction he felt until its natural and oftentimes painful conclusion, but there was no chance for that here. No closure, no finding out about Mickey’s true feelings one way or the other. 

Sleep didn’t come easily to Ian that night as he lay awake wondering what Mickey was doing at that moment. Ian could take a guess and assume that he was drawing and that soon made him want to get up and go downstairs to sit by him. He considered playing it off as to do with his bipolar, perhaps. The fact that he knew it would likely work made it all the more tempting, but Ian knew it would be playing a dangerous game and one that he couldn’t afford to play.

Chapter Text

The alarm clock blared, loud and obnoxious, into Ian’s ears. He had slept terribly the night before, his depressive episode having morphed from excessive sleeping into seemingly not sleeping at all. At least that meant that he hadn’t slept through his alarm. He had told Mickey to get him up by any means necessary if he wasn’t out of bed by nine o’clock, and Ian was glad that he didn’t have to find out what Mickey would do with that sort of blanket permission. 

Ian didn’t take long in the shower that morning, knowing his own mind well enough to know that he was still at risk of getting ‘stuck’. It generally meant he would end up staring blank and catatonic at nothing while his mind cycled through every wrong he had ever done until he felt just about as terrible as it was possible for him to do. That was the last thing Ian needed today. 

“Hey, Red,” Mickey greeted, leant up against the kitchen counter like something out of an old Western, which was heavily ironic - all lazy poise and savoir-faire. 

“Morning,” Ian replied, making a beeline for the coffee machine. 

The ghost beat him to it, however, and began to make him a cup of coffee. “Just wantin’ to feel useful is all,” he said when he caught Ian’s confused gaze. 

He shrugged and began to get himself a bowl of cereal as he didn’t have the energy for anything else. “Sure.”

“Are you…nervous any?” Mickey asked. 

“About work?” Ian clarified, and Mickey nodded. “Fuck yeah. I don’t know…I know my coworkers aren’t going to judge me about my time off, at least not to my face, but still.”

“And if they do judge you?” The ghost pressed.

Ian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If they do judge you,” Mickey said slowly and carefully, “what does that change?”

“Nothing, I guess,” the redhead replied uncertainly. 

Mickey smiled triumphantly. “Exactly! Doesn’t mean a goddamn thing, Red. Trust me, people like to think of you how they chose to, and it don’t often have much to do with the truth. Best to just let it all go.”

“Ah, like how everyone thought you were a no-good criminal?” Ian said, smirking. 

“I might not be able to touch you, but don’t doubt I can throw somethin’ at you,” he replied, narrowing his eyes playfully. 

Ian bit his lip, a sudden wave of combined sadness and lust hitting him in the chest. No, Mickey couldn’t touch him, not properly, at least. He wanted it, though. Ian wondered if it was like hearing his voice or being able to see him, maybe if Mickey wanted it enough, then it would be possible. But then, that would rely on Mickey actually wanting to touch him, which was singularly unlikely. Ian had the feeling that Mickey had never been the touchy-feely type. 

“You’re doin’ it again, Red,” Mickey said, waving a hand in front of Ian’s face.

Ian blinked and focused his attention back on the present. “Doing what?”

“Starin’ right through me,” he replied. “A fella might start to wonder about it if you make too much of a habit of it.”

The redhead clenched his jaw. “Sorry, I’m just not totally with it today.”

“I’m sure that’s what the good folk of Chicago want to hear,” Mickey joked before growing more serious. “It’s fine. I guess I’m just not used to you bein’ able to see me at all, so it’s all a bit…intense.” 

“Intense?” Ian echoed, eyes fixed on Mickey again. 

Mickey met Ian’s gaze for a moment before looking down, and Ian could have sworn he was blushing, although it wasn’t completely obvious either way. The ghost pressed his lips together tightly, and Ian didn’t speak again, instead giving Mickey the time he needed. 

“Yeah,” he said after a while, an obvious attempt to keep things light in his tone. “You’ve got a hell of an intense look on you with those green eyes of yours,” he paused before adding under his breath so Ian almost couldn’t hear. “Never seen anyone with eyes like yours.”

Ian swallowed sharply, his chest hurting with how fast his pulse picked up. “Sorry. Guess it’s still a novelty seeing you.”

“Novelty?” Mickey laughed. “You sure know how to make a fella feel special.” 

Ian bit his lip harshly to stop himself from speaking. The urge to justify himself, namely by explaining that what he had just said was the only way he could think of to explain his staring which wasn’t just a litany of compliments, was strong. There was an odd tension between them, and Ian was grateful when he checked his phone and saw that it was time for him to get ready for work. He wolfed down his cereal and stood up quickly. 

“Gotta get going,” Ian explained.

Mickey frowned. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Nothing!” the redhead blurted out, making a run for his bedroom. 

Even as he closed the door, he knew he was being ridiculous. But the tension was beginning to get to him. It was purely one-sided, he knew, but it was becoming too much. Every time he looked at Mickey or spoke to him, things seemed to simmer until Ian inevitably said something stupid. It was only a matter of time before he outed his own feelings, and he knew it. 

Ian shrugged on his uniform without thinking, the heavy fabric settling easily and leaving him feeling strange. His uniform always made him feel more confident. Ian the EMT was a much better person to be than Ian Gallagher, that much was obvious. The way that people reacted to him was vastly different, too. People deferred to him and trusted him with their well-being. It was a stark change from the way his family viewed him, a liability. He was nothing without his uniform. 

The stairs creaked slightly as he made his way back down. His heavy boots that had seen so much carnage were loud against the wooden floor, but Ian didn’t mind, given that Mickey seemed to have a sixth sense for where Ian was in the house regardless of how quiet he attempted to be. 

Mickey was on the couch and looked up at Ian expectantly. 

“Are you still going to act like a wanted man?” he asked. 

Ian sighed, not bothering to argue with Mickey’s assessment of his behaviour. “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Mickey replied. 

Ian snorted. “Like it’s that easy.”

“Was worth a try,” he said, laughing to himself.

“I should get to work nice and early today,” he said, mostly to himself. “Not that it’ll make up for my time off. God, I’m going to have to pick so many fucking shifts,” he grumbled, looking over to Mickey. “You might not see much of me in the next few weeks.”

Mickey frowned, seeming to take Ian’s words seriously. “What? Like that one time you were at work more than you were at home?”

Ian recalled that night vividly. Looking back on it, Mickey had tucked him in and left him to sleep on the chair. Had hidden his keys from him, too. And Mickey looked truly worried now, his face twisted into a worried and pensive expression. 

“I read that workin’ too much wasn’t good for the bipolar,” he muttered unhappily.

“I’ll be ok, I always am, I just…have to make myself useful somehow. My job is good about me needing time off, and it’s not like they’ve ever explicitly said that I need to pick up extra shifts when I come back, but…well, it’s only fair,” he explained, knowing that his logic likely wasn’t going to cut it with his ghostly roommate. “Besides,” Ian continued in a lighter tone, “I need the money.”

Mickey seemed to consider this for a moment. “Don’t push yourself too far, alright, Red? It isn’t up to you to keep Chicago runnin’, you know?”

“Thanks, I know, Mick,” he replied, unable to suppress his smile. 

Ian made his way over to work a lot earlier than he usually did. Shooting texts over to both Tamara and Val to reassure them that he was going to be there. He wasn’t sure if it was them or him that needed the confirmation. Ian could see on his Spotify account that Mickey was playing yet another 'The Prodigy’ song, ‘Breathe’ this time. He wondered what sort of mood Mickey was in, what he was doing. There wasn’t much for him to be doing, really, but Ian found himself curious all the same. 

The station was exactly as he remembered it, and since he had gotten there so early, Ian had time to have a leisurely cup of coffee before things kicked off. He would have had a meeting with his manager but had been spared due to her having a very important meeting of her own. Ian knew it couldn’t be put off forever, though. He’d need to show proof that he was handling things, keeping himself under control. The thought of calling his psychiatrist made him vaguely nauseous, but he knew that he had to do it. 

Val got to work not too much after Ian did, which was new for her. 

“Hey, Val,” Ian said, smiling awkwardly. 

“It’s good to see you,” she replied, moving to make herself a cup of coffee.

Ian leapt from his seat. “Let me.”

Val frowned but stepped back. “Stop feeling guilty, dumbass.”

“Sorry,” he replied, grimacing. 

“That’s worse,” the blonde snorted. “Stop apologising too.”

He just looked at her, unsure of what to say next. 

“Seriously,” Val continued, “things have been ok without you, even if I haven’t had a truly fun shift since you left, but we’ve been ok. You needed time to yourself, and now you’re back, and things are better,” she said it like a prayer, said it like it had to be true.

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, hoping that it was. “Anyway, here’s your coffee.”

The two of them settled into more companionable chatter as the EMTs from the morning shift came through to get their things. There was no Tamara, which Ian wasn’t sure if he was glad for or not, but no doubt he would see her soon. Though there was nothing expressly wrong, Ian still felt off somehow. Idly, he wished that he had a way to text Mickey. Even though he spent more time with Mickey than anyone else, this moment of awkwardness made him want to turn to the ghost for comfort. 

Remember what I said, Red? Who gives a damn if they judge you? 

Ian knew that would be exactly what Mickey would say if Ian could somehow talk to him. That smart part of him that had his own Mickey locked away was able to summon it up. Vaguely, he wondered what that meant, that Mickey sat alongside his family inside his heart - that his was a voice that brought him stability and happiness when he needed it. 

He’d never really had a friend before, not one that he wasn’t related to. He’d only had men that had wanted something from him or people he spoke to at ROTC or the club he had worked at. Maybe that was what a true friend was. Ian tried to convince himself of it as he and Val made their way over to the ambulance to prepare for another shift. 

The first call was a godsend as it took his mind off of his quickly spiralling thoughts. 

“75-year-old lady in a care home. Extreme bleeding from the leg. Query cut artery,” the dispatcher said, voice slightly muffled as the overcast weather seemed to be having an effect on the radio signal. 

“Well, shit,” Ian muttered as he pulled out of the garage quickly. 

“Ditto,” Val replied as the two of them settled into silence - it wasn’t a long journey for the call, and they both had a lot of shit to run through in their minds before they got there. 

Ian settled into himself slowly but surely. This was his job, his career. This made him happy - he just had to hold onto that. 

He had visited this particular care home before and was fairly sure that Vee had worked there for a little while. They were met at the door by a harassed-looking carer who ushered them in with little preamble beyond a ‘thanks for getting here so fast’. 

The home was sterile and medical in a way that reminded Ian of the worst parts of a hospital. The worst part as he walked through the long corridor was that above each door to each room, there was a photograph of the occupant in their prime. Young and fresh-faced, oftentimes in black and white. It was painful to look at, especially when immediately confronted by everything that they had lost.

This lady that they were seeing this time was obviously a willful woman. Ian could tell as much from the exact way that everything in her room was laid out - a place for everything and everything in its place. His assessment was only affirmed when he saw how she was sitting in a chair with a bloody gauze pressed to her leg, looking bored. 

“So sorry that they’ve called you out for this,” she said by way of greeting. 

“Please don’t apologise!” Val said, kneeling down to take a look at her leg. “This is our job.”

“My name’s Ian,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood. “And this is my partner, Val.”

“Oh, nice to meet you, dear. My name is June.” 

It took a lot of convincing to get the woman into the ambulance and on the way to the hospital. Ian had needed to make the point that since her leg wouldn’t stop bleeding, the blood was bound to go on her nice cream carpet eventually, which, somehow, was the thing that she needed to hear. She had cut a varicose vein, and it was bleeding profusely. This definitely warranted a trip to the hospital. 

“Why are you so good with old ladies, Ian?” Val muttered as she passed him on her way to the front to drive them all to the hospital. 

He shrugged. “Part of my charm. She wouldn’t like me if she knew I was gay.”

“Just act straight, then,” she replied, sniggering to herself at her own comment - no one found Val funnier than she found herself. 

“God, I feel like I’m a teenager again,” Ian smirked. 

The trip to the hospital was relatively uneventful, even if he had to change the dressing that was pressed to the woman’s leg, and he managed to get blood on his trousers. Still, she seemed to be in relatively high spirits throughout, which led him not to worry about her too much. 

“Do you have a wife or a girlfriend then, Ian?” She asked jovially. 

He blushed. “No, nothing like that.”

He could have lied, but she was so nice, and it felt wrong, even if it was a white lie to save face. 

June looked at him astutely. “A boyfriend?”

“I…no, no boyfriend either.”

“But that’s the way you swing?” she asked. 

Ian hesitated before nodding. 

“Don’t worry, dear! We had plenty of those back in my day. They didn’t advertise, of course, and I’m glad things are better now. My brother was queer, I do wish he’d lived to see how things are now,” she said warmly. “Love is better in the open, don’t you think?”

Ian thought of Mickey for a moment. He didn’t know if he loved Mickey, but whatever it was he did feel, it certainly wasn’t out in the open.  “I agree.”

June hummed. “What were you thinking of just then? You went off into a world of your own.”

“Love, I suppose,” he answered honestly. 

“No, boyfriend, you said. But I can see there’s someone who has your heart.”

Ian blushed again and opened his mouth to refute her observation, but she cut him off.

“I’ve been around enough to know young love when I see it, even if it’s just on your face.”

“I…um, I shouldn’t really be talking about myself to you. It isn’t professional,” he said weakly. 

“Humour me, dear,” June cajoled. “The conversation is taking my mind off of my leg.”

“Oh,” Ian considered for a moment. Really, there wasn’t any harm in it as long as he didn’t go into any form of detail whatsoever. “It’s, um, my roommate. He’s great! I could be around him all day, every day and never get bored. He’s so kind and caring and funny and…” he trailed off. “Sorry.” 

June laughed. “Don’t apologise. He sounds like a fine man.”

“He is,” Ian agreed wistfully. 

“Is he gay as well?” she asked. 

“Um, he is, yeah,” he replied.

She eyed him. “Have you told him how you feel?”

Ian spluttered. “Nope! Definitely not.”

“And why ever not?” 

He frowned. “It’s not so easy with us. I don’t think he feels the same.”

“A strapping young man like you, and so kind too.  I’m sure he does feel the same.” 

He looked down at his paperwork, pen in hand. Ian wasn’t sure how to reply without sounding like a lovelorn teen. 

“It isn’t so easy, June,” he said eventually. 

She seemed to consider this. “Maybe, and maybe not. But let me give you some advice. When you get to my age, it isn’t the things you did that you regret the most, it’s what you didn’t do. If he doesn’t feel the same, then at least you know that. But if you never ask, then you’ll never know.”

Ian smiled. “You’re right.”

“So you’ll tell him?” She asked.

His heart stuttered in his chest at the mere thought. It truly wasn’t as easy as June made it out to be. But then, the way things were going, it wasn’t like Ian would be able to hide his feelings for long in any case. If he said how he felt, then Mickey might take it as a compliment at the very least. Mickey was so kind, surely he wouldn’t be the type to judge him over something like this? 

“Yes,” he said, his voice choked. “I think I need to. Even if…even if he doesn’t feel the same, I have to tell him. It’s too big for me to hold by myself.”

June smiled wide, looking decades younger for a split second. “That’s love, dear.”

Ian opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. 

“That definitely is love. Best to just accept it,” she said, still smiling.

He nodded absentmindedly. Ian wasn’t sure what love really was, but he knew he had never felt anything close to this for anyone else in his life. If he did love Mickey, well, Ian couldn’t bring himself to regret it for a moment.

Ian felt guilty for leaving June by herself in the ER, but she had seemed perfectly up to the task. And her family were apparently on the way as well, which left him feeling marginally better. Before he left, though, she pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Go and get your man. I promise you that it’ll all be ok in the end,” she said, her words muffled slightly by his uniform.

Ian sniffed. “Thank you, June.”

“Just a shame I won’t know how it goes. I’m an old romantic at heart,” she said as she pulled back. 

“Well, if I’m ever back at the home again, I’ll pop in and let you know,” he replied, the words out before he could stop himself. 

June grinned. “You do that, dear.” 

“You really are the old lady whisperer,” Val teased him as they set to work cleaning out the ambulance for their next job. 

Ian shrugged, his mind on other things. “All part of my charm.” 

As they worked, Ian kept thinking of his promise to June. Her unbridled optimism made him look at everything in a new light. He knew for sure that he cared for Mickey more than anyone else that he had ever met outside of his family. It had been so easy to fall, he didn’t think that he could have stopped it even if he had tried. They couldn’t touch, but given how he felt, that would just be something that he would have to live with. And besides, he hadn’t been able to see or hear Mickey when they had first met either, so maybe it would change.

He was filled with determination. No matter what Mickey said, no matter what came of it, he had to tell the ghost how he felt.

Chapter Text

The rest of his shift went by relatively uneventfully, which was a blessing for Ian as his mind certainly wasn’t on his work. Ian knew that he simply had to tell Mickey how he felt. Waves of anxiety filled him whenever he thought of it, but that didn’t change the facts. It was simple, really. Now that he could actually see Mickey, the chances of being able to keep his cool were falling by the moment, and it would be better to actually say something rather than have his ghostly roommate pick up on it himself. They got on as friends, so there could be a chance that Mickey felt the same - it was worth holding onto. June might be right. 

The drive home was equally as uneventful, save Ian checking what Mickey was listening to on what he now thought of as their Spotify and seeing that he was listening to ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears For Fears , which meant that Ian then spent the entire journey trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. 

The house seemed to loom up before him as he pulled up, and Ian gripped the steering wheel tightly for a long moment. It all seemed far too real now, and his brain was coming up with any excuse under the sun to put off telling Mickey for another day. But then, Ian knew that if he continued to put it off, he would never do it.

Rain was bouncing rhythmically from the rooftop of his car as he sat there as if frozen in place. Ian knew that Mickey would be wondering what was going on with him, but that didn’t make him any more eager to leave the safety of his car. Eventually, he managed to get out but stood there in the rain, letting it soak into his uniform as he thought through every reaction Mickey could possibly have to his confession. The worst-case scenario would be that he would have to move out, and the best case would be that Mickey felt the same. He could only hope, though the likelihood would be that the reaction would fall somewhere between the two extremes. The raindrops fell into his eyes, and he scrubbed his hand across his face quickly as he rushed into the house. 

Mickey was there on the sofa when Ian opened the door. He turned to look at him when he came through the door and raised his eyebrows, chuckling to himself. 

“You look like a goddamn wet rat, Red,” he said. 

Ian huffed. “Fuck off.”

“Seriously,” Mickey replied, rolling his eyes slightly, “go get changed, or you’ll catch a fever from the cold.”

“That isn't actually how that works,” Ian couldn’t help but point out. 

“Don’t care,” the ghost said bluntly, turning back to the TV where a documentary about Ancient Egypt was playing. 

He didn’t bother replying to that, knowing that Mickey was perfectly capable of cutting Ian for dead like he was the one that was invisible if he truly wanted to. It didn’t take long to throw his uniform in his laundry basket and get changed into clean clothes, though not pyjamas, since he didn’t want to confess his feelings in damn PJs. He didn’t come downstairs for nearly twenty-five minutes. The reason for that being that Ian spent an inordinate amount of time staring at himself in the mirror. There was no way that he could back down now, and having some sort of weird speech planned would only make it worse. Still, Ian felt as if he should have prepared more than just having a long chat with an elderly patient of his. 

When he eventually made his way back downstairs, Mickey had switched the TV off and was seemingly waiting for him. Ian smiled to himself at the look of genuine concern on his face. 

“How was work?” he asked gently. 

Ian flopped down on the sofa next to Mickey, newly aware of how the ghost didn’t move away from him even though they were almost close enough to touch. The electricity buzzed against Ian’s skin. 

He shrugged. “It was alright. No one said anything, really. I know I’ll have to talk to my boss eventually, but she wasn’t there today, so I’m spared for a bit.”

“And the jobs?” Mickey prompted.

“Honestly, not a lot to report,” Ian replied before sensing an opening. “There was this sweet old lady. She only nicked a varicose vein, but fuck did it bleed a lot. Anyway, we got talking, and I actually came out to her, so that's nice.”

Mickey frowned in confusion. “Came out to her?”

“Um, came out means, like, admitting you’re gay,” he explained. “It doesn’t only apply to being gay, but in my case, yeah, gay.”

“Oh,” he replied, though he still sounded unsure. “So you decided to tell a random lady all of your business. You’re an odd one, Red.”

“We had a really good talk,” the redhead enthused. “Her brother was gay. Anyway,” Ian paused, “she made me think about some things in a new way.”

“Good lord!” the ghost laughed. “I’d love to hear what you talked about with this old biddy. God, I wish I coulda been there for that.”

Ian smiled, though all the while, his heart was picking up in its rhythm. 

“Love,” he said.

An odd tension fell between them all at once, and Ian wasn’t sure whether it was Mickey projecting his feelings or merely his own nerves. 

“Love?” Mickey echoed. 

“Yeah,” Ian said, aiming for nonchalance, “love. Kinda made me realise a few things.” 

“You’re talkin’ and not makin’ any damn sense. Just thought you should know,” he replied. 

Ian took a deep and shuddering breath, trying to collect himself. He tried to remember how he had felt for his entire shift at work, how he had decided that the only way forward was to confess his feelings regardless of how Mickey felt in return. It was a lot more difficult to keep that in mind when he was being confronted by the confused face of the ghost in front of him. How could he possibly rock the boat when things were so good? Mickey was the best thing in his life, why mess with it?

“Oh, well,” the redhead scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “It wasn’t anything interesting. I just realised it’s the sort of thing you’d hate. Don’t worry about it.”

Mickey stared at him, looking utterly nonplussed. “What the hell has gotten into you? You’re actin’ mighty strange.”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just don’t wanna bore you,” Ian searched for something to change the topic but came up short. “What do you want to talk about?”

Mickey shook his head slightly, looking as if he was going to comment on Ian’s odd behaviour, but he could see the ghost visibly choosing not to. It was oddly sweet, despite it only compounding how awkward he felt. 

“I remember when we first spoke properly, you said you didn’t think we’d ever play twenty questions,” he said, and Ian wondered how much he had thought about it for it to come to him so quickly now. “Think you’re up to it?”

Ian smiled, the sudden weight off of his chest almost euphoric. Confessing his feelings would simply have to wait until another day.

“Yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun!” Ian enthused. “Do you wanna go first or…?”

Mickey chuckled. “Got my questions all ready, Red. I reckon I’d best go first to give you time to catch me up.”

“Sure,” he said weakly, shifting in his seat, suddenly filled with excess energy.

The ghost leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. It was good that Mickey couldn’t get dirt on anything, but he looked so hot doing it that Ian was sure that he wouldn’t have had an issue with it regardless.

“So,” he drawled, “what made you move here? You never told me.”

Ian laughed. “Did I really never tell you? Well, I guess when I moved, I didn’t know you existed, so that explains that. So, um, you know I have a lot of siblings, right?”

Mickey nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, I couldn’t really handle living with them anymore. I’m a grown man and having my sister breathing down my neck about whether I’d taken my meds or whatever was getting to me. I realised I could afford to move out, so I started looking for apartments, but this house was in my budget, so I couldn’t really turn it down,” Ian explained.

The ghost chuckled. “I reckon I musta brought the market value down somewhat.”

“Did you cause problems?” he teased.

“Of course,” Mickey replied. “Made the construction men’s lives hell the entire time. It was mighty good fun.” 

“That explains the cheap rent, then,” Ian said, smiling. “My wallet thanks you.”

“And you?” he prompted.

Ian snorted. “I thank you too.”

“Your turn now,” he said, effectively changing the subject. 

Ian considered for a moment. “What did you think of me when I first arrived? Be honest, I can take it.”

Ian could almost swear that he saw Mickey blush a little at the question, but the ghost seemed game to answer in any case.

“Well, I thought your taste in furniture left a lot to be desired. I didn’t want you there, truth be told, but I’m guessin’ you knew that already,” he said. “You seemed lonely like me, which warmed me up to you a little. And even when you didn’t know I was there, you still acted as though I was. Even if it was to curse at me. I…” he paused, “it meant a lot. After so long of not truly existin’…it meant a lot.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, I bet,” he could tell that Mickey was eager for a change of topic, so he quickly added. “Your turn.” 

“Ok, what sort of questions do people usually ask, then?”

“Dunno,” Ian shrugged. “Who was your first kiss? When did you lose your virginity - that sort of thing.”

“People are so damn smutty nowadays. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned Christian values?” he grumbled. 

“Is that really your question?” Ian teased. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey huffed. “Nah, um, who was your first kiss?”

“Don’t judge me, but, um, I can answer both of those questions together, actually,” Ian said, avoiding Mickey’s eyes. 

He snorted. “I love a bargain.”

“Roger Spikey,” he said, the memory of that day making him shake his head ruefully. “I was fifteen, and he caught my eye in the changing rooms after gym and…well, we ended up having sex. I didn’t like him, really. Didn’t know him, honestly,” he chuckled. “Roger must have had a sixth sense for gay men 'cause he just assumed I’d be down. Had my first kiss that day, too. I mean, obviously, I’d had pecks and shit with girls in kindergarten, but that doesn’t count, I don’t think.”

Mickey looked at him for a long moment. “Did you like it?”

Ian flushed. “It’s my turn to ask the questions. What’re we on now? Four?” 

“Go on, then. Ask away.” 

“I’ll turn it on you,” Ian said, grinning to himself at Mickey’s nervous expression before deciding to take pity on him. “I’ll ask who your first kiss was, not your first time to save your blushes.”

“Oh,” the ghost let out a little huff. “That’s easy. Sarah Mortimer. She lived not too far from me, and one day when I was twelve, she caught me in the barn and kissed me.”

“You poor thing,” the redhead said mockingly. “A ‘confirmed bachelor’ like you must’ve hated it.” 

“Are you askin’ me if I liked it? Cause I’m afraid that’ll have to wait till your next question, Red,” he replied, smirking. 

Ian rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to ask if you liked it or not. Anyway, it’s your turn.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes. “I’ll ask what I was goin’ to before.”

“Did I like having sex with Roger Spikey?” Ian asked, holding back a chuckle at how Mickey nodded. “You know, since you’re asking me this, I am totally going to ask you about your first time, so be prepared,” he paused, allowing himself to think about that particular phase in his life for the first time in a long time. “Um, it was ok. I mean, I was sticking my dick in something, so I was happy. Obviously, now I’ve had more sex, I know it was really rushed, and we didn’t prepare enough, so really, it was kinda awful. But I don’t know, for me at that time, I was so happy that I was actually able to have sex with a guy that I wasn’t going to think too hard about the specifics.”

Mickey nodded. “I’m just gonna go ahead and answer your question since I know what it’ll be. Mine wasn’t too different from yours. I was sixteen and had just left Dallas to go on the road. Ended up at a ranch with a buncha cowboys from all over, and well, one of ‘em was ‘gay’ and he musta seen me lookin’ or somethin’ like that cause he came into my tent one night and well…that was that.”

Ian laughed. “You stuck your dick in something, so you were too happy to think about it too much?” 

The ghost definitely did blush then. “I, uh, wasn’t stickin’ my dick in anythin’ as it happens.”

Ian’s mouth went try as he gaped at Mickey. Sure, he had known that Mickey was gay, but if he had had to guess, he would have said that Mickey was a top. He didn’t exactly seem like the type to bottom, despite Ian knowing that looks could be deceiving. The thought that they matched in that way was enough to set his heart racing.

“It was good, honestly. I mean, like you, we didn’t prepare enough, but, uh, I wasn’t complainin’. Ah, dammit!” Mickey cursed. “You got that question for free.”

“I’m good like that,” the redhead teased, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Your turn.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Gotta ask a good one now,” he said to himself. 

The redhead sat there and let Mickey think for a little while. He could actually see the moment he came up with an idea as his face lit up. 

“So,” he drawled, smirking mischievously, “I remember you sayin’ a while ago after that thing with that dame that got whipped for pleasure that you hadn’t done. I wanna know what you have done.”

Ian frowned even as his pulse picked up yet again. “You want to know every sexual thing I’ve ever done?” he asked incredulously. “Cause that might take a while.”

“Nah,” the cowboy shook his head, “not everything just…stuff like that.”

“Oh,” Ian said dully, he couldn’t back down now. If he couldn’t be honest about how he felt, he could at least be honest about this. “I did some things I’m not proud of.”

Mickey gestured to himself. “You’re lookin’ at a fella in no place to judge. Ain’t got the inclination neither. If you don’t wanna talk about it, though, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s fine. Um, I did some light stuff as kinda…part of my job…when I was younger. I’d tie men up if they wanted or spank them or whatever. Used toys or something. Nothing major but um, yeah, that’s the context,” Ian said hesitantly, watching Mickey’s face carefully. 

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

Ian was tempted to say that Mickey wasn’t allowed to ask another question yet as it wasn’t his turn, but he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to be honest if he waited a moment longer. 

“I’m not sure how to explain it to you, really. I don’t think any of the documentaries you’ve seen will have touched on it,” Ian joked. “Um, when I was seventeen, I was dancing at the gay club called the Fairy Tail - I guess kinda like a saloon except probably not like that at all. Anyway, sometimes men would give me money to do stuff with them. I was fucked up at that time, on all sorts of drugs, and my bipolar was bad, and I…” he swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m not proud of it. When I first started there, I thought it would be just dancing, and for a while, it was, but when people are offering you money to do things, eventually you get tempted. Or I did.”

Mickey just stared at him expressionlessly.

“Shit!” the redhead hissed. “I shouldn’t have told you. Please don’t hate me for it, Mick.”

The ghost’s brows knitted together. “Hate you? For what?”

Ian laughed humourlessly. “For being a slut, I guess.”

“Red,” he said, reaching his hand out before letting it drop, “I ain’t gonna…fuck! I ain’t gonna judge you for that. Shit, I’ve known plenty of fine people who did that for work. Good people. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I don’t think any differently of you.”

“You promise?” he asked, blinking back the tears.

Mickey nodded intently. “I swear.” 

Neither man spoke for a long moment. Ian eventually broke the silence by attempting to lighten the mood.

“My turn now,” he said.

“Of course,” he replied and thankfully seemed to forget their early conversation for the time being.

“How did you get the nickname ‘One Shot’?” Ian asked, smiling to himself. “Your Wikipedia page said there were conflicting stories.” 

“Oh? What were the stories?” 

“That you escaped jail with a gun with one bullet in, that you killed three people with one bullet - that sort of thing,” he chuckled. “There were lots of rumours, but that’s the gist of it.”

Mickey laughed, long and hard. “The tall tales folk tell, honestly. Nah, it wasn’t anythin’ like that. It was just known that if you faced off against me, I didn’t need more than one bullet to take you down. I was a damn good shot.”

“That’s still cool as hell,” Ian replied, eyeing the ghost carefully, unwilling to show his real feelings on the matter. Namely, that the revelation only made him like Mickey more. “Your turn, Mick.”

Ian had lost track of how many questions each one had asked, but he didn’t care. It was just nice to have the opportunity to ask those sorts of things. Curiosity had been eating him up for a while now.

Mickey didn’t speak for a long moment. Instead, he looked intently at Ian in a way that made the redhead look away quickly. Tension seemed to fill the air between them, and Ian wasn’t sure if it was Mickey projecting or just his own mind. Still, he was just going to wait until Mickey spoke, even if the silence was beginning to make him want to crawl out of his skin. 

Eventually, Mickey spoke, and his voice was low and conspiratorial despite them being the only two people in the house.

“I, uh, would be mighty interested to know what you meant by dancin’, Red. Somethin’ tells me it ain’t the dancing I’m used to,” he said hesitantly. 

“No,” Ian agreed. “Doubt it is. It’s, um, difficult to describe if you don’t know the names of anything.”

“Then don’t describe it,” Mickey said calmly. 

The redhead swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” 

“Take a guess, Red,” he replied, turning to face Ian head-on. 

“Oh,” Ian let out a long breath, though his chest felt tight all of a sudden. 

The tension between them had only ramped up in its intensity, and Ian knew for sure now that part of it must be coming from Mickey as there was no way it couldn’t be him alone. Ian thought it over for a moment but decided eventually that he was making things more awkward by taking them so seriously. They were friends, and friends did weird shit together all the time. Sure, most of the time, alcohol was involved, which it wasn’t in this case, but that didn’t change the principle.

Ian fished his phone out of his pocket and began to scroll through a sensual songs playlist on Spotify , and pressed shuffle. “Let me find a good song first.”

It didn’t take him long to find something, and his fingers shook lightly when he pressed play and practically flung his phone back onto the sofa. ‘Lost In The Fire’ by Gesaffelstein ft The Weeknd began to play, and Mickey pressed his lips together. 

“Haven’t heard that song before,” he said. 

Ian chuckled. “There’s plenty of things that you haven’t seen or heard before, Mick.”

The redhead stood and took a moment to close his eyes and settle back into his body. It had been a long time since he had needed to dance like this, but it came back to him easily. Still, with his eyes closed, Ian began to roll his hips and undulate to the beat, running his hands sensually over his body as he did so. It was strange to dance like that with all of his clothes on, but he made the best of it. 

Over the music, Ian could just about make out the sound of heavy breathing, though he wasn’t sure if it was Mickey's or his own. Mickey surely didn’t need to breathe, but he still did, so it was a possibility. Ian opened his eyes to find Mickey’s eyes fixed on him, and the sight of it was nearly enough to make Ian fall to his knees. Blue eyes nearly black with how wide the pupils were blown, flushed cheeks and a mouth ever so slightly parted - Ian had to move. 

“This is how I’d dance in the club, but if people gave me money, I’d give them a dance like this,” he said, voice low. “This one is on the house.”

Mickey blinked rapidly, shifting in his seat. “What do I do?”

“Stay still. Customers aren’t allowed to touch,” Ian replied. 

“Can’t touch you anyways, Red,” Mickey said, and Ian could have sworn that he sounded mournful. 

Ian nodded. “Well, stay still, so I don’t accidentally go right through you, then.”

“Sure thing,” the ghost replied, splaying his legs ever so slightly as he settled himself. 

Ian took a deep breath as ‘Lost In The Fire’ changed to ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine. It had been a favourite in the Fairy Tale when he had danced, and it was enough to make Ian smile to himself at the irony - the cowboy had become the pony. 

Mickey was looking up at him with wide eyes as Ian approached. The redhead allowed himself to regress a little, remembering how he would roll his shoulders as he walked, the strong eye contact. Ian was pulling every trick out of the bag like Mickey was a high roller, and Ian was behind on all of his bills. 

It didn’t take long to get himself settled, though Ian made sure to keep himself hovering over Mickey slightly. The idea of going through him and ruining the illusion that Mickey was alive was more than he could take at that moment. Ian began to roll his hips in time with the music. His muscles protested a little at being used in ways that he had left behind him years ago, but he pushed it aside. Ian was determined to show Mickey a good time, to prove, well, he wasn’t sure what. 

Their eyes met, and Ian had to tip his head back to break the eye contact as he was afraid that he would pop a boner right there and then, it was hard enough to keep himself in check as it was. He played it off as part of the routine by running a hand through his hair before dragging it over his chest. When Ian looked back to Mickey, he could see him running his tongue over his lower lip, and he smirked to himself - he still had it. 

Ian leaned close to Mickey’s ear and felt the telltale tingle of electricity that made his hair stand on end whenever he was close to the ghost. “This is what we call a lap dance. The name is fairly self-explanatory.” 

“Goddamn it, Red,” Mickey groaned, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Ian let out a gasp at the mere sound of his voice. 

“I’d ask if it was worth the money, but you got it for free, so…” he replied, trying to lessen the tension a bit. 

It was then that the song changed to ‘Super Freak’ by Rick James, and Ian began to move his hips again. Really, no dance lasted longer than a single song, but Mickey didn’t have to know that. Ian was simply having too much fun being so close to his ghostly roommate, and the second he stopped, he knew that the spell would be broken. As it was, Mickey was allowing him to do this, and he wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

“Jesus Christ,” the ghost hissed, and Ian shivered when he felt concentrated cold on his thighs as Mickey’s hands went through them. Mickey growled to himself, and Ian could just see in his peripheral vision that Mickey had his fingers through Ian’s belt loops before the ghost was pulling him down hard, and Ian’s entire lower body was suffused in cold. “The hell are you doin’ to me?”

“Too much?” Ian asked, breathing heavily himself. 

“I…” Mickey began to say but snapped his mouth shut with an audible click and turned his head away, fixing his eyes on the wall. 

Mickey looked so damn beautiful at that moment. His neck and face were covered in a bloodless flush as his chest rose and fell quickly. Ian could swear that he had never seen anything even a fraction as beautiful, and how had he ever gotten lucky enough to have known Mickey at all? Time and death hadn’t been enough to keep them apart, and surely that meant something? It had to. His feelings simply had to mean something.

“I like you, Mickey.” 

The words were out before Ian could stop himself, and a sudden wave of nervous nausea came over him as the weight of what he had done hit him. There was nothing for it now, Ian thought to himself grimly, he would simply have to commit. 

“I like you, I want you,” he said, willing as much conviction into his words as possible. “You’re so amazing, and I just…I’ve never felt anything close to this with anyone before, and I really want you to want me too,” he continued, feeling pathetic. “Please.” 

I love you. The words begged to be let free, but Ian kept a tight rein on them - there was only so much vulnerability he could handle.

Mickey slowly turned to look at him, his expression looking pained. “Ian, please don’t do this.”

He shook his head, the pain of the moment making it almost surreal. He tried to pull back, but Mickey still had the loops of his trousers in his grip. Mickey calling him by his name hurt almost as much as the rejection. 

“I’m a selfish man, but I ain’t that selfish, Red. Do yourself a favour and go be with someone with a pulse.”

“So you do want me,” the redhead pressed. 

“It doesn’t matter what I fuckin’ want!” the ghost huffed, looking pleadingly at Ian. 

The redhead gritted his teeth tightly, getting up despite Mickey’s firm grip on him. “You want me but don’t want me enough?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “That’s worse, Mick. That’s so much fucking worse.”

“Please, Red. You know why we can’t,” he said, reaching out as if to touch Ian, but yet again, he seemed to realise the pointlessness of what he was doing and let his arm fall to his side. 

Ian turned, unable to look at the ghost anymore. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Chapter Text

Sleep didn’t come easily to Ian that night. He could hear Mickey moving, watching TV downstairs, having not bothered to put the volume down like he normally did. It was an obvious ploy to annoy Ian and get him out of his room, but he was determined for it not to work. A hot mixture of anger and embarrassment bubbled away in his gut all night and only hardened him in his resolution to not let Mickey have the pleasure of seeing him upset. 

Things continued like that into the next morning. Ian woke up to the sound of the television blaring, and he spared a thought to his electricity bill for the first time since telling Mickey that he could watch TV whenever he wanted. Ian’s entire body was tense from the truly terrible night's sleep that he had the night before. He stretched and felt the low pops of his spine as he looked out of the window and at the annoyingly bright day outside. 

He would have to go down there eventually. Ian had work to go to, after all. But if he waited as long as possible, so he didn’t have time to see Mickey properly, maybe that would help. After all, what was there that he could say to Mickey? He didn’t want to apologise for his feelings, even if the way that he had gone about telling had been all wrong. In hindsight, Ian realised that he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He groaned, slapping a hand over his face harshly as his mind refused to shut the hell up. 

Embarrassment lanced painfully through him as he thought back to the night before. The questions, the lap dance, the confession. All of it had been a terrible idea from the start, and he was living with the consequences now. Unbidden, the look on Mickey’s face when he had told Ian to date someone with a pulse flashed before his eyes, and he groaned, rolling over and shoving his head hard into the pillow.

Time had a habit of speeding up just when Ian wished that it would come to a standstill and now was no exception. It was soon time for Ian to start getting ready for work, and even then, he procrastinated until he was rushing purely so he would have a reason to run from the house without speaking to Mickey. 

Mickey hadn’t come upstairs, and Ian wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. Perhaps the ghost was just giving him his space, or maybe he was disgusted by Ian for even having any feelings for him. Sure, Mickey had been physically attracted to him, but that didn’t mean anything. Plenty of men had been attracted to Ian before, but very few of them had ever liked him. He could just ask. Ian knew that. But then, he never took the easy way out of anything. 

No, he took an extraordinarily long time in the shower, slowly dressed in his uniform and decided to skip eating at home in favour of leaving early and buying himself something to eat on the way. As Ian made his way down the stairs, he saw Mickey standing by the couch out of the corner of his eye, and his heart nearly stopped when Mickey greeted him. Shame filled him even as he steeled himself to simply walk right past Mickey.

“The hell?” Mickey muttered, and Ian could see that he was following behind him. 

Ian didn’t reply; he simply picked up his pace and rushed through the door. Just before he could go through it, he felt coldness on his arm as his sleeve was tugged sharply.

“Don’t fucking ignore me,” the ghost said hotly. 

Yet again, Ian straightened himself up and ignored Mickey entirely, wrenching himself out of his grasp and slamming the door behind him quickly. He could hear Mickey cursing on the other side of the door as Ian locked it with shaking hands, and Ian practically ran to his car. He had never been so eager to leave his house in the entire time that he had been living there, which was saying a lot given the welcome that Mickey had given him when he had first moved in. 

As Ian grew further away from the house, he finally allowed himself to relax. He forced himself to eat, though his stomach was still churning. He had left the house early enough that he was in no rush, though that worked against him as he sat in the parking lot outside his work eating his food bite by unwanted bite. Every few seconds, Ian would relive the night before, and every time that he did so his chest would constrict painfully. 

Val noticed that there was something wrong with him immediately when he eventually made his way inside, and Ian didn’t have the strength to try and keep it from her. He changed a few important details but generally left it as it was. 

“So this long-distance guy likes you, and you like him, but he said he wouldn’t date you so you could find someone closer, am I getting this right?” Val asked, brows furrowed. 

Ian couldn’t help but wish it was as simple as that. For one thing, he couldn’t just block Mickey if the worst came to the worst. 

“Yup,” he replied grimly. “I fucking hate it.”

“Jesus, Ian. Why do you always pick terrible guys?” she huffed.

Ian glared. “He’s not terrible. He’s great. That’s the problem.”

“Well, in that case, you can only wait and hope he changes his mind,” Val replied sagely. “And since that’s a shit idea, and we don’t wait around for a man, you have to move on. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, after all.”

“Uh huh,” the redhead nodded absently. It wasn’t like the idea hadn’t occurred to him, after all.

“Seriously,” she added, “life is too short to be chasing people who aren’t ready to put in the effort. I think we’ve both learnt that lesson before.”

Ian grimaced; Val wasn’t wrong. 

“I feel so fucking stupid. I knew it wasn’t going to work out,” he mourned. 

“Shut up. At least you’re still capable of love. Be grateful your heart isn’t completely shrivelled and dead,” Val replied offhandedly, downing the rest of her coffee as Ian did the same. 

“You’re right, but I’m not happy about it,” Ian grumbled. “Time for us to go, anyway.”

Ian was still mulling Val’s words over as they made their way out to their first job. Sure, the best thing to do would be to move on, but Ian knew full well that if he tried to do it now that he would be doing it for the wrong reasons. Trying to make Mickey jealous was just childish. Still, maybe it could make Mickey see that he was wrong. 

“Hey Val,” Ian said meaningfully, “do you think trying to make this guy jealous on purpose makes me crazy?”

Val considered for a moment. “If it does, then I’ll be in a psych ward with you,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, sometimes you just have to do something a little drastic.”

“Drastic?” he repeated, flicking his wide eyes over to her for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Do I want to know what you mean by that?”

“Well, nothing too bad, just, like, post something on your story or something. You with another guy hanging out or something. You know, social media shit,” she said. 

Ian laughed, more at the idea of Mickey having any social media accounts than anything else. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said eventually. 

In truth, he knew what he would have to do. Inviting another guy over was out of the question, but maybe if he made it abundantly clear that he was leaving to hook up with a guy? Could that even work? Ian considered for a moment. Even if it didn’t, at least he would have gotten laid. Again, his resolution to stop fucking people for validation ran through his mind, but he pushed it aside. This wasn’t the same. Arguably, it was worse, but Ian decided to ignore that. Lip hadn’t explicitly made him promise not to do it, and so he was in the clear. 

The first job of the day was a relatively straightforward one. Man in his 50’s with a suspected heart attack. There was nothing to do except to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible. He was sitting in his overly fancy kitchen as if there was nothing wrong while his wife stared on in horror, though she had the good sense to stand back and let them get to work. 

Ian’s instincts began to flare as he looked at his patient. He seemed to be the picture of health, with no obvious lifestyle causes that he could see. It wouldn’t change their response if there had been some glaringly obvious reason, but it was always something to keep in mind. 

“You shouldn’t have waited so long to call us,” Ian chastised the man firmly. 

“I thought it would go away on its own,” he said, a definite trace of indignance in his tone. 

Ian looked over his patient’s shoulder and saw Val, who shrugged in that way of hers that Ian knew meant, ‘ah, what can you do?’ . It was fairly straightforward to get the man into the ambulance, but as Val was driving to the nearest hospital, Ian began to notice that the man was starting to develop what was professionally called ‘altered consciousness', but that Ian usually thought of as looking like they were going to pass the hell out. He hurried up his plan of strapping oxygen onto the man while he focused on getting the vitals monitoring stickers all over his chest, despite the man having previously been less than happy to take his shirt off.

“Sir!” Ian called out sharply. “I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Blearily, the man did so, though he didn’t reply. 

“Shti, Val. Step on it,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice calm in case it made his patient nervous. The last thing a patient who was having a heart attack needed was to get nervous. 

“I’m calling this one in,” Val replied, reaching for the radio. 

Despite the fact that Val was speeding through the city on blue lights, it was taking more time than Ian would have ideally liked. He did what he could for his patient, but really, the only thing for it was the hospital, and it was looking like the man was taking a serious turn for the worse. Ian kept his eyes darting between the monitor displaying his vitals and the patient as he wracked his brain for what to do. 

The fact that it took him a full twenty seconds to remember that he should be taking the man’s blood pressure was clear evidence of how distracted his mind was. Ian grimly pushed his own personal life away for the moment. Now certainly wasn’t the time. His blood pressure was concerningly low, which certainly explained his altered consciousness. 

Ian only felt himself calm down slightly when their ambulance was met at the hospital, and they were able to get the patient out. He found himself trailing behind, having wordlessly offered to be the one to do the handover while Val got the paperwork finished. 

The emergency team in the ER were crowding around the man, poking and prodding his body. Ian could see on his face that he was rather blindsided by all of this, and the fact that no one was speaking directly to him wasn’t helping. A sudden wave of compassion hit him, and Ian found himself stepping forward and giving the right answers to all of the lifestyle questions that were being asked of the man. It was probably for the best if he did. 

It was then that Ian saw who he still thought of as his patient looking like he was going to pass the hell out again; a quick look at the vitals monitor displayed a serious arrhythmia. Ian didn’t need to look for more than a moment to realise that it was atrial fibrillation. The spiking, sawtooth pattern on the screen was evidence of that. 

He remembered Tamara telling him once about a time that she had been in Target and a man had simply dropped to the floor. She had, of course, rushed over to help. A finger to his pulse had told her all that she needed to know about his condition. He had gone into a sudden cardiac arrest. Without thinking, and because she didn’t know if there was a defibrillator around, Tamara had punched him soundly in the chest. That had certainly gotten her a few odd looks, but it had done the job. 

Ian couldn’t help but wonder why no one was seemingly paying attention to their patient, who had by now gone grey. 

“Hey!” Ian shouted, rushing to the end of the bed and tapping his feet to get his attention. “I never caught your wife’s name. What is it?” 

The man’s eyes focused on him, and he answered the question. He also answered the next one that Ian asked and the next. Ian kept this up until the hospital staff had gotten it together enough to actually treat him. Luckily, that didn’t take long since Ian was beginning to run out of questions to ask. Seemingly, it had been enough to keep his patient conscious, though Ian couldn’t begin to think of why that would be.

As Ian eventually made his way back to Val and the ambulance, he smiled to himself at his own ingenuity. He’d have to tell Tamara about it the next time that he saw her. He told Val about it and she had her own theory. 

“Well, you know a precordial thump, right?” she asked. 

Ian nodded, having not long been thinking about Tamara performing one in a Target .

“Well,” the blonde continued, “maybe that was like a…precordial question? You know, something to focus the brain and keep him occupied so his body was kinda…forced to cooperate.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I’m just glad it all worked out.”

“Have you perked up a bit now?” Val asked, eyeing him carefully. 

Ian huffed. “I’m fine. I was fine before as well.”

“Try telling that to your face,” she teased as they hopped into their seats and Ian fiddled with the radio. 

“Seriously, I’m all good. Don’t worry,” he reassured her before adding reluctantly. “Nothing bipolar going on.”

That wasn’t strictly true since he always ‘had bipolar going on’, but his coworker needed the reassurance, and Ian was happy to give it. It was less annoying than having to do the same for his family, at least. Val seemed to visibly relax at his words, and Ian’s relief at the fact that Val seemed happy enough to take him at his word was almost total. 

“That’s good. You know, I have a good feeling about this shift,” Val said conspiratorially.

It was well-known that Val had a sixth sense for intuiting when a shift was going to be good and when it wasn’t. Whether they’d have time for a proper break or whether they’d be lucky to drink a few sips of water. She was always right. Ian breathed a sigh of relief. As much as the distraction of a busy shift would allow him to forget the shit show going on at home, he was tired already and needed a break sooner rather than later. 

“Better get going then,” he replied. “As Tamara says, ‘The sooner you start, the sooner you finish.’, isn’t that right?”

Val laughed. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t work with her much.”

“Only ‘cause you won’t join us over on mornings,” Ian pointed out teasingly. 

“Nothing and no one could convince me to get up at that time, and you know it,” she retorted. 

He shrugged. “Well, Tamara is never going to come on evenings with us.”

“She’s avoiding you, that’s why,” Val added, quickly starting the ambulance and beginning to drive away so Ian couldn’t retaliate physically. 

Ian did get a break in the end. His nervous energy surrounding his ghostly roommate prompted him to call Fiona and check in. It wasn’t a long conversation. Ian had chosen to do it during his break expressly so that he had a credible excuse to end the conversation in a timely manner, hopefully before she could ask too many insulting questions about his mental well-being. 

His mind turned back to Mickey the second that he finished work. Ian wasn’t surprised, but it was still frustrating. Of course, he didn’t have to go home - he could technically continue to avoid the problem for a while longer. He could go and stay back at the Gallagher house if he really wanted to, though he would need some sort of excuse for why he was doing so. But he didn’t want to let his own embarrassment at his fuck up get to him. Also, Mickey knew what time he finished work, and no doubt he would be worried if Ian didn’t get back. Even in his shamefaced state of mind, Ian knew that Mickey would worry about him. 

So he got into his car despite not wanting to. Ian put the radio on instead of Spotify so that he wasn’t tempted to see if Mickey was listening to anything. Now that he had a bit of distance from the situation, Ian found himself cringing at his behaviour. Ignoring Mickey like he was invisible again had been childish, though he hadn’t consciously decided to do it. He had just not known what to say to him and had made a beeline to the door without acknowledging him for that reason. Ian could only hope that Mickey hadn’t taken it to heart. 

The drive wasn’t nearly long enough for Ian’s comfort, and so he ended up circling around the block three times before eventually pulling into his driveway. Ian wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but he could feel a wave of oppressive anger hanging over the entire house before he had even gotten out of the car. His hand shook slightly as he opened the door. 

Ian wasn’t sure what he had expected to see when he opened the door. For Mickey to be standing there accusingly, perhaps. All the furniture moved. Instead of that, however, Ian looked around at a completely empty living room. It was like Mickey wasn’t there at all. Ian only had the energy settling around him as proof that Mickey hadn’t somehow disappeared. He opened his mouth to call out to Mickey before cowardly letting it shut again. 

Mickey wasn’t in the kitchen either, so Ian made himself a coffee for lack of anything else to do and stood there in his uniform. He usually changed as soon as he got back home, but he knew that if he went to his room, he would only end up hiding there, which would only exacerbate the problem. So he stood and drank his coffee as he waited for Mickey to show his face with his heart pounding in his chest as he did so. 

It didn’t take long for the ghost to come out of hiding. Mickey sauntered into the room, clearly having been avoiding Ian up until then. He eyed Ian accusingly, the blue of them seeming to lock Ian into place.

“Hi, Mick,” Ian said gingerly. 

Mickey’s eyebrows rose in clear disbelief. “Oh, he speaks,” he retorted mockingly. 

“Had that one coming,” he replied. It still hurt, though.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if I was out of the dog house, is all. Though I’m not rightly sure what I did to land myself there,” Mickey said. 

It was Ian’s turn to raise his eyebrows, then. 

“Seriously? I mean,” he sighed, picking his words carefully, “I was just really embarrassed about last night. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, but you have to admit it was pretty bad.”

“I’m lookin’ out for you, Red, 'cause you clearly ain’t doin’ it for yourself,” the ghost replied, his accent growing a little thicker. 

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, pushing the frustration down. 

“I just don’t understand,” the redhead said desperately.

“Not a lot to understand,” Mickey replied, still keeping his distance. 

“But you…like me?” he asked hesitantly. 

Mickey didn’t reply for a long while. The two men just stared at each other, Ian unwilling to break the silence. He had put himself out there more than enough for the time being. 

“Red, I-” Mickey cut himself off abruptly, and Ian felt fresh frustration bubble up inside of him. Why was this all so hard? Why couldn’t they just talk to each other like they used to do? “Ian,” he continued more firmly, “I can’t be what you deserve. I’m not even alive, goddamnit! I like you better’an anyone I’ve ever known in my damn life. I l-…it doesn’t matter how I feel. You deserve better.”

“What about how I feel?” Ian cried out, clenching his jaw tightly.

“It’s useless. It’ll never work. I can’t touch you, or go anywhere with you or do anythin’ that you need from a lover,” he replied, eyes fixed to the floor. 

“But I like you,” he said imploringly. “How can I convince you that’s enough?”

Mickey shook his head resignedly. “You can’t,” his tone left no room for arguing. 

Tears welled in Ian’s eyes, but he blinked them back fiercely. The pain of constantly putting out his feelings only to have Mickey disregard them, crushing his hopes in the process, was too much. There really was nothing that he could say to Mickey to convince him. What was Ian meant to do? Beg? No, he wouldn’t do that.

Without speaking, Ian put down his coffee cup and made for the garden. He desperately needed to smoke. Anything to get him away from this awkward conversation. Ian had never really been rejected like that before. People he liked tended to return the feelings, even if it was purely sexual. He’d never been completely turned down, and it felt like Mickey had reached into his chest and crushed his heart between those calloused fingers of his. 

Ian should have known that Mickey would follow him out, though it was a surprise to him. He kept his eyes on his completely unutilised garden. 

“Need a light?” Mickey asked. 

Ian looked over at him silently for a moment before shrugging and handing over his pack of cigarettes and lighter to Mickey, who fiddled around with them for a moment. He put the cigarette into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as his eyes flicked to Ian, and the redhead had to look away. He’d never seen Mickey holding a cigarette before, and he had never considered smoking to be that sexy, but seeing the ghost do it now, he was prepared to change his mind on the matter. 

“Thanks,” Ian muttered as he took the lit cigarette that Mickey proffered a few moments later.

“How are you feeling?” the ghost asked when Ian was on his third long drag. 

He frowned. “You really asking me that?”

“Not much else to say. I want you to be ok,” Mickey said, and Ian honestly thought that he meant it. 

“It’s just not fair,” Ian complained, hating how childish he sounded. 

The ghost sighed, long and hard. “You’re tellin’ me, Red. If things were different then…” 

“Yeah, I get the picture,” he said defensively. 

“No, you don’t,” Mickey said, and Ian turned to look at him at long last. “I care about you, and…and that means I want what’s best for you. That sure as hell ain’t me. Nowhere close. Don’t try to change my mind. I couldn’t fucking take it if you left me for someone living, and I sure as hell couldn’t take it if you wasted your life on me either, so that’s where things stand.”

Ian could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, his ears were ringing. He wanted nothing more than to run away yet again, but it was useless. Mickey had made his feelings on the subject perfectly clear. Ian wasn’t going to beg or try to convince him to change his mind. He still had some self-respect, at least.

“So you really want me to go be with someone else?” he asked through gritted teeth instead. 

Mickey swallowed hard, eyes flicking over Ian’s face desperately, and the redhead’s resolve almost crumbled. Surely it would be better to take what he could get from Mickey than do this? 

“That’s right,” Mickey said eventually, voice steely. “You got a lotta love to give, Red. Just make sure you find the right one to give it to.”

“Or you’ll flip another table?” Ian joked weakly. 

The ghost smiled, and it was blinding despite its melancholy tinge. “I may not have my Winchester anymore, but I’ll get the job done somehow.”

“Thank you, Mick,” he said, finding himself meaning it. He took one last drag from his cigarette before ashing it, ignoring how it burnt the tips of his fingers. “I’m sorry for putting all this on you.”

Mickey quirked his brow in that way he did whenever Ian was confusing him. 

“Knowin’ how I feel is reciprocated with no hope is such exquisite torment, but I’d suffer it a hundredfold if I could be with you like I so want,” Mickey said, tongue darting out to wet his lips and Ian couldn’t help but wonder why he would need to do it. 

Ian let out a pained breath. “You can’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” Mickey replied, frowning slightly. 

“All romantic and shit,” he explained. “You just can’t. It’s not fair.”

He nodded. “I understand. Um, I’ll head back in now.”

“I’ll smoke another one before I join you,” Ian replied, holding up his pack. 

Ian ended up staying out there another forty-five minutes as he smoked the rest of his pack. By the time he was finished, his eyes were swollen with crying, and his throat and lungs burned, but he truly felt like he had gotten everything out. He knew what he had to do. Mickey had told him as much. There was nothing for it but to move on.

Chapter Text

It took days for things to settle back to some semblance of normality. ‘I Found’ by Amber Run was still a major part of his running playlist, but overall, he was coping. Ian didn’t want to act weirdly, but he couldn’t help it. The sheer embarrassment of the situation took a while to lessen to the point where Ian could look his ghostly roommate in the eye. In a surprising moment of maturity for him, Ian chose not to go out and immediately fuck some random guy in order to get over Mickey. Instead, he did what any normal person would do and downloaded Tinder .

“Ok,” Mickey said, looking down at Ian’s phone, “and what the fuck is this ‘app’ thingy?” 

Ian snorted. “Basically, desperate single people go on there in the hope of a relationship. Just sex too, but well, I’m not looking for that.”

“That’s, um, good. Good for you, Red,” he replied, and Ian resolutely didn’t look at him to see his expression. 

“Yeah, gotta put some photos and tell them a bit about myself. Then I just have to see if anyone swipes on me,” Ian said before preempting Mickey’s next question. “Swiping is like them seeing if they wanna talk to me. I forget which direction means what, but yeah. If we both like each other, then we can talk, but if not, no harm, no foul, I guess.”

Mickey seemed to consider this for a long moment. “I wanna see this.”

So that was how Ian and Mickey ended up playing the game of Tinder while was sitting on Ian's couch during one of his few days off. Ian had never really used Tinder before, but he found himself getting the hang of it fairly easily. 

“Christ, Red! Why do you keep picking ugly guys?” Mickey complained loudly.

Ian sighed. “They’re not ugly. And also, I can’t afford to be picky.”

“The hell you can’t,” the ghost muttered. “If I looked like you, I’d be picky as all get out.”

“Fine!” the redhead huffed, ignoring the reaction Mickey’s words gave him. “You swipe for me then.” 

Mickey took Ian’s phone from him and began to swipe. Ian should have expected it, but Mickey was indeed a lot pickier than he was. 

“Ugly as sin. Weird hair. Shifty eyes,” Mickey recited as he swiped.

“Oh, come on! He was cute!” Ian protested.

Mickey turned and looked blankly at him. “I’m fuckin’ offended by that.”

Ian frowned in bewilderment. “Why are you offended?”

“If your taste in men is that bad, it doesn’t reflect well on me, does it?” he replied.

Ian blushed immediately. This was one of the few times that Mickey had referred to Ian’s feelings for him since the whole lap dance debacle. He didn’t know how he felt about it, in truth. Mostly mortified. 

“You’re just fishing for compliments now!” Ian teased, hoping to deflect the tension.

“Not fishin’ for shit. I’d just rather you were with someone that deserves you,” Mickey explained. 

“Oh, and what sort of guy is that then?” he said, wishing that he hadn’t even bothered with trying Tinder in front of Mickey as it was swiftly becoming awkward.

The ghost shrugged. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Ian didn’t bother replying to that. Instead, he left Mickey to it as he went to make himself some lunch. He was on a bit of a health kick at the moment. Only in that he was trying to make sure that he actually ate some vegetables, but it was a start. Who knows, Ian might even go jogging today. Anything to get out of the house for a little while since the atmosphere was so oppressive. 

It wasn’t that the atmosphere was oppressive because either of them were angry exactly, but with both of them knowing what the other’s feelings for them were without there being any payoff, it was just…odd. Ian wasn’t experienced in relationships, but even he knew that it wasn’t supposed to go like this. If two people liked each other, then they were meant to get together. Every movie that Ian had ever seen had told him as much. But no, Mickey was adamant, and it seemed that Ian’s attempts to make him jealous weren’t working either.

When he had finished eating and made his way back into the living room, Ian was surprised to find his phone shoved facedown on the sofa and Mickey glaring at the TV in an attempt to look like he was watching it. 

“What’s up, Mick?” Ian asked as he picked up his phone. 

Mickey turned to look at him, his scowl deepening. “These ‘men’ are goddamn disgustin’. Lord! Who the hell raised ‘em? A pack of wolves?” 

Ian laughed. “Alright, I’m guessing someone sent me a gross message.”

“Gross doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replied, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. 

Ian unlocked his phone and had a look. 

Fuck, you’re gorgeous! Do the carpets match the drapes? What do I have to say to get you over to my place sometime this week? I hope you’re a top cause my ass is ready for you. 

Ian looked at the message once and then once more before bursting out into unrestrained laughter. 

“That honestly wasn’t that bad,” he said. “Let me look at his photo again.”

“Not that bad? The hell is wrong with you?” Mickey protested hotly. 

“I mean, ok, it was a bit too forward, but I can appreciate someone who is open about what they want,” Ian replied, letting his childish vindictiveness win for a moment. “If he wants my dick that badly, I should at least hear him out.”

Mickey just stared at him for a moment. “I thought you wanted something real.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then surely this ain’t the best plan, Red,” the ghost pointed out. 

“You sound like Lip,” he muttered.

“Your brother?” Mickey looked confused. 

Ian snorted. “Exactly. He has a real issue with me sleeping with people for the wrong reasons, which,” he rolled his eyes, “is total bullshit since he’s just as bad as I am.”

“What counts as the wrong reasons, then?” Mickey asked, eyes flicking down to Ian’s phone, which was still open on that guy’s profile. 

Ian considered for a moment. “Fucking people for drugs or money is top of the list, obviously. But he knows I don’t do that shit anymore, so he doesn’t bust my balls about it. Um, next up is fucking people for validation. Just doing it to prove people want me, you know?”

He frowned. “Not really, no.”

“Did you not have that back in the ‘Ye Olde West’?” Ian mocked. 

“Fuck you. Of course, we did. Just that the last thing you ever have to worry about is whether people want you, is all,” Mickey replied, not meeting Ian’s eye.

The redhead blushed hard, even as his stomach clenched in pain. Having Mickey talk that way about him was too much. 

“Shut up,” Ian bit out, focusing back on his phone. 

“So was that what that man was?” Mickey asked a little while later. 

“What guy?” 

Mickey sighed. “When you first spoke to me, and you went out to fuck that one fella.” 

Shamefully, it took Ian a moment to remember what Mickey was talking about.

“Oh! Honestly, I just wanted to get out of the house more than anything. The sex was pretty mediocre,” Ian said, wringing his hands together as he spoke. “But, come on, it’s not like you never had meaningless sex.”

It was a pure guess on Ian’s part, but Mickey had certainly never mentioned having any sort of relationship during his life. The idea of him having had one made Ian unreasonably angry, which he knew wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Mickey chuckled. “Oh, sure, Red. All the sex I ever had was meaningless. The difference was that I’m not like you.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“Just that you’re a romantic, I suppose. It’s a good thing, I reckon. Better than bein’ like me, all jaded and messed up over shit other people did,” he replied. 

“Oh,” Ian said, his jaw suddenly tight, “you’re afraid of a real relationship, is that it?”

“I mean, it doesn’t matter either way now,” the ghost sighed. “But when I was alive, yes I was. I knew I’d never be able to settle down and love a woman like I was meant to do, not without lying to myself and her. And, well, yeah, I knew plenty of cowboys settled down together and generally they were left to themselves but,” he paused for a moment. “You gotta understand, Red. It wasn’t easy then. You couldn’t advertise your…preferences. Even finding someone for one night was a dangerous affair in case you approached the wrong man. Anythin’ more than that was more of a risk than I was willin’ to take then.”

Ian listened carefully, trying to imagine Mickey in some saloon scoping out the occupants for someone potentially gay. It seemed dangerous, and Ian felt himself irrationally worrying for that past version of his ghostly roommate. Had Mickey ever gotten it wrong? Ian both did and didn’t want to ask. 

“So you never liked anyone enough to try?” Ian settled on asking instead. 

“Funnily enough, the life of an outlaw was a pretty lonely one, Red,” he replied, chuckling to himself as if he had told some hilarious joke. “Didn’t see much of anyone. Spent most of my time out in the wilds.” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess that explains it. I thought you might just have super high standards or something, it would explain why you’re so picky on Tinder,” Ian replied.  

“Maybe I’m not the best person to ask, then,” Mickey said defensively. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted. 

Ian could feel an argument brewing between them, and he was eager to defuse the situation by any means necessary. 

“Wanna watch Ghost Hunters ?” Ian asked hopefully. 

“Is it about what I think it’s about?” Mickey sounded reluctant, but Ian knew if he was really against it, then he would make that known. 

“Pretty much,” he replied, unable to hide his smile. 

Mickey sighed, long and hard. “I reckon I have no choice in the matter.”

“Well, you could do your ghost magic bullshit and turn the TV off,” the redhead pointed out. 

“Oh sure,” he drawled, “but then you’d be sad.”

Ian swallowed hard. Mickey had said it so matter of factly, like Ian’s feelings were an automatic consideration for him, and he had never really known anyone to do that for him. Perhaps his siblings, but that was different. He was a consideration in so much as he was a part of the overall Gallagher family unit. His individual wants and needs had never been of any real merit. 

They settled in to watch the show, but it wasn’t long before Mickey was beginning to scoff and mutter to himself. Ian tried to ignore it for a few minutes, but eventually, it got too distracting.

“Go on,” Ian prompted. “Share with the class.”

“The hell?” Mickey replied, shaking his head slightly. “Alls I was sayin’ was that these fellas need to learn some damn respect. If they wandered in here and tried that bullshit on me, they’d soon regret it.”

Ian let out an undignified bark of laughter. “Don’t know how you didn’t get me out of the house when I first got here.”

“I fuckin’ tried, remember? Kept breaking all your things,” Mickey pointed out.

“Yeah,” he said gingerly. “I honestly didn’t really notice. Just thought it was my mind being weird.”

“You’re an idiot, that’s why,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement. “Glad you stuck around.”

They settled back in to watch the show, and it wasn’t long before Ian felt the need to speak to Mickey again. It was truly odd to him just how much he wanted to talk to the ghost. He never seemed to grow bored of him. 

“Can you…um,” Ian began to speak before chickening out.

Mickey turned to look at him perplexedly. “Can I what?”

“Nevermind,” he quickly added.

“If you don’t tell me right now, I will make your life hell,” the ghost replied evenly. 

Ian sighed but dutifully explained. “You’re going to hate it. Um, I was wondering if you could…you know, see the ghosts.”

Mickey stared at him blankly for a long moment before he burst out laughing. His face split into a wide smile that left Ian breathless. 

“What if I said that I could?” he replied once he had stopped laughing. 

Ian gawked. “You can?”

Mickey didn’t reply for a moment before letting out another bark of laughter and eventually put him out of his misery. “Nah, of course not, Red. Would make the show a damn sight more interesting if I could, though.”

“Yeah, that’s a damn shame,” Ian agreed. 

“Probably that there aren’t any there, anyways,” the ghost added offhandedly. 

The redhead huffed. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Whatever you say, Red,” Mickey replied, amusement tinging his voice. 

They watched two more episodes in companionable silence, though Ian could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He figured that it must be the Tinder app, and when he eventually checked, he was right. Ian frowned down at the screen as he looked through his messages. None of them were particularly inspiring. He had purposely lowered his standards when he had been swiping as well. Ian had to admit that the problem ultimately was that none of them were Mickey. That wasn’t their fault, of course, but it didn’t change the situation.

“Are those men saying more disgusting things to you?” Mickey asked protectively, peering over at Ian’s phone.

Ian sighed. “A few of them, but that’s not it.”

“Go on, then, Red. What is it?” he prompted.

“None of them excite me or anything,” he admitted. 

“No?” the ghost pressed. 

“Obviously not,” Ian huffed, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I thought you’d know why.”

Mickey at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I do wish things were different, Red.”

“Stop,” Ian said quickly, the word an instinctive reaction to the pain that Mickey managed to cause so easily whenever he said stuff like that. 

“Sorry,” he said, quickly backing down. 

“Um, this guy looks alright,” Ian said, clicking onto his profile. “I remember him. Um, he’s a doctor, so at least he’ll understand my job. Good looking, too. He seems like he wants to actually go out on a date.”

“Good…that’s how it should be,” Mickey said, voice dull. “You sure he seems alright?” 

Ian shrugged. “It’s online dating. You kinda have to take a risk no matter what, but I’ll be careful.”

“Sounds good, then,” he said. 

“Try telling your face that,” the redhead teased.

Mickey straightened himself up. “I’m happy for you, Red. Truly, I am.”

“Well, I haven’t even messaged him back, so maybe don’t start writing out the wedding invitations just yet, Mick,” Ian retorted as he began to type out a reply. 

Ian messaged back and forth with the guy for a few minutes, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was seriously interested in Ian. It was honestly a bit of a turn-off since they hadn’t actually met before or anything like that. Ian pushed that feeling aside, however. He was a doctor called Mariusz, and he seemed genuinely nice, and even if he wanted to go out that very night, well, Ian should be flattered by it. It didn’t help that both of their schedules are so hectic that their next mutual day off wouldn’t be for another month. 

“Shit,” Ian muttered to himself as he stared down at his phone screen. 

“What?” Mickey huffed, not tearing his eyes from the TV - it was still heinously incongruous watching Mickey, still dressed in full cowboy regalia, fixedly watching Netflix.

“I think I just signed myself up for a date tonight,” he said tentatively. 

“Tonight?” the ghost said, his mouth slightly open in shock as he turned to stare at Ian.

“Yeah, this dude seems really into me. Wants to go out for dinner at like six o’clock and - shit! I need to start getting ready now, then,” Ian was already making a move to rise from the couch, his mind full of everything that he needed to do to make himself presentable. 

“Already? Jesus, that was quick,” Mickey said disapprovingly.  

“What does it matter?” the redhead retorted, standing up. 

Mickey stood as well, presumably so he wouldn’t be glared down at quite so severely by Ian. 

“I just wasn’t expectin’ it is all, Red,” he explained, clearly trying to placate Ian somehow, but it wasn’t working. 

“You said I should date, and you were right. So I’m going on a date. What’s so difficult to understand about that?” he said, aware of how angry he sounded - so much for staying calm.

“I’m just not ready, is all,” the cowboy admitted, looking down at his somehow mud-covered shoes. 

This was enough to send Ian careening into fully formed rage. The past few days had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and for Mickey to dare to say it to him was more than he could honestly handle at that moment. He wanted to rip into his ghostly roommate, tear him a new one for ever, thinking that he could say something like that to Ian after everything that had gone down between them. But he didn’t. Instead, he clenched his fists tight enough to hurt and walked away without saying a word. 

Mickey didn’t come to find him until Ian had showered and was picking his clothes out for the dinner. Ian had made the mistake of leaving his bedroom door open, so Mickey waltzed right in. Then again, Ian had never asked if he could walk through walls or not - it had never come up. 

“You’re really dressin’ up for this shit, huh?” Mickey commented, and Ian finally noticed the jealousy evident in his voice - it was infuriating. 

“So what if I am?” he snapped.  

“Seems a bit much, don’t you think?” the ghost said, raising a judgemental eyebrow. 

“Whatever,” Ian grumbled, moving to pull his shirt off so he could put on one of his few nice button-ups. 

Ian could see Mickey turning away out of the corner of his eye, and the unexpected chivalrousness of it made Ian’s heart soften, which, in turn, only made him more annoyed.

“You can’t just ask me to do something and get mad when I do it, you know?” Ian said eventually. 

“I didn’t ask you to do this shit,” Mickey bit out.

“Yeah? Well, you may as well have since you outright said you wanted me to go be with someone else. You gonna go and get a ghost boyfriend as well, then, huh?” he replied bitterly. 

Mickey groaned. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You have gotta know that by now, Red.”

“And why the fuck not?” Ian pressed, taking a vicious pleasure in watching Mickey squirm. 

“I jus’ don’t want anyone else. I told you I never really liked people. You’re the only one I’ve ever liked, and it took me this long to find you,” he said, flicking his thumb across the bottom of his nose. “I’m not about to go and try my luck elsewhere even if I could.”

“Funny how you get to choose that, and I don’t,” he muttered. 

“Well, I’m stuck in this house, and you’re not, which I reckon makes a bit of a difference,” Mickey said sardonically. 

Ian stared at him blankly. “Doesn’t explain anything.”

“I’m also dead,” he pointed out. 

“So you want to sit there and break your own damn heart?” he asked as he put his nicest jeans on. 

“I don’t think I ever had much heart to break in the first place,” Mickey said, and Ian could see the lie in his eyes. 

“Ok, walk me through what’s going on right now,” Ian said. “Because the way it’s looking to me is that you’re getting angry ‘cause I’m doing what you wanted me to. What do you even want me to fucking do, Mick? Cancel on him?” 

“No, I just want you to be happy,” he said, looking at him imploringly.

Ian sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I won’t be bringing him back,” he said, offering an olive branch. 

“You gonna be goin’ back to his place then?” Mickey questioned, and Ian could see how his body was tight - every muscle clenched, and Ian was yet again stuck by how viscerally alive he looked for someone who was dead. 

“If I like him,” he replied, shrugging. 

Mickey bit his lip hard. “Thanks for thinkin’ of me. Wouldn’t want to have to make myself scarce in case you decide to go in flagrante in the living room again,” his words were joking, but his eyes were hard. 

Ian looked away quickly. Yet again, everything was becoming too much for him. It had been the case for the last few days. It was as if the tension between them ebbed and flowed like the tide, never leaving for long. It left Ian on edge constantly. 

The tension between them only got worse as Ian went through the motions of smoking a quick cigarette before it was time for him to drive over. He needed something to calm him down. Mickey, for his part, was going through the motions of regaling Ian with a story from his past. Ian often begged Mickey to talk about that time in his life, but the cowboy was reluctant for the most part, and Ian had to respect his wishes on the matter. The fact that he wanted to talk now struck Ian as odd, but he didn’t outwardly question it.

“Well, you see, this was one of the times that I had managed to get some gainful employment for myself, Red. It wasn’t easy work wrangling cattle, but out there in the wilds, I could lay low from the law for a little while. I had paid off one of the witnesses to my last bank robbery to give a false description, too, so I was feeling pretty smug,” he said, settling into his story-telling cadence as Ian smoked. 

“So you got sloppy?” Ian guessed. 

Mickey laughed. “You can say that! We had come across some one horse town out in the middle of, what did you say that once? Bumfuck nowhere, that’s it!” he chuckled to himself. “One horse town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and we decided that there must be some drink and some entertainment for us there. So I was in my cups by the time it got dark, and things started to get interestin’.”

“They were questionin’ us about our business there, and I was happy enough to tell ‘em the truth. Only thing was I was happy enough to tell ‘em my real name too, and one of ‘em had heard of me, you see? ‘Is that Milkovich like One Shot Milkovich?’ one of them asked, and I was too drunk to see the predicament that I’d landed myself in.”

“So I ask him if he has a problem, and well, turns out he had about two hundred dollars worth of reasons to bring me to the sheriff,” Mickey said, smiling to himself at the memory. “So he gets out his gun, and I get out my gun. Only problem bein’ that my hands are might unsteady by this point, and he was sober as a judge.”

Ian knew this obviously wasn’t how Mickey had died, but he still found himself holding his breath anxiously as he waited for the ghost to continue.

“Just as I’m makin’ peace with the Devil, one of the fellas I was travellin’ with hits him upside the head with a bottle, and the man is out cold. I don’t waste time. We all run out of the saloon and are on our horses before anyone can even say anythin’ to us. I didn’t know if the law would be after us or what, and I wasn’t fixin’ to find out neither,” he said, looking out at the garden, his gaze foggy with recollections. 

Ian could see it almost, and even just imagining Mickey as a living, breathing man was almost too much. He took the rest of his cigarette back in one long drag until it hurt his throat.

“Anyhow, we had barely left town before I hear the sound of this fella I was ridin’ with rustling in his bag. I knew what it sounded like when he was reachin’ for his gun. I’d heard it enough out on the trail. Luckily, I had my instincts with me, and I’d sobered up a bit by that point,” Mickey chuckled, though there was no humour in the sound. “He was dead before he’d even gotten his gun out.”

“Shit, Mick…” Ian said, completely unable to think of anything that would even be able to touch on what he wanted to say to make his friend feel better at that moment. 

“It gets worse. This fella had been…of my persuasion, shall we say. Or, if I wanna say it how you would, we fucked around a little. But he was ready to kill me over a bounty,” he said, anger lacing his tone for the first time during the story. “I didn’t trust people too well even before that, but the last of any trust I had died that day, Red.”

“I get it,” he said, voice small against the rapidly cooling evening air. 

“No,” Mickey said firmly. “You don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be so mad at me.” 

Ian sighed. “I’m not mad at you.”

Mickey just looked at him unbelievingly. 

“Alright, I’m a bit mad,” the redhead admitted. “I just don’t understand why you’d do this to us.”

“Let me tell it to you like this, then,” the ghost drawled, his voice taking on what Ian knew to be his false confidence. “I was up one night while you were asleep like I always am, and I got to thinkin’ like I always do. Anyway, I was thinkin’ about how I’d never been put in a position like this. I couldn’t run from ya, I jus’ had to let you in. It felt wrong, you know? I was waitin’ for the other shoe to drop, for you to hurt me somehow. And then I tried to think of what you could do to hurt me. You can’t physically hurt or kill me, so that rules out mosta what the others did.”

Ian didn’t have to ask who ‘the others’ were.

“And then I realised!” Mickey cried out, making Ian jump slightly. “The only thing you could ever do to hurt me that bad, hurt me so bad that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go on for another moment. Well, that would be if you left and I…” he paused, the muscles in his jaw twitching, and Ian almost imagined that his body was trying to force him not to say the words. “I can’t handle it. I just can’t, Red.”

“I need to go,” Ian said, and it wasn’t a lie, but mostly he just needed to get out of that situation.

Mickey nodded tightly. “Yeah, don’t wanna be late, do you?”

Ian rushed upstairs to quickly brush his teeth just in case and spritzed on more cologne to hopefully cover the smell of smoke before heading back downstairs. When he got down there, he saw Mickey leaning against the wall and picking at his cuticles with nervous rapidity. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Mickey said simply the moment that he met Ian’s eye.

Ian frowned. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between them. “I know you’ll go there, and I’ll spend the entire time hating myself for making you feel like I didn’t care or like I wanted you to go, and then I’ll be mad, and you’ll be mad, and it’ll be all my damn fault.”

“So don’t,” the redhead replied before he could think better of it. “Tell me to stay, Mick. Just tell me.”

“And what can I give you?” he asked, looking up at Ian with wide eyes.

The nerve-wracking nature of putting himself out there yet again was getting to Ian, but he simply had to do it. He could see that Mickey was wavering, and whatever he had to do, he would do it. 

“I never wanted anything other than you,” Ian said sincerely. 

The ghost seemed to consider this for a long moment, his vacillating through myriad expressions as Ian watched on in anxious fascination. 

“Well, alright then,” Mickey said matter of factly. 

“What does that mean?” Ian asked, his heart thumping in his chest. 

“I’m sweet on you, Red. What else can I say?” he replied, shrugging. “Don’t go with him. Stay with me.”

Ian pulled out his phone and began to type.

Chapter Text

Ian stepped out of the ambulance for the last time that night, his body tense with the weight of the last twelve hours. This one had been the worst shift in a long time. Val looked equally as worn out, and neither of them spoke as they went to go grab their things and head home. Ian wanted nothing more than to get back to Mickey - he was the only one that could make any of it better. 

Things between them had settled down a lot once they had both admitted that they didn’t want anyone else. Ian didn’t have to pretend to want to date other people, which was a weight off of his shoulders. It was odd to feel so genuinely uninterested in other people, but it was true. Ian was convinced that Mickey would come around sooner or later to having a proper relationship. He just had to. 

That thought buoyed him as he made his way back home, even as the memories of the shift kept trying to pull him under. Ian found himself putting Mickey’s playlist on shuffle as he drove back, allowing the songs that he associated with the ghost to wrap him in a comforting blanket.

“Hey, Red,” Mickey called out to him as soon as he got the door open. 

“Hi,” Ian replied, sounding tired even to his own ears as he made his way to the stairs. “I’ll be down soon.”

The ghost looked over to him from where he was bent over the coffee table drawing. Ian felt guilty for making him use it, but it wasn’t like he could afford a dining table any time soon. Hopefully, Mickey’s lack of corporeal body exempted him from any back pain. 

Ian always stayed downstairs with Mickey for a while after work. He needed the time to decompress, and he knew that Mickey needed the company. For all that he was a grumpy son of a bitch, the decades to himself had left him always eager for Ian’s presence. Yet again, he felt guilty for being able to leave the house while Mickey was not. Mickey had explained it to him once, that it wasn’t that he wasn’t able to leave the grounds of the house, as the house hadn’t existed when he had died, but it was that the house had been built practically on top of where he had died. Since he hadn’t been able to go far from the spot he was shot down, it now amounted to the same thing. 

“Hell, I could go out onto the road if I wanted to. Well, back when people couldn’t see me,” Mickey had explained one night. 

“Oh? Did you?” Ian asked, riveted. 

“Once or twice,” he replied offhandedly. “Lost its charm real quick. S’like a tiny taste of the forbidden fruit. I know better than to do it now, only makes it worse.”

Thinking back on that conversation now made Ian’s chest ache. The idea of Mickey watching the world go by, watching everything be built as he stood by, utterly unable to interact with anything. He would never tell Mickey how sorry for him he often felt, but it certainly gave him a lot of patience when dealing with Mickey’s many idiosyncrasies.

“I’m back,” Ian called out as he made his way back downstairs. 

He only made a quick stop off for some snacks before he settled down on the sofa for the evening. Mickey usually watched TV at this time of day, but he wasn’t this time. Though Ian could understand not wanting to do the same thing all the time.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, peering over at the paper. 

Mickey hummed. “Tryin’ to remember what this one place looked like. Well, it doesn't really matter if I get it right as long as it looks good.”

“Agreed,” Ian laughed. “I definitely can’t fact-check you about your drawing accuracy.”

Mickey was drawing what looked to be a stretch of countryside. Ian could make out a small pond and a tree as well as rolling hills in the distance. The drawing was still in its infancy, so he couldn’t make out any other details. 

“Go on,” Mickey said as he clambered onto the couch next to Ian. “Tell me all about work.”

It was their usual routine. Mickey would ask about his day, and Ian would launch into a long description of it. The ghost was always quick to tell him if and when he was growing bored of whatever Ian was saying, which, in turn, allowed him to let go and just say whatever came to mind, sure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t just sit there and put up with it in silence. 

Ian grimaced. “It was work, I guess.”

Mickey tilted his head slightly as if assessing him. “Are you alright? Be honest now, Red.”

“I…” he pressed his lips together tightly. “It was awful.”

“You wanna talk about it?” the ghost asked tentatively. 

“Are you sure you wanna hear it? It’s not pretty,” Ian asked, giving Mickey an easy out. 

“I’m not gonna offer again. Either you wanna talk, or ya don’t. But I ain’t gonna force you,” he said, twisting his fingers together. 

Ian couldn’t help but smile to himself. “It was one of the calls. It really got to me. Basically, it was a callout to the Fairy Tale, and it was a teenager that was around how old I was when I was working in that club. About seventeen or eighteen. Far too young to be there. Someone had found him passed out after having overdosed, and we didn’t know if he’d taken it himself or if he’d been drugged or anything.”

Mickey shifted a little in his seat, his leg moving slightly closer to Ian. Close enough that Ian could feel the electricity of it even through his pyjamas. 

“Anyway,” Ian continued, “we got in there, and this kid was convulsing, and it was all we could do to get him in the ambulance and on our way to the hospital. I was in the back working on him, and eventually, I was able to get him more stable. But…” he swallowed hard, “when he woke up, he was so fucking scared. The first thing he said was that he had to go back because someone was waiting for him and…”

Ian cut himself off, rubbing his hand across his eyes roughly. Mickey looked over at him with concern shining in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, which Ian was grateful for. He needed the silence in order to continue. If Mickey spoke now, Ian doubted that he would be able to finish. 

“It got to me because that was me at one point. The number of pills I took because some guy put it in my mouth, and I didn’t know what it was. I did so much stuff that I look back now, and I think, ‘God, you must have fucking hated yourself to do this to yourself.’ and I did. I did hate myself. But I was a kid, and I didn’t see it until I was looking at that boy, and all I could think was how impossible it would be for me to hate him, so why not give myself the same grace?” Ian said in one long burst. 

“Shit, Ian,” Mickey began, and Ian knew it was serious because Mickey had used his name. “You’re the strongest person I ever met. Don’t forget it. I wish I could…I wish I could take it from you, but no one can do that. You have to forgive yourself for what you did to survive.”

“But I didn’t have to do it, though,” he couldn’t help but point out, desperation in his voice. 

Mickey sighed. “And I didn’t have to become an outlaw. I didn’t have to run from home and do all the things I did, but I did,” his blue eyes stared Ian down. “Do you blame me for it?”

Ian shook his head. “No! Of course not! You did the only thing you knew to do.”

He leaned back in his seat triumphantly. “Exactly. Now, you need to sit with that and really accept it. It took me decades of bein’ stuck with no company other than myself, but with no brain in order for me to go insane with loneliness, for me to figure it out. It sure ain’t gonna be easy for you either. But you gotta do it.”

“Only if you figure out your crazy trust issues, Mick,” Ian retorted. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Red,” the ghost chuckled. 

“Sorry about that. We aren’t together or anything, so I shouldn’t be making ultimatums like that,” he replied, a little chastened. 

Mickey shrugged. “Might as well be together given all the time we spend together. I don’t know a whole lot about that sorta thing. I know nothin’ as a matter of fact, but I realised that a little while ago. Was just waitin’ for the right time to tell ya, actually.”

Ian swallowed hard. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he so badly wanted to seize the opportunity that Mickey was giving him right then, but he couldn’t. Not like this.

“Yeah, but we’re not together. And…well, I put myself out there. If you wanna be with me, that’s your choice, but I’m not gonna let you fall into this without wanting it,” he said, the words feeling treacherous when this had been everything that he had wanted for so long. 

But Mickey was too important to him, and the idea of him regretting any of this was more than Ian could take. Sure, they acted in ways that roommates, or even friends, often didn’t. The explicit displays of jealousy on Mickey’s part, the way that Ian would bend over backwards to please Mickey, and the emotional vulnerability from them both. None of it was normal. So yes, Mickey was partially right. They were essentially dating already, but Ian couldn’t let himself date Mickey on a technicality. If dating was even the right word. 

It implied a lot of things that they had either bypassed, or didn’t apply. Dates and fumbling first times, getting to know each other. None of that applied since they couldn’t touch and there was no one that knew Ian like Mickey did. Sure, his siblings knew more, but they didn’t have the in depth knowledge of his current state - no one else came close to Mickey on that front. 

“I understand, Red,” Mickey said resignedly, and Ian smiled sadly in preparation of yet another rejection. “So, will ya be with me? I’d love nothin’ more.”

“What?” he replied, too shocked to even properly understand what Mickey had said. 

Mickey ran his thumb over the bottom of his nose nervously. “I said I don’t know what a relationship entails, and I don’t. But I want it with you. I’m tired of lettin’ my fear ruin things for me. ‘Specially when it’s hurtin’ you too.”

“Jeez, I didn’t know you were so emotional, Mick,” Ian joked, unable to take the situation seriously. 

“Fuck off!” Mickey huffed, before growing somber. “So…what do you say?” 

“I say you’re on,” he replied, and really, there was nothing else that he could say. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“I want that too,” he said sincerely. 

“You think…if we tried it would work?” Ian asked tentatively. 

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Perhaps. Reckon it’s worth a shot,” Mickey leaned forward more, his eyes locked onto Ian’s mouth. 

“Yeah, come on, then,” he said breathlessly. 

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes. “Makin’ me do all the work, are ya?” 

“Only fair,” Ian replied teasingly. 

And so Mickey leaned forward and closed the distance between them, and Ian felt his chest ache with how quickly his heart was beating. It was almost like a phantom touch. Perhaps like when Mickey had gripped a knife through Ian’s hand. There was no pressure and no taste, which made the entire exercise an endeavour in oddness. Ian wanted so badly for it to feel like something. He could imagine it in his mind, and it made him want to cry for a moment before he pushed it back. 

Ian pulled back then. 

“What did it feel like for you?” Ian asked. 

Mickey frowned. “Nothin’ really. Just weird havin’ something going through my lips, you know?” 

“So I was inside you?” the redhead pressed, raising an eyebrow and enjoying how Mickey squirmed in embarrassment. It was during moments like that that Ian remembered that Mickey was from a much less sexually liberated time. 

“Good god,” Mickey huffed. “If you insist on puttin’ it like that. So, um, how did it feel for you?”

Ian considered for a moment. “Like an electric shock, but softer. It always feels like that when you touch me or get close enough to me. It was stronger maybe because it was your face and not just your finger or something. Um, kinda like pressure but not. I can’t really describe it.”

“Like there should have been a kiss, but there wasn’t, and you could tell what you were meant to feel, but you just don’t?” the ghost ventured. 

“That’s exactly it!” he enthused, relieved to have his feelings put into words. 

“It was the same for me,” Mickey replied, frowning. “I want it to be different. Let me…let me concentrate. Just sit there and let me try, alright?”

Ian nodded. “Sure.”

“Reckon you can sit still?” the dark-haired man teased. 

“Yeah,” Ian replied, a jolt going through him at Mickey’s words. His accent still did things to him even after all this time. 

So that’s how Ian ended up on his sofa with his eyes closed as Mickey tried to kiss him over and over again. It seemed that the more Mickey touched him, the stronger the electric feeling grew until he was practically writhing with it. It was simply too much for him to take. The sensation of the kisses themselves didn’t change, though, much to Mickey’s dismay. 

“I’m really tryin’, Red,” he said mournfully. 

“Don’t worry, Mick. It’ll happen soon. I know you want it. It’ll happen eventually, just like it did with everything else,” Ian replied. 

Though his words were confident, he felt anything but. And that uncertainty was reflected in Mickey’s face as well.

Chapter Text

It was honestly surprising to Ian how much had changed now that they had officially labelled what they had as romantic. Ian still found it odd to refer to Mickey as his boyfriend, as using a word like that for a man like him seemed almost sacrilegious. But it was definitely a relationship, and that was all that Ian had wanted. No need to hide or downplay his feelings, and no more awkward tension between them. It was wonderfully freeing.

Mickey had migrated to spending his time in Ian’s room with him after post-work Netflix time. Ian would lie there, and they would talk until Ian fell asleep. He had asked what Mickey did after that, and the ghost had blushed hard that Ian hadn’t had the heart to press the issue. At the very least, Mickey was always downstairs when Ian got up. The ghost was a lot more overt in his efforts to take care of Ian as well, making him coffee and even getting food out for him. Ian had tried to protest, but Mickey had soon put a stop to it. 

“Let me take care of ya, alright?” he had said firmly, and when he put it like that, how could Ian say no?

So Ian woke up to the smell of coffee wafting through the house, and the smell alone made him feel more cared for than he had in years. He got ready to go downstairs quickly, not wanting to keep his boyfriend waiting. Ian supposed he’d just have to get used to the word. 

“Mornin’, Red,” Mickey greeted as Ian made his way downstairs. 

“Morning,” he replied fondly, making his way over to Mickey.

They were close enough that Mickey’s electric presence tingled across his skin. Ian allowed himself to move his hand over Mickey’s where it was resting on the kitchen counter. It was still odd to ‘touch’ him, but Ian was determined to get over it. If and when Mickey figured out how to touch Ian, he wanted it to be normal for them to be that close. 

Mickey shuddered. “Still feels weird,” he said, voice tight. 

“Bad weird?” Ian asked. 

“Nah. Just strange. I don’t rightly remember what it was like to be touched, but I’m sure it wasn’t like this,” Mickey explained. 

“Fuck, that’s sad,” he replied. 

“I’m dead. Their own death is hardly a happy occurrence by most people’s reckonin’,” the ghost pointed out sardonically. 

Ian huffed in faux outrage. “You only met me because you died, so some good came out of it.”

“Sweet Jesus, you’re so much more….I don’t know, but you’re somethin’, and it started when we got together,” he said longsufferingly. 

“Is this your way of saying how happy you are to have met me, Mick?” Ian replied, smirking as he took his first sip of coffee of the day. 

“Fuck you is what it is,” Mickey grumbled.

He snorted and blew Mickey an obnoxiously loud kiss, and the ghost just narrowed his eyes in reply, though Ian was sure that he could see a slight flush on Mickey’s cheeks. 

“We’re going to figure this shit out,” he said with a fresh conviction.

“You mean I’m going to,” Mickey replied, pressing his lips together tightly. “I’m the problem here, Red.” 

“You’re not a fucking problem,” Ian protested. 

“I appreciate what you mean, but you gotta admit that thems the facts. But I am tryin’ my best here,” he said guiltily. 

“Well, we’ll both have to come up with some ideas then. Get thinking while I’m at work,” the redhead teased. 

“I’m the smart one. I’ll think of somethin’,” Mickey joked back easily. 

Ian rolled his eyes. “You’ve gone from thinking I’m essentially a doctor to thinking I’m an idiot. What happened?”

The ghost shrugged. “Got to know ya, I ‘spose.” 

“Damn,” Ian lamented. “I should have just stayed mysterious.”

“And I should have stayed invisible and inaudible,” he shot back. 

“Fuck off!” Ian protested, even the idea of that making him slightly uncomfortable. 

“Reckon it’s a bit late for that now in any case,” Mickey pointed out. 

Ian let the topic drop after that. Instead, focusing on getting mentally prepared for work. The volume of calls that day was expected to be much higher, given the fact that there was a big basketball game going on that night. A big game meant lots of drinking, and drinking meant fighting and accidents and lots of other reasons for an ambulance to need to be called.

“Alright, I’ve got to go now,” Ian said reluctantly. “Any plans for while I’m gone?”

Mickey moved closer enough to Ian that the hairs on his arm stood on end. “Not much. I expect I’ll find somethin’,” he smirked to himself. “Might just move the furniture around.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he retorted. “Right, stop distracting me. I’ve got to go.”

He turned to leave, but Mickey had him by the collar of his jacket. The fact that Mickey could touch his clothes but not him left Ian endlessly frustrated. 

“Don’t I get a proper send-off, Red?” Mickey asked, voice low.

Ian swallowed hard. “Wish I could give you the send-off I want to.”

“Still,” he said, eyes still fixed on Ian’s face. “Come’ere.” 

Ian happily obliged. Allowing Mickey to pull his close until their lips were touching, or he assumed they were. All he could feel was the tingle of Mickey’s form against his skin, the way Mickey was holding him in place. He smiled into the ‘kiss’, uncaring for the moment about all that it lacked. Just being able to be so close to Mickey was enough at the moment. He was buoyed by the feeling all the way to work, and Ian could swear that he could still feel the tingle against his lips. 

Tamara was waiting for him when he arrived, and Ian was glad to see her. They had been two ships in the night as of late. 

“What’s up, Tam?” Ian asked, making a beeline for the coffee machine. 

She laughed. “You’re addicted, you know. And I’m alright. Shift went ok today.”

“Send some of that good energy my way, then,” he replied. “Have you seen Val yet?”

“Nope! Shouldn’t be long, though,” Tamara said.

Tamara was right, and Val did arrive not long later. Ian couldn’t help but enjoy seeing his two favourite coworkers together, as it didn’t happen nearly often enough. 

“We need to meet up for a drink sometime,” Ian said as Tamara was making to leave.

“We should!” Val enthused. “I’ll text you guys with my days off.”

“Yeah, I will too,” Tamara added. 

Ian grinned. “Sounds like a plan!” 

They regularly tried to meet up, but it rarely happened. Ian had a feeling that if they did meet up, it wouldn’t be for at least another three months. It would be worth it, though. Ian never seemed to go anywhere or do anything. Mickey had pointed out as much, guilty, assuming that it was his fault, but in truth, Ian had been that way long before he ever moved out of the Gallagher house. 

The shift started out slowly, with a few easy calls that he and Val were able to do easily enough. Ian found himself almost on autopilot as he worked, his thoughts lingering on Mickey and what he was likely to be doing at that moment. Drawing perhaps, or maybe watching one of his shows. Ian wished there was more that Mickey could be doing. He needed to think of more things that he could do. If Mickey wasn’t able to leave the house, then Ian could try and bring a bit more of the world to him.

Ian should have known that the shift wouldn’t stay easy. In fact, by the time he was set to go home, it was looking like the calls were only ramping up in their intensity. 

The controller’s voice crackled through the radio, drawing Ian’s attention as she said their code name. “Do you think you’d be able to stay on for a few more hours? We’re absolutely swamped and don’t have enough people as it is.”

Ian looked over to Val, who was already looking at him. 

“What do you think?” she asked. “I’ll go with whatever you want.”

The implied ‘because you're bipolar that means you need to be careful about how much you work’ didn’t need to be said. 

Ian shrugged. “I’m down. Don’t think I could live with myself if I left everyone in the shit.”

“Thank you, Ian, Val!” the controller enthused, sounding almost faint with relief. “You’re both stars.”

“Sure, sure. Got a job for us?” Val replied, smirking conspiratorially at Ian.

“Got plenty,” she replied, launching them back into work. 

A few more hours turned into almost a whole other shift, and both Ian and Val were practically dead on their feet by the time that they got to the station. The sun was high in the sky by now, and Ian was inordinately grateful that he had the next two days off, or he really would have been in the shit. 

His entire body went as if it was weighted somehow like he could just sag to the floor at any moment. Val looked to be in the same boat as him as they both flopped onto the chairs in exhaustion. They could go home, but neither of them seemed to have the energy to move. 

“This was horrendous,” Val sighed, stretching her arms above her head with a groan.

Ian hummed in acknowledgement, stretching his own limbs out in an attempt to alleviate the soreness that had crept its way into his limbs.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Val added, forcing herself up to her feet. “Better get out of here before the afternoon shift gets here.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“They’ll ask us why we’re still here, and we’ll have to tell them, and it’ll be ages before we can leave,” she replied as if the answer should be obvious.

Ian chuckled, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned further back against the thoroughly uncomfortable chair. 

“Got a point there. Let’s go, then,” Ian said, forcing himself up and reaching out a hand to her.

Val took his hand, and Ian was forced to pull her up like a sack of potatoes as she was limp and was exactly zero help.

“Fuck, you’re heavy!” he complained.

“Or you’re just weak. Have you ever thought of that?” the blonde countered. 

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here,” Ian huffed. 

They trudged their way to the parking lot in silence, neither one of them having the wherewithal to make conversation. Besides, they’d spent the last nineteen hours together, so they’d long since run out of things to say. 

Ian barely managed to get himself safely home. Driving while that tired wasn’t safe, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. The city seemed to go by at a crawl. Ian watched everyone around him going about their day perfectly normally. Idly, he wondered how many of them had ever thought about the emergency service workers that made their lives possible. Had he treated any of them? Any of their family? 

When he got back, he could see that the light in the front room was on from where he was parked on the driveway, though he couldn’t see Mickey himself. He got out of the car, eager to get to his bed, which seemed to be calling to him. His stomach was rumbling harshly, but that could wait. 

He had barely gotten his door opened before Mickey was on him, gripping him by the lapels and dragging him inside. 

“Where the hell have you been?” the ghost questioned him, worry sharp in his voice. 

“Hey Mickey,” Ian replied, sagging forward. 

Mickey managed to hold him up with only a small grunt of exertion. 

“Seriously, Red. What the hell?” he pressed, staggering back with Ian and letting Ian flop back onto the couch.

Ian let out a huff as he bounced slightly. “Work got a little crazy,” he explained. “Ended up having to basically do a whole other shift.”

Mickey looked as if he was going to complain but obviously thought better of it. 

“I was so fuckin’ worried,” he said eventually, looking crestfallen. 

“Come here,” Ian said, patting the space next to him expectantly.

Mickey dutifully sat down, and Ian reached out as if to pull Mickey to him but waited for Mickey to move into his arms. Ian sighed as he felt the by now familiar chilled electric sensation of their bodies melding together. Only ever at the edges, only ever a little, but it was enough for Ian for the time being. 

“Seriously, Red,” Mickey said, voice muffled by Ian’s shoulder. “I was scared. You didn’t come back, and all I could think was that if something happened to you, I wouldn’t know about it, and I can’t help you and-”

“Shhh!” Ian cut in, wishing badly that he could hug the ghost in his arms at that moment. “I’m sorry. We need some way for me to contact you. You need your own phone.”

It was obvious, really. Even if it was just some piece of shit burner phone thing, it would be enough for what Mickey needed it for. 

“Why would I need my own phone? You have a phone,” Mickey replied, looking confused. 

Ian sighed. “You can’t text me at work using my phone, idiot.”

“Don’t we speak to each other enough?” The ghost pointed out, smirking.

“What about if there’s an emergency?” Ian said, raising his eyebrows. “Like today.”

“You just miss me when you’re at work,” Mickey said, flashing him a grin that did wonders to put Ian at ease, a tension he hadn’t noticed that he was feeling dissipating. 

“Ok, maybe…” he huffed, leaning back into the sofa and closing his eyes.

“Come on, you need to get to bed,” the dark-haired man said after a while of silence. 

Ian groaned and closed his eyes more tightly. It wasn’t that the couch was comfortable. Far from it. But his body had grown limp, and he had grown too comfortable to move. The thought of making his way upstairs seemed like a bridge too far. But Mickey wasn’t going to give up. Ian could feel him tugging at his shirt in an attempt to jostle him. The ghost was strong, pretty much as strong as a living human, but Ian was completely limp, so he wasn’t having any luck. 

“I’m fine here, Mick,” Ian said, holding back a yawn. 

“Like hell you are,” he muttered. “Don’t make me carry you.”

The redhead finally opened his eyes, and the look on Mickey’s face was enough to have him convinced that his boyfriend was going to make good on his threat. With a loud groan of protest from his cracking joints, Ian forced himself to move. A warm shower and something to eat would probably do him a world of good right then, but sleep was a bigger priority. Perhaps he could be a bit naughty and ask Mickey to have something ready for him when he woke up. He knew that the cowboy would have no issue with it, but he still baulked at the idea of treating Mickey like some sort of glorified servant no matter how much the other man tried to convince him that he didn’t mind. 

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going,” Ian said, unable to hold back his yawn this time as he trudged up the stairs. 

Mickey dashed in front of him, and by the time Ian made it to his room, Mickey had laid out his pyjamas ready. 

“You didn’t have to,” Ian pointed out as soon as he entered the room.

“Shut the hell up, Red,” he shot back quickly, his tone fond in a way that made warmth pool in Ian’s stomach. 

Ian got changed into his pyjamas quickly before practically falling into bed. For all that he was exhausted, it took him a while to grow comfortable. All of the aches and pains in his body seemed to come to the forefront now that he was lying down. The muscles in his legs were twitching as if uncomprehending of the fact that they no longer had to move. 

“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep,” Ian complained. “Tell me something, Mick.”

“Tell you something?” he questioned, frowning down at Ian from where he was sitting on top of the comforter, one leg tucked up and the other splayed out straight in front of him. 

The redhead shrugged. “Yeah. Tell me something so I can go to sleep.”

“You sure do know how to make a fella feel appreciated, you know that?” Mickey replied sarcastically. “Gotta bore ya to sleep, do I now?” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, snugging further into his pillow, “yeah, you got it, babe.” 

“Babe,” Mickey huffed, and Ian could hear the roll of his eyes without needing to look. “Romance is dead in the modern age. Yes, I’m aware that I’m showing my age, but I stand by my statement.”  

“Ok, what would you prefer, darling?” Ian asked, opening one eye to assess Mickey’s reaction.

The ghost huffed and pressed his lips together, though Ian could see the slight blush colouring his cheeks. 

“What about sweetheart?” he pressed. “Dollface? Loverboy? My love? Angel face?”

Mickey let out an annoyed groan. “Shut the hell up.”

“You love it,” Ian replied, smiling wide into the pillow. 

The ghost looked down at him while wearing his most annoyed expression for a moment before the clouds split open, and he smiled, only briefly. 

“Sweetheart, darling and my love are alright. If you use the others, I’ll have to make you regret it somehow or other,” he said nonchalantly. “Now, do you want me to regale you or not?”

“‘Course,” the redhead said sleepily, setting in. 

“Alright, I have just the tale for you, Red. I saw ya lookin’ at the little sketch I was doin’ earlier, and well, there’s a story behind that,” Mickey said, and Ian didn’t even try to hold back his smile at his special storytelling tone of voice.

Ian let out a sleepy hum. “Yeah?” 

Mickey chuckled. “Well, I finished it while you were gone. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know. Heaven knows I had enough time to do it since you saw fit not to come home to me when you were meant to.”

Ian almost laughed at Mickey’s words, he sounded like a put-upon wife waiting for her husband to return home from sea. The ghost had a habit of saying the most romantic things that Ian had ever heard without realising it, just dropping them offhandedly without looking back to see the reaction that it caused in the redhead. Now was no different as he continued to tell his story while Ian struggled to contain the affection that bubbled in his heart at Mickey admitting, however indirectly, that he had missed him. 

“So this drawin’ was of a place that I have mentioned before, though I’m not rightly sure if you remember it. I wouldn’t be offended if ya didn’t. Well, when I went down to Dallas to find my father and finally make things even between us, I found his grave instead of revenge. That much I said. And I said that I went out and stole some ill-advised bonds. Well, there was a chunk o’ time between those two events,” he drawled, his accent growing thicker.

Ian furrowed his brows, trying to listen hard to what Mickey was saying in the knowledge that it would be a long time before he spoke of it again. But it wasn’t easy. Ian could feel himself slipping into sleep. The more he clawed at consciousness, the more it seemed to slip from him. 

“I had to set up camp somewhere to figure out what I was gonna do given that my original plan had been curtailed. That was the place. Anyway, I spent two days there. I had a choice in front of me, you see. I knew that the law was beginnin’ to catch up with me, and a man could only outsmart the law for so long. I had done well, but I knew my time would come,” Mickey said, voice contemplative. 

Ian let out a distressed hum and shoved his hand in Mickey’s general direction, letting out a content sigh when his hand was suffused in cold. He opened his eyes briefly to see where his hand had landed, turns out it had landed right inside Mickey’s thigh. It was a testament to the progress they had made that Mickey didn’t seem overly bothered by the contact. 

“You’re just a lovebug, huh?” Mickey asked, and Ian wanted to ask where he had heard the term but couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth to speak. “Anyway, I ended up choosing wrong obviously. Ended up tryin’ my luck one last time ‘cause, well, I had nothin’ to lose. Or I thought I didn’t. I didn’t know what was waiting for me after I died. That place reminds me of what led me here.”

“Most of the time, regrets aren’t anythin’ that you can pin down. Sneaky bastards that they are. No, they’re a culmination of so many wrong turns that they twist together, and you get all turned around tryin’ to puzzle them out. Not this time. I can take myself back to that evening. I made my mind up to get those bonds and then leave the life behind me, but the life caught up with me before I could make good on my plan,” he said. 

The hum of Mickey’s voice had coalesced in Ian’s mind into a sort of static. He could vaguely keep up with what his boyfriend was saying, but also, he knew that he wasn’t taking it in at all. He was so tired. Maybe he was asleep already; it felt like it. His eyes were closed and weren’t likely to open any time soon. Almost like everything bar one corner of his mind was asleep. Ian knew that wasn’t how that worked, of course. He wasn’t a dolphin, after all. 

Desperately, Ian wished that he would remember what Mickey told him in perfect clarity, although he could feel the details slipping away by the second. Mickey wasn’t speaking anymore, and Ian wished that he could ask him to carry on, but speaking was beyond him. 

Then, as if reading Ian’s mind, Mickey spoke. 

“-so damn lucky.”

Ian caught a scrap of the sentence, but he was asleep before he could hear any more. Though he swore that he felt electricity dancing over his cheek as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The sun blared into Ian’s eyes relentlessly. And though he turned and pulled the covers securely over his face, he was awake now. Ian knew without having to look that he hadn’t slept nearly enough. His mind was still foggy from the unintentional double shift the day before.

Ian listened for the telltale noises of Mickey going about his day, but there were none to be heard. It wasn’t like him not to be watching some documentary or other at this time, but then Mickey wouldn’t do anything to potentially wake Ian up either. His heart clenched momentarily at how thoughtful Mickey always was without drawing attention to it. He never expected any sort of thanks or recognition for it, either. 

It was with difficulty that Ian forced himself out of bed and into the shower. He also needed to change all of his bedding, and the idea of it seemed like a mammoth task, and given how emotionally fragile he was feeling, fighting with his bedsheets might be the thing to send him into a full-on meltdown. It was the tiredness, he knew that, but it didn’t help. Still, Ian stripped his bed entirely before he got in the shower so as to force himself to have to remake it at some point, even if that was only when he went to bed that night. 

The shower did something to wake him up, but Ian could see how puffy his eyes were in the mirror as he took his meds and brushed his teeth. He loved his job, and he wouldn’t change it for the world, but he knew that there were plenty of jobs that wouldn’t leave him so physically and emotionally drained. A 9-5 in an office wouldn’t have left him how he had been the night before, that was for sure.

As it turned out, Mickey was downstairs pouring over one of the few books that Ian owned, ‘Lord Of The Flies’ . It somehow managed to survive from his time in high school and came with him during his move. Then again, none of his siblings had wanted it, and it hadn’t been stolen like so much of his other stuff during his move.

“How’s the book?” Ian asked as he made his way into the kitchen. 

Mickey looked up quickly, clearly only having just then noticed him. “I’m enjoyin’ it, but these children wouldn’t have lasted a day out in the West.” 

The redhead snorted. “I’m intrigued. Do tell.” 

“Alright, so these children get stuck on this island, and all of a sudden, they start goin’ buck wild? What they need to do is come up with a sound plan and stick to it. Out in the wilderness, like I had to live in, you need to know what the hell you’re doin’, and they have no fuckin’ idea,” he explained, seemingly impassioned by the idiocy of these kids.

“It’s kinda the point, Mick. They’re meant to go crazy,” Ian pointed out, unable to hide his smile. 

“Ok, fine. Sure,” Mickey conceded. “But no kid I ever grew up with woulda acted like that.”

“You’re so funny,” he replied, moving to go make himself his much-needed first coffee of the day. 

“I’m goddamn right; that’s what I am,” the ghost grumbled. 

“Enjoy your book!” Ian called out sarcastically. 

Mickey huffed but got back to reading, and Ian left him to himself for the time being, though he kept sneaking glances at the ghost. Ian couldn’t help but be taken aback by just how beautiful Mickey was. Mickey was curled up on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table while his torso was supported by the arm of the sofa. The position looked vaguely uncomfortable, but then, maybe his incorporeal form stopped him from feeling discomfort. Ian made a mental note to ask his boyfriend about it sometime.

He pulled out his phone and tried to take a photo, but it didn’t work. All he could see was the book floating in the air and a weird orb of light. Ian sighed in frustration and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Forgetting his coffee for the moment, Ian took great pleasure in being able to give in to his desire to walk over to Mickey and place his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Or over it, anyway. 

Mickey let out a hum and turned to face Ian. Electricity bloomed over Ian’s cheek as Mickey kissed him gently. He knew what that felt like by now, so he didn’t need to look. 

“I have to go buy food today,” Ian said reluctantly, not moving his face away from Mickey. 

“You should go see your folks as well,” Mickey replied. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I just don’t want to waste my day off.”

The ghost snorted, pulling back to look at Ian. “Are you hearin’ yourself right now? Spendin’ time with your family is a waste now?” 

“No, obviously not. I just…” Ian struggled to articulate himself in a way that wouldn’t reveal too much. “I spent so long wanting to be with you how I wanted to, and now I can and I just want to exist in that for a little while longer. I don’t get many days off, and I want to spend them with you.” 

Mickey reached up and tugged at the collar of Ian’s shirt. Not hard enough to move him, but as a reminder that he was there. Mickey had taken to doing that often, tugging on Ian’s clothes in a show of physical affection. It had been odd at first, but now Ian found his heart racing whenever Mickey did it, and now was no exception. 

“Go see your damn family, Red. I’ll be here when you get back,” he said firmly. 

“I’ll miss you,” Ian said wistfully. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey huffed. “I’ve had enough romance for today. Go drink your damn coffee, you addict.” 

“I’m your favourite person, don’t deny it,” the redhead retorted fondly. 

He rolled his eyes, focusing his attention back onto his book. “You’re literally the only person I know, Red. Don’t let your head get too big.”

“But you’re not denying it!” Ian said victoriously, grinning as he made his way back to his cup of coffee. 

Mickey didn’t reply, and Ian left the ghost to himself as he got breakfast ready for himself. He wasn’t hungry per se, but he needed to eat because of his medication, so he dutifully made himself eat. Ian was glad that Mickey didn’t constantly monitor whether he’d taken his meds or how he'd slept and things like that, but Ian was fully aware that his boyfriend did keep track of things like that. Instead of finding it overbearing, though, Ian felt comforted by it. 

As Ian ate, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Mickey was right. It had been a long time since he had last gone back to the Gallagher house. Fiona and Lip still regularly kept in contact, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to Carl or Debbie. Ian felt guilty about it, but it was easy to get distracted by work and Mickey. The time seemed to be flying past him at a breakneck pace. 

So Ian found himself driving back down to the Southside. He didn’t bother letting his siblings know that he was coming. There was almost always someone at the house. Turned out that it was the three youngest that were at the house, which made Ian inordinately happy. He really had missed Carl and Debbie. 

“Ian!” Debbie called out, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Hey, Debs,” Ian replied, lifting her off of the ground slightly. 

“What’s up, man?” Carl greeted, wandering over and patting Ian twice on the back. 

Ian quickly let Debbie go and turned to his brother. “Come on. Don’t I get a hug?” 

He rolled his eyes but dutifully hugged Ian, sniggering when made a show of lifting up like he had done with Debbie. 

“I can still do it,” Ian said triumphantly. 

“You’re out of breath, though,” Carl pointed out. “You gotta hit the gym more, man.” 

The redhead rolled his eyes. “If I had the time.” 

“Exucses, excuses. Gotta make time,” he replied, wiggling his brows slightly. 

Ian huffed. “Fuck off. Stop judging me.”

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” Debbie asked.

“Can’t I just come over to hang out?” he asked, offended.

Carl and Debbie looked at each other for a moment before fixing their eyes on Ian in tandem. 

“No,” they both said in perfect sync.

Ian let out a sigh, knowing he had been well and truly found out. 

“Alright. I did genuinely want to hang out, but do either of you wanna go to Costco with me?” he asked. 

Debbie’s eyes widened. “You have a Costco card? You never told me that shit.”

The redhead snorted. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Clearly,” she replied sardonically.

“So?” Ian prompted. “You guys wanna come?” 

“You gonna buy me something?” Carl asked. 

“Ooooh, yeah!” Debbie added excitedly.

Ian sighed, long and hard. “It’s always something with you two. Fuck, fine. Let’s go.”

Getting his two siblings into the car ended up being not too dissimilar from herding cats. Debbie kept remembering things that she absolutely needed to buy for the house and ended up writing out a whole shopping list. Carl was singularly unhelpful in this, and it was up to Debbie and Ian to catalogue all the food in the house and see what was missing. It just went to show how hard old habits did indeed die that Ian needed no prompting whatsoever about what the Gallagher family liked to keep stocked.

The drive over was fairly uneventful. Ian had left the music up to Carl, who took it upon himself to blast some old-school Eminem as loud as possible. Debbie pretended to be annoyed by it at first, and Ian had tried to wrestle the phone from Carl’s hand while they were at a red light, but once ‘Shake That’ came on, the three of them settled in for the duration. Carl knew every single word, of course, and made them shut up so he could have centre stage. 

Ian wished that he could tell Mickey what he was doing, and thank him for making him go and see his family. It would have to wait until he got back, however. He really needed to see about getting Mickey a phone as soon as possible for the simple fact that Ian missed him a lot, and found himself coming across things that he either wanted to show or tell Mickey about often. 

Costco was busy. Families on a mission to get their food for the month and be out. Costco wasn’t for the faint of heart, Ian knew that much. He didn’t go often, but when he did, he always had a plan. 

“Alright,” Ian said, aware of how comically seriously he was taking it without being able to change it. “We all know what we’re doing, right?”

Debbie nodded with equal solemnity. “I have my list,” she turned to look at her other brother. “Carl?”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Grab some of those massive juice jugs and the long life milk. Why’ve I been given the heavy shit?” 

“You’re the one whose always at the gym, Mr Muscle,” Ian retorted. “Meet up at the foot court?” 

His two younger siblings nodded, and the three Gallaghers split up. It wasn’t quite the fun-filled adventure around the store with his siblings that he had envisioned for himself when he had come up with the idea that morning, but it was better than nothing. 

It took Ian two sweeps of the store before he got the majority of what he needed. It was a testament to just how much he needed to catch up on his sleep that he remained so unobservant. It was just a good thing that Lip wasn’t with him, or Ian never would have lived it down. Even so, he hadn’t gotten everything that he needed. Still, the thought of another trip around the store filled him with dread, and he was confident that his siblings would definitely already be finished. He always ended up forgetting something or other when he went shopping, so it wasn’t a big deal. 

Just like Ian had predicted, Debbie and Carl were waiting for him at the food court. They were posted up on one of the tables, an obscene amount of shopping surrounding them. It filled Ian with happiness to see it; the Gallaghers never would have been able to afford to buy that much food at once when he was growing up.

“Get everything?” Debbie asked as Ian got close. 

“Pretty much,” he replied. “What about you guys?” 

She cast a cursory glance at her list. “They didn’t have the fucking Graham crackers I wanted - all out. Other than that, I got everything.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “I got the fucking juice. I’m hungry, can we eat? I didn’t even want to wait for Ian.” 

Ian reached out to slap the back of his brother’s head. “Fuck you! But yeah, let’s get something real quick before we head back.”

By the time they got their food, Ian’s stomach was rumbling. He had the urge to take a photo to show Mickey later, but refrained since it would only get him questioned by his siblings. He really needed to work on getting Mickey his own phone as soon as possible. A not insignificant part of that desire was to see whether Mickey would use emojis, and if so, how. 

“How’s the job treating you?” Deb asked conversationally. 

Ian shrugged, trotting out his usual response. “Can’t complain.”

Carl snorted. “You can always complain.”

“Fuck you,” he retorted, though there was no heat in it. 

“Seriously,” his younger brother continued with uncharacteristic seriousness, “you can like your job and still complain. Plus, you gotta remember why you like it in case you stop liking it.”

Both Deb and Ian looked at Carl in mute fascination for a long moment before Deb spoke up. 

“Yeah, Carl’s right. You just seem tired,” she said. 

“It’s been a tough few shifts,” Ian explained. 

“Not just that,” Deb replied, looking as if she was considering her next words carefully. “You’re tired on the inside.”

Ian looked at her blankly, not liking where the conversation was going. “Is this your way of saying you think I’m depressed?”

“No!” she was quick to reply. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to do something that is making you ill.”

“Well, it’s not, ok?” Ian said, aware of how defensive he must seem. So he forced his shoulders to relax as he smiled at his siblings. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’d never be able to have a life where I have no symptoms or whatever, but this is a good life.”

And really, it was. Ian hadn’t taken the time to appreciate it, but he was happy. Not the sort of happy that he had dreamed of when he was a kid - happy with no complications. But happy in the way that felt like a life raft in the sea that was human existence. Mickey was the cause, and it filled Ian with an irrational sadness that he couldn’t share it with his family. 

Ian would love nothing more than to show Mickey off to everyone he knew. Fuck knows he was proud to have him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do a lot of things. Couldn’t touch Mickey for a start. Though Ian reminded himself that at one point he couldn’t see or hear Mickey either, and both of those things had changed. There was always hope. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to rely on that hope. 

He knew that Mickey was trying his hardest to figure out how to touch Ian, but nothing that he was doing was working. Ian could see the frustration lining the ghost’s face whenever his attempts failed yet again. There was never any point in trying to get him to take a break either. No, Mickey would continue until he either grew too angry or until some sort of ghostly exhaustion would take over him leaving him more see-through and generally duller for hours. Those times always terrified Ian. The thought that Mickey could become invisible again, or worse yet, disappear entirely. The fears were unfounded, and yet still very real in his heart. 

Ian was distracted from his thoughts by Carl waving a hand in front of his face. 

“You were somewhere else there, man,” he said, frowning at Ian in concern. 

Ian shook his head as if to shake the last of his thoughts away. “Just thinking about work. Anyway, let’s get our stuff back.” 

The drive back was uneventful. Debbie and Carl were happy to regale Ian about the goings on that he was missing now that he had moved out, and none of it made him want to move back in. The amount of relationship drama that his siblings were going through individually was enough to be a statistical anomaly. 

Fiona was back from work by the time they got back, and Ian was glad to see her, though even more glad that he had bought frozen food and so had a reasonable excuse to cut his visit short. He loved his older sister, and they got on great, but the older he got, the less he was able to tolerate her mother hen behaviour. Fiona was his mother in all the ways that counted, and Ian knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that he wanted nothing more than for her to back the fuck off for a while and to treat him like a regular brother. 

“Take care of yourself, sweetface,” Fiona said, hugging him tight outside of his car. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing fucking amazing. Don’t let anyone, including me, make you feel like you’re not.”

Ian smiled, a tight press of lips to hold back his emotion. “Thanks, Fi. It means a lot coming from you.”

“Alright, alright,” she replied, clearly growing uncomfortable with the emotional intimacy. “Fuck off. Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“Bye, Fi,” Ian said, ignoring her attempt to lighten the mood. “Let me know if you need help. I’m still a part of the team.”

Fiona nodded, and Ian found himself believing her this time. 

Mickey wasn’t in the living room when Ian got in, but he was too focused on getting all of his grocery bags into the house in one trip to really take too much notice of it. Once he had gotten all of the food put away, Ian realised that he hadn’t seen any signs of his boyfriend around the house. The TV wasn’t on, and while his drawing supplies were on the table, they had no cowboy to accompany them.

“Mickey!” Ian called out, listening carefully for a reply. 

Vaguely, he heard a shuffling from somewhere before Mickey poked his head around the door to the garden. 

“You’re back!” he said, a heart-achingly beautiful smile adorning his face. Ian had never been happier to be himself in his life.  The fact that he could make the ghost that happy by his mere presence was enough to ensure that. 

Mickey walked over to him, almost deliberately slowly, though Ian could tell that he was eager to get close to him again. The ghost drew close enough to Ian that he could feel the static of Mickey’s presence, but remained at a slight distance as he took Ian in fully. 

“How did it go, Red?” he asked. 

Ian shrugged. “Alright. Went and got groceries with Debs and Carl. That was fun, to be honest. I haven’t spoken to either of them properly for the longest time. Wanted to show you Costco,” he said wistfully. “You’d have flipped your shit.”

Mickey snorted. “I’m not some…old timey yockel like you seem to think.”

Ian didn’t bother replying. Instead, he just looked at his boyfriend, expression carefully blank even as he fought to keep his smile hidden. 

“Alright!” the ghost huffed. “I might be all of those things, but I ain’t gonna act like I’m seein’ heaven just cause you show me somethin’ or other from your fuckin’ trip.”

“It’s a pretty damn big store,” Ian said, pouting slightly. “You won’t have seen shit like this before.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I’ll fuckin’ Google it, then.”

“You love to ruin my fun, huh, Mick?” the redhead huffed. 

“Ruin your fun, you say,” he replied, his expression suddenly mischievous. “What if I told you that I had an idea while you were gone?”

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly. “I’d ask how likely it was going to be to break my things.”

“It’s not gonna damage any of your damn property, Red. Come on, lighten up! Thought some time with your folks woulda done somethin’ to relax ya,” Mickey groused. 

“You’ve never met my family,” Ian retorted, chuckling. “Nah, seriously. Go on. Tell me your idea.”

“Well, I’ll be mighty proud of myself if this one works, I’ll tell ya that much,” he drawled. “Alright. Follow me.”

And with that, Mickey turned and strode away up the stairs quickly. Ian couldn’t help but notice how Mickey’s feet didn’t quite seem to touch the stairs, so as to produce an effect almost similar to a glide. Ethereal. Ian had to take a moment to remember that he was dating someone who he had up until that point thought was literally impossible - something from horror films and that was it. 

Ian followed along behind, eager to see what Mickey had planned. It wasn’t like him to be so secretive, and Ian was at a loss as to what he could be thinking of.

His confusion wasn’t helped when Mickey gestured for Ian to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Close your eyes and wait right there. Think you can do that, Red?” Mickey teased.

“I’ll manage somehow,” Ian replied sardonically, but did as he was told.

Ian could hear Mickey rustling around, and the bedding under him moved slightly. Just as Ian was about to grow frustrated, Mickey spoke again.

“Alright. You can open your eyes.” 

Ian burst out laughing the second that he did. Mickey was holding up a blanket in front of him like he was a matador and Ian was a bull. It was too much for him to even attempt to take it seriously.

“What the fuck is this, Mickey?” Ian asked, stifling his giggles behind his hand.

“Just shut up and put your hand out,” he said, voice gruff with embarrassment.

Ian smirked but did as he was told. He watched as Mickey adjusted until he was holding the blanket up with one hand as he put his other hand against the blanket. It was like those Halloween costumes Ian remembered from when he was a kid. A bedsheet as a ghost costume. He could see the indent of Mickey’s hand as he held it up.

“Do you want me to…?” Ian trailed off uncertainly. 

“Just try it. I was thinkin’, and I figured it was worth a shot,” Mickey replied gingerly.

So Ian reached and pressed his trembling hand against the fabric. He almost jolted his hand back at the feeling of it. It was just like Mickey was physically there. With a fresh confidence, Ian pressed his hand tight against Mickey’s, lacing their fingers together as best as he could with the blanket in the way. 

Neither man spoke for a long moment. They simply basked in the moment. Ian’s gaze was rooted to the blanket. It was lying across Mickey’s arm all bunched up, and Ian had never been more thankful for any object in his life. In a fit of inspiration, Ian quickly dropped Mickey’s hand. Mickey let out a noise of complaint, but Ian ignored it. Instead, he picked up the blanket and threw it over the ghost’s head. 

“The hell?” Mickey said, moving to shove the offending blanket off of him. 

Ian was fast, though, and had his arms around Mickey in an instant. He flung his arms around the sheet, but as he contracted his arms, it seemed like he was crushing Mickey entirely like Mickey wasn’t there. 

“Well, shit…” Ian said, unable to hide the sadness in his voice. 

Mickey sighed. “I thought that might happen. I had to kinda…focus on making the sheet stay where it was, and when you touched it, it kinda…just so happened to also be in the shape of my hand, if that makes sense,” he explained. “Can’t do that with anything other than my hands.”

“Yeah,” he replied, crestfallen. “Worth a try, though.”

“Yeah, it was, Red,” Mickey said sincerely. 

“You know,” Ian began, eyeing Mickey carefully. “This has a lot of implications.”

Mickey quirked a brow, smirking. “Now that is a conversation I’m very willin’ to have.” 

“I’ll have to ask Val for some recommendations for the fucking…ghost erotica shit she’s always reading,” Ian said, sniggering to himself. 

“Do I wanna know what the hell you’re talkin’ about right now?” he replied longsufferingly. 

Ian snorted. “Nah, Mick. Now come hold my hand some more.”

Chapter Text

Ian woke up with a shiver, but it didn’t leave him feeling grumpy. Far from it, he turned and smiled, snuggling further into the sensation even as his hair stood on end. Mickey chuckled fondly and Ian felt more cold, over his hair this time. 

“Morning, Mick,” Ian said, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“Sleep alright, Red?” he asked. 

Ian groaned, his eyes still closed as he rolled and stretched, forcing his body into motion. “Slept ok, yeah.”

“Should hope so. You were snorin’ all night,” Mickey teased. “Mighty annoyin’.” 

“You could have just left,” the redhead pointed out, finally opening his eyes and blinking against the light. 

“I tried, but you made this sad noise an’ I couldn’t bring myself to,” the ghost admitted. 

Ian smiled, eyes flicking down to the sheets for a moment. “You’re such a fucking sweetheart, a total softie.”

Mickey scoffed but didn’t move. “Need I remind you that I’m a cold-blooded killer?”

“Ah, you haven’t killed anyone for over a century now,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “You’ve gone soft in your retirement.” 

“You sure do know how to make a fella feel attractive, don’t you? Jesus Christ! I know I’ve been around a while, but I’m not old,” Mickey retorted. 

“Not old?” Ian snorted, needing to sit up to have this conversation. “Tell me,” he continued, smirking wickedly, “when were you born?” 

Mickey scowled and muttered. “1868.”

“I didn’t catch that,” he replied, pressing his lips together to keep back his mirth. 

“1868!” the ghost repeated more loudly, looking perturbed. 

Ian had known Mickey’s date of birth from his Wikipedia page, but hearing it aloud made a thrill go through him. He often forgot that Mickey truly was a supernatural creature, like something from a movie. 

“You know,” Ian intoned seriously, “you’re the oldest man I’ve ever been with. By a lot.” 

“I hate you,” Mickey said, eyes narrowed. “Come on. You’ve gotta get up.”

“Can’t be bothered,” he groaned. “You go to work for me.”

“Oh sure,” the ghost said dryly, “I’ll get right on that.”

“Fine!” Ian said petulantly, flinging the sheets back.

It wasn’t until Ian was nearly fully ready that he felt properly awake. He had his medication adjusted not long before, and it was messing with him. Killing his sex drive and making it so that no matter how much sleep he got, he never felt well-rested. Ian had a feeling it would be a few more weeks until things settled down, if they did at all. And if they didn’t, well that meant more medication changes. It was all too tedious, and had put a stop to his plans of figuring out how to actually have some sort of a sex life with Mickey. 

Mickey, for his part, was supportive as he always was which only made Ian feel worse. He felt ridiculous for even thinking it, but Ian was at a loss as to how to be in a romantic relationship that didn’t involve sex. If his past relationships were anything to go by, it was his main asset, and even then it only kept people around for so long. Mickey physically couldn’t leave, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

By the time Ian got downstairs to the kitchen, Mickey had gotten him a cup of coffee and had laid out his food ready for him. Ian knew it was only a matter of time before Mickey started to attempt to cook for him, but at least for the time being, the ghost was content with just laying the food out. 

It didn’t take him too long to get breakfast ready, which he was grateful for because his stomach was grumbling loudly. Mickey looked over at him with an amused expression, clearly having heard it. 

“Better get eatin’, Red. Before your stomach eats you first,” he said, smirking to himself.

Ian rolled his eyes, tucking into his food with gusto. It was only porridge with some assorted fruit, but it was filling. He burnt his mouth a little, but he didn’t care. Mickey was watching him eat in clear amusement, which Ian studiously ignored.

“I need to book some time off soon,” Ian said conversationally between bites of food.

Mickey nodded. “You do. It would be nice to see my boyfriend for more than a few hours a day.”

Ian’s heart leapt in his chest at the words. Even after all of this time, it still made him giddy to hear that word from the ghost. It was the cutest and yet most incongruous thing that he had ever heard coming from the cowboy. 

“Alright,” he said, unable to hold back his smile. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll talk to my boss when I get to work today.” 

“You’d better,” the ghost grumbled. 

“It’ll be great! We could have a real date,” Ian said excitedly.

Mickey looked at him, clearly confused. “I’ve learnt a bit about what constitutes a date nowadays, an’ I don’t think I’ll be pickin’ ya up and taking ya to eat anytime soon.”

He rolled his eyes. “Spoil sport. But come on, we could watch a movie together - people do that on dates.” 

“But we do that all the time,” Mickey pointed out. “We did that before we were together, even. That means we would have been on,” he made a show of looking down and counting his fingers before looking back to Ian, “a lot of fuckin’ dates.” 

“Well…” Ian smirked. 

“Well what?” he asked, eyeing Ian carefully. 

The redhead leaned back in his seat, his breakfast momentarily forgotten. “You’ve gotta admit that those were dates. I mean, come on. We were friends then, but we weren’t friendly, you know?”

“Maybe you’re just reading into it too much,” Mickey said teasingly. 

“You’re so annoying!” Ian huffed, though there was no heat in it. 

“Alright, they must’ve been dates, or close enough,” the ghost admitted, smiling. 

Ian huffed. “Glad you admit it.”

“Come on, stop actin’ up an’ get ready for work,” Mickey replied. 

“Rude,” he pouted. 

“Someone has to keep me in new colouring pencils,” Mickey said, leaning back and eyeing him expectantly. 

Ian wolfed down the rest of his breakfast in record time as he got ready for work. It wasn't that he wanted to go, but if he got there early then there was a higher chance of seeing his manager so he could get some time booked off. It was needed, and not just to spend more time with Mickey. Ian could feel that he was burnt out, he could feel it in the back of his mind every waking moment, in how work had become something that he dreaded instead of anticipated. Some time away was definitely needed. 

He managed to catch his manager just as she was leaving, and while she wasn’t happy about being kept around, Ian managed to get his time booked off. Now all he needed to do was to survive for another few weeks until he could spend his days with Mickey. Nothing to do except just laze around and figure out how to do more with each other, now that sounded like a good time to him. 

There was just enough time to catch up with his coworkers. This time it was Marcus and Marcus’ usual partner, Tim. They were certainly an odd combination, but Ian liked them a great deal after his one shift with Marcus where they ended up at the BDSM party. 

“How are you two?” Ian asked. 

Marcus looked blankly at him. “We’re doing shitty. Thanks for asking.”

Ian looked over to Tim, who dutifully filled him in. 

“We had to stay and cover,” he said. “It was fucking awful.”

“Oohh,” Ian replied. “Explains why you’re here at this time, then.”

“I’m never doing it again,” Marcus said, resting his head on his arms.

“You two go,” Ian said. “I can handle it from here. Val will get here soon.”

Tim frowned. “You sure?”

Ian snorted. “I’m not going to change my mind. Don’t worry. You two just get out of here and get some rest, ok?”

“Thanks, Ian,” Tim replied. “Come on, Marc.” 

The two men shuffled out of the room, leaving Ian to himself. He pulled out his phone, wishing yet again that he could text Mickey. It was odd to find someone that Ian genuinely wanted to be around all of the time. Ian never ran out of things to talk to him about, always wanted his opinion on everything. It was a revelation. He had wanted something like this for so long, and it had snuck up on him just when he was least expecting it. 

He took the time alone to think about how things were going with Mickey. Ian didn’t like to think about what they didn’t have too much, but he had to if he was going to figure out a way around things. He was the one who could leave the house, the one with a foothold in the physical world. The onus was on him to figure it out. 

Ian ended up spending most of the shift in a daze, his mind on how he would be able to do anything with Mickey. He certainly had his ideas, though the idea of bringing them up to the ghost and probably having to explain just how far sex toy technology had no doubt come since Mickey’s time made him nervous. 

Val had noticed that he was distracted, of course. 

“What’s up with you today?” she asked conversationally as they drove between calls. 

Ian shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About….?” she prompted. 

“Relationships, I guess,” he said eventually. “I mean, ok,” he continued, settling into his theme. “You find someone you want to date, and they want to date you, right? Great. And you’re together and all of a sudden you have to think to yourself, ‘why the hell are they with me?’ and they can tell you they care about you but if you don’t believe it you’re screwed.” 

Val didn’t reply for a long moment. “Is this you worrying that your self esteem issues are going to ruin any relationship you get into?” 

“I guess so?” Ian said, honestly unsure himself. 

“The fact that you’re super handsome and funny and kind aside,” she said, ignoring his self-deprecating huff of air. “There are some ugly, rude and awful fuckers out there in the world with ten kids by ten different women. You don’t need to worry.”

Ian barked out a shocked laugh, not having expected her to take that tact with him.

“That…is actually helpful. Thanks, Val,” he replied, still chuckling. 

The blonde shrugged. “I have my moments.”

“I guess maybe I worry that, like, sure I know people find me attractive, but is there more than that?” Ian said, wondering just how honest he should be. “Ok, I think about it like this: if I’m ugly then there’s stuff I can do to change it, or at least improve it. But what can you do if you’re just an asshole no one likes?” 

“Therapy?” Val replied, more focused on the road than his impromptu rant.

“I’ve never been able to keep a steady relationship because they always realised I wasn’t worth it, and I know it isn’t to do with my looks but I kinda wish it was cause at least then I could try and change it,” Ian continued, the words tumbling from him with no real end in sight. “Beyond sex, what do I even have to offer someone?” 

And there it was, Ian thought. That was what he had been avoiding thinking about for days now. If his body was his only asset, then the longer that he wasn’t able to put out for Mickey, the more likely it was that the ghost would leave him. Or, well, he couldn’t actually leave him. But he certainly could end things. 

“Jesus! You were sitting on that one for a while, huh?” Val said. “All I can say to you is that when you meet the right one, they will never make you feel like you aren’t enough for them. You are enough, you just need to find the person who wants it.”

Ian smiled to himself, thinking of Mickey. “That would be nice.”

“Not to be cliche, but it’ll happen when it’s meant to,” she replied. 

“Yeah,” he replied, the flutter of a secret well-kept in his stomach, “you’re right.” 

Ian continued to think about it when they pulled into a random McDonalds for their break a few hours later. She made them sit outside to avoid getting food in the ambulance, and Ian could only be thankful that it wasn’t too cold. While Val was scrolling through her phone, Ian decided to make a very daring purchase. Once he had had the idea for it, it wouldn’t leave him alone until he had put it into action. And if he sprung for next day delivery, then that was his business. 

In fact, Ian was so excited for his purchase to arrive that Mickey picked up on it the moment that he got home. He looked at him for a long moment from his seat on the couch, eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You’re up to somethin’,” he said.

Ian smirked, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Can I not just be happy to see you?”

“Obviously fuckin’ not,” Mickey replied. “Not with that look in your eye.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, aiming for innocence. 

“Nothing I can put my finger on,” the ghost said, still studying Ian intently. 

Ian shrugged, turning to hang up his coat and taking the moment that his back was turned to grin to himself. By the time he had turned back around, he had schooled his face into a neutral expression. Though that soon gave way to something more salacious. 

“Come to bed with me, Mick,” he said, the words sitting in the quiet of the room for a moment. 

Mickey snorted. “You tired already, Red?” 

He didn’t reply for a long moment, just long enough for Mickey to give him yet another confused look. 

“No,” Ian replied, eyebrow raised challengingly, “I’m not.” 

Mickey opened his mouth to reply, and Ian could see the realisation hit him as his jaw dropped. 

“What?”

Ian smiled, thoroughly enjoying watching Mickey struggle to keep up with what was going on.

“I am going upstairs and I’m going to jerk off. If you want to come with me, then you can,” he paused, and when Mickey’s shocked expression didn’t change he had to push it a little more. “If you don’t want to, feel free to stay here. That’s fine.” 

Then Ian turned and made his way up the stairs, purposely not turning back. He had barely gotten into his room before Mickey was behind him - Ian could feel it in the shiver he had to suppress.  He continued to walk forward, pretending for all the world as if he didn’t know that Mickey was there. 

“Bet this isn’t the first time you’ve watched me, huh?” Ian said, pulling his shirt off quickly - his body already too overheated for his uniform to be anything close to comfortable. 

Mickey let out a breath behind him. “What do you think?”

Ian smirked, turning to look at him finally as he began to unbutton his pants. “I remember you saying something about you being able to see the porn I was watching on my phone. Excuse me, one reelers. So you must have been pretty close.”

Despite the fact that Ian had brought it up, the idea of Mickey having actually been there when Ian had been christening every room in the house made him flush. How closely had he been watching? Mickey hadn’t liked him back then, but he had found it sexy?

“Oh, my Lord,” Mickey said, sounding like the words had been punched out of him. “I was. Remember it so well. You were so…” 

“You aren’t getting a show for free this time,” Ian teased. “You’re helping.”

Mickey nodded. “Tell me how.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said as he began to push his pants down. “Maybe you can’t touch me, but we can still have fun.” 

It was a little awkward to get himself situated on the bed. He was putting on a show, but he wasn’t sure what it was that he should be doing. Mickey wasn’t much help since he was just staring at Ian like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. 

“Come on, Mickey,” Ian teased, settling back onto the bed. “Don’t just stand there.” 

The ghost blinked rapidly for a moment before nodding as if to himself before following Ian to the bed. His gaze was rooted on Ian’s body, and made the blood rush to his cock even faster. 

“Well?” Ian prompted. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Touch yourself,” Mickey said, voice rough with lust. “But do it nice an’ slow for me. You go too fast. Don’t gotta be in a rush.”

The redhead let out a shuddering breath and nodded, taking himself firmly in hand. Mickey hummed appreciatively as he climbed onto the bed, and even after all of this time, Ian found it incongruous that the mattress didn’t shift under his added weight.

“I did look when you first moved in,” the ghost continued, seeming to settle into his new role. “Was like you were puttin’ on a show just for me. I mean, goddamn, look at you, Red,” he drawled, reaching out a hand and running it over Ian’s side and making his hips twitch at the drop in temperature, goosebumps rising along his skin. 

“Wish I could see you properly,” Ian said, looking over Mickey’s body covetously.

“Oh, I bet,” he replied. “Mighty shame that it doesn’t work like that.”

Ian frowned. “So you can’t…?”

Mickey chuckled. “Let me explain it to you like this. I can make myself feel pretty damn good, but it ain’t like anythin’ I did when I was alive. When I would look at you, and when I would get real close, it was like I could feel what you were feelin’.” 

“Wow! That’s…” Ian gasped, his hand moving quicker over himself at the mere idea of just his own pleasure being enough to make Mickey come. 

“Ah, ah,” Mickey tsk’d, “slow your roll. I am not done with you yet.”

“Sorry,” he said, biting his lip as he forced himself to slow down. It wasn’t easy, Ian was so hard that it hurt. 

The ghost leaned in closer to him, his lips running over Ian’s neck. He moaned at the feeling as his eyes fluttered closed. 

“It’s alright, Red. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he drawled. “Run your free hand over your body like you think I would touch you.”

“Ok,” Ian said, taking his left hand and caressing his chest. He never usually did this, it reminded him too much of how he would have to entertain the customers at the Fairy Tale, but this was different. This was Mickey, and he wanted to do it right. “You’d wanna run your hands on me just to watch me react.” 

“Go on,” Mickey prompted, both of them looking down Ian’s body as he touched himself. 

“Please,” Ian whined, the frustration of Mickey not being able to touch him beginning to simmer in his blood.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, voice soft. “I want you to make yourself feel real good for me.” 

“And it makes you feel good too?” he asked, breathily.

Mickey kissed his neck, lips ghosting cool against his skin. “So good, Red,” he said, and Ian could hear it in his voice. 

“O-ooh,” Ian moaned, aware suddenly of the haze of pleasure that Mickey was projecting. “Fuck!” 

“I wonder where you’re sensitive,” he said, tone contemplative. “Show me.”

Ian nodded, pinching at his nipples hard enough to make himself gasp. He didn’t do this stuff when he was alone, but he could feel how it was affecting Mickey. He didn’t even need to look over at him to know that. Though when he did, he saw how Mickey’s eyes were hooded with pleasure, phantom blush on his cheeks. Ian licked his lips, gripping himself tight for a moment to keep himself calm. 

Mickey reached out, then, his hand on Ian’s stomach before trailing down to his cock. Ian moaned, his back bowed as Mickey’s hand phased through his. The sensation was almost too much, but Ian loved it. He thrashed a little when Mickey actually began to move his hand.

Ian gasped, his free hand scrabbling against the sheets for purchase. “Mickey! Oh my fucking god!” 

“Look at you, Red,” Mickey said, his voice a comfort as Ian felt both of their pleasure swirling together and filling him to the brim. “So fuckin’ responsive.” 

“Please, please,” Ian rambled, unable to stop himself from writhing. 

“I remember the first time I ever touched you, you know? It was that one night when we were outside,” Mickey said in that story-telling tone that Ian knew so well. It was incongruous to have him speak so calmly while stroking Ian and nearly driving him insane with pleasure in the process. “Takin’ that cigarette from you was one of the best things I’ve done in a long time - was almost like kissin’ ya if I imagined real hard, and I did.”

The words made Ian moan in a way that he had never heard himself do before - it was breathy and almost pained. Maybe something inside of him had needed to hear that Mickey had really wanted him back then. 

“Fuck. Please, Mickey. I want you to feel good, want you to come,” he panted.

“I know,” Mickey replied. “I can feel it. S’fuckin’ intoxicatin’,” he slurred, “like the bes’ fuckin’ whiskey. Missed this.”

Ian cried out when Mickey’s pace increased, and he had to move his own hand quicker to catch up. It was like a jolt of electricity every time Mickey moved, and it was driving him towards the edge more quickly than anything that he had ever known. 

“Should’ve told me,” Ian managed to gasp. “I would’ve let you be close.”

“Even when we weren’t seein’ each other?” the ghost asked, speaking right into Ian’s ear and making him shiver. 

He nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he hissed. “God, I’m so close!” 

Mickey hummed, his hand no longer moving, which left Ian’s hips stuttering as he bit back a whine of disappointment. Ian looked over to him pleadingly, tilting his head up for Mickey to kiss him - he needed something from him. Anything.

“You’d have done anythin’ for me, wouldn’t you? Then and now,” he said, the question feeling rhetorical, though Ian still nodded and whined, not wanting to come without Mickey’s hands on him. “Good. ‘Cause I’d do anything for you too.”

“Touch me,” Ian begged, too far gone to care. “Need it. Need you.” 

Mickey chuckled, though he hardly sounded in control of himself either. His lips were parted ever so slightly and Ian wanted nothing more than to suck that plump lower lip. He burned with the need for it. When Mickey’s hand began to move again and the electricity began to surge, Ian gave up on any attempt to play coy as he pleaded for Mickey to kiss him, to make him come. 

“Go on, then,” Mickey said fondly, finally leaning down to ‘kiss’ him. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

As if the words had given Ian’s body permission to finally come, he tensed as Mickey continued to stroke him through his orgasm. Ian could feel Mickey’s own pleasure settling over him and the intensity of it made him thrash and his legs actually shake. Then Mickey did something that completely threw Ian over the edge. He moaned. It was a low thing, constrained and breathy but it was right against his ear and it made him gasp. God, Mickey was so fucking beautiful. 

The ghost had been keeping fairly quiet up until now, but seemingly he couldn’t anymore and Ian actually whimpered when Mickey moaned a breathy ‘fuck’. He knew that noise would be committed to his memory forever. 

It took a good ten seconds for Ian to come back to himself enough to look over to Mickey. He was looking at him with an expression that Ian hadn’t seen before - the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips as he looked Ian over.

“Worth it,” Mickey said out of nowhere.

Ian hummed in confusion, turning onto his side to look at him better.

“This is worth it,” he explained. “The waitin’, dyin’, all of it. I…I wish I coulda known that I’d meet you one day.”

Love for Mickey hit Ian like a punch to the stomach then, and he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself anymore. Ian had been waiting for the right moment, had wanted to make it special, but he felt like if he didn’t tell Mickey now he would die. 

“I love you,” Ian said, too focused on Mickey’s reaction to be nervous. 

Mickey looked at him for a long moment before a radiant smile crossed his face. 

“I love you, Red,” he said, leaning in so the electricity between them bloomed again. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

Ian let out a moan, eyes still closed as he pushed back into the warm hands running over his side. He opened his eyes to see Mickey looking fondly at him. Without thinking about it, Ian leaned in to kiss Mickey. Their lips connected and he sighed, he was so warm, so soft against him.

Confused, Ian pulled back. “But how…?”

Mickey chuckled, reaching out to run his hand through Ian’s hair before pulling him in until their lips nearly touched. “Figured some stuff out, Red.” 

Ian was about to ask what had happened, but then Mickey kissed him again and the thought was driven from his mind. Their tongues touched for the first time and Ian sighed into the kiss. Time seemed to escape them as they kissed. Ian didn’t know if he had to get up for work, but he didn’t care. The daylight was streaking in through the gaps in the blinds and the light was shining against Mickey’s skin and Ian was just so fucking happy, so full to the brim with love. 

It had been a month since they had said ‘I love you’ for the first time. A month since they relationship had taken a definite turn for the sexual. They didn’t have sex every day, but they did most days. Ian had needed to adjust his definition of what sex was, as what they currently did hardly fitted into his typical definition. Still, it felt more like sex, more like an emotional connection, than anything else that he had ever participated in his entire life. 

Mickey pressed kiss after kiss to his neck as he worked his way down Ian’s body, hot breath fanning over his skin. Ian knew what Mickey was about to do, but he had other ideas. 

“Let me touch you,” Ian said, practically begging. “Wanna make you feel good.”

The ghost looked up at him and smiled before sitting up and moving over so he was lying back. Ian didn’t wait a single moment. Something inside of him was anxious like there was no time to waste. Did he have work? Was that it? He’d happily be late if it meant he could have Mickey. Mickey, for his part, seemed at ease, totally calm. 

Once Ian had gotten his hands on Mickey’s body, so human, he found he couldn’t get enough of it. He had to get inside of Mickey, he just had to. They had spoken about what they would do if they could actually touch each other like they were doing now. Ian was quick to get his fingers into him; god, he was so hot inside. 

Mickey was letting out those sweet whines and moans that went right to Ian’s cock, and he had to grind against the mattress a little to relieve the pressure. It seemed a moment later that Ian was pushing into Mickey. He was so high on the excitement of finally getting to this that his head was swimming with it.

“Mickey,” he panted, his own voice ringing in his head. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“You feel fuckin’ great, Red,” Mickey countered, wrapping his arms tightly around him. 

Ian’s eyes rolled back into his head a little at the words. He had wanted to be able to make Mickey feel good for so long, and not just with Mickey leaching on his own pleasure. No, Ian had wanted to produce those reactions himself, and now he finally could.

He began to thrust into his boyfriend at a carefully controlled pace, he needed to keep himself calm. But it was difficult when Mickey was panting under him, eyes closed and mouth open. Ian was utterly sure that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. 

And then, in an uncharacteristic moment of honesty, Ian spoke. 

“You really like this, huh? Really want me?” 

It had started out as something sexy to say, and ended up being far too honest. Mickey looked at him with wide eyes, so blue and so open and Ian just had to kiss him as he began to move his hips in a slow grind. 

“‘Course I fuckin’ want you, Red,” Mickey replied, an intimate murmur that had Ian shivering. 

“Want me to stay?” Ian continued as he began to fuck into Mickey harder, desperate to hear the words.

He tilted his head back when Ian finally hit that perfect spot, revealing that perfect neck that Ian just had to attach his lips to. 

“Stay with me as long as the sun rises and sets,” Mickey replied, voice far away.

Ian frowned. Something was wrong, but before he could even attempt to figure it out, he was suddenly aware that he was lying in his bed and not thrusting inside of Mickey.

“Fuck!” he gasped, thrashing against the twisted covers.

“Jesus Christ, Red,” Mickey said from his left. 

Ian looked over at him, chest still heaving. Mickey seemed absolutely wrecked, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded. 

“Mickey,” he whined, so hard it hurt.

The ghost looked like he was about to say something but obviously thought better of it. Instead, he reached down and pulled the covers away, and even that small amount of friction had Ian whimpering. 

“You were making such sweet noises in your sleep, I just had to,” Mickey said in reference to his own aroused state. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Dreamin’ of something nice, were you?” 

Ian nodded, wanting to come, but wanting Mickey to be the one to do it more. 

“Was dreaming I was fucking you,” he sighed. “Felt so real, Mick. God! Please touch me.”

“I’ve got you. Don’t you worry,” he replied fondly. “Close your eyes for me, Red.”

Ian looked over to him, confused. 

“Close 'em,” Mickey continued firmly. 

Ian frowned, but did as he was told, holding still as he did so. His whole body was thrumming with tension, but he trusted Mickey to take care of him. His mind was still full of that dream. Mickey’s body under his, those moans, the way he moved under him. It was still so fresh in his mind, and Ian tried to commit it to memory. 

It wasn’t long before Mickey was touching him, and Ian shuddered at the chill, electricity dancing over his skin.

“Oh!” Ian moaned, unable to help himself. 

“Stay still for me, sweetheart,” the ghost murmured. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said, almost conversationally, “you’re gonna lie back nice an’ pretty like ya do so well, and we’re gonna continue where we left off, aren’t we? Tell me what we were doing.”

Ian let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with dirty talk, far from it. It made up a large portion of their sex life, after all. But the idea of actually telling Mickey about his dream seemed far too revealing. He did it, though, because Mickey asked him. 

“Well damn,” Mickey chuckled, and Ian could hear the lust in his voice as his fingers danced over Ian’s lower stomach in that way that always made his hips twitch. The static electricity of it all always seemed to make his cock throb, and Mickey knew exactly how to use that to his advantage. “Sounds like we were havin’ a hell of a time, makin’ me feel so good. S’time for me to return the favour.”

The redhead bit his lip hard to keep himself under control. Ian had a good idea of what Mickey was about to do, and if that was the case, then he was definitely going to have a good time. 

“Look at you,” Mickey said, and Ian could feel the fleshlight that he had bought a month ago where Mickey was rubbing it teasingly over the head of his cock - he didn’t need to have his eyes open to know that. “You just lie back, darlin’. I’ve got it.” 

Ian sighed, and even though he knew Mickey wasn’t really about to ride him, it was too tempting to just imagine it. Mickey let out a shocked puff of breath once Ian finally let himself think about it properly. 

“Goddamn, you’re more turned on than I’ve ever seen you,” he teased.

Ian let out a stilted laugh, throat tight with lust. Mickey was teasing the fuck out of him, and he loved it, but he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Hurry up, then,” Ian replied. 

The ghost didn’t bother replying, but Ian felt the fleshlight, no, felt him pressing down onto his cock. Ian gasped and thrashed a little as he felt cold air settling around him. He couldn’t picture what position Mickey was in, but Ian knew that he was on him somehow. 

Mickey began to move over Ian in a sensual grind that had Ian whimpering. His eyes were screwed shut, and he would do anything to open them and to see what Mickey looked like, but he didn’t want to disappoint him. Mickey was making these gorgeous little panting noises that made Ian feel like his body was burning.

“You always make me feel so good,” Mickey said, lips right by Ian’s ear.

He twisted, desperately trying to find Mickey’s lips with his eyes closed. There was no point in trying to use his hands to find him, so Ian kept them fisted in the sheets. Mickey kept up the movements, always knowing just how to touch him. Ian wondered if it was to do with Mickey using Ian’s own pleasure to get off, but he had never asked - there had never seemed to be a good time to do it. 

Ian couldn’t help but thrust up into Mickey, chasing the pleasure as it continued to rage through him. His mind was filled with images of Mickey, some remembered and some conjured. Of Mickey under and on top of him. The look on his face that fateful night when Ian had sent everything into motion with his lapdance. All of it swirled in front of his closed eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to have Mickey properly in the way that living people do. 

“Mickey, please!” Ian begged, too far gone to feel even a shred of embarrassment. “Need to come.” 

Mickey chuckled. “Nearly there myself, Red.” 

“So fucking hot that you-” but Ian trailed off, words having failed him as Mickey must have put one hand through his chest right where his heart was. 

Ian knew the feeling well. It had been uncomfortable at first, but Mickey had said that he liked the warmth of it, feeling Ian so close to him. And Mickey hadn’t experienced human touch in so long that Ian was prepared to give him this. After a while of it, Ian found that he liked it. It was the strangest, most supernatural feeling that he had ever experienced, and he loved it - even now with his eyes closed, he knew that Mickey was there.

“Can feel your heart beating, Red,” Mickey said, voice absolutely wrecked. 

“Please, Mickey,” he moaned, finally giving into the urge to reach up to him and only meeting cool air. 

Mickey kissed him, then, a cool drag against his skin that had Ian gasping as he increased his speed. The fleshlight was squeezing him tight, and it was easy to imagine it was Mickey. Easy to imagine that the ghost was riding him, fast and rough as they both chased their pleasure. Easy to imagine that this was just regular early-morning sex as they took their pleasure from each other, gasping into each other’s mouths as they swapped breath. 

“Can tell you’re close,” Mickey said eventually. “Come for me.” 

And Ian did, he had to. Ian bowed his back, toes digging into the mattress as he came. His eyes finally opened to the sight of Mickey tilting his head back and moaning as he hit his own peak. The mere sight of it made Ian let out a whimper as another spurt of come escaped him. 

“Happy birthday, Red,” Mickey said once they had calmed down a little.

Ian chuckled breathily. “Best birthday ever so far.”

“Only a shame you’ve got to go to work,” he replied.

“We’re the same age, kind of,” Ian pointed out, smirking.

Mickey frowned for a moment before making an amused ‘huh’ sound. “Just wait another year, then you’ll be the older man. I am not gonna let ya hear the end of it, just lettin’ you know now.” 

Warmth filled Ian at the casual mention of them still being together in a year, being in each other’s lives. He had wanted that for so long, and now he had it, it filled him with ecstatic happiness whenever he dwelled on it like he was doing then. 

“Awww,” Ian cooed obnoxiously, “you’ll always be the older man to me, Mick.” 

The ghost groaned. “I’m leavin’ you to get ready, birthday boy.”

Ian watched him go, still smiling to himself. He had a fair idea that Mickey had left for a reason as it had been pretty abrupt, but he couldn’t think what the ghost could have planned. It wasn’t like he could have gotten Ian any sort of gift, after all. 

He felt pleasantly relaxed, but Ian knew that Mickey wouldn’t be pleased if he went back to sleep. So he dutifully got up and began to make himself ready for the day. His phone was beginning to buzz with birthday wishes, but for the moment, Ian didn’t bother to reply to them. 

By the time that he had showered and put his uniform on, Ian could smell coffee wafting up from the kitchen. He trotted downstairs eagerly. Mickey might not have drunk coffee in over a century, but he sure knew how to make it. The first sip that he had was enough to perk him up a little. 

Ian found himself focused so much on his drink that he almost didn’t notice Mickey getting out a frying pan. 

“Seriously, you don’t need to cook for me. You don’t even eat,” Ian protested, choosing not to mention the safety aspect. 

“It’s your damn birthday, Red,” he said, undeterred as he started moving around the kitchen in search of ingredients. “And,” Mickey continued, “you’ll be watchin’ me the whole time. Would take a damn miracle for me to somehow manage to burn the place down.”

Ian had to see the justice of this. 

“If you’re sure,” he said tentatively. 

Mickey huffed though his expression was fond. “Just let me give you some sort of gift.” 

“I got a great gift earlier…” Ian pointed out, cheeks heating as he thought back to it. 

“Oh, sure,” the ghost replied. “But that was just as good for me, so it’s not really a gift.”

Ian blushed even harder at the casual mention of Mickey enjoying it, let alone as much as he had. Though he would never say it, Ian found himself needing the reassurance. 

So Ian watched Mickey move around cooking. It wasn’t something that he ever imagined that the ghost would have the first idea how to do. But then, he would have had to feed himself somehow. He knew how the cooker worked without needing to ask Ian, which left him wondering just how closely Mickey observed him. It wasn’t something that mattered much either way, but it made him curious. 

“Did you try and learn to cook by watching me?” Ian asked, leaning against the counter as he watched his boyfriend work. 

Mickey shrugged nonchalantly, though Ian could tell that the questions had caught him off guard a little. “There wasn’t anything else to do before you knew I was there.”

“Apart from trying to drive me out of the house,” he teased. 

“Exactly,” he snorted. “Now git! I don’t need your chatterin’ distractin’ me.”

Ian raised his hands in surrender, backing off for the time being. He took a moment to reply to a few of his birthday messages. The moment he replied to Lip’s text, his brother called him. 

“What’s up?” Ian said as he answered. 

“Um…happy birthday?” Lip said like he was an idiot. 

“Shit, yeah,” he snorted. “Kinda forgot for a moment.”

Ian met Mickey’s eye who was looking at him judgmentally. 

‘Lip’s calling,’ he mouthed, pointing to his phone. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned away, leaving Ian to focus on his brother. 

“This just proves that you’ve become a boring piece of shit,” Lip huffed, and it took Ian a moment to remember what he had been talking about. “Are you literally only going to be going to work for your birthday?”

“Yeah,” he replied bashfully. “But I have tomorrow off!”

“I know you have tomorrow off,” his brother replied, sounding a little testy. “You said that a few days ago. I was calling to make sure that was still the case, actually.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “If you’re planning a surprise party then-”

“Which is why it isn’t a surprise,” Lip interrupted. “I’m telling you now so you can’t say you’re too tired to go.”

“But what if I am too tired to go?” Ian whined in protest. 

“Nuh uh! I don’t want to hear it ‘cause I don’t fucking care,” he replied. “You’re going to go tomorrow and you’re going to like it! Just feel lucky I kept Debbie and Fiona away from your house this morning.”

The redhead sighed longsufferingly. “Thanks, Lip. I’ve gotta eat my breakfast now.” 

“Have fun saving people or whatever,” he said before immediately hanging up.

Ian looked down at the phone in bewilderment before shrugging and pocketing it quickly. Luckily for him, Mickey seemed to be nearly finished with his cooking. Less lucky was that the moment Ian drew close the smoke detector went off.

“Goddammit!” Mickey cried out. “What is that?”

“Smoke alarm,” Ian said quickly. “Turn off the stove!” 

While Mickey did that, Ian got the kitchen window and the garden door open before grabbing a tea towel and fanning at the smoke rising from the stove. By the time Ian had gotten to smoke detector to shut the hell up, Mickey was looking rather crestfallen. 

Ian sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sure the food is great,” he made a show of sniffing and was pleasantly surprised at the bacon and eggs’ smell. It was enough to set his mouth watering. “You aren’t used to cooking on an electric stove.”

“I’m not used to cookin’ on any damned stove,” Mickey huffed. “Confounded thing! Give me a fire anyday an’ I’ll show ya what fine dinin’ really is.”

“Fine dining?” Ian echoed, smiling wryly. “Is tinned beans and a rabbit you managed to catch fine dining now?”

The ghost huffed, looking put upon. “Now you’re just makin’ of fun a fella for things he can’t control.”

Mickey’s expression was enough to send Ian into fits of giggles. It wasn’t until a good minute later that Ian calmed down enough to make a beeline for his breakfast. But Mickey was fast and snatched it away. 

“My cookin’ only goes to those who show proper gratitude,” he said imperiously. 

Ian pouted, still holding back his mirth, before whining, “But it’s my birthday!” 

“Goddamn baby,” Mickey replied, setting the plate down in front of him. 

For all that Mickey had seemed reluctant to give Ian the breakfast that he had made, he watched him eat it intently. Ian had to hold back nervous smiles as he ate, avoiding Mickey’s intense gaze. The ghost sure knew how to make someone feel the weight of his eyes on them, and not for the first time, Ian found himself wondering what he had been like in life. He only had that one photo to go off of, which was hardly any help at all. 

“So…” Mickey said the moment Ian had put down his fork, “did you like it?”

Ian looked over to him and saw the open nervousness on his face, and he melted immediately.