Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s been almost two weeks since Ian has broken up with Mickey. 13 days 22 hours and 27 minutes to be exact. But who’s counting, right? Mickey sure as hell isn’t.

What Mickey does is drinking a little bit more booze than usual and smoking a little bit more cigarettes than he used to. Still, don’t let it fool you, none of it is an attempt to forget the issue at hand. If anything, it’s an attempt to focus.

Mickey’s spiraling, as he assures himself, is going on just because he needs time to wrap his mind around everything. It just so happens that his not-so-healthy habits are a perfect tool for him to clear his head.

Almost two weeks, and in all this time Mickey and Ian haven’t seen each other. They haven’t talked or messaged either. Not even once.

The only time Mickey’s heard from the Gallaghers was when Fiona gave him a call to ask what had happened between the two of them and why Ian was being so distant.

Mickey didn’t have a clear answer to her. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have a clear answer even to himself. So he just told her the truth. He didn’t know what to do.

So the girl shared her own opinion with him. The advice Fiona was able to give him was to talk it out with Ian once again. Of course, it wasn’t surprising to Mickey. Gallaghers always did have a thing for discussing their feelings and shit.

The problem is that there’s been so much of the said shit going on lately that Mickey’s head constantly feels on the edge of exploding. His way of living has never included being able to deal with so much important stuff like work, relationship, family, and on top of that mental health issues on a daily basis. But he was actively trying to become better at this. And just when Mickey started feeling like he was finally getting the hang of it, all of it went down, crumbling and ruining everything around.

So now he has no idea how to approach Ian and what kind of conversation he’s supposed to have to sort things out. And he doesn’t even know who to ask for help with this.

His only option is Mandy, but he stops himself from calling her with such news because he knows her life out there with her so-called boyfriend is already far enough from a happy one. He just cannot allow himself to burden her with his own relationship issues.

So that leaves him alone in this. It is officially the first time he’s ever been dumped and he’s never even imagined being in a position like this because he was never one to date in the first place.

But here he is, sitting on his bed with his phone clutched hard in his hands, trying to work up the courage to call Ian and ask him to meet somewhere so that they could talk. To Mickey’s frustration, getting himself to press the right button is harder than it sounded in his head, especially when he doesn’t have the slightest clue as for what he’s going to say.

And so he just stares at the gadget in his hands for a while. The screen keeps going black because Mickey doesn’t hurry with pressing anything. Instead, he just repeatedly unlocks his phone and waits until it goes dark again.

“This shit is fucking stupid!” He finally blows up after a few minutes and throws his phone on the side of his bed, letting out a frustrated groan.

He storms out of the room, grabs his parka and slams the door shut behind him. His legs know where to head even if his mind isn’t sure of it. That’s how he ends up in front of Gallagher's place.

And still, getting there was easier than actually walking inside, so Mickey settles on a smoke to calm his nerves. Just as he flicks the lighter on Fiona opens the front door and rushes out of the house.

“Hey, Mickey!” She greets and he hears a note of surprise in her voice as her eyebrows shoot up. “How you doing?”

“Fucking amazing, thanks for asking,” he mocks, but Fiona just purses her lips sympathetically. “Ian here?”

Mickey shrugs uncomfortably under Fiona’s gaze as he waits for her to reply.

“Yeah, he is upstairs. Refused to have breakfast. Again,” she adds under her breath, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Is he…” Mickey struggles with voicing his doubts and his eyebrows furrow as he prepares himself the worst, but Fiona understands everything and hurries to chase his fears away.

“No. No, he’s not…” she doesn’t find a way to phrase it either but Mickey breathes out with relief. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry.”

They stay silent for a minute, Mickey smoking his cigarette, eyes glued to the pavement, and Fiona studying his features carefully.

“You gonna talk to him?” She prompts.

Mickey takes a particularly long drag and breathes out a large cloud of smoke. He nods when his eyes meet Fiona’s.

“Good,” she nods reassuringly, folding her arms because of the morning coolness. “I think he needs it. I don’t know what happened between you, guys, but you know his mind is all over the place. This run he had with Monica…” The girl then lets her hands wander through her hair and shakes her head slightly. “She has a thing for fucking up everything good that happens in our lives and I’m pretty sure she played her role in whatever it is you and Ian are going through right now. But the thing I know for sure is that Monica has never been right in her life.”

Mickey still doesn’t know what to say to Fiona, but she doesn’t really wait for a reply anyway. She just gives Mickey one tiny smile and pats his arm gently.

“Shit, I’m late,” she says when she takes a look at her phone screen. “Gotta go to work now. Good luck, Mickey.”

“Thanks.” It’s the only thing he manages to breathe out as Fiona passes him and walks away and down the street.

There’s no going back now, he thinks as he takes the stairs two at a time and enters the house. He shrugs his parka off and places it on the couch, quickly inspecting the house.

Judging by the silence inside, Mickey realizes that everyone else must be gone to devil knows where. School, work, whatever. It is better this way. No prying eyes and curious noses around to fuck with his nerves even more.

So Mickey, trying to quieten his racing heartbeat, climbs the stairs, avoiding the squeaky one on autopilot and reaches the door of the boys’ room. His hand hovers just above the handle when he thinks it might be a good idea to knock first.

His knuckles touch the wood a few times ever so gently and Mickey strains his ears for a response. When nothing comes, he tries again, more persistent this time.

“Fiona, I told you I’m not eating anything,” he catches the familiar muffled voice and licks his lips nervously before opening the door.

“It’s me, dumbass,” his voice quivers slightly and he clears his throat.

Ian turns in his bed to face the door.

“Mickey?”

“What’s up?” He leans against the door frame and folds his arms on his chest, not finding anything else to do with his body.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” Ian rubs at his eyes sleepily and Mickey can barely hide a smile at the sight of it.

“Done with the silent treatment.”

Ian furrows his brows in confusion, thinking for a moment.

“What do you mean? Thought we settled everything back then,” he sits up on his bed, staring at his legs, and runs a hand through his stupid messy red hair that Mickey loves so damn much.

“You settled, not we,” he corrects. “I listened to you last time. Now you gotta listen to me. I thought that was how this whole relationship crap worked. Both sides get a fucking say in something this important, no?”

“Yeah, ‘kay,” Ian agrees after a few seconds and finally he looks Mickey right in the eyes. “Let’s talk.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” Mickey grumbles and sets off for the kitchen as Ian nods.

It takes a couple of minutes before Ian joins Mickey downstairs and plops down on the stool behind the countertop, now wearing shorts and a shirt, hair still messy and now slightly wet.

The older boy grabs two mugs from the cupboard, catching himself thinking that he feels way too comfortable in the Gallagher’s kitchen, but chases the thought away as he pours the dark liquid and shoves one of the mugs towards Ian.

“Thanks,” the redhead mumbles and takes a sip.

Mickey wraps his hands around his own mug and leans against the sink. The thoughts start mingling with each other and he once again finds himself struggling to form something coherent.

“So…” Ian lifts his eyes at the other boy, waiting for him to start speaking.

“Why’d you do it?”

The question is out before Mickey can overthink it and go with something that would sound less desperate. But to hell with the sugarcoating, desperate is exactly how he feels and he’s not in the mood for hiding it today. Not when he finally got a chance to talk with Ian.

The redhead doesn’t need to ask what Mickey means by that. He knows exactly what he did. Why? That’s a good question.

“It’s just that…” Ian scratches the back of his head, looking for an answer that would make sense. His gaze stays focused on the steaming mug. “I never expected you to stick around, man. Not after the official diagnosis. I knew this wasn’t what you signed up for. It’s too much to handle, so I understand. I already told you, you don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s total bullshit, Ian, you know it,” Mickey shakes his head and scoffs.

“It’s not, Mickey. It’s my reality from now on,” he taps the coffee mug with his fingertips anxiously, fighting the urge to look up. “But it doesn’t have to be yours. I don’t want you to think that you have to be around constantly, taking care of me and shit. I’ll handle my episodes or whatever,” he flinches, saying it out loud, “but I won’t take any drugs from the hospital. I’ll find my own way.”

“That doesn’t work this way, Ian, don’t you get it?” Mickey comes closer and puts his mug on the countertop, placing both of his hands there as well, making Ian spare him a quick glance. “We’ve already tried getting you through it on our own. I tried. It sounds nice now that you’re feeling okay, but when it comes down to it, it’s just too complicated. Yeah, you feel shitty when you take your meds, I know, but-”

“No, you don’t…” Ian mumbles under his breath, eyes stubbornly glued to the kitchen bench. “You don’t know, Mickey.”

“You know what? Yeah,” Mickey backs off, lifting his hands in surrender. “You’re right, I don’t know shit about how you feel when you’re sedated. But I know damn well how I feel when I see you unable to get out of bed, shivering and crying. Do you know how that shit feels? Huh, Ian? Look at me!” He snaps and Ian’s eyes shoot up immediately, not able to resist Mickey’s command. The older boy clutches his fists at the sudden eye contact. “Tell me. Have you ever experienced that?”

After a moment of silence between them Mickey realizes the answer himself. That was a stupid question.

“Yeah…” Ian breathes out, his green eyes staring right at the ocean blue ones.

The thing is that Mickey doesn’t know that it’s another reason for Ian to push him away. Because Ian has experienced the pain of watching a person break down, he never wanted Mickey feeling this way.

Ian hates the fact that he thinks about Monica at this moment. He remembers the way he felt when he saw her depressed episodes. He feared her at some points. It hurts to think that Mickey might be afraid of him as well. It hurts to know that despite trying to keep Mickey out of this, he’s already hurt him.

“Yeah, ‘course you have…” Mickey shakes his head with a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, Imma tell you that whatever you felt, it’s totally different for me. You know why? You’ve always had a family, Ian. An unreasonably huge and incredibly annoying one, that yes, but a family that is ready to fight tooth and nail for you to get you out of whatever shit you land yourself into. They always got your back. No matter what,” Mickey’s confidence in these words makes shivers run down Ian’s spine and he swallows loudly, watching every Mickey’s movement.

There’s something in Ian’s eyes Mickey can’t quite decipher. But the way he stares at him from under those ridiculously long lashes makes Mickey’s breath hitch.

“I have only two people in my life that I give a shit about. Mandy and you, prick,” he points a finger at Ian’s chest and sighs. “Now my sister fucked off with this piece of shit Kenyatta and I know he’s no good for her, but I can’t do shit about it and I feel miserable, man,” he scoffs at his own admission and shakes his head. “But she’s gone. Considering that, the only one left is you. You get what I’m sayin’ here? You’re the only one I got,” Mickey spreads his arms and shrugs to emphasize his point.

Ian winces at that statement and Mickey’s stomach does a somersault, making him look away for a second from the boy in front of him to compose himself again.

“So when I look at you and see you broken and depressed, I can’t stand it, Ian. I’m sorry for being over-something, ‘kay? For being too caring or whatever the fuck you think I’m being. Fuck me for this shit. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I keep losing people I care about and I’m fucking helpless when it comes to stopping it.”

They fall back into silence, but their eyes aren’t leaving each other. Mickey’s let out everything he’s had on his mind for the past weeks. Well, maybe not everything, but the stuff that seemed the most important at least. The stuff he managed to get out of his head right now.

Ian opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times, struggling with forming a reply. There’s one particular thing he feels like he has to say, but he can’t find the courage to voice it. So Mickey goes for the last argument he has.

“I mean, man, you’ve spent three fucking years relentlessly trying to get through to me, to make me admit that I care, that I wanna be with you. And here I am, I’m tellin’ ya, I wanna be with you. And now you just want to walk away? C’mon, Ian,” he scoffs and shakes his head again, emphasizing the absurdity of the fact.

“I’ve cheated on you,” Ian blurts out, gaze not moving from Mickey’s.

That’s it. It’s out in the open and Ian braces himself for the impact.

He studies the look on Mickey’s face without breathing. He sees it change rapidly.

First, Mickey’s eyebrows fly up, then there’s a frown as he pulls his head back a little. It’s now the older boy’s turn to open and close his mouth, mind going completely blank.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” He croaks.

Ian can’t help but bury his face in his hands, not being able to see the reaction of Mickey comprehending his words. His cheeks burn, he feels Mickey staring at him and he wants to disappear.

Chapter Text

“I’ve cheated on you, Mick.”

It’s finally out. The only thing that’s been nagging at Ian’s brain for the last few months. Whenever Ian felt even remotely normal, his mind would drift back to his so-called adventures he’d had some time ago.

His consciousness would eat him alive up to the point that Ian couldn’t look Mickey in the eyes sometimes. And now, hearing Mickey trying to assure him that they can still be together, he just couldn’t keep it hidden anymore. He had no right to.

“You did what, I’m sorry?…”

Mickey’s voice sounds so small. But it drags Ian out of his thoughts and sends shivers down Ian’s spine. He still cannot look at the dark haired boy though.

“I’ve been with a few other men. This summer. Before all the psych ward stuff.”

“You fucked other men?” Ian can literally hear the raised eyebrows in his tone.

Hearing Mickey actually say it out loud makes Ian’s stomach drop. It sounds so filthy and immoral and everything else Ian isn’t. He’s not perfect. Nobody in their neighborhood is. But at least Ian used to have morals. He had some boundaries that couldn’t be crossed.

“Not exactly fucked fucked,” he manages to get out of himself in his defense, “but yeah, a couple of hand jobs and blow jobs here and there.”

Ian can hear Mickey huff a breath, but nothing else comes. Part of Ian waits for Mickey to shout at him. Part of him is sure he’s gonna throw a punch. But what actually comes from Mickey, is quite unexpected to the younger boy.

“Ian,” Mickey addresses him and the redhead closes his eyes shut, suppressing the temptation to look at him. “Ian,” he calls again and he gives in, finally facing the older boy. “Why?”

Ian’s heart misses a beat at the simple question, voiced with so much pain. Once again he’s facing the question he doesn’t have a clear answer to.

“I don’t know,” he breathes out and he wants to punch himself in the face for such a lame reply. “I guess, I was incredibly horny and they were just there.”

Mickey nods at this, but Ian knows it’s not understanding that makes him do this. It’s more of an attempt to believe that what he’s hearing is true.

“Listen, man, I’m not a pro in this whole relationship shit, but just so that we’re clear…” Mickey scratches the back of his head and blinks rapidly a few times. Ian assumes it’s to clear his vision. “That shit sound normal to you?” He looks at Ian deliberately, trying to find something in his eyes. “I was waiting for you at home, but you were just too horny and they were there,” he restates Ian’s words and his face contorts with hurt and disappointment.

“No, Mick,” Ian sighs and shakes his head. “I’m telling you I don’t know why I did what I did. I’ve never felt that way before. The craziest thing was that I didn’t even think about them as human beings back then. I just wanted to get off and that was it.”

“And you’re still telling me you don’t need your meds? You basically fucking jumped on random guys on the street–”

“It never happened again after that,” he interrupts Mickey. “Just a few times back in the summer, I’m telling you, and that’s it.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? That it was okay?” He scowls, shrugging his shoulders.

“No. It means I can’t change what I did. It’s done now. I can’t go back and replace it, no matter how badly I want to,” Ian shrugs with a sigh. “But I’m not gonna run to the hospital and let them drug me again. I’m in control now.”

“Yeah, no shit. Now being the key word.”

The redhead looks in Mickey’s eyes for a few seconds in silence, considering the words he’s about to say.

“That’s exactly why I think it’s better for you to leave me…” Ian mutters under his breath, eyes averting Mickey’s stare again.

“What?”

“You can’t trust me anymore, Mickey. You look at me – and it’s not just now, it’s been for a while now – you look at me like I might lash out at any given moment. Or like I’m helpless and I might break just from your breath in my direction. And I don’t even know what’s worse!”

“That’s not true…” He shakes his head, but the tone gives away his doubt.

“Oh, cut the crap, Mickey. Maybe I am mentally ill, but I’m not fucking stupid,” he rolls his eyes, his hands ending up on the coffee mug again just to keep them occupied with something. It’s barely warm now.

Mickey nods again, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He keeps biting his lower lip, looking for something else to say, but nothing occurs to him. He scans the kitchen, eyes stalling on everything in the room that’s not Ian.

“Aren’t you tired of being careful around me?” Ian mumbles, fingers drawing shapes on the mug in his hands. “Of fighting for something that isn’t here anymore?”

“That being what exactly?”

“The old me.”

Mickey’s brows furrow at that and he scowls.

“I don’t think the old you is gone.”

“Maybe that’s exactly your problem,” Ian lifts his gaze at Mickey finally. Monica’s words keep ringing in his ears.

You need to find someone who loves you for being who you are.

“You will never be able to accept me,” he states, sighing in defeat. “You’ll just keep chasing someone who doesn’t even exist anymore...”

“Bullshit. I’ll prove you wrong. Not because I can’t fucking accept you for the way you are. Imma do it to show you that you’re still you.”

“I don’t need it. I’ve made peace with what I am now.”

Mickey doesn’t know how to parry that. He’s not used to fighting for anyone but himself. But it’s Ian we’re talking about. Mickey’s willing to do whatever it takes and fight for him if he cannot fight for himself.

“Are you ready to make peace with it?” Ian presses. “Admit that it is the way it is now?”

“Who the fuck put that shitty idea in that stupid head of yours?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mickey, answer the fucking question! I’m a nut job and I’ve cheated on you. Do you still think I’m worth the trouble?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey spits out in response, his chest burning with a feeling he wasn’t really familiar up to the latest month.

“Yeah…” Ian nods slowly. “That’s what I thought.”

Ian can see that Mickey almost doesn’t blink to hold back the tears. He can’t look at it. He doesn’t want to watch Mickey break. He doesn’t want to accept that he’s the one who’s the reason that Mickey’s hurting in the first place.

So with that, no more words spoken, Ian gets up and drags his feet upstairs, a hand rubbing at his temple. He flinches at the sound of the front door being shut violently and he lets out a sigh. His shoulders fall and he deflates, landing face-first on his bed.

Ian’s so fucking tired. The exhaustion dawns on him and drains him of every ounce of the little amount of strength he’s had when he woke up. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with any of this. But even when his body gives up, it’s rather difficult to shut his mind off.

Ian’s usual persona has always been quite keen on overthinking every situation. Fiona’s always had caring for them. Lip’s had studies. Debbie’s had organizing. Carl’s had felony. Liam’s had cuteness. And Ian’s had overthinking. That was his thing. So that wasn’t a surprise for anyone that with his diagnosis, the constant thinking has only multiplied.

It doesn’t really matter what state Ian’s in, whether it’s his usual behavior, a manic episode or depression, his mind is still going to drift away, presenting him with tons of options for the outcome of everything.

He asks himself lots of complicated questions and then spends hours trying to seek out the answer that will finally be able to please him. He analyzes stuff, looks for a hidden meaning or a plot behind everything.

For the last two weeks he’s been doing a lot of thinking as well. He’s repeated his mother’s words in his head over and over again, trying to make himself believe that she knew better. After all, she’s been living with the same diagnosis for quite a long time and she managed it.

The rational side of Ian, of course, asked questions. Was the way she managed living with bipolar disorder really acceptable? Could she ever be considered an example at handling this? Especially with the way everyone around her felt. Has Monica ever found real happiness?

As much as Ian loves dwelling on different questions, he cannot answer any of those. He cannot be sure of anything these days. His idea of right and wrong, good and bad, they are totally fucked up right now.

The first thing that comes to his mind when he starts doubting stuff is to talk to Mickey. He was always there to help Ian clear things up, to sort out stuff that confused him. That’s not an option anymore though.

So Ian doesn’t know who to believe now.

Monica has to know better, right? Mickey means well. But he loved the old Ian. He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand the new one. He wants to change him back, to cure him, to fix him. But Ian’s not sick. He’s not broken. He’s just different.

And if Mickey doesn’t want him like this, then Ian’s done the right thing. Monica’s voice in the back of his head assures him he’s right.

Ian asks himself another question. Can he trust the voice in his head when it seems to be so different from the one in his heart?

Can he trust anything that’s going on in his head?

Ian’s not sure. He’s tired of doubting everything. He’s just so fucking tired.

But now that he is lying on his bed in complete silence in his house, he realizes what he’s done. Mickey’s not going to forgive him.

The break up, that was shitty, yeah. Ian kept telling himself it was for the best. It was best for him and for Mickey. Ian was the one to break up with his boyfriend, so he knew what was going to happen after that.

But admitting cheating… Ian thinks it is really over now. He never wanted it to be over like this. And now there’s just one single question running through his mind. The question his Monica-poisoned mind doesn’t approve of, but his aching heart yearns to know the answer to.

Chapter Text

“You stupid douchebag!” Mickey hears his sister yell in his ear and automatically pries the gadget away from him for a few seconds.

They were never big on warm greetings, but Mickey didn’t really expect their first call in a few weeks to start this way.

“What the fuck, bitch?” He questions, brows furrowed and scowling at Mandy, even though she cannot see him.

“No, that’s my line, you idiot! What the fuck? I leave your sorry ass for a couple of month and you manage to fuck everything up! I knew you needed baby-sitting, yeah, but I didn’t know that the very minute I left the house it would all go to shit with you!”

“Listen, calm the fuck down and maybe, I don’t know, let me know what the fuck are you talking about, huh?” Mickey interrupts her rant and makes another attempt at finding out the reason for her sister’s call and her sour mood with him.

“You don’t call me so, what, you thought I wouldn’t find out?” She asks and he can literally hear her raised eyebrows at him.

“Find what out?” He plays dumb, even though he’s pretty sure where this is going. There’s only one person who’s able to get Mandy so worked up.

“Don’t you fucking dare to go all clueless on me, Mickey! Iggy called me,” Mickey mentally cusses his brother for sticking his nose into the shit that is none of his business. “Told me you were acting weird and that he hasn’t seen your carrot top boyfriend around for the last month. What the fuck did you do this time?”

“Why does that always have to be me who’s screwed up?” He sounds actually offended and it makes Mandy scoff.

“Who else is that supposed to be? You fucking suck at the relationship stuff, so it’s obvious that you fucked something up and pushed Ian away! Again!”

“Yeah? Well, I might surprise you. Ian’s the one who dumped my ass this time!”

There’s silence on the other end and Mickey checks his phone to see if the call’s still on. It is. Mandy’s probably just as tongue-tied as he’s been when Ian told him.

“What?”

Yeah, the same disbelief in her voice.

“You fucking heard me.”

“You’re shitting me, you bastard!”

“Ain’t shitting you. Got no reason to,” Mickey shakes his head and sits down on his bed, finally letting himself breathe out.

“What the fuck did you do, Mickey?” This accusation sounds less fierce, but somehow even more strict. She’s not fucking around with this, not anymore.

“I fucking told you, I wasn’t the one to–”

“Shut the fuck up!” She cuts him off sharply. “Don’t tell me Ian just randomly, out of the fucking blue decided to end things between you.”

“Well, seems like it, ‘cuz it’s the new him and shit.”

Mickey hears her chuckle, but he knows it’s just her nerves giving up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The man stalls for a few seconds, trying to put everything that Mandy’s missed into a short sentence that would explain the situation that has led to their break-up.

“He refused to take his meds and things got crazy from then on. Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he nods, approving of his own summary of the drama they’ve been through.

“What do you mean refused to? What were you doing? What were the Gallaghers thinking when letting him off the medication?”

“Sounds crazy, but me and the Gallaghers were on the same page and tried persuading him. But need I remind you how stubborn that fucking kid is?”

“Shit…” Mandy knows that if Ian’s got an idea, it’s fucking impossible to prove him otherwise. “Okay, so he’s off his meds, so what? Get him back on track.”

“Yeah, easier said than done,” Mickey runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “His mother, Monica or what-the-fuck-ever, brainwashed him in believing that he’ll be better off without them.”

“Monica? What the hell? Since when does he hang out with his mom?”

“Don’t ask…” He tries to get away without answering this one, but the silence on the other end indicates that Mandy’s still waiting for him to elaborate. He sighs and gives in. “Long story short, he went off meds, cheated on me, and then dumped me.”

“Cheated on you– Wait, what?” He can hear his sister swearing, shouting at someone and then there is some shuffling, she’s probably moving to another room or something. “Mickey, what the fuck is going on at home? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

He just sighs at that. He has no excuse.

“What are you gonna do?” Her voice is quieter this time, more careful.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Well, do you still…” She hesitates and doesn’t finish the question.

“Do I still what?” He prompts, but his voice breaks slightly and it’s all Mandy needs to hear to know.

“You do,” she states.

“Yes, I fucking do, Mandy,” he spits out and pauses for a second. “I’m just not sure he still does…”

“He does, Mickey,” she assures him and Mickey wants to believe her so badly. But the reality looks different to him.

“You wouldn’t know. You haven’t seen him lately. Haven’t talked to him.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to think I know Ian.”

“Yeah, I’d like to think that too,” Mickey nods to himself and his mind drifts away for a minute or so. He doesn’t feel like saying anything else. He’s already let out enough. “Good talk,” he says abruptly and Mandy knows it’s the end of their little heart-to-heart.

“Hey, Mickey, don’t you dare give up on him, you hear me?”

He just presses the ‘end the call’ button and tosses his phone aside, then grabs a few packs of cigarettes and heads outside. It’s been too long since his last smoke.

It’s getting late. The remaining sun rays are barely able to lighten up the dull neighborhood. But still, they manage to cast some golden light on the street, on the bridge, on the porch of the Milkovich house Mickey’s been sitting on for the past few hours.

He’s trying not to think about the way the light reminds him of Gallagher’s hair and his stupid freckles. He doesn’t need this image right now. Not when he’s trying so hard to keep his shit together.

He’s chain smoking what seems to be the third pack in a row, eyes staring somewhere further away, without really focusing on anything in particular. The slight wind makes him shiver a little every now and then, but he cannot be bothered with putting on his jacket. Cold isn’t his biggest worry at the moment.

Somehow smoking on the stairs in front of his house does help with shutting off Mickey’s thoughts. One by one the cigarettes disappear, fade to ashes, and Mickey finds comfort in lighting up the new one and pressing it to his lips.

He’s not sure how much time he spends out there, but the amount of cigarette butts and eventual darkness around him tell him it’s been a while. The sun’s completely gone now, leaving the street even gloomier. But it doesn’t really bother Mickey. He’s used to it being gray.

When he reaches for the new cigarette and finds that the pack is already empty, he decides it’s time to go inside. He’s not sure if anyone else is at home because he doesn’t really look around as he heads for his bedroom and closes the door behind him. In case there is anyone Mickey prays they’ll stay the fuck out.

He closes his eyes for a second, leaning onto the door and contemplating taking off his clothes. Maybe he should just stay this way. No one cares if he sleeps fully clothed. But then he feels his skin getting itchy and settles on stripping.

Now that he’s not smoking, he needs a new distraction. He grabs a beer can from the nightstand and reaches to turn on the music. A random AC/DC song starts playing, but Mickey doesn’t really care at this point. He just needs something to be louder than his mind, so he turns up the volume.

Mickey doesn’t think the talk with Ian made shit easier. If anything, it made him even more confused and frustrated. Saying shit out loud was overrated, if you ask Mickey.

Before their talk, Mickey had worked up something of a routine that was getting him through the days. He would brood for half of the day, question every single thing about himself for the other half and pass out on his bed with a bottle of beer in his hand. It was kind of an understandable course of action for him.

Now all of it is completely different.

What is he supposed to do with the new information Ian’s dumped on him? He barely made himself get over that porn shoot Ian did. He tried assuring himself that Ian had agreed to it just for the money and treated it as an errand. It still made his blood boil, but it was bearable. But this… Random dudes from the neighborhood… This is a whole new level.

I’ve cheated on you, Mick.

The words ring in his ears and he cannot shut them off, no matter how hard he tries. Even the full blast of the rock music from the speakers does nothing to quieten Ian’s voice in his head.

I was incredibly horny and they were just there.

He presses his hands to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, praying for the voice to stop taunting him. And still, it doesn’t go away.

“Please, shut the fuck up…” He mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

A couple of hand jobs and blow jobs here and there.

“Shut the fuck UP!” He yells and tugs at his hair.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red. His vision is foggy and it makes him even more angry and he just cannot keep it inside anymore. So he grabs the closest chair to him and smashes it into the wall with a roar. For a second it feels good. It isn’t enough though.

He launches himself toward the chest of drawers and with one swift movement he sends everything that is placed on it flying to the floor. The clattering of it all is completely swallowed by the music.

Mickey groans in frustration because nothing brings him the right amount of satisfaction he wants to feel right now. His eyes scan the room for anything else he can destroy and his gaze stops at the posters. His hands tear some of them violently off the wall. He crumples them, rips them into pieces and throws them aside.

His fists clench tightly and he hits the wall in front of him, hissing from the force of the impact. That doesn’t stop him from throwing another punch again and again until his breathing is all out of place and he deflates, bumping his head against the wall gently and sliding down it to sit on the floor.

“Fucking Gallagher, man,” he breathes out and shakes his head.

His face crumples with pain and he lets his head fall into his hands with a strangled sob. This has been coming for a while now. At some point Mickey started wondering when the breakdown was gonna catch up with him.

I think it’s better for you to leave me…

Mickey practically howls when he hears Ian’s voice in his head again. He lets the tears run down his pale cheeks as he clutches his fists again, his bruised knuckles turning white.

He doesn’t stay down for long though. He’s Mickey fucking Milkovich after all. He doesn’t cry much. He gets drunk. So he wipes his face with the back of his hand, gets up, reaches for his unfinished beer and takes a gulp.

It’s way past midnight when Mickey finally falls on his bed, not bothering with getting under the blanket. He’s not as drunk as he would like to be, but he’s out of booze and he’ll have to restock in the morning. So for now he doesn’t find anything else to do besides sleeping.

To his constantly growing frustration, Gallagher fucked up even this aspect of Mickey’s life. Because as soon as Mickey breathes in the scent of his sheets, he can’t help but remember the smell of Ian’s body, his perfume, his shampoo and other stuff that mingled together so perfectly and created the special atmosphere around the redhead.

As he turns to the other side of his bed, he ends up thinking that it’s the one Ian’s claimed for himself during the time they lived together. Now Mickey can only refer to that side as Ian’s side and the pillow over there is Ian’s pillow.

That causes another groan from Mickey as he purposefully shuts his eyes and keeps them this way for a few minutes to trick his mind into thinking he’s ready to fall asleep. It doesn’t work.

His nose scrunches as he tries to hold back another wave of tears that’s threatening to escape his eyes. His jaws are pressed together with such force that it hurts him. His hands automatically grab a handful of sheets, squeezing with all might. Mickey tries everything he can to stop his mind from focusing on the lack of a certain somebody beside him, but to no avail.

Mickey’s sure if he stays as still as possible, he’ll fall asleep faster, but his rapid heartbeat tells him otherwise. His chest feels tight and his breaths are shallow, he’s too tense, on the verge of shaking.

It’s useless, he thinks and makes another attempt at breathing out slowly, only to find out that he’s hiccuping now. He groans, punches Ian’s side of the bed and turns over to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His body trembles with the messed up breaths he’s trying so hard to control, breathing with his mouth, but fails. A few tears roll down his temples and his heart stutters in his chest.

I’m a nut job and I’ve cheated on you. Do you still think I’m worth the trouble?

Hey, Mickey, don’t you dare give up on him, you hear me?

It’s 4 am. on the clock when Mickey moves his head sideways to check the time and he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not getting anywhere near taking even a short nap, let alone a good night’s sleep.

His eyes are sore from crying, his lungs scream at him for the crazy amount of nicotine they faced and for the fucked up breathing while having a mental melt-down, his muscles ache from all the tension and punching stuff.

Still, he finds it in himself to get up. Mickey looks out of the window and an idea comes up to him. There’s no booze, no cigarettes left on him. It means there’s no reason to stay at home. He needs fresh air, he needs to get out of this freaking house and he needs to shoot something. That’s a no-brainer. He puts on his jeans, a T-shirt, grabs his jacket and leaves the Milkovich place behind as he heads for the one place he can think of.

Chapter Text

Ian hoped that his confession would make him feel less shitty. Because for the last weeks, on those rare occasions when Ian did feel something, his consciousness would throw a shit ton of accusations at him for fucking around with that guy in the shop, with that dude in the cafeteria…

His heart would throb and his head would scream at him. He needed to tell Mickey the truth. But he was fucking scared. So after they’d broken up, after Ian had broken up with Mickey, he decided there was nothing else to lose anyway. He owed him at least that much.

Turns out he was wrong.

Now, having admitted his cheating to Mickey, he lost every ounce of the self-respect he had.

Back then, at the moment he decided to let Mickey go, he was pretty sure that he was making a good choice. He had some doubts, but he was sure that it would benefit both of them in the long run.

But after having some time to himself, after having a talk with Mickey, he’s not so sure anymore. He’s deeply conflicted right now, as he keeps replaying Mickey’s words in his head.

You’re the only one I got.

Who the fuck put that shitty idea in that stupid head of yours?

Thinking about it, that was a good question to ask. What made Ian think breaking up with Mickey would do any good? Seeing Mickey fight back the tears and realizing how much his own chest hurts, Ian doesn’t really see the point of it all. None of it looks like a success. It looks like Ian just acted on impulse and destroyed the best thing that's ever happened in his life.

Yeah, Monica gave him some facts to chew on, about the relationship and the way people treated him. But how did Ian let her judge Mickey’s feelings toward him and the seriousness of his intentions?

Ian sighs in frustration as he keeps staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, hoping it would prompt him and give him some clues on where to look for the information to fill in the gaps. Because so far none of it makes sense. What the fuck?

Just as he’s about to present his exhausted mind with a couple dozen new questions, the door opens and his older brother’s curls catch Ian’s attention, dragging him out of his head a little.

“Hey, Ian,” Lip greets as he enters the room, plopping down onto Ian’s bed beside him. “How you feeling?”

“Dunno,” he just shrugs and pulls himself up to sit on the bed, pressing his knees closer to his chest. It makes him look significantly smaller than he is and Lip feels like an actual older brother.

“Fiona said you had a visitor today, huh?” He scratches the back of his head, his voice cautious, as if he’s testing the waters.

“Yeah,” Ian breathes out and nods, eyes leaving his brother and ending up on his knees in front of him.

“How’d that go?”

“Shitty,” he summarizes and hears Lip huff out a breath.

“How come?”

“Well, I keep messing shit up because I have no fucking idea as for what I am doing,” Ian states and glances at his brother, who’s giving him a tiny smile.

“Yeah, man, that’s everyone’s problem nowadays. Half of the people admit that they are totally clueless and the other part is lying.”

“That’s comforting.”

They stay silent for a few minutes and Ian wonders if there’s something Lip wants to say to him, but again cannot find the right words. Ian spares him the misery and starts speaking his mind out loud just to let Lip know what’s going on in his head.

“I don’t want his pity, you know?” He mutters and Lip lifts his gaze at him. “I don’t wanna be his burden, I don’t wanna be fixed. Can’t he just fucking hear me?”

“But you wanna be loved, man,” Ian’s brain short circuits at that. “He’s the one that makes you feel loved. In a way that we can never make you feel.”

“He doesn’t know how to love me anymore.”

Ian hears, or rather feels, Lip shifting on the side of the bed, turning a little so that he’s facing the redhead.

“Listen, I’m no love expert, we both know it, right? But the way I see it, he loves you. In his freaky, Milkovich way,” he chuckles and shakes his head at his own words, “but it’s definitely there, no one can deny it.”

Lip’s confidence nags at Ian’s mind and crosses ways with Monica’s assurances that nobody knows how to love him right. Before Ian can recover from that statement, Lip gives Ian a bunch of his favorite questions.

“What is the problem between you, anyway? He wants you to get better, why would you drive him away? Am I missing a puzzle piece here or something?”

“He’s fixated on me getting back on my medication.”

“And again, I don’t see the problem, I’m sorry.”

Ian looks up at his brother and scans his expression. Lip really doesn’t understand. Ian replays his own argument in his head and realizes that Lip has every right to feel confused.

The way it sounds from another point of view is hilarious. Because Ian basically sounds like ‘My boyfriend cared about me and wanted me to get the medication my doctor prescribed me so that I could get back to living a normal life. That’s why I dumped him.’

Ian frowns at that and then shakes his head a little to get back to reality. Lip’s still waiting for him to elaborate his point.

“The problem is that I fucking hate medication,” he continues. “The shit kills me from the inside and I don’t wanna go through it anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong, sounds like this shit sucks, but isn’t it all just a part of the recovery process?”

Again, a pretty reasonable question. Ian mentally notes it down to get back to it later.

“Yeah, I mean, probably. Easy for you to say.”

“Touche,” Lip squints at him and shrugs. “But, man. Remember, you were on our side when we were trying to get Monica to listen to us. What has changed now?”

“Now I know how it feels to be the one everyone’s trying to fix.”

“Okay, so now that you’ve set a foot in both worlds, what’s your verdict? What do we gotta do? What’s the right call to make? Enlighten me.”

“You’re asking valid questions, Lip. I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while now. Unfortunately, I still have no idea how to answer them,” Ian admits with a sigh and runs his hands through his red hair.

“Come on, man, then you gotta work with us here. Don’t you see that we cannot let this get completely out of control?”

“How much worse can it get?” He frowns at his brother. “Seems like I’ve already hit the rock bottom, if you ask me. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m not finishing myself off with the drugs that make me wanna merge with my bed and just stay there forever.”

“You haven’t even given it a proper shot. I mean, you haven’t gone all the way through with it. This shit takes time. You have to adapt to the pills before all of it starts working for you.”

“When I take them, I don’t believe I’ll live to see the bright side of it, Lip,” their gazes find each other at this and Lip knows Ian’s not kidding. “Monica says it’s better if I learn how to get through it without the pills.”

Bringing up their mother makes Ian’s eyes leave his brother and he starts fidgeting with his long fingers instead.

“Then it’ll be okay eventually,” he adds quietly as Lip’s processing.

“Monica told you?” His voice has tensed up a little. “Yeah, man, that’s a reliable source of information,” he nods with a bitter smile. “Remind me, would you, since when do we listen to her advice?”

“Since the day I found out I have the same fucking disease as her, because last time I checked, none of you understand what it’s like,” Ian retorts, but the lack of energy in his voice makes the sentence sound less fierce.

“Okay, well, I mean, yeah,” Lip knows he cannot argue with that. “We are at a huge disadvantage here, because we’re all inexperienced in feeling the shit you feel and deal with on a daily basis. But, dude,” he punches Ian’s leg lightly, making the younger boy look up at him. “Are you really comparing us with Monica?”

Ian winces at that, but says nothing.

“Is there any doubt as to which side you should choose? Can we be even considered equals at this point? I mean, we’re talking about Monica who’s been in your life for a couple of months tops, only on condition if you put all her visits together, and me or Fiona who’s been here for every second of your life since you’ve been fucking born. Sounds obvious to me.”

“Nothing’s obvious to me now, Lip,” Ian shakes his head, defeated. “My mind is a mess.”

“Yeah, I get it, man, and it’s okay, that’s why we’re here,” he gestures his arms around the room and even though there’s no one else there, Ian knows what Lip means. “We can help you get your shit straight. You mind, specifically. It’s the only thing I’m asking you to get straight anyway. Pun intended.”

Ian chuckles softly at that and Lip considers it an improvement. Small steps.

“Listen to me, brother. Have I ever let you down?”

“No,” Ian mutters and shakes his head.

“Damn right! So when I’m telling you that we would do anything to make sure you’re doing good, I mean literally anything. Trust me, I thought I would be the last person to tell you that, but Mickey Milkovich is good for you. He’s more good than Monica will ever be,” Lip states and Ian can’t help but widen his eyes in surprise.

“Yeah,” Lip nods as to assure Ian that he hasn’t misheard him. “You wanna know how I know it? Because I have no fucking idea where Monica is right now. As always, she’s left us behind and fucked off to devil knows where. But I know where Mickey is. And I know that one call from you will get him here immediately. That gotta count for something, right?”

Ian hates the stinging in his eyes as he’s looking at his brother. A tiny smile tugs at Lip’s mouth and Ian reflects it.

“I know you’ll do the right thing, little bro. You got it, Ian.”

That’s the last thing Lip says to his brother before getting up, ruffling up Ian’s hair and leaving the room.

“Mickey,” Ian breathes out and lets his head fall back, hitting the headboard lightly. “He won’t come…,” he mutters to himself. “Not after what I said. I ruined everything. He’s not coming back…”

Ian shuts his eyes and presses the heels of his palms to his face. He put himself in the worst position possible. Is there something left that he can do? This is his fight or flight moment.

What would Monica do?

She would run away without a second thought. That’s for sure.

What would the old Ian do?

He’d fucking fight.

I don’t think the old you is gone.

What if Mickey is right? What if it’s just the disease fucking with his brain and making him think that nothing’s the same anymore? What if all he needs to do is to reach out to people who are standing behind the veil, created by the disorder? Those are the people he loves. Those are the ones who love him back.

Reaching out feels scary as fuck. The uncertainty of what’s on the other side sometimes is stronger than the will for the pain to be over.

Ian’s mind drifts to the night Mickey came out. Mickey was so fucking scared, not knowing what was waiting for him out there. The only thing he knew was that Ian was standing right behind the veil, reaching out for him. Waiting for him to come through. Mickey had to muster all of his courage to say the words. He took the leap of faith and let Ian catch him on the other side.

Taking his medication and dealing with the consequences to Ian is like coming out for Mickey. The thought of it makes his skin all clammy and his throat gets dry. He remembers the feeling of being drowned and then complete nothingness. All-consuming emptiness.

Sounds like this shit sucks, but isn’t it all just a part of the recovery process?

What if it was just Ian freezing mid-step? What if he needed to make another one for Mickey to meet him there? What if Monica was too scared to overcome it? What if she had no one waiting for her on the other side?

Yes. That’s it, Ian thinks. He’s got it.

He jumps off his bed and hurries downstairs, eager to voice his decision out loud to somebody before he has time to overthink it even more.

“Fiona!” He almost shouts, running down the stairs, and she turns around swiftly.

“Yeah,” the girl was taking her coat off, having just entered the house, but now she’s frozen with wide eyes, stunned by the sudden activity from Ian.

“I need to talk to you,” he states and comes closer to her.

“Of course, sure, what is it?” She nods a couple of times, a hint of worry in her voice as she examines Ian’s body quickly.

“You still have the pills I was prescribed with?”

“Yeah,” she sounds unsure as to where this is going, but nods again. “Yeah, I have them. Why?”

“I wanna take some,” Ian blurts out, confidence in his posture and determination in his eyes.

“You do?” Her eyebrows shoot up and she swallows loudly.

He nods in response to assure her and Fiona’s face brightens up.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, okay,” she points her finger up the stairs. “I’ll go get them, they’re in my room.”

Ian nods again and moves to the kitchen to wait for his sister. He opens the fridge, fishes out some OJ and two sandwiches for them to have a snack. He pours the juice into the glasses and puts the bread with cheese into the microwave.

It dings by the time Fiona’s back beside him with three bottles of different medication and Ian gulps nervously. She opens each of them and takes out three pills.

“Here you go,” she reaches her hand out and Ian grabs them.

He stays still for a second, staring at his opened palm and takes a few breaths. When he lifts his eyes at Fiona, she’s smiling at him gently and nods reassuringly. Ian returns her smile and swallows the pills, washing them down with his OJ.

He clears his throat and meets Fiona’s warm gaze once again.

“You want a sandwich?” He points at the microwave behind him and his sister nods eagerly.

“Absolutely! I’m starving,” her smile grows wider as Ian hands her a hot piece of cheese toast and she takes a bite.

They sit down at the table and chew in silence for a little while before it’s Fiona’s turn to clear her throat. Ian looks up at that.

“Hey, Ian, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, shoot,” he nods.

“What made you change your mind?”

He takes another bite of his own sandwich and it takes a few seconds for him to formulate his answer.

“I want them back,” he states and stares at Fiona.

“Them?” She frowns, waiting for Ian to clear things up.

“Mickey and…” he hesitates for a moment, but then adds, “…the old Ian. I want them back. I wanna feel okay. And I want us to be okay again.”

Fiona’s features soften at the response and she reaches her hand out to rub Ian’s arm.

“You’ll be more than okay, Ian,” she promises. “You’ll be happy, I know you will.”

And Ian, for the first time in a while, feels something good blossoming inside his chest. Hope. He prays he can get through the darkest times with that feeling keeping him warm.

Ian gets back to his room and even though it’s not that late, he falls asleep the second his face touches the pillow. The first effects of taking his medication. He passes out so quickly that he doesn’t even realize it and his sleep is always dreamless. He just floats in the dark void until the moment his bladder stirs him awake.

He opens his eyes lazily and barely sees anything for the first few seconds while his eyes adjust. Then he can recognize the shapes of his room in the cold moonlight. He pats the chest of drawers blindly and finds his phone. It’s almost 4 in the morning. He gets up, his legs wobbly and head a bit dizzy.

It takes him a few minutes to return from the bathroom and plop back onto his bed quietly. He doesn’t want to disturb Liam’s peaceful slumber, so he makes sure his movements are stealthy.

He settles on his bed, but this time, however, the sleep doesn’t come that quickly. Ian closes his eyes, but it brings him no comfort, no desire to fall asleep. It’s just like closing your eyes in the middle of the day. You just lose the ability to see, that’s all. Ian mentally curses himself for not going to the bathroom beforehand.

He’d be glad to dive into his thinking process, it sounds like a great opportunity since he has enough time and it’s quiet around him. But there goes another disadvantage of being drugged. His thoughts are clouded and he cannot catch anything specific to dwell upon.

He sighs with frustration. But his heart stutters in his chest, reminding him of something really important.

I want them back. I wanna feel okay. And I want us to be okay again.

Ian opens his eyes suddenly.

Yeah, he remembers. His heart remembers.

And here I am, I’m tellin’ ya, I wanna be with you.

Mickey.

Ian’s breath catches in his throat and he can feel hot tears burning in his eyes. There’s white noise in his head. Static. For the first time in months Ian doesn’t hear any voices telling him what’s right and what’s wrong. For the first time his head is so numb, that he can hear his heart speaking. It’s screaming, begging to be heard.

Mickey!

Ian understands now. All of it was a mistake. How could he possibly think that pushing Mickey away would solve his problems?

His chest is burning and Ian feels too hot in his own skin. He sits up and reaches out to open the window, but then his gaze drifts to sleeping Liam. He’s only wearing a T-shirt and it’s pretty cold outside, so Ian rethinks his decision and gets up instead. He puts on some clothes, sneaks down the stairs, holding onto the walls for balance and slips out of the house.

Cool air washes over him and he takes a deep breath. He considers sitting down on the porch, but then some invisible force tugs him forward and he’s walking down the street already. He’s breathing with his mouth because he feels like there isn’t enough air. With each beat of his heart he can hear ‘Mickey’ and somehow that gets him going, despite the exhaustion. He doesn’t notice it, but he finds himself climbing up the building he and Mickey used to train on. But before he can get to the top, he hears someone shooting and he stumbles, leaning onto the brick wall for support.

Mickey, his heart screams.

Chapter Text

Mickey’s blessed to have so much different stuff that can make him forget about his problems. A shit-ton of not-so-healthy coping mechanisms is a given when you grow up in a Milkovich house with Terry as its owner. No one’s ever been interested in hearing you talk about your feelings there. So you just learn to deal with them your own way.

After going through drinking, smoking, a little unexpected heart-to-heart with Mandy, some anger venting, and a breakdown, Mickey's next stop is shooting at stuff. And the best place to do so is the roof of the abandoned building he and Ian equipped back in the day when Ian was dreaming about West Point.

Damn, shit was so easy back then, Mickey thinks as he reaches the top of the building and strolls around for a few minutes just taking the atmosphere in. The moon and hundreds of stars cast beautiful light onto the place and Mickey takes a deep breath. He almost catches himself thinking that he doesn’t want to interrupt the peaceful silence of the night. Or is it considered early morning? Mickey doesn’t really care.

But he snaps out of it quickly enough. He’s not here to fucking stargaze. That’s Gallagher and his sappy shit fucking with his mind. He shakes his head a bit and pulls his gun out.

He finds a perfect position for himself and lifts the gun up, aiming. Mickey assumed it would be pitch-black, but the moon gives him just enough light to see his target. He pulls the trigger and the sound pierces the silence as the bullet hits the middle of the circle.

“Bullseye,” Mickey mutters under his breath, self-satisfied and proud that even in such conditions his aim is immaculate.

He goes for a few other targets and gets all of them with almost perfect precision. After all, there’s just one boy on the South Side who can compete with him at shooting. The redhead has always been flawless at this.

Mickey scoffs at his own thoughts, a little disappointed that he cannot exactly clear his mind. So he goes for another round of shooting the same targets. Just as he’s about to take a break, he hears someone drag his feet toward him and he turns around abruptly, gun pointing at the intruder.

“Fucking shit, Gallagher!” He hisses as he makes out the familiar hair and posture before lowering the gun. “What the hell d’you think you doin’, sneaking up on me like that?”

He breathes hard, still trying to compose himself, and Ian chuckles softly at that.

“Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding sorry at all.

“Could’ve shot you,” Mickey shakes his head, tucking the gun behind his belt.

“Yeah,” Ian breathes out, scanning every Mickey’s feature visible to him in the moonlight. It makes Mickey squirm and he scratches his nape awkwardly.

“No, really, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I – I don’t really know,” he admits. “Couldn’t fall asleep. You?”

“Same shit,” Mickey drags his hand along his face and lets out a groan.

The distance between them is still pretty big and Ian contemplates moving forward, but his legs don’t feel steady enough after climbing up so high.

Mickey doesn’t hurry to make a move himself. He just stands there, biting his lower lip, eyes darting from side to side, not sure where to look or what to say and Ian’s heart races in his chest.

Finally, Ian finds his voice.

“Mickey, I…” he tries to take a step, but his knees feel wobbly and he reaches a hand to lean onto the wall behind him.

“Are you okay?” Mickey’s body immediately leaps toward him, but he hesitates to reach out his hands. His worried frown is clear to Ian in the white light of the moon.

“Yeah, yeah,” he hurries to assure him. “‘m good,” he nods a few times when Mickey’s concern doesn’t fade away. “I just needed to tell you…” He takes a deep shaky breath, “I’m so fucking sorry, Mickey.”

It comes out way more broken than Ian’s intended for it to, but his voice betrays him and he feels tears prickling at his eyes already. He didn’t plan on crying, but, again, he doesn’t control shit about himself lately.

“Hey, man, I’m…” Mickey looks like panic’s creeping up on him but he shakes his head to get a hold of himself. “I’m sorry, too.”

Ian tries to force a smile at that, but it doesn’t seem natural.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mick,” Ian mutters and swallows hard. “Listen, gotta tell you one more thing,” his voice is raspy and he tries to clear his throat.

“Yeah, okay, just… Hold on for a sec,” Mickey finally takes a few steps forward. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ian?” His hand reaches out to him, but still doesn’t touch. It just hovers slightly above Ian’s arm.

Ian looks up at Mickey and nods slowly, gaze a little clouded, as though he’s trying his best to keep his eyes open.

Even though they still don’t touch each other, both of them can feel their skin buzzing, eager for connection. They both stay silent as their gazes are glued to each other and Ian tries to find the answer to his main question in Mickey’s stare.

Is it too late to bring us back to life?

Ian needs at least a hint. He knows he was the one who fucked it up. He knows he’s the one who has to earn the trust back. He has to say something. He doesn’t trust his voice though.

Mickey sees it in Ian’s eyes. He thinks he sees everything there. All the tears Ian’s trying to keep inside have made his eyes even more shimmering than usual. The moon reflects in them and the sight of it is so perfect.

Ian’s eyes have always been Mickey’s soft spot. To hell with it, Ian has always been Mickey’s soft spot. He never knew how to walk away from him. Since day one, he knew he was fucked because how the hell can you walk away when you see that puppy-dog look? Mickey’s always adored it.

Ian knows he has to say one more thing. The one he’s never really had trouble saying. The statement that he knew has been true for the last few years. He’s spent years waiting for Mickey to say it but when he finally did, Ian told them they were over.

So now Ian has to say it.

“I love you, Mickey.”

It comes out as a mere breath, even less than a whisper, barely audible. But Ian knows Mickey’s heard him. Because his features soften immediately and he sighs with relief as if it was the only thing in the whole world that worried him.

“C’mere,” the older boy reaches further to finally touch Ian’s arm and the redhead pushes himself off the wall to take a final step toward Mickey.

They cling to each other, Mickey’s arms wrapping around Ian’s torso, holding him close and Ian’s arms end up grabbing the other man’s shoulders.

Ian feels like he’s ready to come undone now, finally being able to touch the person he longed for.

“Mickey,” he breathes out, inhaling the scent of the shorter boy’s hair.

“It’s ‘kay,” Mickey soothes him, running his hands up and down Ian’s back.

“Mickey,” he whispers, hands clawing into his shoulders to make sure nothing can separate them.

“I got you, Ian,” he assures the taller boy, whispering right in his ear.

“Mickey,” he sniffs, as his body starts shaking feverishly in the dark haired boy’s strong hold.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises and presses a chaste kiss to Ian’s sweaty neck.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, Mickey,” Ian whimpers again.

“Stop it, Ian, it’s okay, really.”

“No, none of it was okay, I– I hurt you,” his breaths are getting more and more rapid and Mickey knows something has to be done about it.

He reluctantly pulls Ian away a little, holding him by the arms and forcing the younger boy to look at him.

“Ian,” their eyes lock, Mickey can see Ian’s get redder. “It’s okay, I– I forgive you or some shit. Just breathe, okay?” Ian smiles a little and nods, not taking his eyes off Mickey. “Do you really feel alright, though? Something’s off, what is it, Ian?” Mickey’s hands travel from Ian’s arms to the sides of his face, his attentive gaze examines Ian’s features for a few long moments.

“Yeah, ‘m just dizzy, that’s all,” Ian mumbles and Mickey frowns at him, clearly waiting for more information. “I took my pills,” Ian admits and the older boy freezes for a second.

“Why?” It’s all he can come up with.

“Because I wanna get better,” he nods reassuringly. “I want us back, Mickey. Will you…” Ian gulps loudly, breath stuck in his throat. “Will you come back to me? Will you be my boyfriend again, Mickey?”

The older boy stares at Ian’s eyes for a few seconds, studying the uncertainty in his expression and Mickey almost chuckles at the ridiculousness of the thought that he could ever not want to be with Ian. He’s so whipped for this man, Ian has no idea.

But Ian actually looks pale with panic when Mickey doesn’t respond for a little too long, so the dark haired boy cups Ian’s freckled cheeks and pulls him in to crush their lips together in a gentle kiss.

Ian practically melts into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as Mickey, slowly but deliberately, licks his way into the redhead’s mouth, tongue exploring every single inch of it as if it’s their first kiss. Mickey catches himself thinking that every kiss with Ian makes his head go dizzy like it’s their first.

Ian’s fingers grab the sides of Mickey’s jacket, pulling him in even more, until their bodies are completely pressed together. Mickey smiles at that, not separating their lips, not even to take a breath.

One of Mickey’s hands stays on Ian’s face, caressing his cheek, while the other travels to the back of the younger boy’s neck, scraping carefully at it. It draws a low groan from Ian’s throat and Mickey’s smile grows even wider.

Somehow Ian feels even more lightheaded compared to the way he was before kissing Mickey. Maybe it’s his tiredness, maybe it’s the pills, maybe it’s just the way Mickey makes him feel. He’s not sure right now. But his heart is still thumping like crazy and he’s sure Mickey can feel it too, now that their chests are pressed to each other.

After what seems like forever, Mickey finally pulls away from Ian just a little bit, but their forehands stay pressed together.

“Yeah,” he breathes out against Ian’s parted lips. “I’ll be your fucking boyfriend again, Gallagher.”

Ian looks up at his boyfriend from under his lashes and sees Mickey smirk. It makes him chuckle softly. Mickey’s eyes can’t stop scanning every feature of Ian’s and he finds it particularly mesmerizing in the moonlight. His face is so attractive that no matter how hard Mickey tries to control himself, he can’t help but lean in and pepper it with kisses again.

He presses his lips to the corners of Ian’s mouth, to his nose, to both of his cheeks, to his jawlines and his chin. It makes Ian huff out a breath and close his eyes again and Mickey notices a slow lazy smile forming on his lips.

Mickey sees that Ian’s exhausted, he can barely open his eyes, so the older boy just pulls him closer, wraps his hand around Ian’s waist to support his weight, the other hand ending up buried in Ian’s hair. Ian returns the hug, clutching onto Mickey’s jacket on his back like it’s his lifeboat.

They’ve had so many trials in their lives already. Living on the South Side came with a lot of them. But the thing that matters the most is that they’ve been through everything together.

They fought with each other, yeah. They hurt each other with their strong fists, reckless actions and razor-sharp words. Some people call them dysfunctional. They destroy and wreck each other completely over and over again.

But they are also the ones that mend everything, glue the pieces back together. No matter how painful their fall is, they manage to rise back again. Together.

Mickey isn’t sure why they work. Ian’s not sure either. But somehow they keep finding their way back to each other, despite the confusing darkness around them. Despite the people who think they know better.

Mickey knows he’s willing to fight for Ian. Fight with everything he’s got. Because Ian fucking deserves it. Ian’s been fighting for them since the very beginning. Since the time when Mickey felt too scared to admit his feelings. And now that Ian’s got a lot on his plate and it’s too overwhelming for him, now Mickey knows it’s his turn. And he’ll fight. He’ll fucking fight for both of them.

Ian knows his heart is way more reliable than his head. His head gets dizzy and clouded and conflicted. His heart never lets him down though. It’s always ready to remind him whose side he should choose. Also, yeah, he knows his pills affect his head, his thoughts. But they cannot touch his heart or the love it holds.

As they hold each other on the roof that conceals so many of their memories, they feel free. Free from Ian's bipolar disorder and Mickey’s constant anxiety. Here, for now, it’s just them, the moon and the stars.

They breathe in the fresh cool air and Mickey feels Ian tuck his face in the crook of his neck, his breathing tingles his skin and the older man can feel the goosebumps run down his spine.

Mickey’s almost sure Ian’s about to fall asleep right there, in his arms, until the redhead starts speaking again, his speech slightly slurred with exhaustion.

“I’ll do it, Mickey,” Ian nods deliberately against Mickey’s neck. “I’m so fucking scared, but I promise you, I’ll do it,” he grips Mickey’s shoulders with so much force and he’ll probably leave marks. “I’ll reach out and I’ll meet you on the other side. Just promise me, you’ll be there waiting for me,” Ian begs and Mickey can’t help but scoff with a smile at that.

“I’ll always be waiting for you, you idiot."