Chapter Text
“Dude” Iggy said, stopping the car next to the sidewalk before looking over towards his brother in the passenger seat. “I got work in like two hours and I haven’t been to sleep, you got it from here?” Mickey looked back at him before nodding.
“Yeah, man” He opened the door, leaving the small dufflebag inside of the vehicle, not bothering to bring it; he’d grab it whenever he got home - whenever, being the key word there. He just wasn’t so sure anymore - from his brother’s light commentary of the events that had passed in the few months since Mickey had been locked up in that fucking hellhole, he had grasped the fact that things weren’t exactly as they had been when he had left - whether that was a good thing or a bad one, he wasn’t sure.
Either way, going home to see Svetlana and the rest of his siblings - though he would inevitably have to do so - it just wasn’t something he wanted at the moment. This was all incredibly fucked up and strange, and the past however many days, weeks and months had turned Mickey completely upside down. Maybe completely was an exaggeration, but in any case, prison had been tougher than he had anticipated. He had made it through seemingly well, of course - especially since they had decided to let him out based on lack of evidence of some shit - and by the way, how in fucking hell could they even lock him up to begin with if they didn’t have that shit?
It didn’t make much sense, but it wasn’t something that Mickey chose to dwell on. If he were to sit down and go over every single event in the past year, inside and outside of that cell, he would drive himself crazy. Quite literally.
So he didn’t. Instead he figured that his best bet would be to try to get his life back to what it used to be - at least as much as he could.
Mickey slammed the car-door closed, and the brothers gave each other a small nod before Iggy stepped onto the gas, driving away towards the house while the younger man crossed his arms, looking around the dark street. He recognized it - of course. The alibi was only a few steps over, a couple of drunks stumbling outside of the bar every once in a while.
Small goosebumps seemed to form on Mickey’s skin, even underneath his shirt; the winter may have passed to the point where there was no longer a layer of snow on the ground, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still cold at all. The thin black henley that he had had to put on after he had finally gotten out of that hideous fucking jumpsuit - wasn’t much. A part of him wanted to just say ‘Fuck it’ and head back to the house right now; at least then he would be certain to grab some sleep, but dealing with that - not just the people but the fucking memories and shit right this second, he just didn’t want to do it.
So Mickey sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at his heavy, black boots, the dark jeans disappearing into them. Then he looked back up, considering entering the alibi, just to see who was there. Maybe he would end up seeing Vee and Kev; Lana.
Quite quickly he changed his mind, just for the moment, and he fished his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, walking back to lean against the red brick wall behind him as he lit it, placing it in between his lips and breathing the smoke in, feeling it warm him up from the inside. It wasn’t that he was necessarily nervous to see people - he had lived here all his fucking life - but this felt different than when he had been in juvie and shit, and not only because he had been in prison this time, but because he had a feeling that this time - people had moved on, maybe forgetting about him.
Like since when the fuck did Iggy have an actual job? Mickey didn’t know.
The thoughts were deliberately shaken from his brain while he took another drag of the smoke, staring out across the street, seeing a couple of more half-drunk douchebags stumble out of the bar, and Mickey stared, only recognizing one of them. Maybe.
The cold air was still chilling Mickey’s skin, but he could barley feel it anymore. The smoke continued to warm his lungs up, the feeling slowly spreading all throughout his body.
After another five minutes - give or take - Mickey had had enough monkeying around, and he dropped the lit smoke to the ground, stomping it into the cold pavement before looking to either side of the street, then he crossed it, wrapping his hand around his wrist, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to expose his forearms as he went. Just because he knew that it made him look somewhat more intimidating.
A small part of him wanted to hesitate right outside of the door, but he didn’t. Fuck, he couldn’t become some pussy just because he was somewhat unused to living this kind of life at this point; he just needed to do his usual routines and he would be back to normal in no time, he knew that.
So instead of hesitating, Mickey just reached forwards and let his hand wrap around the handle, tugging the door open, immediately feeling the warmer air on his face. It was a lot brighter in here as well - well, not more than it usually was, of course, it was still quite dim, but in comparison to the dark and late night, Mickey had to blink once or twice on his way over to the bar.
He didn’t look around much - or at all, really - he just saw a couple of the usual drunks from the corner of his eye, and other than that, he kept his eyes on the bar, because what he needed now was booze. Seriously; after being locked up for that fucking long, he needed to drink. He wasn’t sure if he would want to just feel a little bit less, or if he wanted to get black out drunk, he figured that he could decide along the way.
It wasn’t that he was depressed, necessarily. Just confused and fucked up and messed up and unsure where to go from here, but he’d figure it out another day.
“Mickey!” Kev nodded to him, an obviously quite surprised look on his face at seeing him in here so early - Mickey doubted that he had known about the whole fifteen year bullshit, though, but it didn’t matter anyway, because it had been just that - bullshit. Mickey wasn’t sure how they could have locked him up for months with such little evidence, no way in freezing cold hell they would have been able to keep him for fifteen years. “You’re out, good to see you in here again, man”
Mickey nodded back at him, sitting down onto one of the barstools and leaning his elbows onto the counter; like hell he felt like making conversation at the moment either, really.
“Yeah” He just said. “Whiskey” Kev nodded, seeming to understand that Mickey didn’t want to talk. And he turned around, reaching for a glass and a bottle of Jack, telling somebody else to calm their tits as they yelled for more alcohol. The glass and the full bottle was planted in front of Mickey, and when he looked up, Kev just winked at him casually, assuring him that it was alright; then he left him alone, going to serve somebody else.
Mickey brought his right hand up to his lips, looking at the alcohol while he used his thumb to rub his bottom lip in thought before reaching up to unscrew the top of the bottle, pouring some of the alcohol into the glass, swallowing almost all of it at once, feeling it burn all the way down his throat, a sigh escaping his mouth as he put it back down, pouring some more.
Maybe it wasn’t very smart of him to get blackout drunk the first night back - nor was he planning to, really - he just needed this right now, needed to feel that effect, even if he would stop before it got too powerful, and he needed to feel the burn in his mouth and throat, and he wanted to shake off some of the worry about wherever the fuck his life would end up leading him next.
Mickey knew that he should probably go to see Svetlana, if not tonight then at least tomorrow. He should probably try to be some kind of a father to Yevgeny, because though he doubted that he would ever earn a gold star in that area, he refused to be Terry. He needed to find a way to make money, maybe he would do his best to find something at least semi-legal, because it would suck to end up back in the can.
“Ah, fuck” The word was barely audible to even Mickey himself, but it passed his lips right before he lifted the alcohol back up to his lips, swallowing a third glass, shaking his head slightly as he placed it back down. It just felt like a lot - his life in general. It was a lot, a lot to do, a lot to think about. And then, there was also…
As if on fucking que or some shit, the door to the alibi opened up again, and Mickey turned around to look. Maybe because he somehow, in the back of his head wondered if it would be him, or maybe because it was a habit to check who entered.
And there he was. Fuck, Ian looked better than ever. With the red hair slightly shorter than Mickey remembered it being last, and a somewhat large smile on his face, he looked so fucking good.
It was almost as if Mickey had been thinking and over thinking the last few months of their relationship again and again and again, bored inside of that tiny fucking cell, just wanting to get out. Wanting to see him.
A part of Mickey knew that whatever kind of shit his boyfriend - ex boyfriend - had said that last time that he had visited him - it had been fucked up. And once in a while, the words still kind of echoed inside of Mickey’s head. ‘Svetlana paid me, so…’ It had hurt - of fucking course it had hurt. After all of the ways in which Mickey had done his absolute best to be whatever Ian needed him to be, that’s what he got.
But at the time time, there was also another part of Mickey that wondered. Wondered whether or not he had done something wrong - there was no doubt he had, of course, but he meant on a bigger scale. Had he done something, that had driven Ian to seemingly resent him? Was there something that if he would be able to take it back - would it change anything? Thoughts like those ran throughout Mickey’s brain quite frequently, probably because he hadn’t had much else to do in the past few months.
Mickey hadn’t been able to do much else than just sit there and think, sit there and want Ian, wishing that he would be able to get out and he would be waiting for him - even if those words had been obvious lies, Mickey had just hoped that he would somehow end up changing his mind.
But there it was. Crystal clear. So clear that Mickey had to swallow down a lump in his throat, his fingers twitching towards the bottle again. Ian hadn’t waited.
Ian was smiling, he was happy. With his arm wrapped around somebody’s else’s waist. Some guy with big brown, curly hair and a smile that was quite obviously there because of Ian - and vice versa. There was no fucking doubt they were together. Mickey could feel his heart sinking; the very last bit of hope that he might have had stored up somewhere inside of him? It was all gone now - completely. Ian had forgotten about him.
Mickey cursed under his breath, turning back towards his drink, hoping that he had done it before Ian and whoever-the-actual-fuck had noticed him - it had seemed to be a successful mission, because he was left alone to pour himself another drink, staying in the same place for another five minutes, doing his best not to think about who was in the same room with him.
But still, as soon as Kev was close enough to his end of the bar, Mickey couldn’t help himself.
“You know the kid Ian’s with?” Maybe he was hoping that Kev would say ‘Yeah, yeah. He’s straight’ or ‘Yeah, they’re just friends’ or anything - really. Mickey wasn’t sure which, or even why he cared, honestly. Even he was smart enough to realize that whatever he and Ian had had at one point or another, most likely was over. Even if they would get back together, things would be fucked. Somehow that felt even more clear now than five minutes ago.
Kevin looked over Mickey’s shoulder for a beat, Mickey swallowing some more of the alcohol - pacing himself to make sure he wouldn’t pass the buzzed stage. Then he nodded, looking back down at Mickey.
“Yeah, that’s Trevor. Nice guy” He didn’t say anything more, seeing as he had some more customers to pour alcohol for, but the five words were enough for the lump inside of Mickey’s throat to grow even a little bit larger, and he shook his head to himself, staring back down into his glass, beating himself up internally. Fuck.
***
Fifteen - or maybe twenty - minutes later, Mickey was still at the same spot, his hand wrapped around the glass. He wasn’t drinking really at all, though, he was just holding it, staring into the yellow liquid. His mind wandered in and out, thinking about Lana, thinking about Mandy, about everything - Ian, too, of course, but he did his best not to let his brain spin on that for too long, he would end up going crazy for sure.
“Ian, did you see who’s back?” At Kev’s voice, Mickey immediately looked up at him once again, frowning. No. This is not fucking what he needed right now.
“Fuck. You” He hissed, but Kevin chuckled and walked towards the other end of the bar, it was as if he believed that he was doing them both a favor, like ripping off a bandaid or some shit - and who the hell knows if that would end up being the truth or not? Mickey would have preferred to just keep to himself for a week or something, but there was no turning back now.
So instead, he rolled his eyes, and he turned around on his chair. There he was again, only a few feet in front of Mickey now, as if he had been on his way out - which was probably why Kev had felt the need to stop him. Fucking asshole.
Despite having known Ian Gallagher for years, Mickey almost had to admit - he couldn’t read the look on his face now. It looked… fallen. Sad, or confused, or something along those lines. Mickey wasn't looking at whatever the fuck his new boytoy’s name was, but he could see his confused facial expression out of the corner of his eye as well.
“Mickey” Maybe Mickey could detect a slight question mark at the end of the word, but it was barely. So he shrugged, nodding. “How long have you been out?”
“Few hours” If they had been alone - well, as alone as they could get in a crowded bar - then maybe this wouldn’t have been half as awkward or uncomfortable, but as it was, Ian’s boyfriend didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving them alone. Maybe a small, tiny part of Mickey was happy. Because if he did that, then Mickey wouldn’t have anyone to blame the unfamiliarity on other than himself and Ian, and he would be forced to admit that whatever they had had was truly gone now. “Figured I’d get a drink before I head back to the house.” Fuck, this felt even worse than the last time they had talked. Through that fucking glass, or plastic or whatever the fuck; with Ian staring down onto the table.
“Out of where? Have you been in prison or something?” Mickey raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised at the causal tone of boytoy’s words; he turned his head slightly, looking at him. It was kind of fucked up how he just asked that - but then again, with Ian asking ‘How long have you been out?’ there weren’t many other options anyway.
“Yeah, few months” Mickey bit his tongue, trying to keep himself from grunting at the guy to leave them alone - he doubted Ian would agree to that anyway, and even so, Mickey wouldn’t be sure what to say. ‘So… do you still hate me for some unknown reason?’ or ‘How are you doing? Are you ready to forgive me for taking care of you yet?’ or ‘So you didn’t wait for me?’. Yeah. Maybe Mickey should do his best to stick to small talk for now, as fucking much as he despised it.
“Oh, okay. Congratulations, then” The guy gestured casually.
“He’s, um…” Ian turned towards the guy who’s name had now completely slipped Mickey’s mind - not that he had bothered to try to remember it at all. “He’s my ex” The way that those words just somehow were spat out of his mouth… Mickey had to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from exploding - now not at the somewhat innocent bystander, but at the one who acted like they had resolved shit or whatever. They hadn’t - they obviously weren’t together anymore, but that fact didn’t make their breakup any less messy.
Maybe Mickey had expected the guy to raise his eyebrows, back away, or something like that. But he didn’t, instead he just nodded once, and then he reached a hand forwards, a friendly smile on his face while he looked at Mickey.
“I’m Trevor” The guy seemed extremely unaffected by the obvious chill in between Ian and Mickey, and for some reason, that just kind of rubbed off on at least one of them, and Mickey found himself grabbing his hand, giving it a quick shake as he nodded.
“Mickey”
***
Mickey had no fucking idea how it happened, but for some fucked up reason, a few minutes later, somehow they had all sat down in the booth where Ian and Trevor had been placed previously, each of them with a new drink in front of them. That wasn’t to say that the energy wasn’t awkward - it was - but it wasn’t silent. Mostly because of Ian’s boyfriend talking constantly - not in an annoying way to where you couldn’t get a word in or anything, but he was decent at holding a conversation. Mickey even dropped a comment or two in every once in a while, as well as Ian. Though, Ian was for the most part staring into his drink, or at Trevor, avoiding Mickey at all costs.
Mickey wasn’t sure if he was nervous, or ashamed, or if he just straight up no longer could stand Mickey’s presence - something that honestly didn’t make perfect sense - either way, it was obvious they weren’t in a much better place than they had been that day in the prison. Something that was most likely the fault of both of them, though Mickey decided not to dwell on it - he’d go insane.
So he sat by that table, contributing to the conversation in small amounts, listening to whatever the hell Trevor was saying, once in a while letting his eyes flicker back to Ian, but he never found green eyes looking back at him, not once. And as far as Ian’s new boyfriend went, maybe he didn’t seem like the most terrible guy in the world from a distance, but wrapped up in the mess of Ian and Mickey’s unresolved break up, and the mess that had gotten Mickey thrown into prison to begin with - not to mention the fact that they had barely said a single word to each other since they had met again - after close to an entire year - it all just added up to Mickey getting a bad taste in his mouth whenever he looked at who Ian had replaced him with.
So in reality, Mickey wasn’t sure why he was still sitting here, and a part of him was itching to run away. Then again, maybe a bigger part of him was hoping that if he stayed, just for a little bit, then somehow, at some kind of point in time, Ian would feel the need to say something, or just somehow end up looking at him, mistake or not. Maybe if he stayed, Mickey would end up leaving here less confused than before. But the biggest part of him - was the one that knew that he was completely and utterly lying to himself. This Ian - the one sitting across the table, he wasn’t who Mickey had been in love with - who he was in love with - he was somebody else entirely.
Somebody that Mickey didn’t know. At all. And it hurt; that fact hurt. Pretty fucking badly, actually. But at the end of the day, if Ian wanted to change, that was his choice. Mickey couldn’t just turn him back into who he used to be for his own benefit.
***
Eventually, though - after a little bit of a longer meaningless conversation than Mickey preferred, Ian was the one who ended up standing up to break it, mumbling that he should be getting home because he had work or some shit in the morning. Apparently he was an EMT now or something - like what the fuck? Ian had a new boyfriend, an actual fucking career - this all just about almost made Mickey feel as if he had indeed spent fifteen years locked up; so many things had changed and been turned around, just in a few months.
And had you asked Mickey even a long time afterwards, he probably wouldn’t have had any kind of idea how he had ended up walking out of that bar, his hands tucked deep down into the pockets of his jeans as Trevor walked beside him, Ian already on his way home in the other direction. To be fair - Trevor had said something about not wanting to crash yet, and he had followed Mickey a lot more than Mickey had invited him or whatever - but Mickey wasn’t screaming at him to leave him alone.
In fact - the more time he spent with the guy, the more he found he didn’t mind him. Well - he didn’t like him, not in the least, actually. Accepting or becoming friends his ex boyfriend’s new boyfriend? That was just… a difficult thing, Mickey wasn’t doing that shit. But Trevor continued to talk casually about random shit, and Mickey found himself listening, dropping the occasional comment, all the while doing his best not to think about Ian. Fuck.
“And a lot of them don’t have anywhere to live, so I’m the one that works my ass off to try to place them” Trevor finished talking about what he did for the homeless youth, turning to look at Mickey’s profile for a short second before turning his head back, making sure that he wouldn’t be staring at Ian’s ex for too long, even though a small part of him wanted to.
“That’s pretty cool, man” Mickey had to admit. In a way, he wished that he would be able to do something that meant something at some point.
***
“So…” Trevor said, breathing out some of the smoke, a small amount also escaping out through his nose as he looked out over the small field in front of them, Mickey taking another small swing of the bottle of Jack that he had grabbed from the bar right before they had all left - he wasn’t sure why he was still next to this guy an hour later, but he supposed it had just kind of happened.
Besides, he was still kind of dreading going home, seeing that house, and Lana, and that bed - he just… it would be better if he was drunk by the time he got there, so that he could just pass out. He wasn’t all that far from it at this point, either, which was probably the reason why he didn’t flinch at the question that left Trevor’s mouth next.
“Things seemed kind of weird between you and Ian - am I stepping in between something, or is that completely done?”
Mickey did his best not to let out an audible sigh while he brought his own cigarette up to his lips, staring out over the dark field; he couldn’t see much. Some shadows of some trees, and the grass right next to the car. The hood of the car was cold against his body, even through the fabric of the clothing on his body, a small amount of goosebumps developing quickly, though he didn’t care much. The smoke and the alcohol was succeeding in warming him up quite a bit.
“Nah, man that’s been over for a long time” Mickey shook his head; the truthful words probably stung a little less than they would have, had he been completely sober, but the sound of them leaving his own mouth still caused him to drop his gaze to the shiny hood in front of him, swallowing the small lump in his throat. “He’s all yours” He was - well, he sure as hell wasn’t all Mickey’s. He hadn’t been for a long, long time. Even before they had officially broken up.
“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see about that” Mickey frowned, turing to look at him, seeing him place the cigarette back in between his lips, taking a drag as he stared out into the empty field. The words seemed as if they had been meant to be a thought, and honestly, hadn’t alcohol been a factor, they probably could have been. The Jack was a reason why Mickey had heard the words, and the Jack was the reason why he bothered to ask; even though he probably didn’t want to know.
“Why? Thought you guys were into each other or whatever” That’s what it had seemed like at the table - well, they hadn’t been calling each other ‘babe’ or anything - which was a good thing because it would have driven Mickey insane, but he had noted Ian’s arm around Trevor’s shoulders at one point. The same shoulders that lifted and fell, shrugging at Mickey’s question.
Mickey turned his head back, looking straight ahead, bringing his cigarette to his lips and breathing the drug in while he waited for an answer. Not that he wanted one, or needed one - maybe knowing what exactly was going on between the two of them would make him feel worse, or better - either way he took another swing of the alcohol, hoping that whatever would be revealed, he could forget it tomorrow. This had been a weird fucking night, to say the least.
“We’re not really together - well, we are, but it’s not serious. It’s only been a month, and he still seems kind of uncomfortable with the whole trans thing, you know” Mickey raised his eyebrows, his arm hanging over his knee, cigarette in between his middle and index finger as he looked at the guy, surprised.
“What - what, you’re trans? Like you used to be a chick?” He asked, Trevor’s mouth being pulled up into a smile at the words; then he nodded his head a few times, turning it as well, their eyes connecting through the darkness.
“Well, I was never actually a chick. But, yeah” He confirmed, looking down at his chest, holding the smoke in one hand while he picked up the necklace in the other. “That’s what this thing is about, right?”
Mickey inched himself a little bit closer, just to take a look. Then he hummed, nodding.
“Never would have fucking guessed, man” He wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing to say. Either way, that was pretty cool, too. The only other transgender person he had ever known was Molly, and he hadn’t seen her in years. For some reason, the longer he spent with Trevor, the more he felt that maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. As much as he hated that Ian had went and found himself a boyfriend that was actually a great person - that seemed to be exactly what had happened.
Mickey couldn’t stand a lot of people - but this guy was cool.
By the time he looked back up, their eyes connected again, only for a short second and then Mickey’s flickered over his face, looking at his earring and his hair before he found himself focusing on the big brown eyes once again.
For a short moment, it was as if everything was still; the wind could be heard somewhere in the distance, but right there, it was still. Then Trevor moved closer to Mickey, his eyes falling closed, lips parting slightly, going for Mickey’s.
Thankfully, Mickey was quick enough to shake his head, backing up to avoid it. Trevor frowned for a short beat, and then they both snorted.
“We’re not doing that shit, man. I’m fucking drunk off my ass” They both were. Trevor put the cigarette back up to his lips, looking out over the field once again while he nodded.
“You’re right, sorry”
Though, a few minutes later, Mickey turned to look at him, and as he took in the view of his profile in the darkness, he couldn’t help but get a weird kind of feeling inside of his body. One he forced himself to blame on the alcohol.