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I.
It was just sex. At least that was what Ian told himself. So when Mickey went off to juvie that first time, he shouldn’t have felt such an emptiness. But he couldn’t help the fact that when he went to visit his fuck buddy, that hole seemed to be temporarily filled. He couldn’t even touch him through the glass, but it still made him smile, just for those few minutes.
Still, Ian longed for the older boy. He didn’t have trouble finding someone for a quick fuck, so that should have fixed it, right? But apparently Ian’s brain didn’t wanna agree with his dick. He went about his days with the hole in his stomach. It nearly ate him alive. Apparently, it didn’t go unnoticed by his family.
“You okay, dude?” Lip had asked him one day.
“Whattaya mean?” Ian had played dumb.
“I dunno you just seem… down lately.”
“Well I’m fine.” Ian wasn’t sure he believed himself.
Stumbling across it was by accident really. He was hanging out with Mandy at her house, getting his ass beat at whatever game they had been obsessively playing that day. He wasn’t good at any of them. (Mickey was.) “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” Mandy had said. And Ian didn’t think twice about it, just went on eating his popcorn and drinking his beer while he waited for her to come back. When she finally did though, she smelled a little different. Ian couldn’t describe it other than one word: Mickey. She had only been in his room in passing for two seconds, but she smelled of him. Of cigarettes and cheap cologne. It wasn’t the most desirable scent, but it wasn’t bad either. And it was undeniably Mickey. It made the hole get just a little smaller.
Ian needed more. It became almost like an addiction. He made sure he was always over at the Milkovich’s house, even when their nightmare of a father was home. Ian pushed it to the back of his mind, what that could mean. What the need to smell someone who was supposed to be nothing more than an easy fuck meant. But he definitely didn’t stop entertaining that need.
On one particularly “I-Miss-Mickey” kinda mood filled day when Mandy wasn’t able to hang out, Ian was forced to think of another way to get that intoxicating scent. He recalled a time they fucked under the L, it wasn’t an unusual spot for them at night when everyone around was drunk and homeless, but on this specific night, Mickey had taken Ian to the spot he in his own words had described as, “My man cave,” with a smirk. Really it was just an old couch shoved between cardboard dummies riddled with bullet holes (a few put there by Ian himself on that same night), but it was Mickey’s, and Ian felt (though he would never dare say it to him) honored to be there.
So on that specifically empty day, he told Fiona he was working a double at the Kash and Grab, and then snuck away to Mickey’s reclaimed couch. Just as he had hoped, it smelled the same way his room did. It was fainter, having been diluted by brisk Chicago air and homeless people breath, but it was there. Ian laid there for hours, just breathing it in until his nose became numb to it.
He made a habit of it.
II.
Don’t. That’s the last thing Ian had heard Mickey say before he shipped himself off to the army. Now, lying awake in a bunk surrounded by his fellow soldiers, he wished so desperately he had listened. He acted like a dick, pretending he didn’t know what he meant, but truth is that he knew full well. At the time he had wanted to throw his bag down and kiss the tears threatening to spill out of the older boy’s eyes away, but he didn’t, and now it was too late.
Being in the army was everything Ian had ever wanted, he had worked his whole life for it. But now he was there, and it was illegally. He had ruined his chances of ever joining the right way, and it ate away at him every day. He wondered how his family was doing, how big Liam would be by now. Fucker grows fast. But mostly, he thought about a certain black haired thug. He thought about his lips, how the few times he had gotten to taste them he was sure he was ruined for anyone else ever. He thought about blue eyes, how they would glisten in the moonlight when they sat on that same worn out couch that Ian had spent so many days laying on in his absence, just sharing a cigarette and pretending nothing else existed. He thought about pale, milky white skin, how it would turn purple under his clutch, how it flushed pink so easily. But mostly he thought about the warmth that surrounded him. Because that was the only way to describe it. Mickey was warm. And magnetic. When they would stand in the same room, Ian could feel him from opposite sides. He missed that presence. Sometimes it scared him, in the best way possible. Made the hairs stand up on his neck. But he was never truly scared. He knew. He knew that Mickey had a soft spot for him he didn’t care to admit existed, knew that he was just as much putty in Ian’s hands as Ian was in his.
So, laying in his rock hard bunk at night, Ian would imagine what Mickey would say if he was there. Tough words balanced with soft glances, something making fun of how easy it was to break Ian. He could hear him saying it in his head, had his voice memorized. He could picture every eyebrow raise, every voice falter. Where he would chuckle, or scoff. Ian knew Mickey like the back of his hand, and he didn’t really know how it happened. It took forever to get where they had been, but at the same time, it felt like a minute had passed since they were simply sharing quick fucks in the Kash and Grab. But laying there, imagining Mickey, it could feel real for just a minute.
And so he would pull his hidden shirt out from under his pillow and take a big sniff before drifting off to sleep.
III.
Mickey. He was all that mattered ever, but especially in these most tender moments. They laid spent on the red head’s bed, sure they had been heard by at least one Gallagher. It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds being muffled voices coming from downstairs and heavy breathing. Mickey was staring holes into the ceiling, but Ian was sure he could feel his gaze on him.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Mickey broke the silence, proving Ian correct. He turned his own face towards the younger boy, making his breath hitch for a moment at how close their faces were. The intimacy of these moments never failed to give Ian butterflies.
“You,” Ian said simply. It was a loaded answer. He wasn’t just looking at Mickey, he was looking at all they’d been through, all the obstacles they’d had to face to get where they were. And where they were sure as hell wasn’t perfect, as evidenced by the dried blood still staining both of their faces, but Ian wasn’t complaining. It was good. And he could do things like stare at Mickey without having to worry about what the consequences would be.
“I’m proud of you,” Ian whispered when Mickey didn’t answer. He laced their fingers together where they were laying in between their two naked bodies.
“Yeah?” And Mickey let himself smile, let it be known that he was happy to have Ian be proud of him. That he did in fact long for his boyfriend’s approval.
“Yeah.” Ian kissed the grin off of Mickey’s face, nipping gently at his bottom lip as he pulled away.
“Think they heard us?” Mickey asked, genuine concern in his voice. Ian thought it was cute that he cared if they had. Before he would’ve cared too, known it was out of fear. Now, it was more of an embarrassed kind of caring, accompanied by blushing cheeks.
“It’s possible. You don’t hold back in the vocal department,” Ian teased.
“Like you do. Uh uh Mickey fuck yeah,” Mickey mimicked, thrusting his hips violently against Ian’s own.
“Fuck off,” Ian laughed, but there was no anger behind it.
“What time is it?”
“Five? Six? They’re eating dinner and not up here watching us get at it so couldn’t be too late right?”
“Should we go down and join them?” Ian considered it for a minute. He was hungry; his stomach was growling like a motherfucker.
“Mmm… nah,” Ian said, ignoring his angry belly. He couldn’t care less at the moment, just wanted to savor the moment. Mickey just smiled and pulled the red head into his chest. Ian buried his face in the crook of his neck and took a long, deep breath, finally free to do so.
“Are you sniffing me?” Mickey asked.
“Maybe.”
IV.
Numb. By very definition, it was a lack of sensation. So how was it that this numbness hurt so badly? Ian watched helplessly as his family struggled to come to terms with his diagnosis. He wanted so badly to comfort them, assure them it was all okay. But how could he when he didn’t believe that himself? Fiona had suddenly become a helicopter parent, or rather sister, watching his every move. Lip, Debbie and Carl spoke to him like he was made of glass, like if they pushed too hard he would break. Maybe he would. The one thing he could count on to be real was Mickey.
Even so, Mickey’s real was no longer the same as it had been before. Perhaps it was a product of their progressing relationship and not Ian’s illness, but he was definitely different now. Picking him up vitamins? Ian couldn’t say he’d ever seen that in their future. When he had offered Mickey to come out with him, it had really been more of a plea.
More dried blood, this time at each other’s hands. Mickey’s knuckles crashing against his face wasn’t necessarily a new feeling, but never had it had so much passion behind it. It hurt more than it ever had before. He liked the pain, the sensation, it was like stomping your foot awake from pins and needles. Perhaps it would have hurt more had he had any feeling, but he was just awakening his senses.
They kissed and made up, turned their fucking in the dugout memory into one of making love. Ian was drunk, whether that was on the beer or Mickey he couldn’t tell. So drunk that he forgot for those few hours. Forgot the diagnosis, the meds, how he felt sane now but in the most unenjoyable way. Mickey thought it was funny, how trashed he had gotten so fast. Ian laughed along, maybe because he agreed, maybe because everything seemed funny at the time. They stumbled home blood soaked and happy. For once happy. And Ian was ready to prolong that happiness for as long as he could. A date seemed appropriate. Sizzler’s was their idea of romantic apparently.
The whole memory is a blur, a drunken haze. He vaguely remembers their giggles, Mickey talking about eating “a steak so rare it would scream when he bit it.” What a Mickey thing to say. But then there was Sammi, and a weird speech that had Ian asking what the fuck was going on for that brief moment between her words and when his fellow soldiers came storming in out of nowhere, his head so fuzzy he had thought for a second it was all a mirage.
But no; it was all too real, and as he was thrown into a car headed to who the hell knows where, the only thing left of home was Mickey’s scent in his nostrils. He tried not to breath through his mouth.
V.
Ian did wonder. He wondered all the time. How Mickey was doing in prison, if he had gotten himself a new boyfriend on the inside, if he still had that stupid tattoo that made Ian question why the hell those breaking up words ever came out of his mouth. He tried to pretend he didn’t know that if Mickey hadn’t been arrested, if he wasn’t in jail for an indefinite amount of time, that that never would have stuck. They would be together right now, making out, watching dumb movies, whatever they used to do that made Ian fall so helplessly in love with the other man. And oh how he regretted that every day, the not telling him. How many fucking times did he get the chance to say those three words? But he never did it and that was a fact that fucked him up every. Damn. Day.
He didn’t visit. Not after the last time Svetlana had paid him to. He knew it was a shitty thing to do, add it to his list of regrets. He had tried to pretend he had finished that chapter of his life, he tricked everyone, even himself at times. He could find himself laughing with whoever it was he was with at the time, or after sex, or just sitting there, being…couple-y. He could do these things and for a few minutes he believed himself. He was over Mickey. For real. But deep down he knew that just the fact that he thought about whether or not he was told him he wasn’t.
It was Lip who told him Mickey was getting out. Said he found out on the local news. Apparently he was being released due to a lack of evidence in the case, something journalists ate up. Ian was jealous he hadn’t seen the story for himself. It was a whole month before he worked up the courage to go see Mickey. Ian was dating someone, who he couldn’t say now, but that was irrelevant. He had gotten their permission, as though he cared either way. He sprinted to his house. It was bitter cold; the way it had been when he made that same run to his door all those years ago searching for solace from his mother’s havoc. His feet hurt and his eyes stung from the dryness, but it paled in comparison to how his heart ached at the sight of black hair and blue eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ian had spat his own words back at him. Mickey invited him in, made him coffee. They talked like there wasn’t the novel’s worth of history between them. Mickey was different, not in a bad way. He spoke more eloquently now, apparently had taken some classes from his cell. Most notably, he smelled different, less like cigarettes and more like aftershave. Ian wasn’t complaining.
***
+ I.
Nervous was an understatement. So much had lead up to this day, months of planning, and years of progressing. Mickey wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You almost ready?” Mandy asked, barging in to his dressing room.
“Ready now,” Mickey smiled, messing with his tie one last time before walking out the door.
“Can’t believe you’re doing this again,” Mandy laughed, grabbing her brother’s arm. And for once he let her.
“Yeah well… this time’s gonna stick,” Mickey said simply.
“It’d better, otherwise imma beat your ass,” Mandy teased.
“Hey no violence on our wedding day,” Ian interrupted, emerging from his own room accompanied by Lip.
“You ready to do this?” Mickey asked, a mixture of nerves and excitement displayed across his face.
“Fuck yes. Time to be married to your ass.”
“Well then… no time like now,” Mickey breathed, pushing open the doors to the chapel. They walked down the aisle rather informally, truthful to their style, Lip and Mandy trailing behind them. Mickey spotted his brothers in the seats up front right away, Iggy wiping a few tears from his eyes.
Ian said his vows like they were written into his DNA. He must have been rehearsing that shit for weeks, and Mickey wasn’t sure he could measure up. They were full of words like “love”, words that Mickey had taken so long to get used to being said just between the two of them, let alone in front of a crowd of people. The smile on his face was impossible to wipe away.
When it was his turn to say his own vows, he suddenly felt that what he had planned wasn’t enough to describe how much he loved the man standing before him.
“Ian, we’ve come a long way since you were just some lame, freckled sophomore I thought my sister was fucking.” There was a light chuckle from the audience at his casualty. “Obviously, you proved this not to be true. We’ve had our fair share of ups and downs. Hell, being with you has been the craziest fucking rollercoaster ride in existence. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. There was a time, not too long ago, when I couldn’t ever imagine myself being happy. But you brought something out in me. Something I didn’t think was there. Happiness. Everything about you is happiness. Your bright ass red hair, your green eyes. You look like happiness and you smell like home. Basically what I’m saying is, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life being happy,” Mickey choked up as he finished.
The party was great, both pf the pair’s family’s going absolutely crazy on the dance floor. At one-point Mickey was pretty sure a dance battle erupted between the Milkovich’s and Gallagher’s. But at the end of the night, when the room was cleared out, and they said goodbye to the last of their guests, Mickey couldn’t wait to get home. He was ready to start the rest of his life with the man he loved.