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Mickey woke up with the worst fucking hangover he'd had since before Ian started taking his meds regularly. He stretched and took in his surroundings, remembering he and Ian had stayed at the Gallagher house last night after a party for one stupid fucking thing or another. He stood slowly, trying to function with the room spinning around him and made his way to the stairs, wondering where his boyfriend was.
"You seem good, sweetface." Mickey knew who Fiona was talking to as soon as she said the nickname; she only ever called Ian "sweetface" for whatever reason. He stopped at the top of the stairs, listening for Ian's reply and trying to calm his nauseated stomach; he really should've slowed the fuck down on the booze last night.
"Wouldn't be if Mick didn't help me out." Mickey felt his cheeks heat up when Ian gave him credit for something he wasn't sure he'd done. "Keeps me grounded in reality when my brain decides to fuck me over." Ian sounded tired; either from the early hour or from talking about his disorder, Mickey couldn't identify which without seeing the redhead.
"Sure." Fiona didn't sound convinced which only served to piss Mickey off. Mickey would never claim he was a fucking saint, but he was trying, dammit! Mickey walked back to Ian's bedroom, not wanting to hear any more.
"Don't start this shit again, Fi." Ian warned his sister as he sat across from her at the kitchen table, venom laced in his words. "Mickey's more than fuckin' proven himself."
"He left you broken and crying." Fiona deadpanned. Ian rolled his eyes; he knew Mickey had broken his heart a few times, but he'd done his fair share of damage to the brunette, himself.
"So did I; at least he had the fuckin' balls to make up for it." Ian couldn't tell his sister everything they'd been through, because it wasn't his business to tell. He wouldn't bring up how Mickey had been shot over him-twice-or all of the shit with Terry and Svetlana, because those memories were too painful to dredge back up. "He was the one who fuckin' looked for me when I ran off; the one who brought me home."
Fiona flinched in embarrassment over how Mickey Milkovich had done more for her brother during the first high of his disorder than his own family. That didn't mean she approved of Mickey being with her little brother, however. "He's not gonna stick around, Ian; this is eventually gonna be too much." Ian read between the lines to find what she really meant; he would eventually become too much for Mickey.
"He stuck around when I was coked out of my fuckin' mind and working at a fuckin' strip club, when I stole his kid, when I cheated on him, when I ran off with fuckin' Monica, and when I dumped him for caring. Mickey's had my back more than anyone in our family ever has." He knew it was a low blow, but he wasn't about to let Fiona talk shit about his boyfriend.
"He's not a stable choice, Ian." Fiona sighed, running her slim hand through her tangled, brown hair. "He's never gonna be enough for you to stay on the meds."
"Why? Just because Monica wouldn't? I'm not fuckin' Monica and Mickey's not Frank!" He was done with this conversation, but he needed to say one more thing. "Mickey loves me, and I love him; he's helping me through this shit show Monica cursed me with, and I'll always be thankful for that."
Ian stomped up the stairs and to his bedroom, finding Mickey on the bed staring up at the ceiling. Ian knew that look; Mickey was about to shut everyone out for some reason he wasn't sure of. "Hey." He said in the same tone Mickey used when he was on a low. "What's up?"
Mickey shrugged, but kept looking at the ceiling. Ian didn't know what was going on with his boyfriend, but he knew it wasn't good. When Mickey shut down, it was over pretty messed up shit; the shit with Svetlana-which he couldn't call what it really was, or he'd shut down, too-or when Ian was first diagnosed. Ian laid down beside Mickey, lacing his fingers in the soft black hair he loved so much.
"Not gonna make you talk about it." He promised Mickey in a low whisper he wasn't sure Mickey had heard. Mickey seemed to relax under his touch only slightly. "Love you, baby."
"Fi's right, man." Dammit, how much of her shit had he heard? "Not doin' anything." That had been pretty early, so Mickey hadn't heard the worst of it. Ian wad oddly thankful. "Coulda done all this shit without me."
"Wouldn't have been happy." Ian said, knowing it was true; the way he felt for Mickey wasn't something he could replicate with anyone else, and wouldn't want to. "You're it for me, Mick." Mickey scoffed, but didn't move to get away from Ian. "I mean it; Fiona doesn't know half the shit you went through for me."
"Never gonna be some white picket fence Northside prick." Mickey half joked, sounding forced As Ian laid his head on his shoulder.
"Good; kinda like the shit-talking, bitch-slapping, piece of Southside trash I fell for." Ian made a promise to himself right then and there; he'd remind Mickey every day for the rest of his life how much he loved him. "He's pretty fuckin' great; should meet him." He said playfully.
"Oh yeah?" Mickey asked, a hint of his usual sass back in his voice. "Sounds like a piece of shit."
"Can be; can also be a total asshole. But he's got this way of showin' he cares without bein' a pussy. He can't go a day without saying "fuck" in a sentence and used to be scared of the shower," Mickey jabbed Ian in the ribs, earning a deep laugh in response. "kinda think he just wanted to fit in with his brothers and the fucker who donated sperm; see, he's fuckin' beautiful, and none of them are. Got these blue eyes that I could drown in, and this smile... he don't show it often, but it's amazing.
"And those lips? God, could spend all fuckin' day kissing him. Nice ass, too." Mickey snorted, and Ian knew he was back to the Mickey he loved. "Guy's the love of my fuckin' life, man." He said dreamily, feeling a little tired after his conversation with Fiona and too comfortable wrapped around Mickey's warm body. "Takes care of me, too. Don't know what I'd do without my adorable thug."
"Fuck off, I ain't adorable." Mickey grumbled defiantly. "Take your pills?" Ian nodded, eyes drooping. "Go to sleep, love." Ian smiled even as his eyes closed again; only Mickey could call someone "love" and it not seem cheesy.
"Love you." Ian mumbled into Mickey's neck.
"Love you, too; now shut the fuck up so I can sleep off this fuckin' hangover." Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian, feeling more confident in his relationship now. "Love of my fuckin' life, too, man." He knew Ian was sleeping, but he wanted to say it out loud as he fell asleep, himself.
Mickey buried his face in the red locks sitting at his chin, thinking that his life could be much worse as he drifted off.