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The call comes at nearly 2 am. He’d left his phone in kitchen, apparently, because the shrill ringtone echoes dully through the hallway, and he only wakes when Mandy, always more alert than him, starts banging on the wall that separates their rooms.
He doesn’t manage to catch the call before it ends, but almost as soon as it does, another call comes through.
It’s Ian.
His picture fills up the cracked screen of Mickey’s phone. It’s one Mickey took when Ian wasn’t looking, he’s laughing with someone off screen. Liam, probably. He looks so stress free and happy with life that it’s somewhat jarring, because he almost doesn’t resemble the Ian that Mickey last saw three days ago.
Mickey only hesitates a moment before swiping to accept the call, slamming the phone onto his ear so hard it almost hurts.
He can hear Ian’s soft breathing on the other end of the line, and he takes a moment to relieve in that sound, feeling his body decompress somewhat from the state of tension he didn’t even realise he was in.
After what seems like minutes he breathes a soft sigh of desperation and almost whispers through the phone,
“Ian?”
The line is silent for another moment before Ian’s shaky voice crackles out of Mickey’s speakers
“Hey Mick,” he says softly, “can you come get me?”
***
He’s waiting for him on the curb. Mickey can tell he’s freezing from the way he’s bent over himself, staring at his feet and taking slow, deliberate breaths.
Ian looks up at him when he slams the car door closed, only a few feet away from where Ian’s waiting. They hold eye contact for a moment, before Ian turns his head slowly back to the patchy gravel under his shoes.
Mickey’s not sure what to do. He hasn’t seen Ian for three days. He doesn’t know where he’s been, what happened to him, if he’s ok again. Mickey’s not equipped to deal with a silent Ian. An Ian that looks tired and lost.
So he sits down next to him, close enough so their legs are snug together and their arms are practically interlinked. It feels good to touch him again, like he’s finally grounded and at the same time much lighter than he was moments ago.
He sits next to Ian and he waits.
***
They had sat on the curb for almost twenty minutes, Mickey guesses, as he glances at Ian’s sleeping form in the passenger seat next to him. They’d sat in silence as Ian breathed deep and Mickey stared at the back of his head, waiting.
Eventually, Ian had started to cry, softly at first, then chesty sobs against Mickey’s knee, whispering, sorry, sorry, sorry. Mickey had just stroked Ian’s back and run his fingers through his hair and whispered back how sorry he was too.
He’d managed to drag Ian back to the car as his sobs began to subside into sniffling, calming himself down by rhythmically tracing a finger up and down an exposed part of Mickey’s ankle. It was soothing, and Mickey might have let them stay like that a little longer if he couldn’t feel the cold clinging to Ian’s fingers like ice.
The heater blasted at Mickey’s face, and he could feel his cheeks going dangerously red, but he’d suffer the potential heatstroke to make sure Ian would thaw out properly beside him before they had to return to the sub-par heating in the Milkovich house.
And they did arrive soon enough, Mickey shaking Ian awake softly and half-carrying him out of the car and up the front steps when Ian was too slow to wake, urgent to get him back to the safety of their bed.
He watched as Ian slowly changed out of his clothes and into pyjamas, just a pair of sweats and one of Mickey’s larger shirts— the sight of Ian in his clothes never failed to generate a peculiar twisting in his chest that was surely a sign he was way too far gone on the idiot than was fair. Ian had been wearing the same clothes he’d left in, Mickey wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign of what he’d been up to, knowing he hadn’t visited the Gallagher residence once in the time he was missing.
When Ian disappeared into the bathroom, Mickey slid back under the mussed up sheets of his bed, rollings his shoulders in an attempt to relax a little before Ian came back. He wasn’t sure what he needed to say to him. What questions to get out now, or what should wait until the morning, or later that day rather, seeing as it was past three by now.
Where did you go? Seemed like too heavy a question, Mickey was aware of Ian’s past habits of running away to crack-houses, or seeking out his mother for guidance.
Why did you run again? But maybe Mickey already knew the answer. That answer involved Monica again. Mickey knew that Ian had begun to see her face in his reflection every morning.
He feels Ian slip into bed beside him carefully, his eyes are closed, so maybe he thinks he’s asleep. Mickey’s almost tempted to let him believe it, but it hurts too much to be so close to Ian again and not look at him, so he rolls over onto his side, meeting Ian’s eyes as he watches him.
“Are you ok?” Is the question that leaves his mouth. It’s the only one that’s really important right now, the only one whose answer will actually help him get any sleep tonight.
Ian stares at him, eyes impossibly wide, and maybe slightly terrified. Mickey’s not sure of what, maybe it’s of the question, maybe it’s of him. But the look only lasts a moment before it turns back into more of a tired shame, a look Ian’s been wearing since they got home.
“I’m ok Mick.”
He leaves it at that for a moment, and Mickey doesn’t know whether to believe him or not, but he’s alive and in one piece next to him, so that counts for something.
“I got scared again.” He croaks. “I needed some time. To think. On my own.”
“Did you take your meds while you were gone?” Mickey asks this softly, not wanting to jar Ian into a defensive state again.
Ian looks sorry when he asks that, and Mickey thinks for sure that the answer is no.
“I did Mickey, I promise. I- It wasn’t like that, I’m not manic or anything I swear. It’s just, this is my future now huh?”
And he says this so dejectedly, as if he’s destined for nothing but failure now, that Mickey has to reach out and hold him. He pulls him so tight towards his chest that he can feel Ian’s heart beating against his own. He can feel Ian’s shaky breaths and he knows they still have such a long way to go. Even convincing Ian to take his meds doesn’t mean convincing Ian he can be ok.
“I missed you,” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s collar bone, and just like that, it’s about them again. The heavy conversation can wait until tomorrow, Mickey decides, as he cups Ian’s face and brings him into a kiss.
It’s heavy, full of apologies and promises and it makes Mickey feel kind of sick to his stomach, so he moves to shift on top of Ian, laying between his legs as he deepens the kiss into something more like them.
Ian responds immediately, hands smoothing down Mickey’s back to grasp at his thighs just beneath his ass, using the grip to flip them over so he’s hovering above Mickey. And it is like it is most nights. Most normal nights where they’re tired and wanting to go to sleep but need that piece of each other so they can relax completely.
The lube is under the pillow still and Ian uses it to open Mickey up slowly, pumping his fingers into him in a lazy but thorough way. Mickey pulls Ian’s face back to his, getting lost in the soft kisses that he’s needed these past few days more than he’s needed air to breath or food to eat. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realise Ian’s moved on from prepping him until he’s nudging inside him steadily, breaking the kiss to breathe shakily across Mickey’s face. The pace is steady, maybe a little harder than it usually might be when they’re both this drained, but Mickey can feel each thrust deep within him as an apology, and Ian’s piercing gaze doesn’t let that message get lost either.
Its not long before they’re both on the edge, Ian dipping down to scrape his teeth over Mickey’s collar bone, inhaling deeply before he lifts Mickey’s hips up slightly and sets a harsher pace that knocks the breath from Mickey’s lungs over and over again. Then he’s coming undone, grappling at Ian’s back, and probably leaving scratches, but it’s the best he’s felt in three days, and he’s not going to practice any fucking self-restraint right now. Ian keeps going for another half a minute, and when he comes, Mickey pulls him into another scorching kiss and lets him ride out his orgasm until he collapses on top of Mickey shakily.
Mickey pushes him off after a moment, and grabs his boxers from the floor by the bed. He must have been distracted when Ian was undressing them, because he doesn’t remember them being thrown there in the first place. He uses it to quickly clean them up as best he can before Ian is pulling him back into a loose embrace on the bed, resting his head on Mickey’s chest.
They lay there in the dark, feeling each other’s skin with soft touches, as they both begin to drift. Mickey realises that he’s completely relaxed, a state he hasn’t felt since Ian stormed out during their argument three days ago. So he tightens his grip around Ian’s shoulders and nuzzles his face further into Ian’s unkempt hair, allowing himself to drift off into a restful sleep.
He’s just aware enough to process Ian’s soft “I love you” before the world goes dark.
***
When he wakes up, Ian is there. He’s still there and Mickey feels like he could cry because lately he’s been so scared that they were going to tear each other apart, and then Ian wouldn’t be there anymore.
He watches him for long enough that it probably borders on creepy, but when Ian begins to stir awake, and his nose crinkles in that stupidly cute way that it does before he opens his eyes, Mickey thinks it might be worth it to never stop looking at Ian Gallagher.
Ian notices him watching, and holds his gaze for along moment before he stretches up and places a soft, barely-there kiss to Mickey’s lips.
“Mornin’” he mumbles in his croaky just-woke-up voice that makes Mickey just a little bit dizzy with contentment.
“Hey,” he replies, and Ian gets a look on his face that suggests maybe Mickey makes him a little bit dizzy too.
They eventually manage to disentangle themselves and slink out of bed to get breakfast. Mickey makes them eggs, and they eat them side by side on the couch, a blanket draped over their shoulders.
They’re in their second hour of watching re-runs when Ian shifts to stare at Mickey’s profile, and Mickey gets that uncomfortable feeling that comes when they need to talk. And he really, really doesn’t want this right now, he’s too comfortable with the soft atmosphere they’ve created to talk about their problems. Because there’s always problems on the Southside, and with Ian, it’s easier to ignore them. It’s meant to be that way anyway.
So he cuts him off as he starts to talk,
“Can’t this wait ‘till later? At least ‘till Mandy gets home, she’s better at creating fuckin’ solutions than either of us.”
Ian sighs, but his body language seems to concede to Mickey’s point.
“It’s just, I only left because of that you know? We’re not on the same page about this.”
“About you takin’ your fuckin’ meds or seeing a fuckin’ therapist Ian? Or letting us check on your mental health? What about asking if you’re ok? Why aren’t we on the same fuckin’ page about that Ian?”
And ok, he’s getting a little hostile about it, but seriously, Ian’s been pushing everyone away over this and why can’t he see that they’re just bugging him about it because they care. Because Mickey cares too goddam much.
But it seems the hostility rubs off fast because Ian doesn’t hesitate to snap, “we’re not on the same page because I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Mick. I’m not an invalid and I’m not fucking Monica.”
“I know you’re not Monica Ian, for shits sake! But that doesn’t mean you need to do everything your fucking self!”
Ian huffs at that and shoves at Mickey’s arm a little.
“You’re too fucking pushy!”
“And you’re too fuckin’ stubborn!” Mickey almost yells.
They’re both breathing a little too hard, staring daggers at each other. Then Ian huffs out a laugh, and drops his head to stare down bashfully at his hands. At first, Mickey’s a little incensed that Ian’s laughing right now, but he knows why. They’re a far cry from where they first started, Ian doing all of the pushing, and Mickey stubborn as a bull, having to be dragged kicking and screaming along with him.
And it’s with that thought that Mickey lets most of the hostility inside him drop, watching Ian jut his chin out, staring resolutely at his intertwined fingers on his lap. If Mickey has to drag Ian kicking and screaming to where he needs to get to, just like Ian did to him, then that’s what he’s gonna do. Fuck it if Ian resists, he’s bound to because that’s who he is. Mickey just has to keep pushing.
So he starts by reaching out and grabbing at Ian’s hands, pulling them apart so he can hold them in his own. He starts by searching for Ian’s eyes until he looks at him, and gives him a small smile.
When Ian’s grip tightens in his, he uses it to pull him forward, into his arms.
He starts by letting them heal, a little bit, right there on that couch, before they continue kicking and screaming forward together.
***
Mandy get’s home just before 7, and when she see’s Ian in the kitchen cooking dinner she walks right up to him and punches him hard in the arm before pulling him into a quick hug.
“Welcome home dipshit” she mutters, before announcing she’s going for a shower, stripping off her work uniform as she goes.
They eat dinner together around the table, laughing and drinking the whole time, and its easy, just like it’s always been. It’s not late when Mandy decides to go to bed, exhausted from work and feeling the tension between Ian and her brother getting thicker.
But it’s not a bad tension that’s building. Its somewhat the same tension they feel whenever they’ve spent all day apart and just want to be close to each other for a while. Somehow their shouting match that morning resolved much of the hostility they’d been holding, and Mickey knows for sure it’s not a great way of dealing with it, and they’ll have to talk about it eventually, but it is a hell of a lot better than when they had to use their fists to communicate their emotions, just like they’d been taught growing up.
So they head to bed too, but they just sit next to each other, doing their own thing. Mickey’s flicking through a new gun magazine and Ian’s messing around on his phone, probably texting his family. Eventually though, they drift closer together until they’re entwined together just like they were last night, and maybe its crazy that they’ve let themselves return to ‘normal’ in a matter of hours, but Mickey chooses to consider it some sort of superpower they have.
No matter how harshly they blow up in each other’s faces, it never takes them all that long to repair the damage. It’s a superpower they need, too, because he and Ian are alike in that they’re both just IED’s waiting for that next weight that’s just too heavy for them to handle.
Mickey lets himself breath Ian in, and he can feel Ian doing the same in the crook of his neck, and he knows, with absolute certainty, that they’ll be just fine.