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Mickey doesn't get the chance to cry when Ian tells him, because Sammy just turns up at his house with a fucking gun and he doesn't really get to wonder why she's alive because it doesn't matter when she is trying to fucking kill him. That homicidal bitch. And he's run all the way to his house, still out of breath, but somehow he manages to get away from her until the cops catch her – and never has he been more relieved to see goddamn police officers. He doesn't run from them, and luckily enough, Sammy turns out to be mentally unstable or some shit because they don't charge anything against him for locking her in that box. When he gets home, he kind of wishes he'd killed her.
He also kind of feels nothing at all.
For weeks, he's been waiting for Ian. He's been waiting for him when he went to the army, he's been waiting for him when he ran away with Yevgeny and he's been waiting for him when he was in that clinic and he's been waiting for him when he was in prison and now he's been waiting for him when he was with Monica. He's been waiting for so long, and he was so desperate, so worried. This wasn't just any guy, after all, this was Ian. Dumb, ginger Ian with his broad shoulders and shining eyes and blinding smile. And he knows Ian is going through some tough shit but he loves him, god he loves him so fucking much, and he's sure they can get through this together. They can do whatever they fucking want to do when they're together.
And now he's gone.
Mickey can't believe it. He can't believe Ian really did that. Mickey waited for him all that time, always took him in again, always took care of him when he needed it. Mickey would fucking die for Ian without so much as a second thought – he took a fucking bullet for him. And now? What was now? He couldn't believe that Ian just threw all this away. Mickey never wanted this. He didn't want to get attached – he didn't even want to be gay. But he'd admitted it, and Ian and he had been happy. He could still remember that night, when they'd been bloody and bruised and they fought his dad, together, and afterwards they kissed and Ian fucked him against his bedroom door and then again on his bed and in the shower and on the bed again and it had been good. Those had been the good times, as well as the cuddling that followed after, and waking up with Ian laying half on top of him, basically suffocating him.
Mickey lives for that. He lives for lazy morning sex and late night movie sessions and hasty make out-sessions in some dark corners in public. He lives for Ian holding his son like he is his own, not Mickey's and Svetlana's, and he lives for that feeling like his heart was bursting his chest whenever he sees Ian playing with the little boy. He lives for the feeling of Ian inside of him, for the feeling of his arms around him and him in Mickey's arms and now he was getting sentimental but goddamn, he lived for Ian.
But he's gone.
Mickey isn't one to cry. He's a thug, everyone knows that. There isn't any name feared in the neighbourhood like his name is. There's a reason people cower away from him when he goes through the street, there's a reason why he's got a fucking reputation. He's all harsh words and rough gestures and no fucking dignity. That's Mickey. He doesn't cry. The only time he cried was when his mum left and then he was five years old, goddamn it. He hasn't cried when he got Ian back and when he lost him again he didn't either. He didn't cry when Mandy fucking left without a trace. So why the fuck should he be fucking crying?
He is, though. He's lying in his bed – that long since lost the smell of Ian but he still likes to pretend it's there – and he's facing the wall or staring out the window but either way he doesn't see anything. The lights are out and the shades are closed and the door is locked so nobody can fucking come and bother him. And then suddenly his face is wet and his pillow is too, and the water on his lips is salty and god, he's crying. He's crying, and there's so much pain inside of him he can't fucking deal with it. It's then that he truly realizes what has happened earlier, just this morning when Ian turned up on his doorstep.
He's gone for good now.
Mickey has always been waiting for him; he's always been sure that Ian would come back. He was certain because they are – they were, sorry – IanandMickey and nothing could ever change them, could ever break them. Mickey hadn't managed to break them and he was the fucking worst nightmare anybody could wish for. But Ian had stayed throughout all this and they made it through this, they'd grown stronger and stronger and Ian had made him so much better and they had been so good even when they hadn't been and –
Mickey loves him. That is the bloody fucking worst thing about the whole situation. He doesn't do feelings, he's never done, and he told Ian that he wouldn't, and now he's in love with him so badly and Ian isn't, Ian's leaving him, and it fucking rips his heart apart and tears his whole body to shreds and he's in so much pain, but no matter how tightly he curls up into a ball and no matter how much he claws at his chest, it doesn't fucking stop. So Mickey just lies there and he cries, bawls like a fucking baby except that no sound leaves his mouth, and he doesn't sleep a wink that night even when no tears are coming anymore and all he wants is just some darkness to surround him so he doesn't have to feel the pain thrumming in his veins beneath that veil of numbness that is clouding his vision and his mind.
It doesn't come, though. It's like Ian: it's gone.
For a while, Mickey thinks he's bad shit crazy now. He can get drunk and high all he wants, but the pain doesn't fucking end, and he can't sleep and he can't eat and he can't fucking do anything without missing Ian so much he can barely breathe. Half the night, he cries himself to sleep now, and he wonders why the fuck heartbreak is always romanticized – this is fucking worse than a homicidal Sammy on his heels with a gun pointing at his head. He would rather be back being chased by her than being here where Ian isn't his anymore and he's got nothing left.
Svetlana and Yevgeny come back after a week or so, and that's when he finally gets his shit together. He can't just laze around missing Ian, he needs to get his life together. He doesn't do it because he thinks that maybe if he would build a stable home, maybe Ian would come back. For one, he's a Milkovich and he's living in the South Side and he can't fucking have something resembling to a stable home, alright? And then, Ian made it pretty clear that he doesn't want stable and loving and caring. He doesn't want Mickey anymore. But Mickey can't stand being alone anymore, and so Svetlana comes back and he starts actually taking care of his son and they somehow get a little bit better at this.
The guy he fucked the night before Ian broke up with him calls four times. The fifth, Mickey picks up and threatens him to never call him again or he will fucking chop his dick off and shove it up his arse so he can taste the blood on his tongue. He never calls again after that. Svetlana smirks at his words, but one night, when she's back two weeks, she tells him she's sorry – because even that heartless whore sees how bad he is without his ginger, apparently. He swears at her, but then falls silent, lets her ruffle his hair when they finally go to bed after the shitty movie they've been watching is done.
Sometimes, Mickey sees Ian around. He sees him smoking weed with Lip and he sees him in the Alibi talking to Kev and he sees him jogging with Fiona and playing with Liam and everything tells him he's back with his family and not leaving again, but that doesn't ease the pain in his heart. Because Ian is with them, he chose them, and he's not with Mickey anymore. Mickey kind of really wants to go over and punch him, scream at him, beat him bloody for making him hurt so much. He also kind of wants to never see his face ever again.
Most of all, he wants him back.
Two months drag by, and the pain doesn't ease. Whenever Mickey thinks it's getting better, he sees Ian on the street or in a store or whatever, maybe he only dreams of him, and he wakes crying again, and he hasn't touched anybody else in that time, either, because he doesn't ever want to have sex again if it isn't with Ian, to be honest. He lost weight, a lot of weight actually, and Svetlana still has to force him to eat and make sure he doesn't accidentally kill himself in the process of mourning. It's not mourning, though, because Ian isn't dead. He's right there, living a block down the street with his family, smiling and being happy and being okay with not being okay and –
Mickey doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that Yevgeny has grown so much – he's going to be a year old soon, and he starts crawling and babbling now, and Mickey kind of starts adoring this tiny thing that is his own blood. Maybe it's the fact that Svetlana has been telling him for weeks that he should man up and fight for 'carrot boy' because she can't stand to see his sorry ass moping around anymore – her words, not his. Maybe it's the fact that the pain doesn't ease no matter what he does and he misses him, he misses him so much he can't breathe and he still cries so much even though he's not a crier. Or maybe it's the fact that he sees Ian walking down the street alone, bundled up in a thick jacket and gloves and a scarf and a beanie because it's fucking cold in Chicago right now.
But he sees them, and he walks over to him. Ian doesn't notice Mickey at first, only looks at him when Mickey all but collides with him. He takes him by the collar harshly, presses him to the wall with all the anger, all the pain that's been coiling in him for weeks. Ian doesn't fight back, just looks at him with those goddamn wide green eyes of his, surprise so painfully obvious in his face. He's lost weight, too, and his skin is so pale, his cheekbones jutting out sharply beneath the dust of freckles on them. Mickey wants to scream at him, wants to hit him, wants to destroy him.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" is all that leaves him in the end.
Ian seems startled, then, and he doesn't get a word out, just looks at Mickey. Mickey can't stand that look on his boy- his ex, because he suddenly appears to be sixteen again. He looked just the same when Mickey called him a warm mouth, or when Mickey punched him in the gut. He's still the same, just like Mickey knew, but that doesn't make anything easier. They stare at each other like that for a long time, and finally, Ian's eyes drop.
"I'm sorry"
His voice is meek and hoarse, like he hasn't talked in days. Still, the words are what he needed to hear all along, and they bring his anger back full force: Ian left him, he left him all along when Mickey's been waiting for him all those months, and that's just not fucking fair that Mickey is the one who comes out of this a fucking train wreck and all Ian can fucking manage is a silly apology without any meaning behind.
"No you're not!" Mickey shouts, shoves him against the wall. "You left me the fuck alone even though I loved you! I waited for you, no matter what shit you did, and I was there for you and you fucking left me! That's just – do you have any idea to me what you did to me? We could've gotten through this, alright?! We got through anything, so why not that? We could've managed. But you fucking gave up on us and that's just not fucking fair!"
He shoves him again, but he can't throw the fucking punch so he finally lets go of Ian's shoulders, staggers back a few steps. He's breathing heavily, and the pain all but seems to be consuming him. He doesn't look at Ian, runs a shaky hand through his hair. "Not fucking fair" he repeats, barely louder than a whisper.
And then, Ian's talking. Mickey doesn't think he's hearing right but the words are there and they're what he's been longing to hear all along but what he never fucking wanted to hear ever again and – they leave him awestruck.
"I shouldn't have done that." Ian stops after that, gives Mickey time to stare at him like he's grown a second head. "I shouldn't have left you, you're right. You're – shit, Mickey, you're everything. You know why I came back? Because Monica told me that I can be happy and that there are people who love me with my flaws and that's you. But then you weren't home and I was so angry because that just had to mean that you were with somebody else and I didn't want you to be with somebody else and now I screwed up because that's apparently everything I do? And I'm sorry."
Mickey kisses him then, before Ian can say more, shuts him up because his heart is still broken, but it's Ian and he loves him and he wants him back, no matter what shit they will have to work through next. "I don't care how broken you are, we can do that" Mickey repeats, and Ian nods. It's not much, but it's a beginning.
It's a start.