Work Text:
I.
Ian Gallagher is an eager, annoying, and overly hopeful little shit, and Mickey has no idea how he’s ended up standing with him in the dugout of this stupid ass baseball field. It’s hot as hell, and Mickey’s been in juvie for months, and all he wants to do is get drunk and get fucked by Gallagher at least three times. He’s letting Gallagher talk, though, letting him go on and on about classes he’s taking and West Point, because for whatever fucked up reason Mickey likes hearing his voice. He sounds excited when he talks about West Point, and Mickey finds himself wondering what it would be like to actually give a shit about something.
Mickey watches Ian place the beer can down, and when Ian looks over at him, Mickey gets a warm feeling in his chest, one that he refuses to acknowledge. Gallagher’s obnoxious, with his red hair and infectious smile and dreams. Watching him, Mickey realizes that he missed him, and not just his dick (although he did miss that, definitely). He missed coming home to find Ian on the couch with Mandy, and he missed his constant talking, and he missed the feeling that Ian gave him, like someone actually gave a shit. Mickey’s not gonna tell him any of that, though, of course he’s not, Mickey Milkovich doesn’t talk about his feelings. Mickey is not going to tell Gallagher that he missed him, and he’s not gonna think about the warm feeling in his chest. He’s gonna do what he came here to do.
“You wanna chit-chat more, or you wanna get on me?”
II.
If there’s one thing that Mickey didn’t expect to find when he got out of juvie, it’s Ian Gallagher with his dick up the ass of some twink behind the bleachers. Mickey wasn’t exactly happy to be walking in on that scene, but he can’t really blame Gallagher for fucking other guys while he’s been gone. The last time Mickey saw him, he basically said he didn’t care about him. (Which isn’t true,says a voice in the back of his head that sounds, for some reason, suspiciously like Mandy. Mickey tells it to fuck off).
Kicking the shit of the kid had been fun, and taking it up the ass from Gallagher had been really fucking fun, and he thinks about that as he takes a cigarette out of his pack. He missed Ian again, dammit, and he’s actually happy to be back home. Seeing the stupid ginger had given him that warm feeling in his chest again, which Mickey still refuses to think about. Gallagher looked really happy to see him; he’s got that dopey smile on his face, and Mickey really did miss the kid, so he figures he might as well say it.
“Missed ya,” Mickey says around the cigarette.
Gallagher looks surprised, and that smile just gets bigger. He comes to sit next to Mickey, and of course, because he’s a douchebag, Mickey ruins it.
“Yeah, man. I had to do all the fucking in juvie. Otherwise I’d end up someone’s bitch, right? Nice to switch back.”
Mickey doesn’t like the look of disappointment on Gallagher’s face, but he doesn’t know how to tell him that he missed him, not just his dick. He’s never really cared about somebody before, apart from Mandy, and doesn’t know how to put that smile back on Ian’s face. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to, so he just sits next to Ian and talks, and he wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.
III.
The last thing Mickey needed today was Ian Gallagher storming in and demanding that he call the wedding off. Mickey can’t deal with that discussion, because just thinking about the wedding has kept him up for days. So he kissed Ian; he smashed his mouth against Gallagher’s and pushed him back and he took off his jacket, felt Ian’s body underneath his. Mickey got lost in how good it felt, forgot about his father’s smug face upstairs, forgot about Mandy and the Russian whore and all of the other people waiting for him.
Pulling himself together, Mickey feels happier than he has in days. That is, until Ian starts up again, asking if he’ll send everybody home. Mickey can’t; he can’t call off the wedding, because his shit excuse for a father would figure out why, and who knows what he would do to Mickey, and, more importantly, Ian. Gallagher’s going on and on, just like he always does, except he’s angry now, and Mickey’s getting angry, too.
“You need to grow the fuck up!”
Ian doesn’t know shit. Frank may be an alcoholic and Monica may be a mess, but at least Ian’s always had a real home. At least Ian had Fiona, and Lip, and three younger siblings that cared about him. All Mickey’s ever really had is Mandy. Realizing who he was, what he liked…it made him even more afraid of Terry than he ever was before. Ian Gallagher is the only other person that’s ever cared about him, and fuck it, it’s a bit hard to ignore the warm feeling in his chest now. He doesn’t want to name it though. He doesn’t want to- shit. He can’t fucking name it, because then he’ll have fallen ass-first into something that he isn’t ready for.
“Not everybody gets to just-,” Mickey starts, and then he stops, because Ian’s looking at him like someone kicked his fucking puppy or some shit. And hell, Mickey hates himself, he hates himself for making Ian look like that, but there’s only one other thing that Mickey can say, but he’s not going to say it. He can’t say it.
“Not everybody gets to just blurt out how they fuckin’ feel every minute.”
It sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Ian.
IV.
Mickey had been sure that he would never see Ian again, and as painful as that was, he had figured that enough booze and drugs would have him forgetting about the kid in no time. He thought he must have been imagining Ian’s voice, but when he walked into the hallway and saw him, he hadn’t been able to hide the surprise on his face. The scarf Gallagher’s wearing makes him look really fucking hot, if Mickey’s being honest, and he can’t wait to feel Ian’s mouth and body against his.
Mickey’s happy, happier than he’s been in days, telling Ian that he can come over tomorrow night because his useless bitch of a wife will be gone. And then Ian tells him that he enlisted. At first, Mickey thinks Ian’s joking; Ian wanted to go to West Point, be an officer. It takes Mickey a minute to realize that Gallagher’s serious, that he’s actually leaving, and Mickey feels his heart breaking again.
Mickey isn’t going to chase after him. Hell fucking no. Mickey isn’t going to beg and cry and tell Ian what he wants to hear, because that’s not what Mickey Milkovich does. When Mickey speaks, it’s obvious that he’s holding back tears, and he fucking hates it. Mickey Milkovich doesn’t cry like a bitch when people leave.
Ian’s turning around and walking out the door like Mickey doesn’t matter, and that’s what hurts the most. It felt so good to have someone care about him, and Mickey needs Ian to stay.
“Don’t,” Mickey chokes out, and he curses himself for being such a fucking pussy. He knows what he has to say, has finally admitted to himself what the warm feeling in his chest is, but the words still won’t come out. Gallagher’s looking at him, waiting to see what Mickey’s going to do.
“Just-,” Mickey breathes out, and he still can’t fucking say it. Ian gives him a small smile, like he knew that Mickey wouldn’t be able to say enough to make him stay, and Mickey wants to go back in time to the day Ian Gallagher stormed into his room and poked him with a tire iron. He wants to go back and beat the shit out of Gallagher instead of fuck him. Maybe if he did that, he wouldn’t be standing in the middle of his bedroom with his heart tearing in two. Mickey blinks the tears away, telling himself to get his shit together, and 10 seconds later Ian’s gone.
Ian’s gone, and Mickey knows he’s not coming back this time. He won’t show up at the door, and there won’t be any more annoying yet stupidly endearing texts, and he won’t get to see him grin for no apparent reason. Mickey rubs the tears out of his eyes and tries to stop thinking about the three unsaid words chasing themselves around in his head.
V.
Mickey doesn’t fucking need this. He’s finally got Ian back, and things between the two of them are better than they’ve ever been. If Mickey didn’t have Svetlana and that kid lurking in the background, things would be perfect.
Something’s wrong with Ian, and Mickey doesn’t know what. It’s probably drugs; whatever it is, they need to figure out how to fix it, because Ian’s been acting a bit psycho for a while now. And now Ian wants them to come out. He wants Mickey to come out, and Mickey can’t do that. Not with Terry coming home.
It’s not until Ian tells him not to come over that Mickey realizes he’s not fucking around. It’s obvious that Ian thinks that coming out will help, that coming out will make Mickey happier. It won’t. It really fucking won’t, especially not here, especially not now. Mickey knows that there is one thing he can say. He could say what he never did that day Ian left, what he wanted to say when he saw Ian in that club. But he can’t say it here. He wants to say it when they’re alone; he wants to say it again and again and again, wants to whisper it into Ian’s mouth and against his skin. Mickey can’t do that here so, like always, he says something else.
“Ian, what you and I have makes me free. Not what these assholes know.”
Ian’s staring at him like he understands, like he knows what Mickey really means, and Mickey thinks that maybe he’ll be able to fix this, and everything will be fine.
And then Terry walks in.
VI.
Mickey hates himself. He should’ve listened to Fiona and Lip, should’ve gotten Ian help. Ian fucking ran away with Yevgeny, and now Ian won’t pick up his phone, and Mickey’s starting to lose his shit. Mickey’s lost count of the number of messages he’s left, but he dials the number again anyway.
Mickey’s afraid. He’s afraid of what’s happening to Ian, and he’s worried, too. He’s worried about both of them, Ian and Yevgeny, and he feels the panic rising in him as he gets Ian’s voicemail again. Mickey starts to leave another message, and he can’t help but think.
He thinks about Ian Gallagher, with his shaggy red hair and his freckles. He pictures Ian Gallagher staring up at Mickey from between Mickey’s legs, and then he pictures him pulling off his shirt. He sees Ian’s face, tears in his eyes, telling Mickey that he needs to see him. He sees Ian’s terrified expression as he hovers over Mickey while Mickey clutches at the bullet wound in his leg.
Mickey pictures Ian Gallagher across from him, smiling his dopey smile and putting his hand on the glass. Mickey sees Ian’s face in the darkness of the dugouts. He sees Ian smiling with amusement as Mickey beats the shit out of the kid he just caught Ian fucking. He hears Ian’s laughter and sees Ian grinning at him from the other side of the couch and remembers Ian’s lips against his.
Mickey pictures Ian’s stupid ass scarf, the one he was wearing the day he left. Mickey pictures Ian in gold shorts, dancing and grinning. He remembers Ian clutching the back of his neck as he kisses him under the strobe lights. He remembers Ian pressing his lips to Mickey’s bloody hair.
Every moment, every word, every missed opportunity comes crashing down in an instant, and Mickey can’t breathe. Mickey has never cared about someone the way he cares about Ian Gallagher, and he doubts he ever will. He’s fucked, and oddly enough, Mickey’s okay with that.
For the longest time, Mickey has known what to say. He just hasn’t been able to say it. He told himself shitty excuses, and he believed them. He once told Ian that he wouldn’t chase after him like a little bitch, but that’s exactly what he’s doing now.
For the longest time, Mickey hasn’t been able to say those three words. But they come now, just as Mickey’s finishing the message. They spill out of his mouth and hang in the air, filling the room.
“I love you.”