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Sometimes it felt to Mickey like he’d blinked and gotten old. One day he was 19 years old, married with a kid and now he was, god, 34 divorced with a 17 year old son and a partner. Mickey’s experience with marriage didn't make the man eager to walk down the aisle again so after a while together Ian and him had decided they didn't need no damn paper to prove they loved each other.
Mickey glanced over and Ian and saw him checking his phone and smiled at how domestic they’d become before returning his eyes to the road. They were on their way to Wal-Mart to pick up some shit for the house. Mickey found a parking spot close to the door. He shook his head at the joy he felt in this. What had his life become? Who the fuck was this Mickey?
The walked through the aisles with a fucking cart and put in the shit from Ian list, including toilet paper, dishwashing liquid, garbage bags and two six packs. They walked up to the register and while Ian went to pay, Mickey walked to the front displays and picked up a a few Snickers bars.
“Hey, Mick,” Ian called. “Come here.”
“What’s up?”
“I left my wallet at home and the cashier needs an ID to input for the beer.”
“Sir, I can’t sell it to him either.” the young cashier said.
“What?” Ian smiled.
“Um - you don't have ID and you just asked him to buy it for you so I can’t sell it to him either.”
“Are you serious?” Ian asked. “I’m 33 years old!”
“Listen, I’m buying this beer.” Mickey said. “Here’s my ID.” He pulled his wallet out.
“Sir,” the young man said nervously. “I can’t sell it to you. You’re buying the beer for him and he could be under age.”
“He’s my partner. He’s 33 years old. You think I’m fucking with someone underage? You calling me a pedophile?”
“No sir, it’s the law,” the young boy said, his voice trembling. “I can’t sell beer to anyone without ID or if i suspect they might be buying for someone who is underaged.”
“He’s not underaged; he’s over thirty.” Mickey fired back. “What if i walked in here with my 17 year old son or 20 year old brother - in - law, you’re not gonna sell me beer? I’m twice your age, bitch. I’m a fucking grown ass man!”
“I’m sorry, you have to leave or I will call the cops.”
“And tell them what that I, a full grown adult, wants to buy beer? That I want to give you money? Do you know how stupid that sounds?”
“I - I,” the young cashier stammered.
“Listen, you baby-faced motherfucker. You’re gonna ring this shit up, I’m gonna pay for it, then I’m walking out. Hurry the fuck up; I don’t have all night.”
The boy silently rang up their items and took the money from Mickey and bagged their items. Mickey accepted his changed and walked out of the store with their bags, Ian following and his blood still boiling over that punk bitch.
“What?” he demanded, when he saw Ian’s goofy smile as they reached the car.
“You’ve changed so much since we were kids but a part of you is still that shit-talking, Southside trash I fell for.”
“Always, babe,” Mickey said, finally cracking a smile and kissing Ian softly.
“It kinda turned me on.” Ian said into his ear. “It made me wanna bend you over right there in fucking Wal-Mart.”
“Oh, really?” Mickey said, grinding his hips into Ian’s. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Ian ran around the car and Mickey quickly put their bags into the backseat. Mickey got in the car and buckled in and started the car. He glanced over at Ian as he started to pull out the lot.
“Seatbelt, Ian.”
“Fuck you, Mick,” Ian laughed at him.
Mickey joined him as he thought yeah maybe he had changed over the years, become a responsible adult but he was still Mickey fucking Milkovich.