Work Text:
Growing distance free of explanation
We're getting deeper in this mess
Take careful contemplation
"Look at Mickey, getting married to some whore he knocked up."
The sentence had been ringing through Ian's head all day. He was so angry it almost blindsided all the pain he felt.
Mickey. Married. To a woman. Whom he knocked up.
Words Ian never thought he would ever hear in the same sentence.
He could barely keep his thoughts straight as he walked to the abandoned building he and Mickey used to hang out in. As much as he wanted to see Mickey, yell at him, try to knock some sense into him, he was still dreading it. He stomped up the stairs to the top floor anyway, his blood boiling under his skin.
Mickey was sitting in a corner, leaning his back against a wall with a vodka bottle in his hand. Seeing him sent another nauseating wave of hurt through Ian's chest. He didn't understand this. How did everything get so fucked up in the span of a few days? Ian thought he knew Mickey pretty well but the boy sitting in front of him looked like a stranger. He had a scar on his forehead that still hasn't healed from the other night and he looked more closed off than usual. A ticking time bomb.
"So is it true? Getting married?" Ian asked, surprised he can even form coherent sentences with all the emotions swirling through his chest.
Expectantly, he was met with silence. Mickey didn't even so much as lift an eyebrow.
"So who is it? Is it, uh, Angie Zhago? Or some other piece of trash you screw so you can pretend I don't matter to you?"
More silence.
Ian huffed and grabbed the half full liquor bottle that was sitting on the damaged window sill and hurled it onto the floor, watching it shatter into a million pieces. Kind of like his own heart, as cheesy as it sounded.
"Hey, what the fuck, Gallagher?" Mickey yelled out in frustration.
"Oh! He speaks!" Ian yelled back, barely keeping his anger in check.
Mickey ignored the outburst and got up. He walked right past Ian, not sparing him a glance. Ian was hot on his tail.
I'd rather be spitting blood
Than have this silence fuck me up
They walked down the decrepit stairs onto a sandy ground, surrounded by many other run-down buildings.
"So that's it, we're over. Your dad beats the shit out of us and you're just gonna get married? No conversation, nothing?" Ian asked.
When Mickey didn't answer, he grabbed his shoulder to turn him around. Mickey pushed him away. Ian couldn't really describe the look on his face. It looked kind of predatory, but he could see the nervousness and hesitation in his eyes.
Ian reached for him again but Mickey pushed him away harshly.
"Get the fuck off me," he grit out.
Ian almost scoffed, "What, you wanna fag bash? Make you feel like a man? Come on, go ahead," Ian yelled, and then louder, "Do it!"
Mickey punched him in the stomach as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Ian winced in pain, doubled over and fell onto one knee.
He heard Mickey mutter, "Fuck," and wipe his hand over his mouth. He didn't care, he was going to keep pushing. For once in his life, he was going to keep pushing.
"You love me, and you're gay," Ian told him after a moment.
He saw Mickey tense, but continued anyway, "Just admit it. Just this once, fucking admit it,"
This separation,
time and space between us
For some revelation
You didn't care to discuss
I'd rather be black and blue
Than accept that you withdrew
This time Mickey punched him in the face.
Ian fell to the floor with an 'ow'. Mickey turned around again and wiped at his eyes.
This is so typical was all Ian could think. It was just so like Mickey to hear something he didn't want and use his fists to try and fix it. He wasn't really fixing much this time though. He was tearing up whatever him and Ian had, bit by broken bit.
Ian didn't care that he was provoking Mickey, practically begging him to do this. In a way, it was a reminder to himself that he couldn't really have anything real and sincere with him.
Ian coughed and said, "You feel better now? Feel like a man?"
He watched as Mickey pursed his lips angrily and turned to kick him in the chin, making Ian's head swing back painfully. He tasted the metallic tang of his own blood.
Ian moaned in pain. Mickey ignored him, took a gulp from his whiskey bottle and threw out into the floor.
"Feel better now," he declared as he walked away.
Used to give each other the world, every bit
I used to be the one you'd come to
When it'd all go to shit
Now I'm left here in the dust
With the taste of broken trust
Ian could barely move a muscle. His whole body felt like it was on fire from the sharp pain.
Mickey had just left him, on the cold hard ground, hot tears stinging his eyes. He wasn't sure if the tears were there because Mickey had hit him that hard, or because Mickey hit him at all.
He lingered on the ground for a little longer, trying to contain himself. After a few painful minutes, he urged himself to get up. He moaned in pain several times, a massive headache roaring through his head.
Ian forced himself to walk home, slowly and with a slight limp, red, hot pain pulsing through him with every step.
And I don't wanna walk away
But you left me no choice
Only talking to myself here
Now you've muffled your voice
I'd rather have broken bones
Than feel myself turn to stone
"The fuck happened to you?" Carl asked him when Ian walked through the kitchen door.
"Nothing," Ian said. The rest of the Gallaghers were in the living room, drinking and dancing with Kev and V.
Ian walked over to the freezer to grab an ice pack.
"Doesn't look like nothing. Want me to fuck anyone up for you?" Carl asked sincerely.
"Nah, I'm good," Ian said with a smile - or a grimace, really - and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.
He lied down and put the ice pack on the pillow, underneath his left cheek.
Ian didn't want to cry. He wanted to forget that tonight had ever happened. That him and Mickey had ever happened.
But he couldn't. As hard as he willed them not to, the tears spilled down his cheeks. He let himself cry for a few minutes before wiping at his tears, swallowing his sadness and pain the way he'd seen Fiona do countless times.
He wasn't going to be that guy. He wasn't going to be the guy who let people walk all over him without protest.
Mickey is not people. He pushed the thought to the back of his head.
He wasn't going to think about Mickey anymore. Fuck Mickey. Fuck Mickey for making him think they could have a semi-normal relationship. Fuck Mickey for making Ian think he loved him. Fuck Mickey for making Ian fall for him. Fuck Mickey.
Ian clenched his jaw with steel resolve.
Yeah, fuck Mickey.
Just tell me, say anything
Anything hurts less than the quiet
For a few days after Ian felt completely numb. His emotional and physical pain were only a dull ache at the back of his head.
He was sat on his bed, much like he had been for the past four days, chain smoking a pack of cigarettes. He wasn't really addicted, could quit whenever he wanted to, but it calmed him down. Helped clear his head. He was focused on on a swirl of smoke he blew out when he heard footsteps thudding up the stairs. He was confused for a second since no one was home but figured one of them must have forgotten something.
What he didn't expect though, was Mickey. Really, he wasn't expecting to see Mickey ever again since he was planning on avoiding him, but here he was.
He walked nervously towards Ian's bed, clutching at his scarf. He took it off and sat down beside Ian, setting the scarf next to him. They weren't touching but Ian could feel Mickey's nervous energy.
They just sat there for a couple of tense minutes. It was never awkward between them, even when they weren't talking, it was always comforting and soothing. But right now, it was anything but.
I don't mind that I know that you're wrong
I don't mind that you think you're right
All I want is a fight to fight
Anything but quiet
Ian cracked first, "Why are you here, Mickey?"
"To apologize," Mickey mumbled.
"Yeah, well, you're not really doing a good job at that," Ian scoffed. Mickey didn't looked at him, just kept looking at his hands.
"I'm sorry," he said. He finally looked up at Ian, with his heart in his eyes. Ian's 'steel resolve' completely shattered when their eyes met.
"Fuck," Mickey breathed softly as his eyes scanned Ian's face, and then louder, "Fuck, Ian. I'm so fucking sorry," he reached a hand to cup Ian's cheek. His heart broke a little more when Ian flinched. Ian didn't move though, just closed his eyes and let Mickey look at him. His bruises were starting to heal but were still pretty bad.
Ian only opened his eyes when he felt Mickey press a feather-light kiss to his temple. He was floored by the intimate gesture but didn't say anything.
"Why?" Ian asked quietly, even though he already knew.
"I don't know. I was angry? But that's not an excuse, shouldn't have taken it out on you," Mickey shook his head, seeming disappointed in himself.
"No, probably shouldn't have," Ian agreed.
"I'm sorry," Mickey whispered, over and over again as he peppered kisses all over his face.
"I know," Ian whispered back.
After a beat he asked, "So what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know," Mickey answered. Ian's face fell before Mickey had a chance to continue.
"But whatever it is, I want it to be with you. I want to be with you,"
Ian couldn't help himself when he heard those words, the words he'd been longing to hear for years. He pulled Mickey close and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He tasted salt on his lips, and cigarette smoke.
Mickey had been crying.
Ian decided not to say anything since Mickey would probably deny it anyway.
Mickey pulled him closer until he was almost sitting on Ian's lap and kissed him more firmly.
Kissing Mickey didn't feel like fireworks. It felt like coming home after a long day. It felt like a breath of fresh air. It made Ian feel at ease. Invincible, even.
You make my heart shake, bend and break
But I can't turn away and it's driving me wild
You're driving me wild.